Jenny's War

by Dickinson, Margaret

  Jenny reached the farmyard and paused briefly, but there was no one about as she headed to the barn and climbed the ladder to the hayloft, where she buried herself in a mound of hay and waited. Gradually her breathing settled. Despite the cool November day, it was warm and cosy in the loft and the girl drifted into sleep.

  It was dusk before she woke to the sound of someone climbing the steps to the hayloft. She held her breath.

  ‘Jenny,’ came Charlotte’s soft voice through the gloom. ‘Are you here?’

  Jenny lay perfectly still, not answering, until Charlotte had climbed up into the hayloft too. She didn’t move a muscle; the hay would rustle if she did. But Charlotte came and sat down beside her. She didn’t say anything, just sat waiting. Realizing she couldn’t stay here for ever, Jenny sighed and sat up. ‘Have they gone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Charlotte wouldn’t lie to her, would she? Was it really safe? Well, she couldn’t stay here all night. With a sigh, she pushed her way out from under the hay.

  They sat close together with Charlotte’s arm around her whilst she explained to the girl that although, for the moment, her mother and Arthur had gone, Dot was adamant that she wanted her daughter back and there was nothing they’d be able to do to stop it. ‘Miles and I would like you to stay for ever, and that’s the truth, but your mum loves you. She wants you to go home.’

  As they walked back to the manor, Jenny said in a small voice, ‘Charlotte, you won’t be cross with me if I tell you something, will you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I was a bit naughty about – about Uncle Arfer.’

  ‘Oh, why?’

  ‘We-ell, I sort of made you think I’m frightened of him.’

  ‘It did seem as if he was the reason you didn’t want to go home, yes.’

  Jenny sighed. ‘He’s all right, really. I feel bad about doing that. He’s tried to be nice to me, bringing me stuff, presents, you know.’

  Charlotte didn’t really but she said nothing, allowing the girl to explain at her own pace. ‘But Mum always gets mad if he buys me things. She likes to be the one he spoils.’

  ‘So – why didn’t you want to go home?’

  Jenny was silent for a few moments as they continued walking back towards the manor. ‘I – like it here. You’re both so kind – everybody is. At home – ’ And then it all spilled out. About being shut in her bedroom when Arthur visited, even about being left in the house alone at night when her mother went out. ‘And she pretties herself up all the time. Buys herself new clothes and has her hair done at a hairdresser every week, but – ’ she bit her lip, even now not wanting to be disloyal to her mother – ‘she never buys me nice clothes. But you did. And you taught me that it was good to have a bath and wash my hair. I’m not the mucky kid I was when I first came here, am I? But if I go home . . .’

  She didn’t need to say any more; Charlotte understood. But there was something Charlotte felt obliged to tell her. As they walked home through the darkness, Charlotte held her hand and said gently, ‘More than anything, Jenny, we want you to stay with us. We love having you here and – and we’ve both come to love you, but your mother has threatened to go to the authorities and demand that we send you back. If she does that, there’ll be nothing we can do. You – you do understand that, don’t you?’

  ‘We could run away.’

  ‘We could – but they’d find us and then Mr Thornton would be in terrible trouble. You wouldn’t want that, would you?

  ‘No,’ came the swift answer. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

  Charlotte squeezed her hand. ‘Let’s hope the red tape takes a long, long time to unravel.’

  Jenny wasn’t sure what Charlotte meant by ‘red tape’. She had visions of someone sitting in an office somewhere untying lots of knots in a length of red ribbon. But whatever it was, as long as it meant she could stay here – at least for the time being – then she didn’t care.

  Twenty-One

  Jenny had always looked forward to Christmas, even at home. Each year she’d hoped that things might be different, might be better. They never were, but with childlike optimism she’d always hoped. Last year, with the Thorntons, had been the best Christmas she’d ever known, but this year she wasn’t looking forward to it because Georgie wasn’t going to be there. There had been no further news and with each day that passed the family had to accept that their beloved Georgie was dead. Everyone, that is, except Jenny. She flatly refused to believe that he would not come back and when she talked about him it was always as if he was still alive and would come bounding up the front steps and in at the door at any moment.

