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Authors: Lilian Harry
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home,’ he muttered. ‘Our mum’ll be looking for us again.’
‘I was just goin’ anyway,’ Micky said loudly. ‘There’s nothin’ else worth takin’. Our auntie’ll be ever so upset.’ He turned and swaggered away up the street.
The rest of the boys trailed after him. Tim felt uncomfortable. He wasn’t above telling the odd fib himself, but he felt that there was something wrong about Micky’s lie about an
auntie living in that house. Only yesterday, someone had lived there — someone real, who didn’t have a home any more, who might even have been killed. It didn’t seem right to take things out of their house and then tell lies about them.
He was still carrying the donkey. He wondered what to do with it. He could drop it in the road, but somehow he didn’t like to do that. He wiped some of the dust from its head. Perhaps Maureen would like it.
But by the time he arrived home, he knew that he would never be able to produce it without a lot of explanations about
where he had found it. He went up the back garden path, relieved to find that his mother was out shopping, and hid it in the coalshed.
Kathy Simmons woke that morning to find herself sharing a
large school hall with a crowd of other people who had been
bombed out of their homes or evacuated because of the
danger of explosion. She lay for a moment on the hastily made-up camp bed, staring miserably at the sunshine filtering dustily through the tall windows.
For a few moments, before opening her eyes, she had tried to convince herself that the raid had been no more than a
nightmare, that she was still at home and had never spent the evening and half the night being pushed from pillar to post, sent first to this rescue centre, then to that, until at last le and the girls had finished up here. But it was no use. Already she could hear the voices of the helpers as they prepared breakfast, the weeping of other people around her and the sobs of her own little girls. Dragging
herself back to reality, she sat up and brushed back her hair with fingers that still trembled. She didn’t seem able to stop shaking, even though she’d slept, on and off, for the past three or four hours. Last night it had been worse — great shudders that seemed to tear her body apart. She’d felt so guilty, being unable to control them when Stella and Muriel needed all the comfort she could give them, but someone had given her a cup of tea with a lot of sugar in it and that had helped. For a bit.
Muriel was crying again now in her little nest of blankets. There hadn’t been enough beds for everyone, and she and Stella had been put to bed on a heap of old cushions. Kathy hadn’t been at all happy about those cushions, they were stained and tattered and she wouldn’t have given them house
room, but there was nothing else and she’d been too worn out to argue. She bent over and touched Muriel’s shoulder, drawing her into her arms.
‘Don’t cry, pet. It’s all over now, we’re quite safe. Come into my bed for a minute.’
The child allowed herself to be pulled into bed and lay
there in Kathy’s arms, sobbing bitterly. Kathy felt her heart wrench. It wasn’t fair, bombing little children out of their homes. It wasn’t Christian. She stroked the fair hair, wondering if Muriel would ever get over it. She was only six and didn’t understand. Stella was nine and had a bit more idea, but she’d never expected the sort of horror that had happened last night. Kathy hadn’t expected it herself.
Muriel was trying to say something now, the words choked by sobs. Kathy held her tightly, crooning and smoothing her hair. ‘Don’t try to talk. It’s all over now. Everything’s all right now.’ She wished she could believe it.
Stella was awake too, sitting up and watching them. Her face was white but she wasn’t crying. She looked as if she’d buttoned up everything tightly inside her.
‘She wants her dolly,’ she said. ‘She wants Princess
‘I was just goin’ anyway,’ Micky said loudly. ‘There’s nothin’ else worth takin’. Our auntie’ll be ever so upset.’ He turned and swaggered away up the street.
The rest of the boys trailed after him. Tim felt uncomfortable. He wasn’t above telling the odd fib himself, but he felt that there was something wrong about Micky’s lie about an
auntie living in that house. Only yesterday, someone had lived there — someone real, who didn’t have a home any more, who might even have been killed. It didn’t seem right to take things out of their house and then tell lies about them.
He was still carrying the donkey. He wondered what to do with it. He could drop it in the road, but somehow he didn’t like to do that. He wiped some of the dust from its head. Perhaps Maureen would like it.
But by the time he arrived home, he knew that he would never be able to produce it without a lot of explanations about
where he had found it. He went up the back garden path, relieved to find that his mother was out shopping, and hid it in the coalshed.
Kathy Simmons woke that morning to find herself sharing a
large school hall with a crowd of other people who had been
bombed out of their homes or evacuated because of the
danger of explosion. She lay for a moment on the hastily made-up camp bed, staring miserably at the sunshine filtering dustily through the tall windows.
For a few moments, before opening her eyes, she had tried to convince herself that the raid had been no more than a
nightmare, that she was still at home and had never spent the evening and half the night being pushed from pillar to post, sent first to this rescue centre, then to that, until at last le and the girls had finished up here. But it was no use. Already she could hear the voices of the helpers as they prepared breakfast, the weeping of other people around her and the sobs of her own little girls. Dragging
herself back to reality, she sat up and brushed back her hair with fingers that still trembled. She didn’t seem able to stop shaking, even though she’d slept, on and off, for the past three or four hours. Last night it had been worse — great shudders that seemed to tear her body apart. She’d felt so guilty, being unable to control them when Stella and Muriel needed all the comfort she could give them, but someone had given her a cup of tea with a lot of sugar in it and that had helped. For a bit.
Muriel was crying again now in her little nest of blankets. There hadn’t been enough beds for everyone, and she and Stella had been put to bed on a heap of old cushions. Kathy hadn’t been at all happy about those cushions, they were stained and tattered and she wouldn’t have given them house
room, but there was nothing else and she’d been too worn out to argue. She bent over and touched Muriel’s shoulder, drawing her into her arms.
‘Don’t cry, pet. It’s all over now, we’re quite safe. Come into my bed for a minute.’
The child allowed herself to be pulled into bed and lay
there in Kathy’s arms, sobbing bitterly. Kathy felt her heart wrench. It wasn’t fair, bombing little children out of their homes. It wasn’t Christian. She stroked the fair hair, wondering if Muriel would ever get over it. She was only six and didn’t understand. Stella was nine and had a bit more idea, but she’d never expected the sort of horror that had happened last night. Kathy hadn’t expected it herself.
Muriel was trying to say something now, the words choked by sobs. Kathy held her tightly, crooning and smoothing her hair. ‘Don’t try to talk. It’s all over now. Everything’s all right now.’ She wished she could believe it.
Stella was awake too, sitting up and watching them. Her face was white but she wasn’t crying. She looked as if she’d buttoned up everything tightly inside her.
‘She wants her dolly,’ she said. ‘She wants Princess
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