Jenny's War

by Dickinson, Margaret

  Tears sprang to Jenny’s eyes. So, she’d been right. They did want her out of the way. Maybe Uncle Arthur was sick of feeling obliged to bring her presents to wheedle his way around her, tired of having to think of a way to get her out of the house for a couple of hours. This way, they’d be able to do what they liked. Go out every night, stay in bed till noon without a nuisance child to look after.

  Jenny snatched the suitcase from her mother and ran up the stairs. She stuffed her clothes – precious few – into the case and then gently she laid Bert, her battered teddy bear, on the top. Then she closed the lid muttering, ‘Sorry, Bert, to squash you. Maybe it won’t be for long but I can’t leave you behind.’

  As she went down the stairs, Elsie was standing in the kitchen. ‘There you are, darlin’. Get a move on, we’ll miss the train.’

  Jenny stared up at her with wide eyes. ‘Train?’ she squeaked fearfully. ‘We’re going on a train? Where to?’

  Elsie shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea, but it’ll be all right. You’ll be with Bobby and Sammy’ll be there too. He’ll look out for both of you.’ She held out her hand towards Jenny, who took it reluctantly. Then Elsie turned to Dot. ‘Look lively, you’re the one holding us up now.’

  Dot pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her. ‘I’m not ready, Elsie. You take her with your lads. Off you go, Jen, and mind you’re a good girl.’ She made no move to kiss or hug her daughter. She just reached up to the mantelpiece for her packet of cigarettes.

  ‘’Bye, Tich,’ Arthur said and made as if to ruffle her hair but then thought better of it. Instead, he touched her cheek with a gentle gesture. ‘It’ll be fine. You’ll be all right.’

  But Elsie’s anxious frown did nothing to reassure the young girl.

  Walking beside Bobby towards the school was what she did every morning. But today was different. Today they would not be coming back home when afternoon school finished. There’d be no games of hopscotch in the street or kicking a ball through makeshift goalposts, whilst Bobby tried to prevent her scoring, or playing cricket with Sid Hutton’s weathered bat and ball. No simple game of tag with all the other kids from the local streets. Not even a trip to the nearest stretch of grass that passed for the closest thing to a park and a strip of countryside for the city kids.

  How Jenny longed to slip her hand into Bobby’s as she walked alongside him, but she knew it would provoke teasing from the other children if they were seen. Bobby wouldn’t like it but she felt that, actually, he wouldn’t have minded holding her hand. Even he was quiet and subdued this morning, quite unlike her cheeky playmate and friend. Red-haired and freckle-faced like his older brothers, there was always a ready grin on his face. The three Hutton brothers were very much alike and neighbours would say that you could only tell them apart because of their different heights. Bobby was constantly in the wars and permanently scruffy, however hard poor Elsie washed and mended his torn trousers and ripped shirts. But he was fun to be with and he never turned his back on Jenny when he was with his mates just because she was a girl and a year younger.

  ‘Come on, Jen, you can play with us.’ And even if the other boys pulled faces and grumbled, he’d say, ‘Good as any of you lot, she is. You just watch her dribble a football. She’d be good enough to play for the ’Ammers if she weren’t a girl.’

  And he was right; Jenny was fearless and fearsome and could hold her own in a game of football against any of the boys, even the bigger ones.

  But now those games were finished for, as the youngsters trooped to school on the morning of 2 September 1939, not one of them knew when they’d all be back together again and playing football in the familiar streets.

  Three

  They assembled in the school playground.

  ‘Are the teachers comin’ too?’ Bobby muttered as he saw one or two of the school staff with suitcases at their feet and clipboards in their hands marshalling the children into different groups around them. The boy was torn between feeling relieved that a familiar grown-up would be with them, and realizing that a continuation of lessons would inevitably follow.

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ Elsie said with feeling. ‘I’d be a lot happier if they are.’ She approached Mr Napier, Sammy’s form teacher, and repeated Bobby’s question.

  ‘Only to see them settled in, Mrs Hutton. Then we’ll be coming back. Once we’ve handed them over to the billeting officers where they’re going, then our job will be done.’

  ‘And where are they going?’

