Christmas for the Halfpenny Orphans

FIVE (#u73c8b4c7-7420-526f-9071-074ab27a3f8f)

‘Hello, I’m Mary Ellen, and you’re Samantha, aren’t you?’ The girl in the sick ward bed stared at Mary Ellen warily as she approached. ‘Miss Angela asked me to come and see you. She says we’re going to be sharing a dorm in the new wing soon, and she wanted us to make friends.’ She sat on the edge of the girl’s bed. ‘It’s lovely over there, all fresh and new, and the dorms aren’t too big. There will be four of us. Marion, you, your sister Sarah, and me …’ Mary Ellen glanced across at Sarah in the next bed, who sat staring at them, her eyes wide and her thumb in her mouth. ‘Hello, Sarah. I think you will like it here; it’s much nicer in the dorms. Me and Marion go to school with Billy Baggins, he’s a bit older and good at football and running. Once you’re up and about, you’ll have fun here; we do all sorts of things …’

‘Mary Ellen … have fun,’ Sarah repeated, smiling and nodding.

‘Sarah isn’t well yet,’ Samantha said protectively. ‘She doesn’t talk much but she knows everything we say – so don’t think she’s daft!’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Mary Ellen said, puzzled by Samantha’s hostility. ‘Sarah is very pretty. I wish I had hair her colour.’

‘We’re twins,’ Samantha said, the stiffness easing out of her. ‘I thought I could look out for us both after Pa … but I couldn’t find enough food to eat. I tried to sell what we had left but the man cheated me and would only give me five shillings for all of it …’

‘What man?’ Mary Ellen asked.

‘Alf, from the scrapyard. I know it was worth more, perhaps two or three pounds, but all he paid me was five bob and he threatened to tell the police I’d stolen it if I didn’t leave it with him.’

‘Even two pounds wouldn’t have lasted long,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘Don’t you have anyone you could live with?’

Samantha shook her head, but Sarah took her thumb from her mouth and said, ‘Aunt Jane won’t have Sarah. She says Sarah idiot girl – Pa gone away …’

‘Sarah – don’t, love,’ Samantha said, looking at her sadly before turning back to Mary Ellen. ‘I didn’t want to live with Aunt Jane. She’s not kind – and she hates Sarah.’

‘She sounds horrid,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘But you’ll be all right here. It seems strange at first, but Nan is nice and so are the nurses, and Miss Angela. Sister Beatrice is a bit fierce, but she’s not bad really. And we have good things to eat …’

‘Why are you here?’

‘My father died and then my mother got ill. She was unwell for ages, then my sister Rose went off to train as a nurse and we didn’t have any money. Ma wouldn’t tell Rose she was worse and we were so hungry sometimes – and then she got really ill and they put her in hospital, but she died last Christmas. My sister couldn’t look after me – so that’s why I live here; I haven’t got anywhere else until Rose finds us a place to live. She’s always busy and sometimes I think she never will find us a new house.’

‘Pa not come back,’ Sarah said. She reached under her pillow and took out two pieces of what looked like rubbish to Mary Ellen, and then she saw it was a broken clay pipe with a long handle. Sarah held it to her cheek, crooning to herself, tears slipping down her cheeks. ‘Pa not love Sarah … Child of Satan …’

‘What did she say?’ Mary Ellen was shocked.

‘Our father called her that for breaking his favourite pipe. Sarah didn’t mean to upset him, she loves Pa, but he doesn’t care about us. He thinks she’s too slow and clumsy, and he beat her until I made him stop.’

‘How did you do that?’

‘I threw the pee in my chamber pot over him,’ Samantha said simply.

Mary Ellen stared at her in awe for a moment and then erupted into peals of laughter. ‘Oh, that’s so funny,’ she said. ‘You’re brave, like Marion. When a burglar tried to steal our Christmas food she hit him with her crutch and then Angela came and fought him, and he tripped over and hit his head – and then Sister Beatrice came and stood over him with the rolling pin until Alice came and took over from her. She looked so fierce I laughed and so did Billy, even though the burglar was his brother Arthur!’

Samantha sat forward, suddenly showing signs of interest as Mary Ellen recounted the story of how Billy’s brother had planned to eat their special food and then set fire to the home.

‘What happened to him?’ Samantha asked, a gleam in her eyes.

‘Billy heard he’d been sentenced to ten years in prison. He was a thief and he tried to make Billy help him, but Billy didn’t want to so he came back here and hid. That’s why Arthur was intent on burning us all in our beds, ’cept he can’t now, ’cos he’s locked up in choky.’

‘So you were heroes and saved the day,’ Samantha said. She paused for a moment, then asked, ‘What happens here – is it like prison?’

Mary Ellen shook her head. ‘I asked Billy that when I heard my sister Rose saying I would have to come here when Mum was ill. No, it’s OK, even though it’s not like being in your own home. Sister Beatrice is stern and gets cross if you’re naughty and break the rules, but she’s all right underneath. She has to be strict, see. She’s in charge of us and gets into trouble if we do bad things.’

