Orphans of War (9 page)

The lads were taken into the attic. There was a row of beds with large jam jars by the side. ‘What’s these for, ashtrays?’ Greg joked.

‘Just a trick the doctor thought up to stop any bedwetting, but aim straight!’ came the order. ‘The lavatory is a long way off and I know how lazy boys can be. Unpack your bags and supper is in the kitchen.’

Greg bounced on his bed. So far so good: clean sheets–a good sign–and a locker for his stuff. It
would do for a few nights until he got his bearings and then he’d make a run for it again. They’d gone north and west from Leeds. He knew his geography. They couldn’t be that far from a seaport but he fancied another ride in that Daimler.

Gloria was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open as they drove up a long path with tall trees, and then a great white owl flew across in front of them.

‘What’s that?’ she whispered to Maddy. ‘I don’t like this place.’

‘Just a barn owl and it’s not far to Brooklyn Hall,’ said Mrs Plum. ‘But you’ll have to be very quiet when we arrive. Mrs Belfield is not used to little children so let me explain what’s happened first.’

‘My ear hurts,’ moaned little Sid, whimpering.

‘I know, darling. I’ll find some cotton wool and warm oil for it.’

‘Is this it?’ Gloria looked up at the huge stone house with a square tower in the middle and windows like a castle. It was bigger than all of Elijah Street put together. It was all shuttered up and unwelcoming. There was a huge oak door at the top of some wide stone steps.

‘The windows have got their eyes shut. It looks as if it’s sleeping,’ she said, making Mrs Plum smile.

They pulled the bell and a young woman in a pinafore came to the door. They were ushered inside and the driver took the car around the back. Maddy thought there must be some mistake. Were they being taken into a school?

A woman came down the stairs with a stick, a tall
woman in a long black dress with a shawl around her arms, her smoky-grey hair piled up high. She smelled of flowers.

‘At long last, Prunella…Oh, what a pretty child,’ she said, grasping hold of Gloria, eyeing her carefully. ‘This is not the Belfield golden hair. Where did such extravagant curls come from? So small for her age…Come here, child and let me see you. We can do something with you.’

‘That’s Gloria, an evacuee,’ spluttered Mrs Plum. ‘Madeleine, your granddaughter, is over here,’ pointing in the other direction to where Maddy hung back in the shadows.

‘Oh, I see…Take off your glasses, girl, let the dog see the rabbit.’ The lady eyed her up and down. ‘Oh dear, how unfortunate…Not our side of the family at all, is she? She’s like a horse with a wall eye, not to be trusted. Ah well, it was to be expected.’

Gloria’s eyes were on stalks. She’d never seen such a grand room except in the pictures. She’d seen
Little Lord Fauntleroy
and Shirley Temple at the fleapit on Saturday mornings. She was living in fairyland in the middle of the pictures and this was going to be her new home. Then the old lady saw Sid whining. He was going to spoil everything.

‘Just shut up and behave or we’ll get chucked out,’ Gloria whispered in his ear. Didn’t he know when he was well off? He was looking queer again.

‘This is Gloria and her brother, Sidney, who’s not very well. They need a bed for the night and some medical attention, I’m afraid,’ Mrs Plum said.

‘This is impossible, Prunella. It was bad enough-having the one but now you’re asking me to put up three and to call out poor Dr David at this time of night. Can’t it wait?’ The two women were trying to argue quietly but Maddy could hear their angry mutters.

‘It’s like the pictures, innit?’ whispered Gloria, looking around with wonderment. ‘I keep pinching myself. If Mam could see us here…’

‘Where’s she gone to?’ said Maddy, hoping to catch Gloria off guard.

‘Dunno,’ came the guarded reply. She was too tired to think what Mam was doing now. She’d just left them on the train to fend for themselves and she didn’t understand why, but Gloria was still preening herself for having been picked out as the Belfield girl.

Sid was looking funny again.

‘Miss, miss, he’s fitting! He allus does this when he’s sick,’ she yelled.

The old lady looked on with concern as he was laid down, rigid with tremors. Perhaps Sid could be useful after all. If he was sick they couldn’t move him and she could stay the night in a palace. She was curious now and wanted to see what it all looked like in the morning light.

