The Runaway Children

by Sandy Taylor

  If Olive kept this up we could well find ourselves back in the village hall, but the missus didn’t seem to mind. ‘Leave her,’ she said. ‘Coming out of that sweet little mouth it somehow doesn’t sound like an oath.’

  ‘What’s an oath, Nell?’

  ‘It’s a bloody swear word, Olive, and you’ve got porridge on yer chin.’

  ‘You swore,’ she said, grinning at me. ‘You shouldn’t swear in front of a vicar, Nell.’

  With that we all burst out laughing.

  ‘You know, Olive,’ said the mister. ‘You can call me by my name if you like. It’s Dylan.’

  We had never called grown-ups by their first name. I’d known Mrs Baxter all my life but I didn’t know her name. My mum called her Mrs Baxter and her husband called her missus and Mrs Baxter called my mum Mrs Patterson.

  He could see that we were worried. ‘How about Uncle, then? Would that suit?’

  The lady took our bowls over to the sink and replaced them with a lovely brown egg each, and thick slices of bread covered in creamy yellow butter. ‘And you can call me Auntie Beth,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Okay,’ said Olive, looking pleased with herself. ‘I shall call you Uncle Mister and Auntie Missus.’

  ‘Perfect,’ said the mister, grinning. ‘Now tuck into that lovely egg and then you can go and thank our feathered friends for supplying you with such a nice breakfast.’

  Chapter Seven

  We were leaning on the gate at the bottom of the garden, looking out over the hills. There was so much space here – the patchwork of green fields seemed to go on forever, separated by old stone walls that were covered in moss and ivy. Beyond the fields I could see tall trees, loads of them, with hundreds of birds circling above, dipping and diving. I felt like running, I felt like running with my arms spread wide. I wanted to feel the wind in my hair. I wanted to be part of this beautiful place. My heart was bursting with joy. I put my hand inside my jumper and closed it around the locket.

  I looked back at the house. It was so beautiful, nestling between the tall trees, that I felt like crying. It suited its name, ‘long house in the hollow’. Mum deserved to be here, she deserved to be in a place like this, to breathe in this air that smelled of grass and trees and flowers and a sky that went on forever, instead of the smog and dirt of London. I hadn’t thought that I would ever want to be anywhere but Bermondsey, yet standing here in this lovely place I felt as if I never wanted to leave.

  ‘Mum would love it here, Olive.’

  ‘Would Tony love it too?’

  I nodded. ‘Yeah, I think he would.’

  A horse wandered up to the fence and leaned its head on the gate. I stroked its silky mane and it shook its head, then nuzzled its nose into my hand. There were flies buzzing around it and it was flicking them away with its tail.

  ‘He likes you, Nell.’

  ‘You stroke him,’ I said. ‘He won’t bite.’

  ‘That’s what you said about the tallyman’s horse and he nearly bit me bleedin hand off.’

  ‘That’s cos you stroked him while he was havin his grub; horses don’t like to be disturbed when they’re eating. Anyway, he never bit yer hand off, he just gave you a little warning.’

  ‘Well, it felt like he was gonna bite me bleedin hand off.’

  Olive climbed up on the gate and leaned over so that she could reach the horse.

  ‘Hello, horse,’ she said, stroking his ears. ‘We live here now, with Auntie Missus and Uncle Mister. We’ll come and see you every day. Won’t we, Nell?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘I would like.’

  ‘Then we’ll come.’

  ‘We could feed him. What do horses eat?’

  ‘Grass, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, there’s plenty of that here.’

  ‘And maybe apples,’ I suggested.

  ‘Let’s see if we can find some apples, Nell.’

  Olive jumped down from the gate and I followed her across the garden. At the side of the house there were rows and rows of trees, with little pathways running in between them. The trees were heavy with pinky white blossom clinging to the branches and drifting through the air, lying like a carpet on the ground, but there wasn’t an apple in sight.

  ‘Where’s the bloody apples?’ said Olive.

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘Let’s ask Auntie Missus.’

  We ran into the kitchen.

