A young girl, no more than fifteen years of age, stepped off of the train onto the platform. She was small and ever so thin. She wore an iris blue and olive green floral patterned dress. It was elasticated at the waist, had a flared skirt and rested just below her knees. Her feet were adorned in the most adorable black heeled shoes. Her rich caramel coloured hair was set in loose curls and tumbled carelessly over her shoulders. She carried with her, a suitcase, a gas mask slung over her right shoulder, and hung around her neck was an evacuee's sign. On her right hip she held a small child who was screaming through the chaos of the station.
The girl walked apprehensively forward to join the mass of children who had been evacuated from the horrors of the Blitz in London and various other cities from across England, trying to calm the child as she did so. The child seemed to be getting more and more distressed with every passing second. The more chaos there was, the more the child screamed. The older child looked so tired and stressed that it seemed as though she was going to start crying at any moment herself.
Silence. A single blow of a high-pitched whistle completely silenced the station. A large lady of about forty-three years of age stepped forward. She wore a knee-length black skirt, and a white blouse. Her hair sat in a loose bun at the top of her neck. The women had a sense of authority that emanated from her. It was clear to tell that she was in charge of the evacuee programme here. "I shall now call out the names of those who shall be staying here. Those who's names are not called out are to re-board the train for transportation to the next village," she called, her voice echoing throughout the station. She reeled off a list of names and then paused. She checked her list and finally she called, "Nicole and Phoebe McNamara." The young girl sighed with relief when she realised that she would not have to re-board the train. She walked through the crowd and joined the small group of evacuees at the front. "The rest of you are to board the train now."
Miserable children clambered unwillingly back onto the steam engine. The fully boarded train pulled away from the station and then slowly began its journey on to the next village, the only remnants that it had ever been there; the handful of evacuees that now stood in front of the large lady, waiting upon her next instruction. "I'm Miss Fletcher," she told us. "I'm going to check your names off of the list and you'll then be escorted to the village hall where you will be collected by a member of the local community." Miss Fletcher called the names from the register, checking that each child was present. Once she was sure that everything was in order she began to lead the evacuees from the station.
Nicole McNamara placed her suitcase on the dirty, grey stone floor and turned back towards where the train had been. She was waiting;waiting for the train to reappear and take her home, take her to London. Deep down she knew this would never happen, but that wouldn't stop her from fantasizing about it. She took the suitcase in her hand and quickly caught up with the group.
