don’t any of you be trying to stay on board if you’re in the first group.’
The usually stern teacher smiled down at the sea of small faces to ease the tension and paused while every child looked down at his or her name label.
‘Once you’re matched with your host family they’ll take you to their home where you’re going to live with them until London’s safe again. These are kindly people who are doing their war duty so we expect you to repay them by doing as you’re told at all times, being helpful and behaving well. You’ll be attending school while you’re here, so you’ll make some new friends; and don’t forget, Miss Flynn and I will be staying with our groups for the time being. We know you’re going to miss your families but you all have to be brave. It’s for your own good, remember, to take you all away from the bombing.’
A few minutes after she had finished speaking the coach pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. It was the moment of reality for the children, and some of the girls had started to cry openly while most of the boys chewed their lips, fiddled with their hankies and stared out of the windows, pretending not to care.
‘All right, children. Red dots collect all your belongings and follow me. Quickly! Tell me your name and show me your label as you get off.’
The children scrambled off the coach and formed a crocodile before hesitantly following their teacher into the church hall next to the local school. After a brief respite, which included hot chocolate and biscuits, they were instructed to line up back in the school playground and the process began.
Only three children were picked before Ruby. Then she saw a woman point to her.
‘Ruby Blakeley, step forward, please,’ her teacher said, and she took the smallest step forward with her eyes firmly on the ground. ‘Ruby! Manners!’
Swallowing hard, she looked up just as a tall, imposing woman stepped up to her and smiled.
‘Hello, Ruby. I’m Mrs Wheaton. You’re coming home to stay with me.’
Despite the lady’s friendliness, Ruby was terrified, and she couldn’t stop herself from shaking as she bent down to pick up her sparse belongings.
‘You look frightened, Ruby, but don’t be. Think of this as a nice holiday,’ the woman said gently before taking Ruby’s free hand and walking her up the main village street. She talked all the way, explaining about the village and pointing out the shops and landmarks, but the ten-year-old was so wrapped up in her own fear she found it hard to even concentrate, let alone respond.
‘Here we are, Ruby, just in here. This is where we live. We don’t have any children ourselves but your schoolfriends will be staying nearby. I was part of the committee that organised the billets so you just have to ask and I can tell you where they all are. And you’ll make new friends at school.’
Ruby looked around as they approached the house. From the exterior it reminded her of ‘the big house’ up in Woodford, where her mother was employed as a cleaner. During the school holidays she had sometimes gone with her mother and waited impatiently on the wall outside, wondering about the inside, but not once had she been allowed over the threshold; and she had never met her mother’s employer.
The Wheaton property was equally impressive, with thick wisteria growing up the walls, flowerbeds on each side and a walled garden to the rear. The house itself was L-shaped and stood alone on a corner at the top of the main street behind a high but neatly trimmed hedge. A large black car was parked on the drive near a detached garage, a fat ginger and white cat curled up on the car roof. He opened his eyes, looked at the newcomer and closed them again.
Talking all the while, Mrs Wheaton led Ruby along a curvy path to a hidden entrance on the side.
‘We always use this entrance because the other one is the one the patients use to go into the surgery. I did tell you my husband is a
The usually stern teacher smiled down at the sea of small faces to ease the tension and paused while every child looked down at his or her name label.
‘Once you’re matched with your host family they’ll take you to their home where you’re going to live with them until London’s safe again. These are kindly people who are doing their war duty so we expect you to repay them by doing as you’re told at all times, being helpful and behaving well. You’ll be attending school while you’re here, so you’ll make some new friends; and don’t forget, Miss Flynn and I will be staying with our groups for the time being. We know you’re going to miss your families but you all have to be brave. It’s for your own good, remember, to take you all away from the bombing.’
A few minutes after she had finished speaking the coach pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. It was the moment of reality for the children, and some of the girls had started to cry openly while most of the boys chewed their lips, fiddled with their hankies and stared out of the windows, pretending not to care.
‘All right, children. Red dots collect all your belongings and follow me. Quickly! Tell me your name and show me your label as you get off.’
The children scrambled off the coach and formed a crocodile before hesitantly following their teacher into the church hall next to the local school. After a brief respite, which included hot chocolate and biscuits, they were instructed to line up back in the school playground and the process began.
Only three children were picked before Ruby. Then she saw a woman point to her.
‘Ruby Blakeley, step forward, please,’ her teacher said, and she took the smallest step forward with her eyes firmly on the ground. ‘Ruby! Manners!’
Swallowing hard, she looked up just as a tall, imposing woman stepped up to her and smiled.
‘Hello, Ruby. I’m Mrs Wheaton. You’re coming home to stay with me.’
Despite the lady’s friendliness, Ruby was terrified, and she couldn’t stop herself from shaking as she bent down to pick up her sparse belongings.
‘You look frightened, Ruby, but don’t be. Think of this as a nice holiday,’ the woman said gently before taking Ruby’s free hand and walking her up the main village street. She talked all the way, explaining about the village and pointing out the shops and landmarks, but the ten-year-old was so wrapped up in her own fear she found it hard to even concentrate, let alone respond.
‘Here we are, Ruby, just in here. This is where we live. We don’t have any children ourselves but your schoolfriends will be staying nearby. I was part of the committee that organised the billets so you just have to ask and I can tell you where they all are. And you’ll make new friends at school.’
Ruby looked around as they approached the house. From the exterior it reminded her of ‘the big house’ up in Woodford, where her mother was employed as a cleaner. During the school holidays she had sometimes gone with her mother and waited impatiently on the wall outside, wondering about the inside, but not once had she been allowed over the threshold; and she had never met her mother’s employer.
The Wheaton property was equally impressive, with thick wisteria growing up the walls, flowerbeds on each side and a walled garden to the rear. The house itself was L-shaped and stood alone on a corner at the top of the main street behind a high but neatly trimmed hedge. A large black car was parked on the drive near a detached garage, a fat ginger and white cat curled up on the car roof. He opened his eyes, looked at the newcomer and closed them again.
Talking all the while, Mrs Wheaton led Ruby along a curvy path to a hidden entrance on the side.
‘We always use this entrance because the other one is the one the patients use to go into the surgery. I did tell you my husband is a
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