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Description
I looked over at Lydia on the other bench, quietly reading her book. Of course she was. She was the perfect little girl. I smiled to myself, and turned back to looking out of the window, on which raindrops were streaming past diagonally. Under us, the train rattled a little. Blurred a little by the rain I watched the rolling hills and landscape pass, and let my mind wander.
A memory I hadn't thought about in a while came to me. I saw a sunny dirt lane in my minds eye, over the dull back-crop the carriage window presented me. Two children were crouching in the lane, looking at a worm beside a clump of grass on the side of the path. She was wearing a dress and sandals that used to be Sunday shoes until they were mangled by them being worn while playing outside too much. I wore trousers, because my parents were passing me off as a boy until my hair grew back. They had had to cut it shorter to make it look respectable after I used scissors on it myself. Long hair irritated me. They were introducing me as their son to most people that summer I think. But not to Lydia, and not to her parents.
A little further back on the path stood the grown-ups, keeping an eye on us as they chatted about god knew what. Our two families met that day. My mother and father had taken me out into the countryside, and we went for a walk to look at the animals of a nearby farm. Lydia had wanted the worm not to get hurt, so I'd picked it up on the end of a twig and carried it over to the bushes, where I put it down on the soil beneath the shrubs.
Our parents seemed to become friends, so when we next went out to the country a year later we met up again. …And again the next time, three years later. I remember industrially picking berries with Lydia. She liked black berries, and I liked raspberries, so she would look all over for raspberries and I would take great care not to ruin my clothes too badly when harvesting every blackberry within reach from each bush for her. Whenever she found a bush of raspberries she would come running to me "Charlie!" She would shout. "I've got some more! Here! Look!" And she would give me a handful of berries. Whenever we came by a blackberry bush she would stand there beside me, waiting for each berry when it came, placing the bitter fruit in her mouth with every sign of enjoyment.
I had grown my hair back again by that time of course, and wore dresses, though I refused to wear the hats that looked so good on Lydia. I tied my hair back as soon as it was long enough.
I leant my head against the vibrating glass window of the train, and felt its chill through the headscarf I wore nowadays. I glanced over at Lydia, who was still reading in her little book. She never had stopped wearing those Sunday hats. They made her look so very pretty.
I suppose my parents liked seeing Lydia and I having so much fun together as children, because meeting up every summer soon became a tradition. When Father turned sick for a while and we couldn't afford to go on holidays anymore, I sorely missed Lydia, and became quite unbearable to be around during the summer. I wanted to go and spend my summer with her. She was my only real friend.
As the Government grew more worried about mainland Europe, and the news paper headlines got more and more exclamation marks, the mood of every day life sunk. Father said it was because people were worried we would have to go to war. Mother said that that wasn't going to happen and it would all blow over. But it didn't blow over. It only got worse.
War came. Blackouts were introduced to protect us from the bombs that fell all the same, making the world a darker place. Posters were hung out to motivate us, the people, and to warn us. We were reminded of our duties. I got a gasmask, but one of the eyepieces cracked in a fight with Peter, a boy whose path crossed mine on the way to school.
Father was needed in the army, but he organized before he left that I should be registered to the house of a friend of his which was in an evacuation area. That meant I would be sent off to the countryside. Then he got in contact with Lydia's father. I left within a month of Father leaving to join the front. He never came back.

Lydia was waiting at the gate when I was dropped off at the bottom of their road. As soon as she saw me she came running down towards me, and we embraced. It had been so long since we had last seen each other! In our hug I turned to kiss her on the cheek, in the same moment as she did the same. We ended up kissing the sides of each others lips, but it didn't matter. What did the war matter when we could pretend it was summer again? When we were together again? I had missed her so very strongly, it was quite intolerable. I was told later I wore a constant grin for weeks after arriving.
The happiness died down, after a while though, and Liz and I were coming home from the shops where we had just got my ration-card for sweets turned into sugar when her mother came out towards us, with a very sorry look on her face. It looked as if she'd been crying. Wordlessly, and with quivering fingers she handed me a letter. "Oh Charlotte…" she sobbed… "I'm so sorry…"
I looked at the letter. There were a lot of official looking words in it, and I could see my address in London punched into a clear space in the text, and my mothers name a few lines before that, but at the time I had no idea what it meant.
Apparently, it meant that I no longer had a home to go back to when the war was over. Not unless I could call a pile of crumbled walls and broken bricks home. Lydia's mother said that I could stay with them, of course I could, and that I would be welcome. They would adopt me as their own daughter, and …of course it was possible my father is still alive, she said, and we would just have to wait out until the end of the war. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything much. I was a lot quieter from then on.
Liz and I had not parted since then. After the war, and after we had waited for my father to come back, Lydia's father adopted me, and we were both sent off to a Boarding school together. It was only there that I properly started loving her.
I smiled over to Lydia, where she sat there so pretty with her book. I felt rather uncultured in comparison to her lady like composure I'd never been a pride student. I slid out off my bench and sat down beside her, just an inch too closer that would be usual among friends, and laid my hand palm up on the cushioned bench between us. Subtly, holding her book up in the other, she slipped her hand into mine, and ever so slightly, smiled.

