Peggy's Letters Read Online Free PDF Page A

Doodlebugs,” she says.
    The women are in army uniform. They shout to each other as they pull on ropes and tighten wires. The balloon is not very cooperative.
    â€œDoes your Mum do war work, Spud? Mine only does mum-stuff like looking after Tommy.”
    â€œMy mum’s…Ain’t got a mum,” he says quickly.
    â€œThat’s awful.” I can’t imagine not having a mum. It’s bad enough having Dad gone and no home, but no mum, that must be terrible.
    â€œBut if I did,” he continues, “she’d be driving a lorry.”
    We walk in silence for a bit. “Where’s your hideout?” I ask.
    â€œIt’s over that way,” he says, pointing up a side road. “Come on.” Spud takes off at a run, and I race after him. I never guessed today would be so much fun.
    â€œThis is a shortcut,” says Spud, climbing over a pile of bricks and wood that was once a house. A shiver ripples through me as we scramble through the rooms. I stop in what must have been the kitchen and look up at the sky.
    â€œWonder what happened to them?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œThe family that lived in this house.”
    â€œYou’re daft,” says Spud, jumping down into the street. “Are you coming or not?”
    I catch up to him just as he turns down a back alley.
    â€œTwelve, thirteen, fourteen…,” says Spud, banging each plank with a stick.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    He ignores me and keeps counting. Then he turns and looks me straight in the eye.
    â€œThis is top secret,” he says in a low voice. “You’ve got to swear you won’t ever tell.”
    â€œCross my heart and hope to die.”
    Satisfied, Spud pushes apart two loose planks and squeezes through the gap. I climb after him. On the other side of the fence is a bare allotment smelling of musty leaves and old cabbages. We squelch over to a derelict shed in the far corner.
    â€œMy shrapnel collection’s in here,” says Spud, taking away the piece of wood thatpretends to be the door. “What do you think of this lot, then?” He stands back so that I can look in.
    The shed is crammed full of rubbish. It’s up to the roof in some places. I squint into the darkness hoping like mad there’ll be something I recognize. All I see are junk and cobwebs.
    â€œWhich bits came from my house?”
    â€œMove out the way, and I’ll show you,” says Spud. He steps inside. The walls sway, and the old shed looks like it will collapse on his head at any minute. When he comes out his arms are full of blackened metal.
    â€œThis did and this,” he says laying the pieces on the ground.
    I can’t believe my eyes. In his hand is my biscuit tin of Dad’s letters. It’s so black that I can’t make out the puppy on the lid, but I’d know it anywhere. I want to laugh and cry and hug him, but all I do is stand there blinking like crazy.
    â€œThat’s a really special tin. I thought it was gone forever.”
    â€œHere, take it,” says Spud handing it to me. “The lid won’t come off. Probably got melted on by the fire.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter.”
    As I stand there staring at my tin, the hooter sounds at the munitions factory. It’s two o’clock. School will be finishing soon. I suddenly realize how much trouble I’m in. My school bag, my book and my gas mask are back at school, my shoes are covered in mud, and I can’t take my biscuit tin home without explaining how I got it. I feel like a popped balloon.
    â€œWhat do we do now?”
    â€œHave lunch,” says Spud, taking a squished packet from his pocket. He unwraps a Marmite sandwich and gives me half.
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œThen,” he continues with his mouth full, “we’ll go back to school just as everyone’s coming out. It will look like we’ve been there all day.”
    â€œYou really have done this before,