by Kate Albus
There were others in the hall, and the children assumed these must be the foster families. Most were women—so many men had already been called up to fight in the war. Some of the adults had children of their own with them. Some were quite elderly. Most appeared kind.
William poured cups of milk for the three of them as he watched Miss Carr climb the steps to a stage at the far end of the hall. The schoolmistress was accompanied by a stately woman in a peacock-colored suit.
Peacock approached a small podium, where her mere presence commanded silence. “Good afternoon, everyone,” she said. “I am Mrs. Norton, president of the Women’s Voluntary Service and your billeting officer.” A few people clapped their hands before realizing that this was unnecessary. “I know I speak for the whole of England when I say to all of you who are doing your bit by opening your homes to evacuees…thank you!” She offered her own personal round of applause to the assembled adults, then cleared her throat. “We at the WVS recognize what an undertaking this is, and we are here to support you. While it is June, evacuees shall nevertheless have morning lessons at the village school, to relieve billeting families of some of the, ehm…burden…of their care.”
A groan made its way through the evacuees. Edmund, especially. The war had interfered with a great many things, but the summer holidays? That seemed a step too far. Anna thought school in summer didn’t sound so awful, but she didn’t at all care for being referred to as a burden.
Mrs. Norton waited for silence. “In addition, lunches will be provided to evacuees after school each day.” She glanced at Miss Carr. “Now, children. Rest assured that your teachers and I shall see that appropriate billets are found for all. Toward that end, I would like to introduce Miss Judith Carr, who will direct the proceedings from here.”
Miss Carr took her place at the podium. Her voice was shrill—perhaps because she was trying to make herself heard, or perhaps because shrillness was in her nature. “Children! Please form a line around the perimeter of the room, youngest over here in front of the stage, continuing on to oldest. Brothers and sisters”—she glanced briefly at the Pearces—“may remain together for the time being.”
With that, the adults in the hall began to survey the evacuees.
It was all terribly odd and more than a little terrifying. The children wondered what the selection criteria might be. Age? Cleanliness? Was red hair an asset? Likely, no one’s looking for a boy who smells of sick, Edmund thought. Positioned near the end of the line, he, William, and Anna watched as their traveling companions were looked over, evaluated, and either accepted or rejected.
Anna thought the first woman to pass looked rather stern. She breathed a sigh of relief when the lady proceeded down the line without a second glance.
Next was an older couple with gentle, well-lined faces. Anna felt a surge of hope.
The woman smiled at her. “Hello, dear. Are you all by yourself?”
Anna’s voice quavered only a little bit. “No, ma’am. I’m with my brothers.”
“Oh.” The woman regarded the children with tenderness. “Only room for one, I’m afraid. You’ll find a nice family, though, sweet as you are.” She brushed a finger under Anna’s chin.
Anna managed a smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Again and again, the children were passed over. “My wife was hoping for younger ones,” one man said. “What, three of you?” another questioned, as if the very notion were absurd. Edmund saw that by now even the scruffy recipient of his chocolate was gone…chosen, he hoped, by some kind lady who happened to own a sweet shop or a bakery.
Next in line was a couple with two big boys trailing behind them. The man was fat, with red cheeks. The woman was slight and wore an elaborately flowered frock. She seemed anxious to make a choice, her eyes darting from one evacuee to another.
When she saw Anna, she brightened. “Aren’t you lovely!” The woman smiled kindly, though Anna noted that her lips were a rather alarming shade of pink. “I’ve always wanted a little girl,” the woman said. “Only boys in my family!”
Anna hesitated. “I’m with my brothers.” She gestured to Edmund and William, who did their best to look upstanding.
The woman’s smile faded a bit. “I see,” she said, looking at the boys, then back to Anna. “You’d not consider coming with us, just yourself, then?”
“No, ma’am.” Anna gulped. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” Edmund and William shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another.
The woman turned to the ruddy-faced man. “Perhaps the boys would be good companions?”
