by Lou Kuenzler
“But… ” Edie opened and closed her mouth in fury. “The pilots in the ATA risk their lives every day,” she said, remembering how Fliss had come into the flat a few months ago, tears streaming down her face as she handed Edie a copy of the evening paper. The famous aviator Amy Johnson had been killed trying to land an ATA plane in freezing fog – and she was probably the most experienced female pilot in the world.
Gus lifted his head and looked at Edie properly at last. “Our father is a real fighter pilot,” he said. “He’s shooting down enemy planes every day.”
“Oh!” Edie slumped back in her chair. She knew she’d been trying to show off about Fliss, but now she felt so deflated it was almost as if she had been shot down herself.
She stared out of the window, unable to think of anything else to say. London was far behind them and the train was now steaming along between green fields. It was going to be a long, awkward journey all the way to Yorkshire.
Chapter Three
The Great Leap
While Gus stared sulkily at his book of aeroplanes, Greta chattered like a little monkey, bouncing up and down on her seat. Edie soon learnt that the two children had been raised in London by their father. Their mother had died when Greta was born.
“Then Papa was taken away by soldiers and we had to go and live with Grandma Perkins,” Greta explained, her big blue eyes brimming with tears. Edie squeezed her hand.
“They weren’t soldiers, they were airmen,” Gus snapped. “And they didn’t take him away, silly. I’ve told you a hundred times: they were men from Papa’s squadron in the RAF. They were all heading back to the base together.”
Greta shrugged and wiped her nose on Mr Churchill’s ears. “Grandma Perkins’ flat smells funny,” she said. “But a bomb fell down the chimbley when we were in the air-raid shelter. It ’sploded and all Granny Perkins’ best plates were busted. I was jolly glad I had Mr Churchill safe with me in the shelter.”
Gus raised his eyebrows. “It was more than just plates. The whole building was rubble.” Edie saw him swallow hard.
“At least no one was hurt,” she said, wishing there was something more she could say. No matter how many times she heard stories like this from the war, it never seemed to get any easier. “It must be … well, it must be horrible for your grandma to lose her home like that.”
“She’s gone to live with Uncle Alan,” said Greta, bouncing up and down on the seat again. “In Ease Grimpstid.”
“East Grinstead,” corrected Gus. “Not that it’s anybody’s business.”
“Wasn’t there room for you to go and live there too?” asked Edie, glancing at Gus.
“No!” He sighed. “There wasn’t.”
“Uncle Alan doesn’t like children.” Greta sat down with a thump. “Nor does Granny very much,” she added, chewing her lip. “Uncle Alan has five pick-your-knees dogs. Granny says they’re a lot less bother than we are.”
“Pekinese,” snapped Gus. “And you’re talking nonsense.”
“No I’m not!” Greta stuck her chin out. “Granny told the lady postman it would do us good to be ’vacuated to the country and good riddance.”
Gus rolled his eyes but Edie could see a blush creeping up his neck.
“Perhaps you’ll be evacuated to a farm,” she said, trying to change the subject. “With sheep or cows.”
“Or piglets?” said Greta with a yawn. “Me and Mr Churchill would like our very own piglet to look after.” Her eyelids were starting to droop, and before long she had dozed off, cuddling her elephant, with her head resting on Edie’s shoulder.
Gus laid down the aeroplane book, dug in his bag and pulled out his and Greta’s ration books, which he began to peer at instead. Edie couldn’t imagine there was anything very interesting to see, but whatever it was seemed to make him scowl even more fiercely than before. Eventually he sighed and tossed the little brown booklets carelessly on the seat beside him.
“Anything wrong?” asked Edie.
“No!” Gus shook his head, and the two older children sank back into awkward silence until Greta woke up from her nap at lunchtime.
“Hello, Sleepyhead.” Edie smiled as she unpacked the food parcel Fliss had wrapped for her in the pages of one of her old magazines. A carrot sandwich lay on top of a picture of a beautiful young woman powdering her nose. Instead of grating the carrot, Fliss had cut it up with a knife and the chunks were so big they were hard to chew. Fliss was never a brilliant cook, even before wartime rationing made things so difficult. But she had managed to find a bar of Fry’s chocolate and put a big red lipstick kiss on the wrapper. Edie smiled.
