I had been dreaming of coming back to England for years. It still shocked me when it finally came true. When I crossed the door of a military transport plane, all I could see was an empty battlefield. A battlefield that has witnessed many victories and defeats. But as the rainbow crossed through the sky, I saw what I truly wished to see, my family, and I knew that once I flew into their arms, I would be safe forevermore. The nightmare of war, suffering and separation would be behind me. I run towards them and they towards me…

It had been 5 years now, but I could still vividly remember how all this was started. The year was 1941; I was 10 years old then.

“Europe has been invaded!” These words flashed through radio wave and newspaper headlines in our London home. For last few months, there had been reports everywhere of countries being invaded by the “German Devil,” as Papa called Adolf Hitler. Now Britain stood alone against him. It was a terrifying time. The Battle for Britain had began weeks ago. Each day brought more horrors of the wars back home, and the thought of Papa somewhere in the middle of this was frightening. I hated the war as much as I hated Hitler. More and more countries gave up to Germany and the Axis nations. Suddenly, bombs came landing not far of our home; earth shacked by the explosion. Mother stopped cooking, grabbed my hand and the radio, and rushed down to the bomb shelter. There, we listened silently at the radio. “Air raid, repeat, Air raid…” Then the antiaircraft guns started firing, “Pop, Pop, Pop…” Mother covered my head and I nestled close to her. Soon, I was dazed to a sleep.
 
The next morning brought better news. The Germans had tried to destroy the Royal Air Force bases on the ground and make us surrender. But the German bombs had failed to break our spirit. The RAF had staged an attack on Berlin, the German capital. Hitler was mad and had to call the Battle for Britain. As we ate a silent meal of bread, cheese, and dried meat, mother told me, “Beth, I am planning to send you to Canada to live with a friend of mine, for your safety. It is very dangerous living in London now.” I couldn't believe what I heard. Send me to Canada! Never! I protested. “Canada is so far away!” But mother was firm. She had already bought a ticket for me next week aboard a ship called “HMS Hawk”. I had no choice.

The week was a long one. Every day, I packed more clothes and shoes. Finally, the day to leave came. Mother gave me two packages of money. One was for me and the other was for the host family I was to live with. I tucked them into my purse. When I was just about to leave, mother took a necklace out of her box. It was a gold locket surrounded by tiny pearls. Into each of these pearls was carved a name. Mine was the last one. Inside the locket was a picture of my whole family, me, mother, father and John and Brent, my two older brothers who were in army fighting Nazi. We were all dressed nicely. My mother put it on me and kissed me good bye. I hugged her one last time and then left to the bus, and as I stepped into the bus, I thought I was leaving England forever.
 

It was foggy day as usual when I aboard the “MHS Hawk”. The Warship had many cabins, and one of them was mine. The room had a simple bed, a desk, a chair, and a chest of drawers. It was almost lunch by the time I had settled down, so I changed and then went down to the Cafeteria. I bought some mashed potatoes, peas and bread. It all tasted stale, but after a busy morning, I ate it all anyway. After I finished, I went into a little shop and bought stamps and a stationary set. Then, I returned to my cabin. I pulled back the curtains, so I could enjoy the views as I wrote. Through the window I can see the ocean and the gray foggy sky.

After about three weeks, I found myself walking down the moor to the train station of St. John’s, Newfoundland. The voyage on Atlantic Ocean was very hard. We encountered bad weather and rough sea. Many passengers fell ill by seasick. The fleet was also attacked by German submarines. That was why we were so relieved when we finally saw the Canadian coastline. The coast of Newfoundland is very much like that of the England, but more rugged. The weather was cold, the land was still very much snow covered in April. But under the rugged appearance, I felt a soft and warm heart.

Sunlight filled the sky and the rays dazzled my eyes. The views of Canada were beautiful, maple trees and grass started to turn green. I can see sea gulls and puffins dancing in the spring sky. The soft rolling hills and the deep moss underneath looked like the countryside of England. From this moment, I knew I loved Canada, a peaceful heaven during war and turmoil. I loved the gorgeous oak trees and the sparking drops of the morning dew. I admitted I had never seen something as beautiful as this.

