Safe Harbour (4 page)

‘It’s for the best,’ Mum whispered weakly. She looked a bit better. ‘He’s a good man, your grandfather, do what he tells you and don’t cause any trouble.’

‘We’ll be fine, we promise!’ Sophie tried to sound cheerful.

Hugh was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Mum’s hand like he was never going to let it go.

‘I’ll be back on my feet in no time, back to my old self,’ their mother tried to inject a note of optimism and confidence into her voice, ‘then I’ll come and get you.’

‘Yes!’ Sophie agreed.

But the blue eyes were already tired.

Nurse Harvey interrupted them. ‘Mrs Stokes is waiting for you both. Come on! Give your Mum a big hug and a goodbye kiss,’ she coaxed them.

Sophie wished that her mother was stronger, and could tell her about their grandfather and Ireland and give them some clue about what to expect.

Hugh was being brave, as brave as a seven-year-old who had lost his home could be. He buried his face in Mum’s nightie, then stood up stiffly, like a small wooden puppet, and made space for Sophie. She wanted to hug Mum so tightly, but instead she held her gently, taking in the smell of lemon shampoo, and the faint hint of talcum powder that
clung to Mum’s skin. She closed her eyes, locking every detail of her mother’s face into her memory.

Nurse Harvey coughed. Her eyes were blotchy red.

‘Come on, Hugh!’ Sophie caught hold of his hand. ‘I’ll take good care of him, Mum, I promise!’

Her mother nodded. Soon she would sleep. Sophie kissed her forehead, then turned away, pulling Hugh after her. She wanted this misery to end. Mrs Stokes was at the window, waiting. They had to go. Without any fuss they left.

Despite the early hour there was already a queue outside Bury Street centre, gangs of kids with nervous mums and dads. Cases and holdalls and sacks and bags littered the pavement. Mrs Stokes hurried Sophie and Hugh inside to get their stuff.

They had a small battered red case and a pillowcase tied with a piece of white string. Aunt Jessie had gone to their house and persuaded Mr Thompson, the street warden, to get them a few things. Some clothes, the photo of Dad in his uniform taken the day before he went away, an extra pair of shoes for Sophie. They each had a cardboard box holding their gas-mask hanging across their chest, and Mrs Stokes made them both put on their coats, as it was easier than carrying them. She took out a string and label and wrote Hugh’s name and destination and where he was coming from, and attached it to the toggle of his coat. She took one look at Sophie’s face and guessed, correctly, that the twelve-year-old would object loudly to being labeled like a
paper package, and shoved the card and string back into her pocket.

‘All set?’ asked Mrs Stokes kindly.

Sophie nodded. The line outside was beginning to move. Some of the mothers were walking along beside their children, others stood with tears streaming down their faces as the children began the walk to the station. Everyone was trying to be cheerful, but no one was succeeding.

‘Hugh! You’ve got to stick with me, we can’t get separated, understand?’ Sophie warned him. She was a bit worried. Hugh’s freckles were standing out, and he had gone a shiny, whitish colour. He was over-excited and over-anxious.

In her mind Sophie tried to pretend that this was just like going on a school outing, or like the time she went with the school choir to Brighton to take part in a concert.

The huge station was in bedlam, with hundreds of children waiting there already. Most of them were clinging to their mums and dads, others were shoving and pushing, and some stood absolutely still, pretending, like Sophie, that this was not really happening, waiting to wake up, or for a grown-up to come to the rescue.

‘Train to Wales! Train to Wales!’ the station guard was shouting above all the racket.

Sophie knew she had to snap out of it – stop dreaming, stop pretending. ‘Come on, Hugh! We want to get a good spot.’ She wanted to get a window seat, so at least she could see where they were going. She had a purse with some money in it hanging from a string around her neck, inside
her vest. She wasn’t taking any chances, as some of the other kids might be pick-pockets.

Volunteers from the Women’s Voluntary Service had sheets of names, and were grouping about twenty kids at a time, then putting them up onto the dusty, black train. ‘This is your seat, your seat for the entire journey. No running about and changing places. Mind you remember that!’ they advised everyone.

There was crying and shouting and wailing and fighting as kids clung to parents, and babies bawled. Some people were putting their children on the train, and then, a few minutes later, lifting them off again, unable to let them go. The lists were going to be all muddled up at this rate, thought Sophie.

