Above the Bright Blue Sky

by Margaret Thornton

  Maisie’s belongings, such as they were – knickers, vest, liberty bodice, two pairs of socks, recently darned, a shabby nightdress that was way too short for her; plus her toothbrush and flannel and her beloved, but battered, teddy bear – were all packed away in a black leatherette bag that Lily sometimes used for shopping. When Sid and Percy had gone out her mother had locked the door, filled the zinc bath tub and placed it on the hearthrug in front of the fire, and Maisie had emerged from the hot water cleaner than she had felt for a long while. She had gone to bed early, but she knew she would not be able to sleep, not for a while, at any rate. Her stomach was all churned up, partly with excitement, but mainly with anxiety. In fact, she was more than anxious; she was scared almost out of her wits that Percy would come into her bedroom that night. She knew she must keep awake, even if her eyelids grew heavy. She was frightened, but she knew she must try to be brave. And if he came, then she would be ready for him.

  Lily, too, had retired to bed before either of the menfolk returned from wherever they had gone; Sid to the Rose and Crown, most likely, but she was not sure where Percy spent his evenings. Lily knew she would not be able to sleep, and she had made sure she was armed and ready…for whatever might happen. She hoped and prayed that nothing would, but if it did, then that lad would get what he deserved, and more.

  When she had been in bed for a while, half an hour or so, she guessed, she heard the back door open and close again, then footsteps on the stairs. She could tell by the slight cough he gave, clearing his throat, that it was Percy and not her husband. She lay, still as a stone, but when she heard his footsteps pause, she guessed he was listening outside her bedroom door. She made herself snore, just a little, catching her breath at the back of her throat, then she started to breath heavily and evenly as though she were deep in slumber. She heard him give a chuckle and she could imagine the sneering grin on his podgy florid face. All her senses were alert, every nerve straining as she waited, fearful and yet certain what his next move would be.

  Maisie heard him pushing open her bedroom door, then creeping across to her bed. He did not waste any time. He yanked off the bed cover and the thin sheet that covered her, staring down at her slim figure in the too short nightgown. She knew she had outgrown her nighties ages ago and had started wearing her knickers as well in bed, because she was, instinctively, a modest girl. She pulled at her nightdress now, trying to cover the tops of her legs. She looked up at him with wide frightened eyes as he leered at her, his prominent blue eyes gleaming lasciviously in the semi-darkness and his thick lips wet with saliva.

  ‘Hello, Nellie,’ he whispered. ‘’Ow about a kiss for yer big brother? And ’appen a bit more, eh, ’cause yer goin’ away tomorrer, ain’t yer? I shall miss yer, Nellie. I’ve enjoyed out little…sessions.’

  She was terrified, but she did not struggle any more than she had usually done as he lay down beside her, lowering his nasty slobbering mouth on to hers. Let him think that she was too scared to shout out, as she always had been in the past. She felt his hand touching her unformed breasts, then stroking her legs and pulling at her knickers. It was then that she did what she had always wanted to do, but had never dared to do before. She pushed him away with all the strength she could muster, at the same time bringing up her knee and punching him hard in whichever place her knee could reach.

  ‘Get off me, you filthy beast!’ she yelled at the top of her voice. ‘Mum, Mum…come quick! Help me…’

  She saw Percy writhing on the floor at the side of the bed. He was clutching at himself, at that private part of him, but she had not known which bit of him she had punched. ‘You stupid little bitch!’ he shouted. ‘What d’yer want to do that for? I was only kissin’ yer and…y’know, like I’ve done before. I thought you liked it.’

  ‘Well, I don’t! I hate you! I hate you!’ Then she stared in amazement as her mother burst into the room. Something was gleaming in her upraised hand, and Maisie realised with horror that it was a pair of scissors with long sharp blades. Lily dashed across the room, thrusting the points downwards at the cringing cowering figure on the floor. He had stopped writhing around now, and was staring up at her in fright.

  ‘Don’t! Don’t! I never meant it…’ he cried.

