Jenny's War

by Dickinson, Margaret

  Jenny waited with growing impatience. She put down the plate she was holding, but didn’t pick up another. Her hands were trembling so much she was afraid she would drop it. She was gripping the tea towel to stop her hands from taking hold of Elsie’s shoulders and shaking the words out of her. ‘What did they want? What did they say?’

  ‘They were trying to find you and they seemed real upset when I couldn’t even tell them where you’d gone. You could have written to them, Jen,’ she added, with a note of reproach in her tone. ‘Come to think of it, you could have written to us too. We’ve all been wondering where you were and if you were all right.’

  Neatly ignoring what Elsie had said about herself and her family, Jenny said quietly, ‘Mum said they’d sent me back because they didn’t want me any more.’

  Elsie snorted wryly. ‘Didn’t look like that to me.’

  ‘Do – do you really think they’d like to – to see me again?’

  Elsie stared at her and then said quietly, ‘I’ve never been so sure of anything in me life.’

  ‘Oh Aunty Elsie.’ Jenny dropped the tea towel she was still holding and flung her arms round the woman’s neck. ‘I must go and see them. I have to.’

  Elsie returned her hug. ‘Just so long as you aren’t going because you think you’re a trouble to us, ’cos you’re not.’

  ‘No – no, I’m not. You’ve been so kind.’

  Elsie held her at arm’s length and said seriously, ‘You go, darlin’, but if it doesn’t turn out the way you want it to, then you come straight back here. D’you hear me?’

  Jenny nodded, her eyes shining.

  ‘And this time, you just keep in touch. All right?’

  ‘I will, Aunty Elsie. I promise.’ She couldn’t tell this trusting woman that the only reason she’d never written to them had been because she dared not do so. Postmarks could be traced and Arthur had forbidden either of them to write letters to anyone, least of all to Elsie, who might be questioned by the police in their efforts to track down Arthur Osborne.

  Jenny couldn’t wait to get there and yet she was filled with trepidation too. What if Aunty Elsie was wrong? What if they’d just been down in London for some other reason and thought they’d look her up to see if she was all right? That didn’t mean they wanted her back.

  But she was older now. She’d left school and started work. She was quite capable of taking the train to Lincolnshire and seeing for herself. She’d soon know by their attitude whether they were pleased to see her or not.

  ‘You’re not going to come back, are you?’ Bobby said quietly.

  Jenny forced a laugh. ‘I’ll be home on the next train if they don’t want me.’

  ‘They’ll want you, all right. I never thought they didn’t.’

  ‘But why would Mum say that? Let’s face it, she never wanted me, so why didn’t she take the chance of offloading me for good? Well, at least for the rest of the war.’

  Bobby laughed wryly. ‘There’s no telling what goes on in yer mam’s mind. Oh sorry, I shouldn’t—’

  Jenny held up her hand. ‘Don’t apologize. We always tell each other the truth, Bobby. I know exactly what my mum is.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘And what she thinks of me, so that’s why I can’t understand why she didn’t just leave me in the country and forget all about me.’

  ‘All the other kids in the neighbourhood were coming back. We were back.’ He pulled a face. ‘We hated it where we were. I wish we could have come wiv you.’ He grinned. ‘I’d’ve stayed there.’

  Jenny smiled weakly, the memories of her happy time with the Thornton family flooding back. And yet with it came the ache in her heart for Georgie. Where was he? Was he really safe, as she’d always believed? Or had she been deluding herself, clinging to a vain hope? Perhaps that was what Charlotte and Miles had come to tell her. They’d had some news of Georgie.

  Now she couldn’t get to Ravensfleet quickly enough.

  Fifty

  The train seemed interminably slow and it was crowded – as seemed usual these days – with troops being moved from one place to another. Several seemed to be going home on leave, their faces grey with exhaustion. Maybe they’d been at the front of the fighting and their weariness and the haunted look in their eyes was because of what they’d endured. And yet, despite their weariness, there seemed to be a feeling of optimism. Everyone hoped that 1945 would bring the end of the war.

