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Christmas 1939

Please God, make Mum come and take me home for Christmas. It’s ‘orrible here, and I don’t like it. I’m not allowed to use the bathroom any more ‘cos I’m a dirty ‘vacuee. I have to use the old shed down the garden with the door that won’t close. Its got three holes, and they’re so deep you can’t see the bottom, and there are huge black beetles and sticky cobwebs with great hairy spiders, and the stink is something rotten. I have to wash under the pump in the yard. It had icicles like daggers hanging from the spout this morning, and the water’s so cold it hurts. When I came back from school today, SHE made me stand in the corner with my hands above my head for ages ‘cos I’d bitten my fingernails, and then SHE made some mustard and put that on them, and made me bite them again, and then I had to go to bed without any tea. SHE wouldn’t have known if Cynthia hadn’t told her.

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Oh, Mum, please, please come and take me home for Christmas. I’d rather be dead than stay here, and I’d rather be at home with Mum even if there are bombs and things. I was late for school today. I met Batty Eric in the lane. He uses one eye to look at you with, while the other wanders about looking at the sky and birds and trees. I’ve tried ever so hard to do it, but it’s too difficult for my eyes. Batty Eric ties up his coat with string ‘cos he’s lost all the buttons, and he had a real dead rabbit underneath hanging on a piece of string round his tummy. Its fur was lovely and soft, but there was blood coming out of its mouth. He’s got a ferret to catch the rabbits for him. It lives in his pocket and pokes its head up to look out, but he wouldn’t let me stroke it, ‘cos if it bites your finger it can’t let go, and the doctor has to come and cut your finger off. Miss Reed slippered me when I got to school, for being late. And then, when I got back from school, SHE slippered me again and sent me to bed without any tea. SHE wouldn’t have known if Cynthia hadn’t told her.

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Please God, tell Mum to come and take me home for Christmas. I’m not allowed to sleep in a bedroom any more ‘cos I wet the bed. I wouldn’t have if I could have used the bathroom, but I’d have got into trouble if I had, and I’d have got into trouble if I went downstairs to use the one in the garden. SHE makes me sleep in the attic now, on some straw from the cowshed. I think SHE’s trying to be horrible, but I like it here. It’s got a twisty narrow staircase from the kitchen, which doesn’t stop anywhere till it gets right up into the roof. You can hear the birds in the straw thatch, and sometimes, in the evenings, if I’m very quiet, a little grey mouse comes out to play on the floor. I’m going to bring it some cheese if I can get it without HER finding out. There’s a tiny window which looks out over the garden and this afternoon I saw Cynthia down there playing with her stupid dolls. I could easily have spat on her, but she’d only have told HER. So I didn’t. Now it’s dark the moon shines right onto my bed through the branches of the old pear tree and make funny spindly shadows on the walls. Last night there was an owl sitting there, and he hooted for ages. I could see him in the moonlight, and he twisted his head right round and looked at me backwards. I could see his shadow on the wall too.

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Oh, Mum, please come and take me home for Christmas. SHE says Mum’s not going to come ‘cos of the bombs and things. SHE’s always saying Mum won’t come to see a dirty ‘vacuee like me. SHE’s horrible. I hate HER. I borrowed HER umbrella today, to try and see if it would work like a parachute to jump of the garden wall with. But it didn’t, and I fell on the gravel path and bit my tongue and lost all the skin off my elbows and knees. The umbrella was all funny and torn with all the little metal bits sticking out all over, and the fox’s head handle all bent where I fell on it. I didn’t cry, even though I wanted to, ‘cos SHE’d have heard and come and found her umbrella all broke. But Cynthia told HER anyway, so I got slippered and sent to bed without any tea.

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SHE’s put me back in a proper bedroom tonight. I think SHE’s trying to be nice just ‘cos it’s Christmas Eve. But Mum hasn’t come. I don’t like it here, even though it is warmer than the attic. The curtains make it dark and I can’t see out. In the attic I could see all the twisty black shapes of the trees in the garden, and watch the moon and the stars all twinkly in the pitchy-black sky. SHE’s got someone visiting downstairs. I heard them come after I came to bed, and they’ve been talking for ages. I could hear them but not what they were saying. They must have gone now, ‘cos I can hear HER coming up the stairs to bed. I can hear HER by the door. Oh, bloomin’ ‘eck, what’s she want to come in here for???

OH, MUM!!!

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