The next day, the boys reported to school, which had been accommodated in a domestic science college.There they sat between the gas cookers, the sink units and the baking tables whilst Miss Barrymore tried to inspire them with a love of Shakespeare and an appreciation of Julius Caesar .
‘ “Let me have men about me that are fat”,’ she intoned.
‘ “Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o’ nights.” ’
‘She won’t find any of those if they come from Mrs Mossop’s place,’ said Titch.
At the end of the English lesson, Miss Barrymore said:
‘Last night I had a brilliant idea for all of you. A famous lady once said, “I always say, keep a diary and some day it’ll keep you.” ’
‘Who said that, miss?’ asked Oscar.
‘A certain Mae West in a film called Every Day’s a Holiday .’
‘But why should we keep a diary, miss?’ asked Robin.
‘We are living in such an exciting time in history, you should try keeping a record of all that is happening to you. You can also note down all your secret ideas. Who can tell? One day you might be studied by future generations just as
we today study Samuel Pepys. If you’re interested, you couldn’t do better than begin reading an exciting sea-story entitled Two Years Before the Mast , by R.H. Dana.’
‘If you wrote secret things in it, miss,’ said Billy, ‘someone else might read them.’
‘Oh, no, never,’ she answered. ‘A diary is a very private thing indeed and no one should ever read another person’s secrets. Anyway, it’s just an idea. It’ll give you food for thought.’
‘Talking of food, miss,’ said Titch. ‘Do you think we could ever have dinner here in the school?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ she said. ‘There are complications with ration books, and although it’s a domestic science college, they don’t have the facilities to provide food for big numbers. Besides, we are allowed here in the mornings only, as they require their premises back in the afternoons.’
‘Does that mean we have only half-day schooling then?’ asked Oscar.
‘’Fraid so,’ she said, ‘but we have to be grateful we’ve been given even the mornings, because this place was designed to teach cooking, baking and the other culinary arts.’
‘Fancy being taught in a domestic science college!’ said Robin. ‘The smell of all this grub around the place will drive us mad.’
‘Water, water everywhere,’ said Titch, ‘and not a drop to drink.’
‘What I wouldn’t give for a piece of my mam’s apple pie right now!’ said Billy.
At break-time, the boys swapped horror stories with their friends.
‘Your Mrs Rivers looked nice and friendly, Oscar,’ said Billy.
‘ “Looked” is the right word. She hasn’t spoken to her
husband for two years because of some argument they had about who should wash the pots,’ answered Oscar.
‘How do they manage?’ asked Robin.
‘They talk through their young daughter, Mavis,’ said Nobby. ‘She’s a cracker, about our age, by the way. Mr Rivers says, “Mavis, tell your mother there’s too much salt in this porridge”, and Mrs Rivers says, “Tell your father to like it or lump it.” ’
‘What happens then?’
‘He lumps it,’ said Oscar.
‘What about you, Oily?’ asked Billy. ‘How are you getting on with your beauty queen?’
‘I think I must’ve got the best billet of you all,’ said Oily. ‘She’s a very rich widow, she’s got a car, a chauffeur and everything. She has no kids but she’s always wanted a son. So now she’s got one, and I’m it!’
‘Trust you to be lucky,’ said Titch. ‘If it were raining soup you’d have a big bowl and I’d have a toasting fork.’
‘It’s not quite so straightforward,’ said Oily. ‘She has some peculiar habits.’
‘Like for instance?’ asked Oscar.
‘She smokes a pipe for one thing, and for another, she keeps cuddling and kissing me. Last night she tucked me in and sang me nursery rhymes. It’s a well-known fact that women who smoke pipes are not to be trusted.’
‘There’s nowt so queer as fowk,’ said Billy.
‘The best billet of the lot,’ said Rodney Potts, who’d been listening to their conversation, ‘is mine.’
