The House that Time Forgot

Chapter: 2 The Evacuation

Chapter:2

TheEvacuation

I never got the chance to sit inside the Anderson shelter my father built for our family. I had however the  chance to help my mother with 'blackout curtains', and put food and blanket supplies into the shelter, for future air raids. It always scared me to think that bombs could, or would be falling somewhere in my neighbourhood, my street, and potentially, my home.

I had seen all the Ministry of Defence posters pasted on the walls in town, telling us children to 'get out of London'. Soon enough,'Operation Pied Piper' was underway, I knew I would be one of them. My mother was distraught, I could see that she had been crying. From the look of her eyes, puffy and red, the whites of her eyes had a pink hue, I would have guessed for a least a few hours. Her rose bud shaped lips, seemed swollen, and more red than any shade of lipstick she posessed.

I walked into my bedroom, and there on my bed, was my little brown leather suitcase, with a brown tag tied to the handle, with my name on it. Half my belongings were already inside it. An assortment of warm clothes mixed with dresses for the summer. A pair of sandals, a pair of brown leather shoes, knee high socks, and under garments. The small case already looked rather full, I wondered what more needed to be added. I was terribly confused, I was ten years old, everything in my eyes was happening all too quickly, which scared me more than ever. I hadn't really a moment to allow the news of my evacuation to sink in at all. My green eyes protected behind my penny-shaped glasses scanned the small floral bedroom for anything of any personal value that I could take with me. When my eyes eventually met my own gaze staring back at me in the wooden framed mirror, hanging high over my chest of drawers. My hair, long and dirty blonde, hanging in two long plaits either side of my ears. How I had wished for it to be the same shade of blonde as Jane's. My flowery collar, and a small hint of my crimson cardigan was barely visible in the image I could see staring back. Something startled me about that face, it was the face of a ten year old girl whose brow appeared furrowed. Inside, I was scared, and these emotions could not be disguised. In that short moment, I realised for the first time, that my dad; my hero, was scared. I understood his furrowed brow even more now, after seeing my own subconsciously imitating his expression. Hearing footsteps approaching from behind me, I broke the gaze with the frightened girl in my mirror, and waited for my mother to come into my room. Her footsteps were unmistakable, they were much closer together, and somewhat lighter on the wooden floors, than that of my fathers.

I grabbed my mother's wrist gently, and asked her a multitude of questions in rapid succession, knowing our time together was going tobe short.

"Do I have to go? Can you come and visit me? Can I come and visit you?How will I know if you are safe? Who will I stay with, mother?" I looked up at her as I fired all the questions at once. She bluntly replied "Yes dear, you must go, and no, it is best that we do not visit you, or you visit us during this time, it is not safe, not until we know that the war is officially over. We will write you letters as much as possible, and we will look forward to your letters too, yes...you can write to us as much as you want. I am afraid Iwill not know who you will be staying with, but rest assured that it will be outside of London, reports are saying will be an easy target for the Germans" she replied. "I have stated that I will not have you leave the country, as you will be too far away from us. Some children are on boats heading to Austrailia, and New Zealand, think yourself lucky that you will not be that far away!" she replied.

With every fibre in my body, I was grieving, and feeling a loss. The idea of leaving my family behind, weighed heavy on my mind, and my heart. In hindsight, I knew that their only child was weighing heavily on theirs. So, I tried making my departure that easier to bare, for their sakes. I kept a brave face, I knew if I had made a scene, and showed that my departure saddened me to the point of tears, would have made the separation from my mother and father that bit more bitter-sweet, and harder to bare. I wanted the last memory for them of me to be as pleasant as possible. My mother hugged me tightly, that I could feel the pressure of my blood being blocked to my neck and head. A tear escaped one of her already tear swollen eyes, as she pinned my name tag on the lapelle of my green, double-breasted outdoor coat.