Gus and Greta had fish-paste sandwiches, which made the whole compartment stink. Greta held her nose and giggled. They gulped them down with swigs from a flask of tea.
Edie couldn’t help staring longingly at the flask as she tried hard to swallow a lump of dry carrot.
“Do you want some?” asked Greta, following her gaze. “We can share my cup.”
“Oh, yes please. If you’re sure you don’t mind?” said Edie.
“Of course not. I’ll give us a top-up,” said Greta proudly. She leant forward to grab the flask, which was balanced on the seat beside Gus.
“Careful! That’s hot,” he warned, snatching for it at the same time. But it was too late. Tea spilled everywhere. It went all over the pages of his aeroplane book and their two ration books, which were lying next to it.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Gus cried and Greta burst into floods of tears.
“It was an accident,” said Edie. If anything, Gus was the one to blame. He should have put the lid back on the flask. And he certainly shouldn’t have left their precious documents lying around like that. It was asking for trouble.
Gus ignored her. He grabbed the ration books and began rubbing them hard with the edge of his sweater.
“Don’t do that,” cried Edie. “You’ll make it worse.” He was rubbing so hard, the ink where their names were written had smudged and he had almost ripped right through the paper. Edie remembered how strict and serious Fliss had been when giving her instructions to keep her own ration book safe. That showed how important it was. Fliss was never strict or serious about anything.
“You’ll need to give your ration books to the people wherever you’re billeted,” she said. “It’s got all your details and everything. They’ll need to know your full names.”
“Then I can tell them our full names,” said Gus, furiously rubbing at the inside pages now.
“And we’ve got labels,” sniffed Greta. “In case we get lost. See?” She held up the luggage tag around her neck.
But Gus’s hand shot out and ripped her label from its string. He grabbed his own label too and hurled them both out of the window of the train. “There! Good riddance!”
Edie watched in horror as they fluttered away, out of sight in an instant.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she gasped. Was he mad? The Pied Piper would be furious. “Evacuees are supposed to keep their labels on at all times … ”
“Well, we didn’t. We’re not parcels. We’re people. We can speak English and explain ourselves. So there!” said Gus. But his hands were shaking. “What’s it to you anyway?” he muttered. He had turned bright red and was staring at his feet. “You’re not our mother.”
“No,” said Edie quietly. “I suppose I’m not.” She sank back into her seat. Gus was right. It was none of her business. But she couldn’t help wondering why he was so keen to tell people his own name rather than letting them read it off their official documents? What difference did it make? Edie glanced over and saw that he was chewing his fingernails. He seemed to be so furious all the time. Perhaps it was just like he said: he didn’t want to be sent away and treated like a package. Or maybe he was just worried sick knowing his father was flying planes. The RAF were right in the thick of the action. She crossed her fingers and made a silent wish that Gus and Greta’s father would stay safe. Fliss too, of course. The on
ly sound in the carriage was Greta sniffing loudly as she wiped the pages of Gus’s precious aeroplane book with Mr Churchill’s trunk.
“Leave it,” said Gus more gently. Then he laughed. “Wherever we end up, that poor elephant is going to need a good wash!”
“Never!” protested Greta. “Mr Churchill does not like water.”
Edie giggled. And, for the briefest moment, all three of them smiled.
“Here,” she said, unwrapping the foil from her cherished bar of Fry’s. “Who’d like a square of chocolate?”
It was a peace offering she knew even grumpy Gus would not be able to refuse.
Half an hour later, the guard came to check their tickets.
“You’re the next stop, Miss,” he told Edie as the train chugged between high green hills. “There won’t be any signs telling you which station you’re at because they’ve all been taken down in case the Germans invade. This way they won’t know where they are, see?”
“Gosh,” said Edie. “That’s clever.”
