I really don’t want to leave England. England is all I know. Yesterday morning, Mother walked in and said, “Darling, you need to leave.”
I said, “Why, Mother?”
Her reply was short but I understood what she meant. “War.” I started to feel worried and my stomach started churning, I ran up the stairs and hid under the covers. Stupid stupid War, War is silly, why can’t everyone be friends and get along? I pondered over this question for a while and then Mother walked in and started to hug me. “I know you don’t want to go but I can’t risk losing you." That’s when I started to cry. I lost my Father to the War. He was a pilot flying over Germany when his plane was shot out of the sky. He fell to an undeserving death. My Father was a great man, he made friends with everybody he met and made everybody’s day when they saw him smile from ear to ear. Now I’ve lost him all to the stupid War.
The next morning I walked to the station, Mother holding my shaking hand. She waved me off shouting, “I’ll miss you darling.” The train ride was horrible, absolutely horrible, it took three hours and all you could hear was tears flooding down children’s red cheeks. On arrival we were marched into a humongous town hall and sat down. We were given bread and milk. This lovely lady walked in and said, "It could take a while but you will be taken to a new home." That’s where I am now, in this really posh countryside house in Wales. It’s ok here but I’m already missing Mother. They're calling me down for tea I’ve got to go. I’ll write again tomorrow. See you then.