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Barbara and Ted felt especially snappish and worn out, although they tried very hard to mask this and to put on a cheerful and brave face for the children, so that the twins would have nice memories of their last weekend in Jubilee Street.
Barbara was tetchy because she had been up well into the small hours on the Friday evening as she tried to finish knitting Jessie’s green pullover, which was a hideous colour to knit with by electric light, she’d been irked to discover, and so she regretted not getting after all the dove-grey wool as that would have been much easier on her eyes.
Even later that Friday night, after stowing her knitting needles away in Connie’s Christmas present, Barbara didn’t go straight to bed but instead she spent a while agonising over writing a note for whoever would be taking in Connie and Jessie, as she set down a little about each child, with their likes and dislikes, and giving her and Ted’s fulsome thanks to the unknown hosts for the billeting of their children.
As she finally lay down in bed, Ted’s soft snores not breaking their rhythm, she had worn him out so with her myriad errands, she could hear the first chirps of the wild birds’ dawn chorus and see a faint lightening of the sky over to the east of the city, and Barbara realised the last time this had happened to her was when she was still breastfeeding the twins. The pang in her chest was for the hopes she had had as she nursed her babies, and the loss of innocence that Jessie and Connie were almost definitely about to face.
Ted was just as frazzled when he woke up, although probably a bit better-tempered about it than his wife, as he found it very difficult to get cross or frustrated about anything, being one of those perpetually sunny and even-tempered sort of chaps, a trait that Barbara found could be most infuriating if she were feeling niggled herself and all Ted could do was smile about whatever was aggravating her.
Anyway, once poor Ted had finished doing all of Barbara’s not inconsiderable bidding, he then had to trot over to Peggy’s house early on the Saturday afternoon to do all that she wanted as regards what should be packed up of her and Bill’s possessions for storage, and what should be put to one side for her to take away for her own evacuation, as well as what should be given away to those more needy.
Peggy looked tired and jowly, with dry skin and a heavy footfall, and so once he saw her diminished state, Ted was eager to help her as much as possible. However, he could have done without forgetting the large suitcase he’d asked to borrow from Big Jessie to pack some of the bits and pieces into, and so no sooner had he arrived at Peggy’s than he had to leave immediately in order to head over to Big Jessie’s to collect the case. All the houses were almost within spitting distance of one another, but still…
Worse came a little over thirty minutes later, just when Ted was looking forward fervently to the time when he could have a few minutes to relax after he had completed his tasks. He longed for the moment he would sink into his favourite chair and put his feet up for a quiet hour (accompanied by a glass of stout from the hole in the wall at the Jolly, he fantasised).
It was just at this moment that Peggy reminded her brother-in-law he needed to rustle up a handcart from somewhere to transport all the stuff over to his and Barbara’s, and also that he had to make a further trip to the church hall as the local vicar was making a collection of bric-a-brac to keep in case people got bombed out and needed things when their houses came tumbling down, and so she had put aside a pile of possessions that needed to be transported over there too.
Ted groaned; after his silly schoolboy error with his memory failure concerning Big Jessie’s big suitcase, he could barely credit it that he’d also forgotten about the damn handcart. He blamed Barbara for his oversight, although he thought this prudent not to share with Peggy, as he knew how close the sisters were. Barbara had most surely sent him on too many errands, Ted decided, and his day had been so busy that now he could hardly remember where his backside and his elbow were.
Then, the moment he had done the running hither and thither – and he had worked up quite a sweat getting all of Peggy and Bill’s stuff for storage piled in the parlour at Jubilee Street, after which he had to return the handcart to its owner (who, Ted discovered, had a couple of people standing outside the yard where the handcart was kept as they were waiting to borrow it too, as Peggy wasn’t the only local resident busy packing up a house for the duration and who needed various possessions moving around) – he set off on his return home clutching his longed-for jug of stout only to find Barbara insisting that before he sat down, Ted should take all of Peggy’s possessions for storage upstairs as she couldn’t have them cluttering up the (rarely used) parlour for a moment longer.
Somehow the stack of Peggy and Bill’s possessions seemed to have multiplied in size, Ted thought, as he plodded up and down the stairs, and then, with Jessie’s help, hoicked everything up the stepladder and from there hoisted it all into the spot in the roof space where (Barbara’s instructions again) it had to be stacked neatly and finally covered with an old sheet tucked in all around to keep the dust off.