  ‘Mum, stop it! You mustn’t!’ Maisie leapt from the bed and knocked the scissors from her mother’s hand just before they reached their target. They clattered on to the floor, but as they fell, the sharp points grazed the lad’s arm, drawing a trickle of blood.

  ‘Look what you’ve done, you bloody fool!’ he yelled. ‘I’m bleeding! I’m gonna tell the police. You tried to kill me, you ravin’ loony…’

  None of them had heard the footsteps coming up the stairs, but suddenly Sid Bragg was there in the doorway, the jowls of his big red face quivering with anger, his slavering mouth spitting out words of venom. ‘What the ’ell’s goin’ on ’ere? You crazy brainless woman!’ He kicked out at Lily who by this time had collapsed on the floor, his foot landing with force in the pit of her stomach. She cried out, doubling up in pain as he struck out again, this time with his fist, delivering a heavy blow to her temple. ‘Try to kill my son, would you, you wicked scheming bitch? The lad’s right. We’ll get the law on to you. You want lockin’ up…’

  ‘Stop it! Stop it!’ cried Lily ‘He was molesting my little girl. Goodness knows what might have happened if I hadn’t come in.’

  ‘I weren’t,’ retorted Percy. ‘It weren’t like that, Dad. I were kissin’ ’er, that’s all. I’ve done it before an’ she likes it. She’s never tried to stop me before. I were only ’avin a bit of fun.’

  ‘You’re a bloody liar, Percy Bragg!’ It was the first time Maisie had ever used such a word, but she could not contain herself. ‘He said he’d beat me up, an’ that he would an’ all…’ She jerked her thumb in the direction of Sid, ‘…if I told anybody. He did…all sorts of horrid things, but I didn’t dare tell. Not till now. But I’m goin’ away tomorrer so I don’t care any more.’ Suddenly it was all too much for her and she burst into tears.

  Lily was at her side at once, her arms around her, stroking her spiky hair. ‘Never mind, darling. It’s all over now. He won’t be able to hurt you again.’

  ‘Huh! I reckon she encouraged him,’ sneered Sid. ‘She’ll ’ave led ’im on, the little tart. I allus knew she was trouble, that one. Well, thank the Lord she’s going tomorrer…and as far as I’m concerned you can go an’ all.’ He poked Lily roughly in the back. ‘D’you hear me? You clear off an’ take them two with you.’ He gestured towards the other side of the room. ‘Me an’ our Percy, we can manage on our own wi’out an ’ouseful of loony women.’ He stalked out of the room and Percy followed him.

  ‘I never did nowt,’ he mumbled in a sullen voice. ‘I only touched ’er. I never…— ’er.’

  Lily was shocked that he should use such a word in front of her daughter and herself. But thank God Percy hadn’t…done that, she thought, if he was to be believed, and she guessed that that much was true.

  The two younger ones had woken up now, disturbed by all the commotion and were both sitting up in their bed.

  ‘Want a drink…’ said Joanie.

  ‘Me an’ all…’ said Jimmy.

  ‘All right,’ sighed Lily. ‘I’ll get you a drink, then you must go back to sleep.’

  She decided she would spend the night in Maisie’s bed. She could not bear to share a bed with Sid and, from what he said, he would not want her there. She guessed, though, that his words were all bravado and that, come the morning, he would have changed his mind about her going. He would not let her get away that easily.

  Chapter Three

  It had been a glorious summer, one of the best in living memory. War was the last thing on the minds of many of the inhabitants of Great Britain as the mellow, sunny days of August gave way to September. Hadn’t they been promised peace, only last year, by the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, coming back from Munich waving his scrap of paper and proclaimin
g that it was ‘Peace in our time’? And ‘the war to end all wars’, as it had been called, had ended only twenty years before. It was well nigh impossible to think that there might soon be another one.

  Yet, as the summer faded, momentous events were taking place in Europe and, eventually, even those who had continued to bury their heads in the sand were forced to wake up to the fact that the threat was real.

