Orphans of War

by Leah Fleming

  Everyone was doing their best to be cheerful and festive, but the shops were struggling to keep up with demand. All the factories were up to speed and turned to war production: curtain mills turned into shirt factories, woollen mills turning out uniform cloth, silk mills churning out parachute silk, engineering works pumping out machine tools and spares for aircraft and tanks.

  The streets of Scarperton were filled with older men and women with baskets, nipping out in their lunch break to catch up on shopping. The farms were full of land girls. Plum wondered what it was doing to the babies and children, not having fathers around the house and mothers on shift work.

  Then she smiled, thinking of her own childhood, when Nanny dressed her to take tea with Mummy and Daddy, if he was home. Sometimes she hardly saw him for weeks. Mummy was a lovely creature who popped into the nursery to say good night, dressed in chiffon and smelling of vanilla perfume. They were loving strangers to her in some ways.

  Everyone had to make sacrifices now but she yearned to have a child of her own to cherish, one who would not be farmed out to servants all day. Without Gerald close by it was an impossible dream. War was causing such disruption even in this sleepy market town.

  All the schoolmasters were called up for service and older staff brought out of retirement, married women were also back in the classroom. Farmhands, postmen and shopkeepers had all but disappeared. It reminded Plum of after the Great War when she was young and so many of her friends had daddies killed in the war. On market days it seemed as if the whole town was full of women, young boys and farmers, who had a reserved occupation. There were a few soldiers billeted around the streets but no army camps nearby.

  She hoped that Arthur and Dolly would arrive back in time for Christmas. They were due to dock in Liverpool at the end of next week, if all went well. No wonder Maddy was excited and Pleasance was going around with a look on her face like her corns were pinching her.

  ‘What have you got against Dolly?’ Plum asked one night, after her return from London.

  Maddy was in bed and the oldies were snoozing by the fire with their cocoa. Pleasance had looked down her specs at Plum.

  ‘It’s a matter of standards. Those sorts of girls…well, we all know what showgirls are like…actresses. I never expected a son of mine to get mixed up with one of them,’ she sighed.

  ‘But Dolly was singing to wounded troops when they met,’ Plum replied.

  ‘On the make, dear, just looking out for someone to be her meal ticket…It was all about the S word,’ she whispered back.

  ‘The what?’ Plum could hardly believe what she was hearing.

  ‘You know perfectly well what I’m getting at. Sex,’ Pleasance mouthed in disgust. ‘It was just sex with those two!’

  ‘And so it should be at that age, Mother. Dolly’s a lovely-looking woman. I’ve seen posters of her.’

  ‘So why did they produce such an ugly duckling? I’m not even sure if Madeleine is Arthur’s…I did warn him he was making a mistake.’

  ‘Oh, enough! That’s not very Christian. How can you say such a wicked thing when they’ve been out giving their services to the troops? Arthur sounds like the nicest of the brothers.’ How dare Mother insinuate such a cruel thing about Dolly!

  ‘I’m surprised at you. Gerald is the handsomest of all my boys,’ Pleasance preened, looking up from her book.

  Plum plonked herself down on the sofa, picked up her knitting. It was time for some home truths. ‘I think this family must have a fascination for the stage. I know Gerald has. He’s kept a mistress in London for years. In fact, he was seeing her before we were married. He says he’s finished with her but I’m not so sure. If you want to criticise anyone, tear your own pretty boy off a strip, not Arthur. He’s the only one with a happy marriage.’ That would pop her balloon.

  ‘Prunella, what’s got into you? Don’t be so mean. Gerry can’t defend himself. Men are like that sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything. You have to make allowances for their urges. They don’t marry girls like that–not in my day, they didn’t.’

  ‘Didn’t you have any urges then?’ Plum paused, unimpressed by her argument.

  ‘No I did not. I did my duty and gave him three sons. In return he gave me respect and didn’t trouble me much after that. What Harry did in his spare time, I never asked, but Arthur wouldn’t leave well alone; he had to go and marry the girl against our wishes. I blame him for Harry’s death–letting the family down, going on the stage, refusing to go into the business with not even a grandson to inherit. Gerald was too young to take over. He’s just a man being a man. It’s a pity there’s no child. You wouldn’t talk so freely then.’

  ‘It’s not for want of trying.’ Plum blushed with embarrassment. ‘You missed out, not enjoying the physical side of marriage. It can be fun.’

