"I remember one year planting potatoes (and later picking them) on the side of Garth Hill - a small hill just outside the town. Most of the available women and children were there. We also helped plant and pick potatoes at Samuel's farm on the Brecon Road.

As children we spent a lot of time up Garth Hill playing among the trees and the long ferns. On the way back we would stop at Rowland's Farm to watch the milking and have a drink of milk straight from the cow, something you would not be allowed to do now.

It was quite a short walk to Garth Hill from Tanhouse, across three fields to the bottom of the hill. A housing estate now occupies one of the fields, the one where we used to go sledging in the deep snow.

Sometimes the snow was too deep for the children from outlying farms to get to school, so the school would shut for the day. One winter the snow was so deep we were able to build igloos in the field.

I was the only boy from Birmingham - so I soon became classed as a local! Later on a crowd of evacuees came from Liverpool. When they arrived they were taken to the local primary school with their luggage, and labels, where people came along and chose who they wanted to have as boarders.

I felt sorry for those who were left until last. We had two at the house where I was and there were so many Liverpool evacuees the school couldn't cope with us all so we locals attended in the morning and the children from Liverpool went in the afternoon. But that situation didn't last long as many returned home quite soon.

Most of the new influx were Catholic which created a problem as there was no Catholic Church in Builth Wells. So arrangements were made to hold Mass and confessions in a room over a Temperance Hotel in the High Street.

I progressed well under most of my teachers, like Miss Morris, Miss Cheyne, and Miss Jones. But there was one teacher, Miss Evans, under whom I could do nothing right, and I was forever being sent to the headmaster's study for the cane. Two on one hand and one on the other! I think she must have been a Welsh Nationalist, she certainly didn't like me!

When I was nine years old I had a paper round at the little newsagents down the bottom end of town. Part of my job was to meet the early morning mail train and collect the daily papers to take to the shop, where they were sorted out for my first morning round before going to school, and then for another round I did either at lunchtime or after school.

At times I helped out around the shop too. I enjoyed this part of the job because I was able to handle the books and comics and even read them sometimes.

Monday in Builth was market day, when all the sheep and cattle were brought in for sale. Farmers brought their wives in by pony and trap to do their shopping, much of it at the market hall, which was part of the building where the newsagents was. Another of my jobs was to clean up the market hall on Tuesday.

Some time later I left the little newsagents and went to WH Smith, where again I did a paper round. This time, after meeting the train to collect the papers, I had to deliver some on the way back to the shop.

I also had to meet the evening mail train to collect the evening papers from South Wales, and then deliver them. I later had a Saturday morning job at the fruiterers, delivering orders. All this, by the time I was eleven years old.

My parents came occasionally to visit but it was kept a secret until a few hours before they were due to arrive. I suppose it was a little unsettling, but I soon settled down again, after they had gone back.

Even my older brother came once, with a friend. Both were to die later in the Royal Air Force over Germany. My brother was only twenty two years of age and was a Sergeant Rear Gunner in a Lancaster Bomber.

We did not see much of the war in Builth Wells, only in the newspapers and on the wireless. Whenever there was mention of Birmingham and the air raids it was an anxious time, until I heard from my parents to say they were safe.

There were times when the air raid siren would sound in Builth Wells but only for practice, and occasionally we would leave school wearing our gas masks with orders to go straight home to see how long it took us!

The only real reminder of the war was one night when a German bomber crashed into a hill in Aberedw - which we could see from the back window of the house - and the ensuing fire. The following day we hung around the local police station in the hope of seeing the German crew when they were taken to the railway station an on to a prisoner of war camp.

By the late summer of 1942 the bombing of Birmingham had greatly reduced and it was decided I could go home, of which I was glad, but with mixed feelings.

Builth Wells had made a big impact on my life so much later I cycled down there with a friend when I was sixteen years of age! When I later married, I brought my wife here on honeymoon, and we have spent many happy holidays here, with and without our two daughters.

When I retired my ambition was to get away from the hectic life of the city and fulfil the dream of a life time and move to Builth Wells. My wife, who had come to know and love Builth Wells, as much as I, was of a like mind.

So now, we have our home here, and wonderful views all around and we can enjoy the walks and explore the areas I got to know as an evacuee all those years ago in a town that has grown, but which has not really changed all that much."

Article by Bernard Allen

Part 1 of Bernard's story...

More stories of World War II from Mid Wales...