The Forgotten Orphan

Maisie gave them both a beaming grin. ‘Let’s go. I’ve a bus to catch.’

After they’d said their goodbyes, Maisie watched the lovers walk away into the darkness. She spent the time waiting for her bus watching people leaving the cinema hand in hand, arm in arm, and sneaking kisses when they felt they were safe to do so. Soldiers, sailors, uniformed men and women, families, friends, all enjoying each other’s company. Another pang of envy washed over her, and she huddled deep into the collar of her coat. She was convinced her limited social life meant she’d never find a partner in life. Charlie and Joyce had met at a dance, and a couple of the women who worked at the orphanage had met their husbands at social functions held by the church. The desire for a family unit of her own overpowered her thoughts of a single life. She knew at eighteen that she’d not witnessed much of life outside the orphanage, but she’d read enough books to know she wanted a hero to ride in and whisk her away. Books were her escape; they were the place where she had learned that love could overcome cruelty, and Maisie wanted all the love she could find.

‘Excuse me ma’am. What time is the next bus to Aldershot?’ A soft voice cut into her thoughts.

Maisie turned to peer at a uniformed man outlined by a faint light from his cigarette. His accent wasn’t local. She doubted it was British, although she wondered if it was perhaps just a regional accent she’d not heard before.

‘It’s late. Ten minutes already. My feet are freezing.’

The moment she said the words about her feet, Maisie regretted them. Drawing attention to her thick woollen stockings was the last thing she wanted. They were plucked and had seen better days. The man stood beside her, not as tall as Charlie but still taller than her. She could see he was broader than Charlie and although not too close to her, he smelled pleasant – a hint of masculine soap, clean and fresh. His cigarette had a woody fragrance which blended with the damp night air and added to his attraction. She felt the urge to sidle closer, to benefit from the shelter of his body against the wind but remained rooted to her spot for fear of making a fool of herself. The man drew on his cigarette again, puffed out the smoke which spiralled into the night sky, and tugged the collar of his coat around his neck.

‘Time for me to walk it then. See you around.’

‘It’s a long way,’ Maisie said, in the hope he’d wait it out for the bus. ‘To Aldershot. A long walk. They’ve taken down the signposts to confuse the enemy. I take it you know the way?’

The man gave a slight laugh. ‘I do, thanks, and I’m used to hiking. I’ve got good boots on and capable legs,’ he said and slapped his thighs.

‘I could do with a pair of them – boots, not capable legs. Not that I intend to walk home. I’m sure the last bus will be through soon. Be careful in the dark.’

Maisie saw the outline of his hand touch his cap. The farce of them chatting in the dark made her giggle.

‘Are you laughing at me, young lady?’

‘No. At myself. Telling a soldier to be careful in the dark. And who knows, I might not be so young,’ Maisie replied.

‘You were thoughtful, thanks. Goodnight Gran’ma. See you around.’

She saw his outlined arm sweep upwards into a salute. It frustrated Maisie that she couldn’t see his face. His voice was soothing and friendly and he sounded young.

The clip of his boots echoed into the night and Maisie turned her attention back to the delayed bus. With no one else waiting at the bus stop, she was beginning to suspect that the service had stopped running. She hesitated, debating whether to call out to the soldier to wait for her, to ask if she could walk with him part way. Her sensible side told her to get home sooner rather than later and to stop daydreaming about strangers.

With a sigh, she took herself off through the dark side streets back towards Holly Bush House, all the while thinking of the soldier and envying his boots the more her feet ached. Her shoes were sturdy and sensible – something she’d always hated – but now appreciated far more as she had another few miles to walk.

