At the end of the month, as nature's mighty pulse began to slow, we could see the vapour from each other's breath hanging like mist on the icy air. There were cold north-easterly winds that made the dry, crinkly, brown leaves that still clung to the beech tree by the gate rattle and fall. The sycamore trees lost the glory of their crimson, russet and golden foliage and there were early morning frosts. The lawns were covered in damp frozen leaves and there was a thin smattering of double-winged sycamore seeds that we called helicopters. It was a time of dampness and decay, and writhing wraith-like mists rolled down the hillsides to gather in the dells and hollows, making the thick brown layer of leaf mould soggy underfoot. The mists muffled our footfalls as we walked in the depths of the dark, dank, dripping woods. The horses had been taken into the shelter of their dry, straw-littered stables to sleep at night and were relishing their first feedings of nutritious, summer hay, as there was no grazing to be had.
In November the men from the Ministry called to inspect the stock and the Artleys had to hide their second pig in the privy down the yard until they left. The law only allowed people to keep one pig for their personal use; any other pigs were supposed to be sold (cheaply) to the Ministry of Food and the piglets had to be fattened up beforehand. Most of the carcass of the second pig was bought by Miss Thorne and the salted and muslin-covered hams and flitches, which were hung from the hooks in the kitchen, kept us supplied for weeks on end.
As the long sleep of winter began, thick, dank fogs shrouded the big house turning the shrubbery and trees into looming, vaguely threatening spectres. To me they were hazy and amorphous, shape-shifting phantoms of the woods just like the misty wraiths that dwelt at the periphery of my vision, which always â on turning to see them â moved rapidly away. Or was it only the creeping, grey fog playing tricks on my young impressionable mind again? As an extra precaution at bedtime I knelt to pray fervently, asking the good Lord to âPlease, protect Mam, Dad, our George and me from ghosts, evil spirits and things that go bump in the night.' I then curled up under the covers hiding from the unspeakable terrors that lurked in the vast and frigid darkness.
At night an intense blackness now covered the land, as the blackout here was almost total. The edges of the station platforms had been painted white to make passengers aware of the dangerous drop down to the track. The platform paraffin lamps were lit for short periods of time, only whenever a train was due to stop, and the glass panes had been painted black, except for a small square in the bottom corner. This allowed just enough faint light to be shed downwards onto the flagstones and these were known as glimmer lights. One dark and cloudy late afternoon in November, after the sun had set behind the western ridge, Anne-Marie and her brother were returning from school in York when the train, for some unknown reason, stopped a little way out from the station. Richard, thinking they had arrived, opened the door in the total darkness and stepped out, falling on to the cinders beside the track. He was badly grazed, but thankfully no bones were broken.
On an earlier occasion he had managed to catch a small adder, which he had put into an empty milk bottle to take to school. When they boarded the train the carriage had quickly emptied and they had it all to themselves. It was Richard who showed us how to put halfpennies on the line to be squashed flat by the train wheels and, being very young and gullible, we thought that this made them into pennies. We tried to use them in the chocolate vending machine and were disappointed when no chocolate came out.
December came in with icy winds, frosts and snow, and with the dark cold nights now twice as long as the days, the shutters were closed and the blackout curtains were put in place long before teatime. As a special treat we were taken on Mr Brown's coach to a Christmas concert at Cropton village hall. Six months earlier, a lady had formed a club for the local youngsters and evacuees from Middlesbrough; they put on a show, which was a great success and we thoroughly enjoyed it.
In the days leading up to Christmas, Santa Claus was never far from our minds and our excitement increased, with much of the joy being in the anticipation. We helped to cut and paint strips of paper in bright colours and, linking them together, we made chains which were hung in loops across the play room and dining room. We had saved up all our silver foil wrappers, from which we made tree decorations, and we thought they looked as good as the bought ones. Our attempts at painting Father Christmas with his reindeers and sleigh were pinned up on the walls, and the gardener brought in sprigs of red-berried holly, along with ivy and mistletoe, which grew as a parasite on the bark of the local oak and apple trees. The Christmas tree, which was set up in the corner, had a fairy on the top of it and was decorated with lots of our glittering home-made baubles and tinsel. Cotton wool was laid on the branches to represent snow and we had hung some of the long, pendulous, light-brown spruce tree cones on them.