Description
I looked over at Lydia on the other bench, quietly reading her book. Of course she was. She was the perfect little girl. I smiled to myself, and turned back to looking out of the window, on which raindrops were streaming past diagonally. Under us, the train rattled a little. Blurred a little by the rain I watched the rolling hills and landscape pass, and let my mind wander.
A memory I hadn't thought about in a while came to me. I saw a sunny dirt lane in my minds eye, over the dull back-crop the carriage window presented me. Two children were crouching in the lane, looking at a worm beside a clump of grass on the side of the path. She was wearing a dress and sandals that used to be Sunday shoes until they were mangled by them being worn while playing outside too much. I wore trousers, because my parents were passing me off as a boy until my hair grew back. They had had to cut it shorter to make it look respectable after I used scissors on it myself. Long hair irritated me. They were introducing me as their son to most people that summer I think. But not to Lydia, and not to her parents.
A little further back on the path stood the grown-ups, keeping an eye on us as they chatted about god knew what. Our two families met that day. My mother and father had taken me out into the countryside, and we went for a walk to look at the animals of a nearby farm. Lydia had wanted the worm not to get hurt, so I'd picked it up on the end of a twig and carried it over to the bushes, where I put it down on the soil beneath the shrubs.
Our parents seemed to become friends, so when we next went out to the country a year later we met up again. …And again the next time, three years later. I remember industrially picking berries with Lydia. She liked black berries, and I liked raspberries, so she would look all over for raspberries and I would take great care not to ruin my clothes too badly when harvesting every blackberry within reach from each bush for her. Whenever she found a bush of raspberries she would come running to me "Charlie!" She would shout. "I've got some more! Here! Look!" And she would give me a handful of berries. Whenever we came by a blackberry bush she would stand there beside me, waiting for each berry when it came, placing the bitter fruit in her mouth with every sign of enjoyment.
I had grown my hair back again by that time of course, and wore dresses, though I refused to wear the hats that looked so good on Lydia. I tied my hair back as soon as it was long enough.
I leant my head against the vibrating glass window of the train, and felt its chill through the headscarf I wore nowadays. I glanced over at Lydia, who was still reading in her little book. She never had stopped wearing those Sunday hats. They made her look so very pretty.
I suppose my parents liked seeing Lydia and I having so much fun together as children, because meeting up every summer soon became a tradition. When Father turned sick for a while and we couldn't afford to go on holidays anymore, I sorely missed Lydia, and became quite unbearable to be around during the summer. I wanted to go and spend my summer with her. She was my only real friend.
As the Government grew more worried about mainland Europe, and the news paper headlines got more and more exclamation marks, the mood of every day life sunk. Father said it was because people were worried we would have to go to war. Mother said that that wasn't going to happen and it would all blow over. But it didn't blow over. It only got worse.
War came. Blackouts were introduced to protect us from the bombs that fell all the same, making the world a darker place. Posters were hung out to motivate us, the people, and to warn us. We were reminded of our duties. I got a gasmask, but one of the eyepieces cracked in a fight with Peter, a boy whose path crossed mine on the way to school.
Father was needed in the army, but he organized before he left that I should be registered to the house of a friend of his which was in an evacuation area. That meant I would be sent off to the countryside. Then he got in contact with Lydia's father. I left within a month of Father leaving to join the front. He never came back.

Lydia was waiting at the gate when I was dropped off at the bottom of their road. As soon as she saw me she came running down towards me, and we embraced. It had been so long since we had last seen each other! In our hug I turned to kiss her on the cheek, in the same moment as she did the same. We ended up kissing the sides of each others lips, but it didn't matter. What did the war matter when we could pretend it was summer again? When we were together again? I had missed her so very strongly, it was quite intolerable. I was told later I wore a constant grin for weeks after arriving.
The happiness died down, after a while though, and Liz and I were coming home from the shops where we had just got my ration-card for sweets turned into sugar when her mother came out towards us, with a very sorry look on her face. It looked as if she'd been crying. Wordlessly, and with quivering fingers she handed me a letter. "Oh Charlotte…" she sobbed… "I'm so sorry…"
I looked at the letter. There were a lot of official looking words in it, and I could see my address in London punched into a clear space in the text, and my mothers name a few lines before that, but at the time I had no idea what it meant.
Apparently, it meant that I no longer had a home to go back to when the war was over. Not unless I could call a pile of crumbled walls and broken bricks home. Lydia's mother said that I could stay with them, of course I could, and that I would be welcome. They would adopt me as their own daughter, and …of course it was possible my father is still alive, she said, and we would just have to wait out until the end of the war. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything much. I was a lot quieter from then on.
Liz and I had not parted since then. After the war, and after we had waited for my father to come back, Lydia's father adopted me, and we were both sent off to a Boarding school together. It was only there that I properly started loving her.
I smiled over to Lydia, where she sat there so pretty with her book. I felt rather uncultured in comparison to her lady like composure I'd never been a pride student. I slid out off my bench and sat down beside her, just an inch too closer that would be usual among friends, and laid my hand palm up on the cushioned bench between us. Subtly, holding her book up in the other, she slipped her hand into mine, and ever so slightly, smiled.