by Lily Baxter
‘Nonsense, Guy. I’m perfectly well. It’s just a little stitch.’
He took her slender wrist in his hand and consulted his watch. ‘Your pulse is racing.’
‘Oh, so you’re a qualified doctor now, are you, Guy?’
‘Not for another two years, but I can tell a racing pulse when I feel one.’
Poppy gazed up at him lost in admiration, but his attention was focused on Amy. She did look very pale and Poppy wondered if she was going to faint. ‘My gran sniffs smelling salts when she has a funny turn.’
Amy smiled and squeezed her hand. ‘Thank you, but I’m quite all right, really.’
‘We’ll get you home at once.’ Without a by your leave, Guy swung her effortlessly into his arms, and despite Amy’s protests he strode off down the lane with Poppy hurrying along at his side. It was like something out of a film, she thought, quickening her pace in order to keep up with him. He was Errol Flynn carrying Maid Marian into Sherwood Forest. Poppy stole a sideways glance at his determined profile. I wouldn’t make a fuss like Amy, she thought enviously, but Amy looked far from happy.
‘Put me down, please, Guy. I’m fine, honestly.’
‘You’re not fine and this is good for improving my biceps, which I need if I’m going to be selected for the hospital rowing eight. Keep up, Poppy. We don’t want to have to come back to find you.’
Amy laced her fingers together behind Guy’s neck. ‘I didn’t know you liked rowing, Guy. I’ve missed so much this last year, and you’re a terrible correspondent.’
‘And you may look as if a puff of wind would carry you away, Amy, but you’re quite a weight, my girl.’
Poppy jogged along at his side, wishing that she was fair and lovely like Amy, instead of being sallow-skinned and dark-haired. She made a firm decision to include Amy in her prayers that night, along with Mum, Dad, Joe, Grandad, Gran and little Rupert. She was still burning with shame that the family thought she was unfit to look after him. She would miss his small body cuddling up to her in bed at night.
When they arrived back at the house Poppy was dismayed to see Miss Pamela standing by their car with Rupert clutched in her arms, while Jackson loaded luggage into the boot. Rupert chortled with delight when he spotted her and began to struggle but his mother gave him a sharp reprimand and he started to cry. Poppy longed to rush over and comfort him, but she did not dare.
Guy set Amy down at the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the main entrance. ‘I’d better drive you home, Amy.’
She reached up and kissed him lightly on his cheek. ‘Not yet, Guy. I’m going to see that Poppy is settled in the nursery, and I’ll have a word with Cook to make sure she gets some tea or otherwise I’m afraid they’re in such turmoil below stairs that they may forget all about her.’
‘Tell Mrs Toon she’ll have me to deal with if anyone takes it out on Poppy. I’ll just go and say cheerio to Pam and Hector.’ He strolled off in the direction of the Pallisters’ car leaving Amy and Poppy to negotiate the steps.
Inside the entrance hall, Poppy stopped at the foot of the stairs. ‘You shouldn’t walk up all them stairs if you’re tired, miss – I mean Amy. I know the way now, ta.’
‘You’re a sweet girl, Poppy. I am a bit tired but I wouldn’t admit it to Guy. He worries about me.’
With one foot on the bottom tread, Poppy hesitated, turning to Amy. ‘You won’t forget about me, will you?’
‘Don’t worry about anything. I’m going to speak to Mrs Toon now, and tomorrow morning I’ll be here bright and early to take you to school. You’ll soon settle in, and you’ll feel happier when you’ve got some friends of your own age.’
‘Will Guy come too?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. He’s going to London tonight and he may not be back for quite a while.’
Chapter Four
THE HEADMISTRESS OF the village school greeted Amy and Poppy with an air of tired resignation. ‘I don’t know how we’ll cope, Miss Fenton-Jones. We’re terribly overcrowded, and with more evacuee children expected. I think we’ll have to work out some sort of shift system for teaching.’
‘Poppy’s had a particularly difficult time, Miss Dobson. She needs friends of her own age.’
