At the age of nine, along with countless other bemused kids I became an evacuee.
Strangely, thinking about it now, it did not seem anything out of the ordinary.
(I think kids accept whatever occurs as the norm).
It began with Mum making rucksacks out of pillowcases for the four of us who were
heading into the great unknown.
Festooned with pillowcase, sorry, rucksack, gas mask, packed lunch, (which was
devoured before we even got on the train), a large luggage label with our name and
details, fastened to our lapels, and clutching an assortment of favorite teddy-bears,
dollies, and, for the boys, favorite catapults, pocket knives, and pea-shooters.
(If we met up with any Germans, then the general consensus was �Take one with
you�).
We began our journey from our school, and my first memory was me and my mates on
the top deck, dropping items onto the conductor�s cap as he fought to herd sixty odd
east end kids onto his bus.
In due course we arrived at the station. Hundreds of milling kids, several harassed
pin-stripes with clip-boards, and a few despairing teachers who could have used the
services of a dozen sheep dogs.
Once on the train we were instructed in the �rules of engagement�.
1. Do not attempt to open the doors at any time.
2. Do not lean out of the windows. (Some hopes)!!. followed by graphic tales of
decapitated miscreants.
3. A warning not to eat chocolate as it would make us thirsty. Received in a
disbelieving silence. (When was the last time we had chocolate??).
4. And to behave like little soldiers. (Did these people think we were kids)??
Most of the carriages were non-corridor, so toilet needs were solved by utilizing the
windows. To the dismay of the �vaccies� further down the train.
After a journey that must have taken about six hours we arrived at a station.
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