The Outcast Girls: A completely heartbreaking and gripping World War 2 historical novel

by Shirley Dickson

  The evening finished with them all sitting around the put-you-up card table with the green felt top, having a game of whist. Olive explained the rules.

  Afterwards, when the card table was put away, Olive asked, ‘Who’s for a cup of Ovaltine? I think there’s enough milk.’

  They all wanted one, surprisingly, including Frieda. She’d become more animated since Olive had asked what she’d like for breakfast.

  ‘I don’t suppose you have porridge?’

  ‘Aye, lass, we do and you can have as much as yi’ want – depending on how hungry you are, of course.’

  Olive was really trying, Sandra thought. And Frieda was beginning to seem more relaxed, so it was paying off.

  When they’d drunk the hot, comforting drink, it was time for bed.

  ‘You’ll be tired after your long day, Frieda.’ Olive’s tone was motherly. ‘Off you go up to the attic to bed.’

  When Frieda had left for bed and Tommy took the cups through to the scullery and checked the doors were locked, Olive turned to Sandra. ‘I’ve been wondering how you really are. By the sound of the letters you’re happy enough, but letters can be deceiving.’

  ‘At first I thought I’d made a big mistake…’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘I’ve got to know people and they’ve become good friends and I feel settled at Leadburn.’

  ‘I’m so pleased, lass. You’ve done yourself proud since you left the Kirtons and it’s grand to see.’ She gave Sandra a probing look. ‘What about a fellow? Is there anyone special?’

  Sandra pulled a face.

  ‘I hope you’re not still feeling the aftershock of your last night with the Kirtons.’

  ‘To be honest I’ve been so busy there’s not much time for thinking. Anyway, nothing really happened.’

  ‘Praise be to God. All the same, something like that leaves its mark. And you could’ve been killed.’

  In the pause that followed, Sandra sensed there was more Olive wanted to say.

  ‘What?’ she asked her friend.

  ‘A man like Duncan Kirton can put you off for life; there are some rotten buggers like him out there. But there are lovely ones too. Take my Tommy. The man drives us crackers at times with his finicky ways but I wouldn’t swap him for the world.’

  Afterwards, as Sandra switched off the light and snuggled down in her bed, she found herself thinking of the last night she’d seen Mr Carlton. Closing her eyes, his face swam behind her lids. And she realised then what the look he’d given her had been when she’d told him it was time to leave: a look of disappointment.

  Frieda unpacked her case and folded her clothes neatly on the back of a wicker chair. She changed into her flannelette nightgown and, switching off the light, hopped into the cold bed.

  In the claustrophobic darkness – the blackout curtains were so thick no moonlight could shine through – she stared up towards the ceiling. Antonio’s handsome face came into her mind’s eye – his easy-going expression and lopsided grin. An overall warmth of happiness cascaded through her.

  Her hand, automatically travelling over the top of her nightdress, felt protruding hip bones and a stomach that caved in. Satisfied no roll of fat could be found, Frieda ignored the ever-increasing hunger pangs. Turning on her side, exhausted, she went straight to sleep and the repetitive dreams of the past years, which were vivid and felt real, played in her mind while she slept.

  Running figures, screams, shattering glass.

  One of the screams awoke Frieda. Unnerved, for a moment she couldn’t recall where she was.

  The piercing noise in her head wouldn’t stop.

  She had to get out; it was dangerous here.

  Papa’s voice called to her. ‘Frieda, we must go.’

  Frieda threw back the covers and leapt from the bed. Slipping her feet into shoes, she put on her dressing gown and groped in the darkness for the bedroom door.

  ‘I’m coming!’

  Papa would take them to the safety of Herr Unger’s place.

  ‘Frieda,’ Tommy called again, ‘we must go. Be quick about it.’ He turned towards Sandra, who was standing on the landing. ‘Welcome to South Shields. Jerry’s hotspot at the minute for raids.’

  Although his words were jokey, Tommy’s expression, as he waited at the bottom of the attic stairs, was deadly serious. Dressed in trousers and braces over his striped pyjama top, Sandra noticed that he was barefoot.

