It would be another three years before Henry Tomlinson took the helm -

 On September 1st, 1939 Henry Tomlinson became the third Headmaster at Sexey's. In one respect he couldn't have chosen a worse date to take up the reins as it was this very day that the Regent Street Polytechnic School of London decided it would evacuate no less than 440 boys to the West Country, many of them to Blackford! Needless to say, Mr T took charge of the billeting of the local evacuees - this was just hours after his arrival!

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We are very fortunate that the Polytechnic had its own school magazine called the 'Quintinian' and that many of the evacuees were able to write first hand accounts of their time in the West Country. (At this point I must thank the school, now called the Quintin Kynaston School, for allowing me to use these extracts from the magazine in their entirity. Thanks must also go to John Grant for seeking out the staff members concerned.)

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Here then are the extracts, as they appear in the Quntinian, of nine of the evacuees that turned up in Blackford. They didn't stay in Blackford for too long as it was decided that there was more appropriate accommodation in Minehead. They must have enjoyed their time in Blackford, though, as a number of them decided to cycle back to Blackford to pay a visit - quite a journey! 

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C. NABARRO (U.5Ai) arrives at Blackford - 'After having watched the train slowly puff out of Cheddar's small station, we remained for a time under its roof in order to shelter ourselves from the steady downpour of rain, which had persistently followed us from London. Fortunately, for us, in a short time the rain eased off considerably, and so we moved off in a long "caterpillar", headed and punctuated half-way by our large banners.'

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'The procession proceeded through Cheddar, and was watched by the entire awe-struck population. Without any incident of importance we arrived at the end of the town, and were all much cheered at the sight of a new cinema nearing completion!'

'We then divided into our squads, and prepared to board the coaches which were waiting to take us to one of four small villages, all of about five miles distant. The task of boarding was by no means pleasant, as we had to enter with all our luggage, and by this time the rain had added to our difficulty by returning once more in far more ferocious mood. However, we eventually managed to get our squad on board the second coach, and, amid cheers, we made our way through avenues of less fortunate boys who were still waiting in the deluge.'

'The coach was most definitely not a 1939 model, and it gave one a feeling of holding on to a road drill as it ploughed its way through the murk on its long journey to the little village of Blackford. The long, narrow, winding country road shone with rain as it stretched far off into the mist, and on each side for as far as the eye could see were the hills, assuming purple hue in the fading light.'

'After about half-an-hour we drew up outside a small building, which had the title of Blackford Council School. Then came the pleasant task of disembarking in the merciless rain. We slowly came out from under the barrage of cases, which we had placed on our knees, and slowly but surely reached the warmth of the quaint little school-rooms. Here we received a very warm welcome from the persons who were to attend to our future welfare, and their first job was to present us with our emergency rations. These were received with no little consternation, and it could be plainly seen that some doubted very much whether they could (should the emergency arise) last out on the contents of the parcel for two whole days.'

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'Then came the colossal job of the actual billeting, and much credit must be showered on the billeters for preventing a minor chaos when the question arose as to "Who goes with whom?''. Several of the persons connected with the billeting possessed motor-cars, and this aided the job of distributing the boys very considerably, and in a time much shorter than all had anticipated we reached our billets.'

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'My "billet companion" and I were very lucky in being selected for what turned out to be the billet of the area, and we did not have long to wait at the School before being whisked away in a car to our new home. Here our hearts sank as the lady of the house assumed an expression of surprise and horror at the sight of us, dripping wet and laden with bags, as we presented ourselves at her doorstep!'

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'Her dismay, we learnt later, was due to the fact that we were supposed to be "children of 4 or 5". But she soon recovered, and we were welcomed with a huge meal which satisfied our hunger, which by now was telling us that it was a long time since lunch! Then, relaxing in a spacious arm-chair, I looked back over the eventful day of travel.'D. C. JONES (4A) gives his general impression of life in Blackford.

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'It did not take us long to settle down in our new home, an old but very comfortable farmhouse, or to the strange surroundings. Everything was so different from London - no buses, trams, or motor-cars tearing to and fro, but just an occasional clip-clop and rattle of a horse and cart passing along the road, and the whirr of the reaping machine in the fields.'

'Each morning, as you walked into town to report, everybody you passed said "Good morning", or passed some comment on the weather, whether they knew you or not. Most of us found a lot of things to do to help pass away the time, such as helping the farmers in the fields haymaking, and later still, just before we left, making cider.'

A MARSHALL (4A) adds-

 

'The village of Blackford consisted of one main street, with about three side streets. There were four shops - a general store, two sweet shops, and a butcher's - besides a public house. If anyone walked for five minutes in one direction they would come to country. Everybody seemed to know everybody else, and the whole village seemed to share three names, notably Duckett, Starr, and Wall.'

