The Girl With No Name (38 page)

Sometimes Charlotte went back to the farm with him, longing to play with Bessie. Bessie was already learning her voice and every time she went into the stable the little dog capered towards her in delight. And then there were the piglets to see. The pig had farrowed and Charlotte was enchanted by the ten pink piglets that now squirmed about their mother in the sty.

However busy she seemed, Mrs Shepherd always made Charlotte welcome, often inviting her to join in the communal midday meal, but they followed Miss Edie’s rules and she was always home again before it got dark.

On one of those evenings she had just reached Blackdown House when the air raid siren in Cheddar began its swooping warning. Miss Edie went immediately to check on the blackout. Charlotte listened to the siren and shivered. At least here there was no cellar. They had nowhere to shelter but the cupboard under the stairs or under the heavy kitchen table.

‘No need to worry unless we hear them overhead,’ Miss Edie assured her, hoping that she was indeed right. ‘They don’t waste bombs on the hills. They’ll be heading for Bristol again.’

They heard the planes in the distance, but they were still high and far away. They sat at the table and ate their supper as if there were no raid going on. It seemed strange to Charlotte to be ignoring the Luftwaffe, but she was only too pleased that they didn’t have to take shelter. They went to bed in the usual way, sleeping in their own rooms. The sound of planes continued on and off for the rest of the night and it wasn’t till early morning they heard the all-clear.

‘It must have been a dreadful raid,’ Miss Edie said as they ate their breakfast. ‘Nearly twelve hours.’

After breakfast Charlotte went out into the village to see if Clare was about. As she passed the vicarage Mrs Swanson came out and called to her.

‘Charlotte, are you going over to Charing Farm today?’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Charlotte.

‘I have a message for the Shepherds,’ explained the vicar’s wife. ‘There was a big raid on Bristol last night and their daughter, Jane, has just rung to say that she’s all right. You know she’s nursing there?’

‘Yes, this I know. Billy said she was coming home very soon.’

‘Yes, well that’s the other part of the message. She says the hospital’s been inundated with people who’ve been injured in the raid, so she won’t be coming home for a while yet.’

‘In-inun...?’

‘The hospital’s very busy,’ said Avril, ‘so she can’t come. Can you take them the message? They haven’t a phone and they must be so worried.’

‘Yes. I’ll go now.’

‘Thank you, dear.’ The vicar’s wife looked relieved that it was one less thing for her husband to worry about and hurried back into the vicarage.

Charlotte set off at once, taking the now familiar path across the fields to Charing Farm. Margaret Shepherd, who was feeding the hens when she walked into the farmyard, looked up in surprise.

‘Hallo, my lover,’ she said. ‘Didn’t know you was coming over today.’

‘Mrs Vicar asked me to come,’ Charlotte said. ‘She sends you a message from Jane.’

‘From Jane?’ Mrs Shepherd’s face creased into a smile. ‘She’s heard from her?’

‘Yes. She phoned this morning to say that the raid was very bad in Bristol, but she is all right. She can’t come home because the hospital is in-inun... very busy. Many people are hurt after the bombing. She has to stay.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ cried Mrs Shepherd and Charlotte could see tears of relief on her cheeks. ‘She’s safe. That’s all that matters.’ She dashed the tears away with the back of her hand and said, ‘We must tell John and Billy straight away. We’ve been so worried. Just let me put on my boots and we’ll go and find them.’

Together they tramped out across the fields to where Billy and his father were mending a fence that had collapsed under the weight of the snow. They both looked up as they saw Charlotte and Mrs Shepherd hurrying towards them. Charlotte could see from the expression on John’s face that he was expecting the worst. His wife saw it too and called out to him, ‘It’s all right! Jane’s all right. She’s rung the vicarage and Charlotte’s brought us the message.’

‘Thank God,’ John cried and he hugged his wife to him in relief. ‘What did she say?’ he demanded of Charlotte as he let his wife go again.

‘She said the raid was bad and many people were hurt. She is all right but can’t come because the hospital is... very busy.’

They all stood together in the field for a while discussing the news, the Shepherds apparently unaware of the cold, but when Charlotte shivered Mrs Shepherd said, ‘We must get back to the house or there won’t be any dinner. I’ll ring the bell when we’re ready.’

She and Charlotte walked back to the farm. ‘You go and say hallo to Bessie for a moment,’ she said to Charlotte, ‘and then you can collect the eggs for me. I hadn’t done that when you arrived.’

