‘I’ll thank yi’ to leave,’ her tone was brusque.
Alarmed by this change of events, Esther stared disbelievingly up at Mam. Why didn’t she give this nasty lady a piece of her mind?
Mam bent down to Esther’s height. ‘Tell you what…’ she spoke in the sugary voice she used when she wanted to convince her daughter of something. ‘Why don’t you both go and take a look around? I’ve heard there’s a dolls’ house in the baby’s department.’
‘Are you coming?’ Esther asked.
‘No. I’ll rest here awhile. You go ahead.’
Neither girl budged.
‘Do as yer mother says,’ rapped the Mistress.
Esther looked uncertainly at Dorothy. But Dorothy’s eyes grew wide, warning Esther not to say another word.
As she stood in front of the nasty lady, a spark of defiance jabbed Esther. ‘I’m staying here with Mam.’
The Mistress bristled with outrage. She opened her mouth to speak but Mam stopped her.
‘You’ll do no such thing.’ Esther’s heart sank at the firmness in Mam’s tone. ‘Now go ahead without me.’ She attempted a reassuring smile.
‘Haway, girls,’ The Mistress waddled to the door. ‘Be quick about it.’
At a loss to know what else to do, they followed the Mistress out of the room. The events too puzzling to take in, Esther’s eyes, swimming with tears, looked down at the linoleum squares at her feet, automatically avoiding stepping on the lines in case it brought bad luck.
Presently, the Mistress came to a halt outside a glass-panelled door. Peering in, she turned the doorknob. Esther, following behind, was overcome by the sickening smell of stale urine, camouflaged by disinfectant. She wrinkled her nose.
Cots stood at the far end of the room, where solemn faced babies stared through wooden bars, while older children sat at a low table. A stern-faced nursemaid wearing a blue and white-striped frock, apron and a starched cap perched on her head, read from a large storybook. Then, at the far end of the room, Esther spied the dolls’ house. Though its front door was missing and no furniture adorned its rooms, her young heart lifted.
She smiled at the children who sat around the table but, with indifferent expressions, they stared glumly back.
Esther’s hand crept into Dorothy’s, who stood at her side.
The action caught the attention of the Mistress.
‘You, girl,’ she said, ‘will stay put in this department till your next birthday.’
Dismayed, Esther cried, ‘I won’t be here on my next birthday.’ She stared into Dorothy’s apprehensive eyes. ‘Will I?’
The Mistress strode over. ‘You’re in my charge now, girl. The sooner you get used to the idea the better for all our sakes.’
Esther refused to believe the ogre lady. She belonged to Mam. About to tell the Mistress so, she glanced at Dorothy. But some misgiving in her sister’s eyes made her hesitate.
‘Don’t be frightened,’ Dorothy’s voice wobbled. ‘I’ll be here with you.’
The idea that she should be afraid alarmed Esther. ‘Where’s Mam? I want to go home.’
‘We can’t.’ Dorothy’s voice was flat, her eyes watery pink. ‘I promised not to say anything but… I suppose it doesn’t matter now… Mam’s going away and we’ve to stay here for a while.’
Esther was stunned. She knew what her sister said must be true because Dorothy never told a lie, not even when it meant keeping out of trouble.
She disentangled her hand and made for the door. ‘I don’t like it here… I’m off to find Mam.’
‘You’ll do nee such thing.’ The Mistress’s large frame made to block her way but Esther, too quick, darted around her ample figure. Opening the door, she streaked along the corridor as if the bogeyman himself was chasing after her.
‘Come back,’ the Mistress shrieked. ‘Else you’ll be sorry.’
Only one thought occupied Esther’s mind – to find her mother. She would plead with her; tell her how sorry she was and that she’d never be naughty again.
Breath hot in her chest as she ran, Esther rounded a corner, and then she saw her. She stood in the dimly lit hallway; arm outstretched as she opened the front door.
‘Oh! Don’t go.’ The words wrenched from Esther. ‘Not without me.’
Mam turned, her tear-stained face registering a blank look Esther neither recognised nor understood.
‘Be brave, little one. I’ll be back sometime soon.’
