The War that Saved My Life (26 page)

“Hundreds!” the colonel said. “They’re everywhere! It was spies that sunk the
Royal Oak
! How else could a submarine have gotten into Scapa Flow?”

I knew that was what people said. “Yes, but—”

“You think we don’t have spies right now in occupied France, in Germany itself? Of course we do! Stands to reason they’d have sent spies here.”

I told him how I always looked out from the top of the hill, from where I could see such a long way.

He nodded. “You keep a lookout everywhere,” he said. “I tell Stephen, pay attention to everything. You never know. One word in German, one false move—”

Stephen, grinning, helped me to another scone. I grinned back. Posters or newsreels or spies notwithstanding, it was hard to sit in a warm parlor with snow falling outside, and really believe in the war.

But by the end of January, German U-boats had sunk fifty-six ships in that month alone. Most were cargo ships trying to bring food and supplies to England.

In February, the Germans sunk another fifty-one. The shops looked sparse, coal supplies ran low, and the weather bore down on us like a cold heavy weight. We went to bed earlier and slept later in the mornings, just to avoid the black misery, until, finally, the days began to brighten.

Maggie came home briefly at Easter. She was shocked by how much work I was doing, and also by the state the stables and house were in. Her house, not Susan’s. “I’ve told Mum we’ve got to shut up most of the rooms,” she said. I’d learned that Maggie was twelve years old. Top of her form in her current school, though she’d move to a different school for older girls next year. “Trying to keep on as we always have without enough staff is pointless. And Grimes must have help, or he’ll drop over dead. It’s not that you’re not wonderful,” she added, cutting off my protests, “but it’s ridiculous; you’ll drop dead too. She’s still paying a gardener. He can help Grimes, and we’ll turn the park into crops. We’re supposed to be doing that anyhow.”

I nodded. Susan had hired the vicar’s gang of boys to dig up most of what was left of our back garden, and cut out the bushes in the front. We were planning a big Victory Garden, potatoes and turnips and carrots, Brussels sprouts and peas. Susan had already planted lettuce seeds on the dirt covering the roof of our shelter. Jamie was agitating for chickens, since eggs were getting scarce.

“Most of the evacuees in town are gone,” Maggie added. “Mum said so. It makes her feel she hasn’t done her job properly. Do you think you’ll leave?”

I shook my head. “Our mum thinks we’re safer here.” I’d written to Maggie several times over the winter, but not once had I been able to tell her about Mam’s disappearance. I didn’t want Maggie to see me as rubbish, easy to throw away. “Friday’s my birthday party,” I added. “Will you come to tea? We’re going to pretend I’m turning eleven.”

Maggie already knew about my real birthday and my pretend birthday, but she still looked startled. “I thought you were eleven already,” she said. “You seem older than ten, even though you’re small.”

This pleased me. “Really? Maybe you should tell Susan. Maybe we should pretend I’m twelve.”

Maggie ignored this. “I’ll be glad to come to the party. Home’s dreadful, you can’t imagine. I’ve never liked school, but now home’s worse. Mum’s in a funk all the time.”

Every time I saw Lady Thorton she seemed in constant motion, making lists, chivvying volunteers, commanding the WVS. When I said so, Maggie grimaced.

“Yes, that’s her public face. In private she sort of slumps, and everything about her goes slow and dull. I didn’t know she’d gotten like this. When she writes me letters they come from her public side.”

Jonathan had finished his pilot’s training, Maggie said. He had been sent to Stratford RAF base, which was north of London somewhere. “Mum can’t get past it,” she said. “Her brothers died in World War I. All three of them. Pilots.”

I shuddered. “Maybe Jonathan should have gone into infantry.”

“That’s what Dad said, but Jonathan’s like my uncles were, dead keen on flying. He always wanted to, even before the war. Mum told him she absolutely forbade it, but he signed up anyway. He was twenty – one, so she couldn’t stop him.

“If he dies, Mum will die too,” Maggie said. “She had two other boys after Jonathan, before me. All of them, all three, were named after my dead uncles, and then the other two died of typhoid when they were very small. Then came me, a girl, therefore useless. Mum’s been afraid of this war since the day Jonathan was born.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” I said. “I’ll write you if your mam—your mum—gets worse. If I can tell she’s worse.”

Maggie nodded gratefully. “You don’t know what it’s like, being away from home and being so afraid.” Then she gave me one of our long serious looks. “Or maybe you do.”

“It’s not really my birthday,” I said, on the morning of my Celebration Tea.

“No,” Susan agreed.

