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

by Shirley Dickson

  ‘Trevor, I can––’

  ‘Haddaway. Don’t waste time arguing.’

  Etty hurried over to the redbrick shelter, a replica of the one she and Dorothy had shared with the Armstrongs many moons ago. Though Etty missed her sister’s company during raids, she knew Dorothy would be safe. Laurie had insisted his wife acquire a Morrison shelter so she could stay safely inside the house. A cage-like contraption that almost filled Dorothy’s kitchen, the Morrison shelter had a steel roof and steel mesh sides.

  Hearing the ominous drone of planes in the distance, Etty tried to escape the terror that jittered inside by lighting the paraffin lamp and focusing on how to improve the spartan shelter, devoid of comfort except for a couple of deckchairs placed against the walls. As raider planes drew closer Etty imagined the bunk beds that Trevor intended to build, the shelves fitted on the walls where she could store the makings for tea, candles and books. She imagined her baby in a cradle on one of the beds. It was cold in the shelter, and the flame of the lamp cast shadows on the walls.

  Trevor clattered in from outside, carrying fresh blankets, a flask and torch.

  ‘Jerry’s over by the docks,’ he told her.

  In the distance, guns began to fire from the ground.

  ‘Our Trevor,’ Nellie’s voice screeched from the upstairs window, ‘come and fetch us.’

  Trevor’s green, questioning eyes met Etty’s. ‘She’s terrified when there’s a raid on.’

  Etty knew because Nellie never let anyone forget.

  ‘Best go and get her,’ she replied.

  Nellie brought the usual carpet bag of pastimes: knitting, a book, a pack of cards to play endless games of patience, and homemade lemonade which she never shared.

  ‘By, the moon doesn’t help tonight.’ She plonked down in a deck chair and placed the carpet bag on the floor. ‘Jerry can see everything. I wish I could turn the damn thing off.’

  In the distance the thuds came terrifyingly nearer, planes thundering overhead. With wave after wave of aircraft above, Etty placed her hands over her ears.

  Still, she heard Nellie’s shriek. ‘God love us… this could be the night I meet me maker.’

  The bombers mercifully screamed past, hurtling into the distance.

  ‘Some other poor blighter’s catching it,’ Trevor said as crumps were heard far off.

  In the lull, Nellie started snivelling, looking for sympathy from her son.

  Ignoring her, Trevor brought tin hats from beneath the deck chair. ‘Here,’ he handed one to each of the two women, ‘put these on.’

  ‘I don’t know, our Trevor, now you’ve got a wife, I don’t get any consideration.’

  ‘I’ve got to take extra good care of Etty, Ma.’

  ‘Why? Is she sickenin’? The lass isn’t made of glass.’

  In the darkened shelter, Trevor gave Etty an enquiring look.

  Why not? Etty thought, Nellie had to know sometime. Surreptitiously, she nodded and he smiled.

  ‘When you’re old nobody wants––’ Nellie began the same old story.

  ‘Etty’s not sick, Ma.’ Trevor interrupted. ‘She’s in the family way… you’re going to be a nana.’

  Nellie looked from one to the other, a delighted smile stretching across her wrinkled face. ‘At least the lass can do something right.’

  Etty felt a jolt of guilt, thinking about what she did wrong to end up ‘in the family way’.

  As guns blazed again from the dock area and planes drew closer, Etty heard the distressing noise of bombs falling, followed by disturbing thuds. Though terrified, she tried not to let it show.

  Her ears hurt though, from Nellie’s piercing screams.

  ‘You’re safe in here, Ma.’ Trevor picked up the bucket of sand that stood on the floor, used for incendiary bombs, and picking up a shovel, he made for the door, but not before kissing Etty.

  ‘I’ve got to go, love.’ Without further ado, he opened the door and was gone.

  Minutes later, a plane, hit by a gun, came screaming down. As it smashed into the ground there was an almighty explosion. The shelter walls shook and the room filled with dust, the paraffin lamp blowing out.

  In the darkness, Nellie’s unruffled voice spoke out. ‘I don’t want to be known as Nana. I want me grandbairn to call me Granny Milne.’

  The next day, after a sleepless and uncomfortable night spent in the shelter, Etty had to go to work. She could barely keep her eyes open and yawned all through her shift.

