I have to admit, it isn’t easy to move from room to room, changing the way of my life every single time. As the striking needle-tipped hands of the clock revolve around endlessly, it feels as if nothing changes at all! Of course, my cherished golden fountain pen still thrives with life on any piece of paper. I should never understand why the demolition men never cared for the marmalade that I prepared for May.
I feel quite alone now with the books that I rescued scattered across the dusty wooden floor. The light is quite dim while I write this letter to you, but nevertheless I hope that this awful war could finally end and maybe I shall see you again. It’s quite hard to believe in these circumstances that this war would end soon. I feel like a battlefield of hope and dismay.
The smoke that fills this place is horrible; making me feel dizzy and ill. Everything I touch seems to have a different texture to it, almost as if they have different personalities. The misty sky would glare back at me, as if no string of life would ever appear again. If I could, I would ask the sky to clear for once in weeks. The days always drag on and on, before reaching another bombing. And yes, this is the London Blitz.
Dear Charlie,
I have to admit, it isn’t easy to move from room to room, changing the way of my life every single time. As the striking needle-tipped hands of the clock revolve around endlessly, it feels as if nothing changes at all! Of course, my cherished golden fountain pen still thrives with life on any piece of paper. I should never understand why the demolition men never cared for the marmalade that I prepared for May.
I feel quite alone now with the books that I rescued scattered across the dusty wooden floor. The light is quite dim while I write this letter to you, but nevertheless I hope that this awful war could finally end and maybe I shall see you again. It’s quite hard to believe in these circumstances that this war would end soon. I feel like a battlefield of hope and dismay.
The smoke that fills this place is horrible; making me feel dizzy and ill. Everything I touch seems to have a different texture to it, almost as if they have different personalities. The misty sky would glare back at me, as if no string of life would ever appear again. If I could, I would ask the sky to clear for once in weeks. The days always drag on and on, before reaching another bombing. And yes, this is the London Blitz.
Hope to hear from you soon,
Amanda Anstruther
-Sisley
Hello Sisley,
I loved reading your letter: it was sublime!
Well done 😀
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Sisley feedback 13+ the blitz