Wartime child.

Wednesday night was our night - we used to play board games and make fun of amy into the night, she would sit by the fire looking us with resentment. I could tell that she was jealous, she wanted a night. But Dad was too busy.

He used to sing me songs to get to sleep, and play with my hair and pick me up when I fell to the ground. But now he’s gone to war and the only person left to pick me up is Amy. I miss him. It’s been 4 years, and we haven’t heard anything from him since the 14th of June 1938 - amy’s 12th birthday.

Mum says he doesn’t have any paper to write but me and Amy both know hes not with us anymore, he never liked fighting. We play along with it though, just to make Mum happy. Every Wednesday I get out the monopoly board and set everything up, mum tries to join in but her jokes aren’t as funny. Mum always buys the streets which have been bombed, she feels sorry for the people living in them.

I let her be the iron, Dad was always the iron. I’m the boot, dad said I should be the boot seeing as all I ever go on about is getting a new pair. After an hour, mum turns on the radio and we all listen to boring men groan on about the war. Usually we just impersonate their voices to make mum laugh, but we know she’s worried. When the radio is on she just looks at the door, I pretend not to notice but I know she is waiting for something. Lot’s of boys and girls from our school have had their families die in the war, they all get a letter through the door. I saw Martha’s letter, she brought it into school, just wait until her mum finds out. Mum wants a letter, I can tell she does because she swipes her hand in the letter box every morning, checking that nothing was stuck, when she realises nothing is in there she looks sad.

I’ve thought about writing her a letter, I’ve gotten quite good at letter writing since I’ve been writing to aunt Jane in the countryside quite a lot, she says I should come visit but I know she’d just use that as an excuse to pinch my cheeks. The paper didn’t come today, Jim Brown said it was because the paper boy got killed in one of the bombs, it landed on his head. I don’t trust Jim Brown. I still write my dad letters, I get my mum to take them to the post box for me on the way to the factory.

She doesn’t do it, I found them all under her bed. Amy tries to steal them because she thinks I’m telling him bad stuff about her but really it’s just me telling him how much I miss him. Amy misses dad. But most of all she just misses mum smiling, I miss her belly laughs and her homemade cookies. She doesn’t make them anymore, she said that dad wouldn’t be eating cookies so we shouldn’t be.

I’m lonely now, there’s no one to make me laugh. Not even Jim Brown or Aunt Jane’s hand writing. I still make fun of Amy though. Mum says I have his eyes - dads - and sometimes I think if I close them hard enough I’ll be able to see through his. I just see black, which is probably what he sees. When I’m sad I listen to his records, I don’t even like any of his music. One day the letter will come, but until then I’ll keep closing my eyes, I’ll keep writing, I’ll keep hoping.