The Secret Orphan. Glynis Peters

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СКАЧАТЬ the violet-perfumed, comforting arms of a plump lady from the Women’s Voluntary Service did nothing to stop the trembling and terrors which surged through her body. The woman crooned words of comfort as she carried Rose to a makeshift medical tent, and stroked her head before unhooking Rose’s gasmask from around her neck. Rose could smell the difference between her and the nurse who dressed her wounds.

      The slightest hint of perfume from violets or the smell of disinfectant could still take her back to that night, even now, after seventy-eight years.

      23rd November 2018

      Wartime nightmares and memories often caught up with Rose during her afternoon naps, and she jerked herself awake from this latest one. She wiped away a thin layer of sweat from her top lip, and despite feeling warm, she shivered and pulled her cardigan around her. Her knees creaked as she rose from her chair and shuffled into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she sat and remembered telling the woman her name and calling for Elenor.

      ‘Elenor. I want Elenor.’

      ‘Hush now, little one. We’ll find Mummy and your sister. You rest now.’

      ‘Elenor is not my sister. She’s on the farm. Mummy’s not coming back. I want Elenor.’

      She remembered hearing the woman arrange for a cot-bed and blanket to be placed in the corner of the tent whilst she sought a place for Rose to stay until the rest of her family were found. Rose had tried to tell her she had no family and her daddy had died a long time ago, but the woman told her to rest. She’d lain there, clutching the wooden-framed photograph of her and her parents. The fireman who had rescued her brought it to the tent and Rose overheard him telling the nurse it was all that was left of her home and family.

      The recollection of the cries of pain that had echoed around the tent, followed by the hushed voices of men taking away those who had not survived the night, never left Rose. One vivid memory was of how she had lain on the bed praying in hope she was not alone in the world. For the first time in her life, at nearly seven years old, Rose understood the pain of war and loss. She understood Elenor’s fears when the war was first declared, fears her mother brushed aside as a young woman’s hysterics.

      A sob caught in Rose’s throat. She missed Elenor, the woman who’d given up her dreams to ensure Rose had a secure future.

      For the first few years of her life, Rose knew Elenor more as a big sister than as the employer of her parents; or at least the niece of her mother’s employer. She’d filled Rose’s life with fun and laughter, and even today – 23rd November 2018 – on Rose’s eighty-fifth birthday, memories of birthday party fun were only of those which Elenor had arranged. Her parents had never bothered to celebrate her special day.

      Food shortages and rationing were never obstacles for Elenor, and as Rose prepared to meet her own beloved children for a birthday feast, she smiled. Their vibrancy and love of life was passed on by her, but she’d only learned to live again thanks to the love of her adoptive parents.

      In her bedroom Rose pulled on her favourite navy dress; a classic style in wool with the zip front for easy wear. She reached into her jewellery box and pulled out the piece which was known as her birthday gem. It was not an expensive piece but Elenor had designed it, and to Rose it was invaluable. It was a Celtic knot with a small maple leaf sitting in the centre and a rosebud resting in the middle of the leaf. There was also a small inscription on the back, C to C to C. This inscription connected her to the places she was born and brought up. Coventry, the town of her birth, Cornwall, her childhood home until she was nearly nine, and Canada, the country which had embraced and nurtured her through her last stages as a child, into her teenage and adult years. Sixty-four years had passed since the day she unwrapped the pewter brooch from her adoptive parents, Elenor and Jackson, for her twenty-first birthday.

      Today, Rose cursed her arthritic hands as she fumbled with the clasp, her swollen knuckles screaming old age. Once set in place, she stroked her finger over the fretwork and was transported back to the day she’d received it and of how her parents had created a treasure trail for her to follow, ending in Elenor’s battered suitcase.

      She glanced with affection at the case which now nestled in the corner of her bedroom; she’d refused to part with it even after Elenor had died. She remembered seeing Elenor arrive in Coventry carrying it and filling it with her papers to take back to Cornwall. It still housed paper memories of lives well lived. It also housed a letter which held the truth about Rose’s past life, and why Elenor had chosen to leave Britain and move to Canada. A secret Elenor had kept for so many years. A secret that had saved Rose’s life.

       Chapter 2

      ‘Happy birthday, Mom!’

      The doors of Rose’s small home burst open and her family filled the silent room with their laughter and birthday greetings. Hugs and kisses were showered upon her in abundance. Floral bouquets were thrust at her from all angles and Rose felt the love flow from each of her children and her three grandchildren who stood before her, and her heart swelled with pride.

      ‘You guys will be the death of me! And you, you are stronger than you look, Abraham. Snowboarding suits you. Come champ, give me another hug, but be gentle this time.’

      The room erupted with laughter and shouts of affectionate banter and teasing. She held open her arms for the youngest of her grandchildren. At six-foot tall he overshadowed her by several feet, and his body was that of an athlete. As he gave her the hug she’d demanded and gripped her tight, she had another pang of nostalgia. She thought of the last time her biological father had waved her goodbye. He’d given her no loving hug farewell, no warm memories for her to hold close on a dark night while Hitler’s bombs fell around them. She realised with a stab to her heart that he and her mother had left behind only questions and cold memories. She could never recall their love.

      Her teenage granddaughters found a corner of the sofa and began clicking away on their mobile phones, capturing the moment to share with whomever would be interested. Rose forgave them their modern ways. Any form of communication was a good one. They always remembered her and brought her joy. Her grandson perched on the window ledge quietly cursing his cousins each time they snapped his way. Rose fussed around her sons and daughter, offering an enthusiastic thank you for the presents heaped upon her. They in turn delighted in her expressions of gratitude as she opened each parcel, folding the paper and ribbon with care. A habit from a lifetime of going without, Rose kept many items to recycle.

      ‘Thank you all. You spoil me. Now, I’m famished and could eat a …’

      ‘Carrot, Mother?’ Her daughter quipped. And once again laughter filled the room. The joke referred to her small appetite, and the fact she’d overeaten carrots during the war and could no longer face eating them.

      The banter and laughter continued throughout the family meal in Rose’s favourite restaurant.

      ‘You don’t appreciate half of what you have,’ Rose said when plates were pushed aside and bellies declared full.

      ‘You’ve never really told us much about your time during the war, Mom,’ her eldest son responded.

      Rose sipped a glass of cool water.

      ‘There’s too much to tell, and some things are so unpleasant they need to remain buried in the past. I’ve told you about Coventry, my home, the death of my parents. That’s one lifetime of darkness and confusion, lit СКАЧАТЬ