if this meant that the war would end soon, and Mr Marshall assured her that hostilities would all be over by Christmas.
Megan was glad to hear it. Perhaps then she could go home. Many of the evacuees in her class at school had started to go back already because they were missing their family too much. Megan was annoyed that she wasn’t allowed to go too, for not only did she think the war boring but so was living in this village with nothing more exciting to look forward to than collecting newspapers for the Armed Forces, though how the soldiers would find time to read them with all that fighting and shooting they had to do, Megan couldn’t imagine.
Soon, they were going to have something called a Weapons week. Megan had got quite excited about this at first, thinking that at last she might get to see some real guns, or even have a go at shooting with one. But then Mrs Marshall had explained that it meant they were to hold a rummage sale and coffee morning, and do other things like pay to guess the weight of a pig in order to raise money for the war effort. Megan had lost interest at once.
For months she’d been moved about from pillar to post, with nobody really wanting either her or Trish, calling them ‘little nuisances’ or dropping dead on them. And then they’d landed up here, stuck in the dullest place on earth.
On that first morning they’d stood together, she and Trish, in the school hall together with a load of other vacees from Tyneside while they’d been allocated classrooms and given instructions about not trespassing into the next door farmer’s field, and to remember always to bring their gas mask to school. One day Megan forgot and Mrs Crumpton, their teacher, made her walk all the way home again to fetch it. It felt like miles! What a waste of time, as if the Germans might suddenly decide to land on that particular morning. Megan hated her gas mask. It smelled funny and made her feel sick every time she had to put it on during gas mask drill. It was red and looked like Mickey Mouse but Megan wasn’t fooled. She knew perfectly well that if she wore it for too long, she’d stop breathing all together.
The week before Christmas something exciting did happen. Megan had been looking out of the window when she suddenly gave a yelp of joy. ‘That’s Mam. Look, it’s our mam. She’s in the street outside.’
Trish instantly burst into tears and Mrs Marshall didn’t know whether to pick her up and cuddle her, or dash outside to bring the poor woman in. Megan solved her dilemma by flinging open the front door and careered across the street to be swept straight up into her arms.
When all the hugs and kisses had been exchanged and Trish was safe and warm on her mother’s knee, a cup of tea before her on the kitchen table, the tale of her nightmare journey began. ‘The train were that full of soldiers, airmen and civvy workers, I had to stand up most of the way, squashed up in a corner of the corridor. We stopped at every set of signals, broke down near Preston when we all had to get off and go onto another train. Then we were re-routed to Wigan for no reason I could see. Eeh, I thought I’ll never get there. Still, it were worth it to see my little lambs again.’
All of this was related later to Daisy, together with how Mrs Marshall had brought out her best biscuits as well as a Dundee cake, and then had left them quietly on their own so they could talk. To her shame, Daisy felt a burst of envy at their good fortune. ‘Mam stayed nearly two whole hours,’ Megan told her, breathless with excitement. ‘It was wonderful.’
‘And she give us Christmas presents,’ Trish added.
‘Which we mustn’t open until Christmas Day,’ Megan sternly warned her. ‘I saw you trying to peep, our Trish, so I gave them to Mrs Marshall. She’ll make sure you don’t, so think on you behave. Right?’
Trish slowly nodded, looking suitably chastened.
‘And how did you feel when she had to go back
Megan was glad to hear it. Perhaps then she could go home. Many of the evacuees in her class at school had started to go back already because they were missing their family too much. Megan was annoyed that she wasn’t allowed to go too, for not only did she think the war boring but so was living in this village with nothing more exciting to look forward to than collecting newspapers for the Armed Forces, though how the soldiers would find time to read them with all that fighting and shooting they had to do, Megan couldn’t imagine.
Soon, they were going to have something called a Weapons week. Megan had got quite excited about this at first, thinking that at last she might get to see some real guns, or even have a go at shooting with one. But then Mrs Marshall had explained that it meant they were to hold a rummage sale and coffee morning, and do other things like pay to guess the weight of a pig in order to raise money for the war effort. Megan had lost interest at once.
For months she’d been moved about from pillar to post, with nobody really wanting either her or Trish, calling them ‘little nuisances’ or dropping dead on them. And then they’d landed up here, stuck in the dullest place on earth.
On that first morning they’d stood together, she and Trish, in the school hall together with a load of other vacees from Tyneside while they’d been allocated classrooms and given instructions about not trespassing into the next door farmer’s field, and to remember always to bring their gas mask to school. One day Megan forgot and Mrs Crumpton, their teacher, made her walk all the way home again to fetch it. It felt like miles! What a waste of time, as if the Germans might suddenly decide to land on that particular morning. Megan hated her gas mask. It smelled funny and made her feel sick every time she had to put it on during gas mask drill. It was red and looked like Mickey Mouse but Megan wasn’t fooled. She knew perfectly well that if she wore it for too long, she’d stop breathing all together.
The week before Christmas something exciting did happen. Megan had been looking out of the window when she suddenly gave a yelp of joy. ‘That’s Mam. Look, it’s our mam. She’s in the street outside.’
Trish instantly burst into tears and Mrs Marshall didn’t know whether to pick her up and cuddle her, or dash outside to bring the poor woman in. Megan solved her dilemma by flinging open the front door and careered across the street to be swept straight up into her arms.
When all the hugs and kisses had been exchanged and Trish was safe and warm on her mother’s knee, a cup of tea before her on the kitchen table, the tale of her nightmare journey began. ‘The train were that full of soldiers, airmen and civvy workers, I had to stand up most of the way, squashed up in a corner of the corridor. We stopped at every set of signals, broke down near Preston when we all had to get off and go onto another train. Then we were re-routed to Wigan for no reason I could see. Eeh, I thought I’ll never get there. Still, it were worth it to see my little lambs again.’
All of this was related later to Daisy, together with how Mrs Marshall had brought out her best biscuits as well as a Dundee cake, and then had left them quietly on their own so they could talk. To her shame, Daisy felt a burst of envy at their good fortune. ‘Mam stayed nearly two whole hours,’ Megan told her, breathless with excitement. ‘It was wonderful.’
‘And she give us Christmas presents,’ Trish added.
‘Which we mustn’t open until Christmas Day,’ Megan sternly warned her. ‘I saw you trying to peep, our Trish, so I gave them to Mrs Marshall. She’ll make sure you don’t, so think on you behave. Right?’
Trish slowly nodded, looking suitably chastened.
‘And how did you feel when she had to go back
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