Jenny's War (2 page)

For a brief moment, she felt sorry for the country folks who were going to have to take Jenny Mercer into their home.

‘I’ll take you to school in my car, Tich. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

Arthur was still there the next morning, sitting at the table and tucking into a huge plate of eggs, bacon and sausage. Dot was standing at the stove, still wearing her dressing gown. The previous day’s make-up was now caked and blotchy. A cigarette hung from the corner of her mouth and she screwed up her eyes against the smoke. Before Jenny could answer him, Dot said, ‘No, she won’t. She can walk with the rest of the kids from our street.’

Jenny slid on to the chair beside Arthur, her mouth watering at the smell of his breakfast. He looked down at her and winked. ‘Like a bit?’

She looked up at him, her bright blue eyes regarding him steadily. She’d never really liked him. From the first time her mother had brought him home, she’d been a little afraid of him. And Jenny Mercer wasn’t usually afraid of anyone. She was a street kid, born and bred in a poorer part of the city but amongst people with a proud tradition; hardworking men with homemaking wives who loved and cared for their families. That Jenny had been landed with a mother like Dot was her misfortune. Dot, slovenly and slatternly in her ways, was the exception in these streets, not the rule.

‘Wotcher, Tich,’ had been Arthur Osborne’s first greeting as he’d handed her a bag of sweets. And that had set the precedent; every time he came to their house – and it was often – he brought a little something for Jenny. Sweets usually, but occasionally a book or a jigsaw puzzle. Sometimes he gave her enough money for her and Bobby to go to the pictures, though she felt that was only to get her out of the house. But instead of pleasing Dot, his well-intentioned actions towards the child seemed to infuriate her. ‘You spoil her. She’ll be expecting presents every time.’

But Arthur had only winked at Jenny and said, ‘No harm in that, is there, darlin’? I bring yer mam presents too, don’t I?’ Dot could not deny this and the gifts he lavished on her were certainly more expensive than the tokens he gave her daughter. But despite his generosity, there was still something about him that Jenny didn’t like, though she couldn’t put the feeling into words. It just felt as if he was trying to buy her approval and the harder he tried, the more Jenny was suspicious of his motives. He was handsome enough in a flashy way. He wore loud-check suits and a trilby hat and sported a thin, pencil-line moustache. He chain-smoked; there was a cigarette still smouldering now in the ashtray on the breakfast table. But she had to admit that he was kind to her, much kinder – and certainly more generous – than her own mother.

‘Don’t be giving her your breakfast, Arfer. She can have bread and dripping.’

‘Aw, go on, Dot, give the little lass a special breakfast. She’s going on a long journey.’

A shudder of fear ran through Jenny. She didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to leave her mum and the familiar streets. She was sure she’d hate the country and everyone in it. This was her home. She’d even put up with Arthur, if it meant she could stay here. ‘Mum, I don’t want to go. I don’t have to, do I?’

‘Yeah, you do. Everyone else’s kids are going. Even Sid’s letting Sammy and Bobby go. I won’t have folks say I don’t do right by you.’

Jenny cast a pleading glance at Arthur. She had the feeling that, deep down, he wanted her out of the way too, but maybe . . .

‘It’ll be all right.’ He patted her greasy curls and then wished he hadn’t. Jenny saw the look of disgust on his face and knew that her fate was sealed. Neither of them wanted her around any longer and now they’d a ready-made excuse to get rid of her.

‘Here, have the rest of this, Tich.’ Arthur pushed the half-eaten breakfast in front of her and handed her his knife and fork. He winked at her and said loudly for Dot’s ears, ‘Yer mam’s made me too much.’

Jenny grabbed the knife and fork and began to shovel the food into her mouth, whilst Arthur lit another cigarette and watched her with a mixture of irritation and pity.

Half an hour later, there was a loud knocking on the door and Elsie called out, ‘Is she ready, Dot? It’s time the kids were going.’

Dot, still in her dressing gown, thrust a dilapidated small suitcase into Jenny’s hands. ‘Here, go and put your clothes in this. Arfer got it for you, so you say “thank you” nicely to him.’

Jenny put her hands behind her back and scowled mutinously. ‘I ain’t goin’. I’m stayin’ here.’

‘Oh, no you’re not. If the other kids are goin’, then so are you. ’Sides, I could do with a bit of peace and quiet for a week or two. It’s only for a bit. It’ll be like a holiday.’

