In Wales again

It was some hours before we finally arrived in Llanharan. This time our reception was quite hostile, which was understandable after the way Mum had whisked us off without telling anybody.

At first, no-one wanted to help us find billets, and Mum started to get worried as she dare not take us back to London. Apart from the danger, she would have to face the anger of our Dad. After speaking to the billeting officer again, and explaining how bad the raids were in London, he said he would try and sort something out for us. He told us to wait in the village hall until he came back. On his return, he said to Mum that Mrs Davies was willing to have Lil and me back, providing there were no more complaints. My sisters, Mary and Kath were found new lodgings. Mum had to accept these arrangements as there was no alternative. Lil said: ”Mrs Davies is only taking us back for the money.” Mum was very cross with Lil and said: ”Just be quiet will you, I have enough to put up with without you making matters worse.” So it was all settled, and Mum returned to London.

Once again Lil and I had to make the best of living with Mrs Davies. The house was just as dirty and the food was still very poor, but to her credit she never mentioned how we had previously walked out. Everything in the village was so peaceful and normal after being in London, and we soon fell into the old routine at school. My friends found it hard to believe me when I told them about the air-raids, and how we had to spend the nights down the air-raid shelter. As the weeks passed by the raids in London faded from my memory, and the war seemed a long way away.

We had been back in Llanharan for some months, when one day our Dad met us from school. It was lovely to see him. We were all very surprised when he told us that he had come to Llanharan to find somewhere for the whole family to live together.

Dad explained that the raids were getting worse in London, and Hackney, being near the docks, was particularly vulnerable. Because of his bad health, Dad could not be drafted into the forces.

He had volunteered to be an air-raid warden but was not accepted, so there was no point in staying in London. He was worried about the safety of Mum and our two brothers, and had decided that we might as well all be together, if possible.

After making some enquiries in the village about housing, Dad was advised to go to Cowbridge which was about thirty five miles away, where the council offices were. It was late in the day by now, so Dad said he would find somewhere to sleep for the night, and catch the early bus in the morning, which he did. We expected him to be back by the time we came out of school, but there was no sign of him. Lil said that she was worried about him being away so long, but there was no way of getting in touch with Dad, we could only wait for his return.

When he finally arrived back, we were all shocked to see that his left arm was in plaster. Although he looked quite ill and tired out, nevertheless, he appeared very pleased with himself. Lil made him a hot drink and something to eat, and the four of us gathered around Dad to hear what had happened in Cowbridge. On arriving in Cowbridge he had made his way to the council offices. Once there, he was directed to the housing department which was very busy and Dad had to wait a long time to be interviewed. The clerk listened to his request for housing, but explained that there was no accommodation available for a family. At this, our Dad replied that he was not leaving, and would sit there all day until they found somewhere for his family to live.

Then, according to Dad, the clerk left the office and returned with another man. They then proceeded to manhandle him out of the room. The housing department was situated on the first floor and reached by a steep flight of stairs and somehow, Dad had fallen down the stairs and ended up in hospital with a broken arm. Dad accused the two men of pushing him down the stairs. Knowing what a temper our Dad had, we thought it more likely that he had lashed out at the men, and lost his balance. Nevertheless, by the time he returned from the hospital, we had been allocated a farmhouse to live in. They obviously did not want our Dad to cause any more trouble. No wonder he looked pleased with himself.

The next day Dad went to pick up the keys so we could view the house. The farmhouse belonged to Lady Blandy-Jenkins, who lived in a large manor house half a mile from the village. She had been persuaded to let us live there for the duration of the war. We went with Dad as far as the big iron gates, then he told us to wait there while he went to the house. The manor house was at the end of a long drive, and from where we stood we could just see the lovely gardens and fountain. Dad disappeared from our view for sometime, and when he appeared again he was holding a bunch of keys. Dad said the house was another half a mile along the same road, so off we set, eager to see our new home.

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