September 17, 1942
Thanks for the birthday present. Mrs. Johnson said silk is impossible to find now. You must have been saving it a long time for a special occasion. I’m glad your special occasion was me! I’ve grown a lot since you last saw me, so the dress doesn’t quite fit, but it’s my favorite style and my favorite color and I love it! I spread it on my pillow when I sleep, for the touch and scent of you. It reminds me of your good night kisses when I was little. Mum, please let me come home now. I’m so grown up, you’d hardly recognize me. What if this war takes so long that you forget me?
Mikey and Mary are thriving here. Mikey’s all sun-brown, cheeks rosy from the clean air. “I’ll never go back to dirty old London,” he tells us. Mary has made friends with all the almost-five-year-olds in the village. She probably doesn’t even remember you. After all, she was just a toddler when we came here. She calls Mrs. Johnson “Mum”, which makes me want to cry. Mrs. Johnson is very good to us, but she will never take your place with me. You are my one and only Mum. Don’t you think it’s time for me to come home?
I know you sent us here to be safe, but I don’t care about that. I just want my own bed, my own home, my very own real mother. Just think, if I came home now, you would get extra milk and eggs on your ration book. I’ve been hoarding sugar for months, and still have the little bar of scented soap a nice lady on the train gave me when we left. All these gifts I’ve been saving for my own very special occasion – you!
Mummy, I’m begging you, let me come home. I have so much to give – companionship, a helping hand, milk and eggs, sugar, and wonderful fragrant soap!
I miss you more than I can possibly say.
Your loving daughter-