'When we arrived at Blackford we were just in time for the blackberry season, harvesting, and apple crop. Those boys who worked on a farm were lucky to be able to have as many apples as they wished. The others, however, had only to ask and could have as many apples as they wanted.'

 

D. SELIGMAN (3B) gives a general idea of life there -

I was billeted on a farm and I think it was about the biggest farm in the district. Farm life I enjoyed a lot, and I was quite busy haymaking, driving the horse and cart, and nearly every evening I used to go round the various fields collecting the eggs, and that stretch was about 1½ miles.'

 

'Driving the cows was another thing I enjoyed, but they certainly kept you on the run. I had also the regular job at the School of feeding the chickens for the Head Master, so, you see, I wasn't idle.'

 

T. BAYNTON (U.5Ai) has adventures among the chickens -

'On returning we met the farmer's son, who was going out to feed the chickens, and we asked him if we could accompany him. He told us we could, and, if we learnt how to feed them, we could do it ourselves next time. He opened the gate of a field, and when we had all come through he told me to shut the gate again. While walking across the field we could see one hen pecking about near its coop, and it set up a terrific cry on seeing us and ran and flew about. All the others heard this and came as well. Their meal was wheat, and it was thrown to the ground, and while they pecked at it we went off to collect the eggs. We went into the coop and climbed over their roosts to the nests and collected all the eggs, except for a few a hen was sitting on. Every time I tried to get the eggs away, she pecked at me, so I asked the farmer's boy to do it. He knew just how to deal with the hen. He threw a handkerchief over its head and held it there while he got the eggs, which amounted to 32 when we had finished." Tea was ready for us when we got back, and it consisted of two eggs each, bread and butter, and cake. We had two eggs for tea nearly every tea-time. We always found something of interest on that farm and were never idle until the day we left.' H. S. BROMBERG (L.5C) tries, not too successfully at first, to milk a cow -

 

'One day, just before tea, the farmer asked me if I would like to see him milking cows. When we arrived at the ground where the cows were, we got out of the car, unloosened the churns, put them on the ground, and fixed a strainer on one of them. Then we said to Rover, the dog, "Up and get them, boy; hope, hope, hope." When all the cows were rounded up together I asked the farmer if I could milk one. So he selected the quietest cow he could find and put the span on her legs to hinder her from kicking.'

'Then I put the bucket under her, sat on a stool, and tried to milk, but I couldn't get a drop out of her. So the farmer told me to wet my hands. I went across to the ditch and dipped my hands in and, to my surprise, they roared with laughter, because I was supposed to wet my hands with milk. When I had done this I started to milk the cow, but just when I was getting on nicely the cow calmly walked away, knocking the pail over in the process. Luckily there wasn't very much milk in it.'

V. STEEDON (L.5C) writes a thrilling narrative entitled -

 

'A COW WITH MILK FEVER'

When I was at Blackford I was on a farm called Lime Kiln Farm, because on the land was a lime quarry which was used till 400 years ago. This is, however, sidetracking the real story. The farm was only a moderate sized one of about 24 acres. Fifty chickens, two large orchards, a herd of 10 black thoroughbred Dexters, two horses, and two calves comprised the whole.'

'About the second week Mr. Tinney, the farmer, had two cows, Sarah and Bertha, which calved. Sarah had calved at 3.15 p.m., and at about five o'clock Mr. Tinney began to get worried about her, for she began to wobble on her legs. He suspected milk fever, so he rang up the vet. Unfortunately, he was out, but he would be round as soon as possible.'

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'Mr. Tinney had some sacks filled up with earth, the use of which I will relate later. Then he told me to keep an eye on Sarah while he went milking, as it was long over-due. The dog, Jeff, rounded up the other nine cows into the next field and Mr. Tinney began to milk. He had told me that if Sarah, who was lying down, attempted to get up I was to call him. She was all right for about ten minutes, then she managed to get up. Calling Mr. Tinney,for she looked as if she would roll into a ditch, I told the dog to go back to the farm as he was getting too curious." Mr Tinney soon came, and when he did he held Sarah by the horns and pulled her about two feet. Then she flopped down. She went down as a camel would kneel, then she rolled on her side. Mr. Tinney had a long iron stake handy with a length of rope. He drove the stake into the ground and tied Sarah to it. He asked me to bring over the wheelbarrow with three sacks full of earth in it. I saw the use of them then. He put them under the cow soas to prop her up slightly. By now the cow was in a bad state. Mr. Tinney could do no more for her.'

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'As it was getting dark he went back to his milking. At about 7.15 he had finished and was filtering off the last bucket of milk when we heard the roar of a car's exhaust coming into the lane. It was the vet. Mr. Tinney told me to run and show him over. I went to him and I was surprised to see a young man. I thought he was too young. However, he asked if I could carry some equipment over for him.'

