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LONG ROAD BACK

J E Wilkins - June 1992

At the beginning of the war, the Empress of Japan had been turned into a troop ship. She was large - some 18,000 tons I believe - and once all the refinements of luxury living had been removed, she was capable of moving thousands of troops and their equipment to the trouble spots of the world. Laden with reinforcements for beleaguered Malaya she docked in Singapore early in 1942. Once she had disgorged her complement of troops the ship was readied for sea and prepared to take on board her new cargo of humanity - namely us. There were 1,500 women and children on the ship.

For the first three or four days we were all kept inside and away from the decks. I was lucky and had been assigned a portion of a cabin with Adeline Mitchell whom I had known slightly in Kuala Lumpur. She also had two children. This was indeed a boon, the result of the thoughtfulness of the ship's company who had tried to make things as easy as possible for those of us who had young children. The women travelling alone and the few who had older children were housed below decks, sleeping on mattresses on the floor with no daylight and very little ventilation - not that we in the cabins had much light or fresh air either, for the portholes had been painted black and were securely locked. However, we were the fortunate ones.

The huge dining area was filled with trestle tables and wooden benches where we sat to eat. At mealtimes, a large tureen filled with a sort of stew was placed on each table and this, with rice or potato, comprised our daily bread. One thing we did have was fresh fruit. Stocks had been taken aboard in preparation for the long journey ahead: we were bound for Britain and that was a long way off. As far as I remember, the fruit never ran out.

During the passage through Sunda Strait we experienced our first attack from the Japanese planes while at sea. They had failed to hit the ship while she lay in Singapore harbour and were doubtless somewhat frustrated so they had another go. The sound of planes and the crump of bombs were becoming familiar and we were soon conscious of the zigzagging motion of the ship as she dodged about in an effort to throw off her attackers. During this time Adeline and I sat with our four children on the floor of our cabin with our fingers crossed and a prayer in our hearts. I don't remember how long the attack lasted but when it finally came to an end we found ourselves miraculously unscathed and continuing on our way.

During the night I think we must have sailed beyond the range of the Japanese planes because the next day found us released from the confinement of the below-deck area and we spilled out in relief onto the sunlit decks and into the open sea breezes. Then began the gradual organisation of this motley and sometimes fractious load of humanity. Our shelter and food had been provided from the moment of sailing but there were other requirements which became apparent as day followed day. As in all troop ships there was on board an OC Troops, whose job it was to organise and police the military personnel on board. Strict military discipline was observed and everyone knew exactly what was expected of him.

Used to obeying orders, the soldiers presumably did as they were told and all went as merrily as a marriage bell. However, we women were a different kettle of fish. Somewhat stunned by the events of the last weeks, when our world had suddenly come to an end, we were thoroughly disorientated and figuratively as well as literally, at sea. Reactions to this state of affairs differed in as many ways as there were women. We had no homes any more, little money, we knew not what the future was to hold and in our hearts there was an ever-increasing anxiety for the men we had left behind. Is it any wonder that at first we were not exactly co-operative?

I honestly think that the majority of us, once we realised the position we were in, buckled to with a minimum of fuss and complaint, but there were some who did not, and it took a while for things to settle down. Rumour had it that OC Troops, in desperation, eventually locked himself in his cabin and washed his hands of us, turning over the responsibility to the ship's captain. I wonder if it was true. Who knows? I don't know the name of the captain - we never saw him - but someone began bringing order to our daily lives and it could only have been he if the OC Troops really did feel that all these perky women were too much for him. Duties in the dining room were assigned to certain women, the teachers on board were mobilised to start and maintain a two-hour spell of school each morning and others were put in charge of care and cleaning of the bathrooms and lavatories.

It was the women without children who bore the brunt of these duties. We mothers were instructed that our first and, indeed, our only responsibility was to look after our young. We were never to leave them alone on deck and we had to see that they carried their lifejackets at all times. Also, we were to equip ourselves with a bundle containing certain items for use should we suddenly have to get into lifeboats. I remember I had a white coat at the start of the voyage and into it I packed hats for us all and whatever else the powers above considered necessary. I have now forgotten what they were. I tied it all up with some heavy twine and carried it everywhere we went all day and every day. Actually, it came in handy for sitting on - we were discouraged from sitting on our lifejackets; I guess it doesn't do them any good to be sat on for days on end and my bundle was more comfortable than the bare boards of the deck.

