Molly's Christmas Orphans

by Carol Rivers

  This morning Molly and her father were both wrapped up in scarves, gloves and hats, despite the bright winter sunshine. Molly had been pleasantly surprised over her stay: Lyn and Oscar had made welcoming hosts and had not brought any pressure to bear on her regarding Mark and Evie. It was as if, with the end of the war in sight, so too had come a truce between Molly and her sister.

  ‘And what about you, Molly?’ Bill asked, as Molly inhaled the familiar pipe tobacco that seemed to blend perfectly with the woodsmoke of the local neighbourhood chimneys. ‘You’ve been rather quiet. Everything all right with you and your sister?’

  Molly smiled wistfully. ‘We seem good now, Dad. I think Lyn understands that Mark and Evie are in my life for keeps.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Think she wanted you all here for a bit to make things up. When you wrote about Andy, it came as a shock.’

  ‘It shouldn’t have,’ Molly said quickly. ‘Lyn was always going on about what would happen if he—’ She stopped and looked down at her woollen mittens, pulling a thread absently. ‘If he didn’t come home.’

  ‘Mostly out of concern for you, love.’

  ‘I know that. But she was right, in a way.’

  ‘You ain’t having second thoughts, are you?’ he asked in surprise. ‘You don’t want to farm those kids out?’

  Molly shook her head firmly. ‘Absolutely not, Dad. I just meant – well, I’m a bit at twos and threes. For once in my life it’s not the business – the store – that I’m thinking of. It’s Mark and Evie. Lyn said they would be a responsibility if – if they were orphaned –’ she raised her hands in a gesture of confusion – ‘and that’s true. But much more than I ever thought. I feel – well, that’s the trouble – I feel almost too much. It’s as if I’ve come to a mental roadblock. I can’t make any decisions. Does that make sense?’

  Bill took the pipe from his mouth. ‘You mean, love, that something is clouding your judgement?’

  ‘I suppose, yes.’

  ‘You are a bit new at this family lark.’

  Molly searched her father’s gaze. ‘But I’ve had the children for almost four years! We’ve been through thick and thin, and now, just when peace is within reach, except for these blessed V-2s, I feel at a complete loss as to what to do for the best.’

  For a moment all was quiet, until Bill put his hand on hers. ‘You know there’s a home here for you in Sidcup, don’t you? Your sister would jump at the chance to have you close. Matter of fact, so would I.’

  ‘Does that mean you’ve decided not to come back to the store, Dad?’ Molly felt the quickening of her pulse. If her father said he was eager to come home, she’d move heaven and earth to make it happen. And all decisions would be made for her. She could reopen the shop, begin life again as she had many times before – this time with the children to care for and her father back to the life that he loved in the East End. But as she met his gaze, something in his eyes told her this was not to be.

  ‘Molly, love, one reason I wanted to talk to you, face to face like. You see, I’m getting older now. Nearly seventy. And me leg and hip, they ain’t never going to be any better. I’m not likely to be trotting up steep flights of stairs like I did in the old days. Or chasing about serving customers. It was just a dream, I think – me going back to Roper Street. A dream I got you to dream too, to make it seem real.’

  Molly felt the tears rush to her eyes. She understood that her beloved father was no longer the bouncy, active, business-minded man who had been at her side since she was little. He had crossed the bridge to retirement, to a comfortable, even luxurious existence, and who could blame him? Lyn had been right again. The country life had been healing and he had accepted its advantages with grace and patience. Now she must accept her own changing role with the same fortitude and bravery.

  ‘I’m glad we had this talk, Dad. Thanks for being up front.’

  ‘You’ll never be on your own, girl. I’ll be with you and them kids in thought, wherever you go. Whatever you do.’

  ‘I know that.’ She leaned across and kissed him.

  A voice from the house called their names and Bill raised a shaggy grey eyebrow under his woollen hat. ‘Lunch is ready. Cold meat and savouries today, I’ll bet.’

  Molly laughed. ‘Savouries, eh? Something like bubble and squeak?’

  Her father chuckled as she helped him to his feet. ‘Something like that. With brass knobs on.’

