The Orphan Sisters: An Utterly Heartbreaking and Gripping World War 2 Historical Novel

by Shirley Dickson

  Then, on the third day, as she leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the road, she saw him.

  He swaggered out of the yard gates behind a group of older men dressed in trench coats and trilby hats. Pushing a bicycle with dropped handlebars, he wore a three-piece suit and red and black striped cap at a jaunty angle. One of the lads made a remark, nodding towards May, and the rest of them gave out hoots of derisive laughter. Eyes crinkling, mouth twisted in a laugh, Billy looked her way and, as recognition dawned, disbelief registered on his face.

  He said something to his mates and, looking both ways, dashed with his bike across the road.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Don’t be mad. I had to see you.’

  ‘I heard there was a lass hanging around the yard gates but I never dreamt it was you. Man, don’t you know you’ll get a reputation?’

  ‘I didn’t think.’

  ‘That’s patently obvious.’ He stared over the road to where the other lads stood gawping. ‘Haway walk away with me. We can’t stay here.’

  Hell’s fire couldn’t stop her.

  While they walked, a cold northerly wind blew and she pulled up the collar of her coat. She looked sideways at him. He’d lost weight and his face looked pinched. As they headed towards the marketplace he stopped and watched a bloke pushing a handcart with a brass bedstead on it pass by. Billy turned towards her. Under the scrutiny of those gorgeous eyes, May felt herself wilt.

  ‘Did you hear me dad died?’

  ‘I didn’t. Billy, I’m sorry.’

  He gazed pensively over the road as if he expected to see his old man standing there.

  ‘Heart attack.’ He balled his fists. ‘But if you ask me, it was bloody well being out of work that did it. He lost all pride.’

  May touched his arm and felt the warmth of his skin beneath his clothes.

  ‘That’s awful. How’s your mam bearing up?’

  ‘Not so good. They had a row just before and she blames herself.’

  May couldn’t imagine having that burden of guilt but thought it best not to say.

  His troubled eyes met hers. ‘I thought about coming to talk to you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘After the way I treated you… I had no right.’

  ‘What would you have said if you had?’

  He proceeded to tell her what a scoundrel he was, how he’d made a hash of his life so far and how he was determined to make his father proud.

  ‘I bet he was proud of you,’ she said. ‘Only men find it hard to show it.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Me dad would rather do a hard day’s labour than show emotion – and you know what he thinks of work.’

  Billy laughed. ‘You’re priceless, lass. You always did me the power of good.’

  He was touched, she could tell, and seeing his lovely smile made her ache for the love of him.

  May needed to know where she stood. ‘I’ve heard you took up with a woman from Jarrow.’

  Billy became his cocky self again and grinned. ‘I did. But you’ve nothing to worry about on that score.’

  She watched the man with the handcart disappear around a corner.

  ‘Am I forgiven?’ he pouted.

  She linked his arm. As if he needed to ask.

  When May’s mother heard that her daughter had taken up with Billy again, she was none too pleased.

  Arms folded, she snapped, ‘You want your head examinin’, our May, getting involved with him again. He’s a good for nothing waster and nowt will make me think otherwise.’ Then her attitude changed and her brow creased into a worried frown. ‘You wouldn’t be fool enough to tell him about Derek, would you?’

  Derek, three now, with his blonde hair and striking blue eyes, had a resemblance to his father. Best to leave Derek happy as he was and, besides, Mam doted on her son. Intuition told May that it would be wise not to tell Billy, especially as he had once joked that he liked kids – as long as they belonged to someone else.

  ‘No, I’d never tell Billy.’

  One morning at the beginning of September, May pattered along the passage to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Mam, already there and fully dressed, sat at the table, a warm cup of tea in her hand.

  Yawning, she told May, ‘Mr Grayson says there’s to be an announcement on the wireless and we’ve to stand by.’

  ‘What for?’

  Mam shrugged.

  At the given hour, a huddle of them stood around the mahogany wireless in the front room. Her father, bending over, twiddled with the knobs and tuned in.

