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‘You’ll speak when you’re spoken to, Byrne. Any more cheek from you and you’ll be on your way again. How many billets have you gone through? No wonder your mother ditched you in an orphanage as soon as she cast eyes on you. Not much of a specimen to behold, are you?’
She was eyeing him with contempt but he was not going to be bullied like the others.
‘Shut your mouth, you old bag. At least I don’t have to look in the mirror and see that frightening gob looking back at me!’ he shouted, and the others stood back in horror at his cheek. He was for it now but he didn’t care. He’d stopped caring about anything but cars and bikes, years ago.
She’d insulted his mother, who’d died when he was born. How dare the old dragon try it on with him? He was hardened by years of playground abuse. He wasn’t going to take no more stick from the likes of her.
‘Go to your room, Byrne. I’ll not be insulted by a scruff who has the brain of a flea and the brawn of an ox. I am sick of taking in riffraff like you. No one wants you–get out of my sight.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not stopping in this miserable dump!’ he replied. There was no holding him in a place where he was not wanted. He was out of the window and into the fields as fast as his legs could carry him, to join the other evacuees. They were kept outside all day until it was dark so that they didn’t mess up the house. It was a miserable hole but no worse than some of the others he’d been expelled from.
Greg led his gang away from their usual path down to the riverbank, making instead towards the mainline railway line.
‘We’re not supposed to come down here,’ said little Alfie, looking up at him. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m off. I’ve had enough of the old cow,’ sneered Greg, his face set with determination. His penknife was tucked in his pocket along with the Saturday spends that he’d been saving up.
‘But you’ve no money.’ Alfie was running after him.
‘You don’t need money; I’ve done it before,’ he said as he made his way to the footbridge, and the others were running to keep up with him. The iron footbridge linked two meadows over the main line going north and south. They were on pain of death not to come train spotting too close to the track.
The others were standing in awe as he prepared for his escape.
‘You’re not going to jump?’ Alfie croaked. ‘They go too fast down here.’
‘Gertcha! I bet he daren’t,’ sneered Arnie, who was growing into a bully himself.
‘You just watch. I’m waiting for a coal wagon or freight, easy peasy. You can watch. I’ve been practising for ages,’ Greg bragged, but that was a lie. He’d only just thought of the idea.
‘Houdini does it again!’ His admirers crowded round.
‘Where’ll you go?’ said the little boy.
‘Dunno…join up and see some action, runaway to sea,’ Greg replied, lifting his legs over the iron railings, dangling them. They were out of sight and half a mile from the hostel. He was hanging ready to drop as soon as the sound of a train came rattling down the track.
‘Anyone coming to join me?’ he laughed, knowing none of them would. ‘One drop onto an open wagon and we can be miles from here by teatime.’
‘Summat’s coming round the bend,’ yelled Alfie, ‘and it’s a slow one.’
‘Just you watch me…I’ll give the old bat a wave when I pass the kitchen.’ Greg was hanging from the bars now. The noise of the train and the steam filled the gully and stung his eyes.
Alfie tried to stop him. ‘Don’t do it!’
‘Get off me, the train’s coming now,’ Greg yelled, pushing him away. They were all consumed in a blind cloud of soot and steam and fire, his ears bursting with the noise as the engine roared past and the wheels clanked.
‘Geronimo!’ he yelled as he jumped, but his timing was up the spout and he banged and ricocheted off the wagon side with a crash. He landed not on the coal but on the track gravel, and heard something crack.
He heard someone say, ‘Fetch the pram! Quick…run back for help. Greg’s done for!’
The voices faded and then there was nothing.
He came to in hospital with a leg in plaster, broken ribs and arm, and got no sympathy or visits from anyone. He was treated like a prisoner under guard, but his legs hurt too much to be thinking of escape.
They would move him on again but he had plans. He would get himself fit and then join up before it was all over. No one could keep Gregory Byrne tied up for long.
4 (#ulink_05653824-1fe2-570a-8e92-2e0ecf1c1d60)
Leeds Station, Five p.m.
