Jenny's War

by Dickinson, Margaret

  ‘His invoices.’

  ‘That’s it – his invoices and there was quite a lot of stuff missing. Just one or two of each item taken from the back of the shelf so they wouldn’t be missed straight away.’

  ‘Clever, whoever they are.’

  Jenny knew she ought to say something. Her silence might be noticeable, but the other children were so intent on swapping the stories they’d heard that they didn’t seem to realize she was taking no part in the conversation. Not even Beryl or Susan remarked on it. Perhaps, as she was fairly new to the area, they thought she didn’t know the places they were talking about. But as they walked home together after school, it would become more obvious between just the three of them if she said nothing.

  ‘How long will it be before they find out about Peg?’ she asked tentatively.

  ‘A day or two,’ Susan said. ‘The vet said he’d do it as soon as he could.’

  ‘Let’s go to mine,’ Beryl said. ‘You coming, Jenny?’

  Jenny nodded. It would look odd if she refused two nights in a row, when usually she would do anything to avoid going home. Act normally, Arthur had said.

  So for two agonizing hours longer, Jenny had to endure the conversation being dominated by Peg’s death and the loss of Mr Gordon’s lamb.

  ‘Can’t say we’ve lost any livestock,’ Beryl’s dad said as he sat down at the tea table, ‘but then it’s not always easy to count chickens – or sheep, for that matter.’

  ‘It was only because the mother sheep was making such a noise searching for her lamb that Dad realized,’ Susan said, helping herself to Mrs Fenton’s home-made jam and spreading it thinly on a piece of toast. Even the youngsters were conscious of the phrase ‘there is a war on, you know’ that was quoted so often by the grownups, and the children chanted it in the playground as part of a game they’d made up.

  ‘You’ll have to make sure you keep the pigs locked up, else one of them’ll be disappearing,’ Mrs Fenton said. ‘Specially one of the little ones. Someone could take one of them, fatten them up and get a good price for it.’

  ‘Aye, I’ll make sure the dogs are loose in the yard,’ Jack Fenton said grimly. ‘And I’ve me shotgun ready at the side of the bed.’

  Jenny choked on her piece of toast and had to be slapped hard on the back.

  Jenny stood before Arthur and Dot later that night, her arms folded, her bright, blue eyes sparkling with anger. ‘They’re having Peg examined by a vet to see’f she’d been poisoned.’ She leaned towards them to press home her point. ‘Because Mr Gordon knows one of his lambs is missing.’

  Arthur stared at her for a moment and then guffawed loudly. ‘How can ’ee possibly know that amongst all them sheep he’s got?’

  ‘Because,’ Jenny said slowly, as if explaining to a dimwit, ‘the mother sheep was looking for it and making a right racket. Otherwise, I don’t think he would’ve known, no.’

  Arthur blinked, nonplussed for once. Dot punched his arm. ‘There y’are, not so clever after all, are yer, Mr Big? We’ll have to go now.’

  ‘Wait a bit, wait a bit,’ Arthur said, lighting a cigarette and puffing at it as if his life depended upon it. ‘Let’s not panic. Let’s think this out. Even if they do find out the dog was poisoned, they still don’t know who did it, do they?’

  Dot and Jenny glanced at each other. Jenny had the feeling that Dot was beginning to think the same as her; the sooner they got away from here, the better.

  ‘So, like I said, we stay put a bit. If we run now, it’d look suspicious.’

  ‘But they’re all on the lookout for us now,’ Jenny persisted and shuddered afresh as she remembered Mr Fenton’s words. ‘And Beryl’s dad’s keeping his shotgun at the side of his bed. Just in case.’

  ‘That does it, then. I’m not arguing with no shotgun.’

  ‘So?’ Dot said eagerly. ‘We’re going?’

  But Arthur was still shaking his head. ‘Not yet. But we just won’t be going out at night any more.’ Relief surged through Jenny, but it was short-lived as Arthur added, ‘At least, not round here.’

  The next few days were agony for Jenny. She tried to keep up the pretence at school, taking in all the gossip and reporting it every night to Dot and Arthur, hoping that eventually it would push Arthur into deciding to leave.

