Forgotten Children

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘How are you settling in?’ he asked in a casual tone as they drove along the embankment. It was good to have the lights on in London again, despite the ravages of the recent war and the empty spaces where bombed-out buildings had been pulled down and grass was growing through the rubble. The cast-iron Victorian lampposts shed a yellow light over the water, making it look mysterious and beautiful rather than oily and dirty as it did in daylight. ‘Finding the work to your liking?’

  ‘Yes, I enjoy it,’ she answered easily, but he detected a note of reserve in her voice.

  ‘Something bothering you?’

  ‘No, not really. I had a small disagreement over punishing the children with Sister Beatrice earlier today, but we’ve settled it, I think. I spoke out of turn but this evening, just before I left, I went to her office and I’ve made my peace with her.’

  ‘I expect it was inevitable that you would clash,’ Mark said. ‘She is used to a harsher regime than we need these days. I suppose it comes from the strict discipline she has been accustomed to as a nun.’

  ‘Yes, I imagine so. She mentioned doing her duty as she thought right and I believe she had mulled over what I said to her. Actually, I think she agreed with some of the changes I have in mind, but we decided to put the ones we couldn’t agree on to the Board and abide by their ruling.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’ Angela said. ‘I thought you wanted to get away from work?’

  ‘My work can be pretty depressing at times,’ Mark replied. The night was dark and he was concentrating on weaving his way through the press of traffic. ‘I’m interested in your ideas for St Saviour’s, Angela. What have you come up with?’

  ‘Well, I think the showers should have individual cubicles instead of being all in together. I realise that is more expense, but particularly for the girls I think it important.’

  Mark frowned but nodded. ‘What else?’

  ‘I don’t like the idea of such large dormitories in the new wing. What we have at the moment is ideal, three or four children together – it’s more like a little family then.’

  ‘Did Sister Beatrice agree with you?’

  ‘When I apologised to her, she mentioned that the important thing is to get more beds and the bigger dorms will provide that – also the smaller rooms make more work for the carers.’

  ‘She’s right about that,’ Mark said. ‘Purely on the point of cost – and that’s what the Board went on when the new plans were drawn up.’

  ‘I suppose it could be made to work if you had a couple of older children in with the smaller ones, to take on the role of a big brother or sister … however, in my view dorms can be too big and feel as if they have no privacy, which does sometimes intimidate the smaller, more timid children. My suggestion would be to cut them into units of four at most, unless that is impossible because of cost. It must be for the Board to decide, of course.’ Angela was thoughtful. ‘We’re going to need more tables in the dining room, because we want to keep that as it is. I thought if we expanded into what is the caretaker’s room at the moment we could make space. Perhaps give the caretaker the small room at the back of the new wing. It’s pencilled in as a store room, but might be put to better use, because he has the cellars to store his tools.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  ‘I’ve also suggested that instead of having a staff table we split up and sit with the children for meals, move round a bit so we get to know and talk to all the children over time. There are spare seats on several tables, and I think it might make it a little bit less them and us …’

  ‘Hmm,’ Mark said and indicated as he turned off the main road. ‘I can’t see Sister agreeing to that one?’

  ‘No, she didn’t. I imagine she will continue to eat at the table set aside for her or take her meals in her office, and the nurses may feel they are entitled to eat their meals in peace – though I hope the carers will follow my suggestion.’

  ‘Yes, that sounds more likely,’ Mark laughed softly. ‘So what else?’

  ‘Sister Beatrice has a list of repairs she wants to the main building, and I’ve agreed with all of them, because I think she’s right – but I also think we need a room where Sister can address the children and staff, a place to say prayers and give the children any news we think they should know.’

  ‘Yes. I believe the dining room is used for imparting any instructions or messages at the moment, and you say grace I believe?’

  ‘Only once a day at tea, because Sister is often too busy to come down for meals. And we have a prayer before supper and bedtime.’ Angela paused. ‘Most of the other changes are not structural and concern the actual running of the home – and it’s there that Sister and I part company altogether.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I think I understand. She’s afraid that you want to take over her job and downgrade her.’

