by Tania Crosse
‘Oh, there you are!’ she snapped. ‘Everyone else has gone through the barrier and I had to come back for you. The train won’t wait for you, you know!’
With that, she dug her fingers into Doris’s shoulder and dragged her away. The last thing Mrs Sergeant saw of her daughter before she was swallowed up in the crowd was the child’s desperate, pleading eyes.
‘Love you!’ she yelled as loudly as she could, but whether or not Doris heard, she had no idea.
Doris’s feet stumbled along as Mrs McCormack pushed and shoved a path through the bustling hoards. As they fought their way through to the barrier of the correct platform, Doris noticed several mothers in floods of tears, while others hurried away with their children, evidently having changed their minds at the last minute.
Doris wished as she’d never wished for anything else in her life before that she could be among them. That at any second, her mother would appear out of the crowd and snatch her back out of Mrs McCormack’s clutches. But the next thing she knew, she’d been hauled through the barrier onto the platform where, up ahead, a monstrous black engine was spitting fire and steam in its impatience to be away, rattling down the track and spiriting hundreds of children to their doom.
Mrs McCormack pushed her way along the platform and panted up to an official-looking woman with a clipboard standing by the open door of a carriage compartment. ‘Sorry, this is the missing child,’ she said brusquely. ‘Couldn’t get her away from her mother.’
‘She’s the last of your lot, then?’ the other woman asked just as brusquely. ‘Doris Sergeant.’ She pulled towards her the label hanging about the girl’s neck, and then ticked something off on her board. ‘Gas mask, suitcase. And here are your sandwiches for the journey,’ she said, pushing a brown-paper bag into Doris’s free hand. ‘Right, in you get. Just in time. Train’s leaving in two minutes.’
Mrs McCormack propelled Doris towards the open door, and Doris scrambled up, manoeuvring her little suitcase and feeling as if she was entering the gates of hell. Condemned to who knew what horrors.
‘Ah, Dozey Doris, trust you to be last,’ one of her classmates sneered, but his mouth soon shut when, to everyone’s horror, including Doris’s, Mrs McCormack climbed up behind her. The teacher did, however, come to Doris’s assistance as she struggled to heave her case up into the luggage rack. But then she plonked herself down on the seat in the middle of everyone, and glared about her.
‘Gary, get your head in from the window before you get it knocked off by another train,’ she snarled. ‘And I hope none of you have started your sandwiches yet. You won’t be getting anything else until we arrive, so you’ve got to make them last. Doris, sit down here, or you’ll fall over when the train starts.’
She indicated the place beside her and Doris looked about the compartment in dismay. It was indeed the only space left, and so, reluctantly, she wriggled herself into it, wedged between Mrs McCormack and Gary Wilson who was sitting by the window. He was all right, was Gary. As were most of the others of her travelling companions. They were all boys, though, apart from Annie Davies who was a bit snooty and clearly had her nose put out at being separated from her buddies.
Doris, too, resented not being with her friends, although it was her own fault for taking too much time saying goodbye to her mum. Not that she was close to anyone in particular. She was too shy for that. But it would have been better than travelling under Mrs McCormack’s strict eye!
From outside came the bangs as the last doors were slammed shut, the guard’s whistle blew and the train jerked as it edged forward, slowly at first as it pulled away from the platform and began to pick up speed. Doris felt a violent pain in her chest as if her heart was being yanked out and left behind in the station. But she wasn’t going to cry. Her mummy had said she wanted to be proud of her, so she was determined to be strong.
Mrs McCormack’s very presence kept them all silent as the train clackety-clacked through London’s built-up areas, and Doris felt her despair deepen. As they rumbled and swayed out into the countryside, however, the atmosphere in the compartment lightened. Some of the children had never been beyond the capital before, and the sight of green fields basking in the late summer sunshine made them bubble with wonder and excitement. Mrs McCormack made them take turns to sit by the window, her eyes narrowing with anger if anyone disobeyed. But Doris wasn’t bothered when it was her turn to watch the countryside flash past. She’d seen it before. All it made her think about were the happy times when she’d been speeding down to the seaside with her mum and dad. Now she had no idea when she’d see them again.
