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The Runaway Children

Page 9

by Sandy Taylor


  Afterwards we walked across to the little side altar and knelt in front of the Nativity scene. Mary was kneeling down beside an empty manger; Joseph was standing beside her.

  ‘Where’s Jesus?’ said Olive. ‘And the shepherds and the angels?’

  ‘It’s not Jesus’s birthday till tomorrow – they’ll all be there then.’

  ‘Well, technically it is his birthday,’ said Lottie, ‘because it’s gone twelve o’clock.’

  ‘Someone better get him quick then, hadn’t they?’ said Olive.

  ‘I’m sure they will,’ I said.

  Lottie was spending Christmas at the vicarage because the frightful Eliza Strut was spending the day with her sister, who, according to Lottie, was equally frightful. ‘I’d rather spend Christmas on my own than spend it with those two,’ she said.

  We walked home through the frosty night. Uncle Dylan carried a sleepy Olive on his back. The sky was inky black and there were so many stars it felt like a sparkly blanket above our heads.

  ‘I’ll always remember this Christmas, Nell,’ said Lottie.

  ‘So will I,’ I said.

  We held hands as we walked home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning I woke up before the others. Lottie was fast asleep beside me. Her long dark hair was loose, spreading across the pillow and her face. One arm was stretched out over my tummy; I liked the feel of it there.

  I hated the thought of leaving the vicarage but at least I would still have my friend Lottie. I looked down at Olive, who was on a makeshift bed on the floor. As usual she was lying on her tummy, her face turned away from me, and she was making little squeaking noises like a kitten. I lay there thinking about my family in Rannly Court and how I longed to be with them on this Christmas morning. I knew they would be missing me and Olive as much as we would be missing them.

  Lottie stirred and opened her eyes, then smiled at me. ‘Happy Christmas, Nell,’ she said.

  I pulled myself up in the bed. ‘Happy Christmas, Lottie.’

  I leaned over and gently shook Olive. ‘Wake up, sleepyhead, it’s Christmas.’

  She groaned and pulled the blankets up around her neck. ‘I’m tired, Nell,’ she said, giving a huge yawn.

  ‘I know you are, love, but you don’t want to sleep Christmas away, do you?’

  ‘No, but my eyes won’t open, I think they’re still asleep.’

  ‘Come on, girls, I can smell bacon and eggs,’ I said, pulling back the covers and getting out of bed.

  We dressed quickly and ran downstairs. There was a fire burning in the grate and in the corner was a beautiful Christmas tree that filled the room with the sweet smell of pine.

  Olive’s eyes were like two saucers. ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘Uncle Mister got it yesterday,’ said Auntie Beth.

  ‘Was that the secret mission?’ I said, grinning.

  She nodded. ‘We wanted it to be a surprise.’

  Olive walked across the room and looked up at the tree that almost reached the ceiling. She touched its bright green leaves. ‘I miss my mum,’ she said, and burst into noisy sobs.

  Auntie Beth gathered her in her arms and together they sat on the floor. She rocked her gently until her sobs subsided, then kissed the top of her head. ‘I’m sure your mum will be missing you as well, darling.’

  I looked across at Lottie, whose eyes were filling with tears. We were in a lovely place but we all wanted to be at home with our families.

  ‘Well, we’re a happy lot,’ I said, which made us all laugh.

  After breakfast Lottie and I went for a walk into the village while Olive helped Auntie Beth prepare the Christmas dinner. Uncle Mister was in the church doing his preaching.

  We’d arranged to meet Gerraint and the other boys outside the bakery.

  ‘You like Gerraint, don’t you?’ I said.

  Lottie didn’t answer; she just smiled at me.

  ‘You do, don’t you?’

  ‘I might,’ she said, grinning.

  ‘Do you like him, like a boyfriend? Or just a friend, friend?’

  ‘I’m not sure there’s much of a difference, is there?’

  ‘I think there probably is, Lottie, not that I’m an expert on that kind of thing.’

  ‘Neither am I. I’ve never had a boy who’s a friend, or a boy who’s a boyfriend. I just like him, that’s all, and believe me, Nell, that’s a miracle in itself.’

