Friday, July 19, 1940
When the bombing started, Bess’s school was turned into a fire hall for the auxiliary fire service. From the window in her bedroom, she could see the schoolyard filled with black London taxis, requisitioned for the war effort, trailing long fire hoses. Strong young men cleaned equipment and practiced fire drills in the warm sunshine.
Whenever she could, Bess went over to the school’s lunchroom to play piano and talk to the volunteer firefighters. Many of them were young, not much older than Bess. The war was definitely the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. The bombs seemed a small price to pay for the adventure.
But she was supposed to move to the country in the autumn, to go to St. Alban’s with the rest of her school. She was determined not to go.
“What’s the point?” she argued with her mother. “School will be only half days, because we have to share the rooms with a whole other school. I’ll be stuck out in the country with nothing to do.”
“Well, you could always do some extra studying,” her mother said with a smile.
“I can do that here,” Bess replied. “I’ve got all of the textbooks and I can do the work in half the time here. Besides, if I stay here I can help with the war effort. I can help make sandbags.”
“Bess, your father and I are concerned about you falling behind,” said her mother. “You’re almost fifteen. Even with the war on, we want you to be thinking about college, about your future.”
“I am thinking about my future,” Bess replied. “I get straight As and I can do that by studying hard here, at home.” Bess knew it was important to her parents that she get a good education. Her father had run a tobacco shop, but when she was eight he’d had an accident. He didn’t talk about it much, but the only job he could get after that was as a school caretaker. That’s when they’d moved to Kentish Town. He always said if he’d had a better education, he could have gotten a better job and they could have stayed in Stepney. Her mother had been to university and had taught for a while, but of course she didn’t work after Bess was born. Bess knew they wanted her to be a teacher.
It wasn’t hard for her to be a good student, but she’d never fit in at school. She was big for her age, and she got teased about her thick glasses. Her father often brought books home for her to read and they’d talk about them over tea. Just before the schools were shut down, he’d brought home the one by Mr. Hitler, Mein Kampf. “It will help you to understand what is going on,” her father had said.
Bess looked at her mother and took a deep breath. “I’ve already asked the head mistress.”
“What? Bess, how could you ask Mrs. Stevenson without consulting us first?”
“Because I wanted to make sure that it would work. She said that as long as I get all of my work done and I hand it in on time, she’ll make sure it gets marked. I can mail it to her. She said she understood my wanting to stay and help look after Louis. She thought I was being very altruistic.”
Bess loved the way the word sounded when Mrs. Stevenson said it. She could almost believe that she actually was doing this for Louis, although she knew that her brother didn’t really need to be looked after. He was nine, after all. But her mother liked her to keep Louis out of trouble.
“Besides,” continued Bess, “They’re moving the school to the country because of the bombing raids. I’d rather be here with you, being bombed, than stuck out in the country all alone, worrying about you.”
For some reason, Bess wasn’t frightened of the bombs. Her family had an Anderson shelter in the back garden and she actually liked the evenings where they crouched together as a family, playing Snap, trying to distract each other from the sounds around them. It was like a big metal cave and she felt safe there with her family.
The day after a raid held a special kind of magic for her. She loved looking out on the changed landscape of Kentish Town, seeing buildings with no front on them. Just like giant dollhouses. She imagined the lives of the people who had lived in them. If the buildings weren’t cordoned off for rescue or recovery, she and Louis would spend hours sifting through the rubble—he, looking for shrapnel; she, for bits of jewellery.
She looked at her mother and smiled her best “devoted daughter” smile. She’d spent the day at the fire hall with her new friend Gareth. He’d noticed the blue glass brooch she’d found last week. He said it matched her eyes.
“I’ll speak with your father tonight,” her mother said, a slow grin creeping into the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps it would be best if you were here with us, where we can keep an eye on you.”
Friday, August 30, 1940
It had been a beautiful summer, and Bess had spent most days at the fire hall, playing piano for the volunteer firefighters. She’d just gotten a round of applause for playing “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square,” when Gareth burst through the door.
“Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye!” he sang, as he marched through the room. Bess laughed.
“I don’t know if it’s proper for you to be laughing at Aircraftman Williams, my girl!”
Bess’s mouth fell open. “You’ve enlisted? But you can’t. You’re not old enough yet!” Her heart was pounding.
“I’ll be eighteen in two weeks, and they said that it would take that long to get me papers, so that’s all right. Royal Air Force, here I come!”
A whoop went up in the hall. The other men crowded around. They shook Gareth’s hand and clapped him on the back.
“You’re leaving?” Bess’s voice sounded weak amidst all of the congratulations.
“Of course!” said Gareth, “I’ve got to do my duty to God and the King. Besides, this way I get to see the world. I’ll fight those Jerries and get this war over with. I’ll come back a hero.”
“But what about your little brother? He’s going to miss you terribly.” Bess knew that Gareth’s parents had both died in a bombing raid and that he was looking after his brother full time.