Samantha looked solemn. ‘It was easy at school when we were younger. I sat next to Sarah and explained the lessons and writing to her, but we got told off for talking – and then they separated us. Sarah was taken to a class for younger children and they didn’t bother to teach her anything, but she can learn – if you tell her enough times she will remember.’

Sarah’s eyes wore a glazed look, as if she were lost in her crooning. She’d stopped listening to them, and was fondling her father’s broken pipe, her cheeks streaked with tears.

‘You should tell Nancy about her. She’s younger but works with the carers. She’ll help Sarah with reading and puzzles once you’re settled in. She reads to the little ones, but Sarah could join them in the mornings rather than go to school with us.’

‘Perhaps … but they might send her to a special school. It’s what Pa was saying last year, but it didn’t happen; there wasn’t a spare place for her. My aunt wanted to put her in a mental institution for daft people and that’s why we ran away. If they try to do that to my Sarah, we’ll run away again.’

‘You ought to tell Miss Angela what you’ve told me,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t let them send her away if you asked her not to.’

‘No, I shan’t tell them,’ Samantha said fiercely. ‘Promise me you won’t tell either, Mary Ellen. Cross your heart and hope to die if you betray us.’

‘I shan’t tell anyone,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘I think Sister would let you stay if she could, but it might not be up to her …’ She broke off as the door opened and someone came in. It was Nurse Wendy and Mary Ellen wished she could share the secret with her, but she’d promised she wouldn’t on pain of death and that was a solemn oath.

‘Ah, here you are, Mary Ellen,’ Wendy said. ‘I’m glad you’ve been making friends with Samantha and Sarah, as you are all moving into the new dorm tomorrow. This afternoon, one of us will be helping you and Marion to pack your things. Samantha and Sarah, you’re both perfectly healthy and will go to your dorm straight from here. You’ll find your clothes and things waiting in the dorm, but I’ll bring you your school clothes. You’ll wear a skirt and blouse like Mary Ellen’s …’

‘What happened to our clothes?’ Samantha asked, reverting to her hostile manner.

‘They’ve been washed and you will find them in your locker with the new undies and nightdresses you’ve been given. Everyone has to wear school clothes unless you go out with a relative for a special treat.’

‘We haven’t got any relatives,’ Samantha said.

Mary Ellen frowned over the fib but didn’t contradict her. Her new friends had both an aunt and a father, even though one of them didn’t want Sarah and the other had deserted them – but it was up to Samantha to share her story when she was ready. Mary Ellen wouldn’t tell. Nothing would make her …

‘They were talking easily when I went in,’ Wendy told Angela later that day when they sat together in the staff room, ‘but Samantha clammed up as soon as she saw me. I’m sure Mary Ellen knows a lot more about them than we do, but you know how loyal she is. Wild horses wouldn’t get it out of her unless she thought it would save their lives.’

‘We can’t force her to tell us and I shan’t try,’ Angela said. ‘We’ll have to wait until the twins feel they can trust us … Is Sarah still clinging to that dirty old pipe?’

‘Yes. She hid it as soon as she saw me, but I knew what it was. I’ve seen her holding it to her cheek and singing. Tears slip down her cheeks but she doesn’t say anything – merely parrots whatever Samantha says if she has to answer.’

‘She may simply be slow. Sarah is a sweet, loving child and Samantha is protective of her. There’s nothing wrong with that.’

‘As they’re both girls, there’s no bother about them staying together. Perhaps Sarah will have more to say when she feels comfortable with us.’

‘Well, they may not be here long; you see, they have an aunt who may be willing to take them.’

‘Oh, well perhaps that’s best,’ Wendy agreed. ‘I’d better get back to the ward. I left Jean to give the children their drinks, but she’s due a break soon.’

She met Tilly as she was on her way to the kitchen and greeted her with a friendly smile, but though the girl smiled back, she walked on without speaking. Wendy hadn’t got to know her yet. Sometimes Tilly would join in a conversation, but more often she was quiet and wary of saying much. Wendy thought there was something sad about her …

Wendy had known enough sadness of her own. The only man she’d ever loved had died in the war, as had so many others – and then Wendy’s mother had died of cancer. She’d spent months nursing her and afterwards she’d wanted a change from general nursing, so this job had been a godsend. Wendy loved her job here and, although it couldn’t fill the empty space inside her that the deaths of her loved ones had left, several of the children had already found their way into her heart …

SIX (#ulink_c7566410-80d8-5301-b1a2-2fe729183302)

Angela filed away her reports and stretched her shoulders. She really wished that she was going somewhere nice that evening instead of a charity meeting. Her evening out with Mark had ended so abruptly; they’d hardly had time to have a drink before he was rushing off to see his patient.

‘I wouldn’t go, but Alan Royston is a friend,’ Mark had told her. ‘I told them to call me if there were complications during the operation – it’s always risky, trying to remove a tumour on the brain. No matter how skilled the surgeon, it could go either way.’

‘I understand, Mark,’ Angela had said, swallowing her disappointment. ‘You must go to your friend. If anything should happen you would never forgive yourself.’