Peggy's Letters by Jacqueline Halsey Read Free Book Online Page A

always act like little kids?
    â€œCome into land, Fred and George,” says Mrs. Bottomly. For the first time since I’ve been in this class, everyone’s paying attention.

    â€œYou’re next, Pete.”
    â€œWhen it rains our Anderson shelter floods, and one day my uncle forgot and fell in.” Everyone bursts out laughing.
    Dora’s story isn’t funny. Her dad is missing. He might be in a prisoner-of-war camp. I’m glad my dad’s not a prisoner. He would hate that.
    Suddenly everyone has a story. The classroom is a forest of waving arms all wanting to be next.
    Is my story going to be about Dad’s ship escorting a convoy from Halifax, or our house burning down? No, those stories are not for sharing. I’ll stick to Mum folding parachutes.
    Mrs. Bottomly points to Spud. “You’re next, Stanley.”
    He scrapes his chair back and stands up. “I thought I just had to paste the stories on the newspaper.”
    â€œYou have to write one too,” says Mrs. Bottomly.
    â€œOh!” groans Spud.
    â€œTell us about your family,” encourages Mrs. Bottomly.
    I suddenly realize how little I know about Spud.
    Spud runs his hand through his hair. The rest of the class fidgets.
    â€œMy mum drives a lorry and moves barrage balloons around,” he says with a grin.
    I can’t believe my ears.
    â€œThat’s an interesting story, Spud,” says Mrs. Bottomly, raising her eyebrows.
    It’s not an interesting story; it’s a fairy story. Is he lying because he doesn’t want everyone to feel sorry for him?
    â€œPeggy.” Mrs. Bottomly points to me, but before I can get to my feet the chilling notes of the air-raid siren set the class into motion.
    â€œQuick as you can, boys and girls.”
    We all know what to do because of Mrs. Mashman’s daily drills, but my legs still tremble as I grab my gas mask.
    â€œLead the way, Tom,” says Mrs. Bottomly.
    We file across the playground and down the steep steps into the air-raid shelter.Two wooden benches run along each wall of the underground tunnel-shaped room. It smells of old socks, and we have to squish up really tight to get all the classes in.
    Elsie starts crying. “Air raids are so scary. I wish I lived in the country,” she sobs.
    â€œOh no, you don’t,” says Doreen. “I was evacuated to a farm in Devon. It was full of enormous, smelly cows. I was so scared me Mum had to come and fetch me home again.”
    â€œDon’t believe you,” says Annie.
    â€œIt’s true.”
    â€œQuiet everyone,” says Mrs. Mashman clapping her hands. “Stop sniveling, Elsie.” She looks at her watch. “We cut one minute, twenty nine seconds from yesterday’s drill. Well done, school. Now let’s begin our multiplication tables. We’ll start with sevens.”
    As planes drone overhead, we chant the familiar numbers in our sing-songy voices. I think about the barrage balloon in its new position and don’t feel quite so scared.

13
    School is dismissed as soon as the all-clear sounds. We have the whole afternoon off. Doreen wants all the girls to go down the High Street and look round Woolworth’s. It feels great to be included, but I want to talk to Spud. He’s nowhere around. Must have raced off. I bet he’s gone to his hut. As I don’t have to pick up Tommy for ages, I decide to go over to the allotment and find out once and for all. Has he got a mum or hasn’t he.
    Before I get to the sliding planks, I hear loud voices coming from the allotment. Squatting down, I peer through a knothole. Two men wearing Home Guard armbands are stomping round Spud’s hut.
    â€œIt’s goin’ to have to come down, Fred,” says the tall one.
    â€œIf it don’t fall down first,” laughs the other, holding the door in his hand. “Cor blimey, look at all the scrap metal!”
    My biscuit box of letters is not