‘Well, I’m not sure that’s going to happen. You haven’t seen the rest of my new pupils.’ Miss Dobson eyed Poppy as if she were about to bite a chunk from her plump leg. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. Most of them are vermin-ridden and I doubt if half of them are literate, let alone toilet-trained. I just don’t know how we’ll cope.’
‘I’m certain you’ll manage splendidly, but I’d be most grateful if you could keep an eye on Poppy. If anything goes wrong this is my phone number at home. I don’t want Mrs Carroll to be troubled unnecessarily.’ Amy scribbled something on a page torn from her diary and handed it to Miss Dobson, who was immediately called away by a summons from an apparently desperate younger teacher.
Amy gave Poppy a hug. ‘There are lots of children in the same situation as yourself, and I’m sure by the end of the day you’ll have made new friends.’
Poppy nodded dumbly and swallowed hard. There was a subdued but menacing babble of noise emanating from the classroom and she was not convinced, but she managed a weak smile and opened the door. Something flew past her head and as it hit the wall she realised that it was a pellet of blotting paper soaked in ink. It exploded in a blue-black starburst and slid down the brown paintwork to land in a dark puddle on the bare floorboards. As she stepped into the room she found her way barred by a boy with an unpleasant expression on his foxy face. ‘I know you,’ he said in a whisper. ‘You’re the kid what pushed Violet downstairs. Could’ve killed her.’
Poppy backed away and found herself pinned to the ink-covered wall. ‘It was an accident.’
‘Sid Guppy, I won’t tell you again. Sit down.’ There was a note of resignation in the young teacher’s voice.
‘Better watch out for me at break-time, Popeye,’ Sid hissed.
‘I won’t tell you again, Sid Guppy.’
‘Yes, Miss Morris.’ He slithered onto a seat, pulling a face at Poppy under cover of wiping his nose on his sleeve.
‘What’s your name?’ Miss Morris pointed a ruler at Poppy. ‘I’ve called the register and you don’t seem to be on it.’
‘Poppy Brown, miss.’
‘Sit down and I’ll take your details later. Now, children, Miss Dobson is going to divide you into groups according to age. Come to the front when your name is called.’ She handed the register to the headmistress.
To her dismay, Poppy found herself sharing a desk with Sid Guppy. She tried to protest but she found herself ignored by the hard-pressed teachers as they marshalled their classes together and herded the younger children into another room. Making her way to her seat Poppy was met by grinning faces and subdued sniggers.
Vera Brice, who had been in Poppy’s class at school, shot her a sympathetic glance. ‘Look at your back,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve got ink all over your blouse.’
Poppy acknowledged this piece of information, biting her lip. Mrs Carroll would kill her when she got home. The blouse had belonged to Miss Pamela and probably cost a small fortune.
‘Hurry up and sit down, Poppy. We’ll begin with reading.’
Poppy put as much distance between herself and Sid as was possible. She knew that he was laughing at her, but she refused to look at him.
Miss Morris placed a pile of books on the front desks, and they were passed backwards in an orderly fashion by the girls and a disorderly one by the boys, who earned a sharp rebuke. The story was Treasure Island and Poppy sighed with relief. She was more than familiar with the adventures of Jim Hawkins and Squire Trelawney. Here she was on familiar ground and she began to relax. The reading began with the front row and some of the children stuttered and stumbled over the words, mumbling tonelessly. Some of the evacuees could read well but there were some, including Colin, who found it almost impossible. He had to be taken to the boys�
�� toilets by one of the older girls when he suffered yet another little accident.
When it came to Poppy’s turn, she stood up and began to read, but she was nervous and the words leapt about the page like a mass of squiggly tadpoles.
‘Speak up, Poppy,’ Miss Morris said sternly. ‘We all want to hear the story, but we can’t hear if you whisper.’
A snigger from Sid made Poppy even more determined to do her best. As she launched once again into the story she forgot that she was in a hostile environment. Ignoring the stares of the village children and the smirking face of Sid Guppy, she forgot that the room smelt of unwashed bodies and blackboard paint with overtones of dust and chalk. She became enthralled in the tale of pirates and buried treasure, and as she read the class quietened down and began to listen. Poppy was transported to another world and it was almost a shock when Miss Morris told her to stop.
‘Thank you, Poppy. That was very good indeed. You may sit down.’
