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Don McDouall was evacuated from London during World War II when he was five years old. He was sent to the small country village of East Hanney to live with Grans and Grampy at a house called Tamarisk. When the war ended nobody came to take him home and he was sent to a children's home. When the children's home closed he was given the choice of returning to Tamarisk or to live in another home, he chose Tamarisk. He now lives in Australia.
One summer the church organisers took me along with some other kids to Bridport in Dorset, for a weeks camping holiday. It wasn't the usual group of village kids that went on the outing, in fact I didn't know many of them. They had probably picked disadvantaged children from the surrounding villages and the only other kids from East or West Hanney were two sisters who lived out on the Garford road. They were much younger than me.
Altogether there were about twenty children aged from around ten to thirteen. We camped in three big army type tents in a field close by to a small picturesque village. One tent held the eight squealing girls looked after by two women and the other two tents housed the boys looked after by a man. It was a most enjoyable experience. A train took us to Bridport then we were taken by bus to the camping area.
I had never been camping before and I remember sitting on the grass near the large campfire watching the sparks as they rose up into the night sky. One of the women played a guitar and the man was an absolute wizard playing the mouth organ. We roasted chestnuts and potatoes and toasted bread on long sticks and sang every song we knew.
As the sun came up we would all wash in a little brook, then after a cheerful morning hymn we would take turns in cooking breakfast. Eggs and bacon and toast made over an open fire. We washed all this down with milk that a farmer brought in a big bucket, which was still warm.
Then we would put on our wellies and go for a long tramp up in the hills or to the seashore. I would stand looking out to sea and slowly become hypnotised by each wave as it came surging towards me. The waves would get higher and higher and I would stand quivering with fear as I waited for the next wave to cover me. The other kids thought I was strange.
The man who looked after us at that camp was mad on sea creatures. He knew each creature's long Latin name. I spent many happy hours with him exploring the tidal pools. Each day we would return to the camp with shellfish and crabs and that night we would cook them.
Don McDouall, Australia, 2001
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