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I was just ten when war broke out and living at that time with my parents in Abbey Wood, London, SE 2. My father was then working for Vidor Batteries at Burndepts in Erith, Kent.
Strange isn't it, from a baker's roundsman with a horse and cart in 1929 to a person with a specialised knowledge of dry cell batteries that was to help in the coming war effort just ten years later.
He had been exempted from War Service with the armed services because of this knowledge, although throughout the war years he was always expressing his guilt that he wasn't serving with the Forces.
My mother told me in about 1943, when he was working in Scotland, he had in fact volunteered and joined the army, but the authorities took one look at his identity card which was stamped 'exempt war service' and told him to go home and do what he had been nominated for.
For me in the junior school at Bostall Lane it was the beginning of an adventure that, I am ashamed to say, I thoroughly enjoyed over the coming years, other than being evacuated of course.
I've spoken to others of my age group and they all tell me that they shared my enthusiasm and felt the same way. I think most of us were disappointed that the war was over before we had had a chance to 'join up'; in later years however I realised just what stupid thinking that was.
'The day war broke out, my mother said to me', was an expression by Rob Wilton, a radio comedian of the time, and whenever I hear an old recording of that phrase my mind goes back to that fateful day of 3rd September 1939.
Chamberlain's voice was on the radio, finishing his speech with, as best I remember, 'consequently this country is at war with Germany'. Almost immediately the sirens blared out, the local air raid wardens were running up and down the streets shouting 'take cover, take cover' all trying to blow their whistles at the same time.
One idiot air raid warden was whirling his rattle round and round which immediately brought panic, as it was the signal for a gas attack. No one in the street had their gas masks with them so were knocking on doors to be let in to shelter away from the gas attack. People learnt a lot that day.
'The day war broke out, my mother said to me' I'll never forget that phrase, my mother said to me 'tomorrow you are going to be evacuated and I want you to be brave'. Be brave, I was bloody annoyed, I was being sent away from all the action that was to come that all the people in authority had been telling us about.
Bombs, gas attacks, highly probable threat of invasion and I was being sent off to some unknown place in the country away from it all. I remember I promised myself then that someone was going to pay for this no matter what. Well, someone did pay and unfortunately it was me, a couple months later. However, I digress.
The second day of war dawned and at the crack of dawn what seemed like hundreds of kids and their parents (other than mine) were on Abbey Wood Station awaiting the steam train that was to take us to our unknown
destinations.
Came a voice, 'Brian Backhouse, what are you doing'? What I was doing was peeing on the lines hoping that a teacher would say how naughty I was and send me home to my mother as we had agreed that I would go to the station without her.
Not to be, 'Put it away and get back away from the front of the platform, the train is coming in.,' continued the teacher. Not my favourite Mrs Locke from my infant days but an absolute tartar of a woman called Mrs Pickering, who I swear to this day absolutely hated me.
There wasn't a day that had gone past when I didn't get two strokes of the cane on each hand from that woman -- I see her now, large with a blousy billowing skirt that she invariably tripped over, always blaming me for the trip.
She had what I called 'kipper feet' encased in what appeared to be Thames barges. Thick heels and soles that always made a stomping sound when she put each foot to the ground.
Shorts hadn't got zips in those days, just buttons that were always difficult to undo or do up so it was always a question of lifting one's trouser leg of the shorts to pee.
'I haven't finished miss,' I said. At this point I had to make a hurried retreat from the edge as the locomotive came hissing into view, which meant that I now had a wet leg, and for this I vowed to get even with the Mrs Pickering.
Some six hours later we huffed and puffed into Maidstone Station, didn't know the name of it then of course because all station signs had been taken down, to confuse the enemy we were told later.
Six hours cooped up on a train with no toilets was a recipe for disaster and I was glad that I had pee'd before getting on the train, other than a slightly wet leg at the beginning that had now dried, I was far better off than those, who unable to retain their bodily fluid, now had very wet shorts, or knickers in the case of the girls.
I remember we were met by women who were dressed in green, who, all without exception, seemed to loom as enormous green dragon shapes wearing funny hats with green, some red, bands around the hat. They made Mrs Pickering look slim and feminine looking.
I heard one say, 'How disgusting, most of them have wet themselves and they smell.'
We were made to stand in lines on the platform with these dragons huffing and puffing around us, making all sorts of important noises and sounds. 'Don 't like the look of this one,' said one pointing to me 'his socks are round his ankles, his cap is skew whiff and his tie isn't done up.'
I stared, and if looks could have killed she would have dropped down on the spot. She glowered at me, 'We'll send him to Mr and Mrs Green,' she muttered, 'they'll knock him into shape.' It was the emphasis on 'knock' that made my ears prick up.
All thoughts of revenge on the Mrs Pickering evaporated immediately and my thoughts turned to how I could torment this person who, to my mind, was going to keep me from going home.
'Mrs Pearce,' called one of the green-skirted ladies, 'the bus is just going to Loose and if this boy is going to go to Mr and Mrs Green he had better get on now.'
'Get him on,' snapped Mrs Pearce, who was by now my most hated enemy of all time, 'Go on boy, get along,' she said, pushing me on the shoulder. I pretended to stumble and lose my balance, in doing so I was able to bring the hell of my foot onto her instep that made her cry out in pain. 'That's for that old cow who said we stink,' I thought as I was pushed onto the bus.
Unfortunately I was to meet Mrs Pearce a little later in my evacuee days and that was to nearly cost me my life.
That, however, was in the future, and my mind just then was thinking of the encounter to come with the dreaded Mr & Mrs Green.
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