By Bethan Forrer (aged 10)
Welcome to one of the many shantytowns. I guess you could say it’s a palace for the poor. That is if your definition of a palace is crumbling houses with no warmth, tin roofs that are often leaking and with no proper personal living space, it’s almost impossible to live here. But even though living here is living hell, a house is a house and most people here are grateful to even have a home. It’s pretty drab here most of the time, however once in a blue moon, something exciting happens. The most incredible adventure anyone could dream of.
I was sitting with my mum, sewing as usual when there was a knock at our door. Barely anyone knocked at our door. My mother wasn’t popular around the town. We sewed dresses and stuff for the rich ladies and their daughters, who didn’t live round here. We mostly got my good-looking, angelic stepsister to deliver the orders. They would freak if they saw me at the door.
So when I opened the door, I was extremely surprised to see a well dressed woman. I could tell she was upper class. She had the haughty expression that those kind of people above us in society had.
“ I’m here to propose an request to you. And order a new dress.”
“ Okay Miss..”
“ Miss Hawkenson.”
“ Yes, Miss Hawkenson, do come in.” My mother invited. Even though we barley had any tea or sugar, Mother prepared some anyway.
As they sipped, they talked quietly.
“ I have heard about your sewing, they say it is brilliant.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“ I would like you and your daughters to come and live with me and to be my personal maids.”
My mother thought for a moment.
“ I think we will become your maids.”
“ Good choice.You will be well looked after.”
So we packed our bags and left the next day. As we were leaving, I felt a pang of sorrow. This had been my home since I was born. When we arrived at our new abode, 44 Cranston Road, a whole new sensation swept over me. I was there. And was excited.