An Orphan in the Snow

by Molly Green

  A lot of the time the Americans stuck together and didn’t mix with the British, yet Chas always found time to stroll over after a British sortie and talk it over with the crews. The other chaps in his crew seemed happy to do this but Murray always kept his own counsel. He didn’t want to share experiences afterwards. Just wanted a breather before the next time. But Chas almost relished reliving the action. Not Murray’s idea of fun at all.

  This evening was no different. Most of the officers had gathered in the bar and the chattering assaulted his ears. He wasn’t in the mood. One of the pilots had been shot down: a new one and desperately young – 19, he believed. It was too depressing for words. He felt like bursting into tears when he thought of all the young men sacrificing their lives – the women, too, of course – because of that bastard Hitler.

  He needed a drink. He strolled over to the bar, and was several times stopped by his pals tapping him on the shoulder, gesturing to him to join them at their tables, but he merely nodded and hovered behind a row of officers already ordering drinks or waiting their turn. He noticed Chas was back from leave that morning and at the front of the bar. You couldn’t miss him. He was head and shoulders above nearly all the men and commanded attention. Murray saw Chas buy several beers and carry the tray to a nearby table.

  With curiosity he looked to see who Chas was going to entertain with his yarns this time. It looked like they were all Yanks. Interesting to hear what they talked about, Murray thought. Were they moaning about being over here in our freezing weather – March had been particularly cold and dismal – and drinking warm beer, or were they boasting how they’d come to save the British? They certainly pinch our girls, Murray thought sourly, with their dashing uniforms, showering the women with silk stockings and chocolates, showing off with their crazy dances, flinging their money about, having better food and more of it … He berated himself. They were doing a good job on the whole, and if he was truthful they weren’t a bad bunch.

  Not taking any time to reason why he was so interested he decided to sit at a table in a darkened corner. Only one chap occupied it. He had his head in his hands, his shoulders drooping, the picture of misery, and didn’t even look up when Murray approached. All the others had probably thought he should be left alone, Murray guessed, as he took the chair opposite so he could keep Chas in view. A deep sound like a sob emanated from his table companion.

  ‘You okay, pal?’ Murray asked, laying a sympathetic hand on the man’s shoulder.

  The man looked up, eyes red and watering. ‘Does it look like it?’

  Murray was about to make a snappy reply when something stopped him. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he said instead.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘I’d leave you in peace, but there’s not many spare seats going,’ Murray said, gesturing towards the crowd.

  ‘It’s all right. You’re not bothering me. It’s just that I’ – he made another awful smothered sound – ‘I’ve had a Dear John letter from my girl today.’

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ Murray said. ‘Trouble with this bloody war is that it’s happening all the time. But you’ll find someone else – someone more deserving – and you’ll wonder why you got so upset,’ he added, not meaning to be flippant, but it came out rather that way.

  The man looked at him with dull eyes. ‘It’s not a matter of finding another girl. She’s my wife. You don’t expect that from your wife, do you? Mother of my children.’ He held his head in his hands again.

  Murray patted him on the arm and was about to offer some kind of platitude when he heard Chas say something that caught his attention.

  ‘I adore women and they usually seem to find me – well, let’s just say they like me,’ Chas was boasting. ‘Why, only the other day I bumped into a great little English gal in London who I actually knew. We had tea in my room at the hotel – do y’all know it? The Strand Palace Hotel that the US of A have officially taken over for R and R? You should go if you’ve not been already. They do great afternoon teas. That’s how I enticed the little gal in. Tea. Can you imagine?’ He chuckled. ‘And after our tea … there we were on the bed, and would you believe a bomb fell on the goddamn building just at a son-of-a-bitch inopportune moment.’

  The four Americans at the table laughed and pumped his arm. Chas looked round and smiled.

  ‘So what happened next?’ one of the men asked, swallowing half a glass of beer in one gulp.

