Yesterday I had the opportunity to tread in the footsteps of the girls who spent their teen years far away from home and the brutality of the war. There was a girls school from Middlesex that was relocated to Powis Castle during world war two and The National Trust have decided to exhibit what it would have been like to live that life. With the halls done out for Christmas and radios, gramaphones and recordings adding a very real atmosphere it is hard not to think about what it would have been like.

While a few girls stayed in the main body of the house, many of the girls slept in the attic and were taught in the basement. There are currently parts of the castle open that may not have been open to the public before and the atmosphere is a little haunting. The girls slept unlike metal frame beds that are reminiscent of old hospital beds. But, what makes the area feel lived in is the photographs of actors (including a young Bing Crosby) and magazines. In some ways, they were not so different from us. Yet, they must have constantly lived with fear in their hearts – never knowing if they would see their family again.

What I don’t quite understand is why the Earl of Powis, who clearly had many rooms at his disposal,decided to house them out of dight. The old fashioned  bathroom and scullary with its peeling wall paper and strong smell of damp must have once looked very different, yet it is still nonsensical why he didn’t do more for these girls so far from home.

In one of the rooms in the main house was what looked like part of a red coat uniform. This made me wonder whether someone in the house did to to war and, if so, what happened to him. I know nothing of the family and estate, despite living so close to the castle and perhaps it would be something to look into.

What was in my mind when walking around was not the fun and laughter the girls would have brought to the estate at war. Not the treasure hunts, but the rumours of ghosts. Not the feeling of luxury, but evenings huddled in the attic close to the fire telling stories and sharing gossip. There was a sadness in the air as if these girls lingered there still unable to go home. They are all dead now and their lives forgotten. Everything fades apart from literature and architecture. Here, The National Trust used these tools to reconstruct the past. And it was not the decorative grandeur we are used to seeing but rather draughty attics and hidden doors that felt as if they had not been used since the girls left.