'Friday 10 January 1941 complete with a small haversack containing my spare clothes, my obligatory gas mask, ration book and identity card. I'll remember my number to my dying day: ZSEB 28/4. After saying my goodbyes to Mum, Sheila and baby Peter (Dad and May had already gone to work), I walked to school from where Alfie and I were ushered with other evacuees to the station. We boarded the train to a destination that I had great difficulty in pronouncing - Llanidloes. I was adamant that I wanted to billeted on a farm and I kept telling our escorts this on several occasions. After a brief stay in Newtown we were herded onto a bus to continue our journey to the unpronounceable Llanidloes. We duly arrived at the Boys Club in Short Bridge Street about mid afternoon.

We sat huddled together on benches wondering who would choose us - hoping and praying it was a farmer. I didn't have to wait long and still sitting next to Alfie, a lady came up to us and gave us instructions to follow her, like the good little boys we were, we followed complete with all our worldly goods. The lady, I was to learn later, was Miss McQuade the village school mistress at Oakley Park. Anyway Miss McQuade led us to an awaiting taxi and Alfie and I sat in the back while our new escort sat in the front with the driver.

The taxi stopped at a road junction on which stood several out-buildings with a black and white half-timbered house. It turned out that where I had been evacuated to was indeed the home of the local blacksmith and his family. Miss McQuade introduced me, I was given a very warm welcome and entered my new home and was immediately struck by the homely atmosphere. It was the 10th of January and it was not unusual at that time of year for it to be bitterly cold, so the glorious log fire in the hearth of the range was indeed very much appreciated.

The old range with the fire in a central position had on one side the cooking oven, while on the other side the boiler with a brass tap. Over the fire, hanging from a chain suspended from a swinging arm, was the kettle singing away ready for tea. All this was new to me because back home on Merseyside I had been used to all the mod cons ( of that period anyway) - gas cooker, hot and cold water, a bathroom and a flush toilet (even if it was outside in the back yard) and of course we had electric lights. Not anymore ... and I loved it. '