  ‘Have you said hello to the chickens yet?’ asked Auntie Beth, wiping her hands on a cloth.

  ‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘But we met a horse.’

  ‘That will be Toby.’

  ‘So it’s a “he” then?’ said Olive.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘We wanted to feed him some apples but there ain’t none on the trees. Where have they all gone?’

  ‘It’s the wrong season for apples, Olive. I’m afraid we don’t get apples in the spring.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You will have to wait for autumn; so will Toby.’

  ‘He’ll have to make do with grass then, I suppose,’ said Olive, looking disappointed.

  Auntie Beth went into the larder and came out holding a carrot. ‘Toby likes carrots,’ she said, smiling. ‘Will that do?’

  Olive took the carrot. ‘Ta, Auntie Missus,’ she said, running back outside.

  ‘I’ll try and get her to call you Auntie Beth,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ she said, smiling. ‘I think that Auntie Missus is very sweet and very Olive.’

  I started to walk towards the back door then turned round. ‘We like it here, me and Olive, we like it. Thanks for choosing us.’

  ‘We haven’t been blessed with children of our own, Nell, so having you and Olive here is a blessing.’

  ‘Didn’t God give you any?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ She gave a sad little smile. ‘But he sent you to us, didn’t he?’

  ‘And he sent us to you,’ I said, grinning.

  Auntie Beth walked across to me, smoothed my hair and tucked it behind my ear. ‘Aren’t we the lucky ones?’ she said, smiling down at me.

  I put my arms around her waist. She didn’t smell of home but she did smell of love.

  ‘When you’ve finished playing outside you must write to your mum to let her know that you are safe and well.’

  ‘And happy,’ I said.

  I walked to the end of the garden, where Olive was standing on the gate, looking over the field.

  ‘Where the bleedin hell’s he gone then?’

  ‘Call him,’ I said.

  ‘Toby,’ shouted Olive. ‘Toby, I’ve got a carrot for you. I tried to get you an apple but it’s the wrong bloody season.’

  ‘Olive?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Do you think you could swap the bloodies and bleedins for somethin else?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Do you have to swear at all? Can’t you just say what you want to say without swearin?’

  ‘But you swear and Tony swears and the tallyman swears and the coal man swears and—’

  ‘I know, but that’s in Bermondsey – everyone swears in Bermondsey. I just don’t think it’s right to swear here.’

  ‘I’ll try not to.’

  ‘Good girl.’

  ‘Can I eat the carrot then?’

  I was gazing out across the fields. I couldn’t get over how green they were.

  ‘Nell!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can I eat the bloody carrot or not?’

  So much for no swearing. ‘If you like,’ I said.

  We wandered back to the orchard and Olive sat down on the grass and leaned against a tree. I lay down beside her and gazed up through the branches at the blue sky. Then I closed my eyes and let the warm breeze play across my face. I felt so happy here and that made me feel guilty, because Mum and Tony and Freddie were still in London and London was dangerous. I hoped they would come soon.

  ‘Has the mister and missus got kids of their own, Nell?�
�

  I opened my eyes and sat up. ‘God never sent them any.’

  ‘Even though they work for him?’

  ‘That’s what I thought; don’t seem very fair, does it?’

  ‘God’s like that sometimes though, isn’t he?’ said Olive, biting into the carrot. ‘I mean, he must have known that Mr Baxter needed two legs and not one.’

  ‘Father Devlin says that God works in mysterious ways,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe there weren’t enough one-legged men in Bermondsey and he had to make up the numbers. Do you think that’s why he done it, Nell?’

  ‘You don’t half ask some funny questions, Olive.’

  ‘It’s me age,’ she said, taking another bite of the carrot.

  ‘Shouldn’t you wash that carrot before you eat it? Mum always washes em first.’

  ‘It ain’t gonna kill me, Nell,’ she said.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose it will,’ I replied, grinning.

  Olive took another bite of the carrot. ‘How old am I, Nell?’

  ‘Yer five.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What do you mean, why?’

  ‘Why am I five?’

