Daisy's Secret (4 page)

But then he never took her ‘little rebellions’ seriously.

Now, at the back of her mind was the worry that perhaps he’d given in to her whim to stay on at the farm rather too easily. Placating or ignoring her was what he excelled at, and no doubt he did indeed expect her to come crawling home by the end of the week.

So what would happen if she didn’t?

She really mustn’t allow it to matter what Felix did, what Felix thought, or what Felix planned. She couldn’t build a future on a sense of misplaced loyalty. It was time to give more thought to herself. All that was important now was what
she
wanted, what she decided to do with her life.

By leaving her the house, it was as if Daisy had offered her a glimpse of the freedom she so longed for and needed, and it was irresistible. Laura knew that if she didn’t grab this opportunity, she might never get another.

Daisy felt stunned by the speed of events, overwhelmed by the crush of children on the platform, many of them crying, others excitedly enjoying the novelty of a train journey into the unknown. All of them were clutching tight to a suitcase, brown paper parcel or kitbag, a doll or teddy and of course their gas mask box strung across their chest where was carefully pinned a large label stating their name and age, just as if they might forget it in the trauma of events.

 
‘Don’t play with the doors. Take your seats quickly, there’s a good girl.’ A woman in a green hat skewered to her iron grey hair with a long hat pin, issued these orders in a loud, crisp voice. She was clearly anxious to make herself heard above the din of a platform packed with children; a false, cheery smile fixed on her face.

Tens of thousands would be leaving Manchester over the next few days, as well as London, Birmingham, Liverpool and cities right across the land. London Road Station seemed to be filled with people giving orders: police and railway officials, local borough councillors who’d come along to offer support plus dozens of teachers, nurses, members of the Friends’ War Victims Relief Committee, and WVS ladies, all of whom had evidently responded to government posters to help with the evacuation process.

Now, at last, all the plans were coming to fruition and they were off, and everyone seemed excited by the prospect. Everyone except Daisy.

Daisy felt affronted at being evacuated with a host of children. She’d noticed a carriage full of pregnant young mums further along the train who’d been provided with their own midwife, just in case one of them should go into labour during the journey, she supposed. Daisy felt a burst of envy. They would all be allowed to keep their babies, of course, because they were married to husbands who loved them.

The woman with the green hat and loud voice permitted herself one censorious glance at Daisy before ushering her into a carriage and slamming shut the door on her protest, almost as if she knew her dreadful secret and had decided she deserved no better consideration than to be left with a bunch of noisy ten year olds. It made Daisy feel confused. What was she then, child or woman?

Perversely now, she’d no wish to leave home for the idyllic bliss of the countryside, or to abandon her beloved Manchester which was suddenly under threat of war. In any case, she’d miss all the excitement and really she should be doing something useful, not being spirited away as part of this ‘Great Trek’ or whatever they called it, to some unknown safe haven, however well meaning these bossy people might be.

‘Don’t cry, Trish. You know what to do, remember? Just like we practised at school. Stick tight to teddy and we’ll be all right.’

‘I feel sick.’ The piping voice at her elbow brought Daisy from her self-pitying reverie to find two small girls at her side. The face of one, little more than four or five, was wet with tears and a river of mucus from each nostril. The other, older by a year or so, was attempting to comfort her sister and mop her up.

‘Where’s Mam? I want Mam?’ wailed the smaller one.

‘She’s waving from the platform. See, there she is,’ and the older girl attempted to hoist her up so that she could see out of the carriage window to view some unidentified mother amongst the crush of women waving and bearing brave smiles as they sent their children off into the care of strangers.

Daisy sprang into action. ‘Here, let me hold her for you,’ and she grabbed the child to hold her high at the half open carriage window where she waved frantically, her small face a heartrending mix of joy at sight of her mother, and pain at their parting. The other, older girl, hung out of the window long after the train had drawn out of the station, still waving when all sight of the crowd of sorrowful women had disappeared in a cloud of steam. ‘Come on, love. Let me pull it up with the strap, or you’ll get grit and soot in your eye.’

