Anybody There - A The Script fan fic.

3

Anybody There.

 26th February 1940 

 Yesterday, Dad, Karl, Mum and decided it would be a jolly good idea to spend some time in the new Anderson shelter. It's dark. It's cold. It's dull. It's boring. Mum says it will get better, heat wise, during the summer. Until then it's sleeping bags and sweaters galore - if we can get them all in time. As soon as the siren goes off then it's a frenzy of chaotic frenetic movements. 

 I took a small candle with me and sat on the ground. The candle illuminated the shadows around me and the shadows became even more terrifying once Karl and Mum joined us. No Dad as he was at work.

 "We'll have to get some chairs in here or something," Mum had said. 

 "I think cushions would do just fine Mum. Chairs would take up too much room and at five pounds per chair, I wouldn't mum. A cushion only costs two shillings," I said.

 "True oh wise one," she has said. 

 So I guess yesterday prepared us for tonight's ventures. Although there will be no potty breaks this time around as Karl said he needed to go yesterday during our trial run and mum sighed and rushed him in, telling him sternly that no such thing could happen during an actual raid. I think the closest thing we are going to have is a chamber vase in the far corner. I think I'll just hold it in ... 

 But tonight was our first proper air raid attack spent in the Anderson. Funny how the attackers seem to always come at the most awkward times. It's like they come at around seven when its dark and everyone is having their family meal ... Kind of sick if you think about it really. If the Jerries want maximum fatalities then target the opponents during family time. Mum was just putting some peas onto boil. We had recently got some out of her small patch. She divides her patch up you see? Some for potatoes. Some for carrots and some for peas. I guess she likes to have a full on roast when we can. Although Sunday roasts are now a thing of the past. It's normally cereal in the morning, a jam sandwich at lunch and then a broth or soup for dinner and if we are lucky we may have rice pudding or jam rolly poly for desert. If we are lucky. 

 Karl spends his sweet rations every week on a couple of humbugs. He gets them on Sunday and so on Wednesday he has one humbug and Saturday he has the other. Pretty well worked out if you ask me. I like humbugs and I eye his jealously, but I know better and I'm saving up my ration coupons for one of those American Hershey bars. Then who will be eyeing me jealously? Ha. Maybe I'll give him a strip in exchange for a humbug ... But then again ... Maybe not. 

 Anyway just as Mum was pulling some chicken slices out of the oven and dishing them up, the siren went off, wailing loud and clear. Mum almost dropped the pan she was holding. She quickly turned the peas and carrots pans off and rushed us out into the back garden. 

 So here I am. In the Anderson now, writing. It's mighty boring in here and quite difficult to write as there is very little light. I may end up with a crick in my neck one of these days. I guess I never told you the reason of why I am keeping this diary did I? Again, I am such a bonehead. Well I guess for one ... I'm lonely. Because of the threat of bombs they have closed the schools in the area. I guess that's something I have to thank Mr Adolf Hitler for. No school. But then, no school comes with it's drawbacks. I mean, I can't really see anyone. I even miss the teachers. How bad is that? Miss Hartfield was a brilliant teacher. Sure I may have hated school because I had to sit down in a stuffy classroom and write a load of sums out of what have you, but I did like the social side to it. Without school my social life has plummeted.

 Secondly because of the bombings most of the childrens' parents got paranoid and basically shipped them off to the unknown. I'd never forgive my mum if she did that to me. I should think that she wouldn't. Most of the school went. Some of the teachers did too. There's a couple who didn't. Like that lanky kid next door - having said that if his parents can't even buy an Anderson shelter they sure as hell won't be shipping him off will they?

 Finally I guess it's just something to do. Without school I don't have anything to do all day besides chores. So writing in this diary gives me a form of release, I guess, and it just kills time. Something that I very much need right now. 

 We've been in here a couple hours now and my eyes are starting to get a little heavy. My hand is aching so I'm just going to shake it out a little bit ... There. I didn't half get an odd look from Karl then. I don't think he really knows what or why I am writing. Well lets hope he can keep his grubby paws off then. 

 I have another problem too. I sympathise with Karl. You know that saying 'when you've got to go ...' The chamber pot is calling to me but I don't think I can stand the embarrassment. I think I will definitely hold it.

 I'm going to sleep now I should think. If I adjust the cushion then I can use it as a pillow, although I believe I will have rather a numb backside when I crawl out of this hole. 

 Goodnight. 

 A/N: decided to write another chapter. So here you go. Hope you enjoy the insights into WW2 Glen. -Lauren-