A Place to Call Home

by Tania Crosse

  ‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to go in among—’

  ‘Oh, I’m glad I’ve found one of you!’ an irate voice launched itself at them, and Meg turned to see Mrs Durr emerging from the chauffeur’s cottage with her two little girls in tow. Earlier she’d declined Meg’s invite to be shown about the grounds with a frosty glare. ‘How the devil am I supposed to cook on that thing in there?’ she demanded now, poking her face belligerently into Meg’s.

  Meg blinked at her, raising her eyebrows in affronted surprise. ‘The range, you mean? But we left you a supply of coal.’

  ‘Yes, but the blessed thing won’t light. I demand a gas oven!’

  Meg had to stop herself from laughing at the woman’s stupidity. ‘Well, I’m sorry, but there isn’t any gas. We’re miles from the nearest gas main.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Look,’ Meg said, trying to calm her down. ‘Would you like me to show you?’

  ‘Well, someone better had!’

  ‘Doris, you catch the others up,’ Meg told her young charge. ‘The farmyard’s just there, beyond the other cottage. Only make sure nobody lets the pigs out. They’re devils to catch!’

  Some twenty minutes later, having got the range lit again, Meg was grateful to join her young charges in the farmyard. Mrs Durr seemed like a woman never to be satisfied and even when Meg had left, had still been complaining. So Meg was relieved to catch up with the others again. To her delight, Doris was leaning over the wall of the pigsty with the others, laughing at the pigs as they snuffled noisily at the heap of fallen apples. Apart from the Durr family, everyone seemed to be getting on so well, settling in nicely. And when all the children had eventually gone to bed that evening, they had done so with reluctance, they were all enjoying themselves so much.

  Now as Meg cocked an ear along the landing, not a sound came from the spacious room at the far end where the copious Mrs Higginbottom was asleep with her three little ones. All was indeed so peaceful as Meg went to cross back along the corridor in the central part of the house and climb the stairs to the female servants’ quarters in the west wing.

  Something, though, made her pause as she padded along the corridor. She just caught a tiny, faint whimper, so low that at first, she thought she was mistaken. But then she heard it again. Oh, dear. Poor little Doris was crying.

  Meg tapped lightly on the door, and when she didn’t get an answer, she gently pushed it open just enough to slip inside and tiptoe across to the bed. Unlike the sisters who’d evidently felt relaxed enough to sleep in total darkness, Doris had left on the bedside lamp. Meg could see she was curled up under the covers, sobbing quietly into the pillow. She didn’t seem to have noticed Meg enter the room, but when Meg called out softly, ‘You all right, Doris?’ the child’s sobs instantly ceased, although she didn’t move a muscle.

  ‘Yes,’ her muffled young voice croaked in a whisper.

  Meg bit on her bottom lip. What a stupid question. Of course Doris wasn’t all right.

  ‘Is there anything I can do, sweetheart?’ she asked, her words soft with compassion. ‘Has anyone said anything to upset you?’

  Doris shook her head without shifting her face from the pillow. ‘No, nothing like that,’ she muttered.

  ‘Then, what, love?’ Meg perched on the edge of the bed and hooking the girl’s bouncing halo of red curls back from her face, she heard Doris give a big sniff.

  ‘I just miss Mummy and Daddy,’ Doris managed to gulp. ‘And I don’t know when I’ll see them again.’

  ‘Oh, Doris.’ Meg’s sigh was heartfelt, and she stroked Doris’s shoulder. The child couldn’t resist the sympathetic gesture and scrambled up to fling her arms about Meg’s neck and bury her head against her.

  Meg lifted her chin, closing her eyes as the constriction tore at her throat. It brought everything back to her, her own first days at Robin Hill House when she’d felt so desperate and alone, despite everyone’s kindness – apart from Esme Carter who’d been spiteful towards her from the start.

  ‘I know, I know,’ she crooned, rocking Doris back and forth. ‘I know what it’s like to miss your mum and dad.’

  She wasn’t sure whether she’d actually spoken the words. They were more locked inside her head. If she had said them, she was relieved when Doris didn’t appear to have heard. But then the girl pulled back and gazed up at her.

  ‘Where are your mum and dad, then?’ she asked through her tears.