As you can imagine, boisterous and lively children were everywhere. The noise level was considerable and I thought it only fair when, after some well-founded complaints had been received, it was decreed that a portion of the boat deck was to be reserved for women without children. It gave them a respite from the constant noise and confusion caused by the hundreds of children who never seemed able to keep still.

Climbing on the ship's rails was absolutely forbidden and it was up to us to enforce this rule on our own offspring. Some mothers were a bit lax in this regard and climbing on the rails was a daily pastime for some of the little boys. After a few days this sport came to a sudden end. On board was a bosun, a large man with hands like small hams. Whilst patrolling the decks he would pluck from the rails any child who was defying the rules. Silently he would turn the offender over his knees, administer a good spanking, pop a toffee into the wailing mouth and proceed quietly on his way. It was quite a sight to see. Needless to say, the rails were soon empty and no more trouble was caused.

Another rule, one which affected us all, was that on no account was anything to be thrown overboard - not even the smallest bit of paper was ever to be discarded into the sea, no orange peelings, no apple cores - in fact NOTHING. We soon learned the reason for this. Apparently, a ship's course can easily be traced by the floating debris behind it. A plane, seeing this flotsam on the surface, can quickly pinpoint the ship and radio its position to base, from whence lurking submarines can be advised of the quarry. This seemed so eminently sensible that there were few transgressors.

We women were not fools. When explanations were given to us for any rule or regulation we complied with alacrity. Whoever that captain was, he knew how to handle women in a reasonable way. The OC Troops, who was used to instant obedience from the men under his command, simply could not cope and was helpless in the face of outraged femininity. For all I know, the captain may have had a wife and daughters of his own and thus was in a better position to handle a pathetically mixed up and turbulent crowd of women.

Towards the end of our journey, a rather waspish passenger tried to get up a petition detailing all the grievances of the journey, recounting how we had been treated with callous disregard for our comfort. This document she proposed to send directly to the War Office once we arrived in London. I refused to sign it, as did many others, and I often wonder what happened to it. If it did ever reach the War Office it no doubt caused very little stir, if any.

One morning an altercation took place between the petition writer and me. She was the wife of a senior officer in the Malayan Civil Service and was not used to having her opinions and wishes disregarded. I don't usually look for trouble, preferring to think my own thoughts and allow others to think theirs. But this really got me on the raw. Here we were, in the middle of a war, being transported from a dangerous situation in a ship which was certainly badly needed for more pressing military duties and all she could do was to complain about lack of comfort and what she called 'abominable treatment.' I told her I disagreed with her entirely as I had received nothing but courteous and kindly treatment from all the officers and crew and that I would be eternally grateful for what was being done for me and my children. I also pointed out that carrying such a load of women and children was probably no picnic for them either. With one outraged glare she went on her way and we avoided one another for the rest of the voyage. Many years later, on one of my trips back to England - this time without Geoff and with three month old Jeremy - I found myself in a cabin right next to this woman. I wondered what would happen when we met but all was well. She had quite forgotten me, thank goodness, and was pleasant and affable. Her comfortable world had returned and she no longer felt lost and threatened. It made a difference.

Shipboard life soon assumed a fairly tranquil routine. The daily boat drill was, for a while, the only visible sign of war but one evening we were abruptly jerked back to reality by the announcement that Singapore had fallen and that the Japanese were even then advancing to Java, Sumatra, Borneo and Indonesia. Although we should have known better, I think we had all clung to the hope that Singapore, the bastion, would manage to withstand the onslaught of the Japanese Army and that apart from air attacks, the population of the city, including our husbands, would be safe until help could arrive. From whence this help was to come was not clear in our minds and, of course, the hard reality was that there was no help. It was to be more than three years before any Allied soldier, sailor or airman was to set foot on the soil of Malaya. Those years were to be painful ones.

