Jenny's War by Margaret Dickinson

writing paper were neatly stacked and a storybook was set beside each place. Jenny ran her finger along the gleaming polished mahogany surface of the table. She looked up at Miles with worried eyes. ‘What if they scratch your table? They – they might even carve their names. Some of our lot might—’
    To the young girl’s surprise, Miles was chuckling. ‘Just like I did when I was at school.’ He laughed even louder as he added, ‘But no one will get the cane here like I did. Don’t worry, Jenny. A table’s just a table. Your happiness – and those of your fellow evacuees – is far more important than any old table.’
    Jenny was still running her fingers gently up and down the surface. ‘But it’s lovely. It shines so.’ She breathed in. ‘And it smells so nice.’
    ‘Kitty’s been giving it an extra polish.’
    Jenny glanced at Charlotte. Maybe Miles didn’t mind about his table, but his wife might. But she was smiling too.
    ‘I’ll watch ’em,’ Jenny promised.
    The next morning, twelve children arrived at the manor just before nine o’clock. Most of them were evacuees, but there were one or two locals too.
    ‘Hello, Alfie,’ Charlotte greeted one of the boys. She turned to Jenny. ‘Jenny, this is Alfie Norton. He lives in one of the cottages on the way to Buckthorn Farm. Do you remember me telling you that Mr and Mrs Norton and their three children lived there?’
    Jenny had been to Buckthorn Farm with Charlotte once. It was where Charlotte’s father, Osbert Crawford, lived on his own with only a housekeeper and her husband to help him. And no wonder, Jenny had thought. Who’d want to live with that grumpy old man? She could hardly believe that such a horrible man was Charlotte’s father.
    ‘Alfie’s father,’ Charlotte was explaining, ‘manages Buckthorn Farm now.’
    Alfie grinned. ‘That’s what you say, miss, but we all know it’s still you what runs things. Me dad only does what you tell him, he’d be the first to say that.’
    ‘Now, now, Alfie, I couldn’t manage without your father.’
    ‘You did for years, miss, so me grandad ses when he was your foreman.’ Alfie grinned at Jenny. ‘As good as any man at running a farm was Miss Charlotte. That’s what me grandad always ses.’
    ‘Who’s your grandad?’ Jenny asked.
    ‘Mr Warren at Purslane Farm. He’s Mester Thornton’s tenant now, but he used to live in the cottage where we live and he worked for Miss Charlotte when she ran Buckthorn Farm afore she got married.’
    ‘That’s where Billy is,’ Jenny smiled, ‘at Purslane Farm. And Frankie. They really like your grandad and your grandma. Is Billy coming here for lessons? Oh I do hope so . . .’
    Her wish was answered immediately as she looked beyond the front door to see Billy helping Frankie down from the back of a farm cart, driven by the very man they’d been talking about – Joe Warren. He climbed down and came up the front steps, pulling his cap off his head as he did so.
    ‘’Morning, Miss Charlotte. Hello, Alfie lad. You coming here an’ all? We’ve brought Billy and Frankie. Teacher thought it best. Little lad gets teased because of his leg iron and then Billy sticks up for him and it ends up in a fight.’
    ‘We’ll watch out for them both, Joe,’ Charlotte promised. ‘Don’t you worry.’
    ‘Oh, I won’t. Not now they’re both here with you. I heard as how they’ll all be staying here for dinner, miss, is that right?’ When Charlotte nodded, Joe added, ‘Then I’ll fetch ’em home in the cart about four.’
    ‘Perfect, Joe, though I think Mr Thornton wants to play games on the lawn with them after school when it’s fine. You know, let them run some of their energy off and get a bit of fresh air too. So make it half past, would you?’
    Joe’s face sobered. ‘Frankie won’t be able to play with them.’
    ‘No, I realize that, but I can always be on hand to do something with him. Read or play cards or board games or do a jigsaw