  ‘Yes, possibly,’ Angela agreed. ‘I’ve just made suggestions about various practices but they aren’t meant to be mandatory, simply ideas of what might work better.’

  ‘Go on, tell me about them,’ Mark invited as he peered ahead. ‘I think the pub I want is just down here on the left … ah yes, that’s it. Do go on, Angela. I want to hear …’

  ‘I’d like to stop all corporal punishment and replace it with less draconian measures. I think we could appoint monitors amongst the older girls and boys and give them some responsibility for maintaining discipline, in the dorms and the corridors.

  ‘Also, I think we might get some teams together, with a team leader appointed by the children themselves so that they do not feel as if they are being forced into the new activities. We want more outings than the staff can manage, and perhaps these older children can take younger ones to the zoo or the waxworks occasionally, but they would also organise a system of points and the points have to be earned …’

  ‘Whoa,’ Mark laughed. ‘I can see this could go on all night.’

  ‘Yes,’ Angela admitted ruefully. ‘These suggestions are only the tip of the iceberg. I’m not even sure of half of them myself – it’s just that I think at the moment there is not enough community spirit. It’s more a case of the children doing what they’re told and being as quiet as possible.’

  ‘Yes, rather like the old workhouse atmosphere without the work,’ Mark agreed and brought the car to a standstill. He turned to look at her and smiled in approval. ‘You’ve vindicated my faith in you, Angela. No matter what Sister Beatrice is saying now, I feel you can find a way to either lead her or bring her struggling into the light.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure … well, I’ll do my best,’ she said and gave a reluctant laugh. ‘I’ve chewed your ear off, Mark. Now, let’s have that drink and then you can tell me your troubles …’

  It was only when she was getting into bed that night that Angela allowed herself to dwell on how much she’d enjoyed her evening with Mark. They’d eaten delicious mushroom omelettes with jacket potatoes and a mixed salad, followed by apple pie and custard and real coffee. It was amazing how good simple food could be when well-cooked and shared with someone you really liked.

  Afterwards, Mark had driven her home, promising to be in touch again soon. He’d got out to open the door for her, taking her hand and holding it in his for a few seconds longer before he kissed her briefly, on the lips this time rather than the cheek. His kiss was light and not meant to show passion, but just as a token of friendship, Angela thought – although for a moment before he turned away he seemed to hesitate, and the look in his eyes sent a little frisson of anticipation down her spine. For a moment her heart raced and her mouth was dry, a need that she’d almost forgotten gripping her. It was a long time since she’d felt this way and she longed to have Mark’s lips on hers, his tongue teasing and arousing her and … What was she thinking! Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt as she realised that she’d wanted him to make love to her.

  No, it would be a betrayal of her love for John. Thank goodness she’d come to her
senses almost at once.

  Mark was handsome, charming and, she’d realised that evening, very physical. He liked to touch her when they laughed and his hands had lingered at her shoulders when he’d helped her off with her coat. For a moment she’d wanted to lay her cheek against his hand, because the gesture reminded her of something John had often done, but in another moment she recalled that it was Mark and not John and she’d turned away before he noticed that his touch had affected her.

  Angela was shocked to realise that for a moment she’d felt needy, her breath quickening as a shooting pang of remembered desire curled through her. It was the first time for years that she’d felt anything approaching physical need for a man’s touch. Since John’s death less than a year before the end of hostil-ities, she’d been too numb inside to even know that she had a body, let alone want a man to touch her. Yet just for those few seconds she’d wanted to say that the food could wait. What she’d needed was to be held in strong, warm arms and loved, made to forget the world and all its pain, to forget that her heart was a desert.