  The man shrugged. ‘Up north somewhere. That’s all I can tell you. But they’ll all be given a card and a stamp to write home to you when they’re settled. Don’t fret, Mrs Hutton. They’ll be well cared for.’

  Elsie glared at him for a moment and opened her mouth to retort, but Bobby pulled her away. ‘Don’t, Mam. You’ll show our Sammy up an’ he won’t like that.’

  Elsie sighed, understanding her son’s concerns. Boys didn’t like their mothers arguing with their teachers. She turned to Bobby. ‘Now listen, son. You write to me when you get there. You hear? An’ if yer not happy, you write at once an’ I’ll be on the next train to fetch you home, never mind what it’d cost. I’m not havin’ my kids unhappy – bombs or no bombs.’

  Listening, Jenny wished her mother had said something like that to her. Elsie Hutton was letting her children go because she believed it was the right thing to do to keep them safe, but it was obvious that for two pins she’d keep them here. She didn’t want them to go, whereas Jenny had the feeling her own mother couldn’t wait to see the back of her.

  They walked in crocodile formation to the nearest underground and eventually arrived at King’s Cross railway station. Now Jenny clutched Bobby’s hand tightly, afraid of losing him amongst the crowd of bewildered children from all over London thronging the platforms. Cardboard boxes holding their gas masks dangled from around their necks and labels flapped from every coat or jacket lapel. Some carried small suitcases, others – like Bobby and Sammy – carried their belongings in kit bags or even pillowcases. There were smartly dressed boys in school blazers and caps. They wore good, stout shoes, short trousers and knee-length grey socks. Girls, too, wore neat coats, white ankle socks and shoes. Their hair was neatly trimmed and freshly washed. But others were as scruffy as Jenny, with tangled hair, worn-out plimsolls and no socks.

  Sammy stayed close to Bobby and Jenny. Several parents, Elsie amongst them, had followed them to the station for last-minute hugs and tearful farewells. Already, the teachers were looking harassed; they would have preferred goodbyes to have been said in the schoolyard. This was just prolonging the agony. Several of the younger children were crying now and even some of the older girls too. A few boys looked suspiciously wet eyed, but were manfully holding back from actually shedding tears. Only one or two looked actually happy to be going, Billy Harrington for one. Billy was in her class and Jenny knew that his mother had died and now he was beaten regularly by his drunken father for any imagined misdemeanour. Anywhere would likely be better for Billy than his own home. But despite his harsh home life, miraculously the boy was always cheerful and friendly. Once at school, he seemed to be able to block out memories of last night’s beating or thoughts that more cuffs and knocks awaited him again that night at home. And today Billy was positively beaming. He was tall and thin for his age. His clothes were secondhand, too small for the growing boy and often torn; there was no one at home to mend them. His light brown hair was short, roughly trimmed by an impatient father.

  A whistle sounded and there was a sudden flurry of activity. Children were bundled aboard the train and doors were slammed by the guard walking along the full length of the platform shouting, ‘All aboard.’ Jenny giggled. It was just like she’d seen on the films; she hadn’t imagined it could be real.

  Mothers remained on the platform, standing on tiptoe to see their children one last time. Now a lot of the grown-ups were in tears too, waving handkerchiefs and shouting last-minute messages. And then the train, with much chuggi
ng and puffing of steam, began to move.

  ‘Where’s Aunty Elsie? Where’s yer mum?’ Jenny was overcome by a sudden panic. She had to wave to Aunty Elsie; it would mean she was coming back. Aunty Elsie was her good-luck charm. Bobby, leaning out of the window, was just as anxious. ‘I can’t see her. Oh, I can’t . . .’

  ‘There she is.’ Sammy put a hand on both their shoulders. ‘Look, she’s waving. Give her a wave, Bobby. And you too, Jen. Let her see us go off with a smile.’ He bent down and whispered, ‘We can have a good cry later when no one’s looking.’

  Sammy was twelve and feeling very responsible for the two youngsters who’d been put in his charge, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling the parting from his mother just as much as they were.

  Mr Napier was in charge of the carriage with Sammy, Bobby and Jenny along with several other children from his class. Billy Harrington was there too, bubbling with excitement and bouncing up and down in his seat.