Then she was gone, the door clanking behind her.
2
Sandra came to fetch Esther, as she sat forsaken at the front door.
‘The Mistress is livid with yi,’ Sandra announced, folding her arms. ‘I’d stay clear if I was you.’
‘I want to find Mam.’
‘You can’t… she’s gone. And if you want to be a cry-baby then, gan ahead… you’ll get nee sympathy from me.’
Esther stood up and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘I’m no cry-baby,’ she said.
‘That’s better. Haway. I’ve to take you to sickbay to see Nurse Bell.’
Too bewildered to argue, Esther followed the big girl through the house to a covered walkway leading to a redbrick building.
In the future, whenever Esther thought of that time in sick bay, she broke out in a sweat. She was ordered to sit on a high stool. A towel was placed roughly around her shoulders. Nurse Bell, a tall lady with sunken eyes with swathes of grey shaded beneath them, wielded a large pair of scissors and began to cut off Esther’s ringlets. Once chopped, they lay like dead snakes on the floor. Horrified, for her auburn hair was her mother’s pride and joy, she could hardly breathe for the tight band that seemed to squeeze her chest. Stripped of her clothes, which she never saw again, Esther was ushered into a large tub of steaming water. Nurse Bell commenced to scrub her skin until it was red raw, before washing Esther’s shorn locks, and pouring a lotion that burned mercilessly over her scalp.
Pink and smarting, Esther emerged from the bath. Told to dress in ‘Blakely uniform’ – a navy-blue frock covered with a white frilled smock, she was then delivered back to Sandra who waited outside.
Throughout the ordeal, Esther refused to cry, partly because she didn’t want to be a cry-baby, but mostly because her mother wasn’t there to dry away the tears.
‘You’ll do, lass.’ Sandra clapped her on the back.
The big girl led her back to the main building where Esther found herself in a long queue of children. All the girls wore the same uniform; all stood still and quiet as statues.
‘Why are we queuing?’ she asked Sandra.
‘Shush… it’s the dinner queue,’ Sandra whispered. ‘You’ll be in for it, if you’re copped talking.’
Then, gloriously, Dorothy appeared. She stood at the far end of the corridor with another girl at her side. Dorothy too was dressed in uniform and, with her fair hair standing up in wisps, and her skinny figure, she appeared more like a boy. Esther felt a pang of sadness seeing her sister in such a way. As she stood next to Sandra, the little girl’s determination not to cry was tested.
The two sisters stared glumly at one another.
‘You knew Mam was bringing us here,’ Esther accused, forgetting Sandra’s warning to keep quiet. She didn’t know how Dorothy had kept such a big secret from her.
‘Only since last night.’
‘Where’s she gone? Why didn’t she take us with her?’
‘She didn’t say… honest.’
‘Did she say when she was coming––’
‘Be quiet!’ a man’s voice bellowed.
Startled, Esther leant sideways. Looking down the queue, she saw a man with a vexed expression on his face staring back at her.
‘Come here,’ he commanded.
She froze but Sandra pushed her forward. ‘Do as Master Knowles says.’
Esther moved to the front of the queue, passing the watchful eyes of the other children.
She stood in front of the Master, her eyes level with h
is rotund tummy. Her gaze travelled up to his red waistcoat with a button missing, his crumpled jacket, and further still to his shiny, bald head.
‘You’ve no number, girl,’ he barked. ‘What’s the punishment for talking in line?’
Esther didn’t answer.
‘Sir,’ a voice called out, ‘she doesn’t have a number, and neither do I.’
Dorothy.
The Master’s eyebrows shot up, his forehead riddling with lines. ‘Whoever said that come here at once.’
Dorothy appeared at Esther’s side, the two sisters holding hands.
‘Sir, we’re both new here,’ Dorothy said in her quiet way.
Then a peculiar thing happened. The vexed expression left the Master’s features, his face relaxed and all of a sudden he looked less frightening.
Dorothy did that – she had a calming effect on people.
The Master craned his neck to look over the heads in the queue. ‘Who is responsible for these two?’
‘Me, sir, I am, Master Knowles,’ Sandra called.