  The Prime Minister himself confirmed what folk had suspected since the Polish invasion on Friday – that the country was at war with Germany. A shocked silence followed, broken by her father. ‘That bugger, Hitler. Starting another war… he wants hammering.’

  May’s throat constricted with fear. All she could think of was Billy and his declaration that if war started he’d be one of the first to enlist.

  May dashed from the room, fetched her outdoor jacket from under the stairs and, hands shaking, tried to do up the jacket buttons. She banged out of the front door, taking the front steps two at a time and tore along the pavement.

  The day held a surreal quality and folk, congregated outside front doors and on street corners, stood with stunned expressions. May raced past, hell-bent on reaching Billy at his home.

  ‘You’ve heard?’ she asked, when he answered the door.

  ‘Aye. That’s me joining up.’ His eyes held a serious glint.

  Black fear crawled into May’s throat. ‘You don’t need to. Not straight away.’

  ‘I do. Besides, this might be me chance to see a bit of the world… me last chance at anything afore I’m dead.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘Now there’s a war on nothing’s certain.’ Then he’d said the words that took May’s breath away. ‘Will you marry us? We’ll get engaged afore I go.’

  10

  September 1940

  ‘No time goes quicker than time spent on leave,’ Laurie told Etty, as she sat beside him on a stool.

  Laurie had been allocated a ship – a destroyer – which, by the luck of the gods, needed a boiler clean and was, at this precise moment, tied up alongside Commissioners Wharf on the River Tyne. Granted three days leave, he’d hopped it ashore and made it for home.

  His huge bulk sprawled on the couch, Laurie dwarfed the aged piece of furniture.

  Dorothy, wearing a frilly pinafore that tied at the waist, came in from the scullery and, shifting his leg, plonked down beside her husband.

  Laurie stretched his arm around her shoulder. ‘Champion dinner.’

  With the realisation that war had arrived and might be a drawn-out affair, the couple didn’t speak of the uncertain future, but the hollowness in their eyes gave their torment away.

  Live for the day. This was the phrase on everyone’s lips.

  Etty’s stomach felt uncomfortably full. She regarded Dorothy and her burly husband with fondness. She was glad the pair had found each other. It proved that in this mad, unpredictable world nice things could happen – and she held on to that hope.

  She stretched luxuriously and said, ‘Yes, scrumptious meal, thanks.’

  ‘Was afters mentioned?’ Laurie asked.

  ‘Blimey, I forgot.’ Dorothy leapt up and dashed into the scullery.

  Merriment danced in Laurie’s eye. ‘I thowt I could smell something burning.’

  Dorothy reappeared. Hands protected by a tea towel, she carried a round metal cake tin.

  ‘It’s ruined,’ she wailed.

  ‘Surely not.’ Laurie regarded the contents of the tin. ‘It looks fine to me,’ he said, loyally. ‘What is it?’

  Dorothy, no expert cook, had surprisingly prepared a superb breast of lamb casserole. The meat was a rare treat and goodness knew how long she’d had to queue at the butchers for it. Rising early, she’d scraped, sliced and chopped all the vegetables, i
nsisting she could manage herself.

  But providing a pudding, in Etty’s estimation, was a step too far.

  ‘Incinerated treacle pudding,’ Dorothy said.

  Etty and Laurie stood side by side in the miniscule scullery doing the dishes, and though there wasn’t much room, it was companionable, their elbows colliding occasionally. Remnants of the dinner – peas, carrots and potatoes – were put on a plate and placed in the cabinet for tomorrow’s leftover meal.

  ‘Aye, with these shortages of food, every little morsel counts,’ Laurie said, picking up the tea towel. ‘Being frugal gives families a sense of pride they’re helping with the war effort.’ His cheery face creased as he frowned. ‘Blasted submarines… sinking our supply ships.’

  ‘D’you really think by cutting our supply of food Jerry thought we’d starve and submit?’

  ‘Aye, lass. I do. But the enemy didn’t account for the British determination to survive.’