‘Come on, Hugh! Up you get!’ she shouted as she whooshed her brother and their load up from the platform and onto the train. From the doorway Sophie scanned the crowd, hoping that maybe Aunt Jessie might show up, but she had had to get back down to Kent, and was probably knee-deep in some kind of farm work at this very minute.

They sat silently in the carriage as the seats around them filled up. The woman across from them was red-eyed and kept blowing her nose as she held on to a plump little baby boy, all kitted out in blue wool, and a wide-eyed three-year-old who was waving to the dark-haired man in uniform standing outside the carriage window.

Sophie closed her eyes, blocking it all out, singing so softly to herself that only Hugh could hear.

The train was delayed because of all the confusion, but eventually it pulled out of Euston station with its cargo of evacuees. A loud cheer went up – Hurrah! Lots of the other children seemed to be delighted about leaving London and seemed to think that being evacuated was like going on some sort of holiday.

Their carriage, like all the others, was jammed with children of every shape, size and age. A girl about Sophie’s age pushed in beside them with her younger brother and sister, shoving their luggage in the rack above and on the floor below them.

‘Stop that crying, Lily! Do you hear me?’ she ordered.

Big dirty tears ran down the little girl’s face and she looked so miserable Sophie felt pity for her. The older girl turned and glared at Sophie, daring her to interfere.

Instead, Sophie stared out the window, watching the blur of back gardens and houses that sped by. She could see kitchen after kitchen, privies, lean-to’s, rows of houses that clung haphazardly together, some bombed out and now deserted. Glimpses of streets with children playing, and row upon row of allotments, bursting with every kind of vegetable – no piece of ground could be wasted with the war on – and men and women digging and working. They were all doing their bit for the war effort, part of the
‘home front’, as Mr Churchill called it.

‘Look at them ‘lotments, Lily and Tom!’ said the girl opposite. Both children craned for a better view.

Hugh was fascinated too. It was like a strange picture show, where you could see little bits and pieces of other people’s lives. ‘There’s a scarecrow!’ he called out.

‘There’s another one,’ the other boy, Tom, added.

In a few minutes the three younger children had begun to point out things to each other.

The city had been left far behind and the open green countryside beckoned.

‘A cow!’ mouthed Lily. The older girl looked embarrassed. ‘Maggie! I saw a cow, with its milk titties and all!’ the little girl insisted.

Maggie blushed beetroot red as she knew that Sophie and the woman across from them had overheard.

‘Plenty of them where we’re going, our Lily, so you’d best get used to them,’ she replied.

Sophie smiled.

‘You going to Wales too?’ the girl enquired.

‘Well, sort of,’ said Sophie. ‘Actually, from there we’re going to Ireland.’

‘Ireland?’ gasped Tom.

‘Don’t be letting me down, you two!’ warned Maggie, ‘you’ve seen Ireland on your maps in school.’

‘It’s an island!’ they both chorused.

‘They ain’t havin’ nuffin’ to do with the war,’ added Tom.

‘They’re neutral,’ murmured Hugh.

There was an awkward silence, and the train seemed to
be getting faster and faster.

‘Why were you evacuated?’ asked Maggie.

‘We were bombed out, and our house is unsafe. Our Mum got injured.’

‘Oooh! I’m sorry,’ Maggie replied.

‘She’s in hospital, but she’s going to get better, so Hugh and I are being sent off to stay with our grandfather in Ireland, as there’s no one to take care of us,’ said Sophie.

‘We never ever saw him in our whole lives,’ confided Hugh.

‘You poor things!’ consoled Maggie.

‘What about the three of you?’ Sophie asked, curious.

‘Oh, we’ve just been sent out of London for safety. Our Mam is working in a munitions factory, alongside our big sister Sadie, and our brother Charlie is off fighting in Italy, and Len is kept busy helping, boarding up buildings and the like. Mam says that there’s too much responsibility for a woman on her own, so we’re being sent out of harm’s way.’

Maggie opened up a package with thick wads of bread and jam which she shared out with Tom and Lily. Sophie had two slices of bread and dripping, and a small lemon curd tart, which Aunt Jessie had bought for her. It had gone a bit stale and the pastry had hardened. She gave Hugh a small drink of lemon barley from the bottle Mrs Stokes had given them. He gulped it down too quickly.

‘Don’t drink so much!’ she warned, a little annoyed.

‘But I’m thirsty, Soph!’ he moaned.