Ted closed the trapdoor to the roof space with a sigh of relief… after which Barbara pointed out that he had to return the suitcase to Big Jessie as his brother had promised the loan of it to somebody else and that if Ted had had his wits about him he’d have taken it with him when he took the handcart back.
Just for a second Ted felt the mildest of swear words almost bubble up, but he bit it back down, telling himself that his stout was going to be extra special when he could finally sit down to sup it.
All in all, it was a very tiresome weekend at number five – nobody could remember a more trying couple of days, not even when Barbara’s parents had died. In fact, all of the Rosses were all kept so busy that Ted bought them fish and chips on both Friday and Saturday teatimes, which also had never happened before, although Barbara was quick to remind Jessie and Connie that this out-of-character behaviour was for a special treat only, and they weren’t to get used to this sort of extravagance.
Chapter Eight (#ulink_be1818a9-8a19-5695-a557-a45e6354d686)
On the Saturday teatime, Peggy arrived just before they sat down to eat, with droplets of perspiration beading her top lip as she clunked her hand case down in the hallway, but luckily Ted had already got in an extra portion of fish and chips for her, as well as some raw fish scraps for somebody else.
This ‘somebody else’ was Peggy and Bill’s tabby puss Fishy, now unhappily corralled into a sturdy cat basket Barbara had borrowed from a neighbour. Fishy was frankly livid about the whole thing and she arrived at Jubilee Street making her presence felt by creating the devil of a racket, mewling loudly as she clawed at the opening to the cat basket that Peggy had lovingly placed her in.
Fishy was being evacuated too, although in nothing like as drastic a manner as Peggy and the children. She was going to be seeing the war out billeted with Ted and Barbara.
The government had requested recently that pet owners have their dogs, cats and other animals put to sleep, and the London vets had been furiously busy since the edict as their waiting rooms had been crammed with tearful owners not wanting to destroy their beloved pets but feeling they were in an impossible situation and that this was the only thing they could do.
Although it was Bill who was the real softie where cats were concerned, in recent months Peggy had become very fond of Fishy, the more so since Fishy would alternate some squeaky upper tones with deep bass purrs as on the marital bed they snuggled close together during their afternoon naps once Peggy had stopped work.
Peggy had made Ted and Barbara promise that they would do all that they could to avoid such an unnecessary end for the little tabby as she couldn’t bear the thought of putting down such a healthy animal so long before her natural time, and especially when she was such an affectionate creature as well as being an exceptionally good mouser.
‘Don’t worry, Peggy, we’ll look after ’er fer yer. An’ if anyone official asks about ’er, I’ll take ’er with me to the docks, as they always need ratters and mousers at the warehouses, and she can ’ave a fine ol’ time there as a working cat. I’ll do my best for ’er,’ Ted promised, ‘and it’ll be our way of thanking you for keepin’ an eye out for our Jessie and Connie.’
Peggy found Ted’s words very comforting.
She was worn out. Once Ted had lugged away the stuff for storage or passing on, Peggy had spent the rest of the Saturday afternoon cleaning the house that Bill and she had rented from top to bottom, making sure everything was left spick and span and so clean that any new tenant could quite literally have eaten their food straight off the floor if they were so inclined. Then Peggy had to deliver the keys back to her and Bill’s landlord before returning to collect Fishy who was basketed up and waiting on the doorstep to go to Jubilee Street, with Peggy’s packed hand case alongside.
And so by the time the Ross family was pulling up chairs to Barbara’s kitchen table on the Saturday teatime, with slices of bread already buttered and large pieces of hot battered cod and chips in newspaper waiting to be divvied up between them, Peggy was feeling tuckered out and pretty much at the end of her tether.
She was going to spend the Saturday and Sunday nights in Jessie’s bed, while across the bedroom Jessie was going to top-and-tail with his sister. Peggy urged Barbara not to bother about putting clean sheets on Jessie’s bed for her just for the two nights, but Barbara insisted and Peggy felt too exhausted to argue about it any further, and the moment she had given Fishy the fish scraps for supper she had an early night.