“Ah, that’s all part of the plan, my girl. He’s headed off to Canada!”
“But how can he do that? Where did you get the money?” It was all she could do not to burst into tears.
Gareth laughed his big booming laugh. “The government’s sent him. For free! They’re sending anyone who wants to go. Well, anyone between five and fifteen. You get to go to Canada or New Zealand, Australia or South Africa. It’s brilliant!”
“For free?” asked Bess.
“Absolutely! It’s a government plan called CORB—Children’s Overseas Reception Board. He’s on a boat called the Volendam. He sailed for Canada yesterday. We’ve got a cousin in a place called Banff, so he gets to go and live with her in the Rocky Mountains.”
The Rockies. Bess had seen pictures of those mountains in her geography class. Canada was huge. It was a place for adventures and romance. She’d read a book about an orphan on an island in Canada, a girl who was really smart and clever, who wasn’t very pretty but who went away to university and fell in love.
Gareth had enlisted. He’d be gone in two weeks. She looked around at the younger fire fighters. She knew that they, too, would probably sign up as soon as they could. So many had left already.
Being left behind was awful. Going to Canada sounded like it might be a pretty exciting adventure.
Tuesday, September 3, 1940
For the past two nights, the skies had filled with German bombers. Many of the stores in the high street had been destroyed and today her mother had come back from shopping without any supplies. She looked tense and careworn. Bess waited until they were washing up after their tea of watery stew and stale bread.
“Mum, maybe it’s not so safe for us here after all. The bombing is getting really bad. And I know with rationing, it’s getting hard to feed us all.” Bess carefully dried her plate. Her mother was silent.
“Louis and I are having a hard time with our school work, and I’m worried about what will happen if it gets worse.” Bess knew that if she included Louis in the plan, there was a much better chance that her mother would say yes.
“I know, love,” said her mother sadly. “We may have to think about sending you to St. Albans after all.”
“Well,” said Bess, “if we need to go away, and if you really want Louis and me to be safe and to get a good education, why don’t you send us to Canada?”
Her mother put down the pot she was scrubbing and gripped the edge of the sink. The words Bess had practiced flew out of her mouth.
“There are really good schools in Canada, and people there who want to look after us. Lots of people have volunteered to take in English children to get us away from the bombs and the Germans.” Safety and education. She knew that’s what mattered to her parents. “There are no bombs. Canada’s perfect,” pleaded Bess.
“Canada is on the other side of the world,” said her mother sternly. “It is a terribly dangerous trip. Why, just three days ago the SS Volendam was torpedoed trying to make that crossing.”
“Yes, I know,” said Bess, “But no one was hurt. Everyone was rescued. The Royal Navy guarantees safety crossing the ocean. It says so right here in the paper.” Gareth had given Bess a copy of the notice in the paper about the CORB plan.
“Bess, your father and I already know about this plan. We’ve actually talked it over a lot. I have an aunt in a place called Winnipeg who might take you in. But we aren’t sure that we want you to leave. We know it’s hard here, but people just have to stick out the tough times.”
Her mother handed the pot to Bess to dry and continued. “The Queen has said that she and the princesses are staying here, even though many countries have offered them safe haven. They are setting a brave example.”
“I don’t want to set an example. I want to go to a good school and to learn about the world,” Bess shot back.
“But, darling, no one knows how long the war will last. If you leave, you might be gone for years.”
“And I would come back with a degree from university, just like you, Mum. I couldn’t get that here, not if I have to live in the country and go to that pokey grammar school in St. Albans.”
“Darling …”
Bess threw down her teatowel. “If I stay here I may not die of a bomb, but I will die of boredom!” She stomped out of the room. She knew she was being hurtful and hideous but she wanted, desperately wanted, to get on with her life. At any cost.
Monday, September 9, 1940
Bess had just sat down for breakfast when the postman arrived with a large manila envelope stamped On His Majesty’s Service. She knew immediately what it was. She scooped up Louis and the two of them started to dance around the kitchen.
“When do we leave?”
“Where do we land?”
“Which suitcase can I take?”
“Can I take my Bulldog Drummond books?”
“Oh, can I take my Anne of Ingleside?”
“I’m taking my Hornby train set,” insisted Louis.
“I’m not sure it will all fit into your suitcase,” said their mother.
“I’m sure I can fit some of it in my case,” said Bess. She’d have agreed to anything, anything, just to make sure that they could go.
“I, for one, will be glad to get you noisy lot out of here,” said her father.
Bess plopped herself in her father’s lap and laughed as she put her glasses on his nose.
“Oh, Daddy, you don’t mean that. You’ll miss us. But we will write every day and we’ll tell you stories about the mountains.” Bess could see herself by a window with a view of snow-capped peaks in the distance.
“And I’ll shoot a bear and send it back to you to make a coat, so you’ll be warm for the winter!” said Louis proudly.
