Uprooted - A Canadian War Story. Lynne Banks Reid

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Uprooted - A Canadian War Story - Lynne Banks Reid

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       Copyright

      First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2014

      HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers

      77–85 Fulham Palace Road,

      Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      Copyright © Lynne Reid Banks 2014

      Cover credit: Design © www.beckyglibbery.co.uk

      Cover photographs: Figures © Mark Owen/Trevillion, Ship © Getty Images, Suitcases and tree branch © Shutterstock

      Lynne Reid Banks asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

      Source ISBN: 9780007589432

      Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780007589449

      Version: 2014-07-21

       To Glady who read and liked it first.

       To ‘Cameron’ who wouldn’t read it at all!

       And in memory of ‘Alex’ – Pat Reid Banks, my mother.

      Table of Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

       Dedication

      Prologue

      Chapter One: The Voyage

      Chapter Two: Montreal

       Chapter Seven: Willie and the Crescent Club

       Chapter Eight: Fall (OK, Cameron – Autumn)

       Chapter Nine: Snow

       Chapter Ten: Changes

       Chapter Eleven: Across the Tracks

       Chapter Twelve: Our New Life

       Chapter Thirteen: The End of Winter

       Chapter Fourteen: Penny Wise and Other Dramas

       Chapter Fifteen: New York, New York!

       Chapter Sixteen: Fairyland

       Chapter Seventeen: Back to the Real World

       Chapter Eighteen: All Change

       Chapter Nineteen: Worries

       Chapter Twenty: Emma Lake

       Chapter Twenty-one: Wooding

       Chapter Twenty-two: Music Hath Charms (Even For Me)

       Chapter Twenty-three: Laddie’s Adventure

       Chapter Twenty-four: The Menace Returns

       Chapter Twenty-five: The Muskeg

       Chapter Twenty-six: Bad News

       Chapter Twenty-seven: Cameron’s Adventure

       Chapter Twenty-eight: Benjy

       Postscript

       Also by Lynne Reid Banks

       About the Publisher

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      Our families travelled to Liverpool from London, where I lived, and Cheltenham, where Cameron lived, to see us off.

      My mother and father, two aunties, an uncle – even Grampy, our mothers’ father, made the journey, although Grampy was old and not well, but he would come. And Shott, his dog. He wouldn’t leave Shott behind in case he got bombed.

      Travelling by train was crowded and very uncomfortable in wartime, with all the soldiers and people being moved around the country on war work. But Shott was popular. Grampy had to stop the soldiers feeding him. I’d never liked him much – he sometimes growled and even snapped – but now, for some reason, I wanted him on my knee. I stroked and stroked his curly fur and for once he let me. He was quivering. Dogs sense things. And there was a lot to sense. The whole carriage was crackling with feelings.

      Cameron kept looking at Shott, but he didn’t touch him. I didn’t always know what Cameron was thinking because he kept his feelings shut in. But I knew then – he was thinking of Bubbles, his dog. The ‘Bulgarian bulldog’. Leaving Bubbles must have been awful. Not as bad as leaving both his parents, but awful just the same.

      I kept my eyes down a lot of the way. I didn’t want to look at my beautiful daddy, grim-faced, holding my mother’s hand. Hardly talking. Or at my Auntie Millie, Cameron’s

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