  Patience Fairchild, the wife of the rector of St Bartholomew’s church in the little market town of Middlebeck, high in the northern Yorkshire Dales, was not one who had ignored – or had pretended to, as many did – the dire warnings. She and her husband, Luke, always endeavoured to keep abreast of the times. Indeed, Luke maintained that a ‘man of the cloth’, such as he was, should keep himself informed about what was going on in the country and the wider world outside his own small parish. Some clergymen tried to live a purely spiritual existence, leaving problems they knew they could not deal with themselves in the hands of God, believing, in the fullness of time, that all would be well. But Luke was a man of action, as well as a great believer in the power of prayer. Very soon, within the next day or two, their small town and the surrounding area would be host to dozens, possibly scores of evacuees. At the moment they were not sure of the actual numbers, nor would they be until the trains carrying the children arrived at the station.

  There was to be a meeting that night in the rectory to discuss plans for the part that Middlebeck would play in the evacuation scheme. And so, on the evening of Friday the first of September, Patience was busy setting out all the chairs she could muster from various parts of the house, in the spacious lounge. This was where meetings were very often held; not only those appertaining to church life, but to school and village life in general as well. She counted on her fingers as she went through, in her mind, the people she expected to be present that evening. Miss Foster, the headmistress of the school, and her other two members of staff; the squire, Archie Tremaine and his wife, Rebecca; representatives from the WVS, possibly three or maybe more; the two church wardens, Mr Allbright and Mr Carey; Miss Thomson, the undisputed spokeswoman of the church council; and herself and Luke, of course.

  Fifteen cups, saucers and plates should be more than enough, she decided as she moved into the kitchen to get out the second-best willow pattern china, which came out for every meeting. She had been busy all morning, baking cakes and shortbread biscuits. As though some sort of a party was about to take place, she thought, instead of a gathering of village folk to discuss their plans as they stood on the brink of what might prove to be the most cataclysmic event in the history of the world.

  Patience had never been convinced by Chamberlain’s assurance of appeasement. Neither, it seemed, were the more sceptical members of the Government as plans for re-armament and the compulsory conscription of young men were put into force. And long before that, all schoolchildren had been issued with gas masks and had been given practice in emergency drill. The adults had now been provided with them as well; hers and Luke’s lay at the bottom of the wardrobe in their cardboard boxes. Please God, may we never have to use them, prayed Patience. She remembered her father returning from the last war, suffering from the effects of mustard gas and he had since died as a result of his injuries. War was a truly dreadful, horrific experience, and Patience, in her bleaker moments, was tempted to question in her mind why God allowed such things to happen. But she did not voice her uncertainties aloud or try to discuss them with her husband. It was one of life’s imponderables and such questioning could drive one mad.

  There had been little doubt as to the outcome when, earlier that year, German troops had marched into Czechoslovakia, in direct contravention of the Munich agreement. It was useless for the Government to tell people not to panic-buy, as there was plenty of food available. Many folk, at last waking up to reality, had begun to do just that. It was then announced that conscription was to be extended to include menfolk up to forty-one years of age. Patience had said a silent prayer of thanks. Luke was forty-two, but, even so, she knew she would have to struggle hard to dissuade him from joining up.

  And now, on that very day, the first of September, 1939, there had come the news, on the wireless and in the newspapers, that Germany had invaded Poland. The blackout restrictions had been enforced and the evacuation of children had already begun. There were plans to evacuate millions of them. And the inhabitants of Middlebeck were to play their part.

  ‘They’re arriving tomorrow,’ announced Muriel Hollins, who was not only the Chairman of the local Women’s Institute, but also an active member of the Mothers’ Union at St Bartholomew’s church. And recently, she and others of her ilk had joined the growing ranks of the Women’s Voluntary Service. The membership of the WVS was, at first, essentially upper and middle class, and the women in their green tweed suits, red jumpers and unbecoming felt hats were the object of ridicule in some circles. The members, so far, had done little more than preside over church fetes and open bazaars and sales of work. But now that war was imminent thousands of women were joining its ranks to help in whatever capacity they could on the Home Front. And the chief task at the moment was their organisation of the evacuation scheme.

