She had hated it there. The journey to Dover was too far and too expensive for her parents and sisters to visit her much, so she had often felt lonely. However, her convalescence did leave her with one lovely memory. It had been a Sunday afternoon and, while she was sleeping, a nun came in and woke her by gently placing a baby on her bed. A sleepy Mary looked down to see that it was her sister, Kath, then only a few months old. Mary was delighted to see her again and knew that it meant that her parents were there also. As she sat up and looked across the room, she saw them smiling at her from the doorway.
During her two months in Dover, Mary was fed so well that when she returned home she had put on so much weight that most of her clothes were too small for her! As she sat on the train now, in the back of her mind she was hoping against hope for something good to come of this latest upheaval.
Another year, before little Anne was born, the charitable Bermondsey Medical Mission in Grange Road, which provided medical care for women and children in the area, had sent the five Jarman sisters to the seaside town of Ramsgate on the south coast when they all caught whooping cough. Annie had gone with them too and they had stayed with a kindly lady who provided them with nourishing food and, if they were spending the day on the beach, a picnic of sandwiches, cakes and drinks, much to their delight.
They loved playing on the beach, feeling the sand between their toes and the tickle of cold seawater licking at their ankles. They soon found out that their pale, urban complexions were unsuitable for long periods in the sun, however, when two-year-old Pat, to her painful cost, sunburnt her arms. They’d all been excited by their countryside stay, though, and now, even for the nervous Sheila, there was a sense that they were once again on the cusp of a huge adventure.
As the train full of evacuees made its way southwards, Pat was called over to the window by Kath.
‘Look, Pat,’ said her older sister, taking on the air of a teacher instructing a pupil. ‘Cows.’
Pat joined Kath at the window, which was framed with rust-coloured grime, and Joan also took a look. They stared out over unfamiliar fields.
‘It’s too warm today but if they lie down, that means it’s going to rain,’ said Joan with some authority.
‘How would they know it’s going to rain?’ asked a puzzled Kath. ‘That can’t be true.’
Annie, sitting beside the girls with a sleeping Anne on her lap, smiled at the familiar banter between the girls. They could always find something to disagree about.
The train stopped eventually at Polegate in Sussex, where the evacuees clambered out like gaggling geese from the back of a truck.
‘Move away from the track!’ shouted a guard over the sound of train doors slamming.
The children looked around quickly, wondering what was coming next. As they were ushered on to the station forecourt, they discovered that this was not the end of their journey. Several coaches were parked there in a line, their drivers chatting together and smoking cigarettes as they stared over at the army of children approaching them.
The teachers met up with the local volunteers and, after a short discussion, names were called out from a list and told to get on to the first coach. The Jarman family stood and observed, waiting to be called. One by one the coaches pulled away, leaving just one. Finally, the Jarmans heard their names announced and they boarded the remaining coach with several other evacuees but, the girls noticed, only a few of their school friends, including the seven Eddicott children and their mother, Mary, who was also a friend of Annie’s. Amidst the strangeness of it all, they were thankful to be with the Eddicotts and the many children huddled together on board the coach.
‘Have something to eat, girls,’ said Annie, once they were on their way. ‘But make sure you save some for later,’ she added, not knowing when their next meal would be.
The coach made its way along quiet, pretty country roads, the children silent now, intrigued to reach their final destination. It was all so very different from London, thought Annie, and then, not for the first time that day, her mind turned to Pierce. What might he be doing right now? And how would he feel when he returned home after work? But then she smiled to herself. He’ll probably be off down the pub!
It was a short coach ride and, after alighting, the girls looked for their other friends but could only see volunteers with armbands, acting as billeting officers, who led them into a stuffy community hall in Summerheath Road, Hailsham.
Annie caught up with Miss Mobbs, a teacher from a school in Rotherhithe, which neighboured Bermondsey. ‘Where’s everyone else? The other coachloads?’ she asked.
‘They’ve gone to Lewes,’ Miss Mobbs replied. ‘This is Hailsham.’
Annie hadn’t considered that the community might be separated. The prospect of being amongst strangers worried her and she felt a churning of anxiety in her tummy.
Inside the hall a variety of people – individual children, siblings and those with mothers – stood in clusters as soft drinks, tea and biscuits were passed around. A steady procession of local homeowners arrived throughout the day, scrutinizing what looked to them like pale, shabby and rather undernourished Londoners. ‘Hosts’ were paid an allowance of 10s 6d per week if they took one child into their home and 8s 6d per week for each extra child. Pretty girls and strong, healthy boys were picked first while grubbier and more sickly looking children were further down the pecking order. Annie spotted how it worked straight away.
‘It’s just like a cattle market in here,’ she muttered to Mary Eddicott. Like Annie, Mary too was determined to keep her children together, and both women knew that would be a challenge.
‘I could maybe take these two,’ said one middle-aged woman to a billeting officer, as she eyed up Mary and Joan. ‘If they can muck in on the farm,’ she added.
The officer looked at Annie expectantly.
‘We’ll all be staying together,’ said Annie determinedly.
