Wilf Doyle – memories of a young evacuee
I arrived from Sheffield on Friday 1st September 1939 at the Unity Hall in Sileby at the age of 8 years and 3 months, with my sister (aged 13) and my brother (aged 15). We were part of a group of more than fifty children accompanied by two or three nuns. I was wearing my best and only suit with short trousers (see photo). I also had a haversack with an enamel mug attached to the bag strap, a pack of ginger biscuits, a tag label with my name and other personal details, and a piece of string tied to a cardboard box holding my gas mask. People were saying: “I will take this boy.” or “I will take that girl.” We were all complete strangers, but the inhabitants of Sileby were very kind and generous in choosing to take in children they did not know. My mother had given my brother strict instructions that we were not to be split up; did she fear that I was going to wreck the house of my host family? We were taken to live with Mr and Miss Severn; he was the headmaster of Redland School which is still there today. They were very kind to us and I kept up the friendship until they both died. My sister went to stay with the Wallin family in Seagrave Road. The Severns were Church of England and the Wallins were Methodists, and we were introduced to the ecumenical movement before it had even started. We were encouraged to go to Mass as we normally would at home, and not have anything to eat or drink between midnight and 10.00am.
The following year many parents decided that, since no bombs had fallen on Sheffield, they would bring their children back home. By June all had returned except for three families who were going to live in Sileby, including Sheila Breed. My father was very wise as he insisted that we should stay in Sileby from 1940 since he was convinced that Sheffield, as a key centre for the production of steel, would eventually be blitzed. This came to pass on Thursday December 12th 1940. During that evening around 625 people were killed. The amazing miracle was that my father had told my mother that the Germans were going to come on that particular night. He repeated his conviction three times and urged her to go and stay with her sister, which she reluctantly did. When they both returned home the following morning the house and the cellar had been destroyed and all that they possessed were the clothes they stood up in. None of the other families that had returned had their houses damaged or destroyed. If my father had brought us home, we would have all been in the house and would certainly have been killed.
This is a rather longer account than I had intended, but it is difficult to stop when nostalgia kicks in. At the age of eight, many adjustments had to be made and eighty year later, I realise how blessed I was to have survived that critical and formative period of my life.
(Photo below of Wilf with his sister, Mary, at the May procession 1939 – note that he was wearing white gloves even then!)
The following year many parents decided that, since no bombs had fallen on Sheffield, they would bring their children back home. By June all had returned except for three families who were going to live in Sileby, including Sheila Breed. My father was very wise as he insisted that we should stay in Sileby from 1940 since he was convinced that Sheffield, as a key centre for the production of steel, would eventually be blitzed. This came to pass on Thursday December 12th 1940. During that evening around 625 people were killed. The amazing miracle was that my father had told my mother that the Germans were going to come on that particular night. He repeated his conviction three times and urged her to go and stay with her sister, which she reluctantly did. When they both returned home the following morning the house and the cellar had been destroyed and all that they possessed were the clothes they stood up in. None of the other families that had returned had their houses damaged or destroyed. If my father had brought us home, we would have all been in the house and would certainly have been killed.
This is a rather longer account than I had intended, but it is difficult to stop when nostalgia kicks in. At the age of eight, many adjustments had to be made and eighty year later, I realise how blessed I was to have survived that critical and formative period of my life.
(Photo below of Wilf with his sister, Mary, at the May procession 1939 – note that he was wearing white gloves even then!)
Wilf with his sister, Mary, at the May procession 1939
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Wilf and friends at Redlands School
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Wilf with Danny the dog in Sileby
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Wilf with Danny the dog in Sileby
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Wilf aged 18
(Seventy years later and the hair style has not changed!)
