‘Your ticket money and bus fare. Be home on time.’
Maisie scooped up the money before Matron had the opportunity to take it back.
‘You know I always do my best to get home on time and never gallivant around town. I’m not a child anymore,’ she said.
Gloria gave another disgruntled huff and pointed to the door.
‘I repeat, be home on time. No alcohol or servicemen, understand?’
‘Yes, Matron.’ Maisie sighed out her reply. She resented the suggestion that she brought trouble to the orphanage’s door. Her behaviour was, and had always been, impeccable. She was wise enough not to antagonise Matron, as the woman found enough faults already in her good behaviour, so goodness knows what she’d do if Maisie did break the rules.
Walking to the bus stop later that evening, Maisie took in the shadows around her and longed for springtime when the world always looked brighter. Pretty flowers were now replaced by vegetables in most gardens, but many wildflowers still grew along the hedgerows. She preferred living semi-rural rather than the city, but always enjoyed the excitement of a visit to the cinema. Matron never allowed her to attend dances, but Maisie promised herself that the first time she was a free agent, she would dance the night away as often as she could.
As she stepped off the bus, she spotted her two friends, Charlie and Joyce, waiting for her outside the cinema and waved to them. She received a warm smile back from them both.
‘Hello, you two lovebirds, how are you both?’ Maisie gave them both a hug. ‘It’s been ages. Old Moaning Mason gave me the usual third degree about coming out, but I was going to break the rules this time anyway. Quick, let’s get inside where it’s warm.’
Maisie and Joyce linked arms and waited whilst Charlie bought their tickets.
Her friends were an odd-looking couple, Joyce short and petite with a thick thatch of jet-black hair which she styled into a quiff fringe that framed her olive-skinned face, against Charlie’s height, pale skin, and white-blond cropped style; prior to shaving his hair to fit under his ARP cap, he’d had a thick crown of blond curls. Charlie always made Maisie feel short, even though she was nearer five foot ten than five feet, like Joyce.
She envied Joyce, not for being the girlfriend of Charlie – he was more of a brother figure to Maisie than boyfriend material – but she envied her for even having a boyfriend. Maisie had never experienced that joy. Just the thought of sharing her hopes and dreams with someone who wanted the same, who wanted her in his life, lit a flame inside Maisie. She wanted to experience the secret hand touch in public, the snatched kiss and loving whispers in her ear as she’d witnessed so many others experiencing. She longed to dream with someone about the life they would lead together. Maisie didn’t have a clue where or when this desire would ever come into fruition. Stuck in a rut at Holly Bush certainly didn’t offer any opportunity for that. In the meantime, her dreams would have to be her companions.
‘Well, that was fun,’ Joyce said and giggled as they left the cinema together after the film.
‘It was marvellous. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in ages. Thank you both for inviting me along.’
Charlie stood between them and took Joyce’s hand.
‘How’s it going at the big house?’ he asked.
Maisie gave a soft sigh.
‘There’s a whisper about that the orphanage is closing down. Holly Bush is to be taken over for the war effort. I’ll have to leave.’
Joyce swung away from Charlie and grabbed Maisie into a firm embrace then stepped back.
‘That’s dreadful news. Oh, Maisie, you’ve lived there nearly your whole life. You’ve got nowhere to go. What will you do?’ she asked.
Charlie stood quietly. Maisie saw the smile leave his face and she felt guilty for ruining a pleasant evening.
‘Oh, I’ll be fine,’ she said, flipping her right hand in a dismissive wave. ‘I’ve got plans to enlist. I’ll have to do something. Probably as a nurse, using my skills with the children. Or I’ll find another orphanage or evacuee programme as a placement. Don’t be sad for me. It will be my opportunity to get on in life. No more being dictated to by a grumpy matron. And I’ll get to leave Holly Bush.’
