War Orphans

by Lizzie Lane

  She’d wanted to lie, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Yet again she was told that the children’s welfare officer concerned had made a decision and in the absence of a relative the decision would be adhered to.

  Remembering brought a more sombre look to her face. The corners of her mouth turned downwards and her eyes filled with sadness.

  Amelia yet again picked up on Sally’s mood.

  ‘Your father said the little girl is now an orphan. Has she any relatives?’

  Sally shook her head. No matter how heartened she was at the prospect of Pierre returning, she still felt that somehow she had let Joanna down. But what could she do? Who could possibly help?

  ‘Tell me,’ urged Amelia.

  Sally sighed, her hair falling forward like a veil around her face as she bent her head and began to explain.

  Firstly she outlined Joanna’s background, her mother dying some years ago, her father remarrying then getting killed fairly recently. From there it was a short step to the dreaded Elspeth, Joanna’s stepmother. From there she explained about Harry.

  ‘She found Harry in a sack somebody had thrown into a stream. Joanna rescued him but couldn’t take him home. Her stepmother had already had her pet cat destroyed in the first week of the war.’

  Amelia slapped her hands on her thighs. ‘Damned government! They panicked everybody. I thought I’d never see the end of the stream of pets abandoned at my front gate.’

  ‘Mrs Ryan told the police to put Harry down. Luckily we arrived in time. The woman’s a monster. To say she wasn’t kind to her stepdaughter is putting it mildly. The woman enjoyed bullying somebody who couldn’t fight back.’

  Amelia nodded sagely. ‘I’ve met plenty like that in my lifetime.’

  ‘She’s dead now. She was buried alive in the bombing when Joanna was rescued.’

  She didn’t go on to mention that she was in bed with Arnold Thomas. The man was a separate case, not quite himself following the death of his wife and taken advantage of by a venal, grasping woman.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Sorry,’ she said, ‘does that sound a bit harsh?’

  Sally shook her head. ‘I understand what you mean. Elspeth Ryan used to lock her stepdaughter in the coalhouse on a regular basis. Pitch dark, dirty and no food.’

  ‘So where is Joanna now?’

  ‘In an orphanage.’

  ‘Really?’

  Sally leaned into her hand which covered half her face as she went on to tell her about the attitude and decision of Miss Thorpe, the children’s welfare officer.

  Sally came out from behind her hand to see Amelia eyeing her strangely.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Are you sure she’s been taken to Stanleybridge Orphanage?’

  ‘Yes. Is there something significant about that?’

  Seb interrupted them, returning with a tray of tea and a plate of homemade biscuits. ‘Significant about what?’

  ‘The orphanage,’ said Sally, somewhat impatiently. She turned to face Amelia. ‘Go on.’

  Amelia took a deep breath. ‘As a magistrate and a woman of substance, I am called upon to serve the community on many levels. One of the services I undertake is to sit on the governing body of the orphanage you mention. I am also a city councillor. The children’s welfare office is currently under investigation regarding accusations of fraud, that is, placing children in private orphanages when council-run establishments are readily available, and, might I add, run with the good of the children in mind. Rumours are rife that money is exchanging hands and an audit is currently on going. Private orphanages are paid by the council to look after children, but quite frankly such establishments have had their day. Orphanages where religion and discipline is the order of the day belong to the past.’ She sighed. ‘Unfortunately old habits die hard. Some still believe in sparing the rod spoils the child.’

  Sally’s eyes brightened. ‘Do you think you can help?’

  Amelia pursed her lips. ‘I’ve had a number of misgivings about Stanleybridge for some time. Your experience of Miss Thorpe’s bullying attitude only serves to strengthen my feelings. I think the time is right for me to pay them a little visit.’

  Stiff with concern Sally leaned forward, her hands tightly clasped and an intense look on her face. ‘Do you really think you can help?’

  Amelia tossed her head as though there was nothing she couldn’t accomplish once she put her mind to it.

  ‘I think I can cause an earthquake.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Joanna lay awake for hours that first night, trying not to make a sound though the tears streamed down her face.

