A Place to Call Home

by Tania Crosse

  The Durr family who were going to live in the chauffeur’s cottage were going to have to wait for the car to return for them. Back inside the hall, the sour-faced mother was complaining, ‘Don’t see why they should go first. That brat’ll probably be sick in the car and we’ll have to put up with the smell.’

  Meg rolled her eyes at the woman’s moaning, but she supposed it had been a long and disconcerting day for everyone. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so, Mrs Durr,’ she attempted to pacify her. ‘It’s just that with the baby, Mrs C thought it best we didn’t keep them hanging around any longer. It isn’t far, so the car will be back before you know it. Why don’t you all have another sandwich while you’re waiting?’

  The two little girls’ eyes lit up and they dived towards the table, scoffing as much into their mouths as they could. Mrs Durr huffily hitched up her bosom as she threw Meg a cold glance – but nevertheless filled herself a plate of scones and biscuits.

  ‘Take your pick of the rest, Mrs Stratfield-Whyte,’ Meg heard Mrs Jenkins tell Clarrie as she turned her attention back to the others in the hall. ‘As you’re taking so many, you can have first choice. Only please don’t take too long. You can see there’s a lot of other people waiting.’

  Meg exchanged glances with Mrs C. She could tell the mistress was thinking exactly the same as she was. It was like a cattle market.

  Clarrie blinked her eyes wide. How could you choose just like that? Her gaze passed bewilderedly along the line of children. She’d love to scoop them all into her arms, tell them how she’d take care of each and every one as if they were her own. Take them all into her house. But there simply wasn’t enough room.

  She was grateful when she felt Meg tap her on the shoulder.

  ‘Mrs C, don’t forget we need two boys for the attic rooms,’ she whispered. ‘How about those two?’ Meg jabbed her head at a couple of boys so identical they had to be twins. She hated thinking that way, but they looked quite strong and with so many mouths to feed, they might be needed to work in the vegetable garden.

  ‘Right,’ Clarrie agreed. And then raising her voice, she went on, ‘Mrs Jenkins, I’ll take those two boys, please. They look like twins, so they can stay together.’

  ‘Cor, thanks, missis,’ one of them said, stepping forward confidently. ‘Come on, Cyril.’

  ‘Excellent, Mrs Stratfield-Whyte. Thank you.’ Mrs Jenkins smiled efficiently. ‘You boys must be Leslie and Cyril Langport,’ she confirmed, comparing their labels with her list. ‘Go and wait by the door. Mrs Stratfield-Whyte has other choices to make.’

  ‘Blimey, must be a big house,’ Meg caught Leslie whispering to his twin as they obeyed at once, and she smothered an amused chuckle.

  ‘If you’d like to help with keeping siblings together,’ Mrs Jenkins had continued, turning back to Clarrie, ‘may I suggest these two little girls, Joyce and Maureen Gregson? Aged, let me see, nine and ten.’

  Clarrie and Meg both looked to where the billeting officer was indicating two girls dressed neatly in what passed for school uniform. The similarity between them was striking, and they were holding hands, gripping each other tightly, their young faces tense with anticipation. Meg wasn’t at all surprised when Mrs C nodded without hesitation, and the sisters jumped up and down with relief at being billeted together.

  Meg noticed that the billeting officer, too, looked relieved that Clarrie had made her choices so swiftly. ‘Right, thank you, Mrs Stratfield-Whyte,’ the woman said decisively. ‘Two mothers with children under school age, the Langport twins and the Gregson girls. I’m sure we’re all very grateful to you. Now, if we can move on, please. Who’s next? Mr and Mrs Hillier?’

  Joyce and Maureen stepped forward, both smiling nervously, but Meg saw their expressions relax as Mrs C gestured a warm welcome to them. They all began to move towards the doors of the hall so that Ralph’s parents, Gabriel and Mary Hillier, could select an evacuee. With Ralph now living in the main house, they had a spare bedroom in the cottage and were more than happy to offer a home to an evacuated child.