‘Then you’re not doing your job properly. Have they been shown the rules?’
‘No, sir, there hasn’t been time.’
‘Do it now.’
‘But, sir, what about my dinn––’
‘Now!’ he bellowed.
The girls shrank back in fright.
The three of them sat upstairs in the girls’ dormitory on one of the wooden cot beds. Timber beams crossed the room, and attached to them were notices displaying bible passages. Dorothy explained that they read ‘God is Good’ and ‘Blessed are the Poor’.
‘How old are you?’ Esther asked Sandra.
‘Eleven,’ Sandra replied.
‘Have you any brothers or sisters?’
‘A brother, Alf, in the boy’s department.’
Sandra was hollow-cheeked and when she talked she ran her fingers through her shorn hair. She was so thin her legs were like the matchsticks Mam used at home to light the fire with.
Mindful of being polite, Esther didn’t stare.
‘Why are you in this special place?’ she asked.
‘Cos both me parents are dead and I’m an orphan.’
Esther stared, horrified.
Then she thought of her mother and her heart lifted. ‘We have Mam.’ She looked at Dorothy for reassurance.
‘Makes no difference…’ Sandra rolled her eyes. ‘Blakely’s governors changed the rules. If widows can’t provide for their offspring they bring them here.’
‘Who told you that?’ Dorothy asked.
Sandra grinned. ‘The Mistress. I listen through keyholes.’
Dorothy smiled appreciatively at Sandra. ‘It’s kind of you to show us around.’
The big girl shrugged. ‘I’ve no choice. I’d rather be eating me dinner.’
They fell silent.
After a while Dorothy asked, ‘What are the rules Mr Knowles mentioned?’
Sandra heaved a long-suffering sigh. ‘They’re on the walls and everywhere. The Mistress recites them the beginning of every month at breakfast for those that can’t read. See… ’ She pointed to a poster that was pinned behind the door.
Dorothy rose and, walking over, began to read.
‘That the house be swept and cleaned each morning and inspected by monitors. That no orphan is allowed absent from the house without permission…’ She took a deep breath before continuing, ‘All in the infant department in the summer months are in bed by six—’
‘That’s you,’ Sandra cut in.
Esther protested, ‘Dorothy too.’
‘Nah! She goes to bed at eight up here in the junior department.’
The revelation that she’d be separated from Dorothy was one too many for Esther and she finally crumpled.
‘I don’t like it here,’ she said, in a small voice.
Dorothy sniffed. ‘Neither do I.’
As the weeks passed and Mam didn’t appear, Esther grew downhearted. She cried at night in bed, not the sobbing kind that the other children in the dormitory might hear, but the silent kind when, hiding beneath the folds of the blanket, she stuffed a fist in her mouth.
She didn’t belong here; she reminded herself, and it was only a matter of time till their mother returned. Esther trusted her and resolved to stay brave until then.
On Saturdays, Dorothy was allowed to visit the infants’ department and she was permitted to come alone, without Sandra, her senior ‘mother’ who she was paired with. The babies’ department was self-sufficient with its dayroom, dormitory and kitchen, where a grumpy cook was employed. The sisters sat cross-legged in front of a meagre fire that had a tall mesh fireguard surrounding it.
‘Do you think about Mam all the time?’ Esther ventured to ask her sister.
‘I try not to.’
Esther was surprised, for imagining their mother – the warm smell of her skin, how her eyes crinkled when she smiled – was what comforted her.
‘Don’t you want her to come and fetch us?’ she asked.
‘Don’t be silly, of course I do. I don’t want you to be disappointed, that’s all.’
‘Why would I be?’
‘I don’t know,’ her sister said, evasively. ‘You just might be.’ Dorothy shifted as though she were uncomfortable. ‘Have you made friends yet?’
‘No, the Nurse is mean and all the children are frightened of her. They just sit on the mat. They don’t talk, or play, or anything. Why are they like that, Dorothy?’
‘I don’t know but I promise I won’t let that happen to you.’
‘And you’ll never leave me?’
‘Never. You’re my girl, remember?’