  Sobs came from a bed further along the dormitory. Whoever it was sounded as though their heart was breaking.

  ‘Quiet! Miss Stick will hear you,’ came a warning whisper from another bed.

  Joanna hid her head beneath the bedclothes in case she too broke into unrelenting sobs and Miss Stick heard her.

  Hidden from everyone and everything around her, this was where she could think and her chief thought was escape. How she would do that she didn’t know, but something was bound to turn up. That’s what she told herself before she finally fell asleep. Somehow she would escape.

  The loud jangling of a hand bell jerked her from sleep. Rolling onto her back she rubbed at her eyes and knew that it was morning.

  Wooden beams criss-crossed the ceiling above her. A thin thread of daylight penetrated from the dormer windows. A single light bulb hung in the middle of the room. She watched as a spider journeyed down the long wire by which it was attached to the ceiling.

  The girl who occupied the bed next to her was already halfway to being dressed. She gave her a nudge. ‘Don’t just lie there. Quick get up or you’ll be for it!’ she hissed.

  Dressed now, Joanna watched the other girls, ready to copy whatever they did. She saw them pull back their bedding after which they stood at the foot of their beds ramrod stiff.

  The tall thin woman Joanna recognised as the one who had let her and Miss Thorpe into the orphanage yesterday strode between the rows of beds.

  The clumping sound of her heels hitting the floor only ceased when she walked halfway down each bed, stopped and inhaled deeply.

  Seemingly satisfied there were no nasty whiffs, she carried on down the length of the dormitory.

  It wasn’t until she came to the last bed it became clear that she had found what she was looking for.

  ‘Jones! Wet again? That’s the second time this week.’ Her voice was as ear-splitting as the sound of metal scraping against metal, such a scary sound coming out of a skinny body.

  The girl standing at the end of the bed began to tremble. Suddenly she broke into deep, heartrending sobs. Joanna was sure they were the same sobs she had heard the night before and thought how unfair it was to shout out what the poor little girl had done. She guessed she was only her own age, perhaps a little younger.

  Nobody moved. Nobody smirked or murmured a sound.

  Miss Stick came to stand beside the trembling girl. ‘A wet bed yet again, Jones!’ The tirade continued. ‘If you go on like this you’ll sleep on the floor, or we’ll hang you up on the washing line with all the other wet sheets!’

  A trickle of urine ran down the girl’s leg and puddled on the floor.

  ‘You disgusting child!’ A bony hand slapped the girl’s cheek, which resulted in louder sobs and more pee, some of which splashed over Miss Stick’s shoes.

  A look of disgust came to the pinched face.

  Joanna felt her heart lurch in sympathy. Couldn’t the woman see how frightened the poor girl was?

  ‘Simmons! Fetch me a cleaning cloth.’

  A girl with short brown hair ran to do as she’d been bid. In a second she came back with a cloth that she handed to Miss Stick. In turn the woman thrust at the sobbing girl.

  ‘Clean it up!’

  Still crying, the girl dropped down onto all fours.

  The other girls were told to stay and watch as
the girl attempted to wipe up the wetness.

  ‘Let this be a warning to all of you too lazy to go to the lavatory.’

  Having finished wiping the floor, the girl stood up, her red-rimmed eyes blinking with fear.

  A cruel smile twisted the woman’s hawk-like features. ‘Now wash your face.’

  Tear-filled eyes looked pleadingly from above flushed pink cheeks. The girl started to head for the end of the room where the washbasin was situated.

  ‘No. Wash it with the cloth you have in your hand!’

  Joanna was immediately filled with a sense of outrage. She’d endured her stepmother’s neglect and cruel punishments, but this was far worse. She had never been humiliated like this in public. Her heart went out to the little girl. This was just not right.

  ‘That’s not fair!’ The sound of her own voice filled her with surprise. She heard an intake of breath from the other girls.

  Miss Stick turned angry black eyes in her direction and stripes of deep puce appeared on her cheekbones. ‘You don’t think so? Come here, girl.’

