The Throwaway Children (25 page)

It was the first time, in her edited version of the truth, that Emily Vanstone told Lily an outright lie, justified in her own mind by the need to ensure this woman caused no more trouble. ‘We’ve found a charming couple, up north, who are prepared to take both of them, so they won’t be separated. They’ll grow up together in a happy home as sisters should. It is the best possible chance for them, as I’m sure, when you’ve thought it through, you’ll agree.’

Lily didn’t agree. She stared, dumbfounded, at the woman who had, without reference to anyone, put them up for adoption.

‘Adopted?’ she croaked at last.

‘Yes,’ nodded Miss Vanstone, ‘much the best option.’

‘And the Children’s Officer, that Miss Hopkins, has she agreed to all this?’

‘She’s been kept informed, naturally, as the children came to us through her, but she’s quite happy with the arrangement, yes.’

‘And they’ve already gone?’ whispered Lily. ‘To this new home?’

‘Yes. After they ran away from here, it was decided that we should move quickly to establish them somewhere safe in a permanent home.’

‘Can I see them?’ asked Lily, still struggling to take it all in. ‘Can I go and see them in this new place?’

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ replied Miss Vanstone regretfully. ‘That would not be appropriate.’

‘What d’you mean, not appropriate?’ demanded Lily, beginning to fight back. ‘Why can’t I see them? You just going to let them think that their mum and their gran simply forgot about them? It may be best, as you said, for them being with this new family. Maybe they can give them things what I can’t, but they need to know I’m still their gran and that I still love them.’

‘I can understand your feelings,’ sympathized Miss Vanstone, ‘but what you have to realize is that this would certainly unsettle them again, just when they’ve begun to find their feet with their new parents.’

‘New parents,’ echoed Lily with a catch in her voice. For a moment there was silence, as she wondered what to say next, and Miss Vanstone waited her out.

‘Can I write to them?’ Lily asked at last. ‘At least give me an address where I can write to them… tell them I love them.’

Miss Vanstone’s expression softened. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I can’t actually give you the address, of course, but I tell you what I will do. If you want to write them a letter, and you give it to me, I will see that it’s posted on to them. How’s that? Even that’s bending the rules.’

‘You mean if I write them a letter, you’ll see that they get it?’

‘Of course,’ agreed Miss Vanstone smoothly, ‘but just the one.’

‘So if I write to them and bring you the letter, you’ll send it on?’

‘Yes, Mrs Sharples, I’ve just said I will,’ came the patient reply.

‘And you won’t open it or read it or nothing?’

‘Certainly not!’ Miss Vanstone sounded most affronted. ‘I don’t make a practice of reading private correspondence.’

‘No, no, course you don’t.’ Lily backtracked hastily; she didn’t want Miss Vanstone to change her mind. She’d simply have to trust her.

‘Why don’t you write to them now?’ suggested Miss Vanstone. ‘I’ll give you notepaper. Then you needn’t come all the way back again.’

‘Well,’ Lily hesitated, ‘I’m not sure.’ She’d much rather sit down at her own kitchen table, and take her time; but suppose Miss Vanstone wasn’t here when she came back? Suppose it was only the Hawkins woman? Lily certainly didn’t trust her. Safer, really, to take advantage of the offer, and give the letter to Miss Vanstone now.

Miss Vanstone opened a drawer and took out a sheet of notepaper and an envelope. Picking up a fountain pen from the desktop she said, ‘Here you are.’ She got to her feet as she spoke. ‘Now, I’ll take you back to the parlour and leave you to write your letter in peace, and when you have, just bring it back to me here. I’ll be here for at least half an hour.’

Swept along by the other woman’s briskness, Lily took the proffered writing materials and followed her back to the parlour.

‘You won’t be disturbed in here. All right?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ replied Lily, and with a smile Emily Vanstone closed the door.

Lily sat down at the table and looked at the notepaper. It was not a large piece; she would have to write concisely. It was so difficult to know what to say. She didn’t want to upset Rita and Rosie by sounding upset herself. She wanted to assure them they would never be forgotten, but she knew that, if she loved them, and at this moment she ached with love for them, she needed them to settle into their new home and be happy. At last she drew the sheet of notepaper towards her and began to write.

