Dear Diary,
Last
night, I had the worst sleep of my life. The night was plagued by
nightmares; I fear that whistle more than anything. I slowly washed and
dressed myself, ignoring the suitcase in the corner. I could hear my
mother crying but when I went downstairs she gave me a weak smile and
gave me my favourite breakfast: Toast and jam with a big mug of tea.
After she had given me this, she went back to crying into a
handkerchief. I wanted to comfort her, make it all better, but I had
bigger things on my mind. I was going to be an evacuee.
Suddenly,
a shrill whistle could be heard. All down the street, doors started
opening, children pouring out like water through a dam. I walked to the
station, quiet as a lion stalking its prey, holding my mum’s hand as if I
would never let go. Once on the platform, my mother gave me a bag. She
told me it was food for the journey and that she loved me very, very
much. Then a lady came along and put a label around my neck. I felt like
a doll in the giant shop of life. All too soon, I heard the conductor
shout “All aboard!” and it was time to leave.
There
was a strange mix of excitement and sadness in the train; some thought
of it as an adventure, others thought of it as torture. Leaving the
smoke and buildings of the city far behind us, we were speeding through
the countryside like a rabbit being chased by a fox. I peeked inside my
small brown bag and saw a packet of biscuits, some condensed milk in a
can and a giant Cadbury’s chocolate bar. I wondered how mother could
have afforded that. It must have cost a fortune! There was a lot of
talking about where we were going and what we were doing. But, when the
train started to slow, the chatter died down and an eerie silence spread
through the train.
We
were herded like cattle into the village hall and checked off against a
huge list of names by a smartly dressed woman with a rather patronising
tone. I was feeling exhausted when we were told to sit smartly and wait
quietly on hard wooden chairs. Only fear kept me awake. People were
coming in and picking children. I sat there for what felt like hours
until I was finally chosen. I don't know what was more scary: being
picked or being left alone in the village hall.
The
roughly dressed man who had eventually chosen me, turned out to be a
farmer. The farmhouse was a small, cosy cottage. I had my own room and
absolutely loved it. Everything was different, and I didn't understand a
lot of the jobs the farmer asked me to do. Luckily, he was a very kind,
understanding and helpful man and has taught me lots of new skills.
Other evacuees have not been so lucky; I saw one being beaten and others
have not been given enough food.
While
I am happy here, I am scared that I will never see my mother again. I
hear news of the awful bombing in London and hope that my mother is
keeping safe.