  A long thin finger pointed at the floor.

  Joanna walked the length of the dormitory feeling the eyes of the others following her.

  The woman towered over her, a thin strip of humanity between her and the daylight beginning to seep through the window behind her. ‘Ryan, isn’t it?’

  ‘Joanna Ryan.’

  ‘So why don’t you think it fair, Ryan?’

  Joanna dragged up every bit of courage she had. ‘She’s probably lost her parents and her home and been through nasty things. We all have.’

  ‘And what makes you think that, Ryan?’ said the woman, her thin fingers tapping Joanna’s shoulder.

  ‘There’s a war on. Nasty things are happening.’

  Miss Stick dragged the other girl forward, the pee-soaked cloth dangling from her hand.

  ‘Right, Jones, Ryan’s spoken up for you so she can take your punishment instead of you. That should teach her never to do so again. Well!’ She pushed the girl forward. ‘Go on!’

  The girl’s pink face came close. Her lips moved. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, her rosebud mouth quivering with fear.

  Joanna held her breath and closed her eyes. Only a deep-rooted anger stopped her from crying. Why were adults so cruel to children and animals? These girls had lost their parents through no fault of their own. There was nobody to show them any kindness.

  Later, as she sat at the breakfast table, the girl from the next bed to hers passed her a wet flannel, with which to wash her face out of sight beneath the table. ‘Don’t let Miss Stick see.’

  ‘Don’t you ever think of escaping?’ Joanna whispered back, as she stirred her dish of unsweetened porridge.

  ‘There’s nowhere else to go.’

  Dishes had to be washed before they trooped in a single file to assembly and then to their lessons. Their first lesson was history, which Joanna quite enjoyed. The teacher was called Miss Baker and was younger than the other women at the orphanage. According to her friend Edna from the next bed, she didn’t live at the orphanage.

  It turned out that Miss Baker taught just about every subject, except for religion and arithmetic. Neither did she oversee domestic science, which seemed to consist of polishing the brass door handles and plaques, cleaning the floors and dealing with the laundry.

  ‘It’s sunny outside,’ Edna whispered to her. ‘I’m hoping to get the job of cleaning the brass on the front doors. It’s hard work but at least it’s outside.’

  It was Miss Stick who shared out the chores for the day. Her thin fingers pointed like twigs allotting jobs to each girl. ‘You, you and you to the laundry.’

  Then the twig-like finger pointed at Edna and Joanna. Joanna heard Edna hold her breath before sighing with relief. ‘You two for cleaning the brass both inside and out. While the daylight holds, start outside first and work inwards.’

  The two girls collected a wooden carrier containing polish and dusters plus a small brush for getting into the places where even a small finger couldn’t push a cloth.

  Joanna felt Miss Stick’s eyes on her. She kept her own lowered, just in case she was capable of reading her plan to escape.

  ‘Shall we put our coats on, miss?’ asked Edna.

  ‘There’s no need. Polishing vigorously will keep you warm.’

  Sleeping in the barn by the river had taught Joanna how cold a November night could be. Soon it would be December and it promised to be a hard winter. If the opportunity to escape did occur, a coat would have been of great benefit.

  Then I’ll have to run faster, Joanna told herself as she and Edna were let out of the main doors to begin their labours.

  ‘I won’t be too far away,’ Miss Stick announced as she unlocked the door. ‘Come in as soon as you’re finished.’

  The cold air nipped at their faces. Each of them grinned at each other and remarked how rosy their cheeks had become.

  ‘Better get on,’ Edna muttered. ‘The sooner we’re finished the sooner we’re back in the warm and—’

  Joanna was only half listening. Her gaze had wandered to the gates at the end of the drive. They were high and like the main doors locked against the outside world. They were also completely smooth and therefore impossible to climb over.

  A tree stump to one side of the gates looked useful and there were other trees close to the high brick wall surrounding the grounds.

  Bereft of leaves, the branches were easy to evaluate, and there were round holes in the trunk that would give easy footholds, the lower branches reaching down like welcoming arms. Climb those and she could make her way onto the top of the wall. From there she would have to seek footholds on the other side, or jump.