‘I suppose you landed up in the Imperial Hotel,’ said Titch.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m in Brother Dorian’s bungalow at Cleveleys along with Miss Barrymore, two other teachers and twelve boys. The food is great and we’re well looked after.’
Til bet it was your dad pulling strings, 5 remarked Nobby.
‘Or pulling out his wallet, 5 said Oscar.
‘Rubbish, 5 said Potts. ‘It was the luck of the draw. 5
‘Maybe, 5 said Titch. ‘But first you’ve got to have the money to buy a ticket. 5
In the afternoon, after their meal of cold toast, the three boys wandered along the promenade. The gold of the Golden Mile had turned to grey. The stalls which had so recently been the occasion of so much happiness and gaiety were now boarded up and lifeless. On the beach there were miles and miles of barbed wire to keep potential German invaders at bay. There were airmen everywhere, particularly Polish pilots, who could be distinguished by the small silver eagles chained to their lapels. Even the Tower had had its tip lopped off as it had proved a danger to the many aircraft buzzing around the skies. Even as they strolled along that afternoon, Bolton Paul Defiant fighters zoomed at head-top height along the beach, swooping over the piers at dizzy, breathtaking speeds.
‘One of these days, one of those crazy pilots will have a nasty accident, 5 remarked Billy.
Then, drawn by the sound of a juke-box playing ‘Tumbling Tumbleweed 5 , they went into an amusement arcade.
‘Anyone got any money? 5 asked Billy. ‘I’m still hungry. 5
Between them they managed to raise three penny pieces.
‘What’s the money for? 5 asked Robin.
‘Over there there’s one of those machines with little cranes for lifting toys and things out. And that one has bars of Fry’s chocolate. Let’s try our luck. 5
Billy inserted the first penny and, sticking out his
tongue to aid his concentration, manoeuvred the crane until it picked up a small chocolate bar. Just as he thought he had grabbed it, it slipped out of the grip and fell back amongst the other trinkets.
‘Damn and blast it,’ he said.
‘Here, let me try,’ said Titch.
He could do no more than steer the chocolate a little nearer to the edge.
‘This requires a professional touch,’ said Robin, putting in the last penny.
His efforts left the bar balanced precariously and tantalisingly just over the outlet.
‘That’s the last coin,’ said Robin. ‘What do we do now, Hoppy?’
‘Confucius he say, “When fate not go your way”,’ said Billy, narrowing his eyes, ‘ “give fate little nudge.” ’
As he spoke, he hit the machine with his backside and the chocolate rolled out.
‘Hoi, you lot,’ shouted the attendant. ‘I saw that. Bring that bloody chocolate back.’
Too late, they were gone. As they walked along the front eating their prize, they were joined by an English airman.
‘I saw all that, boys,’ he said. ‘Are you hungry? Is that it?’
‘You’re telling me,’ said Titch.
‘Come on,’ said the airman. ‘I’ll buy you some food.’
‘Food?’ said Robin. ‘What’s that?’
Together the four of them went into the self-service restaurant above Woolworth’s store.
‘That’s right,’ said the airman as they slid their trays along the bar. ‘Enjoy yourselves. Chips and fish, bread and butter and a pot o’ tea for the three of you. Just what the doctor ordered. My name’s Kevin, by the way.’
To say the boys ate heartily would be the understatement of the year. They pitched in and devoured the meal as if they hadn’t eaten properly for a couple of days - which they hadn’t.
Kevin watched them with an amused smile.
‘I thought you were hungry when I saw you trying to capture the chocolate in the arcade. Look, I can’t stay now. But I like your company. You remind me of my young brother at home. Would you like to go to the pictures with me tomorrow? I’ll pay. They’re showing Stagecoach , starring John Wayne, at the Regent.’
‘That’d be fantastic,’ said Titch, ‘because we’re going to be free every afternoon.’
‘OK, Kevin,’ said Robin. ‘It’s a deal. See you tomorrow.’
