War Orphans

by Lizzie Lane

  But what about Harry? She wanted him to be safe too. It wasn’t fair for him to be left behind to face the bombs alone. Yes, there was Seb to look after him, but she was the one who had rescued Harry. He was her dog and she was the one he loved best of all. Besides, she’d promised Harry they’d always be together.

  And why couldn’t he come to the countryside with her? He would love it there with all that grass, trees and farm animals. He’d make friends with everyone.

  Slowly, as she thought it through, the countryside didn’t seem such a bad place after all. The solution to them remaining together seemed obvious. She would take him with her.

  The idea had come like a bolt of lightning and now formed into something solid.

  Would the place she was to be evacuated take Harry in? She doubted that, so perhaps she should go off and find a place in the country herself where they would both be welcome.

  Her mind was made up. There was nothing much else she needed to pack except food for Harry, which would not be possible until her stepmother had gone to bed.

  After turning off the light, she got into bed fully clothed. She was ready for the morning. She’d need to find her own way to the country. Her stepmother was bound to show up at the station and there would be lots of grown-ups there writing up details, asking names and checking labels.

  She wouldn’t wear her label, the kind handed out to all evacuees. Neither would she take her gas mask with her. That night, her mind busy with plans, she only dozed and awoke long before dawn.

  Slowly and carefully she swung her legs from beneath the bed covers and felt for her suitcase, found it and went tiptoeing across the squeaky floorboards to the bedroom door.

  Before tugging it open, she laid her ear against it, listening for any sign that her stepmother was awake. A resonant series of snores sounded from the front bedroom confirming that she most certainly was asleep. And there was nobody in bed with her. That was unusual.

  Holding her breath she opened the door, listened again then crept carefully down the stairs.

  In the kitchen she threw what food she could into her suitcase.

  In the pale grey light of dawn she shut the front door then the front gate behind her. Workers on their way to the early-morning shift were huddled around the bus stop at the top of the hill, but didn’t appear to be looking in her direction.

  Quickly, just in case they did see her, she darted down the hill keeping close to the privet hedges until she was sure they were safely behind her. From halfway down the hill she broke into a run and didn’t stop until she got to the path leading into the allotment.

  It was too early for Seb to be here and even Harry looked surprised to see her.

  ‘We’re leaving,’ Joanna whispered.

  Harry got out of his bed, stretched one back leg and then the other, and wagged his stumpy tail, his eyes bright with interest. He was familiar with the times the old man and his good friend Joanna came and left, but having her visit this early was an extra and much appreciated treat.

  If Joanna thought they were going to rush out straightaway, she was very much mistaken. Harry went to his dish, snuffling around its emptiness so that it moved over the floor eventually landing up at Joanna’s feet.

  Joanna sighed. ‘I suppose you can have breakfast before we leave.’

  She broke up some cold rabbit Seb had cooked the day before. The remains she wrapped up in newspaper and placed in her suitcase along with the other food she’d brought with her.

  Joanna sat on an upturned bucket watching Harry gobbling down his breakfast. He was still a growing pup, his coat was glossy and his nose was wet, just as it should be. He’d become the centre of her world, the only living thing left in it that she really loved, and she would do anything to keep him safe.

  Somehow she would get him to safety, but how would she do that? Where would they go? It had seemed a good idea to run away rather than be evacuated and separated from Harry. Getting to the shed was only the first part of her plan. Neither of them could stay here now, not if they wanted to remain together.

  Joanna hung her head and although tears pricked her eyes, she refused to let them fall. She had to be strong for Harry’s sake.

  Once Harry had eaten his food and lapped up some water, Joanna cleaned the dishes and found space for them in the suitcase.

  Harry jumped and yapped with excitement when he saw her reach for his lead and attach it to the collar Seb had bought him.

  Cupping his head in her hands, she gazed lovingly into his eyes. ‘We have to leave here, Harry. We’re going to the countryside. It’s the only way we can still be together.’

  Harry’s pink tongue lolled from the side of his mouth. He sounded breathless and looked up at her lovingly as though he understood every word.

  To her his panting was more than breathless excitement. He seemed to be saying, Let’s go! Let’s go!

  Joanna took a deep breath at the same time as telling herself to be brave.

  Suitcase in one hand, dog lead in the other, she failed to close the door behind her, leaving it swinging open and banging against the upturned bucket.

  That was how Seb found it when he dropped by later that morning.

  Panic-stricken, he ran up and down outside calling the dog’s name, hoping that somebody had discovered him and took him. Either that or the door had blown open and the dog had run off. But no. He had to face the brutal truth: Harry was gone.

  Receiving no response to his frantic calls, he went back into the shed harbouring the daft thought that he might be mistaken, that the dog MUST be in there, perhaps hiding.

  It was indeed a daft thought. There was nowhere for the dog to hide and, anyway, he usually came rushing out to greet his first visitor of the day.

  What Seb did see was that the dog’s food and water dish were gone. So was his lead. Everything had been here on the previous evening when Joanna and her dog had been playing and bouncing around outside.