  Sometimes it was hard to keep up with Olive and all her odd questions. ‘Cos you was born five years ago,’ I said. ‘You’ve been on this earth for five years.’

  She seemed satisfied with this answer and went back to eating her carrot.

  I lay back down and closed my eyes again. I loved the feel of the sun on my face. It must have been sunny in Bermondsey, we must have had days like this, but I couldn’t remember any. I could remember the heat all right, and the dust and the smell, but this was different, this was lovely.

  ‘Nell?’

  ‘What now?’ I said irritably.

  ‘How old are you?’

  I shook my head but I smiled at my sister; it was hard to be cross with her. ‘I’m nearly fourteen,’ I said.

  ‘That’s pretty old, Nell. You’ll have to get married soon.’

  I sat up again and pulled her close to me. ‘Do you know how much I love you, Olive Patterson?’

  ‘To the moon and back?’

  I nodded. ‘To the moon and back.’

  ‘I love you too, Nell.’

  ‘Good,’ I said, kissing the top of her head. ‘Because I would feel very sad if you didn’t.’

  ‘You don’t need to feel sad, Nell, because I’ll never stop loving you.’

  ‘Come on, let’s go indoors and write to Mum – she’ll be wanting to hear from us.’

  I held Olive’s hand as we walked back to the house.

  * * *

  We were sitting at the kitchen table writing a letter to Mum to let her know where we were.

  Dear Mum, I began.

  I am writing to let you know that me and Olive are well and happy. We are staying in a vicarage with a vicar and his wife and they are very nice. Their names are Mr and Mrs Morgan but we call them Auntie and Uncle.

  ‘Tell her about the horse, Nell,’ said Olive, nudging my elbow.

  Olive wants me to tell you that we met a horse called Toby today.

  ‘Tell her I stroked him.’

  She says to tell you that she stroked him.

  I hope that you and Freddie and Tony are okay and I hope that you can join us soon because it’s lovely here.

  Olive nudged me again. ‘Tell her about the eggs we had for breakfast, Nell.’

  ‘For Gawd’s sake, Olive, why don’t you write your own letter?’

  ‘Sorry, Nell.’

  ‘I’ll send her yer love.’

  ‘Yes, but don’t forget the chickens.’

  ‘Olive!’

  I finished the letter with:

  We both love you all and miss you. Please come soon.

  Love Nell and Olive xxx

  Then I felt bad that I’d snapped at Olive and added:

  Mr and Mrs Morgan keeps chickens and me and Olive had lovely fresh brown eggs for our breakfast xxx

  ‘I told Mum about the chickens and the eggs, Olive.’

  ‘Good, I think she’d like to know that, Nell. Best not to tell her about the Proddy church, though.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Good, cos we don’t want her worrying about us burnin in the Fires of Hell for all eternity.’

  I raised my eyes to the ceiling and noticed Auntie Beth grinning at us.

  Chapter Eight

  Me and Olive would be going to the same school. In London we went to different ones because of our ages but this was a tiny place and there was only one school in the village. I didn’t mind too much because it meant I could keep an eye on my little sister. I would be turning fourteen in a few weeks so I could have left school but Auntie Beth thought it would be better to join Olive and maybe make some friends, and I was happy with that – I wanted to find a friend.

  The school was only a short walk from the vicarage but on our first morning Auntie Beth wanted to take us there.

  Olive insisted on saying goodbye to the chickens. She’d given all the chickens names; Ethel was her favourite one. ‘I think Ethel looks like Mrs Baxter,’ she said.

  I stared at the chicken but I couldn’t for the life of me see any resemblance to Mrs Baxter.

  Next, she ran down to the bottom of the garden to say goodbye to Toby the horse. ‘I’ll be back later, Toby,’ she said, stroking his silky nose, ‘and I’ll feed you a nice carrot if I can get hold of one. Okay?’

  It was a beautiful spring day as we started our walk down the lane that ran from the vicarage to the centre of the village.

  Olive was holding Auntie Beth’s hand and chatting nineteen to the dozen. I was walking a little behind and was silent because there was so much to look at and I felt as if my eyes couldn’t take it all in.