‘Right,’ said Kevin as he got up to leave. ‘I’ll meet you outside the cinema at two o’clock tomorrow.’
‘At last, a friendly face,’ said Billy.
When they got back to their billet at five o’clock, Mrs Mossop had prepared a meal of baked beans - their own - on toast. They tucked in ravenously despite the fish and chips earlier.
‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘Boys just wade in and shovel it down. I don’t think I can afford to feed you lot on the pittance they’re paying.’
‘Sorry, Auntie,’ they said.
After tea they went upstairs to prepare for the game of Truth or Dare. Billy spent much time trying to tame and flatten an errant lock of hair which insisted on sticking up like a feather on an Indian brave. Feeling happy, nervous and excited, they went downstairs.
‘I know where you three are going,’ Mrs Mossop said. ‘You’re going out swapping spit with those girls in the avenue.’
‘Hope so,’ Robin whispered to Billy.
‘I wonder if it’s the same game as I used to play many years ago,’ said Billy.
‘We’ll soon find out,’ said Titch nervously.
They called next door for Nobby and Oscar. Nobby appeared immediately.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
‘What about Oscar?’ asked Titch.
‘I dunno,’ said Nobby. ‘He says he’s not interested in girls. He prefers to stay in, reading.’
‘Maybe the love bug hasn’t bitten him yet,’ said Billy.
Outside the gate of number 1, four girls were already waiting.
‘Hello, William,’ said Doreen of the long black tresses. ‘This is Mavis, who lives next door to you; this is Sally, who lives opposite; and this is Ruby, who is fourteen and works at the Milady toffee factory.’
Mavis was a fair-haired girl with bright, clear blue eyes and a freckled complexion - obviously the healthy, outdoor type - whilst Sally was an auburn-haired beauty with dark-brown eyes and a ready smile. Ruby was also pretty, with a friendly face, but what distinguished her from the others was her grown-up figure with its definite shapely bust - which the boys weren’t slow to notice.
The evacuees smiled and nodded shyly.
‘I’m Billy but everyone calls me Hoppy; and this is Robin, Titch and Nobby. But Mavis and Nobby already know each other as they live in the same house.’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘It’s nice to have some boys from Manchester as a change from all the lads here in the avenue. Do you know how to play this game?’
‘I played it a long time ago,’ said Billy, ‘and I think I can remember it.’
‘We all stand in line against the fence - first a boy, then a girl, then a boy again, like that.’
The participants arranged themselves according to the instructions, and Doreen started off the proceedings. In the first round, everyone cagily opted for Truth.
‘Hoppy, is it true you’ve never kissed a girl?’
‘No, it’s not true. I once kissed a girl when I was in infant school.’
‘Mavis, is it true you like boys a lot?’
‘Yes, it’s true.’
When Doreen had gone round everyone with her questions, Billy said:
‘It is the same game that I used to play years ago, when I was a mixed infant.’
‘Then you’ve not learnt very much,’ said Ruby. ‘We’ll have to see if we can teach you a thing or two here in Blackpool. I’ll start the second round.’
Doreen opted for Dare.
‘I dare you to show Hoppy what a real kiss is like by giving him a film-star kiss.’
Doreen wrapped herself around Billy, put both hands behind his head and gave him a long, lingering kiss as she had seen Katherine Hepburn do with Cary Grant.
‘Wow! When’s the wedding?’ asked Titch.
Having seen what happened with a Dare, Robin thought he’d better play it safe and chose Truth.
‘Coward!’ said Ruby. ‘Is it true you’ve never felt a girl?’
‘True!’ said Robin, turning bright red under the streetlamp.
Courageously, Titch selected Dare.
‘I dare you to put your right hand on Sally’s breast.’
Titch did as he was instructed.
‘But there’s nothing there,’ he said. ‘It’s as flat as a billiard table.’
‘Thank you very much,’ said Sally. ‘Don’t you be so cheeky. There is something there.’