  ‘I’ve never had a boyfriend either,’ I said.

  ‘You’ve got plenty of time for that.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’ve got something for him,’ said Lottie shyly.

  ‘You have?’

  She nodded and produced a card from her pocket.

  ‘You’re giving him a card?’

  ‘And I’ve written my address inside.’

  ‘What, old Ma Strut’s?’

  ‘No, my Brighton address.’

  ‘Blimey, Lottie, that’s almost a marriage proposal,’ I said, giggling.

  She punched me playfully on the arm. ‘Remember what my father said, Nell?’

  ‘Your father said a lot of things.’

  ‘He said you must face your fears and do it anyway. So I wrote my address in the card and I put a kiss at the bottom.’

  ‘You put a kiss?’

  ‘And now I’m wondering if that was a step too far.’

  ‘No, I think your dad’s right about facing your fears and all that stuff. I should think Gerraint will be really pleased to get a kiss on Christmas morning.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I mean, who wouldn’t want a kiss on Christmas morning?’

  ‘Depends who’s doing the kissing, I suppose,’ said Lottie.

  The bakery was closed and the boys were shivering in the doorway. As well as Gerraint and Daffyd, the other boys there were Reese, Effan and Aled. I thought they were lovely names – they made the names of the boys back home in Bermondsey seem rather dull. There was our Tony, of course, short for Anthony – named after Mum’s favourite saint. Then there were Tony’s friends, Dennis, George and Billy, and Angela’s two brothers, Robbie and Stanley. I decided that if I ever had a son of my own I would give him a Welsh name. I definitely would.

  We all wished each other a happy Christmas and walked down to the pond. It was freezing cold but we were young and we didn’t care: it was Christmas.

  Lottie and Gerraint wandered off on their own while the rest of us sat on the bench.

  ‘Should we catch them up?’ said Aled.

  ‘I don’t think they want us around,’ said Daffyd.

  Aled looked puzzled. ‘Why not?’

  Daffyd took off his hat and threw it at Aled’s head.

  * * *

  The snow had started to fall softly around us as we walked back up the lane towards the vicarage. ‘Well?’ I asked.

  ‘Well what?’ said Lottie, grinning.

  ‘Did you give him the card?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He returned the favour.’

  ‘He gave you a card too?’

  ‘No, he gave me a kiss.’

  I pulled her arm and made her stop walking. ‘A proper kiss? A kiss on the lips?’

  ‘Oh, Nell, it was… it was…’

  ‘Nice?’ I prompted.

  Lottie’s face was flushed and her eyes sparkled. ‘Perfect, Nell. It was perfect.’

  ‘Gosh.’

  Lottie started to run and I ran after her, laughing. ‘Perfect!’ she shouted into the wind. ‘Amazingly, utterly, mind-blowingly perfect.’

  It seemed my friend had fallen in love with a Welsh boy called Gerraint. Blimey!

  * * *

  Christmas in the vicarage was wonderful. Auntie Beth had changed into a beautiful emerald-green dress, the fine woollen fabric falling in folds to just below her knees. She had curled her hair and it tumbled softly around her shoulders. I thought she looked lovely. The long wooden table looked just
like the kind of Christmas tables you see in books. Beautiful crystal glasses sparkled in the glow of the many candles placed around the room, and there was a colourful paper cracker next to each plate.

  ‘That’s not Ethel, is it?’ said Olive, pointing to the cooked bird in the centre of the table. ‘Cos if it’s Ethel I don’t want any, thanks.’

  ‘It’s a turkey, Olive,’ said Uncle Dylan, laughing.

  ‘That’s all right then,’ said Olive. ‘I don’t know any turkeys.’

  Uncle Dylan said grace. We pulled crackers and put on funny paper hats and read out silly jokes and then we tucked into the delicious food.

  After we’d eaten and helped Auntie Beth clean up the kitchen, we sat by the fire and exchanged our gifts.

  Auntie Beth loved her book. ‘How clever of you,’ she said, going a bit red in the face. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Mrs Llewellyn,’ said Olive. ‘She knows everything.’