  But everyone made a supreme effort to make this Christmas extra special, especially as it might be the last one that Jenny would spend with them. And no one made more effort than Philip, who came home on a special five-day leave. Ben hadn’t been able to get home, so it fell to Philip to help decorate the house and the Christmas tree. He suggested that Jenny should leave a mince pie for Father Christmas and a carrot for his reindeers near the huge tree in the hall and then he piggy-backed her upstairs to bed and helped her hang her stocking on the end of her bed.

  ‘This isn’t nearly big enough,’ he said, holding up her stocking, ‘for all the presents he’s bound to bring you. Let’s find a pillowcase.’

  And the following morning he was the first one kneeling on the bedroom floor helping Jenny open her presents – just as Georgie would have done.

  Later they played noisy games and ate until they felt they might burst. But on the morning after Boxing Day, Philip had to go and suddenly the house was very quiet once more.

  School began again, though now the number of evacuees had dwindled so that there was no reason for classes to be held at the manor any longer. But by this time Jenny had got to know the local children and she settled in quite happily at the school in Ravensfleet.

  ‘Just so long as you come and meet me every day after school,’ Jenny instructed Miles, who acquiesced gladly.

  Two air raids over Lynthorpe during the first months of 1941 killed at least two people and Jenny knew that Frankie would again write and tell his mother. Kind though the Warrens had been to him, Frankie, unlike both Billy and Jenny, wanted to go home, back to London, and he would use any means he could to get his way.

  ‘Mum’ll get to know,’ Jenny said in a small voice as she walked home through the dusk of the winter’s evening with Miles. He squeezed her hand but could think of nothing to say to comfort her or reassure her. He knew she was right and, at the end of March, it fell to Mr Tomkins once more to deliver the news that this time Jenny really would have to go home.

  ‘We’ll have another party,’ Charlotte said. ‘And we’ll invite all your friends and even your teachers from school.’

  ‘And I,’ Miles said in a tone that brooked no argument, ‘am taking you home myself.’

  ‘All the way to London?’ Jenny’s eyes were round.

  ‘All the way. I want to see you safely back home.’

  The party would have been a huge success if it hadn’t been for the thought that it would be her last at the manor. Everyone came; all the friends that Jenny had made and the grown-ups, who were friends of Miles and Charlotte.

  But the day came early in April when Jenny had to return to London.

  ‘I just wish Georgie could have been at the party,’ Jenny said as she helped Charlotte pack all the clothes, shoes, books and toys that she’d been given into a brand new suitcase that Miles had bought for her. ‘But you’ll tell him all about it when he comes home, won’t you, Charlotte?’

  Charlotte stood very still, one of Jenny’s summer dresses in her hands. ‘Jenny, dear – ’

  ‘He will come home,’ Jenny insisted. She touched Charlotte’s arm as she added softly, ‘He’s alive. Somewhere he’s still alive. I just know he is.’

  Charlotte looked down at her and tried to smile through her tears. How she wished she had this child’s faith. And how she wished this little girl, whom the
y’d come to regard as a daughter, didn’t have to leave. The house would seem empty without her and how lonely both she and Miles would be.

  The morning Jenny and Miles left the manor was heartbreaking. Everyone hugged her; even Wilkins. Jenny sobbed as she clung to Charlotte.

  ‘Promise you’ll write to us, Jenny.’

  Jenny nodded and then, reluctantly, she stepped back and reached for Miles’s hand as they left the house and walked down the long drive. Miles carried her suitcase and a bag with gifts of eggs, butter and a joint of pork, bacon and sausages from a pig that had been killed recently. At the end of the driveway, Jenny turned and waved to Charlotte standing on the steps, looking as lost and lonely as the little girl was feeling inside.

  It wasn’t far to the station and they reached it all too soon. They were both quiet, hardly speaking; they didn’t know what to say. When the train puffed in, Miles found a carriage and lifted Jenny into it. He stowed her suitcase on the luggage rack and sat beside her.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘I bought you some comics to read.’

  ‘Ta,’ Jenny said and took them, but she couldn’t concentrate and the words kept blurring in front of her tear-filled eyes. Instead she gazed out of the window at the countryside flashing past. Flat and uninteresting to most, Jenny had grown to love it. The sea and the sky and the way you could see for miles and miles. She was no longer afraid of the open spaces; she wanted to live here for ever.