  The foreman too yawned while he did his rounds of the machines.

  ‘Aye, a bit of tiredness never killed anybody. If Jerry thinks we’re beaten, he can think again. We’re a stubborn lot, us British, when we’re rattled.’

  When she got home and read the news, it was reported that most of the North Eastern area had suffered. Civilians were killed and brave souls from the police force and auxiliary fire service were harmed – but, thank God, Trevor wasn’t amongst them.

  Etty’s last thought as she went to sleep that night was, what kind of world was she bringing her child into?

  Weeks turned into months and then it was June. Etty, lethargic, with her stomach inflated like a balloon, had to leave work and she sorely missed both the company and structure to her day. Although nervous about the forthcoming birth, she was excited too, but wished she knew what to expect. Without a mother to tell her, there was no one she felt comfortable enough to ask and it was unthinkable to approach Nellie, as the two women barely spoke.

  Today was pleasantly warm, the sun shining from a cloudless sky, and a welcome surge of energy seized Etty, so she spent the morning preparing for the baby.

  ‘It’s the nesting instinct,’ Dorothy beamed when she called in on her way to work. ‘Mind, don’t overdo it.’

  Etty eyed her sister’s work trousers. ‘Have you seen the latest restrictions?’

  ‘No. Any more food restrictions and we’ll waste away.’

  ‘This time it’s clothes. No permanent turn-ups on trousers, double-breasted suits are out, as are pockets on pyjamas. No embroidery on underwear…’ Etty giggled. ‘Fat chance with the enormous knickers I have to wear. Thank goodness for maternity tops.’

  Dorothy smiled and blew a kiss as she left.

  Etty washed dear little baby clothes in the sink and, hanging them out to dry, thought how ridiculously small they looked. She scrubbed the crib – that Nellie had kept since Trevor was a baby – and pressed the cot sheets and blankets with a flat iron. When finally the work was done, her fingers puffed like sausages, shoes digging into her swollen ankles, she lumbered into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. As if on cue, Nellie appeared at the back door.

  ‘Make mine black with one sugar,’ she said, brazenly.

  Without invitation, she barged into the kitchen and made herself at home on the couch.

  ‘My, haven’t we been busy?’ she called through to Etty.

  As Etty brought the tea in and handed her a cup, Nellie stared blatantly at her bump.

  ‘I hope you haven’t been overdoing it. Has that bairn moved today yet?’

  Etty bit her tongue, stopping herself from telling the infernal woman it was no business of hers, even if she was a so-called expert.

  She’d spoken before with Trevor about his mam’s interference.

  ‘Where’s the harm?’ he said. ‘It’s her first grandchild and she’s anxious.’

  ‘Trevor, she monitors everything I do. If I so much as fetch a shovel of coal, or go to the lav, there she is watching me from the upstairs window. She’ll be writing me a list of do’s and don’ts next.’ Etty waited for a response, and when none was forthcoming, she went on. ‘And then there’s the ridiculous old wives’ tales she’s forever spouting.’

  ‘Ma has brought dozens of bairns into the world,’ Trevor’s expression was one of patience. ‘She does know what she’s talking about.’

  Subject closed.

  She hadn’t told Trevor his mam’s latest corker. That she was afraid if Etty dr
ank too much tea, the bairn might come out yellow – it was too laughable to be repeated. Besides, Trevor was being decent about the baby and referred to it as his own, even when the couple were alone. It was as though he wanted to convince himself he was the child’s father in every sense of the word. Where was the harm – apart from having an interfering mother-in-law? If that was the price Etty had to pay, so be it, she’d put up with worse before.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about the bairn,’ Nellie said, which didn’t surprise Etty as the woman scarcely thought about much else. ‘I hope it turns out normal.’

  ‘Pardon me?’ Expecting to hear another outrageous old wives’ tale, she smothered a grin.

  ‘It’s no laughing matter. What if this bairn has no proper feelings?’

  ‘Whatever gives you that idea?’

  ‘I’ve never mentioned the fact before but it’s different now that you’re carrying me grandchild.’

  ‘Go on.’ Etty mentally prepared herself.

