John Coleman collection

An evacuee's story, shared with accompanying images.

John Coleman Evacuee
The King’s Head, Berry Hill, Forest of Dean, 1939 - 1942

Ron Beach from Berry Hill in the Forest of Dean was lodging with my family in Forest Hill, London at the start of WWII - he was training to be a senior police officer at Scotland Yard. At the declaration of war he told my parents that my sister and I must travel to Gloucestershire and stay with his parents because it wouldn’t be safe for us to stay in London. Gwen was 12 or 13 and I was 8.

Gwen, Mum and me took the train from Paddington to Gloucester and were collected at the station by Ron’s dad, Ernest Beach, publican of The King’s head, Berry Hill. (He must have hired or borrowed a car, because he didn’t own his own car then). Our mother had a small meal before boarding the train back to London.

There was only room for me at the pub, so it was decided that Gwen would stay with a relation of Aunt Zillah (as I called her) in their house near Five Acres because it was closer to the Grammar School she would attend. I shared the back half of a long bedroom with Ernie and Zillah’s daughter Maureen, who was in her late teens (I was eight at the time).

Ron was called up and got a commission in the Somerset Light Infantry and was posted to Nigeria. Aunt Zillah also had a brother living in the pub who was excused call-up as he worked in the mines nearby. His name was Millson or something like that. He later left the pits and joined the GWR as a train driver. He was given extra protein allowance in his rations as he was doing essential work. This meant he was allowed double the amount of cheese than others. As it happened he didn’t like cheese, so my supper most nights was a hunk of crusty bread and a large chunk of cheddar cheese. In the summertime I sat outside on the wall of the pub and ate my meal, accompanied with a glass of cider. At the age of 8!

I went to Christchurch Infants School about a mile from the pub, and sang in the church choir next door. I made friends with other children in the village and they took me to wonderful places. We used to walk the two miles through the forest to Symonds Yat. Eventually we would reach the River Wye, very close to a place they called the Rapids – they were very dangerous to small boats when the river level was high. We then turned right and followed the riverside path and finally reached the start of the huge u-bend in the river. The climb to the top of Yat Rock was hard and somewhat dangerous. But at that age we knew no fear and there were no adults to say “no”. The view from the top was breath-taking.

On the way back we would use our pen-knives to cut hazel sticks. I sometimes cut a thicker piece of wood and carved myself a Spitfire or Hurricane fighter plane.

Other times we would venture to the nearby town of Coleford, or down to Monmouth. This was about 5 or 6 miles. Along the way we passed a large pond, which was the remains of a once thriving business of digging up the clay and making it into yellowy-coloured bricks. In the winter the pond froze over and although we were told NOT to venture on the ice, of course we did and skated and threw stones over the slippery surface.

Pigs and sheep were allowed to graze on the grassy areas alongside the roads and down to the tree-line. The Beach family also had a garden where they grew much vegetables and fruit and some flowers and half-a dozen chickens. There were also 2 pig sties housing 2 small pigs which they had bought as piglets from Mr Webb the local farmer. When these pigs were big enough, Mr Webb was called over and slaughtered them in the garden.

Sometimes I went on the horse-drawn trap with Mr Webb and his daughter. There were 3 or 4 churns full of milk and we went round the neighbourhood, calling on houses, pubs and cafes, ladling milk into a metal jug so it could be poured into the customer’s own enamelled milk jugs or bottles.

I recall that the weather in the Forest of Dean was overall very enjoyable. Yes it rained and when the snow fell in winter it was many feet deep, and getting to school was a difficult journey. But we survived and loved our life in Berry Hill.

After nearly 3 years my parents came to pick us up. The danger from German aircraft had lessened and I had to sit for my scholarship to go to Grammar school and Gwen had to find work and start earning a living.

I enjoyed my time in the Forest and I am sure I learned a great deal which at times throughout my life has been very useful to me.

Excerpts from It Is You, Isn’t It? (1921) and other memories, reproduced by kind permission of John Coleman (aged 94), 2025