Sunday 3rd March 1940
Dear Diary,
You have always been there for me, ever since I received you for my tenth birthday. It feels like that day was a lifetime ago but it has only been six months since then. A lot has happened in the last year so let me start from the beginning.
On September 1st 1939, my tenth birthday, my Mother and father were listening to the radio in the kitchen while I was reading my favourite book Mary Poppins and admiring my new red leather bound diary that I had received that morning. My Mother’s voice shattered the peace when she shouted, “Frances! Frances! Come down stairs!”
I had never heard my mother raise her voice so loudly. She is normally such a quiet person. At first I thought I was in deep trouble but I couldn’t think what I may have done. Reluctantly, I went downstairs to see my Father giving my sobbing Mother a hug.
It was then that they told me that all the children were to be evacuated to the countryside due to the potential of war being announced and that I needed to pack a small suitcase. I had rarely left home before, and certainly not without my parents. I was filled with panic, pity and pessimism at the situation that I now found myself in.
I made sure I packed a picture of our small family amongst all of the other essential items that my mother had helped me gather. That night, I went to bed knowing that in a few short days I might not see my Father and Mother again.
A few days later, I was on the train going from where we lived in London to the countryside. As the train rumbled along the rickety track, I thought about how hard it had been to say goodbye to Mother and Father. This was the hardest thing I had ever had to do.
My stomach started to rumble like the train itself so I pulled out my lunchbag. When I opened the small bag that Mother had made for me, I saw a note that she had written. Her neat handwriting said, ‘I know this is going to be hard Frances but you can do it and don't forget we will see you as soon as we can stay safe ’ This made me feel very emotional. I was going to keep this message in my heart forever. I slipped the note into the dusty back pocket of my diary.
When I arrived in the countryside I was surrounded with children crying and screaming “ I want my Mother!” as well as “ Let go NOW!”
Only minutes later our teachers gathered us into groups according to our age. I was put in the category of children the age of eight to twelve. My heart sank as I witnessed what looked like a brother and sister being separated, the girl's amber like eyes were tearing up as she was howling, “I am going to be ok Robert, don't worry about me!” I looked over at the young boy who was on his knees sobbing into his rough, pale hands.
But after seeing this horrible situation I felt a light tap on my shoulder, I turned around and saw a woman with a smile brighter than the sun. This woman, who introduced herself as Dorothy, would be taking care of me.
I am now in a tiny cottage and I have to share a room that is half the size of the attic in my old home, and it was not a big attic. I have to say the family I am staying with are not the worst.
I woke up to breakfast and the sound of the radio. I asked Dorothy, the nicest lady I have ever met other than my Mother, to turn the radio up and that's when I heard… War had broken out in Britain. I didn't know how to react to this so I just screamed and my eyes were like waterfalls, I ran to my bed room and shoved my face into the rag like pillow.
Writing this makes me think more and more about Mother and Father and how much I am going to miss them, things like Mother’s home made sponge cakes that she would make every Sunday and how she would decorate it with lilac icing which is my favourite colour. I will miss the smell of my father's pipe when he was sitting next to the cosy fireplace as well as reading me a chapter of Mary Poppins. This is all I have for you just now.
Goodbye for now,
Frances Jones.
Bethany, Rosewell Primary