  Meg felt her heart twist in pain. How could she tell Doris that she herself had suffered what the child feared so terribly? Yet if she made up some story and the truth came out later, it would destroy the trust Doris seemed to have found in her.

  ‘They died a few years ago,’ she muttered hesitantly, dreading the effect it might have on the child. ‘So I really do understand how you feel.’

  Doris sniffed again and stared at her with eyes widened as she tried to stem her tears. She said nothing, but nodded and used her fingers to wipe her wet cheeks. She seemed calmer now, though, and she didn’t even seem to mind that Thimble had followed Meg into the room and was lying patiently on the rug by the bed. But Meg didn’t think she should leave Doris quite yet. And then she spied the cuddly toy tucked into the bedclothes.

  ‘D’you like the teddy bear? We knew you wouldn’t be allowed to bring much with you, so Mrs C made a collection around the village from people who wouldn’t be able to take any children. But she gave them all to the less well-off host families, and bought new ones for all of you. Wasn’t that kind of her?’

  Doris gave a final sniff and nodded again, the hint of a smile on her face.

  Feeling encouraged, Meg went on, ‘And what sort of games d’you like to play?’

  ‘Oh, well, all sorts, really.’ Doris was talking normally again now. ‘Skipping, and doing cat’s cradle and French knitting and that sort of thing. And I like painting and drawing, but I’m not very good.’

  ‘Oh, I expect you are. I like art, as well. Watercolour mainly. I’ve got lots of paints and everything. Mr W’s brother’s a famous artist, and he gave me some. We’ll have to do some painting together, won’t we? Would you like that?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’ Doris looked much happier now.

  ‘You can do some paintings of the house and the gardens, and give them to your mummy and daddy when they come to visit, can’t you? But for now, I think you should get some sleep or you won’t enjoy tomorrow. And school starts in just a few days. They’ve said it might have to be on a rota system to take in all the new children in the village, but we’ll have to see. Now, snuggle down. Shall I leave the light on, or shall I turn it off for you, and leave the door open a little bit? We’re going to leave a light on in the corridor overnight.’

  ‘Yes, do that, please. Leave the door open.’

  ‘Yes, OK.’ Meg stood up, turning off the bedside lamp. ‘I’m afraid I sleep up in the attic on the other side, but if you get scared in the night again, Nana May’s in the next room on the other side of the narrow stairs. She might be getting on, but she was a proper nanny in her time, and she’ll look after you.’

  ‘Thanks, Meg,’ Doris said, wriggling herself comfortable and closing her eyes.

  ‘Sleep tight, then.’

  Meg couldn’t resist bending down and kissing the child’s hair before she padded out of the room, Thimble at her heels. She felt such affinity with Doris. And with her fears. Of course, virtually every evacuated child old enough to understand would feel the same, and many wouldn’t have ended up in such a safe, peaceful haven as Robin Hill House, poor mites.

  Oh, this horrible, horrible war. And it hadn’t even started yet. Everybody was going to be living in mortal fear of losing someone they loved. Despite herself, Meg had eventually found, if not a cure for her grief, then at least some sort of reason to go on after her parents’ deaths. But now the fear had taken a stranglehold on her throat once again. What if Ralph had to go and fight? What if she lost him, too? Surely she couldn’t go on without him. She nee
ded him to breathe, to wake up in the morning and know he’d be there. Oh, no, she couldn’t go through all that again. It would kill her.

  She dragged herself along the corridor and up the stairs to the attic room she shared with Jane. The country was expecting news in the morning. And it was likely to be of the worst sort.

  *

  ‘Quickly, everyone,’ Wig urged, ushering everyone into the drawing room.

  The following morning, Sunday 3rd September, Meg had been sent to round everyone up as the appointed hour approached. Wig and Clarrie had only just got back from church with the three girls, who were the only evacuees with a religious upbringing. Everyone was to congregate in the drawing room. Normally it was to be out of bounds to the house guests, but it was the only room that had a radio and was large enough to accommodate them all. There was no point excluding the children. The older ones knew perfectly well what was going on, and the news would go over the heads of those too young to understand.

