John Freeman-Marsh

Sacrifice, Courage & Kindness

I am one of the WW2 British evacuee children, better known as a CORB kid or Corbie (Children’s Overseas Reception Board), not to be confused with the “home children” whose program ended prior to WW2. With this background in mind, my story of experiences encountered follows:

One evening in mid July 1940, after my father (with the Admiralty) came home from work and had a short discussion with my mother, asked me if I would like to go to CANADA. As I only had just turned 7 years of age, a few weeks before, and knew nothing about Canada, let alone where it was, I didn’t answer. I was then told it was across the ocean, had lots of snow for sleighing and Cowboys and Indians lived there. WOW! It sounded like a great place to visit. Subsequently one day in August I found myself leaving home with my parents on the way to Newcastle’s train station. There we were met by a lady, who had a short conversation with my parents, then led me away from them, taking my right hand in hers and using her other hand to carry my small brown suitcase. We boarded the train, already full of other children, to an unknown destination, which turned out to be Glasgow in Scotland. We disembarked, boarded buses and were driven out into the country to a school with a large gymnasium. Inside there were many rows of cots, spaced about 4 feet apart, and only very high windows along one wall. As dusk fell everyone was ordered into their assigned cot and told to go to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night we were awakened by a series of explosions and most of us took turns, climbing the wall, for a look at the air raid in the distance, until the CORB escorts arrived and ordered us back to bed. The next afternoon we boarded the buses again and headed for the docks at Greenock. My assigned cabin, with 5 other boys, consisted of 2 double bunks, one along each side of the room, separated by an aisle containing a small port hole with the water level at its midpoint. The 3 older boys each had their own bunk and Squib (his nickname only 6 and smaller than I) shared a lower bunk, with our heads placed at opposite ends of the bed for sleeping. The next day, at sea, when allowed up on deck, I was amazed to see we were part of a large convoy, consisting of several ocean liners escorted by destroyers with HMS Revenge leading the way. About half way across the Atlantic our naval escorts left us and later on we ran into a violent storm. No one was allowed on deck, our ship tossed and turned in the heavy waves. When attempting to walk along a corridor, one minute you were going downhill the next upward. Many of us became seasick. It took 10 days to cross the Atlantic. We arrived safe and sound in Halifax, Nova Scotia docking at Pier 21.

Sometime later, we disembarked our ship and entered Pier 21’s reception area, amid much confusion. Someone placed a sticker on the side of my suitcase, which read Montreal. After leaving the Pier we were led into the railway station, but instead of boarding the train, found ourselves on buses ending up at the dormitory for the “School for the Blind” in Halifax, as it was vacant for the summer months. As the days went by, our numbers at the school diminished, since the nominated ones (meaning their placement with relatives had been arranged earlier) were picked and left for their new homes. For the rest of us, the unnominated, we were to be placed in homes of those who had made application to accept a CORB for the war’s duration. I was one of the last to leave, wondering what was wrong with me, as I gazed through the wrought iron fence bars watching other children play across the street at the Halifax Public Gardens. I cried. A staff member, passing by, heard me and took me inside to the office. There I was introduced to a Mrs. Fordham who took pity on me. Little did I know, at the time, her eldest daughter and husband were on the application list and so I was placed with Bertha and Harry Freeman in Dartmouth. They were both very kind and generous to me and overtime, I decided to call them Mom and Dad. I couldn’t have asked for better foster parents, the neighbourhood families also so friendly and supportive, likewise the majority of my teachers. The Freemans insisted each month I write my real parents, to keep them up to date on my activities, which I found difficult to do.

In 1943 my parents, John and Bertha Marsh, went to court and had my surname changed from MARSH to FREEMAN-MARSH, as a way of thanking the Freemans for looking after me, during the turbulent war years.

When the war ended in 1945 I did not want to return to England, which was a CORB program requirement. My parents, realizing educational opportunities were greater in Canada than in England, (unless one came from a rich or upper class family) asked the Freemans whether it would be possible for me to stay a while longer to obtain a higher education. With everyone in agreement I remained in Canada, following graduation from Dartmouth High, continued onto university obtaining my Bachelor of Civil Engineering degree from Nova Scotia Tech. Sometime after I turned 21, I applied for and obtained my Canadian Citizenship. Then some 20 years after leaving England, I went back to see my real parents for a short visit. I felt somewhat strange and uncomfortable with them, as they were like strangers to me.

The next time I visited PIER 21, with my wife Marie, was in September 2010 to attend the CORB 70^th anniversary reunion. We were treated to a marvelous tour of the facility, given by the museum’s Research Manager and, at the conclusion of which, each one received a framed photo of the ship that brought them to Canada. Upon reflection, at a banquet later that evening, all those in attendance agreed we had so much to be thankful for and were indeed “the LUCKY ONES”.

John Freeman-Marsh