Jenny's War

by Dickinson, Margaret

  ‘It’s not as easy as I thought,’ he grumbled to Dot, and Jenny felt a flicker of fear.

  ‘Don’t knock it,’ Dot said, happily trying on dresses, coats and even shoes that Arthur had ‘rescued’ from bombed-out homes in the city. ‘I can’t think why all this stuff has still been left for folks to find. Why haven’t the people who owned them come back for them?’ Then the awful thought seemed to strike her – the reason that Jenny had already thought of. Maybe the folks who’d lived in the houses had been killed. Dot paused a moment, eyed herself in the mirror and then shrugged and carried on trying on yet another frock.

  ‘I can’t take all this stuff to a second-hand dealer or a pawnbroker’s. I can’t make money on it.’

  Dot stared at him. ‘Have you tried?’

  Arthur looked suddenly shifty. ‘Yeah, one, but he started asking awkward questions. How had I come by it? Was it mine to sell? That sort of stuff.’

  ‘And what did you tell him?’

  Arthur moved uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I said we’d been bombed and that – that me wife had died. But he still didn’t want to know.’

  Dot blinked and then said sarcastically, ‘Oh thanks, I’m sure. Since I’m supposed to be your wife now, that was meant to be me, then, was it?’

  ‘Don’t be so touchy, Dot,’ Arthur said testily. ‘I had to think of something quick.’

  ‘You’ll wish it on me,’ Dot said petulantly. ‘If we get bombed and I’m—’

  ‘Don’t be daft. We don’t get no bombs out here. Just be thankful I couldn’t sell ’em. Least you’ve got some new clothes.’

  Dot snorted. ‘Hardly new.’ Then she capitulated and smiled at him. ‘But it’s better than nothin’. Thanks, Arfer.’ And she moved to kiss him. Then she turned to Jenny and pointed at another bundle lying on the floor. ‘There you are, Jen. Your dad’s brought something for you an’ all. There’s girl’s dresses and shoes in there. An’ about your size. Go and try them on.’ When Jenny stared in horror at the sack, but didn’t move, Dot gave her a push and said again, ‘Go on.’

  Reluctantly, Jenny moved and picked up the sack.

  ‘And say “thank you” nicely to yer dad.’

  Jenny smiled weakly. ‘Thanks, Dad,’ she said dutifully and turned away to take the bundle upstairs. She shut the door of her bedroom firmly and put the sack on the floor. She sat on the bed and stared at it, making no effort to open it. She shuddered. Whatever was in there – and she had no intention of looking – belonged to some poor girl who, at best, had had her home bombed out and who’d now lost her clothes or, at worst, was dead. Perhaps it would have been easier for Jenny if she’d known the girl was dead, but to think of the unknown girl weeping because her things were gone, brought Jenny close to tears. She jumped up suddenly from the bed and stuffed the offending sack into the back of the wardrobe and slammed the door. She’d never wear whatever was in there; she didn’t even want to look at it.

  She curled up on her bed and picked up her pencil and sketch pad, which Arthur had given her for Christmas. In a few moments, she was lost in her own world, drawing a picture of the beach at Ravensfleet – and walking along the sand was the figure of a tall man in RAF uniform and beside him skipped a young girl.

  Thirty-Four

  By the spring of 1942, Arthur was running short of money. Their only income was from the odd jobs he did for the local farmers, since his ARP work was still voluntary.

  ‘I don’t know why we can’t move into Sheffield and you sign on as a full-time warden instead of just three or four nights a week. You’d get paid then.’ Dot smiled wryly. ‘Not like you, Arfer, to do something for nothing.’

  Arthur glared at her but couldn’t argue. ‘I’ll have to start getting stuff locally again. I’ve still got my contacts in the city.’ Jenny’s heart dropped at Arthur’s words; she knew what was coming next. ‘And I’ll need you to come out with me, Tich.’

  Dot glanced at the girl but said nothing. She doesn’t even stick up for her own daughter being dragged into a life of crime, Jenny thought bitterly. Now, if it had been Charlotte . . . She turned her thoughts away. She mustn’t think about them; it only made her sad.