‘I can’t take all of you,’ said the woman, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
‘We’re a family. We can’t be split up,’ insisted Annie.
As the day wore on, it remained a similar story. If the girls didn’t like the look of anyone, they would try to hide behind each other, desperate not to make eye contact. When the skies began to darken, and fewer and fewer children were left in the hall, it became evident that nobody wanted to take in such a large family, especially not one with the mother in tow.
What had started out as an exciting adventure for the girls had become decidedly less so as they became increasingly tired, hungry and irritable. ‘How much longer, Mum?’ they complained. ‘I’m sleepy.’
Towards the end of the afternoon there were just three large families left in the hall – the Jarmans, the Eddicotts and their other friends from Bermondsey, Hannah Philpott and her seven children.
If Annie was maintaining a bold front, Mary, usually the most optimistic and the biggest giggler of the sisters, was starting to worry.
‘What if no one wants us, Mum?’ she said. ‘Maybe we will have to split up.’
Annie, true to her nature, remained firm. ‘I said we’re staying together and I meant it,’ she replied.
Back home in Bermondsey, Mary had always rued the fact that she – like her sisters and their father – had bright-red hair. Not because of any notion of vanity but because it made her stand out and was instantly recognizable when being naughty – usually nothing much more than giggling or talking in class. Now, ironically, when Mary and her sisters needed to catch people’s attention the most, they were being ignored.
The afternoon had started with the girls – under their mother’s strict instructions – doing their best to look presentable, smile and not fidget, but the younger sisters, Kath and Pat, were becoming restless and hungry, and just wanted to go back home. It wasn’t fun any more. Their anxiety increased further when the Philpotts were led away to be given accommodation in vacant rooms over an empty shop. That left just two families.
With no ta
kers, the Jarmans and Eddicotts were led to the church hall next to the grand red-brick, three-storey, seventeenth-century vicarage, which had a pretty garden and a sweeping drive. Inside the hall, fifteen camp beds had been set out along the walls.
‘It looks like a hospital!’ Annie joked. It wasn’t ideal but she was grateful to have somewhere, anywhere, for the family to sleep that night, whatever the following morning might bring.
‘Is this where we’ll be staying?’ asked Kath in wide-eyed wonderment.
‘It’s just temporary, Kath. Until they find us somewhere else,’ Joan assured her. ‘A proper home,’ she added, although she was beginning to have her doubts.
They were supplied with tins of corned beef, potatoes, rice, hot chocolate and some rather hard biscuits. The nourishment was most welcome and, despite so many children in such a confined space, it was easy to get comfortable and relax – after such a long day they were all exhausted. There was little chatter that evening as they got ready for bed but there were plenty of yawns, and it wasn’t long before everyone fell asleep.
Back in Bermondsey, Pierce had just returned home from the pub and was in the kitchen making a cup of tea. He picked up the government leaflet about evacuation, entitled ‘Why and How’. Perusing the pages, he slowed down at a section sub-headed ‘Work Must Go On’. It read, ‘For most of us who do not go off to the Fighting Forces, our duty will be to stand by our jobs.’ It went on, ‘There can be no question of wholesale clearance’ because ‘We are not going to win a war by running away.’
Standing alone in the silent kitchen, he wondered where Annie and his daughters had run away to and whether they would ever come back.
Annie and the girls awoke to another hot and sunny day. Outside, the children thought how different everything looked here. The trees, country roads and paths, and the fields in the distance were in sharp contrast to the grey houses and maze of streets of Bermondsey. It was so quiet too. Dockhead was a hive of activity and noise. Running along the Thames, incorporating London Bridge and Tower Bridge, it had thriving factories and food markets as a consequence of the passage of ships importing and exporting goods up the river.
The girls spent the day playing in the grounds around the church hall in Hailsham, and also walked through the cemetery of the picture-postcard St Mary’s Church, a charming structure built of stone with a red-tiled roof and a tower to one end, dating back to the early fifteenth century. While the children amused themselves, the mothers sat in the sunshine, discussing what the future might hold for them. War seemed a million miles away from this tranquil and pretty little corner of England.
‘Hard to believe it’s even going to happen when you’re sitting here, all peaceful,’ said Annie.
‘I was just thinking the same,’ said Mary Eddicott. ‘Maybe it’ll all come to nothing and we can go home.’
Annie glanced towards Kath and Pat, who were lying on the grass, playing with a delighted Anne. ‘I hope so,’ she whispered. ‘For their sake.’
The two mothers felt increasingly anxious about their fate as the day wore on. Despite regular visits from local volunteers, who shared kind words along with food and drink, it was to be another night on their camp beds, still wondering where they would end up.
The following morning was a Sunday and Annie made sure that her girls were up and ready for mass at the little Catholic church, St Wilfrid’s, on South Road. Neither Annie or Pierce went to church themselves, but they insisted that their daughters attended on a regular basis. The girls were only too aware that if they skipped mass they would face interrogation from the nuns at school, who would ask probingly exactly what the priest had talked about in his sermon that particular week.