  ‘The vet’s told Mr Gordon that there was poison in the last piece of meat that Peg ate. He’s reported it to the police and they’re going to start making inquiries, he said.’

  For once Arthur looked anxious. ‘Then I’d better kill the extra chickens we’ve got. I thought I might be able to explain away what we’ve got left, but if they come asking . . .’ He got up at once and moved towards the back door. ‘I’ll just leave the ones we bought off Fenton. I’ll take the rest with me tonight when I go on duty.’

  For the next half an hour there was a lot of scuffling and squawking and Arthur emerged from the hen house looking as if he’d gone ten rounds with Joe Louis. He put the dead birds under a rug in the van and drove off towards Sheffield.

  ‘He’ll be for it if he gets stopped and searched,’ Dot muttered worriedly.

  But it seemed that Arthur Osborne had the luck of the Devil for he arrived home the following morning grinning from ear to ear with a wad of cash in his pocket. Generously, he threw pound notes on the table for Dot and Jenny.

  ‘There you are. Never let it be said that Arthur Mercer doesn’t treat his girls right.’

  Jenny grabbed hers and scurried up the stairs to hide the money. It was a little more towards her savings for running away. When she was going to do it, she didn’t know, but her resolve was now unshakeable. One day – as soon as she could – she would run away.

  Thirty-Eight

  The days dragged on and Arthur still refused to budge. The only blessing as far as Jenny was concerned was that she no longer accompanied him on his nightly escapades. Arthur had given up stealing from the locals – at least for the time being, but he still brought home all sorts of things he’d looted in the city.

  ‘I don’t know how you’re getting away with this, Arfer,’ Dot said as she rifled through the clothes and belongings he’d taken from bombed-out houses.

  Three weeks had passed since the incident of the lamb and Peg’s death, but just when Arthur was beginning to feel safe again the police came to the cottage.

  ‘We’re making inquiries,’ the sergeant said ponderously as the constable with him took out his notebook. ‘About alleged thefts in the area.’

  ‘Really,’ Arthur said. He was feeling confident. It wouldn’t matter if the police decided to search the cottage from attic to cellar; there was nothing there now that he or Dot couldn’t explain away.

  ‘Come in, do.’ Dot smiled winningly at the sergeant. ‘Would yer like a cup o’ tea?’ She giggled girlishly, ‘But I hope you don’t take sugar, ’cos we’ve only got our rations.’

  ‘Don’t push it, Dot,’ Arthur muttered as the two policemen came into the small sitting room, seeming to fill it with their forbidding presence.

  Jenny moved to the corner of the room. She was tempted to leave, to go upstairs to her bedroom, but she was compelled to stay. She had to hear what was being said; she had to know what was going on.

  ‘You’re not from these parts,’ the sergeant began, sounding friendly enough.

  ‘Nah. We lived in London but the bombing was that bad.’ Arthur shook his head. ‘We’ve our girl to think of. He gestured towards Jenny. ‘Night after night spent in the shelter or in the underground was no life for her.’

  The sergeant was staring at Arthur, assessing him. ‘May I ask why you’re not in the armed forces, sir?’

  ‘Weak heart.’ Arthur pulled a wry face. ‘I volunteered, yer know. Didn’t even wait to be called up’ – that was a lie for a start, Jenny thought – ‘but I failed the medical. I’ve got a paper here, if you want to see it.’

  ‘So, er, what do you do now, sir?’

  ‘I’m an ARP warden in Sheffield. Got me blue un
iform and me tin hat with a big W on it.’

  ‘You manage to get petrol all right to get there and back, do you, sir?’ the sergeant said slowly, his keen gaze still on Arthur’s face.

  Dot moved between them, making a great play of handing round the tea. ‘Sorry, I can’t offer you any biscuits.’ She giggled again. ‘There is a war on, you know.’

  The sergeant pursed his lips and glanced angrily at her. Her interruption – and he believed it to be deliberate – had disrupted his line of questioning. But Arthur answered nonchalantly enough. ‘So far, I have.’

  ‘Are you employed full time as a warden?’

  ‘No – it’s voluntary. Three or four nights a week usually. More, if I’m needed.’

  ‘You have other employment?’

  ‘I pick up a bit of temporary work here and there.’

