The Puppy and the Orphan

by Suzanne Lambert

  The puppy barked and wagged his tail, then jumped down and ran around in circles. ‘That’s settled then,’ Billy said. He heard his name being called from the garden.

  ‘Billy, where on earth are you?’

  ‘Got to go, Oliver,’ Billy told him, and ran back through the wood towards the other children. Oliver followed him every step of the way. ‘You can’t come with me,’ Billy told Oliver sadly. ‘They’ll take you away.’

  Oliver sat down and looked up at him with sad eyes.

  They were still calling to Billy and he was worried. If he ran into the garden, Oliver would follow him and that would be that. He would never see him again. He looked around him and saw smoke coming from the caretaker’s cottage. He remembered there were old outhouses that had once been stables where horses had been kept in the olden days. Aunty Nancy had told him all about the days when horses and carriages came down the driveway and the horses were put into the stables. ‘Come on, Oliver,’ he said.

  Together, they hurried through the wood, trying to keep out of sight of the house, then ran for the stables. The door was slightly open and Billy managed to squeeze through it, pushing it a little wider. It was a bit cold inside but Oliver didn’t seem to mind. He was running around, sniffing and enjoying himself. Billy took off his hat and coat, then grabbed Oliver and wrapped him up. He put his woollen hat on Oliver’s head and laughed. ‘You do look funny. Now stay there. I’ll try and get you something to eat.’

  He crept out of the stable and pushed the door almost shut. He glanced around to make sure no one had seen him, then ran back to the garden.

  Billy was wrong. Somebody had seen him. Cook had been standing at the sink washing up when she had looked out of the window. What in the world is little Billy up to? she wondered. And why was he outside in this weather without a hat or coat? He couldn’t be trying to run away because he was coming towards the garden. Something’s afoot, mark my words, she thought.

  When Billy got back to the garden he was asked why he wasn’t wearing his hat and coat. He couldn’t think of anything to say so he hung his head and refused to speak. No amount of coaxing would tempt him to talk and by then it was time for all the children to go inside for lunch. It was such a performance getting them back upstairs to the nursery, their coats and boots to contend with, that Billy’s missing coat was forgotten.

  They trooped along to the dining room and sat at their places waiting for Aunty Nancy to bring them their lunch of meat sandwiches and potato slices. Billy had an idea. Nobody took much notice of you when you were eating as there was too much going on. When his plate was put in front of him he picked at the food, every now and again pushing a morsel into his pocket. Fortunately, biscuits were handed round after lunch, with juice. Oliver would like the biscuits, he thought.

  Nancy was no fool and thought Billy looked somewhat distracted in the playroom after lunch. ‘Can we go out to play, Aunty Nancy?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, Billy, darling, that’s the most you’ve said to me all day.’ She laughed.

  ‘I like being outside, Aunty Nancy, and running round in the snow.’

  Nancy was thrilled and decided to take a few of the older children with them. Only one problem: where was Billy’s coat? Nobody seemed to know and Billy’s face became red every time Nancy mentioned it. She was not about to let a missing coat spoil the moment. This was the longest conversation she’d had with him since he’d arrived. She borrowed another child’s coat for him and they made their way outside.

  In the garden, Billy shouted, ‘Hide and seek!’ then darted away from them. The children all ran in different directions and Nancy stood under the great oak tree and counted to a hundred, then called, ‘Coming, ready or not.’ It was one of the children’s favourite games but Nancy had never known Billy want to play before today. It was Christmas magic, that’s what it was, and she was absolutely thrilled to bits.

  When Billy turned up after ten minutes, Nancy wanted to tell him that he had been away too long and she had been worried, but the smile on his face stopped her. They played outside for another half an hour before the clouds gathered and it began to look like rain or snow. ‘Come along inside quickly now, children.’ They all skipped towards the house except Billy. ‘Did you enjoy that, Billy?’ Nancy asked, taking his hand. She was disappointed when he didn’t answer. He looked worried. Nancy squeezed his hand. Oh, well, she thought, small steps.