  Auntie Beth smiled. ‘She does seem to, doesn’t she?’ she said.

  ‘And she said you’d like this, Uncle Mister,’ Olive added, giving him the bag of treacle toffee.

  ‘My favourite,’ he said. ‘Thank you, girls.’

  Auntie Beth went over to the cupboard and handed Lottie, Olive and me a parcel each.

  Lottie undid her parcel and inside was a beautiful red scarf and gloves. ‘I thought they would look lovely against your dark hair, Lottie,’ said Auntie Beth.

  ‘Oh, I love them,’ said Lottie, ‘thank you so much.’

  Auntie Beth smiled at her. ‘I’m glad you like them.’

  I had the same as Lottie but mine were lilac. There was also a book called Anne of Green Gables.

  ‘It has always been my favourite book, Nell,’ said Auntie Beth. ‘It’s about a funny little orphan girl who has all sorts of adventures. I hope you haven’t read it.’

  ‘We never had any books at home,’ I said, ‘but I love reading. Thanks ever so much.’

  ‘Happy Christmas, Nell,’ she said.

  We were all staring at Olive.

  ‘Aren’t you going to open yours?’ I asked.

  Slowly and carefully, Olive began to tear the paper away from the box. She lifted the lid and tears started pouring down her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, Olive,’ I said, putting my arm around her shoulder. ‘Why are you crying?’

  She looked up at me. ‘It’s a… Oh, Nell, it’s a…’

  I looked in the box and there, nestling in snowy-white tissue paper, was a beautiful doll. It had golden curls and a sweet face. Its bonnet, dress and little booties were of the palest blue. I understood why Olive couldn’t speak: she had never owned a doll, and neither had I. Dollies were for rich kids, not for the likes of us.

  ‘Do you like it, Olive?’ asked Auntie Beth.

  ‘Is it mine?’ whispered Olive.

  ‘Of course it’s yours,’ she said.

  ‘To keep?’

  ‘Forever,’ said Auntie Beth, smiling.

  Olive gently picked the doll out of the box and held it to her chest. ‘You’re mine,’ she said. ‘And your name is Auntie Missus, because I love Auntie Missus and I love you.’

  ‘Good choice of name, Olive,’ said Lottie.

  Olive walked across to Auntie Beth and threw her arms around her neck. ‘It’s the best present I ever had in all my life ever since I was borned,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Auntie Missus. Thank you, Uncle Mister.’

  ‘You’re very welcome, Olive,’ said Uncle Dylan. ‘We’re glad you like it.’

  ‘I love it and I will love it till the day I die,’ she said, with a very serious look on her little face.

  Lottie had presents for all of us. A box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray for Auntie Beth and Uncle Dylan, and a pink felt purse for Olive.

  She handed me a small box. ‘This is for you, Nell,’ she said. ‘Happy Christmas.’

  Inside was a blue glass brooch that sparkled in the glow of the candles. I pinned it to my cardigan and smiled across at her. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said. ‘I shall wear it always.’

  I handed her the snow globe. ‘Happy Christmas, Lottie,’ I said.

  She shook it and we all watched the snow cover the trees and fall gently over the little deer. ‘It’s perfect,’ she said.

  As the fire crackled in the hearth and the tree sparkled with silver tinsel, I looked around the room. Auntie Beth and Uncle Dylan were carefully choosing a chocolate from the purple box. Lottie kept turning the globe over and watching the snow falling again and again, while Olive was rocking the doll backwards and forwards in her arms. I felt as if I was going to burst with happiness. Olive and I had been so lucky. Auntie Beth and Uncle Dylan could have chosen two other children; Lottie and Aggie might not have been evacuated to Glengaryth.

