An article by Michael Henderson on 'The evacuation of British children to North America in World War II' appeared in December 2005
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Autumn 2006 issue of This England
by Michael Henderson

'Every saint has a past, every sinner has a future' go the words of a song written by an Australian friend of mine, David Mills. They underline the idea that none of us is excluded from a full part in God's plan.

Though apologies have an important place in healing national and international relations, it is often difficult to know when they are appropriate.

When a former member of the Hitler Youth spoke in a New York synagogue, a fractured family was reunited.

Mayor Shinzo Hamai chose something quite remarkable for the inscription on the memorial to the first atom bomb: ‘Rest in peace. For we shall not make the same mistake again.’

On a grey June day in 1941 the British troopship Anselm set sail from Liverpool en route to the Gold Coast in West Africa . It was at the height of the submarine war. But the Anselm, because of engine trouble, had missed its convoy and was travelling alone. On board were 1300 Allied airmen. At 5 am on July 5th the Anselm was hit by two torpedoes amidships. She sank in 22 minutes. And that might have been the end of the story. Except that in the months and years that followed survivors began to tell of the heroism of an air force chaplain.

The damage was done when politicians started believing the cases they had made.

Sixty years ago my brother and I sailed eastwards across the Atlantic . We were two of the three thousand British children who had been given wartime sanctuary in the United States. In 1940 Britain stood alone.

Tom Brokaw’s best seller, The Greatest Generation, is about the veterans of World War II. Returning with some of them to the Normandy beaches, the NBC anchor found himself grateful for all they had done and realized he had failed to appreciate what they had been through and accomplished. He describes them as a generation of towering achievement and modest demeanour and says that for many the war years were enough adventure to last a lifetime.

As a comparative newcomer to North Devon I told a local farmer that I was interested in healing the hates of history and particularly in the role of apology and forgiveness. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘Do you know why Bideford is not talking to Barnstaple?’ ‘No,’ I said. ‘They didn’t send enough ships to the Armada.’