The Girl With No Name

by Diney Costeloe

  He crawled out from under the blankets and went back up into the burnt-out kitchen. He tried turning on the tap, but no water came out. He had no other clothes and nothing to eat. Nothing left but a ruined house and a few quid in his pocket. He looked round to see if there was anything else he could salvage, but could see nothing. He returned to the cellar and there he picked up the blankets and bundled them into their box. He couldn’t take them with him and he could do nothing with the mattress, so he left them where they were. Suddenly he caught sight of the biscuit tin Naomi had put on the shelf and he grabbed it and, pulling the lid off, he found there were half a dozen biscuits inside. He took out two and crammed them into his mouth while he searched along the shelf for anything else that might be edible. There was a pot of jam, half full, and he stuck his fingers into it, scooping the jam out in dollops into his mouth. He hadn’t eaten, he realised, since midday yesterday.

  He was about to leave the cellar, his pockets full of biscuits and the now almost-empty jam jar, when he caught sight of the small suitcase Naomi had insisted on storing in safety. Lisa’s suitcase. It was all they had left of her and so, catching it up, he carried it upstairs to take with him. He stood in the kitchen and looked round. Everything was black and the smell of smoke still almost overpowering. He looked at the cellar door still lying in the ash on the kitchen floor. Perhaps he could secure it, so that anyone wanting to break in would have to make an effort to do so, not just walk in off the street. He knew there were squatters everywhere as people looked for somewhere to sleep when their homes had gone.

  He heaved the door up and pushed it against the door frame, wedging it so that at a casual glance it appeared closed. It didn’t really matter, he supposed, but somehow it made him feel better that a small part of their home was still their own.

  When Dan finally emerged into the street it was deserted. A chilly wind was blowing and the sky was dark, threatening rain, or possibly snow. He had made his plans. He would go first to the rescue centre where they could perhaps give him another set of clothes and maybe even a square meal, then he would go the station and catch his train. He would be out of London before dark, away before the next raid. He felt a stab of guilt at leaving John Anderson, and particularly Arthur, in the lurch, but he pushed it aside. His place was now with Naomi and Nicholas. Surely there’d be war work he could do in Suffolk.

  The WVS woman at the rescue centre was as helpful as she could be.

  ‘I suppose you’re looking for somewhere to stay,’ she said wearily.

  ‘No,’ Dan replied. ‘I got somewhere to stay, just wondered if you’d got any clothes, you know, what have been given for people what have been bombed out.’ He held his arms out and looked down ruefully at his grimy, soot-covered clothes. His shirt was black and the knees of his trousers were ragged where he’d struggled moving rubble and heaving water tanks.

  She was so relieved that he wasn’t looking for shelter that she gave him a huge smile. Looking at his filthy clothes, she waved her hand to the door of the next room. ‘You do look a bit the worse for wear,’ she agreed. ‘Have a look in there. I expect you can find something.’

  Half an hour later, Dan, clad in clean clothes and carrying the old ones in a bundle tied with string and Lisa’s suitcase, made his way to the station. He was leaving London like so many others already had and, as the train drew out of Liverpool Street, he looked back at the pall of smoke that still hung over the city and felt himself well out of it.

  Naomi was in the pub kitchen when he arrived, unannounced, in the bar. Jenny sent him through and Naomi greeted him with a shriek of joy, dropping the rolling pin she’d been using to roll a pie crust and flinging herself into his arms.

  ‘Danny, oh Danny,’ she cried, over and over as they kissed and kissed again. ‘Thank God you’ve come. I was so afraid for you in London. How long can you stay?’

  Jenny sent them upstairs for a short while together and Dan was able to admire his son, just a week old, but already putting on an ounce or two. It was still a miracle to him that he had a son at all, but seeing him, such a beautiful baby with tiny fingers curled in sleep, gave him an unexpected jolt of joy.

  ‘They’re calling it the Second Great Fire of London,’ Naomi told him. ‘There was a picture of St Paul’s Cathedral in the paper Jim had today. The fire and smoke all round the dome. It must have been the worst raid yet!’

