When my sister and I were first evacuated we were billeted with a family on their pig farm in Hever, Kent, very close to the family home of Anne Boleyn, Henry Eighth's mistress, later on his wife whom he had beheaded. They didn't want us and made it only too clear that we were a pain. Probably we were as I cried all the time and wanted to go home. The young wife of one of the farmer's sons did the cooking, but she simply couldn't cook. Our first breakfast there was porridge. At least, that was what it was called. We were served up with this glutinous mass of lumps that were large and hard. It was simply inedible and neither of us could eat it. When we came home from school later that day, instead of getting something tasty to eat we were served with the same plates of cold porridge that we had been unable to eat that morning and that had been put on the kitchen range to warm through, We were told that we would get nothing else to eat until we had finished the porridge. Well of course, we couldn't eat it and cried our way to bed. Nothing else was given us to eat although we had had nothing all day. Unbelievably the same plates of porridge were served to us for breakfast the following morning. By this time, and having been reheated yet again, the porridge had a thick crust on it. By now, we were starving and went to school wondering how we could get back to our parents. But the porridge didn't reappear and we were given proper food, althouh not very much of it. From.......Margaret.