Jenny's War

by Dickinson, Margaret

  ‘Quite,’ Miles said tersely. ‘But please tell her we enjoy having them here. Besides, we’ve got Christmas coming up and the children are getting excited about everything we’ve got planned for the end of term.’

  Mr Tomkins was still shaking his head in disbelief as he mounted his bicycle once more and rode off to impart the good news to the headmistress. He’d never met anyone quite like Miles Thornton.

  When yet another child announced excitedly that she was going home, Miles began to fear that Jenny’s mother, too, would send for her, but the days went by and no word came. And strangely, Jenny never asked about when she might go back to London. Her only question – much to the amusement of Miles and Charlotte – was, ‘When’s Georgie coming home again?’

  Fourteen

  ‘Sir – Madam – might I have a word?’

  Mrs Beddows knocked on the door of the morning room just after lunch one rainy November day. The children were having their afternoon lessons and Miles was watching for a break in the weather so that he could take them into the garden for a game of football that would leave them pink-cheeked and breathless as soon as lessons ended for the day.

  ‘Of course, Mrs Beddows,’ he said, moving away from the window. ‘Come in. Do sit down.’

  ‘It’ll not take long, Mr Thornton.’ Her glance shifted towards Charlotte. ‘It’s really madam I ought to be asking, I suppose.’ Charlotte retrieved her knitting from beneath a cushion where she’d hidden it quickly when the knock had sounded on the door.

  ‘I’m knitting dolls’ clothes for Jenny’s Christmas present,’ she explained. ‘I’ve bought a doll, but it needs dressing. I thought it might be her coming in.’

  Miles chuckled. ‘Jenny wouldn’t knock, my love. You’ll have to be more careful than that.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Mrs Beddows said. ‘I’m about to make my Christmas puddings and I wondered – if their teacher agrees, of course – if the children would like to help me.’

  Charlotte stared at her for a moment. ‘I’m sure they’d love it, Mrs Beddows, but wouldn’t they make an awful mess?’

  Mrs Beddows smiled. ‘I’m sure they would, madam, but the kitchen’ll clean. And Kitty’s up for it. I thought we could let them all make a little pudding each to take home – I mean, to where they’re staying. That’s if you wouldn’t mind the cost, madam.’

  ‘It’s not that, Mrs Beddows, but what about all the ingredients? We’re starting to get shortages now and I read in the papers yesterday that butter, bacon and sugar are going to be rationed very soon.’

  Mrs Beddows flapped her hand and laughed. ‘Oh, I’ve had all the dry ingredients put away in the pantry since the summer. And what I haven’t got, I know I can get. Master Ben’ll let me have eggs, I don’t doubt. And I’m sure there’ll be carrots.’

  ‘What about sugar?’ Charlotte was well aware of the recipe Mrs Beddows used.

  ‘I’ve plenty.’

  ‘We could let them make a pudding to send home – to their real homes, I mean,’ Miles put in excitedly. ‘They must be feeling the pinch in London by now. What d’you think, Charlotte?’

  ‘That’s a lovely idea, but we should talk to their teacher first. She’ll have to agree.’

  Miss Parker was only too happy. ‘It’ll be a cookery lesson combined with learning about Christmas traditions. I’d already planned a lesson about why we have a Christmas tree and so on. That’ll be perfect.’ She beamed. ‘I’ll bring my apron.’

  The following afternoon the kitchen at the manor had never seen such fun and laughter. Even Wilkins stood near the dresser, well out of the way, but smiling benignly at the ‘goings on’. Now nothing shocked the man and to his surprise he was enjoying having the children in the house. Despite the extra work, he marvelled at the change not only in Jenny but also in the faces of all the evacuees since they’d first arrived. The skinny, pale-faced children now glowed with health, and laughter and running footsteps rang through the once-quiet house. It reminded him – and he was sure it did the same for the Thorntons – of the time when the three boys – Philip, Ben and Georgie – had been youngsters.

  ‘Now,’ Mrs Beddows began, taking charge. The children stood around the table, covered with aprons or with tea towels tied around their waists. The boys had removed their jackets and rolled up their shirt sleeves. Miss Parker, Miles and Charlotte, suitably dressed in aprons too, stood with them, quite prepared to be part of the class.

