It was a chilly April day in London, and I had just woken up from a deep sleep. I had been having the same dream for weeks now - one of finding myself in a large crowd of people heading in an unknown direction. I would then be in a station, the train doors opening and people pushing on - no time to think, just have to move. I knew where I was going, I just didn’t know how I was getting there.

I could vaguely remember the night before. My parents had rifled through the drawers, collecting any essential items that I may need. It had all been a bit of a shock, but my mum had said that I was going on an adventure which made me feel a little bit better. I had no idea what she meant at the time.

The morning had arrived, and my dad had taken me to the train station, handing over my ticket and giving me the tightest hug. I would later discover that this was my parents’ way of saying goodbye, as I was being evacuated from London to the countryside. I hugged my dad back, and climbed onto the train, tears streaming down my cheeks as the train pulled off.

My destination was unfamiliar to me. I arrived at the house of a kindly family who had been assigned to look after me. We made small talk, and I played with the other evacuees at the back of the house, but nothing could make me forget the fact that I was far away from my family.

My time in the country was filled with a mixture of both sadness and joy. There were days when I missed my parents greatly, but there were also long days which were spent collecting conkers from the forest and running around between the ponies on the nearby farm. I made some lifelong friends during the time of my evacuation, but I was always happy to be returning to my parents upon the end of the war.