The Girl from Hard Times Hill

To Mum and Gill, with love

Chapter One      News

Chapter Two      Pam

Chapter Three    School

Chapter Four     Surprise!

Chapter Five      Making Plans

Chapter Six        Talking to Dad

Chapter Seven   Bombshell

Chapter Eight     Nana Speaks Up

Chapter Nine     Disaster

Chapter Ten       Waiting

Chapter Eleven  Cardiff

Chapter Twelve  A New Start

When Mum first told us, I couldn't believe it. I just sat there, with my mouth hanging open. Everyone else was making lots of noise. Nana and Grandpa were saying, ‘That's wonderful,' and ‘You've waited so long,' while the Littlies, Shirley and Barbara, were shrieking their heads off just to join in. (Shirley is five and Barbara is one: they both make a lot of noise even when they're not excited.)

Mum sat at the table with Dad's letter in her hand.

‘I didn't want to tell you before,' she said. ‘But now it's all settled! Not long, and he'll be back for good.'

My dad is in Germany at the moment. He's an aircraft engineer in the Air Force, and he's part of the Occupying Forces. It's their job to help get things straight, now that the War is ended, and help clear up the mess that Hitler left.

Mum and Shirley have moved around with Dad quite a bit – they even spent time in Germany. But I've always stayed in Wales, with Nana and Grandpa. This last year Mum has lived here too, so that Nana and Grandpa can help with the Littlies.

Now Dad's leaving the Air Force and coming home for good.

I caught Nana's eye across the room. She said, ‘It's
wonderful
news, isn't it, Megan?'

‘Oh, it is,' I agreed. ‘Definitely.'

I was pleased. Really I was. I was relieved, too. You see, at first, when Mum said that she had something to tell us – big news from Dad – I had a horrible feeling that we might all be going out to Germany to live. Of course, I wouldn't have gone. I'd have insisted on staying. And in fact I'd never even have thought we might go, except that two days ago, my best friend, Pam, had said, ‘You'll never leave me, will you, Megan?'

‘Of course not,' I'd said, surprised.

‘But what if your dad wants you all to go out to Germany?'

I'd laughed. ‘That won't happen. I never went with them before, and I won't this time either.' I pointed at our street sign (we were walking home from school at the time). ‘I'm Megan of Hardy Hill! And here I stay!'

Although it hadn't worried me at the time (Pam is a great one for dreaming up catastrophes that never happen), when Mum had said she'd something to tell us, something amazing – that she'd had a letter from Dad that morning –
well
. Suddenly I'd been scared that Pam knew something I didn't.

But it turned out everything was fine after all.

‘Hooray!' Shirley yelled, jigging up and down. ‘Dad's coming home! He's coming home!'

She went dancing round the kitchen. Mum got up and I was going to grab her but Shirley got to her first, so Grandpa took a turn with me, and then even Nana got up and waltzed round the room, while Grandpa did a jig with Barbara gurgling on his shoulder. It was washing day, and there were folded towels and sheets hanging on the drying line above our heads, and at one point Barbara grabbed a sheet and pulled it down. But everyone just laughed.

‘I'm
so
pleased we're staying here!' I whispered to Nana. ‘I'm never going anywhere else!'

‘But, Megan – ' Nana began.

‘What?'

‘Oh, nothing. Just time for a cup of tea!'

It's always time for a cup of tea in our house: when something good happens, when something bad happens, or even just because, as Nana says, ‘it's time for a nice sit down'. Grandpa always says that however bad rationing was during the War (and it's been worse since), Hitler would never have his way while the British could have their cuppa.

Nana took down the cake tin off the shelf. It's got a picture of Princess Elizabeth and her husband on the top, dressed in their wedding clothes. It said in the newsreel at the pictures that her dress had a train of silk thirteen feet long. My Uncle Harry says she shouldn't have had all those extra coupons to buy that dress, when everyone else is going short. He's a Communist, and doesn't believe in the Royal Family.

Nana doesn't agree. She says somebody's got to have nice things. It's like going to the pictures and watching the actresses in their glamorous outfits – it cheers everybody up.

Seeing that cake tin definitely cheered
me
up.

‘Lemon cake!'

‘I think the occasion calls for it,' said Nana. ‘And blow the sugar ration!'

I wolfed down my tea and cake. I wanted to tell Pam my news. But then Shirley said something that stopped me short.

‘Where's Dad going to sleep when he gets back?'

‘He'll sleep with me, of course,' said Mum.

‘But then where will
I
sleep?'

At the moment, Shirley sleeps in Mum's bed. Barbara sleeps in a cot squeezed in between the bed and the wardrobe.

‘You'll be sleeping with Megan,' said Mum, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I spluttered on my last mouthful of tea. ‘What!' I gasped, when I'd recovered. ‘I'm not sharing with her!'

‘Of course you are. There's plenty of room for both of you.'

‘But that's not fair! It's
my
room!'

‘Don't be silly,' said Mum. ‘It will be great fun for you, sharing with your sister. You can cuddle up together at night. I loved sharing with my sister when I was young.'

Sometimes I think Mum doesn't understand me at all.

