‘You don’t appreciate half of what you have,’ Rose said when plates were pushed aside and bellies declared full.
‘You’ve never really told us much about your time during the war, Mom,’ her eldest son responded.
Rose sipped a glass of cool water.
‘There’s too much to tell, and some things are so unpleasant they need to remain buried in the past. I’ve told you about Coventry, my home, the death of my parents. That’s one lifetime of darkness and confusion, lit only by your grandma and Pops Jackson.’
‘I wonder what Gran was like when she was young,’ her daughter said.
Rose sighed.
‘I only remember her from when I was about five, the year before the Second World War started. My memories before that are all a little foggy. I can remember her brothers died and that she returned to the farm. She loved it, but not them. They were cruel to her. She missed her boyfriend, your grandfather – Pops. I think he’d returned to Canada and left Coventry. Her Aunt Maude had died; she’d been my parents’ employer, and we stayed in her house until the night it was bombed to the ground. Then I went to live in Cornwall with Elenor, who adopted me and the rest is your history.’
Everyone around the table nodded or muttered their agreement.
‘Tell us more, Mom.’
Their corner of the restaurant was empty aside from their long table, and Rose’s family sat back in their seats indicating interest in her tale. Rose rarely opened up about her past, but she’d caught their attention. Even her granddaughters stopped taking selfies and pouting out their smiles to listen.
She looked at their faces, all eyes turned her way, waiting, anticipating what happened next in her story.
‘One of Elenor’s birthdays, I remember. My birth mother, Victoria, made a cake. She wouldn’t have bothered if I hadn’t worn her down and Aunt Maude hadn’t insisted. My mother never expressed joy over birthdays. In fact, I don’t even know when my own parents were born. How about that? Their papers disappeared in the bombings, and the only birthdays I remember are mine and your grandparents’.’
‘Ah, a cake for a birthday in the war must have cheered everyone up though, Mom’.
‘Oh, it did, and I’d learned to play a tune on the piano, and your gran sang songs with me. She had a beautiful voice. It was a very low-key party, nothing like today’s affairs, but oh the joy we shared. I remember for my birthday I used to love receiving a new pencil, or a notepad …’
‘Wow, they had notepads back then?’ her grandson asked.
‘Not the sort you know, son. The paper ones are what Gran’s referring to, not electrical.’
‘Oh, right. Really? You got excited over a paper book?’ he said.
‘I did. We had very little back than and expected very little. Each gift was gratefully received and treasured.’
‘Hence the old battered suitcase full of wrapping paper and string.’ Her daughter laughed, teasing her mother with a longstanding family joke. When Elenor had passed away, they’d found wrapping paper they’d used on gifts to her for years, all neatly folded in a drawer, and Rose wouldn’t allow them to throw it away, but instead put it with her private papers in Elenor’s case.
Rose grinned at them all. ‘You have all the gadgets, and shelves full of treats but how would you cope without them? Or what if you could no longer buy soda and chocolate?’
‘I’d die,’ her youngest granddaughter declared with a dramatic sigh.
Rose looked at them all and gave a slow nod.
‘Many did die over shortages such as soda and chocolate. Merchant ships were sunk and the service men and women died to get any types of food to us, and we still went without.’ She said. ‘I was luckier than most due to the farm in Cornwall. Thank goodness for the kind heart of Elenor, or I could have been in an orphanage and not had the pleasures of limited foodstuffs and fresh air.’
A silence fell around the table, and Rose let her words linger in their thoughts. She had no intention of lecturing them, but felt it was good to remind them of how much in the way of material goods they were lucky enough to enjoy.
‘Anyone for another drink? No? I’ll call for the bill then.’ Rose’s eldest son said, and she watched him walk away from the table. The rest of the family shuffled in their seats.
‘Thank you all for a wonderful day. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with my war talk.’
‘Hey Gran, no. We mustn’t forget that stuff. We learn it at school and forget you were part of it all. Besides, we love that you enjoy everything we give you, right down to the pretty ribbon on a gift. It’s kinda cool.’
Rose looked to her daughter who shrugged her shoulders. ‘I think it was a compliment,’ she said, and Rose laughed.
Once everyone had left her apartment with promises to call and visit, Rose kicked off her shoes and placed her brooch into its box. She slipped off her dress and wrapped herself in the new fleece dressing gown, a gift from her daughter. She fetched her reading glasses and read the simple picture by picture instructions on how to use the new coffee machine – a gift from her sons – and after following each one, she eventually poured the contents of the jug into a new mug that shouted out to the world she was the best grandmother. Sitting on her favourite chair, Rose settled down for the evening. She flicked on the TV from the remote control and selected a programme about purchasing a new home. It was an imported programme from the UK. Rose loved to step inside with the presenter and listen to couples deciding whether to purchase or keep looking. Some enjoyed browsing properties abroad, making the bold step to leave all they knew behind.
Rose sipped her decaffeinated coffee and nodded her approval when one couple opted to buy a property on the coast of Cornwall. With a sigh, Rose set down her empty mug, sat back and watched the credits role as the programme came to an end. She leaned back in her chair, yawned and allowed her eyes to droop into a semi-sleep as she recalled the day they’d all left England.
