Jenny's War Read Online Free PDF Page A

at Jenny beside her. The child, though still with a tear-streaked, grubby face, had lifted her fork and was trying the food in front of her. She chewed it and then nodded across the table at Billy. ‘It’s nice, Billy. Give it a try.’
    Billy Harrington wrinkled his nose but did as she suggested. After a moment, he, too, nodded. ‘’S’all right, is this. Ta very much, missis.’
    The large lady, who seemed to be in charge of the others, laughed and nodded, her several chins wobbling. ‘Ya welcome, duck, I’m sure.’
    When they’d finished eating, Mr Tomkins stood at the end of the room. ‘It’s too late now to get you to your billets, so your foster parents will come for you in the morning. You’ll stay here tonight. We have mattresses and blankets for you to sleep on the floor and Mrs Clark’ – he gestured towards the large friendly woman – ‘is the caretaker at this school. She’ll show you where the toilets and washbasins are. Perhaps’ – he looked towards Miss Chisholm for her help – ‘some of the older boys would help Mrs Clark move the trestle tables out of the way. Then in the morning . . .’
    His words were lost as Billy leapt up from his seat and began directing his classmates to move the forms they’d been sitting on and to fold up the tables. There was a lot of noise – chatter and scraping of furniture – but soon Mrs Clark, still beaming, led them to the next room where there was a pile of straw mattresses and grey blankets.
    ‘The girls will sleep in here and the boys in the other room. Now, lads, tek a mattress and a blanket each.’
    It took an hour or more before the children began to settle down, tiredness and the emotion of the day catching up with them. Jenny lay on the scratchy straw palliasse, snuggling beneath the coarse blanket and clutching Bert tightly. She lay there listening to the sounds of the other sleeping children and her heavy eyelids began to close. It had been a long and traumatic day for all of them, but for no one more so than Jenny, who’d not only left the only home she knew, but also had been dragged away from her friend. ‘I wonder where Bobby is now’ was her last thought as she fell into a troubled sleep.
    Heavy-eyed and feeling as if she’d only been asleep for a few minutes, Jenny woke to the sound of Miss Chisholm’s voice and her clapping hands. ‘Rise and shine. Come along, children. Time to get up.’
    The children washed hurriedly in the school’s cloakroom and Mrs Clark and two other ladies served them porridge and a drink of weak tea on the tables the boys had set up again. When they’d all finished, the long trestle tables were set to one side of the hall and the children stood in rows facing Mr Tomkins. The three ladies, who had served breakfast, went down the line handing a paper bag to each child.
    ‘These are provisions for you to give to your foster mother,’ Mrs Clark explained. Inside each bag was a tin of meat, a bottle of milk, some biscuits and a bar of chocolate. One or two of the children grinned cheekily; the bar of chocolate would never reach their foster parents. Mrs Clark, intercepting some of the glances between the children, merely smiled to herself and made no attempt to remind them that the goodies were not for them. Poor little mites, she was thinking.
    When all the bags had been handed out, Mr Tomkins cleared his throat. ‘Now, children, you are to be billeted with people in the town. We’ll try to keep families together where possible, so if you’d stand in rows on either side of the hall, the people who’ve volunteered to take you in will be here at ten o’clock and will make their choices.’
    ‘You mean we’re going to be picked?’ Billy piped up. ‘Like at the Battersea Dogs Home when folks choose a stray?’
    Mr Tomkins blinked. ‘Er, well, not quite like that, I hope. You’ll find that the local farmers will want strong lads like you, young man,’ he added with a smile. ‘And the girls will