When the news of the fall of Singapore was relayed to us, gloom and despondency invaded us all. The whole ship seemed mute and the nightly blackout became, it seemed, even blacker. Poor Adeline had hysterics when she thought about her husband. I got her a stiff whiskey from the bar but before she could be persuaded to drink it Michael had stumbled in the close quarters of the cabin and knocked it over. I got another and this Adeline managed to drink. Poor girl, she had cause to be distressed for her husband had a weak heart, complicated by diabetes and one could easily picture his difficulties in what was, failing a miracle, to be a spell in a POW camp. As it turned out Adeline was proved right in her anxiety for her husband did not survive - the rigorous conditions of POW life were too much for him in his state of health.

After some days, and when it became clear that Singapore was not to get any help, we came to terms with the situation and life went on as before. The only hope we had was that our husbands had, at the last moment, been able to escape on small boats. Even the most optimistic of us were aware that this was extremely unlikely but we continued to think 'maybe' and in our more cheerful moments looked forward to hearing good news when we finally reached Britain. It was a nice thought and did no harm.

A welcome distraction came with our arrival in Ceylon. (I really can't call it by that new name of Sri Lanka. Anyway, during the days of which I write it was Ceylon.) Ashore in Colombo we had a real break and it was good to be on land again. We spilled out all over the city and revelled in delights we had not experienced for some time. A group of us, complete with youngsters, had a very nice lunch at a hotel and enjoyed walking around a city that was not war torn. Some of my friends, who had brought a little money with them, went shopping for semi-precious stones. These could be bought very cheaply in Ceylon and it was hoped that, once in Britain, they could be sold for a profit. I was not tempted. Knowing that I wouldn't know a real gem from a piece of glass, I kept my money in my pocket.

I don't know how long we were docked in Colombo - some eighteen hours I should think - and then off we sailed again, bound this time for South Africa. For obvious reasons the Mediterranean was closed to us so the only way to reach Britain was round the Cape of Good Hope.

Now that we sailed in comparative safety, shipboard life became even more routine. I had many friends on board, women I had known in Kuala Lumpur and most of them had children. The two-hour school time each morning was a respite for us although with life jackets and the inevitable survival kit at the ready, we stayed close to our children in the big room where the school assembled. At times there were fights and skirmishes amongst the boys but on the whole conditions were fairly harmonious.

For some reason we gravitated to the same spot of deck each day and it was soon possible to find any friend or acquaintance quite easily as one learned on which part of the deck she was likely to be found. I had two special friends, Anne Allin and Kitty Charlesworth and we were joined by Doy Lee soon after we sailed. Doy was newly married and was expecting her first baby. It was early in her pregnancy and being housed below decks on a mattress was not easy for her. She was a friend of Adeline's so we suggested that she come to share our cabin. We did all we could to persuade her to take one of the bunks but she stoutly refused and insisted on sleeping on the floor on her mattress. I will never forget Doy. She was a great person, a stoic, with a wonderful sense of humour. In spite of everything our cabin often rang with laughter, caused in the main by Doy's dry wit.

Adeline had a sister-in-law on board and spent a lot of time with her and with other friends from Malaya but she frequently joined us on deck as well. I still keep in touch with Anne and Kitty, who both live in England, but sadly I have lost touch with Doy. Incidentally, on her way out to Malaya as a bride the previous year, Doy's ship had been torpedoed by a German submarine. While sitting in the lifeboat she watched as her luggage, containing all her wedding presents, slipped into the sea. However, she and her husband were rescued and that was all that mattered. They continued on their way to Malaya and it seemed tragic that only a few months later she was to be once again in the thick of war.

As we wended our way across the oceans, life, as it usually does, took on a familiar pattern. We tried not to think of the Malaya we had left behind. It was hard for us to imagine what was happening there but we knew, of course, that it could not be anything but awful. A Japanese radio report was picked up which announced to the listening world that the Empress of Japan had been sunk during the first few days of her escape from Singapore. We could imagine the effect this would have on the husbands and fathers we had left behind. It was a cruel thing for the Japanese to have done. However, war is cruel, and it was intended, I expect, to lower morale amongst any of the European population still clinging to their shrinking islands in the area. I don't remember that we spoke much of this amongst ourselves. What was the good? So far we were safe and we were grateful.