'By now it was nearly dark, so we all had lanterns and torches. We got to the cow and he assembled all the gear. Whilst Mr.Tinney held the cow down, the vet. put a lanyard around Sarah's neck. He got out a sharp, pointed instrument, about 3½ins. long. It was barbed like a fish hook. At the end farthest from the point was saucer shape, about 3in. broad. All of this was hollow, like an injection needle.This instrument was stuck into the cow's jugular vein; at the same time the lanyard was pulled tight, very tight. A gush of dark blood spurted from the needle with a terrific force. It sprayed Mr. Tinney, who was holding down the cow, but luckily he had a smock on. The calf became very excited, so I had to hold him and shine a torch on the needle.'

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'The vet, after a minute of blood gushing, released the lanyard, and the blood stopped flowing. A large bottle of calcium water, with a rubber tube which was stuck in the needle, was held upside down, and the liquid flowed into the cow's veins. About three-quarters of the bottle was emptied into the cow. Then the needle was abstracted and the fluid was massaged down as it was a huge lump under the skin. The vet. massaged it with iodine. He said that he had done the best he could do, so we left the cow propped up with sacks and tied to the iron stake. We gathered up the vet's equipment and walked back to the house. It was now about 9.30 p.m. The vet. stayed for a cup of tea, and he washed his hands. He said he didn't think the cow would turn worse, but if she did Mr. Tinney was to 'phone him up. The vet then went off on another job.'

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'We all had our suppers and went to bed. But Mr. Tinney kept turning out at two-hour intervals to see if Sarah was all right. But she was quite fit the next day, and Mr. Tinney was milking her with all the other cows.'

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J. F. THOMPSON (4C) sees a pig killed -

'One morning I was invited to see a pig slaughtered, so I went down to the slaughter-house. The pig was fixed to a pulley and dragged clear of the ground. It was then shot through the head with a R.S.P.C.A. Humane killer. When this had been done its throat was cut and the blood allowed to run out. Then the bristles were burnt off with straw. While this was being done the slaughterer's assistant and I washed away the blood (an unpleasant task, I assure you). The pig, after this, was cut open and all its digestive system taken out. Some of this was thrown to a dog, but most of it was sold to a Bristol tripe firm. When it had been cleaned and scraped the pig was sponged down inside and out. All unwholesome pieces were taken out, e.g., the hard hoofs, the end of the snout, and the inside of the ears. The head was then sawn off and the pig was bisected and carried to the butcher's shop.'

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'Throughout the proceedings my thoughts had been of pity for the pig, and admiration for the clean and painless way in which the pig had been killed. After thanking the slaughterer and congratulating him on his fine piece of work, I left the slaughterhouse and went home.' 'At Blackford they make Cheddar Cheese, and G. LAKE (L.5A) saw this being done -

'My landlord down at Blackford was one day put to work at the cheese-room, and I was able to go in and see the process right through. The evening and morning milk would be put in a tank and heated to 101 degrees Centigrade. Rennet is added, causing the milk to turn into curds and whey. The curds and whey then separate and the curds are cut by sets of razor-sharp knives held in frames with handles. These are drawn through the curd until it looks like bread crumbs.'

'A test is then taken, which is called the lactic acid test. If the test is correct, the whey will be drawn off and the curd is then ready for use. The curd is then cut up (for by this time it has joined) and pressed three or four times, being cut in between each pressing. The curd is now a light brown colour. It is salted and put into vats the shape of the cheese to be, and then pressed for three days, and afterwards stored for a time.'(I'm sure you'll agree with me that these wartime extracts make enjoyable and fascinating reading - they were a wonderful find! - MJ)

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In 1939 Richard Coombes joined the school as a day pupil, Richard lived with his family in West Huntspill. Richard's cousin, Donald Coombes, had started the school one year earlier.

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Richard remembers travelling to school by the school brake or 'charabang' and he remembers it having a removeable canvas soft -top.

Whilst at Sexey's Richard can recall being a member of the Boys' Brigade and remembers practising with a rifle and parading on the school field.

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He was able to bring to mind a number of his classmates. These were Rosemary Riley, Eric Banwell, Ray Puddy, Leonard Lass, Bernard Haas, Ronald Coombes, Donald Tripp, Jimmy Hillier, Mervyn Payne and Rex Payne (Mervyn's brother), Marjorie Jupe,. Gerald Dean, ? Rawlings, Geoff Ham, Simon Vowles ( Simon's daughter, Sue, has recently contacted me with some extra information about him .... 'you might be interested to know that Simon Vowles referred to near the bottom of your page entitled Memories up to the 1930s was in fact Stuart William Vowles (my father) but he had the nickname 'Simon'.  He was born on 9th May 1924 and died on 4th December 1996.  He had been Head Boy at the school before joining the Royal Air Force and spending the majority of the second world war in Egypt'), Jack Major, Becky Morgan and Horace Dyer. Richard was particularly keen on Rosemary Riley and actually named his own daughter 'Rosemary' after her.

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