1939
Chapter 1
I have always been of the belief that everyone writes a story in their head, and that story will eventually become their life. Some allow others to write it for them and some choose to take their own lives in their own hands.
My life has not been simple; my routes have not been smooth. However, I’m glad now that when I reflect back on my life I have no “What if’s” I only have “Oh well’s”, my regrets are of large amounts, but my achievements will always over shadow them. I have lived my life to the full, I have loved with all my heart and I couldn’t ask for more.
My name is Annie Parks; I am an old woman now, seventy five to be exact. But in my younger years I had felt what I expected only to be in the movies; real love; kindness and passion. Let me take you back to those innocent times when all I knew was about to disintegrate before my eyes and change my life forever. I was just twelve years old when world war two broke out on the first of September 1939….
* * *
London was a dangerous place during this dark time. Streets were covered in ruins from buildings and houses, as far as the eye could see. Almost everything in the world as I knew it was either destroyed or falling apart, ready to crumble at any moment. The streets were now a terrifying place. The air was dense and filled with thick smoke from fires, making it difficult to breathe. Air raid sirens blared constantly. Bombs landed and exploded regularly, destroying everything they touched. This left devastated lives and death to the more unlucky, or maybe in this case death was the lucky way out.
Often, I would find myself running to the bottom of our garden with my mother at two am, escaping from our house when the bombs were going off like fireworks, to the safety of our Anderson Shelter. Mother would always tell me everything was going to be alright, but was it really? The bombs were never ending it seemed. I would sit huddled against mother hoping that the loud noises, the smells, the deaths would stop. They never did. The war planes continued to soar over Central London.
Would I ever get to see my friends again? Would I ever get to see my father again? I would ask myself these questions rhetorically. My father- Victor Parks was out fighting in the war. He was a brave man and I knew he would live through this disaster, but just in case he needed a little assistance, I would pray for him, once, twice a day. I would ask God to look after him and to comfort him when he needed it the most, which was all I could do for him.
* * *
It was the third of September 1939. I was lying in bed as my mother rushed into my bedroom, fully clothed in a crimson red dress which buttoned at the front; her blond hair was tied back into a neat bun. We both looked very similar we had been told, what with the green- blue eyes and blond hair- naturally curly, only mine was slightly lighter than mother’s, both with creamy, honey toned skin and freckles on our noses, I always loved the idea of looking like my mother, I looked up to her and hoped I would follow in her footsteps throughout life.
Why was she dressed so early? I wondered. “Come on Annie, you need to get up. Pack your things into your case as quickly as you can and get changed.”
I knew this had to be something important and so wasted no time in rolling around my bed and moping. I flung the blankets off of my warm, cozy body and swung my legs around, attempting to stand up. I looked at my alarm clock; it was six am, how queer to be rushing around at this time.
Remembering I had to get ready quickly, I struck myself into gear and began raking through my closet swiftly, folding all of my clothes neatly into my suit-case, I picked out an outfit for the day- my favorite dress. It was a tan brown color with a beige collar and gold buttons down the front; it went down to around my knees and had a slight frill at the bottom, it was pretty and made me feel very feminine when I wore it. I pulled on some white stockings before changing into the dress and stared at myself in the mirror critically. My hair was wild. It lay ruffled and frizzy and hung down past my shoulders; I pulled a comb through it to neaten it up and twisted my fringe to the side and held it in place with a small gold hair clip.