Slipping in and out of the treelined pathways across the common, a familiar wail ripped through the silence of the night. Maisie froze and listened. Sirens screamed out their warning, and unidentifiable outlines of people moved towards each other, forming a small crowd on the common ahead of her. Maisie turned full circle; there was nowhere to hide. Not a safe haven in sight. Male voices barked out instructions above the droning sounds of the approaching enemy planes and Maisie’s breath came thick and fast. What was she to do? They were closer than she’d anticipated and as the first of the bombs slammed their target with mighty force, Maisie’s body shuddered with fear. Inhaling until her head spun, Maisie decided to turn back to town and run to Charlie’s house from there, rather than walk any further. Disorientated by the blasts, she had no idea where the bombers were dropping their loads, though she could hear the defensive rat-a-tat sound of the local guns fighting back. Maisie started running. A plane screamed across the sky above her, low and menacing. Another revved its engine and was so low she felt the rush of wind as it skittered across the sky. White pellet-like flashes flicked where clouds had once been, and Maisie realised the sky had cleared, leaving them exposed. The German pilots were off-loading their unused bombs from an earlier raid, saving fuel for their return journey.

‘Go away! Drop in the ocean and die!’ Maisie screamed out as she ran faster. The pain in her calves and thighs told her she would have to find shelter and rest them a while. A stitch formed in her right side but she dared not stop running.

Another explosion brought her to her knees, and Maisie cursed the bus that had never arrived. She looked towards the night sky. It was now bright like daylight, alive with pilots twisting their planes in and out of the firing line, focused on gaining victory, determined to destroy the enemy.

Lying as flat as she could, Maisie waited for a break in the return fire. She crawled forward, dragging her bag alongside her. She was exposed – out in the open and in danger. A spray of bullets pounded the floor nearby and she let out a scream.

‘For Crissakes, there’s someone out there! A woman,’ a male voice shouted out to his companions in the distance.

‘Sounded like a girl,’ another called.

Maisie staggered to her feet and waved her arms. The lights from the ack-ack guns flickered around her and she yelled out, ‘Here! I’m over here!’

More bullets skimmed around her.

A floating sensation followed by waves of nausea caught Maisie unawares. Her legs lost strength and as she tried to compose herself, another round of enemy fire rebounded against what sounded like metal. She listened to the cacophony surrounding her and clamped her hands over her ears.

Eventually the lights receded and the sky activity calmed. Maisie lowered her hands. A bright orange glow highlighted the city and vast plumes of smoke hurtled towards the sky until Maisie could no longer see anything beyond the smoke. The group of men in the distance no longer called out to her. All she could hear were orders about helping the wounded and she knew their attention was no longer focused on the distant scream of a female. She was on her own. For the first time, the thought of returning to the orphanage seemed a welcome reprieve.

More large clouds of white-grey smoke billowed from the left side of the common and she pulled on her gasmask, the stench of rubber making her gag. Maisie’s thoughts flew to the remaining young children and babies of the orphanage. With her gone, the task of putting the babies in their protective chambers and persuading the little ones that Mickey Mouse on the side of their masks made them magical, would take much longer than normal. Norah would be rougher and harsher than ever before.

Suddenly, the ground shook and another loud explosion erupted a few yards away. Maisie could feel her body flying backwards but she could do nothing about it. She thudded to the floor, landing on her right hip. She sat up, and could make out the mound of her bag several feet away, but she was completely disorientated. She pulled off her mask and wiped away the beads of sweat underneath.

Once she caught her breath, she started her journey again. This time she left off her mask. She needed to take deeper breaths and the mask hindered her attempts as she ran. Moving fast towards the edge of the common, she maintained a steady pace, avoiding the open areas.

The freezing temperature burned her lungs which made walking hard and a cold wind made the skin sore around her lips. The natural instinct to lick them was instantly regretted. She dried them with the cuff of her sleeve, wincing at the pain.

The closer she got to the residential side of the common, the more she became aware of the commotion that lay ahead.

Where the bombs had fallen in the distance, they’d started many fires and Maisie found herself yearning for the heat from the flames they produced. Her thoughts overrode the guilt she felt for thinking that deadly flames could, or would, be a comfort.

‘Pull yourself together, Maisie Reynolds, you wicked, wicked girl.’

She sat on a wall to rest her legs, rubbing at her bruises with shaking hands. She was just debating which route to take back to Holly Bush when a voice disturbed her concentration. ‘Maisie? Is that you?’

Maisie turned her head towards Charlie who rushed towards her, flicking his flashlight on and off as he tried to find his way towards her in the dark. She noticed he was no longer dressed in his tweed suit but in the uniform of the Auxiliary Fire Service. He smiled down at her.

