Holidays at Home Omnibus Read online
Holidays at Home Omnibus
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Wait Till Summer
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Swingboats on the Sand
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Waiting for Yesterday
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Day Trippers
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Unwise Promises
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Street Parties
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Copyright
Holidays at Home Omnibus
Grace Thompson
Wait Till Summer
One
Eirlys Price stood in the crowded school hall looking at the anxious-faced children and wondering how they could possibly find homes for them before nightfall. This first arrival of evacuees from London had been expected, but even so, the bedraggled and clearly unhappy group had been a shock. So many and most of them so young; how could tearing them away from their families be the best solution?
Eirlys was twenty-two and she worked as a clerk in the council offices. Today she had been given the task of helping Mrs Francis to find homes for the evacuees billeted on the town. She didn’t mind the duty but would have preferred to have done it with an assistant of her own rather than the tedious Mrs Benjamin Francis.
She tried to stay uninvolved as she had been told, but the plight of the children got to her and she felt her heart squeeze with pity for the youngsters taken from everything and everyone they knew and brought to a strange town with only a luggage label pinned to them to declare their identity.
The school in St David’s Well had been closed for the day to allow for the dispersal of the children to be arranged but the pupils hadn’t stayed home. They had turned up to watch curiously as the newcomers were walked in a long crocodile from the station along the streets where other, older people stood on doorsteps to gawp at the children, offer sympathy and pat a few heads as they passed.
The forty-five evacuees were given a snack meal which had been organised by the WVS formed sixteen months before, in May 1938. Now, in September 1939, with war declared and the country in a state of turmoil, the new Women’s Voluntary Service, local people who could arrange help and comfort wherever needed, was coming into its own.
Eirlys could see that there weren’t sufficient chairs, with many taken by the adults who had come to collect them or simply to watch, so she encouraged the children, who were worn out with the travelling and the anxiety, to sit on the floor. Several went instantly to sleep, hugging their gas masks and their small bags of personal possessions in baby hands. She moved some into more comfortable positions, and stepped among them reassuring them, smiling, admiring a small toy here, a smart hat there, hoping that Mrs Francis wouldn’t take too long before sending them on the final stage of their journey.
One little girl began to wail, ‘I ’ates it ’ere and I wanna go ’ome.’
‘Wait till summer,’ Eirlys soothed. ‘You’ll love living beside the sea when summer comes round again.’
She began to describe the various activities the child might enjoy but had no response. Tears glistened in the child’s eyes and she repeated, ‘I ’ates it ’ere,’ to every attempt at comfort.
The murmur of conversations and the clatter of plates as the dishes were cleared and washed in the school kitchen was a constant hum that had a drowsing effect and didn’t disturb those who were sleeping. The women who had been told to provide homes for the children for the duration of the emergency stood up and approached the bedraggled group.
As the women approached, all searching for the most respectable looking and hoping to avoid the poorest, some of the younger ones began to cry. Eirlys picked up the unhappy little girl she had spoken to earlier, who smelled unpleasantly of urine and unwashed hair, and cuddled her.
She saw three boys scuttle away from the table to stand in a corner, and guessed they were brothers and didn’t want to be parted. She stepped closer to read their names. Stanley Love aged ten, Harold Love aged eight and a glum-faced Percival Love, just six. Sympathy for Stanley, who had clearly taken responsibility for his brothers, made her stand protectively near them as the process of rehoming began.
Mrs Francis, who was clearly in charge, stood on a chair and in a loud voice addressed the room. ‘Welcome to St David’s Well, children,’ she began in an accent that made Stanley and his brothers stifle a laugh.
‘Blimey, brovers, she talks like the wireless!’ Stanley spluttered.
Mrs Francis didn’t speak for long; she simply explained that the women would walk around and choose the child they wanted to take home with them. ‘And don’t forget to say thank you,’ she reminded the children firmly. ‘Here in St David’s Well we consider manners very important.’
Slowly the children dispersed as the women of the town chose and collected their visitors. They gave their name, and the name of the child they had selected, to Mrs Francis and her assistants and walked off, hand in hand, to introduce the newcomer to his or her new family. Some smiled, some began to look uneasy as the numbers dwindled and the selection was reduced to the untidiest and in some cases the dirtiest children. Stanley and his brothers stood unnoticed in the corner, half hidden by a group of curious onlookers.
Eirlys moved around the sad group and reassured one or two who were afraid of being left to fend for themselves if they weren’t chosen, embarrassed at some of the comments uttered by the women who were loudly discussing the merits and suitability of each child.
‘See, brovers,’ she heard Stanley whisper, ‘no one ’ere wants us, so we might as well go back ’ome.’ They would need an extra vigilant eye, Eirlys thought grimly.
