A Wartime Christmas (38 page)

‘Yes,’ said Jean, smiling. ‘It is very pleasant. We could stop for tea on our way back if you like.’

‘As much as I’d like to, I’d better get back.’ Kay sighed softly. ‘Babs has taken Alfie, Gill and Tim to the school open day and I’d like to be there when
they get home to hear all their news. Mr Barnet’s showing the parents and children the reinforced cellars of the school that will be used, if necessary, in an attack.’

Jean nodded and turned the car into a narrow lane bordered by tall, leafy trees and green bushes. The track seemed to go on for ever as they travelled into the heart of the wood. As they passed
through an open gate, a large notice greeted them. ‘Visitors without passes are forbidden to go beyond this point.’ Another notice attached to the gate read, ‘Trespassers will be
prosecuted’.

‘The sanatorium is hidden in its own grounds,’ Jean informed her, ‘for the safety of the patients inside and also for those in the wider environment. All visitors must have
passes, as we have. Special clothes are provided to wear in some parts of the hospital. This is to prevent further spread of the disease.’

‘Is that where Sean – I mean – this boy is?’

‘No. Not now.’ Jean smiled quickly. ‘He’s currently a patient in Primrose Ward. The children are transferred to this ward when the doctors feel they are out of immediate
danger. Fresh air, cleanliness and healthy food are vital to their recovery. Not easy, of course, in wartime. And, as always, we must remember there are no guarantees of success.’

‘So he is getting better?’ Kay asked, a little bewildered.

‘We would hope so.’

Kay felt anxious at Jean’s vague reply. What if this boy was Sean and he fell very ill again? She had been forced to accept that, as time went on, it was unlikely Alan would return. As the
months had passed, she’d had time to try to adjust but there was continual fear inside her. A feeling each morning that the very worst had happened yet she was still trying to have hope. Now
she was having to face the fact that Sean also might die. Was she strong enough to endure all this?

Suddenly a big house appeared in front of them. Kay stared at its forbidding exterior. There were three storeys and many long, gabled windows, all crossed with tape. The central doorway had no
window at all and was made solidly of wood. She thought it looked like a door that might be barred on the inside with a lock and chain. Kay couldn’t help a little shiver.

Jean took the path to the left. It was signposted ‘Primrose Ward’ and continued round the side of the building. Smooth green grass flowed down to the trees and nurses in light-blue
uniforms accompanied children of all ages, shapes and sizes. Some children sat in wheelchairs, some at tables and on chairs. The morning sunshine lit up the gardens, casting shadows across the
lawns.

‘Well, what do you think?’ Jean asked as she parked the car outside a blue-painted door that directed them again to ‘Primrose Ward’.

‘It’s better than I imagined.’ As the engine of the car faded, stillness seemed to enfold them. Kay could even hear the birds singing. ‘In fact it is quite
pleasant.’

‘I thought that too. Shall we go in?’

Kay hesitated. She was frightened now.

‘Are you worried it won’t be Sean?’ Jean asked.

‘Yes,’ Kay admitted. ‘But I’m also worried it will be and I’ll see how sick he is.’

‘TB is a cruel disease and as I told you, there’s no guarantees.’ She paused. ‘But I do hope this works out well for you, Kay.’

Kay knew Jean was doing her best to put her at ease. But now the time had come, she felt very unsettled indeed.

The matron, dressed in dark blue with a white cap and gleaming silver buckle at her waist, showed Kay and Jean into a spacious, light-filled room. The wooden floors were swept
very clean, without rugs or carpets. The doors led out to the balconies and lawns. There were many open windows and fresh air washed in, smelling of newly mown grass.

‘You can go through to the gardens from here,’ Matron told them. ‘The children are allowed to sit or wander around, but they mustn’t exert themselves. Many are still
struggling to regain the full function of their lungs. There are visitors too, but I must ask you not to address David when you see him. If you are certain you have found the boy you think is Sean
then please come to me at once. For the child’s sake we must tread carefully and not alarm him. Now, is there anything you would like to ask, Mrs Lewis?’

Kay nodded. ‘Has David ever spoken about his past?’

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

‘Has he lost his memory?’

‘The doctors think he has an amnesia caused by shock,’ the matron explained, ‘since when he was found wandering in the streets of the East End, he was dirty and clearly
neglected, unable to answer any questions about where he’d been living.’

‘Can they cure this amnesia?’

