Orphans of War

by Leah Fleming

  She didn’t mind being moved out of the Hall because now Sid and she had their own special auntie and uncle of their own and all because of Sid’s ear.

  It had gone septic and now he couldn’t hear in it at all. Miss Plum had explained how ill he was when the Welfare came to take them away, and that he couldn’t be moved. Then Mrs Batty asked Mrs Plum if they’d like to come and stay with them. It was such a relief. How Gloria’d prayed not to be taken back to Elijah Street. She hoped that the Lord understood why she had to fib like mad about how Uncle Sam, God rest his soul, had beat them and poor Mam had shoved them on the train out of harm’s way. In her heart she knew it was all lies but it made a better story than the truth–that nobody wanted them.

  She woke up on that first morning in Brooklyn Hall and thought she’d died and gone to heaven, snug in clean sheets and pyjamas, with thick checked shirts and corduroy dungarees to play out in. There was yucky porridge for breakfast but hot toast and real butter and jam for afters.

  Everyone had fussed over Sid until he was better She wished they could stay in the big house for ever but then they’d been allowed to stay on in the grounds at the Battys’ cottage, which would have to do.

  Mrs Batty did all the washing for the Hall and the ironing. She had a big copper boiler in its own shed and an iron mangle that she turned with strong arms. She made big stews out of rabbits and stuff that Mr Batty ‘found’ in the woods. Huntsman’s Cottage was small but clean, and the old couple let them run wild in the woods and play with the other vaccies after school.

  Even school was turning out better than she dared hoped. Her reading and writing were coming on and Maddy sometimes let her practise the difficult words in the reading book. She was getting quite good now but would never catch up the Belfield girl.

  The only worry was that Constable Burton was sending someone to find Mam. She was in big trouble now. Gloria prayed that Mam’d take her time to fetch them back or come and live with them up here. She still couldn’t believe that she’d just shoved them on that train…It didn’t make any sense. Gloria never wanted to go back to the cobbled streets and dark corners of the city again, now she’d seen Brooklyn Hall.

  It was Miss Plum who explained that Mam was no longer living in Elijah Street. In fact no one knew where she had gone. ‘Gone orff, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘Not to worry, Gloria, she’ll come looking for you soon enough.’

  How could Gloria explain that she wasn’t worried, she was relieved to be staying put? Old Mrs Belfield said they ought to be put in an orphanage, so she cried and hollered and made herself so sick that Maddy’s gran relented, saying that they could stay ‘for the duration but in somewhere more suitable’, whatever that meant.

  It didn’t take a numbskull to work out that old Mrs Belfield thought she wasn’t good enough to share a room with Maddy. She was not family, but Miss Plum explained that she could come and play with Maddy any time she liked. Try and stop me, Gloria thought.

  She loved the Brooklyn, with its wide curving staircase, the pictures up the walls in gold curly frames and the smell of wet dogs and lavender polish. Every shelf was covered in china Bo-Peeps and silver trinket boxes, statuettes and ornaments.

  Why must she be banished just because she wasn’t born rich and petted with pretty dresses? There were no dancing lessons for her, or ponies to ride. The Belfields lived in another world, in a big space with fields to play out in, not cramped in a bricked back yard with noisy neighbours, barking dogs and horrible smells.

  Yet this war had done something wonderful in transporting the two of them from the town into the country. There would be no budging her now. She and Sid might live in a humble cottage but she was going to stick close to the Big House like glue. Maddy would be her best friend and where she went Gloria would not be far behind, she smiled to herself.

  Huntsman’s Cottage would do for now but when Gloria Conley grew up she was going to find her own rich man with a house with a hundred rooms and servants so she could live the life of a film star. She loved going to the Saturday pictures with the other vaccies to see Mickey Mouse and Charlie Chaplin, and Shirley Temple in Poor Little Rich Girl.

  If being rich meant learning to read and write proper…no elbows on the table and no slurping her soup, sucking up to her betters, then she was up for it. She was prettier than Maddy any day. That must count for something, and she could sing the best in her class. When they saw her on stage in the school show, then they would see she was as good as any of them.

