The Puppy and the Orphan

by Suzanne Lambert

  Suzanne Lambert

  * * *

  THE PUPPY AND THE ORPHAN

  Contents

  Stars in the Sky

  Nazareth House, December 1953

  The Very Special Biscuit Box

  Snow at Last

  The Boy Who Could Not Sing

  The Doll’s House

  Old Mr Bell

  Santa Comes to Town

  Answered Prayers

  The Ragdoll Express

  To the Stars and Back Again

  Michael and Jennifer

  Wagging Tails and Big Brown Eyes

  The Lost Puppy

  The Dog with No Name

  Boxing Night

  Away in a Manger, No Basket or Hay

  Straw Knickers

  Josephine

  Heaven

  Stolen Straw and Guilty Faces

  Cook’s Secret

  Away in a Manger

  Trouble Brewing

  What to Do, What to Do?

  The Tallest Christmas Tree in the World

  Where’s Billy?

  The Pretendy Train

  Confessions

  Happiness Bubble

  New Year’s Eve

  Fun and Frolics

  A New Start

  The Thingy

  Smart Shoes and Swinging Handbags

  Mr Bell’s Day Out

  Never Before a Lipstick So Red

  Burned Breakfast and New Ideas

  Reminiscences

  A Christmas Prayer

  The Photo on the Mantelpiece

  Pretty Blue Ribbons

  The Treasure Box

  Wholesome Muck

  Long Shiny Ringlets

  The Biggest, Most Beautiful Eyes in the Whole Wide World

  Treasure Box and Shiny Ringlets

  Puppy Dog Eyes

  Christmas Magic

  Trains Indeed

  A New Mummy and Daddy

  The Special Star

  God’s Final Surprise

  The Ragdoll Express

  The Blue Room

  All Aboard

  Afterword

  Acknowledgements

  Follow Penguin

  By the Same Author

  Christmas at the Ragdoll Orphanage

  A Christmas Angel at the Ragdoll Orphanage

  Until one has loved an animal,

  a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.

  Anatole France

  Although this story is fictional, the orphanage and the people within it are very real. I arrived at the doorstep of Nazareth House as a tiny baby, and it was my home for many years. There, I was taken under the wing of a remarkable woman called Nancy, who cared for the little ones in the nursery, and I am proud to be able to call her my mother. Over the years, she shared many stories with me about the orphanage – and I have poured many into this book.

  Stars in the Sky

  Little Billy Miller was five years old. He was sitting on the floor watching the toy train puff its way around the track in a circle. He had no idea how long he had been there and didn’t care anyway. He could hear murmuring from the room next door. The adults were talking quietly – now and again he caught a snatch of what they were saying. Many of the words he didn’t understand or had never heard before. Whatever they were talking about wasn’t good: that much he knew. Mummy had told him never to whisper, it was rude, but she wasn’t here any more: she had gone to be a star in the sky with Daddy, they had told him.

  After the car crash that had taken Mummy and Daddy away, Billy had moved in with his grandma Miller. Grandma had tried her best but Billy could hear her crying at night after he had been put to bed. She had painted his little bedroom pale blue and cut out silver-paper stars and stuck them to the wall. On Billy’s first night in his new room he stayed awake, staring out of the window at the stars, waiting to see Mummy and Daddy. He had called and cried out to them until his throat hurt.

  Early in the morning, exhausted, he had ripped all the stars off the wall. On his first morning in his new home Grandma Miller had found him lying fast asleep on the floor, surrounded by stars. She had had to turn away and force back her own tears. Why, God? she said to herself. Just look at him. Find a way to make this better, please.

  Sadly, the heartbreak in old Grandma Miller’s heart was too great. It was only a few days later that she, too, left Billy to be a star in the sky.

  Billy was in the neighbours’ house now, playing with their son’s train. Everyone knew how much Billy loved trains. Daddy had bought lots of books about them and together they had learned all about the different kinds of trains, what they were called and how they worked. Daddy was very proud of how much his Billy knew about trains. ‘One day we’ll go on a train journey together,’ he had promised. He had swung Billy onto his shoulders, then run around the room making train noises until Mummy told them to be quiet before they disturbed the whole street.

