AUGUST 1940

Emily can hardly hear her mother above the din of Paddington Station.

‘It’s only for a few months. When the war’s over you can come home.’

She is being brave but her heart is in her mouth. She is only eight and about to board a train with some children she knows from school and two of their teachers, but not her Mum who has to stay at home.

‘I’ll be at Bessie’s,’ says Mum, dabbing at Emily’s cheek with the corner of her handkerchief. ‘I’ve put her address in your suitcase. Be a good girl, now. No crying or you’ll set me off.’

As Mum hugs her close, Emily is overwhelmed by her sweet, warm scent. When at last they let go of each other, Emily climbs up into the carriage and squeezes into a seat by a window, the box containing her gas mask balanced in her lap. All around her, London children in gaberdine raincoats and knitted scarves are jostling into the narrow spaces, some of them sniffing into their sleeves. One little boy from the class below hers is sobbing loudly. 

The train begins to move, puffing smoke and sooty smuts. Emily strains to see her Mum waving until the train goes round a bend. She sinks back into her seat. We are all in the same boat, she thinks to herself.

As the train leaves London and picks up speed some of the children unpack sandwiches from their satchels. The smell of thinly spread margarine and fish paste makes Emily peckish but it is still early in the morning and she decides to wait before eating her own. Women from the WVS come round with the ticket collector and check each child’s name on a list, helped by the teacher, Miss Watson.

She wishes Mum had not agreed to send her away. She would have been content to stay and spend every night in the shelter, but with her Dad on fire duty and the bombing that had started along the coast now getting closer to the capital, her mother had made up her mind. ‘Don’t make me go back on it now,’ Emily heard her say to Aunt Bessie.

The train takes all day to get to Cornwall. All Emily knows is that she will get off at a place called Portglas. It might as well be in another country for all she knows about it. As the train chugs westwards some of the children sleep while others play snap or stare out of the window. Towns give way to green fields and scattered villages. One of the WVS ladies, aided by Miss Watson, tries to get a sing song going, but no one feels very cheery.

Emily eats her sandwich and a couple of the toffees Mum has given her in a twist of paper, then she lets the motion of the train lull her into a doze. She is woken when the train pulls to a halt and someone shouts ‘all off!’ ‘Taunton,’ says Miss Watson. ‘We’re more than halfway there.’ Emily lines up with the children waiting for the cloakroom, which is cold and reeks of disinfectant. She is glad to stand up for a bit and stretch her legs on the wide platform before clambering back in. Tea and digestive biscuits are handed out, then Emily settles down again to snooze.

She is startled awake again by gasps in the carriage. Outside, the sea has appeared and it is as if the train is floating. Emily has seen the sea before, but never like this. She presses her hand against the carriage window, for the first time excited and curious about her destination.

After a while there are more gasps as the train crosses a great bridge. The little boy who cried as they left the city wails again, frightened by the height at which the train crosses a wide expanse of water. He is soothed by Miss Watson and Emily settles back to wondering about her destination.

After another hour which feels much longer, the train slows. Smoke from the engine blows smuts past the window and Emily wrinkles her nose at the smell. The train judders to a halt, the carriage doors are flung open and a voice calls ‘Portglas – Port-GLAS!’ The children scramble with their cases onto the platform where a mass of people are milling about.

They line up in a crocodile and Emily feels the girl next to her take her hand. She must be as anxious as I am, she thinks, and gives it a squeeze. They move off in file, along the platform and into the ticket hall outside. Miss Watson stands before them with a clipboard.

‘Listen children, you are going to meet your hosts for the duration. Some of you will be going on buses and some of you are being met here. Have your labels ready.’ Emily feels the label on her lapel. It contains her full name and age. The feeling of adventure that had come over her when she saw the sea has faded. Nothing here looks familiar and she wants to go home.

Miss Watson looks up from her clipboard. ‘Emily Ferguson, come forward.’ She looks across the gaggle of small children, of which Emily is among the tallest. ‘Here you are. You’re to go with Mrs Clemens.’

An elegantly dressed woman steps forward, her hands gloved and a fox fur stole arranged around her shoulders. Emily catches a breath of her perfume as she hears the lady say, ‘A girl? Are you certain?’ Miss Watson consults her list and confirms that Emily is indeed consigned to her.

With a barely perceptible arch of one eyebrow, Mrs Clemens says ‘Very well. Come along my dear, we’ll soon have you home. We have a special tea arranged for you.’ Mum had told her to be polite so Emily tries to smile. Mrs Clemens smiles back. ‘You’ll meet my son Edward, he’s looking forward to having you to play with. Let me help you with your case.’ Mrs Clemens lifts the label. ‘Emily. What a lovely name.’

Outside the station, a grey-haired man in a suit like a uniform whisks Emily’s case into the back of a shiny black motor car, the sort Emily has seen on trips to the West End. The driver tips his cap to Emily and holds the door open for her. Perhaps Mum was right. This would be an adventure.

‘Please Mrs Clemens, will there be cake for tea?’ she asks, brightly. If this was like a different country perhaps there would be no rationing here. Everyone was expecting it to start soon.

‘We’ll see what we can do,’ says Mrs Clemens, a smile playing around her deep red lips. They set off, Emily wondering at what she sees as the car rumbles over cobbles and out of the town. She had thought she was coming to a city, but this is smaller than any city she has imagined. She glimpses the sea and the masts of ships as the car purrs up a hill. Where she lives the houses are made of red brick; here they look lighter, in colours of pale grey and cream. They drive through country roads, in and out of shadow in the late afternoon. Emily is hungry now, and thirsty, having said no thank you to more tea on the train.

After several miles they turn from the main road into a warren of lanes, overhung with trees that form tunnels. ‘Is this still England?’ Emily asks her hostess.

‘Of course, dear,’ says Mrs Clemens, her gloved hands folded on her lap. ‘But I expect it’s a little different from where you live.’ 

Mum and Aunty Bessie had told Emily a little about Cornwall but she did not know it would be so different. Without warning, homesickness hits her like a wave and she fights back tears that will overwhelm her if she allows them to. She has to be polite and brave, like Mum said.

As they come into a village Emily sees slate roofs and the tower of a church. Just as they reach the outskirts the car turns up a gentle rise, leading to a grand gateway. The gates have no iron work, just tall gate posts in silvery grey granite. That at least is like home; all the gates and railings were taken down for the war effort when it all started last year.

The car moves slowly through the gates and crunches up a long gravel drive between enormous rhododendrons and hydrangeas. Tregethlan Manor comes into sight. To Emily it seems as big as a town hall. The pillars either side of the main doorway are like those she has seen in books about Roman temples.

The car brakes to a gentle halt. The driver opens the door to help Emily jump out. She gazes in amazement at tall windows reaching down to the ground, opening onto a long stone terrace with flowers overflowing elaborate urns. Above the door is a semi-circular window like the rays of a sunset. So many windows! Who cleans them all?

She has seen houses of similar scale in Regents Park and Knightsbridge when she goes into town with Mum, but this one is older and grander than anything she has ever been inside. Surely this cannot be where she will be staying?

Chapter 20