Operation Pied Piper
Childhood During World War II
First guest post for this blog.
I have known Patrick Craddock since my tenure in Fiji. We became instant friends, even before I acknowledged him as a colleague. He is from the United Kingdom but has lived in New Zealand for nearly four decades. He happens to be the only other person who I know has travelled more than I have. Not just “travel” but actually lived and worked in many countries. He has lived in four continents, and travelled through several countries in the continents where he has not lived. His primary language is English, but he has managed to teach Media and Communication in countries such as Mozambique, Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands, Kenya, Singapore, and of course Fiji and New Zealand.
I am preparing a series of essays on people who have contributed dearly to my life, and Pat, as I call him, will get his own post. So, you will get to hear more about him.
This post is just a response to my request for a guest post from Pat.
I had interviewed Pat about two years ago for my YouTube channel. We focusesd on his childhood, part of which overlapped World War II. The interview is ready to be uploaded but Pat and I needed to sort out a few things, I needed to add some B-roll and edit some parts and add an intro. So, while the video may still take some time, this post will give you a glimpse of childhood during World War II.
Screenshot Getty Images: 1st October 1940: Two young evacuees from London's East End make themselves useful at a Gloucestershire farm, by helping with the harvest. (Photo by Maeers/Fox Photos/Hulton Archive/Getty Images)
What fascinates me about our many conversations about his childhood is how children adjust so quickly. Imagine a childhood in ongoing war —of many years? The reality of those children is so different from those of us lucky to have “normal lives” (even though we continue to complain daily).
What concerns me is how little we talk about how war affects children. There are movies and books, but much more is written about adults. Children, school, education, regular life, all are affected during a war in a profound way.
The trauma does not end with ending of a war. It continues in devastated lives. Nightmares, fears, repressed anger, insecurities and a general lack of trust of the world.
I have some experience from being the grandchild of people who had to leave behind their homeland, which is now Pakistan- to move a few thousand kilometers away to what we call India. We call simply call it THE PARTITION. Remembered as a painful event in India and as a somewhat jubilant in Pakistan. India lost a part, while Pakistan became a country. My entire childhood had the echoes of, “When we were in Pakistan, when we came here, when we became homeless…”
Wealth accumulated over generations was lost overnight. All people carried were memories, values and hope. It takes generations before families recover.
Moving to the US and then Europe I realized how much the World Wars and ‘Hitler’ was a part of regular narrative of their history. In the US it was the depression of the 1930s, the world wars, and Hitler in the context of World War II1.
In Europe, Hitler and the fear related to that still persists in many conversations. However, do people realize that at the time of both world wars, a good portion of the world was under colonial rule? A good portion of the world was jostling with understanding their own selves. In India, inspired by the likes of Gandhi, Sardar Patel, Nehru and Subash Chandra Bose, we were busy with movements like Quit India (in reference to the British) and Swadeshi (which promoted using products made in India by Indians.)2
So, Keep calm and carry on! had little reference to our existence in India. Or later when I encountered it in memes and posters.
Regardless, both freedom movement and world wars, along with the shadow of Hitler possibly created the same environment of fear and uncertainty.
Currently, people are talking about a war in Europe, especially since more countries, including Sweden have joined the NATO.
Sweden’s not been involved in war for two centuries. Something they have always been proud of. But I think we humans are a war prone people. In 1945, when WWII wrapped, leaders created League of Nations, which became the United Nations to ensure that we never had another world war. While we have been somewhat lucky in that respect, there have been numerous wars around the world since 1945. Some that get noticed, others that go on for years without getting much media attention.
I remember a student from Kuwait who told me after one class period of International Mass Communication , “While gulf war is considered one of the shortest wars (11 days), we lost a year of school in Kuwait.”
Yet, I marvel at the human spirit to live and recreate life, as happy and as hopeful as possible—despite horrendous wars. A testimony to humanity undying hope, a desire to live with full heart — people get married, even during wars, children are born, even during wars and friendships reform and continue, even after wars.
But did the young children know it was war? Or did they just think that was life and felt confused? How did they feel when the war ended?
None of these questions are answered here.
The post is written from a child’s perspective. How we remember in bits and parts, how memory can be both choppy and yet quite clear, regardless of how many years ago the event occurred. And how memories are so important to understand who we are.
Pat has an eternal dislike of war and conflict.
And it should come as no surprise that Pat throughly enjoys classical music. He has always gone out of his way to place himself in the middle of languages he has no understanding of. I made fun of him when I found out that he would walk into theaters playing Bollywood Movies in Fiji. Movies were neither subtitled nor does Pat understand hindi. Yet, there was he was sitting for no less than three hours watching the film in a foreign language.