The man looked at his sons, fleshy like their father. Both averted their gazes. The man offered a tired sort of a smile. “How old are you, children?”
“I’m twelve, my brother is eleven, and my sister is nine,” William answered.
The furrow in the man’s brow deepened as he turned to his wife. “Where would they sleep?”
The woman’s face brightened. “We’ve the spare room for the girl—what’s your name, pet?”
Anna answered, and introduced William and Edmund as well, thinking they must feel rather like the third wheel on a bicycle just now.
“And we have the pallets in the attic,” the woman continued. “The boys could all bunk in together, couldn’t they? Just like when your sister and her lot come from Cardiff?”
The man turned to his sons. “What do you think about that, boys?”
Neither offered more than a shrug. The man sighed resignedly.
The woman seemed to take this as a sign of agreement. She clasped Anna’s hand with an eager smile. “I’m Nellie Forrester. This is my husband, Peter, and our twins, Simon and Jack.” She squeezed Anna’s fingers. “This will be lovely, won’t it?”
Anna looked at her brothers, barely able to breathe, the moment seemed so important. Was this the family Mr. Engersoll had imagined for them? More to the point, was this the family they had imagined for themselves? The children glanced around the shrinking crowd and came to an unspoken agreement that there seemed no other choice.
“Thank you, ma’am…sir…Mr. and Mrs. Forrester,” William said. “We appreciate your accommodating all three of us.”
“Call us Auntie Nellie and Uncle Peter.” The woman gave Anna’s fingers another squeeze. “This is going to be just lovely,” she said again.
The children mustered the very best smiles they could and gathered their belongings.
The three male Forresters were fairly mute on the mile-long walk to their home, but Mrs. Forrester’s chatter more than made up for their silence. She pointed out the village school—to which the children would return in the morning—the church, the haberdashery, the newsagent, a pub called the Slug and Cabbage.
It all passed in a bit of a blur. The children’s feet hurt, and William, who was still carrying his own suitcase and Anna’s, felt the beginnings of blisters on his palms. All three were keen for their journey to end.
The main road through town bent uphill as they passed into a residential area. Down one tree-lined lane and up another, at last they arrived at a comfortable-looking Tudor house with a garden full of neat roses and sweet peas, pale blue hydrangeas and garishly pink azaleas. Simon and Jack unlatched the gate and disappeared unceremoniously into the house. They were nowhere to be seen by the time Mr. Forrester bustled the rest of them through the front door.
“Here we are!” Mrs. Forrester exclaimed. She led them into a small foyer where the walls bore framed photographs of the family, all looking rather stiff, Edmund thought.
To the left was a parlor with an arrangement of tufted chairs. No bookcase, Anna noticed. She supposed bookcases were not necessarily requirements of good parents.
To the right was a dining room, neat as a pin. Edmund noted that the smell coming from the kitchen beyond was excellent. This was encouraging.
“Would you like to put your things away?” Mrs. Forrester asked. The children nodded. “Perhaps Uncle Peter can take you boys while I show Anna her room?”
> She took Anna’s suitcase and led her to a set of stairs at the back of the house. Mr. Forrester trailed behind with Edmund and William, their cases thumping.
Anna stole a glance at her brothers as they parted ways at the top of the stairs. She followed Mrs. Forrester, who opened a door at the end of the hall.
“I hope this will be all right for you, pet?” She switched on a lamp.
Anna peeked in. “Yes, ma’am,” she answered. “It’s lovely.”
“Oh, good.” Mrs. Forrester breathed a sigh of relief. “I do hope you’ll be comfortable here, pet. I’ve always wanted a little girl like you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Forrester—ehm—Auntie Nellie.” Anna wasn’t certain she cared for it, being called pet, but having little experience being mothered, she supposed it must be part of the bargain. In any event, she was certain she could get used to it.
The boys, meanwhile, were being introduced to their new arrangements in Jack and Simon’s room.
