Katy Parker and the House that Cried

by Margaret Mulligan

  “Yes, he’s playing soldiers with the twins; they wouldn’t let me join in. I hate boys,” she replied, frowning and stamping her foot.

  Katy smiled, “Don’t worry, I’ll play dolls with you later if you like.”

  Susie’s face lit up into a huge smile as she lunged forward, giving Katy a big hug, then skipping out of the room, humming yet another nursery rhyme.

  “What was all that about?” asked Patrick, appearing in the doorway, already dressed in his new school uniform and looking every bit the 1940s schoolboy.

  “Oh, nothing. Susie is just feeling a bit left out. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “I tried but you just pushed me away and pulled the covers up over your head. I could hear the twins, so decided to see what they were up to. They’re a great laugh.”

  Suddenly, Mrs Graham’s voice called out to them from the kitchen, “Katy, Patrick, hurry up! Breakfast is nearly ready.”

  Katy groaned. Some things never changed it seemed, whatever decade you found yourself in!

  After a quick wash in the freezing cold bathroom, Katy returned to her bedroom to find the uniform laid out for her, with the addition of what looked like a pair of absolutely enormous navy-blue knickers. They were so big they actually had a pocket on one of the legs! Reluctantly, Katy got dressed and was horrified to discover that the legs of the knickers almost reached down to her knees. Her heart plummeted as she looked at herself in the mirror. She was unrecognisable. Picking up the old, brown, leather satchel Mrs Graham had given her for school, she headed downstairs to join Patrick and the others for breakfast.

  Everyone else was already sitting around the kitchen table, waiting for Mrs Graham to ladle porridge from an enormous saucepan into their bowls.

  “Morning Katy, I hope you slept well.” Mrs Graham greeted her warmly.

  Susie looked up at Katy with a smile and pulled out the seat for her. Katy took a bowl of porridge. “Is there any sugar?” she asked.

  “We haven’t had any sugar for weeks now,” moaned Harry. “Use this instead,” he said, pushing a sticky jar of honey across the table towards her. After the porridge they ate homemade brown bread, with margarine and marmalade. Mrs Graham picked up a jug of milk and poured a glass for Katy, who immediately took a large gulp and then gagged. The taste was unexpected – warm, sour and slightly cheesy.

  “That’s horrible,” she choked, promptly spitting the milk back into her glass.

  The twins laughed. “Don’t you like our Emily’s milk, then? Frank got up extra early to milk her so you’d have some fresh for breakfast,” laughed Harry.

  Katy was wondering who Emily could be and why they were drinking her horrible milk, when Mrs Graham chipped in. “Leave her alone, she’s just not used to goat’s milk that’s all. She’ll soon get used to it or go without. No one can afford to be fussy when there’s a war on.”

  Breakfast continued at a much slower pace than either Katy or Patrick was used to. The twins kept everyone entertained with an endless stream of stories about school, all of which seemed to involve some near death scenario at the hands of the school bully, who was aptly named Brutus. At home they usually ate breakfast on the go. Katy quite liked how everyone sat down together – it helped take her mind off the coming day.

  It can’t possibly be any worse than normal school can it? thought Katy.

  Her worries were interrupted by Mrs Graham, who placed brown paper packages in front of her and Patrick. Patrick ripped his open excitedly to find a toy soldier – just like the ones he had been playing with earlier with the twins. “Thanks Mrs Graham, this is great!”

  Mrs Graham smiled at Patrick and then turned to Katy. “It must be difficult for a girl of your age being away from her mum. I thought you might like this to write in, like a diary. You can record your experiences of life as an evacuee, and perhaps show your children one day.”

  Opening the package, Katy found an expensive-looking, red, leather-bound journal.

  “Thanks, that’s a great idea,” said Katy, “I’ll keep it with me all the time.”

  You never know, she thought, it might come in handy, if I ever do get home and manage to finish my project.

  A moment later, she heard a knock on the door and, without waiting to be invited, in walked Charlie, still munching a half-eaten piece of toast. “Come on you four, you’d better get a move on. It’s old Higgins on gate duty. He’ll give us a black mark if we’re late. One more this term and I’ll get six of the best.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Katy, hoping Charlie wasn’t about to say what she suspected.

