I was twelve, coming up to thirteen, during that summer of 1939. There was an air of excitement in The Village, amongst the girls anyway; I daresay the staff were more worried and apprehensive than excited!

We had no access to a daily newspaper or the news bulletins on the wireless; our main source of information about the current affairs in Europe was our Headmistress, Miss Winter. I can see her now: a slim, gracious lady with silver hair, standing on the platform of the assembly hall at Mossford School. She told us who the Nazi's were, who Hitler was and what he stood for, and what was going on in Poland and Czechoslovakia. Whenever anything of importance occurred that Miss Winter thought we should know about, she would talk to the entire school after morning prayers.

When the threat of war became more imminent, preparations were made to evacuate the entire village some 1,200 children; what an enormous undertaking! During early summer I remember a number of foreign girls appeared in The Village and we were told they were refugees. I cannot remember what nationality they were or even what cottages they occupied, but I remember we were not allowed to use the swimming pool because they had taken it over! We were all issued with kit‑bags into which were put essential clothing and toilet requirements.

During the summer holidays we were told not to wander from the vicinity of our cottage, as the order to evacuate may come at any moment. I was in "Hood Cottage", so we had the green to play on. Each cottage had an assembly point at Mossford School to which we were to make our way immediately the church bells were rung. Our cottage was to assemble in Miss Haine's classroom.

All through the month of August, as we played in the sunshine, we listened for the summons of the bells. At last, on 1st September, the bells rang out and we all made our way, complete with kit bags, to our respective assembly points.

We did not realise it at the time, but those bells were also sounding the death knell of The Village, as we had known it, for it was never the same again!

My nine‑year‑old sister, Nancy, was in Sweetbrier Cottage; I wanted to say good‑bye to her, so I ran across the hall to the classroom where I knew she would be. “Bye, Nancy," I said, “ I expect we will all be back soon. See you then". But I did not see her again for five years.

Somehow we could not believe we were leaving The Village permanently. The year before, in September 1938, we had all been evacuated because of the Munich crisis, but we were away for only two weeks. I had gone to Gloucester then, and had been billeted on a farm and had had a wonderful time.

I wondered where we were going this time and decided that if it were to the same area I would ask if I could return to Mrs. Luckett's farm.

We were each given a bag in which was an orange, apple, some nuts and a bun, We were told to put these in our kit bag and not to eat anything from the bag until given permission, as no one knew exactly where or when we would be having our next meal!

We all marched in large but orderly groups to the main gates of The Village. Miss Ardley, our cottage mother, and Miss Cornelius, Hood Cottage Auntie, were in charge of our group. We were shepherded on to a bus and driven to Ilford Station. It was all tremendously exciting. We big girls took care of the little ones, carrying their bags for them and protecting them from the crowds of girls milling around. From Ilford Station we went into London, and from Liverpool Street we journeyed up into Suffolk. I think there were about fifty girls in our group, aged from 5 to 13. At last we arrived at our destination Stowmarket and clambered out of the train on to the platform.

It was early afternoon, one of those warm, late summer days we had been travelling since 9 am. and were by now hot, tired and hungry. We were marshalled into a long crocodile and marched off to the town centre. There was an open market place here, with a wide pavement on one side, and when we were all assembled we were given permission to open our kit bags, take out the bag of food and eat. None of us needed to be told twice!

It was a Friday and the town was busy with people doing their week end shopping, many of whom stopped and stared at us. “I feel like a slave about to be sold to the highest bidder, "I said to my friend, Vera Smith. “Come along, girls," said mother, tie up your kitbags and get into line, we are off now." Off to where, I wondered.

We marched about half a mile and arrived at a large hut made of corrugated steel "the tin hut” as we called it from then on. The air in "the tin hut" was hot and sultry. We were all tired and very thirsty, and when we were given permission to go to the little kitchen for a drink there was such a rush to get to the tap!

Some local women were in the hut, expecting our arrival. They had lists of addresses of families who would accept evacuees. We were divided into small groups and each group was to be escorted by one of the local ladies.

Before leaving “the tin hut", mother gave us a lecture on the importance of behaving ourselves, taking the little ones, and said we were to come to "the tin Hut” every morning at nine o'clock for school lessons.

Vera and I went off with eight girls; we followed the escort who would stop at a gate every now and again, and say "One girl here" or "Two girls here." It was a long walk, up a hill, but when we got to the top of the hill I was glad I had not been billeted down in the town. Up here there was a long row of houses with fields in front and fields behind; the corn in the field opposite the houses was golden and “ripe unto harvest". It rippled in the soft breeze and with the scarlet poppies around the perimeter it was a lovely sight. I made up my mind to be selected for one of these houses and asked Vera if she would like us to be billeted together along here. She agreed it would be nice, so when we paused at a house and our escort said, "Two girls here", Vera and I stepped out of the small remaining group and said, "Us, please".

Mrs. Love was standing at her front door to welcome us. She was a middle aged lady whom, we discovered, was "prim and proper" but she was a dear! Mr. Love was a signalman on the railway. They were both very kind to Vera and I, but we had to behave Mrs. Love would stand no nonsense. They became life long friends to me.

We had nine Happy months living a near normal family life at Stowmarket and then to our dismay, we were told we were leaving to return to an institution.

In June 1940, we said our tearful farewells to all the kind friends we had made and were shepherded off to High Broom, Crowborough, Sussex.

Marjorie Stokes (NEE O'Rourke)
Hood Cottage.

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