Octavia's War (12 page)

Emmeline tried to be practical. ‘Is he hurt?' she asked.

But that brought another outburst. ‘How should I know?' Edie cried. ‘They don't tell you anything. Only where he is. They send you these horrible letters and they don't tell you anything. Just a prisoner a' war camp. I shan't see him again for years and years. I know it, and it's all my fault. Oh Ma, I can't bear it.'

Emmeline could hear a child crying in the background. One of the girls, of course. Poor little thing. ‘I'll come back,' she decided. ‘Go and give your girls a cuddle and try not to worry. I'll be there on the next train. Maybe it's not as bad as you think.'

‘How can you say such a thing? It is! It is!'

‘Put the letter on the mantelpiece,' Emmeline said, in her firmest voice, ‘and we'll look at it together. Two heads are better than one.'

‘I'll drop you off at the station,' Octavia offered, as her cousin reached for her hat and coat. ‘We'll just let Janet know what we're about.'

‘I'll take what's left of the fruit cake, if that's all right,' Emmeline said. ‘I'll bet she hasn't thought to give those children their breakfast.'

Edith was standing by the window in the front bedroom when her mother arrived. She'd been prowling the flat ever since she put the phone down, fidgeting and worrying, picking things up and putting them down, unable to settle to anything. The sight of her mother's comfortable, comforting figure taking the last few waddling steps up her pathway triggered another outburst of passionate weeping. But then Emmeline was through the door and in the flat and she had her arms round her daughter and was patting her back and stroking her hair out of her eyes the way she'd done when she'd been upset as a child, and everything eased. They walked into the kitchen arm in arm. The three little girls were sitting round the kitchen table, subdued and anxious.

‘Let's get that kettle on, shall we?' Emmeline said, smiling at them. ‘I don't know about you three but I could go for a cup of tea. I'm parched. Now,' pulling the cake tin out of her bag, ‘I brought a little bit of fruit cake because I thought you might like it. Could you fancy a slice?'

The kettle steamed and whistled, the cake was put on one of Edie's best plates in the middle of the table and generous slices cut for both adults and all three children. Joan's bib was found and tied around her neck, as she was told what a good little girl she was. And as the familiar patterns were reasserted, the day shifted and became normal.

They were drinking their tea and eating every last crumb of cake and Emmeline was carefully reading Edie's official letter when there was a ring at the door.

‘Don't worry, Mum,' Barbara said, licking the last of the
crumbs from her fingers. ‘I'll go.'

It was Dora, looking determined. ‘Now what's all this?' she said to Edie. ‘I couldn't make head nor tail of what you were on about on the phone. Is he injured?'

Emmeline handed her the letter. ‘No, nothing like that,' she said. ‘Your sister was a bit upset. That's all. Bit of a shock.'

Dora read the letter quickly. ‘Ah!' she said. ‘Yes. Well. I can see why you were upset, expecting him home and everything. But look on the bright side. At least he's out of danger. It must be horrible to think of him being locked up. I'm sure it is. I'll grant you that. And I don't suppose it'll be much fun for him. But at least you won't have to worry about him being injured or killed or anything. You'll get a letter from him soon, you see if I'm not right, and he'll tell you he's not hurt and he's all right and you're to keep your chin up.'

Edie was calm enough now to accept that all this was probably true. He would write. Of course he would. And even if he had been injured, they'd look after him, surely. They might be Germans but they weren't barbarians.

‘'Course not,' Dora said, in her pragmatic way. ‘He'll be fine, you'll see.' She folded the letter, handed it back to her sister and turned to easier and more immediate matters. ‘Is there any tea in that pot?' she said. ‘I see you've scoffed all the cake.'

Emmeline stayed in Colliers Wood until Arthur's letter arrived. It was as sensible as Dora had predicted. He'd been taken prisoner with
the rest of chaps…being as we was surrounded
, and now they were all in the same hut,
or I could say the same boat
. He'd had what he called
a slight wound
but was better now and he signed off,
Keep your chin up. We shall soon be home
.

Edie cried when she'd read it but she wasn't as upset as Emmeline had feared she might be, so the worst of the shock seemed to have passed. There was no more hysteria, no more talk of everything being her fault, Maggie and Barbara were going to school as usual, the house was clean and tidy, they listened to ITMA in the evening and laughed at all the jokes.

‘I think I shall get back this afternoon,' Emmeline said. ‘You're all right now, aren't you?'