  And most of all, she wanted to be here when Georgie came home.

  It took them nearly all day to reach Jenny’s home in the streets near the docks. Miles was appalled by the bomb damage. All around them there were piles of rubble and huge craters where a building had received a direct hit. He was bringing the girl back into danger. He knew he was, but there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. And the way she was clinging to his hand, Miles knew that Jenny was as apprehensive as he was. Strangely, it was now the bustling, dirty streets that frightened her. The place where she’d grown up and had known no other life was now alien to her. She gripped Miles’s hand as they walked along the street and at last turned the corner. Miles stood a moment, looking about him at the dirty, smoke-encrusted row of houses, the children playing in the street, and the mothers with arms folded standing in their doorways on their freshly scrubbed front steps, gossiping.

  ‘This is our street,’ Jenny said at last in a small voice. There was no rejoicing, no slipping from his grasp and running ahead to find her mother. ‘Our house is about halfway down on the left.’

  ‘Right,’ Miles murmured, but his face was grim.

  ‘No, left,’ Jenny said with a half-hearted attempt at humour. But it fell flat for both of them.

  They walked down the street and came to the house where the paint was peeling and the curtains at the window were grey with dirt. There was no clean front doorstep at this house. Jenny glanced up at Miles, silent apology in her eyes. He squeezed her shoulder in a gesture of understanding, but he could think of nothing to say.

  Jenny took a deep breath and opened the door. ‘Mum,’ she called tentatively. ‘Are you home?’

  ‘’Course we are.’ Dot came hurrying through from the back room and made a great display of hugging Jenny. Arthur, too, stood grinning in the doorway leading to the back room. ‘Come on in. We’ve got the kettle on. ’Spect you’d like a cuppa, guv’nor.’

  ‘Thank you. That would be nice. Where would you like me to put Jenny’s case?’

  Dot’s eyes gleamed as they alighted on the brand new suitcase. ‘Oh my, is that all her stuff? You have been spoiling her.’ She laughed, a high-pitched affected sound that seemed insincere. ‘And you’ve grown, Jen,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if the new clothes I’ve bought you will fit.’

  Jenny stared at her. ‘New clothes? You’ve got me some new clothes?’ Her tone was incredulous.

  ‘Well, Arfer did, didn’t you, Arfer? They’re not new, exactly, but then times is hard down here. Good to you, Arfer is, Jen, and don’t you forget it.’

  They moved through into the back room – a small, cramped kitchen with a scullery beyond.

  ‘Now, sit down, mister. I’ll pour tea.’

  Arthur ruffed Jenny’s hair and said, ‘Nice to have you home, Tich. I got you a toy or two and some books.’ He grimaced. ‘They’re not new either, love, but you know how it is.’ He glanced at Miles for understanding.

  Miles nodded. He realized how hard it must be for Londoners with all the bombing. He cleared his throat. ‘I – we just want you to know, Mrs Mercer, that if things get worse here, Jenny can come back to us any time you like. You’ve only to say the word. In fact,’ he hesitated fractionally, but he was willing to offer anything if it meant they could have Jenny back, ‘you’d all be welcome.’

  ‘That’s good of you, but now we’re all together again, I reckon we’ll stay that way. All the other kids in the street are home now and I wouldn’t want Jen to be the odd one out.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Jenny said at once but the remark earned her a glare from her mother.

  ‘I was just thinking of her safety, that’s all,’ Miles said. ‘And yours too, of course.’

  Dot pushed a cup of tea towards him with an angry movement, slopping the liquid into the cracked saucer. ‘She’ll be safe enough here. We’ve got a Morrison shelter in the front room and there’s always the underground.’ Dot smiled. ‘It’s quite a lark going there. We have a right old sing-song. Oh no, mister, you needn’t worry your head any more about our Jen. Not now she’s back with her mum.’

  Miles smiled weakly. He couldn’t stop the feeling that that was exactly why he was worried about the girl.

