Jenny's War

by Dickinson, Margaret

  ‘We’re having to move on, Jim. These’ll likely be the last for a while. But I’ll be in touch if things pick up again.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Wherever we can find a place.’

  ‘You can stay here for a night or two, if you like.’

  Overhearing the man’s offer, Dot was out of the front seat and moving round to the back of the van.

  ‘That’s real kind of you – Jim, is it?’ She flashed her smile at him and fluffed her hair. The man blinked behind his round spectacles and turned pink. Dot was flirting with him. ‘But won’t your wife mind?’

  ‘Er – I haven’t got a wife,’ he stammered. ‘I live on my own. But there’s a spare bed all made up. My brother comes down from York to see me now and again and stays the night.’

  Dot linked her arm through his. ‘What? A nice man like you not married? I can’t believe it.’

  Jenny sighed inwardly and closed her eyes momentarily. Dot’s flirting always embarrassed her. Her mother hadn’t been so bad just lately, since she’d been with Arthur. They’d been together for nearly four years now and that was a long time for Dot to stay with one man. Jenny glanced at Arthur, but he was just grinning, backing Dot in making up to Jim as it would earn them a bed for the night at least.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, mate, ain’t it, Dot? We’ll take you up on that offer. It’s getting late for Jen, here.’

  Jim peered into the van as if he’d forgotten Jenny’s existence. ‘Oh yes, well, I haven’t actually got a bed for her.’

  ‘She’ll be all right on the floor. Couple of blankets and a pillow an’ she’ll be as right as nine pence.’

  ‘I might be able to get a mattress from next door. It’ll be uncomfortable on the floor for the little lass.’ The man was considerate, Jenny thought. She’d give him that.

  ‘No, no, don’t put yourself out. It’s only for one night till we can have a look around. She’ll be fine,’ Arthur insisted.

  But the one night turned into two and then three and four. For once Dot discovered the shops in the city, she refused to leave. ‘Just one more day, Arfer, there’s a dear,’ she wheedled. ‘Jim doesn’t mind, do you, Jim?’

  And the portly little man turned pink once more.

  A week to the day since they’d first arrived, Arthur finally persuaded Dot that they should move on.

  ‘If one of me mates from the wardens’ post sees me, they’ll wonder what I’m still doing here when I’m supposed to be down south.’

  They set off, leaving the outskirts of the city, and headed back into the Derbyshire countryside, but further north than where they’d been before. They’d travelled about ten miles when they came to a huge lake.

  ‘What stunning views,’ Arthur said as they all got out of the van and stood admiring the sun shimmering on the stretch of water. ‘I’d love it if we could find a place somewhere round here.’

  ‘But it’s in the middle of nowhere,’ Dot wailed. ‘It was bad enough before, but here . . .’

  Now she’d had a brief taste of city life once more, she couldn’t bear to be buried alive in the dales again. ‘No, Arthur, we’re not stopping here.’

  ‘We’ll do as I say, Dot. It’d be safe here and it’s still near enough to Sheffield for me to carry on with my warden’s duties.’

  Jenny glanced at her mother and caught the gleam in Dot’s eyes. Now what’s she planning? the girl wondered.

  ‘Uncle Arthur—’

  ‘Dad,’ he reminded her. ‘We’re still the Mercer family and don’t you forget it.’ He tweaked her ear.

  ‘What’s those two towers at the end of the lake?’

  Arthur squinted towards them. ‘Oh, I know where we are. This must be the Derwent reservoir. And they’re building another one somewhere near here and I seem to remember reading that they’re going to drown a couple of villages.’

  Jenny gasped. ‘You mean, they’re going to drown the people?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Jen. ’Course they aren’t. The folks’ll have to move out.’

  ‘Leave their homes?’

  Arthur shrugged. It was no concern of his and he couldn’t have cared less. ‘That’s progress, Jen. The big cities need a supply of water from somewhere.’ But Jenny felt for the folks who were going to lose their homes. Maybe it was necessary to provide water for the big cities, but, nevertheless, it must be hard for the villagers.

  ‘Now.’ Arthur’s eyes were gleaming as an idea came to him. Jenny’s heart sank; she didn’t like that look. ‘If villagers are already leaving their homes, there’ll be some empty houses maybe going cheap to rent.’

