Delia poked listlessly at her breakfast egg. Nain had boiled it for just a bit too long, so the yolk was too hard to dip the point of her toast into, and really, what was the point of even having a boiled egg if it wasn't runny? The toast was a tiny bit burned too, but Nain hadn't seemed to notice, not even scraping the black bits off before placing it down in front of her.

She sighed loudly, jabbing again at her egg and then glancing at Nain. She didn't seem to notice that either – didn't even look in her direction.

Delia scowled down at her plate. From the moment she woke up that morning, everything had felt just a little bit off.

First there had been the dream. She had been playing with Cathy and Joyce in the playground at their old school, and it had started out perfectly. They had played that the stump at the edge of the school field was the faraway tree, and taken turns climbing up it into all sorts of interesting new lands, and it had felt just like she was really home with everything back to normal.

But then Cathy had screamed and fallen right off the stump, clutching her tummy. There was blood pouring out from between her fingers, hard and fast, like water coming from a tap. A minute later Joyce had done the same, doubling up and crying hard as if someone was murdering her, and there was blood everywhere, and she had been so sure they were going to die right in front of her.

But they didn't die.

A moment after the blood started pouring, it stopped. Cathy and Joyce stood up looking perfectly normal, not so much as a tiny red stain on their clothes to show what had happened… only, they weren't normal.

Cathy pulled out a magazine and they had both turned away from Delia, burying their heads in its pages. She realised that they were wearing silk stockings, and that they had their hair piled up in teacher-ish buns on their heads. Their faces were covered with water colour paint makeup, and they were growing taller and taller, until they towered over Delia.

They stared down at her with smirking smiles like Mona's and told her that she was too little to play with them now that they were women, because they'd had their monthlies and were too old for games. They walked away arm in arm, and Delia was left all by herself, opening and closing her mouth in an attempt to call after them, but no sound would come out…

It was just a dream, but she'd woken up feeling lonely and anxious. Marged had started her monthlies and she was only a couple of years older than Cathy and Joyce were. Who was to say that by the time Delia got back home, her friends might not have started theirs too? Then they'd be like Marged, not wanting to play proper games and ignoring her. What if they forgot all about her while she was here with Nain, and didn't want to be her friends anymore when she got home?

She wished she could talk to them. Even just for a few minutes, to reassure herself that they really were the same as always.

When she got downstairs she had wanted to ask Nain if she could write them a letter, but Nain seemed distracted, getting up and looking out of the window for a minute, then sitting back down, then getting up to turn on the tap to start washing dishes, before she changed her mind and turned it off again. She had overcooked the egg and burned the toast without seeming to notice, and hadn't even cut the toast into dippable strips, just two big triangles.

She didn't seem to be having any breakfast herself, just a cup of tea, though she wasn't even drinking that properly. She kept picking up and bringing halfway to her lips, then setting it back down on the table without taking a sip.

'Nain?'

No response.

'Nain?'

Nain jumped a little and blinked a few times, as if she had been dreaming with her eyes open, and had only just remembered where she was.

'Yes, sorry cariad. What did you say?'

'Are you poorly Nain?'

'Of course not babi, what makes you think that?'

'You're being strange. And you burnt my toast'.

'Oh, did I? I'm sorry, I didn't realise. Here, give it back and I'll cut the black bits off for you'.

But Delia shook her head. It wasn't really the toast that was bothering her, it was that Nain hadn't noticed. Not the burnt toast, or the fact that Delia had come downstairs looking miserable, or even that she had forgotten to add any milk to her own cup of tea, though she hated drinking it black.

She wasn't acting like Nain at all.

It was as if she was waiting for something bad to happen – an arithmetic test or a visit to the dentist. But grown ups didn't have arithmetic tests, and dentists offices weren't open on Sundays, and anyway, Nain wasn't frightened of the dentist.

It was all very strange, and she didn't like it one bit.

Delia put down her spoon – too hard so that the plate rattled on the table. She felt the tears gathering in her eyes, blurring the red and white stripes of her egg cup into a pink smear in front of her.

'What's wrong Nain?'

At last Nain seemed to come properly back to herself and put her arms around Delia.