  Despite Dot’s goading, Arthur still intended to keep on his duties as an ARP warden. ‘You never know when somewhere useful might get bombed. Like a grocer’s or a butcher’s or . . .’ The list went on and Jenny shuddered. He talked as if the enemy was dropping bombs on these poor folk purely for Arthur Osborne’s benefit.

  On his next night off, he came downstairs dressed in his balaclava and dark clothes.

  ‘Ought she to be in something black?’ Dot asked. Far from trying to stop Arthur taking the young girl with him, Dot was encouraging their escapades. The only thing that seemed to annoy her was that she was not needed too.

  ‘Yeah, maybe so tonight. Go and get that black coat of yer mam’s. You’re growing so fast, it’ll nearly fit yer.’

  ‘’Ere,’ Dot protested half-heartedly. ‘I don’t want that ruining.’ But then she relented. It was no use arguing with Arthur and anyway, she was running short of money too. ‘Just you be careful with it, Jen.’

  ‘Get a move on then, Tich.’ He tweaked Jenny’s nose playfully, but she only frowned at him. She did as she was told but she was still trying to think of a way out of all this. More than once, she’d packed her clothes, her sketch pad and pencils in readiness to run away. But at the last moment, common sense had prevailed. She’d only be found and brought back and then, not only would her Mum and Arthur be mad at her, but also the authorities might start asking awkward questions. Much as she wanted to be out of this, she didn’t want to be the cause of trouble for Arthur. In a lot of ways, he was still kind to her and her mother was less handy with her slaps when he was around. Jenny sighed. If it wasn’t for the thieving, she’d have been quite happy really. Well, as happy as she was ever going to be now that she knew she could never go back to Ravensfleet.

  ‘Right, you ready?’

  Jenny sighed. She hated doing this, but there was nothing she could do. She was too young to stand up to them. She pulled on her wellingtons and her mother’s coat and followed him out into the yard. She turned towards where the van was parked, but Arthur called softly, ‘We won’t be needing that tonight. We’re walking. Come on, best foot forward.’ Arthur walked up the rough track leading from the cottage to the lane and turned towards the Fentons’ farm. Jenny hurried after him. ‘What are we going this way for? You’re – you’re not going to Honeysuckle Farm, are you?’

  ‘The Fentons’ place? Nah.’

  ‘Then – then where? There’s nothing up this way. After the Fentons’, there’s only the quarry.’

  ‘But there’s a farm on the other side of the hill.’

  ‘That’s Susan’s dad’s place – Meadowsweet Farm.’

  ‘That’s where we’re going.’

  ‘But – but you can’t. We can’t.’

  When Arthur didn’t answer her, but just kept walking up the track, Jenny took little running steps to keep up with his long strides. ‘You – you can’t mean you’re going to – to steal off Mr Gordon. Oh Uncle Arthur – you can’t.’

  He stopped, turned to face her and gripped her shoulder. In the darkness, she couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the anger in his tone. ‘Now look, don’t get sentimental on me. It’s got to be done. I know it’s a risk, but it’s one worth taking. I can get a good price for a whole lamb. Look,’ he added, his tone softening a little, ‘it’ll be all right, Tich, honest. The sheep are in the top field well away from the farmhouse, aren’t they?’

  ‘But they’ve got a dog.’

  ‘Ah well, now, I’ve got a little present for him.’

  ‘It’s a she,’ Jenny muttered. ‘Her name’s Peg.’

  Peg was the Gordons’ black and white sheepdog. ‘The best sheepdog in the world,’ Mr Gordon had said when he’d proudly shown Jenny all the prizes his dog had won at the local sheep trials on one of the few occasions when Jenny
and Beryl had been invited to Meadowsweet Farm.

  ‘Knows you, does she?’ Arthur asked, his question sounding innocent enough.

  ‘She jumps up and tries to lick my face. She’s ever so friendly.’

  ‘So, if you go into the farmyard and give her this nice piece of meat I’ve got for her, you don’t reckon she’ll bark at you.’

  Jenny’s heart seemed to skip a beat. ‘I – I can’t go in there. What if Mr Gordon’s about?’

  ‘He won’t be. Not at this time of night.’ Arthur’s chuckle came out of the darkness. He was so sure of himself. ‘ “Early to bed” and all that. Isn’t that these country folks’ motto?’

  ‘They get up very early,’ Jenny said in a small voice.