The matron gave a slight shrug. ‘Over time he might regain his memory. At the moment, our concern is the TB. He was undernourished and extremely sick when he first came to us. His recovery
has been slow and, for the child, quite enough to contend with.’ She looked at Kay curiously. ‘Do you know anything about tuberculosis, Mrs Lewis?’

‘Only that my mum was terrified at the mention of it,’ Kay had to admit. ‘If someone in the neighbourhood caught it, the men came from the council with masks to take them away
and disinfect the houses. It frightened a lot of people, especially when those neighbours never returned.’

‘Sadly TB has a stigma,’ agreed the matron. ‘It was claimed to be a disease of the poor that started in the slums, caught under impoverished circumstances. But I can assure you
that TB has touched every kind of family. The children admitted to this sanatorium come from all walks of life. But from our observations, David must have been subject to a great deal of neglect.
Had he arrived here a week or two later, I don’t think he would be here today. His lungs were in terrible shape. And, as you have been warned, there is still some way to go before we are out
of the woods.’

Kay’s heart went out to the child, no matter who he was. No wonder he had tried to forget his past!

‘Just to warn you that the bell for the children’s lunch is not long off,’ the matron told her firmly.

Kay nodded. ‘Thank you.’

When the matron had gone, Jean touched Kay’s shoulder. ‘I’ll wait here.’

Kay walked nervously into the sunshine to join the other visitors. Some were strolling, others sitting peacefully. Some children sat in wheelchairs or on garden seats and benches. Others read
books, or walked slowly over the grass. They all had the same look: white faces with bluish or brownish rings around their eyes. Unlike healthy children, their movements were slow and the bent
posture of some made them look old before their time.

Kay studied each child as she passed. With every face, she wondered if the next one would be Sean.

Vi, Babs and the three children were making their way towards Slater Street. ‘As if it ain’t enough with the real Doodlebugs flying over,’ Vi complained,
‘we had to take part in an imaginary evacuation to the cellars! I ask you, what use was all that?’

‘Mr Barnet wanted to time how long it would take to get his pupils to safety,’ Babs pointed out reasonably. ‘It’s a big responsibility for him. Most schools have closed
and it’s in some doubt as to whether ours will keep open.’

Vi stopped and took in a breath. She was sounding like a miserable old cow lately. What was wrong with her? ‘You’re right, gel. Shut me up if I’m getting to be an old
nag.’

‘Vi, you’re never that. This war going on for so long is getting to us all. And you must be worried for Kay.’

‘That I am, love,’ Vi admitted as they began to walk on. ‘She’s had enough to cope with Alan—’ she glanced at Babs who nodded. Vi knew neither of them wanted
to put into words what they were thinking. That Alan had been gone too long now to hold out any hope of his survival. It was almost a year now since they’d heard from the War Office, which in
itself was very bad news. Not that she’d say so to Kay, who still put up a pretence of hope, as did they all. Vi often wondered about her dear Alan’s fate. She prayed that it had been
swift and not painful. There were some terrible things on the wireless and in the papers. Pictures of atrocities and tortured prisoners of war. Together with the bombing, poor Kay had had a very
rough time. But hadn’t she let herself in for more heartache with seeing this boy today? Either way, the knowledge of who he was, either Sean or another sick and unfortunate child, could only
lead to a very distressing encounter.

‘Frankly, Vi, I think it’s a long shot that it might be Sean,’ Babs said. ‘If it is and he’s got TB, that disease ain’t something you can take lightly. What
can Kay hope to do about it?’

‘Who would write a letter to the sanatorium and get all the past raked up again?’ muttered Vi. ‘That’s what I’d like to know!’

‘It’s got to be Dolly, up to her old tricks again.’

‘I reckon you’re right. Just trying to stir up trouble. And Kay fell for it.’

As they came to a grass mound, covered mostly with weeds and with the notices that had once been erected by the ARP, now dislodged and fallen over, Babs sighed. ‘Every time I come past
here and see what’s left of the Suttons’ and our places, I wonder how any of us have got through this war.’

Vi was thinking the same thing. She remembered with fondness Howard and Madge and old Mrs Sutton, and young Robert and Kevin, as if it was yesterday. As if she almost expected to see them
walking out of that mound, Madge with her shopping basket over her arm, hurrying to find sausages for the boys’ dinner. Robert and Kevin on their bikes, cycling off up the street
no-handlebars, yelling out noisily like the mischiefs they were . . . yes, it was as if they were just there, a breath away!