‘Shall I put something over his tongue? Miss Connaught does that when Veronica Rogers has a fit,’ offered Maddy. Her grandmother looked surprised to hear her speaking the King’s English in her best elocution voice. At least she wasn’t being ignored now in
favour of Gloria’s pretty looks. That had hurt more than anything.

‘Now look what you’ve brought to our door…Send Ilse to The Vicarage and he can phone for Dr David. These lower classes don’t know how to look after themselves properly, letting children loose in this state. Those children look half starved and
such
coarse accents. I don’t want Madeleine picking it up. Arthur’s taught her some manners, I see.’

‘I can speak French too,’ Maddy added. ‘We did French and Latin at St Hilda’s but I hate Latin.’

‘Speak when you’re spoken to, girl,’ said the old woman. ‘Go and find Ilse and send her off with a torch. This is most inconvenient!’

Maddy wondered if they were expected to bob a curtsy like the maids did, but decided against it. She raced across through the baize door into a warren of passages, Gloria clinging on to her, into the kitchen where they found two women sipping tea.

‘We need the doctor for a little boy. Please can someone go to the nearest phone?’

The women jumped up and put on their coats.

‘Just the one of you, I think,’ Maddy ordered, but the girls shook their heads.

‘I not go in the dark. There be ghosts in the lane and soldiers. We go in twos together, please,’ pleaded the brown-eyed girl with her hair all scraped into a plait around her head.

What sort of place was this house, where servants were afraid and Mrs Belfield lived all alone? No wonder Daddy never spoke of it and his horrid mother, who
was a snob. Why had no one told her that the Belfields lived in a castle with big sweeping stairs and stone floors that smelled of old smoke?

Tomorrow she would ask Aunt Plum if she could join the evacuees in the village. Gloria could stay here with Sid and be petted, but she didn’t want to spend another night in this horrible place where she wasn’t wanted.

Later, when the doctor came to examine Sidney and pronounced that he’d burst his eardrum and needed bed rest and medicine, the two girls were tucked up in a huge four-poster bed with curtains round the posts. The room smelled of lavender and damp.

Ilse had warmed the sheets with a big copper warming pan and made a fuss of the pair. Gloria was made to stand in a tub and be sponged down by Aunt Plum to see if she had fleas. Her underclothes were thin, clean and she wasn’t wrapped in brown paper like some of the vaccies were supposed to be. She was enjoying every minute of the fuss.

Maddy had never undressed for bed with a stranger before. She wanted to be on her own, but not in this barn of a bedroom. She wondered about all the people who’d died in that bed. Were their ghosts still haunting the place?

What a strange day! The only nice thing about it was meeting Aunt Plum, but they never got time on their own to talk over what had happened. Everyone expected Maddy to look after the other two.

She wished she’d never gone to the washroom on the train, never seen the mother shove those two into
her hands, but she had. Then she thought of her relief when Greg had limped down the platform to rescue them. Perhaps there was one friend after all who would look out for her–even if he were a boy.

December 1940

‘Can you pick up my knitting, dear?’ gasped Great-aunt Julia as she struggled with her two sticks across the hallway of Brooklyn Hall. Maddy wasn’t used to going at tortoise pace but she loved being useful to the old ladies in the drawing room who, wrapped in ancient fur wraps and shawls to keep out the draughts, were busy knitting for the Sowerthwaite Comforts fund. Everyone took it in turns to sit up close to Uncle Algie’s battery-operated wireless to catch the news as best they could.

Maddy couldn’t believe it was nearly Christmas, nearly three whole months since that arrival at Brooklyn Hall, when Sid had had his fit and Grandma had eyed her up and down with disappointment.

‘It’s hotting up in Greece,’ shouted Great-uncle Algernon across the room, resting his half a leg on a leather buffet as he strained to catch the bulletin. ‘Metaxas has said “No” to Mussolini and there’ll be trouble in the Balkans, mark my words…Oh, and Liverpool and Manchester had another visit from
the Luftwaffe last night. Three of our planes are missing.’