  “The cane, you nitwit, what do you think I mean?” said Charlie. “You’d better be careful,” he said, turning to Patrick, “they’re quick to dish out the punishments at St Joseph’s for all sorts of things.”

  “Like what?” Patrick asked nervously.

  “Messy work, ink smudges, dirty nails, hair touching your collar. Talking in class will get you a hard rap of the ruler across your knuckles. If a master thinks you’re insolent he won’t think twice about caning you and asking questions later.”

  Patrick gulped. “I can’t believe your teachers are actually allowed to hit you.” Both Patrick and Katy had learned about this sort of punishment in their history lessons but being here and knowing that it could possibly happen to them made it feel a lot more serious.

  The twins laughed. “What sort of school have you been going to then? Our school motto is ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child’. Our headmaster, Mr Cooper, takes it very seriously. He likes to have flogged at least four juniors before he breaks for his elevenses.”

  Patrick looked really quite worried. Charlie pushed the twins aside and said, “Shut up, you two. It’s not so bad. Keep your head down, follow the rules and you’ll be fine. It’s just that the twins are trouble makers, always up to no good.”

  “What’s my school like?” asked Katy, nervously.

  “The nuns are fierce – so watch out – especially for Mother Superior. Just don’t catch her eye. Last week Tilly Burton was made to kneel all morning for passing notes in class.”

  Katy was horrified – she and Lizzie were always passing notes in class. If they were ever caught, the worst that ever happened to them was detention!

  Harry laughed at Katy’s horrified look, then added, “Usually it’s just ritual humiliation, designed to take you down a peg or two. You know, being made to stand in the corner with the dunce’s hat on. It’ll be the making of you. At least, that’s what they say.”

  “Ignore the twins,” interrupted Charlie. “It’s not so bad. Most of the meanest masters have gone off to fight. They’ve been replaced by some really elderly types. And St Hilda’s can’t be that bad. There are only a few nuns left and my cousin Hillary worships a couple of them. It’s Sister Mary this, Sister Maria that. You can ask her yourself. She’s meeting us outside the school gates to take you to your classroom.”

  Katy shot Patrick a nervous look at the mention of Hillary. What would a teenage Hillary be like? All Katy could picture was a very sad, slightly spooky old lady.

  Feeling completely overwhelmed, Katy began to panic. Taking a deep breath, she dug her nails into the palms of her hands, desperately trying to stop herself from having a total meltdown in front of everyone. She needed to be on her own while she tried to get a grip. Fighting back the tears, she escaped into the front room and stood gazing out of the window. Her feelings of panic were quickly replaced by confusion. Katy could see a scruffy young boy, aged about seven, and carrying a shovel almost as big as himself, traipsing behind a coal cart, which was being pulled by an enormous shire horse. Unbelievably, he seemed to be collecting horse droppings from the road and putting them into a large metal bucket.

  “Why is he doing that?” asked Katy out loud to herself, with a look of disgust on her face.

  Mrs Graham popped her ahead around the door, “Whatever’s wrong Katy?” she asked following Katy’s gaze out of the window, then throwing back her head and
laughing out loud. “You’re a funny girl, Katy. It’s as if you’re from another world. Haven’t you seen anyone collecting horse dung before?”

  Katy shook her head and looked at Mrs Graham in disbelief and grimaced.

  “But what does he want with horse poo?”

  “Manure of course! It’s the best to be had,” exclaimed Mrs Graham. “Marvellous stuff – does wonders for the vegetables. You’ve seen my roses, haven’t you? They’re absolute beauties.”

  Winking, she nudged Katy, saying, “Your turn next. You’ll find the shovel outside the back door.”

  You won’t catch me picking up poo, thought Katy.

  “You’d better get a move on. Don’t forget your gas mask; it’s hanging behind your bedroom door. Don’t worry, Katy, everything will be just dandy,” said Mrs Graham, giving Katy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

  Susie insisted on walking with Katy down the garden path, holding onto her hand tightly and then stood waving till they turned the corner and finally disappeared out of sight.