‘I’m fine, Charlie. Not hurt. Just resting. Catching my breath. I can’t stop shaking.’

‘Resting? Lucky you. I’m on my knees.’

‘Really? I’d hate to see you when you’re standing,’ Maisie quipped. ‘Joyce get home safely?’

Charlie yawned and rubbed his eyes.

‘Yes. Just before this lot fell. How come you’re out walking? No bus?’

‘Last one must have been the eight o’clock,’ Maisie said.

‘I had to rush home and change. If I’d know I could have— Down! Get down!’ he yelled and pulled Maisie to the ground.

A burst of bomb blasts shook the ground and Charlie grabbed her hand and held it until the attack subsided.

‘Get yourself gone, Charlie. I’ll be fine. Don’t let me stop you going home to rest,’ she said, her words rushed and her voice full of concern.

‘Rest? Can’t go until I’ve been down there.’ He pointed towards the city where the flames licked even higher. ‘Buggers dropped on the airplane factory. They’ve missed it the past few nights but got a couple home tonight. Firefighting has to be done. You heading back to Holly Bush? I’d take you, but …’ Charlie gave a fleeting glance towards the city again.

Despite the duty that drew him away, Maisie sensed his friendship, his concern. They’d been friends since school when he’d saved her from a teasing gang of children. Several of their old school friends now worked in the factories and her heart gave a jerk-flip of anxiety.

‘I’m holding you up. I’m heading back to the children. They need me. You’ve an important job to do. I’ll be fine, honestly.’

Maisie nudged him forward.

‘You treat those little ones as if they’re your own. Lucky to have you, they are. It looks as if it’s getting worse down there. Stay safe, Maisie. If you don’t think you’ll make it home, head for Glebe Court, over there.’ He pointed across the common. ‘It’s where the public shelter is and much safer than here. Head down that road, past the large shed, see it?’ He pointed out to his right. ‘Highfield Lane. But be safe, not foolish. See you soon.’ Charlie bent and gave her a peck of a kiss on the cheek. ‘Take care, and get home safe.’

‘Will do, and you do the same. Night, Charlie.’

Maisie heard him whistle his way down the road and his tune remained with her in the darkness. Ahead of him, the flames flickered higher and the smoke grew thicker and darker. Maisie sent a small prayer to the sky asking for safety for the whole of Hampshire, and beyond. She then switched her thoughts to her own predicament as she made her way home. The war had hindered so many things, destroyed so many lives. Was it about time she settled for what she had – a roof over her head and food to eat? Or was it time to find out more about how she could help the war effort? The children in the home had others to help them, and Matron only used her as an extra pair of hands. Maisie glanced around and wondered about those caught in the bombings. Who helped them? How could she find out about supporting the victims of the raids?

Another rain of bullets and bombs fell and a frightened Maisie upped her pace. Adrenalin raced through her body as she ran, her mind focused on survival as she made it to the quieter area of the allotments just behind the orphanage. With a determined stride to safety, Maisie told herself there were more urgent things to think about than how she could escape the city and follow her daydreams. She needed to find a way of being useful instead of used. She made up her mind to start the very next day.

CHAPTER 3

‘And there she is, the laziest girl I know. Enjoy your holiday?’

The sarcastic tone of Norah Bately grated on Maisie.

She was tired and not in the mood for Norah’s snide remarks. Rather than disturb the house, she’d spent the night curled up on two chairs pushed together.

Sliding off the chairs and onto her feet, Maisie stretched her body. She ignored Norah and went to the sink to fill the kettle. She lit the stove, keeping her back to the woman still ranting on about her night away.

‘Sleeping around town with the soldiers, were you? Trying to earn your way out of here? Ungrateful. That’s what you are: ungrateful.’

Norah often tried to goad Maisie, but Maisie tried her hardest not to rise to the bait. But, exhausted after all she’d been through last night, Maisie wasn’t in the mood for listening to the spiteful tirade. Finding new courage, she bit back.

‘I’ve never, never been ungrateful. You know that, so why are you so horrid? You make my life so miserable. Just leave me alone!’

