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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. He now lives in Australia.
After all the other evacuee's had gone I started to knock about a lot then with the village kids. They all called me a 'sodding Londoner' but only when they were angry with me. But from a very early age I had learnt how to fight and those village kids soon learnt that I could.
During the winter we would go rabbiting a lot. If there were floods you could find rabbits up hollow willow trees.
At threshing time we hung about the ricks in Cotterals barnyard. There would be rats and mice everywhere. With a great flurry of activity, using boots, sticks and dogs, we made many onslaughts against the teeming rodents.
In the springtime it was mainly bird nesting we were all into. A great pastime was confusing nesting birds like putting young Starlings in black bird nests! Or feeding the hungry birds by spitting into their wide open mouths. Considering the amount of bird nesting that went on, what with the stealing of eggs and the slaughter of the young I'm surprised there were any birds left at all!
Another pastime high on our springtime agenda was Moorhen nesting. This was where one would wade out into the freezing water to steal the eggs of the poor Moorhen. This was a very stupid act really because none of us kids could swim.
Stealing Jackdaw eggs or their young was a different kettle of fish because Jackdaws would have a go at you. Most springtime's I tried to bring up a baby Jackdaw but always failed.
Later as summer came nearer there was always a lot more to do. Climbing trees, making bows and arrows or catapults or perhaps going fishing. It was all very good fun and us kids would sit there in the grass at the pond, up near the railway station, and dream of catching a Pike.
Then tiring of not catching any big fish, we would go and stand up on the railway bridge. The bridge was over the train line. It was the Great Western railway station and we would see who could throw a stone down the funnels of passing trains! I can still see those very red angry faces turned up at us as we pelted stones at the engine as it roared past below us.
Then around July time just a few weeks before the summer holidays the first of the small dark red apples would appear on the orchard trees. We would eat them long before any were ripe, taking shirtfull's of those tiny delicious apples to school. The first ones you ate always gave you the guts ache but your belly soon got use to them.
Poor old Franky Herman had an orchard in East Hanney that had these very early apple trees growing in it. The orchard was not far from the school and he probably lost fifty percent of his early apples to us kids.
Then as late summer came there was always a glut of all sorts of fruit that we pillaged all of the time, apples, pears, plums in nearby orchards. In peoples gardens there were gooseberries, black and red currants and of course along the lanes and roadsides loads of wild blackberries.
In the summer school holidays we would all go to a large copse of ash and willow trees that grew in the orchard opposite Mr Curries house. We would find a sturdy sapling and a group of us would climb the young tree, all together.
The sheer weight of five or six kids was sufficient to cause the crown of the tree to droop down near to the ground. Once the top of the tree was at ground level one of us would tie the top of the tree to the trunk of another tree at ground level.
One kid would stay in the top of the tied down sapling and the rest would then let it go. The rope would be released and with a mighty 'whoosh' the tree would straighten its self up, the 'rider' would hang on for dear life as he went flying through the air.
One particular time the rider went up in the air with the tree but to our dismay had let go and so of course, kept on going. When he finally landed on the ground one of his knees came up under his chin knocking him out and also causing him to nearly bite his tongue right off.
Well there was blood everywhere! Someone said he was dead so we all ran away! Lucky for the lad one girl told her mum so they got him to hospital where he stayed for a long time.
Sometimes we went swimming. We called it swimming but I don't think anyone could actually swim. We bathed in the brook when we were very young. Then later on it was at a bend in the brook on Carters farm. It was a deep waterhole where the water was about four feet deep. The banks were of sticky gray clay.
Both boys and girls often went in the water with nothing on. This was mainly because we had no swimming costumes or for that matter any towels. A few girls would keep their voluminous bloomers on. It was all good fun, but it was rare, for it had to be warm enough to venture into the cold water even on a hot day.
Then there was the big scare that you could catch the dreaded disease called polio. It was said one could catch it just from getting wet! So that scare quickly stopped any more swimming.
Whilst out playing with my peers I could forget my woes at home. By now I had many chores. I had to pluck the feathers from about four dead chickens every Friday night as Grans was dressing poultry all the time now for the local pub. I got landed with the job of picking up the dead roosters from Mr Walters.
I got to keep the chickens feet, which I use to swap with the village kids for sweets! The chicken feet were complete with the sinews so when you pulled these, you could make the individual toes open and shut.
On the way home from school one day I found a nest with perhaps ten chicken eggs in it. I told Grans about my find and she promptly told me to bring the eggs home and to make sure I wasn't seen by anyone. I did so, making Grans so pleased that she cooked me one for my tea.
Well the chicken that had laid the eggs never laid anymore in the same spot but because I had pleased Grans so much, and thinking the thoughts of more tea-time eggs to come, I started to steal eggs from the chicken shed of the owner of the original lot of eggs.
Even at the age of nine years I wasn't dumb enough to take too many. Usually I stole about five eggs a week. One day I was doing just that while coming home for dinner from school one day I scrambled down the bank with eggs in both hands. Standing there watching me was Dawn, the chicken owners daughter. I was so scared, thinking she would tell on me, but I don't think she ever did!
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