Dearest Rita and Rosie,

I hear from Laurel House that you have moved away and are living with a new family. How exciting! I’m sure they will be kind to you and you’ll be very happy in your new home. I just wanted to tell you that I’m out of hospital now, back at home in Hampton Road and going on all right. I don’t know exactly where you are, but Miss Vanstone says she’ll send this letter on to you. Remember, wherever you are you are my best girls. Look after Rosie, Rita. I know you will, and be very good for your new Mum and Dad.

Lots of love to you both,

Gran. xx

Lily read the letter through, it seemed very cold and unemotional, but she decided that was better than pouring out her grief at their being taken away. That would help no one. She also had to recognize that the adoptive parents would almost certainly read the letter, so she hoped that her comments about them would help make life easier for her girls. She added two more kisses on the bottom and then, with quiet resolution, folded the paper, and sealed it in the envelope.

Turning it over she wrote,
Miss Rita and Rosie Stevens
, leaving plenty of room for the address to be added below. She held the sealed letter in her hand for a moment and went back to the office.

Lily held out the letter. ‘Here you are,’ she said, and Miss Vanstone took it and laid it on her desk.

‘Aren’t you going to address it?’ asked Lily.

‘I’ll get my secretary to look out the address,’ replied Miss Vanstone with a smile. ‘I’m afraid I don’t carry all that sort of information in my head. Rest assured, Mrs Sharples, I’ll deal with your letter as soon as I can.’

The two women shook hands and Miss Vanstone walked Lily to the front door. When she had closed the door behind her visitor, she returned to her office. She picked up the letter that lay on her desk, spinning it round in her fingers, but she didn’t open it. She had promised not to; she simply tossed it into the wastepaper bin.

The days on board ship did indeed seem like the holiday Emily Vanstone had promised to the children from Laurel House. Before the war the
Pride of Empire
had been a three-class ocean liner, regularly plying her trade from London to Sydney. Her war work as a troop ship over, she’d had a refit, and was back in service on her old route. Now, she transported migrants in search of a new life across the world, rather than the pre-war, rich passengers, but to the migrant children, she was the grandest place they’d ever been in. None of them slept well that first night. It was far too exciting to be going to bed in a cabin, and feeling the movement of the ship as she ploughed through the English Channel.

‘Now, you’re all to go to sleep and no chatting,’ warned Miss Ellen. ‘I’m going to turn out the light and you’re to settle down. It won’t be completely dark, there’s a night-light up there.’ She pointed to a tiny green light, high up in a corner. ‘I’ll come and tell you when it’s time to get up, but until then you stay in the cabin, understood?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Right, well, goodnight.’ She turned off the light, and shut the cabin door.

After morning prayers, a bell sounded, the signal to go into the dining room. The children had never seen so much food.

‘You seen what there is?’ whispered Daisy, pointing at a plate of food being served at the next table. ‘Them’s fried eggs, two, and bacon. D’you reckon we can have some of them?’

‘Don’t know,’ Rita sounded doubtful. ‘P’raps it’s just for that lot, you know. Maybe they’re special or summat.’

‘What can I get you, miss?’ said a voice, and Rita turned round to see a dark-faced waiter wearing a smart white jacket, smiling enquiringly.

‘What?’

‘What would you like to eat?’ he asked. ‘Would you like some egg and bacon, or a sausage? I bring toast after.’

‘Yes,’ said Daisy, quickly. ‘I’ll have all of that.’

‘Me too,’ said Rita, and looking at Rosie, she added, ‘and the same for my sister.’

‘Certainly, miss,’ said the waiter. ‘Just a few minutes.’

He was back in less than five minutes bearing three plates, piled with the food the children had asked for. They couldn’t believe their eyes, and when he offered orange juice they all nodded yes please, their mouths already too full to make an audible answer.

Though several of them, Daisy included, were feeling distinctly queasy as the ship continued down the English Channel, they all devoured everything they were offered. Afraid such food might not be there again, they all stuffed themselves, despite their seasickness. Rita didn’t feel too bad, as she adjusted quickly to the motion of the ship; Rosie did not.

‘Reet,’ whimpered the little girl, ‘I feel sick.’

‘You can’t be sick here,’ cried Rita looking round the posh dining room in agitation. ‘Come on, Rosie, we got to get to the cabin.’ Leaving the last of her own breakfast on the table, she grabbed her sister’s hand and dragged her out of the room, back down to their cabin two decks below. Rosie was beginning to retch as Rita pulled her inside and they only just made it in time for Rosie to return her breakfast into the basin. Rita held her head, muttering soothingly, until at last Rosie, pale and scared, lifted her head.