A snort of indignation was the only reply from Norah, and the woman pointed to the door.

‘Stop snivelling and get back to the job you were given to do before you chose to gallivant around town. I cannot abide the sight of you. Go and clean yourself up and stay out of my way.’

Maisie stood her ground and sipped from her mug, all the while staring at Norah over the brim.

‘I’m speaking to you, madam,’ Norah said.

Maisie raised a daring eyebrow at her, and it was Norah who eventually left the room.

Determined not to be browbeaten by Norah ever again, Maisie gave herself a virtual pat on the back for finding the courage to stand up to the woman. The previous night had scared her into rethinking her life. Although she’d been fired up to seek out a war-effort position this morning, she decided it best to wait a day or so before throwing out innocent questions about where people went for help after losing their homes. It would give her a clue about where she could apply. She would also speak to Charlie about where she would be best placed, and even where she’d find a wage and accommodation. Getting caught up in the bombings had changed her mindset. The enemy frightened her far more than the likes of mean old Norah Bately.

When she’d finished in the kitchen, Maisie headed for the dormitory and bathroom. Once freshened up, she went to collect her chore list from Matron.

Tapping on the door, she waited for the usual trumpet sound of Gloria Mason’s firm voice, but all she heard was a mellow, ‘Come.’

Puzzled, Maisie cautiously opened the door.

‘I’ve come to collect my worksheet, Matron,’ she said.

Gloria beckoned her inside and Maisie stood waiting in front of the large desk for whatever Matron had in store for her. Quite often she received instructions for jobs no one else could be bothered to do; she pondered on which delight she’d be given today. Washing windows? Scrubbing toilets?

‘I didn’t hear any banging at the door so I assume you arrived home on time. Today I need you to help me. I’m not feeling well and it’s something you can handle alone,’ Matron said as she rubbed her hand across her brow. She slumped back in her chair with a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as if in an attempt to ease a pain somewhere.

Maisie was taken aback. In all the years she’d known Matron, the woman had never had a day’s illness. Today, Maisie had to agree that she looked pale with dark rings framing her eyes. She was also grateful Matron hadn’t heard her arrive home but she knew Norah wouldn’t miss the opportunity to mention she’d slept downstairs. She thrived on telling Matron awful tales about Maisie.

‘I was a little on the drag as the bus didn’t arrive and I had to get home during the bombing raid. It was horrible. I didn’t want to disturb you all so I slept in the kitchen,’ she said, keeping her voice calm and steady.

‘Stop your chatter. As I said, I’m unwell and my head won’t cope with your voice chipping away all day,’ Matron said, putting her hand to her head again and rubbing at her temples.

‘What’s the matter? Do you need the doctor? I’ll fetch him,’ Maisie said with genuine concern in her voice.

‘You will do no such thing. It’s my business. You will spend your day emptying the filing cabinets in here in readiness for our departure. As I understand it, the new residents will take over the moment we leave,’ Matron snapped back at Maisie and rose to her feet. She brushed Maisie’s hand aside when she swayed momentarily.

‘I’m going back to my room to rest. Hopefully this headache will disappear in an hour or so. In the meantime, pack away the files into the boxes over there.’

Maisie turned to where Matron pointed and saw several wooden packing crates.

‘Keep everything in alphabetical order.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘The children and I will be moved on. You? I’m not sure. You’re too old for me to be worrying about anymore.’ Matron gave a dramatic wave of her arm. ‘I’m too ill to even think about you. Just do as you’re told.’

Matron slammed down a set of keys onto her table and left the room. Maisie simply stared at the back of the door.

The rumours were true! Her home was to be ripped out from under her and Matron did not care one bit. She’d kept control of Maisie’s life for eighteen years and now she was walking away without a single thought of where Maisie was to go. Anger bubbled inside Maisie, but it was followed by sadness, and the feeling of being discarded like an unwanted cat or dog. She meant nothing to Matron … to anyone.

