A Bomb Raid

• Jen Barham, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2012

I heard the air raid sirens ring out, as I fled the house with my 2 year old brother, Thomas in my arms. My mother, Shirley, and sisters, Anna and Margret, were close on my heels. I stumbled as I flew towards the bomb shelter, and Thomas squirmed. He was clinging to me as I ran, as I was his favourite person. I, being 17, was the eldest of 4 Hale children.

It was the 27th of October, 1940. I lived in the Port of London with my mother and siblings, and we were currently being raided by the Nazi bombers again. We should have been used to this by now, as it had been almost a nightly occurrence since that fateful night, almost 2 months ago when it all began.

My father died in the first bombing of London, along with many others. I was not coping well at all, but my mother was destroyed by the news. I have been thrust into what should have been her role, and so I have not yet mourned my father fully, because I am constantly looking after Margret, Anna, and Thomas. Speaking of which, the girls were slowing.

'Mary! Get them to go faster!' Mama cried as we heard the drone of planes approaching. Finally, we reached the shelter, and ran down the stairs. I found a corner for us to settle in as we prepared to wait for the all-clear.

I studied my family as we huddled together in our corner. Mama was drawn, pale and haggard, but she was still strikingly beautiful. She had smoky grey eyes that were stunning even through their unique colour. Paired with her slightly wavy blonde hair, Mother was by far the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I moved my gaze to Margret and Anna. Margret was 14, and clearly would grow into an even more beautiful young woman than she already was. She had Mama's complexion and features. The one thing she had gotten from Papa, though, was his dimpled smile. When she reached adulthood, she might very well rival Mama in beauty, but it was hard to say at the age of 14. Anna, huddled into her side, was just 10, and looked quite similar, except that she had Papa's chocolate eyes, and his straight, thick hair, but it was Mama's colour.

Little Thomas, sitting on my lap, was adorable. He had Mama's long, thick eyelashes, but that was it. The rest came from Papa, with his innocent brown eyes and messy brown hair. I was similar, as I had the same features, but less good-looking, with duller brown eyes and muddy brown hair. I would much rather look like my Mama, or look more like Papa, but I didn't, so...

The first bomb was dropped. The sound was incredibly loud, and Thomas started crying. I soothingly patted his back and hummed a lullaby as Mama comforted the girls. Our eyes met over their heads, and I saw the pain and grief in Mama's eyes as she remembered the first bombing. It brought tears to my eyes, but I wiped my face before the girls could see me crying and worry. I looked away, and saw a beautiful woman with bronze hair talking to a man quietly as they huddled together. I had never seen her before, but it was not like that meant something, living in London. But this woman, she almost rivaled Mama in beauty. Almost.

Thomas reached up and started playing with the locket around my neck, and he drew my gaze towards him. I smiled, and he gave a little, cute grin.

My sister started to cry as she heard the familiar sound of the bombs going off, and Mama was quick to comfort her.

As I looked at her tear-streaked face, I couldn't help but wonder when it all would end. Not only the current bombing, but the war, the grief, the terror and the tears. It felt like it was a long way off...