The Orphan Sisters: An Utterly Heartbreaking and Gripping World War 2 Historical Novel

by Shirley Dickson

  ‘I hope Miss Balfour’s right,’ she replied, ‘but even Doctor Brooke has changed his mind. He now thinks war is unavoidable and it’s only a matter of time.’

  Despite the warmth of the day, Esther shivered. ‘Let’s not talk about war. It’ll only spoil your visit.’

  There were other subjects that Esther refused to discuss – Mam for instance. Although Dorothy hadn’t wanted to talk about their mother when they were younger, she felt differently now. Because, as she’d grown older, Dorothy had come to understand that sometimes life intervened, meaning that people could not always do what was right but had to settle for what was best under the circumstances. She believed that of Mam, unable to bear the alternative.

  As she lay back in the sweet-smelling grass, Dorothy’s thoughts rambled down the years to life in Bream Street. She remembered the pungent smell of the store, with damp sawdust, exotic herbs and spices in the air; Mam serving in the shop wearing a long elegant skirt and a high-necked blouse, embellished with a cameo brooch. Tall and refined, she wasn’t like the other women in the area and her aloof air caused a stir with the customers.

  How Dorothy wished she could ask her mother all the questions that churned in her mind, to touch her face and feel if her skin was as soft as it was in her memory. The possibility of searching for Mam had crossed Dorothy’s mind but she knew that her sister would view such an act as a betrayal of trust: Esther was unable to forgive their mother for leaving them – as far as she was concerned, she and Dorothy were on their own.

  Esther broke the silence. ‘Dorothy… I’ve started bleeding… down below.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Dorothy smiled, ‘you’ve started your monthly period, that’s all. Have you seen Miss Balfour? She’ll give you sanitary towels.’

  Esther flushed. ‘I’m not having a baby, am I?’

  ‘Of course not, silly. And don’t listen to what any of the other girls tell you.’ Dorothy pulled a frustrated face. ‘I wish I could tell you the facts of life but… I don’t know them myself.’ She sat up and hugged her knees. ‘Mrs Brooke says my ignorance about such matters is Blakely’s fault and they should prepare their girls for the outside world.’

  Bitterness gleamed in Esther’s eyes. ‘The orphanage should take some of the blame, but Mam’s equally responsible. She’s the one who abandoned us here.’

  ‘Oh Esther, I wish you could forgive her.’

  ‘Never. I don’t know how you can.’

  ‘I can’t hate her,’ Dorothy cried. ‘If you did something dreadful it wouldn’t stop me loving you.’

  ‘Hah! So, you agree that what Mam did was terrible.’

  Dorothy shrugged, defeated. She watched as, in the distance, Benson came out of the greenhouse. A small man with bowlegs, he took off his cap, and wiped his brow on his shirtsleeve. Mind on his work, he didn’t look up.

  Dorothy sighed, hating unhappy silences. ‘I decided to end my hermit existence,’ she told Esther. She observed Benson as he took up the handles of the battered wheelbarrow and trundled along the cinder path. ‘I’ve joined the local dramatic society.’

  Esther gasped. ‘Did you go by yourself?’

  ‘No, with Alice.’ Dorothy thought it wise not to mention that the outing had been Mrs Brooke’s idea. She was the kindest person and seemed to care about her staff and their wellbeing. She reminded Dorothy of the caring Miss Balfour at the orphanage.

  Esther stared at her curiously. ‘You’ve changed since you left Blakely.’

  It was true – but because of Esther’s jealousy, Dorothy couldn’t explain that her new confidence was all her employers’ doing. Mrs Brooke encouraged her to try new things; a trip to the lending library, shopping on King Street’s busy high street, walking with Alice along the Coast Road where Dorothy dreamed longingly as she looked out over the glittering sea. All frightening, yet exhilarating stuff.

  ‘D’you go on stage?’

  ‘Blimey, that’s a bit much!’

  ‘What d’you do then?’

  ‘I paint scenery.’ Dorothy’s cheeks burned. She didn’t add who she painted scenery with.

  Best for now, she thought, to keep Lawrence Calvert a secret.

  6

  August 1939

  Another Wednesday and the two sisters were enjoying the warm and bright sunny day in the orphanage garden.

