I was 13 yrs old when World War II started and lived in the seaport of Liverpool. Because of the danger, I, along with hundreds of other kids was sent to the beautiful town of Shrewsbury, much against my will.
I wanted to die with my family if that was their fate, so I secretly plotted and planned how I would escape and make my way home. I wish I could remember the family I was billeted to, but time has dimmed my memory.
I saved money, that my mother sent me to buy hose and other necessaries, and when I figured I had saved enough I stuffed my clothes into a pillowcase, and set off.
I do not know how I got to the railway station, but somehow I did. I knew I had to change trains at Crewe, and was a nervous wreck worrying about it. I asked many people on the train to let me know when we got to Crewe.
It is strange to me now that no-one seemed to think it was odd that a young girl, on her own and a pillowcase clutched in her arms, was travelling to a big city, and obviously was not an experienced traveller.
But they were different times and at 13 you were considered to be quite grown up, yet I was still really a little girl at heart, and it was my big adventure.
After arriving back in Liverpool I took the streetcar and finally there I was Home at last, no locked doors in those days, I just walked right in, and yelled, 'I'm home.'
Such laughter and hugs, and a phoney scolding for running away, I was back where I belonged where my heart was.
I would love to hear from anyone in Shrewsbury that remembers me, and could fill me in on my short stay among them. I feel like I was a very ungrateful child, and perhaps I would have broadened my horizons had I stayed and learned how others lived.
But I do send a belated Thank You to those people who opened their homes to us, in those dangerous times.
Marie Ferjancic, 2002
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