William (Bill) Newman's Adventures as an Evacuee

We lived in the Custom House district of West Ham close to Victoria and Albert Docks. The rail line ran from North Woolwich up to Crystal Palace. Bombing started in late 1939/early 1940. My two brothers, my sister and I were evacuated to the Isle of Portland. Mother stayed at home because Dad worked at The Royal Arsenal. My eldest sister was employed at Sieman Brothers at Charlton; both factories were on the south side of the Thames.

There were military installations on the Isle of Portland, and we were soon sent back home because of air strikes. In 1940, the Blitz started in a big way and all four of us were eventually sent to Winwick in Huntingdonshire. Here, we were split up, my two brothers at one end of the village, my sister and me at the other end.

At the age of 15, my sister was sent to work in nearby Oundle. The villagers I was billeted with did not look after me very well, so Mum took me back to London. The Blitz continued night and day. All the ships and dockland warehouses were hit, also the railway. In the odd quiet period at that time, gangs of us kids would explore the warehouses and railway only to find tinned food scattered everywhere. Tins were not labelled, so you only found what was inside on opening.

After spending many nights in air raid shelters, mother took me back to Winwick and placed me on a farm. My brother and I, along with other children, were taken to Hamerton in a local coach. My elder brother, now 14 years of age, worked for a local baker delivering bread around neighbouring villages. Sister was still at the hotel in Oundle.

The village soon livened up when the Americans arrived. The American Airforce built a new runway for the bombing of Germany. They looked after us kids very well with bottles of drink, peanuts, chewing gum and sweets galore.

As the bombing died down, we four returned after being away for three years. Gladys began work in a local shop. Ernie was unsuccessful in getting into the Royal Navy. He was offered a position in the Merchant Navy, often on-board oil tankers in the North Atlantic and Russian convoys along the Arctic Circle. Brother George at 14 years was employed by a local building firm, working on damaged buildings, often with people still in them!

Bombing and V1 rockets (Doodlebugs) started to come over in 1944. The Allies were not able to overrun the launch sites quickly enough. This time, I was sent to Old Weston, three miles away from Winwick in Huntingdonshire. The family who my two brothers stayed with had moved to Old Weston. I was now living there.

I earned pocket money of two shillings per week after school by walking half a dozen or so cows back through the village to Lang's Farm across the road from where I was now billeted with my brothers. For cleaning out the two chicken coops, I received a further sixpence. As the American airbase was close by, we schoolboys would view the landing of Boeing Bombers between 4.00-6.00pm after daylight raids over Germany. Some of the bombers returned in a terrible state, all shot to pieces.

Often, I walked the Lang's Farm bull from the sheds onto the fields, frequently getting an electric shock from the airfield perimeter fence. At harvest time, I worked with two German Prisoners of War helping to load the wheat stooks onto the trailer. They would often get me to drive the tractor on stop/start and straight runs. Not bad for a nine-year-old!

Coming out of the house on the way to school early one morning, I heard the loudest noise ever. The sky was covered with all types of aircraft and gliders. It was 6th June, D-Day! Never to be forgotten. Soon to be on my way home.

Mother would travel up to see us at 6-8-week intervals. It was quite a journey, bus and Underground to Kings Cross, train to Peterborough, overnight at the station. The only bus visiting the villages passed through Winwick and terminated at Old Weston. The bus returned in the afternoon, so mother had seven hours with us children before returning home through Saturday night and Sunday.

At home in 1944, the occasional siren would go off to warn of a V1 missile on the way. When the rocket cut out, you dived into an Anderson shelter. I could not get used to the V2 rockets, diving under the kitchen table, listening for the explosion, no warning given.

At Christmas, my uncle and aunt paid us a visit then took me back to their home in Crowcombe, Somerset. Crowcombe was in the middle of nowhere, a farm, four bungalows and a railway station. I now lived with four female cousins. If the bus did not turn up for school, it was a two-mile walk. To keep myself going, I used to spend time climbing trees or picking wild strawberries on the railway embankment.

Saturdays were spent at the station, the goods train on a single track had to shunt clear of the station in order to let a passenger train pass. On many occasions, the engine crew would let me ride back and forth. The crew would clean the coal shovel then drop bacon and eggs onto it, in and out in seconds. Breakfast was done, it tasted great. I stayed at Crowcombe until VE Day then back home once again.

I went back and forth five different times, and was in six different schools. I was ten years old on 10/5/45.