When it came to Sally’s turn, Ruby said:
‘I dare you to feel Titch’s thing.’
Sally placed her hand at the strategic place.
‘But there’s nothing there,’ she said, getting her own back. ‘It’s as flat as a pancake.’
‘What do you expect,’ saidTitch. ‘After all, my name is Dick Smalley.’
Nobby was next in line.
‘Let’s see how daring you are. I dare you to put your hand here,’ said Ruby, indicating her breasts.
Nobby put his hand on his own chest and said:
‘Nothing to it.’
That night in Blackpool, the boys’ sex education had begun. The second lesson was the very next day.
As the boys were leaving their classroom at lunchtime the following day, they passed the wing where a lesson in baking was just about to finish. As they listened to the teacher, their mouths watered.
‘So, girls,’ the teacher was saying, ‘always keep pastry light and fluffy. The secret is in the amount of fat you use and the method of rolling. Our efforts today at shortcrust mushroom pie should be ready in about ten minutes. We’ll have a short coffee-break and then finish. Now remember where you left your dish in the oven, as we don’t want to get them mixed up, do we?’
The class laughed politely at the thought of this happening.
‘Dear me no,’ said the teacher. ‘We don’t want to go home with someone else’s pie, do we?’
No sooner had the class filed out to the common room than Billy said:
‘This is where my Cheetham Hill training comes in handy. Quick, boys!’
With the speed of lightning, they whipped into the classroom, opened the oven doors, helped themselves to a mushroom pie each and were out of the room before the cookery students had even poured their coffees.
They walked along the front, munching voraciously at the stolen pies.
‘Do you realise that a hundred and fifty years ago we’d have been sent to Botany Bay for this?’ said Titch.
‘It would be worth it for these pies,’ said Robin.
‘Yes,’ said Billy. ‘But there’s something worrying me.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Titch anxiously.
‘That teacher was right. These pies needed another ten minutes.’
Just before two o’clock, the boys arrived at the Regent cinema to find Kevin already waiting. He paid for four seats in the stalls, and as they settled down - Kevin on the outside of the row next to Billy, with Titch and Robin on the inside - offered round a bag of sweets.
‘Chocolate eclairs,’ he said. ‘Only the best is good enough. And this should be a really exciting film.’
‘We’re really looking forward to it,’ said Robin.
‘Let me see your hands,’ Kevin said, taking Robin’s right hand into his own. ‘They’re so soft. I’ll bet none of you has ever done a real day’s work. Look at mine.’
Titch examined the palms of Kevin’s hands.
‘They’re rough,’ he said. ‘You must do very hard work for the RAF. Look at my hands; they’re soft like Robin’s and Hoppy’s.’
Kevin examined Billy’s hands as well.
‘It’s time you three did some work for a living,’ he said.
The big picture began and soon the three boys were transported to Monument Valley as the stagecoach
bearing its five passengers made its hazardous way across Indian territory. Soon the passengers were joined by the Ringo Kid in the person of John Wayne.
‘Gosh, isn’t this exciting?’ said Kevin, taking hold of Billy’s hand. ‘Don’t worry, though. John Wayne will look after them.’
Billy became completely engrossed in the action of the story, which began to reach a climax when the Indians attacked the coach and it was only because of the Ringo Kid’s bravery that the day was saved. As the coach rolled into Lordsburg escorted by the cavalry, Billy felt the imprint of a button on his hand and became aware that his right hand was being used to massage Kevin’s testicles.
He snatched his hand away, got up, and said:
‘I’m just going to the toilets and also to see the manager.’
Two minutes later he was back with the manager, but Kevin’s seat was empty.
‘Where’s he gone?’ he asked.
‘Dunno,’ said Titch. ‘When you went to the toilet he got up very quickly and walked out. What did you say to him, Hoppy?’
‘Whatever it was,’ said Robin, ‘we just lost our meal- ticket.’
‘Worse things happen at sea,’ said Billy.
