The Foreign Office with its blacked-out windows was not at all the exciting place we had expected from its important-sounding name either. Everyone there seemed harried and disagreeable and we had to queue for hours.
When it finally came time for James and me to be inoculated, even Mummy looked cross. ‘Crying is quite out of the question,’ she warned. ‘The hospitals in London are filled to bursting with children – children a good bit younger than either of you, please note – with missing arms and legs and goodness only knows what else, and none of them are crying. Not a single one.’
In what seemed no time at all there came a morning when we were wakened in the pre-dawn by Mummy’s voice chirping, ‘Wake up, you lucky little sleepyheads! Today’s the day you set off to discover America. Just like Christopher Columbus!’
Oh, dear … I knew Mummy wanted us to be thrilled and if we couldn’t manage that to at least be good sports, but really, it was so awful having to pretend all the time that I said, ‘I think being a small child is the worst possible thing that can happen to anyone and I wish that stupid Christopher Columbus had stayed at home and learned to mind his own business.’
I finished my outburst, adding, ‘When I grow up I shall never go anywhere. I shall stay in my own little home always and only do things that make me happy.’
‘I quite understand,’ Mummy said, ‘but meantime there is a war on and you and James do have your train to catch to the coast. Now please hurry with your dressing or we’ll have Daddy ranting and raving all the way to London, God forbid.’
Of course, Daddy ranted and raved all the way to London anyway, it not being in his nature to pass up such a splendid opportunity. He ranted because it was still dark and raining hard and he couldn’t find the blacked-out train station. When he finally did, he began raving because there were so many men in uniform dashing about in the gloom with their kit bags looking for their trains, he couldn’t find ours.
He had just worked himself up to the most obscene words in his repertoire when a stocky, harried-looking woman in a uniform with a badge on the front of her hat planted herself in front of him and said, ‘For God’s sake, control yourself, sir, and follow me.’
She led us to a dreary, poorly lit room where many families such as ours were queuing up at a table at which more uniformed ladies were checking names and passports and tickets against lengthy lists.
Whilst tying luggage-label name tags to the top buttonholes of James’ and my coats, the harried-looking woman told us that we were to call her Escort. ‘I shan’t put up with any nonsense from either of you,’ she warned. ‘I am, after all, responsible for many other children besides yourselves. Just remember there is a war on.’
Turning to our parents she instructed them to take us along to the train at platform four, and find carriage number twelve. ‘You are to say your goodbyes briskly and leave the train at once,’ she advised. ‘I can’t put up with a lot of tears. Bad for morale, you know. Remind yourselves there’s a war on.’
I fully expected Daddy to start calling her the ghastly names he called Mummy but ever since she’d told him to control himself he’d been strangely silent. It occurred to me then that if only Mummy would talk to him the way Escort had, he might learn to behave himself a bit better.
For all that, I didn’t think the Escort woman was one bit nice and I tugged on Mummy’s coat sleeve to tell her so. ‘I don’t want to go to America with her,’ I complained. ‘You said she’d be quite wonderful but she’s not. She’s horrid.’
‘I’m quite sure she’s really very charming,’ Mummy said, trying to reassure me. ‘It’s just that she has a lot to cope with at the moment and it’s up to you two to help by doing exactly as you’re told every single minute and— Look! There’s carriage twelve and, just as I thought, filled to bursting with children your age!’
Daddy lifted our suitcases up to the overhead rack – both James and I remembered how taken we had been with our little new suitcases – sat on the edge of the seat and said, ‘Right you are then. Time for Mummy and me to run along. Escort will be here presently to look after you. James, I expect you to be very brave, old chap. Do as you’re told, look after your sister and above all, remember you are an Englishman. Sarah, this is not the time for a long face. Remember your duty. It is to smile. You’re the luckiest little girl in the world and you’ll be back in no time at all, speaking like a Yank, I expect.’ He shook James’ hand, kissed the top of my head, then tripped and fell and swore loudly while descending to the platform.