Edie was busy ironing. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘Better than I was anyway. I'm sorry I made such a fuss. It makes a difference getting letters, knowing he's safe.'

Which is more than you are, Emmeline thought, and she wondered whether she ought to say something about taking the children back to the country in case the Germans started bombing London. But on second thoughts she decided against it. The war seemed to have gone quiet again. The Navy was still rescuing troops from various beaches in parts of France that weren't occupied by the Germans but apart from that nothing much was happening. I'll speak to her later, she thought, when the time comes.

It came two days later with the news that the Germans had occupied Paris and that, led by their newly appointed Prime Minister, Petain, the French government had asked for an armistice.

‘So that's it,' Octavia said at dinner that night. ‘We're on our own.'

‘God help us,' Emmeline sighed. ‘What will happen to us now?'

‘Doan't you worry, mum,' Janet said, jutting her chin. ‘We woan't give in to them, no matter what.'

That was Mr Churchill's opinion too, as he told the House of Commons on the 18
^th
of July. Britain stood alone but she would fight on, for years if necessary. ‘Let us brace ourselves to our duty,' he said, ‘and so bear ourselves that, if the British Commonwealth and Empire lasts a thousand years, men will still say, “This was their finest hour”.'

‘Do you think they're really going to invade us, Lizzie?' Mary O'Connor asked, her plump face wrinkled with anxiety. ‘My mum does. She says they'll be here any day. Bound to be, she reckons. I mean, they're only just over the Channel, aren't they. It's not far. She's laying in stocks of food, tins and that, just in case.'

‘So's my mum,' Poppy Turner said, stopping to shake a stone from her sandal. ‘She says there's nothing to stop them.'

The three girls were walking along the tow path, heading back to Downview. It was a bright, sun-warmed, peaceful day, the summer term was nearly over and they had the afternoon and the canal to themselves. Two swans sailed their easy magnificence along the olive water, a flock of finches flew like green darts from a nearby tree and swung in a graceful arc towards the bushes, a sandy-coloured mongrel trotted happily towards them wagging his tail and looking hopeful. It didn't seem possible that they could be invaded.

Mary repeated her question, hanging on to Lizzie's arm. ‘D'you think they'll invade us, Lizzie?'

I must stop this, Lizzie thought. She's getting in a state. ‘Not according to Pa,' she said. She wasn't really sure she believed what he'd told her but she passed it on anyway. ‘He
says there are three things in Hitler's way, two he can fight but he won't beat, and one he can't do anything about.'

‘Like what?' Mary said. ‘I can't see anything to stop him at all.'

‘Three things,' Lizzie said firmly, and she counted them off on her fingers. ‘First, there's the army we took off the beaches, and that's a lot of men and they're all experienced – well you know that, you saw them – then there's the RAF, and they've got the best planes in the air and the best pilots. I've got two brothers in the RAF now. You ask them. They'll tell you. And the third is the English Channel. Napoleon couldn't beat the English Channel and neither could the Spanish Armada, although Drake did have something to do with it too, I'll allow that, Poppy. You don't have to make that face. Anyway, whatever the reasons, they couldn't invade us and they got beaten and that was what mattered. And when it comes down to it, Hitler won't be able to either.' When she'd started her explanation she'd had little faith in it, now she was convinced of its probability,

‘But you can't be sure, can you?' Mary said. ‘I mean, anything could happen really, couldn't it?'

‘Yes,' Lizzie allowed, ‘it could, but I don't think it will, and neither does Pa and neither do my brothers. Anyway, there's no point crossing bridges till you come to them. We could drive ourselves silly doing that.' And she changed the subject. ‘Now then, what are we going to do about getting a room in Downview?'

Poppy followed her lead. ‘Do you think we can?' she said. ‘I mean, it's for the little'uns really, isn't it?'

‘Quite right,' Lizzie said, ‘but they're going to need a few seniors to look after them, especially in September. You can't have hordes of first-formers charging about all over the place
not knowing how to behave. They'll have to have someone to show them how to go on. That's obvious. So why not us? We'd be ideal. We could live in the room with the window seat.'

‘You and that window seat,' Poppy said.

‘Well, why not?' Lizzie said. ‘I think we ought to go and see old Smithie and offer our services.'

‘What, now?' Poppy asked.

‘Why not?' Lizzie said. ‘No time like the present.'