  ‘Do you indeed, sir. And what sort of temporary work might that be?’

  There was silence in the room and Jenny shuddered.

  ‘Oh, just labouring, you know,’ Arthur said airily. ‘On the farms mostly. They find me light jobs, yer know.’ He tapped his chest again. ‘’Cos of me heart.’

  The sergeant regarded him for a long moment before saying softly, ‘I’ll take your word for it, sir.’

  To Jenny, it sounded as if the man was doing anything but believing Arthur.

  Now the police officer turned to Dot. ‘May I see your ration books, madam?’

  Dot blinked. ‘Er – er, yes. I’ll – I’ll just fetch them. They’re in my handbag upstairs.’

  Whilst Dot scurried upstairs, there was an awkward silence in the room. Jenny shifted uneasily from one foot to the other and avoided meeting the sergeant’s gaze. She didn’t want to be asked any difficult questions. She didn’t want to be asked any questions at all.

  Dot came back, glancing worriedly at Arthur as she handed the books over without a word. The sergeant flipped through the books, pausing over the one with the name Arthur Mercer on the front cover.

  ‘Registered with the local shops, are you?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Arthur said easily.

  ‘The ones in the village?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘The grocer in the next village has lost a lot of his stock from his shelves at the back of the shop.’

  There was a brief pause whilst Arthur thought quickly. ‘Yes, we’d heard the talk.’

  The sergeant was still holding Arthur’s ration book in his hands. ‘Seems you have a few unused coupons in this book, sir.’ He rose slowly and handed the three books back to Dot. ‘I’d get them used up, madam, before they go out of date. Precious things these days are coupons.’

  ‘Yes – yes. Thank you.’ Dot took the books back with fingers that shook slightly. The sergeant smiled at her, but he was watching her closely. ‘Makes a lot of people nervous does a visit from the police.’

  Dot smiled thinly and lifted her chin a little. ‘More tea, officer, before you go?’

  ‘No, thanks, madam. But that was very nice. We’d best be getting on. A lot more people to talk to if we’re to get to the bottom of what’s been going on round here.’

  Arthur led the way to the front door.

  ‘Oh just one more thing, sir. You’ve got a few chickens and ducks, I believe.’

  ‘That’s right. Care to see them? They’re out the back.’

  ‘Not just now, sir. I didn’t bring my wellingtons today. Another time, perhaps. We’ll no doubt be seeing you again.’

  As Arthur closed the door behind them, the veiled threat was left hanging in the room.

  ‘That’s it, we’re going.’

  ‘Won’t it look worse than before if we disappear straight after a visit from the police?’ Dot asked. ‘Specially as we never mentioned that we might be moving.’ Her face brightened. ‘We could always go back to the Smoke. Oh Arfer – ’ she moved to him, resting her palms on his chest and gazing up at him – ‘let’s got back to London. Let’s go home. Please.’

  Impatiently, Arthur brushed her hands aside. ‘No, we’re staying in the country. We’ll move but stay near enough to Sheffield so’s I can carry on being an ARP warden.’

  ‘They’ll still find you if they want to. You told ’em you were a warden in Sheffield.’

  Arthur glared at her, realizing that she was right. He had let that slip out. In trying to prove that he was a law-abiding citizen, determined to do his bit, he might have made the police look more closely at exactly what was happening in the city when Arthur Mercer was on duty.

  ‘Sheffield’s a big place,’ he muttered, his mind working quickly. He lit another cigarette as he pondered. ‘You’re right, we’d better stick it out another day or two at least.’

  Jenny spoke for the first time. ‘But what if they come back?’

  To that, neither Arthur nor Dot had an answer.

  Thirty-Nine

  ‘Get your stuff packed up. We’re going termorrer night after Jen’s school breaks up for the summer holidays.’ He pointed at Jenny. ‘And you mind you tell ’em all termorrer that we’re going on holiday.’

  ‘Holiday?’ Dot frowned. ‘Folks don’t go gallivanting on holiday, Arfer. There’s a war on.’

  He pondered a moment. ‘Then tell ’em – tell ’em yer granny’s ill and we’ve had to go to London to see her.’