  Olive, wearing a dressing gown and iron curlers in her hair, came to stand next to him. ‘Take these.’ She bundled blankets into his arms. ‘I’ll go fill the flasks.’

  Frieda appeared then, around the bend in the stairs. The lass looked dozy with sleep. She looked around as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. ‘I dreamt that—’

  ‘There, pet.’ Olive took her arm and led her away. ‘Everything’s all right. Come with me and we’ll make tea.’

  ‘Can you hurry, then,’ Tommy told his wife, ‘wi’ haven’t got all night.’

  Tommy was agitated, Sandra could tell. Though she tried to stay calm, anxiety got the better of her. She thought of the curate telling her she was strong in an emergency. He should see her now.

  When they were all assembled at the top of the back stairs, the wail of the siren piercing the air, Tommy made a checklist.

  ‘The lamps and heater are in the shelter—’

  ‘So’s the bucket and cards. I’ve got flasks and the first aid kit,’ Olive breathlessly interrupted.

  ‘I’ve got blankets. Right, I think that’s everything. Hang on, what about matches?’

  His wife told him, ‘Tommy, man, just go. They’re in me dressing-gown pocket.’

  The three women trooped down the steep and narrow staircase following Tommy into the semi-lit back yard.

  The siren, which sent cold shivers down Sandra’s spine, now mercifully stopped.

  ‘Aye, Jerry picks his night, all right.’ Tommy turned up his face and glared at the moon sailing high in a clear sky. He led them to the brick-built shelter beyond the washhouse.

  It was cold, dark and dismal inside and the stench of damp and disinfectant assaulted Sandra’s nose. Tommy pulled out a match and, lighting the wick, set the oil lamp down on the table. Eerie shadows leapt up around the red-brick walls. On a shelf nailed onto the far wall, Sandra spied books and games of all kinds. Perhaps it could be a good idea to play a game and distract ourselves, she thought.

  ‘For the neighbours’ kiddies downstairs,’ Olive told her. ‘Only they don’t use it now as they prefer to shelter under the stairs.’

  Sandra thought them wise; if she were going to cop it, she’d prefer to be in the relative comfort of a house.

  She noticed Frieda standing, a bleak figure in the doorway.

  At the same time Olive did too. She took Frieda’s arm and guided her to a deck chair.

  ‘Bonny lass, have me chair and put this blanket around yi’ to keep warm.’ She placed the blanket around Frieda’s shoulders.

  ‘Thank you.’ Frieda’s voice was small. ‘I’m sorry—’

  ‘No apologies necessary. I’m scared out of me wits as well. Though, I’m mad at Jerry choosing this night to make a call. Why don’t you have a cup of tea to settle your nerves?’

  Sandra smiled. Olive’s cure all for everything was a cuppa.

  ‘You were mighty quick making the flasks,’ she told her friend.

  Tommy gave his wife a gentle tap on her bottom. ‘She has everything ready before she goes to bed. Don’t you, love?’

  In the distance came the drone of aeroplanes. Guns fired incessantly from the ground and Sandra could imagine the criss-cross beams of light searching the sky.

  Bombs exploded as they hit the ground.

  Frieda covered her ears.

  ‘Crikey, it’s a full-scale raid,’ Tommy said.

  Planes droned terrifyingly nearer and mighty explosions made the earth beneath them shake.

  A scream pierced the air. At first, Sandra thought it was Fri
eda, but then her blood ran cold when she realised it was Olive. She had never before seen her friend lose composure.

  18

  The deep drone of the planes thundering overhead reverberated in Sandra’s heart.

  As guns blazed at the enemy from the ground, Sandra thought of Alf. In the distance she heard an aeroplane scream to the ground and explode, and the thought occurred that that could be someone’s beloved brother.

  Tommy told the group, ‘We’re all right in ’ere, they’re after the docks tonight.’

  As he spoke bombs rained down, and there was a sudden flash, then a terrific explosion that shook the shelter walls so that Sandra feared they’d fall down. As a nearby building toppled, dust and mortar trickled from the cracks in the building, filling their mouths and nostrils, making them cough and gasp for air.

  ‘Damn and blast!’ Tommy raised a fist at the shelter ceiling. ‘Don’t they know they’re flying over a civilian area?’