  The walk to school felt surprisingly familiar. Not a great deal had changed except for the obvious lack of modern cars, although the streets were just as busy with old-fashioned cars and horses and carts. All too soon, they arrived at the front gates of St Hilda’s and St Joseph’s. Everything looked much the same, except the front lawns had been dug up and made into a large vegetable garden. The huge staff car park now housed several bikes, an assortment of animals and yet another chicken house.

  A large, black, forbidding sign read, ‘Girls’ Entrance’, and next to it another said, ‘Boys’ Entrance’. It looked as if Katy and Patrick would have to say goodbye for the day. Leaning against the gate stood a short, plump girl with a chin-length chestnut bob, hazel eyes and a broad smile on her face.

  Katy stared at her in amazement. It couldn’t be, could it? Her suspicions were immediately confirmed as the girl leant forward holding out her hand in greeting.

  “Hello. I’m Hillary and you must be Katy. Its jolly nice to meet you but we must hurry. The bell is about to ring any minute. If we’re late for assembly we’ve had it. Stick with me today and you’ll be fine, I promise.”

  Unbelievable! thought Katy, feeling stunned, utterly unable to connect this young, smiling girl with the Hillary she had feared for most of her childhood.

  Patrick and Katy said a hurried goodbye as both were whisked off in opposite directions. Hillary linked arms with Katy and began hurrying her up the stairs and in through the imposing main entrance. Luckily they were able to slip into the back of the school hall unnoticed, joining the other pupils who sat silently in neat rows, waiting for the dreaded Mother Superior to arrive. They had made it just in time. Mere seconds later, a piano began playing and on cue the girls stood up and began to sing, All things bright and beautiful. That was Katy’s dad’s favourite hymn. She felt close to tears as she realised how much she missed him. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d really talked to him. When she was little, he used to play with her for hours, making up all sorts of games. But work was taking up all of his time now and everything had changed.

  Assembly seemed to drag on for hours. Mother Superior looked very stern in her voluminous black habit. Her pointed features protruding from her tightly bound headdress, reminded Katy of a large crow. Tall and painfully thin she walked with a slight stoop, and on her feet she wore sensible, flat, black lace-ups. Perched on the end of her pointy nose balanced small, round glasses with metal frames.

  I can’t imagine how she is meant to inspire us girls onto great things – she looks terrifying, thought Katy.

  Mother Superior spent most of the assembly reminding the girls of their duty to King and country. Katy listened, spellbound, to the seemingly endless list of clubs and activities that the girls were expected to join in with. When did they get to just muck about and relax?

  “Don’t forget girls, the knitting club meets today in room six. Miss Strauther will be demonstrating how to knit socks for our brave boys overseas. Tomorrow at one o’clock the gardening club will harvest the new potatoes with Sister Maria. Meet outside the greenhouse at half past twelve sharp. Finally, please remember everyone is required to attend the St John’s Ambulance first aid training on Friday after school at four o’clock. It is imperative you learn basic first aid procedures in case we ever have an incident.”

  She means in case we ever get bombed, thought Katy.

  On the wall at the front of the assembly hall, Katy could see an enormous map of Europe, with various coloured flags pinned onto it. Mother Superior finished her assembly by telling them about the latest war campaigns whilst moving a couple of flags around. Finally, they all said the school prayer and were dismissed to their classrooms to begin the day’s lessons.

  “Come on, Katy, this way. Our classroom is 9B. It’s a bit of a maze around here, but you’ll soon get used to it.”

  Classroom 9B felt familiar to Katy as it had once been her form room. It soon became apparent that the St Hilda’s Katy knew in the future hadn’t spent a great deal of money on modernisation. It was practically unchanged, except for a few minor differences such as tape across the windows. Katy knew from her history lessons that this prevented the glass shattering during a bomb blast.

  Hillary introduced Katy to her teacher, Miss Dobson, “This is Katy, Miss. She’s Mrs Graham’s new evacuee.”

  Katy felt relieved to see that Miss Dobson was neither a nun nor very fierce looking. In fact, she looked very young and rather scared herself.

