On September 1st 2009, my wife Christine and I attended St. Paul's Cathedral for the Commemoration Service of the `Pied Piper' Evacuation of Children, which began in 1939. Over 2000 former evacuees, friends and families attended what was an enjoyable yet moving occasion. Looking at the sea of elderly forms, one could imagine them as fresh-faced children dressed for the mysterious adventures that lay ahead of them, adorned with labels and gas masks. I was one of them....

Shortly before Christmas, 1939, aged three and a half, I was taken by my Mother from our Hammersmith home and delivered to a nursery school somewhere in London. I remained there, unhappily for several days before being taken with other children to Euston Station where, accompanied by two WVS ladies we travelled to Stoke. Once there I was greeted by my new foster-parents, John and Mary Goodwin. After a motorcar drive we arrived at Keele Lodge, my new home. I have often reflected upon those early wartime days and consider that, notwithstanding my initial misgivings at seeing my mother disappear from my life through the nursery door, and in spite of the incipient conflagration that had sparked the evacuation of the 300,000 city children among which I was included, barely a week later I had surely won the lottery by being brought to Keele.

`Auntie Molly and Uncle Johnnie' as I initially called them, proved to be the most perfect foster parents. I soon grew into the life of the village, eventually attending Keele School with Miss Saunders, the Headmistress and Mrs Berkin my class teacher. Among the children I came to know were Graham Adams, John and Susan Bates, Jimmy Sturge, Joan Downes, Gillian Salmon, Sheila Buckley Janet Horton and Sheila Wales.

At the age of four and a half I took part in a wartime exercise involving practically everyone in the village. Uncle Johnnie had assured me that although very important, the morning was going to be `fun'; a kind of game. I was asked to lie down in the middle of the main road opposite to the Hawthorns, and pretend that I had been hurt during an air raid. Other children and adults were positioned along the road and pavement, sitting `dazed' against a wall, some kneeling and others placed in gardens, `blown' there by the blast from falling bombs. At the sound of an ARP whistle the exercise began.

Lying face down, I could not see what was going on. I heard the sound of running feet and distant voices. Soon the voices came closer. `We need a stretcher here!' someone shouted. Then in the commotion I heard a man speaking to me reassuringly. I kept `in role' and lay still. After addressing his colleague, I felt a bandage being applied to my head. I was lifted onto a stretcher and carried along the main road by two men.

By now my eyes were open and I could see other stretchers and the `walking wounded'. We were all taken to the Assembly Rooms where doctors came to each of us in turn. One came towards me and I saw that his face was serious, he was accompanied by a nurse. Their eyes bore down upon me as the doctor examined my `wound'. He uttered words that, in an instant totally changed the nature of the `game' I thought I had been playing.

"This young man will have to go to hospital," the doctor said with authority.

"Definitely hospital !" With that he and the nurse moved on.

My growing sense of panic was by now acute as I struggled to hold back the tears. Uncle J had not said anything about being taken to hospital! I looked anxiously around the room. Where were they, Uncle and Auntie? Here I was, about to be taken away yet again and I might not see them any more. As the activity continued around me I lay on the stretcher, confused and sorry for myself. Suddenly, through my tears I became aware of Uncle J approaching. But why was he grinning broadly? "Are you all right?" he asked, seeing my discomfort. "Don't worry, old man, it's all over...finished! Well done!"

At that moment the atmosphere in the Assembly Rooms changed. The room settled down. Announcements were made and there was laughter as humorous remarks were exchanged. People were friendly again as they swapped stories and expressed their kinship over mugs of tea. I too was relieved not to be going to hospital after all, but back to Keele Lodge, which, whether evacuee or not, had rapidly become my very welcome HOME!

I remember two Garden Parties at the Lodge to raise funds for the war effort. One was opened, by Miss Harrison of Maer Hall, and the second, by the Rt. Hon. Mrs Fitzherbert. People packed into the garden. Uncle J. had busied himself over several evenings making sideshows for these events, including a `throw the beanbag' and `roll the penny' tables.

There is evidence of there having been two air-raid shelters at the Lodge, though the only one I remember was situated inside the house adjacent to the staircase. It had a strengthened ceiling. Although small for three of us, we took refuge in this `cupboard' on several occasions and heard enemy planes passing overhead, possibly on their way to Liverpool, Manchester or the arms factory at nearby Swynnerton. Among my Christmas presents in 1940, I was given a wooden model of the German battleship Graf Spee. It included a `torpedo' gun which when fired accurately hit a spring which `sank' the enemy vessel, providing a small boy with an opportunity for revenge against the `nasty Nazis' as Auntie M called them.

One day, on the way home from Keele School, I heard that a film was to be shown starring George Formby. The cinema was a lorry with a large screen to the rear. We all stood in the open air to watch. The vehicle was parked in an area adjacent to the Sneyd Arms. Children and grown-ups were present and the show was free!

