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I was seven when the French prisoners of war arrived at our house. It was 1944. Mummy told us the government had sent them because all our men were gone to war, and someone needed to keep the farms running. She said we were just borrowing the French men. When the war was over, we would give them back.
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Time to bake! Put on an apron. Here are a big bowl and measuring cups and spoons.
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John stood up and stepped away. There, in the snow, lay an angel. Three paces away, he stepped a small circle in the snow and made a star. John smiled. He'd done it. An angel for Mrs. Wright and a star for her little black dog, Queenie.