‘You're so artful, Lizzie,' Poppy said. ‘This is why we're going to Downview, isn't it? You've had this planned all along.'

Mary was looking worried. ‘Didn't we ought to wait till she asks us?' she said.

‘No, we didn't,' Lizzie said, trenchantly, if not particularly grammatically. ‘If we wait to be asked someone else will get in before us and I'm not having that. Come on.'

Octavia had been in her office at Downview all afternoon, as Lizzie knew because she'd asked Miss Gordon. She and Maggie Henry had just finished making up the class lists for next year's first form, when the three girls arrived at her door. She was intrigued to receive their delegation but, true to her established custom, she didn't show it. She was well used to visits from her pupils now and took them all seriously no matter what they might be about. ‘Let's go into the garden,' she said. ‘It's lovely out there today.' And she led them past the quiet study in the hall and out of the french windows.

They walked towards the kitchen gardens in the strong sunshine. ‘So how can I help you?' she said.

‘Well…' Lizzie said. ‘We were wondering if you needed any house officers to help look after the first-formers. The ones you've got living here, I mean. Miss Gordon says there are quite a lot of them.'

‘Are you not happy in your billets?' Octavia asked.

How perceptive she is, Lizzie thought admiringly. Straight to the point. ‘No, no,' she said. ‘It's nothing like that. I mean they're very good to us.' Then she caught sight of the wry expression on Poppy's face and added, ‘I think they'd have preferred a couple of rather younger children. They'd been told to expect two from a nursery school, so we were a bit of a shock, weren't we, Poppy?'

‘You could say that,' Poppy agreed.

‘But you've settled in well?' Octavia said.

‘So far,' Lizzie said. ‘But…' and she let the word hang, while she thought out what she ought to say next. If Smithie could be persuaded that they weren't happy where they were, she might be more likely to offer them a room. On the other hand they couldn't really complain because there was nothing to complain about. ‘The thing is,' she said at last, ‘I'm not sure they like having evacuees who are old enough to be out at work.'

‘Have they said so?'

‘Not in as many words,' Lizzie admitted. ‘But they talk about how they were out at work when they were our age, and how things have changed, and I get the feeling they don't really approve.' And she gave her headmistress her most innocent smile, the one that always melted her father, opening her grey eyes wide.

‘Um,' Octavia said. ‘So if I take your point, what you are saying is that you would like to move while relationships are still good, is that it? And what about you, Mary? Are you happy where you are?'

Mary's answer was a surprise. ‘Not really,' she said.

‘Why is that?'

‘I have to do a lot of housework,' Mary told her. ‘I don't
mind. I mean someone's got to do it. But Mum says it's more than I should, and it does get in the way of my homework.' It would be much nicer not to have to do it and this was just the right moment to try to get out of it. Besides, it would be safer to live in a house with Smithie if the Germans were going to invade them.

‘How much housework do you have to do?' Octavia probed. Several of her girls were being overworked in their billets, as she'd already discovered.

‘Well, I make all the beds and do the washing-up – and I wash the kitchen floor of a Friday and then there's the ironing. There's a lot of ironing.'

‘Um,' Octavia said again, looking from one to the other. Lizzie was so like her father – those grey eyes were exactly the same and she'd got his style. She'd been impressively diplomatic, you might even say cunning! She smiled at her briefly, knowing she would give her what she was asking for. Not immediately, of course. It wouldn't be sensible or helpful to allow her to think that she could get anything she wanted simply by asking for it. ‘I will talk this over with Miss Gordon,' she said, ‘and let you know what we decide.'

Lizzie wasn't fooled by her politic reply. ‘It's in the bag,' she said to her friends when Smithie was out of earshot.

‘How can you possibly know?' Poppy said.

‘You watch,' Lizzie said, tossing her blonde hair, ‘and see if I'm not right.'

Octavia walked back to her office, with her hands in the pockets of her long cardigan, deep in thought. Her interview with Lizzie and the others had brought a problem into inescapable focus. The three girls were being
self-serving
, the way girls often were, she knew that, but there
was altruism in their request too. They had a valid point when they said the first-formers would need looking after. And it wasn't just the first-formers. If the Germans bomb us, she thought, and I'm sure they will, there will be a lot of girls in distress and they'll need a haven of some kind where they can be cared for and comforted. Downview was the obvious place but if it was to be used in a different way it would need different staffing. There would have to be more cooks for a start and someone permanently in charge of it, like a matron in a boarding school.