Charlotte needed no second bidding and scurried across to the stable where the puppies were still living with their mother. As always, as soon as Bessie heard the door open she came to the door of the loosebox. Charlotte spent ten minutes playing with her and then, a little reluctantly, she collected the egg basket from the back porch and went to the hen house. The hens were scratching about in the run outside where Mrs Shepherd had tossed the corn earlier. Billy had cleared away the snow, but the ground looked extremely hard. Charlotte went along the back of the hen house, feeling in the nesting boxes among the hay for any new-laid eggs. She collected eight, still warm, and placing them in the basket, she took them into the kitchen.

‘Thank you, Charlotte. You’ll stay for your dinner?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘And when you go you must take some eggs with you, a little thank-you for bringing us the message from Jane.’

Later that afternoon, when Billy walked with her back to the village, she carried half a dozen eggs in a borrowed basket. Miss Edie would be delighted with them, she knew.

When she reached Blackdown House she found Miss Edie standing at the door, peering out into the dusk.

‘Charlotte!’ she cried. ‘Where on earth have you been? You haven’t been home since breakfast and I didn’t know where you were.’

Charlotte saw the worry on Miss Edie’s face and felt guilty. She hadn’t even thought of telling her where she was going.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Edie,’ she said. ‘Mrs Vicar sent me with a message for Charing Farm and I stayed for dinner. Mrs Shepherd sent you these.’ She held out the basket of eggs as a peace offering.

‘What was so important that you couldn’t come home here first to tell me where you were going? I’ve been all round the village looking for you.’

‘Mrs Vicar said—’ began Charlotte, but Billy interrupted.

‘She came to tell us that my sister, Jane, was safe after the raid on Bristol last night. She’d rung the vicarage because we haven’t got a phone and Mrs Swanson asked Charlotte to bring us the message.’

‘I see.’ Miss Edie was still angry, but the explanation rather took the wind out of her sails. She had asked Clare and all the other children she’d seen in the village, but hadn’t thought to go and ask at the vicarage. ‘Well, you’re back now. Come inside and get warm.’ It was clear to Billy that this invitation didn’t apply to him and he turned away, saying, ‘Bye Char. See you soon.’

Suddenly remembering the basket still being held out to her, Miss Edie called after him. ‘Please thank your mother for the eggs, Billy. It’s very generous of her.’ Billy raised a hand in acknowledgement and disappeared down the lane.

That evening Charlotte was sitting at the kitchen table when Miss Edie said, ‘I really think you should write to the Federmans, you know.’

Miss Edie knew that such a letter was well overdue, but she hadn’t pressed the matter. Inside she was still afraid these London foster parents would ask for Charlotte to come back. She had spent the day worrying as to Charlotte’s whereabouts and it had made her realise what the Federmans must be going through, not knowing what had happened to the child, and now she provided Charlotte with notepaper and an envelope.

Charlotte looked at the paper and wondered what she should write. What should she tell them? She hadn’t retrieved all her memories yet. She thought hard for some time and then, at last, pulled the paper towards her and wrote.

Dear Aunt Naomi and Uncle Dan,

I hope you are well.

I was caught out in a big air raid on my way to Hilda’s and broke my arm. I got taken to a hospital and when I woke up I can’t remember who I am. I can’t remember where I live or remember anything. I have a new name and I am called Charlotte Smith. I was put in St Michael’s and when more raids came we all came to Somerset. That is where I am now. Miss Edie is looking after me and I am getting a puppy. She is called Bessie.

I go to school in Cheddar. It is lots of snow here.

Please tell Hilda where I am. She will wonder why I didn’t come for tea.

When the bombs stop I will come to London again. There were bombs near here last night but not here. They were in Bristol.

Please be careful in London. I hear on the wireless that London is burning down.

I hope you will write to me. I have put my house at the top of this letter.

Love from Lisa

When she had finished writing, she passed the letter over to Miss Edie and said, ‘I have told them about me and my lost memory.’

‘So I see,’ Miss Edie said when she’d scanned the letter. ‘Well, you’d better address the envelope and then you can post it tomorrow. They say the road up from Cheddar is open again today. Mr Shepherd took his tractor down this morning and managed to clear a way through.’

