difference,’ argued Grandfather. ‘I’m not having the two of you miss out on your education just because you’re here in Ireland. Learning is the very cornerstone of society. You must go to school!’
Sophie sensed his determination, and gave in.
The convent school wasn’t bad. The nuns were as kind as they could be to the little English evacuee who had been landed on them. Hugh attended the boys’ primary school, and Sophie couldn’t believe how well he settled in and made friends. She envied her younger brother as he raced around the yard with Donal and Liam, two of the boys in his class, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
She hated to admit it, but she was the one finding it hard to get used to the change. Sister Agnes, her teacher, did her best to integrate Sophie with the other girls and to encourage her to make new friends. But Sophie felt very much and outsider and she kept mostly to herself.
She noticed that the others all talked about ‘the emergency’ but to her, coming from the London Blitz, it was most definitely ‘the war’.
The school work was easy enough, and she couldn’t resist putting her hand up to answer the nun’s questions, ignoring the giggles from the back row and the girls who mimicked her London accent. They had already nicknamed her Miss Clever-clogs.
As soon as school was over she and Hugh wasted no time in getting to the beach and harbour, where the fresh sea air left them dizzy and full of a strange new kind of energy.
They both loved the harbour and spent hours playing on the shingle among the boats. There were all kinds of boats there lying in the sun, some sanded and varnished and tended with love and care, others scarred with years of neglect, with peeling paint and leaky bottoms where pools of dirty water stagnated.
The war seemed a very long way off, except for the awful loneliness of missing Mum and Dad, and wishing that they were a family again.
Every evening before tea, Grandfather would walk from one end of the long winding seafront to the other. Sophie often watched him in the distance. He walked as briskly as his bad leg would allow, sometimes stopping to nod politely to those he met along the way. He had a set routine and disliked having it disturbed.
Back at the house, Nancy was set on feeding the two of them up, making them drink big glasses of creamy Jersey milk from Wicklow cows and cooking the best meals everfrom whatever foods were in good supply – beef and lamb, eggs and fish and bacon, and fresh vegetables straight from the garden.
Grandfather had taken to letting the children listen to the wireless in the late evenings. He moved the set from his study into the drawing room, dusting it off and placing it on a mahogany sideboard. There was a special programme for children who had been evacuated and were far from home – in Wales, Scotland, Canada and the USA mostly – and Sophie and Hugh loved to join in all the songs. Grandfather stayed while these programmes were on, watching silently. Perhaps he thought they were silly with their marching songs and their funny verses. Sophie didn’t really care. The programme was a link with children just like her all over the world, and their home called out to them over the air waves:
Goodnight children, everywhere …
And though you’re far away
You’ll go home one day.
Goodnight children, everywhere.
CHAPTER 20
Dark Waters
One Saturday morning, Sophie sat on the wall, watching the curve of the harbour and its protective arm formed by the mountains and Bray Head, while down below on the beach Hugh and his friend Donal messed around in the boats.
She had stayed up late the night before, writing letters to Mum and Dad and Aunt Jessie. She had them in her pocket ready to post.
‘Hugh!’ she shouted, trying to get his attention. ‘I have to go to the post office. Come on! We’ll be back in a few minutes!’
He was engrossed playing pirates with his friend and he was deliberately
Sophie sensed his determination, and gave in.
The convent school wasn’t bad. The nuns were as kind as they could be to the little English evacuee who had been landed on them. Hugh attended the boys’ primary school, and Sophie couldn’t believe how well he settled in and made friends. She envied her younger brother as he raced around the yard with Donal and Liam, two of the boys in his class, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
She hated to admit it, but she was the one finding it hard to get used to the change. Sister Agnes, her teacher, did her best to integrate Sophie with the other girls and to encourage her to make new friends. But Sophie felt very much and outsider and she kept mostly to herself.
She noticed that the others all talked about ‘the emergency’ but to her, coming from the London Blitz, it was most definitely ‘the war’.
The school work was easy enough, and she couldn’t resist putting her hand up to answer the nun’s questions, ignoring the giggles from the back row and the girls who mimicked her London accent. They had already nicknamed her Miss Clever-clogs.
As soon as school was over she and Hugh wasted no time in getting to the beach and harbour, where the fresh sea air left them dizzy and full of a strange new kind of energy.
They both loved the harbour and spent hours playing on the shingle among the boats. There were all kinds of boats there lying in the sun, some sanded and varnished and tended with love and care, others scarred with years of neglect, with peeling paint and leaky bottoms where pools of dirty water stagnated.
The war seemed a very long way off, except for the awful loneliness of missing Mum and Dad, and wishing that they were a family again.
Every evening before tea, Grandfather would walk from one end of the long winding seafront to the other. Sophie often watched him in the distance. He walked as briskly as his bad leg would allow, sometimes stopping to nod politely to those he met along the way. He had a set routine and disliked having it disturbed.
Back at the house, Nancy was set on feeding the two of them up, making them drink big glasses of creamy Jersey milk from Wicklow cows and cooking the best meals everfrom whatever foods were in good supply – beef and lamb, eggs and fish and bacon, and fresh vegetables straight from the garden.
Grandfather had taken to letting the children listen to the wireless in the late evenings. He moved the set from his study into the drawing room, dusting it off and placing it on a mahogany sideboard. There was a special programme for children who had been evacuated and were far from home – in Wales, Scotland, Canada and the USA mostly – and Sophie and Hugh loved to join in all the songs. Grandfather stayed while these programmes were on, watching silently. Perhaps he thought they were silly with their marching songs and their funny verses. Sophie didn’t really care. The programme was a link with children just like her all over the world, and their home called out to them over the air waves:
Goodnight children, everywhere …
And though you’re far away
You’ll go home one day.
Goodnight children, everywhere.
CHAPTER 20
Dark Waters
One Saturday morning, Sophie sat on the wall, watching the curve of the harbour and its protective arm formed by the mountains and Bray Head, while down below on the beach Hugh and his friend Donal messed around in the boats.
She had stayed up late the night before, writing letters to Mum and Dad and Aunt Jessie. She had them in her pocket ready to post.
‘Hugh!’ she shouted, trying to get his attention. ‘I have to go to the post office. Come on! We’ll be back in a few minutes!’
He was engrossed playing pirates with his friend and he was deliberately
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