  ‘We had to hightail it out of there. She nearly got us killed because she’d forgotten a toy dog I’d bought for her for some kid who’d had to give up her puppy. Nice thought, but not in a goddamn air raid. She rushed back and I had to rescue her.’

  Murray froze, straining his ears to hear more.

  ‘I’m worried about what happened to the toy dog,’ another said, chuckling. ‘Did he get rescued too?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Chas said, grinning. ‘I grabbed her and the dog. She thanked me very prettily and said Lizzie would be thrilled.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  June 1942

  Weeks had slid by since June returned to Bingham Hall from her disastrous trip to London. It was only the first week in June and temperatures had shot to almost 90ºF by the Friday. Some of the children were fractious in the sticky heat of the classrooms, playing up the teachers, and Matron’s temper became even more impossible.

  June had heard nothing from Murray. She tried to remember they were only supposed to be friends, but something didn’t feel right. Why had he kissed her that time? Over and over. That surely wasn’t done in friendship. The more she thought about it, the more she felt there was something Murray wasn’t telling her. Something maybe he was afraid of telling her. It flashed through her mind that he might be married but she shook it away immediately. She was sure he was not the kind of man to live such a lie.

  She’d finally finished carrying out all her duties this morning, getting hotter by the minute from sweeping and mopping floors, dusting, cleaning out the children’s bedside cabinets, stripping half a dozen of the beds whose small occupants were still wetting them every night, and collecting dresses and shirts that required mending. That would be her afternoon chore, she thought, as she stood up and pulled back her shoulders to ease her aching arms. She grimaced as she felt a twinge of pain in the one that had taken the knock, and immediately she was back in the London hotel. She shook her head to get rid of the image of Chas.

  After dinner, when she’d put the younger ones to bed for their afternoon nap, she strolled along the avenue of lime trees clothed in their summer green, forming an arch over the drive. The birds were singing their messages to one another and it was so beautiful and peaceful that for several minutes she forgot the war was relentlessly going on.

  She came to the road at the top of the drive. The sky was a bright blue dotted with a fluffy cloud here and there, but moments later she heard a roar of planes high above. She put her hand to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes and craned her neck, biting her lip in her fear. Was Murray one of the pilots? Or was he dead? Was that why she hadn’t heard? Of course it was possible but her heart told her he was definitely alive and for reasons of his own he hadn’t been in touch.

  She decided to write him a letter that very night. Just friendly. Just as he wanted. But to let him know she hoped he was well and giving him some news from the orphanage. She’d tell him about David, the music teacher, and how he’d discovered one of the children was a talented violinist whom he was going to help, and that Lizzie still missed Freddie but she had at last begun to speak again. She’d tell Murray she’d found Lizzie a toy dog in London who looked a lot like Freddie and she was going to give it to the child on her birthday next week.

  She posted the letter the following morning.

  Lizzie’s birthday preparations would help to take her mind off him. At least that’s what she told herself.

  Lizzie was still quieter than most of the other children when she was in their company but she listened to everythi
ng they said, and occasionally came out with her own amusing observations. June was astonished at Lizzie’s sense of humour when she thought how much the child had gone through. As her birthday approached, June was delighted to see the little girl was beginning to get excited, and even asked Bertie if she was making her a cake.

  Bertie had made not one but two pink iced birthday cakes and was putting on the finishing touches when June entered the kitchen and sat down for a minute.

  ‘I’ve had to use mostly marg,’ she told June, wiping her hands on the kitchen roller towel ‘What with all the rationing, butter’s become a real luxury.’ She gave the roller towel a yank.

  ‘Lizzie won’t know the difference,’ June assured her. ‘She’s too excited for words.’

  The two women broke into laughter as they realised what June had just said.

  ‘It’s the most wonderful thing to see Lizzie speaking and acting normally,’ said June and she smiled happily.

  ‘You had everything to do with such a change in her, June,’ Bertie said, giving her a fond pat on the shoulder.