Later on that night, when they were in the bedroom, he told them what had happened. For hour after hour they plagued him for further details.
‘Eh, what was it like?’ asked Robin and Titch over and over again.
‘The nearest thing I can think of,’ said Billy, ‘is a peach. It was like massaging a large soft peach.’
‘Eh, was it heck. What was it really like, eh? What did it really feel like, eh? Did it? Did it heck!’
Billy Hopkins
When news of the event got round the school, Billy was a celebrity for some time afterwards as the whole schoolboy body latched on to the catchphrase.
‘Eh, what was it like, eh? Like massaging a peach? Was it heck! What did it feel like, eh? Did it heck!’
Boys continued to trot out the phrases long after the event which had occasioned them had been forgotten.
Psychologists have claimed that somewhere between the ages of eleven and thirteen a young boy experiences a gradual awakening of his dormant sexual desires, which grow in strength until they amount almost to an obsession. Under normal circumstances, this might be true, but for our three boys at number 9, Kincraig Avenue in 1941, circumstances were far from normal. They did, however, have one obsession - food! They spoke of and thought of little else.
The subject even invaded their dreams, and they had nightly visions of Christmas turkey, roast potatoes and plum duff.
‘Last night,’ said Titch, ‘I dreamt of a bakery and tray upon tray of hot, crusty bread soaked in creamy butter. It was so real you could even smell the grain and the flour.’
‘That, I suppose,’ said Billy, ‘is what is called a wheat dream.’
Billy even began to eat cabbage.
‘What about the caterpillars?’ asked Titch.
‘Good protein.’
Ideas far removed from the topic of food became immediately associated with eating.
‘Fancy going for a stroll?’ asked Robin one evening.
‘Sure,’ replied Billy. ‘But where are we gonna buy a roll at this time of night?’
‘What’s that book you’re reading, Hoppy?’ asked Titch.
OUR KID
‘It’s a book about spies.’
‘What kind of pies? Apple or rhubarb?’
They tried every way they knew to supplement Mrs Mossop’s meagre fare. Doreen stole food for Billy from her mother’s larder, Sally became Titch’s provider, and Ruby brought bags of Milady toffees for Robin. The boys’ two-and-sixpenny postal orders which arrived from home every Friday became their lifeline.
‘I’m beginning to feel like that music-hall singer, G.H. Elliott,’ said Robin one Friday as they came out of the sweet shop. ‘You know, the one they call the chocolate- coloured coon.’
‘Me too,’ added Titch. ‘I’ve eaten so much Cadbury’s I look like the chocolate soldier. We’ve been here now for three months and I think we’re suffering the torture of slow starvation.’
‘It’s time we did something,’ said Billy. ‘I didn’t want to bother my mam and dad at home ’cos they’ve got their own troubles, what with the bombing and all that. But I think I’ll write them a letter.’
‘You mean complaining?’ asked Robin.
‘No, not so much that,’ said Billy. ‘I could ask them to send us some food or something. My dad can get fruit in Smithfield Market.’
‘That would be really fantastic,’ said Titch.
One day, two weeks later, they got back to Kincraig Avenue from one of their frequent visits to the amusement arcades at about four o’clock.
‘We’re not allowed back in until five o’clock,’ said Titch. ‘What about a game of cricket against the lamppost?’
‘Great idea, Titch,’ said Robin sarcastically. ‘What do we use for a bat or ball, since they’re up there in the bedroom.’
‘What’re you so scared about?’ said Billy. ‘She can’t
stop us going to get our own things. I’ll go up and get them. I’d like to see her stop me.’
Boldly he went into the house by the back door. As he crossed the threshold, he was met by the most delicious whiff of meat stew, and there at the kitchen table sat Mrs Mossop with her two children tucking into a meal of Lancashire hotpot complete with golden pastry crust.
‘What do you mean bursting in on us like that?’ she screamed. ‘You’re not allowed in until five o’clock and you know it.’
