War Orphans

by Lizzie Lane

  Creases crowded around Mrs Allen’s eyes when she smiled sadly. ‘Well then, I feel really privileged.’

  She meant what she said. The poor child had lost her mother and was missing her father. Whatever had the man been thinking of marrying a conniving cow like that dreadful Elspeth?

  ‘Because my father’s in the army do you think he might bring his gun home with him? Do you think he might shoot her when he finds out about my cat?’ Joanna asked her.

  Mrs Allen’s jaw dropped, and then she laughed fit to burst. ‘Well, I for one wouldn’t blame him if he did!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  That evening, Seb Hadley sat down after his evening meal and decided the time was right to tell his daughter about Joanna and her dog.

  Sally spoke first. ‘I’ve still had no news from Pierre.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  She headed straight for the sink and the washing up, a ruse he realised to hide her breaking heart.

  ‘Leave that for now. I want to tell you something.’

  ‘In a minute, Dad. Just give me a minute.’

  Something about the way the light picked up the dark auburn of her hair threw him. So did her soft curves and the way she moved, purposefully yet gracefully. When was it she’d started looking so much like her mother?

  For the first time in a while his thoughts brooded on the woman he had lost. So carried away with his thoughts did he become, that he didn’t notice Sally’s disappearance until she was gone.

  He heard the sound of her moving around upstairs in her bedroom and thought about following her up there and telling her about Joanna and her dog, but something told him that now was not the time. ‘Let her have a moment to herself,’ whispered a voice he recognised as his late wife’s. ‘Sometimes a woman needs to be alone.’

  Sally ducked her hand beneath the silk shade of the table lamp and turned it on. The lamp, its pale apricot shade warming the room, stood on her dressing table that doubled as a writing desk.

  With a heartfelt sigh, she took the box of Basildon Bond lined letter paper from the right-hand drawer along with the matching envelopes.

  An old friend had bought her the writing set two Christmases ago, and she’d been frugal about using it. It had turned out that she was right to do so. Paper was in short supply and quality letter writing material such as Basildon Bond was becoming difficult to get hold of.

  The fresh page glared at her as though it were begging to be written on. Her pen was full of ink. This would be the sixth letter she had written to Pierre. So far she had received no reply and the obvious questions clutched at her heart.

  Keeping busy, especially at school, helped enormously. Only then did she manage to push her concerns to a far corner of her mind so she could concentrate on the job in hand.

  At night, or when her hands and mind were not busy, fear came creeping back.

  Why hadn’t he written? Was he hurt? Had he joined the army? Or was it just that absence, contrary to making the heart grow fonder, had destroyed his love for her?

  She couldn’t know anything for sure and hadn’t expressed her feelings and fears to anyone.

  The empty page loomed like a glaring challenge, almost to the extent that it stung her eyes.

  ‘Write something,’ she growled and somehow the verbal command travelled to her fingers. Her pen began to write.

  My darling, dearest.

  My diary tells me it is only two months since you left England, yet it feels like a lifetime. I wonder what it will feel like once this war is over and we have lived a lifetime together?

  Every day I dash down to the letterbox in the hope that you have replied to my latest letter, so far to no avail.

  I will not dare to think that you no longer wish me to wait for you because in my heart of hearts I do not believe this to be true.

  I dread thinking that you are in a position where you cannot possibly write to me, that you are in some kind of trouble.

  As yet the Germans have not marched into France and this ‘phoney war’, as people are calling it, makes us all hope that the real thing will never happen. I hope they never march into France and that you will return intact and uninjured – then perhaps we can attempt to have that lifetime together . . .

  She read the letter through one last time before consigning it to a matching envelope on which she wrote the address he’d given her.

  On Saturday she would take it along to Lady Ambrose as she had the others.

  ‘I’m sending him some luxuries – plus socks and soap – just in case he can’t get those there,’ his aunt had told her. ‘Might as well put the letters in with it.’

  It had seemed a sensible enough action and Sally had not hesitated to agree to the idea.