  Boxing Night

  All around the city of Newcastle upon Tyne, people enjoyed the festivities and children played happily with their new toys. There was, however, one sad face in Nazareth House. Billy had spent the whole day worrying. Oliver would be hungry and frightened. It was only because he was away from the house in the stables that nobody had heard him barking. Billy thought he had heard him but most people would think the sound was coming from Sandyford Road. He would be in terrible trouble if anything happened to Oliver, and it would be his fault. Maybe he should tell Aunty Nancy. Yet he knew that, even if she understood, Oliver would be taken away, and Billy remembered how he himself had felt, all happy, when he had held the puppy in his arms. It was quite strange, really. It was like being made to feel all warm inside. Billy could talk to Oliver and he knew that Oliver understood every word he was saying. Maybe nobody wanted him – after all, he had been alone in the wood when Billy had found him. He remembered the soft brown eyes and another part of the cold inside him was warmed. He smiled, remembering how Oliver had followed him everywhere he went … No, he couldn’t tell anyone – he couldn’t risk the grown-ups taking him away.

  Billy lay awake listening until all the children were asleep. Then he crept out of bed and put on his dressing-gown and slippers, walked quietly across the room and peeped out of the door into the corridor. He could see the flickering light from the television room as he began to walk slowly down the corridor. Every single step seemed to take a lifetime and the corridor seemed to be a million miles long. When he eventually reached the end, he went round the corner to the nursery door that led downstairs to the garden. Very carefully he turned the handle, his heart thumping. He tiptoed down the stairs, hoping no one was around.

  Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, the door to the garden was on one side of him and the door to the kitchen on the other. Billy almost jumped out of his skin when he heard Cook burst into song. By this time his knees were knocking together and he was absolutely terrified of being caught out of bed. The door to the kitchen was open: Cook had been baking and the smell was beyond wonderful, Billy thought. Bravely, he peeped into the room. There, on the table, was a plate of biscuits and a glass of water. Billy never knew what gave him the nerve to do it but he ran in, grabbed the biscuits, pushed them into his pocket, then picked up the glass and was out again in seconds. He waited for a moment, then moved to the garden door, which was always locked at seven thirty sharp. Billy closed his eyes in prayer, pleading for it not to be seven thirty yet.

  He reached up for the handle, took a deep breath, turned the handle and opened the door. Then he ran for all he was worth through the snow, slipping and sliding, until he reached the stables. When he went inside, Oliver jumped up at him, spilling some of the water. ‘Get down, silly!’ he shouted.

  Oliver lapped at the water, then ate Cook’s biscuits. Billy hugged and kissed him, holding him tight and stroking him. Then he took off his dressing-gown and wrapped it around the puppy. Whatever am I going to do tomorrow? he wondered.

  He settled Oliver down and hurried back to the house. He reached the door and paused, his heart racing, in case he would find the door locked. Very slowly, his fingers curled round the handle and he turned it. Click. His heart was now hammering in his chest and he opened the door, hurried inside and closed it. He swallowed, and wondered if his legs would take him any further as he was now shivering, whether from the cold or fear he didn’t know. He crept up the stairs, then ran quickly to the nursery door. There were tears in his eyes now and he was very frightened indeed. He opened the door and was
once more back in the nursery department. He had made it. He listened carefully, then raced along the corridor to the dormitory.

  He was only halfway there when he heard Aunty Nancy frantically calling his name and ran into the toilet. He heard her footsteps and his name being called again. He was so frightened but he shouted bravely, ‘I’m here, Aunty Nancy.’

  There was a pause, then, ‘Billy?’

  He had done so well but it had all been too much for him. He sat on the floor and began to sob.

  Nancy opened the door and saw that his slippers and pyjama bottoms were soaking wet. ‘Oh, darling,’ she said, ‘it’s okay, please don’t cry. Let’s just get these off you and find you some nice clean dry ones.’ Nancy had Billy changed and into bed within moments. ‘It really is fine, Billy,’ she said, tucking him into bed. ‘Little accidents happen sometimes when we’re upset, and we don’t think about them for a moment, darling.’

  Billy had been so naughty and here was Aunty Nancy being so kind to him. It was simply too much and he burst into tears once more.

