WWII: Evacuated to Draycott because Mr Hitler ate children for his lunch

Happy together: back, from left – brothers Bert, Gordon and Les Whitehurst, and, front, Ray and Reg

Ray Whitehurst, of Chellaston, was just five when he was evacuated to Draycott at the start of the Second World War. For him, it was not a very pleasant experience and he eventually persuaded his parents to let him return home. But there were some bright spots – as he recalls here with remarkable clarity, 67 years on.

THE month was September and the year was 1939 and to a young child, five years old to be exact, the Second World War was really confusing.

At that age, I probably wasn’t interested anyway but being the youngest in the family, with nine other siblings (five brothers and four sisters), my only information came from them.

The siblings who were over 12 years old didn’t tell me anything, which left only my sister Jean (aged 10) and brother Reg (aged eight) to keep me informed.

So, when Bert (aged 12), Jean, Reg and myself were told we were being evacuated from our house on Osmaston Road, I had no idea why.

I didn’t even know what evacuation meant until my mother explained that Bert was going to live in Borrowash and Jean, Reg and I would be staying in Draycott.

She explained that young children were being moved out of towns to the countryside because Hitler and Germany were now at war with us and we might get bombed. It still didn’t mean much to me but if Mam said this was going to happen then it would. Probably my friends were right when they said that Hitler hated small children and ate them at mealtimes.

The reality of evacuation came the next day when, having said our farewells to the rest of the family, the four of us were taken by mother to our school in Reginald Street.

Arriving outside the school, we were amazed to see hundreds of children and their parents standing on the pavement. Spread down the road, parked at the kerb-side, were many buses and coaches displaying various destinations? Mother spoke to one of the teachers organising the departures and Bert was despatched to a Borrowash bus.

After saying goodbye to him, we then proceeded to a Draycott bus, kissed mother farewell and climbed aboard.

Once the coach was fully loaded, it set off, all the children on board frantically waving to the parents left standing on the pavement.

While other things may have happened during that 30-45 minute ride to Draycott, my only recollection of the journey, some 67 years later, is of seeing the River Derwent as we passed over the bridge on Raynesway. Draycott seemed such a long way from home to a five-year-old.

When we arrived, we disembarked from the coach outside the schoolhouse and were paraded until our names were called out.

We were then ushered to an adult, who was to become our foster-parent for the duration. How long that duration was going to be nobody really knew. Jean, Reg and I were among the last to be dispersed as, being a group of three, we did not want to become separated.

Finally, the three of us were placed into a car and taken to a semi-detached house on the Derby Road, heading back towards Derby.

On arrival at the house, we were told to take off our shoes by a rather stern lady while we were ushered through the front door, then the lounge and into the kitchen.

There, we were told to put our shoes back on as we were marshalled into the back garden to sit on the back lawn.

Even at the age of five, I did not like the lady who had taken us into her house. She was very strict and a bit like an old school marm.

While we waited outside, all she offered us to eat was an apple each. I can remember clearly that Reg whispered to Jean and I that the apples might be poisoned, so we didn’t eat them and buried them in the flower beds.

After about two hours, we were called back into the house, told to remove our shoes and then ushered out again through the front door.

There we re-shod and were told to get back into her car, after which we were driven to another home.

To this day, I shall never understand why we were taken to the first house. Was it just a temporary stop until they found someone who could accommodate us or did she have second thoughts? She might have thought that three children would spoil her spotless house.

Either way, I am glad we didn’t stay there.

The second house was a large cottage and more homely. The lady of the house, whose husband was away in the Forces, already had a family.

We were treated as part of the family. At night, Jean, Reg and I slept in our own room in a large double bed and life soon got back to normal in our new surroundings.

We attended the local school, as did the rest of the evacuees, and we were soon accepted and part of the local scene.

One distinct memory of Draycott School is of being taught the poem Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat Where Have You Been.

I also recall playing in the fields and down by the canal and river. It was by the canal that I learned not to run my thumb down the sides of rush leaves. The pain was awful and my thumb poured with blood. My sister, Jean, had to tie her handkerchief around it to stop the flow.

The mill on the main road is also dominant in my mind. To a small child, it seemed such a large structure, particularly the front with the clock tower.

We also spent hours looking over the railway bridge at Breaston. We used to watch the trains, laden with tanks and carriers from the Ordnance Depot at Chilwell, passing below.

Our stay at the second house was all too short. We were moved to other accommodation after about a fortnight as the lady, being on her own with us and with her own family to look after, found it was too much to handle.

The new accommodation was on the main road in the terraced houses opposite the mill.

We had to be split up as a family group. Jean and I were accommodated with Mrs K, while Reg was next door with a Mrs A.

This accommodation, while cosy, was not as inviting as the previous house. Mrs K had three children all around our age and they obviously did not welcome the intrusion of Jean or me.

They would act normal in front of their mother, but would make life difficult for us when she was not around.

I know we were not angels ourselves but we were always to blame if anything went wrong or was damaged in the house and they usually had all the privileges.

One I recall in particular was them having a light in their room when they retired to bed at night, while Jean and myself would have to undress in the dark.

Reg had similar problems. Mrs A had one son the same age as Reg. They were always fighting and Reg was always to blame. But we blended in with the other local children and we were invited to a birthday party of a girl who lived in nearby Fowler Street.

This party stands out in my mind for it was the first time I had ever been to a party at someone else’s house.

I never really settled in Mrs K’s house, probably because I was put on by her youngest son (he was a year older than me), who would not let me play with his toys but always took mine off me.

Being only five, I also probably missed my Mam and Dad. I always wanted to go back home with them when they visited us on the odd weekends. I used to fret for days after every visit.

I finally reached my breaking point just after Christmas when Mrs K’s son smashed up a toy fire engine that my parents had bought for me. When my parents came to see us again, there no way I was going to let them leave without me. I would risk Mr Hitler eating me up but I was going home.

It is strange but I can remember in detail most of the journey back home. But my most vivid memory is of two golden pigs above a butcher’s shop in the Market Place, near the bus-stop where we had to catch a trolleybus to finish our journey home. I must have been contented!

It wasn’t long afterwards that Jean and Reg followed me home. Bert came back about two months later.

While we were away from home, Derby had relatively few air-raids but not long after our return, the town received its fair share of war damage and misery from night-time raids.

Thinking back, I feel glad that I was too young to understand the evacuation episode and all the consequences of war. Over the next five years, as I grew up, I was to learn a lot more – until peace finally came.

No! Mr Hitler and his men didn’t come and eat all the children up but he certainly spoilt our early childhood, though we did get by.

One mystery remains in my mind from the war: Did any of the pips in those apples we planted in that lady’s flower beds ever strike and grow into an apple tree?

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