The two little girls sat huddled in the corner of the seat opposite to Daisy, skinny arms wrapped tight about each other. They were dressed in navy blue gabardines far too long for them, yet with several inches of skirt trailing below the hem, presumably to leave ample room for growth. Each of their small, round heads was covered with a large beret, revealing only a few spruts of brown hair which stuck out around the edges. Daisy almost suggested they remove them, and then thought better of it. Who knew what lurked beneath? Their faces were drawn and anxious, the skin a familiar pallor that Daisy knew well, but then there wasn’t much sunshine to be had in the back streets of Manchester. They looked so thoroughly miserable that she attempted to jolly them into conversation by asking them their names.

‘I’m Megan,’ the older girl solemnly responded. ‘And this is Patricia, although we call her Trish for short.’

‘Mine’s Daisy,’ said Daisy. ‘And I’m happy to make your acquaintance.’ They both exchanged weak smiles. ‘Do you, by any chance, know where we’re going on this train?’

Megan shook her head. ‘I expect the King does.’

‘Oh, I expect he does,’ Daisy agreed. She glanced again at Trish who was still suffering from hiccupping sobs and seemed far from reassured by this news. When the tears finally subsided she curled up into a tiny ball, cuddled against her sister, popped her thumb into her mouth and went to sleep. The only time she perked up was some hours later when Megan drew out a packet of sandwiches, one for each of them.

Feeling a pang of hunger herself, Daisy reached down her case from the luggage rack and searched through it for a similar thoughtful gesture by her own mother. She found nothing. Embarrassed by this lack of attention, she quickly snapped it shut and returned it to the rack.

‘Didn’t you bring no food? We were told to fetch enough for one day.’

‘It’s all right. I’m not hungry.’

Unconvinced by the lie, Megan held out her packet. ‘It’s only fish paste, but you’re welcome to have one. Mam allus makes plenty.’

‘Oh, ta very much.’ The fish paste sandwich went down a treat, followed by a second offered by Trish who even managed a shy smile, and thus their friendship was born.

‘Weren’t you given a list of what to bring? We were.’

‘I don’t know. It was all a bit sudden and - er - unexpected.’

‘Mam had a bit of a job finding some of the stuff. We had to have a toothbrush, one each, spare socks and plimsolls, and a warm jersey. We’ve never had owt spare before, have you?’

‘And a macktosh,’ put in Trish, now bright eyed and filled with vim and vigour after her sandwich.

‘Mackintosh,’ Megan corrected. ‘Did you have to buy a new one, Daisy? We did. Well, new to us, that is. We got them on the flat iron market. Look, aren’t they grand?’ she said, smoothing down the lapel with pride.

‘And I’ve got a face cloth. A blue one,’ Trish added with some importance.

Daisy admitted that she’d no idea what was in her suitcase since her mother had packed it, and the pair looked at her askance, evidently having taken great interest in the treasures their mother had collected for them.

‘D’you think we’ll see the sea? Mam said we might.’

‘I don’t know.’ Daisy shook her head and tried to smile in response to Trish’s bright gaze. The little girl was rallying, seeing it all now as the adventure her mother had promised. If only she could view it in the same light. Oh Percy, where are you? If only you hadn’t let me down. If only there hadn’t been a war. If only I hadn’t been so foolish as to get pregnant, or if only they’d let her keep the baby, then everything would have been so different. So many if onlys. If none of it had happened, she’d have been happy to steam away on this train into the unknown. It would’ve been a new beginning. Instead, she’d been ordered to shut all that ‘shameful’ part of her life away, just as if it had never happened and her baby boy had never been born. Daisy turned her face to the window so the children couldn’t see her tears.