  Realisation and guilt soon swept the aching for physical release aside. John was dead; he couldn’t feel love and nor must she. To give herself to another man would be a betrayal of the man she’d adored – still adored.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered to the empty room. ‘Forgive me …’

  It had just been a foolish moment and she was glad Mark hadn’t noticed, because if they had given in and begun an affair it would have ended in tears. Angela might need physical comfort but she would never love again and nothing less would do for her. Besides, she was fairly certain that Mark would have been shocked, perhaps even disgusted. He had been John’s best friend and he wouldn’t see her as a woman he could take to bed just for a fling.

  No, it was all in her mind and the sooner she forgot it the better.

  SIXTEEN

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Mary Ellen asked when she saw Billy sitting on the wooden backstairs, which led up from the back scullery and were used mostly by the staff. He brushed his hand over his eyes and sniffed, and she saw his eyes looked red, as if he’d been crying. She went to sit beside him on the stairs, looking into his face. ‘Was it that rotten old witch Sister Beatrice?’

  Billy gulped and wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘She’s got it in fer me, I reckon. She caught me runnin’ again this morning and made me go to her office and then she give me three whacks of the cane on me knuckles … that’s the second time she’s whacked me.’ He held out his hands to Mary Ellen so that she could see the red marks. ‘I ain’t cryin’ fer that, though – it ’ud take more than that old witch to make me cry. I reckon as I’ve got a chill, that’s all. It’s turned cold all of a sudden and it’s only early October.’

  ‘I’ll ask Sally to wrap them up for you,’ Mary Ellen offered and stroked one hand gently. She’d been here over six weeks now and it was all right, except for rotten old Sister Beatrice. ‘She’s kind – but that Sister Beatrice is horrid. I should like to kick her ankles …’

  ‘I did; she was just goin’ to give me a tellin’ off but I kicked out at her so she caned me again. Suppose I deserved it. Me pa would have give me a real ’iding. It ain’t me ’ands wot made me toot. She said I deserved to be sent away … and I don’t want ter go, Mary Ellen, not when you’re ’ere.’

  ‘She mustn’t send you away,’ Mary Ellen said, aghast. ‘I should hate her forever if she did that – and I’ll tell her so right now.’ She stood up, prepared to march into battle, but Billy grabbed her ankle above her short grey socks. ‘Ouch! What did you do that for?’

  ‘Don’t make things worse, Mary Ellen,’ Billy warned. ‘You’ll only get yourself in trouble – and we shall both miss the church treat again this Saturday.’

  ‘Has she said you can’t go?’

  ‘I’m on a warning,’ he said gloomily. ‘If she hears one word out of me I’m banned all treats for the next two months. It will be nearly Christmas by then and I don’t want to miss the pantomime. And there’s the party for the princess’s wedding. There will be street parties, I reckon, and the church is bound ter put on a do next month …’

  ‘What pantomime?’ Mary Ellen asked, ignoring the possibility of street parties for the moment, because she’d never been to a pantomime. Pa had said he would take her to Olympia one year, but then he’d died and they’d had to move and there had been no money for treats, though they’d had a street party when the war ended. Ma hadn’t been ill then and she’d gone out to join her neighbours with Rose and Mary Ellen to celebrate.

  ‘Haven’t you heard about it yet? They – Sally and Miss Angela, Nan and Nurse Anna, and Sarah – are going to take all those that are well enough to the theatre up West. We shall go up on the tram and then the underground. It’s a special treat for Christmas and supposed to be a secret, but I heard them talking about getting the tickets for the pantomime free. Some big man wot Angela knows is going to pay for them for all of us … she was excited and telling Nan all about it the other day.’

  ‘I’ve never been to a pantomime,’ Mary Ellen said, feeling a bubble of excitement inside her. ‘What is it like?’

  ‘I ain’t never bin neither,’ Billy said and grinned at her. ‘I’ve heard other kids say it’s fun – actors all dressed up in costumes, singin’ and dancin’ and silly jokes. We’ve got to keep on the right side of the old dragon ’til then, Mary Ellen.’