“We think of everything on the railways, Miss.” The guard chuckled as he checked Gus and Greta’s tickets too. “You two need to stay on until Maidbridge. That’s the next big town, the stop after this young lady here.”
“Thank you,” said Edie as he helped her take her suitcase down from the luggage rack and hurried on to the next compartment.
As she began to button her coat, her tummy was suddenly full of butterflies again. In just a few moments she would meet Aunt Roberta for the very first time. The only picture she’d ever seen of her was taken years ago when Aunt Roberta was still a child. It was cut from a newspaper, and Fliss had framed it and hung above the mantelpiece in Glasshouse Street. There was a little caption underneath which read: RAILWAY CHILDREN, and the photograph showed young Fliss, Aunt Roberta and Uncle Peter grinning and wearing their grandest old-fashioned clothes as they stood on a station platform to receive a prize. The very same little station she was about to arrive at, Edie realized. Fliss often told the story of how the three children had saved a train from crashing into a landslide on the line. Bobbie, as Aunt Roberta was always called back then, had the wonderful idea of ripping up the girls’ red flannel petticoats and waving them so the driver would know there was danger ahead and stop in time. That Bobbie sounded adventurous and fun. You only needed to look at the pictures, and see the way the sisters smiled at each other, to know how well they must have got on as children. But the photograph was taken years ago – long before Aunt Roberta’s mysterious falling out with Fliss. Edie couldn’t help imagining the grown-up, disapproving Aunt Roberta very differently. She pictured a terrible, angry sort of aunt: the sort who would sigh loudly and glare at her over the top of half-moon spectacles.
The train was slowing now, juddering and hissing steam as they pulled into the station.
“Goodbye. It’s been lovely to meet you.” Edie held out her hand, which Gus shook stiffly.
“Goodbye and … er … thank you for keeping Greta happy.” He nodded.
“I’ve enjoyed it,” said Edie, crouching down beside the little girl. “I do hope you end up at a pretty farm. With your very own piglet.”
Greta kicked her feet against the seat.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said. “I want you to be ’vacuated with us.”
“I know. I wish that too,” said Edie. And it was true. “But I can’t. I have to stay here with my aunt.” The train was rattling into the station already. She kissed the top of Greta’s blonde head and shook Mr Churchill by a dangling leg. “Maybe we can meet in Maidbridge soon.”
Greta kicked the seat again.
“Stop making a fuss, Greta,” said Gus. “Remember how you promised Papa you’d be brave?”
Greta sniffed. “I am brave,” she said. “It’s just Mr Churchill who doesn’t like it.”
“Then you better tell him what an adventure it is going to be,” said Edie with a wink.
The train had stopped now and she picked up her suitcase before Greta could burst into tears.
“Toodle-oo, old things. Pip pip!” She giggled, saluting them both and trying her best to sound like a jolly major general. Greta burst into peals of laughter. Edie seized the moment. “Cheerio!” She jumped down from the carriage and shut the door. In all the commotion of parting from the little girl, she had almost forgotten her own nerves about arriving. But her tummy squirmed as she squinted along the platform.
A young red-faced farmer was hauling a crate of chickens out of the guard’s van. Their squawks were loud enough to be heard over the hiss of the train.
“Shut up, you daft beggars!” he roared, kicking the crate across the platform with his boot. He looked nothing like the pictures of jolly farmers in the storybooks Edie had read when she was little.
“Good shot, Donny.” A skinny porter sauntered down the platform, laughing as the poor chickens screeched. The two men looked so alike, Edie was sure they must be brothers. They were both tall and bony, with the same short-cropped hair and narrow, pointy faces. As the porter reached Edie, he stopped and folded his arms. “You from London?”
She nodded.
“Well, I hope you’re not expecting me to carry that?” he said, staring down at her suitcase.
“Oh, no. Of course not,” said Edie, stumbling to pick it up. “I can manage.”
“Grand!” The porter’s lip curled. “Only I don’t touch luggage from evacuees.” He turned back to the farmer. “You know why that is, don’t you, Donny?”