The saying was one Aunty Olga had often used. Of course, Aunt Olga wasn’t a real aunt, but a family friend. Mam ran a corner shop from the two-roomed flat in Bream Street. The back room, with its smoky range, big double bed and feeble sash windows, was where the family lived. Aunt Olga helped her husband, Mr Gruber, run the butcher’s shop further along the street.
As Esther thought of home, stirrings of excitement whirled inside her. Christmas would soon be here. Her mother would return for them by then, she was sure of it.
The days leading up to Christmas were dark and bitterly cold. Draughts howled through the bottom of doors, making the windows rattle, and in the babies’ department, the wind blew down the chimney, causing billows of smoke to belch from the flue.
When Mam didn’t return at Christmas, the sense of loss Esther felt was crushing.
When Dorothy visited her on Boxing Day, she suggested, ‘Maybe Mam was too busy in the shop.’
‘Mam closes the shop on Christmas Day,’ Dorothy said, dully. She pursed her lips, as if she didn’t want to talk any more and Esther felt compelled to defend their mother.
‘Mam might have been too ill to visit. Remember the time she lay in bed, too sick to open the shop, and Aunt Olga served behind the counter?’
Dorothy averted her gaze. ‘Esther, I don’t want to talk about her any more.’
3
August 1934
At eight years old, Esther progressed to the junior department. Surprisingly, the past few years at Blakely had been tolerable. Friendships were made, lessons had been learned and Esther had mentally toughened up – the key to surviving at the orphanage. She had discovered she could endure anything, as long as Dorothy was by her side.
In the junior department, second-hand uniforms and shoes were left in a pile on the floor at the end of the dormitory on a first come, first served basis at the beginning of each school term. Junior girls were issued with a number to identify them and Esther was expected to stitch her number, twenty-six, on each item of her clothing.
‘I can’t sew,’ she bewailed to Miss Balfour, the department’s housemistress.
Miss Balfour, a robust lady with a kind smile, pink cheeks and an enthusiastic manner, was a committed Christian and had devoted her life to the Lord. And though intimidated by Mistress Knowles as everyone else was, Miss Balfou
r always put the girls first, no matter the cost to herself. The girls idolised her for it – Esther included.
Miss Balfour gave a reassuring smile. ‘In a former life I was a seamstress.’ But then her face clouded. ‘The Mistress insists all her young charges learn how to knit and sew as it qualifies them to be a good servant.’
Esther frowned. She didn’t intend to be a servant – good or otherwise.
Life at Blakely was tightly structured. Woken at six o’ clock by a bell, Esther dressed and tended to duties distributed by the housemistress. At eight o’clock sharp, the orphans assembled in the dining hall, where hymns were sung and the Lord was praised for all his infinite goodness. Breakfast over, the orphans marched to chalk-smelling classrooms where the start of the academic day began.
Meals were unvaried in the oppressively quiet dining hall. Oatmeal gruel for breakfast topped with a dab of treacle, greasy broth for dinner – in which you would be lucky to find a shaving of meat – plus a slice of bread and a sliver of cheese, followed by stodgy rice pudding for supper. Forever starved, Esther ate everything placed before her, but still her chin became sharper, her features more defined, her frock size remaining the same for two years.
Then there were all the rules and the fear of punishment if they weren’t obeyed. Anger festered in Esther, chiefly manifesting in defiance – and whenever she could, she broke the rules, much to the frustration of well-behaved Dorothy. She particularly enjoyed maintaining and cultivating her well-spoken accent which infuriated the uncouth Mistress Knowles. So, the once biddable Esther developed into a more insubordinate, cynical young girl.
But still, the ray of hope that one day Mam would return never left her.
Dorothy sat opposite Esther at the trestle table. She was taller and thinner, with an angular face and almond eyes. Today she seemed agitated.
Dorothy beckoned Sandra to sit alongside her. ‘Sandra has got something to tell us,’ she said without preamble.
Sandra drew in a breath. ‘Mistress Knowles has arranged for me to go into service at a place called Lawe Top.’
The Orphan Sisters: An Utterly Heartbreaking and Gripping World War 2 Historical Novel Page 2