The train station foyer was crowded as Plum rushed through the barrier onto the platform, clutching her list of names. The trains were running late and she was overdue at the rendezvous by the drinks kiosk. A queue of dishevelled soldiers eyed her up and down. Perhaps it was a mistake to put on her big cartwheel hat but she thought it might give the children something to follow if there was a crush. Maybe it did look a bit grand for the occasion. She felt overdressed, like Lady Bountiful at Ascot.
All she could think of was collecting the six children on the list from their escort and waiting for the Transpennine Express to pick up little Madeleine. They would catch the connection through Scarperton Junction that would get them back to the hostel for tea, but everything was running late.
Peggy Bickerstaffe, Gregory Byrne, Joseph Ridley, Enid Cartwright, Nancy Shadlow and Mitchell Brown–she knew the names off by heart. With relief she saw them lined up in place with the school welfare officer, who handed them over with scarcely a nod. He shoved a file into her hands. ‘Over to you now,’ he said, and eyed her hat with surprise. ‘Can’t stop, don’t want to miss my connection. We’ll come on a visit next week to see them settled in. Good Luck!’
If she’d hoped for a line-up of compliant little infants to shepherd, then she was in for a big disappointment. This lot were older, scruffier, and two of the lads were taller than she was. Don’t show your fear or your ignorance, she primed herself. Dogs and kids could sense weakness, so she beamed with false confidence.
‘We connect at last. Sorry to be late but the train was held up for a troop train.’ No one spoke but they eyed her hat and her gloves. ‘Look, we’ve just one more to pick up from the Manchester train.’
‘Can I be excused?’ said one of the bigger girls.
‘And me too,’ said the other.
‘Not yet,’ Plum said, quick off the mark. That was the oldest ruse in the book. They were going to have to wait now on the platform. There were whistles blowing, loudspeakers going off and a crush of passengers pushing and shoving for a long train heading north. This bunch could not be trusted to sit while she went in search of information. One blink and they’d scarper to the four corners–time to divide and rule.
‘Peggy, Joseph, Mitchell?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘I’m Mrs Belfield. I want you to be our scouts and get us the best carriage on the train to Scarperton Junction, just over there. Spread out and make sure there’s room for all of us. I’ve brought a picnic,’ she smiled, tempting them with titbits in her basket: bribery and corruption, but just for once she needed them to be on her side. They were eyeing her shopping basket with interest now.
‘Nancy Shadlow, Enid Cartwright, Gregory Byrne…come with me to find out if the Manchester train has come in. I want you to search out a little girl standing on her own. She’s called Madeleine.’
‘Yes, miss,’ they replied in unison.
Could she trust them to behave? The big boy with the blue eyes brimming with mischief towered over the girls, all teeth and knees, but there was something about him she felt she could trust–call it an instinct for a pack leader. In a litter of puppies there was always one that was confident and friendly and up for good training.
Then she turned round and saw that one of the girls was heading towards the station buffet to a group of soldiers, to beg sweets no doubt.
What did she expect from strange children who were being sent packing into the deepest country just because they had been labelled as troublemakers? But if they thought her a soft touch they were in for a shock.
It was like chasing a naughty dog. It must be brought to heel and admonished on the spot or it would get the upper hand. At least she was fleet of foot and weaved in and out of the crowd. She saw the girl pocket the familiar green and gold packet of Woodbines, sharpish. Looking up, the minx beamed at her in defiance.
‘This child is not yet thirteen and underage, so if you’re looking for any favours…’ Plum snapped at the soldiers. ‘Just walk in front of me, young lady. Do you think I’ve nothing better to do than chase after you? I thought I could trust a pretty girl like you but I’m mistaken, you’re just a silly little kid. Give those cigs to me. I’m old enough to smoke them.’ She threw them back to the soldier and shook her head.
She grabbed hold of Enid’s arm and half dragged her back to the other children who were restlessly shuffling about. ‘I see that I’ll have to escort you myself.’
She turned to the biggest boy. ‘I’m relying on you now to find Madeleine across there, Gregory. Tell her Mrs Belfield has sent you and bring her down here as fast as you can.’ She was torn between leaving the whole damn lot of them and collecting her niece but what could she do? Miss Blunt had made excuses why she was too busy to come. Who would think six children needed two escorts? Armed guards would be more appropriate. They were not coming to Sowerthwaite for their health, and she was not going to fail her first big test.