We were so excited as we emptied our bulging stocking onto our beds on Christmas morning. People did not have quite the same quantity or quality of food as they had the previous year as the shipping losses were really starting to bite, but the government had allowed us a few extra rations over the Christmas period. Even so, Dinner Lady still managed to cook us a lovely Christmas dinner of roast chicken with bacon, sausagemeat and herb stuffing; crispy roast potatoes; fresh vegetables and rich steaming gravy. This was followed by plum pudding with lashings of hot custard. Later, after a short nap, games and a tea party, with paste sandwiches, mince pies, cakes, jelly and custard, was held. The Calvert and the Artley children came over and, wearing paper hats, we laughed, giggled, and thoroughly enjoyed the party. We excitedly pulled Christmas crackers but I never did understand the jokes that were printed on the slips of paper inside. Father Christmas came with a sack full of lovely presents. We sniggered behind our hands when we saw him kissing Kitty under the mistletoe.
Alan and Kitty were married at St Gregory's Church, Cropton, the following month, and Alan's friend Lloyd Thorpe was their best man. They lived with Alan's parents in the bungalow in the forest until they moved to nearby Kirby Misperton. Kitty and Alan continued to live at Peep o' Day Bungalow for a further three years, by which time he was driving lorry loads of logs from the forest to Pickering station.
Although we were far from home, Christmas still managed to weave its magic spell, and many of our presents were the result of a year's hard work by the dedicated ladies of the local WI. On Boxing Day several parents came to share the festive season with their children and I was flabbergasted when Mrs Robson gave her daughters, Nancy and Sylvia, a lovely, yellow banana each. It soon went out of my mind when Mam brought me a bus conductor's outfit, with a flat, peaked cap and a ticket machine that went âding' when the little lever at the side was pressed. In those short, dim days, as the year was fleeing fast, there were shortages of just about everything.
In January, the snow that lay six inches deep around Grove House muffled our footfalls, and round about us the drifts had created a magical and fantastic scene. Snow was piled up against the house by the strong, bitterly cold north-easterly winds and the hedges and the rhododendron shrubs were transformed into great white mounds and humps. We caught a glimpse of the white rump of a fleeing roe deer near the pond, which hunger had brought down from the forest in search of food. Being very wary animals they try to avoid human contact, and if they detect even the slightest scent of a person they cough to warn the rest of the herd who spring into flight and dash for cover. Strange birds and other small, hungry creatures came into the gardens leaving tiny prints in the virgin snow. Snow thickly blanketed the lawns and the drive and we competed with each other to see who could leave the most footprints in it.
We helped (or hindered?) the nursery assistants in building a snowman. The snow was brittle â not too wet â and therefore ideal for making snowmen and snowballs, and it creaked as we rolled it into large balls to make the body parts. We patted and moulded him into shape using coal for his eyes and buttons, and a carrot for his nose. Sticking a pipe in his mouth, Kitty tied one of the gardener's old mufflers round his neck and put a flat cloth cap on his head. The stillness of the dozing valley was rudely torn apart and the naked woods echoed to our shouts and laughter as snow lay heavy on the leaves and boughs of the spruce trees. We happily raced and jumped about in the thick drifts and had snowball fights. The Stancliffe girls were away from home, so Jack Pickering brought their sledge from the outbuilding where it had been stored all year. Sitting one of us in front of him, he took us on hectic, scary flights with the sledge going pell-mell down the steep snow-covered lane until he dug his heels in and skidded to a halt on the level bit just before the railway crossing. We squealed with delight. Later we sucked on the long icicles that we had snapped off the portico eaves and ran about in our wellies until our legs began to hurt above our socks that had slipped down. The wet tops had chafed the skin making a red ring that was very sore and when we were taken in to the play room, red-cheeked and blue-nosed, the caring nursery assistants smeared our legs with soothing Vaseline or Snowfire ointment.