  Together they walked slowly across the green lawn scattered with a few rusty leaves. The delicious smell of cooking wafted from the dining room and Lyn stood at the opened glass doors of the elegant country house. Molly smiled and waved.

  The tall, blonde, fashionably dressed woman wearing high heels waved back. Molly was glad she had spent this time with her family; she had a clearer understanding of herself and of them, and most importantly of the life that she wanted to pursue with Mark and Evie.

  She would enjoy the next few days in Sidcup. But she couldn’t wait to be home now. For home, she thought warmly, really is where the heart is.

  ‘Is that an ’orse?’ Evie asked as she pressed her nose against the coach window. Her golden curls fell over her shoulders as she pointed excitedly to every farm animal she saw in the fields.

  ‘No, silly, it’s a bull, cos it’s got horns,’ Mark told his sister, sitting on the edge of the seat beside her. Molly felt proud of the children, who had won the affection of everyone they had met at Lyn’s. George and Elizabeth had remembered the fun they had had at Jean’s on the day Andy had come home, and their friendship had deepened throughout the recent half-term holiday.

  Now they were on their way back to Poplar and Molly was pleased she had refused Oscar’s offer to drive them home. Privately, she had wanted to enjoy the peace of the countryside without having to make polite conversation with her brother-in-law. As conscientious a host as Oscar had been, Molly was eager to breathe freedom once again. Lyn’s house was delightful and they had been spoiled throughout their stay, but now that she had talked to her dad, she felt she could start to think more clearly about the future.

  ‘Are we gonna live in the country?’ Evie asked, turning to Molly who sat on the next seat.

  ‘Would you like to?’ Molly enquired.

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Evie thoughtfully. ‘Could Simon and Susie come too?’

  ‘Course not,’ interrupted Mark. ‘They live in Roper Street like us.’

  ‘Will Uncle Dennis be at the coach station to meet us?’ Evie wanted to know. ‘We ain’t got to walk all the way home, have we?’

  Molly laughed as she ran her fingers through Evie’s silky hair. ‘Yes, he’ll be there. I told him in my letter the coach arrives at half past two.’

  ‘I wish it was our dad meeting us,’ Mark said solemnly. ‘He’s been away a long time, ain’t he?’

  Molly nodded. ‘Yes, he has, Mark.’

  Molly knew the day would come when she had to tell them the truth. But that day wasn’t here yet, not yet. She prayed she would find the right words, for they were bright and perceptive children. Like all the East End youngsters, they were uniquely aware of war and the effect it had on their lives. Mark, at nine, was tall and dark like his father; Evie at just over seven must take after Stella, with her long blonde curls and blue eyes. Molly often wondered what went on in their little heads.

  For the rest of the journey, Molly continued to enjoy the countryside, pointing out the shapes of the wooded hills in the distance, the small robins and sparrows that sang in the hedgerows and rabbits eating in the fields. Once Mark caught sight of a bushy-tailed red dog and Molly explained it was a fox. There were so many things the children hadn’t seen before: small villages with thatched cottages and front gardens full of roses still blooming in winter. Handwritten signs that offered dairy milk, cheese and fresh farm eggs for sale. There was little sign of destruction, either. On every corner in the East End, houses had been demolished or bricked up. Huge craters had been left by the V-1s and V-2s.

 
Here there were no such sights as the coach bore them down the narrow lanes, in and out of sprawling green meadows, past quaint hamlets and tranquil farms. Farmers drove tractors carrying baled hay and dogs ran freely in their mucky yards. Apart from Nibbles, Evie and Mark had never really been introduced to dogs or even cats throughout their childhood, Molly reflected, for pets were not approved of in war-torn London.

  Molly was reminded of her journey to Romford and she thought then of the kind captain, Roger, and of the Denhams, and wondered how they all were. She hadn’t written in months and had received no word from either. If only Andy had survived to make that trip to Wales . . .

  Molly sighed and, with an effort, returned her attention to the present as the scenery began to change. The fields grew fewer and instead there were houses and factories. Large estates were traversed by busy lorries, cars and bicycles.

