‘Of course you are!’ said Sissy. ‘And you’re keeping this shawl too. It matches our uniform. It’s lovely – so evenly crocheted! Who made it for you?’
‘My friend Jimmy gave it to me,’ I said. ‘His mum made it for him because he can’t run around so he feels the cold – but he said I needed it more.’
‘It sounds as if you’ve got some wonderful friends, Clover. I promise you’ll make lots more here,’ said Sissy, brandishing a large hairbrush. ‘Here now, let’s get the tangles out of your hair.’
‘I can do it. I’m not a baby,’ I said again, but I was finding it heady stuff being cajoled and persuaded and humoured.
I’d been the one mothering Megs and Jenny and Richie and Pete and Mary and Bert and Jimmy Wheels and Daft Mo and the twins and little Angel – and all the other kids in the alley. I’d been doing it ever since it was just Megs and me. It seemed so strange to be like one of the little ones here.
15
I WAS ONE of the middle girls at Miss Sarah Smith’s Home for Destitute Girls. I stared at them all as we ate supper. We were sitting at a long trestle table in the dining room, seven on one side, seven on the other, with Sissy and Miss Ainsley at each end. There were several girls as old as Sissy, tall, with big chests and small waists and wide hips. They whispered together, mostly ignoring me, though Sissy kept nodding at me encouragingly and checking to make sure I had enough vegetable soup and bread and cheese and milk.
It was plain food, but plentiful. I watched the way the other girls held their spoons and chewed their food, grateful that Mr Dolly had delicately helped me with my table manners. I thought I had no appetite, but once I’d forced a mouthful down I found I was ravenous. I was a little too eager using my spoon, so that I spilled a little soup. A very pretty, long-haired girl raised her eyebrows and nudged her neighbour, while I blushed. The girls around me all started whispering and pointing at my soup puddle. Miss Ainsley frowned at them. Muted conversation was clearly the older girls’ privilege.
The littlest girls were at the four corners of the table, so that Sissy or Miss Ainsley could attend to them. There was one curly-haired child only Mary’s age, and another about five with long hair and little spectacles. They spooned their soup and sipped their milk like little ladies, but the wild, dark-haired girl seemed unable to eat properly at all, though she looked older than the others. She lifted her bowl of soup and drank it down in several gulps, even though it was served piping hot; she bolted her bread and cheese, barely swallowing; she spilled half her milk down her front she drank so carelessly. Sissy gently remonstrated with her and mopped her up as best she could, while the child growled at her and tried to fend her off.
Little Pammy only nibbled a morsel and drank two sips of milk. I longed to encourage her – although she was at the other end of the table from me. I tried to catch her eye and smile reassuringly, but she only stared sadly at her plate.
We’d said a prayer at the start of the meal (I didn’t know the words but clasped my hands and muttered, copying the others) and then we said an entirely different prayer of thanks at the end too. Everyone joined in except two. The wild child licked her bowl and then tried to lick everyone else’s as well, and slapped at Sissy’s arms when she tried to restrain her. Pammy slid slowly under the table until only the tufts of her hair were visible.
Then Miss Ainsley clapped her hands and we all had to take our cups and plates and bowls and cutlery to the kitchen. There was a lady there wearing a curious mobcap and a white apron down to her boots, directing all the girls and smacking the heads of the naughty ones who stuck their fingers in the jam jar or tried to tear a chunk of bread from a loaf. She was as tall and fat as Miss Ainsley was small and thin. Perhaps she sampled her own bread and jam all day long.
She gave me an appraising look. ‘So what’s your name then, missy?’ she asked.
‘Clover Moon.’
‘I’m Mrs Grant, the cook. You certainly look like you need feeding up. Suet pudding twice a day for you!’
I wasn’t sure whether this was a treat or a punishment, but it seemed like a good idea to suck up to the person in charge of our food.
‘Thank you very much, Mrs Grant,’ I said, thinking she’d like me to add her name to every sentence like Miss Ainsley.
‘Ooh, Miss Manners,’ she said, mocking me. ‘Just call me Cook, that’ll do.’
I couldn’t win! Sissy was trying to get the wild child to put her crockery in Cook’s big sinkful of hot soapy water, but she threw her dish down on the stone flagged floor instead.