  The main thing was the colour: the sky was blue and the fields were green and the grass on the banks either side of the lane was green, but a different green, a bright green so juicy it made my mouth water. And amongst the green were dots of colour – white, yellow, pink and blue – and these were wildflowers. You didn’t get wildflowers in Bermondsey. Nettles, sometimes, and the odd straggly weed growing out of a gutter, but they weren’t bright green; more of a grey colour. My dad took me to the pictures to see The Wizard of Oz for my eleventh birthday and now I felt like I was Dorothy, moving from a world of black and white into one of colour. It was amazing.

  Apart from the blue sky and the white clouds and the green grass and the wildflowers, there was the pale yellowy-pink of the blossom, great armfuls of it covering the branches of the cherry tree at the side of the lane – so pretty, prettier than anything I’d ever seen before in my life. Amongst the branches of the trees were birds: a blackbird with glossy blue feathers and little birds that Auntie Beth said were called ‘tits’ – that made Olive giggle. They had yellow tummies and blue caps on their heads. And there were butterflies, white butterflies like pieces of paper caught in the air, and bees and dragonflies with shiny green bodies.

  Sheep were grazing in the fields beneath the branches of huge old trees, heavy in leaf, and the leaves caught the sunshine and moved it about so it was as if the trees were playing in the golden light. The mother sheep were big, covered in browny-white fleece that looked like it needed a good wash, but the lambs were either perfectly white or perfectly black. They had long, bouncy legs and little black noses and they jumped and played. Auntie Beth picked Olive up so she could look over the fence and watch them. Olive shrieked with laughter at their antics. I could tell from the brightness of her eyes that she, like me, couldn’t believe all the things she was seeing.

  There was always a lot of noise in London – people yelled a lot and laughed a lot, and the boats on the River Thames hooted their horns and the big cranes creaked as they swung over the river. The dockers swore a lot and whistled and groaned when they heaved the sacks of sugar onto their broad backs. Women shouted at their kids and babies in prams yelled for their mums. People in London yelled a lot.

  At first I
thought that the countryside was silent but it wasn’t. You could hear the birds twittering in the bushes and the trees swishing as the breeze caught their branches. You could hear the tractors going backwards and forwards across the fields and furry rabbits dashing in and out of the hedgerows. This was the sound of growing things and new life and I loved it.

  As if all this wasn’t wondrous enough, I could see the lane winding down ahead of us, two strips of brown where the car wheels went, with a green strip in the middle. It led down into the village beside the church where Uncle worked and beyond it was a cluster of pretty little houses. Washing was hung on the clotheslines, blowing in the breeze – flowery dresses billowing out and shirts hanging by their tails, and trousers and socks and under-things – over gardens full of plants that were just coming into flower; jewelled colours, creepers climbing the walls.

  There was even a duck pond. A duck pond, bright blue, same colour as the sky – only there were pink lilies floating on it, sitting on green lily pads. I thought I should ask Auntie Beth if I could borrow some crayons and draw a picture when I got home from school, a picture that I could send to Mum and Tony.

  ‘Are you all right, Nell?’ asked Auntie Beth, turning round. ‘You’re very quiet.’

  I nodded, too full of emotion to speak.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘That it’s perfect. It’s more perfect than anything I’ve ever seen, Auntie. Better than anything I’ve seen even in a book.’

  She smiled. ‘It’s nice on a day like this, not so pretty when it’s raining.’

  ‘I wouldn’t care if it was raining,’ I said. ‘I’d love it this much just the same.’

  I gave a little skip to catch up with Auntie Beth and she hitched Olive a bit higher on her hip.

  ‘Look at that sheep, Auntie Missus!’ cried Olive. ‘Look at it! It’s doing a bleedin poo!’

  My beautiful little sister was a lost cause.

  * * *

  The school was tiny, a low stone building with a big brown door in the middle.

  The playground was filled with children of all ages. The girls were skipping with a long rope and chanting a song I didn’t know, in a language I had never heard before. The boys were kicking footballs to each other and play-fighting, tumbling on the ground, all bare legs and short trousers.