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Primary. Years 3/4/5/6


By Will Horsbrugh-porter, year 6, Elizabeth College

“Goodbye Father” I cried as a tear dripped down my sorrowful face. “Goodbye Archie” Father shouted as he stepped up onto the army green truck. I felt like I had really wanted a toy but my parents would not let me get it. I felt held back. Or falling off a swing and hurting yourself badly, so badly you can’t go back on it. My tears were now not just a stream but a gushing river or a waterfall crashing down on the rocks below.
I walked back into the red brick Tudor house that was half bombed by the Germans. That night I could not sleep, I was too busy thinking about if my father was going to be ok. Two weeks went by until we got a cream letter with a stamp of the Victorian rose on it. Mother called myself and my sister to the kitchen table and knifed open the shriveled letter which contained one small note and a picture of my father with very droopy, tired eyes. “Father!” myself and my sister shouted in unison. “Open it up quickly mother!” I yelled in excitement. She unfolded it hopefully and read aloud. “I am writing to say that your father or husband has taken a shot to the leg and is now in infirmary. Meanwhile we have just beaten Germany in a ferocious battle. Your father will be coming back to England next Tuesday the 18th. Best wishes SJ”. “Yeah” I screamed in excitement! “Father is coming back”!
“Well, let us pray for his safe return” Mother whispered. Months later he never appeared.

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