Lost Angel

by Kitty Neale

  ‘I’ve got to get Ellen away from here, Mabel. If Gertie had got my last letter I’m sure she’d have replied by now. I’m going to write to her again.’

  ‘N…no, Mum. I don’t want to go away. I…I want to stay with you.’

  ‘Don’t fret, love. This time I’m going to ask Gertie if we can both stay with her.’ Smiling sadly at her friend, Hilda added, ‘I’m sorry, Mabel.’

  ‘It’s all right, I understand, but I’m gonna miss you,’ she said, a choke in her voice.

  ‘I’ll miss you too, and doing this blows any chance I’ve got of getting re-housed. I’m beginning to feel like a gypsy with no fixed abode, travelling from one place to another. I just hope it won’t be for long, that it’ll be over soon and we can come back to where we belong.’

  ‘Yes, mate, you’ll be back,’ Mabel said with a show of bravery now. ‘Once a Londoner, always a Londoner.’

  Hilda knew she was putting on a brave front and smiled gratefully. If Mabel broke down she would too, but more tears were the last thing Ellen needed to see. Yes, Gertie would take them in, she was sure of it, and a little time in the country was just what Ellen needed.

  It would be hard to leave her friends, especially Mabel, but in Somerset they’d be safe, Gertie’s home providing a haven until soon, she was sure, this dreadful war would be over.

  Chapter 3

  Ellen was shaken awake when the train pulled into Crewkerne station and climbed bleary-eyed out of the carriage. It was three in the afternoon as she and her mother stood on the platform, a bitter cold wind cutting through their clothes. Only moments later a tall, big-boned woman appeared and Ellen was amazed to see that she was wearing scruffy, brown, corduroy trousers that were tucked into wellington boots, along with a dirty navy duffel coat. Not only that, she was wearing a brown flat cap with her dark blonde hair tucked up beneath it.

  ‘Hilda,’ the woman cried, her dark brown eyes warm as she strode up to them and her strong features softened by a wide smile.

  ‘Hello, Gertie,’ smiled Hilda.

  ‘You look exhausted. Come on, let’s get you home,’ Gertrude Forbes said as she grabbed both suitcases. ‘My goodness, is that Ellen? I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Of course it’s Ellen. It was her birthday last month and she’s ten now.’

  ‘She’s so pretty – but has it been that long since I’ve seen you?’

  ‘Yes, nearly seven years and you’ve been in Somerset for six of them.’

  ‘Where does the time go? Come on, follow me,’ said Gertie, striding ahead of them now.

  ‘Blimey, is that yours?’ Hilda asked when she saw a small horse and cart.

  ‘Yes. Ned’s the only transport I have and I’d be lost without him.’

  Hilda eyed the horse warily, but Gertie urged them to climb onto a bench-like seat at the front of the flat cart. She then stowed their cases in the back before heaving herself up beside them.

  ‘Right, we’re off,’ she said, taking the reins, and with a gentle click of her tongue, the horse moved forward.

  Ellen had never been on a horse and cart before and found it strange: the gentle sway, the clip, clop of hooves as they rode along a narrow street. Soon they were passing through a small town and she listened as her mother spoke with Gertie.

  ‘Thanks for this. Thanks for taking us in.’

  ‘It’s nothing and I’m sorry it took so long to answer your letters. I don’t get post delivered, and rarely go to the village. It was quite a surprise to find two waiting for me, but awful to hear about your parents. I should have kept in touch with your mother, but when it all came out I wasn’t sure she’d want anything to do with me.’

  ‘She was shocked, but you know my mum, she never had a bad word to say about anyone. Oh, Gertie, I still can’t believe she’s gone, that they’re both gone.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Hilda, so very sorry.’

  Ellen leaned against her mother, shivering, her teeth beginning to chatter. ‘Mum…I…I’m cold.’

  ‘Here,’ Gertie said as a tarpaulin-like cover was thrown over them. ‘Tuck that around you and it’ll keep you both warm.’

  ‘How far is it to your place?’ Hilda asked.

  ‘It’s a fair trot, and don’t expect too much. By the time we get there you’ll find yourself in the middle of nowhere, and as for those daft shoes, forget it. Like me, you’ll need boots and the same goes for Ellen.’

