‘How did you find it?’
‘A coincidence really. I got talking with one of the girls from the factory… a nice girl called May Robinson… she travels on my bus to work. She told me her uncle rents out property. She said she’d ask if he had a vacant flat. He offered me a two-bedroomed downstairs flat with vacant possession. I’ve been to view the property and though it needs some elbow grease, it’ll do us just fine.’
Dorothy grinned and Esther saw the tiredness etched in her face. Young men were being called up and there was a shortage of manpower on the buses. When Dorothy had applied at the labour exchange for a job, she was offered work as a bus conductress. The hours were long and involved shift work, ferrying miners and factory workers back and forth. It was an exhausting business.
‘Dorothy! A place of your own, how exciting. When can you move in?’
‘That’s what this is leading up to,’ Dorothy said with a smile, ‘I already have… and there’s a room ready for you.’
Esther’s mind reeled. She couldn’t take it in. To have space of her own and live with Dorothy… It was everything she dreamed of.
But then she fell back to reality. ‘What about Mistress Knowles?’
‘What about her?’
‘She mightn’t let me leave.’
‘Leave it with me, Esther. She can’t stop you. You’re practically fifteen.’
Esther wasn’t convinced.
But as it transpired, the Mistress was only too pleased to have one less orphan to worry about, and a troublesome one at that.
‘Your sister has applied for you to go and live with her, twenty-six,’ Mistress Knowles told her one morning, after Esther had been summoned to the office. ‘It solves my problem. You’re a bad influence, girl, and I’ll be glad to see the back of yi. I’ve notified your sister to collect you the day after tomorra at noon.’
All this was said as the Mistress sifted through some papers on her desk.
‘Haddaway and good riddance,’ she sneered, looking up, and Esther stared into those cold eyes one last time. ‘Mark my words, girl… you’ll never come to any good.’
Hatred for Mistress Knowles simmered in Esther. Under her breath, she said, ‘I’ll show you – you old cow.’
On the day of Esther’s departure, saying goodbye to everyone was difficult. For despite how Esther felt, Blakely had been her home and her fellow orphans the only family she’d known. Valiantly, she tried to stay brave and not let her distress show.
‘We’ll all be gone soon.’ Miss Balfour’s eyes shone, over-bright.
With everyone in the classroom, only the two of them stood in the dormitory.
‘Will everyone be kept together?’ Esther wanted to know.
‘No. We’ll be met by a billeting officer who will distribute orphans to the families they’ll be living with.’
‘What about Blakely?’ Esther asked.
‘There is a wind of change,’ Miss Balfour said, ‘and in the new world, hopefully Blakely will be no more.’ She inhaled a deep breath. ‘Esther… my child… I shall be both sad and glad to see you go. Glad you’re beginning a new stage in your life… but sad we’re losing you. Goodbye, dear, think of us with fondness. And may God go with you.’
Tearfully, she made a dash for the door.
Left alone in the dormitory, Esther felt light-headed. She couldn’t believe she was free to leave Blakely. Shakily, she picked up the small suitcase from her bed and made for the door.
In the corridor, as she walked along the black and white linoleum floor, she was reminded of the day of her arrival. She was certain that the little Esther that was dumped at Blakely had been surer of herself. Her hair, then flaming red, had now toned to reddish-brown and though still short, it curled messily above high cheekbones. Strikingly tall, she hoped she was done with growth spurts. With a rumpled coat that fell inches short of her wrists, and woollen stockings that kept riding down her legs, Esther imagined she looked like exactly what she was – a dispossessed orphan.
Opening the front door, she emerged into the sun and as if on cue, a blackbird trilled from a tree branch. The moment felt surreal. She looked into the clear blue sky and shivered. Only days before, the country had been on yellow alert as a hundred enemy aircraft droned across the North East coast. Listening to the roar of planes and heavy gunfire with bated breath had become a familiar occurrence but the sound never lost its terror.
Outside, Dorothy waited at the foot of the steps.