‘Sorry, Auntie,’ he said. ‘Just want to get our cricket things from the bedroom.’
‘Hurry up and get out,’ she yelled.
Billy did as he was told but not without a backward glance at the meal, which was still steaming on the table.
That night the boys were given their usual meal of bread and jam. When they went to bed, Billy wrote furiously in the diary which he kept locked in his case under the bed:
‘Came home early today. Entered house at four o’clock. Found Mrs Mossop having secret meal of Tater Ash. She was very angry as she was CAUGHT IN THE ACT!’
‘Did you ever hear from your mam and dad about the parcel you wrote for?’ asked Titch.
‘I had a letter from them to say they had sent some fruit. Jaffas, my dad said. Eat them slowly, my Mam wrote, ’cos they’re like gold. But they never arrived.’
‘They’ve gone astray,’ said Robin. ‘A lot of things have gone missing because of the war.’
‘More like one of those thieving temporary postmen,’ said Titch, always ready to look on the bright side.
‘Well, parcel or no parcel,’ said Billy, ‘I don’t intend letting Mrs Mossop starve us. We’ll wait our chance.’
Their chance came on Friday night.
OUR KID
★ ★ ★
It was one of those rare occasions when Mrs Mossop was going out for the evening - on the town! During the day she had been to the beauty salon for a hair-do and a facial. She had removed her glasses and looked almost pretty.
‘I shall be back about ten thirty,’ she said. ‘I’m leaving you boys in charge and you are on your honour. Look after things whilst I’m out, and maybe tomorrow you’ll have a nice omelette for dinner.’
‘Real eggs?’ asked Billy. ‘Or the dried variety?’
‘Dried, of course,’ she said. ‘What else is there?’
Whilst she was out, the boys and her two children played a game of Monopoly with much cheating and much arguing about rents, mortgages and going to gaol, until it was time for bed. At ten o’clock the two young ones were duly retired and the three boys were installed in their double bed top and tail. The five youngsters filled the house with the singing of all the patriotic songs they knew, beginning with ‘God Save the King’, through the Polish national anthem and ‘Rule Britannia’, and finishing with ‘There’ll Always Be an England’.
‘Did you notice,’ said Robin, ‘in that last song, there’s no mention of Scotland and Wales?’
‘Perhaps they’ve had their chips,’ said Titch.
‘Are you going to read us a bedtime story before we go to sleep?’ shouted Neville.
‘OK, just one,’ called Billy. ‘And then it’s time for shuteye.’
He went through to their bedroom and read them the story of ‘The Frog Prince’ by the Brothers Grimm.
‘That’s it for tonight,’ he said, as he got up to go. ‘Time for sleep now.’
As he was leaving, he noticed some very tiny blue
stickers on their dressing-room mirror. ‘Jaffa’, they read.
‘Where did you get these?’ he asked.
‘Mummy said it’s a secret and we weren’t to tell. But they were on the big oranges she gave us.’
‘I see,’ said Billy. ‘You were very lucky to get a Jaffa orange. Don’t you know there’s a war on?’
That night he made another entry in his diary.
At about eleven thirty Mrs Mossop came home, and she wasn’t alone. The boys were still awake and they heard the sound of a man’s voice - a foreign voice.
‘Do you think it’s a spy?’ saidTitch. ‘Do you think Mrs Mossop works for the Germans?’
‘Grow up, Titch, and don’t ask daft questions,’ said Billy. ‘Of course she does.’
Half an hour later, Mrs Mossop went into her bedroom. And so did the man.
‘Now’s our chance,’ said Billy, ‘to get some food. Titch, you listen at her bedroom door and give the word if you think she’s coming out. Robin and I will go downstairs and see what’s in the pantry.’
The three of them listened at her door to make sure she was fully occupied, but all they could hear was the creaking of bed springs and Mrs Mossop moaning as if in pain.