'I'm sorry, oh babi, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you, I'm just a little bit distracted. I should have realised that you'd notice. I was going to wait until after breakfast to try and explain-'.

'Explain what?''

Nain took a deep breath, as if she was trying to work out exactly what to say.

'Well... Chapel's going to be a little bit different this morning. We'll still go and have the hymns and prayers as normal, but during the service Reverend Michael is going to turn on the wireless for a very important announcement-'.

Here she paused again, and Delia stared at her in disbelief. They were going to listen to the wireless in Chapel?

You listened to music on the wireless, or sometimes there would be a play, or news, but they had never, ever listened to it in Chapel before. Not ever.

'-Mr Chamberlain is going to tell us all whether there really is going to be a war or not, and then… and then we shall see what we shall see'.

'Oh'.

She hadn't been expecting that. She had sort of felt like war already had started, even though everyone was still saying 'if war comes' and 'when the war starts'. But they already carried gas masks everywhere and had the shelter in the garden (still dark and empty inside but properly buried now, as they had worked on it again after tea the night before). Nain had started pinning thick fabric over the windows in the evenings so the house looked totally dark from the outside too, and the evacuees were here already. If all that had happened and they weren't actually in a war yet, what would happen when they were?

Would bombs start falling on them right away? Would soldiers with guns appear everywhere, shouting in German and breaking down the door of the chapel?

The tears still swimming in her eyes spilled over and she clung to Nain.

'Will the Germans come today?'

Nain hugged her back, very tight, but she sounded surer now as she replied.

'I don't think so, not here. It probably won't be today at all, even in London… but if they did come, we know we'll be alright, don't we? We've got our shelter all dug in ready, so we can hide away like rabbits in a burrow if we need to, and no bombs will be able to get us'.

'Are you scared Nain?'

Nain swallowed. Delia couldn't see her face because they were hugging so close, but when she replied, Nain's voice sounded steady and normal.

'Well, I am a little bit worried, yes. But it's alright to feel anxious about something so big like this.

And it's alright if you're scared, cariad. But remember that you don't need to be too frightened, because whatever happens, I'll be here with you and I'm going to look after you and keep you safe'.

She was scared, but it actually helped to know that Nain was too, but that she was only a little bit scared, so things couldn't be so very bad.

'What's going to happen?'

'I don't think anything very much will happen just yet. We'll go along to Chapel this morning and hear what the Prime Minister has to say, and we'll pray with everyone for God to watch over us all, then we'll come home. There probably won't be any Sunday school today, so we can decorate our shelter then if you like, make it really cosy? And we can practise with our gas masks so we know that we'll be sure of exactly what to do if we ever need them'.

'I don't like my gas mask'.

It was too tight and made it hard to breath, and having her head stuck in it felt like it was being eaten by some strange rubbery alien. It made everyone else look like an alien too, so even Nain stopped being properly familiar and comforting and looked quite creepy.

'I'm not so keen on wearing mine either, but they will keep us safe if we ever have need of them, and the more we practise the less strange they'll feel. The best way to make sure we won't feel scared is to make sure we're as prepared as we can be for whatever might happen'.

Delia thought about this.

It definitely worked that way with spelling tests at school. Normally she hated them, and practising spellings was difficult and annoying and it took forever to remember the sneaky silent letters and work out which way round the i's and e's were meant to go; but if she went over and over them until she absolutely definitely knew every single one, the test itself could be almost fun.

Could it ever be that way with putting on your gas mask, or running to the Anderson shelter in the middle of the night? Could you get ten out of ten and a big tick for doing well at War?

'Can I have my own torch in the shelter? So I can turn it on quick if it's too dark down there and I get scared?'

'Of course you can, that's an excellent idea. I'm going to make a list later of everything we need to buy to be prepared, and I'll make sure that's right at the top'.

'Alright…

Nain?'

'Yes babi?'

'Will you scrape the burnt bits off my toast for me?'

Nain laughed, giving her one last little squeeze before she stood up.

'Yes cariad. Lets get that breakfast sorted out'.

The yolk was still hard, and both egg and toast had gone a bit cold now, but it was better with the burnt bits scraped off, and anyway, she didn't really have time to notice because she had to eat up quickly so they wouldn't be late for Chapel.

