Read Tin Hats and Gas Masks Online
Authors: Joan Moules
Tin Hats and Gas Masks
Gas Masks
Joan M. Moules
For Cara, Angharad, Jack, Becki, Dan.
Johnny felt miserable. The misery had been building up inside him all the way down in the train. Or was it up – did you go up or down to the country from London? He didn’t even know the teacher who was travelling with them. She was just ‘Miss’. He had seen her before – she took the top class in school, and it was only this morning that he knew his own teacher wasn’t coming.
‘Miss Power will be travelling with the evacuees,’ she said as she marshalled them into the playground. ‘Now remember to behave properly, both on the train and when you reach your new homes. I don’t suppose it will be for long.’
‘Where are we going, miss?’ someone asked.
‘I don’t know, and that’s the truth, but you’ll be safe there until the war’s over.’
His mum was at the station. ‘Now you behave yourself
and don’t forget to post the card as soon as you get there,’ she said, hugging him. ‘And put a message on it, tell me if you’re all right. I’ll be down to see you in a week or two, once you’ve settled in like.’ She clenched her fist and pretended to box him under the chin. ‘Don’t let us down now,’ she said, then she was gone and he didn’t really see her go.
Now here he was – in the country. He still didn’t know what the place was called, but judging by the length of the journey it was a long, long way from London and home. Billy Green, one of his mates, nudged him.
‘Wonder what it’ll be like, Johnny?’
‘Dunno Billy, but we’re here now – ain’t nothing we can do about it.’
‘Come along children, move up now.’ The woman who spoke was tall and fat, and had a booming voice. She had already told them her name was Mrs Poole.
‘I’m the billeting officer,’ she said, ‘and once you are all settled into your places I shall check to see everyone is behaving well.’
There it was again, this emphasis on good behaviour. ‘Anyone ’ud think we was a lot of hooligans,’ Johnny whispered to Billy, then he concentrated on the scene around him so he could blot out the pictures of home that were snapping away in his head.
Grown-ups were going along the lines of children, but Mrs Poole held them off. ‘Just point to the ones you want,’ she said.
Johnny turned to Billy again. ‘Like a bleedin’ cattle market.’
The billeting officer had walked across to a grey-haired lady and gentleman. She consulted the papers she was holding, and after a few moments turned back towards the children.
‘Billy Green,’ she called. Johnny braced himself. Looked like Billy had been ‘chosen’. He hoped they wanted another boy in the same house. But no, the couple were leaving now with Billy, and he didn’t even look back. Johnny laughed, and as more children left and went off with their prospective hosts and hostesses he grew noisier till Mrs Poole said, ‘You boy, be quiet now. Your turn will come.’
He watched all the others going. His friends from school and many he had never seen before from other London districts. The hall was almost empty now and Johnny panicked.
‘P’raps they’ll send us back,’ he said loudly, ‘I didn’t want to come here in the first place.’
A girl standing next to him said, ‘Sshh, you want to get taken too, don’t you? It’ll be like a holiday in the country – my mum said so.’
Before Johnny could reply someone claimed her and he knew with sudden clarity that he would be the last one to go. Out of all these kids, hundreds of them it seemed. He laughed even more loudly and watched with pleasure the distaste on some of the adults’ faces.
When there were three left, two brothers and himself, he wanted very badly to go to the lavatory. He’d have to hold on, be awful though if he wetted himself here in this strange place.
‘How old is he?’ they’d say,
‘Ten
, almost eleven!’ And they’d choose the other two.
Only one lady remained now, and she seemed younger than most of them had been.
‘Well, I really only wanted one,’ she was saying, standing in front of the three of them, ‘but as they’re brothers … you
will
find them somewhere else if I can’t manage, won’t you?’
‘I’m sure you’ll cope,’ Mrs Poole’s voice was less strident now, ‘but of course if it is too much … they’ll be company for each other and a great help to you. Come along boys,’ and she ushered them towards the woman.
‘Now young man, what’s your name?’ She looked at her list.
‘Johnny, and I want to be excused.’
‘Oh, can’t you wai.…’
‘It’s
urgent
miss.’
‘All right, there’s no need to shout. If you had been less loud earlier on, we would probably have placed you by now. Go on then, through that door and round the corner. And don’t be long.’