  ‘Gertie, I can’t believe how different you look. In London you always looked so smart, if a bit severe, and I never thought I’d see the day when you’d wear trousers and wellies.’

  ‘Needs must,’ Gertie said dismissively, ‘and anyway, I prefer them.’

  ‘You said in your letters that you’re fine, but it’s been years since Susan left. Have you found anyone else?’

  ‘No, and I don’t want to.’

  ‘Aren’t you lonely?’

  ‘Not really. I have my animals, and – unlike people – they don’t let you down.’

  ‘You sound so bitter, Gertie.’

  ‘What do you expect?’ she replied, eyes flashing. ‘I lost everything for Susan, my reputation, my career, then after moving here she left me.’

  ‘You could have returned to London.’

  ‘At first I wanted to lick my wounds in private, then, as time passed, I became used to the seclusion. I love it now. I’m self-sufficient and I doubt I’ll ever leave.’

  ‘At the moment you’re better off here. London is hell. Since September we’ve had bombing raids day and night, but mostly at night now.’

  ‘You’ll be safe here.’

  ‘Have you heard from your father?’ Hilda asked. ‘Is he still in London?’

  ‘I expect so, but I haven’t heard from him and doubt I ever will. You know what happened when he found out. He almost had an apoplectic fit and said I’d disgraced the family name. He’ll never forgive me.’

  Ellen was at a loss to understand this strange conversation. Forgive Gertie for what? She spoke of licking wounds, and what on earth was an apothingy fit? Ellen wanted to ask, but knew better than to interrupt her mother when she was talking. She’d learned that if she kept quiet, sometimes adults would forget she was there, but one sound, one word, and they’d either stop speaking or chase her out.

  They had left the town behind; the countryside they were passing through wintry and bleak. It was so quiet, so peaceful and warm beneath the cover that Ellen closed her eyes. She felt the sway of the cart and found the voices drifting, growing distant.

  Hilda saw that Ellen had fallen asleep again and held her close. She sighed heavily, the tension in her neck easing. Gertie had welcomed them and at last they were away from the bombings. Surely in the peace of the countryside Ellen’s nerves would heal?

  ‘It’s lovely to have you here, Hilda, and yonks since I’ve seen you. Just how long have we been friends?’

  ‘I’ll have a go at working it out. I was about eight years old when my mum started work as a domestic in your father’s house and you were the same age. I think we saw each other occasionally, though at that time I’d hardly call us friends.’

  Gertie chuckled. ‘Yes, I remember now, and my goodness I was such a stuck-up little bitch.’

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ Hilda said ruefully.

  ‘When my mother died and I was sent to boarding school, it was a rude awakening. I missed her so much and hated it, yet it was worse when I came home during school holidays. My father had changed so much and, other than religious instruction, he ignored me. If it hadn’t been for your mother’s kindness, my life would have been very bleak.’

  ‘Mum was a good woman, but even then you and I rarely saw each other. I think it all changed when you were expelled and by then we must have been close to twelve years old.’

  ‘I wasn’t sorry to be expelled; in fact, I think I pushed for it by behaving so badly, yet I came unstuck. It was worse being tutored at home and I was so bloody lonely. My father was wrapped up in his work, the church, a
nd was hardly ever home. After lessons I just rattled around in that huge house, with only your mother and the cook for company.’

  ‘That was when Mum started dragging me to your house every weekend and during school holidays.’

  ‘She dragged you! Was it that bad?’

  ‘Gertie, I hate to say it, but it was at first. I hardly knew you, and, let’s face it, you were a lot different from my usual friends. To me you sounded posh, upper class, and in fact, you still do.’

  ‘It certainly didn’t rub off on you though,’ Gertie said, but the sting was taken out of her words by her warm smile. ‘You’ve never mentioned it, but you must have resented having to come to Kensington, especially when my father would only allow you to play with me if you joined us in religious instruction.’

  ‘I must admit I didn’t like all that stuff from the Old Testament.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he loved to talk about God’s wrath, of fire and brimstone.’

  ‘It frightened the life out of me, but Mum still made me join you. It was years later before I found out why. She thought a lot of you, Gertie, and knew that I’d have to keep it up or be banned from the house. I think in some ways she came to see you as her second daughter.’

