by Leah Fleming
It wasn’t the same as those first hairy days. These weren’t her special charges and she began to look back on those first arrivals with nostalgia until she recalled how Bryan was almost gored by a bull, how Enid’s lapses caused a scandal, how Peggy was caught sending raw bacon and eggs from their rations through the post to her family in Hull, and then there was Gregory’s escapades…
New evacuees were delivered with depressing regularity, only to shoot back home at the first opportunity, danger or not, but the core of her originals remained. Gregory was now taken on by Brigg’s Garage as their ‘oily rag’, but he was waiting for papers to join up. He was turning out to be a steady away young man, those bunking off adventures now a distant memory. There wasn’t a mean bone in his body, not like Enid Cartwright, who now worked in the cotton mill and was courting one of the local evacuees in another billet. She could still get on everyone’s nerves.
Life at Brooklyn Hall still ran round the routines of the elderly inmates and Pleasance’s daily orders. Staff came and went, refugees mostly, whose ideas of English cooking were always spiced up with strange flavours that played havoc with bowels and their antique plumbing system.
Being in charge here got Plum out of the house, stopped her worrying about Gerald’s dangerous posting and poor Maddy, who drooped under the pressure of homework, travelling by train each day to her day school in Scarperton.
They’d still not done anything about her eye. Somehow it never seemed the right time. She was like a bud wilting on a stalk, dreamy, slouching her shoulders to hide her height. If only Plum knew how to help her. Her own in-between years were filled with ponies and girl chums and parties. It was a tight-knit circle of girls from boarding school who met in the hols and played tennis, took shopping trips to York and London. Most of them were married off young–put out in the show arena as young fillies and snapped up by Gerald’s dashing types. It felt like a hundred years ago…at the end of the war to end all wars. Poor Maddy was too young for the services and too old to fit in with the other evacuees, except Greg and Gloria.
The Conley transplants had rooted well in Huntsman’s Cottage with the Battys. Gloria was shooting up into a pretty redhead and Sid was already helping out on a farm with his friend Alan from school. They’d blossomed in the fresh air like sturdy foals turning into handsome ponies.
Gloria helped out with the little ones when she was in the mood. She was company for Maddy at the weekends but their two worlds were different in so many ways. Maddy was clever and academic. Gloria was worldly-wise and rough round the edges, but she liked to run around the Brooklyn as if she owned it, and Maddy was too polite to tell her when she was disturbing her studying. Uncle Algie’s old wireless was played loud with Light Entertainment music that got on Pleasance’s nerves.
‘When the war’s over, can I stay on?’ Gloria had asked Plum only the other day.
‘I’m not sure. The hostel will be closed…You’ll be eligible for a job soon,’ she’d replied, not sure what to say as Gloria was almost fourteen. Once she started work, it would be time to find her permanent lodgings.
‘I could get a job in Sowerthwaite…The Battys won’t mind.’
The little minx had thought it all through. No flies on Gloria. She would make a good mother’s help when her mind was on the job but she mooned over film stars and crooned over love songs not at all suitable for a girl of her age. She eyed up the boys in uniform who were home on leave, but give credit where due, she could be reliable and hardworking in the Old Vic.
Plum still watched over her with concern. It was inevitable that the first contingent of evacuees would be scattering now. How vividly she could recall seeing them on the station platform, her terror at being put in charge of such a raucous pack of puppies, and how fond of them all she’d grown, even poor Enid and lumpen Peggy, big Bryan and little Mitch. Cards came at Christmas from a few and the odd thank you letter from their parents, but nothing ever came for Gloria and Sid.
The Conleys were a mystery and no mistake, thrown onto a train, abandoned, sneaking into their carriage and clinging like limpets to Maddy. It disturbed Plum even to think of that strange collection of children. It was like being forced to rescue an abandoned litter of puppies, knowing nothing of their background or pedigree. No wonder she made so many mistakes.
You could tell a lot about a pup from the nature of the mother bitch. Pleasance had had to take back everything about Dolly Belfield’s girl. Maddy was kind-hearted, clever, good with animals and a credit to her parents. Gloria was not so easy to predict, Plum sighed. Why judge Gloria on the behaviour of her mother when none of it was her fault?
