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Portrait of
a Parish - Page 24
Reminiscences of Norma Reeve - 1940's
Norma Reeve was born into a poor family in the East End of
London, lived a fairy tale for the fifteen months of her
evacuation. Norma, then 7, her brother Richard, 5 and her elder
sister Doreen, 9, entered a world of wealth and privilege when
they arrived at Monkton Court in Monkton Combe, as guests of the
generous Shore-Baileys. Now a widow, she lives in Essex and has
two children and two grandchildren.
"Dad was a labourer: we were poor but respectable and our
cramped little home was full of love. When we were sent off to
Somerset, labelled up like luggage with an orange and a bar of
chocolate provided by the State, Mum, through the tears, made us
promise we would not be separated. We arrived at a dusty Village
Hall, but nobody it seemed, wanted to take three little
Cockneys. The three of us were alone with Mrs. Shore-Bailey, the
billeting officer, an imposing lady of 50ish in a grey WVS
uniform. She looked at us, sitting bewildered on our suitcases
and said "I'm going to take you". We were ushered into her car.
We had never been in a car before. On arrival, we were shown
into a huge bedroom with polished wood furniture and three beds
made up with pink, blue and yellow counterpanes. In our own
cramped little house we shared a bed. Here, a fluffy towel and
flannel were laid out for each of us. We bathed in a deep bath
full of warm water that flowed effortlessly from a tap. Running
water! It was awe-inspiring. At home we kept our tin bath in the
yard and filled it laboriously from kettles. Mrs. Shore-Bailey
arrived to kiss us good-night. She instructed us to say our
prayers - we had never prayed before - and remember our parents.
The next morning we peeped through the curtain to see the
endless, rolling green lawns of the front garden it seemed we
had arrived in Paradise.
Each week Mrs. Shore-Bailey told us to pick swathes of
flowers from her gardens. She had them packaged in cellophane,
then despatched to my mother to help lift the drudgery of her
day. In winter we tobogganed on a huge sledge, in summer we
dressed as red Indians and picnicked in wig-wams. Mrs
Shore-Bailey, who was a cub-mistress, knew how to entertain
children and when the time came to leave we were sad, of course,
but we accepted that fairy tales must end. We adored our parents
and they, in turn, loved us. We had also grown to love our dear
and wonderful hosts and Mrs. Shore-Bailey kept in touch, as she
promised, coming to my wedding, too. She made a little speech
and gave us a silver tea service which I still treasure".
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