by Carol Rivers
Kay opened the back door and saw Vi sitting on the wall. As usual, she was darning, a thread and needle in one hand, Alfie’s grey school sock in the other. Every now and then, she would take a puff of her roll-up, then balance it back on the bricks and give a hacking cough.
‘Everything all right?’ Kay called.
Vi looked up at the sky. ‘I ain’t heard none of them blighters yet.’
‘Come on in for a cuppa.’
‘Don’t like leaving the kids out here with no one to watch.’
‘I’ll leave the door open. If there’s a Doodlebug coming our way, we’ll hear it.’ Kay knew there was little they could do to protect themselves anyway. If one of these ‘buzz-bombs’, as they were also known, fell to earth then there was little chance of escape for the people below it. Every Londoner prayed the eerie rattling noise of their engines didn’t stop overhead. Kay always felt guilty for wanting it to drop elsewhere. But she had felt sick at the sight of the pictures in the newspapers. After a Doodlebug strike, there was nothing much left of the buildings it exploded on, and even the Andersons were of little protection.
‘Harry Sway reckons our ack-ack boys are intercepting a few of the stray ones,’ Vi sighed as she entered the kitchen. ‘Some of ’em hit the cables of the barrage balloons. But those that do arrive on target do worse damage than any of the Luftwaffe’s bombs.’
‘And we thought the air raids were bad enough,’ said Kay as she poured the tea. In the cool of the kitchen it just seemed like another beautiful summer’s day. But below the surface, everyone was living on their nerves.
‘I was reading about the Lewisham bombings,’ Vi complained glumly. ‘Fifty-one killed in the blink of an eye and at the Aldwych, almost as many. Then there was the Guards Barracks, over sixty soldiers perished it was reported, and more.’
‘Come on, take the weight off your feet,’ Kay urged, filling Vi’s mug to the brim. She could see that although Vi had weathered the long years of the war and been an inspiration to them all, since the Doodlebugs had started she looked at the end of her tether. ‘Is it your chest troubling you?’ Kay enquired gently. ‘You’re not going down with bronchitis again?’
‘Just getting old, love.’
‘You’re only as old as you feel,’ said Kay, smiling.
‘Blimey, that’s gorn and done it. I should be six feet under by now if that’s true.’ They both laughed.
Kay sat forward, folding her arms on the table. ‘Do you fancy a nice port and lemon tonight?’
‘I ain’t had port since before the war.’
‘All the more reason to enjoy one now.’
‘No, ducks, port don’t appeal when there’s no celebration to be had. Anyway, we can’t afford those kind of luxuries.’
Kay’s cheeks flushed with guilt. ‘Yes, we can. I’ve a confession to make. I broke into that hundred pounds.’
‘Don’t surprise me, flower,’ Vi said dismissively. ‘After all was said and done, you couldn’t get that job you was after, not with what Jerry had in store.’
‘Nevertheless, I feel ashamed. I dropped me principles.’
‘Principles don’t put food in yer mouth, ducks.’
‘I don’t suppose I’ll ever know where that hundred pounds came from. Alan was the only one who knew.’
‘Was!’ Vi exclaimed loudly. ‘You ain’t given up on him, have you?’
‘I’ll always have hope, Vi.’ Suddenly there was a loud knock at the front door. They both gave a start.
Kay rolled her eyes. ‘Those blasted Doodlebugs make me jump at any old noise.’
‘Me too. Wonder who it is.’ Vi was about to get up, when Kay pushed her gently back. ‘Sit down and finish your tea.’
When Kay opened the front door she took a sharp breath. The last person she expected to see was Jean Pearson.
Both Kay and Vi looked shocked as they sat in the front room with their visitor. ‘You say you may have found Sean?’ Kay repeated Jean’s words in bewilderment. ‘Why can’t you be certain?’
‘Remember Kay, it’s almost two years since I’ve seen him.’
‘Where is he?’ Kay held her breath. Had Sean been found in some slum like Stock’s Lane or on the streets begging? These thoughts had often troubled her.