  “Good morning, Katy, welcome to St Hilda’s. I hope you’ll be very happy here,” said Miss Dobson in a gentle voice. “You can sit at the desk next to Hillary for today.”

  Hillary whispered to Katy, “She’s only about twenty but she has to train on the job because of the shortage of teachers. She’s a bit nervous.” Hillary went on to describe Miss Dobson as ‘a good egg’, and a ‘total sport’ – both expressions made Katy giggle helplessly.

  Pupils sat at individual wooden desks, which had lids that lifted up to reveal storage for books and pens. Writing was done with ink pens and the ink well on Katy’s desk was full. Oh help, thought Katy, I’m always in trouble for messy work when I use a normal gel pen.

  Katy followed Hillary’s example by hanging her gas mask in its box on the back of her chair. Katy had tried hers on earlier and experienced the terrible smell of nasty rubber. It was difficult to breathe in, too. Katy hoped that she and Patrick would never have to wear one for long, especially as she had pointed out on the walk to school that Hitler had never used poisonous gas during the war. Charlie had looked puzzled when she said this. “How can you possibly know that?” he had asked in disbelief.

  Much to her dismay, Katy quickly realised her abilities as a student were even worse in 1942 than in the present day. So far they had studied Latin and French grammar. Katy had been called upon twice to answer and each time had got it wrong. The rest of the class had smirked at her.

  Soon, lunchtime arrived and Katy felt curious to see how the food would compare with the school lunches she was used to. It ought to be much worse she reckoned, what with rationing and all that. She imagined nettle soup and dried eggs and shuddered.

  “Come on then, let’s get to lunch. I’m starving,” Katy called out to Hillary as she strode off purposefully in the direction of the school refectory.

  “Hang on a minute,” called out Hillary, rushing to keep up with her. “You seem to know your way around very well considering it’s your first morning. Are you sure you haven’t been here before?”

  Oops, thought Katy as she casually replied, “No, I’ve just got a good sense of direction, that’s all. Plus, I followed the crowd.”

  Hillary nodded. “There’s a space at my table so we can sit together. Our table is quite good fun. It’s a nice bunch of girls except for Morag and Laura. They’re table monitors this term – worst luck.”

  “What are table monitors?” asked Katy. “We didn’t have them at my old scho
ol.”

  “It’s their job to get the food, bring it to the table and serve everyone. But you’ve got to watch them. They’re very generous with servings when it’s something horrible but ever so stingy if it’s something they like, so that they can give themselves enormous helpings.”

  Katy followed Hillary into the school dining-hall. It looked very different from what she was used to. For a start, all the pupils had set places at certain tables. Each table seated ten girls and every table was laid, ready and waiting for the girls to eat. There were even tablecloths!

  Just as Hilary had explained, the table monitors dished out everyone’s meals. “What’s this meat?” asked Katy, probing a grey, gristly lump with her fork. She had struggled to swallow her first mouthful.

  The girls around the table laughed out loud. A tall, pretty, blonde girl answered, “Cook says it’s beef mincemeat, but no one believes that. We reckon its cat!”

  Hillary interrupted her, “Lots of cats have been disappearing in Knutsburry since rationing began.”

  Katy suddenly felt sick and pushed her plate away in disgust.

  “What are you doing?” asked Hillary. “You can’t waste food like that – you have to finish it.”

  Katy looked at her helplessly and slowly pulled her plate back, forcing down a few more mouthfuls of the mystery meat.

  “Is pudding any better?” she asked hopefully as she finished her last bite. The girls giggled again.

  “Pudding’s just as bad. Wait and see,” replied a serious-looking girl, who seemed to be squinting behind a pair of very thick glasses. The table monitors returned, plonking a large bowl unceremoniously in the centre of the table. Katy held out her bowl and a white, glutinous substance was spooned into it.

  “Tapioca?” she asked uncertainly, looking at the unappetising mess in her bowl.

  The girls smiled knowingly at one another and then chorused, “Frogspawn!”

  Katy put down her spoon, trying to ignore the rumbling in her tummy.

  “I’m not hungry anymore!”