‘Oh, Esther, what a wonderful sight,’ she cried.
It felt odd to wander down the path, and odder still to close Blakely’s gates behind her. For years, Esther had waited for this moment and yet all she could think now was that inside the orphanage the dinner bell had gone, and everyone would be forming an orderly queue. She quashed the sense of dread she felt inside and, putting one foot in front of the other, tentatively followed Dorothy.
‘Whatever you do don’t look back,’ Dorothy advised, linking arms with her sister. ‘Laurie says in his letter he’s waiting for a draft to a ship…’
As her sister chattered, Esther, studying her surroundings, was only half listening. They walked down a tree-lined walkway, past a row of pretty houses and, as they reached a main road, a cyclist went riding past.
It happened then, while Esther waited at the kerb to cross the road – the dizzying sensation that came with the knowledge that this great big world had gone on without her. She tried to assimilate what was going on around her; noisy traffic, busy pavements, posters on walls blaring wartime messages, fumes, vibrant colours. Feeling bewildered, Esther fought the impulse to flee back to the orphanage.
‘It takes time to adjust.’ Dorothy’s voice washed over her like a balm. ‘It was the same for me when I left Blakely. Mrs Brooke took me under her wing and if it wasn’t for her, goodness knows what state I’d be in. Esther, I’m here to look out for you.’
Dorothy smiled in understanding.
Esther remembered the rivalry she’d felt towards Mrs Brooke and felt ashamed. How plucky her sister must have been, and Esther was determined to buck up and be the same.
Bracing herself, she stepped forward and crossed the road. They walked for a while, passing the tall and impressive Regent Cinema.
As she gazed around, a small cry escaped Esther’s lips. ‘Why… I remember this scene from all those years ago when—’
The sisters looked at each other, recalling that long-ago day. But this was the future, and a place Mam would have no part in. She pushed all thoughts of their mother aside.
‘Gosh, look at all the rows of houses,’ she said.
Dorothy stopped at the top of one of the terraced streets where redbrick houses ran down a hill as far as the eye could see. With a cobbled road and clouds of grimy smoke billowing from chimney pots, the scene looked austere and grim.
‘Whale Street,’ Dorothy announced. ‘Our flat is on the second block.’
As she led the way down the road, two women, idly gossiping at their front step, wearing crossover pinafores and fur-edged slippers, eyed them critically. As she walked past, Esther could feel their eyes upon her back.
When they crossed the road by the off-licence shop on the corner, Dorothy rummaged in her shoulder bag and brought out a key.
She stopped at a brown door with a brass knocker. ‘Here we are… home.’
Esther followed her sister along a narrow passageway into a homely kitchen-come-living room that had a high ceiling, floral wallpaper and a range fireplace where a large black kettle stood on the hearth. The saggy-cushioned chair and sturdy-legged couch were second-hand, as was the scratched table with a wireless on top, and mismatched set of wooden chairs. On the floorboards – scrubbed clean – sat a colourful hearthside mat, made out of pieces of spare material.
Dorothy noticed her gaze. ‘I made it myself.’ Her expression was proud.
‘How?’
‘By stretching a piece of hessian on a frame and poking material through with half a woode
n clothes peg.’
Trust Dorothy to be industrious, Esther thought as she smiled.
‘Honestly, Esther, it’s so difficult to buy things these days because of rationing.’
‘I’ve heard of that. What does it mean?’
Dorothy drew a laboured breath. ‘It was brought in because of the shortages.’
‘Why are there shortages?’
‘Because enemy submarines are attacking the ships that bring food and other goods to us in Britain.’
‘Oh dear. So how does rationing work?’
‘Have you been issued with a book?’
‘Miss Balfour gave me an identity card and ration book.’
‘Yours will be blue, is it?’ Dorothy asked. When Esther nodded, she continued. ‘Because of your age you’ll get full provisions of fruit, meat, and a half a pint of milk a day.’
Outraged, Esther exploded. ‘I wonder who got my share, then, at the orphanage? Because it certainly was not me.’
