Jenny's War

by Dickinson, Margaret

  Arthur shrugged. ‘Just bein’ prepared, Dot. Like a good boy scout.’

  ‘You – a boy scout? Don’t make me larf!’

  Mildly, and with a wistful note in his voice, Arthur said, ‘Actually, I was once.’ Then he cleared his throat and said briskly, ‘But as far as the chickens and that are concerned, Fenton just said I’d better inform the Ministry.’ Now Arthur laughed uproariously. ‘Just to keep on the right side of the law, he said.’

  ‘And shall you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Inform the authorities.’

  ‘Nah, ’course I won’t. I don’t want officials coming round here poking their noses in.’

  Yet again, Jenny shuddered.

  So life fell into a pattern, but it was a pattern that Jenny didn’t like. She had to hand it to Arthur that he was resourceful. He built a chicken hut and actually bought some feed for his hens and ducks so that at least part of his operation was legitimate. He learned from Jack Fenton how to kill the hens by wringing their necks. Jenny hated to see the poor things hanging limply by their legs and still flapping their wings even though they were dead.

  Soon their livestock increased. Every week they went out at least one night, and ‘collected’ another hen or two, never taking any more so that the farmer was unlikely to notice the reduction in his numbers. Hens were notoriously difficult to count and as long as there was not a noticeable difference, Arthur seemed to be getting away with it. He always chose a different farm and never visited the same one again for several weeks. Their number of hens grew and lessened as more came and then more were killed and taken to the city.

  But Arthur never took Dot or Jenny to Sheffield or Manchester or wherever it was he went, though Dot begged to be taken into the shops. ‘I’ll die if I don’t get to go shopping soon,’ she wailed.

  ‘How do you think I can get the petrol to go gallivanting into town?’

  ‘You can get it to do your dirty business,’ Dot snapped back.

  ‘That’s different and it’s at night. Petrol’s rationed and you have to have a good reason to be travelling about. If I get stopped . . .’ He didn’t need to say any more but Dot cast him a baleful look. ‘And that reminds me, I’m getting low on petrol. I need to get some. Jen, I’ll need you to come with me tonight and be ready to do your bit of play-acting if necessary.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Dot offered, but Arthur shook his head. ‘You can’t act that you’re lost. Besides,’ he added with a smirk, ‘if they see you hanging about on street corners, they might think you’re up to something very different.’

  Dot gasped and slapped his face, but it was done playfully, almost coquettishly, and Jenny turned away, feeling sick.

  If only she knew they wanted her back at Ravensfleet, she’d run away. But Dot had been adamant that the Thorntons had sent her back, that they didn’t want her there. And they hadn’t written to her – not once – since she’d left, even though she’d written to them three times while she’d been back in London. She was sure her mother would have posted her letters and, even allowing for wartime postal delays, they’d had time to write back. So maybe Dot was right; the Thorntons really didn’t want her. And now Jenny couldn’t write to them and she daren’t go back to London either. Dot and Arthur would soon come after her and besides, Aunty Elsie would ask too many awkward questions.

  The summer school holidays dragged. Jenny saw Beryl and Susan occasionally but both girls were busy helping with the harvest and she felt excluded. So she spent the long days on her own. The only time she was truly happy was when Arthur took Dot out and Jenny could bring her drawing book and paints down to the kitchen. But before long she’d used up all the paper which Charlotte had given her. And there was no hope of being given a new supply for her birthday, which, as usual, passed by without any comment from Dot. No card, no ‘Happy Birthday’ and certainly no present. She remembered the belated party the Thorntons had given her. How she wished she could go back there, but she couldn’t. She was trapped here, being led into a life of crime and there was nothing she could do about it.

  The days were much shorter and the nights darker towards the end of the year and late one November night, Jenny was out in the van with Arthur. He parked down a side road and then crept towards a fenced yard next to a large barn. This was more dangerous; it was not in the open countryside, but on the outskirts of the village where Jenny went to school and there were houses just across the road. They got out of the van and Arthur removed a petrol can and a long piece of rubber tubing from the back.

  They began to walk up the road towards the yard.

  ‘What – what are you going to do, Uncle – Dad?’