The sun was shining as they set off – a perfect early autumn day with the barest scattering of fluffy clouds to mar the perfect blue. Delia was wearing her best Sunday dress and smart shoes, Nain was close at her side, and it seemed like nothing bad could ever really be about to happen on a day like today. Maybe Mr Chamberlain would say that there wouldn't be a war after all, and then her time with Nain really would be just a holiday. They wouldn't need to fit out the shelter anymore, so maybe Nain would help her bake a cake instead, to celebrate. They'd have a big slice each, maybe even two slices, and then she'd go out to play for a bit in the woods, and then Mam would arrive. She wouldn't have to do Women's War Work after all, so they'd have more cake with her, and then…

There were more people than usual walking towards the Chapel. Maybe a few more grown ups, but a lot more children.

Delia stared.

In all the worry about her dream and Nain and the wireless announcement, she had forgotten that a lot of the evacuees would be going to Chapel this morning.

There were quite a few pale, skinny children with shabby clothes and downcast expressions, but plenty more that looked just… normal. A bit nervous or unsure maybe, gazing around at everyone with wide eyes as if they'd landed on a different planet, not not a bit like the boys had made out yesterday. No one fought, no one swore, and she could only see one little boy with a shaved head, waddling along in wellingtons in spite of the warm day.

She looked hopefully for a skinny girl with dark hair and green eyes, even though she knew that Sara Crewe wasn't actually a real child, and certainly wasn't going to turn up here even if she had been. It was just that she had been picturing it so hard that it had become almost real, as if her new best friend was just waiting to be found amidst the crowd.

Of course, her Sara might look quite different. She might be that girl there with the pink frills and chestnut curls, or that one, with a grubby jersey and mousey blonde wisps coming loose from her plait. She might be called Amelia, or Evie, or Jemima. It didn't matter, as long as she could tell Delia all about London, and they could play proper games together and tell stories, and she would hate looking at boring, boring, boring magazines.

It was almost a shame not to be going to Sunday school today, where she might meet some of them.

Reverend Michael hadn't opened the doors yet when they arrived, so she and Nain waited in the Chapel Yard with everyone else for it to be time to go inside. Nain started chatting with an old man almost at once, and for a little while Delia listened with interest, because they were talking about his evacuee.

'He's a good little lad, very well meaning, he just needs a bit of house training that's all. And he's a champion little digger down at the allotment already. Aren't you Eddie?'

The man put a big, gentle hand on Eddie's close cropped hair, and Eddie smiled up at him. But then the little boy spotted another child he knew and wandered over to talk to him, and Nain and the man started talking about boring, grown up things – shopping lists and vegetable harvests and something called a stirrup pump, so Delia wandered off too.

She spotted Marged in the crowd, but she was standing hopefully near Mona and Bea and the others, so it didn't seem like a good idea to join her. She saw Beca and Nerys too, but they were Marged's friends really, and she felt too shy to approach them, especially as they were both nine and might think she was too little.

She ended up just wandering vaguely around the Chapel Yard, pausing every now and then to listen to a conversation between the grown ups.

'...keep bursting into tears, the poor little mites. They must be so homesick'.

'At least you only have liquid coming out the top end! Six years old mine is, and you should have seen the state of the sheets this morning! Sopping wet, it's a disgrace!'

Delia felt a bit embarrassed on behalf of whichever child was having such a painful, private thing announced in front of all these people. Wetting the bed was such a shameful thing, but you couldn't help it, and it wasn't fair to just go out and tell all these people as if it was any of their business. She hurried away from that particular conversation, not wanting to hear any more, but some of the others weren't much better.

'... crawling with lice. First thing I did was put him in a bath of disinfectant and give him a good scrub…'

'... can't understand a word either of them say, those cockney accents!'

'... saw a cow and screamed, actually screamed! Like she thought it was going to eat her!'

Not everyone was talking like that of course. There were sympathetic grown ups too, talking about the 'poor little things' and how they needed feeding up and looking after. Or that their evacuees had been good as gold and got stuck straight into helping around the house or farm.