  ‘Now settle down,’ the teacher said, as the train drew out of the station and gathered speed. ‘We’ve a long journey ahead of us. I hope you’ve all brought sandwiches.’

  Bobby whispered, ‘You can share mine, Jen.’ He didn’t even need to ask if she’d got any.

  Jenny’s smile trembled. ‘Ta, Bobby.’

  The carriage grew very hot and Jenny, unused to such a big breakfast, began to feel queasy.

  ‘I feel sick,’ she said at last to Mr Napier. The man looked down at her and pursed his lips. ‘I shouldn’t be having to look after little girls,’ he muttered. ‘You should be with your own class teacher. Have you got a towel in your bag?’

  Jenny shook her head.

  ‘I have,’ Bobby said. ‘Mam packed us some towels.’ He stood up, swaying with the motion of the train.

  ‘Sit down, boy,’ Mr Napier snapped. ‘I don’t want you falling and breaking a limb. I’ll get it. Which one’s yours?’

  Bobby pointed to the luggage rack. ‘The blue one, sir.’

  Mr Napier reached up to the rack, his hand already on the bag when Jenny spewed up her breakfast. Vomit splashed on to the floor of the carriage.

  ‘Ugh!’ the other children in the carriage cried in disgust. ‘You dirty little devil.’

  Mr Napier looked down at his trousers and sighed. His left leg was stained and the smell now permeating the carriage made everyone feel ill.

  ‘Open the window, Harrington,’ he said, motioning to Billy, who was sitting near the window.

  Jenny hung her head, embarrassed and angry with herself. She’d so enjoyed Arthur’s breakfast and now she’d lost it and there was a horrible taste left in her mouth too. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she whispered.

  ‘Your mother should have known better than to let you eat so much just before a long journey.’

  Surreptitiously, Bobby squeezed her hand. ‘It’s not your fault. We’ll use my towel to mop it up.’

  Sammy stood up and helped Mr Napier lower the heavy bag from the rack. ‘I’ll see to it, sir,’ he said, winking at Jenny. ‘No harm done, eh?’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ the teacher muttered, glancing down again at his soiled trouser leg.

  Sammy bent and wiped away the offending liquid with an old towel he’d pulled from Bobby’s bag. Then he mopped the floor as best he could. Lastly, he rolled the towel up into a ball and shoved it under the seat. As he sat back in his seat, the boy sitting beside him muttered. ‘You stink, Sammy Hutton.’

  But Sammy only grinned. ‘No more than you do all the time, Bates. At least I wash every day and have a bath once a week, which is more than—’

  ‘Now, now, boys,’ Mr Napier remonstrated, but with little anger. He was grateful to Sammy for taking charge of the unpleasant situation. He’d noticed that the Hutton boys were taking care of the young girl. He didn’t know Jenny – she wasn’t in his class – but he knew Sammy well as a kind and helpful lad.

  The rest of the journey passed off uneventfully, though several of the children held their hands over their mouths and noses and cast accusing glances at Jenny, but Mr Napier noticed Billy wink and smile at the girl to reassure her. The train stopped at two or three stations, but each time Mr Napier shook his head to the children’s questions, ‘Are we there?’ ‘Is this it?’

  At last, as the train began to slow yet again, Mr Napier peered out of the carriage window and announced, ‘This is where we get off. At least—’ The flurry of excitement as the children tumbled thankfully on to the platform drowned the rest of his sentence.

  ‘Come on, Jen,’ Sammy said, getting up and pulling her case down from the rack.

  ‘What about my towel, Sammy?’ Bobby asked.

  ‘Leave it. It was only an old one anyway. Come on, get a move on. We don’t want to be left on the train. We don’t know where we might end up.’

  ‘We don’t know now,’ Bobby muttered, but he grabbed hold of Jenny’s case and leapt off the train, then held out his hand to help her.

  She scrambled after him and stood on the draughty platform looking about her and shivering even in the warm September sun. Some of the other children were standing about looking as lost and bewildered as Jenny was feeling, but others ran up and down the platform, shouting and laughing as if they were on holiday. Perhaps they felt as if they were. Removed from the control of their parents and put in the charge of a few teachers who could hardly cope with the number of children in such unusual circumstances, a few were running wild, Billy amongst them.