  ‘Syphon petrol,’ he muttered.

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘Those vehicles in that yard.’

  ‘But there’s a big fence and the gates are padlocked. I can see it from here.’

  Arthur’s chuckle came out of the darkness. ‘Never you mind what your dad’s doing, you just keep watch and be sure to tell me if you see anybody coming.’

  ‘Won’t there be guard dogs or – or a night watchman at a place like this?’

  ‘Nah – I’ve already checked. And once everybody’s nicely tucked up in their homes with the blackout curtains drawn, nobody comes out much. I’ve been watching this place for several nights now. Right, you stand just there and keep yer eyes skinned.’

  ‘Uncle – Dad, I really don’t want to—’ she began but his hand was heavy on her shoulder as he murmured, ‘Be a good girl now.’

  Jenny sighed and pulled her coat around her. The night was cold and fear was making her shiver. She stepped close to the fence and glanced up and down the street. All was quiet and the faint rattle as Arthur tried to open the padlock with a bunch of keys seemed to echo loudly in the night air.

  ‘He’ll never manage it,’ Jenny muttered, but even as she said the words the gate swung open with a squeak that sounded even louder. Then she saw Arthur creep into the yard and disappear behind the line of six vehicles – two cars and four vans very much like the one he drove. Now he was out of sight, Jenny felt even more vulnerable.

  He’d been gone what seemed like a long time, when the door of the house opposite opened and a man, briefly framed in the light from inside, came out. A small dog yapped and ran excitedly up and down the path. Jenny watched in horror as the man came down the path, opened the small gate and stepped out into the road. There was nowhere she could hide as she saw the man glance across the street and catch sight of her. She could see he was bending his head forward as if squinting through the darkness at her.

  Jenny didn’t have to feign the tears that Arthur had told her to shed if someone saw her; she was frightened enough for them to be real. She put her hand to her eyes and began to sob. The man came across the road, his little dog following him and bounding towards her.

  ‘Hello, love. You all right?’

  ‘No,’ Jenny wailed loudly, hoping that Arthur would hear her and be warned. ‘I’m lost.’

  ‘Lost? How come at this time of night? Does your mother know you’re out this late?’

  Jenny hiccuped convincingly. ‘I’ve been at a friend’s and – and I said I’d be fine walking home, but I must have taken a wrong turn.’

  ‘You’re not a local, are you?’ he said, coming closer. The little dog was jumping up at her, licking her hand.

  ‘I’m a vaccie,’ she wailed loudly again.

  ‘A what, love?’

  ‘A ’vacuee.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Aye, we’ve got a lot o’ them come. A’ you staying round here, then?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t know which way it is.’

  ‘Well, you tell me and I’ll walk along with you.’

  Now a fresh fear flooded through her. Arthur would be dreadfully cross if this man took her all the way home.

  ‘I – ’ she began, not sure what to do or to say now. She wanted to glance behind her, into the yard to see if she could catch sight of Arthur, b
ut knew she mustn’t. Her action might give him away.

  ‘Do you go to school here?’ the man was asking again.

  Relief flooded through her. ‘Yes, yes,’ she said in a loud voice, still trying to make sure that Arthur had heard her and knew there was a problem. She was sure now that he must have done, because the little dog suddenly began to bark and run a little way along the road towards the unlocked gate and then back again to them, as if asking them to follow him. But the man took no notice of his dog; he was more concerned with the lost girl.

  ‘If you show me where the school is,’ Jenny said, the relief in her voice genuine as she thought of a way to stop him accompanying her all the way to the cottage, ‘I know the way home from there. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ the man said worriedly. ‘I’d walk with you all the way, but the wife isn’t very well and I don’t want to leave her for long, but Nipper here has to have his evening walk, haven’t you, boy?’

  Jenny was actually speaking the truth now. She didn’t know where the school was from here, but once there, she knew the way back to the cottage up the long lane.

  ‘Come on, then,’ the man said, also sounding relieved at her suggestion. ‘Best foot forward.’

  They walked along, the man matching his strides to the girl’s. Jenny dared not glance behind her and she crossed her fingers hoping that Arthur knew what was happening.