Tears sprang to Jenny’s eyes. So, she’d been right. They did want her out of the way. Maybe Uncle Arthur was sick of feeling obliged to bring her presents to wheedle his way around her, tired of having to think of a way to get her out of the house for a couple of hours. This way, they’d be able to do what they liked. Go out every night, stay in bed till noon without a nuisance child to look after.

Jenny snatched the suitcase from her mother and ran up the stairs. She stuffed her clothes – precious few – into the case and then gently she laid Bert, her battered teddy bear, on the top. Then she closed the lid muttering, ‘Sorry, Bert, to squash you. Maybe it won’t be for long but I can’t leave you behind.’

As she went down the stairs, Elsie was standing in the kitchen. ‘There you are, darlin’. Get a move on, we’ll miss the train.’

Jenny stared up at her with wide eyes. ‘Train?’ she squeaked fearfully. ‘We’re going on a train? Where to?’

Elsie shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea, but it’ll be all right. You’ll be with Bobby and Sammy’ll be there too. He’ll look out for both of you.’ She held out her hand towards Jenny, who took it reluctantly. Then Elsie turned to Dot. ‘Look lively, you’re the one holding us up now.’

Dot pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her. ‘I’m not ready, Elsie. You take her with your lads. Off you go, Jen, and mind you’re a good girl.’ She made no move to kiss or hug her daughter. She just reached up to the mantelpiece for her packet of cigarettes.

‘’Bye, Tich,’ Arthur said and made as if to ruffle her hair but then thought better of it. Instead, he touched her cheek with a gentle gesture. ‘It’ll be fine. You’ll be all right.’

But Elsie’s anxious frown did nothing to reassure the young girl.

Walking beside Bobby towards the school was what she did every morning. But today was different. Today they would not be coming back home when afternoon school finished. There’d be no games of hopscotch in the street or kicking a ball through makeshift goalposts, whilst Bobby tried to prevent her scoring, or playing cricket with Sid Hutton’s weathered bat and ball. No simple game of tag with all the other kids from the local streets. Not even a trip to the nearest stretch of grass that passed for the closest thing to a park and a strip of countryside for the city kids.

How Jenny longed to slip her hand into Bobby’s as she walked alongside him, but she knew it would provoke teasing from the other children if they were seen. Bobby wouldn’t like it but she felt that, actually, he wouldn’t have minded holding her hand. Even he was quiet and subdued this morning, quite unlike her cheeky playmate and friend. Red-haired and freckle-faced like his older brothers, there was always a ready grin on his face. The three Hutton brothers were very much alike and neighbours would say that you could only tell them apart because of their different heights. Bobby was constantly in the wars and permanently scruffy, however hard poor Elsie washed and mended his torn trousers and ripped shirts. But he was fun to be with and he never turned his back on Jenny when he was with his mates just because she was a girl and a year younger.

‘Come on, Jen, you can play with us.’ And even if the other boys pulled faces and grumbled, he’d say, ‘Good as any of you lot, she is. You just watch her dribble a football. She’d be good enough to play for the ’Ammers if she weren’t a girl.’

And he was right; Jenny was fearless and fearsome and could hold her own in a game of football against any of the boys, even the bigger ones.

But now those games were finished for, as the youngsters trooped to school on the morning of 2 September 1939, not one of them knew when they’d all be back together again and playing football in the familiar streets.

They assembled in the school playground.

‘Are the teachers comin’ too?’ Bobby muttered as he saw one or two of the school staff with suitcases at their feet and clipboards in their hands marshalling the children into different groups around them. The boy was torn between feeling relieved that a familiar grown-up would be with them, and realizing that a continuation of lessons would inevitably follow.

‘Let’s hope so,’ Elsie said with feeling. ‘I’d be a lot happier if they are.’ She approached Mr Napier, Sammy’s form teacher, and repeated Bobby’s question.

‘Only to see them settled in, Mrs Hutton. Then we’ll be coming back. Once we’ve handed them over to the billeting officers where they’re going, then our job will be done.’

‘And where are they going?’

The man shrugged. ‘Up north somewhere. That’s all I can tell you. But they’ll all be given a card and a stamp to write home to you when they’re settled. Don’t fret, Mrs Hutton. They’ll be well cared for.’

Elsie glared at him for a moment and opened her mouth to retort, but Bobby pulled her away. ‘Don’t, Mam. You’ll show our Sammy up an’ he won’t like that.’