The children themselves were standing mostly in little clusters, or sticking close to their host families, which made it difficult to find someone she might strike up a conversation with. She tried smiling at one or two of the more likely looking girls, but neither smiled back. One of them didn't seem to notice her – too busy staring up at the little Chapel and around at the gathered people. The other saw her, but ducked her head right away, as if she was frightened of her. Still, she might have plucked up the courage to approach one or other of them and introduce herself, if just then Reverend Michael hadn't opened the big front door to the Chapel and begun welcoming people in.

'Good morning! How lovely to see so many of you arriving so early for our service today'.

Delia hurried back to Nain and took her hand as they filed inside. The Reverend gave her a special smile as she passed and said 'welcome back Delia', to show he remembered her, which was nice because she hadn't been to his Chapel all that many times, just a couple of times a year when she visited Nain for long enough to be here on a Sunday.

The Chapel wasn't big, so they were all quite squashed together once they filed into the pews and settled in, but they just about managed so that everyone had a seat. Once the majority of the shuffling and murmuring had faded, Reverend Michael stood at the pulpit and gave them all a smile, spreading his arms wide in a gesture that encompassed the entire room.

'Welcome everyone. Welcome particularly to the new members of our congregation, our little evacuees. I trust that you will all be safe and happy during your time with us, and will feel very welcome here in our Chapel. I'm sure that all of us will do our best to keep Christ's spirit of generosity and compassion in our hearts as we face the coming days together, and take the opportunity to learn what we can from each other's different perspectives. In that spirit, I thought we would keep to English for today's service, to make sure everyone will be able to take comfort from God's word, and sing along with familiar hymns when they are so far from home'.

There were a few whispers at that – normally they would at least sing some of the hymns in Welsh, even if the service itself was in English. But Reverend Michael just gazed out at them with an implacable smile that brooked no disagreement, and the muttering subsided quickly.

After that things went on as usual – they stood to sing 'He who would valiant be' and said a prayer together, and then the service began.

It all felt so normal – her attention switching between trying very hard to listen to every word, and trying just as hard to resist the urge to shift about on the hard bench, or swing her dangling legs to work out the pins and needles, that she had forgotten all about the eleven o'clock announcement.

Her attention had drifted once again from the sermon, and Delia was idly imagining the saints on the stained glass window yawning and moving furtively to scratch their nose, or stretch their muscles after staying in those uncomfortable positions for so long. She was busily engaged in staring at a particular figure visible just above the Reverend's left shoulder, when Reverend Michael stepped solemnly down from the pulpit.

She jumped, just a tiny bit. The service couldn't be over already could it? Had she somehow dozed off for part of it without noticing?

But Reverend Michael wasn't thanking them all for coming and moving among the crowds to say a few words to people as they filed out. He was bending over a wireless that had been set out on a little table at the front of the room, twiddling with the knobs. There was a sudden burst of static, then the crackling resolved itself into voices, and Delia remembered that they were about to find out if there was going to be a war or not.

The entire Chapel sat in utter silence. No one coughed, not even any babies whimpered or stirred. They were all so still and quiet, you might almost think that Sleeping Beauty's curse had put them into a deep, unwakeable sleep, except for how straight everyone was sitting, how tense their shoulders and wide open their eyes were. Delia wanted to take hold of Nain's hand, but she felt as immobile as everyone else – frozen in place by the stillness of the room and fearful anticipation of what might be going to happen next.

She didn't really know what Mr Chamberlain sounded like, and might not have realised that the big moment had arrived at all, except that everyone around her suddenly stiffened, painfully alert as they listened to the slightly fuzzy voice of the Prime Minister, talking to them all the way from London.

Delia listened too, concentrating as hard as she could. She didn't really understand everything he was saying, but there was one part that was unmistakable:

"Consequently, this country is at war with Germany".

The war wasn't an 'if' anymore. It was here. There was a war happening right now. Several people around the room gave little cries or moans, and murmured conversations sprang up in every corner. Delia did reach for Nain's hand now, only to find that Nain was already reaching to take hers. They held on tight to each other, and Nain gave Delia's hand a reassuring squeeze.

Mr Chamberlain was still speaking, talking about playing your part and doing your duty, but Delia had stopped listening properly. She stared up at the ceiling instead, still half expecting to hear explosions and the sounds of planes overhead begin immediately. Everything outside the walls of the Chapel stayed quiet and peaceful – not a sound to be heard, apart from the very faint twitterings of birds going about their normal day, as if the whole world hadn't just changed in an instant.