‘The little vixen!’ said Cook, and swiped at her.
The wild child screamed and tried to hit her back.
‘No, Jane, you mustn’t do that!’ Sissy said, trying to catch hold of her arms.
Wild Jane clearly felt she must, and whirled her arms like a windmill, screaming her head off. One of her fists hit Pammy on the shoulder, and she winced but didn’t make a sound.
‘Oh, poor thing! Did she hurt you?’ I asked, trying to put my arm round her.
Pammy seemed more worried by my gesture and backed away rapidly.
‘It’s all right, Pammy. Hey, you’re not frightened of me, are you?’ I said softly.
She hunched her shoulders and wouldn’t look at me.
‘Pammy’s a bit shy, that’s all,’ Sissy panted, still struggling with Jane.
I was used to children having tantrums. Daft Mo had often fought for no reason, and tried to bite the other kids if they taunted him. I had learned how to hold him until he quietened.
‘Try standing at her back and grabbing hold of her round her waist. Like this,’ I said, seizing Jane.
She screamed even louder but couldn’t reach round to hit me.
‘There now. Got you tight! Calm down,’ I said, and then I walked round and round the kitchen with her, trying to distract her. I spoke right into her ear to make myself heard above her racket. ‘It’s all right, I’ve got you safe. I’m Clover. And here’s Sissy, who’s so kind and looks after you. And here’s Pammy, and she’s got her hands over her ears because she doesn’t like that noise you’re making. And here’s Cook, and she looks cross with both of us. And here’s a pot of jam and it looks good to eat. I wonder if Cook will let you have a little spoonful if you stop that silly screaming?’
‘I will not! I’ve never heard such a thing! You don’t reward a child for dreadful behaviour. That one deserves a good beating. She’s like a wild animal,’ Cook declared. ‘Get her out of my kitchen!’
‘Come, Clover, come, Jane,’ said Sissy, herding us out. ‘Come out, everyone, and leave poor Cook in peace.’
She led us all up the stairs to the little girls’ sitting room. ‘There now, girls. Time for our Bible reading,’ said Sissy.
I kept hold of Jane, so that when I squeezed on to a corner of the sofa she ended up sitting on my lap. I thought she might struggle to free herself, but she stayed where she was, and after a while I didn’t have to hold her so tightly. She let herself go limp, flopping against me.
‘I wouldn’t have Mad Jane on my lap,’ said the pretty girl next to me. Her voice was surprisingly stuck-up and grated on my ears. She might have had beautiful long yellow hair like a fairy princess but her blue eyes were mean, and I didn’t like her. ‘She wets, you know.’
The other girls on the sofa sniggered. Jane snuffled angrily and started sucking her thumb.
‘She isn’t going to wet on me, are you, Jane?’ I said. ‘She’s my friend now.’
‘That one doesn’t know how to have friends,’ said the princess girl. ‘She’s like a wild animal. She should be locked up and kept in a cage.’
‘She’s loopy,’ said the girl next to her, who had very neat plaits and a prim expression. She tapped her forehead to make her point.
‘Girls! Don’t be unkind. Settle down,’ said Sissy, opening up her big Bible. She stood in front of us a little self-consciously, found her place in the book and started reading.
I stared at her, astonished. Sissy was n
early grown up, the most senior of all the girls, and yet she read like an infant, pointing along the lines and often hesitating, having to have several stabs at the longer words. It was very difficult to make sense of what she was reading, especially as it sounded so strange and old-fashioned.
The girls fidgeted, yawning and nibbling their nails and pleating patterns in their pinafores. Jane reached up and took hold of a strand of my damp hair. I thought she was going to pull it, but she stroked it and then rubbed it against her nose like a comfort blanket.
‘There now,’ I murmured, touched.
Sissy nodded at us, smiling, and then laboured on with her text. She speeded up a little, and then at last shut the big book with a satisfying soft thud.
‘Right, you little ones, let’s go and start getting ready for bed,’ she said. ‘Elspeth, Moira, Pammy, Jane, jump to it. Jane? Bedtime!’
Jane clung to me, her fist tight round my lock of hair.
‘Slide her off your lap, Clover,’ said Sissy.