  His initial conclusion was that Joanna’s stepmother had relented and she’d taken him home. A second possibility nudged the back of his mind: the dog had been stolen. The third was difficult to face, but he had to confront it. For some reason Joanna had taken the dog and run away.

  ‘Think,’ he muttered, leaning on the seed table, his eyes narrowed as he scoured the view through the shed’s single window.

  There was only one thing for it: he had to wait until Joanna made her way here after school. If she didn’t come, then he would know she had taken him home. If she did come, then he would have to break the bad news that person or persons unknown had stolen Harry. Either way he was heartbroken. If she had indeed taken the dog with her and run away, he didn’t know what he might do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Sally Hadley had only just opened the register when the headmistress tapped on the classroom door and beckoned her outside.

  In her fifties, Miss Burton was a kindly woman of respectable appearance, her grey hair forming a halo of grey candyfloss around her head. Abstaining from marriage in favour of career, she was much admired for her dedication and kindness.

  Teaching was regarded as a vocation and a female teacher who married was expected to leave the profession. In Miss Burton’s case this situation had never arisen. She had become a teacher following the death of her fiancé during the Great War. Thus she had remained a spinster and would remain a teacher till the end of her days.

  ‘Recite the twelve times table while I speak to the headmistress,’ Sally instructed her class.

  As the whole class intoned the twelve times table, Sally closed the door behind her so their litany became a monotone rumble.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Burton.’

  ‘Good morning, Miss Hadley.’

  A look of tension pervaded Miss Burton’s soft features. She held a scrap of paper in her right hand.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve lost another of your pupils. Joanna Ryan has been evacuated.’ She waved the scrap of paper. ‘The caretaker found this on th
e doormat earlier this morning. The woman must have posted it through the letterbox last night. I must say she could have given us more warning. The register needs to be changed and paperwork completed.’

  Sally frowned. The paperwork was the least of her worries. Her father would be heartbroken. But what about the dog?

  ‘Is that all it says? That Joanna will be evacuated?’

  Miss Burton glanced down again at the poorly formed writing and the crumpled piece of paper. It looked as though it had been torn from a book, not an exercise book, but the fly leaf of one that was meant to be read.

  ‘That’s all she says. Have you met Mrs Ryan?’

  Sally said that she had and that Elspeth Ryan was Joanna’s stepmother, her natural mother having died and her father remarrying. ‘Her father died in an accident about five months ago.’

  Her frown deepened.

  ‘You don’t look as though you approve of the stepmother,’ said Miss Burton.

  ‘Let’s put it this way. I don’t think she’s having Joanna evacuated for safety reasons. Mrs Ryan is not the sort to let the grass grow under her feet. In fact, I have heard she’s been seen with someone I know. Someone we both know.’

  Miss Burton’s eyebrows arched. The two women looked at each other in mutual understanding. The headmaster of the boys’ school had been regarded as a pillar of fortitude when his wife was alive, looking after her until the very end. He’d changed since his wife’s death and, although he still did a good job teaching the boys, he didn’t seem to have the same commitment as he’d once had.

  ‘We will say no more of this,’ said Miss Burton. ‘We all go through bad patches in our lives.’

  Sally agreed with her. She was currently going through one of her own.

  She hadn’t received a single reply to all the letters she had sent to Pierre via Lady Ambrose.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said to Sally each time she went there to check if she’d heard anything. ‘Now my dear,’ she’d said, taking hold of Sally’s arm and steering her to a chair. ‘Let me be blunt. There’s no point in you putting your life on hold while my nephew is over there. Life is too short, my dear, and nothing is ever certain when there’s a war on. Get out more. Enjoy yourself.’

  Sally pretended to agree with her, but inside she ached. There was no way she could possibly go dancing or to the pictures with another man, not when her heart was in France.

  At the end of the school day she piled up the children’s exercise book for marking at home and slid them into her briefcase. Her heart was heavy. Once it had seemed that everything had knitted together in her life. Now it seemed the stitches were unravelling.

  Pierre had not replied to her letters. Young Joanna had been evacuated, which meant her father would be devastated; he’d so loved that little girl. Perhaps he could keep the dog. She hoped so.

  She looked around the empty classroom, thinking how silent it was, the only sound coming from outside as the children ran for the school gate and the way home.

  Suddenly the classroom door was flung open and a blast of cheap perfume smothered the classroom smell of chalk dust and children’s plimsolls.

  ‘Where’s that little cow!’

  Elspeth Ryan was wearing a red-and-cream checked suit teamed with black court shoes and a black handbag. A red-and-cream hat with a stiff black veil perched like a stuffed bird on her head. Sally noticed she now sported her natural hair colour, mousier than the dyed blonde it had been.

  Mrs Ryan was the sort who took a pride in intimidating more refined women. Sally knew instantly Mrs Ryan would have her crying if she could. She was about to find out that Sally Hadley was made of sterner stuff.

  ‘To whom are you referring, Mrs Ryan?’ her tone firm and unhurried.

  ‘You know bloody well to whom I am referring. Joanna! The little cow was supposed to be on a train this morning with all the other evacuees. I took a morning off work to get her evacuated.’

  Sally set her face firm and her jaw square. ‘Joanna did not come to school this morning. I was told by the headmistress that a note was pushed through the letterbox last night saying she was being evacuated this morning. That, Mrs Ryan, is all I know!’