Fishy proved to be an excellent distraction for Connie and Jessie, who were growing increasingly fretful and tense as the enormity of what was about to happen to them – separation from all that they knew – was feeling very real now.
Ted tied some feathers to a bit of twine and showed the children how to get Fishy chasing after it. Fishy seemed to have boundless energy and was quite happy to play for a long while, the children encouraging her to run up and down the stairs with them. It proved a very good way for them all to let off steam, although possibly quite noisy for Peggy and her early night, and the result was the twins went to bed feeling a whole lot better than they had done before Fishy arrived, with the puss proving to have strong nerves after having had the chance to explore everywhere at number five.
Try as they might, Jessie and Connie couldn’t remember anyone ever sleeping over in their house, and once they were in their bedroom it felt very strange having somebody else under their roof for the night, even though of course they knew their Aunt Peggy well already.
The twins agreed, though, that it wasn’t as much fun as they had hoped it would be, as Barbara had strictly forbidden the twins from talking to each other in their bedroom, saying that Peggy needed her sleep and they were to wake her on pain of death only, and so they had to content themselves with making a great show of creeping about as they got ready to climb into bed.
They couldn’t help pressing their feet on each other’s when Fishy, now snuggled into Peggy’s back and feeling content with a full belly of the fish scraps that Ted had brought back for her, began to purr her squeaky purr more loudly than some people could snore.
In the morning, Jessie found Fishy sitting on his pillow staring intently at his face, presumably willing him to wake up.
Jessie looked back in silence at the tabby, and then carefully lifted in invitation the sheet and blanket that were covering him, to which Fishy gave Jessie a look as if to say, At last – I was really wondering what I was going to have to do to make you understand The Rules! as she sidled off the pillow and past his face to sneak under the bedclothes to nestle in a furry curl against Jessie’s ribcage, before they both fell asleep once more.
Just as Jessie drifted off he thought that it was like having a small and very comforting hot-water bottle pressed close to his chest.
In fact, everyone was still so all-in that by the time Monday morning came around every single person at number five Jubilee Street overslept. Such a thing had never happened before.
‘Barbara. Barbara! ’Ave you seen the time?’ said Ted in a muffled, dozy voice. The sun was already quite a way up, and the birds’ dawn chorus had quietened down to little more than an occasional chirp.
It was the clink of the glass milk bottles being delivered and the sound of the muffled feet of the horse pulling the milk cart that had roused Ted from his sound sleep.
His wife had been snoozing very deeply and clearly she hadn’t fully come to as she inched closer to Ted under the protective arm he had over her.
Ted thought about putting the war on hold and letting them all sleep in; it was very tempting.
But then he realised that if he allowed that to happen, Barbara would never forgive him, and so he whispered, ‘Barbara, it’s getting on – it’s not far off seven thirty.’
Seven thirty! A whole hour later than when Barbara had planned she would get up.
With a start of comical proportions, Barbara catapulted herself out of bed and ran from the room to bang loudly on the other bedroom door. ‘We’re late. WE’RE LATE!!’ she shouted.
Fishy was terrified by the unexpected cacophony in a still-strange environment, and she shot out of the bedcovers at the opposite end of the bed to where she had gone in, which unfortunately was right beside Connie’s face, as she sought refuge hiding in the furthest and darkest corner under the bed.
Connie felt a surge of panic and she heard herself giving an anguished squeal at the sight of something furry, grey and stripy shooting out of her bed at the rate of knots a mere inch or so in front of her nose.
Jessie sat bolt upright, and it took him a second or two to work out why, while it clearly was his familiar bedroom, it all looked so different and a bit like looking at something in reverse in a mirror, before he remembered that he was sleeping for the very first time across the room from where he normally slept, in Connie’s bed. He felt for Fishy beside him, and then he realised that perhaps it was Fishy’s hasty exit that had led to Connie making such a noise.
The twins looked at each other and then across at Peggy, but she didn’t so much as break the rhythm of her stentorious breathing, she was still so soundly asleep.
So much for he and Connie having to creep around in case they woke her unnecessarily, Jessie thought as he sat up, stretched loudly and wildly, and then slipped his feet to the floor.
