Octavia's War

by Beryl Kingston

  ‘Now I want to say a special word to our first-formers. Coming to a large school for the first time after being in a much smaller one is always daunting and you have come to this school for the first time in very unusual circumstances. You have a different journey ahead of you from anything that any of our previous first-formers have ever undertaken, so you are special. If you need help, no matter where you are or what it is, talk to your house officer. She is the one who has been elected to look after you. And if you can’t find her, which might happen – who can tell? – and if you can’t find a member of staff, then look for any other girl who is wearing our uniform and a house officer’s badge. You know what that looks like, don’t you? Good. Find a house officer and she will help you.

  ‘And now, as this is the first day of a new term and a new school year, we will sing the first verse of our usual opening hymn, “Lord behold us with Thy blessing, Once again assembled here.” We don’t need hymn books, do we? No, I thought not. When you’re ready, Miss Jones.’

  There was a moment while they all stood up as well as they could among their bags and baggage and then the hymn was sung lustily by everybody in the hall except for the first-formers and the helpers.

  ‘And now,’ Octavia said. ‘If our helpers would join their groups please, you can start moving out as soon as your group is ready. Good luck to all of us!’

  Lizzie Meriton took her headmistress’s words to heart, as she always did, and started looking after her own first-formers straight away. There were two of them, a tall girl called Sarah who had the longest plaits she’d ever seen and a little girl called Iris who had green eyes and very dark hair. They were both very quiet so they were probably nervous.

  ‘As soon as Mary gets back with her mum, we can go,’ she said to her group. ‘You two can walk with me and hold my hands, and then I shall know I won’t lose you.’ Her belongings were all in a knapsack, which had been Pa’s idea so as to leave her hands free. Dear Pa. He was always so sensible. It had been Ma who’d fussed. She’d had to talk to her quite sternly about it.

  ‘I don’t mind you coming as a helper,’ she’d said, ‘just so long as you don’t expect to help me. I’m the one who has to do the helping now. Miss Smith said so.’ She’d touched the little blue shield that was her badge of office and that Miss Bertram had pinned on her blouse in front of the whole house. She was very proud of being a house officer. It marked her out as someone important, someone the other girls knew they could depend on. When the votes had been counted and Miss Bertram had told them the result, she’d felt so proud to be chosen that her chest was almost bursting. And when the house meeting was over and Miss Bertram had spoken to all the house officers privately, she’d said something that made her feel prouder than ever.

  ‘You will probably be the most important house officers this school has ever had,’ she’d told them. ‘There’s a war coming – I don’t have to tell you that, do I – and we shall be in the thick of it because this school will be evacuated into the country. It will be your job to look after all the girls in the house. It will be a great responsibility and a great privilege. I know I can depend on you.’

  And now, here they were, packed into the school hall with their luggage all round them, and there was Mary O’Connor with her mother beside her and the group was all present and correct and they could go.

  ‘This is it!’ she said, taking her two first-formers by the hand. ‘Follow me.’

  It was extremely hot out there in the sun and walking made it worse. The pavements were hard under their feet, their winter uniform was stifling and their luggage grew heavier and heavier and their gas masks more and more of a nuisance with every step they took. Lizzie held on tight to her first-formers’ hands and jollied them along as well as she could, telling them they would soon be there, even though she knew they had at least half a mile to walk. Their long navy blue column marched on ahead of them and straggled behind them as far as she could see. She couldn’t help thinking what a very big school they were and began to wonder whether there’d be room for them all on the train.

  ‘I’m baking,’ Iris complained.

  ‘Soon be there,’ Lizzie said again, and this time she meant it. ‘We’re nearly at the end of Augustus Road now – do you see? – and then we’ll turn the corner into Wimbledon Park and you’ll see the station.’

  What they saw were two more columns of laden children toiling along in the sunshine. One was a line of boys in full school uniform, caps and all, the other was a junior school with lots of little’uns, wearing enormous labels and holding on to one another’s hands. Heavens above! Lizzie thought, stunned to see so many children. They’ll never get all this lot on one train. Still, that’s their problem. All I’ve got to do is make sure my group keep together and that we all get into the same compartment. ‘Don’t get lost,’ she said to them. ‘This could be quite a crush.’

  ‘Look!’ Iris said. ‘There’s a sweet shop. Can we stop and get a drink, Lizzie? It says soft drinks. On the placard.’

  ‘No, you most certainly can not,’ Lizzie said in her sternest voice.

  ‘It wouldn’t take a minute,’ Iris persisted. ‘We’re nearly there.’

  Lizzie was adamant. ‘I’m not having you getting lost,’ she said. ‘Just keep on holding my hand. You can have a drink later on. There’s Miss Henry, look, just by the entrance, waiting to check us in.’

  ‘How did she manage that?’ Mary wanted to know. ‘She must have run all the way.’

  ‘She came in Smithie’s car,’ Lizzie said, spotting it beside the pavement on the other side of the road.

  ‘Heavens!’ Mary said. ‘They are organised.’

  ‘Here we go,’ Lizzie said, shepherding her group towards the entrance. ‘Keep together all of you.’