  ‘You’d better be telling the truth or it’ll be the worse for you.’

  ‘I am a truthful person, Mrs Ryan. If you don’t believe I am a truthful woman, ask Mr Thomas, the headmaster of the boys’ school. He knows me well, though not as well as he knows you!’

  Mrs Ryan’s head jerked back as though Sally had slapped her. Her eyes flickered, her features slackened.

  Sensing she had the advantage, Sally pressed on. ‘Did you think nobody knew, Mrs Ryan? Gossip is as rife in a school as it is in a street.’

  She discerned a shift in Mrs Ryan’s manner. The pallor of shock appeared underneath Elspeth Ryan’s pancake makeup.

  ‘I need to find out where my stepdaughter is,’ she said in a consoling manner. ‘I’m worried about her. That’s why I was sending her away to the country. I owe it to her father.’

  Mrs Ryan’s statement seemed somewhat out of character and Sally didn’t believe her to be sincere. However, with no other option, she was forced to give her the benefit of the doubt.

  ‘I can’t help you, Mrs Ryan. I think you need to get in touch with the police.’

  Seb Hadley was standing in front of the sink washing vegetables in a bowl of water. More vegetables sat on the draining board, dirt piled into a newspaper. Once each item was clear of mud, it was dipped into the water for a final wash.

  Sally came in breathless, her face flushed. She took off her coat and threw it onto a chair along with her briefcase and her hat. The hat got squashed but she had more important things to worry about than a hat.

  ‘Dad. Joanna Ryan has run away from home.’

  He didn’t turn round. ‘That explains a lot.’

  ‘You know? Yes. Of course you do,’ she said, resting her hands on the back of a kitchen chair.

  Her father rolled his shoulders, left what he was doing and turned round to face her, wearing a worried expression. No doubt he was going to tell her, all how shocked he was not to see her today and where he thought she might have gone.

  ‘There’s a letter on the mantelpiece. It’s from France.’

  All thoughts of Joanna Ryan flew from her mind. Pierre had written! At last!

  She opened the letter with a butter knife, ripping it in places in her haste to get to it.

  Pierre had written!

  At first she speed read, noting a few particular words and sentences that leapt out at her.

  My darling Sally,

  My beloved Paris has fallen to the conquerors, but we stand with our heads held high. Liberty, equality and fraternity have to stand for something.

  Despite the invasion, the Parisians are unbowed, the city’s cafés are still full to capacity, the sky over Notre Dame is still blue and the girls are still wiggling their hips along the Champs Elyseé.

  The Germans are everywhere and I am lucky I do not wear a uniform and never got round to wearing one before they invaded.

  No doubt there are those who might put it down to lack of courage, but I myself do not see it that way. It is more as though I was holding my breath, as though I knew my anonymity was precious, that I had to hold on to it, until having it made me very precious to resisting the invading army.

  I’m missing you tremendously and am surprised you have not written. My aunt tells me that things are very quiet in your part of England, although bombs have fallen elsewhere.

  Alone at night with my thoughts, I ponder on why you have not written. Make sure you send your next letter to Café Claude, the friend’s address I gave you. They know where I am. It should come to me direct.

  My aunt was sending me warm clothes and packets of cigarettes. She should have known I preferred French cigarettes, but the socks are useful. Goodness knows when I will get any more.

  Please write to me, Sally. And wait for me. I need to know you are there . . . />
  Sally ran her fingertips over his signature. He was imploring her to write, as though he had not received her previous letters. But Lady Ambrose had assured her she would place both her own letter and Sally’s in a parcel she was sending to France.

  ‘It will get there more quickly,’ she had said to her.

  The dying embers in the fireplace warmed the back of her legs and she frowned as she considered the implications.

  Had Lady Ambrose forgotten to pack her letters to Pierre or was there some other explanation?

  Her father interrupted her thoughts. ‘I take it nothing bad has happened to him.’

  ‘No,’ said Sally, folding the letter up and slipping it into the pocket of her skirt. ‘Just a few minor difficulties that he hopes will be overcome.’

  ‘So what can we do about Joanna?’

  ‘Has she taken her things from the shed?’

  Seb nodded. ‘Yes. The dog and everything of his.’

  Sally sighed and hung her head. Her father had changed so much since meeting Joanna. Would he regress now Joanna had left? She hoped not.

  ‘Joanna was supposed to be evacuated. Her stepmother had booked her on the morning train. She didn’t make it. Her suitcase is gone, but she definitely didn’t get on the train.’

  Her father turned his head so he was looking at the far corner of the room. He was sucking in his bottom lip, a sure sign that he was upset.

  ‘Dad. What about the dog? Where can she go with a dog?’

  ‘She will be noticeable,’ he said without looking at her. ‘The dog’s gone and so is the cold rabbit and pigeon I’ve been feeding him, but it won’t last forever. At some point she’ll have to get food for him.’

  Sally sat down, her hands folded in her lap. She looked at her father. ‘Her stepmother’s gone to the police. You know what that will mean when they find her. And they will find her. You do know that don’t you?’