“You boys can leave your suitcases here while I collect the pallets,” Mr. Forrester said. “I’ll just pop up to the attic.” With that, he disappeared into the hallway. Given the man’s bulk, Edmund didn’t guess it was easy for him to pop up to the attic—or anywhere, come to that. He and William glanced at each other, unsure how to tread with Jack and Simon, who reclined on their beds and offered no conversation.
“Thanks for sharing your room,” William said.
Neither boy did more than shrug.
“How old are you?” William asked.
It was Simon who replied. “Twelve.”
“Oh.” William paused. “I’m twelve, as well, and Edmund is eleven.”
“We heard,” Jack said. He and his brother withdrew Beano comics from under their pillows.
Edmund’s eyes lit up with interest. “You like Beano, then?”
“Obviously,” Simon answered.
Edmund was undaunted. “Is that the latest one? I missed the latest one back in London because of”—he faltered—“because of—the way things are.”
“Uh-huh,” Simon answered from behind the comic, which he did not, it should be noted, offer to loan to Edmund when he had finished.
Edmund and William felt as if they’d been on their feet for hours. There were no chairs, however, and no offer of a seat on Simon’s or Jack’s bed. Standing in the awkward stillness, the boys were relieved when they heard Mr. Forrester returning from the attic.
“Here you are.” Mr. Forrester lowered the thin mattresses into the space between Jack’s and Simon’s beds. “These will go nicely here, won’t they?”
“Thank you, sir,” William and Edmund chorused.
“You’re welcome, boys. I imagine you’re tired and hungry after your travels?”
Edmund’s stomach growled in reply.
Mr. Forrester smiled. “Nellie will be putting supper on the table anytime now. Come downstairs and I’ll show you to the bathroom so you can wash your hands. It’ll be tight, seven of us sharing one washroom, but we’ll manage.”
William and Edmund followed Mr. Forrester downstairs, all too happy to leave the thick silence of their new bedroom.
The table in the Forresters’ dining room had been laid with a damask cloth and seven matching china settings—white, with pink flowers round the rims.
Mr. Forrester seated himself at the head of the table as Mrs. Forrester appeared with a roasting pan of what Edmund hoped was Yorkshire pudding.
“You must be famished, all of you. Sit wherever you like,” she said, setting the pan on a trivet.
The children chose seats. “This looks delicious, Mrs. Forrester,” William said.
“Auntie Nellie, please!”
“Ehm—Auntie Nellie. Right. Thank you. You needn’t have gone to such trouble for us.” Truth be told, it felt rather nice to have someone go to trouble for them.
“Oh, it’s no trouble, pet! We didn’t know we’d have three coming home with us, did we? Lucky I put roast enough for a crowd in the oven this afternoon!”
Edmund’s stomach gave a leap of delight.
Heavy footsteps were heard on the stairs, and Jack and Simon appeared.
Simon narrowed his eyes at William. “That’s where I sit.”
William stood, rapping his knee on the table. “Sorry.” He moved to an empty chair on the opposite side.
“Now, boys,” Mr. Forrester said, clucking, “we’re all just going to need to make some adjustments, aren’t we?” Simon and Jack grunted. Mr. Forrester turned back to the table, said a cursory blessing, and began to pass dishes.
Anna swallowed her first bite. “It’s delicious, Auntie Nellie. Thank you.”
Mrs. Forrester smiled. “Uncle Peter is a butcher, you see, so we’re well placed when it comes to meat, even with it going on the ration and all.”
Edmund wondered whether this was fair, exactly, that the village butcher should be above the rationing scheme, but as the tender roast melted in his mouth, so did any misgivings he might have had.
Mr. Forrester took a heaping forkful. “You’ll want to write your postcard to your parents, won’t you, children? Let them know where you are? What are their names, your parents?”
Here we go, William thought. He took a deep breath. “Their names were Ellen and David, but they’ve both passed away. We’ve been raised by our grandmother…Eleanor.” This was not a lie, he reasoned. He had simply neglected to mention the fact of the grandmother’s no longer being part of the arrangement, living-wise.
Mrs. Forrester clasped her hands over her chest. “Heavens, losing your parents at such young ages. What a blessing your grandmother must be to you.”
All three children looked at their plates. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’ll want to let her know you’re safely arrived. Would you like me to telephone and speak to her myself?”
It took William a moment to answer. “Oh…thank you, ma’am. But—no, thank you…the—the postcard will be just fine.”
“She’s pretty independent, our grandmother,” Edmund added.
Seated on Edmund’s right, Jack turned to him and wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?” Edmund froze as Jack leaned closer. “It smells sour,” he said. “Is that you?”
“Jack,” Mrs. Forrester said, “you’re imagining things, I think.”
“I’m not,” Jack said. “It smells of…it smells of…of sick.”
The silence became a living thing hovering above the table, heaving its hot, foul breath down Edmund’s back. He wanted to dissolve into nothingness, to sprout wings and fly through the dining room window. Anything, he thought, to avoid this humiliation.
William cleared his throat. “Edmund gets motion sickness,” he said. “He was ill on the journey.” He could see his brother’s face go crimson. “We washed up for dinner, but his shirt…” He trailed off. “Sorry.” He meant this last for Edmund.
The rest of the table seemed to think it was directed at them. “Nothing to worry about, my boy,” Mr. Forrester said. “Happens to all of us at some time or another, doesn’t it? I’m sure Auntie Nellie will be able to clean you up. Isn’t that right, Nellie?”
“Of course! Poor pets—it must have been a dreadful trip, mustn’t it? We’ll just give your things a good wash, shall we? And mend those trousers?”
So she’d noticed the hole. Edmund willed the burning in his cheeks to subside. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Can I be excused?” Jack asked.
Simon nodded. “Me too? I seem to have lost my appetite.”
“Oh, dear, boys,” Mrs. Forrester said. “Of course you may be excused. I’ll just wrap your plates and put them in the icebox, in case you’re peckish later.” She looked at Edmund and whispered, “The boys have sensitive stomachs.”
As the Forrester boys rose from the table, Edmund felt Jack’s shoe graze his shin in a way that couldn’t be accidental.
Mrs. Forrester brightened. “Perhaps you’d all three like baths before bed?”
It is unus
ual, indeed, to find a child who would like a bath, but on this night, Anna, Edmund, and William all welcomed the opportunity. They retrieved their nightclothes from their suitcases and took it in turns to wash off the dust of the road. Mrs. Forrester took Edmund’s offending shirt and the remainder of their traveling clothes and set them to wash in a tidy scullery behind the kitchen.
The children emerged from their baths scrubbed and tired, all of them ready for bed. Mr. Forrester bade them good night from his chair in the parlor, where he sat listening to the low chatter of the radio. Mrs. Forrester accompanied them upstairs, where she said good night to the boys, then followed Anna down the hall to her bedroom.
She pulled back the coverlet on the bed. “Heavens, it’s been an age since my boys were willing to have me tuck them in. What a treat to have a little one in the house. I hope you’ll be happy here, pet.”
Anna decided she was willing to forgive the irksome nickname in exchange for being tucked in, as Mrs. Forrester put it. She’d never had a proper tucking-in. At school, there was no such thing, of course, and when they were home at school holidays, the grandmother thought the practice vulgar. William had sometimes taken on this most grown-up of responsibilities, and admirably so, but Anna imagined that to be tucked in by an actual grown-up must be an entirely different experience.
Mrs. Forrester pulled the coverlet over Anna’s shoulders. “I’m sure you’re tired, pet.”
Anna yawned. She wondered when the bedtime story would be forthcoming.
“Oh! And I’m sure it won’t be necessary, but the Anderson’s just out back,” Mrs. Forrester said, stepping into the hall. “Pleasant dreams, now.” She pulled the door shut behind her.
An Anderson—in case you’ve never heard of one—is a bomb shelter. Many families had dug holes in their back gardens and buried these small metal rooms under the sod in preparation for air raids. Needless to say, the thought did not lend itself to pleasant dreams. Not in the least.