‘This boy is a patient in a North London children’s sanatorium,’ came Jean’s startling reply. ‘He was admitted with tuberculosis just over a year ago. He was very sick but has shown signs of improvement.’
‘TB?’ Vi gasped.
Jean nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’
Kay felt her stomach sinking. Tears filled her eyes as she swallowed on the lump in her throat.
‘The sanatorium recently received a letter,’ continued Jean. ‘It was written anonymously, giving the date of the boy’s admission to hospital a year ago and naming the Isle of Dogs as his former home. Naturally, the hospital authorities were baffled. So they contacted my department and last week, I went there. I had no idea then who I was to find. But when I saw this child, although being very thin and pale and with his hair shaven, I thought I could see a resemblance to Sean.’
‘But who would write a letter about Sean?’ Kay questioned. ‘Who would know he lived on the island?’ She gave a soft gasp. ‘Could it be Dolly? Is she still alive?’
Jean frowned thoughtfully. ‘I’ve considered that, Kay. But if it was Dolly, what motive could she have for leading us to Sean? Why not go to the sanatorium herself? She is his mother, after all. And yet, if she has no interest in him, why write to the sanatorium?’
‘So if it wasn’t Dolly,’ asked Vi, ‘could it be that friend, the one Dolly said she left him with?’
‘Unfortunately, it’s only the boy who can shed light on the mystery.’ Jean paused.
‘So have you asked him?’ Kay said bewilderedly.
‘This child has no memory of what took place before he was admitted. Not even his name. So the nursing staff call him David, a name to which he now responds.’
Kay put her hand over her mouth to hide her distress.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jean quietly. ‘But remember, he may not be Sean.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ whispered Kay hoarsely, ‘whoever he is, he must have suffered.’
‘In my professional capacity I have to ask you if you would be prepared to help me identify him,’ Jean murmured. ‘But speaking as a friend, I must remind you that you’re under no obligation at all to do so. There is no guarantee he’ll recover from the TB. And even if he does, he certainly won’t be fit to leave the sanatorium for some while.’
‘Jean’s giving you the plain truth,’ said Vi with a nod. ‘Sean ain’t your blood, although I know you felt like he was family. But as much as your heart may go out to any child in trouble, you’ve put time between you and the past. This lad is ill. He’s in a world of his own. Who’s to say it’s the right thing to do, to make him come out of it? P’raps it’d be better to leave the past behind, once and for all.’
At Vi’s warning, Kay was filled with doubt. This boy, whether it was Sean or not, was beyond her help. Was it time, as Vi said, to leave the past behind?
‘All I can suggest,’ Jean said in a quiet voice, ‘is that you take time to decide. If you agree to see him, I’ll take you to the sanatorium. But if your answer is no then I quite understand.’
Kay was steeling herself; either way, it would be a painful step she was taking. Her heart was telling her one thing and the voice of reason another. Sean, as much as Kay cared for him, was Dolly’s son. Dolly had caused him unbearable suffering. Even if he recovered, how could she help him?
It took Kay only a few moments to make her decision.
Chapter Forty-Five
‘We’re close now,’ said Jean one late August morning as she drove Kay through the tree-lined streets of North London in her small car.
‘This must be a very expensive place to live,’ remarked Kay as she noted a few late office workers travelling to the city. Despite the threat of the flying bombs,
they were smartly dressed in suits and many wore bowler hats. The housewives, too, looked smart and elegant in their tailored coats and hats. ‘There’s not a turban or raffia shopping bag in sight!’
‘Yes,’ said Jean, smiling. ‘It is very pleasant. We could stop for tea on our way back if you like.’
‘As much as I’d like to, I’d better get back.’ Kay sighed softly. ‘Babs has taken Alfie, Gill and Tim to the school open day and I’d like to be there when they get home to hear all their news. Mr Barnet’s showing the parents and children the reinforced cellars of the school that will be used, if necessary, in an attack.’
Jean nodded and turned the car into a narrow lane bordered by tall, leafy trees and green bushes. The track seemed to go on for ever as they travelled into the heart of the wood. As they passed through an open gate, a large notice greeted them. ‘Visitors without passes are forbidden to go beyond this point.’ Another notice attached to the gate read, ‘Trespassers will be prosecuted’.