  ‘There you are, then. They’ll all be in bed and sound asleep. They’ll not hear a thing.’

  ‘I don’t want to do it. I—’

  ‘Now look ’ere, you don’t want me to go back and tell yer mam yer wouldn’t do what I told yer, do yer?’

  The mere thought of Dot’s anger made Jenny shudder. ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘but—’

  ‘There you are, then,’ Arthur said, ignoring her misgivings.

  Jenny felt as if she was in a nightmare, but she wasn’t. It was all too real and there was no way out.

  They walked along the lane towards Jack Fenton’s farm, passing it quietly in the darkness.

  ‘We’ll go past the quarry,’ Arthur whispered. ‘And over the hill at the top before it starts to dip down again into the next village.’

  He’d certainly done his reconnoitring. Jenny had never been as far as this for Jack had warned, ‘Don’t be going near the quarry, love. Beryl and Susan aren’t allowed to go up there. It’s not used now, but it’s dangerous. It’s in the middle of nowhere and if you fell down, there’d be no one to hear you.’

  ‘No, I won’t, Mr Fenton,’ Jenny had promised solemnly, but now Arthur was taking her there and in the dark too. He always refused to put the torch on unless it was an emergency. ‘Yer eyes’ll soon get used to the dark,’ he’d tell Jenny.

  But tonight there was no moon and, out here on the hillside, no lights of any kind. Jenny was terrified; fearful of what he was leading her into and yet too afraid to leave him and try to find her way back to the cottage on her own.

  ‘I’m going,’ she muttered to herself, stumbling over tufts of grass and twisting her ankle in the ruts on the rough track. ‘Tomorrow – if we get through tonight – I’m going. I don’t care any more. I’ll run away.’

  Arthur was ahead of her, pausing now and again to make sure she was still following him. ‘Come on, Tich,’ he hissed. ‘Get a move on.’

  He’d turned away again and taken a step sideways around a huge boulder sticking out over the edge of the track. She heard him slide on the grass, heard his cry of alarm followed by the sounds of him falling through bushes and undergrowth. Another cry, this time of pain rather than surprise. And then there was silence.

  Jenny inched her way forward and, though disobeying his orders, she shone the torch. The ground in front of her disappeared over the edge of what she guessed to be the quarry Mr Fenton had warned her about. The torch beam wavered in her trembling hand as she shone it down into black nothingness, the light not even reaching the bottom.

  ‘Uncle Arthur,’ she called in a quavering voice. ‘Where are you?’

  But there was no reply.

  Thirty-Five

  It seemed an age that Jenny stood on the edge of the quarry, shivering with cold and fear, not knowing what to do. The trees rustled in the darkness and an owl hooted somewhere close by, making her jump. She was just about to turn away and try to find her way home when she heard a low moan from far below her.

  ‘Uncle Arthur,’ she said in a loud whisper, but doubted he could hear her. Should she fetch her mum? Or Mr Fenton? He’d be sure to help, but he’d then ask awkward questions about what they were doing out this late at night.

  ‘Jen – are you there?’

  ‘Yes, Uncle Arthur. Are you hurt?’

  ‘I’ve twisted my ankle, but – ouch! Bloody nettles.’

  ‘What shall I do? Shall I fetch someone?’

  ‘’Course not, you silly mare. Want the whole neighbourhood to know we’re up to no good.’

  Jenny shivered again.

  ‘Can you climb down here and give me a hand?’

  ‘I can’t see you.’

  ‘I can bloody well see you waving that torch all over the place.’

  Now Jenny shone the torch at her own feet and began to climb down. There was a little path, twisting and turning down the steep sides of the quarry. If she was careful, maybe she could— her feet slipped on the grass and she felt herself falling. She flung her arm out and clawed at the ground. Her fingers felt the branch of a small tree and she hung on to it.

  ‘I can’t, Uncle Arthur. I’ll fall.’

  ‘No, you won’t. Just take it steadily.’

  Jenny bit her lip and pointed the torch downwards again. It seemed an awful long way down. If she were to lose her footing and roll all the way down, then they’d both be trapped at the bottom.