Maisie wished her inner feelings were as sound as her words of bravado. She hated to admit out loud that she was scared of what her future looked like. Homeless and penniless: two words that churned over and over in her mind. She had a background of nothing and a future of the same. And if she did get to leave, would it be a better life or a repeat of the one she was so desperate to leave? Looking at Charlie, she knew she could confide in him but it wasn’t up to him to resolve her situation, it was her task alone. Maisie knew the closure of Holly Bush would mean she would have to take control of her own life and make her own decisions. The thought scared her as she was fully aware that there were people out there ready to take advantage of a naïve girl.
‘It’s for the best. Don’t worry about Maisie Reynolds. I bounce back, right? I’m a survivor.’
Charlie nodded and Joyce rubbed the top of Maisie’s arm in a reassuring way.
‘Whatever you do, you will do it well, Maisie. I do hope you don’t leave the area though; we’d miss you. Wouldn’t we, Charlie?’
Charlie gave another nod. His face still showed disappointment.
Maisie gave them both a beaming grin. ‘Let’s go. I’ve a bus to catch.’
After they’d said their goodbyes, Maisie watched the lovers walk away into the darkness. She spent the time waiting for her bus watching people leaving the cinema hand in hand, arm in arm, and sneaking kisses when they felt they were safe to do so. Soldiers, sailors, uniformed men and women, families, friends, all enjoying each other’s company. Another pang of envy washed over her, and she huddled deep into the collar of her coat. She was convinced her limited social life meant she’d never find a partner in life. Charlie and Joyce had met at a dance, and a couple of the women who worked at the orphanage had met their husbands at social functions held by the church. The desire for a family unit of her own overpowered her thoughts of a single life. She knew at eighteen that she’d not witnessed much of life outside the orphanage, but she’d read enough books to know she wanted a hero to ride in and whisk her away. Books were her escape; they were the place where she had learned that love could overcome cruelty, and Maisie wanted all the love she could find.
‘Excuse me ma’am. What time is the next bus to Aldershot?’ A soft voice cut into her thoughts.
Maisie turned to peer at a uniformed man outlined by a faint light from his cigarette. His accent wasn’t local. She doubted it was British, although she wondered if it was perhaps just a regional accent she’d not heard before.
‘It’s late. Ten minutes already. My feet are freezing.’
The moment she said the words about her feet, Maisie regretted them. Drawing attention to her thick woollen stockings was the last thing she wanted. They were plucked and had seen better days. The man stood beside her, not as tall as Charlie but still taller than her. She could see he was broader than Charlie and although not too close to her, he smelled pleasant – a hint of masculine soap, clean and fresh. His cigarette had a woody fragrance which blended with the damp night air and added to his attraction. She felt the urge to sidle closer, to benefit from the shelter of his body against the wind but remained rooted to her spot for fear of making a fool of herself. The man drew on his cigarette again, puffed out the smoke which spiralled into the night sky, and tugged the collar of his coat around his neck.
‘Time for me to walk it then. See you around.’
‘It’s a long way,’ Maisie said, in the hope he’d wait it out for the bus. ‘To Aldershot. A long walk. They’ve taken down the signposts to confuse the enemy. I take it you know the way?’
The man gave a slight laugh. ‘I do, thanks, and I’m used to hiking. I’ve got good boots on and capable legs,’ he said and slapped his thighs.
‘I could do with a pair of them – boots, not capable
legs. Not that I intend to walk home. I’m sure the last bus will be through soon. Be careful in the dark.’
Maisie saw the outline of his hand touch his cap. The farce of them chatting in the dark made her giggle.
‘Are you laughing at me, young lady?’
‘No. At myself. Telling a soldier to be careful in the dark. And who knows, I might not be so young,’ Maisie replied.
‘You were thoughtful, thanks. Goodnight Gran’ma. See you around.’
She saw his outlined arm sweep upwards into a salute. It frustrated Maisie that she couldn’t see his face. His voice was soothing and friendly and he sounded young.
The clip of his boots echoed into the night and Maisie turned her attention back to the delayed bus. With no one else waiting at the bus stop, she was beginning to suspect that the service had stopped running. She hesitated, debating whether to call out to the soldier to wait for her, to ask if she could walk with him part way. Her sensible side told her to get home sooner rather than later and to stop daydreaming about strangers.