I wriggled and tried gently pushing, but Jane seemed stuck to me. ‘I’d better come with her,’ I said.
‘That’s very kind of you. She’s taken such a shine to you! You’re very good at soothing her,’ said Sissy. ‘I’ve tried and tried, but nothing I do seems to work.’
She rounded up Elspeth and Moira and little Pammy while I carried Jane. We all went to the washroom. Elspeth and Moira were reasonably independent little girls. Elspeth had little pinch-marks on her nose when she took her spectacles off to wash round her face. Moira washed so vigorously that the front of her curly hair got soaked. They didn’t use the water closet. They sat companionably side by side on chamber pots, singing a nursery rhyme.
Sissy wiped Pammy’s face and fists with a flannel and then sat her on a chamber pot too. Pammy didn’t struggle but her face screwed up, and she shut her eyes tight when she was on the pot, perhaps hoping we couldn’t see her if she couldn’t see us.
Jane struggled dreadfully, even though she seemed to have taken a shine to me. She badly needed her face wiping – she had soup and milk smeared all round her mouth – but when I tried to wash her she started screaming again.
‘Ssh now, Jane. Don’t act like I’m murdering you,’ I said. ‘We’ve got to get your pretty face clean.’
‘Jane’s not pretty!’ said Moira.
‘She’s Plain Jane,’ said Elspeth, and they both giggled.
‘Don’t be unkind. She’s pretty. You’re all pretty,’ I said. I smiled at Pammy in particular, but she still had her eyes shut.
I wished I could look after her, but I had my hands full with Jane. She utterly refused to let me wash her face.
‘All right, you do it,’ I suggested.
Jane snorted but seemed to like this idea. She did indeed wash her own face, squeezing the flannel a little too tightly so that water dribbled down her chest. She went on rubbing nevertheless.
‘There, good girl. I think you’re clean as clean now. Give me the flannel back,’ I said.
Jane shook her head. Then she suddenly shoved the flannel into my face and gave me a good scrubbing.
‘Hey, Jane, stop it! I’ve only just had a bath,’ I said.
Jane carried on, of course, while Moira and Elspeth laughed so much they nearly fell off their pots.
I was very damp and exhausted by the time I got the flannel out of her hand, and then there was another royal struggle to get her to sit on a chamber pot.
‘She usually utterly refuses,’ said Sissy. ‘I put her in a napkin at night, and even then she always needs her sheets changing in the morning.’
‘How about trying her on the lavatory?’ I asked. Mary had always refused to go on the pot but didn’t mind me holding her over the privy.
‘The little ones always have pots,’ said Sissy. ‘I think the lavatory frightens them.’
‘Yes, you can fall right in the water,’ said Moira.
‘Down, down, down, with all the fishes,’ said Elspeth.
Pammy said nothing but she looked as if she agreed.
‘Shall we try, even so?’ I said.
Sissy didn’t look keen, shrugging her shoulders.
‘Come on, Jane. You’re going to be one of the big girls,’ I said, carrying her into the water closet.
She clung to me tightly, hiding her face when she saw the lavatory. Perhaps she really was frightened.
I closed the door so we were shut inside in private. ‘I’ll go first and show you how it works,’ I said.
I sat her on the floor with difficulty and used the lavatory myself while Jane watched me in surprise.
‘Now it’s your turn,’ I said, pulling down her drawers and lifting her on to the seat. ‘Come on, tinkle tinkle – it’s easy.’
And she did!
‘Well done, you clever girl!’ I said. ‘Now I’ll hold you up and you can pull the chain.’
Jane did so, and laughed when the water swooshed.
‘There! You’re really one of the big girls now,’ I said.
I’d thought her so wild that I wasn’t sure she could understand much, like Daft Mo – but when I praised her for being a big girl a huge, unexpected smile lit up her face. She looked like a real child, not a frantic animal.
When I led her out, still smiling, Sissy had the other three little ones lined up in clean nightgowns, having their hair brushed. She looked astonished. ‘My, my! Did she really go?’ she asked.
‘Tinkle tinkle,’ said Jane proudly, making them all laugh. Even Pammy looked amused.
Jane thumped her chest. ‘Big girl!’ she announced.