Uncle Johnnie was the Agent for the Keele Estate, the offices of which were situated at the Clock House, now the University's Music Department. At the outbreak of war much of Keele Hall, part of the Clock House and a considerable amount of the estate were requisitioned for military use, first by British Army units and later for American troops. It was here one day that Uncle Johnnie pointed out the imposing figure of General Patton just outside the estate offices. He was discussing what were no doubt military matters with a group of soldiers. The office staff gathered excitedly to take in the scene. Old `Blood and Guts' was clearly visible, complete with his white-handled pistol.

During the war fishing and shooting parties continued on the estate, usually on Thursday afternoons. These activities were organised by Uncle J on behalf of the Colonel and provided a welcome break for many British and American army officers. I was eventually fortunate enough to have my own 4.10 double barrel shotgun, although I was still too young at the age of nine and ten to do other than serve `the shoot' as a beater during school holidays.

In 1942, we moved from the Lodge to live at The Gables, a mile and a half along the Whitmore Road. After school I often used to walk from the village to The Clock House to meet Uncle J. I would wait in or around the offices until he was ready to return home. I considered myself lucky to be the proud owner of a Security Pass that enabled me to enter the camp via the two sentry posts on the way to the Hall. Most of the sentries got to know me and simply waved me through, until I became over-confident and mislaid my pass on a day when the sentry at the second checkpoint was unknown to me. Consequently I was marched unceremoniously over half a mile to the Clockhouse so that Uncle J. could verify my story! Thankfully he did. I never mislaid my Pass again.

One night, after our move to the Gables, we heard the sound of an aeroplane passing very low over the house. Uncle J said he thought it must be in trouble. Phone calls were made, and early the next morning we drove out to a field, somewhere between Madeley and Woore, I think. Once there we saw the unforgettable sight of a very damaged bomber, possibly a Lancaster(?). I was told that the crew managed to bale out and were safe, although it occurred to me much later that there might not have been such a fortunate outcome. There was one policeman on duty. It was PC Dennison from The Police Lodge on the Keele Road. The impact of the aeroplane had left a huge, very deep gash in the ground and pieces of the fuselage could be seen high in the surrounding trees.

At the end of the war I returned to my own family who, having been bombed out of their Hammersmith home, were now living near to St. Alban's. I even started school there, but was not really happy; by that time I had spent nearly six years of my life with Mary and John Goodwin in a place I had come to love...Keele. At first my natural father resisted, but in the end the wisdom of my own mother prevailed and all parties agreed to my being legally adopted, which in spite of my fondness for my own parents and two brothers, was my greatest wish. `John and Mollie' Goodwin were now my parents and some folk even remarked that I looked like my `new' Mother.

Since 1926 Colonel Sneyd's home had been in Codford, Wiltshire and whenever he visited Keele he had stayed at the Clock House, just across the quadrangle from the estate offices. After it had become a military camp however, he sometimes stayed with us at the Gables. It was during an unofficial meeting here in September,1947, that Colonel Sneyd decided against the sale of Keele Hall for development as a university. Representatives of the local authorities were present. Colonel Sneyd interrupted the meeting to listen to a horse race on the `wireless', in which he had a pecuniary interest. He returned to the room light of foot having won a tidy sum and amicably agreed to the sale of the Hall. I arrived home from school as the meeting was drawing to a close and watched 'my father' take the well publicized celebratory photograph of the dignitaries on our lawn. This picture subsequently appeared in the Evening Sentinel and in numerous publications since.

I have the most affectionate memories of Keele, both while at school, and during the nine years I lived in or near the village. Recently it has been lovely to be linked once again with people in the locality. Arranged by Val and Bill of The Old School, my wife Christine and I were warmly welcomed back to the Lodge by Todd and Marilyn. There we were delighted to meet Chris Harrison and Bob Beattie, all four of us celebrating our varied occupancies of The Lodge. How evocative and moving it was to find myself back there after almost 70 years and being able to revisit each room including `my' bedroom. Also I peered into the cupboard in which I had huddled with Auntie M and Uncle J once those sirens had sounded. In addition we are grateful to June Forrester for engaging with us in some fascinating telephone conversations and for arranging for us to receive the Keele Church Magazine.

Upon their respective deaths, John Goodwin's ashes were sprinkled according to his wishes in Springpool Wood. Mary Goodwin wished her ashes to be treated similarly, though within the Memorial Garden of Keele Church. For many years Christine and I felt we would like do something to bring them together `in Memoriam', in the place so loved by them both. It was for this reason that after the most helpful co-operation from Rev.Stuart Ansell, we arranged for a commemorative stone to be placed in St John's Churchyard. Significantly, it faces Keele Lodge, which had been their home for so many years and thankfully mine too, at such a formative time in what I always regard Keele as... The Enchanted Village.

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