  The raiders passed and were heard to drone off into the distance.

  ‘Tommy, man, sit down and be quiet.’ Olive had, by now, collected herself but Sandra detected a wobble in her voice. ‘You’ll frighten the lassies here.’

  As if we aren’t scared enough, Sandra thought. But it wasn’t British to show your fear in the face of the enemy.

  Then, in the distance, the bombers sounded again and Sandra braced for what was to come. Bombs shrieked to the ground – thuds and explosions could be heard all around – and this time, as the shelter walls shook, the paraffin lamp went out, plunging the four of them into darkness. Then a bomb exploded, it seemed, in the lane, and for a second there was absolute silence then a long crescendo of splintering glass.

  ‘Stop it! Make them stop!’ a voice screamed. ‘This is my nightmare.’ Frieda dissolved into high-pitched, hysterical sobs.

  Olive hugged the young German girl against her large bosom, until at last the noise died away and the all-clear sounded.

  Tommy, with the aid of a torch, fixed the paraffin lamp, which now shed light upon them.

  ‘There, there, pet.’ Olive stroked back Frieda’s hair from her forehead. ‘It’s all over now, Jerry’s turned tail and gone home.’

  Frieda’s thin body shook as she clung to Olive.

  Sandra thought, Who better than Olive to cope with such a delicate situation.

  Tommy stood. ‘Aye, well, I’ll go and make us a strong pot of tea.’

  ‘You do that, love.’ When he left, Olive told Sandra, ‘Tommy’s not good with emotions, especially not now when he’s worried about his son.’

  Sandra wondered who looked after Olive when she was down.

  ‘Will she be all right, d’you think?’ Sandra glanced at Frieda, who, eyes glazed, was staring at the space in front of her. She felt guilty for bringing her here to this hellish situation.

  Olive whispered, ‘It’s best we keep her here for now. The lass has something in the past that still troubles her. I believe troubles should be shared and not bottled up where they can fester and make you ill. That’s what happened to Mam when Dad was killed in an accident at the mine. She never spoke his name again. Mam’s life stopped too the day of the accident.’

  Sandra decided she’d be a happy woman just to have a quarter of Olive’s wisdom; and the thing about her friend was that she was modest and unaware of her qualities.

  ‘Frieda, hinny,’ Olive’s voice crooned. She helped the lass to sit up. ‘What ails you? Get it off yer chest, lass. You’re amongst friends.’

  Frieda stared trance-like at Olive. ‘They broke the windows and I heard screams. We ran for our lives. Papa was taken away. Karl jumped ship… I should have…’ She shuddered and tears spilled from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. ‘I am a coward.’

  Olive and Sandra looked at one another.

  ‘Why?’ Olive asked. ‘Don’t bottle your troubles up, love. Tell me from the beginnin’.’

  Frieda’s eyes gazed into Olive’s. She took a deep breath and started talking. As the tale unfolded about her last months in Germany, she appeared less dreamlike and more in the present.

  ‘So, you see,’ she concluded, ‘I am a coward. Even if I could have caught up with Kurt, I had no intention of following him. The awful thing is, I love my family dearly but I’m relieved that I’ve escaped my homeland.’

  Olive stroked her hair. ‘Of course you are, pet. It’s only natural. Who wouldn’t feel the same way? Believe me, your mam only wants what’s best for yi’ and she’ll have peace of mind knowing you’re safe and sound.’

  Frieda looked surprised. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘I know so. It’s what any parent would want. Furthermore, I’d be furious if Kurt was my son, jumping ship like that when I thought he was safe and out of the thick of it in England.’ She nodded. ‘But your mam won’t tell him that and make him feel bad.’

  Olive’s words seemed to do the trick because Frieda’s eyes widened in wonder. ‘I never thought of it like that.’ Her young face lit up in an appreciative smile.

  Sandra sat quietly listening in; her respect for Olive knew no boundaries.

  The plan for the next day was for the two visitors to leave early afternoon so that they’d be home in Leadburn in time for tea.

  Sandra’s idea had been to take Frieda on a return trip on the little ferry over the River Tyne to North Shields in the morning. Frieda then could see the mighty shipyards on the Tyne crammed with ships. But, after the raid and the aftermath of their emotional night, the pair were content to have a lie-in and late breakfast, making a mid-morning start.