Glancing down, Doris fingered the brooch pinned to her cardigan as if it would give her strength.
She wondered miserably who she’d be billeted with. That was a new word she hadn’t heard before. Would it be in a quiet, clean and tidy little house like she was used to, or a dirty cottage only fit for pigs? They’d been warned that some places in the country didn’t have running water. Or that sometimes the only lavatory was a tiny wooden shack in the garden where the waste simply fell into a bucket filled with earth to absorb the smells. Even worse than the cold, outside toilet at her own house. At least that flushed when you pulled the chain!
The thought of an earth closet, as they’d been told they were called, filled Doris with horror. Worst of all, who would she be billeted with? A family with existing children who’d tease her about her bright red hair and pull her plaits? Or a resentful old woman who’d treat her as an enemy or even a slave? Would she be alone, or with any of her school friends? Would she be made to feel welcome, or teased and bullied from the start? Every turn of the carriage wheels, every mile they drew closer to their destination, made the dread rise up inside her and take her by the throat.
An hour or so later, they stopped at a station and everyone was told to go and use the lavatories. While she stood in the queue, Doris saw mothers with younger children for whom it had been too late. A little girl just behind her couldn’t wait any longer and went just where she was standing. Her mother had no sympathy, and cuffed the little mite across the cheek.
Doris had to jump back so that the toddler’s urine didn’t splash on her own shoes. But she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the child. She was pretty desperate for a wee herself. And she saw several little boys with tell-tale wet patches on their shorts, and other children who’d obviously been sick and had vomit down their fronts. Doris could understand that. She felt sick with anxiety herself, but she was so thankful she was travelling in a compartment with her peers who were old enough to control their bodily functions. They wouldn’t dare do otherwise under Mrs McCormack’s icy stare!
‘You can open your sandwiches now,’ the draconian teacher conceded once they were all back on the train, and were rumbling through the countryside again.
Everyone else dived into the contents of their paper bag. Doris took a nibble of one of her sandwiches, but it stuck in her throat and she nearly choked as she finally forced it down. She carefully replaced the rest of the sandwich in the bag and folded over the top of the paper.
‘Not hungry, Doris?’ Mrs McCormack demanded.
Doris recoiled into the seat, wishing she could disappear altogether. ‘Not really, Miss,’ she managed to croak in reply.
‘Too nervous, eh?’
Doris lowered her eyes as she nodded. Oh, why had her mummy and daddy decided to send her away?
‘Can I have her sandwiches if she don’t want them?’
‘No, you can’t, Johnny Wight,’ the dragon barked back. ‘Doris might want them later when she’s feeling better.’ Then, she poked her head down so that Doris could see the individual fine hairs on the woman’s upper lip. ‘I’m sure it’ll be all right. Most people will be very happy to have you if you behave. Did you hear that, Johnny? If you behave. But if you think you’re being treated badly at all, you mustn’t be afraid to report it to the billeting officer. They will come round to check on you occasionally, you know.’
; Oh, crikey, Doris cringed, feeling even worse. If Mrs McCormack thought they could end up somewhere awful, it must be bad!
And then Mrs McCormack turned to her again, lowering her voice. ‘You shouldn’t worry about things so much, you know, Doris. You’re the brightest child in the class, but you must try and come out of your shell and mix more with the others.’
Doris blinked at her, and managed to mumble a ‘Yes, Miss,’ with little conviction. The smile the teacher gave her was so fleeting that she nearly missed it. Perhaps Mrs McCormack wasn’t so bad after all. And there must be a Mr McCormack, so someone must have liked her enough to marry her.
Doris spent the next hour conjuring up images of what the not quite such a dragon was like at home. Did she have children of her own? She was so ancient that if she did, they’d be grown up by now. She was the only married teacher in the school, so she must be considered good as married teachers were usually frowned upon. Or perhaps she’d bullied the headmistress into employing her! Doris could well imagine it. And then she wondered if Mrs McCormack wore a night cap in bed. The idea amused her, and she had to stifle a giggle.