‘I don’t like it,’ she wailed. ‘I don’t feel very nice.’

‘Get on your bunk and lay down,’ advised Rita. ‘I’ll stay here with you. OK?’ She helped Rosie onto her bunk, but within moments she was up again, leaning over the basin. When there was nothing left to come up Rita helped the little girl back to bed, where moments later she fell asleep.

Daisy and Sylvia felt seasick too, and it wasn’t long before they were lying on their bunks, eyes closed, fighting to keep their breakfasts down.

‘You silly girls,’ cried Miss Ellen when she came to see how they were faring, ‘you shouldn’t have eaten so much. You’d better not eat anything else until you’ve got your sea-legs.’

‘What’s sea-legs?’ quavered Rosie. ‘Where do we get them?’

Miss Ellen laughed. ‘Sea-legs just means getting used to the ship moving. Then you can eat to your heart’s content.’

‘Will we get breakfast like that every day?’ asked Rita in wonder.

‘Of course,’ replied Miss Ellen. ‘And lunch and tea and dinner, so you don’t have to eat yourselves sick!’

At first there was still confusion about the meals that would be served. As far as most of the children were concerned, lunch was a mid-morning snack, dinner meant the midday meal, and tea was the evening meal. No one expected four meals a day.

‘Tea’s awful early,’ said Rita to Daisy when the bell summoned them to the dining room at half-past four, the first afternoon.

‘Not much of it neither,’ said Daisy, looking in disgust at the bread and jam set out on the table. ‘We won’t half be hungry by breakfast.’

‘Cake!’ cried Rosie, pointing to slices of cake arranged on a dish. ‘There’s cake!’ They helped themselves to several slices of bread and jam, piling pieces of cake onto their plates in case it disappeared.

‘For goodness sake, children,’ admonished Miss Ellen, seeing the food stacked up on their plates, ‘if you eat that lot, you won’t have any room for dinner.’

‘But we had dinner, miss,’ pointed out Sheila, taking the lead. ‘Fish pie and ice cream.’

Miss Ellen laughed. ‘Silly girl! That was your lunch. Tea is in the afternoon, just to keep you going, and then dinner is at seven in the evening.’

They all stared at her in amazement. ‘You mean we got another meal to come, miss?’ asked Daisy.

‘Certainly you have, so leave some room for it.’

‘Is that the same,’ ventured Rita, ‘every day?’

‘Every day,’ Miss Ellen assured her, and seeing the incredulity on their faces, she suddenly realized how little these children normally had to eat. For the first time, she took in their skinny bodies, their pallid faces and their lacklustre hair.

‘Enjoy your tea,’ she said, ‘but leave room for your dinner.’

Life slipped into an easy pattern and the children began to enjoy their unaccustomed freedom. The Laurel House girls roamed the ship freely, exploring the different decks, finding a library and a games room, and were soon making friends among the other children who were also being sent to a new life in Australia. They hardly saw Sheila; she had palled up with two older girls who were travelling out with their parents to live in Perth. If any of the Laurel House girls bumped into her during the day, she scarcely gave them a glance as she and her new friends sauntered past.

‘I’m in charge of our group,’ Rita and Daisy heard her say on one occasion, ‘as I’m the oldest. They have to do what I say.’

Rita stared after her and remarked scornfully, ‘She ain’t in charge of nofink, and I ain’t going to do nofink she tells me, neither.’

‘P’raps I’ll tell her stuck-up friends that you bit her,’ said Daisy with a grin. ‘That’d learn her.’ And both girls burst out laughing.

The days began to merge into each other. Each morning started with prayers, and each evening, between tea and dinner, Miss Dauntsey read to any children who were in the children’s lounge. To begin with few children were interested in going to story-time, but as the word got round that she was reading a really exciting book,
Five Children and It
, more and more of the children came in to listen. Miss Dauntsey made no comment as the numbers increased, but each evening she read the next instalment, always leaving them waiting for more.

‘Where’d you get that book, miss?’ Rita plucked up the courage to ask her.

Miss Dauntsey smiled at her. ‘I found it in the library, Rita. Have you been in there?’