Maddy had been forced to take responsibility for them when she had enough troubles of her own. Now Gloria was the only one left near her own age. Why shouldn’t they be chums? Girls needed bosom pals and she thought of her school friend and fellow débutante Totty Feather-stone, who’d married into some big estate near York. They’d promised to keep writing but somehow they’d lost touch. Sometimes she felt isolated. Vera Murray, the vicar’s wife, was her closest confidante but Plum was always careful what she revealed about family matters.
Pleasance ruled over Brooklyn affairs, keeping a tight rein on their finances so they could keep up appearances on a very constrained budget. Maddy’s school fees came out of Plum’s own purse. She wished she could help Gloria more but it wouldn’t be fair to pick her out from all the others.
It was something about the glint in Gloria’s eager green eyes, the way she soaked up information in a desperate attempt to fit in, showing off in company, that worried her. The two girls went hiking together through the Dales, joined the local Guide troop and the church choir, all very healthy stuff–but one day soon, Plum sensed, they’d grow apart.
Plum shook herself from her daydreaming and looked at her wristwatch. Where had the last hour gone? Then she remembered the Warship Fundraising Committee in the afternoon and the minutes needed to be sorted out, and here was a line of blackout curtain linings to be pegged out.
They had strung a rope from the Victory Tree HQ at the top of the garden to the shed to get the most of the morning breeze when she heard the clang of the old doorbell on the High Street. Who was it now? Hadn’t she enough to be doing?
‘Go and see to it, Grace, and tell them I’m busy,’ she shouted down the garden. Her hands were chapped in the cold air. It was March but it felt like November.
‘It’s Mr Ferris, the billeting officer, and a visitor, ma’am,’ Grace waddled up the steps. ‘I’ve put them in your parlour but I haven’t had time to clear the dining room, this morning,’ she puffed.
‘Offer them some Camp Coffee. We’ve plenty of milk. I can’t spare the tea ration, though. It’s got to last the week. There’ll be enough sugar to go round.’
This was not the day for an inspection, surely? It was going to be one of those mornings when all her plans would go out the window yet again.
Mr Ferris ducked under the low beams and held out his hand in greeting. By his side was a woman of about thirty-five with an extraordinary hat perched on the side of her head. It sprouted feathers in all directions like an Indian headdress, her hair was crimped into tight waves and her face was powdered and rouged with a slash of vermilion lipstick round her mouth like a wound. The woman smiled, narrowing her eyes. The perfume from her lapels was overpoweringly sickly.
‘This is Mrs Delgado from Leeds. She would like a word in private about some relatives.’
‘I am rather busy…I’m not sure I can help.’ Plum nodded, puzzled as to why the woman was hovering like a hawk in flight.
‘It’s the Conleys…she thinks she might know them,’ Mr Ferris offered, ushering the woman forward. ‘I’ll have to leave you, I’m afraid; another little problem up at Skally Hall.’
This was the other hostel across the river, where a bunch of toerags from Liverpool were running riot in their digs.
‘I’ll leave you in Mrs Belfield’s capable hands. Duty calls!’ With that
he left promptly, and Grace brought in a pot of coffee.
‘Please sit down,’ Plum said, eyeing the woman carefully.
The stranger sipped the hot drink with a grimace and put it down, opened a packet of Camels and tapped them on the packet, lighting up without a by-your-leave or offering one to Plum. ‘I only drink the real stuff. My hubby is American. We get rations, real coffee, chocolate, candy…He’s in supplies.’ She looked up with a grin, her eyes flashing.
There was something familiar about those eyes and that northern accent.
‘How nice for you. We’ve not tasted ground beans for years. Now how can I help?’
‘It’s them two, Gloria and little Sid, we’ve been searching for them for years. My sister’s been that demented. The little blighters got on that train by mistake. She’s had the police searching. Our Marge didn’t know where to turn. I’m Maggie, her twin sister. What with losing her man at sea and being in Dicky’s meadow with her rent, she weren’t thinking straight, wanting to join up and do her bit.’