Mummy took his place on the edge of the seat and, after much rummaging in her handbag, produced two small chocolate bars. ‘Look, darlings!’ she exclaimed. ‘Real chocolate! I’ve been saving our sweetie ration for weeks and weeks so you could have these on the train.’
In those days chocolate was, of course, an almost forgotten luxury, but that day it didn’t seem the least bit appealing. Both of us remembered not being able to imagine eating it at all because our tummies ached and our throats felt tight and I, for one, was sure I wouldn’t be able to swallow so much as a crumb without being sick.
Mummy began talking again in the quick and breathless manner we had come to distrust. ‘Daddy is quite right, you know. You will be coming home in no time at all. Everyone says the war will be over in less than a year. Even Mr Churchill, and he should certainly know!’
I knew perfectly well that I was expected to be brave and agreeable but I couldn’t help myself. ‘Please, please don’t make us go,’ I begged. ‘Not without you. I’ll be ever so good and obedient every single minute and look … I’ll even give you my chocolate bar if only you’ll let us stay.’
For a moment, Mummy looked so desperately sad I wished I hadn’t said anything but, drawing upon God only knows what reserves of strength, she swallowed hard, gave us a big smile and, hugging us close, said, ‘You are the very best children in the world. That’s why you are going away. So you’ll be happy and safe and when the war is over we can all live quietly in peace. Sit in your seats now, darlings. Be brave! Smile!’ And, smiling and waving and blowing kisses, she turned away.
I stood to go with her because in spite of all we’d been told, I’d never really quite come to terms with the reality that she would, or even could, actually go away and leave me behind.
But then, just as she stepped down to the platform, Escort got on, slammed the door shut and the train started to move.
‘There we are then!’ Escort trilled, clearly determined to be cheerful. ‘Are we all smiling? That’s the way. Smile and wave goodbye to your mummies and daddies.’
We all turned to wave and smile but it was hard to find one’s own set of parents amongst so many others, the more so since it was still dark outside. Many eyes overflowed with tears, and rain slashed against the windows. We stood to see better.
Escort didn’t like that one bit. ‘In your seats now, children,’ she ordered. Then louder, ‘Sit down!’ And finally, resorting to the sarcasm that has warped so many an English child’s mind, ‘I suppose someone did tell you there’s a war on? That being the case, you are to obey instantly. Right, now we will sing a song.’
Blowing a note into a little mouth organ she’d taken from her pocket, she said, ‘Yes! Yes! Nothing like a song to cheer us along. How many of you know, “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag”? That’s a jolly one. No one? Good gracious me! Wrong war, perhaps? Well, what about the Bluebirds? You know, the ones that fly over the White Cliffs of Dover? Ah! That’s better. Yes, Sarah, what is it?’
‘My mother says the bluebirds song is the soppiest song she ever heard,’ I said, just as smug as could be.
‘Your mother also said you were to do as you were told, didn’t she? Therefore, YOU WILL SING!’
TWO
Just as Escort was not at all the kind, charming woman Mummy had foretold, neither was our cabin on the ship the dear, cosy little place she had described in another of her monologues. Rather, it was hot, stuffy and dark and because, that firs
t day, we could not find the light switch, we couldn’t see where to hang up our coats and hats as Escort had instructed.
Tentatively we groped our way towards our bunks and perched on the edges of them – James on the upper – since the small area of usable floor space was taken up by our suitcases and a large chair that refused to be moved. James had exerted great effort in the attempt until, ‘No wonder,’ he panted, studying it at close range from a kneeling position, ‘Some silly ass has bolted it to the floor!’
The stupidity of anyone doing such an extraordinary thing silenced our sobs temporarily and our attention drifted to the well-lit corridor outside our cabin where we could see our fellow travellers running back and forth to each other’s cabins with what appeared to us an enviable light-heartedness. Was it because they were older than us, we wondered, that they didn’t seem the least bit unhappy at leaving their mothers, or intimidated by Escort?