  As she counted everybody into the room, Meg could feel the blood trundling through her veins. This was going to be it, no matter how hard she clung to the hope that it wasn’t. It was just like when her parents had died and when she’d lost the farm. And when Ralph had emerged from the woods carrying Mercury’s body.

  The crushing memories flooded back. Only this time, Meg wasn’t alone in her fears. Whatever the outcome of this broadcast by the Prime Minister, it would affect every person in the room. Everyone together, every member of staff, even Gabriel and Mary and Ed, even though they had their own radio set. There was a desperate need for these people, so many of them strangers to one another, to have each other’s support.

  Wig turned on the radio. As it crackled and spluttered while he tuned it, an unearthly hush settled on the room. It was uncanny, the tension, the sadness, that sizzled from one person to the next, the silent, wan smiles that were exchanged. Wig got a good signal and then stood back, consulting his watch. Twelve minutes past eleven.

  Little Bella Higginbottom started to yell. Her mother bounced her up and down on her lap. She yelled louder. Penelope Higginbottom quickly exposed one of her pendulous breasts and thrust the nipple into Bella’s mouth. No one batted an eyelid as silence was resumed – apart from Mrs Durr who couldn’t resist tutting even at this most solemn moment.

  The broadcast began. Meg hardly dared breathe. Felt Ralph take her hand. Couldn’t look at him. Stared at the radio.

  Neville Chamberlain’s clear, clipped tones, his voice solemn. He didn’t beat about the bush. In two sentences he confirmed what, in their hearts, they all knew. Britain was at war with Germany.

  There was no gasp, no sigh. Just a stunned stillness, utter quiet apart from Bella’s lusty sucking as the speech went on, short and to the point.

  When it was over, Meg noticed Mrs C lift her eyes to her husband’s face. Her expression said it all. Not again.

  ‘That’s it, then, ain’t it?’ Even Leslie, who they’d all learnt in the last two days never held back, had spoken in a near whisper. But in a way, everyone was glad he’d broken the silence. People began to talk, to move, or still sat quietly.

  ‘Well, I’m not going to let Hitler ruin our first Sunday roast together!’ Mrs Phillips declared, suddenly springing to her feet. ‘I’ll show him that we British have our standards. Come on, Jane, Louise. Back to work.’

  Meg waited, immobile, for the news to sink in. At length, Ralph stood up and Meg copied him. She took Doris’s hand as the poor girl was looking shocked and bewildered, and somehow everyone spilled out onto the terrace.

  ‘Doesn’t seem right somehow, does it, on such a beautiful day?’ Meg muttered, gazing up at the blue sky.

  ‘Cor, look at that!’ Leslie shrieked, pointing vigorously.

  ‘That’s London, ain’t it?’ Cyril piped up.

  All eyes turned towards the capital. Far away, above the distant skyline, dozens of barrage balloons were floating upwards like silver cigars.

  ‘What are those things?’ Ed asked, his face a strange mixture of fear and awe.

  ‘Them’s to help stop enemy planes,’ Cyril told him. ‘Part full of gas to make ’em float, and held ter the ground with metal cables. Yer don’t want ter fly inter that!’

  Ed’s little face had hardly had time to register his reaction when a haunting, bone-chilling wail came from the siren in the village and everyone froze in mid sentence, mid step, mid thought. The ghostly sound turned every stomach. Terrified, bewildered looks flew from one face to the other.

  It was Clarrie who galvanised everyone into action. ‘Oh, dear God, not so soon!’ she cried.

  ‘Quickly, down the shelters!’ Wig took command. ‘Just as we rehearsed yesterday.’

  They all immediately hurried down to the three shelters Ralph and Bob had dug out in the grounds. No one had ever dreamt they’d be needed so soon. Meg called to the dogs and counted in the five evacuees and the female staff, as was the plan. The two families were to go in the second shelter, and Mrs C, Nana May, and Ralph’s parents with Ed in the third, smaller one. Each person had their allocated role to play so that everyone was safely inside.

  Meg hesitated by the door.

  ‘Go on, in you go, and put the sandbags up behind the door.’

  Meg stared, motionless, into Ralph’s beloved face.

  ‘But… you…’

  ‘You know Mr W and Bob and I will be on ARP duty when there’s a raid. And look, Mr W’s waiting.’

