The Evacuees
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Not the least of the profound changes to village life brought about by the war came with the arrival of the evacuees in 1939, the main exodus from London taking place on Friday and Saturday, 1st and 2nd September.
Children from the East-End of London - in our case mainly the borough of Bethnal Green - who hardly knew that rural life existed, arrived carrying small suitcases and with only their labels to identify them. Mrs Esme Cooper Bland, Bert Hatley the parish council clerk and other hastily recruited but well meaning officials, billeted them with village households, sometimes unavoidably separating brothers and sisters. |
Not all the villagers readily accepted that the official weekly allowance of ten shillings and sixpence for the first child, eight and six for a second adequately compensated them for the problems they would be taking on. Problems there were too - homesickness, bed-wetting, insufficient or unsuitable clothing, difficulties over diet and visits from parents, some of whom, in the eyes of the villagers, had alien habits. Goodwill and common sense overcame most of the problems but in the end the threat of prosecution under the Emergency Powers Regulations persuaded any reluctant house-holders that they daren't leave any bedroom unused. The Vicarage, with its many rooms, became temporary home to a small community of children accompanied by their mothers, after the new vicar, the Rev Binns and family, had voluntarily moved into an empty cottage at Camois Hall Farm.
Their clothes often revealed poor family backgrounds but 'the vaccies' had lively personalities and quick wits. For most of them the early days in the village were bewildering and miserable as they missed their families and everyday life at home. Many cried themselves to sleep at night.
Their clothes often revealed poor family backgrounds but 'the vaccies' had lively personalities and quick wits. For most of them the early days in the village were bewildering and miserable as they missed their families and everyday life at home. Many cried themselves to sleep at night.
The villagers' ignorance about life in the East-End matched that of the young Londoners about their new homes and surroundings. Culture shocks occurred on both sides. One young evacuee boy, shown around the garden, expressed amazement, he had always thought that apples and vegetables came from market stalls or from tins. How could the children possibly have imagined living in a house with no running water, no electricity or gas and an earth closet at the end of the garden? From a life in a densely populated area and a home with only a small backyard they had suddenly been transported to a small village surrounded by seemingly limitless fields and woods, that they could roam over more or less at will. As darkness fell in that autumn of 1939 the village seemed to go to sleep. It would be difficult to imagine a greater contrast with the teeming life in the big city.
Woodditton Sports Day
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The village school couldn't cope with the sudden influx of pupils and a temporary class-room opened in the Legion Hut. For a time the evacuees had their own teacher who had followed them from London, but after a while the village school managed to accommodate them.
At first the village children and the vaccies kept a wary distance but the barriers soon broke down and a gradual integration took place. The village boys came to appreciate the new girls - Sylvia, Doris, Olive, Grace, Eileen, Alice and Diana, but especially Sadie. Although not particularly pretty, this thirteen-year-old seemed to be endowed with all the womanly guiles and soon had a following of village boys. |
Emanuel Finegold, a little Jewish lad from the Whitechapel Road area, soon became known to us as 'Manny'. Dark eyes and finely cut features matched his black curly hair that looked as if it had been permanently waved. He found himself billeted with a childless married couple who became his foster-parents for the next five and a half years. Life changed for this quiet, elderly couple who had to adapt to making a nine-year-old stranger feel at home. Manny had a natural resilience and cheerfully endured home-sickness and the inevitable taunts from other children, rarely shedding a tear. Life must have been unhappy for him at first but he adapted to village life and stayed until the war ended, a mutual affection growing up between him and his foster-parents. In the quiet of the village he escaped the terrible bombing of London's docklands.
Manny's experiences were shared by other evacuees, made welcome by childless couples, who came to treat their new charges as if they were their own.
Manny's experiences were shared by other evacuees, made welcome by childless couples, who came to treat their new charges as if they were their own.
On the day he arrived at his new home one ten-year-old evacuee had a call from the neighbour's son who invited him to go brushing (beating for game) the following morning. Not having the slightest idea of what that meant he wore his ordinary clothes and school shoes. After crossing several muddy fields and ditches he asked how much farther they had to go. Only then did he learn that the all day shoot had only just begun.
Although ignorant about life in the country the evacuees didn't lack worldly knowledge. One carefully brought up village boy had an introduction to the facts of life from his new evacuee neighbour. Although getting the basic idea right the young Londoner added an intriguing piece of information: "To get a boy baby you have to stay in longer."