  Greg Byrne took the corner fast. He’d borrowed some pram wheels off the salvage lorry, just three to make his racing cart. It was low to the ground with ropes to guide the steering. This was the fastest he’d made –if only he could control the damn thing. There was a touch of black ice on the tarmac ahead that was going to be tricky but skidding would be even better, he grinned to himself.

  It was worth weeks of cleaning and polishing the Daimler, fetching and carrying empties, to have the money to build this racer.

  There was something about going faster and faster that made his head spin with excitement. There was nothing to beat it. The trudge up the steep hill track onto the moors, with its five sharp bends, made it all worth it, scaring horses and carts, making tramps dive into the walls out of his way when he careered down pell-mell.

  The best thing of all was to cadge a ride on the back of one of the soldier’s motor bikes up to the battery field, towing ‘Flash Gordon’ behind him.

  One push and the cart flew downhill all the way with the soldiers’ shopping list for the village stores. All he could think of when he trudged back up the hill was the loose change he’d earned and the day when he would be old enough to own a racing bike himself. Even a two-wheeler would be a start but the old ‘sit up and beg’ two-wheeler bike in the Vic belonged to The Rug; an ancient black metal affair with a basket up front, that made Miss Blunt look even more like the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz. She rode it to Scarperton on market day and no one was allowed to borrow it.

  She ran the hostel like HMS Bounty, with her rules for wayward evacuees, a strict rota for chores, curfew hours, punishment meted out for bed-wetting and lateness, so once or twice he’d let her tyres down just to get even. One of these days he’d do a bunk but not yet.

  There was something about the Old Vic that he’d taken to. It wasn’t a bad billet. He’d been in far worse, and something Miss Plum had said about him being ‘officer material and a born leader’ pleased him, even if he did lead the gang into mischief. He was the one that started them off giggling when Miss Blunt’s wig went all of a quiver, which made it wobble even more. The others looked up to him as their boss, and Enid had offered to show him her thingy for a ride on Flash Gordon.

  Sowerthwaite wasn’t that bad a place. There were always summat going on, hills to climb, foraging for mushrooms and sticks, salvaging trips. School was pretty basic. He was marking time for his fourteenth birthday when he could get apprenticed.

  As long as he was working on wheels with oil he was happy, and Mr Batty had showed him all the ins and outs of the Belfields’ saloon. He taught him to do rough work, taking engine bits apart and putting them back together again. He watched how to decoke the engine and change the oil and tyres. ‘You’ve got engine oil in your veins, me laddo,’ Mr Batty laughed.

  And once, only once, the chauffeur’d let him sit in the driving seat, showing him the stick gears and letting him drive a few yards. This was sufficient to keep him behaving enough to stay put and not draw too much attention to his madcap schemes.

  There was a big garage on the main road out of Sowerthwaite that might take him on as an apprentice mechanic if he kept out of trouble and if Miss Plum put in a good word.

  Greg liked walking up into the Dales to the battery field. It was manned by a group of old soldiers. He wasn’t supposed to trespass but there was a geezer there called Binns who knew all about birds of prey: buzzards, merlins, peregrines and harriers. Now he could tell a sparrowhawk
from a kestrel by its tail.

  Mr Batty was a bit of a stargazer and showed him directions by the stars and how to find true north. Greg had never seen so many stars in a sky before, all with different names.

  It was a man’s world up here, a train-spotter’s paradise, perches on rocky cliffs to climb in search of dead eggs, waterfalls with deep ledges to jump into pools when the weather warmed up…if he stayed that long.

  There weren’t enough hours in the day for Plum to finish getting ready for Arthur and Dolly’s return.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss, Prunella,’ sniffed her mother-in-law. ‘They can stay in the Black Horse. It’s what they’re used to, after all.’

  ‘Of course they won’t! They’re family. I don’t understand you sometimes; your own flesh and blood…It’s Christmas, Mother, the season of goodwill. Those two have risked life and limb to get back to Maddy, the least we can do is let bygones be forgotten and give them a proper homecoming. Heaven knows what dangers they’ve faced en route.’