‘The sanatorium is hidden in its own grounds,’ Jean informed her, ‘for the safety of the patients inside and also for those in the wider environment. All visitors must have passes, as we have. Special clothes are provided to wear in some parts of the hospital. This is to prevent further spread of the disease.’
‘Is that where Sean – I mean – this boy is?’
‘No. Not now.’ Jean smiled quickly. ‘He’s currently a patient in Primrose Ward. The children are transferred to this ward when the doctors feel they are out of immediate danger. Fresh air, cleanliness and healthy food are vital to their recovery. Not easy, of course, in wartime. And, as always, we must remember there are no guarantees of success.’
‘So he is getting better?’ Kay asked, a little bewildered.
‘We would hope so.’
Kay felt anxious at Jean’s vague reply. What if this boy was Sean and he fell very ill again? She had been forced to accept that, as time went on, it was unlikely Alan would return. As the months had passed, she’d had time to try to adjust but there was continual fear inside her. A feeling each morning that the very worst had happened yet she was still trying to have hope. Now she was having to face the fact that Sean also might die. Was she strong enough to endure all this?
Suddenly a big house appeared in front of them. Kay stared at its forbidding exterior. There were three storeys and many long, gabled windows, all crossed with tape. The central doorway had no window at all and was made solidly of wood. She thought it looked like a door that might be barred on the inside with a lock and chain. Kay couldn’t help a little shiver.
Jean took the path to the left. It was signposted ‘Primrose Ward’ and continued round the side of the building. Smooth green grass flowed down to the trees and nurses in light-blue uniforms accompanied children of all ages, shapes and sizes. Some children sat in wheelchairs, some at tables and on chairs. The morning sunshine lit up the gardens, casting shadows across the lawns.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Jean asked as she parked the car outside a blue-painted door that directed them again to ‘Primrose Ward’.
‘It’s better than I imagined.’ As the engine of the car faded, stillness seemed to enfold them. Kay could even hear the birds singing. ‘In fact it is quite pleasant.’
‘I thought that too. Shall we go in?’
Kay hesitated. She was frightened now.
‘Are you worried it won’t be Sean?’ Jean asked.
‘Yes,’ Kay admitted. ‘But I’m also worried it will be and I’ll see how sick he is.’
‘TB is a cruel disease and as I told you, there’s no guarantees.’ She paused. ‘But I do hope this works out well for you, Kay.’
Kay knew Jean was doing her best to put her at ease. But now the time had come, she felt very unsettled indeed.
The matron, dressed in dark blue with a white cap and gleaming silver buckle at her waist, showed Kay and Jean into a spacious, light-filled room. The wooden floors were swept very clean, without rugs or carpets. The doors led out to the balconies and lawns. There were many open windows and fresh air washed in, smelling of newly mown grass.
‘You can go through to the gardens from here,’ Matron told them. ‘The children are allowed to sit or wander around, but they mustn’t exert themselves. Many are still struggling to regain the full function of their lungs. There are visitors too, but I must ask you not to address David when you see him. If you are certain you have found the boy you think is Sean then please come to me at once. For the child’s sake we must tread carefully and not alarm him. Now, is there anything you would like to ask, Mrs Lewis?’
Kay nodded. ‘Has David ever spoken about his past?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘Has he lost his memory?’
‘The doctors think he has an amnesia caused by shock,’ the matron explained, ‘since when he was found wandering in the streets of the East End, he was dirty and clearly neglected, unable to answer any questions about where he’d been living.’
‘Can they cure this amnesia?’
The matron gave a slight shrug. ‘Over time he might regain his memory. At the moment, our concern is the TB. He was undernourished and extremely sick when he first came to us. His recovery has been slow and, for the child, quite enough to contend with.’ She looked at Kay curiously. ‘Do you know anything about tuberculosis, Mrs Lewis?’
‘Only that my mum was terrified at the mention of it,’ Kay had to admit. ‘If someone in the neighbourhood caught it, the men came from the council with masks to take them away and disinfect the houses. It frightened a lot of people, especially when those neighbours never returned.’