  Patience had enrolled as a member as well, but on this warm late summer evening she had decided not to wear her uniform, but had put on a favourite light rayon dress with white spots on a pale green background. She noticed that Muriel and her two stalwart helpers, Jessie Campion and Ivy Spooner, were wearing the full rig-out of green and red. They all looked far too hot, although they had discarded their jackets by now; but not, however, their hats, which they seemed to regard as an inalienable badge of office.

  Muriel’s face, in particular, was as beetroot red as her jumper as she told the meeting of the plans to be put into action the next day. ‘Tomorrow, probably towards midday, as far as we know; those will be the ones from the Leeds area. And some more are expected in the afternoon, from Hull.’

  ‘Good gracious! Two lots?’ queried Miss Amelia Thomson. ‘How do they expect a village like Middlebeck to accomodate such a large number of evacuees?’

  ‘We really don’t know how many there will be until they arrive.’ Mrs Muriel Hollins cast a disdainful look at the speaker. ‘But we can be sure they will not send us more than our quota. And Middlebeck is no longer classed as a village, Miss Thomson. It has grown extensively over the last few years. There is the new estate, and all the outlying farms. And everyone – and I do mean everyone – will be expected to take an evacuee; more than one if possible.’

  Miss Thomson looked away hastily from the eagle-eye of Muriel Hollins, shaking her head and pursing her thin lips, and fiddling with the crochet-work gloves on her lap. ‘Well, I am sure we will all do what we can, but some of us are not as young as we used to be. I have already said that I will help with the meal when they arrive, handing round sandwiches or…whatever you are going to give them.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Thomson. I am sure your help will be much appreciated,’ said Muriel dismissively.

  There was not much love lost between the two women, as most of the folk assembled there realised. Miss Thomson resented the fact that Mrs Muriel Hollins was a leading light in the Mothers’ Union – not actually the enrolling member because Patience Fairchild, as the rector’s wife, was awarded that honour – whereas she, because of her spinster status, could not take an important role in MU affairs. But to make up for that, Miss Amelia Thomson had made sure, over the years, that she was a force to be reckoned with on the Parochial Church Council.

  Patience, sensing that the hackles of these two ladies were beginning to rise, decided she must try to avert any unpleasantness. She glanced around the room, her warm smile embracing them all. Patience had the flair for making everyone feel welcome and appreciated, and they liked and admired her for it.

  ‘All your efforts are appreciated,’ she said, ‘every one of you, and my husband and I do thank you for taking the trouble to come here this evening. Now…we have
decided then, have we, that the Village Institute would be the best assembly point?’ There were nods of agreement.

  It had been suggested at first that the evacuees, on arrival, should be taken to the church hall, where church functions and the Sunday School of St Bartholomew’s took place. The church, however, was situated at the furthest end of the town from the railway station. The procession of newcomers, therefore, would have to pass the Village Institute, which stood half way down the High Street, so it made sense for this to be the chosen venue. Moreover, this building was the home, primarily, of the Women’s Institute and, latterly, of the WVS, the two organizations having become almost synonymous.

  ‘Yes, I think we are all agreed on that,’ said Muriel. ‘I have already been asking round our ladies and I have the promise of sandwiches – egg and cress, potted meat, and sardine – and scones and cakes. And Jessie and Ivy here have promised to make iced buns, haven’t you, dears? And to be responsible for making the tea. We have some large enamel pots that we used for our meetings, but we don’t really want to use our best china tea service. There wouldn’t be enough of it anyway.’

  ‘There are plenty of plain white cups and saucers, and plates, too, in the church cupboard,’ said the rector. ‘We use them for Sunday School parties and concerts and suchlike. I can make arrangements for them to be transported to the Institute.’

  ‘Oh, thank you so much, Rector,’ said Muriel, clasping her hands together and beaming. ‘That would be most kind of you.’