Sometimes I pass in front of the house: terror, hatred and fear fill my insides. Sometimes I think I have to endure pain to get stronger. All I can feel is hatred and anger flooding my blood, body and mind. When I think about those months, the dark clouds waiting are released to take over the few memories full of light. The war had just broken out. All children would be evacuated to Wales within the first week. They said it was for our safety. My parents told me that my sister Edith and I would have to go away for a while, then the war would be over and we could return home. They told us everything would be fine and that there was nothing to worry about. Those memories were the only ones that brought light to the darkness within, the ones that kept me sane. We packed our things into a small brown suitcase, carefully selecting each item before placing it inside. Our heartbroken mother was beside us; together we packed our bags in silence. The tension in the room suffocated me. Then I knew I had to get used to life without my mother. As hard as it was, I had to try. That evening, before going to bed, I took one last look at the river outside the window, hoping that perhaps one day I would see it again. Early the next morning we drove across town to the train station. Thousands of children ran here and there like mice, looking for their parents. I was given a tag with my name and number to put around my neck. They treated us as if we had been given new stickers with a completely different price. I was now at number 5830. We had no idea where we were going. The other kids were just as incompetent as us; no one knew what would happen... middle of paper... from those who are putting a roof over your ungrateful head?""I'll tell him I was hungry.""Come here. COME FROM HERE, NOW!” He grabbed me. The crack of the whip deafened me. I screamed and screamed in pain every time the whip came down on me. The smell of blood overwhelmed me. I felt bad. I was rolling down a hill: my life was reaching an all-time low. After that night, Edith and I started talking again. We reported the Master to our housing officer who then transferred us to another family. After about four years of living with the new family, the war ended. We finally managed to return home. The same train took us back to London and our mother was waiting for us at exactly the same spot. For the first time in years, I felt joy again. We were brought the news that our father had died in the war, but we had our mother, and that was more than enough for me.