  ‘No, it was Alan. He was the first child to take her under his wing. She needed that contact with another child, even if he was much older. He’s been exceptional with her. And Freddie, of course. He was really important in getting her to speak. I told her he’d lost his mummy and daddy too, and she had to help him. She took to that role immediately. It’s such a shame he had to go back to the camp.’

  ‘Well, Alan’s certainly a changed lad.’ Bertie stuck four bright-pink candles in little white holders and pushed them firmly in the top of one of the cakes. ‘There. I think that’s it. Now the sandwiches. I’ve made the jellies and they’re in the larder setting.’

  ‘Can I do anything?’

  ‘You can help me with the sandwiches, hen, if you insist. I’ve made the fillings, but first just sit here and keep me company while I get off my feet – they feel like rats are gnawing at them, they’re that sore. We’ll sit for a few minutes and have a cup of tea.’

  ‘I’ll make you one for a change, Bertie.’

  The dining room was filled with children’s excited shouts and giggles as they watched Lizzie open her presents. David had made her a doll’s crib out of an apple box and Barbara and Athena had lined it and made the covers and even embroidered the pillow. Lizzie immediately jumped down from the table and ran up to her bedroom to fetch Lady, her rag doll with knitted hair and dress to match, and came rushing back. She carefully placed the doll in the crib and tucked the covers around it. Satisfied, she climbed back on to her chair and opened the few remaining gifts.

  June’s heart was in her mouth when the little girl picked up the bulky package and started pressing it. June had only been able to find some ordinary green paper which the local chemist used to wrap bottles of medicine. She’d begged the man for a sheet and he’d given it to her for nothing when she’d explained what she wanted it for.

  ‘Guess what it is before you open it,’ Alan called from a few chairs further up the table.

  ‘I don’t know what’s inside,’ Lizzie’s voice piped up.

  ‘Go on, try.’

  June nearly stopped breathing. Lizzie shook her head and began to unwrap the parcel. She carefully unfolded the last section and laid the paper out fully to reveal the toy dog. It looked up at her with a red tongue hanging out as though he were laughing. He was even more like Freddie than June remembered. She was almost as excited as little Lizzie was going to be. It had been worth the risk of rushing back to Chas’s room to rescue it. A warm feeling stole round her heart as she waited for Lizzie’s next move.

  Lizzie looked at it, her eyes wide. The children suddenly became quiet as they watched her. Then Lizzie turned bright red. She snatched the dog up and threw it as far as her little arm would allow. It landed in front of Doris.

  ‘It’s not Freddie,’ Lizzie sobbed. ‘I want Freddie back!’

  Doris caught hold of the toy dog and held him to her chest, squeezing him tightly.

  ‘Can I have him if you don’t want him?’ she asked.

  ‘NO!’ Lizzie screamed as she shot up from the table and ran sobbing from the room, shouting that she hated the dog.

  June sprang to her feet and flew after Lizzie into the hall, where she practically had to grab her to stop her running up the stairs.

  ‘Lizzie, come back. It’s your birthday party and all the children want to have some of your lovely birthday cake.’

  June bent down so she was on the same level as the child. ‘I thought you’d love him, Lizzie. He was in a shop window in London, looking at me. He wanted a home and I had to buy him. I thought you’d love him,’ she repeated lamely as she looked into Lizzie’s red eyes, the tears still trickling down her flushed cheeks.

  ‘I want my real Freddie,’ Lizzie said, and flung herself into June’s arms.

  June held the trembling body close and stroked her hair.

  ‘If you come back with me to the dining room and finish off your birthday which everyone’s been looking forward to – even the grown-ups – then you can blow out your candles and make a wish – any wish you like.’ She smiled at the child.

  ‘Can I make a wish to see Freddie?’

  ‘Yes, you can, but don’t tell anyone else or it won’t come true. Do you promise?’

  Lizzie nodded, her face serious.