Barbara had planned a lavish breakfast spread of bacon, eggs and fried bread for everyone so that at least she knew they’d all be well set up for the day.
Needless to say, their late start meant that by the time everyone was dressed and downstairs, and Fishy was giving a cry that was definitely announcing it was high time for her breakfast, it was already ten to eight. And so the best Barbara could hurriedly prepare was tea and toast, and as they ate she made everyone cheese and pickle sandwiches for lunch that she hurriedly slapped together before she wrapped the sandwiches more carefully in waxed paper. Then they all got ready to walk together over to St Mark’s Primary School, Ted announcing that he’d go to work once he had seen the children were safely delivered to the school and had everything they needed.
‘And you’ve got to say goodbye to us, Daddy,’ Connie reminded him, her small voice a far cry from how she spoke ordinarily; it made both of her parents recall when she had been a tiny girl. Connie added, ‘We couldn’t go away with the school if you hadn’t said goodbye to us properly, could we, Jessie?’
Both Ted and Barbara felt a lump rising to their throats. Connie had inadvertently touched a raw nerve.
‘Look sharp, you two – but before we leave, let’s go through Mr Jones’s list one last time,’ said Peggy to the twins as they all put on their coats, seeing their parents needed a moment or two to compose themselves.
Ted meanwhile pressed on Peggy two £5 notes, so that she could dole out some pocket money to the children if she found herself billeted near to them, plus, he said, she’d have plenty over if they – or Peggy – needed anything that nobody so far had thought of, Peggy promising without being asked that she would keep a detailed account of what she spent on Jessie and Connie, and that she would return the money unspent if she were billeted somewhere else that was too far from the children for her to have much contact. This really was a significant sum and Peggy knew that Ted and Barbara could ill afford to waste it.
At last the little cavalcade was ready to set off, with Fishy keeping watch on them from an upstairs window. Everyone was clutching their gas masks in their brand-new cardboard boxes that had twine attached ready for the mask’s owner to loop over a shoulder, and after a little tussle with Peggy, Ted and Barbara manhandling between them the three items of luggage along the road.
As Jessie and Connie headed down Jubilee Street in the direction of school, the twins were reminded forcibly that it might be quite some time before they saw these familiar houses again.
Connie briefly slid her hand into Jessie’s, and announced, ‘I can’t believe it but I feel homesick already, when I haven’t yet gone. They are ugly old houses, I’m sure, but I know every one.’
Not one of them could think of what they should say back to Connie and so nobody said anything for a while, although Barbara made sure that she smiled comfortingly at Jessie to let him know that she realised that he’d also be finding the whole experience very strange even though he was keeping quiet.
As they walked along they saw families similarly heading to the school, although with none of the boisterous behaviour or whoops of laughter that normally denoted south-east London family outings. The children gave minute half-smiles in the direction of their pals, while the adults accompanying them nodded sombrely at their opposite numbers.
When they got close to St Mark’s, it was to see the unusual sight of four single-decker coaches already parked up in the road outside the playground, the drivers wearing matching peaked caps and standing together as they chatted, all the while taking deep drags on Senior Service unfiltered cigarettes.
‘Peggy, you go and report to Susanne, who’ll be most pleased to see you I don’t doubt, seeing the scrum that’s here already, and I’ll look after your handbag and suitcase while you sort yourself out,’ said Barbara, as she looked at those milling across the playground, and then indicated to her sister where she and Ted would be waiting with the children.
It wasn’t long before Peggy threaded her way back to her sister across the now-heaving playground as in the time she had been gone the mass of people gathered squashily in its confines had doubled.
Peggy reported that she and Connie and Jessie were all designated to the final coach, and this meant that they weren’t due to leave the school until eleven o’clock.
‘Mr Jones is going to ask all the parents to go in a minute as he thinks the children will start getting upset if their mothers and fathers stay too long,’ she told Barbara and Ted, followed by, ‘and Ted, you need to put our luggage over by the wall where that “4” has been chalked as this is the mark for those going in the last bus. It means our luggage will go on the same bus to the station that we also travel on. Then you both had better start saying your goodbyes, and after that the teachers and me shall take it from there.’
