Orphans of War (28 page)

She had everyone round for tea to show off her new tweed suit, made by a bespoke tailor in Scarperton in a lavender and heathery tone. Grandma produced a string of pearls to finish off her lilac knitted jumper.

‘Guard them with your life!’ she ordered. ‘They’re heirlooms for your daughter.’

‘No, they’re not,’ whispered Plum. ‘They’re a wedding
gift from a client. She just likes to make out the Belfields are old money. You’ll have all of mine when I pop my clogs and they go back for generations.’

They were always scoring points off each other these days. It was something to do with Uncle Gerald not coming home for some reason.

Maddy didn’t want any pearls. All she wanted was not to be going to a strange house in a strange city. Although Leeds was only fifty miles away it felt like going to another planet.

Every week she’d written to Dieter but so far he’d not replied. She wondered if something was wrong with Mechtilde and he’d not gone to college after all. It was as if those wonderful starry nights by the foss–the wind whistling over them, the stinging nettles prickling their bare bodies and the darkness like a blanket–were just some faraway dream, to savour perhaps on dark nights when there was homework from college to complete.

Her digs were on the top floor of an enormous Edwardian villa just off West Park Road. There were two other students staying there, both at the university, and Miss Ffrost was keen to have only respectable ‘gals’ from good homes nesting in her attics.

Plum had packed her favourite quilt and ornaments, along with photos of the summer outing in a frame, to make her feel more at home. There was a special photo of Dolly and Arthur, a studio portrait of the Bellaires in evening dress in its square silver frame. It was all she had left of her parents.

There was a watercolour of the Brooklyn done by Aunt Julia, and a sketch Greg once made of the Victory Tree HQ that she’d kept for sentimental reasons. He’d done it from memory when he was stationed in Germany and sent it to Gloria. Gloria had given it to her as a present and written on the back ‘Forever Friends’.

It made her think of all the fun they’d had, and how Greg had comforted her when her parents had died and, later, rescued her from catty Kay at the school gate.

Now her memories were of comforting Dieter in the very same tree the night they sat in the branches and he poured out all his turmoil, the night they became soul mates.

Gloria was coming as far as Leeds with her, as she was visiting her mother on her day off. The two Conleys were back in one of their friendly phases and Gloria liked to keep an eye on Sid, but she was very put out about Maddy leaving Sowerthwaite.

‘You’ll forget us all when you get college mates,’ she accused.

‘No, I won’t. Forever friends,’ Maddy reminded her. ‘I’ll be back at weekends when I can. Then we can go out together, go hiking, and we can meet up when you come back to Leeds, go to a milk bar and spot the talent.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise. I’m not going to Timbuktu, only Leeds! Have you heard from Greg?’

‘Nah, I think he’s forgotten us. I expect he’s got a
girlfriend by now. Charlie mentioned someone called Martha in Germany.’

Maddy had never thought about Greg being smitten like she had been by Dieter. He was always solid and somewhere in the distance, in his khaki uniform and his hair sticking up. She’d not seen him since he went abroad. She wondered where he was.

‘Don’t suppose we’ll ever see him again then,’ Maddy said.

Their letters had sort of dried up. They lived in two different worlds, she supposed. When was the last time she’d bothered to write to him? Two could play at that game, but they ought to send him a card and parcel before Christmas.

Without Greg and the gang those first years at Brooklyn Hall would have been awful, but they were children then. Now she was beginning a new life in silk stockings and court shoes, with lisle stockings and brogues for daytime, and one of Plum’s cast-off pony-skin jackets that she was too polite to refuse. The thought of the skin of a poor pony like Monty slung across her back filled her with horror but it was too good to give away. She might sell it on and buy something more modest. It was a little too short and neat, and not her style at all.

They sat in the carriage, staring out alongside the muddy waters of the River Aire. Green turned to grey, and factories, stone mills and sooty chimneys filled the view. Maddy smiled, thinking about that first journey with Gloria when they were small, that first adventure into the unknown.

