FLORENCE MYNARD’S NOTES (UNDATED)
(Only minimal editing applied)
There was talk of war and evacuation, (presumably in 1939) but to an 8-year-old living in the East End of London, the next meal was more important to me.
We were a family of nine, 7 children and Mum and Dad. My sister Joan was not yet conceived, till the September. Rumours of war did nothing to spoil their Sunday afternoon recreation.
Mum had an old sewing machine which she was busy making a kind of hessian bag, I remember it was cream in colour but as she ran out of one cotton any colour would do. So, on this day my sister (Frances) and I had to get to the station we had a bag of many colours and my brother (Les) had the only suit case, being the eldest.
What can I say about our life in London before the war? It was one long struggle for my parents.
I remember they had a long tin tub poked under their bed full of old shoes. They didn’t seem to fit any body, so I didn’t see what use they were. But come Friday night they were all tipped out in a heap for us all to have a bath. My sisters and I used to play in the water till it was stone cold, and then our next treat would be fish and chips and ice cream from the Italians on the corner.
We always seemed to be hungry, but when we eventually caught the train and came to Olney, food was the last thing on our minds. We all just wanted to go home. My brother Les was 11, I was 8 and Frances was 5 years old. Our farthest journey had been to Southend for the day, so we were quite overwhelmed with it all.
With tickets around our necks, I remember a lady coming up to me, reading it and saying you and your sister must come with me. A complete stranger. I didn’t want to go with her and I promptly told my teachers so, who of course were in charge of us. No avail. Frances and I had to go and we were rather bewildered. Never seen a bathroom before so that cheered us up, but when it was time for bed we sat at the top of the stairs and I told Frances to go and tell them we wanted to go home. We only lasted there for about a week when we were taken to another billet which was a big draper’s shop on the market place in Olney.
They must have given one look at our clothes and despaired because Mrs Garner, the shops owner’s wife, took us to their warehouse at the back of the shop and rigged us out with new outfits. Even now when I smell new clothes it takes me back to that day. Another amazing thing to us was they had a maid called Mary,
We never saw into their bathroom because the maid used to have a tub in the outhouse and we had our bath in that.
Dinner in the dining room, tea in the drawing room, with real butter in a glass dish. It was all magical but at the end of the day we still wanted to go home. To what, one living room, cooker on top of the landing and a bedroom shared with my four other sisters and sometimes with my mother, if she had fallen out with my father, which was often, because he liked a drink at the weekend and when the rent was due that was not on!
Mr and Mrs Garner were an old couple, their family were all grown up, and now they had with two young children to look after, especially coming from London with a different way of life. It was all a bit too much for them.
Our bedroom was in the attic next to the maid’s room. As soon as they put us to bed, we used to creep out into the next room which held a magnificent dolls house. I used to lift off the front and we used to play with the contents till it got dark. The front fell over one night and that was the end of that!
They were big chapel people but whatever religion the people were, we had to attend, although we were, Church of England. Mr and Mrs Garner had their own pew and looking back we were privileged to have sat with them, which being children we did not appreciate. Sunday afternoon we had to keep quiet and read our comics and we were allowed one sweet. As soon as Mary (the maid?) had gone to bed, we used to slide down the long banisters. One Sunday we found where the sweets were hidden and had another. Then we got the bored and crept up to the maid’s room, and saw her sitting up in bed reading a book. I said I would tell Mr and Mrs Garner that she was not asleep and got chased down stairs, some weeks after that we got moved again.
What a difference, Mr and Mrs Mayo’s little terraced house up an entry. By this time the little ‘raggerty’ evacuees from London were used to better things. He was a barber working locally and his wife seemed a bit backward. They had one daughter who was a little older than us, but she needed to be in charge. Her mother used to make jam tarts every day without fail. When the unbleached flour was used in the war, there was a terrific row because Mr Mayo thought it was her fault. One day she served up a stew that had gone bad. She probably wanted more looking after than we did.
My brother meanwhile was staying with a young couple with a baby. He joined the church choir and seemed well looked after. He also kept an eye on us.
I must say our teachers were very good to us. In the bad winter of 1940 they saw to it that we had gloves and scarfs and even nightdresses when it was our birthdays, of course we had to carry our gas masks everywhere with us. I banged mine about so much that in the end it went rusty, so I had a replacement.
The Mayo’s then decided to move house to the other end of Olney, near the railway station. I don’t think they wanted to take us along, but the powers that be persuaded them otherwise so we all moved once more.
The new house still only had two bedrooms and every fortnight an old aunt would come to stop and insisted on sleeping in the middle of Frances and I, but only at the weekends thank goodness.
One evening when we had gone to bed Mr Mayo called me down and said “Look what your sister has done”. Under the cushion was the remains of her rice pudding and under the ledge on the table were her crusts. I sat next to her at meal times and never saw her do a thing. Frances would also come down stairs with the ladies’ beads on and say they were her own.
The teachers must have had an eye on us because it was decided that Mrs Mayo was not competent in looking after two boisterous evacuees, so we were moved on once more. Frances to one home and I went to another, that was the first time we had been parted in our lives and we didn’t like it,
How different our last evacuee homes turned out to be, Frances went to live with three old people and their granddaughter and I went to a homely house around West Street. Mr and Mrs Megeary were a kind couple and I used to share a bed with their grown-up daughter who had a boyfriend in the air force. At night she would sit up in bed with her pyjamas on and hair net over her curls and write to him. His photo was on the shelf and I shared her hopes and fears about the war, and when a stray bomb dropped over the river near the railway lines.
We had relatives come to stay and things were a bit cramped for a while, but I was used to that so never took any notice. They were Church of England so I used to attend with the girl next door who also had evacuees billeted on them, Some Sunday evenings I used to sit in her home while the grown ups were out. Her old Aunt used to knit for the forces, gloves and balaclavas etc. She used steel needles which we would put sultana on the end of and toast. They used to stick to the ends and make an awful mess and I wondered how she coped with them afterwards.
The war was continuing and the East End of London was getting dangerous for my mother with two small children to cope with, and when the docks got a direct hit the welfare committee decided they should also be evacuated with us in Olney. Our mother was lucky enough to rent a small cottage and we all immediately went to our new home.
So that ended one chapter of our old lives.