Charlotte did as she was told and the letter, addressed to Mr and Federman, 65 Kemble Street, London, was put by the front door ready for posting.

Miss Edie was right and the next day the school bus made it to the village. Warned by a phone message to the vicarage, which was quickly passed round the village, all the senior school children were outside the Magpie when it arrived. Charlotte slipped the letter into the post box before joining the crowd of children who stood waiting, stamping their feet against the cold.

Avril had phoned Caroline on Boxing Day to tell her what Charlotte had remembered.

‘She says she lived in a place called Kemble Street, do you know it?’

‘Never heard of it,’ Caroline replied. ‘But that’s not surprising, there must be thousands of streets in London that I’ve never heard of.’

‘I realise that,’ Avril said with a laugh, ‘but I wondered if you could find out.’

‘I expect so,’ Caroline said. ‘What do you want me to do when I have?’

‘Well, we just thought you might be able to go and see her foster parents. They’re called Federman. They must assume she’s dead, I think, but if not they must be worrying themselves sick about her.’

‘Couldn’t she just write to them?’ suggested Caroline wearily. ‘I haven’t got much time for junketing around London, looking for people. St Michael’s is already full again, and there’s been no let-up in the bombing except for yesterday and today. I have my hands full trying to find suitable homes for these children. You can’t take any more, I suppose?’ she added, a hopeful note creeping into her voice.

‘Oh Caro, we can’t...’ began Avril.

‘Don’t be silly, I
know
you can’t, but I’m just trying to explain to you that I’m up to my eyes. I’ll try and find out where this Kemble Street is and then if it isn’t too far away, I’ll do my best to visit the Federmans, but I doubt if it’ll be in the next few days.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Avril said, hearing the note of exhaustion in her sister’s voice. ‘Miss Everard said she’d get her to write, I just thought... well, never mind. By the way, Dr Masters was asking whether you’d be visiting us again soon. D’you know, I think he’s taken quite a shine to you, Caro.’

Caroline recognised her sister’s teasing, but what she said brought a smile to Caro’s lips. She liked Henry Masters and from what she could tell from a very reserved and private man, he seemed to like her, too. However, all she said was, ‘Doubt if I’ll be down for some time, not unless Hitler decides to lay off us for a while.’ As if the talk of Dr Masters triggered an idea she went on, ‘Has he seen Charlotte? Dr Masters, I mean. Perhaps he should give her the once-over now that her amnesia has gone.’

‘Not entirely gone,’ Avril reminded her. ‘She still doesn’t remember the raid or the hours leading up to it.’

‘All the more reason to let Dr Masters have a look at her. She may have some physical damage to her brain.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Avril. ‘Well, I’ll mention it to Miss Everard and see what she thinks. As David is constantly reminding me, it’s Miss Everard who is her foster mother, not me.’

‘How’s that going?’ asked Caro with interest. ‘The Miss Everard thing?’

‘Amazingly well, as far as I can tell. They came over for Christmas dinner as I told you and there seemed to be a comfortable understanding between them. Charlotte’s not afraid of her, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

It had been what Caroline was worried about, but now all she said was, ‘That’s all right then, good.’

When Avril had rung off, Caroline got out a map of London and tried to find Kemble Street. She had no idea where to look and stared at the myriad of streets in frustration. Some of them were so small that the name wasn’t even written on the actual street. How was she going to find this Kemble Street, let alone go there? St Michael’s was again full to capacity with children who’d lost their homes and, some of them, their families. They were as close to Croydon as they’d ever been and the bombing had been significant right up until Christmas Eve. As no raids materialised on Christmas Day, nor the two days thereafter, she began to feel a glimmer of hope that the worst was over. It wasn’t, of course, and on the evening of Sunday 29 December the firestorm launched by the Luftwaffe engulfed not only the city and docks area, but outlying parts of the capital as well. When the siren began its warning, she took the children into the shelter in the garden and there they stayed from six p.m. to early the next morning. They’d heard bombs falling with booming explosions that shook the ground, they’d heard the bombers droning across the sky over their heads, a steady roar, they’d heard the clanging of fire engine bells as the fire engines hurtled from place to place to try and contain the conflagration that London had become. When the all-clear sounded and they finally crept out of the shelter, Caroline Morrison first, they found themselves looking at the remains of what had been St Michael’s. The roof gone, the walls collapsed inward, leaving only a few brave fingers of stone pointing defiantly to the sky.