Hope in this article by Pat, you recognize the love and affection as seen through the eyes of a child, despite all the heartache and confusion3.
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Operation Pied Piper
Childhood During World War II
Patrick Craddock
Going Away From Hitler
As a young child I went to live in Scotland to get away from Adolph Hitler. We were living in London just before World War Two in North London where my Grandfather Hoffman lived. My mother Freda said her father was born in Austria, of a Jewish family and he had studied and qualified at Leipzig University in Germany.
I am not sure what Grandfather Hoffmann qualified in, but later he became an engineer and worked with the first motorcars. He is reported to have helped develop Hoffmann ball bearings, which went into the rims of the wheels of cars. The steel ball bearings were embedded in thick oil or grease to help the easy movement of the wheels. However- my brother David, said his research did not confirm that finding – so is it yet another myth about the Craddocks and Hoffman family?
Pat’s Grandfather: Somewhere in the late 1860s. Probably taken in a studio.
During War, Even the First Names have a Nationality
He settled in England with his family before World War One started. Mother said that had a dog called Fritz, who came with them. When World War One started the children were told make sure that nobody called their dog Fritz, as English people did not like German names. So, Fritz took another name – and the dog never recovered his psychological balance after being renamed.
Music To The Rescue
When I think of mother, I think of music. She could sing and had had some training. She played the piano and said she had a scholarship for classical piano training, which she never took up as her mother died of cancer. My mother was the oldest child and just on eighteen so my mother had to look after the family. There were other young children in family – Lulu, her sister and Roland, who around three years old.
I have memories of her in the lounge arranging flowers, putting them in a vase on the piano and singing Musetta’s Waltz Song from La Boheme.
We always had a piano at home. Mother would then sit down at the piano, start the song again and play and sing and play and sing. From La Boheme she would move to Viennese operetta, in particular Franz Lehar who composed The Merry Widow. Vilja – a song about a young woman, was among her favorites. It soon became mine too. She sang it manytimes over many years. It became a motif in my life and hers for shared pleasure and some of the events of World War Two.
to avoid the WW2 German air raids.
Screenshot Media storehouse
Memories: Blurry and Broken, Yet Strong and Sensitive
The first tears I ever saw in my mother’s face occurred at a dinner party she had with some friends. How old was I…not sure…maybe seven years of age! My mother’s…own mother had been French. Our house always echoed with guests with foreign accents. She loved company. It had been a special party because my father was going away again and he was not allowed to tell anyone where, even his family. He was an army officer and with World War Two on the horizon, his work was important.
After dinner my mother went to play the piano. She played Chopin, including the Military Polonaise for my father. I was sitting on the staircase when I heard her begin singing Vilja, from “The Merry Widow. I went into the lounge where the guests were.
Mother kept singing and playing the piano and beckoned me towards her. I received a quick small embrace with her left arm as she managed to keep the piano going and sing at the same time. I sat by her knee. Her friends applauded the work and one of them said something in French to her. I learned many years later he said that The Merry Widow was one of Hitler’s favourite operettas, and he told the story about how in Vienna, Franz Lehar had presented Hitler with a special book commemorating the 500th performance of the operetta. And, said the friend… Franz Lehar got a medal from Hitler…but his wife is Jewish.
My mother burst into tears. She cried for while, and began talking French to the guests. Then slamming the piano keyboard lid she began sobbing again. She was holding me tightly and I can recall feeling that she was hurting me. My father stood there in the room looking strange. She let me go, went to him and put her head on his shoulder. She turned to look back at me, took me into her arms and shouted at the guests. I could not understand what was said, but the memory of that night remains...the Vilja song … my mother crying, the sound of piano keyboard lid slamming, the shouting in French and the vivid pain I felt.
It was not until many years later when mother was dying of cancer that I understood what was said that night. When I heard my mother was seriously ill I applied for extended leave from work in NZ to be with her in England. I nursed her daily for several months as she slowly decayed watched with sadness how in her final days she needed the numerous painkillers the doctor pumped into her to stop her pain.
One evening I sat by her bed and she woke up from a long sleep and seemed bright and rested. We talked and she said she knew was dying. She mentioned how the war had destroyed my father’s health. “My Jack”, as she called him had not been on the frontline of the war, but in Nigeria and caught malaria and some tropical disease, which had affected his eyesight and possibly gone into his brain. He recovered, but he was weaker and never the strong alert man she had known before the war started.