  Dot stared at him and Jenny trembled inwardly. Whatever was he suggesting? It was Dot who voiced their fears. ‘If they’ve gone, Arfer, then they’ve gone for a good reason. I’m not livin’ in no cottage that’s going to be flooded.’

  Arthur laughed. ‘Yer silly mare. They won’t be flooding it yet. Work’s going a lot more slowly now because of the war. They can’t get the building materials so easily.’ He nodded towards the wall of the dam and the towers, indicating that something similar must be under construction for the new reservoir. His grin broadened. ‘In fact, I might see if there’s any work going. They’ll be short of labourers if a lot of the workers have been called up.’

  ‘What?’ Dot sneered. ‘With your bad heart? Yer can’t have it both ways, Arfer. Dodge the call-up and then get taken on to do heavy work.’

  ‘I s’pose you’re right. Anyway, ’ Arthur turned away from the picturesque view, ‘let’s go house hunting.’

  They found a small stone cottage to rent on the outskirts of one of the villages due for eventual destruction. Jenny shivered, her sensitive soul already feeling the air of desolation and sadness. Several of the houses were deserted and the word was that the coming Christmas of 1942 would be the last that the residents would spend in their old homes. But Dot had more personal problems on her mind than where strangers were going to live. The cottage Arthur found was even more primitive than the one on Jack Fenton’s farm. There was an outside lavatory and no running water. It had to be carried from a well and heated in the range in the kitchen.

  ‘I’m not standing this for long, Arthur, I’ll tell you now.’ Dot was adamant.

  ‘You’ll have to stick it for a bit. I’ve signed up with the owner for a month.’

  ‘Well, you can unsign it, Arthur Osborne—’

  ‘Mercer,’ Arthur murmured automatically.

  ‘ – because me and Jen aren’t stopping here.’

  ‘Actually,’ Arthur said, ignoring Dot’s rant. ‘It might be better if we used the name Osborne.’ He turned to Jenny. ‘Can you remember to call yourself Jennifer Osborne from now on?’

  Jenny stared at him. ‘When I start a new school, they sometimes ask to see my birth certificate.’

  ‘Tell ’em it got lost in the Blitz.’

  More lies, she thought, and dropped her gaze.

  ‘What about the ration books,’ Dot asked. ‘They’re all in the name of Mercer. Even yours.’

  Arthur shrugged. ‘It’s no bother getting new ration books. You just tell ’em we were bombed out in London and they were lost.’ He grinned. ‘You might even get some money out of ’em if you tell ’em we lost everything.’

  Dot sniffed. ‘No doubt we have by now. Our old house will have been looted even if it hasn’t been bombed.’

  ‘There you are, then. It’ll be the truth.’

  Dot snorted and almost smiled. ‘For once,’ she muttered.

  Forty

  ‘She’ll have to go to school. I don’t want the attendance officer knocking on my door.’

  ‘Shouldn’t worry,’ Arthur grinned, ‘he’ll have to find her first. And where’s he going to look for Jennifer Osborne?’

  Dot glared at him. ‘I don’t want her mooning about the place all day under my feet. Get her into a school.’

  ‘I’ve no idea where the nearest one is.’

  ‘Then ask the neighb
ours. Is there one in the village? They’ll know.’

  Arthur laughed. ‘What neighbours? We’re right on the edge of the village. The nearest house is at least half a mile up the road.’

  Dot shuddered and muttered, ‘And don’t I know it.’

  ‘Just like I like it,’ Arthur murmured, ignoring her. ‘Jen’ll be all right. I’ll get her some books and some paints. She loves drawing and painting. Encourage the kid, Dot, and she’ll be fine. I don’t want her going to school here, even if there is one.’

  ‘Drawing, indeed. What good’s that going to be? She’ll never get a job drawing.’

  ‘Maybe not, but if it keeps her happy and out of your hair . . . besides, she says she wants to go to art school when she’s older.’ Arthur knew more about Jenny’s ambitions than her mother did.

  ‘Art school? Whoever heard of her sort going to art school? Oh that little madam’s got ideas above her station and no mistake. I blame those folks she was with when she was ’vacuated. Far too la-di-dah for the likes of us.’

