REGARDING your very interesting article about evacuees (LET, August 17), I can vaguely remember, when I was about three years old, living in Manchester, the noise of the bombs and the searchlights following the planes.

I also remember being put into a cot in the hospital with other children, we were all piled in together, and a nurse running very fast down a corridor and then going down in a lift, probably to an underground hospital shelter. We all thought that it was great at the time.

My next memory is being put on a train, also with lots of other children. There was lots of crying - not by us children, but by our mum. She was telling my older sister, who was about six, to look after me and that, on no account, had we to be split up. I wondered what all the fuss was about.

We then set off, both wearing ID bracelets with our names on. Everyone was singing 'John Brown's Body.'

My next memory was being in a school hall. Again, there was lots of fuss, all going over my head. Until I realised that there were only a few grown-ups left in the hall. They were talking about my sister, Mary, and myself. The conversation went: "Well, I only wanted the older one, not the little one, but as they have not to be separated, I suppose I will have to take them both." So began the next two very happy years: with Auntie and Uncle - Mr and Mrs Aspin, of Greenway Street, Darwen. Two little urchins from the poor area of Manchester, where dad had joined up as a regular soldier just to get a job.

Auntie and Uncle had two grown-up children of their own. Margaret was a schoolteacher at St John's, Darwen and Tom worked for Boots the Chemist, as far as I can recall.

Mary and I were sent to St Cuthbert's School. Sometimes, Auntie would let us have a lift on the milkman's horse and cart instead of walking to school. We were well fed and beautifully clothed. Auntie and Uncle must have put a lot of time and effort into our upbringing.

We had to sit each evening with our fingers on our lips and let the rest of the family listen to the six o'clock news on the wireless. Once that was over, we were allowed to get a big cardboard box fastened with a soldier's button from under the settee and play with our toys. Afterwards, we could choose whose knee we would kneel at to say our prayers. Poor Auntie - we never chose her knee because she was the one who taught us manners and discipline.

For some children, being evacuated must have led to unhappy times. Not in my case. And I think not in my sister's. They were very happy times and many is the time that I have thanked both Auntie and Uncle for the sacrifice that they made.

JEAN TURNER (ne Wilkinson), Hill Crest Avenue, Cliviger, Burnley.

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