  ‘I haven’t got a granny,’ Jenny said in a small voice. How she wished she had; it would have been somewhere to run away to.

  Arthur was growing agitated. ‘Then make one up. Draw a picture of an old woman in a rocking chair and show it to your mates. Tell ’em it’s your granny. You like drawing. You can do that, can’t you, for your dad? Yeah, that’s a good idea,’ he went on, nodding at his own ingenuity. ‘And I’ll tell ’em the same at the Wardens’ Post – that Dot’s mam’s been taken ill.’

  ‘What about the rest of the chickens and ducks?’ Dot asked suddenly.

  ‘I’ll kill them all termorrer afternoon and we’ll take them with us.’

  ‘But if we’re stopped . . .’

  ‘We won’t be. We’ll set off just before six o’clock. That’s when the local copper comes off his day shift.’

  ‘How d’you know he’s on his day shift now? He might be on nights and just starting.’

  ‘Because I’ve been watching ’im for a while an’ timing ’im, that’s how. He’s got two days left to do before he finishes his run of days.’ Arthur smirked. ‘Never think to alter their routine, do they?’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Don’t know yet. We’ll just set off and see where we land up.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Just do it, Dot.’

  Jenny didn’t have much packing to do; it was already done in the suitcase still hiding under her bed. The following evening she sat on the edge of her bed, swinging her legs and biting her lip. If only she’d run away before now. The railway wasn’t far away, but if she went with her mother and Arthur, they might really end up in the middle of nowhere and it might not be so easy to get to a train station.

  She held her breath. Should she go now? Before they left. If she crept down the stairs with her case whilst her mother was banging about in her bedroom packing all her clothes and belongings, could she make it to the station before she was missed? Arthur was in the back garden killing the chickens; he wouldn’t be in for a while.

  Jenny pulled on her socks and shoes and reached for her coat. Thrusting her arms into the sleeves, she picked up her suitcase and had already begun to move towards the door when she heard her mother shouting. ‘Jen – Jen. Come here. I need some help.’

  Jenny stood for a moment, undecided. Should she make a dash for it? But if her mother came looking for her, she’d be missed straight away. Maybe Dot wouldn’t come looking, maybe—

  She heard her mother’s bedroom door open and Dot’s yell. ‘Jen! Where are you, you lazy little bugger? Come and give me a hand.’

  With a sigh, Jenny put her case back on the bed and took off her coat.r />
  ‘Coming, Mum,’ she shouted back, resigned to being stuck with the two of them for a little while longer.

  They set off a few minutes before six, Jenny sitting in the back huddled against a mound of dead chickens and ducks hidden beneath a blanket. The smell made her feel sick, but she dared not make any complaint; Dot was in a bad mood and there was a row erupting already in the front seats of the van as they drove away from the cottage.

  ‘Where are we going, I’d like to know?’

  ‘I told you, Dot, I don’t know myself yet. Give it a rest, will yer?’

  ‘Give it a rest, he says. Give it a rest. Dragged halfway round the country in the middle of the night.’

  ‘Six o’clock’s hardly the middle of the night. It’s still light and we’re meant to be off to see yer mam. Remember?’

  ‘I meant when we left London.’

  Arthur couldn’t argue with that one.

  As they reached the outskirts of Sheffield, Arthur said, ‘I’m just going to drop these birds off at this butcher I’ve been dealing with.’

  ‘He won’t be open now, will he?’

  ‘He lives above the shop.’

  They pulled off the main road into a side road and then turned again into an alley that ran at the back of the row of shops and houses. Arthur stopped the vehicle and switched off the engine. ‘Wait here. I won’t be long.’

  ‘You’d better not be,’ Dot muttered.

  Minutes later, the back doors of the van opened and a small, portly man stood beside Arthur. He looked shocked when he saw Jenny and took a step backwards. He recovered quickly to joke, ‘I didn’t think you meant that kind of a bird, Arthur.’

  Arthur grinned and winked at Jenny. ‘She’s not for sale, mate. Far too valuable, is our Jen.’

  He had an easy, bantering relationship with his partner in crime, but Jenny glared at the man as if he was personally responsible for Arthur’s criminal ways. He was not, of course, but he was encouraging her so-called stepfather by being an outlet for stolen goods.