The Girl With No Name (23 page)

‘I suppose we’d better,’ agreed David. ‘We need everyone on board for this.’

‘So we’re going to say we’ll have them?’ asked Avril.

David treated her to his gentle smile. ‘Of course we are. You ring Caroline back and tell her to sort out her end.’ He turned to Marjorie. ‘Have you the list of those who offered homes last time?’

‘I’m sure I have somewhere, but I think you’re right, we need to reinstate the committee, so that everyone feels involved. Finding places for fifteen extra children shouldn’t be beyond us, but it’ll need careful handling.’

‘I’ll call a meeting for this evening,’ Avril said. ‘I’ll contact everyone and ask them to come here and we can make proper plans.’

Good as her word, within the hour Avril had rung those committee members who were on the phone and had bicycled to visit those who were not.

‘Fifteen! That’s a lot,’ said Nancy Bright, the postmistress. Nancy was the fount of all village news and Avril had gone to her first, knowing there was no quicker way of disseminating the information than by telling her.

‘We’re having a meeting of the committee this evening, so if you could come over to the vicarage at seven...’

Andrew Fox, who ran the village general store, said at once he could be there. ‘Not surprised your sister wants those kiddies out of London,’ he said.

She caught Michael Hampton, the headmaster of the village school, in the lunch hour. ‘What you’re telling me is that I’ve got to find space for another fifteen children in the school,’ he sighed. But she could see the light of zeal in his eyes and knew he would rise to the challenge and achieve it somehow.

‘Maybe not all of them,’ she pointed out. ‘Some of them will surely be old enough to go down to Cheddar Secondary.’

That evening they all met at the vicarage. Once again they sat round the kitchen table and Marjorie Bellinger produced the list of families who had offered foster care to the first batch of evacuees.

‘Of course, some of those children are still here,’ she said. ‘The Tates still have the Morgan twins, Daphne Cooper is still with Mrs Harper and of course there are the Cleggs.’

There was a groan round the table as they all contemplated the Clegg family. They had arrived soon after war was declared, an expectant mother, Sheila, and four children under eight. They had been housed in a farm cottage belonging to the Bellingers on the manor estate. Having come from Manchester, they were unused to country life and never stopped complaining to the Bellingers about what they considered the shortcomings of the cottage. There were three bedrooms and a kitchen. The privy was in the garden and baths had to be taken in front of the fire. Marjorie doubted if it had been any different where they had come from, but Mrs Clegg assured her that she wasn’t used to such primitive conditions. The new baby had arrived, a boy named Eustace, delivered by Dr Masters, and all six still continued to live in the cottage. Mr Clegg had turned up for a weekend several months ago to admire his new son, and Mrs Clegg was now expecting again.

‘Let’s hope there aren’t any more like them,’ said Nancy Bright in heart-felt tones.

‘Not the children’s fault,’ Michael Hampton pointed out gently. ‘Difficult start in life with a feckless mother and an absent father. The children are not at all bad, all things considered. Young Edwin’s quite bright, if you’ll pardon the pun, Nancy,’ he added with a sideways glance at her.

‘I’ve spoken to my sister again,’ Avril told them, bringing them back to the matter in hand. ‘She’s given me a list of names, so we know who to expect. There are seven boys and eight girls. There are two sets of siblings. One family called Dawson, Paul aged eleven and his two sisters, Frances who’s eight and Valerie who’s five. I thought we might have them here with us. We’ve got the room and it means we can keep them together.’

‘That sounds fine,’ said Marjorie. ‘Everyone agreed with that?’ She made a note of the names and where they were going on her pad. ‘Who are the other family?’

‘Jack and Diane Payne. Jack is ten and Diane eight.’

‘We could have them,’ offered Rose Merton. She and her sister lived together in a small house on the village green. Their father had been the village doctor until he had died ten years earlier and they had stayed on in the village where they had lived most of their lives. ‘Violet and I have room for two.’

‘All the rest are individuals, but of course if some families are willing to have two that would be a great help.’

‘When do they get here?’ asked Rose.

‘Not sure yet,’ replied Avril, ‘but I promise I’ll let you know as soon as I do.’