‘Yes, you are a big girl, sweetheart. Good Lord, Clover, you’ve certainly got a way with children. I take my hat off to you,’ said Sissy, miming removing a bonnet. ‘I’m so glad you came to the home. You’re going to be so handy here!’
I was pleased – but I still didn’t want to stay in this strange place. I resolved to await my chance in the morning and then make a bolt for it. They couldn’t leave the front door locked twenty-four hours a day. And wasn’t there a back door – out of the scullery beyond the kitchen? I’d be off like a shot at the first opportunity, back to my friend Thelma.
She might even come knocking for me in the morning to make sure I was all right. I’d have to stay alert, seize my chance and knock little Miss Ainsley flying if I had to. I’d rush out of the door, and Thelma and I would run off triumphantly, and then . . . and then . . .
I could see I’d have to spend the night here first. I hoped I could sleep in the little girls’ dormitory. Jane certainly did her best to insist that I actually share her bed, but this time Sissy wouldn’t weaken.
‘Don’t be silly, Clover. You can’t squeeze in with the little girls, for all you’re so small! You’ll be in the dormitory with the other girls your age.’
There were three rooms for the girls: a small nursery for the four little girls, a larger dormitory for the ten-to fourteen-year-olds and a bedroom for the older ones to share.
Sissy showed me her own private room, allotted to her because she was a pupil teacher. It was not much bigger than a cupboard but fresh and dainty, painted a pale rose-pink. Sissy smoothed the fancywork coverlet on her meagre bed, blew a speck of dust off her small looking glass and rearranged her floral china jug and basin with immense pride. She had one real rose in a blue medicine bottle, its petals filling the room with fragrance.
‘You’re showing such promise already, Clover. You might have a room like this one day. Isn’t it pretty? Miss Smith said I could paint it any colour I wanted.’
‘It looks lovely,’ I said.
Megs and I had always longed to have our own bedroom. At home we had lain in each other’s arms at night and fantasized about a pretty place just for us. We’d wanted a quilted coverlet instead of our coarse blanket, a looking glass and a china jug and basin, just like Sissy’s. The walls of our old bedroom weren’t painted at all, just stained plaster, and when I’d tried to draw a picture above our bed with chalk, the colours h
ad smeared and spoiled immediately. We’d longed for flowers too, because our bedroom smelled really bad – of damp and cockroaches and boys’ feet and used chamber pots.
I wished I could have a room like Sissy’s, a place to keep pretty and private and paint any colour I liked. The walls were so smooth. Perhaps I could save up for some proper paints and a brush and do a portrait of Megs on the wall. I could picture it now: I’d have her sitting on the floor with her arms round her knees, her head on one side, smiling shyly at me. I’d work slowly, with a fine brush, making it such a true portrait that it would look as if Megs were really there in the room with me. I’d see her first thing every morning when I opened my eyes and last thing every night when I drifted off to sleep.
I could cover my bed with Jimmy Wheels’ mother’s soft blue shawl – and maybe find a china washbasin with a blue floral pattern. Forget-me-nots would be perfect. I’d sit Anne Boleyn on the windowsill with her back to me so that she could stare out with her bright green eyes.
Oh, I so wanted a room like that! But I had to go along to the girls’ dormitory instead. It was torture. We all visited the washroom first, splashing our faces with soap and water and taking it in turns to use the three water closets. One poor plain lumpy girl had some kind of stomach upset and was in the closet for a long time. The princess girl giggled and went to listen at the door, her golden hair rippling down her back. Her small eyes glittered maliciously.
‘Listen to the sounds Millie’s making! She’s utterly disgusting!’ she exclaimed in her niminy-piminy voice.
The other girls gathered round, and they all started making vulgar explosive noises. When poor Millie emerged she went scarlet in the face to see they’d all been listening.
The princess girl sniffed the air and held her nose. ‘Oh, the smell, the terrible smell!’ she said, pretending to faint.
The others copied her too, while Millie hung her head in shame.
‘Don’t be so hateful!’ I said. ‘We all do that at times and we all leave a smell. It’s not her fault!’
‘And who exactly are you?’ said the princess girl, tossing her beautiful hair over her shoulders.
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