Author's Note: Okay, so this was meant to be the opening page of a book I'm trying to write, but I never got very far with it. Help please?!
Name: Ella Martin.
Hometown: North London.
Occupation: Wartime teenager.
I started writing this journal in the hope that someone, someday will read it and learn about all the awful things that happened during my time. I plan to write about everything, from gas masks that are too tight to the bone-chilling fear when the air raid siren sounds to the surprisingly slimming ration diet and everything else in between. I will not leave anything out. It’s important that these things are recorded for the future to see. Without things like that, how can you know firsthand about the past? That’s what my grandma said to me. This is for you. I want you to write in it. Write about whatever you want. I know how you like to write about things.
When I was younger, I thought that war was something for only the brave and the courageous, that only the people who actually did any of the fighting was involved, that it didn’t include the people back home. I know better now. War includes everyone and everything in their lives, even the food we eat and the clothes we wear and the amount of money we spend and the lessons we have in school. Even banal things like what to eat for breakfast and when you’re going to take the dog for a walk is controlled by war. You wouldn’t think it, but that’s what happens. It doesn’t take much for things to become all-consuming and before you know it your whole life is turned upside down.
This is my story, from the moment I heard my very first air raid siren at the tender age of 14 years old, to the moment I will always remember as the exact second, and minute, and hour that I ran out into the street with my friends and family to celebrate the end of this horrid beast calling itself the Second World War.