Orphans of War

‘You’ll speak when you’re spoken to, Byrne. Any more cheek from you and you’ll be on your way again. How many billets have you gone through? No wonder your mother ditched you in an orphanage as soon as she cast eyes on you. Not much of a specimen to behold, are you?’

She was eyeing him with contempt but he was not going to be bullied like the others.

‘Shut your mouth, you old bag. At least I don’t have to look in the mirror and see that frightening gob looking back at me!’ he shouted, and the others stood back in horror at his cheek. He was for it now but he didn’t care. He’d stopped caring about anything but cars and bikes, years ago.

She’d insulted his mother, who’d died when he was born. How dare the old dragon try it on with him? He was hardened by years of playground abuse. He wasn’t going to take no more stick from the likes of her.

‘Go to your room, Byrne. I’ll not be insulted by a scruff who has the brain of a flea and the brawn of an ox. I am sick of taking in riffraff like you. No one wants you–get out of my sight.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not stopping in this miserable dump!’ he replied. There was no holding him in a place where he was not wanted. He was out of the window and into the fields as fast as his legs could carry him, to join the other evacuees. They were kept outside all day until it was dark so that they didn’t mess up the house. It was a miserable hole but no worse than some of the others he’d been expelled from.

Greg led his gang away from their usual path down to the riverbank, making instead towards the mainline railway line.

‘We’re not supposed to come down here,’ said little Alfie, looking up at him. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I’m off. I’ve had enough of the old cow,’ sneered Greg, his face set with determination. His penknife was tucked in his pocket along with the Saturday spends that he’d been saving up.

‘But you’ve no money.’ Alfie was running after him.

‘You don’t need money; I’ve done it before,’ he said as he made his way to the footbridge, and the others were running to keep up with him. The iron footbridge linked two meadows over the main line going north and south. They were on pain of death not to come train spotting too close to the track.

The others were standing in awe as he prepared for his escape.

‘You’re not going to jump?’ Alfie croaked. ‘They go too fast down here.’

‘Gertcha! I bet he daren’t,’ sneered Arnie, who was growing into a bully himself.

‘You just watch. I’m waiting for a coal wagon or freight, easy peasy. You can watch. I’ve been practising for ages,’ Greg bragged, but that was a lie. He’d only just thought of the idea.

‘Houdini does it again!’ His admirers crowded round.

‘Where’ll you go?’ said the little boy.

‘Dunno…join up and see some action, runaway to sea,’ Greg replied, lifting his legs over the iron railings, dangling them. They were out of sight and half a mile from the hostel. He was hanging ready to drop as soon as the sound of a train came rattling down the track.

‘Anyone coming to join me?’ he laughed, knowing none of them would. ‘One drop onto an open wagon and we can be miles from here by teatime.’

‘Summat’s coming round the bend,’ yelled Alfie, ‘and it’s a slow one.’

‘Just you watch me…I’ll give the old bat a wave when I pass the kitchen.’ Greg was hanging from the bars now. The noise of the train and the steam filled the gully and stung his eyes.

Alfie tried to stop him. ‘Don’t do it!’

‘Get off me, the train’s coming now,’ Greg yelled, pushing him away. They were all consumed in a blind cloud of soot and steam and fire, his ears bursting with the noise as the engine roared past and the wheels clanked.

‘Geronimo!’ he yelled as he jumped, but his timing was up the spout and he banged and ricocheted off the wagon side with a crash. He landed not on the coal but on the track gravel, and heard something crack.

He heard someone say, ‘Fetch the pram! Quick…run back for help. Greg’s done for!’

The voices faded and then there was nothing.

He came to in hospital with a leg in plaster, broken ribs and arm, and got no sympathy or visits from anyone. He was treated like a prisoner under guard, but his legs hurt too much to be thinking of escape.

They would move him on again but he had plans. He would get himself fit and then join up before it was all over. No one could keep Gregory Byrne tied up for long.

4 (#ulink_05653824-1fe2-570a-8e92-2e0ecf1c1d60)

Leeds Station, Five p.m.

