We sat in stunned silence, staring at each other as the train pulled into an empty station. All I could feel was despair. We were a bunch of fellow students and our teacher was seeking refuge from the cruel reality and abominable face of the Second World War. Me and the other evacuees were heading for an abandoned old mansion, which we would use as a shelter from the Nazi air-raids. Our fathers were giving their lives to protect our country and serving their duties on the battlefield. Our mothers were suffering every single day trying to keep on surviving and looking after us. But in these turbulent times, London was no longer safe. And since we had no other relatives to put us up, me, James, Carol, Helene, George and Martin had to leave the capital with the hope of surviving – six-to eight-year-olds under the protection of Miss Hawkins – the loveliest and prettiest young woman I had ever met.

At the time we got off the train, no one would say a word. All you could see back then was the faces which had turned white and the tears flowing like a waterfall. Only Miss Hawkins was smiling – that was her protection from all the miserable events that had been happening in the past four years.

After a short bus ride from the railway station to the old house we were finally there – in the middle of the forest surrounded by patchwork of autumn leaves. We got into the mansion. The atmosphere inside was cold, to say the least. Not only was it freezing and we had to find a way to warm ourselves up, but the feelings of emptiness, tragedy and hopelessness were giving off the sense of wintriness.

“After a short bus ride from the railway station to the old house we were finally there – in the middle of the forest surrounded by patchwork of autumn leaves. We got into the mansion. The atmosphere inside was cold, to say the least. Not only was it freezing and we had to find a way to warm ourselves up, but the feelings of emptiness, tragedy and hopelessness were giving off the sense of wintriness.

And as I started to unzip my suitcase, I saw an unsightly little shadow in the corner near Martin’s bed.

“Hey, guys, look over there!”, shouted Carol.

It looked like I was the only one not that yellow-bellied to check what was hiding in there. It was very silent – I could hear the trees whispering to one another. My heart was beating as raindrops thundered. When I got close enough, I witnessed a crying little boy. He looked frightened and his face was snow-white.

“What happened to you?”, I asked.

“I am all alone in here,” he replied.

“But why?” I was curious to find out.

“I came here with my mum a week ago. The day before yesterday she went out looking for help and some food and she hasn’t come back yet. I am so scared,” he uttered.

“Get up! You’re one of us now” I declared.

My peers would ask him the same questions over and over again. Eventually, we shared with him some of our clothes and toys.

All of a sudden, a piercing scream was heard in the room. It came from the garden. When we went to see what had happened, we saw Miss Hawkins staring at the corpse of a dead woman.

“That’s my mum!” shouted the little boy and burst into tears over the inanimate body.

***

Three years later, the war was finally over. But not all dramatic war stories had to end tragically. At least not for Adam – the scared child we had found. His life went on pretty well, as he had a new mother (the best one somebody could ever imagine) – our kind-hearted teacher Miss Hawkins.