Buckden - a Huntingdonshire Village

FRIENDLY INVASIONS 192 really the village hall, in Church Street, we were looked over by our prospective foster-mothers, themselves supervised by efficient-looking ladies in smart WVS uniform... ‘I happened to be sporting a heavy turban-like bandage covering a head-wound sustained in a playground accident the day before […] I persuaded myself that it was the sinister-looking bandage that caused me to be the last of all to be fostered, not unreasonable considering we had arrived in a rural community, where in livestock markets damaged animals would hardly attract a buyer. An evacuee, moreover, might after all be harbouring some awful complaint like ringworm!’ He was eventually claimed by Mrs Dudley, a young mother from Monks Cottages, where he shared a room and bed with an older fellow-pupil and the rest of the small house with three adults, two infants and a large friendly dog. Although he felt perfectly at home, the billeting officers moved him on after a few days to less crowded premises. Alec Owen remembers Buckden as a friendly place, although his first billeting got off to a bad start: ‘Dick Ashby and I wound up with a family called Osborne much to Mrs O’s surprise and disgust—she had expected two cute seven-year-old girls to keep her daughter company. This lady was somewhat annoyed with me because I drank the can of milk in the box of supplies which I was supposed to hand over to whomever we were to be billeted with.’ 1 He, too, was soon moved on, in his case to live with the Linton family at Stirtloe House. He had been one of the first evacuees, arriving in Buckden on Friday, 1 September. The following Sunday morning he was having an after-chapel drink from the Church Street pump when Mrs Osborne’s little girl brought him the news that war had been declared. Settling in David Rhodes remembers that for the first few days all was confusion while the school was re- assembled. A few boys billeted at outlying farms were brought into the village, as were some of the upper school who had accidentally been sent to Abbotsley. David spent most of his time scrumping, but more formal activities were soon started up, among them compulsory walks and supervised swimming. But there were no lessons for the fortnight or so it took to complete the conversion of The Towers into suitable teaching premises. 2 Alan Cockburn’s new foster parents were John and Kate Smith of Montague House, almost opposite the village school: ‘John’s interests were varied; besides being a churchwarden he had a busy joinery and building business next door to Montague House, doing much work on restoration in churches. He was also undertaker, corn merchant, coal merchant and insurance agent. Jack Peacock, his clerk, kept a close eye on proceedings from the little office building near the entrance to the joinery workshop. John and Kate were a wonderfully kind and welcoming couple, tolerant and understanding of the ways of energetic boys of twelve or so, and much more like grandparents than surrogate parents.’ Alec Owen had no time to feel homesick: ‘I was just too busy with my new environment.’ Then the classrooms in The Towers were ready and the long summer holiday was over. Schooling David Rhodes: ‘I think everyone will agree that we were extremely lucky to get hold of such a suitable place for a school . When we had settled down and lessons were running smoothly, other evacuated schools were still only getting part-time education, or sitting, sixty in a class, in draughty barns. Whatever anyone may say about the disadvantages of The Towers, it would have been difficult to have found a better school under the circumstances. It was right in the centre of the village and 1 According to the school’s historian, Raymond Cave, the village had apparently been led to expect mothers and babies. 2 At this time, The Towers was owned by Robert Holmes Edelston (who lived elsewhere). His solicitors complained to the County Council that ‘unbeknown to our client’ a school had taken up residence on his property. They received a dusty reply along the lines of ‘ Don’t you know there’s a war on?’ (Raymond Cave) “Montague House”