The children from England were silent, contrast to the birds outside the glass window of our train. They seemed sad, all alone in a strange land. All of them were like me, forced by Hitler from their warm homes to cold lands. At last, I could stand the silence no longer. Gently, I tapped the shoulder of the girl next to me. She turned and faced me.

“My name is Elizabeth, What's yours?” I asked. Then she slowly answered, “My name is Roseli.”

Soon, lunch came. I bought some sandwiches and a cookie. As I ate, I peeked at Roseli. She was deep in thought, touching a heart-shaped locket of her own. “Where did you live before?” I asked her. “Paris,” she answered softly. “That must be marvelous.” I said, trying to catch her attention. But that was a bad idea. Roseli suddenly seemed depressed. I felt sorry for her because, France, her homeland, was under the German occupation. Rain poured down, and the hours dragged on. The blurry windows showed no sign of letting up its water. At last, dinner came. I paid the fat lady some bills and bought a ham and cheese sandwich with juice. But Roseli was not eating. She just stared at the ceiling and never looked down.

A boy behind me tapped me. “My name is Robert Tutor,” he said, grinning. I brush my hair back, then studied him for a minute, and then asked, “Yes?” “Why is she not eating?” he asked smiling mischievously. “I suppose she is thinking.” I answered with cold civility. “By the way, I'm from Greenwich, England.” he said, “My name is Elizabeth Robbilliard from London,” I replied again politely. “Man, that must be marvelous,” he said. Suddenly, I felt like Roseli. I did not want to be reminded about home. It made me feel sad. “Yes, it was nice,” I answered coolly. “What does your Pop do?” Robert kept pressing and my patience was running thin, finally I exploded. “You have no business in my father's affairs.” I told him. “What, your father is a beggar?” he asked, sneering. “No, he is not!” I almost bellowed at him.

Some heads turned. I felt color rise on my cheeks. “Why don’t you just tell him and get over with it?” someone yelled. I ignored the suggestion. “Now, is your father a King or Prince!” I asked with mock respect. Robert seemed surprised. Then out of nowhere, the fat lady came in. “What's the matter, children?” she asked. “Robert Tudor is demanding to know my Father’s personal business and furthermore insulting him,” I said calmly. The fat lady gave Robert a scolding and then stalked away. For the rest of the trip, we avoided looking at each other.

After a few days, we arrived at Victoria, British Columbia by ferry. A city named after 19 century Queen of the England. The Trans-continental railway took us from Newfoundland across the North American continent to Vancouver, British Columbia. We first went across Quebec where most French people settled. (Roseli got off the train in Montreal), then Ontario, the heartland of Canada. We passed through the huge prairies where you can see the grassland stretching to the horizon. The train took us up the Rocky Mountain. The snow-covered peaks reminded me of the Swiss Alps where I had summer vacation with my family. Finally, we arrived Vancouver, B. C., a West Coast port city.

A rainbow seeped through the dark clouds as I stepped out of the ferry dock, the maple leaves were all green and it was pretty sight. At the gate, I met an elderly couple dressed finely in muslin. They came up to me and asked, “Are you Miss Elizabeth Robbiliard?” “Yes.” was the reply, “You are to come with us. We are to be your host family.” The old lady said with a kind smile. I nodded as I studied them. They lead me to their car and we drove of to the other side of city.

As the Iron Gate closed behind us, I wondered what sort of people this couple were. Their names were Jane and James Darcy. There was a heavy oak door plated with gold in front of us. The house was surrounded by a beautiful English garden. Mr. Darcy opened the door for us and we came inside.

The floor was polished hardwood with thick oriental rugs. On the wall hung rich tasperies. The furniture was of polished rosewood. A roaring fire blazed inside the marble fireplace. Connected to this parlor was a fine sitting room, more cherish in a way, but just as richly decorated. We went through the whole house, all richly furnished and then we came to my bedroom on top of the second floor by the swirl staircase. It was a round oval room with cherry furniture. The bed was quite high and piled with pink fluffy pillows and spread with a silk blanket. A canopy was spread over it and satin curtains fell from the side. Next to the bed was a cherry night table with a porcelain lamp and lace cloth. The windows were hung with light silk curtains and a fire had started blazing merrily in the mantle. It was such a cozy room.