  The March day was cold and blustery and Jenny huddled into her corner of the carriage, willing the train to go faster. There was a group of four airmen in their smart blue uniforms who reminded Jenny so sharply of Georgie that tears sprang to her eyes.

  ‘You all right, pet?’ one of them asked, with a broad Geordie accent.

  ‘I’m fine.’ She smiled through her tears. ‘It’s just – just you all remind me of someone I used to know.’

  The young airman’s face sobered. ‘Lost, is he?’

  ‘The last I heard, they said so. They just said he was missing, presumed—’ She couldn’t bring herself to say the word, but the airman knew only too well.

  ‘Aye, well, we’ve all lost some of our best mates, but it’ll not be long now. War’ll soon be over.’

  ‘Will it?’ Jenny couldn’t help the doubt in her tone but he was confident. ‘Just you wait an’ see. Can’t say more than that.’ He tapped the side of his nose and winked at her. ‘Careless talk an’ all that.’

  He continued to sit beside her until the train drew into Thirsby station, where she had to change for the train that would take her the short distance to Ravens-fleet. She shared the sandwiches Elsie had packed for her with him and asked him about his home town of Newcastle. His eyes grew misty as he talked about his family.

  ‘This isn’t the train for Newcastle, though. Did you get on the wrong train?’

  The airman grinned. ‘No, I’m on me way to see me fiance´e. She lives near Cleethorpes.’ He paused and then asked, ‘You got a boyfriend?’

  Jenny hesitated and then shook her head. She turned her face away to look out of the window, but not before he’d noticed her bleak expression. ‘Carrying a torch for your young airman, a’ you, pet?’

  Her throat was too full of tears so she just nodded. How uncomfortably perceptive he was, she thought. When the train pulled into the station where she had to get off, he helped her with her suitcase – the very same one that Charlotte had given her when she’d gone back to London; she refused to call it going home. This was coming home. Home to her was Ravensfleet and the Thornton family. And now she was back. But what sort of welcome awaited her?

  As she stood on the platform, waving goodbye to the airmen, she suddenly felt very alone and apprehensive.

  She dragged her case to where the train for Lynthorpe was almost ready to leave. The train rattled through the Lincolnshire countryside and as she watched the flat fields flashing by as they drew nearer and nearer to the Ravensfleet station, she felt more and more as if she was coming home.

  The little station was bustling when she stepped down, pulling her case after her. She stood a moment to catch her breath and look about her. The walk from the station to the manor was quite a distance, so she asked the porter if she could leave her suitcase in the left-luggage office and collect it later.

  ‘Course you can, duck.’

  When she heard the Lincolnshire voice, she knew she was home at last.

  Leaving her suitcase in his care and carrying only her small handbag, she left the station and walked through the streets. On her way, she passed the cottage where the two old ladies – the Miss Listers – lived. Jenny shuddered as she remembered that dreadful time. Then on past the Tomkinses’ house towards the manor. Her heart beat faster as she neared the gate where she paused a moment.

  The wind blew in from the sea and she drew her coat more closely around her. Already, she could smell the salty air. She rested her hand on the stone gatepost. The wrought-iron gates were gone. For the war effort, she supposed. Somewhere they’d been
melted down to make Hurricanes or Spitfires for those brave young airmen to fly. Maybe Georgie . . .

  She shaded her eyes and she saw two figures on the smooth front lawn; the lawn where Miles – and Georgie – had played football with all the evacuee kids who’d been given lessons at the manor. Now someone else was playing football. A tall man and a little child. Tears blurred her eyes and she dashed them away impatiently. As her vision cleared, she saw that the child was a little girl – a toddler, no more than three, with curly hair – running towards the man who was squatting down and reaching towards her with open arms. The child reached him and he stood up, swinging her high into the air and, even from here, Jenny could hear the infant’s merry laughter. He was tall but, as he turned to walk back to the house, she saw that he was limping. As the breeze ruffled his curly blond hair, her heart missed a beat and then began to thump madly. Suddenly she felt dizzy and had to lean against the gatepost.

  He’d almost reached the steps leading up to the front door when something made him look round. Perhaps he’d felt the intensity of her gaze, and, catching sight of the figure standing uncertainly in the gateway, he turned and began to walk towards her. Nearer and nearer he came, still carrying the little girl in his arms.