  ‘Ryan!’

  Edna’s sharp tone broke into Joanna’s wandering thoughts.

  ‘Come on,’ said Edna thrusting the tin of Brasso at her. ‘I can’t do this all by myself.’

  Joanna took the cloth as if in a dream, her gaze remaining fixed on the metal gates and the trees.

  Guessing what was on her mind, Edna sucked in her breath.

  ‘You can’t escape, Ryan,’ she whispered, glancing over her shoulder as though fearing somebody was close by. There was no one. Everyone else was inside.

  ‘My friends call me Joanna!’

  Edna winced at Joanna’s fierce expression and her resolute tone. She’d only seen that expression on the staff in this place, never on one of the orphans. She glanced towards where Joanna was looking.

  Edna lowered her voice. ‘You are going to try to escape, aren’t you!’

  Joanna kept her eyes fixed on the drive and the heavy metal gates but said nothing.

  Edna tried again. ‘Even if you did manage it, where would you go?’

  Joanna sucked in her bottom lip. She had tossed and turned the previous night thinking it through. The other girls had been here longer than she and accepted their lot. But she would never in a million years accept the lot doled out to her. She would not stay here. Harry was missing her.

  During the night she had asked herself the question Edna was asking her now. Where would she go?

  ‘I mean, is there somebody out there for you? An aunt or something?’

  Joanna nodded and a faint smile came to her lips. ‘Harry.’

  ‘Is he your brother?’

  It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked and the idea that he might be was growing on her. They were that close and in the absence of any brother or sister, he was as close as she could get.

  ‘Kind of.’

  She could have also mentioned Miss Hadley and her father, but a warning voice told her not to do so. If she did get away Edna would be questioned. The threat of being shut away or having the ruler across her hands would loosen her tongue. These people did not know where Harry lived and who he was. They would presume he was a brother, just as Edna had done.

  ‘You’re very brave,’ said Edna, as she began rubbing the Brasso into the plaque. ‘Now come on or we’ll
never get this done. Then we’ll both be in trouble.’

  Receiving no response, she turned round to see Joanna running across the damp grass towards the boundary wall, skirting bushes and her skirt catching on bare rose bushes and tangled shrubs.

  Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment she wanted to run after her, but obedience and fear had become deeply ingrained. Her eyes glittered with that deep-seated fear and the need to make a decision. She could carry on here polishing the brass and pretend she hadn’t seen Joanna run for the gates. Or she could shout a warning through the double doors that would bring Miss Stick running.

  Edna had come to Stanleybridge before the outbreak of war. Her mother had died and she’d never known her father. Her grandmother had taken her in and for a while she’d been happy. On the death of her grandmother she had come here, to Stanleybridge, where she’d made a rule never to get too close to any of the other girls. She was alone in the world and had disciplined herself to accept it. Making an instant decision, she pushed on one of the mahogany doors so hard it banged against the wall.

  ‘Miss Ogden! Miss Ogden!’ she shouted. ‘Ryan is running away.’

  * * *

  Her chauffeur having joined the army, Lady Amelia Ambrose sat gripping the wheel of her car on the drive to Stanleybridge Orphanage.

  Seb Hadley sat next to her, his coat collar turned up around his face. The day was cold. The car had no heating. Every so often they stopped to scrape the ice off both the inside and outside of the windscreen.

  Her attaché case took up a small portion of the back seat, the other half taken up by Harry and Sally.

  Every so often, Seb glanced at the stern-faced woman sitting beside him. Seb decided he’d seen stone statues in the graveyard with softer expressions than hers.

  The rest of the time he stared through the windscreen at the road ahead. Worrying about Joanna had made him turn inwards. He had no wish to discuss what they were about to do; it was bad enough just worrying about the outcome.

  Sally too was sitting silently, her eyes gazing out of the window at the passing scene without taking anything in. Everything passed in a haze. She couldn’t quite believe what they were going to do and what the outcome might be. It was hard to stay positive, but she did her best.