  Olive had to go to work but she promised to try and see them before they left.

  After a breakfast of a bacon sandwich – a rare treat these days and Sandra could imagine the wait in the butcher’s queue Olive must have had – and porridge for Frieda, the pair of them packed their small attaché suitcases and were ready for the off.

  As they descended the sunlit stairs, the front door opened and Olive stood there. ‘I pleaded with me supervisor,’ she told them as she took the key out of the lock and put it her coat pocket, ‘for an hour off to see me company away as I didn’t know when I’d next see them. The canny woman said the time I worked overtime, she thought she could spare an hour.’ She moved into the lobby and, peering up the stairs, noticed their suitcases. ‘The Lord be praised, I’m just in time.’

  The goodbyes at the front door were difficult. True to form Olive pasted a smile on her face and Sandra followed suit.

  Olive couldn’t hide her emotion. ‘Now, lass, you know you’re welcome any time. Don’t make it so long. Tommy and me love having yi’ to stay.’ Then it was Frieda’s turn. ‘You too, lass. Tommy and me consider you one of the family.’

  Frieda’s chin trembled. ‘Thank you for everything. You have been very kind. Especially…’ She couldn’t go on.

  A tightness came into Sandra’s throat as she watched the pair of them hug.

  As Olive pulled away her gaze wandered into the street where the telegram boy rode his bicycle up the hill. Sandra saw her friend gasp then hold her breath. He pedalled closer and it seemed an age before he passed in the road. Olive, her face turned ashen, clutched Sandra’s arm for support. The boy pedalled further up the street then, stopping, he dismounted and stood his bike by the kerb. He rummaged in his bag and brought out a yellow envelope.

  The threesome, as if transfixed, watched on.

  The post laddie looked at the door numbers and moving two doors up the street, knocked on the doorknocker.

  A small cry escaped Olive. ‘Oh! It’s Mrs Burton, it’ll be her husband. Poor soul, she’s got no family. I’ll have to go to her.’

  The two of them sat in perturbed silence in the train compartment and it was as though they didn’t have the words to convey their feelings. Sandra wanted to make sure Frieda was all right before they went their separate ways.

  She ventured, ‘It’s been an eventful time.’

  Frieda turned, and gazing out of the wind
ow gave a tentative look. ‘I’m sorry if I spoilt your time with your—’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’m glad you got things off your chest.’

  ‘Your friend is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.’

  ‘Olive’s a treasure and no mistake.’

  Frieda looked bashfully from beneath long dark eyelashes. ‘I revealed things I have never told anyone.’

  Sandra hesitated then decided to go on, ‘It must be terrible for you not knowing about your family.’

  ‘That is the worst part.’ Frieda’s face contorted in sorrow. Sandra understood how wretched she must feel. Frieda then asked, ‘Where is your family?’

  What could she say? Sandra decided to tell the truth. ‘This is something I have rarely revealed either.’ She told her friend about how she came from an impoverished but loving home. ‘After Mam died, Dad put me and Alf in an orphanage because he couldn’t cope.’

  ‘Alf?’

  ‘Me brother. He’s in the RAF.’

  ‘What is an orphanage? I don’t know that word.’

  ‘It’s a place children are sent to when both parents are dead or can’t look after them. There was no other family who could take us in.’

  ‘What happened to your papa?’

  ‘He died soon after.’

  ‘That is sad.’

  Frieda listened in wide-eyed horror when Sandra described her time at the orphanage and how she and Alf were separated from the beginning.

  Frieda confessed, ‘I worry about my family. That they have been taken away and that… I too am an orphan.’

  Sandra knew the courage it took for Frieda to voice her greatest fear. The train was slowing down and as it pulled into Newcastle central station, Sandra did something she’d never done since her mam had died: she turned towards her friend and hugged her.

  ‘Can you see the bus stop for Hexham?’

  ‘Sandra, I think you need spectacles. It is right here – look!’

  When they sat themselves on the bus, Sandra looked around to see if anyone could listen in. In fact, the bus had few passengers and they were seated further down the aisle.