  The little dog bounded ahead, running back to them every so often and barking excitedly. Surely, Arthur must have heard the dog if nothing else.

  They passed by the van and Jenny’s heart skipped a beat as the man paused and looked at the vehicle. ‘Funny,’ he murmured, ‘I don’t recognize that van. Wonder what it’s doing here?’

  Her heart pounding, Jenny walked on, trying to make out she was more interested in getting home than in a parked vehicle. The man shrugged and walked on, catching her up. It wasn’t as far as she’d thought to the school and there she insisted she knew the way, that she’d be fine, and thanked him for his kindness. She bent and patted the dog and then hurried away from them both and was soon swallowed up in the darkness. As she walked on, she began to breathe more evenly, but now a new anxiety crept into her mind.

  What if Arthur hadn’t heard the commotion? What if he was still blithely unaware that she was no longer standing outside the fence on guard? What if . . . ?

  At that moment, she heard the chugging sound of a vehicle behind her and she stepped on to the grass verge. Arthur’s van slowed and stopped near her. He pushed open the passenger door. ‘Get in.’

  She couldn’t tell from his tone of voice if he was angry with her, but at least he was obviously safe or he wouldn’t be here. She scrambled in and, as she settled herself in the seat beside him, he patted her knee. ‘Well done, darlin’, I heard you crying loud and clear and hid behind the vehicles. When you went I hopped it back to the gate, locked it up and got in the van.’

  ‘That man remarked about your van,’ she told him. ‘He wondered what it was doing there.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll mind not to park there again. In fact, we’d better not use that place again. I only took a little out of each vehicle so that no one will notice. On this game, Jen, the thing is not to be greedy. If you take too much of anything, they’ll notice and then you’ll get caught. See?’

  Jenny didn’t answer. He talked as if it was quite all right to steal just so long as you took only a little; just so long as you didn’t get caught.

  Not for the first time, Jenny wondered with a sinking heart what Georgie would think of the life she was leading now. And inwardly, she wept.

  Thirty-Three

  Life continued in much the same way for a while. Christmas came and went but just as she always had, Dot couldn’t be bothered to try to make the occasion special. So long as Arthur loaded her with presents, she didn’t give a thought to anyone else. But this year the weather was bad with snow drifting against their door. Arthur couldn’t drive his van anywhere and only the farm tractors could get about, doing their best to move the snow from the local roads.

  ‘’Ow can yer make puddings and a cake’ – Dot had excused her laziness, ‘when you can’t get hold of the stuff to make ’em?’

  ‘Yer’ve got eggs and plenty of sugar.’ The latter had come from a night raid on a local grocer’s shop in the next village just before the bad weather had set in with a vengeance, when once again Arthur had picked the lock on the back door of the premises. Jenny had been terrified; the shop was in the centre of the village and she couldn’t think of a plausible story if she was asked what she was doing hanging about outside a shop at midnight and a long way from home too.

  ‘I took just one or two items from the back of the shelves,’ Arthur said, pleased with his night’s work. Sugar, butter, tea and other rationed items lay in the back of the van under a rug. But as they drove home, Jenny was still quaking. If they were stopped, how could Arthur possibly explain away the goods in the back of the van?

  He couldn’t.

  Only when they reached the cottage, had unloaded the goods and stacked them on the pantry shelves, did Jenny start to feel safer. Safer, but not safe. She doubted she would ever feel safe again, not while she was with Arthur Osborne – Mercer, as she must remember to call him now. If only . . .

  Tears prickled her eyes as thoughts of Ravensfleet filtered unbidden into her mind, but resolutely she pushed them away. There was no way back. They didn’t want her.

  ‘I was so frightened,’ she blurted out as she sat sipping the hot cocoa Arthur always insisted that Dot made for the girl when she’d been out at night helping him. ‘I thought an ARP warden might come along at any minute.’

  Arthur, drinking cocoa too, though his had a drop of whisky in it, stared at her above the rim of his mug.

  ‘Air Raid Precautions Warden,’ he murmured softly. ‘Now there’s a thought.’