  ‘Please yourself but don’t expect me to roast the fatted calf for them. Not a word from either of them in years.’

  ‘Do you blame them? When did you last write to Arthur?’ Plum argued, but Pleasance stormed off out of earshot. How could families quarrel over trivia when the country was in such danger?

  Her recent visit to London to see Gerald off into the unknown after what was obviously embarkation leave gave Plum a good idea what London was going through. There were raids every night and total devastation in some parts of the town. It had been a bittersweet reunion: going to parties held in smoky basement flats, trying to get last-minute tickets for a show, spending the night in a public shelter when they were caught in a raid, and a twelve-hour journey back on the train. She felt so guilty to be living so peacefully out in the sticks away from such terrors. Their parting had been rushed and fraught and very public.

  Gerald listened to all her news of the hostel and her new job politely.

  ‘I must tell you what Peggy said to me the other day,’ she prattled on, hoping to amuse him. ‘We were running the vacuum cleaner over the drugget in the Vic. Peggy Bickerstaffe, the little pug-faced one who steals biscuits when no one is looking, was supposed to be helping. She just stood there looking at it puzzled. “Am I one of them?” She pointed down to the machine.

  ‘“A Hoover?” I replied. “It’s a vacuum cleaner, dear.”’

  ‘“That’s right, miss, a vac…and we’re vaccies. We’re sent out all day picking up other people’s rubbish.” It brought me up sharpish, I tell you. You never know what goes on in the mind of a child, do you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know…’ Gerald replied, obviously not interested, but she wanted him to know what sort of children she was billeting.

  ‘Enid shocked me the other night too when we were making cocoa in the kitchen. She was talking to Nancy and Ruby bragging, almost. “At the last house I was in, I got sixpence for doing cartwheels. The old man used to give me extra if I did it wi’ no knickers on,” she sniggered.

  ‘“That’s enough,” I said, trying to change the subject. ‘No wonder that girl is boy mad. Makes me think what other things went on and she’s still only a child. What do you think?’

  Gerald shook his head. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

  They made love on that last night in the hope of conceiving another baby but somehow their very desperation spoiled it for her. She just couldn’t relax into it. Part of her was still smarting from his earlier betrayal and wondering if his affair was really over. Was he just humouring his wife to keep her sweet and still seeing Daisy behind her back? Did it suit him that she was stuck up north with his mother, out of sight? Was she just a glorified housekeeper? He knew she and Pleasance didn’t get on, but her own parents were dead.

  Loyalty would always keep her at her post. That was a given. She’d been raised to value service to others as the duty of anyone brought up in comfort, wealth and security. What she was doing for those unfortunate evacuee children was important. She just wished he would be more interested in his niece, Maddy

  There’d been just time before her return to trawl through the shops to find gifts for her charges. She had clothing coupons from the local authorities to spend on Greg and the Conleys. There were still materials hidden away in shops that could make winter dresses and trousers. She found toys for Sid and Gloria in Hamleys, and a present for Maddy that was a bit extravagant.

  If only Pleasance would spend more time with the girl and get to know her, Plum sighed, looking out of the sooty train, but she seemed to avoid the child. It was so unfair. In fact, Pleasance avoided all the evacuee children, claiming she was too busy doing her war work. Sometimes this consisted of little more than endless tea parties with ladies in smart hats bemoaning the lack of decent domestic servants while they knitted balaclavas and scarves. Their comfortable world was being turned upside down by this war and Mother was struggling to adjust to not having her usual creature comforts to hand: their car was doubling up for one of the town ambulances, the bedrooms were filled with aged relatives, and now Maddy had children traipsing up and down the stairs making a racket that got on her nerves. Her son’s visit was playing on her nerves too.

  How strange to meet a brother-and sister-in-law for the first time. Would Arthur remind her of Gerald or the photo of Julian in the drawing room? Gerald looked so dashing in his uniform with his thin moustache hovering above his upper lip like Robert Donat, the film star. If only he wasn’t so handsome.

