Free Tara by Lesley Pearse Page A

the War didn't seem real. We saw him off on a train, I remember, the station was packed with soldiers, kitbags, women and children. He picked me up to hug me and told me to look after Mother.'
    Even now, Amy remembered it all so clearly. There must have been thousands of people crowded into Charing Cross station and from the viewpoint of her father's shoulders it was very exciting.
    Her small hands caressed her father's blond hair absentmindedly as she surveyed the people all around her. There were splashes of bright colour – her mother's emerald green costume and her vivid gold hair curling on her shoulders; an old lady wearing a pink hat with an artificial rose on it. But mostly it was khaki uniforms, stretching as far as she could see. Steam belched from the waiting engines, the smells of oil, cigarettes and beer filled the air.
    It was from her high perch that she noticed sadness wasn't peculiar to her own mother and father. Soldiers were hugging their wives, many women were dabbing hankies at streaming eyes.
    'You are coming back, aren't you, Daddy?' Amy twisted her father's head upwards with her small hands so she could see him better, suddenly aware this was different from all the other times they'd seen him off back to the camp.
    He reached up and caught her under her arms, lifting her right up above his head and down in front of him.
    'You don't really think I'd leave my two best girls for long?' He looked down at her and smiled.
    An icy chill ran down her spine, not because she didn't believe him, but because for the first time ever she saw fear in his face. She turned to her mother and caught her wiping away a tear.
    Her parents were a handsome couple, Amy had heard that said since she was tiny. Arthur's blond hair, twinkling blue eyes and peachy skin suggested a boyish innocence, but the thin scar from his ear to his jaw, broad shoulders and rippling muscles spoke of an underlying toughness. Mabel, with her fiery colouring, hour-glass figure and beautiful face, demanded a second look. If there were ballots in Whitechapel for the most envied couple, the Randalls would have won.
    Amy pressed her face into the rough serge of her father's uniform and drank in that smell of Blanko, cigarettes and Lifebuoy soap that was peculiar to him.
    'Princess!' His hands gripped her sides, lifting her up into a fierce hug. 'You look after your mother for me and just be a good girl.'
    She couldn't remember the train pulling out, just the image of her parents' last embrace.
    'Mum! You were going to tell us about Grandma!'
    Tara's voice brought Amy back to the present.
    'Sorry, I was remembering seeing Dad off at the station. That was in '39 and it was only a few days after that I was evacuated to Kent with the rest of my school.'
    Paul's eyes went very wide. 'Was that scary?'
    'A bit.' Amy smiled at Tara's wide-eyed look of horror. 'But I wasn't there more than a month. No bombs dropped or anything so most of us went back home. Mother was worried because Dad was off in France somewhere, but she spent that winter painting greetings cards and talking about how when Dad came home we'd move out of London for good. In May, Holland and Belgium were invaded. I remember her sitting on the arm of an armchair in the parlour, her ear practically stuck to the radio listening for news, but she got a letter from Dad soon after.'
    Paul yawned, snuggling down on Amy's lap, his eyes drooping.
    'Into bed with you, my boy.' Amy stood up, lifting him in her arms, and tucked him in beside his sister.
    'Don't stop, Mum,' Tara implored her. 'Tell me about when the telegram came.'
    'It was a beautiful, hot summer's day in June,' Amy said thoughtfully, sitting back down on the bed. 'I was sitting on the floor in the parlour reading a Dorite Fairly Bruce school story. Mother was in the kitchen making a rhubarb pie.'
    The little parlour was so clear in her mind she could even smell wax polish. The sun had rarely penetrated into Durwood Street-aside from it