She recognised many of them. The school at which Papa was headmaster was the sole one in the town. She herself had taught many of the younger children who were clinging to their parents, balancing on the wheelbarrows and carts laden with whatever scant possessions they had been able to rescue. Little enough, since the bigger carts and all the horses had been requisitioned by the military. Sylvie’s suitcase held her clothes and some treasured books. On her back, knotted in a sheet, was Maman’s silver tea set, the family photograph album and the only practical items, the coffee grinder and the copper coffee pot. The spout was digging into her shoulder. Her mother’s bundle contained the matching stoneware cups, along with who knew what from her store cupboard. On the cart that Papa and her brother, Henri, were pushing was piled an assortment of clothes and whatever else they’d been able to throw onto it in the four hours since they had been given notice to quit the town.Dogs scampered backwards and forwards along the ragged line of people.