The door of the school hall opened and Eirlys saw her father enter. She waved and he came to stand near her.
‘How’s it going?’ he asked. ‘Have you chosen our girl yet?’
‘No, Dadda. I thought we’d wait till the end and take the one no one wants.’
‘I’m amazed that we persuaded your mam to take on an evacuee, aren’t you?’
‘It took a long time and I don’t think
she would have agreed at all, if I hadn’t told her that in my job at the council offices I had to show willing,’ Eirlys confessed.
‘Very proud of you, Mam is for sure,’ Morgan smiled. ‘You working in an office when all your friends could only manage shops. Always boasting she is, about how clever you are.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Eirlys asked him. ‘Aren’t you working at ten tonight? You should be asleep.’
‘I was curious to see the child we’re giving a home to. Your mam is busy making piles of food, convinced this lot won’t have eaten all day, so I came down for a bit of a walk, like.’
The number of children dwindled. Voices became more disapproving as the children were loudly discussed. Seeing the three brothers standing apparently unnoticed, Eirlys wondered vaguely how her mother, Annie, would react if she and her father arrived home with three boys instead of the girl she had agreed to take.
She glanced at her father, nudged him and gestured towards the brothers who were trying not to move in the hope of being forgotten. He stared at the boys with an interested look in his eyes. No! They daren’t!
They looked up as Mrs Francis closed her book with a slap and seemed prepared to leave. They heard her say peremptorily, ‘These last two girls will have to go to the vicarage. The dear vicar and his housekeeper will have to manage until other arrangements can be made. I simply can’t wait any longer.’
The two frightened little girls were led off. ‘What’s a Vicarage?’ one of them asked the other. Then, as she picked up her handbag and moved away from the table she had been occupying, Mrs Francis stopped, suddenly noticing the huddle of children in a corner.
‘You over there, come here where I can see you.’
‘What, us, missis?’ Stanley Love didn’t move.
‘Yes, you,’ she said impatiently. ‘Why have you been hiding in the corner?’
‘Hidin’, missis? We ain’t hiding. You can see us plain as plain.’
‘Just when I thought we were finished,’ Mrs Francis muttered to her assistants. ‘Now, who have we left?’ There were still a few women edging out of the hall, thankful they hadn’t been needed and anxious to get home before someone changed their minds and brought a child back.
‘Mrs Casey,’ she called in a shrill voice. ‘What about one of these boys for you?‘
‘I can’t, Mrs Francis. Two bedrooms I got and me with two daughters an’ all; it isn’t possible.’
Two others were asked and had reasons to refuse one of the brothers.
‘Just as well,’ Stanley shouted. ‘We ain’t bein’ separated. Me mum said we got to stay together.’
‘That won’t be possible, young man. You’ll go where there’s a place for you. Now.’ She turned to a small, thin woman standing patiently near the door. ‘Mrs Evans, my dear?’
‘I couldn’t have three.’ She shook her head determinedly.
‘No one is asking you to take three; just one, all right?’
‘No it ain’t all right!’ Stanley’s head-shaking was equally determined. ‘The three musketeers we are, all for one an’ one for all. We read that at school,’ he said proudly.
The hall was practically deserted. Mrs Francis looked impatiently at her watch and sighed. ‘I have a meeting of the Air Raid Precaution group in an hour.’
‘Air raids? What air raids?’ Stanley demanded. ‘I thought you wasn’t goin’ to ’ave any?’
‘Tiresome boy,’ Mrs Francis said loudly. She took a deep breath in preparation for a lecture on how fortunate they were.
‘Just stay with me,’ Stanley whispered to his brothers, ‘and when we get the chance, we’ll ’oppit and clear off back to London. Our ma wouldn’t want us standing ’ere like two pennorth of Gawd ’elp us, waiting for someone to like us, now would she?’
Eirlys looked at her father, head tilted in question. They were very close and often read the other’s mind. She knew now that he was wavering, discarding common sense in favour of helping these unfortunate children. ‘Dadda? Could we persuade Mam, d’you think?’
‘No, love, we couldn’t!’ He looked shocked but at the same time his blue eyes — so like her own — shone with excitement. He looked again at the boys standing so defiant and brave. ‘God ’elp, Eirlys. Persuading your mam to take one girl was a miracle. We’d never talk her into taking on three boys.’
‘Dad, we have to do something. They’ll have to sleep in the school if we don’t take them, and imagine how awful that would be. Frightened, away from their mother and everything familiar, unwanted by anyone, abandoned—’
‘Go on then, and pity help us when your mother is told. Go on, tell that bossy Francis woman they’re coming home with us. It’s up to you to talk your mam round, mind.’
Stanley continued to whisper to Percival and Harold, ignoring what was being said, when he became aware of someone standing beside them.
‘Now what?’ Harold asked rudely.