Elsie sighed, understanding her son’s concerns. Boys didn’t like their mothers arguing with their teachers. She turned to Bobby. ‘Now listen, son. You write to me when you get there. You hear? An’ if yer not happy, you write at once an’ I’ll be on the next train to fetch you home, never mind what it’d cost. I’m not havin’ my kids unhappy – bombs or no bombs.’

Listening, Jenny wished her mother had said something like that to her. Elsie Hutton was letting her children go because she believed it was the right thing to do to keep them safe, but it was obvious that for two pins she’d keep them here. She didn’t
want
them to go, whereas Jenny had the feeling her own mother couldn’t wait to see the back of her.

They walked in crocodile formation to the nearest underground and eventually arrived at King’s Cross railway station. Now Jenny clutched Bobby’s hand tightly, afraid of losing him amongst the crowd of bewildered children from all over London thronging the platforms. Cardboard boxes holding their gas masks dangled from around their necks and labels flapped from every coat or jacket lapel. Some carried small suitcases, others – like Bobby and Sammy – carried their belongings in kit bags or even pillowcases. There were smartly dressed boys in school blazers and caps. They wore good, stout shoes, short trousers and knee-length grey socks. Girls, too, wore neat coats, white ankle socks and shoes. Their hair was neatly trimmed and freshly washed. But others were as scruffy as Jenny, with tangled hair, worn-out plimsolls and no socks.

Sammy stayed close to Bobby and Jenny. Several parents, Elsie amongst them, had followed them to the station for last-minute hugs and tearful farewells. Already, the teachers were looking harassed; they would have preferred goodbyes to have been said in the schoolyard. This was just prolonging the agony. Several of the younger children were crying now and even some of the older girls too. A few boys looked suspiciously wet eyed, but were manfully holding back from actually shedding tears. Only one or two looked actually happy to be going, Billy Harrington for one. Billy was in her class and Jenny knew that his mother had died and now he was beaten regularly by his drunken father for any imagined misdemeanour. Anywhere would likely be better for Billy than his own home. But despite his harsh home life, miraculously the boy was always cheerful and friendly. Once at school, he seemed to be able to block out memories of last night’s beating or thoughts that more cuffs and knocks awaited him again that night at home. And today Billy was positively beaming. He was tall and thin for his age. His clothes were secondhand, too small for the growing boy and often torn; there was no one at home to mend them. His light brown hair was short, roughly trimmed by an impatient father.

A whistle sounded and there was a sudden flurry of activity. Children were bundled aboard the train and doors were slammed by the guard walking along the full length of the platform shouting, ‘All aboard.’ Jenny giggled. It was just like she’d seen on the films; she hadn’t imagined it could be real.

Mothers remained on the platform, standing on tiptoe to see their children one last time. Now a lot of the grown-ups were in tears too, waving handkerchiefs and shouting last-minute messages. And then the train, with much chugging and puffing of steam, began to move.

‘Where’s Aunty Elsie? Where’s yer mum?’ Jenny was overcome by a sudden panic. She had to wave to Aunty Elsie; it would mean she was coming back. Aunty Elsie was her good-luck charm. Bobby, leaning out of the window, was just as anxious. ‘I can’t see her. Oh, I can’t . . .’

‘There she is.’ Sammy put a hand on both their shoulders. ‘Look, she’s waving. Give her a wave, Bobby. And you too, Jen. Let her see us go off with a smile.’ He bent down and whispered, ‘We can have a good cry later when no one’s looking.’

Sammy was twelve and feeling very responsible for the two youngsters who’d been put in his charge, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling the parting from his mother just as much as they were.

Mr Napier was in charge of the carriage with Sammy, Bobby and Jenny along with several other children from his class. Billy Harrington was there too, bubbling with excitement and bouncing up and down in his seat.

‘Now settle down,’ the teacher said, as the train drew out of the station and gathered speed. ‘We’ve a long journey ahead of us. I hope you’ve all brought sandwiches.’

Bobby whispered, ‘You can share mine, Jen.’ He didn’t even need to ask if she’d got any.

Jenny’s smile trembled. ‘Ta, Bobby.’

The carriage grew very hot and Jenny, unused to such a big breakfast, began to feel queasy.

‘I feel sick,’ she said at last to Mr Napier. The man looked down at her and pursed his lips. ‘I shouldn’t be having to look after little girls,’ he muttered. ‘You should be with your own class teacher. Have you got a towel in your bag?’