Orphans of War

‘So I’ll have to go to an orphanage like Anne of Green Gables?’

‘Of course not! Your home is here in Brooklyn.’

‘But Grandma doesn’t like me. She wore a red suit…’

‘She doesn’t know yet…about Arthur. I had to tell you first. I didn’t see the point in spoiling your Christmas,’ Aunt Plum sniffed.

‘There’s no Father Christmas, is there?’ Maddy said, feeling ice cold inside. ‘All I asked him for was to see Mummy and Daddy again and he sent them to the bottom of the sea. It’s all lies! All of it…’ she screamed.

‘Maddy, I’m sorry, but Brooklyn is your home,’ Aunt Plum stuttered, looking older and unsure. ‘Forgive me if I’ve got it all wrong. I’ve never had to do this before. I just wanted you to have a nice time. Your home is with us now.’

‘No it’s not! I’ll not stay where I’m not wanted. I’ll go to the Vic and stay there. I’m not a Belfield any more!’ she spat out, and jumped off the sofa, making for the door. She wanted to get away from this house. Grabbing her gabardine mac and galoshes, and the dog lead, which got Blaze bounding after her down the steps, Maddy stepped out into the dusky whiteness of the front drive.

There were no tears in her eyes. She couldn’t cry. It couldn’t happen twice, could it? First Uncle George and Granny Mills and now Mummy and Daddy? That wasn’t fair. It didn’t make any sense.

Maddy wandered down the lane in a daze, picking out the frozen footsteps of the hostel gang before her. She looked up at the tall poplar trees standing like Roman candles, the snow on the bark making pretty patterns. It was all so crisp and white and silent, so beautiful and so sad.

Would Mummy and Daddy know how sad she was? Did they care? Were they out there somewhere looking down on her, watching over her, with Granny too? She hoped so.

How strange that her own life was going on right now whilst their lives had been over days ago and she didn’t know. All the time she was having fun at Christmas and the school concert, they were already gone. Her life was going on and they’d just disappeared. Now she’d grow and change and do things and they wouldn’t know–or would they? Oh, how she hoped so. It was the only comfort she could cling on to.

Maddy looked down the avenue of poplars and thought of all those other boys who never came home, who were just names at the bottom of the trees. Now Daddy would be a tree on the lane with Uncle Julian. How strange all her family were in a far-off place and she couldn’t reach them.

Now the dark chill wrapped itself round her but she wasn’t a bit afraid. She didn’t feel cold. She didn’t feel anything but a numb sort of tiredness as she made her way to the Victory Tree. She felt safe there tucked away, hiding in the crevice.

It was like sitting in the tree in The Feathers all over again, but without any hope of letters coming from Egypt. All she wanted to do was curl up and sleep until the war was over and things would go back to how they were before.

How could I have been so stupid? Trust Gloria to get it all wrong and spoil the moment; that silly nosy little tyke! Plum jumped up to follow the child. How could I take it on myself to play God and get it so wrong?

Pleasance would have to be told but not yet. First she must find the girl. It was too cold to be wandering about in the dark. Her footprints would be easy to follow and chances were she’d head for the Old Vic and to her friends.

Plum wished there was a phone in the house to warn Vera Murray, the vicar’s wife, of the situation. It was not surprising Maddy preferred the shabbiness of the old pub to the genteel grandeur of her grandparents’ house. Hurt puppies always headed for safety, where they could watch the world from under some table and lick their wounds.

Maddy wasn’t running away, she was running to where she knew there’d be a welcome. To Plum that thought was no comfort at all.

When Mrs Plum arrived at the hostel everyone was still clearing up the mess before bed. The little ones had been sent up first and Greg was summoned into the kitchen to hear the bad news.

‘Maddy’s disappeared,’ said Mrs Plum. ‘Gone to ground. Have you the foggiest where she’d go, Gregory?’

It made him feel grown up that she always consulted him in a crisis, as if he was important.

‘I think I know where she’ll be, miss–up the garden by the big tree, in our Victory HQ. You’ll find her there,’ he offered, feeling so sorry for young Maddy ‘I’ll fetch her back if you like,’ he offered. ‘She won’t have gone far, not in the dark.’

‘I’ll come with you.’ Mrs Belfield jumped up from the kitchen table.