‘We’ve come along way since 1940, kiddo,’ she whispered, thinking of the skinny redhead with the little boy in a balaclava with the runny nose, wailing for his mam.

‘You saved our lives on that train. Who knows where we’d have fetched up?

Now we’re two young ladies on the town. Are you nervous?’

‘Not half! I just want to get the first day over with. You will write to me, even if I forget to reply?’

‘I might,’ Gloria winked. ‘Don’t look like that. Forever friends, you and me. If you find a nice rich young man for me to dazzle, I expect you to let me have first go, seeing as you’re spoken for.’

‘Is it that obvious?’ Maddy nudged her.

Gloria winked again. ‘Love’s young dream, all those secret rides in the dark. Everyone knew you two were at it like rabbits.’

‘No, we were not,’ she protested.

‘Pull the other one. I’ve seen your face. You’ve gone and done it, I can tell.’

‘No, I’ve not. We never…’

‘Well, something put a smile on your face and it wasn’t reading bleeding Wordsworth.’

They parted at the station, hugging as if Maddy was going to cross the Arctic solo. She went straight into a taxi without a thought while Gloria must hike over to the bus station and get to the other end of town. That about summed it all up.

Maddy was up to something with that Jerry boy.
She was different, more confident, prettier and striding out as if she owned the place. She didn’t have to hold on to her cherry, cross her legs when lads came fumbling up skirts with wandering palms. She had prospects and a whole new world to explore. It wasn’t fair. It never had been.

Now she must trudge up to Peel Street and hope Mam was in one of her good moods and not being silly over some new toerag who promised the earth and never delivered anything but bills.

Gloria was worried about Sid scarpering off from school again. He’d never settled back in the town and it was all her fault for going back with Mam so eagerly all those years ago. What a fool she’d been, but at least she was back in a decent job and she’d not brought any silver for anyone to filch from her pocket. She’d stopped that game when she found her coat pockets empty on a previous visit. There were just some precious eggs in her basket from Mrs Plum. Now there was a real lady.

How could two girls from the same place and time have such different lives? Here’s Gloria at one end of the city, tripping over rusting pram wheels, the smell of boiled fish up her nose, and Maddy sitting in her taxi, all prim and proper. Everyone knew she’d been with that Gerry; all over him like a rash, Beryl whispered. Why was there one rule for the rich and another for the rest?

It was a good job they were best mates or she could hate her guts.

The Yorkshire Ladies’ Commercial College was a bus ride down from West Park, close to the university on Woodhouse Moor, that green leafy stray that separated the town from the suburbs. The college was housed in a large terraced house on four floors that once must have been a family home. It was now a much-battered series of mock offices and classrooms where everything was stripped to essentials: desks with typewriters, a working library with boardroom desk, more study rooms with a mock interview room.

On her first morning Maddy arrived too early and paced around the street trying to get her bearings. As she looked up at the tall white towers and grand steps of the Parkinson Building, she felt very nervous.

The sooty acrid air smelled so different from damp Dales wood smoke, but despite the smoke, and the fumes of buses grinding up and down, there was an excitement at starting something new–no more uniforms, no more prep and new people to meet. She only hoped that she’d be up to the tasks ahead.

Soon there was a queue of girls chattering in the chill September morning. Everyone stood around until a tiny woman darted off a bus and rushed with her keys to the door.

‘Where is that stupid caretaker? He should’ve opened up hours ago. I’d keep your coats on, girls. It’ll be freezing in there.’ This was Maddy’s first introduction to the Principal, Hilda Meyer, who ran the establishment with her sister, Hermione; the one who had interviewed her, months ago.

Never were twins so disparate. Miss Hermione had iron-grey hair drawn back into a severe bun and wore black. Hilda sported a marcel wave clipped with pins into a style that could only be described as curious, each bumpy ridge held in place like little boats on a sea of raven black.

Miss Frobisher, who took dictation and shorthand, hovered nervously with a man in a tired tweed jacket, with one sleeve tucked into his pocket. This was Mr Beckett, who took account keeping and business studies. They completed the staff.

