Alice was first evacuated in September 1939, but she soon returned home for Christmas. After several months of vicious dogfights across the country, the war in the air had stopped and the Jerrys began bombing the largest cities in the country. The German's had bombed many buildings close to Alice's home in London. The most terrifying concern was that a house, hit by an incendiary bomb, had been entirely demolished seven doors down from hers. Alice's mother knew that she would have to return the children to Grimethorpe. Grimethorpe, where the Smith's family had taken them in with open arms, was a place of safety.
On Saturday 14th June, Alice awoke amongst a sea of bodies. She felt lonely, afraid and tense. Ridges of shoulders, hips, and waves of hair surrounded every inch of floor as far as the eye could see. Beside her, Georgie, her little brother lay still. His chest rose and fell slowly, and she watched him for what seemed like an eternity. After a short while had past, she nudged his shoulder. Georgie woke with a start.
"Mum?" whimpered Georgie.
"It's ok. Mum will be back soon, and we will be setting off," shushed Alice.
"She's not back?" questioned Georgie with a frown on his face.
Alice whispered calmly, "Her shift with the service ended thirty minutes ago."
Georgie's eyes lifted upwards as he called, "Mummy!"
Alice and Georgie's mother stumbled over the many blankets, boxes, and bodies that scattered Piccadilly underground station. Her face was weary, but she smiled a dazzling smile. Her night would have been chaotic, and she would have been putting out at least a dozen fires with the Women's Auxiliary service. The bombing would have raged through the night, and Alice thoroughly understood the danger that her mother would have been in. Alice's mother would have remained in an Anderson shelter until the noise of the Luftwaffe and their military ammunition had disappeared. When it was deemed clear, she and her colleagues could bring out the hundreds of metres of hosepipes and begin putting out the fires that licked furiously at the burning rubble.
As they walked out of the underground with trepidation, acrid smoke filled the air. Dark clouds of soot and ash filtered down to the ground. In front of Alice, was a smouldering pile of brick and rubble. Timber embers glowed weakly amongst damp and sodden trinkets and building material. The faces of the people, who had bunkered down in the underground, were drawn out and their eyes filled with water. Sobbing and weak whimpers could be heard all around. Alice's mother held both children firmly, and she pulled them along through the crowds. The twenty-six-minute walk from Piccadilly to Waterloo station was gruelling. Not one of them talked. Their bags had been packed the night before last. At what seemed like an age, the little family arrived at Waterloo. Children rushed forwards clinging to their mothers. The trains on the platform hummed gently. Alice, Georgie, and their mother stopped at a long wooden table covered in a white sheet. List upon list of children's names were splayed out on top.
"Name?" said the elderly gentleman behind the desk.
"Georgie and Alice Brown," said Alice's mother.
"Gas mask, sandwiches, and belongings listed in the guidance with them?" questioned the man.
Alice's mother spoke confidently, "All there. I checked and double-checked two nights ago."
"Carriage three. Mrs. Brown, you must hurry. The train will be departing in three minutes," gestured the man as he held out two nametags, one for each child.
Tired and worn out from the night's work, Mrs. Brown ushered the children to carriage three. She took Georgie's hat off his head, and she smoothed down his hair. Georgie took his hat, but he did not replace it on to his head. He tightly held it against his chest, and streams of silent tears rolled down his face. Mrs. Brown took out her handkerchief and mopped his damp cheeks. She turned to Alice and kissed her gently on her forehead. Mrs. Brown soothed them onto the steps without a word. They did not say goodbye. Perhaps, the children would see their mother in a month or two. It was not a long stay, but at least the Smiths had invited her up north for a short break away from the bombing raids. It would give her the relief she craved when she missed her children far too much.
As the train pulled away from the station, Mrs. Brown waved them off, and she held back the tears behind her eyes. She had to appear strong, for she did not want her children to know the pain that she felt in her heart. The children would be safe, and she would be dousing the fires amongst the city of London. She would be busy.
Before long, the trained chugged along the tracks at a steady pace. Puffs of smoke and steam hurtled past the carriage window. Alice watched emotionlessly out of the window. Georgie's face was puffy and red, yet he had stopped crying. Green trees, lush emerald grass and creatures with smooth, spotted fur whizzed out of sight. The view was a source of entertainment for all of the children packed into small carriages. One field, which was plastered in an assortment of colourful flowers, was home to what Alice first thought were balls of white clouds. She had read about these animals in class. They were sheep. Along the journey, she would be tired of seeing the bumbling creatures before they arrived at their destination.
Soon, they arrived in Barnsley. It was a strange town. Alice and Georgie had been there not long ago. The people talked in a foreign language, and the air was much chillier up north. It would never be home. After they had piled out of carriage three, a young woman in a beige Macintosh escorted them. The coat looked old. It had been repaired at the shoulder seams with a grey cotton. The cotton did not fit in with the coat, and it stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a sign that the effects of the war were everywhere. Make do and mend was the slogan that rung in Alice's ears as she marched up towards the town hall. The Smiths would be waiting there with their son Thomas.
Within twenty minutes, they were in a large reception room within the grand town hall. They waited nervously. Alice was perched on a prickly, wooden bench, and Georgie played with his tin car at her feet. Alice's glossy eyes darted around the room, and she was disappointed. Georgie kept glancing up at Alice, but she did not return his gaze. He knew that she was panicking. He couldn't help her. He was only eight. She was four years older, and she was the responsible one. Her coat was buttoned up tightly, yet it fit loosely around her shoulders. It had been their mothers. A hand-me-down present for her twelfth birthday. She fiddled with the string above the box that poked at her side. Her short hair bristled against her shoulders. Mrs. Brown had not smoothed her hair down as she had Georgie's. Alice would have fought her off as she was too old to be coddled. All the blood had drained from her cheeks, and her lip quivered with fear. Occasionally, assigned families had failed to pick up the evacuees from the reception points, and families were separated. She feared the unknown, and she did not wish to be torn away from her younger brother. Several hours passed extremely slowly, and the hope in Alice's eyes began to fade. Georgie had stopped glancing at his sister as it was giving him nauseating butterflies in his tummy. He looked at the impressive, ornate wooden doors of the room. The handle of the door twitched, and a family of three squeezed through. The Smiths had arrived. Alice swabbed her eyes. They had not abandoned the children after all. The family's promise to take them in, a second time around, would be fulfilled. They would have a roof over their head, and warm substantial meals would fill their belly. Now, the children had only one worry. They would pray nightly. Their only wish was for their mother to be safe in the distant city of London.
