Orphans of War. Leah Fleming

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       Sowerthwaite

      ‘They must be picked fast before the frost Devil gets them!’ yelled Prunella Belfield, burying her head into the blackberry bushes, while shouting instructions to her line of charges to fill their bowls to the brim.

      It was a beautiful autumn afternoon and the new evacuees needed airing and tiring out before Matron began the evening bed routine in earnest.

      ‘But they sting, miss!’ moaned Betty Potts, the eldest of the evacuees, who never liked getting her fingers mucked up.

      ‘Don’t be a big girl’s blouse,’ laughed Bryan Partridge, who’d climbed over the stone wall to reach a better cluster of bushes, unaware that Hamish, the Aberdeen Angus bull, was eyeing him with interest from across the meadow.

      ‘Stay on this side, Bryan,’ Prunella warned, to no avail. This boy was as deaf as a post when it suited him. He had runaway from four billets so far and was in danger of tearing the only pair of short trousers that fitted him.

      ‘Miss…’ whined bandy-legged Ruby Sharpe, ‘why are the biggestest ones always too high to reach?’

      Why indeed? What could she say to this philosophical question? Life was full of challenges and just when you thought you had it all sorted out, along came another bigger challenge to make you stretch up even further or dig deeper into your reserves.

      Just when she and Gerald had settled down after another sticky patch in their marriage, along came the war to separate them. Just when she thought she was pregnant at long last, along came a second miscarriage and haemorrhage to put paid to that hope for ever.

      Just when she thought they could leave Sowerthwaite and her mother-in-law’s iron grip, along came the war to keep her tied to Brooklyn Hall and grounds as a glorified housekeeper.

      If anyone had told her twelve months ago she would be running a hostel for ‘Awkward Evacuees’, most of whom had never seen a cow, sheep or blackberry bush in their lives before, she’d have laughed with derision. But the war was changing everything.

      When the young Scottish billeting officer turned up at Pleasance Belfield’s house, he stared up at the Elizabethan stone portico, the mullioned windows and the damson hues of the Virginia creeper stretched over the walls, and demanded they take in at least eight evacuees immediately.

      Mother-in-law refused point-blank and pointed to the line of walking sticks in the hallstand under the large oak staircase.

      ‘I have my own refugees, thank you,’ she announced in her patrician, ‘don’t mess with me’ tones that usually shrunk minor officials into grovelling apologies. But this young man was well seasoned and countered her argument with a sniff.

      ‘But there is the dower house down the lane, I gather that belongs to you?’

      He was talking about the empty house by the green. It was once the Victory Tree public house, but had been shuttered up for months after some fracas with the last tenant. It had lain empty, undisturbed, the subject of much conjecture by the Parish Council of Sowerthwaite in Craven, tucked away by the gates to the old Elizabethan manor. Not even Pleasance could wriggle out of this.

      ‘I have plans for that property,’ Mother countered. ‘In due course it will be rented out.’

      ‘With respect, madam, this is an emergency. With the blitz we need homes for city children immediately. Your plans can wait.’

      No one talked to Pleasance Belfield like that. He deserved an award for conspicuous bravery. Her cheeks flushed with indignation and her bolster bosom heaved with disapproval at this inconvenient conversation. If ever a woman belied her name, it was Gerald’s mama, Pleasance. She ruled the town as if it was her feudal domain. She sat on every committee, checked that the vicar preached the right sermons and kept everyone in their proper places as if the twentieth century hadn’t even started.

      The war was an inconvenience she wanted to ignore but it was impossible. There was not a flag or a poster or any recruitment drive without her approval, and now she was being faced with an influx of strangers and officials who didn’t know their place.

      ‘My dear fellow, anyone can see that place’s not suitable for children. It was a public house with no suitable accommodation for children. Who would take responsibility? I can’t have city ruffians racing round the streets disturbing the peace. Let them all be put up in tents somewhere out of the way.’

      ‘Oh, yes, and when a bomb drops on hundreds of them, will you take the responsibility of telling their poor mothers?’ he replied, ignoring her fury at his insolence. ‘We’re hoping young Mrs Belfield would see to things.’ The officer looked straight at Plum, giving her a look of desperation but also just the escape she needed from the tyranny of life with Mother-in-law and her gang.

      ‘But I don’t know anything about children,’ Plum was quick to add. Gerald and she had not managed to take a child to term and now that she was nearly forty, her chances of conceiving were very slim.

      ‘You’ll soon learn,’ said the billeting officer. ‘We’ll provide a proper nurse and domestic help. I see you have dogs,’ he smiled, pointing to her red setters, Sukie and Blaze, tearing round the paths like mad things. ‘Puppies and kiddies, there’s not much difference, is there? The ones we have in mind are a bit wayward, you see, runaways from their billets mostly. You look just the type to lick them into shape.’ The man winked at her and she СКАЧАТЬ