The train station foyer was crowded as Plum rushed through the barrier onto the platform, clutching her list of names. The trains were running late and she was overdue at the rendezvous by the drinks kiosk. A queue of dishevelled soldiers eyed her up and down. Perhaps it was a mistake to put on her big cartwheel hat but she thought it might give the children something to follow if there was a crush. Maybe it did look a bit grand for the occasion. She felt overdressed, like Lady Bountiful at Ascot.

All she could think of was collecting the six children on the list from their escort and waiting for the Transpennine Express to pick up little Madeleine. They would catch the connection through Scarperton Junction that would get them back to the hostel for tea, but everything was running late.

Peggy Bickerstaffe, Gregory Byrne, Joseph Ridley, Enid Cartwright, Nancy Shadlow and Mitchell Brown–she knew the names off by heart. With relief she saw them lined up in place with the school welfare officer, who handed them over with scarcely a nod. He shoved a file into her hands. ‘Over to you now,’ he said, and eyed her hat with surprise. ‘Can’t stop, don’t want to miss my connection. We’ll come on a visit next week to see them settled in. Good Luck!’

If she’d hoped for a line-up of compliant little infants to shepherd, then she was in for a big disappointment. This lot were older, scruffier, and two of the lads were taller than she was. Don’t show your fear or your ignorance, she primed herself. Dogs and kids could sense weakness, so she beamed with false confidence.

‘We connect at last. Sorry to be late but the train was held up for a troop train.’ No one spoke but they eyed her hat and her gloves. ‘Look, we’ve just one more to pick up from the Manchester train.’

‘Can I be excused?’ said one of the bigger girls.

‘And me too,’ said the other.

‘Not yet,’ Plum said, quick off the mark. That was the oldest ruse in the book. They were going to have to wait now on the platform. There were whistles blowing, loudspeakers going off and a crush of passengers pushing and shoving for a long train heading north. This bunch could not be trusted to sit while she went in search of information. One blink and they’d scarper to the four corners–time to divide and rule.

‘Peggy, Joseph, Mitchell?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘I’m Mrs Belfield. I want you to be our scouts and get us the best carriage on the train to Scarperton Junction, just over there. Spread out and make sure there’s room for all of us. I’ve brought a picnic,’ she smiled, tempting them with titbits in her basket: bribery and corruption, but just for once she needed them to be on her side. They were eyeing her shopping basket with interest now.

‘Nancy Shadlow, Enid Cartwright, Gregory Byrne…come with me to find out if the Manchester train has come in. I want you to search out a little girl standing on her own. She’s called Madeleine.’

‘Yes, miss,’ they replied in unison.

Could she trust them to behave? The big boy with the blue eyes brimming with mischief towered over the girls, all teeth and knees, but there was something about him she felt she could trust–call it an instinct for a pack leader. In a litter of puppies there was always one that was confident and friendly and up for good training.

Then she turned round and saw that one of the girls was heading towards the station buffet to a group of soldiers, to beg sweets no doubt.

What did she expect from strange children who were being sent packing into the deepest country just because they had been labelled as troublemakers? But if they thought her a soft touch they were in for a shock.

It was like chasing a naughty dog. It must be brought to heel and admonished on the spot or it would get the upper hand. At least she was fleet of foot and weaved in and out of the crowd. She saw the girl pocket the familiar green and gold packet of Woodbines, sharpish. Looking up, the minx beamed at her in defiance.

‘This child is not yet thirteen and underage, so if you’re looking for any favours…’ Plum snapped at the soldiers. ‘Just walk in front of me, young lady. Do you think I’ve nothing better to do than chase after you? I thought I could trust a pretty girl like you but I’m mistaken, you’re just a silly little kid. Give those cigs to me. I’m old enough to smoke them.’ She threw them back to the soldier and shook her head.

She grabbed hold of Enid’s arm and half dragged her back to the other children who were restlessly shuffling about. ‘I see that I’ll have to escort you myself.’

She turned to the biggest boy. ‘I’m relying on you now to find Madeleine across there, Gregory. Tell her Mrs Belfield has sent you and bring her down here as fast as you can.’ She was torn between leaving the whole damn lot of them and collecting her niece but what could she do? Miss Blunt had made excuses why she was too busy to come. Who would think six children needed two escorts? Armed guards would be more appropriate. They were not coming to Sowerthwaite for their health, and she was not going to fail her first big test.