  A whistle shrilled and everyone stopped as if turned to stone. The children looked about them, wide-eyed and fearful. A big man in railway uniform stood halfway up a flight of steps. ‘Stop running about,’ he boomed in a voice that carried the length of the platform. ‘There’re trains coming and someone’ll get hurt. Now, line up properly for your teachers and behave yourselves.’

  No amount of shouting and gesticulating from the teachers could have achieved the same result. The children meekly formed themselves into groups around the teacher who had been put in charge of them. Jenny, clinging unashamedly now to Bobby, joined the group around Mr Napier. Catching sight of her, he said, ‘You, girl, whatever your name is—’

  ‘It’s Jenny Mercer, sir,’ Bobby piped up.

  ‘Yes, yes, Jenny – you’re to go to your own teacher’s group. Miss Chisholm, isn’t it? She’s over there.’

  Jenny began to move towards her own class teacher, dragging Bobby along with her.

  ‘No, Hutton,’ Mr Napier ordered. ‘You stay here. I know you’re in Miss Chisholm’s class, but we have instructions that families are to be kept together wherever possible. You stay in my group with your brother.’

  Bobby looked at Jenny apologetically and tried to release his hand from her grasp, but she clung on all the more tightly. ‘No,’ she cried. ‘I want to stay with Bobby – and Sammy. Why can’t I come with you?’

  ‘Because—’ the flustered man began. This was all too much. He’d entered the profession to teach not to nursemaid a bunch of uncontrollable children, who were treating the serious matter of being evacuated from danger as if it were a day’s outing to the seaside.

  Jenny’s voice rose in protest. ‘I want to stay with Bobby.’

  ‘You’re coming with me, young lady.’ Miss Chisholm’s firm grasp fastened on Jenny’s arm and hauled her away. The girl began to scream, but the middle-aged woman was well used to dealing with the likes of Jenny Mercer – and even with Jenny herself during the time she’d been her teacher.

  Mr Napier stood looking on helplessly, whilst Bobby and Sammy attempted to follow Miss Chisholm to plead Jenny’s case.

  ‘Hutton – stay here, if you please.’ Sammy, used to obeying the man, stopped at once, but Bobby went on.

  ‘Bobby, mate, it’s no use,’ his brother called after him. ‘There’s nothin’ we can do. They’re in charge of us. Let her go.’

  The last sight Bobby had of Jenny was of her being dragged away with tears pouring down her face. The sound of her cries echoing in his ears
would haunt his dreams for several nights.

  Four

  Now they were put on different trains. Jenny, still crying loudly but held fast by Miss Chisholm, was forced to watch her friends get back on to the train they had just left. Jenny’s teacher and a colleague were left standing on the platform with the children from their classes.

  ‘We’ve to catch a connection to take us to where we’re going. It won’t be long,’ Miss Chisholm said, more gently now. She was a strict teacher and held her class in fear of her, yet beneath the stern exterior there was sympathy for those less fortunate children in her charge. And Jenny Mercer was one of them. She knew a little of the girl’s home life; had to deal with the child’s dirty appearance on a regular basis, and at this moment felt pity for the little girl who was being separated from the two boys who lived next door to her home and were her friends. Jenny didn’t make friends easily and her classmates avoided her. There was often a scuffle in the classroom by the children wanting to avoid sitting next to her. Only Bobby never seemed to mind. Although he was a year older than Jenny, he was still in the same class and Miss Chisholm had found herself allowing him to sit near her, even though it was normal for girls to be on one side of the room, the boys on the other.

  But now they’d been separated; they weren’t even going to the same destination. Goodness only knew when they would see each other again. And meanwhile, poor Jenny was thrust amongst the rest of her classmates, who flatly refused to befriend her.

  ‘I’m not sitting near “Sicky”,’ the teacher heard one girl mutter as she shepherded them onto the train.

  ‘Don’t call her that.’ Billy, who was also now once more under Miss Chisholm’s authority, pushed the girl roughly. ‘It could’ve ’appened to any of us.’

  The girl flushed but still turned her back on Jenny.