by Dawson, H A
Mathematics always struggled to generate interest in Janet, and she often bemoaned her concerns to her parents. They didn’t seem to care whether she learnt anything or not, and told her that so long as she could do the important task of totalling rationing coupons for purchases, everything else was superfluous.
Bacon, butter and sugar were the first food items rationed, and there was worse to come. She recalled her parents talking about it, complaining that it was unfair, and saying that the rich would get more. It puzzled Janet. Her teacher had told her that rationing would ensure that everyone received equal amounts of food, yet it seemed that that was not the case. Why would her teacher lie?
Her belly started to rumble as she copied the sums from the blackboard to her notebook. It was not as if they were even missing out. Food had always been scarce for them; they struggled to afford to buy all that had been set aside, let alone more. Fighting her hunger pangs, she yearned for a bar of chocolate, its fine taste melting in her mouth. It had always been a rare treat, an indulgence, and never more so than now.
The air raid siren sounded an undulating howl, and Janet jerked. It was a timely interruption, and whilst the teacher instructed the class to form a queue, she thrust her belongings into her bag, a well-practised response, and chatted in a high-pitched enthusiastic tone to Alice.
It was such a familiar routine that she knew where to go and what to do, and her eagerness reflected in her steps. Struggling to obey the command to walk, as was the case with the other children, her pace grew faster until there was a mad charge to the school shelter.
It was dark, smelly, and cold inside, and not a place to look forward to visiting, yet for some reason she did. It was a change from her routine, and a chance to talk to her friends, even if it was only until the teacher regained command and forced everyone to recite lessons or sing.
Having positioned herself on the cold concrete, she strained her ears to listen to the sound of planes and explosions. But it was difficult to hear anything above the racket, and in particular above the animated noises and impressions of aircraft coming from the boys. The girls, on the other hand, huddled in groups.
Alice nudged her in the ribs. ‘I heard on the wireless that children are going to be evacuated.’
‘Evacuated?’
‘Yes, sent away. We’ll leave our families behind and everything.’
Shock stilled Janet. ‘Who’ll look after us?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Will we be able to go together?’
‘Mum says not. She said it’d be like a holiday, just until the bombing stops. They can’t keep us safe anymore.’
‘I don’t want to go.’
‘We won’t have a choice.’
‘But my dad’s not gone to war,’ Janet said, ‘he’ll keep me safe.’
Janet drew strength from the sorrow that slipped to Alice’s face and assumed that she would be able to stay with her family, her sister and brothers, her mother and father. Even so, life was different now. Due to her father’s weak back, he no longer worked for the council but as an air raid precaution warden, protecting civilians from harm. It was a commendable role, and for the first time in years, he seemed fulfilled.
Janet leaned back against the wall, pride enriching her face, and thought of him bravely patrolling the streets at night, searching for lights in the blackout that could guide the Germans to targets.
‘Is your mum going to work?’ Alice said.
‘She doesn’t want to, says she has enough to do in the house.’
‘My mum can’t wait. She’s loving the chance to do something else.’
‘Have you heard from your dad?’
‘No. Mum worries all the time. She won’t talk about it, though. You don’t know how lucky you are, having him around.’
Janet’s secreted smile faded as the teacher started talking again, but her words dissolved into insignificance as the screeching sound of aircraft flew overhead. The explosion nearby caused everyone to scream and jolt, their hands reaching out to their neighbours and griping with desperation.
In an attempt to maintain calm, the singing began, but it was difficult to acquire any enthusiasm. The teachers guided, and one by one, the small squeaky voices of the children broadened and the violent sounds coming from outside no longer held the same significance. Janet focused on the words of the familiar song, pleading with herself to stay calm and believe that she was safe inside the shelter. Images of her family sprung into her mind, from the lively banter of her brothers and sister to the concerned expressions of her parents. She prayed for their safety, fearing she could not cope if anything happened to them, and wondered about the evacuation.
Why could they not all leave together? There must be safe places somewhere nearby. They should do it immediately whilst they still had the chance. It was all too difficult to comprehend how her separation from the family would be a good thing. Without them, she was nothing; they were her life, her only desires.
Janet tapped Alice on her legs. ‘This evacuation . . . where are they sending us to?’
‘Somewhere far away I think.’
‘And it’s just the children?’
Alice nodded.
‘Why can’t everyone go?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m looking forward to it. This war scares me.’
‘Me too.’
Janet breathed in the fresh air as she stepped out of the shelter and into the playground, and scanned her surroundings for damage. The school was intact and the nearby houses also. With her school bag in one hand and her boxed gasmask flung over her shoulder, she trotted towards her home, late and hungry.
Farther down an adjacent street, there was smoke and a devastated building. Glass, bricks, and shrapnel littered the road and pavements, and cars had been destroyed, with windows shattered and bodywork dented. Stiffening with terror, her legs refused to move, and for a moment she stood, her mouth agape and her stomach tumbling. It was difficult for her to understand how the building could crumble; it had been there hours’ previous, standing tall and proud. Why were the Germans acting in such a horrendous manner? What had they done that was so wrong? Sickness gathered in her throat.
