Childhood pain of separation by Gordon Jones MBE - Wartime 1942Head (From Penarth Times)

Childhood pain of separation by Gordon Jones MBE - Wartime 1942Head

UNCONTROLLABLE and a complete pain was how my mother described me in later life.

She had moved to the village of Llandysul in Cardiganshire in 1935 where she had met and married my father.

I was born in 1937, being followed by my brother in 1940 and sister in 1947.

My father had joined the army on the day war was declared. He had survived the BEF evacuation at Dunkirk only to be captured during the invasion of Greece. By 1942 he was a POW in Stalag XV111A.

My mother was unable to cope with me, my brother and her hairdressing business and it was decided to send me to stay with my grandmother in Plassey Street, Penarth.

In other words, I was an evacuee, but travelling in a different direction to others ie from the calm tranquillity of rural Cardiganshire to the bomb-threatened city and docks of Cardiff.

I survived a miserable journey from Carmarthen to Cardiff travelling under the supervision of the guard in his van with a label attached to my raincoat detailing where I was to be delivered if lost.

I carried my "Mickey Mouse" gas mark over my shoulder but had no idea what I had to do in the event of a gas attack.

My grandmother met me at Cardiff and a short train journey took me to the Dingle Halt and Plassey Street.

I was instructed in the mystical use of the flush toilet and was shown the Anderson shelter where we all had to rush to in the event of an air raid warning.

It looked dark, smelt musty and had a pool of water on the floor. I doubted it was used much.

The house was lit by gas but there was no such luxury in my room as I listened apprehensively to the ghostly clanking of the trains in and out of the sidings.

I was sent to the local Plassey Street school where my strange accent and halting English became the butt of everyone's jokes. Although my mother spoke no Welsh it was the predominant language at home and the language I was most comfortable with.

My misery was compounded when, during a breaktime game of football, I was knocked to the ground and a boy called Meadows - I'll never forget his name - stamped on my fingers.

I was taken home to my grandmother where after a flurry of telegrams I was on my way home to Cardiganshire.

At Carmarthen my mother took one look at my tear-stained face and erupted into floods of tears herself.

Did I remain uncontrollable and a pain? You bet, but in Llandysul only!