He was free! What a turn-up! Greg could scarper off and no one would know where he was–hide on a train, find the nearest port and join up. No one would guess his age or ask. His limp was not so bad now. The funny lady in the cartwheel hat had given him the perfect opportunity, silly cow!
No, that wasn’t fair. She was OK, as posh biddies went. He’d seen a fair few of those at the orphanage open days, billeting halls and WVS. They didn’t scare him.
She’d picked him out and given him a job to do, asked him to meet another kid and trusted him. That was a change! He was so used to being called ‘a bad ’un’.
Greg had no memories of any home but Marston Lodge. When the orphanage was right in the firing line off the Sussex coast, they were moved lock, stock up north, and he’d been picked for farm work, on account of his size.
The farmer near York had treated him worse than his animals, and that was saying much. When he fell sick, he’d been picked up and sent to live with the vicar as a ‘special case’.
They’d kept him in a room over the stables and they sent him to a posh school where he got in fights and got beaten up just for being a ‘vaccy’. That was when he learned a thing or two in the boxing ring.
Just when he was settling down, having bashed in a few heads of his own, along came that curate creep with the funny stare who had tried to touch his privates. He’d punched him a right hook and been sent to the correctional hostel for being ‘out of control’. Here he’d lost his southern accent for good. Now Greg was on the move again and he was sick of fighting his corner, sick of being labelled by the panel as ‘delinquent’ and a ‘dunce’.
Well, he wasn’t stupid. He could read and write as well as anyone else, but he just didn’t hold with school any more. If only he was fourteen and could leave. He wanted to be where there was danger and bullets and excitement, not to be sent on an errand like some ‘trusty’.
As he walked out of sight, the ‘trust’ word hung heavy. Mrs Belfield had picked him out and chosen him specially. Perhaps it would do no harm to fetch the kid and then bunk off, as these were orders, not punishment for a change.
Then he saw her, the kid in the white school hat with glasses, looking lost and trying to be brave. It was a look he knew so well. Blast it, he couldn’t leave her standing there–even if she wasn’t on her own.
Maddy stood clutching her charges, feeling suddenly abandoned. There was nobody waiting to meet her on the platform. She had checked this was Leeds Station and she daren’t move. Sometimes they made announcements over the Tannoy but no one called her name. She stood frozen to the spot.
Where were the teachers who should’ve gathered up Gloria and her brother? Now she was stuck with them too and it was cold, damp and sooty, the trains like smoking black dragons on huge iron wheels.
Maddy had her ticket but did they have theirs? What if the guard didn’t let them through the barrier? How horrid was Aunt Prunella to abandon her like this?
Then she saw a boy limping down the platform, a big string bean of a boy who looked her up and down.
‘Are you Madlin? Mrs Belfield sent me. She’s on the other platform with me mates,’ he smiled, pointing across the platforms.
‘And who’re you?’ Maddy eyed him with suspicion. He wore shorts to his knees, and plimsolls, his socks were dirty and his straw-coloured hair stuck up at the back.
‘Greg Byrne. Who are these two?’ he asked. ‘I thought you were here on your own?’
‘Gloria and her brother…they got lost. I have to find someone to take them.’
‘Bring them along then. Her in charge seems to be on top of the job, she’ll sort ’em out. Did they chuck you out of your hostel?’
‘I was bombed out. I’ve got to go to my granny’s.’
‘You’re not one of us then?’ he said. ‘These two look like a right pair of book ends. Where did you find them?’
Maddy tried to explain to him as he shepherded them back towards another platform.
‘Hurry up or we’ll miss the train. Wait till you see her hat, the missus they sent…looks like a dartboard.’ Greg was racing them down the platform and Sid was half carried between them.
Gloria said nothing but gazed up at him as if he was a creature from another planet. ‘Where you taking us? Don’t leave us, will you?’
‘There’s a picnic on the train. Just get them on the train and say nowt. It’ll be all right. I think her in charge’s a toff,’ Greg explained.