  Oh, Heavens, thought Nancy, what on earth have I said now?

  Downstairs, Cook was very pleased with herself. She had all the meals prepared for tomorrow and now it was time to go and sit down with a nice glass of water and a biscuit. She reached to turn off the big light and switch on the night light, then went to fetch the glass and the biscuits she had put ready.

  I must be overtired, she thought. I could have sworn I left a glass of water on the table … and where, in God’s name, are my biscuits?

  Away in a Manger, No Basket or Hay

  On Boxing Night, as Billy and the children slept, the local church was holding a carol service for the local community. The church looked beautiful: all the candles were lit and the Christmas tree was splendid. The ladies of the parish had surpassed themselves, the priest had told them. The children had all visited the nativity scene at the side of the altar, then been given a decoration to hang on the tree, an annual tradition. It was a lovely service, and afterwards there would be mince pies, tea and juice in the church hall. Many of the younger children were asleep as the congregation stood up to sing the final carol, ‘Away in a Manger’.

  Half a mile away, in the grounds of Nazareth House, the moon and stars shone down on a very different stable from the one the congregation were singing about.

  A new story was beginning. It would be a story of challenges, loss, sadness and joy. The Star of Bethlehem in the Nazareth House chapel was twinkling as it caught the light of the moon through the stained-glass windows. So many Christmases had been spent here. In 1945, Nancy had sat there with a smile on her face after returning home with the children at the end of the war. They had been away for six long years. As she had watched them sing their carols her heart had almost burst with happiness. It was what she had dreamed of and planned all during the war years.

  Tonight the chapel was silent as it waited. New stories were unfolding. The Cross of Our Lord hanging above the altar was also caught in the light that shone through the windows.

  In Jesmond’s parish church, the voices raised in song were carried on the breeze as snowflakes once more began to fall upon the roof of the stable where the puppy, with no basket or hay, was snuggled up in a little boy’s dressing-gown.

  A new story had just begun.

  Straw Knickers

  It was the morning after Boxing Day and Martha woke early. She looked over at Billy, who was still fast asleep. Martha sensed that something was going on that involved Billy. She had heard him being brought back to the dormitory last night. She jumped out of bed and began waking some of the other children. They all began whispering to each other, trying to work out what Billy had been up to. ‘He must have been very naughty,’ they agreed. He had been out of bed at night, which none of them would have dared to do. They all stared at Billy’s bed.

  ‘Do you think he tried to run away?’

  ‘Don’t be silly! He had his pyjamas on.’

  ‘But where’s his dressing-gown and slippers? They were there when he went to bed.’

  They all pondered this puzzle for a moment.

  ‘Maybe he was sick.’

  ‘We would have heard him.’

  ‘Somebody should just ask him.’

  They all looked at Martha. ‘Well, you started this.’ They pushed Martha in front of them and all stood behind her. ‘You ask him.’

  Lots of little heads nodded in agreement as they pushed Martha forward. Martha made her way over to Billy’s bed and all the children stood round her. She gently tapped on Billy’s shoulder.

  ‘Harder,’ said Tommy.

  Martha leaned over and tapped on his shoulder again.

  Suddenly Billy woke up, saw all the faces staring at him and screamed.

  ‘Sssh, Billy,’ the children said, looking around to see if anyone had heard.

  ‘You’ll wake everyone up,’ Martha said.

  ‘Why are you staring at me?’ Billy asked feeling worried.

  They all looked at Martha. ‘Well’ she said, ‘we want to know where you went to last night.’

  Billy sat up, and all the children gathered round, some jumping onto his bed. ‘You’ll tell,’ he said.

  ‘We won’t.’

  ‘You will. I know you will.’

  ‘Promise Billy, we wouldn’t ever tell.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise, Billy,’

  ‘Nobody, mind. Not even Aunty Nancy.’

  ‘Not even Aunty Nancy.’

  Billy sighed. ‘I found a lost puppy.’

  The children’s eyes lit up. They hadn’t expected anything so exciting.

  ‘A real puppy?’ asked Martha.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A real live one that jumps about?’