  ‘Have you all washed your hands thoroughly?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Beddows,’ came the chorus.

  ‘Today we’ll be preparing the first stage of making the puddings. There are four ingredients, which have to be mixed together and left overnight.’

  Around the table, faces fell.

  ‘But,’ the cook went on, ‘there’s plenty to prepare for tomorrow afternoon when you can all come back again.’

  ‘When do we get a pudding to eat?’ Billy piped up.

  ‘Not until Christmas Day,’ Mrs Beddows said firmly.

  ‘But some of us might ’ave gone home by then.’

  A look of longing crossed some of their faces, but Jenny said, ‘I ain’t goin’ home. I’m staying here.’

  ‘Yer’ll ’ave ter go if yer mam sends for yer.’ Billy prodded her in the ribs. ‘Even I’ll ’ave ter go if the ol’ man wants me back.’ He dropped his voice as he added, ‘I’m just hoping ’ee won’t.’

  ‘Well, my mum won’t neither, so there. She doesn’t want me back.’

  ‘Now, now,’ Mrs Beddows chided. ‘Let’s get started. Some of you can grate the carrot. Be careful not to catch your fingers on the grater and the rest of you can crumble the bread into crumbs and then there’s the suet to prepare . . .’

  By home time, several large bowls of breadcrumbs, mixed in equal measure with grated carrot, suet and sugar, were set on the side and covered over with a damp teacloth for the next twenty-four hours.

  It was already dusk by the time they washed their hands at the deep white sink in the scullery and trooped outside.

  ‘It’s got a bit late today,’ Miles announced. ‘But a quick game – five minutes each way – and then it’ll be time you were going home.’

  As they trooped out of the back door and ran around the house to the front lawn, which was already beginning to look like the muddy football pitch that Wilkins had gloomily predicted, Charlotte and Mrs Beddows exchanged an amused glance.

  ‘Doesn’t want to miss his game of football, does he?’ the cook murmured.

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘No. He loves having them all here and tries to put off them leaving for as long as possible.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got Jenny.’

  A cloud of anxiety crossed Charlotte’s face. ‘Yes, but I’m so afraid that he – both of us, I suppose, if I’m honest – we’re getting too attached to her. When she has to go home . . .’ Her voice faded away and there was already a stricken look in her eyes at the anticipated loss.

  ‘By the sounds of it, madam,’ Mrs Beddows said briskly, ‘that won’t be happening yet. You’ve had no word from her mother, have you?’

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘No. Jenny’s not even had a letter and we made sure she sent a postcard home when she first came here to let her mother know the address. I can’t understand it.’

  Mrs Beddows sniffed. ‘By the look of the poor mite when she got here, mebbe the mother doesn’t care. And Jenny doesn’t seem to be homesick. Not in the slightest.’ The cook nodded towards the place where Jenny had stood at the table. ‘You heard what she said this afternoon.’

  ‘Yes,’ Charlotte’s voice was husky. ‘Yes, I did. Poor little girl.’

  But at that moment the ‘poor little girl’ was capering on the lawn, squealing with joy in the noisy game of football. She couldn’t remember ever having enjoyed herself so much or being so happy. If only Bobby could have been here to join in the fun. She hoped the Huttons were all right; Charlotte still hadn’t been able to find out where they were now.
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  And if Georgie would come home too, then her life would be perfect.

  The puddings had been finished, steamed for two hours and carried carefully home or back to their billets by the other children. Jenny’s was safely in Mrs Beddows’s pantry to be served to the family on Christmas Day.

  But Georgie was still not home.

  He came at last, on the day before Christmas Eve, staggering in through the front door beneath an armful of presents for everyone.

  Jenny danced around the hall, clapping her hands. ‘He’s home. Georgie’s home and he looks like Father Christmas.’

  Georgie stopped and cast a horrified glance at Charlotte. ‘Oh lor’,’ he muttered. ‘I never thought.’

  Calmly, Charlotte moved forward to help him. ‘It’s all right. All under control. Don’t worry. Jenny – come and help put all these in a pile near the stairs.’

  The girl ran forward eagerly to take the parcels from Georgie.

  ‘They’ve all got to be wrapped up and put under the tree for Christmas morning.’