  Men like him didn’t have to work to charm the girls, they just turned up, all tight trousers and teeth, and the doves fluttered in the cote around them. She should know–she’d felt the power of his charm beaming in her direction. Theirs had been a whirlwind romance. She’d come out in London and Yorkshire, done the round of debutante parties and balls, been thrown in the path of suitable partners, and Gerald had been the most handsome, persistent and debonair. The fact that she was an heiress of sorts with a good pedigree made his wooing all the more ardent, she realised with hindsight.

  The Templetons fought with King Charles, lost their lands under Cromwell and then got them back under Charles II. The estate near Richmond now belonged to her brother, Tim, but there was a generous settlement on her; not a fortune but enough to give her independence.

  She was young, naïve, taking all Gerald’s flattering attention at face value. He did love her in his own way, as a desired object, a pretty face and the future mother of his children. The miscarriages had changed all that, made her wary, and he’d lost patience and found other pretty faces. His mother was disappointed with them both for not coming up to scratch in the heir department. She didn’t like weakness.

  Was that why Pleasance distanced herself from Arthur’s child–because she was plain? Was it her roving eye and spectacles, her bony frame and gawky gait that disappointed her? Maddy was growing fast. All the newcomers had blossomed on fresh air, good food and quiet nights’ rest.

  It was just as she first thought, these children were like a kennel of puppies. She smiled thinking of roly-poly Peggy, who stuck to Enid Cartwright. Both were at the awkward age of fourteen, being too old for dolls and too young for boys.

  Little Mitch Brown was a serious chap, old for his years, with a hunted look on his face like a nervous terrier. Bryan Partridge was like one of those lolloping mongrels, willing, shambolic and always racing into mischief. Nancy Shadlow was so quiet she was like a timid sheepdog cowering in a barn yard, silent and wary. She cried for her mam and sisters, and wasn’t settling at all. Gloria was a bouncing red setter, impossible to keep still but she tagged along with Maddy, who had the knack of reining her in somehow.

  Gregory was the one coming on better than she’d dared hope, the pack leader, handsome in a rough sort of way and proud; a bit of an Alsatian about him. She’d already asked at Brigg’s Garage if he could be taken on as a mechanic.

  It was promising to be a great Christmas–if only Herr Hitler would giv
e his bombers a holiday over the festive season so everyone in the country could have a good night’s rest. Just a lull for a few days would do.

  As the towns turned into villages and hills, grey into green, Plum peered out at the beauty of her surroundings, relieved and guilty to be leaving the nightly raids behind. Her war work was of a different kind from that of the women in the city: trying to give these lost children some fun, hope, and discipline. She tried to temper Avis Blunt’s coldness with some warmth and understanding.

  Matron was always banging on about them needing a firm hand but Plum had always got more from her dogs with praise and titbits than with sticks and a beating. Too much yelling and punishment made them anxious and confused, and that set them off in the wrong direction. Surely the children needed firm consistency but also praise when they deserved it?

  They had hidden the latest food parcel sent as goodwill gifts from the American people. It was bulging with treats and clothing, and so precious. With all the terrible submarine attacks on convoys in the Atlantic, who knew when they might receive another one? There were more tough clothes for playing in, warm nighties, tins of syrup, lovely quilted bedspreads, milk powder, sweets and magazines. Christmas at the Old Vic was going to be fun.

  The hostel’s Christmas turkey was provided by the Town Council and the Christmas puddings were ready in Mrs Batty’s scullery. The children would lunch after morning service and the Belfields, along with their elderly houseguests, would dine later and dress for the occasion.

  Plum had used her own coupons to buy Maddy a turquoise velvet dress with long sleeves from Harrods. It was outrageously extravagant but she wanted the child to have something pretty to wear for her parents. Pleasance would have to go halves with her whether she liked this present or not. The other gift had been hidden at Brigg’s Garage for weeks, out of sight of peering eyes.