‘It seems like yesterday me and Eddie was bombed out,’ Babs said as she gazed sightlessly at the dwindling pile of bricks a few yards up the road where the Chapmans’ house had
once stood.

‘Have you heard from him?’ Vi asked.

‘No, and I can’t say as I blame him. So I just keep writing the same old letter, about Gill and Tim and how much they miss him.’ She paused, her breath caught in her throat.
‘I always put a PS and ask him to forgive me.’

‘You can’t do no more,’ Vi acknowledged, wishing she could help and knowing she couldn’t. It wasn’t Babs she blamed for having an affair, or for Eddie taking it the
way he had when once he’d had a bit on the side too. Or even Paul for taking another man’s wife, when he knew darned well that Babs wasn’t his to take. It was the war she blamed,
making people do things they never would, putting them in unnatural situations. And she knew without a doubt she’d go on blaming the human thirst for blood under the guise of a word called
war, until she took her last breath.

‘I saw Neville last week,’ Babs murmured, still looking into space. ‘He told me Paul was wounded in France and brought back to a hospital at Portsmouth.’

‘Gawd, gel, is it serious?’

‘Neville didn’t think so. He’s going to visit him in a day or two. But at his age, he don’t fancy a long journey by train. If it wasn’t for me, Paul would still be
at the steelyard.’

Vi looked hard at Babs. There seemed to be no expression on her face, as if she was drained of emotion. Vi didn’t like the way Babs had been looking lately. It wasn’t just that she
had let herself go, didn’t bother about her hair or clothes or looking scruffy and washed-out. It was something on the inside of her that had died. The everyday mask she wore was for the
kids’ benefit alone and it was sad to see. ‘Listen, Babs, don’t start blaming yourself,’ Vi said gently.

‘Who else is there to blame? We all know why Paul enlisted. Neville said it himself.’

‘Neville didn’t care for being left to fend for himself,’ Vi corrected. ‘The truth is Paul’s no coward, Babs, and joined the conflict to fight for his country.
You’d do well to remember that, rather than listening to a bitter old man.’

Babs blinked her pale blue eyes and smiled. Vi noted yet again how there was no energy or life behind it. That was just part of how she coped these days, smiling without any real joy.

Suddenly the noise of the children’s shouts stopped abruptly. Both Vi and Babs turned to look at them. Gill, Tim and Alfie were all staring up at the sky.

Gill was the first to shout. ‘Mum, I can hear one of them bombs flying over!’

Vi listened for the distant drone; it was a dreadful, ominous sound. One that everyone knew and feared; a kind of mechanical rattling that grew in intensity as it came closer.

‘Come here, kids,’ Babs yelled in a high and frightened voice. She opened her arms.

Vi felt sick with fright as she saw Gill grab Alfie’s hand and pull him along. What were they all to do, out in the open like this? As the children crowded round, the noise grew louder.
‘Oh, Gawd, it would have to happen now,’ Vi wheezed. She put her hand on her heart. It was thumping wildly. She was filled with panic. What if the Doodlebug stopped overhead?

Just then, a door of one of the houses flew open. Vi saw it was Jenny Edwards. She had her hair in curlers and was wearing her apron and carpet slippers. ‘Come on inside, everyone,
quickly!’

‘Oh, thank God,’ cried Babs as Jenny ran out and herded the children together, pushing them all in front of her. ‘My Jack and Emily are at work. There’s only me at home,
so we can all squeeze in the cupboard under the stairs.’

But Vi wasn’t paying attention. She was looking upwards. The noise seemed to be coming right over them. Her heart went into overdrive as she waited for the deadly weapon to appear.

Kay walked slowly through the beautiful garden, feeling the soft, spongy lawn beneath her sandaled feet. The air smelled clean and fresh and scented with grass. The children
here read from books on their laps or played board games. Some just sat quietly as the nurses wandered between them. Kay thought how strange it was to be amongst children who didn’t shout and
scream. Every now and then, there would be a cough, a rasping clearing of the lungs and a nurse would hurry to the child’s side. Kay saw how this terrible sickness had transformed their
lives. They had given themselves up to an unnaturally calm existence. The serenity in the garden felt powerful, healing. Even the nurses spoke softly, and moved carefully amongst their charges. The
wheelchairs they pushed seemed to glide noiselessly.