  ‘But we haven’t got a tree.’ Jenny looked up at Georgie. ‘Have you brought a tree an’ all?’

  Before he could answer, Miles appeared from his study. ‘Not yet, but Ben is bringing one home tonight.’ He clasped his son’s hand warmly as he said, ‘Good to see you, Georgie. Everyone’s home now. Philip arrived a couple of hours ago on the lunchtime train.’

  It was the first time Jenny had met Miles’s eldest son. When he’d walked in through the front door, she’d stood on the bottom step of the stairs eyeing him warily as Miles and Charlotte greeted him. He was tall and slim and, like Georgie, fair haired. In fact, his hair, straight and smoothed back from his forehead, was so blond it was almost white. He had blue eyes too, but whereas Georgie’s were merry Philip’s were rather cold.

  ‘Who’s this?’ he’d asked, catching sight of Jenny.

  Charlotte had made the introductions, but instead of picking her up and swinging her round as Georgie might have done, he gave her a curt nod as he passed her on the stairs on the way to take his bags up to his room. He didn’t even smile at her.

  But Georgie’s arrival a little later was very different. At once, fun and laughter pervaded the house as he asked, ‘I haven’t missed the tree decorating, then?’

  ‘No, we waited for you especially,’ Charlotte said.

  So, the whole family was together when Ben struggled in with a huge tree that he then stood in the corner near the stairs. There was much laughter as the men tried to get the tree to stand up straight in the wooden barrel, sawn in half and filled with earth to plant the tree in.

  ‘Is it straight yet, Jen?’ Georgie asked, panting as he straightened up. ‘We’re relying on you to tell us.’

  Charlotte and Jenny stood back from the tree. ‘A bit to the left, I think,’ Charlotte said. ‘What do you say, Jenny?’

  ‘That way,’ Jenny said, flinging out her left arm.

  ‘Right, chaps, let’s give it another go.’

  At last the tree was positioned to everyone’s satisfaction and the decorating began.

  ‘Now, Father, you must put the fairy on the top – just like you always have.’

  After all the laughter and chatter and gentle arguing where the baubles should hang, where the paper streamers should go, there was a quieter moment when Miles climbed up the stairs and leaned over the banister to attach the fairy to the top of the tree.

  ‘And now,’ Philip said languidly, ‘do you think we could have dinner? I’m starving.’

  Jenny monopolized Georgie. She was in awe of Philip, who, of all the family, kept himself aloof from the jollity, though he had joined in with decorating the tree. She liked Ben; he was kind, but quieter than the ebullient Georgie. But she couldn’t weigh Philip up. He was something grand – a lawyer – in the city and she felt he looked down on her. She was thankful he’d not seen her when she first arrived. Though she stared at Philip, she slipped her hand into Georgie’s.

  ‘Will you read to me tonight?’ she whispered.

  ‘Of course. How far have you got with The Wind in the Willows?’

  She smiled up at him, her cheeks dimpling prettily, her shining blond curls dancing. ‘We haven’t read any more. That’s your book. Charlotte reads The Swiss Family Robinson but I wouldn’t want to be a castaway, would you?’

  ‘But they’re very enterprising, aren’t they?’

  The child looked puzzled.

  ‘I mean, they make the best of it and build a shelter and find food, don’t they?’

  She nodded. ‘They’re all together. A family. A real family . . .’ Her tone was wistful and Georgie wondered, not for the first time, just what this poor kid’s home life was really like. ‘But if you were on your own . . .’

  ‘Yes, that would be a bit tough, wouldn’t it?’ He squeezed her hand. ‘But you’re part of our family now, aren’t you?’

  She looked up at him and he was staggered by the hope in her eyes. ‘For always?’

  ‘Well, for a while. Until it’s safe for you to go back home.’

  ‘They don’t want me back,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Mum’s got this new feller. Well, I suppose he’s not that new now. She met him last New Year’s Eve. He’s all right but I know they’d rather be just on their own.’

  Georgie – the brave young flight lieutenant who flew his Hurricane several times a week over the Channel – felt as if his heart might break.

  Fifteen

  No present, not even a card or a letter, arrived for Jenny and though no one referred to it, the whole family tried to compensate for the child’s mother’s lack of interest.

