Smoke spiralled from the dock area. The closer Maisie got to the buildings where Norah’s husband lived, the more obvious it was that the bombers attacking had found more than one target. Flames and smoke were the main feature in several piles of rubble.
Norah’s home was untouched, but others around it weren’t so lucky. Doubting anyone would be home, but determined to resolve the situation regarding her birth certificate and official status, Maisie lifted the brass lion-head knocker, and gave a hefty rat-a-tat. She went over in her mind what she was going to say. Norah’s husband wasn’t the most patient of men and she didn’t want to spend too long in his company – just enough to find out if Norah had ever spoken to him about Maisie’s past. She heard footsteps clip along the hallway and the door creaked open.
‘Maisie. What are you doing here?’ Norah’s husband stared at her. His unshaven face held no trace of a smile.
‘I need to ask you if Norah ever spoke about me … about me and my brother Jack?’
Fred Bately rubbed his hand across his chin.
‘Only that you were a lazy kid, a good-for-nothing. You know how often kind words fell from her mouth. She always was a miserable cow.’
Shocked by his words, Maisie didn’t hesitate to nod in agreement. At last, someone else affected by Norah’s spiteful nature.
‘I can’t remember that she said anything about you, not as an individual, like, just moaned on about her job and the kids. She did say that Matron was a sly one, and she wished she knew all the secrets the woman kept about some of the adoptions. Maybe she had a secret story about you. Are you some rich bugger’s kid?’
Maisie, partially regretting asking and yet intrigued by his mention of secrets, pushed him for more.
‘So, did Norah hint that she’d ever found anything out, that she had a hold over Gloria for something?’
Fred shook his head and yawned. Maisie knew her time asking questions was up.
‘I’m sorry to have bothered you, Fred. Take care.’
‘Sorry I couldn’t help you more. Wait. She did hold onto Matron’s things when the old girl died. I kept telling her to chuck them out, but she stuffed them in the shed. I’d forgotten about them. Old papers, I think she said. I’ll fetch them. You stay here. Maybe you’ll find something useful in one.’
A few minutes later, Fred appeared with two dusty bags. ‘They’ll need a brush off. I’ll fetch a rag. They’re not heavy so you can probably manage them home. I just hope they’re useful. I don’t want them. Not sure why Norah kept them. Hang on.’ Fred returned with the rag and Maisie brushed off the worst of the mess.
‘Thanks Fred. If I’m the daughter of a rich man, I’ll let you know!’ she said and picked up the bags.
‘You take care. You ain’t nothing like she said, you know. You’re a good one, I can tell,’ Fred called after her, and Maisie turned and gave him a bright smile. His life with Norah had been one she realised she could relate to, and the man had probably suffered just as she had.
Back in the cottage, she lifted piles of papers from the bags and eventually unearthed a file with her name printed across the front. She placed the file onto her small table, unable to open it for fear it might be empty of what she needed so desperately to read. Remembering that Captain Bloom was due to take her usual afternoon walk around the grounds at the exact time of three in the afternoon, she snatched up the file and stood at the end of her small garden waiting for the woman to pass by her gate.
When she spotted her turning the corner, Maisie called her over and showed her the file, explaining how she’d come across it. She invited the captain to come inside.
‘I’m not sure why Matron or Norah kept it in her personal belongings, and it has me curious. Why would someone steal a child’s file? Because that’s what she’s done … it’s not hers to keep. I thought I’d got the only one, but thanks to Norah taking her things, here’s another. The only thing is, I’m too scared to look. Will you do the honours?’
Maisie placed the file on the table and waited with bated breath for her to open it, and maybe discover more of Maisie’s past.
‘There’s also an envelope with my initials on it and I can’t bear to open that either. Silly, I know,’ Maisie said.
