Russell Cleaver – Ruth Halova’s story

I am the son of the late Eric and Phyllis Cleaver who were two of the numerous Quakers who hosted refugees from Germany and Czechoslovakia during WW2. I was born in 1937, remember Ruth Halova during the war years, and have kept in touch since the mid-1950’s.

In her booklet, Ruth pays homage to Nicholas Winton, her ‘saviour’.

‘So on to July 1st 1939, actually on my mother’s birthday, my new life in Britain began. It was to last for 6 years, just a few months longer than the Second World War. What can I write about the country and its people, who took me into their fold when most other countries declined to accept refugees or limit their number to a ridiculous minimum? Of course the main sentiment is gratitude and in my heart there will always remain a soft spot for this ‘emerald isle, set in the silver sea’. But the transition from our central European personality to the British was not easy and the war years were severe, so I cannot say they were happy years. One thing however is certain. They were the years that formed my character. I have never to generalise when speaking abut the character of a nation, because every individual irrespective of nationality, religion or class distinction is quite unique, and yet one cannot but notice fundamental differences in the character of different peoples...

...To return to Liverpool Street Station on 1st July 1939. Now you find a bronze statue of a little girl standing there. She is the granddaughter of one of the refugee children and is to remind you of our arrival in Britain. We sat on our suitcases and waited to be picked up. Three of us were not picked up and you can imagine how our little hearts sank in utter dismay. I had already received a letter from my new family while at home, so I knew they were Mr and Mrs Jones and they had a newspaper shop in Shirley, on the outskirts of Birmingham. But neither Mr nor Mrs Jones could come to fetch me, so Nicky (Winton) – I remember it was he – came up to us three shipwrecked youngsters and said ‘ome along, I will take you to your train and your families will meet you in Birmingham’. But there not much time. The train was about to leave and Nicky shoved us into the guardsvan and asked the conductor to let us off at Birmingham. I remember worrying about tickets, but Nicky waved his hand not to worry!

So we three sat dejectedly on some wooden boxes in the guardsvan, as the train took off. The guard seemed a kindly man and evidently wanted to cheer us up. He pointed to a large parcel which bore the inscription ‘Tortoises’. None of us knew enough English to understand. So the guard started to undo just one little corner, soon all the imprisoned little creatures strove to get out and we had a tortoise hunt in the guards van. When they were all caught and packed we sat down again to finish off what we had to eat. One of us produced a kale-turnip and I had a small stainless steel knife which granny packed in with my food.’

[They soon arrived in Birmingham and were collected by Mr and Mrs Jones.]

Russell Cleaver
Watford, Hertfordshire