Orphans of War. Leah Fleming

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      Little Mitch Brown was a serious chap, old for his years, with a hunted look on his face like a nervous terrier. Bryan Partridge was like one of those lolloping mongrels, willing, shambolic and always racing into mischief. Nancy Shadlow was so quiet she was like a timid sheepdog cowering in a barn yard, silent and wary. She cried for her mam and sisters, and wasn’t settling at all. Gloria was a bouncing red setter, impossible to keep still but she tagged along with Maddy, who had the knack of reining her in somehow.

      Gregory was the one coming on better than she’d dared hope, the pack leader, handsome in a rough sort of way and proud; a bit of an Alsatian about him. She’d already asked at Brigg’s Garage if he could be taken on as a mechanic.

      It was promising to be a great Christmas–if only Herr Hitler would give his bombers a holiday over the festive season so everyone in the country could have a good night’s rest. Just a lull for a few days would do.

      As the towns turned into villages and hills, grey into green, Plum peered out at the beauty of her surroundings, relieved and guilty to be leaving the nightly raids behind. Her war work was of a different kind from that of the women in the city: trying to give these lost children some fun, hope, and discipline. She tried to temper Avis Blunt’s coldness with some warmth and understanding.

      Matron was always banging on about them needing a firm hand but Plum had always got more from her dogs with praise and titbits than with sticks and a beating. Too much yelling and punishment made them anxious and confused, and that set them off in the wrong direction. Surely the children needed firm consistency but also praise when they deserved it?

      They had hidden the latest food parcel sent as goodwill gifts from the American people. It was bulging with treats and clothing, and so precious. With all the terrible submarine attacks on convoys in the Atlantic, who knew when they might receive another one? There were more tough clothes for playing in, warm nighties, tins of syrup, lovely quilted bedspreads, milk powder, sweets and magazines. Christmas at the Old Vic was going to be fun.

      The hostel’s Christmas turkey was provided by the Town Council and the Christmas puddings were ready in Mrs Batty’s scullery. The children would lunch after morning service and the Belfields, along with their elderly houseguests, would dine later and dress for the occasion.

      Plum had used her own coupons to buy Maddy a turquoise velvet dress with long sleeves from Harrods. It was outrageously extravagant but she wanted the child to have something pretty to wear for her parents. Pleasance would have to go halves with her whether she liked this present or not. The other gift had been hidden at Brigg’s Garage for weeks, out of sight of peering eyes.

      Everyone was doing their best to be cheerful and festive, but the shops were struggling to keep up with demand. All the factories were up to speed and turned to war production: curtain mills turned into shirt factories, woollen mills turning out uniform cloth, silk mills churning out parachute silk, engineering works pumping out machine tools and spares for aircraft and tanks.

      The streets of Scarperton were filled with older men and women with baskets, nipping out in their lunch break to catch up on shopping. The farms were full of land girls. Plum wondered what it was doing to the babies and children, not having fathers around the house and mothers on shift work.

      Then she smiled, thinking of her own childhood, when Nanny dressed her to take tea with Mummy and Daddy, if he was home. Sometimes she hardly saw him for weeks. Mummy was a lovely creature who popped into the nursery to say good night, dressed in chiffon and smelling of vanilla perfume. They were loving strangers to her in some ways.

      Everyone had to make sacrifices now but she yearned to have a child of her own to cherish, one who would not be farmed out to servants all day. Without Gerald close by it was an impossible dream. War was causing such disruption even in this sleepy market town.

      All the schoolmasters were called up for service and older staff brought out of retirement, married women were also back in the classroom. Farmhands, postmen and shopkeepers had all but disappeared. It reminded Plum of after the Great War when she was young and so many of her friends had daddies killed in the war. On market days it seemed as if the whole town was full of women, young boys and farmers, who had a reserved occupation. There were a few soldiers billeted around the streets but no army camps nearby.

      She hoped that Arthur and Dolly would arrive back in time for Christmas. They were due to dock in Liverpool at the end of next week, if all went well. No wonder Maddy was excited and Pleasance was going around with a look on her face like her corns were pinching her.

      ‘What have you got against Dolly?’ Plum asked one night, after her return from London.

      Maddy was in bed and the oldies were snoozing by the fire with their cocoa. Pleasance had looked down her specs at Plum.

      ‘It’s a matter of standards. Those sorts of girls…well, we all know what showgirls are like…actresses. I never expected a son of mine to get mixed up with one of them,’ she sighed.

      ‘But Dolly was singing to wounded troops when they met,’ Plum replied.

      ‘On the make, dear, just looking out for someone to be her meal ticket…It was all about the S word,’ she whispered back.

      ‘The what?’ Plum could hardly believe what she was hearing.

      ‘You know perfectly well what I’m getting at. Sex,’ Pleasance mouthed in disgust. ‘It was just sex with those two!’

      ‘And so it should be at that age, Mother. Dolly’s a lovely-looking woman. I’ve seen posters of her.’

      ‘So why did they produce such an ugly duckling? I’m not even sure if Madeleine is Arthur’s…I did warn him he was making a mistake.’

      ‘Oh, enough! That’s not very Christian. How can you say such a wicked thing when they’ve been out giving their services to the troops? Arthur sounds like the nicest of the brothers.’ How dare Mother insinuate such a cruel thing about Dolly!

      ‘I’m surprised at you. Gerald is the handsomest of all my boys,’ Pleasance preened, looking up from her book.

      Plum plonked herself down on the sofa, picked up her knitting. It was time for some home truths. ‘I think this family must have a fascination for the stage. I know Gerald has. He’s kept a mistress in London for years. In fact, he was seeing her before we were married. He says he’s finished with her but I’m not so sure. If you want to criticise anyone, tear your own pretty boy off a strip, not Arthur. He’s the only one with a happy marriage.’ That would pop her balloon.

      ‘Prunella, what’s got into you? Don’t be so mean. Gerry can’t defend himself. Men are like that sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything. You have to make allowances for their urges. They don’t marry girls like that–not in my day, they didn’t.’

      ‘Didn’t you have any urges then?’ Plum paused, unimpressed by her argument.

      ‘No I did not. I did my duty and gave him three sons. In return he gave me respect and didn’t trouble me much after that. What Harry did in his spare time, I never asked, but Arthur wouldn’t leave well alone; he had to go and marry the girl against our wishes. I blame him for Harry’s death–letting the family down, going on the stage, refusing to go into the business with not even a grandson to inherit. Gerald was too young to take over. He’s just a man being a man. It’s a pity there’s no child. You wouldn’t talk so freely then.’

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