  ‘Ralph, take care!’ she squealed as she dragged herself inside, and Leslie and Cyril took delight in piling up the sandbags on the inside of the closed door. The two storm lamps had been lit, casting an eerie glow on the ashen faces of the three little girls, while Jane, Louise and Sally huddled together in the shadows.

  ‘If my roast dinner burns because of that blooming Hitler, I’ll give him what for if I ever meet him!’ Mrs Phillips declared.

  Seven

  ‘Have you always lived here, Mrs C?’ Joyce asked as they all walked along the lane towards the village.

  It was the following Wednesday morning, and Clarrie had taken it upon herself to help Meg accompany the children to school. Until they knew exactly what the position was going to be regarding the different classes, she wasn’t going to let them take the long walk on their own. One of the teachers from the twins’ school was staying in the village for the duration as well, to help continue the pupils’ education as well as possible. But there was also the problem of how many children could physically fit into the classrooms, and also into the shelters should there be an air raid.

  So, whether or not each child could be accommodated for a full day’s schooling every day of the week was yet to be ascertained. Once a full timetable had been worked out, if the twins’ walk to and from school coincided with that of the younger children, it would be acceptable for them to go without an adult. But until everything was settled, Clarrie was determined to go with them all each day.

  ‘The exercise will do me good,’ she’d answered Nana May’s sceptical look.

  But Nana May could see right through her. Clarissa was relishing playing mother to all her young charges. Tragedy and fate might have robbed her of that role with a child of her own, but now she was going to seize with both hands the opportunity to live the dream for real.

  ‘No, we used to live in London actually,’ she answered Joyce’s question now. ‘But it was a long time ago.’

  ‘Really? What part?’

  ‘Knightsbridge.’

  ‘Oo, posh, then.’ Joyce seemed impressed. ‘No wonder you’ve got such a big place here. So why did you leave London when Mr W still has his factory there?’

  Clarrie felt that little tweak in her heart. But she couldn’t blame Joyce. She was the most inquisitive of the three girls, and the most confident. But Clarrie couldn’t tell her they’d left London all that time ago because of a little girl with red hair just like Doris’s.

  ‘Well, we just felt we’d had enough of the big city,’ she repli
ed with a half-truth, crushing the still hurtful memories. ‘I always liked the countryside, so we decided to make a fresh start. And we’ve been here ever since. Nearly twenty years now.’

  ‘That’s a long time. So, d’you know lots of people in the village, then? We know all our neighbours. Forever in and out of each other’s houses, borrowing a cup of sugar, that sort of thing,’ Joyce told her with a knowing sigh. ‘Mum gets a bit cross sometimes ’cos some people think ’cos we have a shop, they don’t have to pay it back.’

  ‘Oh, that must be very cross-making. But yes, I know a lot of people in the village,’ Clarrie nodded, imagining the scene Joyce was painting. She could easily picture the long terraces of little houses in London’s narrow back streets, so overcrowded that they lived out of each other’s pockets. ‘I’m patron of the village committee. Which is how I’ve managed to track down a pram for little Bella so that poor Mrs Higginbottom doesn’t have to carry her everywhere.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve never seen such a fat baby, not that I’d say so, of course,’ Joyce laughed. ‘And I’ve never met anyone as fat as Mrs Higginbottom, either. Or as funny!’

  Walking behind them with Doris and Maureen, Meg caught Joyce’s words and chuckled to herself. The two other girls must have heard, too, as they both giggled, Doris with her hand over her mouth. Meg was glad that, bringing up the rear with Ed and Mrs Higginbottom’s eldest, Sammy, the twins had been too far away to hear – or heaven knew what comments Leslie might have made on the homely woman’s ample figure!

  ‘Cor, is that… is that bird real?’ Cyril gasped in astonishment, catching Meg up and pointing to a little creature flitting about in the hedgerow.

  ‘Mmm, that’s right, a robin. Like you get on Christmas cards.’

  ‘Blimey, I thought they was just painted red ’cos of Christmas. Didn’t realise they was real. Only birds we ever see are blooming pigeons and all they do is splat all over yer.’

  ‘Yes, they do make a mess, don’t they?’ Meg chuckled. ‘But surely you get other birds apart from pigeons in London? I’ve never been, you see.’