  ‘It’s well known that folk brought up in asylums are immune to normal feelings.’

  ‘Well known by whom?’

  ‘Most sane folk around these parts.’

  So there it was; she was referring to Etty’s upbringing at Blakely. It had only been a matter of time.

  ‘Mrs Milne, even for you that’s rich,’ Etty replied, icily. ‘How dare you? My upbringing had nothing to do with sanity. Mam abandoned me in an orphanage.’

  ‘That’s what I don’t understand, hinny,’ Nellie’s pugnacious face crinkled nastily. ‘Why would a mother do that? Give up her bairn? Unless, of course, there was something radically wrong wi’ it.’

  She’d touched a nerve. Etty had asked herself the same question numerous times and never came up with a suitable answer, save the relentless feeling that her mother leaving them was, somehow, all her fault.

  ‘Even for you, Mrs Milne, that is despicable. I want you to leave. And I don’t want you back unless your son is in.’

  She expected a lashing of the tongue or, at least, a reminder of whose roof she was living under, but Nellie did no such thing. Her head held high in defiance, she left without a word.

  Etty went over and over the conversation all day, working herself up into a frenzy. Later, when she knew her sister would be home from work, she made her way down to Dorothy’s flat.

  Letting herself in with a key that Dorothy had given her, Etty found her sister knitting on the settee.

  ‘Blimey, what a rotten thing to say,’ Dorothy said, aghast, when Etty told her.

  Etty sat on the arm of the couch, watching her sister knitting white baby boots.

  ‘It’s only words,’ Dorothy continued. ‘The woman’s ignorant. Don’t let her upset you.’

  ‘But why would she say such a thing?’

  ‘I suspect, because she feels threatened.’

  ‘Threatened?’

  ‘Because you’ve married her son.’

  Etty had the sinking feeling what Dorothy said was true. She remembered the resentment she’d felt when Dorothy had befriended May, but she would never treat anyone with such contempt. At the thought of May, guilt slammed into her. For she had betrayed the girl, which was far worse.

  ‘You’re right,’ she told Dorothy, ‘Nellie will never forgive me for marrying her precious son.’

  ‘Now listen to me. It’s you Trevor married and it’s you he loves. The pair of you make a perfect team. You must be firm with Mrs Milne and don’t allow her to interfere in your marriage. Once you’ve had the baby, she’ll come round. She’ll have to… she’s too much to lose otherwise.’

  Dorothy never alluded to the fact that the bairn Etty carried was another man’s child, she simply carried on as if Trevor truly was the dad.

  But the sisters were a team and that had been the way of things ever since Mam left them. Thoughts of Blakely surfaced in Etty’s mind like spiders crawling out of a dark hole. They taunted her, telling her how useless she was, how unwanted, that nothing she ever did would be right.

  Trevor might one day change his mind and challenge her to tell him who the father was. When he found out, that would be the end of their marriage, and Etty would only have herself to blame.

  She could have said no to Billy, that night in the air raid shelter.

  Just like her mother, Etty was making a mess of her life.

  Etty’s baby came obligingly in late July. No eyebrows were raised because in the eyes of the world – and more importantly, Ma Milne – the child was born prematurely.

  Nellie was determined to deliver the child; Etty was resolute she would not. Trevor took his usual stance of not getting involved.

  ‘Doctor Meredith is going to deliver my baby,’ she told him, refusing to speak further on the subject.

  In the end, fate intervened and Etty didn’t have any say in the matter.

  Her waters broke in the middle of the night and, when she prodded Trevor, he wakened immediately.

  ‘Eh! What! Is it the baby?’ Panicked, he leapt from the bed and, switching on the light, pulled his trousers on. ‘Try and stay calm. I’ll fetch Ma.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing. Phone for the doctor.’

  But Trevor had shot out of the room and was gone.

  As fluid trickled down her legs, Etty was startled. No one had said such a thing would happen, or that her contractions would be so painful. She lay on the bed, her mind in a whirl as another contraction started, a powerful tightening in her back that moved into a long drawn-out pain and exploded in her belly. When the pain receded, Etty flung back the covers and attempted to stand but then another contraction began. Falling back against the bed, she let out a low moan.