  Dan told her a little of what he’d seen. He didn’t mention the incendiaries on the warehouse roof – she was quite alarmed enough already – but then went on to explain about his cab being requisitioned. ‘So, you see, girlie, I can’t work as a cabby no more, so I thought I might as well come up here with you and try and get something here.’

  ‘You mean you’ve come... to stay?’ Naomi’s face was suffused with joy. ‘Oh, Dan, really? You ain’t going back?’

  ‘Nothing to go back for,’ Dan replied. ‘The house is in ruins, though perhaps it can be repaired one day. I’ve no work down there and we need to be together as a family.’ He hugged her to him again. ‘I’ll have to find something up here, of course. But I did bring the savings pot from under the stove, so we’ve a little cash in hand.’

  ‘And Lisa’s suitcase,’ murmured Naomi. ‘I’m so pleased you thought to bring that, Dan. When this dreadful war is over I want to be able to give her things back to her family.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ answered Dan and neither of them mentioned that Lisa’s family had disappeared and wouldn’t come looking for her. They needed something to cling to.

  26

  The snow lay heavily on the hills for several days after Christmas. Wynsdown was snowed in, the road down to Cheddar blocked with drifts and impassable. Miss Edie wasn’t able to go to work and people were turned in on their own resources. Charlotte went out and joined the other village children as they played in the deep white snow. Billy came into the village several times, trudging in pulling a sledge to carry home his family’s rations from the village store, but he never stayed, he was needed by his father on the farm. There were sheep to be brought in from fields before they were buried in drifts, or fell into snow-filled ditches and couldn’t get out. Some were almost ready to lamb and they were kept close to the barn.

  Sometimes Charlotte went back to the farm with him, longing to play with Bessie. Bessie was already learning her voice and every time she went into the stable the little dog capered towards her in delight. And then there were the piglets to see. The pig had farrowed and Charlotte was enchanted by the ten pink piglets that now squirmed about their mother in the sty.

  However busy she seemed, Mrs Shepherd always made Charlotte welcome, often inviting her to join in the communal midday meal, but they followed Miss Edie’s rules and she was always home again before it got dark.

  On one of those evenings she had just reached Blackdown House when the air raid siren in Cheddar began its swooping warning. Miss Edie went immediately to check on the blackout. Charlotte listened to the siren and shivered. At least here there was no cellar. They had nowhere to shelter but the cupboard under the stairs or under the heavy kitchen table.

  ‘No need to worry unless we hear them overhead,’ Miss Edie assured her, hoping that she was indeed right. ‘They don’t waste bombs on the hills. They’ll be heading for Bristol again.’

  They heard the planes in the distance, but they were still high and far away. They sat at the table and ate their supper as if there were no raid going on. It seemed strange to Charlotte to be ignoring the Luftwaffe, but she was only too pleased that they didn’t have to take shelter. They went to bed in the usual way, sleeping in their own rooms. The sound of planes continued on and off for the rest of the night and it wasn’t till early morning they heard the all-clear.

  ‘It must have been a dreadful raid,’ Miss Edie said as they ate their breakfast. ‘Nearly twelve hours.’

  After breakfast Charlotte went out into the village to see if Clare was about. As she passed the vicarage Mrs Swanson came out and called t
o her.

  ‘Charlotte, are you going over to Charing Farm today?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ answered Charlotte.

  ‘I have a message for the Shepherds,’ explained the vicar’s wife. ‘There was a big raid on Bristol last night and their daughter, Jane, has just rung to say that she’s all right. You know she’s nursing there?’

  ‘Yes, this I know. Billy said she was coming home very soon.’

  ‘Yes, well that’s the other part of the message. She says the hospital’s been inundated with people who’ve been injured in the raid, so she won’t be coming home for a while yet.’

  ‘In-inun...?’

  ‘The hospital’s very busy,’ said Avril, ‘so she can’t come. Can you take them the message? They haven’t a phone and they must be so worried.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll go now.’