The schoolchildren of St Mark’s, in general, whether they be small five-year-olds or old-timers of eleven years of age, took the actual leave-taking in a much more stoical manner than many of the parents managed, as they said their goodbyes and took their final hugs (or, in the case of some of the sons and fathers, contented themselves merely with a brusque downwards pump of the hand). Most mothers and one or two of the fathers too had hankies out, and many weren’t at all embarrassed to be seen allowing the tears to flow freely.
Jessie and Connie kept the proverbial stiff upper lip, as Barbara leant down to tie to their coat buttonholes big parcel labels that matched the labels already attached to their luggage that had in large capital letters their name, their London address and the name of their school, and then she made sure that they each had a pencil stub in their pocket so that once they knew where they were going they could write that too in the space below Barbara’s writing.
‘Now, you take care of each other, an’ remember to be ’onest and polite to the people you are going to meet,’ said Ted. ‘An’ work ’ard at school, and don’t shirk on any errands or odd jobs around the ’ouse the people lookin’ after yer ask of yer both. Eat up everything they give you – there’s to be no leavin’ of anyfing or sayin’ yer don’t like it, mind.’
‘Send us a note the very minute you know where you are, and me and your dad will write back,’ added Barbara. ‘And do try to stick together in order that you are billeted together, remember. Hold hands when people come in to look at you, and try very hard not to take no for an answer if anyone tries to say that you can’t stay together. Have you understood, Connie and Jessie? It really is very important that you do.’
Connie and Jessie each gave their mother a look which implied that Barbara’s last instruction would obviously go without saying.
‘And remember that I’ve written letters for whoever takes you in, so don’t forget to hand those over,’ Barbara went on huskily, as she dabbed now beneath her eyes with a pressed and folded hanky.
The children were hugged tightly, as was Peggy, and when Barbara and Ted turned just before they headed out the school gate to the playground to give a final wave, it was to the reassuring sight that the twins were standing side by side, looking united and determined, their auntie standing behind them as she rested a hand on each of their shoulders.
‘Look after Fishy,’ called Connie. ‘She can do our errands for you with us gone!’
‘Do you think our Jessie has grown a little?’ said Barbara, once she and Ted had got to the end of the street, and she had dried her eyes and put her handkerchief back in her handbag. ‘For a moment, I fancied he was looking as if he has.’
Ted still didn’t trust himself to speak, but he nodded and then crept a comforting arm around Barbara’s waist for a few paces.
Chapter Nine (#ulink_a1941a02-658e-586c-aca3-9ba206aca3f2)
As it turned out, the children and teachers were squeezed onto one or other of the four coaches by about ten o’clock, following a lively debate between the drivers as to the best bridge to drive across the River Thames – New London Bridge or Tower Bridge – a decision made more complicated by the drivers discussing the likely amount of traffic on the other side. The vehicles belted out black exhaust fumes as they were then driven away from Bermondsey in what turned out to be an achingly slow convoy.
It seemed to Peggy as if all of London was jam-packed with traffic as the St Mark’s buses crawled over Tower Bridge and northwards up to King’s Cross railway station.
At the massive London terminus there was then a tremendous kerfuffle going on already as, quite literally, chaos was reigning.
There were thousands of people milling hither and thither, with those from various evacuation centres and the ordinary fare-paying passengers rubbing shoulders with one another as they attempted to find out where they were supposed to be and which platform was the one that they needed.
Amongst them bustled all manner of people in uniform, some of whom were walking around with clipboards as they tried to organise those awaiting evacuation (these clipboard-holders were the people looking most harassed), while others shouted instructions and directions to various parts of the station through handheld megaphones. There were crackling announcements over the station tannoy too, but it appeared that nobody could decipher anything that was being said by these announcers.
One of the first things that Connie saw was a rotund woman in an expensive fur-collared tweedy two-piece suit that was at least a size too small for her, but who looked nevertheless like an imperious head of an exclusive girls’ school. She was standing on an upturned wooden beer crate while her quaking voice was veering towards the tone that the twins associated with an oncoming tantrum.
Grown-ups were feeling out of their depth, clearly, and tempers were being frayed in the noisy hubbub of the station. Connie whispered to Jessie with a nod towards the portly woman on the wooden box, whose cheeks were quickly taking on puce undertones, ‘King’s Cross… And it don’t look as if the Queen’s too happy either!’