The sounds rattled over her head. The large ship sitting in dock blew its horn and people shouted to one another from ship to shore. Elenor had guided her one way and then another. Jackson had hailed a porter and offloaded their bags. Rose knew they wouldn’t lose their luggage because she’d been given the important task of writing their names and new address on the labels Jackson had given her. She’d used her best handwriting and when it came to writing Canada, British Columbia, she took extra care creating neat capital C’s.
Her new father had looked over her shoulder and gave it an affectionate tap the afternoon she wrote out each label. His praise still made her smile.
‘My word, well done little Rose. Those letters are sure proud and round.’
Her new mother gave her a hug.
‘She’s a clever little button, and this mummy is extremely proud of her.’
Once the porter had loaded all labelled suitcases onto his trolley and headed towards the ship, her father had lifted her high onto his shoulders. The view was incredible. Everyone looked like ants scurrying about their business.
‘I can see for miles! There’s hundreds of children. Do you think they will play with me?’
‘I’m sure they won’t want to play with a little scallywag like you,’ her father had teased, earning himself a tug of the ears.
They came to a standstill near the entrance to the ship. Her father had explained the gangway might sway as they walked up it to the ship’s deck, but that they were perfectly safe.
‘I’ll take you to a suspension bridge in Vancouver, the gangway will give you a sense of what to expect. Now stand here my little Rose while I give your mom some last minute instructions.’
Rose knew he meant kissing. They’d done a lot of that since their wedding day. She stood patiently and looked around at other couples embracing loved ones. Soldiers, sailors, airmen, women in uniform, women in everyday dress, and women in fine outfits were all squashed together in the crowd. Class separated no one when it came to saying farewell.
She took h
old of her mother’s hand and received a warm smile.
‘Elenor. I’m scared,’ she said.
‘Afraid? We’ll be fine. What an adventure. Canada, here we come. We will be all right, you know. Besides, we have Jackson for good luck.’
Rose nodded, and she looked to the man who gave her his love unreservedly, who made her laugh and made it easy for her to love another father. He reached out and tucked one of the little blonde curls of hair struggling to break free back into place behind Rose’s ear.
‘It will be fine, honey. I’ll be with you all the way. Isn’t it a big ship? I wonder which cabin will be ours.’
As the ship left shore with her horns blowing, Rose’s legs trembled, and her bladder threatened to let her down. She knew life would never be the same again. She stood between her new parents and knew whatever their reasons for leaving Tre Lodhen and moving to Lynn Valley, they were the right ones.
ELENOR AND ROSE’S STORY
1938
Chapter 3
August 1938: Cornwall, England
Elenor traced her finger across the label attached to the side of her battered suitcase.
Miss Elenor Cardew.
Care of: Mrs M. Matthews,
Stevenson Road
Coventry.
As the bus trundled noisily out of the village and headed for Plymouth, Elenor thought back to when the telegram requesting her help – well, more a command to do as she was told – was placed before her when she sat down for supper.
‘This came. You’d best pack and be ready to leave when the bus arrives tomorrow. You must collect your train ticket.’
Her eldest brother spoke in his usual gruff, stilted tone. At eighteen, Elenor was ten years younger than her brother James, and there was never a kind word spoken, or a soft expression of love for his youngest sibling.
‘Train ticket, James?’ Elenor said.
‘Read it. I’m eating.’
Elenor pulled out the thick white paper and read her aunt’s neat handwriting, which gave strict instructions of the date and time she was to arrive in Coventry. It also informed her a one-way train ticket would be waiting for her at Plymouth station, along with instructions of changes to be made along the way.
‘We’re both in agreement. It has to be done.’
Elenor looked to her other brother, Walter; he too spoke in a dull tone with no kindness. The twins resented her birth, and both treated her with no respect.
‘You’re both in agreement? And I have no say. Aunt Maude is a tyrant. A bore. Why me?’
She flapped the letter high in the air.
‘No dramatics. Just do as you are told.’
‘Oh yes, James. And who will run this place? You?’
‘We’ll manage.’ James replied.
‘But what about harvest? You need all hands available for harvest time.’
‘The matter is closed. Do as you are told,’ Walter said and bashed his hand on the table.
With the thought of not breaking her back gathering in the hay, and chafed hands not giving her problems, Elenor suppressed a smile. In an attempt to continue her pretence of hardship, she pushed back her chair and flounced from the room, calling over her shoulder as she stomped her way upstairs.
‘I’ll leave you to wash your dishes while I go pack. You’d best get used to the extra chores, idiot.’
‘Enough of your insults, get back here!’
Elenor ignored her brother, he really was an idiot, and slammed shut her bedroom door. What was the worst he could do? He had no intention of keeping her on the farm. She’d be as dramatic as she wanted.
She read the letter again. Not thrilled about caring for her aunt, Elenor was nonetheless excited about leaving Tre Lodhen – not the farm itself, but the life she endured within its boundaries. She loved her home and would miss the Cornish countryside, but she would not miss her brothers and their cold manner towards her. Coventry offered a smidgen of excitement for a young woman wanting more from life. The village of Summercourt did not excite her, it only held her back. A mantra she’d repeat for anyone who cared to listen. Amateur dramatics in the village hall kept her from dying of boredom, and on the rare occasion she made her escape to a village event, Elenor loved nothing more than to sing, but it had been months since her brothers had allowed her time away from her chores.