Poppy sat down but an excruciating pain made her leap from her seat with a yelp of pain. Sid sniggered and a ripple of laughter ran through the class. Poppy found a drawing pin embedded in her right buttock and she wrenched it out, gritting her teeth and blinking hard in an effort not to cry.
‘Good heavens, girl. What’s the matter?’ Miss Morris hurried along the aisle between the desks. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I was stung, miss,’ Poppy said, clutching the drawing pin in her fisted hand.
‘It must have been a wasp. Children, you must be careful. Wasps get very sleepy at this time of year. Poppy, you’d better come into the kitchen and we’ll find something to put on it.’
Poppy followed Miss Morris into the tiny kitchen.
‘Now what is best?’ Miss Morris said, opening a cupboard and peering inside. ‘Vinegar or blue bag? It will have to be vinegar. Show me where it hurts.’
Amy was waiting at the school gate when Poppy flew out of the building ahead of the rest of the children. She had managed to kick Sid Guppy on the shins before he got the first punch in at break, and although she had been severely reprimanded Miss Morris seemed to have a fair idea who had started the fight.
Amy greeted her with a sweet smile. ‘How was your first day, Poppy?’
‘I’m never going back there.’ Crossing her fingers, Poppy hoped that Amy would not notice the ink-stain on the back of her blouse.
‘Oh, surely it can’t have been as bad as that?’
‘It was worse! I’d rather be bombed in West Ham than go back in there.’
Amy stood aside as a stream of children poured out of the school and raced off in different directions shouting and screeching as if they had just escaped from the zoo.
‘What happened to upset you so much?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘We’ll see about that. It’s my guess you’ve been bullied and I won’t stand for it.’ Taking Poppy by the hand Amy marched her back into the school. ‘Wait here by the coat racks. I’m going to sort this out once and for all.’
Poppy watched in amazement as sweet and gentle Amy turned into an avenging angel and stormed into the classroom, slamming the door behind her. Sid poked his head round the outer door and grinned at her. ‘I’ll get you tomorrow, Popeye. See if I don’t.’
‘Bugger off, Sid Guppy.’
His shocked face was reward enough for Poppy. He turned and fled as Amy and Miss Dobson strolled out of the classroom, smiling and obviously on good terms.
‘I don’t care what you say. I’m not coming back,’ Poppy said before either of them had a chance to speak.
Amy took her by the hand. ‘There’s no need to worry, Poppy dear. Miss Dobson and I have had a chat about you and we both agree that you’re in the wrong school. I’ll take you home now and tomorrow we’ll go and see the headmistress at the girls’ grammar school in Fairford.’
Sid was leaning against the wall outside the playground with his hands stuffed into his pockets, whistling tunelessly as he kicked windfall crab-apples through the school gate posts. Holding her head high, Poppy walked past without looking at him. She heard him mumble something under his breath, but a frown from Amy was enough to silence him and he ambled off towards the village.
Guy’s roadster was parked in the lane at an eccentric angle. ‘Hop in,’ Amy said, peering into her large brown suede handbag. ‘As soon as I’ve found the wretched car key we’ll be on our way.’
The golden September sun had warmed the leather seat, and Poppy settled down, waiting patiently while Amy fumbled in the bottom of her handbag.
‘Got it,’ Amy said, climbing in beside her and stowing her bag on the floor by Poppy’s feet. ‘I should either get a smaller handbag or stop putting everything in it but the kitchen sink.’ She slanted a mischievous smile at Poppy. ‘Hold on. I can’t promise to drive this thing as well as Guy, but I’ll do my best.’ She started the engine and after a few bunny hops they were speeding through the lanes, sending up clouds of dust and dry leaves. Poppy admired the way that Amy handled the car, but all the same she could not help wishing that it was Guy in the driving seat. She was immediately ashamed of herself for harbouring such mean thoughts when Amy had shown her nothing but kindness. Even so, she could not hold back the question that was tingling on the tip of her tongue. ‘Has Guy come home?’
‘No. He left the car so that I could have use of it while he was away in London.’
‘But he will come home soon?’
