Katy Parker and the House that Cried

by Margaret Mulligan

  After a look at the kitchen and parlour, as Charlie called it, he led them upstairs and onto the spacious landing. “Willow Dene is not your typical house,” explained Charlie. “The family were quite well off. Most people didn’t have indoor toilets but the Grahams had two bathrooms. It amazed me as a kid.”

  “Can you guess who this room belonged to?” asked Charlie.

  “The twins,” said Patrick immediately, as he looked about in admiration at an army of soldiers set out on the floor ready to do battle. From the ceiling hung model aeroplanes. Charlie proudly reeled off their names, “Spitfire, Lancaster, Hurricane.” In the corner lay a couple of tennis rackets, a cricket bat and some stumps.

  “Come on,” said Katy, dragging Patrick out of the room. “Keep up!”

  “This was Susie’s room,” said Charlie, pushing the door open and stepping inside, a sad smile on his face.

  “It looks as if she’s just left,” gasped Katy.

  The room had pale yellow wallpaper with small blue butterflies, and curtains to match. In the centre of the room stood a small, metal-framed, white bed, complete with a pink patchwork quilt, upon which lay a baby doll with a dummy in its mouth. On the floor, a doll’s tea set had been laid out, waiting for the long overdue guests to arrive.

  Charlie led them back out onto that landing and opened the next door. “And here’s Mr and Mrs Graham’s bedroom,” he said.

  “It’s beautiful,” Katy said, walking into the room for a closer look. The walls were papered with delicate blue forget-me-nots on a cream background. The bed, a huge wooden four-poster, was dressed with faded curtains that matched the wallpaper. In the large bay window stood an elegant white dressing table, upon which were several ornate glass perfume bottles and a matching silver hairbrush and hand-mirror.

  As if in a trance, Katy walked across the room and sat down at the dressing table. She removed the stopper from a perfume bottle and raised it to her nose. She could just make out the aroma of faded violets and lavender. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. Quite suddenly, the fleeting but powerful image of a smiling lady with fair hair and blue eyes filled her mind’s eye, then swiftly disappeared. Feeling a little woozy, Katy stood up shakily. “What was Mrs Graham like?” she asked, resting one hand on the dressing table as the room span around her.

  Charlie paused, staring into the distance. “She was a lovely lady. A real second mother to me and all the evacuees she took in. I’ve got a feeling she would have liked you. There’s a portrait of her hanging on the landing. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Katy paused to take a final look around the room. Hanging on the back of the door she noticed two dressing gowns: a woollen, navy-blue one, which she guessed had been Dr Graham’s and a red silk kimono decorated with yellow humming birds. There were even slippers, still half-tucked under the bed.

  Katy thought that the house felt warm and welcoming on this visit, as if it was glad to finally receive invited guests after so many years of silence.

  “Come on, Katy,” urged Lizzie. “Charlie’s waiting on the landing.”

  Shaking her head, Katy followed Lizzie out of the room. She felt confused and thick headed; what was wrong with her now?

  Charlie stood in front of a small faded oil painting. “This is Mrs Graham. The painting was done in Paris on their honeymoon.”

  Katy’s heart lurched as she stared, mesmerized by the familiar pretty face smiling at her out of the portrait. It couldn’t be could it? The same blue eyes and blonde hair that she had just conjured up on smelling the perfume. Charlie interrupted her thoughts. “Come back downstairs. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  They followed Charlie into the dining room, where the table had been laid for tea. “I thought you’d enjoy a wartime tea, to help you get the feel of life during the War. You can dress up in some of the children’s old clothes if you like. Mrs Graham always kept some ready for evacuees. Sometimes they would turn up with nothing but what they stood up in. The clothes are in the wardrobe in the back bedroom.”

  “Thanks, Charlie,” said Lizzie, nudging Katy, who seemed to be in a daze. “I’m starving.”

  “I’ve got some of my favourite wartime tunes here for you to listen to,” he said, pointing to a pile of old records. “I’ll just show you how to use the radiogram and then leave you to it. I’ll be back at five o’clock to tidy and lock up.”

  After a quick demonstration, Charlie called out, “Have fun,” and then left, shutting the door behind him.