The creative Elenor was suppressed at every opportunity. There was no shoulder for her to cry on or a listening ear when she needed to vent her frustrations.
On the day her mother died, Elenor’s role became obvious: she was to step into her shoes. And she did, quite literally at times. Their Aunt Maude would send a few pounds to help her family through hardship if the farm failed to produce a good crop, but it never went far and more often than not to the London Inn, their village pub. When her mother died so did any love Elenor had ever experienced. Her father had the same attitude as her brothers. He’d worked her mother to death and Elenor was made to pick up the pieces. The males in her life never gave any thought to Elenor’s needs, she never saw a penny of the money sent or earned. When it came to her birthday, she soon learnt there would be no gift and accepted it as a normal working day. The ingratitude from her family over the gifts she offered them in the past meant she no longer bothered. Christmas also came and went with the only difference being her father and brothers spent a few extra hours and coins enjoying the company of the London Inn landlord.
No amount of moaning about always having to make do with what she found in the farmhouse ever gained Elenor new clothes. Scraps of cloth filled out shoes too large and repaired handed down dungarees from her brothers. When their father died four years after her mother, the twins did nothing to change Elenor’s life. Neither showed any signs of marrying. There was no other woman in her life to help with the domestic tasks. She had no escape from the humdrum of daily life. The Depression meant nothing but hardship to Elenor, so this opportunity to enjoy a different style of living appealed to a girl of her age.
With no available money and the realisation that her farm clothes were not suitable, she spent her evening altering two of her mother’s old dresses. She’d kept them in a trunk in readiness for when they’d fit her properly. Their drab brown and greens did nothing to flatter her tanned complexion.
She imagined her aunt Maude’s stern tut-tut when she saw the brown leather belt holding her battered suitcase together. The pathetic contents would also send her into a frenzy of tutting, a sound Elenor had heard leave her aunt’s lips many times in the past. Her mother’s eldest sister was a force to be reckoned with when it came to snobbery – her father’s words, not Elenor’s. In the past the woman had scared her with her black gowns and upper-class manner, but Elenor would never dare breathe a word against the woman. When her aunt had visited the farm to nurse her sister, she’d taught Elenor a few basic rules of grace and how to conduct herself in a better manner than some of the female farmhands. Elenor often hoped her aunt would become her key to freedom, and today, in a roundabout way, she had become just that.
The following morning the bus bumped its way past fields of cattle chewing the cud in a leisurely manner. It jostled over cobbles and through narrow winding streets past small stone cottages. Clusters of women stood passing the time of day with village gossip, and men gathered around a cow on a piece of ground close to the inn. Elenor knew they’d haggle for a good price until opening time when half would be spent inside the inn sealing the deal. There was no hurry or urgency in their tasks. Slow-paced and content, the villagers laughed and frowned together. Elenor envied their ability to accept their lives. Even though she felt stifled in Summercourt, under different circumstances she might have found living there more bearable.
When the slate roof and granite walls belonging to the Methodist church came into view, Elenor shivered. The last time she’d entered those doors was to lay her father to rest. It had been a sombre affair and her brothers had been particularly obnoxious that day. Her father’s will had stated the farm b
e left to all three children, but the boys insisted it meant male heirs, and took no notice of her request for a wage. They stated Elenor was holding onto her part of the farm by living there rent-free.
Elenor continued to stare out of the murky glass and focused upon the trees as the bus meandered towards the edge of the village. She envied the power of the oak as it stood fast against the wind blowing in from Newquay, and she was fascinated by the way the silver birch dipped and swayed much like a group of dancers together in rhythm, with elegance and poise. They reminded her of the male versus female challenges she’d encountered over the years. One standing strong and the other bending to the will of another.
‘Clear your head, Elenor. Think pleasant thoughts.’ She muttered the words as she refocused on children playing with a kitten. Their giggles brought a smile to her face and reminded her of when she and her mother had chased three tiny farm kittens who’d found their way into the house. They’d had such fun chasing them back out into the yard.
The bus driver slowed down for a few sheep and Elenor could see Walter lumbering along in front guiding them into a new pasture. He was identifiable by his long greasy hair flapping like bird wings in the wind.
Resentment choked her. Neither of the twins had seen her off that morning. Not one had said goodbye.
Wait ’til you get home to a cold house and no meal. You’ll regret your haste to be rid of me so easily. Oh, and I’ve left you a parting gift in the sink after the way you treated me this morning!
Both men had risen at sunrise and ate the breakfast she had prepared, then left without a goodbye. Elenor looked around but could see no sign of a coin left out for her journey.
With a heavy heart she packed food, a bottle of water and a tin mug into a cloth bag.
She was so angry with her siblings she threw the dishes into the sink. She heard the chink and ping as they crashed against each other.
‘You can do your own dishes. When you’ve repaired them.’
The Secret Orphan Page 2