by Dawson, H A
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 instructed 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.
‘You do exactly as I say,’ the man said, his tone gruff, ‘and obey me immediately. I have made up a list of chores.’
He gave her a sheet of paper. Her body was quivering, her eyes glued to the scrawl. She could not make sense of it; her brain refused to function.
‘Any deviations and you will be punished.’
Grinning, he stepped to the other side of the room and returned with a whip, and then tapped it onto his other hand, emphasising its use. His lips were curling, his eyes dark and feral.
‘Go now. Get on with it.’
He stepped away and muttered something to the woman.
Janet gripped the paper. The sheet quivered, rustling between her twitchy fingers. All she could think of was her home: her family, her friends, and her school. She was told her time away would be fun, a holiday. Here, or so she had been told, she was going to be safe.
Her eyes welled with tears and her stomach churned. She would rather be doing sums in an air raid shelter.
Her stinging legs jolted her from her ponderings.
Chapter 10
1941-1945
The beatings occurred daily, sometimes once, sometimes several times. It did not seem to matter if Janet did as she instructed or not, as either way her guardian, Uncle Tom as he liked to be called, took sadistic pleasure in using the whip. Once, when she was lying in bed, she heard the same whooshing sound come from his bedroom causing her to wonder if he was using it on his wife. Her screams convinced her that he was until Auntie Irene chuckled with delight.
Janet buried herself in her chores, taking a comforting pleasure from her routine. Each day she made meals and cleaned the house, both before school and after, often doing the same chore twice to please Uncle Tom. She had no time for pleasure and no time for reading or looking through her English class work. It was an arduous existence and she fumbled through life in a daze.
One day, Uncle Tom had returned home drunk. His loud behaviour did not concern her as her father had often acted the same way. However, when he caught her dropping an egg and he exploded with anger, her fear enveloped her. He whipped her legs until she cowered to the floor, her arms protecting her head, and her legs pressing against her chest. When he stopped, her frantic breaths and squeals became more forceful, but he was only taking a brief pause, and grabbed her by her matted hair and pulled her into an open space. Her shoes scraped the ground and the whipping continued.
Her entire body was raw, and she convulsed uncontrollably as she groaned and whined. With no one to offer sympathy or a soothing hand, she lay there for hours until her pain eased and her courage grew. Uncle Tom was in her next room, slumped onto the sofa and sleeping. She crept to the door, headed outside into the cool damp air, and wandered aimlessly along the street. With weakened legs and a lack of hope, she dropped to the ground in a heap.
Her mind was in turmoil. She relived the beatings, and every so often thought of her home and the postcard she sent to her family after she had arrived. Together they had devised a code. One kiss at the end meant she
wanted to go home, and two kisses meant she was happy. She had attached one kiss, so where were they? Abandoned and forlorn, she slipped into a fitful sleep.
The next few days were a blur. A kind and gentle police officer found Janet and took her to the station. Rather than contacting her parents’, he contacted the billeting officer who made the decision to rehome her in Norfolk. As the train eased into the station at the site of her destination, her anxieties grew; she fidgeted, she fiddled with the hem of her dress, she shuffled in her seat.
Unlike before, she had no expectations of a joyful atmosphere and a holiday-type accommodation and decided she would do her work complaint free. Soon she would be able to return home and be away from her life of hardship. She held the prospect close to her heart.
The train screeched to a standstill. She peered out of the window, searching for cruel-seeming folk, but saw no one that fit the description carved into her mind. Hesitantly, she stepped to the exit and then onto the platform to a woman standing alone, her smile broad and welcoming.
The woman crouched down and reached out her hand. ‘Oh, you poor little mite. You must be tired and hungry. My name is Ann Coombs, you can call me Auntie Ann if that is okay with you.’
Janet’s nod was imperceptible.
‘I hear you’ve had a bit of a hard time. No matter, it’s over now. We’ll soon get you cleaned up and fed and you’ll be as bright as a button.’ She stroked her cheek. ‘I can see a pretty little face somewhere in there, am I right?’
Her lips curled.
‘Come on then, we’ll get you home.’
Ann raised herself upright and led her out of the station.
‘Have you ever seen a chicken?’
She shook her head.
‘You’ll like them, they are sweet. We get fresh eggs every day. Would you like to name one?’
‘Yes please.’
‘What do you want to call it?’
She thought for a moment and then spoke in a squeak. ‘I don’t know.’