The next port of call was to be Durban, so far unaffected by the Japanese. South Africa was untouched and as we sailed into the harbour it looked so normal and peaceful that our hearts rose. Rumour followed rumour during this period and as usually happens with shipboard gossip, most of them were untrue. Permission was given for us to go ashore and this opportunity was eagerly embraced by all. Picking up our children, we went down the gangplank to put our feet on dry land once again.

Now I want to write about our experience in South Africa. The details may be tedious for the reader but I think the world should know of the tremendous kindness we encountered in this country. Picture this: a gaggle of unkempt women and straggling children walking through the dockyard looking for some means of transport to the city of Durban, for the docks were some miles from the centre.

We were not a very savoury looking lot, I don't mind telling you. We women had washed our clothes and rough-dried them in the drying room during the voyage but there were no irons so we looked far from spruce. It was long before the days of drip-dry materials and our cotton and linen dresses were wrinkled and creased. The children looked the same and what is more, most of them badly needed a haircut. I guess you could say we were clean and that is all!

We finally came to a taxi rank and as there were no buses we decided to pool our resources and ride to the city in style. Two taxi drivers shepherded our little group into their cabs and started off engaging us all the while in conversation. We learned from this that we were the objects of much interest in Durban - everyone seemed to know about 'the refugee ship from Singapore'. Once the centre of the city had been reached we got out with money in our hands to pay our fares. This was adamantly refused. The drivers wouldn't take a penny! Just ordinary men, they made us welcome to their city in the only way open to them. This story deserves to be told and laid at the door of white South Africans. There was more.

After buying ourselves some lunch we kept our eyes open for a barber's shop. The children all looked scruffy and we felt they would look trimmer after a good haircut. The barber's shop proved to be a beauty parlour but we were welcomed with our young fry and soon the children were all shorn and tidy. We mothers looked just the same but seeing our children looking so much better gave us a lift. I don't want to belabour our appearance but it was bad enough being labelled a refugee without also looking like one.

We were allowed to pay for the haircuts but after we had apologised to the cashier for our appearance and explained who we were she handed us a house key. We were mystified, of course, but she went on to explain she lived in a flat nearby and if we wished, we could have the use of it and all its equipment for the rest of the day. Imagine! A perfect stranger, with openheartedness and sympathy, offering her home to five women whom she would never see again. I would like to think that in the same circumstances I would be as generous and trusting. Our gratitude was profuse and sincere but we couldn't accept her offer. Our ship was to sail shortly and we had to get back.

We left Durban with a warm glow in our hearts. Whenever I think of South Africa I think of these gestures of ordinary people, black and white South Africans, taxi drivers and beauty shop operators. In my small way, I would like to tell the world of them. The troubles of South Africa are well-known and only now, 50 odd years later, does there seem to be any hope for settlement of an almost insurmountable problem. Although we didn't know it, that evening as we sailed towards Capetown was to be a momentous one for us. After days under the protective custody of the British Admiralty (we were known to this august body as 'souls' and found that we each had a number), the time had come for us to take at least partial control of our lives. A meeting, to which every adult passenger was bidden, had been called after the evening meal. Representatives of the South African Government were to come on board to talk to us. As we sat waiting we were curious about the meaning of this - but we soon found out.

The second hazardous leg of the journey to Britain was about to begin and the ship's captain didn't want to take responsibility for 1,500 women and children in the conditions existing on the Empress of Japan. I believe there were not even enough lifeboats for us and the crew - a scary prospect when facing the Atlantic Ocean in time of war. Before too many days were passed, we would be moving into the sphere of the German Navy - another unpleasant prospect.

The South African officials, while trying not to cause panic, put forth the proposition they had been authorised to give. It was this. South Africa was prepared to welcome us all for the duration of the war. Women with children were particularly encouraged to leave the ship and remain in the country. Women without children were asked to consider resuming the trip to Britain.

