My worn treasure chest opens with an ominous creak. A thick layer of dust blows off like a curtain; I cough uncontrollably. Spilling out like a wave, a pile of love notes and dried flowers dump on my lap. Leafing through, I find a scraggly letter with the words “When I’m Older” on it. It is unopened.

Curiosity nags my mind. Should I? I should. It crackles like wildfire and smells of smoke. Inside is an image of my happy family before the war and a letter written in scruffy block letters.

Dear older me,

When I’m older, I want to be kind; beautiful. Wear red lipstick and pink blush. High heels like my Mummy and floral perfume. I won’t have a husband like Daddy because he’s always fighting and it makes Mummy cry. I will live on an Island where we don’t have a shelter in our gardens, have enough money so that I don’t have to ration and I won’t ever eat any patates! There won’t be bomb drills and I will be able to play in the garden whenever I want. I’ll marry a poor person like the post man because Daddy always said the war was because of greed for money. We all shall live in a big, big house like the movie star Mary Pickford and Daddy will be back home! My big brother Jim will be back from England and call me Souoris again!

Lots of love,

Cissie, 6 years old.

Xxx