  Overwhelming joy flooded through Jenny. ‘Georgie,’ she whispered. ‘Oh Georgie, it is you. You’re safe, just as I always knew you would be.’ But she could not find her voice to speak out loud, could not call to him or even walk towards him; her legs refused to move. He was smiling as he came towards her, but it was the smile with which he might greet a stranger. He didn’t recognize her. She felt a pang of disappointment; he didn’t know her. She’d carried his image in her heart over the years, but he’d forgotten her. But then a curious look crossed his face. He set the little girl down on the ground, but still kept hold of her hand. Now he was staring at Jenny, a small frown on his forehead.

  Jenny glanced at the child; a pretty little girl with dark brown curls and huge brown eyes. But it was her cheeky smile, so like Georgie’s, that made Jenny catch her breath. Her glance went back him and her lips parted in a question. But the words were stilled on her lips for a slow smile was spreading across his face now.

  ‘Jenny. You’ve come back to us.’ He moved towards her, stretching out his free arm. ‘Oh Jen, little Jen. You don’t know how glad I am to see you.’

  Still she couldn’t speak, not even when he put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her hair. ‘This is wonderful. Father and Charlotte will be over the moon. They’ve never stopped thinking about you. We’ve never stopped wondering where you were and if you were all right.’

  He drew back a little and looked down into her upturned face and she, in turn, gazed up into his eyes.

  ‘You’ve still got those beautiful blue eyes.’

  ‘You – you,’ she found her voice at last, ‘nearly didn’t recognize me, did you?’

  Georgie chuckled. ‘It took me a moment, you’ve grown so. Quite the young lady now and a very beautiful one.’

  She felt the blush creeping up her face and wondered if he was teasing her, but his tone, though light, was serious. His eyes, too, told her he was speaking the truth.

  ‘We must go and find Father and Charlotte. Come on, little one, up you come.’

  He took his arm from around Jenny’s shoulder and picked up the child again.

  ‘Is she – ?’ Jenny’s courage failed her. The child must be Georgie’s. He must have fallen in love with some girl while he’d been in the RAF and . . .’

  ‘This is Louisa. Say “hello” to Jenny, Lou-Lou.’ The child gazed at Jenny but did not speak. Instead she stuck her thumb in her mouth. Georgie laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re shy. Not my Lou-Lou.’

  Jenny’s heart plummeted. The little girl was his; he was married with a child. ‘So – so she’s—’

  ‘She’s a little miracle, that’s what Louisa Alice is, Jen. You know my father always desperately wanted a daughter?’ he began to explain as they walked up the drive towards the house.

  ‘I remember,’ Jenny said quietly.

  Georgie grinned, quite happy in the knowledge that he and his brothers had always been very much wanted children. But Miles had always dreamed of having a little girl; a daughter he would one day walk up the aisle on her wedding day. ‘But for a long time it seemed poor Charlotte couldn’t have children. And then – it was such a surprise – she found she was expecting. Of course Father had such mixed feelings, having lost my mother when I was born.’

  Jenny nodded, remembering the stories she had heard when she’d stayed with them before. Relief flooded through her. The child wasn’t Georgie’s. She was Charlotte’s and Miles’s.

  Georgie glanced down at her. ‘For a while, he thought you would become that daughter, but then your mother demanded we send you back. Father was heartbroken when you went. Both of them were.’

  Jenny stopped, appalled at what she was hearing. ‘But – but Mum said they’d sent me back. That – that they didn’t want me any more.’

  Georgie too stopped and turned to face her. His face darkened with anger. ‘Well, I can assure you, Jen, nothing could be further from the truth. They wanted you to stay. For ever, if you could have done.’

  He hoisted Louisa into his right arm and put his left around Jenny’s shoulder again. ‘But now you’ve come back to us and everything will be all right.’

  Joy surged through Jenny as she climbed the steps into the house.

  At last, she was home again.

  Fifty-One

  As soon as they entered the hall, Georgie was shouting at the top of his voice. ‘Father! Charlotte! Come quickly. Just look who’s here.’