  ‘What is?’ Dot snapped. She was rarely in a good mood these days and the winter weather in the cold, damp cottage was making her even more irritable. She missed the busy streets of London, the camaraderie as they all faced the wartime hardships together. She even missed the rows with her neighbours. She hated it here and couldn’t understand why Jenny didn’t too. Her daughter was a city child, like her, and yet Jenny had changed ever since she’d come back from Lincolnshire. How Dot wished she’d never sent her there. But now she was staring at Arthur. She knew that look he’d got on his face. He was up to something. ‘What’s a thought?’ she snapped again.

  ‘Becoming an ARP warden. They’re out and about all night with never a question asked, now aren’t they?’

  Dot snorted. ‘You? An ARP warden? A representative of law and order? Don’t make me larf.’

  Arthur’s eyes gleamed. ‘But think of the pickings. There’s been a lot of bombing in Sheffield. If I could get taken on there.’

  Dot’s eyes widened. ‘Why? Why would you want to go into danger deliberately? You’re a fool if—’

  He leaned towards her. ‘Sheffield was very badly bombed in December 1940 for three or four days. I’ve seen it with me own eyes. Bomb-damaged houses, Dot. Just think of it. All that stuff just lying there, waiting to be picked up. And in uniform, no one would question why I was there. Why I was rooting through the rubble. And they still get the odd raid now and again. And if an enemy plane misses its primary target, say Manchester or Liverpool, then Sheffield cops it.’

  Realization began to dawn on Dot’s face and Jenny, too, understood what he was suggesting. Dot jabbed her finger towards Jenny. ‘You couldn’t take her as lookout.’

  ‘Wouldn’t need to,’ Arthur said promptly and Jenny’s heart lifted. ‘I’d be there legitimately, wouldn’t I?’

  Dot laughed wryly. ‘That’d make a change.’

  Arthur stood up. ‘I’ll ask around as soon as the weather improves. Find out what I have to do. I’m sure they’ll be glad to have a fit feller like me.’

  Dot stared up at him. ‘But you’re not
fit, a’ yer? You’ve got a heart condition, so that bit o’ paper in your pocket ses.’

  Arthur winked at her. ‘Oh aye, but they’ll tek anyone they can get in the ARP and the Home Guard or whatever they call themselves now.’

  Dot snorted, huddling closer to the fire, which was burning a sack of coal that Arthur had brought home, taken, Jenny believed, from someone’s backyard in the black of night.

  ‘Three or four days of bombing!’ Dot muttered, thinking about what Arthur had just said. ‘When we had months. They don’t know they’re born.’

  Jenny glanced at her mother, marvelling yet again at her selfishness. Could she never think of anyone else but herself? However long or short the bombing lasted, it was just as devastating for those caught up in it.

  ‘Anyway,’ Arthur was saying, his mind made up. ‘It’s the ARP for me. That way I’d get a chance to be on my own now and again patrolling the streets watching for folks showing lights and that. But there’d be no chance of that in the Home Guard. All that drilling and guarding stuff. I’d be unlikely to get the chance to be on my own.’

  ‘Aye, guarding stuff from folks like you,’ Dot said grimly. ‘You want to watch yerself. One of these days—’

  ‘Don’t you worry, darlin’, I’ll be careful. They’ll never catch Arthur Osborne. I promise you that.’ Even he forgot for the moment that he was now supposed to be Arthur Mercer.

  When the weather improved, Arthur travelled to Sheffield, joined the ARP in the city and was welcomed by those who thought he was really trying to ‘do his bit’.

  ‘He didn’t need to join us,’ the other wardens agreed. ‘He’s not from these parts. You can tell that by the way he talks and he’s got that piece of paper that says he’s got a bad heart. He doesn’t have to do anything. He could sit out the war doing nowt. But no, he’s volunteered. Good on ’im, I say.’

  So Arthur set off in his van three or four nights a week, able to obtain and use petrol legitimately now. Jenny breathed a sigh of relief that he no longer needed her. But, contrary to what he’d said, Arthur’s greed began to get the better of his common sense. Perhaps, if the pickings in the city had been better, Arthur might have been content. But he hadn’t a ready market for the belongings of people who’d been bombed out.