  Daddy had pretended to drop Billy, catching him at the last minute, and Mummy screamed, ‘I do wish you wouldn’t do that!’

  ‘Always catch him, though, don’t I?’ Daddy laughed, and Mummy just smiled.

  These were moments Billy was trying hard to remember. He would squeeze his eyes tight shut and try to see their faces. Sometimes he could, but more often now he couldn’t. Maybe when they had been stars in the sky for a long time he wouldn’t be able to see them at all … and they would forget about him.

  The voices next door were louder now and Billy had no idea what was going to happen to him or where he would be taken. He began to shiver and then the tears came once more.

  It was only six in the evening, but it had been dark for hours. It was freezing cold outside and the sky was clear, showing the brightly shining stars. Suddenly Billy remembered Mummy telling him that Christmas was a time for magic and miracles. It was when they were putting the tree up last year and Daddy had lifted him high to place the star at the top.

  Now Billy jumped up and ran to the window. ‘I forgot to make a Christmas wish! That’s why Mummy and Daddy couldn’t hear me.’ He knelt on the floor, closed his eyes, made a wish, then got up and pulled open the curtains. The he fetched a chair, climbed up and pushed the window up with all his might. When it lifted, he stuck his head outside. ‘Mummy! Daddy!’ he called. ‘Oh! I forgot the prayer.’ Every single night Billy and Mummy had sung it together at bedtime but he never had since Mummy and Daddy had turned into stars. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, then quietly began to sing:

  ‘Goodnight, Man in the Moon,

  Up in the sky so high.

  Goodnight, Man in the Moon,

  Watch over me tonight.

  God bless Mummy, God bless Daddy,

  God bless my family,

  God bless everyone I know,

  Then please, God, bless me.’

  Billy opened his eyes, leaned out of the window, stared up at the stars and waited. ‘Mummy said God always keeps His promises,’ he whispered, and he began once more to call to them.

  He was still there when the adults came to find him. They were all shocked and grabbed him, pulling him away from the window.

  ‘What on earth are you doing, Billy? You’re freezing.’

  ‘You could have fallen!’

  But Billy wasn’t listening. He was never going to sing again. It hadn’t worked.

  He was pushed hastily into a warm coat and they fussed about with a hat and scarf. It was time for him to leave for his fourth home in as many days. The front door slammed as little Billy Miller was taken away.

  The house fell silent. Upstairs the breeze blew the curtains in the room, the stars twinkled, and the man in the moon looked down.

  Had God been listening? Of course He had.<
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  Nazareth House, December 1953

  Nazareth House Orphanage in Jesmond, Newcastle upon Tyne, was full to the brim this year. Nancy was busy going through all the presents that had been donated for the children during the past few weeks. It really was going to be quite wonderful, she thought, remembering past Christmases when there had not been enough toys for the children. She smiled, remembering the long-ago Christmas Eve when, tired and exhausted, she had finally got all the little ones settled and tucked up in bed. She was reaching for the light switch when one of the children had whispered, ‘My friend from school is getting a ragdoll for Christmas, can you imagine?’

  Nancy’s heart had almost stood still, but she smiled now, thinking about it. She had gathered all the rags, wool and buttons she could find and sat up all night making rag dolls for the children. ‘Christmas magic,’ she whispered.

  Nancy was now thirty-three and couldn’t have been happier. She had the kindest and brightest blue eyes and light brown hair that fell in soft waves around her face. Her favourite colour was blue and she always wore the prettiest blue apron with a little pocket where she kept her handkerchief, rosary beads and comb. When Nancy smiled at the children, it was as though a little bit of sunshine touched their hearts. Nancy dreamed of a world in which children never cried – and tears were always hastily wiped away with the corner of her pretty apron. ‘There now,’ she would say, ‘all is well.’