He cried a bit while he was there, but was in charge of himself again when he returned.
‘If nobody wants me I can go home, can’t I?’ He slung his gasmask round his neck and picked up his suitcase.
‘Don’t worry, Johnny, somebody’ll want you. It’s the room mostly, you see. Times like this, houses should be made of elastic so they could stretch to accommodate all the children.’
He nearly did pipe his eye then, and to stop himself he said quickly, ‘What do we do then, go round all the
bleedin’ streets until we find a bed? I’d rather go home.’
‘Don’t swear, and come with me.’ Suddenly she was brisk again. ‘I think I know where there’s a spare room.’
Johnny’s first impression of the house was of its size and the long path. Like something from the films, he thought, but kept quiet as he walked by Mrs Poole’s side to the front door. The lady who opened it looked at him.
‘I already have an evacuee,’ she said.
‘I know, Mrs Dover, but you do have room for more, four bedrooms I believe.’
‘One is my husband’s study.’ She glanced at Johnny again. ‘You had better bring the boy in for a moment.’
‘Go and sit over there, son,’ the lady said to him when they were in what seemed to Johnny to be a very large room – all carpet and very little furniture. Why, at home their living-room was packed with all the things they needed. Not at all like this.
He sank into the depths of the armchair she indicated. It was as soft as his gran’s feather-bed that time he had stayed with her when he was a small boy. He’d never forgotten that. Fancy thinking about it now.
Mrs Poole and the lady, who obviously owned the house, had gone to the other end of the room. Although they were speaking quietly and he couldn’t hear the exact words, he knew Mrs Poole was trying to get her to take him in. If she’s got four bedrooms, or even three, then she’ll have to, he thought, because Mrs Poole was the one with the power here. He’d learned that much this afternoon.
Lifting his arms to the sides of the luxurious chair, he expanded his chest. Well, he’d stay for tonight, but tomorrow he’d be off home. Won’t bother to unpack, wouldn’t be worth it.
They were walking towards him now and Mrs Poole was smiling. ‘Johnny, this will be your billet, your new home. You’re a very lucky boy to be staying here.’ Turning towards the lady she said, ‘I’m sure it will work. Probably better than two the same sex, although we do try to place boys with boys of course, but sometimes it simply isn’t possible.’
When she had left, Mrs Dover said, not unkindly, ‘You had better come upstairs and unpack. Then you can wash and sort yourself out before dinner. We’ve another evacuee here, Anita Evesham, about your age.’
‘We had dinner on the train,’ Johnny said, ‘some sandwiches.’
‘We eat at night here,’ she replied.
‘Don’t you have nothing dinner-time?’
‘A snack,’ she said over her shoulder as they went upstairs.
She left him in the bedroom, which he was relieved to see wasn’t as large as the downstairs room.
‘The bathroom is at the end of the landing, it’s marked on the door,’ she said. ‘Come downstairs as soon as you are ready.’
Within seconds of her going there was a tap on the door which was still partly open, and a face with a stream of dark brown hair surrounding it looked round at him.
‘I’m Anita Evesham. May I come in?’
‘Johnny Bookman,’ he said. ‘I jest arrived.’
‘I know. I was watching from the top of the stairs and saw you. Shall I help you unpack?’
‘No,’ Johnny said, panic in his voice. ‘I mean, I’m not staying. Not after tonight.’
She gazed at him in amazement. ‘Not staying, Johnny, but you
have
to.’
‘Oh yes. Who says?’ He threw his case on to the bed and the tin hat tied to the handle banged against his hand.
Anita giggled. ‘What’s that?’
‘What does it look like, nitwit? It’s a tin hat.’
‘What do you want that for?’
‘For the bombs of course. I don’t want me bloody brains blown out, do I?’
‘Is that all you’ve got? That little old suitcase?’
‘I told you, I’m not staying long. And this little old suitcase has seen some action in its time. It was me dad’s when he went on his fresh-air holidays.’
‘Fresh-air holidays? What are they?’
Johnny threw his gasmask case on to the bed with the other one. ‘All the kids used to go on ’em when he was a nipper. Week in the country – he’s often told me about it. Loved it, he did.’
‘We usually go to the seaside for our holidays,’ she said.
‘Miss La-de-da, ain’t you? I saw you on the train,’ he added, watching her. ‘Where d’you live?’