Of course, everybody from St Mark’s needed now to go to the toilet, and there was an almighty queue for the gents and a spectacularly huge one for the ladies that was snaking to and fro in great loops.
Miss Pinkly had come to King’s Cross to help with making sure no one got lost at the station, although once they’d chugged out of the station finally she would be going home later by hopping on a number 63 bus. Connie heard her and Peggy joke to one another that at this rate the children could go to the lavatory and then rejoin the queue at the back, as by the time they’d get to the front once more it would be time for them to relieve themselves again. At least Connie thought they were making a joke, but after spending thirty minutes edging forward a couple of inches at a time and still not having made it into a cubicle, she wasn’t so sure.
St Mark’s headmaster Mr Jones huffed with obvious disapproval at the chaos and promptly disappeared into an office marked Evacuation Orders for what seemed an age. When, finally, he returned with his bristly moustache quivering in indignation to where the pupils and teachers were standing with their luggage, he announced that they were to get the next train that would come in at the furthermost platform on the far side of the station. The train had been specially commissioned and they would see B:71 in the driver’s window at the end of the train closest to where they would get onto the platform; this meant, apparently, it wouldn’t have any ordinary passengers, as some of the other school evacuee trains did.
It was going to take them to Leeds, after which they would be transferred to another train that would take them on to Harrogate which was, apparently, where the powers that be had decided the schoolchildren of St Mark’s, and Peggy too, would be billeted.
At this news, Peggy’s heart sank. She’d hoped they’d be heading for somewhere within – at the most – an hour of London by train. Kent, possibly, or Hertfordshire or Berkshire, or even, at a stretch, Bedfordshire.
Harrogate seemed without doubt a ridiculously long way for them all to go. It had to be close on two hundred miles between the two places.
In addition, it was already past one o’clock, and so with the best will in the world it would be late afternoon by the time they got to Leeds, and then they’d still have another train to take before their journey would be completed and before they would end up presumably at some sort of reception centre, and only at that point would they finally be allocated their billets.
It was hard to think that there wouldn’t be tears before bedtime from most of the children, as this was a punishing timetable for them, and Peggy wondered too if she might also be faced with her own sobs before the day was out. Her ankles felt uncomfortable, and the baby seemed to have picked up on her own anxiety as now and then she had a stab beneath her skirt waistband of something that felt not too far away from pain.
However, the children were being told right now to make sure they had the right suitcase or bag, and that they should get into pairs and then form an orderly line, all of which was easier said than done on such a busy day at the station.
Peggy and Susanne embraced and said farewell. Then Peggy tried to concentrate on making sure she and the pupils were as organised as they could be rather than allowing herself to think of how peaky she was feeling personally.
Then, once some sort of order had been established, a nice woman with a megaphone and a small triangular red pennant held aloft on a bamboo stick walked with them to the platform they needed, with Miss Crabbe saying repeatedly, ‘Children, follow that red flag and look sharp about it – no stragglers.’
When the party from St Mark’s got to the right platform they discovered they were to share the train with a school from Camden that was apparently destined for somewhere over near Sheffield or Leeds. Apparently there was confusion as to where that school was going and so everyone from this other school had been told to go to Leeds and the local officials could sort it out from there.
Oh well, thought Peggy, thank heavens for small mercies, I suppose. At least we know what town we are destined for, which is more than can be said for those poor pupils and teachers from Camden.
Once the St Mark’s group had shuffled past the other school to the far end of the platform as the lady with the flag had directed, and then put their cases and bags and gas masks down on the platform to wait for the train, which was being brought to them from a rail siding nearby, Peggy clapped her hands for attention.
‘Right, St Mark’s school pupils, please go and stand with your own classmates. And when we get on the train and have sat down, there will be a headcount and your names will be ticked off against each class register. While the teachers do that, I want you all to eat your packed lunches and then try to have a nap. It’s going to be quite late by the time we get to Harrogate, and you will feel tired, and so you will definitely find it of benefit to have a snooze on the train if you can.’
‘Do yer know where we’re going, miss?’
‘’Ave yer been there yerself, miss?’
‘Is it in the country, miss?’