  Etty sighed and blew out her cheeks. ‘But nobody thought there’d be this extent of rationing, did they? In January it was two ounces of bacon and butter and eight ounces of sugar for everyone. Now it includes cheese, eggs, milk, canned foods…’ she raised her eyebrows, ‘and I suspect the list won’t end there.’

  ‘Aye… even sweeties for the kiddies.’

  Laurie, as he dried dishes, lapsed into silence, then cocked an eyebrow at Etty. ‘A little bird tells me you’ve been seeing a lad these past few weeks.’

  Etty scrubbed an enamel dish. ‘Trevor Milne. He lives up the street in the next block.’

  ‘I hear he’s in a reserved occupation.’ Etty’s lips twitched. Dorothy had kept him well informed. ‘Which means,’ he carried on, ‘the lad’s work is important to the country and he’s exempt from going to war.’

  ‘I knew that.’ Her tone was indignant. ‘Trevor works at the pit.’

  There was a pause as Laurie put the cutlery away in the cabinet drawer. He straightened and, rubbing the back of his neck, seemed nervous.

  ‘Aye, well… petal… there’s plenty of fish in the sea,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Don’t you go hooking the first one without trying the rest.’

  Dorothy had clearly asked him to have a word, and the poor man was trying his best.

  ‘Blimey, I’m not gone on Trevor,’ Etty assured him, ‘he’s… just a friend.’

  Was he? she thought. She was starting to rather like him and her stomach did a somersault whenever she saw him.

  ‘That’s that, then.’ Duty over, Laurie appeared profoundly relieved.

  ‘Only…’ Etty gave a wistful sigh.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Sometimes, I don’t know what to talk to Trevor about, you know… men’s things.’

  ‘Listen, pet, the lad’s interested in you, not a lot of talk about football and suchlike.’

  ‘He isn’t interested in football.’

  Laurie’s bushy eyebrows shot up. ‘A Geordie lad who isn’t interested in football! Lord above, whatever next? What does he like, then?’

  Etty explained how Trevor, in his spare time, enjoyed running and that he was a member of a Harriers club for cross-country runners. He’d also taken her out a few times to a supper dance and she’d found that, to her surprise, Trevor was a good dancer and she followed his lead as they twirled around the wooden dance floor doing the quick step, waltz and foxtrot to songs played on gramophone records. The couple enjoyed going to the cinema but Trevor’s taste in films differed from hers, as he liked slapstick comedy, while she preferred romantic tales set in foreign places.

  ‘Just like your sister.’ Laurie’s face split in a grin. ‘She likes a soppy love story which she can have a good bawl at.’

  Etty didn’t mention that Trevor was prone to long silences when he grew serious, looking at her longingly as if he wanted to share something. But Etty, inexperienced with men, didn’t pry in case she upset him.

  She started to rinse the pudding tin under the tap, before remembering the government posters telling folk to conserve water. She complied by turning the tap off. Placing the tin on the wooden draining board, Etty thought about Trevor. He stood over six feet tall and with his swarthy good looks and rather fetching smile, he made her heart flutter. He displayed impeccable manners, pulling out seats for her, helping her on with her coat, and walking on the kerb side so that puddles wouldn’t splash her as traffic went by.

  There was an endearing side to him too, when he listened intently to whatever she had to say, appearing to genuinely care about her welfare – but, so far, he never spoke about himself or his home life and sometimes he’d clam up when Etty enquired.

  But all men weren’t as easy-going as Laurie and instinct told Etty that she must take things slowly with Trevor.

  He had his uses too, Etty thought, appalled at her devious mind. With a boyfriend in tow, her status at work improved. Bertha had let it slip – intentionally, Etty felt sure – that she was seeing a lad and the lasses in the machine shop couldn’t help themselves being nosy, wanting to know all about him. She was accepted now and skived off work in the cloakroom for the occasional gossip with the rest. It felt good to be part of something, even if it was only to impart the latest instalment of her love life – such as it was.

  Dishes finished, Laurie draped the wet tea towel over the wooden draining board. ‘Has Trevor got family?’

  ‘Only his mam.’

  Dorothy came and stood on the scullery step and by the intense look on her face, Etty guessed she’d been listening.