Dorothy nodded, sympathetically. ‘You’ll have to register at the local shop and then each time you buy something on ration the shopkeeper takes the coupons out of the book – which means you can only buy the amount of food you’re allowed.’
‘You still pay, then?’
‘Of course, along with the coupons.’
‘It sounds complicated.’
‘You’ll soon get the hang of it.’
Esther looked around the room.
‘Goodness all this space for two people,’ she said, in awe. ‘And you’ve managed to buy so much in such a short space of time.’
‘Laurie left his savings to furnish our home,’ Dorothy replied as she threw her coat over a chair. ‘Not much, mind… but I had a marvellous time scouring the second-hand shops.’
Impressed by her sister’s self-assurance, Esther was determined to one day be the same.
Later, as they sat side-by-side on the couch, they sipped a cup of warm Horlicks.
‘This is delicious. What is it?’
‘I knew you’d love it… it’s a hot malted milk drink. I do know what you’re going through, you know,’ Dorothy commented with a grimace. ‘The first time I saw fruit displayed outside the greengrocer’s shop, I could only stare in astonishment. I mean, Esther… the only fruit we ever saw was an orange at Christmas. Even now, I can’t tolerate wastage. Laurie, poor man, goes mad when I scrape mould off cheese… not that we get much now, with rationing.’ A frown creased her brow. ‘But believe me, decision-making is the worst bit of it all.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Think about it, Esther. From the minute we entered Blakely when did we ever have to make a decision? When did we have any control over our lives?’
Esther knew what she meant. She felt perplexed at what might be expected of her next.
‘Come on,’ Dorothy said, ‘I’ll show you the rest of the flat.’
She led Esther along the passageway to her own bedroom overlooking the front street and then to the diminutive back bedroom.
‘This is yours,’ she beamed.
Esther drew a sharp intake of breath. Hers. The walls were white and a picture of a vase containing sunflowers hung over a small Victorian fireplace, while a slim bed with a floral counterpane covering it stood against the far wall.
‘It’s lovely, thank you,’ she exclaimed, eyeing the tall chest of drawers beneath the window. ‘But I’ve got nothing to put in it.’
‘Not yet,’ Dorothy said, with a glint in her eyes.
She led them back through the kitchen into the scullery – a gloomy place that had room only for a gas cooker beneath the sloping stairs from the upstairs flat and a porcelain sink with wooden drainer.
It was too much to take in all at once. Esther made a beeline for the kitchen, where she sank into the saggy couch and finished the dregs of the milky drink.
Dorothy followed her in. ‘I speak for Laurie as well as myself when I say… welcome to your new home, Esther.’
Such was her pent-up emotion that Esther’s chin wobbled. Her eyes misting, she had a desire to hug Dorothy. But she refrained – the damage done at the orphanage meant she sat silent and wooden, afraid to reach out.
‘You’ll never forget Blakely but… you will get over it in time.’ Dorothy commented perceptively. ‘First, a bath to rid you of the orphanage smell and then a change of clothes.’
‘What clothes?’
‘All taken care of,’ Dorothy replied, smiling.
Esther couldn’t believe it. ‘Where do I bathe?’
‘In here in front of the fire.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I’m heating the water in the boiler in the yard’s washhouse.’
‘I think I’m going to like living here,’ Esther said, feeling lucky.
‘And I think I’m going to like having you here.’
‘What about my keep?’ At Blakely, orphans were never allowed to forget they were charity cases. ‘Can you afford me living with you?’
‘If you eat tiny meals, we can,’ Dorothy laughed. ‘In all seriousness, though, this isn’t about money… this is your home.’
Esther’s chin jutted. ‘I’m going to pay my way.’
It was then that Esther made her first decision. Though the thought terrified her, as soon as she was able to, she’d find a job.
8
August 1940
There was news from the war that the German Luftwaffe had increased their efforts to destroy airfields. A fierce battle raging in the skies over Britain overshadowed life and folk felt besieged.
