Free The Blitz by Vince Cross

we’re both marked down as members of the awkward squad now.

Monday, 4th November
    Â 
    Â 
    Today we went to a real school for the first time in a year. Well, at least it’s something to do, and gets us away from the smell of the pigs. There’s only the one class in the village school and Miss Williams the teacher seems sweet. She’s quite young and friendly, with beautiful long brown hair done in ringlets. I think she feels sorry for us. In the afternoon, she made us tell the rest of the children about life in Lewisham. You should have seen their eyes when we told them about the bombing. They were standing out on stalks.
    I’m one of the oldest, so I don’t think they’ll give me any bother, but I’ll have to look out for Tom. There’s one ginger kid who might be trouble.

Tuesday, 5th November
    Â 
    Â 
    Firework night! But there won’t be any fireworks in Llantrisant this evening. I don’t think the Welsh would have cared if Guy Fawkes had got away with blowing up the Houses of Parliament. London seems a very long way away.
    And thinking of Mum and Dad and dear Shirl (and Frank and Maureen too), I hope there aren’t too many fireworks over their way either!
    School’s difficult, though the work’s really easy-peasy. But I know I can’t keep putting my hand up to answer questions or I’ll look a right little show-off.
    And every time my back’s turned, I catch that ginger kid giving Tom the eye. His name’s Philip Morgan, and he’s obviously used to being cock of the walk round here. Two things I don’t understand about boys. One is why they’re dirty so much of the time. The other is why they’re always fighting.

Wednesday, 6th November
    Â 
    Â 
    A bad day. The Dragon’s getting worse. She picks me up on everything I do. According to her I’m the most impolite, selfish person there’s ever been. I’m trying really hard, and all she can do is tell me how dreadful I am.
    And then there’s Tom. I thought he was beginning to cope. He’s smiled a bit more in the last day or so, but then I turned my back on him for no more than five minutes at lunchtime, and suddenly there he was, hunched up in a corner with a bloody nose. You’ve guessed it. Philip Morgan!
    Tom’s never been bullied in his life, so I asked him, “Why did you let him do it? I hope you gave him a fourpenny one in return!”
    Tom shook his head miserably.
    â€œWhy not?” I said in amazement.
    â€œHe said they’d all come and get me,” he snivelled.
    Well I saw red, didn’t I? I wasn’t having my little brother being pushed around. “We’ll see about that,” I said, and before school started again after lunch I collared the Morgan kid and shoved him up against a wall. He was very surprised. I don’t think a girl had ever spoken to him like that before.
    â€œLook,” I said, “do that again, and you’ll need a hospital. Understand?” I hope he didn’t see me shaking, as he crept away to find a stone to hide under. And there’s me complaining about boys fighting all the time. Well isn’t the message of the war that we have to stand up to bullies?
    Anyway, then he went and told on me to “nice” Miss Williams, who turned into not-so-nice Miss Williams. And somehow by the end of the afternoon word had got back to the Dragon her London kids were ruffians and thugs and that it wouldn’t do.
    So neither of us had anything to eat tonight, and Tom’s beside himself with homesickness and anger. I tiptoed out of my room into his to try and hold him together.
    â€œStick it out,” I whispered. “It’ll get better, you’ll see!”
    â€œIt won’t,” he moaned, miserably. “I want to go home. I hate this place and I hate school. I want my mum. I’ve had enough!”
    â€œTom,” I said, starting to wonder if he might do