They seemed so young and so vulnerable. What kind of life was this war, where you put your children on trains and sent them away? Nothing about this felt natural.
Suddenly, fresh fears gripped her. She hadn’t instructed Rosalyn how to comb Maggie’s hair just the right way to get the tangles out or told her that Tom’s favourite food was custard, and how it was the surest way to get him to eat if he was pining. She’d have to put that in a note to her auntie as soon as she got home. As she watched them waiting for the train to move, Julia felt the grief about all the things that she would miss out on, all the things that Rosalyn wouldn’t know.
As she was working through these fears in her mind, the whistle of the train announced its departure and steam hissed up from the wheels, masking the windows where the children were sitting. Reaching out abstractly, she grabbed hold of a woman’s arm next to her, who too stood watching her own children. The woman responded in the same way. No words were spoken between the two of them, but they both stood there clutching each other in silent solidarity during the most inhumane thing in the world, giving up their children to someone else. Knowing deep down, this could even be the last time they actually saw them.
Julia pushed the thought from her head and started to wave vigorously as the steam cleared, and she could see Maggie’s wan face peering out the window. The platform was packed and Maggie didn’t see her mother, but Julia continued to wave vigorously, following the train at a gallop as she had done with John.
Right at the last minute, she caught Maggie’s eye, and finally relenting, Maggie nudged Tom, and they both waved. She saw her mouth the words, ‘Goodbye, Mummy. Goodbye, Mummy.’
And Julia stood at the end of the platform until the train was completely out of sight and the emptiness she felt was bottomless. Her children had just left her, and she was now completely alone. The shock of that reality numbed her to everything around her. She didn’t remember walking home or posting the letters she had in her bag for them. She didn’t remember putting the key in the door. When she got home she just stumbled upstairs, and still in her coat and hat she lay on the bed, and started to sob. Tomorrow she would find the strength for what she needed to do, but today, this was all she was capable of.
9
Julia took the weekend to get over the heartache of saying goodbye to all of her family, her pain being greatly eased by a short letter from John on Saturday saying he was well, but because of censorship he couldn’t tell her where he was, and a cheerful phone call with the children on Sunday, where they had described the fun they’d had at a local fete.
So, by Monday morning, she was ready to start her new job. Stepping off the bus, she hurried along the street. She would be entering the Whitehall building by a different entrance now, and she’d allowed herself time to find that. But she had to admit she was nervous. As she crossed the road, towards the right gate, she felt as if she needed to pinch herself and was still a little in awe that they had chosen her for this work.
Joining the line to get in, she smoothed down her skirt and straightened her new hat that she’d matched with a navy skirt and pale blue blouse. She’d even managed to talk her local shopkeeper into giving her some stockings on account, explaining who she was starting a new job.
‘Can’t have you doing that with bare legs,’ the shopkeeper had said, shaking his head and glaring at her over his glasses as he slid the stockings across the counter.
As she waited her turn, she nervously fingered the new orange identification card a very serious-looking government official had issued her the week before and looked around the vast Regency crescent that marked this end of Whitehall Palace. It was quite impressive, with its white stucco façade, so popular in the Regency period, smooth cream-coloured pillars, and arches with intricate detailing. The whole building glistened under the morning sunshine, though soot marred many of the corners and crevices, due to all the coal fires burning in the city that earned London the nickname of the