5 Mar 1945, Barbara Anslow's diary
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Worked in morning.
Catholic Action meeting in afternoon, then Red Cross parcels given out, dated April and June 1942, the sort we had in October 1942. Outside they looked in bad condition (brown cardboard boxes) but not bad otherwise. Two of our chocolates weren't good, but there seem to be no blown tins. We opened tin of lobster paste.
Lecture by Dr. Dean Smith on 'Food.'
The Holloway family, and Clifton are getting private parcels, which were meant for Charles and Eileen Medley who had been in camp but were repatriated in 1943.
((I don't know how many 'private parcels' arrived with the general shipment: I guess relatives in UK or USA 'in the know' managed to get them included.
The private parcels sent to internees who had already been repatriated were presumably distributed by our council. Clifton Large & his parents were Canadian but chose not to be repatriated in 1943, (because Clifton wouldn't leave my sister Mabel, and his parents wouldn't leave without him), so their nationality was probably what earned them the Medleys' parcel.
The Holloways' eldest daughter Edith was married and lived with her husband in Canada; very probably Edith had sent the parcel the Holloways received.))
Comments
Charles and Eileen Medley
Hi Barbara,
Charles and Eileen Medley were my Great Aunt and Uncle, its great to see their names written down as there is very little recorded history from this time and although my mother was told many of the details by Eileen herself as to her experiences in Stanley Camp, i was only a young child when she passed away in her late 90's so i never got to hear anything first hand.
Did you know them personally?
many thanks,
Logan
re: Charles and Eileen Medley
Barbara Anslow writes:
I knew them both prewar and in camp. Eileen And Charles were great friends of our neighbours the Budden family who lived in flat above us in Naval Terrace up to 1940. The Medleys often visited the Buddens, we first met the Medleys there.
Sadly Mr Budden and only son Gilbert both died in mens camp in Kowloon very early on.
Daughter Barbara Budden (secy to HE The Governor) and Mrs Budden were both in Stanley when they got news of both tragic deaths a year apart.
Charles and Eileen Medley
Hi Barbara. We have just ordered a copy of your book. I am working on some additional details regarding the Medleys (my husband’s Aunt and Uncle). You noted that you knew them pre-war. Did you recall meeting Charles’ sister, Peggy or his Mother? They were sent to Australia as a result of the evacuation you mentioned.
Also, where was Naval Terrace?
We look forward to reading your book.
Mary MCDaid
Naval Terrace
Charles and Eileen Medley
Dear Mary,
No, I didn't know Charles' sister or mother.
Naval Terrace was a block of six large flats adjacent to the Naval Dockyard. There were trees and bushes round it, and a hard tennis court, all enclosed mainly by brick walls.
The main gate to the site opened on to Queens Road and the tram lines.
On the other side of Queens Road were Army Barracks. There were more barracks overlooking Naval Terrace on our side of the road.
Occupants of the six flats were key personnel of the Naval Dockyard, (my Dad was Superintending Electrical Engineer) who used a small door in the wall to enter the Naval Yard.
When we lived there, I once wrote a sort of poem in the hammock in the garden, called 'Sunday Afternoon.'
I wonder what everyone's doing
This terribly hot afternoon?
I fought for the hammock and won,
And the afternoon's hardly begun,
And I have an apple and two books of poems,
A pencil and paper, and a vague aspiration
To catch and imprison some stray inspiration.
I wonder what everyone's doing
This glorious, free afternoon?
Swimming? What energy!
Sleeping? What lethargy!
In either case, wasting three pulsating hours.
(The others, disgruntled, fling
one last, resentful stare,
Then seek the discomforts of hot bed or wicker chair.)
I wonder what everyone's doing
This relaxing and sun -filled day?
My apple is now just a core,
I could easily manage two more, but it's unsafe now to leave this paradise,
For this is the hour when the lounger pads his way
To the icebox*** full of frosted bottles
pressed in tight array.
I wonder what everyone's doing
This drowsily long afternoon.
My pencil has slipped to the ground,
And none of the poems will make sense I have found,though it may be illusion,
But to me they convey only muddling confusion... An awful confusion.....
Now the flats and the birds
And the air and the greenery
Are silent as death, and as still as stage scenery...
I wonder.......
*** in those prewar days, we had iceboxes, not fridges.
Regards, Barbara