go. I landed awkwardly in the well
between the seats, and cried out with pain as my ankle twisted. The man grabbed me by
one arm, trying to steady the pitching boat. He pushed me down into a seat as water
splashed over the sides, beginning to fill the tiny space around our feet.
"You kids will have to bale out!" the man shouted, struggling to start the boat moving in
the right direction again.
I had only a fleeting moment to look up at the window, where Gran's worried face
lingered briefly, then I began desperately scooping water over the side with my cupped
hands, urging the other kids to do the same. They were younger than me, a boy and a girl,
holding on to each other, afraid to move.
"Come on!" I yelled at them, "If you don't help we will all drown!"
The boy, he could have only been about four or five, began copying me, and after a
moment, the girl did the same. I couldn't tell if we were making any difference, but we
must have kept up with the water coming in, as the boat didn't sink. I concentrated on
baling, trying to ignore the waves that slopped in over the rim of the tiny craft with every
movement. Huge raindrops stung my eyes, and the boat tipped and spun terrifyingly.
After what seemed an eternity, we lurched to a stop, and when I looked around, I saw
that we had run up onto dry land, somewhere near the market place.
"Quickly, kids, jump out," the man said, urgently.
I scrambled out as best I could, but collapsed as my ankle gave way when I tried to
stand on it. For a few moments I lay in the road, water lapping over me, too exhausted to
even try to get to my feet, then strong hands grabbed me and scooped me up. Through the
rain and tears of pain I saw that I was in the arms of a soldier, his khaki uniform turned
nearly black by the water that had soaked through it, his face, inches from mine, etched
with tiredness, his teeth clamped together in a grimace of grim determination.
-♪-♫-♪
He carried me to a hall, filled with a great mass of people, where volunteers were caring
for refugees like me. A doctor bandaged my ankle, and one of the helpers brought me a
mug of soup. Then, for several hours, I sat alone, watching the door, waiting for Gran to
appear. Though safe and warm, I was scared, and needed the reassurance of her warm
voice and loving smile. She surely could not have stayed in the house all night; but if not
there, then where?
One thing I knew, I could not find her on my own, and I couldn't walk far - I needed
help. I looked around the hall. There was an ebb and flow of dazed humanity. Some
arriving, others gathering their possessions and leaving, everyone seemed to be talking or
arguing, eating, drinking or sleeping. No-one seemed to be in charge, the only sign of
organisation was in one corner where a kind of cafeteria had been set up, with members of
the WRVS serving soup and bread. I hobbled across and approached one of the women,
who was standing idly, smoking a cigarette..
"Excuse me," I said, timidly.
She looked down at me and frowned. "What are you doing away from your parents?"
she demanded, brusquely.
"I'm ... " I began, but she cut me off.
"Go back to your mother and let me get on with my work." The old witch! She was
doing nothing!
"My mother is dead!" I shouted, fighting off the tears that were welling up.
One of the other women standing nearby stopped what she was doing and crouched
down to talk to me, glaring at the harridan.
"Tell me what has happened, dear," she said gently, with a reassuring smile.
"A boat rescued me in the night and brought me here. I can't get home, it's under water,
and I can't find my Gran." I burst into tears as the words came out. I felt so lost and
helpless and alone. "And I hurt my ankle."
"Oh poor thing," she said. She foraged in her pocket and passed me a hankie. "My name
is Sue, what's yours?"
"Belinda Bellini, miss."
"Right, Belinda, here's what we are going to do. First you sit down here and rest your
ankle, and I am going to get you
between the seats, and cried out with pain as my ankle twisted. The man grabbed me by
one arm, trying to steady the pitching boat. He pushed me down into a seat as water
splashed over the sides, beginning to fill the tiny space around our feet.
"You kids will have to bale out!" the man shouted, struggling to start the boat moving in
the right direction again.
I had only a fleeting moment to look up at the window, where Gran's worried face
lingered briefly, then I began desperately scooping water over the side with my cupped
hands, urging the other kids to do the same. They were younger than me, a boy and a girl,
holding on to each other, afraid to move.
"Come on!" I yelled at them, "If you don't help we will all drown!"
The boy, he could have only been about four or five, began copying me, and after a
moment, the girl did the same. I couldn't tell if we were making any difference, but we
must have kept up with the water coming in, as the boat didn't sink. I concentrated on
baling, trying to ignore the waves that slopped in over the rim of the tiny craft with every
movement. Huge raindrops stung my eyes, and the boat tipped and spun terrifyingly.
After what seemed an eternity, we lurched to a stop, and when I looked around, I saw
that we had run up onto dry land, somewhere near the market place.
"Quickly, kids, jump out," the man said, urgently.
I scrambled out as best I could, but collapsed as my ankle gave way when I tried to
stand on it. For a few moments I lay in the road, water lapping over me, too exhausted to
even try to get to my feet, then strong hands grabbed me and scooped me up. Through the
rain and tears of pain I saw that I was in the arms of a soldier, his khaki uniform turned
nearly black by the water that had soaked through it, his face, inches from mine, etched
with tiredness, his teeth clamped together in a grimace of grim determination.
-♪-♫-♪
He carried me to a hall, filled with a great mass of people, where volunteers were caring
for refugees like me. A doctor bandaged my ankle, and one of the helpers brought me a
mug of soup. Then, for several hours, I sat alone, watching the door, waiting for Gran to
appear. Though safe and warm, I was scared, and needed the reassurance of her warm
voice and loving smile. She surely could not have stayed in the house all night; but if not
there, then where?
One thing I knew, I could not find her on my own, and I couldn't walk far - I needed
help. I looked around the hall. There was an ebb and flow of dazed humanity. Some
arriving, others gathering their possessions and leaving, everyone seemed to be talking or
arguing, eating, drinking or sleeping. No-one seemed to be in charge, the only sign of
organisation was in one corner where a kind of cafeteria had been set up, with members of
the WRVS serving soup and bread. I hobbled across and approached one of the women,
who was standing idly, smoking a cigarette..
"Excuse me," I said, timidly.
She looked down at me and frowned. "What are you doing away from your parents?"
she demanded, brusquely.
"I'm ... " I began, but she cut me off.
"Go back to your mother and let me get on with my work." The old witch! She was
doing nothing!
"My mother is dead!" I shouted, fighting off the tears that were welling up.
One of the other women standing nearby stopped what she was doing and crouched
down to talk to me, glaring at the harridan.
"Tell me what has happened, dear," she said gently, with a reassuring smile.
"A boat rescued me in the night and brought me here. I can't get home, it's under water,
and I can't find my Gran." I burst into tears as the words came out. I felt so lost and
helpless and alone. "And I hurt my ankle."
"Oh poor thing," she said. She foraged in her pocket and passed me a hankie. "My name
is Sue, what's yours?"
"Belinda Bellini, miss."
"Right, Belinda, here's what we are going to do. First you sit down here and rest your
ankle, and I am going to get you
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