War Orphans

“If at all possible, send or take your household animals into the country in advance of an emergency. If you cannot place them in the care of neighbours, it really is kindest to have them destroyed.”

Joanna Ryan's father has gone off to war, leaving her in the care of her step-mother, a woman more concerned with having a good time than being any sort of parent to her.

But then she finds a puppy, left for dead, and Joanna becomes determined to save him, sharing her meagre rations with him. But, in a time of war, pets are only seen as an unnecessary burden and she is forced to hide her new friend, Harry, from her step-mother and the authorities. With bombs falling over Bristol and with the prospect of evacuation on the horizon can they stay together and keep each other safe?

Lizzie Lane was born and brought up in one of the toughest areas of Bristol, the eldest of three siblings who were all born before her parents got round to marrying. Her mother, who had endured both the depression and war years, was a natural born story teller, and it's from her telling of actual experiences of the tumultuous first half of the twentieth century, that Lizzie gets her inspiration.

Lizzie put both cities and rat race behind her in 2012 and moved onto a boat, preferring to lead the simple life where she can write and watch the sun go down without interruption.

Wartime Brides

Coronation Wives

A Christmas Wish

A Soldier's Valentine
(digital short)

A Wartime Wife

A Wartime Family

Home for Christmas

Wartime Sweethearts

War Baby

Home Sweet Home

At the outbreak of war between Britain and Germany, the government advised that parents' evacuated their children from the nation's cities to the safety of the countryside.

Less is known about another government directive advising that all household pets are destroyed. Their advice was based on the likelihood of an enemy blockade of food supplies and the severity of rationing. There would be no food to spare for pets.

The government surmised that, following intensive bombing, packs of maddened dogs would form, attacking and eating anything they could.

The majority of pets were put down humanely, but a lot were abandoned, knocked over the head with a hammer, drowned or left tied up in sacks to slowly starve and suffocate to death.

It is estimated that 300,000 were destroyed in the first ten days following the outbreak of war. This does not take into account those less than humanely killed or abandoned to die. It is estimated that 750,000 dogs and cats were put down by the end of the war.

‘Five hundred and one, five hundred and two, five hundred and three . . .'

Joanna's whispered words hissed softly into the darkness, her lips barely moving. Even at the tender age of nine, she knew from experience that if she opened her mouth too much she would breathe in the dusty air and swallow the gritty coal dust.

The coalhouse was not underground as it was in older houses, but beneath the stairs and adjacent to the kitchen. Being locked in here was the ultimate punishment, the one she hated the most. The sound of the normal life of the house continued on the other side of the door.

It was light and warm on the other side of the door. In the coalhouse it was dirty, dark and she was very alone.

Elspeth, her stepmother, had told her it was all her own fault, that she was bad and nothing but a nuisance. ‘I've got things to do without bothering with a cocky little kid like you.'

Joanna couldn't recall exactly what she'd done wrong. Elspeth always turned nasty after she'd put on her makeup, curled her hair into the latest style and put on her best costume – a tightly fitted jacket and skirt. It was a mixture of red and green, like paint splashes, though ordered not random. Last on was the strong-smelling perfume that Elspeth favoured, but which made Joanna retch. Perhaps that was the reason for her punishment, retching and wrinkling her nose. Sometimes she thought she heard a man's voice beyond the door, though it didn't sound like her father's.

She'd been locked in the coalhouse under the stairs for so long she'd counted to one thousand again and again, her eyes
tightly closed, the smell of coal in her nostrils and dust clinging to her throat.

Keeping her eyes closed helped her maintain an illusion of normality, that the darkness was of her own choosing and not because her stepmother had yet again found an excuse to lock her up.

Counting helped her cope. Counting and closing her eyes had become a habit, even in school.

Her teacher had noticed she did it, but merely commented that if it helped her count then it was a good thing. But her teacher didn't know about her stepmother. Neither did her father.

Elspeth – she couldn't bear to call her ‘mother', and Elspeth couldn't bear being called that except when Joanna's father was home – twisted her stepdaughter's arm up behind her back and made her swear never to tell that she was sometimes locked in the coalhouse. Joanna had cried. She used to cry a lot until Elspeth began throwing her under the stairs even for doing that.