  Billy laughed. ‘Yes, he jumps about all right. I got scraps for him to eat and some water. And I had to take some biscuits from the kitchen.’

  ‘Ooooooooh, Billy, you must be very brave indeed.’

  Billy didn’t feel brave, just worried that Oliver would be hungry and thirsty again by now. He told the others how he had wrapped the puppy in his winter coat and dressing-gown. ‘I don’t know what to do – he needs a dog’s bed, but if we tell, I just know they’ll take him away,’ he said.

  ‘Billy,’ Martha asked, ‘how do you know it’s a boy?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I called him Oliver. What are we going to do? Remember, you promised.’

  They all looked at Martha. ‘We have to be very careful,’ she said, trying to look important. They all continued to stare at her. ‘I know one thing, though.’

  ‘What, Martha?’ they asked.

  ‘I know where we can get some straw for Oliver’s bed …’

  That morning there was a great deal of whispering among the children and knowing glances that Nancy would never have missed, had she not been called to the parlour. A new child had arrived a day earlier than expected.

  ‘Aunty Nancy’s gone to see the new girl,’ Norman told them.

  ‘Good,’ said Martha. ‘She’ll keep her busy.’

  ‘But Aunty Nancy knows everything.’

  ‘Mary,’ said Billy, near to tears, ‘we have to keep him warm and feed him. You promised!’

  The children all agreed they would have to keep their promise. ‘Do you remember,’ Martha said to everyone, ‘Aunty Nancy told us never to make a promise we can’t keep?’ Five little heads nodded. ‘So Billy, Tommy, Mary, Norman and me will do what we said.’

  It was agreed that the plan would go ahead.

  ‘Wonder who the new girl is,’ said Martha.

  Josephine

  The child at the big iron gates that led to Nazareth House was the first not to be held in somebody’s arms or be standing waiting to take their first steps towards their new home. Josephine was in an ambulance that only paused briefly as it turned into the gates. She was looking straight ahead, yet seeing nothing. She was remembering home.

  Josephine Jones had bright
green eyes that sparkled and the longest brown hair in the street where she lived. It was the envy of many little girls. She also had the most enchanting laugh, if Maggie Jones, her mother, was to be believed. Apparently, she had smiled and giggled as soon as she was born and had never been a moment’s bother to anyone. ‘Giggles more than she cries,’ a proud Mrs Jones would tell the neighbours. ‘A real treasure.’

  One of Josephine’s favourite games was dancing on Daddy’s feet. He would place her feet on top of his and together they would spin around the room and Josephine’s laughter could be heard all down the back lane. ‘We’re so lucky,’ Maggie told everyone. ‘She’s a delight.’

  Ernie loved nothing more than to come home from work and sit by the fire watching Maggie brush Josephine’s hair. ‘Prettiest girl in the world.’ he told her over and over again. He was so very proud. He had hurried home on the day he had been promoted at work. He burst through the door, lifted Josephine into his arms and promised her that one day soon they would go to Newcastle together and he would buy her the brightest ribbons in the whole shop. That night, after Mummy had brushed her hair and plaited it, holding it together with a piece of elastic, Josephine dreamed of the prettiest ribbon in the whole world. Life was very exciting indeed.

  Everyone said Josephine’s plaits had a life of their own. They would quiver even when she was standing still. It was a constant source of amusement for her parents. Josephine was hardly ever still. She was always running, skipping, dancing, doing cartwheels across the yard, and was often found upside-down doing handstands in the back lane. There was always a group of children around her and all of the girls were jealous of Josephine’s long plaits.

  She was very proud of them indeed. When the children played on the roundabout in the local park, Josephine’s plaits would fly out either side of her. After Maggie washed Josephine’s hair she would spend hours in front of the fire brushing it dry as Ernie watched them smiling. Yes, life was wonderful for the Jones family. Until that day. For many weeks afterwards, Maggie told the neighbours, she could still hear the knock on the door, not matter how hard she tried not to. One day she had been so angry and upset that she’d taken a hammer to the knocker, banging and banging until it had fallen off. The neighbours had tried to stop her until she’d collapsed to the ground, screaming, and nobody had known what to do.