  “Come on, sleepy head, let’s get dressed up like Charlie said,” giggled Lizzie, racing upstairs to the back bedroom. Katy followed behind slowly, mulling things over before deciding not to say anything in front of Patrick. It sounded too weird to explain and she didn’t quite trust him yet.

  In the bedroom, Lizzie flung open the wardrobe door and began to rummage through the clothes hanging on the rail.

  “What’s that smell?” asked Katy, sniffing the sleeve of what looked like a pea green St Hilda’s school cardigan.

  “It’s just moth balls,” replied Lizzie knowledgeably, “I recognise the smell from my gran’s house. She uses them in her wardrobe to stop moths eating her jumpers. Here, put on these shorts, this shirt and tank top,” said Lizzie, handing a pile of clothes to Patrick. “You’ll need these long grey socks and look, there’s even a cap you can wear!”

  “OK,” answered Patrick reluctantly, “but you’d better get dressed up too. I’m not going to be the only one looking stupid.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve found a couple of checked dresses here, with cardigans and some long white socks for us to wear.”

  Katy groaned. “Do we have to?”

  “Yes,” replied Lizzie with authority. “I want us to win the prize for this project and we stand more chance if we’re original.”

  Reluctantly, Katy got changed and even agreed to let Lizzie put her hair into two bunches, tied with matching blue bows.

  “Don’t forget this,” instructed Lizzie, throwing a hand-knitted woollen cardigan across the room to Katy, where it landed at her feet. Katy bent over to pick it up and noticed something half dangling out of the pocket.

  “Look at this – it was in the pocket,” she said, showing Lizzie a delicate silver watch on a well-worn, soft, black leather strap. “I wonder how long it’s been in this pocket and who it belonged to?”

  Lizzie reached out and took it from her for a closer look. Katy watched Lizzie’s expression change from one of mild interest to wide-eyed surprise as she handed the watch back. “Check out the date and time the watch stopped.”

  Katy looked at the watch face and saw, the date 15th May, 1942. The tiny hands had stopped dead on six o’clock, too. Lizzie and Katy stared at each other in surprise, too stunned to speak.

  “Stop being stupid you two! Old watches like this need winding every day or they stop. We know the family moved out after the bombing, that’s why the watch has stopped on that date. No one’s worn it since. Give it here,” instructed Patrick, authoritatively.

  Katy handed it over to Patrick, who quickly wound it up and adjusted it until it said the correct date and time. “Here you go, put it on,” he instructed, passing it back.

  “Yeah, it goes with the old-fashioned outfit. It makes it more authentic somehow,” added Lizzie.

  Katy reluctantly fastened the watch on her wrist and momentarily stopped in her tracks as the dream flashed in front of her eyes again. For a split second, she almost caught a glimpse of her companion, cycling behind her. Just as their face began to come into view, she felt a hand shaking her shoulder and the image vanished.

  “Katy, what’s the matter with you today? You keep zoning out,” huffed Lizzie, losing patience.

  “Nothing. I’m just tired, that’s all,” insisted Katy, determined to put on brave face in front of Patrick.

  Turning to look in the mirror, she laughed. “Argh, we look ridiculous!”

  “I bet my mum would think we look lovely,” said Lizzie. “She’s alway
s moaning that I dress too old for my age.”

  Lizzie stood staring at Patrick and Katy. “It’s strange, you two seem to suit these clothes. I reckon you’d fit right in. I just look weird.”

  “Cheeky!” laughed Katy. “Are you saying we’re naturally old-fashioned?”

  “I know,” said Patrick. “I’ll film you, then you can show your mum what you look like as someone from the 1940s!” Patrick took out the camera and started filming.

  After ten minutes, Katy had had enough. “Come on, I’m starving. Let’s go and eat,” she said, leaving the bedroom and heading back downstairs into the dining room.

  “Listen to this,” said Lizzie, putting on a record and dragging Katy up to dance. Patrick jumped up to join in and all three of them began trying to outdo one another with silly dances, until, finally, they collapsed on the rug, too exhausted to continue.

  “Come on, let’s eat,” said Katy.