It had seemed, while they had waited interminably in London Road Station, as if the journey would never start, now they thought it might go on for ever. The train would chug along for a while, and then stop, back up into a siding and wait for seemingly hours until some express or passenger train had thundered by, before edging slowly forward again. Dusk fell and at each station after that the carriage lights would go out just as the train drew into a station which made it difficult to read the signs on the equally dark platform, and then twenty or thirty children would get off and troop out to the buses usually lined up on the street nearby.

The ‘exodus’ seemed to be very well organised and just a little alarming. Daisy realised they were heading north, which cheered her and made her think of Aunt Florrie again, though they could end up in Scotland, which would be no help at all. When finally it was their turn to get off, they were released, late in the evening, onto a small, unknown, country platform seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Daisy felt stiff and nervous, certain they must have been travelling for days, though it was probably a little over seven hours.

‘You’re a very lucky girl to be here at all,’ was the frosty response when she dared to ask the woman in the green hat why it had taken so long. ‘Evacuee trains can’t be given priority over the normal service. People still have to get to and from work, you know. Now, more than ever.’

This all seemed rather odd to Daisy. Why evacuate them at all if it wasn’t an emergency? And if it was an emergency, then why not give the trainload of children priority? As things stood, it not being a corridor train, desperate little boys had been peeing out of the window, and little girls quietly weeping over the state of their knickers. Poor little Trish had been in floods of tears since this was apparently the first time she’d ever worn knickers in her life and they were brand new. It had been a great relief to escape the stink of the stuffy carriage.

Green Hat was speaking again, in an even louder voice this time as hundreds of confused, tired children milled about the rapidly darkening platform. She clapped her hands smartly together, to bring them to attention.
 

‘Since we’ve arrived much later than expected, the dispersal officer isn’t here. Probably gone back home, assuming we’ll arrive tomorrow instead. However,’ she continued with forced brightness, ‘our spirits are undimmed, are they not? We shall sleep tonight in the station waiting rooms. Boys in the gents. Girls in the ladies. Now stand in line and make your way in an orderly fashion. No pushing and shoving.’

They were given a hot drink of Bovril, made on the station waiting room fire by the ladies in smart uniform, and a slice of bread and butter. Afterwards, blankets were handed out. Daisy, Megan and Trish huddled up together for warmth beneath one but the September night was cold, the waiting room floor hard and Trish kept sniffling and sneezing while Megan got a fit of coughing, which worried Daisy. Eventually they slept fitfully, woken with a jerk in the early hours by a cry of alarm that quickly spread, creating panic when the word ‘gas’ was heard.

The ladies in charge acted quickly. Whipping off all the children’s’ blankets, they fled to the lavatory where they soaked them in water and then hung them at all the doors and windows for protection. The night was even colder after that and the three new friends gave up all hope of sleep though they were grateful at least for Megan and Trish’s mackintosh, their only protection against the blast of cold air that roared under the waiting room door every time a train went through.

As the children stood about in a ragged group in the cold light of early morning, a trickle of local women began to appear. Daisy learned that they had come not only from the local villages, but also from nearby Penrith, a town in the northern Lakes, and she felt a burst of hope. Wasn’t it somewhere round here that Aunt Florrie had come to live? She desperately tried to remember her married surname but for the life of her couldn’t bring it to mind. All that had ever been written on the infrequent Christmas or birthday cards was: Yours, as ever, Florrie.

Bullied by the dispersal officer, who had finally arrived, the village women made their selection, and all Daisy could do was search their faces to see if any one of them resembled her own mother. None did.

‘I’ll have this one.’

‘I’ll take her.’

‘I’ll have that little lad over there.’

One woman put a hand on Trish’s collar and was about to haul her away when Megan made a grab for her, loudly protesting. ‘No! Our Trish stops with me. Me mam said we had to stay together. Daisy too,’ she added for good measure, casting a quick glance in her new friend’s direction. Daisy did not protest. The decision seemed to have been made without the need for words during the long, cold, miserable night. No matter what, they meant to stay together.