Barbara’s arms and cwtched her under his coat. With a drawn-out, shuddering sigh, she ceased her crying and went to sleep. Smiling, Luke said, ‘And we’ll be friends too, Rosita and I.’
Barbara began the singing that always accompanied their walks and soon the children joined in, their voices brave and confident, rising up into the night sky. Rosita snuggled against Luke’s tattered jumper inside his jacket, and slept on.
The dark lanes changed to pavements, buildings loomed out of the dark and the nearness of other people was a threat to their happy companionship . An intrusion. Their footsteps slowed as they reached theneighbourhood where streets, all similar to each other, gave shelter to large numbers of families. It was no longer a place for singing and apart from their dragging footsteps there was no sound to disturb the early evening. Most were inside eating their teatime meal or discussing the latest war news.
Nearer home there were a few young people gathered around the street lamp where the lamp-lighter had recently passed, touching each mantle with his long pole before cycling on to the next. The murmur of voices was low, fitting their mood, and tiredness dragged at their feet.
Then the air was disturbed in a way that made them stop and cling to each other in fright. They heard screams, sudden and bloodcurdling. Then the shouting of angry voices reached them and the crashing of objects being thrown about. Some atavistic instinct told Barbara it was the Careys before they dared to take one step further and reach the corner of the road.
They ran down to the house and in the pale yellow light from the oil-lamp within, they saw a pile of boxes and odd shapes, which, on closer inspection, turned out to be all the Careys’ possessions.
In a now-silent tableau, Mrs Carey, with the new baby Meriel held protectively close, was being comforted by her husband. With the children gathered around his legs, Henry stared at the small collection that was all his family’s possessions, in perfect stillness, as though transfixed by a spell.
‘The landlady decided not to wait till Saturday,’ he told them in a dazed whisper. ‘Them new people, they’re coming tomorrow.’
Chapter Five
A FTER THE INITIAL explanations and recriminations had been said, amid the cacophony of cries and screams from the frightened children , their first priority was to try and carry their most valued belongings to somewhere the children at least could get some sleep.
‘There’s a barn on the Cardiff Road,’ Henry Carey said, with an attempt at lightness. ‘Warm it’ll be and there’s a good roof if it turns to rain before morning.’ They discussed this in low voices, each wondering if they had the strength to carry their pitifully few possessions even that short way.
‘It’s right on the road, mind,’ Mrs Carey said in a whisper. She had no strength to speak normally; all the breath had been forced out of her by the cruel loss of their two rooms. ‘Dangerous for the children it’ll be, with not an hour going by without half a dozen carts passing, and motor cars and lorries too.’
‘It’ll be all right, Molly. Get it real comfortable in a few days, once we find a place to have a fire. We’ll manage just fine.’
‘What about the house I found, Dad?’ Richard said, and from the impatient tone of his reedy voice, Luke and Barbara guessed it was not the first time he had suggested it, even though, stunned by events, they had not been aware of him speaking.
‘Tomorrow, boy, we’ll think about it tomorrow,’ Henry said quietly. ‘Don’t worry us now with your daydreams.’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ Luke said politely, ‘but I think your son is right. Why spend energy getting settled into an unsuitable place which you’ll probably have to leave in a few hours’ time once the farmer finds you there?’
‘But it’s miles away. These children can’t travel out there at this time of night. It’s over by Gull
Barbara began the singing that always accompanied their walks and soon the children joined in, their voices brave and confident, rising up into the night sky. Rosita snuggled against Luke’s tattered jumper inside his jacket, and slept on.
The dark lanes changed to pavements, buildings loomed out of the dark and the nearness of other people was a threat to their happy companionship . An intrusion. Their footsteps slowed as they reached theneighbourhood where streets, all similar to each other, gave shelter to large numbers of families. It was no longer a place for singing and apart from their dragging footsteps there was no sound to disturb the early evening. Most were inside eating their teatime meal or discussing the latest war news.
Nearer home there were a few young people gathered around the street lamp where the lamp-lighter had recently passed, touching each mantle with his long pole before cycling on to the next. The murmur of voices was low, fitting their mood, and tiredness dragged at their feet.
Then the air was disturbed in a way that made them stop and cling to each other in fright. They heard screams, sudden and bloodcurdling. Then the shouting of angry voices reached them and the crashing of objects being thrown about. Some atavistic instinct told Barbara it was the Careys before they dared to take one step further and reach the corner of the road.
They ran down to the house and in the pale yellow light from the oil-lamp within, they saw a pile of boxes and odd shapes, which, on closer inspection, turned out to be all the Careys’ possessions.
In a now-silent tableau, Mrs Carey, with the new baby Meriel held protectively close, was being comforted by her husband. With the children gathered around his legs, Henry stared at the small collection that was all his family’s possessions, in perfect stillness, as though transfixed by a spell.
‘The landlady decided not to wait till Saturday,’ he told them in a dazed whisper. ‘Them new people, they’re coming tomorrow.’
Chapter Five
A FTER THE INITIAL explanations and recriminations had been said, amid the cacophony of cries and screams from the frightened children , their first priority was to try and carry their most valued belongings to somewhere the children at least could get some sleep.
‘There’s a barn on the Cardiff Road,’ Henry Carey said, with an attempt at lightness. ‘Warm it’ll be and there’s a good roof if it turns to rain before morning.’ They discussed this in low voices, each wondering if they had the strength to carry their pitifully few possessions even that short way.
‘It’s right on the road, mind,’ Mrs Carey said in a whisper. She had no strength to speak normally; all the breath had been forced out of her by the cruel loss of their two rooms. ‘Dangerous for the children it’ll be, with not an hour going by without half a dozen carts passing, and motor cars and lorries too.’
‘It’ll be all right, Molly. Get it real comfortable in a few days, once we find a place to have a fire. We’ll manage just fine.’
‘What about the house I found, Dad?’ Richard said, and from the impatient tone of his reedy voice, Luke and Barbara guessed it was not the first time he had suggested it, even though, stunned by events, they had not been aware of him speaking.
‘Tomorrow, boy, we’ll think about it tomorrow,’ Henry said quietly. ‘Don’t worry us now with your daydreams.’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ Luke said politely, ‘but I think your son is right. Why spend energy getting settled into an unsuitable place which you’ll probably have to leave in a few hours’ time once the farmer finds you there?’
‘But it’s miles away. These children can’t travel out there at this time of night. It’s over by Gull
Similar Books