  ‘Not one word from her mother,’ Miles raged when they were sitting together round the fire late on Christmas Eve after Jenny was in bed and asleep. ‘No card, no present – nothing!’

  ‘Not everyone’s as big on “family” as you and Charlotte,’ Philip drawled. When his father had first married Charlotte, Philip had resented the woman he saw as trying to take his mother’s place. Now there was a truce between them, uneasy though it still sometimes was. ‘And of course,’ he added with a touch of sarcasm, ‘Jenny’s a girl. The daughter you always wanted, Father.’

  He was touching on a delicate subject – the secret sorrow that Miles and Charlotte had to live with – that she’d not been able to give him more children and especially the daughter he’d always longed for.

  ‘Well, I’ve offered to wear a wig and dress up in a skirt,’ Georgie joked, ‘but I’m not really the girlie type.’

  Everyone laughed – they couldn’t help it – as the image of the tall, broad-shouldered, handsome young man in a dress and blond wig entered their minds.

  ‘Heaven forbid!’ Miles muttered, but his mood lightened. No one could stay miserable or angry for long when Georgie was around. He’d always been greatly loved by all his family and Miles had never allowed him to bear any feelings of guilt because his birth had caused Louisa’s death. He’d even been forgiven, as Georgie himself would say, for not being a girl. And it was Georgie who, over the next two days, made everyone forget the war; Georgie who arranged the noisy games and even managed to involve Philip, much to everyone’s surprise, in a hilarious game of charades. And it was Georgie who focused all his attention on the little girl far from home and her own family. He longed to ask her about them, but knew he’d be treading on feelings that the young girl was perhaps trying to keep hidden. But Jenny displayed no sign of homesickness, no sign of missing her mother, though she did refer once to her friends, the Hutton family.

  It was while they were eating Christmas dinner that she suddenly said, ‘I hope Bobby’s getting a dinner as good as this.’

  There was silence round the table until Georgie asked gently, ‘Who’s Bobby?’

  ‘My friend. He lives next door.’ She laid her knife and fork neatly on the empty plate as Charlotte had taught her to do and began to tick the members of the Hutton family off on her fingers. ‘There’s Bobby. He’s a year old
er than me. Then there’s Sammy – ’ she wrinkled her forehead. ‘I think he’s twelve and then Ronnie. He’s the oldest. He’s left school an’ goes to work. That’s why he wasn’t ’vacuated.’

  ‘And their mother?’ Georgie was the only one who dared ask and even then his tone was tentative.

  Jenny’s face brightened. ‘Aunty Elsie? She’s nice. I go to their house a lot when Mum’s out.’

  Now, even Georgie couldn’t voice the questions that were tumbling around in his head, but Jenny carried on. ‘And then there’s Uncle Sid – their dad. He works on the docks now but he used to be in the navy. Aunty Elsie said he’d be going back in if there was a war.’ Her face clouded. ‘I wonder if he has.’

  ‘Charlotte told me that you came on the train with Bobby and Sammy but they went on somewhere else,’ Miles put in. ‘I did ask Mr Tomkins, Jen, but he didn’t know anything. Would you like me to try and find out? If they’re not too far away, maybe we could take you to see them.’

  Jenny’s face brightened. ‘Would you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It seems’, Philip drawled, glancing at Georgie, ‘that we have another golden-haired cherub in our midst, now you’re too old to lay claim to the title.’

  Georgie only grinned, but Jenny, though not understanding the reference to the description that folk had given Georgie as an impish though adorable youngster, nevertheless instinctively recognized the sarcasm in Philip’s tone.

  She frowned and her blue eyes glittered as she glared at him.

  The day after Boxing Day, Georgie was obliged to return to camp.

  There was no tantrum this time, but Jenny clung to him.

  ‘I’ll be home again as soon as I can,’ he promised. ‘And next time, if the weather’s better, I’ll take you down to the beach. You’ve not been yet, have you?’

  Jenny shook her head.

  ‘Now be a brave girl, because I want you to look after Miles and Charlotte and old Ben here for me. Will you do that?’

  Now she nodded and tried valiantly to stem the tears. But as she stood on the top step, waving goodbye to him as he walked away down the drive on his way to the railway station, she could no longer hold back the heart-wrenching sobs.