A little while later, the train began to slow. Doris had occupied herself in imagining Mrs McCormack putting in her curlers and taking out her dentures at night – they had fangs! – or putting her voluminous bloomers through the mangle. But now she leant forward to see past Annie Davies and look out of the window. They were coming into a town. Doris wondered where, but as the train coasted into the station and lurched to a halt, she was none the wiser. The station signs had all been removed in case of invasion. Didn’t want to help the enemy find their way around, did they?
Mrs McCormack pulled down the window on the platform side and stuck out her head. ‘Is this it?’ she bellowed, and a few moments later, turned back into the compartment. ‘Right, we’re here, children. Get your luggage down and then wait for me on the platform. Don’t forget your gas masks, and don’t leave anything else behind, either.’
Doris felt less frightened now of Mrs McCormack as the woman retrieved the luggage for those who couldn’t reach. Certainly less frightened than of what was about to happen!
It was pandemonium on the platform, with a new set of WVS ladies checking labels. Mrs McCormack checked she had all of her class assembled from a total of three compartments, and then had them march in pairs to a line being formed towards the station exit. Organised chaos if ever there was, Doris considered ruefully.
Exactly where they were, Doris still didn’t know. It was clearly a big town and she felt so lost as they were led through busy streets, a long snake of children of all ages, and mothers with tiny ones. Doris’s class was led by a smiling young woman, with Mrs McCormack bringing up the rear.
The human crocodile eventually turned into a school, the various contingents being guided into different classrooms. Doris’s class and the year above were lined up against the wall opposite a crowd of adults and families already waiting in the room. The young woman with the nice smile was pairing up hosts with evacuees, helped by someone in WVS uniform.
‘Right, everyone else, listen, please!’ she called, clapping her hands. ‘The rest of you mingle together, and when you’ve palled up, come over to me. But please don’t take too long. The buses are waiting to take you to your destinations.’
Doris sagged, her heart crumpling. How could she do that, mingle among strangers? Who would want her with her red hair and freckles? She hunched her shoulders and backed off into a corner, head down, hiding as the room thinned out. Perhaps if she wasn’t picked, she could go home. Her stomach growled with hunger, but the thought of the sandwiches in her bag made her feel queasy. She felt faint, her head swimming. The room became quiet, a hundred miles away.
‘Oh, we have someone left. What’s your name, child?’
‘Oh, no. Oh, Doris,’ Mrs McCormack sighed. ‘I thought everyone had gone.’
‘Oh, dear, yes, Doris Sergeant,’ the nice smile confirmed, consulting her list. ‘I’m afraid we ended up with fewer hosts than we thought. Since registering with us, some people have already taken in relatives and don’t have room anymore. Wait here, and I’ll check there are no spare hosts anywhere else.’
The young woman scurried out of the room and Doris felt herself groan as Mrs McCormack pulled out two chairs from the desks that had been pushed to one side, and indicated that she should sit down beside her. Doris obeyed, wishing she could pinch herself and find it was all a nasty dream, but she knew it wasn’t.
It seemed an age before the nice smile came back, time in which Doris felt she’d lived a whole lifetime. Mrs McCormack didn’t say very much, for which Doris was grateful. She just wanted to curl up in her shell and escape.
‘Right. I’ve found somewhere where there might be some spare places. But I’m afraid you need to get on the train back to Tunbridge Wells. Here are your passes. A billeting officer called Mrs Jenkins will meet you there. And then, Mrs McCormack, your ticket will take you back to London. But you need to hurry. Can you remember the way back to the station?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Mrs McCormack assured her with cool efficiency. ‘Come along now, Doris. We mustn’t miss the train.’
With that, she all but galloped out of the classroom and Doris had to run to catch her up, struggling with her little case. They scurried through the town, Mrs McCormack frequently having to stop and wait for her pupil, until she finally took the luggage from her. They panted into the station just before the train was about to leave, and the guard ushered them into a compartment and slammed the door as he blew his whistle.