‘Sadly TB has a stigma,’ agreed the matron. ‘It was claimed to be a disease of the poor that started in the slums, caught under impoverished circumstances. But I can assure you that TB has touched every kind of family. The children admitted to this sanatorium come from all walks of life. But from our observations, David must have been subject to a great deal of neglect. Had he arrived here a week or two later, I don’t think he would be here today. His lungs were in terrible shape. And, as you have been warned, there is still some way to go before we are out of the woods.’
Kay’s heart went out to the child, no matter who he was. No wonder he had tried to forget his past!
‘Just to warn you that the bell for the children’s lunch is not long off,’ the matron told her firmly.
Kay nodded. ‘Thank you.’
When the matron had gone, Jean touched Kay’s shoulder. ‘I’ll wait here.’
Kay walked nervously into the sunshine to join the other visitors. Some were strolling, others sitting peacefully. Some children sat in wheelchairs or on garden seats and benches. Others read books, or walked slowly over the grass. They all had the same look: white faces with bluish or brownish rings around their eyes. Unlike healthy children, their movements were slow and the bent posture of some made them look old before their time.
Kay studied each child as she passed. With every face, she wondered if the next one would be Sean.
Vi, Babs and the three children were making their way towards Slater Street. ‘As if it ain’t enough with the real Doodlebugs flying over,’ Vi complained, ‘we had to take part in an imaginary evacuation to the cellars! I ask you, what use was all that?’
‘Mr Barnet wanted to time how long it would take to get his pupils to safety,’ Babs pointed out reasonably. ‘It’s a big responsibility for him. Most schools have closed and it’s in some doubt as to whether ours will keep open.’
Vi stopped and took in a breath. She was sounding like a miserable old cow lately. What was wrong with her? ‘You’re right, gel. Shut me up if I’m getting to be an old nag.’
‘Vi, you’re never that. This war going on for so long is getting to us all. And you must be worried for Kay.’
‘That I am, love,’ Vi admitted as they began to walk on. ‘She’s had enough to cope with Alan—’ she glanced at Babs who nodded. Vi knew neither of them wanted to put into w
ords what they were thinking. That Alan had been gone too long now to hold out any hope of his survival. It was almost a year now since they’d heard from the War Office, which in itself was very bad news. Not that she’d say so to Kay, who still put up a pretence of hope, as did they all. Vi often wondered about her dear Alan’s fate. She prayed that it had been swift and not painful. There were some terrible things on the wireless and in the papers. Pictures of atrocities and tortured prisoners of war. Together with the bombing, poor Kay had had a very rough time. But hadn’t she let herself in for more heartache with seeing this boy today? Either way, the knowledge of who he was, either Sean or another sick and unfortunate child, could only lead to a very distressing encounter.
‘Frankly, Vi, I think it’s a long shot that it might be Sean,’ Babs said. ‘If it is and he’s got TB, that disease ain’t something you can take lightly. What can Kay hope to do about it?’
‘Who would write a letter to the sanatorium and get all the past raked up again?’ muttered Vi. ‘That’s what I’d like to know!’
‘It’s got to be Dolly, up to her old tricks again.’
‘I reckon you’re right. Just trying to stir up trouble. And Kay fell for it.’
As they came to a grass mound, covered mostly with weeds and with the notices that had once been erected by the ARP, now dislodged and fallen over, Babs sighed. ‘Every time I come past here and see what’s left of the Suttons’ and our places, I wonder how any of us have got through this war.’
Vi was thinking the same thing. She remembered with fondness Howard and Madge and old Mrs Sutton, and young Robert and Kevin, as if it was yesterday. As if she almost expected to see them walking out of that mound, Madge with her shopping basket over her arm, hurrying to find sausages for the boys’ dinner. Robert and Kevin on their bikes, cycling off up the street no-handlebars, yelling out noisily like the mischiefs they were . . . yes, it was as if they were just there, a breath away!
‘It seems like yesterday me and Eddie was bombed out,’ Babs said as she gazed sightlessly at the dwindling pile of bricks a few yards up the road where the Chapmans’ house had once stood.
