Date of entry: Tuesday 25th August 1939

Dear Diary, yesterday, I went to school for the first time in Little Weirwold, not that I was too happy
about it, but, you know, Mr Tom says it takes time and all. I was not happy because I cannot read or
write. Mr Tom is writing this; I am telling him to put down what I have done at school today. Here is
what happened.

I got out of the blankets of my bed, climbing downstairs for breakfast. Fortunately, I did not get my
school clothes dirty, for they were brand new, and Mr Tom placed a paper bag for lunch with two
apples, I think, and an egg sandwich. I walked out with it on the pavement, clapping my new shoes
on the road towards school, which was not very far off.

On the way there, I walked past the Dobb’s field with Tom, when I found Zach, waiting for me, I
think, on the doorstep. Zach is the first friend I made in my life, after also meeting with my other
friends, George, Carrie, and Ginnie. I said bye to Tom, as we walked past a corner to the school.
George, Carrie, and Ginnie were standing outside of the village hall, with a crowd there too. It was
not usual, or that is what Carrie said, and that they had to have a new teacher. We also had to share
the school with some Catholics, judging by some Nuns Zach was indicating at.

We walked inside, hoping to get a seat before they were all taken. Unfortunately, I guess, we found
some exposed seats right at the front. Why bad? Well, George was planning talk, but he is not
allowed to do it because it would be rude. The teacher, Mrs Hartridge came towards me and Zach,
and asked for Zach’s age and name. I guess they were sorting which children go with which children.
I was hoping to go with Mrs Hartridge, but those hopes were blown to shreds when she asked
whether he could read and write.

As you know, I cannot read or write. As my ears started fading, all sound started to fade too. I felt
utterly devastated. I plunged into thoughts of laugher, mocking, boasting. But this school was
different. For the first time ever, none of that happened. The teacher just said something like, ‘Oh,
that is a shame, I would have really liked you being in my class. You will have to go to Mrs Black, over
there’. Obviously, that would be much better than being snickered at, yet alone it did not change
anything. I sat down next to the younger ones, as we started class.

I arrived home, replying ‘awful’ to Mr Tom’s question if school went okay. But there was no need to,
since he already read my mind before I could say anything. To my amazement, Mr Tom offered to
teach me to read and write, well, starting from my name. I was reluctant, for my writing was
destined to be bad for a boy’s first attempt. Yet I carried on, without any beating, until I wrote my
name. Staggeringly, Mr Tom said the truth. The truth was that my writing was good. How was that
possible? The teacher would be amazed, I hope, if she saw this then. But that is for tomorrow. Now,
I am going to finish off here, as I write these last words. Bye!