  Charlotte came to the top of the stairs. She paused a moment, staring down at them. ‘Oh! Oh!’ And then she was running down the stairs as the door to Miles’s study flew open.

  They both spoke at once, recognizing her instantly. ‘Jenny, oh Jenny.’ And then she was enveloped in a bear hug, first by Charlotte and then by Miles, who held her a long time, murmuring, ‘Jenny, my little Jenny. You’ve come back to us.’

  There was no mistaking the warmth of their welcome and now Jenny felt guilty for having ever doubted them.

  ‘We’ve been so worried about you,’ Charlotte said as she led everyone to the morning room and ordered tea.

  Jenny glanced about her; nothing had changed much and yet everything was different. Charlotte and Miles had their own daughter now. Maybe . . . but she pushed such thoughts aside and basked in the happiness of the moment. They all talked at once, the words spilling out in their need to catch up on the lost years.

  Their news came out bit by bit, but first Jenny wanted to know about Georgie, wanted to hear what had happened to him.

  ‘I got shot down over the French coast,’ he told her briefly. ‘I was rescued and taken prisoner.’

  ‘But he escaped several times from different prison camps and ended up in Colditz.’

  Georgie chuckled. ‘It was a prison camp in a castle – the place from which the Germans said no one could escape.’

  ‘But Georgie did and managed to get to Switzerland,’ Miles took up the story. ‘They’re a neutral country, so eventually he got all the way home.’

  ‘Is that when you got hurt?’

  This time it was Charlotte who said quietly, ‘No, that was later. Once he was home, he had to go back into the RAF, although they were good and gave you quite a long leave, didn’t they, Georgie?’

  He nodded and added, with a nonchalance that belied his brave exploits, ‘I crash-landed coming back to base but at least I was at home. Bust my leg pretty badly and so, no more war for me.’

  ‘And the others?’ she asked. ‘Philip and Ben?’

  Their faced sobered and she could see her question was causing them pain. They glanced at each other before Miles said quietly, ‘Poor old Philip wasn’t so lucky. He got very badly wounded. We got him home and nursed him. Charlotte’ – Miles smiled lovingly at his wife – ‘was wonderfu
l to him. But sadly, he died.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Jenny said. ‘He was kind to me.’

  ‘Was he?’ There was surprise in Georgie’s tone.

  Jenny nodded. ‘He was home on leave and he read The Wind in the Willows to me.’

  ‘Did he now?’ Georgie said softly. ‘Good old Phil.’

  Now she hardly dared ask the next question, but she had to know. ‘And – and Ben?’

  Now they all smiled fondly. ‘Ben – the quiet one. He got the George Cross for bravery and is some big shot in the army now.’

  ‘He transferred to training new recruits but now he’s in London at the War Office. He’s not in the fighting either now,’ Charlotte said and then bit her lip, adding softly, ‘but there’s always the bombing – these dreadful doodlebugs. Are they very bad?’

  ‘The V-2s are the worst,’ Jenny said. ‘There’s no warning with them.’

  There was a brief silence before Jenny took a deep breath and asked, ‘And Louisa?’

  A young nursery maid had taken the child upstairs, but it was as if her presence was still in the room. ‘Georgie’s told me that she’s your daughter. How old is she?’

  Miles must have heard the wistful note in her tone, as if she feared there was no room for her here any more.

  ‘She was born in December 1941. Philip didn’t live long enough to see her, but he knew a baby was coming.’ He glanced at Charlotte. ‘It was he who suggested calling her Louisa after my first wife. And Charlotte, as generous as ever, didn’t object.’

  ‘Did – did Philip know Georgie was safe?’

  ‘Oh yes, but at that time, of course, we thought he would be a POW for the rest of the war.’

  Jenny laughed. ‘If I’d known, I could have told you he’d try to escape.’

  Charlotte shuddered. ‘It was a good job I didn’t know what he was up to until he arrived home. I thought he was safe and all the time – ’ She shook her head and glanced at him. There had always been a special bond between Charlotte and Georgie and, feeling it, Jenny felt excluded.