  ‘From what I’ve heard,’ she chipped in,’ Mrs Milne… or Ma Milne, as she’s better known… is a well-respected figure in the area. The type that folk in the neighbourhood send for when babies need delivering, or if there’s a death in the family, she helps lay them out.’

  ‘I know the sort,’ Laurie replied. ‘I had an Aunt Mabel who did the same thing. Lovely soul, she was… would do anything for anybody. There’s not many of her sort about.’

  Dorothy’s gaze wandered around the tidy scullery. ‘Thanks, you two,’ she said appreciatively. ‘Now come and put your feet up and we’ll have a game of cards.’

  ‘Is the inquisition over?’ Etty asked.

  Laurie winked. ‘Aye, pet, it is. But remember, you’re a precious commodity and you can tell that to any lad you meet. The present one included… else he’ll have me to deal with.’

  Etty thought of the years of being unloved and unwanted at Blakely and choked up.

  The plan that Sunday afternoon was for Trevor to call for her as soon as he’d finished at the school hall. Trevor was a volunteer in the Auxiliary Fire Service and his duties were to patrol buildings, keeping an eye out for fires and watching for incendiary bombs during a raid. The school had been temporarily allocated as a base for the firewatchers. He managed this in his spare time, clocking up the required forty-eight hours a month. His stint this Sunday was supposed to finish at lunchtime, but at two o’clock there was still no sign of him. Etty, eager to be away, was sitting with her coat on. Laurie’s leave was up the following day and she thought the married couple deserved time alone together.

  ‘The ship’s a beauty…’ Laurie was telling his wife, who was sitting on the couch next to him, riveted by his every word. ‘And there’s some two hundred men––’

  A knock on the front door interrupted him.

  Etty, jumping up, flew to answer it. Laurie meant well, she knew, but if he answered the door she wouldn’t put it past him to interrogate Trevor by asking what his intentions were, and she’d die of embarrassment.

  ‘Toodle-pip,’ she called as she hurtled along the passageway. Etty wore a green summer dress that had two little pleats at the front of the skirt. She’d found the dress in the second-hand shop and was delighted when it only needed the hem letting down. Stockings were a rarity these days but it was unthinkable to go out without them, so she’d pencilled lines up the backs of her legs to imitate seams.

  Trevor stood at the front door, handsome in that unassuming wa
y of his.

  ‘Before we go anywhere,’ he said, ‘I’ll have to go home and drop these off.’

  He nodded at the steel helmet, trousers and waterproof leggings he carried.

  Hello, she said in her head, nice to see you too.

  ‘I thought you were never coming,’ she responded, slamming the door behind her.

  ‘I got delayed delivering stirrup pumps.’

  The explanation would do, but an apology would have been better. He took off up the street and Etty hurried to keep up with his long strides.

  ‘What d’you fancy doing this afternoon?’ she asked.

  ‘How about a breath of fresh air at the coast?’ Trevor preferred to be outside but the beach was cordoned off by rolls of barbed wire. ‘I can’t be long, though, because me mother’s not well.’

  ‘Oh dear, what’s wrong with her?’

  ‘She’s got a ropey chest.’

  ‘D’you want us to stay at your house? Honest, I don’t mind. It would be nice to meet your mam.’

  ‘She doesn’t know I’ve got a girlfriend.’

  ‘Now would be a good time to tell her. Don’t you think?’

  ‘She frightens lasses off.’

  This was a turn-up. Trevor didn’t talk about his mother and from what Dorothy said earlier, Etty had imagined her a sweet old lady.

  ‘In what way does she scare girls off?’

  ‘Mainly with her sharp tongue.’

  ‘She won’t frighten me. I’ve come across the type before.’ A brief glimpse of Mistress Knowles’ cold eyes flooded Etty’s mind’s eye and she shuddered.

  Trevor, she noticed, looked buoyant at her words.

  ‘Anyway, what did your mam say to these girlfriends of yours?’

  ‘There was only two.’ He said, with astonishing frankness. ‘She called the last one a brazen floozy.’

  ‘Blimey… and was she?’