Amy was silent for a moment as she concentrated on the road ahead. She changed gear in order to negotiate a steep bend, and once they were back on the straight she glanced at Poppy with a smile. ‘If I tell you a secret, will you promise on your honour not to tell anyone else?’
‘Cross me heart and hope to die.’
‘Guy has gone up to London to enlist in the Royal Air Force. He doesn’t want Mr and Mrs Carroll to find out until it’s a fait accompli.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Guy will tell his parents when it’s too late for them to try to stop him. He’s had some flying experience at university, and he’s keen to join up.’
‘Hell’s bells and buckets of blood,’ Poppy said with feeling.
A gurgle of laughter escaped Amy’s lips. ‘It’s not considered polite for young girls to use that sort of language, Poppy. I don’t give a tuppenny damn, and don’t repeat that either, but I’m afraid others might find it offensive.’
‘I’ll button me lip in future.’
Amy crunched the gears as they reached the crossroads and the engine stalled. ‘Bloody thing! One day I’ll get the hang of driving this beast, but don’t you dare tell Guy that I made a mess of driving his precious car.’
Poppy’s heart swelled with pride. She shared a secret with Amy, and, for the first time since she had arrived in Dorset, she felt a sense of near belonging.
The headmistress at Fairford Girls’ Grammar School was reluctant to consider taking Poppy as a pupil unless she passed the common entrance examination. Most of the conversation during her initial interview passed over Poppy’s head. She perched on her seat and whiled away the time looking round the oak-panelled study, which was lined with bookshelves and group photographs of past and present hockey teams. A glass-fronted cabinet was filled with silver cups, which was depressing as she was not very keen on sport. Amy’s voice never rose above a pleasant murmur but she countered every excuse that the headmistress put before her as skilfully as any lawyer. The conversation turned to talk about fees and Poppy, only half listening, thought she heard Amy promise to be responsible for the financial obligations, but the interview was suddenly over and the headmistress was shaking Amy’s hand. Poppy realised with something of a shock that she had been enrolled as a pupil at the posh girls’ grammar school.
Without giving her a chance to protest, Amy whisked her off to the school outfitters in Fairford and Poppy was kitted out with a navy blue gymslip, three white blouses, two navy blue cardigans, and several sets of underwear including hideous navy bl
ue knickers with a pocket for a hanky. Who in their right minds would want to tuck their hanky in their bloomers, Poppy thought in amazement? She was still puzzling over that when she tried on a school blazer and a black barathea overcoat. Amy told the shop assistant to pack everything and have it taken to the car, which impressed Poppy no end, but she could not help worrying. This must be costing Amy a fortune. Her worst fears were realised as she peered over Amy’s shoulder as she was about to sign the bill.
‘That’s an awful lot of money.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Amy hesitated with her pen poised above the invoice book.
‘My mum and dad can’t afford all this stuff. I don’t think Dad earns that much in a week.’
Amy smiled. ‘You mustn’t worry about things like that. I can easily afford to treat you, and anyway this is wartime and we must all do our bit.’ She wrote her signature with a flourish. ‘Come along, Poppy. You need new shoes. You can’t go to school in sandals with the toes cut out.’
‘Mum does it with a razor blade,’ Poppy said, hurrying after her as Amy made her way out of the store. ‘It stops me toes from bending double inside the sandals and they do another season. Shoes cost money, a lot of it, and you’ve already spent a fortune on me.’
‘As I said, that’s not your problem, Poppy. I’m not letting you start school at a disadvantage.’
The next stop was the shoe shop, and by this time Poppy was past protesting. She sat in silence while her feet were measured and she was fitted with a pair of black lace-up shoes, plimsolls and hockey boots. She felt quite faint when the assistant handed the sales slip to Amy but, as in the other store, it appeared that Amy had something mysteriously called ‘an account’ and no money changed hands.
Poppy wished that Mum and Gran could see her now as she carried her parcels to the car. She promised herself that she would go to the nursery as soon as they arrived home. She would sit down to write a long reply to Mum’s letter, which had arrived that morning. She had read it and wept, even though Mum’s words had been encouraging and filled with the hope that they would be together again by Christmas. It was only a few months away, but that seemed like a lifetime to Poppy.