One of the children, a big husky girl, shouted, ‘Look out! Here comes old Escort!’ And sure enough, we could hear her talking. Worse, she was talking about us!
She was asking if anyone had seen the little ones. ‘No? Well, where are the naughty little things then?’
Stopping outside our door, her hand reached in and turned on the light. ‘Goodness gracious me!’ she exclaimed. ‘Here they are! And sitting in the dark if you don’t mind!
‘You’re going to have to do better than this, my dears,’ she sniffed. ‘Long, weepy faces simply aren’t good enough. There is a war on you know and it is your duty to be cheerful and do as you’re told! Now take off those hats and coats immediately. Hang them up! Open your suitcases!’
James clambered down from the top bunk and Escort told him she was going to rely on him to see that little Sarah did as she was told. ‘After all,’ she said, ‘I can’t be expected to cope with one lazy, sulky little girl when I have so many other children depending on me, now can I?’
She was interrupted by a loud thud and the entire ship giving a mighty shudder.
‘We’re off!’ she crowed. ‘What fun!’
I strained against the back of my bunk with all my might and screamed at Escort to make the ship stop so I could get off. ‘I don’t want to go without my mother,’ I howled. ‘I won’t!’
James told me to shut up. ‘You know jolly well the ship won’t stop and you can’t get off,’ he said. Turning to Escort he tried to explain that I wasn’t really a lazy, sulky little girl at all. ‘She’s just—’
Escort interrupted him. How rude. ‘It’s quite all right, James,’ she said with a sniff. ‘I understand. Sarah’s a baby, that’s all. You’ll have to do everything for her, I expect. Ah, well—’
‘I am not a baby!’ I interrupted with a great burst of indignation that temporarily stemmed my tears. ‘I shall be six next birthday!’
To prove my point, I wiggled a front tooth with my tongue, ‘Look, I’ve even got another loose tooth!’
Escort was not impressed. ‘Charming,’ she murmured, averting her eyes. ‘Then you should certainly know how to take off your coat and hat. And it shouldn’t be too much to ask that you hang up your clothes. Are you quite sure you’re going to be six?’
To prove I was, I took off my hat and coat. Escort moved the suitcases so she could open the little wardrobe and I hung them up and then she handed me the rest of my clothing to put away.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said as we worked together. ‘Perhaps you are nearly six. Now the minute you finish putting away your clothes I want you both to wash your faces and hands and then wait outside in the corridor where I can see you because we shall be going to dinner presently. Won’t that be fun?’
Not if she said so, it wouldn’t. For even at that early stage of our journey it had become quite obvious to both James and myself that it wasn’t just our mother, but all adults, who were seriously misinformed as to what was fun and exciting to a child.
Further, when the dining room proved to be the source of the nauseating stench of vegetable soup that permeated the entire ship – a soup which, interestingly, looked exactly the same when sicked-up on the floor as it did in a bowl – the dining room became for us a thrice daily trek to what, in modern parlance, would undoubtedly be called Vomit City.
Escort was furious about our constant sickness. Flinging down her napkin that first night, she muttered, ‘Really … Children this age … Far too young … Come along then. Quickly, quickly …’
James was sick twice more after Escort returned us to our cabin. He cleaned it up as best he could with the towels hanging by our little sink but then couldn’t think what to do with the towels.
And all the while he was busy being sick and worrying about the towels, I had been struggling to get my lovely pink pullover – the one Mummy had knit for me using the very last of our clothing coupons for the wool – over my head, and I couldn’t. It was stuck. It was pinching my ears, the neck buttons were tangled in my hair, and it simply would not come off.
Before he was sick, James had tried to help but couldn’t manage either and said I must go and find Escort.
For him to have even suggested such a stupid thing made me realize how truly useless he was going to be and I came up with my own plan to deal with the situation: I would simply put my arms back in the sleeves, pull it back down and leave it on all night.