‘Mrs Belfield is my granny,’ Maddy announced proudly to put him in his place.
‘Blimey! She’s the youngest gran I’ve ever seen then.’
There was this pretty woman in a big hat standing outside the carriage, waving to her. She rushed up and held out her hand. ‘Madeleine, at last…I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you but I had to collect a few others and I was late, but I knew Gregory would find you.’
‘Are you Aunt Prunella?’ Maddy asked, suddenly overwhelmed by the smiling face, those dark blue eyes and that amazing hat with the net hanging down.
‘Call me Plum, dear, Aunt Plum. I hate Prunella–it sounds more like a box of dried fruit.’ She laughed and her eyes creased into a grin. ‘Thank you, Gregory.’
Gregory had sneaked into the carriage behind Aunt Plum’s back with Gloria and Sid.
‘Oh, I was so sorry to hear your bad news. Your daddy has rung but the line was terrible. They’ll be on their way home, darling, but it’s going to take an age. What a rotten time you’ve had, but you’ll have a home with us for as long as you like. Come on, we’ve grabbed a whole carriage to ourselves and you can meet the other evacuees. They’re going to live in a hostel in the village. Won’t it be fun!’
Plum was so relieved to have them all safely gathered in as the train chugged out of the station. It was getting dark and the covered lamps flickered; all she could see were legs tangled up. There was a plump boy in shorts with a grimy bandage half hanging off his knee, full of grit and raw skin. He smelled of Germolene.
Then came Gregory, his strong calves covered in yellowing bruises, wearing plimsolls with holes in the sides and carrying the overwhelming stench of sweaty socks. The next set of knees were bony like door knobs, with raised weals, looking as if they’d been leathered with a strap. Across the seat were Enid’s long thin legs in grubby ankle socks, and she wore a pair of patent ankle-strapped shoes that looked two sizes too small.
The next pair of plimsolls were very small indeed. There was a small girl huddled in the corner with another little boy. Their knees looked scrubbed clean but they smelled of wet knickers. Then Plum glanced over at her niece in her brogue shoes and woollen stockings, her school uniform two sizes too large for her and those awful round glasses that hid her big grey eyes.
Why did she think of a tin of broken biscuits when she looked at her charges? They were a bunch of misshapes indeed. Broken biscuits were sold by the pound and thrown together in bags, they got crushed and splintered but they tasted just as good once you sorted them out: Abernethy, Nice, Bourbons, Custard Creams and Garibaldis.
But these were children, not broken biscuits, tired, lost, wretched-looking children. Even Madeleine looked haunted and exhausted.
These were not first-timers, full of excitement at being evacuated to the countryside. No, this lot knew the score. Each had a story to tell and had been labelled as a delinquent, a runaway. A quick flip through their files would yield a catalogue of misdemeanours and black marks.
This was their last chance to settle down and behave. There should be six evacuees and her niece, but when she counted them Plum realised to her horror that there were two extras huddled behind Gregory.
‘Who are those?’ she asked, her heart pounding at the implication. ‘Gregory?’
‘Dunno, miss. The girl brought them with her off the train. We couldn’t leave them,’ he said.
‘Madeleine, who are they?’ Plum was trying to keep the panic out of her voice.
‘Their mother put them on the train and told me to look after them. I couldn’t find their teacher. No one came to collect them so we brought them to you,’ she said, and Plum could hear the others giggling at her refined accent.
‘’Er don’t half talk posh, miss,’ said Enid.
‘No, I don’t,’ the girl snapped. ‘Did I do wrong, Aunt Plum?’
More guffaws as they heard her nickname.
‘Shush! Have you found out their names?’
‘The lady called them Glory and Sidney, but she says she’s Gloria Conley and they don’t go to school, and it was six stops before Leeds when they got on…Manchester, I think. I’m sorry but I didn’t know what to do,’ whispered her niece. ‘Oh, the lady said there was a letter in her pocket and “she don’t read”.’
‘Well done, darling, you did what any of us would’ve done. Just check her pocket but don’t wake her yet,’ Plum whispered.
‘Shall I pull the cord and stop the train?’ offered Peggy.