Reverend Michael turned off the wireless. He was looking very grave now, his hands clasped before him, his head very slightly lowered.

'Let us all pray together now, that God may grant us victory, and safety for our homes and for those we love'.

They knelt, as best they could manage in the cramped conditions, and bowed their heads. Delia thought about Mam and Dad, and asked God to please, please keep them safe, and to let the war be ended quickly without anyone having to be hurt or killed. Reverend Michael led them in a few more prayers, and then they sang 'Fight the Good Fight' and 'I vow to thee my country'' - both clearly chosen to follow the announcement of war.

That was the end of the service. There were a few more announcements, but Delia couldn't listen to them. She badly wanted to go home and be just her and Nain again. She wanted to get out her colouring pencils and draw pictures of rabbits and birthday cakes and rows of smiling girls with party frocks and flowers in their hair. She wanted Biscuit, and she wanted Nain to read her a story. Not Emily of New Moon, or even The Enchanted Wood. She wanted Mrs Tiggy-Winkle or Peter Rabbit, something very soft and gentle and written for little, little children. Anything that was simple and happy and wouldn't make her think about War.

They didn't linger to chat after the end of the service, and Delia didn't stay to attend Sunday school. Instead they hurried straight back home. Nain was walking quite briskly, but Delia kept pulling her to go faster, wanting to run as hard as they could, and run and run, then shut themselves inside Nain's house and close the curtains. Even the sky didn't look bright and cheerful anymore – the scattered fluffy clouds of the early morning had gathered together and grown darker while they were in the Chapel, and were now glowering ominously, threatening rain. It had been silly to imagine the sunny start to the day could keep bad things from happening. If whole countries could be not-fighting one minute and trying to kill each other the next, why shouldn't the weather be the same? What was to stop anyone or anything suddenly turning on each other? Delia tugged on Nain's hand even harder, lowering her head to avoid seeing the ever darkening sky.

When they got home, Nain led the way to the big old armchair so that Delia could sit on her lap for a cwtch. She asked if Delia wanted to talk about what they'd heard, but she didn't.

'Will you read Mrs Tiggy-Winkle?'

'Mrs Tiggy-Winkle? It's been a while since we had that one'.

'Please Nain?'

'Alright cariad, if that's what you need just now'.

She read Mrs Twiggy-Winkle just the way she had when Delia was little, doing different voices for Lucie and Mrs Twiggy-Winkle and all the animals they delivered washing to. She let Delia look at each picture as long as she liked before turning the page, and rocked her in her lap as she read.

But when the story was finished and Delia asked if they could have 'Squirrel Nutkin' next, Nain told her gently that they would have to save it for later, because it really was important that they get on and finish sorting out the shelter first.

'I don't want to do the horrid old shelter. I want Squirrel Nutkin!'

'Delia-'

'No!'

She wasn't sure why she was shouting, but she couldn't seem to help it.

'It's not fair!'

Hot tears dripped down her cheeks, but she wiped them away fiercely with her wrist as she scrambled out of Nain's lap.

Nain reached for her again, but Delia pushed her hands away and ran up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom, sobs tumbling from her in wave after unstoppable wave.

She slammed the door shut behind her and went to her bookcase, pulling Squirrel Nutkin out from where it sat on the lowest shelf with several other tatty Beatrix Potter stories. She stared at the cover for a moment, then tossed it aside without even opening it. 'The Tale of Two Bad Mice' followed, and then 'Benjamin Bunny', and then she was flinging books from her shelves with both hands, one after another after another, until the bookcase stood empty.

She sat on the floor and howled then, her knees pulled up tight against her chest.

If Mam had seen the mess she would have been furious – might even have finally made good on her frequent unfulfilled threat to bend Delia over her knee and smack her bottom like she was a toddler.

But she still badly wished she were here.

She wanted Mam and Dad and her own bedroom. She wanted to see Cathy and Joyce and go to school and get smacked for being cheeky and only visit Nain for holidays, even though she always missed her terribly in between times. She didn't want to be a little girl whose country was going to war. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

Nain knocked gently on the door, and then pushed it open and came inside.