Escort would never know because we had to wear our life jackets on top of everything at all times anyway, and if she did come in to say goodnight – she’d said she would but I hoped she’d forget – I’d just pull the blankets up to my eyes and pretend to be asleep.
And since James clearly wasn’t able, or willing, to help me in other useful ways, I thought I might just as well leave my shoes and socks on as well. That way I wouldn’t have all the bother of tying the laces properly in the morning.
Like adults the world over, Escort was of the opinion that fresh air was good for children and hustled her charges outside at every opportunity.
After only one outing, James and I agreed that fresh air was just one more thing adults were quite wrong about. Particularly the variety found at sea, which was so fierce it blew us off our feet, sent huge waves crashing over the railing, and whipped away anything and everything we were foolish enough to carry in our hands. It was also bitterly cold and sent us to cower in corners whenever Escort looked the other way.
All of these discomforts paled, however, when compared to the dreaded lifeboat-drill ordeal that we were forced to attend at odd times during the day no matter how seasick we might be or how rough and cold the weather.
Actually, lifeboat drills were quite frightening events at that time because no one was ever quite sure if they were real or practice. News had quickly circulated that two ships in our convoy had already been torpedoed and sunk. From our hiding place in an alcove near the dining room, James and I overheard our escort tell another that she believed one of them had been packed to overflowing with little refugees just like ours.
‘Just think of it,’ she’d gasped. ‘All those little mites at the bottom of the sea! Think of their parents hearing the news! Ghastly! Tragic!’
At lifeboat drills sailors shouted and waved flags and blew whistles, and how on earth we were supposed to stay together – we’d been told we must stay together no matter what – and get to the lifeboat if a torpedo hit our ship, we couldn’t imagine. We even wondered if we’d manage to find ‘our’ lifeboat in time.
We never did.
‘As ghastly as all this is,’ James complained one morning while we awaited the breakfast summons, ‘the absolute worst part of all this evacuation rubbish is having to look after you,’ his lip curled, ‘a girl. At least if you were a boy I wouldn’t have to brush your hair every day and you’d have stopped crying by now.’
‘It’s not because I’m a girl I can’t stop crying, you silly fool!’ I howled. ‘It’s because even though I know Mummy isn’t here, I still wake up every morning expecting to see her. And then I can’t get the tangles out of
my hair and you’re being hateful. And then I’m being sick and then we get lost and Escort shouts at us. It gives me a horrid empty feeling inside and I don’t feel safe and that’s what makes me cry.’
James remained unconvinced. ‘Even Escort feels sorry for me,’ he glowered. ‘She says you never answer when she speaks to you. She even says you’re the naughtiest little girl on the ship.’
I burst into fresh tears. ‘That’s what she tells everyone,’ I sniffled, ‘and it’s not true. I’m not naughty. I don’t answer when she speaks to me because the lump in my throat is so huge I can never make words go around it.’
In my opinion, the worst part about being on the ship, apart from James’ unkindness and stupidity, was that it wouldn’t, not even for a second, stop tossing and heaving and that’s why I was so relentlessly, disgustingly sick.
Actually, odd as it may sound, it was fortunate I was sick one particular morning because that was how we met Alf and our journey took a huge turn for the better. Alf was a sailor and he was the dearest, kindest man we ever met. One that I fervently wished I could exchange for my own father.
‘Watcha tryin’ to do, eh?’ he’d laughed, emptying a bucket of water on the horrid mess I’d made and swabbing it overboard before anyone else could see it. ‘Make me work ’arder?’
Alf laughed at all the things that terrified us. This included submarines, torpedoes, big waves, lifeboat drills, Hitler, ship’s food and, best of all, Escort.
It was Alf who explained that the reason the awful empty feeling went with me everywhere and I couldn’t stop crying wasn’t because I was naughty at all, but because I was ’omesick.
‘Bein’ ’omesick,’ he told me, ‘is somefing what ’appens to everyone – everyone wiv ’alf a ’eart, that is – the first time they go away from ’ome.’
A Home in the Country Page 2
