I never saw them again.
I'd had a friend next door,
his name was Tommy and he was just as confused as I was. I remember him asking if he'd be back in time to play tag after school.
If only we'd known.
It was a few weeks later, in the evening, that we heared a knock at the door. Mother told us both to stay where we were as she went and grabbed her purse from the dining room table. She made us leave through the back and crawl under the hedge to get out. We had to stay the night at aunt Dilises house a few miles away. My feet were blistered by the time we got there. Aunt Dilis said we couldn't stay but she wrote something down on a piece of paper for only mother to see. Mother cried a lot that night but in the morning she made a phone call. A few hours later, she took us to a train station and told us we were visiting Grandma. She put tags aroung both of our necks and handed me an envelope that was sealed shut. I couldn't read her hand writing on the front. She told me to look after my brother, Michael, as I was the oldest. We both hopped on the train and it started moving almost immediately. Someone came round, checking our tags and collecting our envelopes. There were at least twenty or so there kids there, all different ages. But there were no adults apart from the train drivers. I'd expected Mother to jump on after us but she stayed at the platform and waved at us. As we were driving away, I saw tears in her eyes. I think that deep down, I knew I would never see her again. The train was accelerating, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until it was speeding away.
I dedicate this as story to all the children who were sent away during World War Two.
Learning about it in history made me realize how so many people have suffered in silence.
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