  ‘They were good to her, Dot.’

  ‘Yeah, too good. Gave her big ideas.’

  ‘No harm in having a dream,’ Arthur said and added wistfully. ‘I had dreams once. I was going to be an engineer. All set to take up an apprenticeship, I was, and then my dad died and I had to get a job quick.’

  ‘My heart bleeds,’ Dot said sarcastically. ‘And what sort of job did you get? Started the wheeling and dealing straight away, did yer?’

  Arthur glared at her, but didn’t answer and Dot knew she’d hit the proverbial nail on the head.

  Jenny wasn’t bothered about school either. Once Arthur had bought her paints and paper, she was quite happy drawing and painting to her heart’s content. The only drawback was that no one was interested in her efforts. Arthur merely glanced at them and said, ‘Very nice, Tich,’ whilst Dot’s lips curled in disapproval. His pet name had stuck even though now she was nearly as tall as her mother.

  How she missed Charlotte’s smile and her constructive comments on her work, leaning over to show her with a swift and expert dash of the paintbrush how she could improve. If Jenny closed her eyes, she fancied she could smell Charlotte’s perfume close by. And then there’d been Georgie who’d hung her paintings on the wall in his room.

  She hoped they were still there, waiting for him to come back.

  Jenny was left alone at the cottage a lot. Whilst she missed the company of other children – she almost longed to be back with Beryl and Susan but for the trouble Arthur’s thieving had caused – she could wander the fields and the woods and the lanes around the edge of the reservoir untroubled. She saw very few people. In fact, she avoided meeting anyone, afraid that they’d ask why she wasn’t in school.

  But maybe they wouldn’t have asked; Jenny was growing fast, was tall and leggy and filling out in all the right places. With her naturally blond, curly hair and her brilliant blue eyes, she was startlingly pretty. She looked older than her thirteen years and easily could have passed for having left school already.

  Where Arthur disappeared to, she had no idea and didn’t ask. She didn’t even ask if he’d found work at the building site. It was enough for her that he didn’t involve her any more in whatever he was up to and for that she was thankful. As for Dot, Jenny knew exactly where she went; into the city, returning with items of clothing or shoes almost every time. Where on earth she got the money or the clothing coupons, only Jenny could guess: Arthur, of course. By this time, he’d built up a circle of mates in the city who were heavily into black market trading which included forging coupons and other documents.

  Jenny sighed. They were all at it. Even that nice little man, Jim, the butcher, wasn’t above taking stolen meat from Arthur. And if either of them were caught, Jenny knew they’d probably both end up in prison. She’d seen a newspaper recently that Arthur had left lying about and in it had been the court case of five men who’d been sentenced to hard labour by the magistrates for stealing food from the docks in Bristol. And she’d read about two ten-year-old boys who’d carried out a smash-and-grab on a sweet shop. So, she wasn’t the only youngster involved, though she was an unwilling one. And there were several reports of both men and women stealing rationed goods and the punishments they received if they were caught. She just hoped her mother hadn’t resorted to shoplifting in the city to feed her obsession with clothes.

  Dot never thought to bring anything for Jenny. The girl had grown out of the garments which Charlotte had bought for her and now she only had patched and mended dresses from second-hand clothes shops. Even her birthday in August had passed, yet again unremarked by Dot, and Arthur didn’t seem to know the date. By happy coincidence, though, that very evening he’d brought home a new supply of paper and paints for her. So Jenny regarded it as a birthday gift. Goodness knows where he got them, she thought. I’m probably as guilty as the rest of them now – receiving stolen goods.

  Jenny couldn’t help thinking back to two years ago when Charlotte and Miles had been so upset to find out that her birthday had passed by without them knowing. She smiled pensively as she remembered the flurry of excitement, the party and the birthday cake.

  She sighed. If only . . .

  They stayed in the cottage near the reservoir through the winter and into the New Year of 1943 and still Jenny stayed away from school.

  ‘She can help me about the house. Time she made ’erself useful.’

  ‘I thought she already did,’ Arthur remarked mildly. ‘She washes up most nights after tea and I’ve seen her doing all the ironing. You want to watch she doesn’t burn ’erself swapping irons on to the hob one after the other.’ The ironing was done by spreading a blanket on the kitchen table and heating two flat irons on the hob on the range.

