The following is an example of a recent piece of writing:

An exercise based on the subject ‘THE BROKEN PROMISE’   

                                      ‘THE WELSH BLANKET’.            

There was a pervading atmosphere of gloom in the room. His mother was sitting, slumped in the corner, mopping up frequent bouts of tears.

Joseph sat at the kitchen table trying to ignore their conversation, but found it difficult to concentrate on the spelling list he had to learn.

His father put down the newspaper and said, “Come on, dear, it’s not as bad as all that. They’ll not be away long. It’ll be over soon.”

   “‘They’ keep on saying that, but it’s been years now. We’ll have to tell them soon, they go on Friday.”

   “Okay, don’t worry. I’ll talk to them later before they go to bed. ” He picked up the paper again with a sigh.

Half an hour later he stood up and said, “Bedtime now, boys.” Joseph knew better than to protest about going to bed at the same time as his four-year-old brother.

   “ I need to tell you something very important.” His voice was grave. “On Friday, you’ll have to go away into the country to get away from the bombing. We want you to be safe and it won’t be for long. What’ll happen is, I will take you to the station and you will go on a train with lots of other children to stay in kind people.’s homes. You’ll need to take a suitcase with your clothes and maybe a favourite toy or book. There’ll be lots of women in uniform on the train to look after you, but you’ll have to take special care of your little brother. ”

Joseph groaned silently to himself, he was always being told to look after Stan. At the age of eight he would have much preferred the company of boys of his own age, playing boisterous games of football in the street, but the idea of getting away from London was quite exciting.

   “Do you know where we are going?” He asked, eyes shining.

   “Somewhere in Wales, I think. A long, long way from London anyway.”

Friday came after a flurry of washing, ironing, bathing and of scrubbing behind the ears. Their mother tied a brown label round each of their necks with their names printed in large block letters. They set out with gas masks in their cardboard boxes and their small suitcases.

Stan gripped his brother’s and father’s hands hard as they entered the huge cavernous space  where the train was waiting. Mothers were putting tight smiles on their faces as they pushed their little ones up the steps into the carriages. The uniformed WVS women helped them put their cases on the racks and they had what seemed an endless supply of hankies  and sweets to cope with the  tears of the frightened children.

There were many shouts of “Be good,” and  “We’ll see you soon.” As the guards waved their flags the train moved majestically away.

Hours later after dozing quietly on each other’s shoulders, after many stops they finally arrived at Abersychan.  They were herded like sheep into a lorry that bumped down roads to a  village hall.  A plump, rosy faced woman greeted them warmly.

   “Welcome to Wales. Just sit tight on a chair and wait to be chosen.” The room seemed full of women rushing around eyeing the ragged assortment of London evacuees. One, with bright red hair came up to them, beaming a gap toothed smile and took in their dark curly locks and big brown eyes.

   “Brothers are you, want to stay together? You stay there and I’ll be back in two shakes of a donkey’s tail.” 

   “ She looked nice. I think she said that she would be back soon.” Joseph reassured his brother.

   “What’s a donkey?” Stan asked.

They waited and waited, and the hall began to empty. Stan began to cry.                                                      Various women came up and asked “ Has none spoken for you?“ And each time they replied that a woman with red hair had told them to wait for her.

By now all the children had gone and Stan was howling loudly and Joseph struggled to keep from crying himself.

 One shabby, tired-looking woman had a long conversation with the other two women.

    “They say someone is coming back but if it’s that flibbertigibbet Mrs Dai Jones, they’ll be there all night. I didn’t really want two with four of my own but I can’t leave them there, poor little souls.”

So that night there were six in one warm bed under a Welsh knitted blanket.

750 words.