Leah Fleming - Orphans of War

‘Just you watch me…I’ll give the old bat a wave when I pass the kitchen.’ Greg was hanging from the bars now. The noise of the train and the steam filled the gully and stung his eyes.

Alfie tried to stop him. ‘Don’t do it!’

‘Get off me, the train’s coming now,’ Greg yelled, pushing him away. They were all consumed in a blind cloud of soot and steam and fire, his ears bursting with the noise as the engine roared past and the wheels clanked.

‘Geronimo!’ he yelled as he jumped, but his timing was up the spout and he banged and ricocheted off the wagon side with a crash. He landed not on the coal but on the track gravel, and heard something crack.

He heard someone say, ‘Fetch the pram! Quick…run back for help. Greg’s done for!’

The voices faded and then there was nothing.

He came to in hospital with a leg in plaster, broken ribs and arm, and got no sympathy or visits from anyone. He was treated like a prisoner under guard, but his legs hurt too much to be thinking of escape.

They would move him on again but he had plans. He would get himself fit and then join up before it was all over. No one could keep Gregory Byrne tied up for long.

Leeds Station, Five p.m.

The train station foyer was crowded as Plum rushed through the barrier onto the platform, clutching her list of names. The trains were running late and she was overdue at the rendezvous by the drinks kiosk. A queue of dishevelled soldiers eyed her up and down. Perhaps it was a mistake to put on her big cartwheel hat but she thought it might give the children something to follow if there was a crush. Maybe it did look a bit grand for the occasion. She felt overdressed, like Lady Bountiful at Ascot.

All she could think of was collecting the six children on the list from their escort and waiting for the Transpennine Express to pick up little Madeleine. They would catch the connection through Scarperton Junction that would get them back to the hostel for tea, but everything was running late.

Peggy Bickerstaffe, Gregory Byrne, Joseph Ridley, Enid Cartwright, Nancy Shadlow and Mitchell Brown–she knew the names off by heart. With relief she saw them lined up in place with the school welfare officer, who handed them over with scarcely a nod. He shoved a file into her hands. ‘Over to you now,’ he said, and eyed her hat with surprise. ‘Can’t stop, don’t want to miss my connection. We’ll come on a visit next week to see them settled in. Good Luck!’

If she’d hoped for a line-up of compliant little infants to shepherd, then she was in for a big disappointment. This lot were older, scruffier, and two of the lads were taller than she was. Don’t show your fear or your ignorance, she primed herself. Dogs and kids could sense weakness, so she beamed with false confidence.

‘We connect at last. Sorry to be late but the train was held up for a troop train.’ No one spoke but they eyed her hat and her gloves. ‘Look, we’ve just one more to pick up from the Manchester train.’

‘Can I be excused?’ said one of the bigger girls.

‘And me too,’ said the other.

‘Not yet,’ Plum said, quick off the mark. That was the oldest ruse in the book. They were going to have to wait now on the platform. There were whistles blowing, loudspeakers going off and a crush of passengers pushing and shoving for a long train heading north. This bunch could not be trusted to sit while she went in search of information. One blink and they’d scarper to the four corners–time to divide and rule.

‘Peggy, Joseph, Mitchell?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘I’m Mrs Belfield. I want you to be our scouts and get us the best carriage on the train to Scarperton Junction, just over there. Spread out and make sure there’s room for all of us. I’ve brought a picnic,’ she smiled, tempting them with titbits in her basket: bribery and corruption, but just for once she needed them to be on her side. They were eyeing her shopping basket with interest now.

‘Nancy Shadlow, Enid Cartwright, Gregory Byrne…come with me to find out if the Manchester train has come in. I want you to search out a little girl standing on her own. She’s called Madeleine.’

‘Yes, miss,’ they replied in unison.

Could she trust them to behave? The big boy with the blue eyes brimming with mischief towered over the girls, all teeth and knees, but there was something about him she felt she could trust–call it an instinct for a pack leader. In a litter of puppies there was always one that was confident and friendly and up for good training.

Then she turned round and saw that one of the girls was heading towards the station buffet to a group of soldiers, to beg sweets no doubt.

What did she expect from strange children who were being sent packing into the deepest country just because they had been labelled as troublemakers? But if they thought her a soft touch they were in for a shock.

It was like chasing a naughty dog. It must be brought to heel and admonished on the spot or it would get the upper hand. At least she was fleet of foot and weaved in and out of the crowd. She saw the girl pocket the familiar green and gold packet of Woodbines, sharpish. Looking up, the minx beamed at her in defiance.

‘This child is not yet thirteen and underage, so if you’re looking for any favours…’ Plum snapped at the soldiers. ‘Just walk in front of me, young lady. Do you think I’ve nothing better to do than chase after you? I thought I could trust a pretty girl like you but I’m mistaken, you’re just a silly little kid. Give those cigs to me. I’m old enough to smoke them.’ She threw them back to the soldier and shook her head.

She grabbed hold of Enid’s arm and half dragged her back to the other children who were restlessly shuffling about. ‘I see that I’ll have to escort you myself.’

She turned to the biggest boy. ‘I’m relying on you now to find Madeleine across there, Gregory. Tell her Mrs Belfield has sent you and bring her down here as fast as you can.’ She was torn between leaving the whole damn lot of them and collecting her niece but what could she do? Miss Blunt had made excuses why she was too busy to come. Who would think six children needed two escorts? Armed guards would be more appropriate. They were not coming to Sowerthwaite for their health, and she was not going to fail her first big test.

He was free! What a turn-up! Greg could scarper off and no one would know where he was–hide on a train, find the nearest port and join up. No one would guess his age or ask. His limp was not so bad now. The funny lady in the cartwheel hat had given him the perfect opportunity, silly cow!

No, that wasn’t fair. She was OK, as posh biddies went. He’d seen a fair few of those at the orphanage open days, billeting halls and WVS. They didn’t scare him.

She’d picked him out and given him a job to do, asked him to meet another kid and trusted him. That was a change! He was so used to being called ‘a bad ’un’.

Greg had no memories of any home but Marston Lodge. When the orphanage was right in the firing line off the Sussex coast, they were moved lock, stock up north, and he’d been picked for farm work, on account of his size.

The farmer near York had treated him worse than his animals, and that was saying much. When he fell sick, he’d been picked up and sent to live with the vicar as a ‘special case’.

They’d kept him in a room over the stables and they sent him to a posh school where he got in fights and got beaten up just for being a ‘vaccy’. That was when he learned a thing or two in the boxing ring.

Just when he was settling down, having bashed in a few heads of his own, along came that curate creep with the funny stare who had tried to touch his privates. He’d punched him a right hook and been sent to the correctional hostel for being ‘out of control’. Here he’d lost his southern accent for good. Now Greg was on the move again and he was sick of fighting his corner, sick of being labelled by the panel as ‘delinquent’ and a ‘dunce’.