  ‘Thank you, dear.’ The vicar’s wife looked relieved that it was one less thing for her husband to worry about and hurried back into the vicarage.

  Charlotte set off at once, taking the now familiar path across the fields to Charing Farm. Margaret Shepherd, who was feeding the hens when she walked into the farmyard, looked up in surprise.

  ‘Hallo, my lover,’ she said. ‘Didn’t know you was coming over today.’

  ‘Mrs Vicar asked me to come,’ Charlotte said. ‘She sends you a message from Jane.’

  ‘From Jane?’ Mrs Shepherd’s face creased into a smile. ‘She’s heard from her?’

  ‘Yes. She phoned this morning to say that the raid was very bad in Bristol, but she is all right. She can’t come home because the hospital is in-inun... very busy. Many people are hurt after the bombing. She has to stay.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ cried Mrs Shepherd and Charlotte could see tears of relief on her cheeks. ‘She’s safe. That’s all that matters.’ She dashed the tears away with the back of her hand and said, ‘We must tell John and Billy straight away. We’ve been so worried. Just let me put on my boots and we’ll go and find them.’

  Together they tramped out across the fields to where Billy and his father were mending a fence that had collapsed under the weight of the snow. They both looked up as they saw Charlotte and Mrs Shepherd hurrying towards them. Charlotte could see from the expression on John’s face that he was expecting the worst. His wife saw it too and called out to him, ‘It’s all right! Jane’s all right. She’s rung the vicarage and Charlotte’s brought us the message.’

  ‘Thank God,’ John cried and he hugged his wife to him in relief. ‘What did she say?’ he demanded of Charlotte as he let his wife go again.

  ‘She said the raid was bad and many people were hurt. She is all right but can’t come because the hospital is... very busy.’

  They all stood together in the field for a while discussing the news, the Shepherds apparently unaware of the cold, but when Charlotte shivered Mrs Shepherd said, ‘We must get back to the house or there won’t be any dinner. I’ll ring the bell when we’re ready.’

  She and Charlotte walked back to the farm. ‘You go and say hallo to Bessie for a moment,’ she said to Charlotte, ‘and then you can collect the eggs for me. I hadn’t done that when you arrived.’

  Charlotte needed no second bidding and scurried across to the stable where the puppies were still living with their mother. As always, as soon as Bessie heard the door open she came to the door of the loosebox. Charlotte spent ten minutes playing with her and then, a little reluctantly, she collected the egg basket from the back porch and went to the hen house. The hens were scratching about in the run outside where Mrs Shepherd had tossed the corn earlier. Billy had cleared away the snow, but the ground looked extremely hard. Charlotte went along the back of the hen house, feeling in the nesting boxes among the hay for any new-laid eggs. She collected eight, still warm, and placing them in the basket, she took them into the kitchen.

  ‘Thank you, Charlotte. You’ll stay for your dinner?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘And when you go you must take some eggs with you, a little thank-you for bringing us the message from Jane.’

  Later that afternoon, when Billy walked with her back to the village, she carried half a dozen eggs in a borrowed basket. Miss Edie would be delighted with them, she knew.

  When she reached Blackdown House she found Miss Edie standing at the door, peering out into the dusk.

  ‘Charlotte!’ she cried. ‘Where on earth have you been? You haven’t been home since breakfast and I didn’t know where you were.’

  Charlotte saw the worry on Miss Edie’s face and felt guilty. She hadn’t even thought of telling her where she was going.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Edie,’ she said. ‘Mrs Vicar sent me with a message for Charing Farm and I stayed for dinner. Mrs Shepherd sent you these.’ She held out the basket of eggs as a peace offering.

  ‘What was so important that you couldn’t come home here first to tell me where you were going? I’ve been all round the village looking for you.’

  ‘Mrs Vicar said—’ began Charlotte, but Billy interrupted.

  ‘She came to tell us that my sister, Jane, was safe after the raid on Bristol last night. She’d rung the vicarage because we haven’t got a phone and Mrs Swanson asked Charlotte to bring us the message.’

