Chiddingfold

In 1939, at the age of one, my dad was evacuated from Putney to Chiddingfold with his mum and two of his older sisters. His (much bigger)  brother, Bill, had lied about his age and joined the navy, and his oldest sister, Pat, was at boarding school. (His younger sisters were yet to be born.)

When I told my mum that the Minx and I were going to Petworth, this weekend, she pointed out that it was only a few miles from Chiddingfold, so we thought we'd go and take a look. Consequently, this morning, after a splendid breakfast in the old station, we approached the village from the south, finding ourself driving up the western edge of the the large green.

There wasn't much to see apart from an old pub and a general store but we circled around, anyway, and parked up, thinking that we at least owed the place a quick mooch about. I had a wander around the outside of the pub and took a couple of photos which, happily, prompted a passer-by to tell me that it used to be a monastery, before heading back to find the Minx. En route, I found a little two storey building with a sign saying 'The Archive' and a piece of paper stuck in the window advertising that it was open between ten and midday on Saturdays.

I popped in to find a downstairs room with a few maps on the wall and a cluttered desk at which a man and woman were talking. I looked at the maps for a minute or two - I like a map - and then started up the short flight of stairs, only to find a lady descending. "Can I help you?" she asked, slightly anxiously. "Hi. Yes. My dad was evacuated here during the war." I replied, with a high rising terminator to indicate that I hoped she might be able to help me in some way.

At this point, the Minx appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "Oh Lord, there's someone else" exclaimed the lady, whom I duly calmed by stating that the Minx was with me, and we all proceeded upstairs where another lady was busy with some documents. She took the opportunity of our reappearance to ask if she she could take some documents home to copy. "I'll have to ask James" our lady replied before going to the phone to call the chap, James, who was evidently The Man. 

As the Minx and I looked around at the sparsely decorated room, it appeared that James had picked up the phone. Our lady from the stairs edgily asked about the taking of documents home before letting him know that they were "swamped" with visitors. James, we inferred, said that he'd be right over. 

Meanwhile, we were shown to a drawer full of photos and documents from the war and while none of them directly referred to my dad, it was, as you can imagine, a fascinating insight into that period. There was a clothing ration book, for example, some photos, all of which seemed very nostalgic, but then a gas mask for a baby, which made me feel suddenly nauseous and highlighted the very reason my dad and his family had been evacuated here.

Eventually, I got talking to the second lady, Nita, who was interested in my dad's experiences, so I took her email address to pass on to him. (I sensed she was a little disappointed that I wasn't better briefed on his wartime experiences, which, actually, would be a fair criticism.)

After that, we set off down to Portsmouth to visit my schoolfriend, Russ, at his business, the excellent Home Coffee, which I would highly recommend if you're passing that way. It was a far more cheerful - and tasty  - experience.

(Oh, today's photo, if you're wondering, is from The Archive. An odd little artefact sitting near the maps that rather appealed to me.)

Post Script, 12/04/16, posted on Facebook by my cousin, Richard: "Fenner - really enjoyed reading this. As you know one of the "older sisters" was my Mum and I also believe that Auntie Doreen was with them too. I have visited Chiddingfold many times and like you came across the Archive, which was closed at that time. They all used to speak so fondly of their time there. It always strikes me as being ironic that the war gave them a chance to experience a very different life from living in London, one that otherwise they would not have been exposed to. Auntie Pat also, as you mentioned, ended up going to Boarding School but only as a consequence of the conflict, not due to privilege. Then as a consequence of that ended up being a driver in Egypt for senior military personnel, again an opportunity that probably would not have been afforded to her had war not broken out. I have always thought it would be great to take some of them there and ask them to share their memories. Has your Dad told you the story of our Grandad coming home from the pub with a pig?"