  June kissed her cheek. ‘Let’s go back, Lizzie. Hold my hand and we’ll go back in the room together.’ She paused and looked down at the child. ‘What are you going to do with the toy puppy? Will you let Doris keep him?’

  Lizzie shook her head vehemently. ‘No, me wants him till Freddie comes back. Then Doris can have him.’

  June wondered at the child’s working out of what should be done. If it wasn’t so upsetting it would be amusing. She bit back a smile and made her face as serious as Lizzie’s, praying she’d be able to make the little girl’s wish come true.

  ‘That sounds a very good idea to me.’

  The children took up all her attention when she was on duty, but in the short periods she was off, she couldn’t get Murray out of her mind. Maybe he hadn’t written because he didn’t think she would want to hear from him again. Yet he’d been adamant that he still wanted them to be friends. She could only hope that he was too busy to find time to write. All she could do was pray he was safe and well.

  Twice she’d picked up the telephone to try to contact him, and twice she’d put the receiver down before the operator put her through, not wanting him to think she was chasing him and be embarrassed.

  ‘June,’ Iris called outside her bedroom door as she was cleaning her teeth after breakfast, ‘Matron’s told me there’s a telephone call for you.’

  Please, not Billy. Her stomach clenched with the idea that it might be him hounding her again. Slowly, she walked down the stairs and picked up the receiver in the hall.

  ‘June, is that you? It’s Chas.’

  She sighed. Apart from Billy, Chas was the last person she wanted to hear from. He’d caused enough trouble.

  ‘June?’

  ‘Hello, Chas.’

  ‘June, I know you’re still mad at me and I don’t blame you. I’m sorry for my behaviour in the hotel. I should have told you how sorry I was at the time. I don’t know what came over me. But you looked so lovely lying there and—’

  ‘Please don’t go on any more, Chas. I want to forget it ever happened.’

  She heard him suck in a breath.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve got something more important than that to tell you …’

  Alarm rushed to her throat. She knew what he was going to say but he mustn’t say it. If he didn’t say anything, everything would be exactly as she wanted it to be. Don’t say anything, Chas. Don’t tell me. Please.

  Chas’s voice came over the line, but it was faint so she had to press the receiver close to her ear. ‘Flight Lieutenant Andrews transferred to Bomber Command two months ago, somewhere in East Anglia. I shouldn’t really be telling you
this but I got the idea you were sweet on him.’

  June hardly heard Chas’s last words. All she could think of was that Murray had wanted to get far away from her. Why would he do that? Was it so she got the message loud and clear that they were only friends? Maybe he hadn’t asked for a transfer – maybe it had been decided for him and he’d had no choice. But why hadn’t he written to tell her? She took in a deep breath and felt her heart calm down. For a moment she’d thought Chas had been about to say something dreadful. She’d ask him if she could have his address so she could write to him.

  ‘It’s a pretty dangerous job in Bomber Command,’ Chas was saying.

  Yes, but so must it have been as a fighter pilot. She closed her eyes, thinking of the risks all the boys had to face every time they took off.

  ‘… and I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I thought you should know that Murray’s Lancaster was shot down over a week ago. He’s been reported as “Missing, presumed dead” along with the six others in the crew.’

  What was that? What was he saying?

  ‘D-d-dead?’

  She felt the blood drain from her face. She put her hands up as though to stem the flow, dropping the receiver. More than a week. All the time she’d been thinking about him, wondering why he hadn’t written, he was already dead. So of course he couldn’t write. He was dead. She hung on to the telephone table.

  ‘June.’

  She could hear Chas calling her name – shouting now – and numbly took hold of the receiver again. ‘I’m here.’

  ‘It says “Missing, presumed dead” – it doesn’t say he is. There’s always hope.’

  She shook her head. ‘Thank you for letting me know, Chas. I appreciate it.’ Was this really her speaking? Calmly, normally? She felt as though she wasn’t herself any longer. Her voice was coming from far away. She bit the inside of her mouth, tasting blood. ‘I must go – the children – they need me.’