  ‘So much fun that my son seeks comforts elsewhere? Our sort of women are not bred for such…messiness. Next thing you’ll be saying we should demand to be pleasured and equals like those damned Suffragettes making fools of themselves. There are women paid to give those sorts of services…’

  Pleasance could be so cruel. ‘And what wretched lives some of them lead,’ Plum snapped back. ‘I’m glad I’ve got the vote and have some say in things. Anyway, what has all this got to do with Dolly and Arthur? I just want them to be made welcome for Maddy’s sake.’

  ‘You’re getting too fond of that child, spoiling her. She’s not our responsibility now. We’ve done our duty.’ There was no budging Pleasance. No use carping at her.

  ‘All I’m asking you is not to hold up Gerald and me as paragons of virtue. This last affair almost came to a divorce, but we’ve talked it through and it’s sorted so you can sleep easy; end of subject. And who wouldn’t be fond of Maddy? She’s your only grandchild. Once that eye is realigned I bet our duckling will turn into a swan.’

  ‘Oh, don’t talk poppycock. I’ve never seen a plainer child. Now, if it was Gloria…she’s got spark and those green eyes, she’ll go far,’ said Pleasance. ‘Pass me my sherry.’

  ‘Do you think so? There’s something about her that worries me. I can’t pin it down. Madge Batty says she’s forever prancing in front of the mirror. Now there’s someone who ought to be on the stage…Don’t forget the school Nativity play on Monday. We’ll have to support our evacuees.’

  ‘Must we? The pews are so hard in the church.’

  ‘Come on, Sowerthwaite expects its most prominent citizen to do her duty.’ Plum smiled sweetly as she handed Pleasance the glass.

  ‘I’ve done my duty sending my sons to war, opening my home to refugees and evacuees and putting up with disruption at my time of life. But listening to Juniors caterwauling on the stage is not my idea of a night out,’ Pleasance snapped back.

  ‘Bah humbug!’ laughed Plum, her tension released. ‘Who needs Dickens when Scrooge is alive and well in Brooklyn Hall?’

  ‘Don’t be facetious, it doesn’t become you…making fun of a poor widow in her sorrows. Christmas is nothing without your family around you,’ Pleasance sighed, sipping her sherry as she gazed into the log fire. ‘Ugh! Is this the best we’ve got? Algie’s been at the decanter again.’

  ‘Hark at you. You’ve got a house full of relatives, a son and daughter on their way home, a hostel full of abandoned children and a granddaughter…Just thank God in His Mercy you have the means to give them all a wonderful time…The joy is in the giving.’

  ‘Just leave the sermons to the vicar, Prunella,’ came the sharp reply.

  It was nearly Christmas and still no news of Mummy and Daddy. Maddy was so excited, waiting to hear their voices. Grandma didn’t believe in having a phone at the hall but the Old Vic now had one for emergencies and Aunt Plum promised to let her know as soon as the trunk call came through.

  ‘Can I go to the station to meet them with Mr Batty?’ Maddy pleaded.

  ‘Of course, but we must expect delays with the snow,’ Aunt Plum smiled. She was putting the finishing touches to the playro
om decorations, with Mitch and Bryan standing on the table fixing up paper bells.

  They were going carol singing round Sowerthwaite with the church choir and it was snowing hard. The village looked just like a Christmas card, full of prewar glitter.

  Peggy was sulking because her mother wasn’t coming until Boxing Day. There was a special train for evacuee families to come out from Hull and Leeds. Enid had begged to go to the soldiers’ dance but Matron said she was too young, so she swore at her and was up in the attic bedroom having a screaming match, calling down the stairs the worst swear words she could muster.

  Maddy was trying not to worry about Uncle Algie’s latest news bulletin from the wireless. ‘Convoys under attack. That means no bananas for tea,’ he joked.

  Maddy had not seen a banana or an orange for years, not since she was at St Hilda’s. She thought of those poor sailors rowing open lifeboats in stormy seas. Thank goodness Mummy and Daddy weren’t crossing the Atlantic.

  She’d helped Aunt Plum prepare their room, air the bed with a stone hot-water bottle, put on crisp sheets and a beautiful silk counterpane. They filled a vase full of pink viburnum from the garden that smelled so sweet. The fire was ready to be lit in the grate. The bedroom smelled of polish and soot. She just couldn’t wait.

