Jenny's War (9 page)

‘So,’ Billy interrupted her thoughts, ‘a’ yer going to school termorrer?’

Jenny grimaced. ‘S’pose I’ll have to.’

It could have been worse, Jenny supposed, but not much.

The evacuees were all herded together to sit at the back of the room.

‘Turn round and face the front,’ the harassed teacher snapped at her class, but heads continued to twist round to gawp at the newcomers. Eventually, the resident children settled to their work and the teacher – a grey-haired, thin woman called Miss Newton – came to the back of the room. ‘Now,’ she said sternly. ‘We’d better see what level you’re at.’

She handed them sheets of paper and pencils. ‘Write me an essay about yourselves. Where you live, your families and so on.’

The newcomers stared at her; it was the worst possible thing she could have asked them to do. Two of the girls started to cry at once at the thought of their parents and the home they’d left behind. But Jenny’s dilemma was different; she didn’t want to tell anyone about her home life. What could she put about a mother who left her alone at night, who brought a succession of men back to the house and who banished her daughter to her bedroom while they were there? A mother who was handy with her slaps, but sparing with her hugs? How could she talk about the head lice, the dirty clothes she’d worn and the even dirtier home she lived in and how their neighbours, proud East Enders to the core, despaired of Dot Mercer’s slovenly ways? If it hadn’t been for Elsie Hutton and her family, Jenny would have gone hungry many a time.

And then the girl began to smile as an idea formed in her mind. She picked up her pencil and began to write. Whilst the other evacuees chewed their pencils and struggled to write even a few sentences, Jenny’s words flowed on as she described life in the Hutton household with her mum and dad and her three brothers, Ronnie, Sammy and Bobby.

In the playground, the newcomers congregated together seeking comfort from the staring eyes and pointing fingers.

‘Dun’t go near them vaccies,’ one local boy shouted. ‘They’ve got nits.’

‘Well, if we ’ave,’ Billy shouted back, ‘we’ve caught ’em off you.’

The jeering and the name-calling went on, until Jenny turned and marched towards the school gate, pulled it open and stepped into the road.

At that moment, Miss Newton appeared. ‘You, girl, where do you think you’re going? Come back here this instant.’

But Jenny marched on away from the school and towards the manor. She wasn’t going to stay there another minute. Her curly hair was clean and shining and she was dressed in lovely new clothes, which Charlotte had bought for her. She even had proper shoes and white socks. The local children had no need to call any of them names. She’d been proud to walk to school that morning, to meet up with the other evacuee children and see the surprise on their faces at her transformation.

‘Cor, Jen, you look a real toff. You must have got some good foster parents an’ all, then,’ Billy had greeted her. ‘I thought, when I saw you yesterday at the church, they’d just got you some Sunday-best clothes.’

Jenny shook her head and smiled. ‘Charlotte and Miles are ever so nice. All of ’em at the manor are. They’ve bought me loads of things.’ She shuddered. ‘But the first billet that Mr Tomkins took me to was awful. A couple of horrible old women.’

Billy’s grin widened. ‘Never mind, Jen. You’ve landed on yer feet now.’

And until this morning, she really thought she had, but she wasn’t going to put up with being called such names; especially now it wasn’t true. When she’d been dirty and scruffy, there was nothing she could do about it, but now it was undeserved. She walked on, ignoring the questioning glances of the villagers she passed on the way.

‘You all right, duck?’ a woman asked her, but Jenny passed by without answering.

‘Hello, lovey,’ Mrs Beddows greeted her kindly as she entered by the back door. ‘Come home for lunch, have you?’

Jenny nodded and climbed into a chair at the kitchen table.

‘Maybe Mr and Mrs Thornton would like you to have lunch with them. Kitty’s just about to serve it upstairs. Kitty—’ she began, but Jenny cut her short.

‘No, I’ll stay here.’

‘Perhaps it’d be best. You’ll have to get back for afternoon school, won’t you? Here, I’ll serve you first before Kitty takes it up. Just sandwiches for lunch today and then it’ll be pork chops and apple sauce for dinner tonight. You’ll like that, won’t you?’

Jenny smiled and nodded. For a moment, the cook’s words made her think of home, of ‘Mr Chops’ and his butcher’s shop. But the thought didn’t make her feel homesick – not for a moment. She wanted to stay here now with Charlotte and Miles and the hope of Georgie coming home again on leave. But she expected to be in serious trouble for having left the school when she was supposed to stay there for her dinner. There’d surely be a punishment. Maybe they’d banish her to her bedroom and feed her on bread and water for several days. So, she’d make the most of the food before that happened, though she hoped she’d get to eat dinner tonight. But just in case she didn’t, she ate all the sandwiches and the cheese and biscuits that followed.