  Now, as the two sisters moved away from the band of children being selected like apples from a barrel, Meg thought bitterly, she noticed another young girl who’d been cowering behind them. The poor thing looked so miserable, shoulders hunched and white face crumpling as if she might burst into tears at any moment, that the idea of leaving her behind made Meg’s heart sag. And she knew Gabriel and Mary were keen to offer a home to a boy rather than a girl so they were unlikely to choose her. They were used to a boy, Mary had explained. Having had Ralph so late in life, they were now both in their sixties, Gabriel nearer seventy, in fact. At that age, they felt they were getting too long in the tooth to learn new tricks. Besides, they had Ralph’s old toys, and nothing for a girl to play with.

  Meg felt a sudden rush of heat and touched her employer’s arm. ‘Mrs C, what about that little girl there? She looks terrified. We could look after her, too, couldn’t we? If the two sisters don’t mind sleeping in the double bed together, she could have the single room.’

  Mrs C glanced back over her shoulder, and saw the forlorn specimen that Meg had noticed. Something about the child must have, what? Stirred a memory, struck a chord with Mrs C, as Meg noticed her jerk backwards. She stared at the little girl for a moment, and then seemed to gather her wits as she stepped forward again.

  ‘Excuse me, Mrs Jenkins,’ she said, lifting her voice. ‘I think we can squeeze in one more if the sisters don’t mind sharing a room. It only has a double bed, though, so they’d have to sleep together.’

  ‘Oh, well, yes, that’d certainly be a help.’ The billeting officer puffed out her cheeks. ‘Girls, would you mind sharing?’

  Joyce and Maureen exchanged glances – and bubbly smiles. ‘We share a room at home, and we don’t mind a double bed, do we?’ the taller one answered. ‘Keep each other warmer at night. They say it’s colder in the country, don’t they?’

  ‘Well, thank you, girls. So, off you go, then, Doris,’ Mrs Jenkins instructed. ‘Told you we’d find you somewhere nice, didn’t I? Poor Doris got separated from the rest of her school, you see.’

  Doris picked up her little suitcase, her stomach still cramped with apprehension. There’d been more sandwiches and also cakes and lemonade when they’d finally arrived at the hall. She’d been thirsty, but still couldn’t swallow a morsel of food, lost among the band of strange children, some of whom already appeared to know each other, which made matters worse. When they’d been asked to stand in a long row so that the hosts could pick from them, once again, she’d deliberately hidden behind the two girls who were evidently sisters, hoping she wouldn’t be seen, and so would be sent home to her parents, after all.

  Now, though, it was too late. Her plan had failed. She felt her legs wobbling as she silently followed – what were their names? Oh, yes, Joyce and Maureen. She’d heard them talking while they’d waited, and they seemed very nice. Her sort of people, and also her sort of age, so she hoped they could become friends. That would be something, at least.

  And the tall, smartly dressed lady had lovely, smiling cornflower blue eyes. And then there was the older girl accompanying her. Her daughter, perhaps. She looked nice and friendly, as well. Mind you, Doris wasn’t sure whether to blame her for spotting her and destroying any chance she might have of going home, or to be grateful to her for getting her taken somewhere nice.

  She prayed it would turn out to be the latter, but it looked as though she would soon find out!

  *

  ‘Oh, yes, you can eat those all right,’ Meg answered Leslie’s question as she showed the five young strangers the way along the lane to Robin Hill House. ‘But there’s an awful lot of berries that are poisonous, so never eat anything unless you’re absolutely sure.’

  Doris had been keeping up with the older girl, rather than lagging behind. She seemed really friendly and one of those people she instantly felt at ease with. Doris definitely felt more confident by her side than if she’d hung to t
he back on her own. And she certainly didn’t want to get lost!

  ‘They’re blackberries, aren’t they?’ she surprised herself by venturing to ask.

  ‘Indeed they are,’ the older girl praised, making Doris feel a fraction more relaxed. ‘Been to the countryside before, have you, Doris?’

  Her question made Doris feel even better. ‘Yes, with Mummy and Daddy. We used to bring a basket with jars in it, and fill them with blackberries. And then Mummy’d make them into jam when we got home.’ Sadness pricked at Doris’s heart at the thought of her parents, but picturing them all together, picking fruit from the hedgerows, also made her feel a little more a part of her new surroundings.

  ‘That’s exactly what we do, too,’ Meg told her.

  ‘Cor, do yer?’ Leslie chipped in again, twisting his head about him as if he didn’t want to miss a thing. ‘We ain’t never bin ter the country before, me and Cyril.’