Then Mrs. Darcy said to me, “This room used to belong to my own little girl.” “Where is she now?” I asked. “Oh, she grew up and married and went away.” she replied with a smile. Then she came up to one of the drawers and pulled it open. “These were also hers before, but now they are yours.” She whispered softly into my ear. I knew from that moment that Mrs. Darcy was a very kind person. She showed me the bathroom and then left. I was to wash and dress, and then come and join them for dinner. The bathroom was all marble, and the tub was already filled. I took a nice soak and then dried of with a fluffy pink towel. I dressed in a deep blue skirt of silk, and a cotton white blouse with flowers at the waist. I also found a milky white over sweater and put that on as well. I drew up silk tan-brown stockings and put on some milky white slippers. Then, I sat down at the dressing table and brushed my silky dark brown hair. “Your hair is like your mother's.” Everyone had said that back in England, and for the first time, I realized how much I missed her. I was asleep in my thoughts as I plaited my hair and then tied it with ribbons. Then, I went down the stairs. As I went down the stairs, I heard talking “She is the strangest girl I have ever seen. Mr. Tarleten has told me that his young guests had come down the ferry with tear stained eyes and wet handkerchiefs crying for their Mama's. But Elizabeth seems perfectly composed.” Then came the lovely voice of Mrs. Darcy “Well, I think she is a very well mannered girl and unusually mature for her age.”

The elderly couple spotted me at the foot of the stairs. “Well, why don't you come join us, darling?” the mistress of the house asked. I walked over to the table and then sat down. The dinner was delicious, mashed potato with gravy, peas, bacon, corn, and fried chicken. For soup there was clam chowder and we had fruit for dessert. When I had came to the mashed potatoes, I made a nest with my fork, and then spooned peas into it. “Now are you playing with the food?” Mr. Darcy asked with a smile. I looked up, surprised. “Why, no sir, I was just doing a family tradition” I answered. “Oh, excuse my impoliteness,” He said politely.

After our dessert, Mrs. Darcy led us to the Parlor. We sat there and talked as we sipped tea by the roaring fire in the mantle-piece. Mrs. Darcy had grown up in England and she was very interested in my talk about the life in England. Mr. Darcy probably had little interest in these things because he kept trying to interrupt us with stories of the war. So while Mrs. Darcy and I talked, he read the newspaper. Mrs. Darcy really enjoyed the stores and told some of her own too. She had came from a middle class family like me and at the age of 21 married James Darcy a businessman from Canada. Later, James became very wealthy from the sales of machines and they retired into this home. After a while, Mr. Darcy suggested that we all go to bed. I agreed. So I slipped up the stairs to my room. After I got in my bed, and had said my prayers, I closed the light. I thought about Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, and about how much my mother would miss me. I thought about the pre-war days, when my older brothers and father was there, and we were all together on picnics. But that was the past and would probably never ever have that kind of days again. I missed my mother so much and I buried my head into one of the pillows and cried myself to sleep.

One day, a letter came from my mother, and urgent letter. I tore open the envelope to find three pages of my mother’s flowing hand. The writing continued like this.
 

January 8,1942

Dearest Elizabeth,

I can not bear to tell you this, but Brent, yes your older brother is badly injured during war. I can not tell you where he is, and if he is well. I don’t even know where he was injured. John and your father have not written for almost three months. I have been worried to death. Oh, I know this is selfish, but I wish that you were here next to me now. Your letters give me so much comfort, but I want to hear your voice again. Please thank Mr. and Mrs. Darcy for me. Tell them I will be eternally thankful for the help they have given us, will you. I miss you so much, and I think of you all the time. The women in the factory give me no help; they only reopen the wounds in my heart. Enclosed is the last letter sent to me from Brent before he was injured. I hope it will give you some consolation for a while. Don’t forget me, Elizabeth, don’t forget me, and may God bless you.

    Love,
    Mama

My fingers trembling, I broke into tears. Mrs. Darcy must have heard, because she immediately came into my room. “What’s the matter darling?” she asked softly. I shoved the letter into her hands. I saw her blue eyes skim over the pages. After she had finished, she put her arms around me and held me close to her. She understood. “If Brent is badly injured, will he die?” I asked sobbing. “Not if God protects him.” she answered me. I felt a little better. Then, my shaky fingers grabbed the remaining pieces of Parchment. It was the letter from Brent. It went like this.
 