‘My, you’ve got a good appetite, lass, I’ll say that. We’ll soon feed you up a bit, lovey.’ Mrs Beddows beamed at the empty plates that the child had actually licked clean of all the crumbs, much to Kitty’s amusement. As she was about to climb down and make a pretence of returning to school, Ben entered by the back door.

‘Hello,’ he said in surprise at seeing her there. ‘How did it go this morning?’

‘Now, Master Ben, sit down. Your lunch is all ready.’ Mrs Beddows bustled about the kitchen serving the young man. ‘Master Ben always has his lunch with us down here on a weekday,’ she explained to Jenny and laughed as she added, ‘Mrs Thornton doesn’t want him in her dining room with his muddy boots.’

Ben chuckled softly. ‘Knowing Charlotte, I don’t expect she’d mind, but it’s easier when I’m working.’ He stuck out his feet. ‘But, see, today I’ve remembered to take my boots off to come into Mrs Beddow’s spotless kitchen.’

Jenny stared at Ben as began to eat. He’d been kind to her, showing her the animals and telling her she needn’t be afraid of them. But he was too busy to play with her. He didn’t laugh and joke and tease her gently.

He was nice, she decided, but he wasn’t Georgie.

‘I’m not going back there,’ Jenny said obstinately when Mrs Beddows, glancing at the kitchen clock, reminded her she’d be late for afternoon school, if she didn’t ‘get a move on’.

The cook blinked. ‘Why?’

The girl’s chin was sticking out stubbornly and Mrs Beddows feared another outburst like the one the child had displayed on the day Georgie had gone back to camp.

‘They call us “vaccies”,’ Jenny muttered, ‘and they’re – they’re not nice to us.’

‘Well, if you stay away, lovey, Mr and Mrs Thornton’ll likely be in trouble for you not going to school. Now, you wouldn’t like that, would you?’

Jenny hesitated. Everyone in this house had been kind to her, she couldn’t deny that. She didn’t
want
to deny it and, most of all, she didn’t want to be sent away from here in disgrace. She knew instinctively that she’d landed on her ‘plates of meat’, as Arthur Osborne would have said.

She stood still, biting her lower lip until Mrs Beddows said, ‘I think we’d better tell the master.’

Jenny didn’t mean to be a cry-baby, but at the cook’s words tears started in her eyes.

‘Aw, lovey,’ the woman bustled round the table and bent down to put her arms around her shoulders, hugging her to her white apron. ‘Don’t cry. Mr Thornton’ll sort it.’

‘Will they send me away?’

‘Send you away?’ Mrs Beddows sounded shocked. ‘Of course not. Fancy you thinking that. They love having you here.’ She bent forward as if sharing a secret. ‘The master’s always longed for a little girl and now he’s got you, so no, I don’t reckon they’ll send you away. But it would be nice of you to try to be a good girl for them, now wouldn’t it?’

Jenny nodded vigorously until her blond curls shook, but she still declared, ‘But I ain’t going back to that school.’

‘We’ll see, we’ll see,’ was all Mrs Beddows said as she ushered her out of the kitchen and through the hall. She paused outside the morning room and then tapped on the door.

Hearing Charlotte say, ‘Come in’, the cook opened the door and was about to step into the room when Jenny broke free of her grasp and headed for the stairs, shouting back over her shoulder, ‘They’ll make me go. I know they will.’

Jenny ran swiftly up the stairs and into her bedroom, slamming the door so hard that Miles and Charlotte heard it downstairs. Miles threw down his newspaper and leapt to his feet as Mrs Beddows entered the room. ‘Whatever’s going on?’

The cook explained swiftly and Miles ran upstairs at once taking the steps two at a time.

‘He won’t be angry with the little lass, will he, Mrs Thornton? ’Cos she’s frightened, that’s what.’

‘No, no, of course he won’t.’ Despite her concern over Jenny, Charlotte chuckled. ‘Have you ever known the master get angry?’

Mrs Beddows laughed, ‘Well, now you mention it, madam, no, I haven’t. A nicer man never walked God’s earth, as they say.’

Charlotte smiled but murmured, ‘Nevertheless, I’d better go and see what’s happening. It’ll probably be Miles wanting some help.’

