Free Peggy's Letters by Jacqueline Halsey Page A

frightened. I thought it was just kids that got scared. Tommy is still crying.
    â€œThere there, dear,” I say. “Stiff upper lip, that’s the way.” My voice is all shaky. It doesn’t sound like me at all, and Tommy’s lips are wobblier than ever. But I know how to make him laugh.
    â€œLook, Tommy.” I uncurl his fingers and tickle his hand. “Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear. One step.” Tommy watches my fingers marching up his arm.
    The cellar is quiet now that Tommy has stopped crying.
    â€œTwo steps…”
    Why am I the only one talking? Looking up, I see frightened eyes all around me.
    â€œMum!” I cry. “I can’t hear the bomb anymore.”
    There’s a loud crack, and a rumble of thuds shakes the floor. Flakes of plaster and dust flutter down on us like snow.
    No one moves.
    â€œTiggle,” says Tommy.
    â€œOh, Tommy! Tickle you under there.”
    Tommy bursts into giggles, and everyone breathes again. We’re laughing. We’re safe. I hug Tommy tight, and Mum hugs both of us.
    â€œCor blimey! Bit too close for comfort, that one,” says Mr. Keddy, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief. He pulls out a barley sugar and gives it to me. I stare at it. Sweets are rationed.
    â€œGo on, take it,” he says.
    I pop the sweet in my mouth and mumble a sticky thank you.
    At last, the single note of the all-clear siren sounds, and we climb up into the daylight. The shop window is a spider’s web of cracks.
    â€œCould be worse,” says Mr Keddy with a sigh. “Now who was next in line?”
    Outside there’s dust and smoke and something really strange. The tree in front of the butcher’s shop is covered with dresses, all waving their sleeves in the breeze.
    People are everywhere.
    â€œThree of ’em nasty rocket bombs came over at once,” I hear someone say.
    â€œPoor Miss Rose,” says another. “Looks like her shop took a direct hit.”
    â€œGive us a hand, Peggy,” calls Mum. “I’ve got our sausages.”
    After clipping Tommy into the pram and packing the sausages at his feet, we start for home. A fire engine races by. It’s going in our direction.
    â€œDing, ding, ding” says Tommy, ringing a pretend fire-engine bell.
    Just as we get to the corner, Nora races up.
    â€œPeggy, come quick. Your house got hit!”

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    Mum and I start running at the exact same moment, bumping Tommy up and down in the pram as we go. Nora runs alongside.
    Our house is in flames.
    â€œStand back there!” cries the Fire Chief.
    â€œBut it’s our house.”
    â€œIs that right, missus?”
    Mum nods.
    â€œSorry to hear that, luv.” He turns to the small crowd that’s forming. “Stand back. Let my men do their job.” With outspread arms, he herds everyone onto the far curb.
    I watch the flames eat our house. The roof has fallen in, and the front wall is down. Now everyone can see our home in its underwear. The neighbors pat me on the shoulder then talk as if I’m not there.
    â€œBlinkin’ war…lucky escape…poor dears…”
    Their pity is almost worse than the fire.
    There’s a gasp. Another wall crumples to the ground. Nora puts her arm round me. She is talking, but her words are snatched away with the sparks and the smoke. I can only hear the fire. A cup of tea grows cold in my hands. I don’t even know how it got there.
    The gray sky darkens into night. The fire is out. Everyone goes. Even Nora says good-bye. I picture families in their homes, putting up the blackouts, making supper and listening to the wireless. I want to go home too.
    â€œCome on dears,” says a Red Cross lady. “Nothing more you can do here. They’veset up a rest-center in St. Mark’s church hall. If you’ve nowhere else to go, you can spend the night there.”

    I don’t want to go. This is our home.
    â€œCome