  After slipping the letter into her handbag, she went back downstairs. Her father looked up as she entered the room.

  ‘Well. Are you interested in what I’ve got to say or what?’ He sounded almost as grumpy as he used to before he’d started attending the allotment again.

  Sally apologised. ‘Sorry. I had to write a letter.’

  Her father’s face softened. ‘To Pierre?’

  She nodded her head.

  Seb Hadley sighed. ‘I should imagine things are getting a bit difficult over there. Panic breeds mayhem and I reckon there’ll be a lot of that going on before very long.’

  ‘Do you have to be so gloomy?’ Sally snapped, annoyed at being reminded just how dangerous Pierre’s predicament might be. ‘There might not be a war – not a proper one anyway. Chamberlain said—’

  ‘Like a lot of us, Chamberlain lived through the carnage of the Great War. He did his best to keep us out of this, but by my reckoning it’s gone beyond that now. Best prepare yourself . . .’

  On seeing the worried look on his daughter’s face, Seb clamped his mouth tightly shut before choosing his words.

  ‘It’s bound to be difficult over there. Don’t fret until you know something for certain. Now how about we have another cup of tea?’

  Sally was in no mood for drinking more tea, besides which she was trying to make it go further.

  ‘It’s all right, Dad. I’m fine. Now what was it you wanted to talk to me about?’

  Suddenly, wanting to tell her all about Joanna and her puppy seemed trivial. ‘Never mind. You’ve got far weightier problems on your mind.’

  Sally perched on the arm of his chair. ‘I’m sorry for flying off the handle. It was inexcusable. Tell me what you wanted to tell me.’ She kissed the top of his head.

  ‘It’s about two waifs I’ve met. A little girl and her dog.’

  Her father began telling her about Joanna and the dog and his concerns for the girl’s welfare.

  ‘Though I understand her father’s about to come home. I also understand she’s already told you that particular piece of news.’

  ‘Yes. She did. She’s very excited and quite frankly I’m rather glad. Her stepmother is not the nicest person I’ve ever met. She works at that place along Coronation Road that used to be a garage. She strikes me as a right cow!’

  Seb’s eyebrows rose at her unexpected use of an expletive he’d never heard fall from her lips before. ‘That bad?’

  ‘Yes. She is. Peroxide-blonde hair and a very bad attitude.’

  ‘So you’ve met her.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, turning slightly and placing her arm around her father’s neck. ‘Joanna could introduce the dog to her father, but I don’t rate its chances once his leave’s come to an end. The dog will go the same way as the cat. Not that it really needs to. The government has backtracked and left the decision to pet owners – thanks to the intervention of the RSPCA.’

  Seb pursed his lips. ‘You’re right. Trouble is the kid’s bursting to tell her father, I don’t think she’ll be able to stop herself. And as you say, once her dad’s gone back, that woman will do as she pleases.’

  ‘She’s mean and Joanna is a real-life Cinderella, hated and treated badly by her stepmother.’
r />   Seb sat thinking for a while. ‘Would it be all right with you that, if all else fails, the dog comes to live here? He’s wearing Flossie’s old collar and lead.’

  ‘Well, that’s as good a reason as any!’

  Sally looked at him. Over the last few months she’d thought his getting over her mother’s death had been a natural process and not dependant on any outside factors. Now, on mentioning Joanna and her dog, she knew better.

  ‘You’re a good man,’ she said, stroking her father’s white hair back from his face.

  He looked up at her in some alarm. ‘You won’t tell Joanna I told you about the dog, will you?’

  ‘Of course I won’t.’ Her expression disappeared along with her smile. ‘And I don’t think she should tell her father – under the circumstances.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Spring flowers were dancing in the May sunshine when a telegram arrived, two days before the date Tom Ryan was expected to arrive home.

  Joanna’s stepmother was thrown into a whirlwind of activity. Together they cleaned the house from top to bottom. Elspeth had purchased a new coat, two dresses and a pair of shoes for Joanna.