Both teacher and pupil gasped. The reek in the compartment rasped at the back of their throats. The seats were damp with urine and on the floor was a splash of vomit they had to step over.
‘Oh, dear God,’ Mrs McCormack cried. ‘And this is all your fault. If you hadn’t hidden in the corner, I’d have been back on a proper train before this… this abomination. Now try and find a dry bit and sit down.’
Doris couldn’t have felt more miserable. All her feelings that Mrs McCormack wasn’t so bad after all dissipated into the stench about them. She perched on the edge of the seat, hoping it was a dry patch, as they rattled back through the countryside in silence. A vain hope began to unfurl in Doris’s breast. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to find a place for her after all. And she could be taken back home to London. To her mum and dad.
Mrs Jenkins proved to be not such a bad sort at all, and met them with a broad if weary smile. ‘You must be Doris. I’ve come to collect you in my car. I do hope you were expecting me? So, say goodbye to your teacher, Mrs McCormack, isn’t it? But I’m afraid I’ll have to hurry you. My original group are all waiting in the village hall, and nothing can go ahead without me.’
In actual fact, it was a relief to Doris to bid Mrs McCormack a swift farewell. She knew that some teachers were going to stay with their pupils, but evidently that wasn’t the plan for Mrs McCormack. And Doris supposed that someone had to stay behind to teach the children whose parents refused to let them be evacuated. She followed Mrs Jenkins out of the station, glancing back over her shoulder to see Mrs McCormack march out of her life for ever. She didn’t know at that point that she was never to see her teacher again, nor any of her classmates.
‘Well, Doris, welcome to Kent,’ Mrs Jenkins said, starting up her car. ‘Poor soul, you must be exhausted and feel as if you’ve been pushed from pillar to post. But never mind. It won’t take us long to get there, and I’m pretty sure we’ll find somewhere nice to billet you. You’ll be out in the country in a village. D’you think you’ll like that?’
Gazing out of the window, Doris saw that they had very quickly left the town which looked quite attractive in itself. Hardly the built-up, smoggy London she knew! Mrs Jenkins had advised her to wind down the car window a little as it was so warm, and she felt the fresh, sweet-smelling air waft against her face. What joy after the stinking compartment where she’d spent the last hour or so. And she’d visited the cou
ntryside with her parents before, and always loved it. She just hoped wherever she ended up would be welcoming and friendly.
‘Yes, I think I will,’ she answered, although her shy heart still thumped in her chest. For now she really had to face the prospect of a new home.
Five
‘Can you eat them ones, miss?’
The boy tugged at Meg’s sleeve as she led the motley procession along the lane from the village to Robin Hill House. It was Friday 1st September, and it had been a long day for the thousands of children who’d said goodbye to their mothers at London’s main railway stations and at other major towns and cities throughout the country that were considered at risk from enemy attack.
Clarrie had pre-organised with Mrs Jenkins, the billeting officer, that she would take in two families with children not yet at school which was the age limit for when their mothers could be evacuated with them. She’d been told in advance that she’d been allocated families Durr and Higginbottom. One would take the chauffeur’s cottage and would cater for themselves, while the other would occupy the largest guest room in the main house.
Putting her heart and soul into the organisation of the evacuees, Clarrie had anticipated that the walk from the village to the house would be far too long for these little families. So that Monday, instead of driving himself up to London, Wig had gone by train, staying during the week, as he had been for months now, at his club. Thus the motorcar was available to give the mothers and their small children a lift. Ralph was driving it since Wig’s young chauffeur, Vic, had already been called up. And so Mrs Higginbottom with her five- and three-year-old sons and bouncing six-month-old baby daughter had been collected from the village hall in the Daimler.
‘Flipping ’eck,’ Mrs Higginbottom had declared, climbing into the back of the posh motorcar with her double chins and her equally chubby infant. ‘Don’t yer touch nuffing,’ she’d commanded her two other offspring. ‘Keep yer sticky fingers to yerselves.’ And then she’d amused Meg by giving a regal wave as they were driven off.