She opened her study door and there was Maggie Henry, hard at work typing up the lists. But of course. Dependable Maggie Henry, who'd been with the school from the beginning and knew the girls so well and had such a way with them. I will hold a meeting, just with the staff, she decided, and test their opinion.

‘Capital idea,' Morag Gordon said. ‘I've been thinking along the same lines myself. The girls need a base and a matron there full time to look after them. Our Maggie would be just the ticket. If we appoint her now she can be settled in by September.'

Several of the others spoke in favour of it too. ‘I think we need to be quick,' Alice Genevra said. ‘It doesn't look as though we've got much time now. I mean, I don't want to sound defeatist but we've got to be sensible, haven't we? I think we ought to get it up and running as quickly as possible, given what's ahead of us.'

‘I hear some of next years' fifth-formers are moving in too,' Joan Marshall said. ‘Young Lizzie Meriton, isn't that right, Morag? And Mary O'Connor? She's a duffer at games, of course, but she'll be lovely with the little'uns.'

‘But who will be your secretary?' Phillida Bertram asked. ‘I mean, if Maggie agrees to be a matron she won't be able to help you very much, will she. I'm not saying she wouldn't be good at it. I'm sure she would. But she's always been our school secretary, hasn't she? We're always saying we couldn't get on without her.'

Octavia had thought of that already and had found a possible solution. ‘I don't want to lose her as my secretary either,' she said. ‘She's much too valuable. But if she likes the idea of being our matron and agrees to it, we could hire an office junior, and Maggie could train her to take over all the routine tasks and then I could limit Maggie's part of the job as school secretary to the decision-making and planning, which is the bit she enjoys and where her experience is most needed. It would mean a lot of work but she's never been shy of hard work.'

‘Capital,' Miss Gordon said again.

Maggie Henry was sitting on the wooden seat in the garden with her elfin face raised to the sun, her blue eyes closed, enjoying the warmth. She opened her eyes as Octavia approached her and smiled. She's so slim, Octavia thought, looking at Maggie's narrow wrists and the childish figure under her neat white blouse. There's hardly anything of her. And she noticed that there were white hairs in her secretary's short brown bob and more wrinkles round her eyes than she used to have. Or was she imagining things? Maybe we shouldn't be putting more burdens on her. But she sat beside her and told her what she had in mind, notwithstanding.

Maggie's reaction was so strong, they melted her doubts at once. ‘I'd love to do it,' she said. ‘If you think I could. I've been thinking about it a lot since the first-formers moved in. They've
really been a bit lost you know, poor little things. It's a lot for them to cope with, away from their mothers and everything. They do need looking after. And it would be lovely to have a place of my own. I mean, my landlady's lovely but it's not the same as your own place. The only thing is, who would be your new school secretary? I wouldn't want to let you down.'

Octavia explained her solution.

‘Perhaps we could try Bella Wilkins,' Maggie said. ‘She wants a job in an office now she's left school, and she can't go back to London because her parents are in Scotland. She was telling me only yesterday.'

‘A very good idea,' Octavia said. ‘She would suit us very well.'

So it was decided and Miss Henry was appointed matron of Downview and Bella became the office junior and agreed to take over Maggie's lodgings when she moved, and Mr Chivers was asked for his assistance in the rather costly matter of transforming all the rooms in the attic and on the first floor into dormitories, which he gave willingly, saying he would do whatever he could – and Lizzie and her two friends moved into the room with the window seat.

Tommy and Elizabeth were having breakfast when their daughter's letter arrived, and Tommy was rather surprised by it. ‘Changing her billet?' he said when Elizabeth had told him the gist of it. ‘What on earth for? I thought she was happy where she was.'

‘She says she's going to live in the school house and help with the juniors,' Elizabeth said, reading on.

That made sense to her doting father. ‘Ah, I see,' he said. ‘It's a special assignment. If that's the case, quite right too.
She'll make a fine job of it. Does she say anything else?'

‘She wants to know if she can come home for the summer holidays,' Elizabeth said, passing him the letter.

Tommy frowned. ‘Out of the question,' he said. ‘She must know that.'

‘And when we're going down to see her.'

‘When I get back from Washington, and yes, I know, we can't tell her that. Tell her as soon as we can. When I'm not so busy. God, look at the time. I shall have to go or I shall miss my flight.'