Unable to face that while she was still shaken by the previous evening’s near-miss during the bombing raid, Maisie opted to work her way through her crisis. She had a mammoth task ahead of her. Not only did the files need organising, but she could see the room needed a declutter and thorough clean too. If the freezing wind weren’t howling around the windows, she’d have lifted them all open and blown fresh air into the room.

Maisie prepared a large crate and opened the first of the large cabinets. Perhaps she could turn this into an opportunity? With Matron out of the room, she’d finally get the chance to find answers to the questions she’d been asking for years. Where had she come from? Who were her parents? No matter how often she asked the questions, Matron had always ignored her or found a reason not to answer. It was part of the insidious emotional torture that had long frustrated Maisie. Why, when records were to hand, couldn’t Matron find time to answer her questions? If her mother had never wanted her and Jack, and if she were unmarried, then so be it, but Maisie could never understand why her requests were met with hostile responses. A sudden thought came to her. With access to the files, she’d be able to find Jack’s paperwork and in it would be information relating to his new home. Maybe she could find him! She tugged open another drawer and flicked straight through to the R section until she found the file bearing her name: Maisie J Reynolds.

The J confused her. She’d only known herself as Maisie Reynolds; a middle name had never featured in her life. She pulled the folder from its resting place and opened it to the first page. It bore her name and age on entry to the orphanage.

Where the family name had once stood out as clearly as the first name, the page was rubbed and smudged. She held the paper up to the light in the hope of seeing the surname more clearly. Was this her mother, or simply the person who’d handed her over?

Then it hit Maisie. Was it wrong to forget the face of the person who gave birth to you? As hard as she tried, she could not bring her mother’s face, the woman who’d fed her scraps of food, to the fore. Why couldn’t she remember her? Had she ever loved her mother as a child should? Maisie simply couldn’t remember having feelings for anyone other than Jack and the thought sat heavily in her chest, like a bulky mouthful of bread trapped in the gullet.

A creaking floorboard alerted Maisie to someone coming along the corridor. She snatched up the file and moved towards the crate in the hope of hiding it, but time was against her. Matron re-entered the room and looked at the papers Maisie held in her hand.

‘Have you finished?’ Matron demanded.

‘It’s going to take longer than five minutes if you want me to do a good job,’ Maisie replied, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She placed the file on top of the cabinet.

Matron walked over and Maisie placed her hand back onto the file. Gloria’s face creased into a disapproving frown.

‘Hold your tongue girl. Your file, I assume?’

Maisie nodded. ‘There’s not a lot of information in there but I think I’ll keep it as it is mine. There’s nowhere else for it to go. You never know, I might need it for the future. I’ve not received call-up papers yet, but might need this when I do,’ she said.

Matron took a step forward and stared Maisie down, her teeth grinding beneath her jawline.

‘It is government property to go to the local council and of no use to you. Now, hand it over. As regards to call-up papers, you won’t need to worry about those. Your work here is important enough for them not to want you.’

Not wanting to antagonise the woman, but frustrated by her attitude, Maisie spoke again, this time more forcefully. ‘But the file is mine,’ Maisie said, holding the file closer to her.

With a hissing reply of impatience, Gloria balled her fist and shook it at Maisie. ‘Don’t be childish. It is not yours, and nothing in there reflects your life as you know it. It is my file, or rather, the property of the orphanage.’

‘It has my mother’s name inside,’ Maisie whispered, unable to raise her voice. The pain of having to battle to find out such meagre scraps caused her throat to tighten against a pending screech of indignation.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. It has a smudge. It does not mean anything to you personally.’

Matron had been known to strike hard when her temper was roused, and Maisie could see the Matron’s face reddening, a sure warning sign, but still she clutched the file to her chest.

‘If it is of no importance, why are you so het up about it?’

With a forceful step towards her and a push, Matron launched herself at Maisie, knocking her against the cabinet. She wrenched the file from Maisie’s hands and with a triumphant roar held it high.

‘There’ll be consequences for this, Maisie Reynolds!’ she yelled and went to sit behind her desk. Maisie stepped forward and stood with her arms out in question.

‘Why? Who would know? Tell me, who would care?’

The pleasure in seeing Gloria flinch when she slapped her hand onto the table in response, gave Maisie a thrill. She repeated the act.