  Her warning was timely because Southfields Station was crowded with children and their luggage. Miss Gordon was standing on the platform with the school number raised high and Miss Smith beside her, and there were teachers everywhere urging them to spread out so that they would all be in position and ready for the train when it came, but there was no sign of a train. The minutes passed and more and more children poured onto the platform. Lizzie took off her knapsack and put it down at her feet and the rest of her group followed suit. Iris said she was hot. They waited. And waited. A quarter of an hour went by according to the station clock. And they waited. And waited. When the train finally approached – much, much too slowly – they were so relieved they gave it a cheer. Then there were several minutes of jostling confusion as they picked up their luggage and struggled into the nearest carriages while their helpers ran up and down the platform trying to make sure their groups were all on board, but at last Lizzie and her charges were all together in one compartment and could take off their impossible hats and coats and put them in the luggage rack.

  ‘Sit tight for a minute while I open the windows,’ she said, pulling on the leather strap to let the nearest window down. ‘Once we get going we shall get a breeze and then we’ll all feel a whole lot better.’

  But once the train began to move, her first-formers felt a whole lot worse and Iris began to cry. She didn’t say anything, she simply sat squashed between Mary and Sarah while the tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped off the end of her nose. Lizzie couldn’t think what to say to comfort her. ‘It’ ll be all right’ would be banal, especially when none of them knew whether it would be all right, and ‘cheer up’ would be worse. But while she was trying to think of something suitable, Mrs O’Connor took action. She moved across the carriage, told Sarah to shove up, sat down between them and put her arms round them both.

  ‘You’ll see her again in a day or two,’ she promised. ‘You’ve got your postcard, haven’t you? Well then. You just send that off the minute you know where you’re going to be staying and I bet your mum’ll be down to see you on the next train.’

  ‘Will she?’ Iris said, still weeping.

  ‘’Course she will,’ Mrs O’Connor reassured. ‘
Like a shot. You got a hanky, have you? Good. Dry your little eyes and have a good blow of your nose. That’s the ticket.’ She looked round at all the serious faces in the carriage, disentangled her right arm from Sarah and pulled a paper bag out of her handbag. ‘Would any of you like a humbug?’

  The little sweets cheered them all. That’s what I should have thought of, Lizzie told herself. I’ll know next time. There’s an art in being responsible for people and part of it’s working out what you’re going to need before you need it.

  It was an art her headmistress had been exercising at full stretch over the last few crowded days. At that moment she was driving her little black Ford down Melrose Avenue, heading for Wimbledon and the next stage of the journey, with Maggie Henry in the passenger seat beside her and young Janet in the back seat with her shopping basket and Maggie’s typewriter.

  ‘That went quite smoothly, all things considered,’ she said to Maggie as she drove past Wimbledon Park Station and another long crocodile of trudging schoolchildren. ‘At least we didn’t leave anyone behind. And the staff know where we’re going. You did give them all their letters, didn’t you, Maggie?’ She’d sat up late as soon as she knew the evacuation was imminent and written a personal letter to all her staff telling them where they were going and giving them the address and phone number of the house she’d rented in Woking so that they would know where to find her. I hope we will all be able to meet there at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, she’d written, and had added. Good luck to us all.

  ‘Of course,’ Maggie said. She’d handed them out as they walked through the foyer. ‘Everything’s under control.’

  Octavia smiled at that. It was so typical of Maggie Henry. The sky could fall and she would still be well organised.

  They were approaching Wimbledon station. ‘We shall have to look lively,’ she said, ‘or the train will be here ahead of us.’

  It came in as she and Maggie were walking onto the platform. She’d only just had time to find a porter and was asking him which platform they needed for their next train, when it steamed in, hissing and creaking. ‘Stay where you are,’ she said as her pupils emerged from every open door. She walked along the platform telling them group by group. ‘You don’t need to change platforms. Stay where you are.’

  It was another long wait but they accepted it patiently, standing together, still in their groups with their luggage at their feet. When their train moved out Octavia could see that every platform on the station was full of waiting children. There must be millions of us, she thought, all on the move. It’s a major undertaking. She watched as other trains pulled in, were loaded and left, and more children arrived.

  ‘I don’t think much of this for organisation,’ Maggie grumbled. ‘I hope they haven’t forgotten us. It’s nearly midday.’

  ‘Then we’re at war,’ Octavia said, remembering. ‘Mr Chamberlain was going to make a statement at eleven o’clock this morning.’

  ‘Damned Hitler,’ Maggie said. ‘He ought to be shot. All this fuss. Ah, here it comes. And about time too.’

  This time it was easier to get all their charges on board, although there were tears when the helpers said goodbye and every window was a white flutter of waving hands and handkerchiefs as the train drew out. Even Lizzie was swimmy-eyed because her mother had walked the length of the platform to say goodbye to her.

  ‘Look after yourself, my darling,’ she said, reaching up to the window to hold her daughter’s hand, ‘and don’t forget your postcard.’

  ‘As if I would,’ Lizzie said, trying to be flippant. But it didn’t work and the train was moving. Oh God! The train was moving.