‘She’s in the Forces then?’ Plum asked.
‘I’m not sure. She did a runner with some bloke but not before she told me what she’d gone and done with her babbies. They took a bit of finding. I got on to the police missing file. We thought they’d gone north, evacuated with a local school, but drew a blank until we traced their ration books and billeting officers. Hundreds, I’ve tried.’
‘That was good of you.’ Plum listened to this tale, trying not to smile. ‘They’ve been here nearly four years. What took you all so long?’
The woman didn’t look up but dragged on her cigarette. She had the grace to blush.
‘You know how it is-there’s a war on, things get in the way. Now I’m settled, off to the States when the war ends. I’ve got a little lad of my own, Mikey Junior. It’s only right Gloria and Sidney should be back with their own kin.’
‘I take it you want to give them a home.’ Plum replied, not believing what she was hearing.
‘Oh, yes, Marge would want us to do that. She feels terrible what she done.’
‘I should think she does after nearly four years, to abandon kids on a train with strangers. It’s a matter for the Welfare Department if children should be returned to such a mother. They’ve settled down here in school.’
‘Gloria will be fourteen soon.’
‘Indeed she is,’ smiled Plum. Now they were getting to the point of this visit. ‘This is all a bit of a shock. I gather you’ll have proof of identity.’
‘Of course.’ The woman ferreted in her handbag with shaking hands and brought out two birth certificates; well thumbed originals, genuine enough.
Plum examined them deliberately, not fooled by this rescuing angel act; not fooled at all. Gloria had never mentioned aunties or uncles, and certainly no twin aunt. Not that she talked about her life near Manchester at all. Sid was barely five when he arrived. Would he recognise any relatives?
‘I think you’d better come back later, certainly after school. I’ll have to prepare them for this news. It’s all a bit unexpected,’ Plum offered, but the woman shook her head.
‘I’m not budging till I’ve seen them. I’m living in Leeds. It costs to come out here,’ she whined, a flash of anger sparking in those jade eyes.
‘And I’m not handing over two children to a complete stranger until I am satisfied you are who you say you are. They may not even recognise you,’ Plum stood up and made for the door.
‘Of course, they’ll know their own.’ Mrs Delgado stopped in her tracks. Her feathers twitched as she shook her head. ‘Who do you think I am, a child snatcher? I’ve come here out of the goodness of my heart to rescue those babbies. I’m doing you all a good turn. It looks pretty crowded in here to me.’ She stubbed out her cig in the hearth, showing off a neat ankle in nylon stockings and two-toned wedge-heeled shoes.
‘Is that how you see yourself–as an angel of mercy? They’re happy here, settled, safe from the bombing.’ Plum felt her anger rise. How long was she going to keep up this charade?
‘I have my rights!’
‘And what might those be then? A mother throws her children on a train for whatever motive without saying goodbye or finding if they are safe—’
‘I did say—’
‘Yes, you did say, Margery Conley, and we still have the letter to prove it so we can stop this pretence right now. Auntie Maggie, my aunt Fanny! You conned your way in here with lies and half-truths. Do you expect us to just hand them over without suitable checks and safeguards? I wasn’t born yesterday. I guessed just who you were the moment I saw your green eyes. Gloria has them too…I can’t trust a woman who lies through her teeth.’ It was harsh but it needed to be said.
Marge Conley burst into wails. ‘I know, I know! I done wrong but I had to make it right. What I did was on the spur of the moment. I was out of my head with worry. It were wrong and I’ve not slept easy since, but it’s all different now. I’ve got little Mikey and my Sergeant Delgado. He knows the score and it’s fine by him. He knows I can’t sail without them and it’s taken ages to find them. I was scared I’d get locked up and then what good would that do? You wouldn’t tell, would you?’ she pleaded. She was still young, and pretty, albeit overdressed and shaking. It was hard not to feel some sympathy for her.
‘They are Wards of the Court. Abandoned children can’t just be released without papers, you know. It’s only fair. The Courts have funded their care without any contribution from you or your family.’ Plum could see she was dealing with a simple woman who acted on impulse like a cornered animal.