  ‘Really? Well, the blackberries are almost ready for picking,’ Meg explained to him, ‘especially if we get some rain in the next day or two to plump them up.’

  ‘Ain’t that stealing?’ Leslie’s frown was almost comical.

  ‘Not if you just take them from the hedgerows. We can all go out together on a blackberry expedition if you like. It’ll be great fun! We’ll pick lots, and then Mrs Phillips’ll turn them into jam, or maybe pies with apples from the orchard. That’s our cook, Mrs Phillips.’

  ‘Cor, you have a cook? Just like you see in some of them films?’

  ‘Well, with so many of us to feed, we need a cook. And we all hope you’re going to be very happy here. I know you’ll still have to go to school, but other than that, it’ll be like being on holiday, only not at the seaside.’

  ‘Holiday? Never had one of them, have we, Cyril?’

  He dug his twin playfully in the ribs, and Cyril, clearly the quieter of the two, muttered, ‘No, we ain’t.’ But he, too, was gazing all about him, eager to take everything in.

  ‘It was good of you to come with us, miss,’ Doris said politely, warming to their guide even more. ‘You could’ve just told us the way and gone in the car with your mother and that other family.’

  Meg slowed her pace, frowning. Her mother? But her mother was dead, so… And then the penny dropped. ‘Oh, no, she’s not my mother,’ she explained, pleasantly surprised that she hadn’t found the girl’s mistake upsetting. In fact, she found the idea that Mrs C could have been seen as her mother somewhat attractive. ‘She’s the mistress. Mrs Stratfield-Whyte. Only that’s a bit of a mouthful, so we all call her Mrs C. Because her Christian name’s Clarissa.’

  ‘And presumably there’s a Mr… Whatever-it-is Whyte?’ Doris asked, for somehow she felt that getting all these strangers and their names fixed inside her head would give her more confidence.

  ‘Oh, yes. He has a big factory in the East End, so he stays in London during the week. Usually he doesn’t get home till Saturday afternoon, but he’s hoping to get back tonight so he’s got more time to get to know you all.’

  ‘So, d’yer have a shortened name for him as well?’ Leslie wanted to know.

  ‘Ah, yes, we do.’ Meg could already guess at the boy’s reaction, and amusement tugged at her lips. ‘Now don’t laugh, but his name’s Wigmore. But we call him Mr Wig or plain Mr W.’

  She could see Leslie’s face turn red as he tried to suppress his mirth. But he didn’t succeed and exploded in a roar of laughter, dropping the pillowcase that served as his suitcase in order to lean his hands on his knees. ‘He ain’t… bald, is he?’ he spluttered. ‘And he don’t have ter… wear a wig?’ he guffawed. And his brother started to laugh, as well.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Meg replied, unable to prevent her own giggle. ‘I’d never heard of it before, either. But I think it’s rather distinguished once you get used to it. And he’s such a nice man. Of course, we all show them both utter respect, but they never put on airs and graces. We’re like one big happy family, and I’m sure you’ll all feel like that, too.’

  They had all come to a halt, waiting for Leslie to bring his chortling under control. But hysterical tears were still coursing down his cheeks. Every time his merriment began to subside, it burst out afresh.

  Meg couldn’t be annoyed. They weren’t in any hurry, and the boy’s overreaction was probably a result of the day’s tensions.

  ‘Shall we have a rest?’ she suggested, prompted by Leslie’s pillowcase lying on the tarmac. ‘It’s not that far to the house now, but you have all got your luggage to carry. Come over here onto the verge and sit down. The ground’s quite dry.’

  There was a general rumble of agreement and the little tribe moved off the road to sit down on the verge.

  ‘This could be a good opportunity for us all to introduce ourselves properly,’ Meg suggested, beaming round at her charges. ‘Now, Leslie and Cyril, I think you’ve already done so in your own way!’ she laughed. ‘So, Doris, you go first,’ she encouraged. ‘Tell us a bit about yourself.’

  She watched as Doris bit nervously on her lower lip, and then took a deep breath. ‘Well, I like school,’ the child began, slowly gaining confidence. ‘I don’t have any brothers or sisters. Daddy works in an office, but Mummy doesn’t go out to work. She keeps the house really nice. It’s only small, but it shines like a new pin.’