With a sigh, she took herself off through the dark side streets back towards Holly Bush House, all the while thinking of the soldier and envying his boots the more her feet ached. Her shoes were sturdy and sensible – something she’d always hated – but now appreciated far more as she had another few miles to walk.
Slipping in and out of the treelined pathways across the common, a familiar wail ripped through the silence of the night. Maisie froze and listened. Sirens screamed out their warning, and unidentifiable outlines of people moved towards each other, forming a small crowd on the common ahead of her. Maisie turned full circle; there was nowhere to hide. Not a safe haven in sight. Male voices barked out instructions above the droning sounds of the approaching enemy planes and Maisie’s breath came thick and fast. What was she to do? They were closer than she’d anticipated and as the first of the bombs slammed their target with mighty force, Maisie’s body shuddered with fear. Inhaling until her head spun, Maisie decided to turn back to town and run to Charlie’s house from there, rather than walk any further. Disorientated by the blasts, she had no idea where the bombers were dropping their loads, though she could hear the defensive rat-a-tat sound of the local guns fighting back. Maisie started running. A plane screamed across the sky above her, low and menacing. Another revved its engine and was so low she felt the rush of wind as it skittered across the sky. White pellet-like flashes flicked where clouds had once been, and Maisie realised the sky had cleared, leaving them exposed. The German pilots were off-loading their unused bombs from an earlier raid, saving fuel for their return journey.
‘Go away! Drop in the ocean and die!’ Maisie screamed out as she ran faster. The pain in her calves and thighs told her she would have to find shelter and rest them a while. A stitch formed in her right side but she dared not stop running.
Another explosion brought her to her knees, and Maisie cursed the bus that had never arrived. She looked towards the night sky. It was now bright like daylight, alive with pilots twisting their planes in and out of the firing line, focused on gaining victory, determined to destroy the enemy.
Lying as flat as she could, Maisie waited for a break in the return fire. She crawled forward, dragging her bag alongside her. She was exposed – out in the open and in danger. A spray of bullets pounded the floor nearby and she let out a scream.
‘For Crissakes, there’s someone out there! A woman,’ a male voice shouted out to his companions in the distance.
‘Sounded like a girl,’ another called.
Maisie staggered to her feet and waved her arms. The lights from the ack-ack guns flickered around her and she yelled out, ‘Here! I’m over here!’
More bullets skimmed around her.
A floating sensation followed by waves of nausea caught Maisie unawares. Her legs lost strength and as she tried to compose herself, another round of enemy fire rebounded against what sounded like metal. She listened to the cacophony surrounding her and clamped her hands over her ears.
Eventually the lights receded and the sky activity calmed. Maisie lowered her hands. A bright orange glow highlighted the city and vast plumes of smoke hurtled towards the sky until Maisie could no longer see anything beyond the smoke. The group of men in the distance no longer called out to her. All she could hear were orders about helping the wounded and she knew their attention was no longer focused on the distant scream of a female. She was on her own. For the first time, the thought of returning to the orphanage seemed a welcome reprieve.
More large clouds of white-grey smoke billowed from the left side of the common and she pulled on her gasmask, the stench of rubber making her gag. Maisie’s thoughts flew to the remaining young children and babies of the orphanage. With her gone, the task of putting the babies in their protective chambers and persuading the little ones that Mickey Mouse on the side of their masks made them magical, would take much longer than normal. Norah would be rougher and harsher than ever before.
Suddenly, the ground shook and another loud explosion erupted a few yards away. Maisie could feel her body flying backwards but she could do nothing about it. She thudded to the floor, landing on her right hip. She sat up, and could make out the mound of her bag several feet away, but she was completely disorientated. She pulled off her mask and wiped away the beads of sweat underneath.
Once she caught her breath, she started her journey again. This time she left off her mask. She needed to take deeper breaths and the mask hindered her attempts as she ran. Moving fast towards the edge of the common, she maintained a steady pace, avoiding the open areas.
The freezing temperature burned her lungs which made walking hard and a cold wind made the skin sore around her lips. The natural instinct to lick them was instantly regretted. She dried them with the cuff of her sleeve, wincing at the pain.