Being a two-year course, there were students who knew the ropes bounding up the stairs like giddy sixth formers to bag the best seats. Had Maddy exchanged one set of rules for another? Miss Hilda soon had this new year’s intake gathered together in the largest drawing room to give them a pep talk.

‘Now, ladies, to break the ice before we commence, I want you to line up and each of you to introduce the person next to you.’

Maddy wanted to rush out of the room right there but the girl smiled. ‘I’m Caroline,’ she whispered.

‘I want you to get to know your fellow students and listen carefully. Then I’ll ask you to introduce them to the rest in turn.’

Maddy turned to her neighbour on the other side who was called Nan Pinkerton. She was a farmer’s daughter from a place near Harewood. She was one of three sisters and wanted to do farm accounts. She was engaged to a young farmer called Malcolm and they were getting married next summer to run their own
farm. Maddy tried to store all this information into her head.

A tall elegant girl sauntered up to Maddy and eyed her up and down. ‘God! I didn’t expect this. Mummy said those two were loonies but, hey ho! I’m Arabella Foxup. Who are you then?’

Maddy tried to explain she’d just left school and wanted to do something useful.

‘Did you see Madeleine Carroll in
The Thirty-Nine Steps?
She was killed in a plane crash–or was that Carole Lombard? Welcome to the madhouse. No point in being useful, darling. All we’re fit for is breeding–like brood mares, my pa says. Haven’t a clue what I’m doing here. Alexander, my intended, is in the army and we’re getting hitched soon. Can’t see any of this being of any use, can you?’ With that, Arabella breezed off to chat around the room.

The moment of truth came when they had to introduce each other to the group. There were Ruth and Thelma, who were both members of Hebron Hall Evangelical Mission, and were keen hikers and knew the Dales well. They wanted to work as secretaries to missionary societies. They’d sort of cheated on the task as they knew each other beforehand and never said.

‘Some of the “Thou Shalt Not” brigade,’ whispered the haughty Arabella, waving her huge sapphire and diamond engagement ring up everyone’s noses. When it was her turn to introduce Maddy, she couldn’t remember a thing Maddy had told her, only that she had a film stars’s name.

Maddy felt flat and a bit stupid. Miss Hilda had missed nothing.

‘Madeleine, is there anything you’d like to add, seeing that the Honourable Miss Foxup’s concentration was obviously elsewhere?’

‘Bitch!’ whispered Arabella, looking daggers at the Principal.

Maddy smiled, shook her head and said, ‘That’s fine, Miss Meyer.’

‘This may only be a stopgap between school and husband for some of you, but we take this commercial college seriously. These aren’t games we’re playing but an exercise to flush out how good you are at mixing and sharing and relating to other people other than yourselves. A dozen girls in a confined space takes tact and co-operation–you’ve a lot to take in in a short time. Some of you are seriously committed to your task, whilst others may not be so sure of their futures. It is my aim to give you time to learn, process and contribute. There is a waiting list for places here so anyone not prepared to knuckle down might as well toddle off right now, for you’ll get no quarter from my staff. It’s a waste of good fees to turn up and idle your time away. Three absences without reasonable explanation and we cancel your place and keep the fees. That is the contract.
Comprenez-vous?’

Miss Meyer was staring hard at the Honourable Arabella, who fingered her manicured nails.

She shrugged and turned away, blushing, muttering under her breath. ‘Keep your hair on. OK!’

‘Miss Foxup, you wish to comment?’

‘Fine by me,’ she said with an air of nonchalance that fooled no one. A truculent puppy had been brought to heel. Aunt Plum would’ve been proud of such direct action.

‘Good,’ replied Miss Meyer. ‘So let’s sort out the timetable, rooms and housekeeping. We have an affiliation to the University. There are some courses open to the public. You can have tickets for the library and I have connections with the theatres so you can view some dress rehearsals and matinées for free.’