The Girl With No Name

by Diney Costeloe

  Charlotte took Billy’s hand. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘let’s wash that cut of yours. It looks nasty.’ Once in the kitchen, Billy pushed the door shut behind him.

  ‘Let me look at that cut,’ Charlotte began, but Billy simply stepped towards her, took her in his arms and as she clung to him, he bent his head and kissed her. Kissed her as he had kissed her so long ago on that midsummer eve.

  To his delight he felt her respond and when he finally lifted his head, he said, ‘Oh, Charlotte, my darling Charlotte, I do love you.’

  40

  1945

  Prison had not improved Harry. He had been held in Brixton while on remand, but once he’d been sentenced – three years for looting, resisting arrest, assaulting a police officer and selling goods on the black market – he was transferred to Gloucester gaol.

  He had been allowed to write one letter and he’d written to Lisa, explaining what had happened to him, but he’d had no reply. He didn’t know if she’d ever received the letter, but decided that if she had, she must have answered after he’d been transferred to Gloucester. Screws weren’t in the business of forwarding mail.

  When he’d been incarcerated on the Isle of Man, he’d been befriended by Alfred Muller. Eventually he had used his time to prepare himself for his release into the world outside. Alfred had saved him from himself and given him a real stake in his future. In Gloucester gaol he found a new mentor, but got a different sort of education.

  His first night he’d had to fight off the attentions of his cell mate, Puggy Merton. Puggy was short and fat, with sagging breasts and a pudgy bottom. The moment Harry was put into the cell he looked at him with lustful eyes. He’d always had a penchant for young boys – indeed that was why he was languishing here at His Majesty’s pleasure – but to have a sturdy young man delivered to his cell made him think that there might be a God after all. That night he’d slithered on to Harry’s bunk, pushing him up against the wall and blocking his escape with his bulk.

  ‘Now then, boy,’ Puggy murmured, wriggling against him, ‘we can have a bit of fun. You play ball with me... balls with me...’ he giggled, ‘and I’ll look after you.’

  Running his hands along Harry’s thighs he gripped his backside and made the mistake of trying to turn him over. Harry, awaiting his opportunity, had smashed his fist into Puggy’s face and brought his knee up, hard and fast, into Puggy’s flabby groin. With a gasp of pain Puggy rolled off the narrow bunk on to the floor, but before he could get up, Harry was upon him, his hands pinning Puggy’s arms and his knee across his windpipe.

  ‘Do that again, mate,’ Harry hissed, ‘and you’re a dead man.’

  Their third cell mate, Rick Richards, had been paying no attention to what was going down on the bunk below – he was used to Puggy – but when he realised that the new lad was in danger of murdering Puggy, he called down. ‘Knock it off, young ’un, or you’ll be in here for life and it’ll be a short one.’

  Harry had let Puggy go and got back on to his own bunk, but remembering the fear that Rolf’s knife had instilled, he decided to try and arm himself. A few days later he managed to smuggle a knife out of the canteen. It wasn’t particularly sharp and didn’t look particularly fearsome, but he spent hours honing it against the rough stone wall of his cell. The next time Puggy tried Harry, begging him for a favour, Harry whipped out the knife and, holding it to Puggy’s privates, threatened to emasculate him with it. He was only a lad, but it soon got round that he knew how to handle himself and he was left alone.

  The godfather on his wing was an East End boss called Dennis Duncan, known to inmates and staff alike as Denny Dunc. He still had ten years of his sentence for grievous bodily harm to run, but Harry soon discovered that Denny Dunc had some sort of clout within the prison. What he said went. Even the screws knew better than to get on the wrong side of Denny Dunc.

  ‘Get that lad Harry Black out of Puggy’s cell,’ Denny said. ‘He can come in with me for a bit.’

  Officer Roddick was surprised. ‘What about Teddy Thomas?’ Teddy was Denny’s most loyal sidekick, who always shared his cell.

  ‘Put him with Puggy.’

  *

  From then on it was clear to both inmates and staff that Harry was under Denny Dunc’s protection.