The closer she got to the residential side of the common, the more she became aware of the commotion that lay ahead.
Where the bombs had fallen in the distance, they’d started many fires and Maisie found herself yearning for the heat from the flames they produced. Her thoughts overrode the guilt she felt for thinking that deadly flames could, or would, be a comfort.
‘Pull yourself together, Maisie Reynolds, you wicked, wicked girl.’
She sat on a wall to rest her legs, rubbing at her bruises with shaking hands. She was just debating which route to take back to Holly Bush when a voice disturbed her concentration. ‘Maisie? Is that you?’
Maisie turned her head towards Charlie who rushed towards her, flicking his flashlight on and off as he tried to find his way towards her in the dark. She noticed he was no longer dressed in his tweed suit but in the uniform of the Auxiliary Fire Service. He smiled down at her.
‘I’m fine, Charlie. Not hurt. Just resting. Catching my breath. I can’t stop shaking.’
‘Resting? Lucky you. I’m on my knees.’
‘Really? I’d hate to see you when you’re standing,’ Maisie quipped. ‘Joyce get home safely?’
Charlie yawned and rubbed his eyes.
‘Yes. Just before this lot fell. How come you’re out walking? No bus?’
‘Last one must have been the eight o’clock,’ Maisie said.
‘I had to rush home and change. If I’d know I could have— Down! Get down!’ he yelled and pulled Maisie to the ground.
A burst of bomb blasts shook the ground and Charlie grabbed her hand and held it until the attack subsided.
‘Get yourself gone, Charlie. I’ll be fine. Don’t let me stop you going home to rest,’ she said, her words rushed and her voice full of concern.
‘Rest? Can’t go until I’ve been down there.’ He pointed towards the city where the flames licked even higher. ‘Buggers dropped on the airplane factory. They’ve missed it the past few nights but got a couple home tonight. Firefighting has to be done. You heading back to Holly Bush? I’d take you, but …’ Charlie gave a fleeting glance towards the city again.
Despite the duty tha
t drew him away, Maisie sensed his friendship, his concern. They’d been friends since school when he’d saved her from a teasing gang of children. Several of their old school friends now worked in the factories and her heart gave a jerk-flip of anxiety.
‘I’m holding you up. I’m heading back to the children. They need me. You’ve an important job to do. I’ll be fine, honestly.’
Maisie nudged him forward.
‘You treat those little ones as if they’re your own. Lucky to have you, they are. It looks as if it’s getting worse down there. Stay safe, Maisie. If you don’t think you’ll make it home, head for Glebe Court, over there.’ He pointed across the common. ‘It’s where the public shelter is and much safer than here. Head down that road, past the large shed, see it?’ He pointed out to his right. ‘Highfield Lane. But be safe, not foolish. See you soon.’ Charlie bent and gave her a peck of a kiss on the cheek. ‘Take care, and get home safe.’
‘Will do, and you do the same. Night, Charlie.’
Maisie heard him whistle his way down the road and his tune remained with her in the darkness. Ahead of him, the flames flickered higher and the smoke grew thicker and darker. Maisie sent a small prayer to the sky asking for safety for the whole of Hampshire, and beyond. She then switched her thoughts to her own predicament as she made her way home. The war had hindered so many things, destroyed so many lives. Was it about time she settled for what she had – a roof over her head and food to eat? Or was it time to find out more about how she could help the war effort? The children in the home had others to help them, and Matron only used her as an extra pair of hands. Maisie glanced around and wondered about those caught in the bombings. Who helped them? How could she find out about supporting the victims of the raids?
Another rain of bullets and bombs fell and a frightened Maisie upped her pace. Adrenalin raced through her body as she ran, her mind focused on survival as she made it to the quieter area of the allotments just behind the orphanage. With a determined stride to safety, Maisie told herself there were more urgent things to think about than how she could escape the city and follow her daydreams. She needed to find a way of being useful instead of used. She made up her mind to start the very next day.
The Forgotten Orphan: The heartbreaking and gripping World War 2 historical novel Page 2