After the Concert. The beautiful lady in the middle is Pat’s mother, and the children around her are the village children who participated in the play that was meant to re-create India
I asked about the night when she had cried, saying it had affected me. I mentioned how she held me… it had hurt, I said. And the guests – what had they said- and whathad she said? I learned the story from her about the Viennese music and Hitler…telling her guests the Germans were good people, Hitler was bad and she was frightened that if he came to England he would kill her children and that she knew he was already killing other mothers’ children in Europe. She said too, our guests had hurt her in her own house, and that the music did not belong to Hitler… she told them she never wanted to play or sing that music again. But, I said… you played more music that evening, I remember … later …you opened the piano and played the waltz from The Merry Widow. Yes, she said, I love that music. It makes me happy when I play it.
She then began to cry and sob. I waited for her to talk…then said quietly… it was a long time ago, Mum, please do not cry… but, I must… she said… I will never play it again, ever.
Operation Pied Piper, to Save the Children
I went to Scotland to get away from Hitler. It sounds unbelievable but during World War II, three and half million people, mostly children, were evacuated from towns and cities to areas deemed safe from bombs by the authorities. When war broke out in September 1939, around one and half million children, mothers, pensioners and hospital patients were relocated in just four days. It was known as Operation Pied Piper, the biggest mass movement of people in Britain's history. Over seven hundred thousand were unaccompanied children, and the same happened to over six hundred thousand children a year later.
Children Like Adults, Make Up Stories:
I either went from Kings Cross Station in London or Paddington – I don’t know which, but I was with my brother David. We each had a little bag and a large label on our jackets held on with string. At the station there were so many people, soldiers with guns, police officers, nurses and adults with papers who kept calling out names. I remember people shouting and many children crying. My mother was there. She kissed us, cried and then we went with some more adults. There were no parents with us. We got on the train and waited. I was in a carriage with mainly boys. There was one boy, much taller than me and he kept asking everyone to show him what they had in their bags. We all had the same. Every now and again he would take some food from someone’s bag and eat it. He’d then push the kid who gave the food from his parcel. One child started to cry and then and adult came into the room. He grabbed the boy doing all the trouble and pulled him outside to the train corridor. Later the boy came back. He was quiet for a while and then started talking.
Do you know why all we kids are here? It’s because we are bad. No one likes us anymore, and we were being sent to the jungle where we have to find our own food and live with the wild animals? And if we come out of the jungle Hitler will get us.
I was terrified. Several of us began to cry. Me too. A few minutes later a man came into the carriage… somehow, he knew which boy had been making the trouble. The boy was taken out and we never saw him again. I so hated him and hoped the adult had thrown the boy off the train. Later, a woman came into our train compartment to stay with us for a while. She was friendly and talked with us. We told her what theboy had said. I remember looking at her face and she looked sad. She then took the smallest boy on her lap and said that we were going on a long journey so we would be safe. One boy asked about the jungle and she said there was no jungle and that when we got to where we going we would see our mothers again.
Screenshot Getty Images
It was such a journey, I slept several times and every time I woke up I saw that someone else was still sleeping. We then came to where were going. It was another big railway station. There were soldiers there too and policemen, men with helmets, nurses and so many people who kept looking at sheets of paper and then at the labels we all had. I have no idea what town or city it was, but suddenly my mother appears and the whole world was good again.
We went on another train and through the country. I remember seeing cows and sheep and some goats wondering if they were jungle animals. The women in the train said we were not going to the jungle, but I was not sure. However, with mother looking after David and I, all was well. Nothing bad could happen to us anymore.
The train stopped and I hear a man shout “Craigellachie, Craigellachie, Craigellachie”. We got out and I noticed that we were one of only a few groups of children and adults who left the train. The train took off and we all sat there on this little railway station. A big black car came up and we all went and then we all drove away to a village called Archiestown.
We were put into an old house with two stories which I learned later was called The Manse.
The owners were an old couple, possible in the seventies. They immediately took a dislike to us. I recall my mother saying with exasperation – why do they keep asking us again and again why we are here and when are we leaving? We are here to get away from the war. What had happened, was that government has told people they had to take in families from the cities where the bombs where falling. I guess, in this day and age we would be called displaced people.
Before long, mother found a small cottage and we moved into it. I remember the old woman smiling on the day we left. But, sometime later more people came to stay with the old couple.
War Time Demands We Work Together, Like One People
Soon my mother became a notable person in the village. She was a trained nurse and in constant demand as there was one doctor around and he served numerous villages.
The one and only local policeman somehow found a bicycle for my mother, it too was black. She went around with this bicycle and small bag on the back. As children we used to look in this bag when mother was not around. It contains bottles, bandages and other medical mysteries. I was talking earlier about Vilja- the song and The Merry Widow operetta. Soon we had a piano, I don’t know where it came from, but there it was. Once again we would wake up to music in the morning, hear it in the evening and anytime that mother felt she wanted to play and sing. Now, let me jump in time. The Second World War was now going the way of the allies – as we kids said, we are winning. By this time we had been in the village a long time. Mother had acquired a radio and we listened to the BBC with the news and hearing strange names of bombs had hit places like Hamburg and Dusseldorf. But what was more interesting was that we had a concentration camp set up several kilometres away from the villages. At first there were only Italians there. Later the German prisoners arrived. Before long these Italians were working in the villages doing jobs during the day Before long these Italians were working in the villages doing jobs during the day and going back to the camp at night. People seemed to accept them after a while. Then my mother became involved with the camp. But, let’s hold that story for a moment.