Captain Bloom said nothing. She opened the file and shook her head. ‘There’s nothing here to do with you, just adoption papers with the orphanage address filled in the appropriate boxes. She picked up the envelope and slit it open. She pulled out the contents and laid out some small pieces of paper, a few folded sheets and a faded photograph.
‘It appears to be a collection of notes from someone named Juliana,’ Captain Bloom said.
‘J,’ said Maisie. ‘J is my middle initial. It’s on the file I’ve got, too. Do you think my middle name is Juliana? Maisie Juliana Reynolds?’
The captain picked up another piece of paper.
‘This says James.’
A hitch of excitement caught in Maisie’s throat. Her hands flew to her mouth then she reached out for the paper.
‘James? Do you think it’s my father?’
Captain Bloom picked up the photograph. It was a woman, thin and wiry, and not smiling at the camera. She held a baby in her arms. Beside her there was a pram.
From her pocket, the captain pulled out a small magnifying glass.
‘Handy for splinters,’ she said when Maisie raised an eyebrow.
Peering through the glass, she moved the photograph around.
‘If I’m not mistaken, there’s another baby in the pram. Look.’ She handed the magnifying glass to Maisie, but Maisie shook her head.
‘I can see them without it and you’re right! There’s a little hand and a foot peeking out from underneath the blanket. Are they twins, do you think?’ Maisie asked, her words high-pitched with excitement.
‘Hard to tell, but logic suggests it is a picture of you and your brother. James is the formal version of Jack,’ the captain said and tapped the photograph. ‘What we do need is your birth certificate and that, I’m afraid, isn’t in here. For a file with several years’ worth of recording a child’s life, there’s very little written down, except how badly behaved you were. And that I find hard to believe.’
She gave Maisie a brief smile, but Maisie couldn’t muster one up in return.
‘Cheer up. I will help you apply for your birth certificate. Keep the rest of the things, but I don’t think you’ll get very far with so little information.’
Maisie gathered up the pieces of paper, placed them into the envelope, and pushed the file into the dresser drawer. She propped the photograph on the mantlepiece.
‘I’ll leave it there. If it was in my file, it has something to do with me. I don’t own a photograph of anyone, so I’ll pretend it’s my mother until I find out the truth.’
CHAPTER 13
Maisie stared at a letter handed to her by Pat. She turned it over and over, stroked a finger across the envelope, and studied the stamp.
‘Well, aren’t you going to open it, my lovely?’ Pat’s soft voice encouraged.
‘It’s the first letter I’ve received since I was twelve,’ Maisie whispered.
‘Really?’
Maisie shrugged one shoulder. ‘My friend Simon wrote once, but that was it. I don’t know anyone else to write to me – except Harry Cameron … Cam … he’s a Canadian soldier who promised to write, and I think he’s actually done it,’ Maisie said as she waggled the letter in the air.
‘Ah, the soldier you kissed at the party. We saw you,’ Pat giggled as Maisie threw her an embarrassed look. ‘I’m off to pack. I’ll leave you to it. When I get to my new posting, I’ll write to you Maisie. I’ll write so often you’ll be fed up of receiving letters!’
Pat laughed again and gave Maisie an affectionate peck on the cheek. Ever since the night of the shelter, and the captain’s encouragement of the nurses to befriend Maisie, Pat had kept a friendly eye on her.
Once Pat had left to pack, Maisie made use of a comfortable
chair in the main sitting room. Two of the four new patients were able to eat in the dining room – or NAAFI quarters, as the captain liked to call it – and the other two were sleeping on the far side of the room, their snores competing with each other to be the loudest.
Maisie opened the envelope with care and slid out the letter.
Somewhere in England
April 5th 1941
Dear Maisie from the orphanage,
Forgive the opening, I couldn’t resist. As promised, I’m writing to you, but cannot tell you much about what is going on around me.
The birds are singing outside and the grassy banks with spring flowers are far more welcome than the damp air we’ve had over recent weeks.
I heard Southampton has taken quite a bashing again from enemy planes. My hope is that all the folks I met while stationed there are safe.