  It seemed outrageous to think war was looming. Seagulls soared high in the sky, and the grass was lush beneath Esther’s supine body. She rested her head on an arm and listened to Dorothy as she read out loud from the newspaper. ‘It says here we’ve to get on with the holidays… as long as Hitler, and the weather permit.’ Dorothy looked up with a pensive gaze, ‘Doctor Brooke thinks there’s nothing for it but to defeat the aggressive spirit that threatens our nation.’

  ‘He means go to war?’

  Dorothy nodded.

  Esther chewed thoughtfully on a blade of grass. ‘Is everyone really carrying on as normal?’

  ‘It would appear people are making a last ditch effort to enjoy themselves.’

  Dorothy went on to describe how the beach was packed with families. How South Shield’s sands were littered with tents and bathing boxes, where people changed into modest swimming costumes. How kiddies paddled at the water’s edge, and weary-looking donkeys, with children on their backs, plodded along the seashore.

  Esther gave a heartfelt sigh. She longed to be out of the orphanage and see it all for herself.

  ‘How are things here?’ Dorothy wanted to know.

  ‘Us seniors are allowed to listen to the BBC news report before going to bed. Otherwise, life goes on as tediously as before.’

  Esther couldn’t imagine how anything, even a war in Europe, would disrupt the monotony of life at Blakely. About to point this fact out to Dorothy, she noticed her sister’s faraway, dreamy expression. Studying her, Esther tried to work out what was different. Her bob had been replaced by a longer, sleeker hairstyle that reached her shoulders, topped by a fashionable sausage roll effect around her forehead.

  ‘Since when have you worn make-up?’ Esther asked, accusingly.

  Dorothy laughed self-consciously. ‘It’s only a touch of lipstick and powder.’ Her cheeks flushed pink and Esther knew there was more to come.

  ‘All right, I’ll blab… I’m seeing a fellow.’

  Esther’s jaw dropped.

  ‘What d’you mean, a fellow?’

  ‘His name is Lawrence Calvert but he prefers Laurie.’

  That Dorothy might be seeing someone had never entered Esther’s head. At Blakely they were taught it was improper to have anything to do with the other sex and the thought of Dorothy seeing a fellow made Esther squirm with embarrassment.

  ‘I know it’s difficult for you to imagine… me meeting a man…’ There was a conciliatory note in Dorothy’s voice, ‘But honestly, Esther… Laurie is so comfortable to be with. I feel as if I’ve known him forever.’

  ‘Man?! How old is he?’

  ‘Twenty-two.’

  He was old, then.

  ‘Where did you meet him?’

  ‘At the drama group. Alice only came for two meetings and I went on my own after that.’

  Esther knew how much courage such an act would take and felt proud of her sister. But she was also peeved that Dorothy had been seeing someone without telling her – it only proved how much her sister had changed.

  ‘I stood at the back of the hall like a wallflower,’ Dorothy went on. ‘Laurie approached me and asked if I wanted to help paint scenery. I painted the sky, but I was all thumbs and got blue paint everywhere.’

  Dorothy sighed, as if recalling the most heavenly memory.

  ‘Laurie led me into the cloakroom and dabbed my cheek with a wet handkerchief.’

  ‘You were alone with him?’

  ‘I swear the poor man was more nervous than me.’ Dorothy sighed again, blissfully.

  ‘And you’ve seen him since?’

  ‘We went on a date. To the cinema and then danced
at the beach.’

  ‘The beach!’

  ‘South Beach to be correct. Where a gramophone plays records and couples dance to popular tunes. It’s quite informal… people dance barefoot or in plimsolls. It’s super fun.’

  Flabbergasted that Dorothy had kept her secret for so long, Esther gave an offhand shrug.

  ‘Don’t be cross,’ Dorothy implored. ‘I wanted to tell you but I was worried you’d be upset.’

  ‘I couldn’t care less.’

  ‘Well, he wants to meet you.’

  Dumbfounded, Esther didn’t reply.

  September was the month to prepare the garden for winter. The sky, grey and threatening, looked as though a storm was brewing.

