The Telegram

‘‘Mum, mummy! Where are you?’’ called young Nicolas from the hallway. Suddenly his sister Ginny ran in,

“Why ar... ar.... are you calling mum?’’ she stammered.

“Telegram for mummy,’’ he said in a sad, dull tone .

There on the floor behind him it lay, looking so innocent. She picked it up, not daring to peek inside the envelope, not wanting to read the horrible truth! Part of her wanted to not give it to her already stressed out mother and part of her wanted her mother Cecil to know.

Three pain staking hours went by like years before her elder brother Simon got home. He was in such a grumpy mood, as usual! He gruffly snatched the letter and, red-faced, slowly read it. A minute that felt like a year went by then a white faced simon left the room. The telegram lay there on the floor. Ginny knew what had happened but she let it sit in her mind like butter on bread,

M.I.A, missing in action. 

By the time Cecil came home, expecting her cheerful children to meet her with open arms, the feeling in the house was of saddnes and grief. Silly Simon couldn’t keep his mouth shut and without even giving her the chance to take her boots off he told her the dreadful news. He blurted it out without thinking of his delivery. With saying a word, her faced changed from joy to despair and she walked deafeatedly to her bedroom where she slumped onto the bed, her soft golden curls slightly messy now, her skin blotchy with pale red spots, her lipstick smuged on her face.

By Charlotte, Room 11, year 6, 2010