“I’m not really eleven yet. Or maybe I’m already eleven.” If I thought about it, this made me angry, so I mostly didn’t think about it.

“Those are the two choices,” Susan agreed.

“I could be fourteen.”

“Doubt it,” Susan replied. “You’d probably have a bit of a bust if you were.”

This made Jamie snort milk up his nose. I laughed too, and then I started to enjoy the day.

Susan had put a cloth on the kitchen table, and wildflowers Jamie picked in a vase in the center. She had saved up enough sugar from our rations to make a little cake. We had meat paste sandwiches, cut very thin, and fresh radishes, and tiny spoonfuls of custard sauce over the slices of cake. Susan made me a new dress from one that had been Becky’s. Bright blue, like the springtime sky. She gave me a book called
The Wind in the Willows.
It was an old book, the cover faded and worn. When I opened it I saw her spidery handwriting on the flyleaf:
Susan Smith.
And then beneath that, in fresher ink,
To Ada with love. April 5, 1940
.

With love.

“It’s one of my old books,” Susan said, clearing her throat. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t find a fresh copy in the shops.”

I looked up. “I’d rather have this one,” I said.

Maggie gave me a little carved wooden pony. “It’s silly, it came from our nursery,” she said, “but I saw it the other day, and I thought it looked like Butter.”

It did look like Butter—Butter in summer, sleek and trotting through the grassy fields.

That night I put my new book on the shelf Susan had cleared for us in our bedroom. I put the pony on the windowsill so I could see him from the bed. I hung my dress in the wardrobe next to my other clothes.

I had so much. I felt so sad.

Early the next week, Hitler invaded Norway and Denmark. It felt like England had lost a battle, even though I’d never so much as heard of Norway or Denmark before. As spring continued, Germany took over Holland and Belgium as well. Winston Churchill became England’s new prime minister. The war, which had begun to feel like memories of our flat in London, hazy and unreal, suddenly came into sharper focus. Susan had always listened to the news on the radio each evening but now Jamie and I paid close attention too. There still weren’t bombs, in London or anywhere else, but the Germans were much nearer to England than they had been. Everyone thought we would be invaded next. The air force built pillboxes around our airfield, to defend it.

The government gave us seven rules:

1) Do not waste food.

2) Do not talk to strangers.

3) Keep all information to yourself.

4) Always listen to government instructions and carry them out.

5) Report anything suspicious to the police.

6) Do not spread rumors.

7) Lock away anything that might help the enemy if we are invaded.

“Like what?” Jamie asked. “Guns?”

“Yes, guns,” Susan said. “Lady Thorton, for example—her husband has a whole roomful of guns for hunting game birds. She’ll need to hide those away.

“We haven’t got anything here the enemy would want,” Susan continued. “We don’t have anything dangerous or valuable.

“You aren’t to worry,” she said. “Even if the Germans do invade, they won’t hurt children. They didn’t hurt the children in Norway or Holland.”

Somehow this didn’t make us feel better at all.

The rumor in the village was that Holland had been full of German spies, sent in before the invasion to help it go smoothly. The spies were called “fifth columnists.” I didn’t know why. Fresh posters went up on the wall by the station, reminding us that England too might be full of spies. “Loose lips sink ships,” the posters said.

Twenty-six ships had been sunk in March. Ten in April. It was fewer ships than earlier because now fewer ships were trying to get through the German blockade.

Jamie started wetting the bed again. Susan marched him over to the airfield to talk to some of the soldiers, thinking they would reassure him. Instead, the men told Jamie that of
course
there were spies in England. They told him that children were often better than adults at noticing things and that he, Jamie, needed to act like a soldier and keep a good lookout. They told him to report back at once if he discovered anything unusual.

I didn’t think Susan expected the RAF to turn Jamie into a snoop, but, anyway, he quit wetting the bed.

The government asked all the men who weren’t already in the army to become Local Defence Volunteers. Stephen’s colonel was angry that he couldn’t join. “A man shouldn’t be useless at a time like this,” he fumed.

“It’s not your fault you can’t see,” I told him. We’d run into them at the library. Susan was picking out more books for me, and Stephen was looking for things to read to the colonel.

“What difference does that make?” he said. “I still hate feeling helpless. And the boy tried to join up, and they wouldn’t have him either.”

I looked at Stephen in alarm. “How old are you?” I asked.

“Thirteen,” he said. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I didn’t really try to join, I just told him I did. So he wouldn’t be disappointed in me. It’s nearly a full-time job taking care of him. Who does he think would queue for the groceries if I had to go off and drill?”