  Esther, carrying a long-handled spade, made her way to the far side of the house to the vegetable patch. There was no sign of Benson but evidence of his digging was beneath a high redbrick wall.

  As she stood between rows of carrots, their feathery greenery grazing her fingertips, Esther was struck by the eerie silence, instinctively sensing that something momentous was about to happen.

  Benson appeared around the corner of the house, a familiar figure in brown, coarse-material trousers, a collarless shirt and sleeves rolled roughly up to the elbows.

  His ruddy face appeared perplexed. ‘It’s here then, the war.’

  ‘The war?’

  ‘Heard it from the man himself on the wireless.’

  ‘Mr Chamberlain?’

  ‘Aye. That’s him all reet.’

  He lapsed into one of his long silences and stared blankly ahead of him. He had been in the Great War and was apt to indulge in gruesome tales of life in the trenches. On these occasions, Esther was inclined to la-la-la in her mind, else she wouldn’t sleep at night, haunted by the gory images.

  In the uncanny silence, she shivered. War. She couldn’t conceive what that would mean.

  At suppertime, when the Mistress announced that war had been declared, no one in the dining hall reacted. The eagle-eyed orphans watched as bowls were handed along the table and the biggest question on their minds was if there was enough food for a decent helping. There might be a war on the horizon but that was in the faraway outside world – a place no orphan knew anything about.

  During prayers – endless now there was a war to be delivered from – everyone stood to attention.

  The Mistress looked expectantly at the Master by her side.

  ‘His Majesty the King,’ his voice rang out, ‘has given a stirring broadcast on the wireless. He has called upon us… his subjects… to stand firm and be united.’ Eyes burning with fervour, he continued to address the hall. ‘His Majesty can depend upon us at Blakely. We will all do our best to promote frugality and peace in this house. We shall remember those who go to war in our daily prayers.’

  As his voice droned on, Esther groaned.

  How unfair, she found herself thinking, for those who had no one to pray for them. What happened to those people?

  But uppermost in her mind was the imminent visit from Lawrence Calvert. Esther squirmed thinking about it. What if she didn’t like him or what if he couldn’t abide her? But Dorothy seemed gone on him and for her sake Esther must try to be civil to him. Even if she didn’t want to…

  On the Wednesday of Lawrence’s arrival, Esther stood in Blakely’s vast dining hall, the smell of greasy broth permeating the air, so nervous she could barely stand still. She worried that if Dorothy became entangled with this man, she might forget her promise to find the sisters a home.

  Esther grimaced, dolefully. First the Brooke family and now him… more competition for her sister’s affection.

  As the hands on the clock moved to the designated hour, Esther pulled back her shoulders and straightened her spine. She was determined to rise above jealousy. The door hinges squeaked as it opened and Esther fixed a smile on her face. It was then that she saw him.

  Lawrence Calvert.

  He walked into the room, a bear of a man, dwarfing Dorothy. His face was friendly and his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

  The pair of them came to stand before her.

  ‘Esther, this is Laurie,’ Dorothy said, looking nervous.

  Taking his extended hand, Esther found her small one was lost in his and, for no apparent reason, she suddenly felt shy.

  As the three of them sat down on the wooden benches, Laurie found it difficult to fit his longs legs beneath the table, giving up and turning the other way.

  Dorothy’s expression grew serious. ‘You’ve heard the news?’

  ‘Benson told me.’

  ‘War. It’s unthinkable. I don’t know what to expect.’

  They were both conscious of Laurie listening in, not used to having a man in their company.

  Dorothy turned towards him. ‘This is the dining hall,’ she stated, unnecessarily. Laurie eyed the cracked walls, the damp patch on the ceiling. ‘It’s a bit grim, like,’ he said.

  ‘Laurie’s in the building trade… he’s a bricklayer,’ Dorothy explained.

  He gave a bellowing laugh. ‘More like a man of all trades.’

  He wore a dark suit and a matching waistcoat, a silver watch chain dangling from his top pocket. Reaching into his jacket, he brought out a bar of Fry’s Chocolate Cream.

  ‘For you,’ he told Esther.

  Esther’s taste buds salivated. Never had she owned a whole bar of chocolate, just for herself. It would cause a riot back in the dormitory.