‘I understand, but I’ll make it up to them, I promise, if I can just see them and explain.’
‘In due course, Mrs Delgado, when they have a chance to be prepared. They’re both still young.’
‘So when will that be then?’ the visitor replied, gathering her bag and gloves and silver cigarette case. ‘I suppose I’ll have to go then. Little Mikey will need his tea. Will you tell them they’ve got a little brother? My neighbour’s minding him.’
‘Give me your address. There’s no reason why you can’t come back on Sunday for tea and a walk, get to know them and explain everything. This will give me a couple of days to sort out stuff. The Welfare will need your particulars.’
‘I don’t want no nosy parkers round my yard. We’re respectable now, but if that’s what must be…’ she sighed. ‘We’d better do it proper but thank you for trying to show me what’s what. This is a nice little village, what I’ve seen of it. They’ll have been comfortable here.’ She was eyeing the place over, the shabby paintwork and scuffed skirting boards, the clutter of battered game boxes, the smell of vegetables stewing and a layer of ash on the old furniture.
‘ No, they don’t live here. The two of them are lodged out with a couple.’
‘I ought to be thanking them then. Where’ll I find them?’
‘On the Brooklyn Estate…The Battys will be sorry to see them go. Still, it’s early days.’
‘I shall have to write to them…What’s their number?’
‘We’ll sort that out later, Mrs Delgado. I’m glad you understand how it must be, for the sake of the children.’
‘Of course, Mrs Belfield. Silly me to think I could just turn up and take them home. You’re right. Better be on my way to the station. And tell our Gloria things is looking up and I’ll catch up with them soon.’ The woman made for the door. ‘Toodle-pip and thanks for all you’ve done for them.’
Plum ushered her through the doorway and pointed the way back to the station with a smile. ‘See you on Sunday then? Sorry I’m rushing you but I’ve got dinner to prepare. They’ll be tearing home for soup and sandwiches as soon as the bell rings.’
‘Ta-tah for now.’ Gloria’s mother waved. ‘I’ll bring you some proper coffee next time. Them vaccies must keep you busy. Righty-oh! This is my telephone number. You can contact me at the Mason’s Arms. They’ll pass on a message. We rent from them in Peel Street.’
&
nbsp; Plum watched her waddling down the Main Street, wobbling in her platforms on the cobbles, the tail feathers disappearing amongst the lunchtime shoppers. The morning had gone but thankfully Grace had quietly got on with the chores. All was not lost.
What a turn-up! You had to admire the cheek of her, trying to pass herself off as her own twin sister: crafty young blighter, in her tweed suit and fancy hat. It was the best wheeze yet. Nothing surprised Plum why some of their kids were such tearaways with parents who turned up when it suited them. The cunning lengths they went to avoid supporting their children, but Marge Conley was something else with those foxy eyes.
She’d taken a risk exposing herself here. No doubt her guilt was genuine but only when she’d come up in the world did she bother to find her kids. Plum was uncertain what to do next but it would be good for the Conleys to know they’d not been abandoned for ever.
If Marge’d turned up on her beam ends they could have offered her work here so Plum could keep an eye on her, but Plum knew that country life would never suit Marge, with her expensive tastes in nylons and coffee.
Don’t be a bitch! Plum smiled to herself as she set the table for their meal. This news could wait. She still hadn’t prepared the minutes and it was getting late.
Gloria was last out of the classroom, making for the girls’ exit. She’d had to re-do her hemstitching ’cos miss said it was uneven. She’d had a rap on the knuckles for making marks on the material and she was fed up with school. It was dinnertime and her tummy was rumbling.
There was a woman waiting by the gate, the feathers on her fancy hat arching like cock’s feathers. She was wearing a boxy swing coat and film-star shoes. There was just something about the way she was staring at her that made Gloria stop. It was as if a camera in her head snapped and a long-forgotten image surfaced, indistinct, but familiar just the same.
‘Gloria!’ The woman moved forward with grin. ‘My…how you’ve shot up! Don’t you recognise your old mam?’
The girl stepped back. ‘Mam? What you doing here?’ She was too shocked to think of anything else to say. Was she dreaming?