Eirlys smiled and said, ‘It seems you are all coming home with me.’
* * *
Annie Price was predictably furious when the five of them walked in.
‘Who are these boys?’ she demanded, placing her hands on her ample hips and glaring at Morgan. ‘I hope you don’t expect me to look after three boys. A girl was what I agreed.’
‘Don’t worry, missis, we’ll go back ’ome in the morning,’ Stanley said jauntily. ‘We don’t want to stay ’ere anyway.
Annie looked at the tired children and her heart softened, as Morgan and Eirlys had thought it would.
‘They can stay until we find a place for them, can’t they Mam?’
‘Our Eirlys was responsible for organising all this, mind. She can’t walk away from children, can she? It’s her job,’ Morgan added. ‘And I’ll do what I can to help.’
As Annie served a rich stew with mashed potatoes to each of the boys, she said, ‘How can we manage? You work shifts at the factory, I work every morning in the baker’s shop and Eirlys works from nine to five plus all the hours of overtime this damned war is causing.’
‘We’ll manage between us, Mam,’ Eirlys said. ‘I don’t think Stanley will mind doing his share, will you?’
Stanley didn’t reply; he was too busy filling his mouth with the delicious stew. Eirlys was relieved to see her parents share a smile.
As her father left for work that evening, the boys were finishing their meal. Stanley and Harold had consumed second helpings but little Percival ate very little. He sat with his head bowed, chewing with little pleasure on a small amount of food, looking unhappy. When Eirlys tried to coax him, he said solemnly and in a low voice, ‘These ’taters is boverin’ me.’
‘Percival can’t eat no lumps,’ Stanley explained, scraping the offending potatoes from Percival’s plate on to his own.
‘I only like chips,’ the dejected little boy explained. ‘Chips from the chip shop.’
It was late before the children had been bathed and fed and settled for the night and Eirlys knew she would not be able to keep the date she had with Johnny Castle. She had promised to take some magazines and books for his mother, who was unwell, but she knew Johnny would understand once she explained about the plight of the evacuees no one else had wanted. Johnny was kind and never anything but good-natured. He would sympathise with the boys as soon as she explained.
Annie was still angry and Eirlys tried to take the blame from her father. ‘It wasn’t Dadda’s idea, Mam, it was mine,’ she insisted. ‘How could I walk away and leave them to be pushed into a home where they weren’t wanted and separated from each other? If you’d seen those children you’d have taken more than the one you’d agreed, I know you would.’
‘It isn’t their fault, I know that. But your father should have thought it through.’
‘Mam, it was me, not Dadda.’
‘I don’t suppose he needed much persuading. You two always think alike. You look alike and you think in just the same way, soft you are the pair of you, and I have to deal with the result of
it. Remember the rabbits you brought home when someone had moved and left them unattended? And the stray cat you insisted on feeding?’ She sounded angry, she usually did, but there was a smile around her dark eyes as she added, ‘What am I going to be landed with next then, eh?’
‘No more waifs and strays, Mam, I promise.’
Annie didn’t seem to hear. She went on, ‘Always wanted a big family he did, your father. Never got over his disappointment at not having brothers or sisters for you.’
It was a sensitive subject for both of them. Unfading regret for Annie, and unreasonable guilt for Eirlys, who knew that it had been during her birth that her mother had been damaged with the result that she could have no more children.
Eirlys looked at the pile of clothes she had taken from the three boys and wondered where she would find more. The clothes they had brought were not suitable for school unless the Love brothers were able to cope with the teasing they would surely get from the locals. They were crumpled and very worn. There was a small weekly allowance intended to help feed them, but it was not enough to completely clothe them.
When her father Morgan came in from the factory the following morning she was awake and still trying to decide what to do about clothing.
‘You’d better start on that washing, hadn’t you?’ he said as he reached for the kettle to make a pot of tea. ‘First thing I’ll do is fetch the washing bath in and get the boiler lit.’
‘Yes; I have to be at work at nine so it’ll be an early start. Like now this minute,’ she said.
Together they sorted through the worn clothes, picking out the least worst for the three boys to wear the following day. Today they would have to wear the clothes in which they had travelled. It wasn’t ideal but it was the best she could do. None of the clothes were particularly clean and, looking at the threadbare material and frayed ends, at the holes where buttons had once been, Eirlys wondered if any item was worth the effort of mending.
‘Your mam’s hopeless with a needle, but you could go and ask Hannah Wilcox if she can turn a couple of my things into clothes for them. Good at that, she is.’
‘She’s had to be, with her husband gone and her parents unwilling to help. She keeps those girls of hers beautifully turned out she does, and all by her own efforts. I’m sure she’ll make a few things for these three, but we’ll have to pay her, mind, she can’t afford to do it for nothing.’