She was thirsty herself, but only took a small dainty sip. They had been well warned about not eating or drinking too
much because of the shortage of toilets – and what would happen if about two hundred children needed to go at the same time! Didn’t bear thinking about!

One of the lady escorts poked her head around the carriage door, checking on them. ‘You lot okay? No one sick or anything?’

They all shook their heads. ‘No!’

‘Well! I’ll pop by to see you again later,’ she promised as she headed off down the train.

Sophie wished that all the signposts and station names hadn’t been taken down, because at least then she would have a better idea where they were going and which towns and villages they were passing through.

They went into a long tunnel and everyone shrieked until a blue light came on. Then they travelled through beautiful fields and valleys. They passed two trains crowded with soldiers in uniform, which made everyone cheer. The five children chatted, mostly about home, and Sophie began to realise just how much she was going to miss it all.

For a while they all dozed and then Sophie woke to discover Hugh and Tom running up and down the train.

‘Get back inside and sit down,’ she ordered. She wished that Hugh and she were staying in Wales like Maggie and the rest.

Now the train was beginning to slow down. The countryside was rougher and more hilly. Wisps of smoke swirled up from grey stone houses and from cottages where mounds of dust and coal were stacked together, forming steep dark hills.

‘We’re here!’ a chant ran up the train. ‘Wales!’

‘Is this it?’ Hugh and his new friend both asked at the same time.

‘Afraid so!’ sniffed Maggie.

‘Nobody move yet!’ The order came from the lady escort. The train was going so slow it was almost shuddering. The escort came and sat down with them all for a minute. First she checked off their names from the list.

‘Have you got everything?’ she asked Maggie.

The girl nodded. She looked suddenly tired and tense.

‘Now don’t be worried or afraid, there’s accommodation arranged for everyone. The billeting officer, Mrs Hughes, has it all set up and most of you will meet your families today and get settled in straight away,’ she tried to reassure them.

‘We’re not staying in Wales!’ Sophie told her.

For a second the woman looked puzzled.

‘Sophie and Hugh Fitzpatrick,’ Sophie said.

‘Ah yes! Here you are! The two of you are going on the mail-boat from Holyhead to Ireland. You’ll have to stay on the train a little longer. It’s the next stop, I believe. Anyway, one of us will go with you. I’ll be back to let you know,’ she promised. ‘Now, Maggie, you get ready to leave the train. Our assembly point is outside the station. About three hundred yards up the road there’s a school – that’s where we’re heading. It’s the reception centre.’

Maggie began to get her battered suitcase down from the overhead rack and Tom dragged the dirty pillowcase, crammed with grubby clothes, up on to his shoulder.

Sophie bit her lip.

Maggie was busy organising the smaller ones and bossing them about. ‘Now don’t cry, Lily! You just be good and polite, our Tom! We want to get a nice place to stay, so none of your antics, or you’ll have to answer to me,’ she warned.

Lily was so tired, she kept on yawning.

‘Come on, you two!’ Maggie scolded. Suddenly she stopped and turned back to Sophie.

‘Best of luck in Ireland!’

‘Best of luck to all of you!’ replied Sophie. ‘I hope you like your billet.’

‘We’d better!’ insisted Maggie.

They pushed out of the carriage and joined the throng of kids in the corridor jostling to get down off the train.

A huge crowd surged on to the platform. The very air was electric with excitement as they all talked and laughed and massed together.

Sophie wished she was going with them.

‘Get in line! Get in line!’ ordered the woman from the Women’s Voluntary Service.

The volunteers and porters and station master were busy trying to organise them all and talking to those who were feeling lonely and afraid, as they began to file through the station.

Sophie searched the jumble of faces. There they were – Maggie with her ill-fitting clothes and wavy brown hair, Tom with the pillowcase trying to keep up with her, and little Lily sucking her thumb. All getting lost in the crowd.

As if by magic, Maggie turned and gave her a huge wave. They’d be fine! Sophie could tell by the way Maggie had
stuck out her chin, and made herself taller and older-looking.

The whistle blew and jets of steam covered the windows, as the train began to chug again.

One of the volunteers almost flung herself into the empty seat beside them.

‘I’m Judy Murray. Call me Judy,’ she introduced herself, ‘and I’m to get you to the mail-boat, safe and sound.’

Sophie and Hugh barely spoke. They watched the last of the evacuees disappear from view as they pulled out of the station.