  ‘Did she? I thought your mother was being kind because she felt sorry for me. In fact, I envied you your family – the closeness you shared.’

  ‘I don’t know why. Compared to mine, your home was like a palace.’

  ‘My life was so restricted that it was more like a prison. Thank goodness you came along and we became more than just friends. I wish I’d known that your mother saw me as a daughter, because to me you were like a sister, one who stood by me through thick and thin.’

  ‘Now don’t exaggerate,’ Hilda protested. ‘As adults we went our separate ways. You for teacher training, and me, well, until I met Doug, I only worked in a local shop.’

  ‘Yes, but we always stayed in touch, and unlike everyone else you didn’t judge me, or ostracise me.’

  ‘Why should I? You’re still the same person and a good one at that. Take now for instance. If it wasn’t for you I’d have been forced to have Ellen evacuated to strangers.’

  ‘When I read your first letter, asking if Ellen could come to stay with me, I can’t tell you how much it meant to me. When the school found out, they couldn’t get rid of me quickly enough. I was treated like a monster, a bad influence and unsafe to be around children. My father was the worst, saying I was an abomination in God’s eyes.’

  ‘That’s rubbish. There’s nobody I’d trust more with Ellen.’

  ‘Thanks, and it’s nice you’ve arrived just before Christmas. Mind you, I’ve had enough religion stuffed down my throat to last me a lifetime, but as it was once a pagan festival I won’t feel like a hypocrite if we have a bit of a celebration.’

  Hilda’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to think about Christmas – her first one without her parents – yet for Ellen’s sake, she’d have to make some kind of effort.

  Ellen stirred, sitting up to look around her. ‘Are…are we there yet?’

  It was Gertie who answered. ‘Sorry, but we’ve still got a way to go. Are you hungry?’

  Ellen nodded. ‘Ye…yes.’

  ‘I’ve left a beef casserole braising in the range and it’ll be ready when we arrive.’

  ‘Cor,’ Ellen said, fully awake now.

  ‘I’m not much of a cook, but hopefully it’ll be all right.’

  ‘How do you get on with rationing?’ Hilda asked.

  ‘So far it isn’t a problem, and the butcher doesn’t even ask for a coupon.’

  ‘You’re lucky. In London we only get our rationed amounts and there’s talk of it getting worse.’

  Soon a tiny village loomed in front of them, but Gertie just drove through it and out the other side. On and on they went, the light dimming and no sign of any other habitations, until at last Gertie eased the horse and cart left into a narrow lane. At the end she finally pulled on the reins, saying as the horse drew to a halt and she hopped down, ‘I’ll just open the gates.’

  Ellen could see little as her eyes tried to pierce the gloom. Gertie didn’t get onto the cart again; instead she gripped the bridle to lead the horse through. Ellen could now see a small cottage, and as Gertie tethered the animal she watched her mother climb down from the cart, her feet sinking into thick, heavy mud.

  ‘Yeah, I can see what you mean about boots,’ her mum complained then held up her arms. ‘Come on, Ellen.’

  Ellen felt the ooze as her feet touched the ground, then the sucking sensation as she lifted one foot.

  ‘Come on, this way,’ Gertie said as she grabbed their cases, ‘but watch your step.’

  Tentatively they squelched to the front door, both taking off their mud-caked shoes before stepping inside. It was dark, but they felt a welcome blast of warm air, along with a low growl.

  ‘Oh Gawd, what’s that?’ Hilda gasped.

  ‘It’s only Bertie,’ said Gertie as she lit an oil lamp.

  ‘Bertie?’ she yelped as the growls turned to sharp yaps.

  ‘He won’t hurt you,’ Gertie assured and, as light pierced the gloom, a small white dog with a blaze of black on his face came into view.

  The dog ran up to Ellen, yapping and jumping around her with excitement. She smiled, crouching down to stroke him. ‘He…he’s so sweet.’

  ‘He’s a Jack Russell terrier and perfect for ratting.’

  ‘Rats,’ her mother squeaked. ‘Oh, blimey.’

