Jenny's War Read Online Free PDF

be able to help in the house. Now, I’m sure you’ll all be good children and grateful to the people who are going to take you into their homes.’
    ‘Huh!’ Billy muttered, so that only those closest to him could hear. ‘Sounds like cheap labour for ’em to me. Bed and board and a lot of hard work, that’s what we’re in for.’
    ‘But you’ll be going to school too, of course,’ Mr Tomkins went on a little nervously. He and his wife had no children and confronted with these raggedy, solemn-faced youngsters, poor Mr Tomkins was out of his depth. He turned towards Miss Chisholm. ‘Will you be staying to take your own class?’
    ‘Only for a day or so to see them settled in. We have to return home. Not all the children in our school have been evacuated and those left behind still need teaching.’
    Mr Tomkins nodded. ‘I just wondered. I’ve been told we’re to expect a further batch of children tomorrow, so the school won’t be able to cope with such a number all attending at the same time. We’ll have to work out some sort of rota for attendance.’
    At his words, Jenny pushed her way to the front. ‘Another train coming tomorrow? Will it be Bobby’s train, Miss? Will Bobby be coming here?’
    Miss Chisholm looked down at the grubby little girl with pity. Gently, she said, ‘I don’t expect so, Jenny. Bobby and the rest will already have arrived wherever they’re going.’
    Jenny’s face fell.
    The children stood waiting, not knowing quite what was expected of them and wondering what was going to happen next.

Five
    At three minute past ten the first of the locals arrived. A farmer followed by his wife strode into the hall and down the length of the lines of children. Billy was the first to be picked.
    ‘You look a good, strong lad.’ The farmer smiled. ‘A’ ya coming to work for me? You’ll be well fed.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘My missis is a good cook and there’ll be plenty of food on my farm, no matter what shortages are going to happen. What d’ya say, lad?’
    Billy blinked. He couldn’t understand every word the man had said. The farmer’s accent was unfamiliar, but he caught the gist of the man’s meaning. ‘Just me?’ he asked.
    ‘Ah well, now, I could do wi’ two, ’cos one of my lads ses he’ll be volunteering for the army if there is a war. And if there isn’t, well, you lot’ll all be going back home, won’t you? So no harm done, eh?’
    He seemed a chatty, friendly man, dressed in sturdy hobnailed boots, corduroy trousers with his shirtsleeves rolled up under a black, unbuttoned waistcoat. His cap, which he’d removed on entering the room, was now twirling between his work-callused fingers. Behind him his plump wife with brown curly hair, liberally flecked with grey, smiled kindly. Billy took a step towards him, emboldened to ask, ‘You won’t beat us, will yer, mister?’
    A silence fell over the room as the man and the young boy regarded each other. Billy saw a friendly man, jovial at the moment, but the boy’s eyes had alighted on the wide leather belt around the man’s waist. The farmer saw a tall lad, too thin for his height. Good food and a healthy, outdoor life would soon build the youngster up, he thought. But the boy’s question had startled him and now he looked closer he could see that though the lad gave an outward show of bravado, there was something in his eyes that belied the swagger. There was a fear and an experience of things that a youngster of his age should not have known.
    Miss Chisholm held her breath and Mr Tomkins frowned. She was about to step forward when the farmer held out his hand and said, more gently now, ‘Me name’s Joe Warren of Purslane Farm, young ’un, and this is my wife, Peggy. And no, I don’t beat my workers or guests in my home. In fact, I don’t reckon I’ve ever beaten anyone in me life, not even me own lads. Mebbe the odd smack on the back of the legs when they was young. Scallywags, they