  His sentence had included hard labour, and for the first six months Harry had been taken out to a quarry and spent the day breaking up stones to be used in bomb damage repairs. It was indeed hard labour, but it built up his strength, and despite his small stature, few would take him on without serious thought.

  As Alfred had done before, Denny took Harry’s education in hand. ‘It’s a jungle out there, Harry boy. Dog eat dog. So, you got to be the bigger, stronger dog, know what I mean?’

  Harry did. He knew he’d been set up by Mikey Sharp and was considering what revenge he could exact once he got out. He told Denny what had happened and Denny laughed.

  ‘Well, what did you expect, Harry? That he’d welcome you with open arms and let you move in on his manor? I’d have done the same, boy, if you’d come nosing on my patch. You’re lucky he only got you fingered and put away. I might have been less gentle. Done sommat more permanent. Get my drift?’

  Harry did and grinned ruefully. ‘It was stupid to think I could take him on, but I learn fast and I shan’t make that mistake again.’

  ‘Believe you,’ said Denny. ‘You’ll do all right. What you going to do when you get out of here? Plans, have you? I could use a lad like you.’

  ‘No.’ Harry shook his head. ‘Thanks, Denny, but when I’m out of here and this fucking war’s over, I’m going to fetch my girl and we’re going to go to Australia. Plenty of scope for a man of talent over there.’

  ‘Got a girl, have you?’

  ‘Sort of. Least she will be when I get out of here.’

  ‘You realise the Aussies probably won’t let you in now you’ve got a criminal record,’ Denny said.

  ‘How will they know?’ said Harry. ‘I’ll change my name. I’m a refugee. Lost all my papers in my escape, didn’t I?’

  ‘You’ll need new ones,’ Denny said. ‘You’ll still have to provide them with something, ID card, ration book, something to prove that you’re who you say you are.’ He looked across at the younger man. ‘You do me a couple of favours when you get out and I can get you set up with whatever you need, know what I mean?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Birth certificate, ID card, driving licence, you name it.’

  ‘No, I mean what favours?’

  Denny grinned at him appreciatively. ‘You’re learning. Nothing much, just carry a couple of messages to some friends of mine when they let you out.’

  ‘Messages?’

  ‘Maybe a letter or two. Screws won’t search you on the way out, I’ll see to that.’

  ‘And I get...?’

  Denny Dunc smiled. ‘You, my son, get a new identity.’

  It worked as Denny Dunc had described. On the morning Harry was let out into the spring sunshine, having served just less than his three years, he was handed back his belongings, such as they were, and without further ado the heavy doors swung closed behind him. He was free, and concealed in the seat of his trousers were three letters, for delivery to three of Denny Dunc’s ‘associates’.

  ‘They got stuff to arrange for me,’ Denny said. ‘When you’ve delivered them letters, go to the Crooked Billet down near the Isle of Dogs. Ask for Freddie. He’ll be expecting you. He’ll sort you out with a new ID, then you can disappear and turn up in Sydney or wherever. I might even join you down there. Don’t plan on staying in here much longer.’

  It wasn’t hard to find Denny’s associates and Harry delivered the letters. He was careful, as Denny had warned him to be, to make sure that he wasn’t followed. Then he set off to find the Crooked Billet.

  Freddie was indeed expecting him. ‘Better come to my studio, later,’ he said, glancing round nervously. He gave Harry an address. ‘After dark come round the back
and I’ll let you in.’

  Freddie took his photo and wrote down some details. ‘Come back here next weekend,’ he said, ‘Sunday evening, ’bout nine. I’ll have your stuff ready by then.’

  Harry did as he was told and the following Sunday he returned to the studio. Freddie, waiting, opened the door before Harry had a chance to knock.

  ‘Come in,’ Freddie hissed and, with a quick glance out into the yard, hastily closed the door behind him. ‘Here you are, all the things Denny Dunc asked me to do.’ He handed Harry an envelope. Harry tipped the contents out on to the table and found he was a completely new person. A dog-eared ID card named him as Victor Merritt, as did the ration book with some of the coupons already clipped and the birth certificate, George Merritt, son of Doris and William Merritt, born in Hackney on 25 July 1925. Most important of all was a passport, Victor Merritt’s passport complete with Harry’s photograph. He could travel anywhere.