  She often sat at the big table in the television room and looked out of the huge window at the driveway that led to the big iron gates. Had it really been twenty-four years since she had arrived in 1929 as a frightened and cold nine-year-old child. With every step she had taken down the long driveway through the snow she had prayed to go home.

  Now Nazareth House was her home and she loved it. In fact, she had refused to leave when her father came to take her home. She had grown up to have a wonderful way with the children, and eventually she had decided she, too, wanted to become a nun. However, when Nancy turned nineteen, during the Second World War, the Sisters of Nazareth were not accepting new postulants, so she continued to look after the children. She was the heart and soul of the nursery department, and Mother Superior had been heard to say on more than one occasion, ‘Whatever would we do without her?’

  Nancy remembered how much the children loved snow, how excited they were when the first flakes fell. This year, so far, there had been none and they were very disappointed indeed. The radio kept reporting that it was on its way but so far there had been no sign of it. Yesterday, Nancy had distracted the children by decorating the playroom. She had gone up to her treasure trove in the attic for the materials they would need to make new decorations – she never threw anything away. She was well known for it. Her eyes would light up at an empty box. Years ago she had rescued a battered basket on its way to the dustbin. ‘That might come in handy for something.’

  Someone had dared ask, ‘In Heaven’s name, Nancy, what for?’

  When it turned out that there was no crib for the baby Jesus in the nativity play, Nancy had produced her battered basket and had sat proudly through the play.

  There had been times when she had felt the pain of grief, and fear had gripped her heart. She had been only nine when her mother died and the family was split up. Her brothers stayed at home with their father, who was grief-stricken at losing his wife. Her youngest sister, Mary, was sent to a home that took babies, while Nancy and her other sister, Margaret, had been brought to Nazareth House. At that time it was a convent school for girls. Some years later, the nuns had closed the school and opened its doors again as an orphanage. Nancy had stayed on to care for the children. There were many reasons children came to Nazareth House. For some it was a short stay while a parent was in hospital or otherwise unable to cope with them. Others were orphans and would be adopted.

  That was the hardest part of the job for Nancy. She tried not to get attached to the children but it was one of the things she just couldn’t manage. There was always plenty of love to go around, she would tell everyone, and always made time to cuddle the children and sit them on her knee. She told the children wonderful and magical stories, and they would laugh and clap and make up songs about the stories.

  Recently, three children had been adopted, twin girls and a little boy. Oh, the excitement in the nursery when the twins had arrived. The children had gathered round, staring at them, trying to tell them apart, until they had burst into tears and clung to each other. It had been impossible to separate them so Nancy had let them share a bed and sit next to each other at mealtimes. They had brought with them a case full of matching clothes but Nancy put different-coloured ribbons in their hair to ensure she knew which was which. Nancy grew fond of them very quickly; they were such sweet little girls, yet there was a sadness as they continued to cling to each other. Their mother had died, and when Nancy asked the children’s officer about their father, there was simply a shake of the head. He had left, she said, shortly after the girls were born. They were to be adopted by a doctor and his wife, who were arriving this morning to take the girls to their new home before Christmas.

  Nancy thought that was wonderful. She loved to see the look on the adopters’ faces when they left Nazareth House as parents. Young Robert went to a couple from Manchester. They had made the three-hundred-mile round trip four times already to spend time with the little boy and get to know him before all the adoption papers had been signed.

  Usually Nancy had watched from the window upstairs as the children began their new life. She would wave to them as they walked up the driveway until she could no longer see them. Nancy had felt extremely tearful when she realized the doctor had a car, and by the time she reached the window, the car was gone. There would be no waving goodbye to them that day.

  It was the strangest mixture of emotions, Nancy thought. Of course, she was thrilled to see the children with a new mummy and daddy at the start of what she hoped would be a wonderful new life. Yet there was sadness in the knowledge that she would never see them again.

