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Intermediate. Years 7/8/9


By Sam Bourgaize, year 9, Grammar School

The train’s whistle screamed through the station, accompanied with the light breeze of the engine’s draught. The British soldiers pressed the crowd of children and mothers back, away from the steel tracks. The air was filled with the sadness and sobbing of the evacuees as they said their goodbyes, not knowing that many of them would never come back. Drops of rain hit the concrete as the heavens opened upon the mob.

None of it seemed real to Jane; the talking, the screeching of the train, the orders of the soldiers. All of it flew over her head like a sudden light wind on a summer's day - she could have just imagined it. Her heart was too loud and strong, thumping in her chest like the marching officers. Every step she took hurt, every breath fleeting and sudden. Alone, she pressed through the mass of bodies, weaving between the flailing arms and legs.

Somewhere in the distance, a guard's whistle blew loud and strong, calling the evacuees to the train. For a moment, the crying and screaming broke, as the mothers said their final goodbyes and sent the children onto the train amongst pushing and shoving. Jane approached the train, turning her head to see if her mother had arrived.

She was nowhere to be seen.

Tears dripped down Jane's face, falling in slow motion to the ground. She was mildly aware of a soldier gripping her arm and pushing her up the steps onto the red carpet. The tears were streaming now, gushing down her face like a waterfall.

The door closed.

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