  ‘I’ll see you soon,’ Elizabeth promised, walking along beside it. ‘Take care of yourself.’ Oh my dear, darling girl. I do love you so much. Take care of yourself.

  ‘Now for Woking,’ Octavia said to Maggie Henry. ‘Gird your loins, Miss Henry. It’s going to be a long day.’

  ‘I’ve had ’em girded since I got up,’ Maggie said and was glad when Octavia laughed.

  * * *

  The station at Woking was a sizeable place and well used to crowds but they’d never had to accommodate quite so many people as they did on those three hot days in September. On that particular morning evacuees had been streaming out of the open doors into the station approach since nine o’clock, so the buses that had been hired to carry them to various halls and gathering places had been hard at work for nearly four hours before Roehampton Secondary School arrived. By that time the drivers were more than ready for their lunch break and in no mood to wait until various school friends could find one another. The girls were simply bundled into the nearest waiting vehicle as they emerged from the station and were driven away as soon as the bus was full and the statutory number of teachers was aboard. In the muddled rush of their arrival, Lizzie and Mary O’Connor were separated from their group before they had a chance to check where they all were.

  Lizzie was most upset. ‘How can I look after them if they whip them away from us like this?’ she said to Mary. ‘It’s ridiculous splitting us up. Where’s Miss Fennimore?’

  But there was no sign of that lady and no sign of Miss Smith either, and the next bus was drawing up beside the station entrance. ‘All aboard the Skylark!’ the conductor called. ‘Mind the step.’

  There was nothing for it but to do as they were told, although Lizzie grumbled about it all the way to wherever they were going. ‘How are my first-formers going to get along with no one to look after them?’ she said. ‘This is a shambles.’

  She was even more aggrieved when they arrived at their destination because it turned out to be a golf club in the middle of nowhere, and although there was a lady in the green uniform of the WVS waiting on the step to welcome them, there was no sign of her group.

  ‘That’s right,’ the lady said, as they stepped gingerly out of the bus. ‘Come right in, dears. I expect you’d like a drink after your journey. This way.’

  ‘Are you bringing us all here?’ Lizzie asked

  ‘Us?’ the lady asked.

  ‘Roehampton Secondary School.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so, dear,’ the lady told her. ‘You’re a big school, aren’t you. We’re using dispersal centres all over the place. Don’t worry. We’ll look after you, wherever you are. Go in and have your drink. You must be ready for it.’

  The club house was crowded with children, some standing in a queue, some sitting at trestle tables, and most of them from a junior school and looking decidedly scruffy after their journey. She couldn’t see anybody from her group at all, although after a while she caught sight of Miss Bertram standing by one of the tables and went across at once to see if she could tell her anything.

  ‘Not much, I’m afraid,’ Miss Bertram confessed. ‘Apparently you’re going to be fed and watered and the nurse is going to take a look at you, and then they’re going to take you to your billets – as they call them.’

  ‘Nurse?’ Mary said. ‘What nurse?’

  Lizzie had seen her, sitting at a table at one end of one of the queues, small-tooth comb in hand. ‘It’s a Nitty Nora,’ she said in disgust. ‘That’s all we need. What sort of children do they think we are?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ Mary said, pulling a paper bag out of her case, ‘but I’m going to have my lunch. I’m starving.’

  ‘Very sensible,’ Miss Bertram said. ‘I’ll tell the others. Your friend Poppy’s over there, Lizzie.’

  Oh, what a relief to find one of her friends. ‘Poppy!’ she called. ‘Have you still got your group?’

  Only half of them apparently, but among them was one of Mary’s friends so there was a double reunion.

  ‘Stick together,’ Poppy said. ‘They’re taking us to our billets in a minute.’

  ‘Have you seen the Nitty Nora?’ Mary asked

  ‘Yes, I have and she tugs! I say, you haven’t got any spare sandwiches, have you? I had a pie and it got squashed and I’m absolutely starving.’
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  Lizzie opened her packet of sandwiches and held it out to her friend. She did it casually and without thinking about it, the way she’d done so many times in the school hall – but then suddenly and with a palpable tug at her innards, she remembered her mother wrapping it up for her. She could see her standing in the kitchen folding the greaseproof paper, saying, ‘There you are, sweetheart, that should keep you going,’ and she yearned to see her again, to be with her in their nice, wide, clean kitchen instead of being cooped up in this foul club house waiting to be seen by some ghastly Nitty Nora. I didn’t even kiss her goodbye, she thought, and she had to blink to stop herself crying. ‘I hate being evacuated,’ she said.

  When Octavia arrived at the station with her two helpers, the dispersal was well under way. She saw at once that the drivers were in a rush and that her comfortably organised groups were being split up and parted from one another, but there was nothing she could do about it, annoying though it was. They obviously had their system, even if it wasn’t a very good one, and if she tried to change things she would only be getting in the way. She stopped to talk to the girls who were climbing aboard the first of the two buses in the square, so at least she knew where they were going and could follow them there, and while she was wishing them luck, she saw Miss Fennimore still standing guard with her pole.