‘Give me five minutes so she don’t run off,’ he said, knowing that if it were him he wouldn’t want grownups fussing. Maddy was a funny kid, even for a girl.

Greg crunched up the allotment path whistling ‘Colonel Bogey’ so she’d know it was him. ‘I know you’re up there, Maddy Belfield. I’ve brought some cocoa and syrup with condensed milk…Poor Mrs Plum is doing her nut wondering where you are,’ he yelled, watching the steam come out of his mouth into the chill air.

‘Go away! I’m not talking to anyone,’ she shouted back.

‘Don’t be daft. It’s freezing out here. Come down while it’s still hot.’

‘I don’t care!’

‘Yes you do. You don’t want the dog to catch a chill, do you? It’s sitting on the icy ground.’ There was silence and he saw her peering out into the darkness. He shoved the mug into the hand dangling from the tree.

‘The vicar’s wife says we can cook chips in the frying pan tonight if we clear up afterwards.’ That was their favourite treat when The Rug wasn’t around.

‘I’m not hungry.’ Maddy sniffed at the cocoa as if it was poison. ‘What’s it like being an orphan?’ she added. Her glasses were all steamed up from the hot drink.

‘It’s just a label you get stuck on you. It don’t mean anything. I’ve got no mam and dad, never had, and what you never had you don’t miss,’ Greg said, which wasn’t exactly true but he wasn’t sharing that with anyone. ‘I’ve had loads of aunts and uncles, some good and some rotten…I just heard your bad news. I’m really sorry. You’re not really an orphan, though, you know.’

‘I was just trying it on for size,’ Maddy answered, hugging the the hot mug for warmth. ‘My parents aren’t ever coming back. I don’t know what to do.’

‘But you’ve got yer gran and yer auntie. You’ve got family. Orphans have no one.’

‘I don’t want to go back to Brooklyn Hall, not now.’

‘It’s a bit stuffy there but it were a good do this afternoon for the little ones, and you belong with that lot, up there. Mrs Plum is your real Auntie.’ Greg didn’t want to admit he’d had a right good nosy around and grabbed as much grub as he could.

He felt sorry for Maddy and that was why he had taught her to ride her bike and get her balance, even if she looked a bit odd with her patch and glasses, her eye flickering all over the show. She was no Shirley Temple, not like Gloria, but he quite liked her funny stare.

‘If you ever run away again, promise to take me with you,’ she begged. ‘I’m not stopping where I’m not wanted. Mummy and Daddy are drowned so I’m like you now.’

‘No you’re not and never will be. They’ll look after you up at the Brooklyn. Mrs Plum cares about you. She’s a good ’un.’

‘But I’m useless at everything and Grandma ignores me,’ Maddy sighed.

‘Come off it! You’re top of your class, not a dunce like me. I’ve missed so much schooling…’

‘You make things with your hands. Enid can dance. Gloria can sing. Everyone likes her…’

‘Gloria’s a right little show-off.’

‘You don’t like her?’

‘She’s only a kid, OK as girls go,’ he said quickly. It didn’t pay to take sides between girls. He’d learned that one early after being bashed up in the first hostel near Leeds when he’d tried to stop a fight between two girls. ‘Look, here’s Mrs Plum coming to find you. She’s been worried.’

‘I don’t want to see her,’ Maddy snapped, darting behind the tree branches, spilling her drink and leaving a trail of milky cocoa for the dog to lick up.

‘Oh, don’t be daft, it’s not her fault…She’s doing her best to help. It is Christmas,’ Greg replied, not knowing what to say now.

He looked up at the tall outline of the trunk, how it branched from the base into a V shape, outlined against the whiteness. ‘Old Winnie would like this tree,’ he said, making his fingers into a Churchill V sign. ‘A proper V for Victory Tree is this. Come and see,’ he smiled, pushing his fingers in her face. ‘See!’

Maddy came down, stood back and looked up. ‘You’re right. It is a V shape. How clever of you to give it a name. It’s our Victory Tree now. I like that but it doesn’t change anything. I’ll never ever have another Christmas again…It’s all lies, isn’t it?’

‘Oh I don’t know, I did rather well from Father Christmas. It pays to keep an open mind,’ he smiled, thinking of his smart new blazer, long trousers and proper brogue shoes, his racing car annual and some shaving tackle.