  ‘Don’t want your dad thinking I’ve neglected you, now do I?’ she said, a snarl of warning twisting the corners of her mouth. Joanna winced as Elspeth pinched her arm. ‘And don’t you go telling tales. Do you hear me?’

  Mutely, scared to open her mouth, Joanna shook her head.

  They’d also queued until late on Friday night to buy whatever food their ration books would allow.

  ‘He’ll probably bring a bit of something with him,’ said Elspeth. ‘I’ve heard the army don’t go short of food.’

  She also warned Joanna not to say anything about Jack Smith coming to the house or the fact that they’d had roast chicken for Christmas Day lunch.

  Excited her father was coming home and uncaring about anything else, Joanna readily agreed.

  It wasn’t often so much food was in the house and Joanna found herself salivating. Elspeth warned her not to touch anything.

  ‘At your peril!’ she shouted, wagging her finger in front of the child’s face. ‘All this is for when your father gets home. In the meantime, we’ll make do. Do I make myself clear?’

  Bubbling with excitement, Joanna told just about everybody in school that it was finally happening. At last her father was coming home.

  Paul was full of boyish curiosity and still wanted to know whether he’d be bringing his gun with him.

  ‘I expect so,’ Joanna said grandly, swinging her legs as she walked along so that her new coat swished against her legs. She was also wearing a new grey skirt and cardigan. Her shoes were new too and although they pinched and blistered her ankles, she would endure it all.

  Her friend Mister Seb had told her that he would feed Harry his breakfast on school days. He had been the only person who knew of the puppy’s existence, but now Mrs Allen also knew and gave Joanna the bones she’d used for stew, even though they were totally bereft of any meat.

  There had been times when she’d wanted to tell Paul or Susan about Harry, but it seemed only right that her father should be told first.

  Miss Hadley saw her beaming face and, although she knew the reason why, she wasn’t going to spoil the moment.

  ‘You’re looking very happy, Joanna. And what’s this? More new clothes and shoes?’

  Joanna’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘My dad will be home on leave soon!’

  ‘That’s wonderful, Joanna.’

  Neither of them mentioned the fact that Sally was Seb’s daughter as though it were a secret in itself.

  As she watched the little girl settle happily in her seat in class, she thought about how close she had come to reporting Joanna’s circumstances to the children’s welfare officer. While the child’s father was home Joanna would be looked after. The only thing she had to do for Joanna that day was to provide plasters to cover the blisters caused by the new shoes.

  Her stepmother should have done this, she thought to herself, her jaw holding uncomfortably firm as she ministered to Joanna’s needs. She was in no doubt that the minute Joanna’s father had gone back to his unit, Joanna’s lot would be what it was before. She badly wanted to tell her not to disclose anything about Harry the dog, but her father had sworn her to secrecy. It was wise to see how things turned out.

  ‘Won’t it be lovely when your father’s home again? It’s so different without a man in the house,’ Sally said laughingly.

  ‘Mr Thomas visits,’ Joanna blurted, then bit her lip. ‘Oh! I don’t think I was supposed to tell. You won’t tell Elspeth I blabbed, will you?’ A worried frown creased the little girl’s brow and her eyes were wide with fear.

  Taken aback at the mention of the headmaster of the boys’ school, Sally stared as she attempted to take in what Joanna had said. Mr Thomas had visited Joanna’s home? Had she heard right?

  ‘Are you sure it was Mr Thomas, Joanna? The head of the boys’ school? Is that the man you mean?’

  Joanna’s bubbling excitement abated. She chewed her bottom lip and looked upwards with doleful eyes. ‘I’m not supposed to tell.’

  ‘You’re not lying, are you, Joanna? Liars are not tolerated in my classroom. You do know that, don’t you?’

  Joanna nodded. It was all she needed to do. That and her doleful expression said it all. Arnold Thomas, the man saddled with a sick wife, had finally jumped over the traces with, of all people, Elspeth Ryan.