A rhythmical padding sound refocused her attention. She turned her head and looked to two women deep in conversation and nearing her rear. Much further behind were groups of children, their banter animated, their anxieties lacking. Unable to understand how they could disregard the mess, she scanned the piles of brick, broken concrete and ripped out windows and a vision of her own battered home appeared in her mind. She started to run.
Her street was as she left it. She scurried past a mother and a child, and a suited man with a bag, and trotted to the safety of her house. Breathless, she pressed on the handle. The door swung open.
At the end of the hallway was the kitchen. Her mother, who was standing beside a unit, turned her head, but rather than greeting her with a smile and a chirpy voice, she asked where the others were.
‘They’re coming. I wanted to get home.’
‘You should have stayed together.’
‘A building near the school was bombed, you should see it. There’s nothing left. It could have been the school.’
Betty fleetingly locked eyes.
‘They made us sing,’ Janet continued, ‘but we could still hear the planes. Some of the younger ones were crying.’
‘Go and change. I’ve food to prepare.’
‘I thought you’d be interested.’
‘I am, but not now.’
Janet’s head dropped. She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed upstairs, walking into the fading light and the bedroom. She was straining her eyes even before she closed the heavy blackout curtains but then had to travel blind, weaving past the two beds, hers and her sisters, and ambled downstairs.
The faint light of the candles crept across the small rectangular room, illuminating her mother in a shadowy glow. It was the only available light since the bombing had disrupted
the gas supply a few days previous; it was a frustrating consequence of war.
Janet lingered at the doorway, observing her mother’s pensive demeanour. ‘Is it true that children are going to be evacuated?’
Betty turned her head and frowned. ‘Where have you heard that?’
‘Alice heard it on the wireless. Is it true?’
‘Maybe just for a short while, until the worst of the bombing is over.’
‘What if I don’t want to go?’
‘It’ll be fun, like a holiday.’
‘Can you come too?’
‘I’ll be staying here.’
‘If you can stay, why can’t I?’
‘You ask too many questions! Go put some candles on in the living room, and draw all the curtains. Your father will be back soon.’
She trudged away, her anxieties dancing in her stomach. She would be leaving her parents and going to live with a stranger. It was a terrifying thought and not something she would ever learn to enjoy.
Within minutes, the rest of her family arrived and the peace was broken. Doors slammed, feet pounded the stairs, and the wireless switched on. Her father immediately commanded it to be turned off, claiming he didn’t want to hear any more bad news. Janet was the nearest and so obliged, and then concentrated her courage.
‘What is it you don’t want us to hear?’
He gave her a curious stare before catching Betty’s eye.
‘She’s been asking about the evacuation,’ her mother said softly.
Eric looked at Janet, his eyes ablaze. ‘I don’t want you talking about it. Do you hear?’
She nodded.
‘You’ll scare the others . . . and it might never happen.’
She nodded again.
‘Now set the table.’
She did as per instruction and then when her mother announced food, the others raced to the table. It was a meagre ration, but no one complained, and it satisfied her ravenous appetite.
‘I missed English classes today,’ her sister said.
‘I missed maths,’ Janet added, ‘and English. I hate maths, so I was pleased, but I love English. I didn’t like missing it.’
‘You only need to be able to read and write,’ her father said, ‘you can do that already, can’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then missing a few classes is not going to be a problem.’
‘But I want to be an English teacher when I grew up.’
He puffed out. ‘You’ll be a wife and mother as you should be.’
‘Women can be teachers.’
‘Women should be at home. They don’t need much of an education.’
Janet could feel her anger tighten her face. He was wrong, but he was her father, and so she had to show him respect, regardless. She clamped shut her mouth and curled her fingers into a fist.
‘Look at your mother. She’s happy and she doesn’t work.’
Betty, wearing a stained patterned wrap-over dress and with a tired look in her eyes, did not display happiness or affection often. Her skin was a podgy grey, her lips pale and tight, and her chin jutting. Janet could not agree that her mother was content, and could not remember the last time she was anything other than a slave to their needs.
‘I was scared today,’ Janet’s sister announced. ‘I nearly cried, but my teacher told me we were safe.’
‘Then you were brave,’ Betty said.
‘Do I have to go to school? Can’t I stay with you?’
‘You have to go.’
‘I can already read and write and I don’t want to be a teacher.’
‘You still have to go.’
‘But I thought-’
Eric raised his hand. ‘If I had it my way you wouldn’t go, but it’s the law.’
Their exchange faded in Janet’s mind. Would she still go to school if she moved away? Did she care? It was preposterous to believe that the government were even considering parting families, and she could not imagine anything worse. She stomach swirled with thoughts of a horrifying loneliness. In the least brothers and sisters should stay as one unit. Aching with her apprehensions, she wished she had remained ignorant of her possible future.