“Aye, Len,” he snorted. “On account of the lice!”
“Lice?” Edie was horrified. “I don’t have lice,” she cried.
The two young men were falling about with laughter. She realized they were teasing her.
“’Course you do,” said the porter. “All kids from London have lice.”
“Well, I don’t!” Edie felt a furious blush creeping up her cheeks. She glanced desperately along the platform. There was no sign of anyone who could be Aunt Roberta. She wanted to jump back on the train with Gus and Greta. Perhaps Aunt Roberta had forgotten about her. Or perhaps she had decided not to come and collect her at all. Suddenly, the dread of being abandoned, alone on the little country train station, so far from home, was much worse than the fear of meeting her formidable aunt at long last. But, just as she felt the panic rising in her throat, she saw the tall figure of a woman in a long cape striding towards her.
She knew at once it was her aunt, even before the porter touched his cap and scurried away. “Afternoon, Nurse Roberta, ma’am.” He seemed a little afraid of her as he darted off to help the farmer unload two more large wooden crates from the guard’s van.
“Edie!” Aunt Roberta smiled. She was only a few years older than Fliss, but she looked as if she was from another generation – a proper grown-up, like Edie’s headmistress at school. As she stepped closer, Edie could see there were lines around her eyes, and the strands of hair poking out from under her headscarf were peppered with grey.
“Hello.” Edie shifted uncomfortably, wondering if she ought to hug her. She decided not. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Greta peering at them through the window of the carriage.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” said Aunt Roberta. “It was madness of your mother to keep you in London. It is no place for a child in the Blitz.” Aunt Roberta sighed as if this was Edie’s fault somehow. Edie could imagine her telling Fliss off in the same way. No wonder they’d stopped talking. Fliss hated being told what to do by anybody.
“You’re the absolute spit of her, by the way,” said Aunt Roberta more gently, as she looked Edie up and down.
“Me? Of Fliss?” Edie gasped. She couldn’t tell whether Aunt Roberta thought that was a good thing or not. It was nonsense, anyway. She didn’t look anything like the beautiful auburn-haired Fliss, with her perfect straight nose and flashing green eyes. Whenever Edie squinted at herself in the mirror, her own eyes seemed small and dull. Her nose was turned up and her hair was dark –
like chocolate, as Fliss always said. Like mud, Edie thought.
“I’d have recognized you anywhere!” said Aunt Roberta. “You could be Phyllis, that first summer we came here. We were always down at the station, bothering poor old Albert Perks.”
“Perks, the porter?” cried Edie, as the train hissed behind them. She was delighted to recognize the name from Fliss’s stories. “The one who used to be here when you were children?”
“Yes. Long before young Len Snigson, there.” Aunt Roberta motioned over her shoulder as the porter slammed a door shut at the far end of the train. “Perks could have shown him a thing or two,” she said, shouting over the noise of the building steam. Then, all of a sudden, her face lit up. “Oh, dear!” She laughed and put her hand over her mouth. “We did give that poor man the most dreadful time.”
Edie smiled. She felt her tummy relax a little. Perhaps her aunt wasn’t going to be as strict and terrible as she’d feared.
The train whistled loudly, making her jump. It was ready to leave. The guard held up a green flag, and Len Snigson hollered down the platform: “Mind yer backs!”
Edie turned to wave goodbye to Gus and Greta, one last time. But, before she could raise a hand, she heard a commotion in the carriage. The door swung wide open and a small figure leapt from the train. In the next instant, Greta had scrambled to Edie’s side and flung her arms around her waist.
“I want to go with you!” she wailed. “I don’t want to go to the farm. Gussy says there might be rats!”
“Rats? Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Now Aunt Roberta sounded just as fierce as Edie had thought she’d be. “You have to get back on the train, little girl. Hurry! It’s leaving.”
“What’s going on?” The Pied Piper poked her head out of a carriage further down the train. “You there,” she cried, shaking her clipboard at Greta. “Get back on board, this instant! I’m supposed to take you to the central sorting post at Maidbridge.”