  A little later, he was obliged to say goodbye to her. Jenny clung to him and wept openly, not even trying to stem her tears. She stood outside the front door and waved until he reached the corner of the street. He turned and waved too and hesitated for a long moment. Jenny held her breath. She thought he was going to come back, sweep her into his arms and carry her back home. Back to Ravensfleet. But slowly, with obvious reluctance, he gave a last wave, turned and disappeared round the corner, leaving Jenny staring at the empty street.

  Twenty-Two

  ‘Now, Miss High-an’-Mighty – ’

  Dot was standing near the table when Jenny went slowly back into the house, and Arthur was standing with his back to the fire. Dot folded her arms and Jenny shuddered inwardly. It was a stance she remembered only too well.

  ‘You can forget all about your fancy friends. You’re back home now and you’ll do what I say. You can unpack all the stuff they’ve given you – ’

  Jenny turned to see her suitcase open on a chair, the new clothes and shoes spilling out of it.

  ‘ – and leave it all in a pile on that chair.’

  ‘I’ll take it upstairs.’

  ‘No need. Most of it’ll be going to the pop shop. I’ll get a few bob for it. It’s all good stuff. They’ve not been mean wiv you, I’ll give ’em that.’

  Jenny stared at her mother in horror. ‘They’re my things. They bought ’em for me. You’re not takin’ anything to the pop shop.’

  Dot moved swiftly and grabbed Jenny’s arm, her fingers digging into her. ‘Now, look ’ere, you’ll do as you’re told. Times is hard down here. We don’t live on no fancy farm wiv plenty to eat. Queuing for hours, I am, to get a measly bit o’ sausage—’

  ‘They’ve sent you some sausage and bacon and eggs.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In that bag.’

  Dot released her grip and Jenny rubbed her arm where her mother’s nails had dug into her flesh. She watched as Dot picked up the bag and pulled out the packages, her mouth curving in a smile.

  ‘Can I keep my things now, then?’

  ‘What?’ Dot looked up and her eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll think about it. See how good you are.’

  ‘Aw, let ’er keep ’em, Dot,’ Arthur said, giving Jenny a sly wink.

  ‘I said “I’ll see”, didn’t I? Besides, it ain’t fo
r you to say. She’s my daughter. You keep out of it, Arfer, if you know what’s good for you. I never wanted ’er back, you know that. She could ’ave stayed there for ever for all I care.’

  Jenny gasped and stared at her mother. She was hurt. Her mother didn’t even want her but, more than that, she was angry – uncontrollably angry. And it made her tongue unguarded. ‘Then why did you send for me? I wanted to stay there. I didn’t want to come back here. So why?’

  Dot’s hand smacked Jenny’s cheek before the girl could dodge out of the way. She rubbed her face ruefully. Her reactions had slowed. Before she’d gone away, swift though Dot’s slaps always were, she’d rarely landed a blow. Jenny had always been quicker to duck.

  There was a malicious smile on her mother’s mouth. ‘Gotcher! Not so quick now, are yer? See, you’ve been spoiled in more ways than one. Well, I’ll soon have you back in line, miss. And don’t you ever – ever let me hear you say again that you didn’t want to come back home, else I’ll tan the ’ide orf of yer.’

  Greatly daring, Jenny said, ‘But you said you didn’t want me back, so why?’

  ‘What I say and what you can say are two different things,’ Dot said irrationally. ‘No, I didn’t want you back. I never wanted you in the first place. I tried to get rid of you. Nearly killed me, it did, going to a woman in the next street. Sitting in a hot bath and drinking gin and then her poking about at me, but you still clung on.’ Dot’s face twisted into a wry smile. ‘Still, did me one favour. Left me not able to ’ave any more brats, so I suppose I’ve got that to be grateful for. I can ’ave me fun and not worry about bringing another mistake into the world.’

  ‘Steady on, Dot,’ Arthur said quietly. ‘Little lass won’t understand what you’re on about.’

  Dot’s eyes narrowed. ‘She knows all right. And there’s something else she’d better know. And it’s never too early to learn it.’ She reached out and nipped Jenny’s ear, twisting it painfully. ‘If you ever come home with your belly full, you’re out on your ear. And see if your precious fancy friends’d want you then, eh?’