‘Whatever she’s doing,’ whispered Titch, ‘she doesn’t sound as if she’s enjoying it.’
Robin and Billy went down to the kitchen, where they noticed a Polish pilot’s tunic draped on one of the chairs.
‘It’s nice to know that Auntie is doing her bit for the war effort,’ whispered Robin.
They managed to filch a good piece of cheese and a hunk of bread. As they lay in bed consuming their feast, Billy said:
‘Another entry for my diary. At this rate I’m going to need a bigger book.’
In the afternoons, the trio continued to frequent the arcades, looking for coins which punters might have dropped on the floor or left in the slots of the apparatus. Over the months they had become extremely skilful at manoeuvring prizes out of the crane-grab machine and other tests of mechanical skill. They had also come to know every tune in every juke-box: the Ink Spots’ ‘I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire’, Flanagan and Allen’s ‘Let’s Be Buddies’, Tommy Trinder’s ‘All Over the Place’ and many others.
They had also invented an extremely dangerous game called ‘Race Against the Sea’.The game was most exciting when the sea was rough and choppy, and required good timing as it involved running down the wooden promenade steps when the tide receded and then running back up to beat the returning wave. The winner was the one who could run furthest down the steps, and the game was made more hazardous by the fact that the steps were wet and slippery. On one of these occasions Billy ran down almost to the bottom, but as he turned to come back, he skidded on the greasy surface. The sea showed no mercy and a great wave enveloped him, soaking and almost drowning him in the process.
There was nothing for it but to find shelter in the warmth of Woolworth’s cafe, where they found they could just about afford one cup of tea with the twopence they had left. Completely saturated and dripping sea-water everywhere, Billy sat huddled near a radiator.
‘We can’t go back until five o’clock,’ said Robin. ‘So you’d better make that cup of tea last.’
The hands of the clock moved extremely slowly and it seemed like eternity before it was time to go back to the billet. When they finally got there, there was more trouble waiting. Mrs Mossop was on the warpath. As Billy went
into the house, shivering and sneezing, she was standing there, hands on hips.
‘I’ve just been cleaning out the bedrooms and I’ve found this,’ she said ominously, indicating Billy’s diary.
‘But that was in my locked case under the bed,’ he managed to stammer between sneezes.
‘Well, you left it open this time,’ she yelled. ‘And just what do you mean by “Caught in the Act”, you cheeky little bugger. If you were my child, I’d give you a bloody big slap in the chops.’
‘You have no right to pry into my things,’ said Billy. ‘That diary was private.’
‘And so is my life,’ she bawled. ‘Who I choose to get in bed with is my business, not a little snotty-nosed evacuee’s. How dare you write in your diary, “Tonight, Auntie brought home an airman and together they went climbing and exploring the North Pole.” And later there’s this: “Where did Auntie get the Jaffa oranges?” ’
‘Well, where did you get them from?’ asked Robin, joining in the fray.
‘I bought those from Thomas Talbot’s Fruit Market on Waterloo Road.’
‘And I suppose they went over to Palestine to get them,’ said Titch.
It was then that Billy collapsed in a heap, shivering uncontrollably.
‘Why, he’s ill! Quick! Help me get him to bed,’ exclaimed Mrs Mossop, her nurse’s instincts coming to the fore.
Billy remained in bed for ten days, suffering from a severe bout of influenza. During that time, Miss Barrymore came to visit him:
‘You have been very ill,’ she said, ‘and you have lost a great deal of weight.’
‘I was already a tin-ribs to start with, miss,’ he said.
‘This is the billet where the lady was most reluctant to take you, isn’t it? I feel partly to blame for all that’s happened. I should have been along to see how you were getting on much earlier than this.’
That afternoon, Billy and his form teacher had a long heart-to-heart about the billet and the treatment they had received at the hands of‘Auntie’.
‘I’m not sure about that idea of keeping a diary, miss,’ said Billy.