What I wouldn’t give for a smoked meat sandwich and a butter tart from my mother’s pantry today. Our ration truck failed to get through, thanks to fires and bombed roads. We’re told we might have to stretch one day’s food over three days. The guys are not happy, as you can imagine.
Not sure what you want from a letter, from a virtual stranger who stole a kiss, so I will share a little more about myself and my home.
We have a dog called Bob, and an overflowing henhouse. My parents work hard and although we suffered during the Great Depression, Pops found a way to keep his engineering business afloat. Mom baked bread and sold it at the market. She gained a good reputation and funded us through school.
Aside from sailing, one of my hobbies is skiing, and the other is birdwatching. I find peace in seeing an eagle soar to the tip of a redwood tree and sit majestically overseeing the land below. It’s a sensation I can relate to – the soaring, not the perching on a tree. I am not built for perching, nor do I have the grace and balance of a bald-headed eagle.
I love to carve wood. The smell of a sliced pine is nothing that can be described on paper. Maybe you will get the opportunity to smell one and understand what I’m trying to express.
If you want to reply to this letter, give it to Charlie; he’s trustworthy and has access to the garrison. They’ll get it posted on to me. It will be read before it arrives, so make sure no sensitive information is passed along.
Your friend, Cam
(Harry Cameron)
Maisie folded the letter and placed it back into its envelope. She slid it into her pocket and gave a satisfied smile. Cam had remembered to write; she hadn’t put him off with her silly antics after the dance. As she moved around the building changing towels and linen, she tried to compose a letter in her head. By the time evening fell, Maisie had formed a draft letter, and sat down in her cottage to write a reply.
Holly Bush House
April 20th 1941
Dear Cam,
Many thanks for writing to me. It was quite something to receive a letter along with the other people here, and a pleasant surprise.
You are quite right; Southampton has taken a beating. The docks, a church, the factories, all burned and badly damaged.
I’m afraid this will be short as my life is simple. I’ve nothing to share about my background except that I was left here when I was four. I came here with my twin, but he was adopted, and I haven’t had any news about him since. I now think my middle name is Juliana as I found a file hinting as much. Sadly, I have no birth certificate, and the captain in charge here is going to look into it on my behalf.
We have a few patients at Holly Bush House. The poor men are nervous wrecks and have nightmares. One thinks he’s in charge and shouts out orders for us to run for cover and hide. He scares me witless when he does, but we have to duck behind the sofa until he’s satisfied. I should imagine he was a fine protector of his men on the frontline.
The nurses are kind and I’ll miss them when they’re shipped off. We are to get civilian support from the Voluntary Aid Detachment as their replacement. It gets a little confusing with all the comings and goings, but I’m reassured that this will be the last of the changes for the house. I don’t mind too much as it adds variety to my life; it’s no longer boring, that’s for sure!
There is great excitement here as one of the nurses is getting married. I’m not certain I’d take the risk. Who wants to get married with this war raging around us? I’d be frightened my loved one wouldn’t return. I’m worried about you and we’ve only just become friends.
I love the little cottage the captain allocated to me when she reorganised the placements. I’m not so annoyed with her now. I’ve a garden area, and I see that you and I have something in common. I’ve got a henhouse with four chickens and a cockerel. They scrap around and keep me in eggs. I got them when one of the nurses suggested that with such large grounds, we should turn part of it over for vegetables, and have a few hens. My friend Charlie’s uncle keeps chickens, and I think Charlie got a little carried away when he arrived with a truck load of manure, twenty hens, and a cockerel. The captain insisted we cook four, I took on five, and the others are penned in the new victory garden. I’ve never had pets before and they give me someone to talk to when the others are busy. I must sound crazy, talking to chickens. Crazy Maisie. I named one Cam in honour of my new Canadian friend who stole a kiss. I bet that will make you smile.