By the end of the meeting they had made a list of possible foster homes and tried to match them up with the children on Avril’s list. Michael Hampton had the names and ages of the children so that he could decide how he was going to accommodate them at the school.

‘I haven’t mentioned any of this to Martha Mason yet,’ he said. ‘I’ll discuss it with her at school tomorrow, now that I know exactly who’s coming.’

‘There is one last thing,’ Avril said. ‘I should mention Charlotte Smith, she’s about fourteen. At least, Charlotte Smith is the name she goes by...’

‘What do you mean “the name she goes by”?’ asked Nancy.

‘The unfortunate child was picked up unconscious in the street after an air raid. She was with another casualty, a man named Peter Smith, from Harrogate. He was dead, but they rushed the girl to hospital and she survived. However, she has amnesia. She has no recollection of the raid and no memory of her life before it. They think the man may have been her father, but they don’t really know. She’s been given the name Charlotte because, well, she needed a name. My sister, Caroline, just wanted to warn us that this loss of memory is an added problem the poor girl has to contend with. Most of the time she seems to be coping all right, but she does have the occasional panic attack, so we must be prepared for that.’

Caroline had also told Avril that Charlotte was almost certainly half German.

‘She speaks English pretty well, Av, but lapses into German when she’s under any pressure. We think maybe her mother’s German and she’s been brought up bilingual. The other possibility is that she’s a refugee, but until we know her real name it’s virtually impossible to trace her family.’

‘Poor child,’ Avril said. ‘How desperately sad. Let’s hope when she’s away from all the bombing, her memory’ll come back.’

‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ Caroline said, ‘but I just thought I’d warn you.’

Avril had decided not to share this second piece of information with the committee yet. It wasn’t definite that Charlotte was German and it wouldn’t be fair to the child if it turned out not to be true and the whole village supposed she was. She knew that if it were mentioned now, it would, without doubt, be round the village first thing in the morning. Nancy, with the best will in the world, couldn’t keep a secret. A secret to Nancy was something you told only one person at a time and then, of course, in complete confidence.

They all got up to leave in a bustle of finding coats and torches to light their way home. Outside, the darkness was complete, the blackout as strictly enforced here as in the towns. David switched off the lights, opened the front door and with a continued mutter of conversation, the evacuation committee disappeared into the night.

When they’d all gone Avril and David flopped down in their chairs in the warmth of the kitchen.

‘Well, that didn’t go too badly,’ Avril said with a sigh of relief. ‘Now all we have to do is approach those families and see if they’ll take in the evacuees.’

‘I’m sure you and Marjorie between you will be able to persuade them,’ David said. ‘But shouldn’t we be having that child, Charlotte, here with us?’

‘I would have liked to, but I think we have to take the Dawson children ourselves. It’s so important that families stay together and nowhere else has room for all three.’

‘You’re probably right,’ David agreed. ‘Come on, old thing,’ he said affectionately, pulling her to her feet. ‘Bed. You look completely bushed.’

Avril followed him up the stairs, saying as she did so, ‘I know Caro’s right. We need to get those children out of London.’

‘And we will,’ David said. ‘Now stop worrying. It’ll all be fine.’

In London Caroline was doing her best to cut through any red tape which might prevent the speedy evacuation of her children. She went to the local authority who had legal responsibility for St Michael’s and spoke to a rather unhelpful woman named, according to the sign on her desk, Miss Ruth Miles.

‘I’m not sure we can simply allow you to remove these children to the country,’ she said. ‘There’s the question of permission from their families.’

‘I’m afraid several of the children concerned have no family,’ Caroline pointed out. ‘Three of them are orphans, another has no knowledge of her family, and several have been bombed out already which is why they’re with us in the first place.’ She fixed Miss Miles with a resolute stare. ‘I can see no possible reason why they should not be moved to a safer environment. Or would you prefer to leave them where they are and risk their lives for even longer during this bloody awful Blitz?’

‘There’s no need for language like that, Miss Morrison,’ scowled Miss Miles.