  ‘Ooh yes,’ she said and sighed ecstatically. ‘I can’t wait … it is nice here sometimes, Billy. Even if they do have silly rules about running and stuff … better than I thought it would be.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He rose and took her by the hand. ‘I’m all right now. It were just a bit of temper. Let’s go and ’ave our tea. I’ll get me own back one of these days, but not just yet …’

  Nan watched the children file into the dining room and take their places at the tables. Sister Beatrice insisted that there was no running, shouting or pushing in here or anywhere else in the home. It was a good rule in general, but sometimes Nan felt the children ought to be able to let their feelings out a bit more. She didn’t quite believe in the dictum that children should be seen and not heard, and she enjoyed hearing their laughter ring out.

  She’d seen a gradual improvement in the health of the children over her four years at St Saviour’s and that she was quite certain was down to the good food and even better care they received here. Sister Beatrice knew the name of every child and Nan knew she cared deeply for them all, but her manner was more that of a strict Victorian matriarch than a loving mother – and what these children needed was love. Nan tried to give them that and she also tried to soften Sister’s attitude whenever she could, knowing full well that Beatrice listened to her where she would reject advice from Angela out of hand. It was all very well to teach them discipline, but what about making them confident, and showing them that love was what made life worth living?

  Hearing a sound she loved, Nan looked at the two children as they put their heads together at the table and giggled. They seemed to be settling in at St Saviour’s and the pair of them were inseparable. Up to some mischief she would be bound; they were a lively pair, but the little girl was very loveable and usually easy enough to manage, though she could be stubborn when she chose. In Mary Ellen’s case, persuasion was much better than making demands she didn’t understand. Nan watched the pair carefully; they had each loaded their plates with slices of bread spread with margarine and jam, fairy cakes and two small sausage rolls, which were the treat of the day.

  Turning her head, Nan saw that Marion had ventured into the dining room for the first time. Sally was pushing her in a wheelchair and the child looked apprehensively about her, for although her arms were perfectly recovered she could not yet walk. It was her first time out of the sick ward and she would be going back there after tea, but Sister Beatrice thought she needed to start getting used to the other children, because St Saviour’s was likely to be her home for the next few years. Marion’s mother
had died a few years previously and her drunken father was now awaiting trial for nearly killing his daughter, and would certainly go to prison.

  ‘Take her to sit with Mary Ellen and Billy,’ Nan said as Sally hesitated, looking for a seat in the crowded room. ‘They have a spare seat at their table. Have you got all you want, Marion dear?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Nan,’ Marion said, looking nervously at the table where Billy and Mary Ellen were sitting. ‘It’s very noisy in here, isn’t it?’

  ‘I expect it seems that way after the sick ward,’ Nan said, then, glancing at Sally, ‘I’ll introduce her and ask them to look after her for me. I’m sure you have plenty to do?’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ Sally agreed and surrendered the chair to Nan.

  ‘This is Mary Ellen and Billy,’ Nan said as she pushed the chair up to the end of the table. ‘Children, this is Marion. It is her first time at tea, because she has been poorly, so I want you two to look after her – will you do that, please?’

  ‘Yes, Nan,’ the unholy pair chorused; though they looked at each other. ‘Hello, Marion. What’s wrong with your leg …?’ This last from Billy.

  ‘I fell down the stairs and broke it,’ Marion said timidly. ‘My arms were fr … actured so the doctor said, but my leg was proper broke in two places.’

  ‘Did it hurt much?’ Mary Ellen asked and Marion nodded. ‘Poor you. Why haven’t you been to tea before?’

  ‘Because I live in the sick ward with Johnny and Jessica, but she’s still in bed because her legs are too weak to get up yet, and Johnny’s not well enough either.’

  ‘Are you getting better?’

  ‘Yes, I’m much better. Sister Beatrice says it’s time I got to know the other children, because this is … going to be my home.’ A large tear trickled from the corner of one eye. ‘I’ve got nowhere else to go now … they’re going to put my pa in prison …’