大象传媒

Suffer Little Children.

We marched in columns,
Like soldiers.
From school to train.
Past shops and houses,
A long and leafy lane.
Past men who whistled
And turned their heads,
While women, stone faced,
Blinked and stared
Above hard thin mouths.
We sang 鈥淭en green bottles,鈥�
Swung our arms and tried
To count the paces.
The men whistled
Women stared and we sang
鈥淥ne man went to mow鈥�
Smiled at unfamiliar faces.
They did not know us
Did not wave.
We were little soldiers
Going to war.
By ourselves.
We had no generals.
No pipe bands.
Bags of vests, socks and knickers
Clutched in nervous hands.
Pennies hidden in pockets
Under a clean ironed hanky.
We were little soldiers
And little soldiers don鈥檛 cry!
We did not know the meaning
Of forever. A long time
To a child is a minute
An hour or never.
We were little soldiers
Ten green bottles, and
鈥楲ittle soldiers don鈥檛 cry鈥�
We were evacuees.

Memories of Mollie Wade nee Scott recalling her walk from Kelvin Grove School along Saltwell Road/Elysium Road to Bensham Station- destination Bute Cottage Hudswell Nr. Richmond Yorks. It was 9.00am on Friday 1st September1939 and Mollie was 10 years old.

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