  ‘She’ll manage,’ Dot said shortly.

  Arthur winked at Jenny and produced some new watercolour paints from his pocket.

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ Jenny said eagerly. ‘I can finish my picture of the lake now. I’d run out of blue paint.’

  ‘Paints, paper, brushes,’ Dot sneered. ‘That’s all you seem to bring home these days. For her. When are you going to bring me something nice, Arfer?’

  Arthur’s eyes hardened and he jabbed his finger at her. ‘When you stop moaning, that’s when. You’ve done nothin’ but grumble lately. What’s the matter wiv you?’

  Dot glared back at him. ‘’Cos I can’t get into town, that’s why. It never stops raining!’

  Although the weather wasn’t as bad as it had been the previous winter, it was nevertheless very wet and cold. Dot hated it almost as much as she had done the snow. She became more and more irritable with both Jenny and Arthur too. Neither of them could do anything right for her. Even when spring arrived and she could get to the city more easily, she still came home in a bad mood, complaining that there was nothing in the clothes’ shops, not even in the second-hand ones. ‘Everyone’s hanging on to what they’ve got now. And I’ve no coupons left.’

  ‘Use mine,’ Arthur offered. ‘I don’t need fancy clothes now I’m a country bumpkin. Besides, you’ve only got to say,’ he added with a huge wink. ‘I can get plenty of coupons.’

  One evening in April, when they were just preparing to go upstairs to bed they heard a low droning noise that came nearer and nearer.

  Dot screamed. ‘They’re back. The bombers are back. Quick, under the table.’

  They had no air-raid shelter here; Arthur had deemed it unnecessary out in the middle of the countryside. ‘Who’s going to bomb us out here?’ he’d said. ‘It’s the cities they’re after.’ And so no shelter of any kind had been constructed.

  Dot was weeping with anger and fear and hitting out at Arthur as the three of them crouched beneath the table. ‘I told you we should have had an Anderson. I told you.’

  ‘Shut up, Dot, and listen.’

  The noise grew louder and louder until it was shaking the china on the mantelpiece and rattling the doors and windows.

  ‘I’m
going out to see what’s going on,’ Arthur said, crawling out from beneath the table.

  ‘No,’ Dot shrieked. ‘Don’t leave us. What’ll happen to us if you get killed?’

  Arthur paused briefly. ‘Oh, you’re priceless, Dot. Ne’er mind what happens to me so long as you’re all right, eh?’

  He turned away, stood up and moved towards the back door. They heard him open it and close it again, going out into the darkness. The planes kept coming, one after the other, right above their cottage. It seemed to go on for hours and still Arthur didn’t come back.

  When at last the noise died away into the distance and Dot thought it safe to emerge from beneath the table, Jenny said, ‘I didn’t hear any bombs dropping, did you?’

  ‘No. Mebbe they’re just trying to frighten us to death. Well, they nearly succeeded,’ she muttered morosely. ‘And where’s Arfer?’

  The quiet that now followed the deafening noise was just as scary. Arthur came in about half an hour later. ‘I’ve been watching them.’

  ‘Watching them? Whatever for?’

  ‘Because I wanted to know what was going on.’

  ‘You didn’t need to go outside to know. We could hear it in here. They’ve come back to bomb us all to kingdom come, that’s what.’

  ‘No, it ain’t, Dot. Jen, make sure the blackout’s tight shut and light a candle or two.’

  ‘You needn’t bother. I’m off to bed,’ Dot muttered, getting up.

  ‘Don’t you want to hear what I saw?’

  ‘If I must,’ she said grudgingly, sitting down again. But Jenny could see that her mother’s interest had been aroused. ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘They’re our planes.’

  ‘Our planes?’ Dot and Jenny both spoke at once.

  Arthur nodded. ‘They’re flying low over the reservoir and between the two towers where the water falls over the dam. One after the other, time and time again. I reckon they’re training for something special.’

  Dot’s lip curled. ‘Them RAF lads out joy-riding, that’s what it’ll be. Well, I won’t put up with that night after night. Yer can write to somebody in the morning, Arfer.’