  Patrick picked up a note from the table and read it aloud.

  This is the sort of tea we could only have on special occasions during the war, as so many foods were rationed. The Grahams, however, usually ate better than most as they had their own hens and a goat, as well as a small vegetable plot of their own. You were usually sure of a good tea at their table. It was a standing joke that I always knocked on the door as the table was being laid for supper.

  Enjoy!

  Charlie

  On the table lay a loaf of freshly baked crusty bread that smelt delicious, along with plenty of butter and a jar of Charlie’s homemade strawberry jam. There were also hard-boiled eggs, slices of ham, big chunks of cheddar cheese and an enormous jug of homemade lemonade, which they all gulped down thirstily.

  They were chatting happily when Lizzie, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, called out in alarm. “Oh no, I’m going to be late! I promised Mum I’d be home by half four to walk the dog. It’s my birthday next week so I’ve got to stay in her good books until then.”

  Lizzie raced upstairs and quickly changed back into her own clothes, before calling out “goodbye.”

  “What do you want to do now?” asked Patrick. “We don’t need to be home for another hour yet.”

  “Let’s stay until five o’clock when Charlie will be back. I want to look through these old magazines and photo albums. I might find some pictures to use in my project,” replied Katy, picking up a large, red, leather album.

  “It’s too quiet,” said Patrick walking over to the radiogram. “I’ll see if I can tune this old thing into the twenty-first century.”

  After ten minutes of messing about with the dials, they successfully found their favourite music station. Katy lay on the carpet, happily flicking through old fashion magazines, while Patrick sat on the couch with a pile of old comics.

  * * * *

  They both must have fallen asleep, as it was some time later that Katy suddenly jolted awake, momentarily unsure of where she was. Patrick lay, snoring gently, on the couch. Katy leant over and shook him roughly by the shoulder. “Wake up Patrick, we must have fallen asleep. Why hasn’t Charlie come back for us?”

  Patrick slowly opened his eyes, glaring at her as he rubbed his shoulder. “You don’t have to be so rough.” He stretched and sat up, looking equally confused at his surroundings. “That was weird, us falling asleep like that,” he said. “It must have been all that food. Come on, let’s get changed. Mum will worry if we’re late.”

  They sat side by side for a few moments, trying to summon the energy to get moving. Suddenly, Patrick noticed something strange. “Listen! What’s happened to the radio?”

  “Why, what’s the matter?”

  “Just listen,” said Patrick.

  The voice speaking on the radio sounded odd. It was clipped and precise, old-fashioned even, like someone from one of the old black and white films Katy liked to watch. They listened as Big Ben chimed and the radio presenter announced the six o’clock news. Katy and Patrick stared at each other in disbelief as they listened to the headlines.

  “This is the six o’clock news read by Ralph Robinson, reporting live from the BBC, on Sunday 12th April, 1942.” The voice went on to report bombings in London and Liverpool.

  Katy glanced nervously down at the watch on her wrist. Her eyes widened in shock. This couldn’t be happening . . . the watch must be wrong. She quickly tried to hide both her panic and the watch from Patrick but she wasn’t fast enough.

  “Show me,” he demanded.

  Reluctantly, Katy turned the watch face towards him. Patrick’s mouth fell wide open and he looked at Katy. His face had gone pale and his voice began to shake as he spoke. “That’s impossible. I just set it to today’s date. Why does it say 12th April, 1942? That’s the same date the radio announcer just said, isn’t it? What’s happening Katy?”

  “I don’t know. It must be some sort of joke programme, you know, like an April Fool,” Katy replied, squeezing his hand in an attempt to reassure him.

  Feeling agitated, she jumped up and walked over to the window to see if she could spot Charlie making his way back over to tidy up. The scene outside looked much the same, yet Katy had a nagging feeling that something was not quite right. What could it be?

  Her fears were soon confirmed by Patrick, who joined her at the window. “Look at the cars, Katy. People don’t drive cars like that anymore; cars like that are kept in museums.”

  Katy looked down the street at the cars. “They do look strange. What’s going on? Maybe it’s just an old car rally.”