Now she only cried at night, and even then silently so neither her stepmother nor her father would hear.

Sometimes she fancied a soft hand stroked her hair before she fell asleep, a gentle voice telling her not to cry, that she was loved and everything would be all right.

Her mother had died three years before. Her happy face became pale and drawn, and she began spending more and more time in bed. Joanna had no idea of what her mother's illness was called, only that it took her away from her when she was young and still in need of her.

Lonely, and thinking his daughter needed a mother, her father had met and married Elspeth. She'd presented a caring picture, even bringing Joanna sweets and ribbons, cooing and fussing over her as though she was the most precious thing in the world.

But once she became Mrs Ryan her behaviour changed.

Joanna's father knew nothing of how his new wife treated his daughter, or perhaps he couldn't face the fact, preferring to bury
himself in work than see how difficult life had become for his only child.

He'd worked long hours as a lathe turner at the aircraft factory in the weeks before war was declared; they'd known even then there was going to be a war. When he came home from work Elspeth went out of her way to behave differently.

She made a point of making herself look good even on those days when she didn't lock Joanna in the coalhouse and she went off to meet one of her fancy men. There was nothing like making a bit of extra money and, anyway, old habits died hard.

Housework and looking after Joanna took second place to being dressed and made up as glamorously as possible even if she was only going shopping, and certainly in time for Tom Ryan coming home from work.

Sometimes she made Joanna wash and change too. At other times she didn't bother, and if Tom did frown and look concerned she put the blame on Joanna's shoulders, blaming the girl herself for being dirty and ragged.

‘Out playing with the boys again! Mark my words, young lady, boys will only get you in trouble!'

Then she'd smile her best smile and laugh as though they were the happiest family in the world.

Joanna had to laugh too. There'd be hell to play if she didn't.

The darkness was total. Her stomach began to rumble which was not surprising seeing as she'd only had a piece of bread and dripping for breakfast. Elspeth had been too busy to prepare lunch. It was Saturday and she'd had a hairdressing appointment.

There were few women in their street able to spend money on hair appointments but Elspeth was a regular at the tiny shop that smelled nasty and was very hot.

Elspeth's hair never looked that different when she got back from a weekday appointment. The only time it did look different was when she went to the hairdressers on Saturdays.

On the one occasion Joanna had been brave enough to ask why that was, Elspeth had slapped her face and told her not to ask questions. She'd also demanded that she say she was sorry for criticising her hair.

‘After all the trouble I take to make it look nice! Just like this house. It was never like this when I first came here. Right rubbish tip it was.'

Joanna thought it felt like home with its comfy sofa and mismatched chairs, a standard lamp throwing its yellowish glow over her father's chair and the Bakelite radio that sat on a small table with bamboo legs.

Elspeth liked ornaments. Lots of ornaments, mostly of ladies in crinoline dresses wearing poke bonnets, and gentlemen in tight trousers with curly moustaches. She also liked brass plaques and fire irons. It was Joanna's job to clean these, a job she hated. Her father had called her a little trouper when he'd come home early one Saturday and caught her doing it. She'd smiled and thrown her arms around him, only barely holding back the tears. She'd so wanted to tell him she hated cleaning the brass but that Elspeth would punish her if she didn't.

‘Seven hundred and seventy-seven . . . seven hundred and seventy-eight . . .'

On hearing the sudden rattling of the key in the lock, she stopped counting, blinking as bright light fell from the narrow gap onto her face.

The gap widened. Her stepmother, hair bleached the colour of light honey, appeared in the doorway.

Unlike Joanna who had dark hair, her stepmother's dyed hair replicated that of Joanna's mother. Even her features were similar to those of her mother. Joanna knew this from the black-and-white wedding photograph she'd found in the back of the sideboard drawer one day. The one thing Elspeth couldn't change was the hard look in her eyes. She also wore too much makeup, and had yellow fingertips thanks to incessant smoking.

A cigarette dangled from the corner of her bright-red lips.

‘Right,' she said, reaching in and dragging Joanna out. ‘I'm out of spuds. Get down to Gingell's and get me five pounds. Here's the money . . .'

Joanna blinked. The light was still too strong for her eyes but she dared not complain. She was just so glad to be out.