  At that moment, the door flung open and Nellie walked into the room. Through a haze of pain, Etty saw she wore a long dressing gown, tied at the waist; her fine, grey hair cascading over her shoulders.

  Nellie took in the scene. ‘Haddaway, son,’ she told Trevor who hovered at the door, ‘this is nee place for a man.’

  Etty had never known pain like it and, at this critical stage of labour, she didn’t care if the devil himself delivered her, as long as the baby got born. She would have liked to yell and scream blue murder, but with Nellie presiding over the birth, she resorted to biting her lower lip until it bled.

  As another compulsive urge to push overwhelmed her, Etty, exhausted, didn’t know if she could muster the strength.

  ‘Don’t push,’ Nellie shrieked.

  Silence. It felt like an eternity passed.

  Then, ‘Eee I can see the bairn’s head. And he’s got a widow’s peak just like my Trevor.’

  Etty gave one final push, going cross-eyed with the effort.

  ‘It’s a girl,’ Nellie said, disbelievingly.

  A baby’s cry filled the room.

  Struggling up on her elbows, she pleaded. ‘Show me my baby.’

  There was no answer.

  Etty raised her head, and all she could see between her legs was Nellie swaddling the baby in a white towel.

  ‘My,’ Nellie exclaimed, ‘even if she is early… what a whopper.’

  Until she held her infant safely in her arms, Etty wouldn’t believe such a miracle had happened. A thought flashed through her mind. She wondered about her own birth. Had Mam felt the same? Was she just as disbelieving she’d brought precious new life into the world? With that thought, Etty experienced an intense ache to hold her daughter.

  ‘I want my baby,’ she cried. ‘Now.’

  Nellie took the child in her arms and made for the door, calling along the passageway. ‘Son, look who I’ve brought to meet yi.’

  Etty, distraught, swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand but, weak and dizzy, fell backwards against the pillow. Tears of frustration brimmed in her eyes. Desperate to inspect every inch of her baby, a sense of loss overcame her. The first moments of her daughter’s life were spent in another woman’s arms. Anger transformed into fear as Etty realised she’d failed as a mother already.

/>   Presently Etty heard noises in the passage – Dorothy’s voice.

  Walking into the room, Dorothy gushed, ‘I’m so thrilled I called in before work.’ She sat on the bed and hugged Etty. ‘I’ve seen my niece and she’s beautiful and––’ the smile dissolved on her face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  It was all too much. Etty tried to check the tears but they came unbidden.

  ‘Etty, you’re scaring me. Tell me.’

  Etty brushed away the tears with her hand. She gulped. ‘I… I haven’t… seen her yet… my baby.’

  ‘You’re kidding me.’

  ‘Nellie… took her away and… my legs are too wobbly to stand… and I hate myself for crying.’

  ‘How dare the woman?’ Dorothy exclaimed.

  Dorothy might have been of a mild disposition but any injustice, especially where her little sister was concerned, brought the savage out in her.

  ‘Leave this to me.’ Her back ramrod straight, she strode to the door. A hand on the doorknob, she turned. ‘I’ll be back in but a few minutes.’

  She was back in two. Trevor was with her, the baby in his arms – his face one of disbelief.

  Etty struggled up the bed to receive her baby.

  Trevor began. ‘I didn’t know you hadn’t held her, I would never––’

  ‘Never mind that now,’ Dorothy took the baby from his arms and gave her to Etty. ‘She’s the image of you.’ Trevor smiled and there was pride in his eyes.

  Looking down at her sleeping daughter, Etty took in the large nose, crumpled face, downy, blonde hair. She felt… nothing. She gazed up at Dorothy’s smiling face, trying to explain but, exhausted, her mind couldn’t find the words.

  ‘Have you chosen a name?’ Dorothy’s voice seemed far away.

  ‘Elizabeth,’ Etty replied, mechanically.

  ‘The same as the young princess. I like it very much.’

  As drowsiness washed over Etty in waves she drifted in and out of reality. A weight was lifted from her arms and through slits of eyes, she saw someone bending over her.

  Etty’s mind grappled with the idea that her mother stood at the bottom of the bed.

  The figure spoke. ‘Not now. We’ll see to her later. Leave her to rest.’