  ‘I want you to come too, Aunty Nancy,’ Robert had said, looking nervous, with tears in his eyes. Nancy had thought her heart would break. She had swept him onto her knee and wiped his eyes with the corner of her apron. ‘Well now,’ she said, ‘I’ll always be there with you because you, like every single child who leaves here, will take a tiny piece of my heart that will love you wherever you go.’

  Little Robert had stopped crying, then giggled. ‘Aunty Nancy, you must have a very big heart.’

  It was her job to prepare the children, support and encourage them until the day they were taken for adoption or went downstairs to the junior department.

  Nancy had no time during the run-up to Christmas to dwell on how much she missed her little ones. There were plenty of others to keep her busy. Considering how many children she had in her care, the nursery was a fun yet perfectly organised place to be. Well, most of the time: there were always a few occasions when everything went horribly wrong. Nancy, of course, never admitted that those days ever happened.

  One summer it had rained for days and the children couldn’t play outside. Soon they were squabbling and crying for no reason. Nancy had walked into the nursery to tears and tantrums. She found a chair and sat down. ‘Gather round,’ she told them. ‘I have something to tell you. It’s a very special secret.’ One by one the children stopped crying and began to gather round her. Works every time! Nancy smiled to herself.

  ‘Well, children,’ she said, ‘did you know I had magic knees?’ There was a pause and a few gasps. Nancy leaned forward. The children did too. Nancy told them about her very special knees and how she could balance a hundred children on them at any one time. There were howls of laughter as the children imagined such a sight.

  Then, of course, there was her magic apron. Apparently, if you were crying and Nancy wiped your tears on the corner of her apron, you immediately felt better. ‘Isn’t that just so?’ she asked them.

  There were sho
uts of ‘Yes, Aunty Nancy!’ They nodded to each other.

  ‘Ah, there now, that’s better,’ she said. ‘Peace restored.’ Isn’t imagination a wonderful thing? she thought. ‘Mind you, I also have eyes in the back of my head, so don’t be thinking you can be up to no good when I’m not looking,’ she told them, with a twinkle in her blue eyes.

  It was one of the children’s favourite games to creep up on her to try to find the eyes in the back of her head. ‘If only she’d go to sleep,’ they said. Young Martha told the others she didn’t think Aunty Nancy ever went to sleep. She was always there. If you knocked on her door day or night, she always seemed to be ready to handle any emergency immediately. Aunty Nancy was very special indeed.

  That particular December evening Nancy was having a much-needed break from the boxes of toys kindly donated by the people of the north-east. Every year their kindness never failed to warm her heart. It had been a long day and she was enjoying a cup of tea and the slice of cake Cook had given her.

  The room was warm and her eyes closed. Her head nodded forward. She dozed, happy in the knowledge that she could relax now. Everything was in hand. No catastrophes or last-minute panics expected this Christmas.

  As Nancy slept, though, she became aware of the strangest feeling that something wasn’t right. Somewhere a child was crying.

  Outside the window, the velvety sky, the moon and the stars looked down on Nancy as she dozed.

  Slowly, and ever so gently, in her dreams Nancy’s fingers moved and reached for the corner of her apron.

  The Very Special Biscuit Box

  It is not known exactly how many young children stood, terrified, at the gates of Nazareth House, wondering what life held in store for them. There had been many tears cried at the top of the driveway, and on more than one occasion a child’s sobbing could be heard by people passing on Sandyford Road.

  Today there was no sound at all. Maura Rogers, the local children’s officer, had tried to chat to the little boy whose hand she was holding. It was a freezing cold day and she wanted to be inside quickly. It had taken an age to get to Nazareth House, and the trolley bus was draughty. As kindly as she could, she had tried to explain that he was going to an orphanage with lots of other children who had no mummy or daddy. It was then that Billy had stopped talking because he was unable to talk. His throat had closed. He hadn’t understood much of what she was telling him but he knew what an orphan was. Daddy had read him a book called Oliver Twist last year. Oliver had been an orphan. Was Billy going to be all dirty and have to steal like the children in the book just so he could eat? Mummy and Daddy would be very cross indeed.