  ‘Who’s Victor Merritt?’ he asked.

  Freddie scowled at him. ‘You are,’ he said. ‘The address on them papers was took out by a V2, so there shouldn’t be any queries. You was bombed out, that’s all.’

  Harry nodded and scooped up the documents, sliding them back into the envelope.

  ‘An’ you tell Denny Dunc that I done a good job, eh?’ Freddie looked at him anxiously. ‘Tell him his are ready, too, when he wants them.’

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ agreed Harry, knowing full well he’d never see Denny Dunc again. Now he’d got his new papers, Harry Black would disappear. Vic Merritt, merchant seaman, would soon be leaving for Australia and he planned to take Lisa with him.

  Harry wanted to find Lisa, to talk to her, to explain his plans for them both, but he wanted to do it without that dragon woman Morrison being about. He knew she didn’t trust him and thought she’d probably try and stop Lisa going away with him. He made his way to Livingston Road in the hope of seeing her. All round him excitement was in the air. The people in the streets were buzzing with unconfirmed reports of a German surrender. Germany had finally been defeated. The war was over.

  *

  Charlotte was busy inside the house. The children had all been sent home early from school, the talk of nothing but the supposed surrender.

  ‘I can’t really believe it’s all over,’ Matron said to Caroline as they settled the children down for tea. ‘No more bombing, no more V2s pulverising us. Life can get back to normal.’

  ‘Not official yet,’ Caroline warned. ‘We’ll put the wireless on later and see what they say on the news.’

  After supper Caroline had gathered all the inhabitants of the home into the sitting room and switched on the wireless. Even the youngest had stayed up to hear that war was over. A great cheer went up when the news was announced officially. The Germans had surrendered. Everyone hugged and kissed, all talking excitedly, laughing, singing. Only Charlotte couldn’t quite join in the joy. She was pleased that the war seemed to be over, but she knew it wasn’t over for her. Now she had to find out if any of her family had survived.

  She helped as always, putting the younger children to bed, but somehow she couldn’t summon up the joyfulness, the exhilaration felt by everyone else.

  ‘You should be out celebrating, not hanging about here in the house,’ Ethel Shilton told her. ‘Why don’t you go up west? That’s where all the fun is.’

  Ethel and her baby Josie had become fixtures in the Livingston Road home. Caroline had squeezed them in on the night they’d escaped the doodlebug attack and Ethel had stayed. She earned their keep helping in the home and Josie, the youngest in the house, had become the pet of everyone, toddling about and getting in the way.

  ‘No, thanks, Ethel,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’m celebrating here with all of you.’

  The next day, however, was entirely different. The whole of London seemed to have erupted on to the streets. Charlotte took some of the children to the park while Caroline organised a huge party for them in the street outside. There’d been a storm in the night, but it hadn’t dampened anyone’s spirits and now the sun had burst through it was turning into a beautifully warm summer’s day. As the children walked in an excited crocodile to the park, they could hear bells from the surrounding churches ringing out for victory; a new and cheerful sound. There’d been no bells during the hostilities, they had been reserved as a warning of invasion, but now that threat was gone, they rang out loud and long. There were few cars on the streets, but people were gathering, heading into the town, and everywhere there was laughter, shouts of joy, dancing.

  As they reached the park gates Charlotte let the children break croc and run to the playground. She stood and watched them for a moment before following more slowly to the children’s area, fenced off in one corner of the park.

  ‘Lisa!’

  Charlotte spun round and there he was, Harry Black, grinning at her in his inimitable way. She stared at him for a moment and he said, ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me? I got out.’

  ‘Out? Of course, I mean... I... where have you been, Harry?’ Charlotte tried to pull her thoughts together.

  ‘Inside,’ he replied shortly.

  ‘Inside?’ Charlotte looked confused. ‘Inside where?’

  ‘In prison. Look, I’m out now and I’ve come to find you.’