  As the visit with Laurie continued, Esther found herself thawing in his company. He wanted to know all about life at the orphanage and, elbows resting on the table, he listened with genuine interest as she spoke. Esther surprised herself by telling him about the Mistress’s meanness, the lack of food, how she missed Dorothy, and what a darling Miss Balfour was. Opening up came as a kind of release. Despite her earlier fears, Esther decided she liked Laurie Calvert.

  ‘You’re a brave lassie,’ he commented when she finished. ‘It puts the rest of us to shame… so it does… with all of our moans. I can’t do much… but what I certainly will do is bring you treats of food.’

  ‘The Mistress wouldn’t allow it,’ Esther said, aghast.

  His good-natured face clouded. ‘I’d like to see her try and stop us.’ After a while, his face lit up and he grinned. ‘Me Ma makes the best sponge cake with homemade plum jam in the middle. I’ll bring you some next time I visit.’

  ‘Will you thank her for me?’ Esther replied, overwhelmed.

  ‘Nee need for thanks. With us lot at home to feed and money short, it’s second nature for Ma to bake.’

  ‘Laurie’s mam’s a widow,’ Dorothy explained.

  Laurie’s eyes lit up as he met Dorothy’s gaze.

  It was obvious – even to Esther who knew nothing about matters of the heart – that the pair were falling in love. And the amazing thing was, she didn’t experience a scrap of jealousy.

  The war, at first, was inconvenient more than anything else. It was worse in the evening, when the blackout curtains were drawn so that German raiders wouldn’t know if they flew over built-up areas. Esther was one of the senior girls elected to walk around the orphanage, checking that not a chink of light shone out of the windows.

  Shelters were built under the fields beyond Blakely and in the event of an air raid, the orphans were meant to sleep on straw-filled pallets placed on the concrete floor.

  One day, at breakfast, while the orphans stood sleepily to attention at the tables, Master Knowles made an announcement from the balcony.

  ‘It’s feared enemy planes are going to use poisonous gas on the British people. When you leave the hall, I will distribute to each of you a box containing a gas mask. You must carry them with you at all times.’

  The masks, when they were handed out, were heavy frightful-looking objects that reeked of rubber.

  ‘Laurie says they remind him of beetle faces,’ Dorothy said, when next she came to visit. Smiling, she shook her head. ‘I ask you, who spends their tim
e looking that closely at insects?’

  But Esther was only half listening; she was worried about the latest war rumour.

  ‘Is it true children are being sent away into the countryside?’

  ‘It’s called evacuation.’ Dorothy’s expression became serious, as she nodded. ‘And yes, for safety’s sake there’s mass exodus from the cities into the rural areas.’

  ‘What about the Brookes’ children?’

  ‘Doctor Brooke insists his children are sent to his in-laws who live in Lancashire and that his wife go with them.’

  ‘Gracious… that’s quick.’

  ‘These days, Esther, people don’t wait to act.’

  All this talk alarmed Esther. The sisters might lose contact with each other – it had happened with Sandra, after all.

  ‘What about you? Will you go?’ Esther held her breath.

  ‘There’s no need. Mrs Brooke’s mother is going to help look after her grandchildren. I’d only be in the way. Besides, I want to stay here with you… and Laurie…’ Dorothy bashfully bowed her head and peered out from beneath her curled blonde eyelashes. ‘I’ve fallen in love with him.’

  It was no big surprise to Esther. ‘Will… you marry him?’

  Dorothy heaved a troubled sigh. ‘We’re both impossible when it comes to matters of the heart.’ She ran slim fingers through her hair. ‘Blakely has left its mark on me and I find it difficult to tell Laurie how I feel.’

  ‘What about Laurie? He’s such a direct person.’

  ‘Don’t let him fool you.’ Dorothy’s smile was tender. ‘Beneath that tough exterior, he’s one of the shyest people I’ve ever met.’

  Esther hoped all went well because Laurie, the big softie, had found a way into her heart.

  Time rumbled on and in December, Laurie and Dorothy came to visit. Esther sat nervously between them and the couple kept looking at each other as if they had something to tell her. The excitement in the air was tangible.