She sat down beside Delia while she sobbed, one gentle hand on her shoulder.

Delia stayed stiff and separate for a long minute, but then she gave in and flopped against Nain, snuggling in close against the soft old jumper she had pulled on over her Sunday dress. It had once belonged to Taid, so it was much too big for Nain, but it made Delia feel almost like she was being cuddled by both her grandparents. It was a nice feeling, although her memories of Taid were beginning to get a bit hazy now.

Nain held her and let the sobs run themselves out, stroking her back in slow circles until the shuddering stopped and her breathing returned to normal.

'Feeling better now cariad?'

She nodded.

'That's good. Shall we get these books picked up then, and get on with our jobs?'

Delia surveyed the mess and grimaced a little.

'Do we have to?'

'Yes, we do have to. I know it's going to be hard and you're feeling frightened, but we need to be brave now and carry on. We need to do everything we can to make sure we're safe, and to help make sure our neighbours will be safe too. If we all lock ourselves in our rooms and throw things about, what will happen then?'

Delia still wasn't quite feeling like being brave and grown up about it all. She tucked her chin against her chest and muttered 'we'd feel a lot better'.

'Do you think so? Well, maybe for a little while. But then we'd be living in messy houses and all our things would get broken so we couldn't use them anymore. We'd have to sleep in that dark, empty Anderson shelter if there were any air raids because no one would have made it comfy, and we wouldn't have anything to eat because the butchers and grocers would all be at home throwing their things around too. I don't think any of us would be very happy then, would we?'

'No, Nain'.

She might still have sounded just a tiny bit sulky, but Nain didn't comment.

Delia peeped up through her lashes to see Nain's face, trying to decide how deeply in trouble she was. That was the problem with Nain – she stayed so calm most of the time it was difficult to tell if she was really in disgrace or not. Well, it was the very, very good thing about her. But it was simpler with Mam all the same. If she frowned and snapped you were in trouble. If she shouted and smacked you were in a lot of trouble. If she went all quiet with her nostrils pinched white and sent you to your room as if she couldn't quite get the words out through her clenched teeth 'go- to- your- ROOM', then you were in serious disgrace, and the shouting and smacking would happen later, maybe followed by the frowning and snapping for the rest of the day or more, even when the initial telling off was over. But Nain never smacked her, or told her she was a disgrace and she was ashamed to say she was her granddaughter or anything like that.

'Are you very cross with me?'

'Well, I'm not happy about how you've behaved, particularly how you've treated all your poor books… But no, I'm not really angry. I understand how difficult and scary all this is for you, and you're maybe feeling a bit overwhelmed. The important thing is trying to find the right way to get those feelings out, instead of being rude to people and throwing heavy things. Maybe next time try throwing your pillow at the wall instead if you really, really need to throw something, then nothing will get hurt or broken'.

Nain carefully picked up an old copy of 'The Wind in The Willows' as she spoke, straightening badly crumpled pages with the palm of her hand. But the pages wouldn't go completely smooth again no matter how hard she pressed, and Delia looked down sorrowfully at the creased image of Mole and Rat in their boat, now apparently sailing through a very turbulent stream indeed.

'Oh no! I'm sorry... I didn't mean to'.

'I know you didn't cariad. It's alright. Just get the books picked up and put away, and try to remember this next time you feel cross like that, alright?'

'I will, I promise'.

'Good girl. Come downstairs when you've finished and we'll see about that shelter. If you're very brave and help out well, I'll fetch out the ginger biscuits in a little while and we'll have them with some lemonade'.

For a moment after Nain had gone, it felt like all the angry and sad and scared feelings might come surging right back. But then she thought about ginger biscuits and lemonade, and a torch of her very own, and how nice it was when she and Nain were happy and playing games instead of feeling cross with each other. She thought about the pages of The Wind in the Willows that would stay spoiled now, and what Nain had said about how bad everything would get if they all just stayed in their rooms feeling sorry for themselves.

She bent to pick up the nearest book and placed it carefully back onto its shelf.

When at last the whole room was put back to rights, Delia squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and went downstairs to help Nain with their own Women's War Work.