  ‘Wish we had a house,’ Joyce, the elder of the two sisters, chimed in. ‘Our dad’s a baker and we live in the flat above. Mummy helps him in the shop, too. She makes fruit tarts and we often help her. That’s how I knew about the blackberries, too. Maureen and me, we’ve only been to the country once. Couple of years ago.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’ll be very happy here,’ Meg smiled.

  ‘Think we will,’ Joyce answered, and then she asked, ‘So, who are you, then?’

  Meg was pleased that everyone seemed to be more relaxed now. ‘Oh, I should’ve said. I’m Meg. Meg Chandler. And I have two jobs at the house. I’m supposed to be parlourmaid. That means I’m supposed to clean the parlour, well, drawing room actually, and be around when we have visitors. To open the door to them, serve at table, that sort of thing. Since the butler retired, that is. But don’t worry. We don’t really have those sort of visitors very often,’ she added hastily, observing the suddenly worried expressions on their faces. ‘But my main job is as farm manager.’

  ‘So there’s a farm as well?’ Cyril’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. ‘But yer can’t be a farmer. Yer a girl.’

  ‘Ah, ha, you’d be surprised what girls can do, you know!’ she gently chided him. ‘I was training to be Mrs C’s lady’s maid, only we needed to make the farm pay, so I didn’t have time to carry on training if I needed to concentrate on the farm. Ralph helps me. He was the one driving the car,’ she explained, feeling a delicious warmth spreading through her as she thought of him. ‘But his main job is as head gardener, growing all the fruit and vegetables we eat. Mr and Mrs Hillier who you might’ve seen at the hall just now, they’re his parents. They live in a cottage in the grounds of the house.’

  ‘Cor, yer blushing, miss,’ Leslie teased, now that his own hysterical laughter had finally subsided. ‘Is this Ralph yer sweetheart or something? Then we’ll have ter remember ter give yer some privacy, won’t we?’

  ‘Well, yes. As a matter of fact, he is.’

  Meg caught her breath. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks and was relieved when Leslie gave a light laugh.

  ‘Don’t worry. Only teasing,’ he grinned. ‘Does that a lot, I do. Tease. Don’t mean nuffing by it. Just clout us round the ear if I go too far. Our dad hits me and Cyril all the time, so we’re used ter it.’

  Meg didn’t know what to say. That sounded awful. But Mr W had warned them that some of the children would come from dreadful backgrounds, so she supposed it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

  ‘Is everyone ready to go on?’ she asked to diffuse the situation, and in reply, they all stood up again. Just as they were setting off on the last leg, Ralph’s pa
rents came round the bend with a little lad of about seven walking between them. He was holding Mary’s hand, gazing up at her adoringly, almost as if she was his real-life granny, and chatting away nineteen to the dozen.

  ‘This is young Ed,’ Gabriel introduced him. ‘Been explaining to him how we’ll all be living together, even if he’s officially at the cottage with us.’

  ‘Hello, Ed,’ Meg said, bending down to him and holding out her hand.

  The boy frowned at her and then held out his own hand. ‘Hello. Who are you, then?’

  ‘I’m Meg. And I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other very well.’

  ‘I saw you were all sitting down,’ Mary puffed. ‘What a good idea. Shall we sit down, Ed, and have a rest? You can go on telling me all about your family, and we’ll catch the others up in a bit.’

  ‘Better go. Looks like my lot are anxious to get there. See you later.’ Meg jerked her head towards the twins and the three girls who’d already set off again down the lane. She hurried after them, taking the suitcase from Maureen who was struggling with her luggage. And then Meg noticed with a secret smile that Cyril had given his pillowcase – which hardly appeared to have anything in it – to his brother, so that he could carry Joyce’s and Doris’s cases for them. Meg experienced a surge of relief. There might be some difficult moments ahead, due mainly to the children’s differing backgrounds, but she felt it in her bones that all was going to turn out rather well.

  They were just approaching the drive when the Daimler turned out of it. Ralph stopped the car and wound down the window.

  ‘I was just coming to pick up the stragglers, but I see I’m too late.’

  ‘Your mum and dad were behind us, though,’ Meg informed him. ‘Nice little lad called Ed they’ve got. But your mum looked really tired.’