But for Esther, with her newfound freedom, none of the imposed restrictions registered, as she didn’t know any different. Life at Blakely had prepared her for the austerity of war. People grumbled about bumping into things during the blackout, the strict rations, how the newspapers were exceptionally thin and how council workmen had carried off their gates and iron railings for munitions – but this new way of living, which brought independence to Esther, delighted her.
Though panicked when she had first left Blakely, overwhelmed by life on the outside, with Dorothy’s help she soon got into the swing of things. As she adapted and saw how much she’d been missing out on, Esther vowed to live life to the full.
‘People say you mustn’t complain but everyone does,’ Dorothy told her. ‘This war is changing our way of life. But it’s so refreshing, Esther, to have someone like you, who doesn’t mind waiting in long, dreary queues to see what’s on offer at the other end.’
There was truth in what Dorothy said. A night at the cinema watching Ray Milland, a dreamy actor with a fetching smile, or laughing at the antics of Old Mother Riley – a funny Irish washerwoman character who originally was a music hall act – all gave Esther a thrill. Even the clothes that everyone declared drab were exciting to Esther, who had only known Blakely’s tedious uniform.
Her favourite item of clothing was a two-piece suit – a square-shouldered jacket and knee-length skirt to which, in an inspired moment suggested by a women’s magazine, she had added a colourful chiffon scarf that transformed the outfit. Her hair, still relatively short, was brushed into soft waves and when she looked in the mirror Esther felt grown up and thoroughly modern.
Of course, there was the appalling side of life that the war brought; the horror of bombings, the loss of homes, the greater loss of life, and the failures of Allied troops. But the outlook of the people – the patriotic attitude that the war summoned, the feeling that everyone was in it together – gave Esther courage. Hitler could do his worst but the British would not be beaten.
Determined to find work as soon as possible, Esther visited the labour exchange two streets away. As she stood in the queue of the large, echoing room, she reminded herself she didn’t want to go into service and become a housemaid – Esther wanted a job that counted in this war.
There were six men sat behind the counter and Esther noticed she’d drawn the short straw. The officious looking man at the front of her queue had a purple
nose and red veined cheeks, appearing very short tempered. Thoughts of the orphanage and of the Mistress came to mind and Esther fled the building. She’d had enough of people governing her. From now on, she would control her own future. Every night, she determined, she’d scour the situations vacant in the Gazette and find herself a job.
Two days later, at a loss how to occupy herself as Dorothy was working the day shift, Esther decided to borrow her sister’s bicycle and venture to the seashore. She rode over the busy main road, past St Michael’s Church, up Mowbray Road and when she came to the top of the hill she saw it – the sea. A vast, sparkling expanse of blue. She couldn’t decide where the sea finished and the horizon began. Standing astride the bicycle, in rapture at the beauty of it all, Esther wished she could wrap the moment up forever to treasure.
Freewheeling down the hill, she reached the sandy promenade but was denied access to the beach, where rolls of spiky barbed wire – placed there for fear of enemy invasion – barred the way.
Looking into the distance, she froze in terror. Black blobs appeared over the sea as planes headed directly towards her. Terrified for her life, she didn’t know what to do or where to hide. Fear gripped Esther – she’d heard how enemy gunners shot figures on the ground. Closing her eyes, she tensed as she waited for the rat-a-tat of machine guns.
Then her heart lifted as a squadron of Hurricanes came speeding across the North Sea, chasing the enemy. A dogfight ensued. Hurricanes swooped down, causing Jerry planes to take evasive action, diving to low level and scattering in all directions. As they thundered over the land Esther saw swastikas and German crosses emblazoned on them. Dropping bombs that exploded, alarmingly, on the town’s harbour and clifftops, the raiders, with the Hurricanes still hounding them, turned east and made for home.
Her eyes raised to the heavens, Esther watched as an enemy aircraft, smoke pluming from its fuselage, nosedived and shrieked into the depths of the sea.
The Orphan Sisters: An Utterly Heartbreaking and Gripping World War 2 Historical Novel Page 6