  “But the gardens are different too,” replied Patrick, sounding increasingly panicked. “Most of them had been paved over for parking cars, but look at them now. They look like vegetable gardens.”

  “You’re right. But there must some reasonable – ” began Katy nervously but Patrick cut her off.

  “The street lamps are all wrong too, they look like gaslights.” Patrick began to tremble with fear and reached out, gripping Katy’s arm tightly.

  A sinking feeling began to build in the pit of Katy’s churning stomach as she took a moment to consider Patrick’s observations. It was only then that she caught sight of the calendar on the wall. The page had previously said May 15th, 1942. Now it read April 12th, 1942. This date was also circled boldly in red. Katy stepped towards it in order to read the writing scrawled underneath.

  Evacuees Katy and Patrick Parker arrive at station at six o’clock. Pick up.

  Katy opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She stared at her brother, frozen to the spot. What on earth had happened while they were asleep?

  Chapter 4

  What Next?

  Katy reached out, pulling Patrick closer. She desperately wanted to leave the house but was terrified of what she might find outside. With no other option available, they both ran quickly to the front door and flung it open. Once outside, they paused for a moment to breathe, before running and stumbling down the garden path towards the front gate where they stopped once more. What would they do now? Where could they go?

  Before they had time to consider any further, the garden gate swung open and through it burst a small girl, holding the hand of a breathless, fair-haired woman. Both looked familiar to Katy. An icy shiver ran down her back as she realised they were the people she had seen in Charlie’s photograph – Mrs Graham and her daughter Susie. Mrs Graham looked older than she had in the portrait on the landing but it was definitely her. What was going on? How could they be here now? Living and breathing?

  “Well, there you are!” said Mrs Graham, a large welcoming smile lighting up her face.

  “You must be Katy and Patrick. I’ve just been to the station to collect you. This is my daughter, Susie. Say hello, Susie.”

  Susie smiled shyly, giving them a little wave. “I’m almost four. My birthday is next month,” she whispered before swiftly hiding behind her mum’s skirt. All that could be seen of her was a pair of enormous blue eyes peeking out at them, framed by a fluffy halo of white–blonde hair.

 
; Katy and Patrick stared in stupefied silence, unable to respond. Katy’s thoughts raced. Was it possible? Had they really travelled back in time to the 1940s? Katy stared at her brother and could see he was thinking the same thing. After a long pause, Patrick cleared his throat and stepped forward, holding out his hand to Mrs Graham.

  “Yes. Hello. Sorry about that. Our train arrived early so we decided to make our own way here.”

  “Oh well, you’re here now. As long as you’re safe and sound that’s all that matters. Where’s your luggage?” inquired Mrs Graham.

  “It’s lost. We gave our bags to the porter at King’s Cross and he loaded them into the luggage compartment but when we arrived at Knutsburry they’d disappeared,” Katy said, surprising herself with her quick thinking.

  She sighed with relief; all those old wartime films she’d watched with her mum would prove useful. At least she had some idea what life was like in the olden days.

  Mrs Graham gave a long sigh and tutted. “It’s not the first time. Don’t worry; I’ve got plenty of spare clothes you can borrow until yours turn up. I expect you’ll want to see your new room and settle in. Out you come, Susie,” she said, pulling the small figure out from behind her skirts.

  “Take Katy and Patrick up to their room. They can freshen up and get ready for tea. The twins will be back from cricket soon.”

  Staring at them curiously, Susie led Katy and Patrick into the hall and up the stairs. Everything looked exactly the same, except newer. The air was filled with the sweet perfume of roses, which stood in jugs and vases on every available surface. The slightly stale smell had disappeared. Susie led them to the back bedroom which overlooked the garden – the same one they had dressed up in earlier that afternoon. Once she had shown them their room, Susie retreated, smiling shyly before running back downstairs to her mum. Katy shut the bedroom door firmly and sank down onto the nearest bed, speaking to Patrick in an urgent whisper.

  “What’s going on? This is crazy. It’s impossible! I just can’t believe it. What are we going to do?”

  Patrick lay comfortably on the next bed with a huge grin on his face. He was no longer scared and was looking as if he was starting to enjoy every minute.