Thanks to you, I’ve started writing poetry to pass the time in the evening – the ones when we’re not shivering in the damp shelter or on duty. I can’t write in the shelter; the light is bad and the others chatter away. It’s distracting which is annoying as we spend hours in there until the German planes finish trying to destroy us.
It’s time now to go and play a game of some description with a couple of patients. I like to get involved when I’m not working. It gives the nurses a break and I feel like I am doing something worthwhile.
Stay safe and my very best wishes,
Maisie
PS: I’ve included my first poem. I can share it with you as you are not here to see me blush. And as you made me blush with your kiss, I think it’s acceptable to share my words.
Regardless by Maisie Reynolds
They drop the bombs, regardless –
Regardless of where they fall.
They aim and fire, determined –
Determined to destroy us all.
We won’t give in, regardless –
Regardless of where we fall.
We aim and fire, determined –
Determined to destroy them all.
With each blasting sound I hear,
Or when the sounds of violence cease,
Regardless of the outcome,
I pray for tomorrow’s peace.
Handing the letter over to Charlie made her feel a little self-conscious, but she resisted removing the poem, or asking for the letter back. She had to find the courage to open up her small world and embrace communication with new friends. In true style, Charlie teased her about writing to strange men and goaded her by saying he would steam it open before posting it, but he stopped when he noticed he’d gone too far.
‘I’m sorry, Maize. I’m a fool. Of course I’ll deliver it intact and I truly hope he replies. He seems like a decent chap and obviously makes you happy.’
Maisie nodded the affirmative. ‘He’s made me feel special, Charlie. I didn’t tell you but once he walked all the way here from the barracks just to see me. He said he was lost, but I don’t think he was, especially after he, well, you know … kissed me at the party. Am I imagining this and being foolish?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t walk miles out of my way for I girl I didn’t think much of, so I think it’s safe to say he’s keen,’ Charlie said.
‘Thanks Charlie, and thanks for taking the letter.’
‘Anytime. Take care and I’ll see you again soon. Keep writing those letters; he’ll appreciate them on a miserable day.’
Writing to Cam gave Maisie new courage, and that evening the enemy left them alone which meant that she sat in the comfort of her home compiling new p
oetry instead of crouching in the damp storeroom. Her mind relaxed and the words flowed. The sense of relief she felt when committing her feelings to paper and storing them in a pretty box one of the nurses had given her, helped Maisie release a small amount of pain and resentment from her past. She found a pretty pink ribbon and tied it around Cam’s letter. It filled her with hope, and she kept her fingers crossed for another.
CHAPTER 14
‘I’ve got you. Hush now.’
Maisie offered soothing words to a soldier who was hellbent on banging his skull against the wall. She flinched each time he bashed against her hand. This was not the way she’d planned on spending her nineteenth birthday.
It had started with a game of chess. One player shouted his annoyance and the young soldier’s head had jerked up from the game and suddenly he was calling for back-up and support. He insisted the enemy was out to get him. He screamed out loud, his voice filled with terror.
Maisie, who had been mid-discussion with a local volunteer about cleaning window ledges, ran to his aid the moment he yelled, bounded out of his chair, and dived under the table. Pushing her to one side, he leapt to his feet and ran blindly around the room, growing more and more agitated the faster he ran.
Instructing the wide-eyed volunteer to seek help and escort the other men from the room, one of whom had released his bladder as a result of the loud squeals coming from the distressed man, Maisie continued to try and pacify the poor soldier with soothing tones. It surprised her how much the men resembled the scared orphan children with which she had until now been more familiar. An instinct within her told her to comfort them in the same way. She spoke with a calm, reassuring voice.
By the time help arrived, Maisie was cradling him in her arms whilst he sobbed. He rocked to and fro, and she stroked his hair, whispering to him until his sobs subsided into gentle whimpering noises.
The Forgotten Orphan: The heartbreaking and gripping World War 2 historical novel Page 11