Caroline tried to rein in her temper. It would be hopeless if she lost Miss Miles’s goodwill. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but as you can imagine I’m under quite a strain keeping these children safe and it’s beginning to tell.’ She forced herself to smile. ‘What I’m trying to explain, Miss Miles, is that St Michael’s is very close to Croydon airport. We seem to be on the direct flight path for the German bombers targeting the airport. All round us last night houses were demolished, burned out or at least rendered uninhabitable. It is a miracle to me that so far our building has remained undamaged, but seriously, I don’t think it will be long before St Michael’s is destroyed as well. So, you can see why I need to get these children moved.’

‘I’ll have to speak to Mr Carver,’ Miss Miles said. Though unwilling to admit it, she was probably not senior enough to make such a decision herself. ‘Please wait here.’

Caroline Morrison waited... and waited, and was just about to go through the door Miss Miles had used when she returned, followed by a middle-aged man she introduced as ‘Mr Carver, who deals with children’s homes’.

‘Now, Miss Morrison,’ he said, ‘what is it you want to do?’

So Caroline drew a deep breath and went through the whole thing again.

‘I see,’ Mr Carver said slowly when she’d finished. ‘And you say you have somewhere definite to send these children?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ she replied, feeling that perhaps now they were actually getting somewhere. ‘An offer of foster homes for fifteen children at Wynsdown in Somerset.’

‘And what do you know of these places?’ he enquired.

‘My brother-in-law is the vicar of Wynsdown, David Swanson. It is he and his evacuation committee who have found homes for the children.’

This seemed to silence Mr Carver for a moment. Then he said, ‘You do realise that we shan’t be able to close St Michael’s. Even if we send these children away, we shall have to use you to house others when necessary.’

*

‘So, I had to accept that, in return for permission to evacuate the children down to you,’ Caroline told Avril that evening on the phone. ‘I have to keep the place open, so that more children can be put at risk even if we’ve managed to save the present inmates!’ She sighed. ‘I suppose they have a point. There are always going to be children who need a home, and St Michael’s will certainly be needed again.’ She gave a wry laugh. ‘Unless the Luftwaffe gives up and goes home.’

‘So, when will they come?’ Avril asked. ‘Will you bring them yourself? It’d be lovely if you could, just to give us a chance to see you for a couple of days.’

‘It’s a nice idea,’ Caroline said. ‘I’ll have to sort out all the travel arrangements and let you know, but I hope to have them on the train tomorrow, or the next day at the latest.’

‘We’ll be ready,’ Avril promised, hoping as she said it that they really would.

The day after the committee meeting, she and Marjorie Bellinger visited the homes of those who had offered to foster evacuees last time.

‘Not just bringing them up from the station and putting them in the village hall, like last time, then?’ Mrs Marston stood, arms folded, in the doorway, not inviting her callers inside.

Avril treated her to her best smile and said, ‘Trying to be a bit better organised this time, Mrs Marston. We know the names and ages of the children coming this time, so we know how many places we have to find.’

‘You agreed to take a child last time,’ put in Marjorie, ‘so we were hoping you’d offer to take another.’

‘Not if it’s another guttersnipe like the last one,’ snapped Mrs Marston. ‘Nightmare he was, with his swearing and shouting and turning his nose up at decent, well-cooked food. Always in trouble, he was, here and at school. My Charlie had to take a strap to him on more than one occasion. Don’t want another one like that, thank you very much.’ She stepped back and began to shut the door, but Avril, with great determination, put her foot in the door so that it wouldn’t close.

‘Not a boy, Mrs Marston, but perhaps a girl? There are several girls looking for a home.’

‘You take your foot out of my door, Mrs Swanson, and I’ll think about it. Don’t think my Charlie’ll be too keen.’

Avril removed her foot and Mrs Marston shut the door firmly in their faces.

‘Not sure I want them to foster a child if that’s the way they treat them,’ remarked Avril as they walked away.

‘I do remember the child concerned,’ said Marjorie. ‘He wasn’t easy. I think we were all glad when his father came and took him back to London.’

They continued their enquiries, speaking to each person whom they thought might take on a child. Several felt much the same as Mrs Marston.

‘Of course, we did have one last time, but it wasn’t really a success. She cried every night and kept us all awake.’

‘London kids don’t understand the country, do they. Wouldn’t drink milk cos it came from our cow, they said it was dirty cos it didn’t turn up in a bottle.’