Mother We could see all of the children, their happy smiling faces. They were so brave, mother had huddled us togther before we left she told us "don't look behind, your future is right before your eyes. Grab it! You don't want it to fade away. Grab it! Because you'll want the lasting memories of today." That was the last thing I ever hear her say, I mean, sure she wrote postcards and letters but it wasn't the same as hearing her high pitched laugh or feeling her warm breath beating down on you as she talked. She often smelt of fresh bread, and had a warm glow to her cheeks. Thats what living as a bakers wife does to you but when she was told why we had to leave she never felt the same. All those months counting down till we left. After we left she couldn't repair herself, thats what drove her. Now were six months on and us, the children of the mentally driven bakers wife were standing at her grave side. Six months earlier at the station you would have never predicted that four evacuees from London would now be four orphaned schoolboys.