  Then she thought of their last Christmas together with Uncle George and Granny Mills behind the bar at The Feathers, Mummy singing ‘There’ll Always Be an England’ to the airmen, and everyone cheering. It had been such fun being all together…

  Suddenly she felt sick and sad and shaky. Nothing would be the same ever again. Last year she’d been safe–now she’d come to live with strangers. Her eye had been straightened when she was seven but now it had gone all wonky again. The patching wasn’t working and sometimes she got two shapes, not one, before her eyes. Would they be disappointed like Grandma when they saw her, plain Jane that she was?

  Tears rolled down her face; from deep inside great sobs poured out of her. Grandma came to see what the noise was and stared down at her.

  ‘What’s up now, child? What’s brought this on?’ She patted her on the shoulder like a pet dog.

  ‘They won’t come…they won’t come…I know it,’ Maddy spluttered.

  ‘Now how did you come up with such an idea? Of course they’ll come. They’re on their way,’ Grandma argued, but Maddy was too upset to guard her tongue.

  ‘But you don’t like my mummy and they’ll go away again and never come back,’ she blurted.

  ‘Here, blow your nose,’ came the reply. ‘Now who’s been telling you silly tales? How can I dislike her? I’ve never met her. You’re too young to understand grownup affairs. We’ll have a perfectly pleasant celebration, so stop all this silliness, dry your eyes and go to the kitchen for a biscuit.’

  ‘I don’t want a biscuit, I want Panda,’ Maddy sniffed. ‘I just want my mummy and daddy to come home.’ She felt foolish and awkward now. She’d poured out all her fears and Grandma didn’t understand. How could she? She’d not even been to her sparents’ wedding.

  ‘You’re a big girl for cuddling toys, Madeleine.’

  ‘I want Panda and Aunt Plum,’ she argued, pushing past her grandma.

  ‘Oh, please yourself, but stop snivelling and pull yourself together. Crying gets you nowhere. I was only trying to help,’ said Grandma, turning towards her, looking hurt, but Maddy was off down the stairs in search of her beloved black and white companion.

  Panda heard all her troubles and never answered back.

  It snowed hard again overnight, drifting across the lanes into banks of snow, covering the railways lines with ice. Everyone’s pre-Christmas travel plans would be disrupted with this snowfall, Plum sighed. Sowerthwaite had tucked itself in for the duration, used to bad winters and being cut off for days. The school was closed for the holidays, the food bought in and the children in the hostel were trying to be good, itching to be out on tin trays and sleds down the sledge runs.

  Matron was huffing and puffing about the extra work, frustrated that her leave to be with her sister near Coventry might be cancelled. The news from the city was bad and she was worried by no word from Dora that she was safe.

  ‘I’ll have to go and see for myself, Mrs Belfield,’ she insisted, and headed off into the snow to catch the first available train south.

  Gerald sent a cryptic note from somewhere hot and dusty, but there had still been no word from Arthur and Dolly. That was only to be expected due to the weather conditions and delays. Everything was in place for their arrival and for the children to have a party at the Hall on Boxing Day. The excitement was mounting and once chores were done they were out on the hills having a great time.

  Tonight was the Christmas Nativity play and they were all taking part except Greg, who was helping stack chairs at the back of the church. His voice was well and truly broken and he growled like a bear so that got him out of the fancy-dress parade.

  Mrs Batty had warned them that Billy Mellor’s donkey was brought out of its shed to do its annual turn parading down the aisle on its way to Bethlehem, no doubt leaving its annual deposit, which the verger would sweep up for his roses before it gassed the congregation. Hitler might do his worst but the donkey would do its duty on cue. Enid, Peggy, Nancy and Gloria were all kitted out as angelic hosts with wire halos on bands round their heads.

  ‘I look daft in this costume,’ Enid moaned. ‘I’m too old for dressing up. Look, there’s Alf and his mates.’ She pointed out the line of soldiers in the back pew, sticking out her tiny breast buds in a silly pose.

  ‘You’re too young to be bothering about them,’ Maddy said, but Enid ignored her, turning to Peggy with a loud voice. ‘No one would look at her twice. She’s only jealous.’

  ‘No she’s not.’ Gloria stepped in to defend her friend. ‘You’re common.’