It was official. An evacuation of the children was to take place. Janet’s teacher had talked about the procedure, which was a blessing since her parents refused to say much. Her mother was not chatty at the best of times and was particularly quiet whenever it was mentioned. When she did speak about it, she spoke with a positive slant, but Janet did not sense any real enthusiasm, and she wondered if she was wishing she were going too. It was a fantastic prospect, a holiday in the country and a time for new experiences.
When her teacher had spoken, excitement had buzzed through Janet’s veins and her first worries erased. Their destination seemed like another world, where vast open spaces dominated the land, vegetables grew in fields, and cows and sheep grazed. She had seen pictures of such places, but that was all, and she could only imagine what it would be like. ‘Grass as far as the eye can see,’ someone had said. Janet had looked along the road to a junction, a little distance away. ‘That far?’
However, now that her departure was imminent, Janet felt less sure of her feelings. Fighting the bubbles in her stomach, she nibbled at her breakfast, taking minute mouthfuls of porridge and feeling unable to digest it. She held the glutinous substance in her mouth and waited for it to slip down her throat before glancing to her parents. How many days would she be away? When would be the next time they all sat together to eat?
Eventually, she finished her food and was instructed to gather her belongings from upstairs and check she had everything packed: enough food for two days, a change of clothing, and washing items. Her teacher had also suggested taking a favourite book, but she had read everything she owned multiple times. Her disappointment lingered.
Janet perched on the edge of her bed and glanced around the room, and wondered what her holiday bedroom would be like. She had been told that she could be placed with other evacuees, and should make an effort to be amiable. She could do that. They would be able to share stories of their lives in the city. They could become firm friends.
The sound of a strained conversation, coming from her parents, caused her to step onto the landing.
‘I didn’t have kids to send them away,’ her mother said.
‘Just leave it. We’ll talk later.’
‘It’ll be too late then. When will I see them again?’
‘It won’t be long.’
‘But how long. I need to know.’
‘They’ll be safe. Is that not worth a small sacrifice?’
‘This isn’t a small sacrifice. How can we trust anyone else to bring them up proper?’
‘We have to.’
‘They’ll change,’ Betty said. ‘It’s different in the country, remember?’
‘Of course, I remember, and one day we will go back.’
‘Why not now?’
Eric was silent.
‘Well? It makes sense.’
‘We’ve talked about this,’ he said in an exasperated tone.
Something clattered to the floor causing Janet to jolt and then wonder if it was appropriate to spy.
‘I can’t believe you are okay with this,’ Betty said.
‘We have to be. It’s for the best.’
Janet waited, but they said nothing more. Moments later, her father called her back downstairs and told her to be good. Then her mother walked her to school. Her mother’s silence was draining. Janet wanted to share her excitement and chatter non-stop about what she was going to experience, but when she opened her mouth and looked at her mother, she saw tears in her eyes. Janet’s heart plummeted and her legs weakened and her niggles grew in strength. Every step was an effort; every step took her nearer to a massive change in her life.
The journey seemed to last forever. Her body ached with inaction and her stomach rumbled. Every now and again, she nibbled at her food, but upon recalling how her teachers had instruct
ed her not to eat everything at once, she put it aside and remained resolute to make it last.
She drifted in and out of sleep, peered through the window and into the strange empty world, and glanced across the carriage at the other children. It was a lonely experience, and she forced herself to think only of what was ahead of her. Being homesick was futile. She had witnessed weeping and woeful comments, and she had heard the unsympathetic replies. No one could change their situation; they had to make the most of it.
The train eased into a station and they were commanded to disembark. Away from the unwelcoming platform, which was dark, smelly, and colourless, were crowds of people all waiting for the evacuees to arrive. The children were driven like cattle towards them, and then they all stood in a line. Janet looked to her feet, and one by one, the strangers made their choices and guided them away. Her pulse raced and her mind a blur. No one wanted her.
Finally, a man and woman, smartly dressed, approached her, pinched her cheek, and walked her out of the station and through a maze of streets, speaking selectively. Janet’s steps were mechanical, her brain overwhelmed with new sights and sounds. Yet rather than it being a vast open space with trees and cattle, it was similar to her hometown and her disappointment lingered. They turned left, walking through a small square front garden, and opened the door to the house.
Inside, it was dark, drab, and stank of smoke. The furniture was shabby, the wallpaper was peeling from the corners, and the linoleum floor littered with dust and debris. To Janet, it was comfortable and similar to her own house, and her anxieties quelled.
But not for long. The woman slung her coat onto the table and started to smoke near the window, and the man grasped her by her upper arms and glared. His breath was putrid, smelling of beer mingled with decaying food, and his teeth were broken and vivid yellow. Under her breath, she urged him to release her, his tight grip nipping her skin. She was helpless, frozen with fear.