‘Don’t believe a word of it, girls,’ shouted Grandma, looking up from her letter writing. ‘It’s all lies and propaganda. I don’t know why you want to depress us with such news.’

Maddy was glued to the six o’clock news every night. She had heard enemy bombers droning overhead at night on their deadly route across the moors, hoping that the searchlight on the field battery would be torching their path for the ack-ack guns.

Her parents were on their way back from Egypt, hinting in their letter that they were going the long route round Africa and there was fighting in the Mediterranean. They were coming home for Christmas, but Maddy would rather they stayed put if there was danger.

It was such an age since she’d seen them and so much had happened, so much to tell them about her new school and friends. How the Brooklyn seemed like a hotel full of shuffling old people, who played endless games of patience and bridge, who quarrelled and fussed over Ilse’s cooking and fought to get the best corner by the huge fireplace.

Besides Uncle Algie and Aunt Julia and her companion, Miss Betts, there was a distant cousin Rhoda Rennison and her sister, Flo. It was easy to lump them all together somehow in their grey cardigans and baggy skirts, darned lisle stockings and tweed slippers. Around them wafted a tincture of eau de cologne that almost masked a more acidic smell. The oldies melted
into the walls of the Brooklyn between meals along with their ear trumpets, stringy knitting in carpet bags and shawls. Then when the dinner gong rang they appeared from the far recesses of the house, back to the table like clucking hens at the trough, pecking at their plates, too busy to talk to Maddy

Aunt Plum was worried about Uncle Gerald, who was waiting in barracks down south to be sent abroad soon. When she was upset she smiled with sad eyes and went for long walks over the hills with her dogs, when she wasn’t on duty at the Old Vic Hostel.

Maddy walked to the village school each morning with the two Conleys, who now lived in Huntsman’s Cottage with Mr and Mrs Batty. It was a funny arrangement: normal school lessons in the morning, mixing with the local children at St Peter’s C of E School, and then lessons in the village hall, crushed in with a gang of evacuee kids from Leeds, who were living the other side of Sowerthwaite. It was all very noisy and they didn’t do much work, just copying from the board until hometime. There weren’t enough teachers to go round.

It was not like St Hilda’s at all, and the first thing she’d done was to lose her elocution accent in favour of a Yorkshire one, flattening her ’a’s so she didn’t get teased, though it made Grandma Belfield furious if she said bath instead of baath.

‘The sooner Arthur comes and puts you in a half-decent school…You’re turning into a right little Yorkshire tyke. It’s no good Plum letting you mix so much with that village lot. They’re teaching you
nothing but bad habits. I hear they’ve been up to their old tricks again on the High Street,’ Grandma sighed, looking up at Maddy’s glasses and then turning back to her letter writing.

Maddy smiled to herself as she sat with her arms out so Aunt Julia could unravel a jumper that smelled of mothballs. Peggy, Greg and Enid knew all the best wheezes. It was Enid’s idea to fill the cig packet with dirt and worms and then box it up as if it was new and toss it on the pavement. They hid in the little alleyway while the passer-by spotted the cigs and pounced only to jump back in horror. They filled blue sugar bags with horse droppings and left them in the middle of the road so the carters stopped, hoping for a present to give their wives, only for the smelly muck to spill out while the gang had to look, duck and vanish like the Local Defence Volunteers down the ginnel.

Everyone got a telling-off from the constable, and poor Enid was grounded for being the ringleader by Miss Blunt, but she complained they’d all helped so all of them missed the Saturday film show as a punishment except Maddy. Going on her own was not much fun.

Greg was out cleaning the Daimler and helping Mr Batty, and begging old wheels to make a go-kart from the salvage cart. There was always something happening at the Old Vic even though Miss Blunt was strict and didn’t like mess. They were busy making Christmas presents out of cocoa tins, painting them and putting holes in the lids to pull a ball of string
through. String was very precious now. Aunt Plum took her down to the hostel to join in the crafts after school. They were turning dishcloths into pretty dolls and sewing dusters into knickerbockers with frills on to sell at the bazaar for War Comforts. Soon it would be time to make Christmas paper chains and tree decorations.