All very logical of course. We who had children would simply be extra mouths to feed in Britain and with our parental responsibilities we would be of little use in factories or in other parts of the workforce. On the other hand, the women without children would be most useful in a multitude of ways. Their skills would be valuable and could be utilised in Britain whereas we were seen as definite handicaps. It doesn't do a lot for your self-esteem to be looked on as a handicap.

Staying in South Africa was an option, but there was no question of our being forced to choose it. We were free to do as we pleased. The soft voiced officials were kind and did their best to make the thought of staying in their country appealing. The terms were as follows: arrangements would be made for mothers and children to be billeted on certain families at Government expense and we would receive a monthly allowance for 'pin money'. Every effort was made to point out the immense difference between life in beleaguered Britain and life in South Africa where food was in abundance and where there would be no further danger to us or our children. On the one hand we were offered security and on the other, bombings, food rationing and even the possibility of eventual invasion.

I am afraid I have told this badly. Upset at the time, I guess even after 50 years the enormity of the choice before us still makes me incoherent. I don't know to this day whether or not I made the right decision. When Geoff saw us off that day in Singapore he knew we were bound for Britain. His last words were that once the ship docked I must make my way at once to his family in Reading. I knew that they would welcome us and that, although I could not reach my own parents in Canada, I could look forward to the affection and security of Geoff's family. You see, I knew no-one in the whole length and breadth of South Africa and I feared for my sons if I were to fall sick or have some untoward accident. At this juncture I was all they had. Also, to be billeted on strangers with two lively boys was not an enviable prospect. I hadn't much money and certainly could not be independent in a strange country. Another thing: how could Geoff find us when hostilities were over?

We had until the next morning to decide what to do. It was a long night.

When momentous decisions have to be made one can only do what seems right at the time and I opted, for better or worse, to remain on the Empress of Japan and continue the trip to Britain. Many of my UK friends felt as I did. They longed to be HOME and the spectre of possible bombings, shortage of food and maybe even invasion couldn't change their minds - nor did they mine. I don't know the statistics but I think the preponderance of women with children decided to carry on to whatever awaited them in Britain. Ironically, the women travelling alone, practically to a 'man', opted for the easier life in South Africa and left the ship. They would easily get jobs and look after themselves. They were in a completely different situation.

Our next stop was Capetown. I had heard about Table Mountain all my life and I was delighted to see it for the first time as we entered the harbour. Everyone looked forward to seeing Capetown and looking around the city as they had in Durban but this was not to be. As the ship docked, a large notice was put up informing us that the occupants of 'the following cabins' - those with children - were to be ready to leave the ship in an hour's time, taking all their effects with them. Our cabin was one.

Now what? We didn't know but we packed up our few belongings, picked up our children, said goodbye to friends who were remaining on board and walked down the gangplank on to the Capetown docks. I wondered if, after all, we were going to be forced to remain in South Africa but no, we were hustled on to buses, driven down the dock to another berth and popped on to a much smaller ship called the Laetitia. She already had steam up and was ready to go. So much for sightseeing in Capetown!

I guess the ship had been waiting for us because we were soon on our way joining a convoy bound for Britain. The circumstances were much more comfortable this time. There were no people lying on mattresses below decks, there was cabin space for all and the dining saloon even had tablecloths. We couldn't believe it! It took a few days to shake ourselves down and to catch our breath but we soon accustomed ourselves to our new quarters and since we had so many friends with us, life took on the same pattern as the one we had left behind on the Empress of Japan.

I missed many of my friends, of course. Anne Allin with her two small daughters and Doy were left on the Empress of Japan which, incidentally, was already on her way again. As she was so fast she didn't join the convoy and arrived in Britain about ten days before we did. We ourselves sailed with the convoy for only a short time for the Laetitia was also a faster ship than most of the plodding merchantmen in the convoy and it was considered necessary for her to reach Britain as soon as possible. She was desperately needed in the battle for sea superiority so off we went on our own leaving behind the comfortable sight of the other ships with their protective ring of naval vessels.

