By Elfrida Foulds

Yealand Manor, originally the home of the Ford family, has served a number of useful purposes since it ceased to be a private house. During the Second World War it became an evacuation school, run by a group of Quakers, originally for Quaker and refugee children from Manchester and Liverpool and Western Europe.

On the outbreak of war. a flock of children arrived and next day saw the birth of Yealand Manor School, with a pooling of toys and other possessions for Nursery and Kindergarten, a pooling of books and skipping ropes and balls for “Middles”, and an orderly arrangement of copies of the Hibbert Journal (found in the building) to serve as desks, with the older children lying on their stomachs and writing “My ideas for Yealand Manor School.” A father, who was an experienced teacher and was leaving his wife and children at the Manor, devised a timetable before leaving; with modifications It lasted for the lifetime of the school.

From this rather unlikely beginning the school grew, surviving the period of the “phoney war”, until the situation became increasingly menacing and the accommodation filled up rapidly with almost eighty children up to 12 years of age. The Old School in the grounds of Yealand Meeting House was, conveniently, just down the drive and across the road and was used in addition to the Manor, housing visiting parents, three or four adult male workers and a number of boys at night. By day the Old School was used for anything from entertainment to public examinations. All these activities necessitated careful planning in wet weather to avoid the rain when it came through the holes in the roof.

Financial problems were solved as they arose. Staff worked for their keep or for pocket money; and although a modest fee was calculated, parents paid what they could afford, some of them volunteering to work in the house for a week or more from time to time to free members of staff for a well-earned holiday. Refugee children were some times supported by their ‘government in exile’, but there was at least one case of a child of mixed nationality who needed total support for sometime and for whom help was never lacking, often from unexpected sources.

The food was plain but wholesome. Friends of the school snapped up “cheap offers” in bulk to vary the diet – sometimes with results which were edible If not very appetising. Throughout the war vegetables were provided from the garden, thanks to the labours of the Manor gardener, aided by volunteers. At weekends a parent would bring films, often a Charlie Chaplin, and few who heard them will ever forget the children’s shouts of joy.

Much of the teaching equipment was already provided by Nature for teachers with the sensitivity to use it. Almost all were city children and the impact made on them by this beautiful countryside made a lasting impression. One teacher-parent conducted Natural History lessons throughout the war by teaching the children to use their eyes and ears and study the world about them.

When, fairly late in the history of the school, an H.M. Inspector came, this teacher was temporarily away, and when the H.M.I. was informed of this, but assured that he would find the children busy with their Nature Diaries, he looked at his informant with a quizzical expression. He walked into the silent classroom to find the children hard at work. Eventually he made an observation only to be overwhelmed with eager questions. It was all he could do to tear himself away. Perhaps one of the most welcome observations he made at the end of the tour was that he found no fault with the discipline in the school. Corporal punishment was, of course, strictly forbidden.

One day a letter came with an offer of help from two musicians, Arthur Percival, a violinist from the Hallé Orchestra, and his wife Winifred, a pianist. “No”, said the hard-working staff at first. However
somebody suggested that they should be invited to spend a weekend with the school and take “Evensong”, the very simple service on Sunday evenings which might take any form.

It was an enjoyable weekend. They played with the little ones, made friends with the older ones, and their Evensong was mainly expressed in music, during which not a child stirred. Of course everyone wanted them, of course the children wanted them, of course they wanted to come. Thus began a chapter during which the Children at Yealand Manor School thought of themselves as a branch of the Hallé Orchestra; then members of the children’s families and friends of the school all seemed to find ever more old musical instruments stored away in their attics and Yealand Manor School Orchestra was born. A member of one of the County Education Authorities who visited the school rose to his feet after the children had played and urged them, with tears in his eyes, to remember this opportunity for the rest of their lives, for it was unique.

Years later we celebrated the fortieth anniversary of the school, not being sure how many would survive to celebrate the fiftieth. Into the meeting-house, the Old School, the Manor, and every nook and cranny of the grounds they crowded with their children, rejoicing at being together again. But perhaps one of the staff remembers best the mother and daughter who came to see her long after that. As they were leaving the mother took her hand and said simply, “Thank you for my happy childhood.”

Published in Mourholme Magazines Issue 14 1990