  The angel on top of the tree looked down at us and the snow blew softly against the window. And I knew that I would never forget this special, special Christmas Day.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On New Year’s Eve we sat together in Uncle Dylan’s church and listened to the bell-ringers welcoming in 1943. I thought about my family and I thought about my daddy who was lost, and I prayed that God could watch over him and guide him safely home to Rannly Court, where Mum and my brothers were waiting for him. As we walked back home up the little lane I thought about how different this was to New Year’s Eve in Bermondsey. Back home the streets would be alive with people. Someone would have dragged a piano out into the square and men would be falling out of the Pig and Whistle roaring drunk, singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ at the tops of their voices. Bells would be ringing out from the churches all over London and the boats on the Thames would be hooting their horns. Perhaps this gentle New Year’s Eve was how it should be. It allowed you to think about the people you loved. It made you think about all the families that were separated by war and the boys and men who would never come home. Auntie Beth held my hand as we walked to the vicarage through the dark night and I wanted to tell her that I loved her and that I’d miss her. She squeezed my hand as if she already knew what I was thinking.

  It was sad watching Auntie and Uncle packing all their stuff into cardboard boxes. It made it all seem very real. I kept hoping that someone would knock on the door and say that the village needed them and they could stay but it never happened.

  Lottie and I were sitting at the far end of the garden. There was a cold wind blowing off the fields and we were shivering. ‘You will be able to stay in Glengaryth, won’t you?’ said Lottie, blowing on her hands. ‘Because I absolutely cannot stay here without you. You’re the only thing that makes living with Eliza bloody Strut bearable, and what about my Sunday dinner, for God’s sake? Am I supposed to starve again?’

  ‘You should tell someone about that, Lottie, because I’m sure she’s supposed to feed you every day, even on a Sunday. I mean, what makes her think that your appetite is any smaller on a Sunday?’

  Lottie sighed. ‘Why does everything go wrong just when it’s all going right? My dad says that we are masters of our own destiny but we’re not, are we? Other people decide our destiny and there’s nothing we can do about it.’

  ‘I just wish someone would tell us where we’re going, because I’m fed up with Olive asking me every five minutes as if I know the answer to everything, when I don’t.’

  ‘That would be far too easy, Nell. Children aren’t supposed to have feelings, you know.’

  ‘Olive says she’s taking the chickens with us.’

  ‘That should be interesting.’

  ‘I didn’t want to leave Bermondsey but now, I don’t want to leave here.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I gave my parents a really hard time when they said that I had to go away. I said “so much for self-expression”, when my wishes were being totally ignored. I feel bad about that now.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘They said that there were times when they had to be my parents and not my friends and this was one of those times.’

  ‘I suppose they were right, th
ough.’

  ‘Of course they were right, but I wasn’t about to give in without a fight. It’s their own fault, they were the ones that taught me to think for myself.’

  ‘I never told you this, Lottie, but my brother Tony was supposed to be evacuated with us – he even got on the train but he jumped off just as it was leaving the station.’

  ‘Blimey, did he go back home?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And didn’t your mum mind?’

  ‘Let’s put it like this, I don’t think she would have been surprised. I thought that it was a miracle that he’d got on the train in the first place.’

  ‘He sounds a bit like me.’

  ‘Tony’s a one-off, you never know what he’s going to do next. Actually, I think it’s easier without him, because as much as he’s my brother and I love him, he can be a bit of a bugger.’

  ‘So can I,’ said Lottie, grinning.

  Three days before we had to leave the vicarage, Mrs Jones, the welfare lady, came round. She looked all flustered and apologetic – she was fanning her face as if it was the middle of summer instead of the middle of winter. I knew instantly that it was going to be bad news.

  We all sat down at the kitchen table and waited for her to speak.

  She took a deep breath and said, ‘I’ve tried everyone in the village and no one has room to take the girls.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Auntie Beth. ‘They are settled here. They’ve made friends, they are doing well at the village school…’

  ‘Well, I can’t magic a room for them out of nowhere, Mrs Morgan, and believe me I have tried.’

  ‘We’re not doubting that,’ said Uncle Dylan. ‘But to move the girls now would be unsettling for them.’

  Mrs Jones shrugged her shoulders. ‘There is a war on, vicar, and all we can do is our best, and the best I can do at such short notice is a farm in Pontbryn.’

  ‘But that’s more than twenty miles away,’ said Uncle Dylan, ‘surely you can find somewhere closer?’

 

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