Evacuation

Quite often pictures would come into my mind
Of a place I had known - left long behind.
As a child I's sometimes questioned my mum,
"What are these images?" and "Where'd they come from?"

"We are at war." she said, about to be invaded."
Kids and mum labeled, counted and paraded.
Taken to God knows where, there to stay;
To keep safe, in care from harms way.

She told me "We're off, away, just like in Paris,
To be shipped to Wales, a place called Treharris."
After many hours in a dirty, sooty train,
Disembarked, frightened, cold in the pouring rain.

First memories after our long, gruelling trip,
Too tired for once to run, jump or skip.
Herded in a building to sleep on a pew;
A screen on the wall with nothing to view.

All us kids young, of similar ages,
Too young to read Bible pages.
Come the morning we were driven like sheep
To be picked up by the locals, the duration to keep.

At the tender age of three, maybe four,
I couldn't have been very much more.
Off to a farm, our hosts there to meet;
So old, so cold, shook hands to greet.

We were in Wales - a remote lonely farm,
Away from the war, where we'd meet with no harm.
Up early next morning and off to explore
Just in the farmyard - an acre or more.

Cottage of stone, but even much stranger,
The house end was open - they called it a manger.
The cattle were kept there, so their body heat
Would keep us all warm as we lay 'neath our sheet.

So many wonders for me to see.
Different things, all new to me.
Five bar gates to climb up upon;
Days of old, now long since gone.

Cows wandering slowly, climbed up the lane
To be milked and meander back again.
I watched them at their leisurely pace;
Their bluish tongues would lick my face.

Too soon packed off to the local school.
Not for me to grow up an ignorant fool.
Schoolboy games, of soldiers and marches
At the back of the school, under the arches.

Fifty years later our family was grown and gone.
Twenty and more since mother passed on.
My wife and I decide we'd try to find
This place of memories I'd left far behind.

To Treharris we went with dash and vigour.
To find the place seemed very much bigger.
To the locals, the police my mission explained;
They looked at me blandly, often quite pained.

The school, the pub, no cinemas here.
"Come, let's go home, shall we dear?"
Perhaps my mother had got it all wrong.
Maybe it was elsewhere all along?

Somehow I was certain in my own mind;
Wife driving as we left Treharris behind.
"Stop!" I said, "Back up, go up that lane!"
Once more I'm four - that young lad again.

There, up there, I'm sure this is the place.
Approach with some caution, just in case.
Slowly up the land we drive in our car,
Gates in the field count, yes, five bars.

I said to my Welsh wife "This must be the croft.
There you can see where they've filled in the loft."
The owner came out in answer to our knock;
Told him my story - was it all poppycock?

Come in and sit, please do have some tea.
"What else do you remember? Tell it to me."
I started at the beginning, I told him it all;
Everything and anything I could recall.

I told him my story, more than on this paper.
Would he believe me, felt a fool, what a caper.
He asked why I's not mentioned the local Pit line?
Where I'd come from I saw trains all the time.

The water butt, that was our bath; five bars gates;
Of the school arches, played with new mates.
Told of the teenager, who looked after the cattle.
Look at his eyes, does he think this is just prattle?

All of a sudden he smiled, gave a call
To daughter upstairs "Bring photo from hall!"
Aerial photo; old i a large wooden frame,
The place as I remember, exactly the same.

"I was that herdsman, I remember family and you,
I'll make a few calls, that's what I'll do."
Soon they were there - policeman and others.
Lots of greetings, like of long lost brothers.

Saturday, screen in the Chapel, cinema night.
Arches under the school - now more classes, right?
All of them there, but some couldn't remember;
Me still in May while they were in September.

One thing we all laughed at - mum got it all wrong.
It wasn't Treharris, I'd been told all along.
Bedlinog was the name of this place -
Good ol' mum, a smile upon my face.

After a few weeks we were sent back.
Our homes thought safe - not under attack.