Entertainment Before TV, Radio & The Internet
Entertainment in the village was a do-it-yourself affair. Soon, my mother began organizing concerts and putting on activities in the local town hall. I was the one person of the three of us children who seemed to enjoy watching the theatre plans evolving and so I accompanied my mother. Before the concerts took place, our piano was moved to the local hall where it stayed for a few days and then came back home.
All the concerts had patriotic songs, jokes about Hitler and then at the end we all sang God save the King.
Mother was creating more and more elaborate concerts. The Italians prisoners of war were being seen more and more and were obviously not seen as a threat. One day I went to the hall to be with Mum and there were several Italian prisoners singing songs around the piano. It turned out they were rehearsing for the concert. And when the concert took place these prisoners sang. Their voices were big and my mother really enjoyed their company. I remember them embracing her after the show and not understanding what it was all about. I had only ever seen my father kiss my mother.
The war ended and I came home from boarding school, which I hated, and mother had yet another concert party in the making. The prisoners were still prisoners but they seemed to be everywhere in the village. Some were again in the concert party. When the concert took place there were prisoners singing and one of them played the piano too. I noticed too that there German prisoners there too. The way we kids could tell was their language, it sounded different to the way the Italians talked. Village people did not like the Germans and called them Krauts. Older people were really nasty.
Some of them used to spit on the ground after a German prisoner passed them in the street.
Prisoner After The End Of War
World War Two ended and I was at home from one of the awful boarding schools I had attended. There were still prisoners of war in the camps, but the rules were being relaxed and soon the Germans and Italians would be going home. We saw more of them around the village as they did small jobs.
There was yet another concert with performers from the camps taking part in some item. My mother dedicated part of this particular concert to the many soldiers who had been fighting in India. She had an affinity with India through a friend of my father, named Monty Barton, who married an Indian woman when he and my father were in India serving in the British Army. Creating India in small Scottish village was a difficult feat and the local boys and girls were drawn into taking part. An army photographer came to one performance and took this picture. It was my introduction to photography as I watched him arrange people for the photograph and I wanted a camera. I got one later – for my next birthday and I have had one ever since.
The Jubilant Memories Remain Fresh
But, the end of the performance is the part I recall most. There were numerous encores at the end of the concert and my mother took part in many of them. She sang Vilja. A loud chorus of deep dark male voices joined her and when the song ended there was clapping and shouting from the German prisoners in the audience.
After the Concert. The beautiful lady in the middle is Pat’s mother, and the children around her are the village children who participated in the play that was meant to re-create India.
For Further Reading:
https://www.defensemedianetwork.com/stories/operation-pied-piper-the-evacuation-of-english-children-during-world-war-ii/
The evacuation of children during the Second World War: History Press https://thehistorypress.co.uk/article/the-evacuation-of-children-during-the-second-world-war/
Click here to listen to the Military Polonaise. Imagine how soothing this must be in difficult times, when adults kept all the pain to themselves while trying to protect their children.
Two different versions of Vilja can be heard here Vilja (Kimmy Skota) and here Vilja (English National Opera)
Keep Calm and Carry On: a motivational poster produced by the Government of the United Kingdom in preparation of World War II. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keep_Calm_and_Carry_On
Later years it would be Vietnam that was in focus. While I heard a lot about Vietnam when I was in the US (books, movies, songs, documentaries), it was the Gulf and Iraq war that dominated the narrative.
Indians were forced to wear textiles made in Britain. Britain would take raw materials from India and possibly other countries, give work to her workers/people in the factories and the products were then sold in the colonies. It negatively impacted the textile industry in India. Indians were not even allowed to have their own ‘salt’. Which is when Gandhi organized a Dandi/Salt March (1930). A march all the way to the sea, to make Indian salt from sea water. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salt_March. So while the world was jostling with Depression, WWI and WWII —many countries at the same time were struggling to free themselves of colonialism. However, Indian soldiers were still fighting wars for Britain as they were citizens of the British Raj.
PS: I took the liberty of adding the subtitles to the main piece that Pat shared.
It is inaccurate to say When we were in Pakistan. People who evacuated from West Punjab to East Punjab were never in Pakistan. Their homeland remains West Punjab not Pakistan.