Wartime Princess by Valerie Wilding Page B

as authors like Enid Blyton describe them – they really do twinkle!

January 11th 1944
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    There’s no question about it. My sister’s in love! When Philip’s around, she can’t take her eyes off him. When he’s not around, she can’t stop talking about him. Everyone says that’s a sign of love. And if I tease her, she gets cross and pink, then a huge smile spreads across her face and she can’t get rid of it!
    I love teasing her. But I get more out of her if I don’t tease. I asked yesterday if she thought she might marry Philip one day. ‘Goodness, Margaret,’ she said. ‘I’m too young to be thinking about marriage.’
    I don’t think that’s true.

February 8th
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    I dropped my scarf when I was out playing with the dogs, so I went to look for it. Two of the gardeners were cutting dead bits off bushes, and I heard one say, ‘Something big’s on the way, you mark my words.’
    The other one said, ‘Hitler better watch himself, then.’
    â€˜He had, and no mistake,’ said the other. ‘Mr Churchill’s got plans for him, and it ain’t inviting him to tea.’
    Ooh, that gave me such a thrill. I’ll ask Papa if there is ‘something big’ happening.

Later
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    Papa telephoned after lunch, and asked to speak to us. After Lilibet, I took the phone and asked, ‘Papa, has Mr Churchill got a secret plan to beat Hitler?’
    He was quiet for a moment, then said, ‘Why do you ask, Margaret?’
    I told him about the gardeners, and he laughed. ‘Mr Churchill’s fighting fit after his illness, and he’s full of plans to beat Hitler, darling. One after the other! Don’t worry – we’ll win this war. How are your lessons going?’
    If Papa’s sure we’ll win, then I’m sure, too.

February 29th
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    Lilibet found me hunched up in my bath robe, reading Black Beauty in front of the measly electric fire. We never have coal fires now. We mustn’t waste water, or coal or anything else for that matter. Certainly not food.
    She closed my book and said, ‘Margaret, I’ve something to tell you.’
    â€˜What?’
    Lilibet put her arm round me and said, ‘It’s sad news. Our cousin George – George Lascelles – has been wounded.’
    I put my hand to my mouth.
    â€˜He’s all right, though,’ she went on. ‘But the poor young man has been put in a horrid prison called Colditz Castle.’
    â€˜Colditz,’ I repeated. ‘What a horrible name. Poor George.’
    â€˜But listen! Papa said that even though the Germans insist that Colditz is escape-proof, officers have escaped from there. In fact, two of them simply walked out!’
    â€˜Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘There must be guards.’
    â€˜It’s true! They wore fake German uniforms, made by the prisoners, and had false papers. One of them, Mr Churchill told Papa, even had the colossal cheek to order a soldier to salute!’
    I laughed, then I got upset again about George, but Lilibet grabbed my hands.
    â€˜Margaret, don’t you see? If they can escape, maybe George can.’
    How exciting to think that our own cousin might escape the Nazis. Exciting, but scary.
    Lilibet hugged me. ‘Let’s hope this beastly war’s soon over, then all the chaps who’ve been imprisoned can come home to their families. Aunt Mary must be feeling dreadful about George. Thank goodness she has war duties to occupy her.’
    â€˜War duties?’
    â€˜Yes, she’s Commandant of the ATS.’ Lilibet saw my blank look and explained, ‘Auxiliary Territorial Service – it’s the women’s branch of the army. She travels all over, visiting ATS units.’ She put my book back in my lap and stood up. ‘I must write to her. Perhaps I can visit her. I’ll ask Mummy.’
    My sister will be