Eric and I, along with a few of the other five-year-olds, had been having lessons with Miss Thorne, but she was not a fully certified teacher; therefore, steps were being taken for us to start our formal education. Arrangements were made for Eric to be billeted with a Mr Wilson Sleightholme up in Newton village. I was not to see Eric again, except for a brief spell soon after the war, and it was to be a further fifty-odd years before we came into contact with each other again.
I loved it at Grove House where I was secure and cared for by trustworthy, kind and loving people and it seemed a truly magical place to me. In the smoke and chemical-laden atmosphere of Middlesbrough I was often unwell and seemed to get every childhood illness going. Here, in the sylvan beauty and tranquillity of this secluded wooded valley, I was flourishing and growing tall and straight, like the surrounding spruce trees. Fresh air and exercise were honing my appetite and I was filling out. Living a tranquil, simple and wholesome life, I was happy and the world seemed to be a lovely place, but, in my blissful innocence, I was unaware that great changes were being planned and these were soon to change my cosy, cosseted little world forever.
In early February Mam came to visit us and she told me that my Uncle Archie, now a tall handsome fifteen-year-old, was back home and had started work washing and filling milk bottles. A few months later he began his apprenticeship as a steel plater in the Bridge Yard that was part of the sprawling Britannia steelworks. The firm was justifiably proud of having built the Newport (Tees) Bridge, as well as the world-famous bridge that spanned Sydney Harbour, which was the largest and heaviest arch bridge in the world at that time.
It seems that arrangements had been made for me to replace him. I had been allowed to stay on as my younger brother was still here but Mam wanted me to go to the same billet as her sister's son. I was rather apprehensive of what was in store for me and hated the thought of having to leave, as I had loved it so much at Sutherland Lodge and here. However, Mam assured me that it would be nice to have Jimmy to play with and she assured me that he would look after me and I would like it. Mam came through to take me to my new home but George was to stay on.
The day I left Grove House for the last time was a sad, sad day for me. I cried as if my heart was broken (and maybe it was) and there were tears in the eyes of the nursery assistants. My favourite grown-up, apart from Mam and Dad, was Kitty who was now married to Alan, becoming Mrs Catherine Brown. She had given up her job and they were both living happily at Peep-o Day Bungalow. My little brother George, and several of my young friends, had come to see me off; they were all loved and so precious to me, and most of them were sobbing openly. I tried to speak to them as I sensed that I would never see them again, but my heart was too full and I could not get the words out. I never forgot Kitty who had shared her love and knowledge with us and I will owe her a debt of gratitude until the day I die.
All too soon the train, with a great steel snowplough fixed to the front, pulled in at the platform. On that dismal day under a sullen sky loaded with yet more snow to come, the final kisses, hugs and best wishes were exchanged before Mam and I mounted the high wooden step of the railway carriage. It was a bitter wrench and such a sorrowful parting! My whole being was suffused with an overwhelming love for that place and its kind and caring people, and I grieved for all that I was to leave behind. I still think back to those wonderful times where I had lived and played so happily. It was truly a haven of peace and love. To this day memories of those days well up from the depths of my soul, like milk coming to the boil, and they will live in my heart forever. I am filled with a glow of gratitude and pleasure when I think of those sweet, much-treasured times. It was my Elysium; a place that overflowed with tenderness and kindness.
As I set off for pastures new a chapter in my short life closed and a new leaf was about to be turned. The great steam locomotive slowly huffed and puffed its way out of the station and I gazed at the small group that stood huddled together, waving until they were out of sight. I snuggled up into the warmth of Mam's body feeling sad but secure within her loving arms. She held my tiny hand while I lay my head against her bosom and she hugged and kissed me, holding me ever so close calling me her precious little lost lamb. I looked through tear-blurred eyes on the beauty of my secluded valley for the last time. It had been a safe haven from the storms of life and I had been so happy there. The dark green of the pine and spruce trees and the bare limbs of the deciduous trees stood out starkly against the brilliant whiteness of the snow, and involuntary sobs racked my slender frame as I realised that I would never see it again. There was an empty ache in my heart as fond memories of the happy times spent there rose up and I think the following verse expresses perfectly my sentiments at that sad time: