by Molly Green
Chapter Eighteen
‘There’s a Mr Clarke from Stepney Causeway to see you, Madam,’ Ellen said as Matron marched past her on her way to the kitchen.
June, who was about to have her morning meeting with Matron, was intrigued to see Matron flush. She knew Stepney Causeway was Dr Barnardo’s Head Office, where her letter had come from, offering her the appointment.
‘Miss Lavender, would you show him into my office.’ Matron ran her finger inside the neck of her dress and pulled the material away as if it was too tight, and stretched up her chin. ‘Wait with him while I go over tomorrow’s menus with Cook.’ She turned her head. ‘Ellen, make him a cup of tea. I’ll be there shortly.’
‘Very well, Madam.’
June led Mr Clarke into Matron’s office. She looked at him curiously. He was a tall bony man of middle age wearing a heavy overcoat which he removed to reveal a faded pin-striped suit. He took off his hat and set his briefcase down on Matron’s desk, then clicked open the two brass locks and pulled out a lined pad and pencil.
Matron would not be at all pleased to see her files, pens, ink bottles, blotting paper and the telephone on her desk being pushed to one side by some man’s briefcase, but it wasn’t June’s place to say anything. She bit back a smile, observing the way he kept shifting position and looking at his watch. Obviously, his time was precious and he was patently annoyed that Matron did not appear to be aware of it.
By the time Matron appeared, looking thoroughly flustered, Ellen had brought in three cups of tea. Mr Clarke stood up as soon as Matron appeared but she waved him back in his seat. June was not sure whether she should stay or go and rose to her feet, not wanting to embarrass anyone.
‘Yes, you may go, Miss Lavender. Take your tea. I’ll see Mr Clarke on my own.’
‘I’d like Miss Lavender to stay, if you please, Mrs Pherson,’ Mr Clarke broke in. ‘I’ve come in answer to your report on the recent bombing which we must discuss.’ He nodded towards June. ‘And Miss Lavender, being your assistant, should take full part in the discussion.’
Matron pursed her lips and gave June a curt nod.
‘Your report was rather brief so I would like to know in more detail exactly what happened. I did notice the gardener’s cottage as I came down the drive. Terrible business. When is Mr and Mrs Sumner’s funeral?’
‘Wednesday. In the village. Two o’clock.’
Mr Clarke adjusted his spectacles, which hung on the end of his nose even more precariously than Matron’s on hers, and made a note. He nodded for Matron to continue.
‘One of the bombs came very close to the house and destroyed one of the Victorian greenhouses, as I said in the report.’ Matron shook her head, her mouth disappearing into a thin line. ‘Most unfortunate. Thank goodness they didn’t get my cottage.’
June looked at her in bewilderment. How could she make such a remark? As long as she was all right, that was all that mattered.
Mr Clarke frowned. ‘I’ll send someone to assess the damage of the gardener’s cottage to see if it can be saved, and also we need another man for the head gardener’s position.’ His eyes fastened on Matron. ‘Any damage to the main house?’
‘Not really – a few cracked windows and some tiles off the roof. That’s about it. I have someone coming next week to do the repairs.’
‘Hmm. And where were the children when this happened?’
‘Oh, down in the shelters, of course. I got them all safely away from the house and into the shelters. They have training every week so when it’s a real emergency they know exactly what to do.’
June looked at her in amazement. Matron was taking all the credit for something she’d had no part in, and she’d stopped the training a year ago, so Iris had told her. Mr Clarke scribbled a few lines on his notepad.
‘And then what happened?’
‘We waited until Harold told us it must have been one of the last pilots escaping, so I decided it was safe for the children to return to their classes.’
‘You didn’t wait a bit to make sure? Hear the All Clear?’
‘Being that far from Liverpool there was no way of knowing if the All Clear had gone.’ Matron didn’t hesitate. ‘I used my common sense.’
‘Hmm.’ Mr Clarke looked directly at her. ‘How many children have you at the moment?’
‘Um …’ Matron cleared her throat. ‘I believe it’s getting on for forty now.’
‘It’s actually forty-one with Joachim Woolfes,’ June said, wondering if it was wise to correct Matron but feeling that she must.
Mr Clarke nodded. ‘The German refugee was the last boy to join you, was he not?’
‘Yes, that’s right. It’s been extremely difficult, I might say, to integrate a German boy with the other children. Most disturbing for them.’
‘Is that right?’ Mr Clarke’s eyes narrowed as he turned his head to look at June.
‘It was a little difficult at first because he didn’t speak much English,’ June admitted, aware of Matron’s eyes like steel, boring into her. ‘But he’s turned out to be a decent lad when you think of what he’s been through. The other children are getting used to him and Bobby at least apologised to him for taking his satchel – as a joke.’
Mr Clarke leaned forward in his chair. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It was just a childish prank,’ June said. ‘It’s all blown over now. You know how children are when they’re showing off.’
‘This is another point I want to talk to you both about,’ Mr Clarke said, looking over the top of his spectacles. ‘It’s come to my attention that someone here is calling the boy names – a “dirty Jew”, to be precise.’ Matron opened her mouth but Mr Clarke put the palm of his hand up in the space between them. ‘No, let me finish, Mrs Pherson. I won’t tolerate this kind of language. We pride ourselves at Dr Barnardo’s that every child is equal no matter what his colour or his religion. Every child is to be protected in our homes, and is fed, watered, housed, and receives an education.’ He voice rose with passion. ‘And name-calling is not allowed under any circumstances by those in charge of the children – or indeed the children themselves.’ He glared at Matron. ‘But in this case it was one of the staff. What do you have to say on the matter, Mrs Pherson?’
June sat horrified. She stole a sideways look at Matron, whose face had turned to stone. There was a deathly silence only broken by Mr Clarke taking up his teaspoon and stirring his tea, which he’d already done. A few more seconds went by and June began to feel distinctly uncomfortable, as if he might be accusing either of them of saying something so awful.
‘One of the staff?’ Matron repeated his words, a flush creeping over her face. ‘Are you absolutely certain?’
‘Absolutely certain.’
‘How do you know?’
‘The boy wrote to Dennis Fuller, my assistant, who brought him here, if you remember. Apparently Mr Fuller, who is himself Jewish, was worried about the boy being a German Jew and told Joachim that if there was ever any problem that the matron couldn’t sort out, he was to write to him.’
‘But he didn’t say who the person was?’ Matron fidgeted with her hands while she waited for Mr Clarke’s reply.
‘No. He just said Matron would know because she knows everything, or words to that effect.’
‘Well, Matron doesn’t know,’ Matron said through clenched teeth, ‘But whoever it is, I shall be giving her her notice.’ She opened her drawer, removed a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Mr Clarke, who shook his head and instead took out his pipe and proceeded to light it. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I do.’ She removed one from the packet and allowed Mr Clarke to light it for her.
‘I have no idea why the boy didn’t come to me first.’ Matron drew in some angry puffs. ‘There was no need to bring you all this way.’
‘May I speak, Mr Clarke?’ June waited for him to nod before she carried on. ‘I’ve never heard anyone say anything of the kind. There must have been some kind of misunderstanding.’
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‘That’s as maybe, but I decided to come to Bingham Hall and speak to Matron myself.’ He directed his gaze at Matron again, his lips round his pipe making little popping noises. ‘I insist you must have a meeting with everyone here and warn them of the serious nature of their words. The person is not setting the kind of example we would expect in a Dr Barnardo’s home and I want your assurance this will never happen again.’ He gave her a sharp look. ‘By the way, what is your view on having a German boy here, Mrs Pherson?’
‘I’ve made no bones about the difficulty,’ Matron flashed. ‘The other boys taunted him at the beginning for being the enemy and I immediately put a stop to it – I’d warned Head Office this would happen. But so far as I know, no member of my staff ever calls him such names. And I believe the children have settled down well together now, haven’t they, Miss Lavender?’ She looked over her desk at June, her eyes warning her to agree.
‘Yes, Matron,’ June answered.
Mr Clarke looked unconvinced. ‘How did the boy react when some of the children accused him of being the enemy?’
Matron drew her eyebrows together and glanced at June. Mr Clarke waited, tapping his pencil.
‘Miss Lavender would know more than me,’ she said, ‘as she sees them at closer quarters.’
Mr Clarke nodded at June.
‘He was upset at first and retaliated,’ June said, ‘but we all talked to the children and explained it wasn’t his fault just because he’d been born a German. And that only some Germans were Nazis, or bad people. We told them he’d come to England to escape from these bad Germans. The boys were quite in awe of his adventure and it seemed to put a stop to any more nonsense.’
Matron sent June a look of gratitude.
‘And as far as you know, no one called him the name he claims?’ Mr Clarke persisted.
‘Certainly not.’ Matron appeared to have found her voice again, but June noticed her hand tremble as she took a gulp of her tea. She was obviously furious that she should be so questioned.
Mr Clarke wrote a few more notes, then looked up at Matron. ‘Well, I’m sorry if I’ve taken up your time unnecessarily, Mrs Pherson,’ he said, putting his pad and pencil back in his briefcase, ‘but you’ll understand I had to investigate the issue. And I thought it best if your very worthy assistant stayed as she might have something to add – which it turns out she did. I will say no more on the subject’ – he gave a tight smile – ‘but if I find out this sort of thing has not been curtailed I will take severe action. I hope you understand my position.’
‘Of course,’ Matron said stiffly.
‘In the meantime I would appreciate it if someone could show me into one of the shelters. Is that possible? I’d like to inspect them.’
‘Of course,’ Matron repeated. She threw June a cool glance. ‘Would you like to show Mr Clarke, Miss Lavender?’
‘I’ll be pleased to.’
Mr Clarke scrambled to his feet and extended his hand which Matron barely touched, reminding June of her first meeting with this formidable woman. There’d been the same lack of warmth.
‘Good day, Mrs Pherson, and thank you for the tea.’ He put his overcoat on, picked up his hat and turned to June with a smile. ‘After you, Miss Lavender.’
June led the way to the shelter she had gone to yesterday. Once inside, Mr Clarke let his gaze fall on every corner, shaking his head, his lips pursed in dissatisfaction.
‘The shelter looks adequate enough, but there are virtually no provisions here at all.’
‘We were only in here an hour or so,’ June remarked.
‘And how do you know the next time that you won’t be stranded here for longer?’ Mr Clarke said sternly. ‘It’s just not good enough. You must get this kitted out, and the one next door, so you’re ready for anything Jerry throws at us.’ He pulled his scarf a little tighter. ‘Isn’t there a cellar underneath the house?’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s it like down there?’
‘I don’t know,’ June said. ‘I’ve never been down.’
‘Surely it’s quicker to get there than running outside and into the shelter?’ Mr Clarke’s eyes sharpened. ‘Particularly at night. Presumably the children sleep upstairs.’
June nodded. ‘Yes, they’re on the second floor and the nursery on the fourth.’
‘They’d be a lot safer if they slept permanently in the cellar. You seem a sensible girl.’ He looked at her as though for confirmation. ‘Don’t you agree?’
‘It’s a good idea,’ June said. ‘I’ll mention it to Matron.’
June had broached the subject only the following day after the bombing, proposing that they should use the cellar if there was a bomb scare at night. They’d heard in the distance some heavy night raids recently and even felt the vibrations, though Harold said it was usually the docks that caught it. But the children were getting jittery, especially since they’d recently had such a close call. As usual, Matron had not agreed, but then she disagreed with almost any suggestion June made, often before June had finished making her point.
‘Ridiculous idea,’ Matron had said. ‘It’s too damp and cold down there for the children.’
Now, facing Mr Clarke, who was staring at her, she had the feeling he knew she’d already suggested it to Matron.
‘Thank you, Miss Lavender. I’d be most grateful if you pursue the matter.’
June hesitated. Mr Clarke had come on a long train journey and Matron had made no mention of his staying for dinner. They couldn’t send the poor man away with no food inside him. But Matron would be furious that June had taken such initiative. Good manners and thought for the poor man won.
‘Mr Clarke, would you like to join us in the dining room for dinner at one o’clock? It can be a bit rowdy with the children but—’
She was rewarded by a warm smile.
‘Thank you, Miss Lavender. I would be delighted.’
The service for Mr and Mrs Sumner took place two days later in Bingham village church. There was a small crowd of their family and friends, together with several of the staff from Bingham Hall. A thought flashed through June’s mind when she was kneeling in prayer. What if Murray was dead too? That’s why she hadn’t heard from him. A shudder went through her whole body and she almost overbalanced as she pulled herself back on to the church pew.
Whatever it looked like – even if she appeared ‘fast’ to him – she didn’t care. Life was fragile and she needed to know if he was safe. She would write to him this very evening.
After Mr Clarke’s visit Matron had announced that both shelters must be equipped with food and water, blankets, books and games for both the children and the adults, and improvised bedding should there be any more alerts.
‘The way she tells everyone it’s her idea.’ Kathleen raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Full of her own importance, which doesn’t help us to do what we’re all trying to achieve, but she can’t see it.’
June, Iris and Kathleen were having their late night cup of cocoa in the common room after the teachers had disappeared. The three young women had got into the habit, desperate for some privacy for a chat at the end of each day when they were all worn out and needed to relax a little. It was also the hour the nurses had together before they changed shifts, leaving one of the maids to keep an eye on the ward.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter as long as we do something,’ June said. ‘We can get the children to help. Even the little ones, so it’s not so frightening for them the next time we have to go down there. They’ll be more used to it.’
‘Good idea.’ Kathleen propped her legs up on a stool. ‘Oh, that’s better.’ She let out a long sigh of relief. ‘My feet are killing me and my legs ache like billy-o.’
‘It’s all that standing on a stone floor, I’m sure of it,’ Iris said, stretching out her own legs and kicking off her lace-ups, which she’d already untied.
‘So do we organise getting the shelters ready or do we wait for our dear Matron?’ Kathleen sa
id.
‘If we do that it will never get done.’ Iris glanced across at June. ‘I think we’ll have to take our orders from Matron’s assistant, Miss Lavender.’
They all chuckled, but June soon became serious. ‘We should do it tomorrow morning. It’s urgent and I think if another inspector came round and saw how little prepared we are we’d be in trouble. Matron would blame us for shirking our duties. So let’s get cracking early before classes, and we can finish in between times.’
‘Sounds like a sensible plan,’ Iris said. ‘If we all muck in with the children we should be finished in two or three days without interrupting their lessons too much.’
‘You’ll have to tell Matron what we’re planning,’ Kathleen said slyly in June’s direction.
‘I know,’ June said, smiling. ‘And I know I’ll have to do it on my own as you two are so terrified of her. Two women taller and stronger than little frail me, making me do all the dirty work.’ She broke into a wide grin. She loved the banter between the three of them. She’d never had that with Stella, although Clara had had a lovely sense of humour even though she was so much younger.
Iris looked at her watch. ‘I know it’s early but I’m off upstairs. I need to wash my hair. I’m out tomorrow evening. Paul’s back on the scene.’ And with that she shot up and disappeared.
‘Paul?’ Kathleen said, looking at June questioningly. ‘I’ve not heard about him.’
‘He was at the dance that first night I went, but with another woman. Poor Iris was furious. She asked Chas, an American, to dance with her to make Paul jealous, but it seemed he only had eyes for the woman in his arms. And when he finally caught sight of Iris she said he just gave her a sheepish grin.’
‘That would be it for me,’ Kathleen said, decidedly. ‘No second chance as far as I’m concerned. I just hope she doesn’t get her heart broken.’