  Eventually, the suburbs of London swallowed them. To Molly’s delight the children grew even more excited. They had been brought up by the river, in the smoke and the noise and clatter. This was their home, familiar and safe, despite the evidence of war in almost every street.

  At last the coach pulled into Poplar and their journey was at an end. Molly took the children’s hands and they filed off the big vehicle and stood, Molly thought achingly, on the very spot where she had stood with Andy, that day he’d left to join his ship.

  Their lives, it seemed to her as she stood in the cold day, had been a series of opening and closing doors. And now she was entering – or was she passing through? – another.

  ‘Molly! Molly!’ Dennis was hurrying towards them. Evie and Mark ran into his arms. Molly joined them and laughed as Mark and Evie tried to tell him every last detail of their holiday in Sidcup.

  ‘Listen, kids,’ he said as he recovered Molly’s small suitcase from the driver, ‘I’ve borrowed Mr Stokes’s van for the day. Petrol’s a bit easier to get now. But I’ve something to tell you before we go home.’

  Molly looked into Dennis’s concerned face. His ginger hair was thinner now and his eyes a little more serious. As he stood there, he said quietly. ‘No other way to say it. A V-2 dropped in the next road. It took out half the houses and I’m afraid the blast caught the store.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  And so began their journey back to Roper Street in Mr Stokes’s small van. Mark and Evie sat in the back and Molly, beside Dennis, was trying to recover from the shock. The store had been caught in the V-2 blast wave, were the words going through her mind. Dennis had not elaborated, except to say that he was sorry to be the bearer of bad news and that Mr Stokes was waiting to meet them.

  Molly couldn’t bring herself to voice the only question she wanted to ask. Could she still call number one Roper Street home?

  When Dennis turned the van into West Ferry Road, Molly’s stomach turned over. She felt quite sick and lightheaded and, seeming to sense this, Dennis took his hand from the gearstick and put it fleetingly over hers.

  ‘Chin up, love,’ he said with a encouraging smile. ‘What’s to be will be, remember that.’

  Molly nodded, but the tears were very close. She already knew inside that the very worst must have happened, or Dennis would have said more. With the certainty of this thought came a quiet calm. The very worst hadn’t happened. If she hadn’t accepted Lyn’s invitation to stay at Sidcup, she and the children might very well have been at home when the V-2 fell. Instead, they were all alive and well.

  Dennis slowly drew the van to a halt. ‘We’ll have to walk through the alley. Roper Street’s blocked off.’

  Molly held the children’s hands tightly as Dennis led the way along the narrow lane, still cluttered with debris. Over the top of the high brick wall, Molly could just see the outline of the roofs of the houses in Howeth Street. Some were like blackened skeletons, rafters poking up to the sky. Thin trails of black smoke wound between them and that awful smell of cordite had returned. Even the gulls were keeping their distance. Dust particles flew everywhere. She could hear the noise of machinery and guessed the demolition work had begun.

  They passed beside the bicycle factory, which was already a victim to previous raids. To Molly’s surprise, the shed that covered the cellar they all hated so much was still standing. But when they came to Roper Street and turned left, they all stopped.

  Mr Stokes was standing outside what was left of Swift’s General Stores, his tin helmet pushed back from his forehead as he talked to another man. They were looking at the blackened shop window, which, incredibly, was still intact. Around it, Molly saw three large timber supports, all driven into the brickwork to keep the structure safe. The shop sign had been removed to reveal a large crack in the brickwork that wound its way like a snake through the rest of the building. Her eyes slowly lifted to the roof, most of which was missing. Every so often black smoke rose in tiny drifts from the shattered interior.

  Dennis took her arm. ‘You all right, love?’

  She nodded and tried to swallow. ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Two nights ago. We was all thrown out of bed. It was the biggest blast I’ve ever heard. Seemed to go on forever.’

  ‘Have you any damage?’ Molly asked, realizing that the store might not have been the only building to suffer.

  ‘Quite a few tiles off the roof and the chimney’s gone for a burton. Lucky, really. But Jean’s been right off colour thinking of you. Didn’t know whether to phone your sister or wait till you got home.’