‘In London, but I’m not there much. I go to boarding-school. Well I did, but my school was requisitioned the week before last, so it closed down. I had to go to another one, a council school, and now today I’ve been evacuated
with them and came here.’
Johnny had never seen anyone so calm. ‘And don’t you mind?’ he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘What, coming here? No, not really. Might be a bit of an adventure.’
‘Blimey!’
Mrs Dover called up the stairs, ‘Anita, Johnny, come downstairs now please.’
‘What’s she like?’ Johnny said.
‘Don’t really know yet. I had only been here an hour myself when you arrived.’
It seemed a strange evening to Johnny. For a start he wasn’t used to eating a full dinner at night. Half-way through he remembered the postcard he had to send to his mum and dad.
‘Where’s the post office?’ he said.
‘In the square, Johnny.’
‘I’ll go and post me card in a minute.’ He struggled with the food on his plate.
‘Can’t do it tonight, don’t want you out in the blackout.’ Mr Dover spoke for the first time during the meal.
‘There’s a pillar-box on the corner, Johnny,’ Mrs Dover said, ‘I’ll slip along with it for you after dinner if you really want it in there this evening.’
He mumbled his thanks. ‘I can go though.’
Nevertheless it was Mr Dover who eventually took both the children’s pre-stamped and addressed cards along to the post-box. Johnny sucked his pencil for a long while before he wrote,
I
got here this afternoon. Its posh. Theres a gerl here. Dont know what this citys called. Johnny
.
Alone in his bedroom later he felt like crying again. ‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ he said to himself, ‘play yer cards right and you can go home tomorrow.’
The sheets felt cold against his skin which was still tingling from the brisk cold-water wash he had given himself.
‘There’s plenty of hot water,’ Mrs Dover had said. ‘Would you like a bath?’
Anita had one but he opted out of that. ‘I had one last night, miss,’ he said. Anita giggled, and Mrs Dover smiled at him.
‘Call me Mrs Dover.’
Actually, he thought, she doesn’t seem a bad sort, but as he had no intention of being here for long it didn’t really matter what she was like. Trouble was, he’d need money for the journey back. He could slip out of the house and find his way to the bus or rail station, and he had two ten-shilling notes, one from his mum and one from his dad. He grinned at the thought that neither knew the other had given him money!
Then there were his sixpences and threepenny-bits. He’d been saving them up to buy a bike, and he’d brought his hoard with him, it was in a cocoa-tin in his case. He had no idea what the fare would be from here, but he didn’t want to spend it all.
He wondered if they could send him back. P’raps he’d better not go home straight away. Go missing for a while, then when he turned up on his mum’s doorstep she’d be so glad to see him she’d let him stay. The picture of his mum at the railway station, was it really only this morning,
would not go away. He supposed she had gone so quickly because she didn’t want to cry, but then she didn’t have to send him away, did she? No one could make her.
He got out of bed and went along to the bathroom again. There was a light on the landing, it had been left switched on and a heavy black curtain was pulled across the window there. Anita’s bedroom door was ajar and he could see the end of the bed and the back of a chair with her clothes hanging across. There was no sound coming from the room and he thought she must be asleep.
The bathroom was cold. There was an enormous white bath along one side and a small white washbasin next to it. On the wall next to the lavatory were three large ducks which looked as though they were chasing each other to the door. The lavatory was much lower than theirs at home and he could only just reach the chain by standing on tiptoe. He stifled the urge to jump up to it because it was so quiet here, but when he pulled it the noise crashed around him and he scuttled quickly back to the bedroom.
Back in bed he felt tears pricking in his eyes. ‘Stupid nit,’ he said, ‘lots of kids are in strange beds tonight. All those hundreds who were on the train, and
thousands
of others too, all over the country.’
Some of the little ones had cried on the train, he remembered; well it was all right if you were five or six, but at ten-and-three-quarters you couldn’t. Pulling the bedclothes up high, he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, and was amazed to find the tears still squeezing their way out. No, he mustn’t. Yet he couldn’t stop. The harder he tried to the more they came, and worse still, he knew he was making a
noise. He stuffed the end of the sheet into his mouth and just as he thought he had stifled the sounds, his door opened and standing in the shaft of light from the landing was Anita.