  ‘I see.’ Miss Edie was still angry, but the explanation rather took the wind out of her sails. She had asked Clare and all the other children she’d seen in the village, but hadn’t thought to go and ask at the vicarage. ‘Well, you’re back now. Come inside and get warm.’ It was clear to Billy that this invitation didn’t apply to him and he turned away, saying, ‘Bye Char. See you soon.’

  Suddenly remembering the basket still being held out to her, Miss Edie called after him. ‘Please thank your mother for the eggs, Billy. It’s very generous of her.’ Billy raised a hand in acknowledgement and disappeared down the lane.

  That evening Charlotte was sitting at the kitchen table when Miss Edie said, ‘I really think you should write to the Federmans, you know.’

  Miss Edie knew that such a letter was well overdue, but she hadn’t pressed the matter. Inside she was still afraid these London foster parents would ask for Charlotte to come back. She had spent the day worrying as to Charlotte’s whereabouts and it had made her realise what the Federmans must be going through, not knowing what had happened to the child, and now she provided Charlotte with notepaper and an envelope.

  Charlotte looked at the paper and wondered what she should write. What should she tell them? She hadn’t retrieved all her memories yet. She thought hard for some time and then, at last, pulled the paper towards her and wrote.

  Dear Aunt Naomi and Uncle Dan,

  I hope you are well.

  I was caught out in a big air raid on my way to Hilda’s and broke my arm. I got taken to a hospital and when I woke up I can’t remember who I am. I can’t remember where I live or remember anything. I have a new name and I am called Charlotte Smith. I was put in St Michael’s and when more raids came we all came to Somerset. That is where I am now. Miss Edie is looking after me and I am getting a puppy. She is called Bessie.

  I go to school in Cheddar. It is lots of snow here.

  Please tell Hilda where I am. She will wonder why I didn’t come for tea.

  When the bombs stop I will come to London again. There were bombs near here last night but not here. They were in Bristol.

  Please be careful in London. I hear on the wireless that London is burning down.

  I hope you will write to me. I have put my house at the top of this letter.

  Love from Lisa

  When she had finished writing, she passed the letter over to Miss Edie and said, ‘I have told them about me and my lost memory.’

  ‘So I see,’ Miss Edie said when she’d scanned the letter. ‘Well, you’d better address the envelope and then you can post it tomorrow. They say the road up from Cheddar is open again today. Mr Shepherd took his tractor down this morning and managed to clear a way through.’

  Ch
arlotte did as she was told and the letter, addressed to Mr and Federman, 65 Kemble Street, London, was put by the front door ready for posting.

  Miss Edie was right and the next day the school bus made it to the village. Warned by a phone message to the vicarage, which was quickly passed round the village, all the senior school children were outside the Magpie when it arrived. Charlotte slipped the letter into the post box before joining the crowd of children who stood waiting, stamping their feet against the cold.

  Avril had phoned Caroline on Boxing Day to tell her what Charlotte had remembered.

  ‘She says she lived in a place called Kemble Street, do you know it?’

  ‘Never heard of it,’ Caroline replied. ‘But that’s not surprising, there must be thousands of streets in London that I’ve never heard of.’

  ‘I realise that,’ Avril said with a laugh, ‘but I wondered if you could find out.’

  ‘I expect so,’ Caroline said. ‘What do you want me to do when I have?’

  ‘Well, we just thought you might be able to go and see her foster parents. They’re called Federman. They must assume she’s dead, I think, but if not they must be worrying themselves sick about her.’

  ‘Couldn’t she just write to them?’ suggested Caroline wearily. ‘I haven’t got much time for junketing around London, looking for people. St Michael’s is already full again, and there’s been no let-up in the bombing except for yesterday and today. I have my hands full trying to find suitable homes for these children. You can’t take any more, I suppose?’ she added, a hopeful note creeping into her voice.

  ‘Oh Caro, we can’t...’ began Avril.