  Molly stared at the blackened bricks that stood like a sentry, as if Swift’s Store had stood there for so long, it refused to give up.

  ‘That’s the town surveyor,’ Dennis told her. ‘Just seeing if anything can be done.’

  Molly watched the man in a suit talking to Mr Stokes. Their expressions told her that, of course, very little could be done. Other than to demolish what remained of their home.

  After a few minutes Mr Stokes walked over. ‘I’m so sorry, Molly, gel. I thought Swift’s Stores was invincible. You got through most of this bloody war and just when it’s almost over, one of them buggers landed in the next street.’

  ‘Were there many casualties?’ Molly asked, managing to find her voice.

  ‘No mortalities,’ Mr Stokes explained. ‘Most of them houses had been evacuated because of the damage done to them after Christmas last year. Good job too, as when one of those V-2s lands you ain’t got much chance. Lucky you was away, ducks.’

  ‘Still, everything we owned was in there. Everything!’

  ‘I’ll see if I can salvage anything when the barriers are removed,’ Dennis said after Mr Stokes had rejoined the surveyor. ‘There wasn’t a bloody thing we could do except watch the firemen put out the fires. The place was swimming in water and thick mud. So I don’t hold out much hope, love.’

  Molly looked down at the children, who had been too frightened to speak. Mark was close to tears. ‘Come here, my loves,’ she comforted, bending down and holding them tight. ‘Mr Stokes said how lucky we are not to have been in there when the bomb dropped.’

  ‘Will the firemen put it together again?’ Mark looked at her with his big, sombre dark eyes.

  ‘We’ll have to see.’

  ‘Where we gonna live?’ Evie croaked, pushing her face into Molly’s shoulder.

  ‘With your old pals the Turners,’ said Dennis chirpily, lifting her into his arms. ‘I’ve got something tucked away that might bring a smile to your faces. Count yer blessings, that’s what I say.’

  Molly slid her hand around Mark’s shoulders as they walked slowly round the hole in the road that had been the very first of many hundreds of holes scattered about the East End. She had managed to hide the tears that smarted at the corners of her eyes. Dennis meant well and was trying to help, but she knew it was going to be very difficult to count those blessings, as most of them had seemed wrapped up in the life they had led at number one Roper Street.

  Jean hugged Molly tightly. ‘Oh, ducks, I’m so sorry. Your lovely shop and home, a
ll gone up in smoke.’

  Molly nodded as she was embraced tightly. She didn’t trust herself to speak and stood in the hall silently as Jean, with many fond hugs and kisses, ushered the children into the front room where Susie and Simon were playing. When she returned, once again she held Molly close.

  ‘We didn’t know how to break it to you,’ she said softly as she looked into Molly’s tense face. ‘Thought it best not to phone Lyn’s as there wasn’t nothing you could do. And you deserved a good holiday, love, after all you’ve been through.’

  Molly managed a trembling smile. ‘Dennis said to count my blessings and I’m trying to. But oh, Jean, what am I going to do? We haven’t a stitch of clothing between us.’

  ‘That’s easily remedied. You can borrow from us till we go to the market and kit you all out. Did you take your ration books and identity papers with you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Molly replied. ‘They’re safe in our suitcase.’

  ‘And cash? Did you have any in the till?’

  Molly closed her eyes in dismay. ‘No, but there was a bit put away upstairs under the floorboards. Some of it was Dad’s savings and a few extra pounds. I was going to give it back to him when he came home.’ She gave a little choke. ‘But he’s decided to stay at Lyn’s – and thank God he has after what’s happened.’

  ‘Well, things might not be as bad as you think,’ said Jean, taking her coat. ‘Your dad’s obviously settled and this might be a new start for you and the kids.’

  ‘But we’ve got nowhere to live.’

  ‘Yes, you have, you’re staying here with us. We’ll go down the council on Monday and put in for a relocation. You’ll qualify immediately as you have the children, and they’re making special allowances for businesses, I heard.’

  ‘They can’t give me back my stock, though.’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ said Jean sympathetically. ‘But you will have a roof over your head and the children’s, and though it might not be exactly what you want at first, it’ll be a stepping stone in the right direction.’