  And, like Mr Fenton had said, there’d be no one to hear their cries for help. Certainly not at this time of night when all law-abiding citizens were in their beds. Grimly, knowing that they couldn’t stay there all night and nor could she go and find help, Jenny dug her heels into the ground and eased herself down, little by little. Every so often she stopped, hung on to a nearby bush and shone the torch down.

  ‘I can see you now, Uncle Arthur. Hang on.’

  ‘I’m hardly going anywhere, am I?’ he retorted, but now he knew she was really trying to help him and not scooting off and leaving him there, he tempered his tone. He knew she hated coming out with him and that it was only the threat of her mother’s punishments that kept her in line – for now. But one day he was sure she’d rebel. And, really, he wouldn’t blame her – just so long as she didn’t decide to do it right now and leave him here.

  At last she reached the bottom and knelt beside him.

  ‘Don’t shine that in my face. Here, help me up.’

  ‘Can you stand?’

  ‘Give us yer hand.’ He grasped her outstretched hand and hauled himself up, almost pulling her over. He stood beside her and tested the ankle he’d twisted in his fall. ‘Seems all right. It hurts a bit, but I don’t think it’s broken.’

  ‘Can you climb, d’you think?’

  ‘Gotta, ’aven’t I? Can’t stay here and can’t call for help. Come on, give us a pull.’

  Slowly they climbed back up the steep, slippery slope until they were crawling over the edge at the top and lying, breathless, on the path.

  ‘Let’s go home, Uncle Arthur. Please.’

  ‘Not likely. I ain’t going through all that just to go back empty handed. Just give us a minute an’ I’ll be as right as ninepence.’

  Inwardly, Jenny groaned but there was nothing she could do. At least, not at this moment, but her resolve to run away hardened.

  Arthur stood up, testing his ankle again and though he was limping quite heavily, he took the torch from her and began to walk up the track again towards the top of the hill, making sure to keep well away from the side of the quarry now.

  When they reached the gate leading into the yard of Meadowsweet Farm, Arthur took a paper parcel from his pocket and pushed it into her hands. ‘Here, take this to the dog and make sure she eats it.’

  ‘I’m not staying there.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ he said, squeezing her shoulder again warningly. ‘I want you to make sure she eats it all up.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Don’t ask questions,’ he snapped, feeling confident once more. ‘Just do as I tell you.’

  Arthur opened the gate. It squeaked loudly and they both held their breath and stood very still waiting to see if anyone had heard. But even the dog didn’t bark. Maybe Peg was so familiar with the noise that she didn’t think anything of it.

&n
bsp; ‘Go on, then,’ Arthur urged, giving her a little push. With every step across the yard Jenny’s heart beat faster and faster, so loudly that she thought it would wake the family! She was being silly, of course, but her legs were trembling and she couldn’t breathe properly. How had she ever got into this mess? Into this awful life where she’d been turned into a criminal? Stealthily, Jenny moved forward. She was almost at the back door of the house when the dog became aware of her. Peg came out of her kennel with a little bark and then a whine of welcome as she recognized the smell of the person coming towards her.

  ‘Here, girl. Here, Peg,’ Jenny whispered, feeling like the very worst kind of traitor. Arthur was going to steal one of Mr Gordon’s lambs and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Why ever hadn’t she run away weeks ago when all this had started?

  Peg wolfed the meat hungrily. She didn’t get given meat like this very often now; this was a rare treat for the dog. As the animal licked her lips around the last morsel, Jenny patted her head. The dog whined and wagged her tail. She crept back into her kennel and lay down, her nose on her paws. Jenny crept away, back to the gate where Arthur waited. They closed the gate and waited a moment, but all was still quiet.

  ‘Right, come on now.’

  They walked on further up the lane to the very end where it gave way to pasture on the steep slopes of the hillside. Shadowy shapes lay in the field.

  ‘Won’t they make an awful noise if we go in there?’

  ‘Go very carefully and quietly,’ Arthur whispered. ‘I’m only taking one lamb. More might be missed. Like I said, it doesn’t pay to be greedy.’

  Jenny had always believed in the saying that it was crime that didn’t pay, but it seemed to be doing so for Arthur. They moved into the field and amongst the sheep until Arthur bent and picked a lamb up from the ground where it lay cuddled against its mother. At once a loud bleating filled the night air and Jenny gasped in terror. Surely Peg would hear the noise, even from this distance, and would start barking.