Although ignorant about life in the country the evacuees didn't lack worldly knowledge. One carefully brought up village boy had an introduction to the facts of life from his new evacuee neighbour. Although getting the basic idea right the young Londoner added an intriguing piece of information: "To get a boy baby you have to stay in longer."
Most of the evacuees adapted well to village life and enjoyed their new found freedom of the countryside, the more so when billeted with an understanding family, perhaps with children of a similar age. But not all the children found happy homes, particularly when lodged with reluctant hosts who had been threatened by the law if they didn't co-operate. Local officials were sympathetic to these difficulties and some early changing of billets took place. Other children, usually when accompanied by their mothers, found the culture shock too great and as the expected early bombing of London hadn't yet come, they returned to their familiar life in the East-End.
On the whole coexistence developed well between the two widely differing backgrounds but some rivalry occurred between the young teenage village boys and the evacuees in the adjoining village of Stetchworth. This probably owed more to territorial rather than to cultural factors, as even before the evacuees arrived we treated the 'Stetcher boys' with some suspicion.
Matters came to a head one Sunday afternoon when we Wood Ditton boys decided we needed to assert our rights and make a provocative incursion into Stetchworth territory. Significantly this required crossing the Devil's Ditch, the Anglo-Saxon earthwork constructed as a defence against rival tribes. The Ditch roughly divided the two villages and as our gang of ten crossed the ancient boundary and approached the other village along the old Roman track, known as Lover's Walk, we caught sight of a similar sized group coming towards us. At that moment big Jim (later to become a guardsman) decided he had to meet an urgent call of nature and disappeared among the trees by the path, unbuckling his belt as he went.
After some indecision by both parties a girl, who appeared to be the leader of the evacuee group, approached for a parley. This rather disconcerted our all male group and our resolve started to weaken. After a while the two groups mingled and one or two individual scuffles broke out. Snoog, our leader, considered himself good with his fists and with our honour at stake had a brief but grim exchange with the senior boy evacuee. A rough looking East-Ender of about thirteen, with a well-broken voice, took one look at my brightly coloured school jacket and growled: "Blimey, it's Joseph!"
Matters came to a head one Sunday afternoon when we Wood Ditton boys decided we needed to assert our rights and make a provocative incursion into Stetchworth territory. Significantly this required crossing the Devil's Ditch, the Anglo-Saxon earthwork constructed as a defence against rival tribes. The Ditch roughly divided the two villages and as our gang of ten crossed the ancient boundary and approached the other village along the old Roman track, known as Lover's Walk, we caught sight of a similar sized group coming towards us. At that moment big Jim (later to become a guardsman) decided he had to meet an urgent call of nature and disappeared among the trees by the path, unbuckling his belt as he went.
After some indecision by both parties a girl, who appeared to be the leader of the evacuee group, approached for a parley. This rather disconcerted our all male group and our resolve started to weaken. After a while the two groups mingled and one or two individual scuffles broke out. Snoog, our leader, considered himself good with his fists and with our honour at stake had a brief but grim exchange with the senior boy evacuee. A rough looking East-Ender of about thirteen, with a well-broken voice, took one look at my brightly coloured school jacket and growled: "Blimey, it's Joseph!"
Eventually common-sense prevailed and the two leaders agreed to stage a football match to settle our differences. We drifted home, egos somewhat dented, suspecting a mere girl had outwitted us. In any case we were none too confident of our football prowess.
On the day of the match, held on our home ground in Potter's Pond meadow, our pessimism turned out to be more than justified. We had hoped for a draw at least but the game ended with the score 12-1 in the evacuee's favour. Our one goal came from a desperate run by Snoog nearly at the end of the game, after the evacuees had become complacent.
After that the old rivalry seemed to disappear and the two villages coexisted in harmony - a triumph for diplomacy.
On the day of the match, held on our home ground in Potter's Pond meadow, our pessimism turned out to be more than justified. We had hoped for a draw at least but the game ended with the score 12-1 in the evacuee's favour. Our one goal came from a desperate run by Snoog nearly at the end of the game, after the evacuees had become complacent.
After that the old rivalry seemed to disappear and the two villages coexisted in harmony - a triumph for diplomacy.
Looking back on the evacuee times it seems certain that both visitors and locals gained from the experience. In our case our narrow society opened up to the lively culture of the East-Enders and for them came a taste of a rural life previously unknown. A few evacuees came to like the life so much that they eventually settled down and married, while others have maintained contacts with former foster-parents and friends over the years.