        November 16,1941

Dear Mother,

I miss you and little Beth so much. The army life in North Africa is so hard. We live in trenches and eat cold bread. Nazi is advancing on Allied forces. We were forced to retreat after retreat. Many times, I felt it is easier to die than to fight on, but when I think of you, I shake that thought away. I know that I must live, to live because of you. General Montgomery has raised my rank to sergeant, and now, I command a garrison of about twenty men. We fight day and night, many times going hungry for two days. I have seen maybe thousands of brave soldiers die, both our countrymen and Germans. When I go sleep at night, there are the constant sounds of gun fighting outside, a reminder to me that we are at war. I worry every day about you, and Beth. Ever since she went to Canada, I have felt a sigh of relieve in my heart, to know that she is safe from the danger. I must stop now, for we are to advance. Send my love to Beth, and may God bless us all.

   Love,
   Brent

The school was a small one, and there were only ten children including me; five girls and five boys. The teacher there was Master Gilbert Blythe and as I slid down my seat I felt that twenty eyes were fixed on me. My desk mate's name was Diana, a pretty girl with golden hair and deep blue eyes. We immediately became friends. She was quite dreamy and not a very good student, but she had a wonderful imagination and could make up stories that could make you cry. We had sums first and most of them were quite easy, and mine was held up as an example of the neatness the teacher expected. Of course, I never expected this kind of treatment, and I felt my cheeks turn hot. I did not liked being praised in front of the whole class.

Then the trouble really began. While we were doing sums, I saw a boy from the corner of my eye sneak out of his seat when Master Blythe was talking to Mr. Darcy and grab a parcel from another boy. I turned away and concentrated on my sums. Then I heard a deafening boom! I felt rooted to the spot. Were bombs being dropped on Canada too? My stomach did a flip-flop. The “boom!” was then succeeded by a series of sizzling sounds. When the smoke finally settled and dust cleared, all I could see was two boys and the teacher They were all covered in black. The teacher took his pointer and had it set against the boy’s backs. I gasped. My teacher in England had never whipped anyone and I was not going to let it happen to the boys, even if they give me a bad scare, so I ran out of my desk, and dived right between the two boys and the teacher. The teacher brought the switch down on me instead. It hurt. The teacher, finding he had whipped the wrong person, abruptly dropped the pointer and started to apologize over and over again to me.

He sent boys back to their seats and rest of us outside for a break. I shook out my dress and then ran over to the crowd “What is going on?” I asked, “Oh, Julia Mays had fainted!” Sally Wilder wailed. “Oh my gosh!” I thought out aloud. “Well, someone get some water and a cloth!” I ordered. Two girls ran to the well and drew up a pail of water. After they came back, I dipped the cloth into the water, and washed Julia May's face. Then, I set the cloth on her forehead. “I'll go for Mr. Darcy.” I announced “Julia can come to my house and stay there until we can get her mother.” So together, we managed to get Julia to my house. I took her to my room and started a warm bath. After she had bathed, we dressed her in a nightdress, and plaited her hair, and then tucked her into the bed in the guestroom. I crept silently down the stairs and told Mrs. Darcy about Julia. She agreed to take care of her while we continued our lessons.

At School, we had Language in the Afternoon. I did well, but then something strange happened. At lunch, a boy came up to me and said, “Thanks for saving me and Fred. The teacher did not even whip us. The usual punishments for some thing like that is a three-day suspension sitting with the girls. Anyway, thanks for saving my neck”

“Oh, you’re welcome. I don’t even know why the teacher uses a pointer as a whip. My old teacher in England never whipped anyone. She said it was cruel.” I mumbled. I grinned. Then I thought this boy looked familiar. I tried to remember but couldn’t think of when I had last saw him. Then, it all came up to me. “Is your name Robert Tudor?” I asked “ Why? yes, and aren’t you Elizabeth Robbiliard from the train? The one that I had a fight with?” he asked. “I never knew you would come here.” I giggled. “Well, I live with Mr. Bingley right now, the second house to the left on Silver Sands Way, one of those big houses.” he said with a big smile. “Well, I live with Mr. Darcy, the last mansion on Victoria Avenue, the one with the silver gates and English gardens.” I said with a grin