Life soon resumed its former pattern. We sat on deck with our bundles of necessities. The children played, squabbled and sometimes fought. Geoffrey and Michael were as belligerent as the others although of the two, Geoffrey was the more restrained. One day though he lost his temper and flattened a youngster called Niall Heath whose mother was a friend of mine. When I enquired as to the cause of the scuffle, Geoffrey, choking with fury and face white with real rage, informed me that "Niall threw my cap into the scuppers!" Obviously a heinous crime! Michael seldom fought his contemporaries with any animosity. He simply enjoyed a fight and tore into any fray with glee.

The Laetitia was an Anchor Donaldson Line vessel with a Scottish captain and crew. When the officers were not on watch, they could frequently be found on deck looking on at the turbulent crowd of children and chatting with us mothers. Friendly and pleasant, these men, away from their homes for so long, were I think lonely. To be surrounded my children and families was a pleasant change. They knew us all by name, particularly the children whom they observed with amusement. One day Geoffrey and Michael had a falling out, an unusual occurrence. It ended with flying fists and Michael was reduced to tears. Later on in the day one of these men approached me with a grin and observed "I never before saw one of your sons bested in a fight. I might have known it was in the family."

From these remarks you might be tempted to think there was a lot of discord and disharmony amongst the children. This was not so. It was an unnatural life for our children - there was nowhere to play and let off steam, not even a few hours of school which had been left behind on the Empress of Japan. All of this was hard on them and I think that on the whole they did amazingly well. As a rule, quarrels and spats were of short duration and were soon forgotten. I commend the mothers too. They tried to let the youngsters settle their own quarrels without taking sides.

The days followed one another with monotonous regularity but one sunny afternoon, when we were steaming up the west coast of Africa, we were jolted out of our usual routine by the sudden appearance of a German submarine surfacing directly in front of us. The decks were immediately cleared of all passengers and the captain ordered full steam ahead hoping to ram and cripple her. It was a tense moment but we were later told that in spite of the prompt action, the Laetitia's engines were too slow and the submarine slipped beneath the waves and was lost to sight. It was an extra-ordinary occurrence and had an unpleasant aftermath. It was not a good night. We knew the German submarine was somewhere behind having undoubtedly waited for the cover of darkness before surfacing to chase us. We were showing no lights but the sound of the ship's engines would reveal our whereabouts. Orders were issued that we were to sleep in our clothes and be on an instant's notice to pick up our children and make for the lifeboats.

I tried to be matter-of-fact about this and pretended that no emergency existed. My 4-year old, Michael, accepted this with no sign of concern but it was a different matter with Geoffrey. Two years older than his brother he was more aware of the situation and this was not helped by the antics of a foolish woman in the next cabin. With the door open she discussed in a loud voice the possibilities of the next few hours. Needless to say, these were not rosy and my young son was able in his quiet way to draw his own conclusions. I could have murdered her!

It was a long evening and an even longer night. I never left the cabin but stayed close to my sons in an effort to provide them with as much security as was in my power to give. I hoped they didn't realise just how feeble that security was. After what seemed an eternity, dawn came and we found ourselves steadily steaming along in our usual fashion. Once again we had been fortunate and our prayers had been answered.

Some days later we began to sense a change in the climate. It was now late in February or early in March and gone were the hot steamy days of the African coast. Warm clothes were soon going to be required and we hadn't many of those. Before long, sitting on deck was going to be a thing of the past. Officers and crew had gone into their dark winter uniforms and the children were bundled into unaccustomed sweaters. Geoffrey and Michael were fairly well supplied with woollies although in some cases the fit was not too good. The boys had, of course, grown since the garments were last worn and warm socks, for instance, were non-existent. I had no warm outer garments for myself. I have already mentioned my white flannel coat which had served for weeks as a cushion to sit on and as a holdall for emergency necessities. I simply couldn't wear it. However, the nearer we got to Britain the colder it got and finally I was to be seen wearing a sweater belonging to the captain. It was a wonderful help but as Captain Baillie was over 6ft tall and built in proportion, you can imagine what I looked like. If we resembled refugees in our cotton dresses whilst in South Africa, you can imagine our appearance as we approached the shores of Britain.