  ‘In prison? Why, I mean when... Oh, Harry, what did you do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Harry said. ‘Well, nothing that loads of other people weren’t doing as well. But that doesn’t matter any more, does it? I mean, I done my time and now I’m out again I came straight to find you. You been all right, have you?’

  Charlotte nodded and then said, ‘Oh, Harry, why didn’t you let me know? I didn’t know what had happened to you. You just disappeared.’

  ‘Like you did,’ Harry reminded her. ‘Look, I did write, but maybe you didn’t get my letter.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. You were going to come back the next Saturday and you never did.’

  ‘Well, I got arrested. I wrote from Brixton, but maybe the screws don’t post letters. I don’t know.’

  ‘Screws?’

  ‘Prison officers. Pigs, they are. Still I’m here now so let’s forget about them. Let’s go up west and celebrate the end of fucking Hitler.’

  ‘Maybe later,’ Charlotte said, glancing over at the group of children she’d brought with her. ‘I can’t just up and leave leave them here. I’ve got to take them back to the party.’

  ‘Party? What party?’

  ‘There’s a street party in Livingston Road. I’ve brought the kids out here to keep them out of the way while it’s being got ready.’

  ‘We’ll go after that, then,’ Harry said cheerfully, apparently unaware that she couldn’t simply walk away from her job in the home when she wanted to. He grinned at her. ‘You’re looking great, Lisa,’ he said and, reaching over, he pulled her roughly into his arms and began to kiss her. For a moment she felt his lips on hers, the remembered feel of his tongue dancing with her own, and then she broke away and, breathing heavily, flopped down on the grass. Harry dropped down beside her and reached for her hand.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said quickly, ‘sorry, shouldn’t be doing that in public, I know. Just that I missed you, Lisa. I been thinking about you all the time I was... away. Bet you were thinking about me, too, eh?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Charlotte conceded, but didn’t add, ‘but not for months now’.

  ‘I’ve got great plans for us,’ Harry told her. ‘Now this fu— dreadful war is over we can get out of this country. Told you I wanted to go to Australia, didn’t I?’ He didn’t wait for her reply, but went on, ‘Start again in a young country. We can do really well over there... we can—’

  ‘Harry! Stop!’

  ‘Stop what? It’ll be you and me, doll, just like we always thought.’

  ‘We didn’t always think—’ Charlotte broke in, but it was as if she hadn’t spoken.

  ‘We’ve survived it all, Lisa. Now we’re entitled. You and me.’

  ‘But I
don’t want to go to Australia, Harry.’ Charlotte tried to keep her voice soft and reasonable, not allow the rising panic she felt to sound in her words.

  ‘You do, you will, when you think about it. Look, forget it for now, eh? Let’s just celebrate the end of the war. You and me. We’ve defeated Hitler because we’ve survived!’

  Charlotte wasn’t going to get into any discussions about what she was going to do now that Germany’d surrendered. Her first priority would be to find news of her family. She looked at her watch and, managing a smile for Harry said, ‘We’d better get back.’ She called to the children, scattered in the playground. ‘Come on, everyone, time to go home for the party.’

  ‘Is Uncle Billy coming?’ asked Mary Beale. She was one of the children who’d been in the home for well over a year and always looked forward to Billy’s occasional visits.

  ‘No, not today,’ replied Charlotte.

  ‘Oh!’ cried Mary. ‘I wanted him to come to the party, didn’t you, Miss Charlotte?’

  ‘It would have been nice if he could have,’ agreed Charlotte carefully, ‘but he can’t today.’

  ‘Who’s this Uncle Billy, then?’ demanded Harry as the children paired up for the walk back to Livingston Road.

  ‘Just a friend,’ Charlotte said. ‘Someone who comes and helps at the home sometimes.’ She wondered, even as she said it, why she was lying, or at least concealing the truth from Harry. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to know about Billy.

  She hurried the children along and, as they reached the home, Caroline came out to meet them. When she saw Harry her heart sank. She recognised him at once and she didn’t like the way he had a proprietorial hand on Charlotte’s arm as they walked up the road. She schooled her face, however, and came towards them, extending a hand. ‘Harry, isn’t it?’