The hasty steps of people bustling around the station were drowned out by the persistent rumble of the train bridge coming to a standstill. Before I had chance to fully realise what was happening, my mother had already us slung each of us on her back, one on each side, hastily pushing us towards the entrance at the platform.

The cramped, loud lobby was filled with suffocating smoke, smothering my lungs with every intake of breath. Despite the hustle and bustle, my heart raced as the realisation of what was happening slowly crept in.

In an instant my life had changed, and I was being moved from the safety of my home to the unknown. Fear began to crawl through my veins as I watched my parents try to arrange tickets for the evacuees, their panicked state palpable.

My brother and I held on to each other tightly, our eyes fixed on the scene around us. Little did we know that over the following year we would be sent to a new home, in a new county, with complete strangers.

My thoughts suddenly snap back to today, I can still see the determination in my mother’s eyes as she fought for our safety. I feel a sense of relief that she got us through the experience, despite the obstacles we had to face.

Looking back, I now understand that such hardship is a part of life, with each generation overcoming adversity and growing from it. I carry those lessons with me even today, showing resilience despite uncertain times, trusting that things will play out the way it should.

This sleepy station holds many painful but powerful memories, of a time during World War Two, when families were separated to keep each other safe.