‘It’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘But you must always make sure it’s kept under lock and key. You never know, one day you might include some of the details in a book.’
A week later, Mrs Mossop was requested to attend at the school to meet Brother Dorian. The trio were called out of class to go to his office. There they found Auntie, wearing a smartly cut suit, and a hat with a veil, but looking distinctly uncomfortable. She was left in no doubt as to whose side the head was on.
‘Come in, the little soldiers,’ boomed Brother Dorian.
There followed not so much a trial as an inquisition.
‘Tell me, Mrs ... er. . . Messup. What do you give these young growing boys for tea? Perhaps muffins with butter, or crumpets? Perhaps eggs, cheese, meat, that kind of thing?’
‘Well, no,’ she said falteringly. ‘I make them a nice tea of bread and jam or lemon cheese.’
‘Yes, yes, I see,’ he said, making Auntie’s food sound like Oliver Twist’s workhouse gruel. ‘And what about supper? Perhaps hot-milk chocolate or cocoa with a biscuit or two?’
The three boys exchanged ‘is-he-kidding?’ glances.
‘Well, no,’ she said. ‘I don’t give my own children anything before bed. Besides, we couldn’t afford all those
things on the allowances you pay to us landladies.’
‘No, no, quite,’ he murmured. ‘Talking of allowances, I notice on the returns you have been submitting that you have been claiming the special enuresis allowance. Which of these boys wets the bed?’
Mrs Mossop had turned red.
‘I can’t really say. But I did once find the bed slightly wet,’ she said.
‘Quite. Quite,’ he said. ‘Well, thank you for coming, madam. I think I have the picture now.’
Turning to the boys, he said:
‘Wait outside the door now, you brave little soldiers. England should be proud of you.
‘Now, Mrs Messup, I am going to take the three boys away from you.’
‘Mossop, sir. Very well, then. But perhaps you could send me two nice girls in their place?’
‘Be under no delusions, madam. Under no circumstances would I even contemplate such a thing. I do not consider you a fit person to take care of young evacuees.’
‘Well, I must say! I did my best for them. I looked after them, I did.’
‘Tell me, madam, do you consider half-starving them was looking after them? Do you consider keeping them out of the house until five o’clock every day in all kinds of weather to be looking after them? I am in two minds whether to advise the evacuation authorities to prosecute you for falsifying the returns you made.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You claimed the enuresis allowance when you knew perfectly well it was false,’ he roared angrily. ‘These young boys are away from home, and they come from good homes, let me tell you. They are young and vulnerable and it is an easy thing to take advantage of
them. The generous allowance you received was for their sustenance, not your profit. Now I advise you, madam, to go before I change my mind about prosecuting you. I shall find a new billet for them this very day. Good day, madam.’
‘Well, I’ve never been so insulted in all my life!’
Mrs Mossop stormed out of his office and glowered at the three boys, who had heard every word of the discourse, as Brother Dorian had intended.
‘Now, my young warriors,’ he said. ‘I want you to go back to your billet with Miss Barrymore and collect your things. I am moving you all to my bungalow at Cleveleys. I think you will find the fare we provide a distinct improvement on what you have been used to with that wretched woman. Go along and I shall send Miss Barrymore to you immediately after lessons.’
‘Oh, thank you, sir,’ they said together.
‘At last things are looking up,’ said Robin when they got outside. ‘According to Potts, we’ve got the best billet in Blackpool.’
‘About time too,’ said Billy, ‘after the lousy time we’ve been having with Auntie. Going to live with Brother Dorian is bound to be better.’
‘You know,’ saidTitch, ‘whenever I hear you two talking happily like that. . .’
‘It makes you feel happy too, I suppose,’ said Robin.
‘No,’ said Titch. ‘That’s when I feel most worried.’
‘You’re just a born Jeremiah,’ said Billy.
‘Not at all. I just feel that if things are going to get better, it’s only because they’re going to get worse later on.’