‘I hope you don’t think I was telling tales on her, madam, but there’ll likely be trouble all round if she plays truant.’

‘No, no, you were quite right to bring her to us and I’ll make sure she understands you only have her best interests at heart.’

Mrs Beddows pulled a face. ‘I doubt she’ll see it that way. I reckon I’d best make her a chocolate cake. At least, whilst I can. I reckon there’s going to be shortages and rationing soon enough.’

The sound of crying that had not yet escalated into screaming met Charlotte as she entered Jenny’s bedroom. The child was sitting on her bed, clutching Bert. Miles was kneeling in front of her. He glanced round helplessly.

‘There’s been name-calling and the teacher – would you believe it, Charlotte? – set them all to write an essay about themselves. About their home life. I call that cruelty, don’t you?’

‘Tactless, to say the least,’ Charlotte agreed.

Miles rose. ‘I ought to speak to the teacher, but Jenny feels it will only make matters worse. I think she should stay away for a day or so.’

‘Well.’ Charlotte hesitated, glancing between the two of them. ‘If you stay off school, Jenny, won’t it make matters worse? The other evacuees will get settled in and you might feel even more left out.’

‘Doesn’t sound as if any of them will “settle in”, as you put it,’ Miles muttered, ‘but I see what you mean.’

But neither Miles nor Charlotte could bring themselves to drag the little girl kicking and screaming to the school, because they knew that was what would happen if they tried.

‘We’re giving in to her,’ Charlotte said worriedly as they got ready for bed that night. ‘If only Georgie were here, I think she’d go to school for him.’

Miles chuckled softly, aware that the child was sleeping right next door. ‘Georgie would have gone to the school like a knight in shining armour and played with all the children until he got them – what’s the word I’m looking for?’

‘Integrated?’

‘Something like that. At least he’d have had them all playing together in no time.’

Charlotte sighed. ‘But he’s not here.’

They lay in bed side by side, but sleep evaded them and they continued to whisper far into the night, trying to think of a way to resolve the problem.

‘Poor little scrap,’ Charlotte said. ‘Mrs Beddows told me that Jenny thought we’d send her away.’

Miles snorted. ‘Well, she needn’t worry about that. I’d never send her away.’

‘No,’ Charlotte murmured pensively. ‘That’s what Mrs Beddows told her.’

At last the loving couple fell asleep in each other’s arms, still worrying about how to help the little girl who they now felt was their responsibility. Sending her away would never have crossed either of their minds.

Three days later, Mr Tomkins rode his bicycle up the drive of the Manor, dismounted and leaned it against the stone wall. Then, solemnly and not relishing his task, he climbed the steps and rang the door bell.

‘Ah, Mr Tomkins,’ Miles greeted him as he was shown into the study. He stood up and moved round the desk to shake the man’s hand and bid him sit down. ‘I was half expecting a visit from you. May I offer you tea or coffee? At least I can still offer you some at the moment.’

‘No, no, thank you,’ Mr Tomkins said, not wanting to delay the reason for his visit any longer than necessary. ‘The thing is, Mr Thornton, I understand Jenny has not been to school for the last three days since walking out of the playground at lunchtime on Monday.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘Is she ill? Only, it’s usual to let the school know why a child is not attending and her teacher tells me there has been no word from you.’

‘No, she’s not ill, but she is very distressed at the treatment meted out to her and her fellow evacuees by the local children. And, I might add, the teacher is hardly to be commended for setting these poor children an essay to write about their homes, when they’ve been dragged away from them and must be feeling desperately lost and lonely. How thoughtless can the woman be?’

Mr Tomkins wriggled his shoulders in embarrassment. ‘Well, yes, I grant you that was a little – inappropriate. But to get back to Jenny. It’s our responsibility. She must go. Unless, of course . . .’ He hesitated before outlining a plan that might solve not only Jenny’s problem, but also alleviate the strain put on the local school by the sudden influx of evacuee children.

He left an hour and a half later with the task of getting in touch with the Education Authority to put the idea to them.

Meanwhile, with a beaming smile, Miles went in search of Charlotte. ‘Not a word to Jenny yet,’ he warned. ‘It might not be approved.’

‘Oh Miles, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if it was?’

Charlotte and Miles waited in a state of excited anticipation tinged with anxiety for several days until Mr Tomkins once again appeared at their door. They’d longed to tell Jenny of their plan, but dared not do so in case nothing came of it.