  ‘There are rats in London – in fact, probably more than around here. Now take your things off and make yourself at home while I see to the horse. I expect you’re dying for a cup of tea so you can put the kettle on the range to boil.’

  ‘Why the oil lamps? Ain’t you got electricity?’

  ‘No, but at least I’ve got running water.’

  The journey had seemed to go on for ever, and now unable to hold it any longer, Ellen said, ‘I…I need the toilet.’

  ‘Go through the scullery and you’ll find it outside the back door,’ Gertie told her.

  Ellen barely took in the deep sink and draining board as she passed through the scullery. The wooden door to the outside toilet squeaked, but there was no light so she left it open, managing in the gloom as she perched on such a funny seat.

  It was strange here, so quiet, but sort of nice too, and Ellen thought she might like living in the country.

  When Gertie marched outside again, the dog at her heels, Hilda took a look around the room. The ceiling was low, crossed with heavy, dark beams, the room dominated by a huge, black cooking range. A small, scruffy wooden table stood in the centre, and on each side of the range she saw wing-back chairs, one with horsehair stuffing poking through the upholstery. Other than that there was a dresser, the shelves packed with a mishmash of china.

  Gertie was right, this place wasn’t much, but nevertheless Hilda was charmed by the cosy atmosphere. Gertie had done her best, the tiny, deep-set, lead-paned window dressed with chintz curtains, the wide sill sporting a jug of dried flowers. Hilda found herself sniffing the air, her mouth salivating at the rich aroma of beef casserole.

  ‘It…it’s a funny toilet,’ Ellen said as she came back inside. ‘There isn’t a…a proper seat, just a long wooden bench with…with a hole in it.’

  ‘I never thought I’d see the day when I thought our little house was luxurious, but compared to this…’ Hilda had to pause, a lump in her throat. There was no house now, her home just a pile of rubble. Hilda managed to swallow her emotions. They were here now, safe, and that was the most important thing. ‘We’ll be eating soon, but in the meantime I’ll make us all a drink.’

  ‘Why…why does Gertie wear men’s clothes?’

  Hilda paused as she wondered how to answer her daughter’s question. Ellen was too young to understand so, grasping, she said, ‘I expect it’s because it’s sensible to wear trousers when you’re working outdoors, and warmer too.’

  ‘Can…
can I wear trousers?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose so, but I don’t know how we’ll get hold of any.’

  ‘Get hold of what?’ Gertie asked, catching the tail end of the conversation as she stepped inside.

  ‘Like you, Ellen wants to wear trousers.’

  ‘That won’t be a problem. I’ve got an old sewing machine and we can soon knock her up a couple of pairs. You’ll need some too, Hilda.’

  ‘Me! No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘We’ll see. Now then, have you put the kettle on the range?’ she asked brusquely.

  ‘I was just about to do it.’

  ‘Get a move on, and you, Ellen, can lay the table for dinner.’

  ‘Gertie, you haven’t changed and sound as bossy as ever,’ Hilda said, giggling as she added, ‘Talk about a school mistress. What next? If we don’t behave, will you give us the cane?’

  Gertie at first looked shocked, but then she too began to laugh. ‘Oh, Hilda, I really am glad you’re here.’

  ‘Can…can we have our dinner now?’ a small voice said.

  ‘Yes, all right,’ Gertie agreed, ‘and tomorrow I’ll show you how to collect eggs for our breakfast.’ ‘Where’s your dog?’

  ‘He’s been cooped up in here while I went to fetch you, but once we’ve eaten you can call him in again. I’ve a cat too, but Wilfred’s a tom and is mostly off roaming.’

  ‘Wh…what else have you got?’ Ellen asked eagerly.

  ‘Two pigs and a goat.’

  Hilda saw her daughter’s delight and smiled. It was going to be all right, and she was sure that bringing Ellen here had been the right decision. Ellen would recover and enjoy exploring the countryside. And I’ll be fine too, Hilda decided, yet there was no way that Gertie was going to get her into trousers.

  Chapter 4

  During the next five months Hilda saw a huge change in her daughter. Ellen’s stammer disappeared, and, though they were both still grieving, the horrors of living in London during the Blitz soon seemed far away. Instead of an air raid siren, they now woke up to the sound of birdsong and Gertie’s cockerel.