  ‘Hark at the kettle calling the pot black, Conley! Takes one to know one!’ Peggy added her pennyworth.

  ‘Shurrup, fat face!’ Gloria replied. The three angels jostled and nudged each other, knocking Nancy into the stone pillar until Maddy stepped in.

  ‘Shush! You’re in church. The play will be starting soon. It’s too important an evening for quarrelling. Thanks for sticking up for me, Gloria,’ Maddy whispered. ‘But we don’t need to bother with anything they say, do we?’

  ‘Ooh, listen to Miss Hoity-Toity,’ Enid giggled, and turned her attention back to the audience.

  Maddy took her place in the choir, hidden behind the chancel screen. Everything shimmered in the candlelight. The church windows were boarded up in case any light shone through. How comforting that blitz and bombers had not stopped the Christmas festivities. How confusing that in Germany they would have their own carols and candles, all of them, allies and enemies, praying to the same God. It didn’t make any sense.

  When they all returned to the Vic and the children were in bed on pain of being given a sack of coal by Father Christmas for being naughty, there were still stockings to fill and parcels to wrap for tomorrow night. At least being busy there was no time to worry about Gerald. The Nativity had gone well and for once the donkey did his dump in the churchyard, not the aisle. The children had behaved impeccably and everyone was saying what a credit the Brooklyn children were to the Old Vic. She had to admit they played their parts on cue. Gloria sang out like a bell and Mitchell read his lesson like a trooper. There was hot fruit cordial in the church hall and spiced buns flavoured with home-made mincemeat that were wolfed down in seconds. The vicar gave a vote of thanks. Pleasance had made an effort, wearing her thick fur coat, Algie and Julia alongside, so the Hall was well represented. Poor Miss Blunt was stuck somewhere between here and Coventry and unlikely to return. It was turning out to be a good Christmas after all.

  Plum’d enjoyed all the children’s preparations, making sure they made presents for each other, all the secrets and surprises, letters and cards home, and the parcels arriving for some of the children who lived far away.

  Without childr
en the Brooklyn Christmas was a stodgy affair of much wine and little cheer, sherry gatherings and small talk and gossip, church and long walks. This was going to be a real Dingley Dell festival at the Brooklyn: the excitement of parcels unwrapped, extra food rations and treats, decorations in every room and fires lit, a great tree cut down and decorated, and above all the chatter of little voices singing carols. All they were waiting for was Dolly and Arthur’s arrival by train to complete the picture.

  Pleasance was fooling no one by pretending it was all a waste of time and expense, for even she had given a hand wrapping up parcels and sending cards this year. No one could say Sowerthwaite didn’t look beautiful in the snow, icicles spiking down the rooftops.

  Lost in these thoughts, Plum didn’t hear the bell ring.

  ‘Mrs Belfield! Phone!’

  Plum raced over to the hall shelf. ‘Sow’thwaite 157,’ she smiled. At last! What perfect timing! ‘It’ll be Maddy’s parents,’ she yelled to Mrs Batty, who was preparing the morning’s vegetables in the kitchen. She smiled at her ruffled reflection in the mirror.

  Then her expression went from grin to grimace in two seconds, her mouth tightening. She slumped on to the hall chair in a daze. ‘When…? How…? I see…Yes, Yes…I see…Thank you for letting us know…Is there any hope?…I see…Yes…It is dreadful…’ She slammed the phone down and sat winded. Some disembodied voice had just shattered hopes of a cheerful Christmas. Mrs Batty was hovering, curious.

  ‘What is it, Mrs Belfield? Not bad news? Not Master Gerald? You’ve gone white,’ she said.

  ‘No, it’s not him. I’m afraid it’s Maddy’s parents. Their ship was overdue, reports are coming in that it went down en route home in the Atlantic, somewhere off the coast of Ireland…enemy fire. They’re not among the survivors…Oh dear God, what am I going to tell the poor child? It’s almost Christmas Eve!’

  6

  ‘Mrs Plum, was I good in the show? Do you think Father Christmas’ll know where me and Sid live?’ whispered Gloria as she and Maddy skidded along the ice on the lane home from church, with little Sid and Mrs Batty, past the tall trees, their branches arching with snow. ‘He won’t know we left Elijah Street and if there’s no one there, somebody’s sure to nick the presents if he leaves ’em on the doorstep…Mrs Plum?’