St Wilfrid’s was only a short distance from the church hall and the girls enjoyed exploring some of the village en route. As they walked along country roads dotted with houses of various architectural styles, including red-brick farm dwellings, mock Tudor houses, and more contemporary detached and semi-detached homes with bay windows, the girls were amazed at how much space there was in the countryside.
The red-brick Catholic church was small and unimposing, just one room with wooden pews, seating fewer than fifty people, and a simple altar. Nevertheless, the girls were nervous, so they were pleased – and relieved – to see that the Philpotts had arrived before them. Hannah Philpott was a very religious woman and not one to miss mass just because she had been uprooted from her home and a world war was looming. Indeed, it was all the more reason to go.
The evacuees’ presence at church attracted some attention from the local parishioners and the priest welcomed them warmly.
‘I notice some new faces here this morning,’ he said with a smile. ‘How lovely to see you. Welcome. And I hope to see more of you and get to know you all in the coming weeks.’
The girls thought this service much more informal than the ones they were used to back home in the large, imposing, gothic-style Most Holy Trinity Church in Dockhead. They never knew churches like St Wilfrid’s existed and found themselves enjoying the experience, almost able to imagine themselves as part of this new community.
Service over, they were making their way back to the vicarage when, at eleven o’clock, an air-raid siren sounded. Frightened, and imagining that they would be gas-bombed at any moment – as leaflets and posters back in Bermondsey had warned – they ran as fast as they could back to the church hall. They had seen many demonstrations on how to fit their gas masks, but it was the first time they had had to use them, and they found themselves all fingers and thumbs.
‘Come on,’ Annie said, calming the girls down. ‘You remember what to do, don’t you?’
Annie had baby Anne to think about. Parents with children under the age of two were issued with a scary-looking contraption, comprising a steel helmet with a visor for the baby to see through, and Annie had been horrified when first instructed how to use it. The attached canvas section, rubber-coated on the inside, was folded under the baby and fastened underneath with straps while the infant’s legs dangled freely. An asbestos filter on the side of the mask was meant to absorb any poisonous gases that might seep in, and attached to this was a rubber, concertinaed tube which was pumped to provide oxygen.
Annie hated the thought of enclosing her baby in this machine, relying on the pump mechanism to keep her alive, but she knew that it was designed to save lives. So she put Anne in it, as gently as she could, whispering in her daughter’s ear in soothing and reassuring tones to keep her calm.
Then, looking at her two eldest children, her face took on a sombre expression. ‘If anything should happen to me,’ she began, faltering for a moment, before continuing, ‘you must make sure to keep pumping air into the baby’s gas mask. You know how to do it, don’t you?’
Mary and Joan were too frightened to ask quite what she meant about something happening to her, but they nodded. Both were on the verge of tears, but they held them back. Just like their mum, they had to stay strong in front of their younger sisters.
Meanwhile, Hannah Philpott, who never left home without a bottle of holy water, was splashing everyone with it zealously and saying the Hail Mary prayer over and over again. She made them all get on their knees, still wearing their gas masks, and pray to God that He might save them.
‘Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners …’ she intoned enthusiastically, as she continued to spray holy water liberally over the frightened party. She was only interrupted when a church warden entered the hall with a puzzled look on his face.
‘Not to worry,’ he announced. ‘It was just a practice alarm.’
Collective jaws dropped inside the gas masks, then a warm wave of relief flooded over them. There were even a few giggles.
There actually was every reason to worry, though. Unbeknown to them, a few minutes before the siren had sounded, the Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, had made a devastating broadcast to the nation. Speaking from the cabinet room at 10 Downing Street, Chamberlain, who had tried and fa
iled to appease Hitler, had made the fateful announcement that the country was now at war with Germany.
The Jarman sisters had grown up in an unsettled time between the two world wars, when the memories and emotions of those who had lost loved ones during the earlier conflict were still raw. The thought of going through it all again, with husbands and sons being sent off to fight in foreign fields – and the very real possibility of them not returning – was too painful to contemplate.
Pierce had married Ann (Annie) Newland on 21 June 1924, when they were both thirty, at Most Holy Trinity Church in Dockhead, Bermondsey. It was a thriving Catholic parish, as Dockhead was inhabited predominantly by Irish families or their descendants, like the Jarmans, and there were several Catholic schools. Pierce moved in to Annie’s family home – a three-storey terraced Victorian house at 103 Abbey Street – which stood out from others in the street because the front was covered in an impressively verdant Virginia creeper, of which Annie was very proud. Pierce and Annie’s first child, Mary, was born on 2 October of that year.
Annie’s parents, Tom and Kate, lived on the ground floor with Annie’s illiterate brother, Mike, and Kit – the daughter of Annie’s sister, also named Kate. Annie’s mother had taken Kit into her own care from the age of two, believing she wasn’t getting sufficient attention from Annie’s sister, who already had a large family by two different men. On the top floor of the house lived Annie’s other sister Lylie – a pet corruption of Eliza – and her husband, who the girls knew only as Uncle Dot (none of them knew why), and who had lost a leg during the Great War. After Lylie died in 1926, Dot lived upstairs on his own.
The Sisters of Battle Road Page 2