I looked at Nana. Nana
does
understand me, but this time she just shook her head quietly, and I knew that it was pointless to protest.

The trouble is, this isn't a big house, and there's always a lot of people in it. But I hated the idea of giving up my room. It's tiny, but I love it. I keep my comics in an old shoe-box, and my roller skates in pride of place on my chest of drawers. There's a model airplane that Dad once sent me hanging from the ceiling, my Royal Wedding mug, and the books I got last Christmas – my
School Friend
annual,
The Enchanted Wood
and
Five On A Treasure Island
. Even better, my room's got a little window looking over the back lane, and I can shout down to my friends, or watch the sunset over the rooftops or the swallows flitting back and forth.

Best of all, I can always escape from Shirley and Barbara.

The only hope was that Shirley would refuse to leave Mum.

No chance.

‘I'd
love
to share with you, Megan,' Shirley said. ‘We can play dollies
all the time
.'

It's funny how your mood can drop. My feet dragged as I carried plates and cups over to the sink. I don't really like changes. Now Dad was coming home
and
I was losing my room.

I was realizing something else, too. I've only ever seen Dad on leave. And for his last leave, Mum had gone out to visit
him
. In a way, I don't know Dad that well.

Nana washed and I dried.

‘Nana,' I said after a while.

‘Yes, love?'

‘I've grown a lot since Dad was here, haven't I?'

‘Yes, you certainly have.'

‘What if – what if he doesn't really remember me? What if I don't really remember
him?
'

‘What if, what if,' said Nana briskly. ‘I never heard such nonsense. How did you feel last time, before he came?'

‘I don't remember.'

‘I'll tell you,' said Nana. ‘You felt exactly the same.'

‘Did I?'

‘Yes. And then when he arrived, everything was fine.'

Nana can always make me feel better.

‘Can I go and see Pam now?'

‘Of course. But make sure you're back in good time – we're going to have sausages and fried bread for supper.'

It's usually just bread-and-jam on washing day.

‘Don't worry,' I yelled. ‘I'll be there!'

I ran up the back lane to Pam's house, past yards which, like ours, were full of lines of fluttering washing. When I reached her gate, I called out ‘Pammy-oh!' with my hands cupped round my mouth.

We all do that – the children who live on Hardy Hill. Whenever anybody wants a friend to come out and play, they call, ‘Megan-oh!' or ‘Tommy-oh!' or ‘Susan-oh!' (the name changes, but you see what I mean) from the back lane. Then, whoever it is comes running out to find them.

We don't go into each others' houses much. Houses are full of grown-ups who don't want extra children
under foot. So the funny thing is, although I see Pam every day, when I go into her house it's like visiting for the first time.

This time, Pam came to find me almost before I'd finished calling.

‘At
last
,' she said. ‘Mum made me help that awful Maureen with her spellings, or I'd have been round for you.'

One of the things Pam and I have in common is annoying siblings. We both dream of being only children. I suppose I
was
an only child, in a way, until Shirley and Barbara came back from Germany, and I often wish I still was. That's a secret, though – from everyone except Pam.

‘So do we have time to go up the Hill?' Pam waved her roller skates at me. She was holding them by the straps.

‘I reckon so!' I produced mine from behind my back.

‘Come on, then!'

As we ran, we saw Davy Levenson sitting on his back step with a big book open on his lap. He peered at us but he didn't say anything. He never does say much, even though he speaks perfect English – he was born here, though his parents, who came from
Germany before the War, still sound German when they speak.

Pam paused a moment. ‘Why don't you come roller-skating, Davy?'

Davy shook his head.

‘Aw, come on! It's more fun than reading!'

Davy just shrugged so we ran on.

‘That Davy – you'd think he'd like a change sometimes,' Pam grumbled. ‘And my mum says reading isn't good for you.'

Pam's not a great one for reading herself. I
do
like reading, but I like to play out too. Reading is for evenings – curled up on my bed, all alone, with my little reading lamp on. Or at least, it was.

‘It takes all sorts,' I said. This is something Nana often says.

‘That's true. He is
strange
, though. Maybe it's because he's German.'

‘He's not German.'

‘You know what I mean. Or because he's Jewish.'

‘I don't know,' I said. ‘I don't know anyone else who's Jewish besides the Levensons.'

‘My uncle lives in Cardiff and there's lots of Jewish people there. Do you know, he says some people don't like them?'

‘I like the Levensons,' I said.

I did too. Davy was quiet – but that was better than some of the boys in our class, who made too much noise altogether. Mrs Levenson was always friendly to me. She asked me in sometimes on a Saturday, to light the gas on her stove. Apparently it's against her religion to light your own gas on a Saturday. She always asked if I was enjoying school, and sometimes gave me an apple.

I felt sorry for Mr Levenson. He was even quieter than Davy, with a haunted look about him. Sometimes he didn't even notice that I was there. Nana said a lot of his family had been killed by Hitler during the War.

‘I like them too,' said Pam. ‘And of course Davy's awfully clever,' she added, as if being clever was bound to make you a bit strange. ‘I reckon he's even cleverer than my cousin's friend who went to grammar school.'