  Still reeling with the shocking news, Sally attended a meeting at breaktime along with the teachers from both the boys’ and the girls’ school. Presiding over the meeting was Arnold Thomas.

  The meeting was about the timetable for air-raid duties and refining the process of how the children should leave the school in the event of an emergency.

  ‘We have been allocated a large shelter in Victoria Park. I think you all know exactly where it’s located.’

  Everyone said they did. The series of shelters was quite large and had been built at the bottom of Victoria Park close to the railway line beside the allotments.

  Sally had made up her mind to have a word with Arnold Thomas regarding his liaison with Joanna’s stepmother.

  The signs had been there a while that he was lonely and in need of feminine company. She recalled the feel of his palm of his hand on her backside and gritted her teeth.

  Lingering at the door she waited until everyone else was out and turned to face him.

  He saw her and smiled. ‘Miss Hadley. Is there something I can do for you?’

  Sally kept her expression neutral. ‘How’s Miranda?’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, casually waving his hand before shuffling his papers into a neat little pile inside a brown manila folder. ‘You know Miranda. She’s got everything you don’t die from.’

  Though you wish she would. Sally contained the rogue thought.

  ‘I did wonder seeing as I hadn’t seen much of you.’

  ‘You know me. I never stray far from the fold,’ he said in a jovial manner.

  ‘Everyone reaches a breaking point,’ Sally said somewhat pointedly. ‘I thought you might have taken a lover.’

  Something flashed into his eyes before vanishing in the depths of their natural cloudiness.

  ‘Goodness! Whatever made you think that?’ His smile looked as though it might break his jaw. His eyes had a shuttered look, as if he had locked any thoughts that might betray him securely away.

  Sally shrugged. ‘When the cat’s away, the mice do play.’

  He became defensive, his shoulders stiffening, his stiff smile gone. ‘Perhaps you can tell me what you mean by that.’

  None of the old familiarity remained in his voice. Arnold Thomas, the mild-mannered man with the patience of a saint, had turned hostile.

  ‘There’s a war on, Mr Thomas. A lot of husbands are away fighting, leaving their women at a loose end. I thought you might have taken up the slack with one of them.’

  His pale eyes s
uddenly blazed like liquid mercury and a pink dot arose on each pronounced cheekbone. ‘How dare you! I want an apology right now!’

  Sally clutched her folder to her chest and narrowed her eyes. ‘It’s always a great joy when one of those “cats” come home. The father of a little girl in my class is coming home shortly. Her stepmother’s name is Elspeth Ryan. I’m sure the father is looking forward to being enfolded in her arms and told she’s been faithful through thick and thin.’

  She turned on her heels then, her face red with anger, surprised that she’d been so bold as to state it as it was to the headmaster’s face.

  Arnold Thomas stood like a block of salt, staring after her, his pink flush undiminished. How did she know about him and Elspeth?

  Elspeth had admitted she was married and that her husband was away fighting.

  ‘We don’t see eye to eye any more,’ she’d said to him.

  He’d seen no evidence of a child at Elspeth’s house. Though thinking back, she had once told him that she had a daughter. But there was barely any evidence of a child at the house, and in his desire he’d forgotten that she’d had one.

  Overcome by the moment, he slumped onto a chair. Sweat erupted through the pores in his skin, trickling from his forehead and into his eyebrows.

  There was his position to think of. The board of governors would not be best pleased. The relationship had to be terminated, yet he could not bring himself to do so.

  Elspeth was so enjoyable, not just socially but in bed. It had been such a long time since he’d indulged in his marital rights that he’d thought he’d be rusty. Elspeth’s actions were such that he now knew otherwise. She had reawakened his sexual feelings to a level that he had never experienced before. Some men were addicted to drink, but in his case he was addicted to sex with Elspeth Ryan. Giving her up might be the respectable thing to do, but he no longer cared about being viewed as respectable. Come hell or high water he intended keeping her acquaintance.

  Who could say that at some time in the future – perhaps quite soon – they might both be free?