After school, we came back to the house and took care of Julia. We brought her books and told her of the punishment the boys that had set the firecrackers had got. “Master Blythe is going to make Fred Wilson and Robert Tudor clean the classroom for the whole week!” Emily Johnson squealed. I could tell she did not like the idea of boys cleaning out her desk. “I never thought the teacher would give the boys that kind of punishment,” I said flatly. Girls giggled. “You know, Fred Wilson likes Emmy!” Diana Kipt proclaimed. “Ohhhhhhhhh!” four girls said together. “He said he wanted to tell her before he grew up and joined the military!” Diana continued.

“Speaking of the military, does any of you know anything of the war?” I inquired “The Allies retook North Africa!” Sally Wilder piped up. “Other than that?” I said pretending to be bored. The girls shook their heads. “I tried to ask my mother but when she comes back from the factory each day, she doesn't like to talk about it.” Emmy said. All of us lowered our heads. All of us had brothers and father in the war and mothers working twelve hours a day in factories. None of us had a clue if they were safe. “Do you want to get a snack and talk in the garden?” I asked, breaking the silence “Sure, and Julia can come with us if she wants to.”  The rest of the girls answered. “Oh, I'll come.” Julie piped in. She flung over her thick blanket and ran into the bathroom to get dressed.  So I grabbed a hat and flew down the stairs. I asked Mrs. Darcy if we could take a snack out in the garden. She agreed at once. She gave us a platter of cookies and a pitcher of milk. She set them up in the garden under a large oak on a glass table. From the table we could see the Juan de Fuca strait and the towering Mt. Olympic on the America side.

One by one the girls ran to the table “What a charming place.” Emmy commented as the wind billowed in her golden white hair. Her cheeks were flushed from running and as she sat down, I thought her as a very pretty girl, and a nice girl. No wonder why Fred Wilson liked her. Anyone would like her.

“Today would be perfect if there was no war.” Emmy said. I said quietly to myself, "She is right. It would be perfect if there was no war. Today, we live in a world that has no peace, and no mercy on humanity, but one day, we will live in peace and in harmony, and the world will be forever ours.”

 May 7, 1945 was the day to remember for rest of my life. Nazi Germany was finally defeated and Allies took Berlin. The Victory in Europe day celebration was wild in Victoria. Everyone was in good mood. They sang, danced and drank all day long. All the cars paraded in the street, and blowing their horns. Fleets of small boats flowed in and out of Victoria Harbor, hanging the flag of Canada, United States, England, Australia and France. At night, the fireworks lit the Parliament building and majestic Emperor hotel in the downtown Victoria. In the nearby Sooke Naval base, the war ships fired their big guns to salute the soldiers of army, navy and air force who had died in this war.

My face was covered with tears. I can barely make a sound after yelling so long. My foot started to hurt after jumping up and down all day. But my heart filled with joy. Celebrating to me was not for the food or for the fun, but to know that life on earth will have a meaning again. And as I waved the flag, I knew suddenly what true victory was about, not to gain land or wealth, but to know that your heart is filled with what you truly wish for. To me, what I truly wished for was to see my family. And to know that one-day, humans will live in peace and harmony, and never to have war again, will satisfy my heart, until it parts with my soul.

The End
 
 

  As Many say, World War II is something that should never be repeated. Almost sixty million lives of different origins were lost in dozens of countries. Not one particular person or event can be blamed on starting the war, but there are a few that contributed a lot to start it. The girl in my story, Elizabeth Robblliard is a girl from imagination, but the story is based on true fact. Thousands of children of her age were sent to the English countryside or overseas to escape bombs that hit major cities such as London. The countryside was relatively safer, and bombs never hit cities in Canada and in Australia. But most of the children preferred enduring the bombs to being away from their families. After Germany was defeated, most of these children rejoined their families to rebuild their life and country. Many of these children are alive today and if you ask them to tell their story, it may go somewhat like mine.