At this time much of our time was spent indoors and I can remember boiling kettles in our little serving pantry to get hot water to add to generous dollops of Marmite to make a hot drink. Kitty had a big jar of this and shared it with us all. It did not take the place of a hot, steaming cup of coffee - a far off memory of happier times - but it was a great comfort in the cold windy reaches of the North Atlantic. I have many pleasant memories of sitting on the floor of our various cabins whilst cradling a mug of hot Marmite. I still like it today.

The sea grew rough but the fact that the weather worsened with each day that passed caused us no discomfort. By this time we were seasoned travellers and the rough seas were no reason for comment. Now the talk turned to the future and although we had no real cause for optimism, we had a dream that perhaps - somehow - we would have good news of our men folk once we reached Britain. I suppose we all knew this was a pretty vain hope but still we clung to it. For nearly two months we had been living in a sort of limbo, far from news and seemingly in a world of our own. Who knew what miracles might have happened? Soon it would be time for us to return to realities of the war-torn world and we realised that this return would be what we ourselves would make of it.

We were told that Glasgow as to be our landfall and sure enough the end of our voyage found the Laetitia in the calm waters of the Clyde. We anchored off Gurroch. Our journey was over.

It was still broad daylight and we saw approaching us a tender with various uniformed women aboard. Lining the rails we watched with interest as these women climbed aboard our ship in business-like fashion and disappeared below. Although we didn't know it at the time, these were representatives of the Women's Voluntary Service who were to welcome us to Britain and to smooth our paths in many ways in the near future.

The following day we were summoned to the dining room where we found ourselves marshalled in long lines in front of various WVS women, each behind a table. They enquired of us what warm clothes we needed, brushing aside our list of requirements for our children. "Never mind the children" they said, "we will get to them later. We want to know what you need." They even took rough measurements as to our sizes. Then came the needs of the children. Everyone was interviewed and our wants assessed. When all this was finished, the women re-embarked on the tender and, with a cheery wave, left us.

The following day, after we had steamed further up the river and had docked, a large pile of paper parcels, each neatly marked with our names, was distributed amongst us. The good folk of Scotland had contributed what they had to spare in overflowing measure and we were soon equipped with the necessities for warmth and comfort demanded by early March in that country. I thought back to South Africa and how in their effort to persuade the women with children to stay in that safe haven, the representatives of the Government had painted pictures of the very negative effect we would have on Britain. We were told that as we couldn't work for the war effort in any meaningful way, we would just be extra mouths to feed and bodies to house.

When I really thought about it, there seemed no earthly reason why we should be welcomed but welcomed we were without reservation. The people of Scotland were cheerfully sharing with us the provisions of clothing that were at their command and it couldn't have been without some hardship on their part. It wasn't only the tangible goods that should be taken into account. They were truly glad to see us! Delighted that our long voyage was over and that we were home safe.

As the days went by, it was soon evident that this state of affairs was not solely to be found in Scotland. The welcome was there in every part of the country, from Land's End to John o'Groats. Is it any wonder that I love Britain? I have no doubt that there were other countries and other peoples who would have given us an equally warm welcome, including my own country, Canada. There is a lot of goodwill in this world and as far as I can see, it was not confined to any one nation but my arrival in Scotland in that cold and dreary Spring will always be a special memory.

A train was awaiting us at the railway station in Glasgow. Once aboard and settled in our seats for the overnight trip to London we were found once again by our friends from the Women's Voluntary Service. This time they were bearers of food and hot drinks, warmed bottles for the babies and anything else that was required. Warned that there would be no more food available until our arrival in London the next morning, we tucked into sandwiches and biscuits.

It was going to be a long night sitting in upright seats in an open carriage with our children clustered around us. Drinking water was provided - nothing else. We tried to make the children comfortable but there was little that we could do. The blackout was total - very dim lights showed us the way around but not a speck of light showed outside the carriage.

During that long and stuffy night there was little sleep for adults or children but when morning came and we walked out into the fresh air of southern England we realised that our journey was over. It was a lovely morning. A soft blue cloudless sky showed no evidence of conflict, apart from the big barrage balloons floating lazily above the city. We knew it would only be a temporary lull but we were grateful for it and walked with lighter steps. After two months we were in London. We were home.

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