“No, thank you!” said their mother. “If I hear anything about you and bears I will get you back here on the next boat, war or no war! Now, finish up your breakfast. We’ve got a lot to do. You’re to be at Euston station tomorrow morning.”
Tomorrow! Bess knew it would happen quickly, if it happened at all. She felt her heart pound. Tomorrow her new life would begin.
The regulations said that the suitcases had to be small: sixteen by eighteen inches. And the lists were very specific: one cardigan or woollen jumper, one woollen dress or skirt and jumper, two pairs of stockings, six handkerchiefs, and on and on. Bess’s list was longer than Louis’ and included sanitary pads and a sewing kit. In the end, there was no room for the Hornby train set in either of their tiny suitcases.
“Well, I won’t go,” Louis stamped, clutching his beloved train engine.
Bess knew that if Louis made a fuss now, she’d never get to Canada.
“Louis, I think it would be all right to carry the engine. It doesn’t have to go in the suitcase. And then, when we get to Winnipeg, I’ll use some of the money that I’ve saved to buy you a new Canadian train.”
Louis eyed her suspiciously. “Really? Promise? Cross your heart?” Bess was all right as a big sister, but she wasn’t usually this nice.
“Of course, I promise. And your English train cars will be right here, safe and sound, waiting for you to get back.”
Bess had sewn their names and their CORB number onto each item of clothing. She insisted on packing her worn old green dressing gown, even though her mother had used up all of their clothing coupons to buy her a brand-new one. “I love the old one. It reminds me of home,” she said. She knew that she’d hurt her mother’s feelings, but she’d make up for it, somehow. Later.
Bess longed to tell people where she was going, but the letter from the government was very clear. Loose lips sink ships. Ears are everywhere. It was vital that the enemy didn’t know when ships were leaving, where they were leaving from, or where they were bound.
They tried to make everything look as normal as possible, as though they were still busy with the war effort. The army had dumped a huge pile of sand beside their house and Bess and Louis spent the late afternoon with their neighbours filling sandbags. The full bags were going to be distributed throughout London to shore up walls and windows. But all Bess could think about was the trip ahead.
That night there was an air raid. They sat together as a family, as usual, in the Anderson shelter in the backyard. They played Snap, the same as every other night.
“Cocoa, Bess?” Her mother began pouring the hot liquid from the flask. Cocoa was a special treat. Her mother must have bartered something valuable to get some. Suddenly, Bess felt a pang of sadness. She imagined her mother and father sitting alone in the shelter and felt her eyes sting. But then she made herself think about the boat and the adventure ahead. After the war she’d come back to Kentish Town. She’d have a university degree and she’d get a job teaching. After the war.
Tuesday, September 10, 1940
Euston station wasn’t far from Kentish Town, but her father took the morning off work to travel with them on the bus. Louis fidgeted as he tried to juggle his suitcase, gas mask, and train engine. Bess had her father’s copy of Freedom and Culture under her arm, a book he loved. He had pressed it into her hands last night.
“I’m not going to make a big speech,” he had said, “You’re a good girl, and you’ve got a brain in your head. Use it wisely.”
Bess was also carrying a packet of sardine and cheese sandwiches that her mother had given them for the train ride. They were made with “National Loaf,” which her mother made with old flour, water, and yeast. It was dry and hard and went stale really quickly. Bess knew that her mother had saved up ration cards to be able to give them both sardine and cheese sandwiches. She knew that she should be grateful. But she couldn’t wait to get to Canada, where she hoped there’d be no food rationing.
There were lots of children at Euston station. A CORB official was checking off each one and giving them a name tag to wear. A boy in an oversized coat, with skinny pale legs jutting out beneath, was standing just ahead of them. “Kenneth John Sparks,” he said clearly. “Ken,” he corrected.
The woman checked his name off on the list. “Right, Ken. Here’s your name tag. Have you got your case? And your gas mask? Good lad. Just go on through to platform 13 there, and find a seat on the train with the other children. Next!”
“Elizabeth Walder, but everyone calls me Bess. And this is my brother Louis.” Bess watched the woman check off their names. “We’ve our cases and gas masks here.”
“And I can see you’ve got a fine Hornby engine,” the woman said, smiling down at Louis. “That’s grand. Say your goodbyes now and head on over to platform 13.” Bess moved aside as a girl with two sisters and two brothers took her place. “Gussie Grimmond,” Bess heard her say, “An’ ‘ere’s Connie, Violet, Eddie, an’ our Lenny.” Gussie looked to be a couple of years younger than Bess. Bess was glad she didn’t have to look after so many siblings.
Bess turned to her parents. Her father was pretending to take the engine away from Louis, who was squealing. Her mother’s face was flushed.
“Now you take care of your brother,” said her mum quietly. “I know he can be a naughty boy, but I want you to look after him.”
Then her mother hugged her and whispered in her ear, “You grow up and be a good girl.”
Her father gave her a quick peck on the cheek, “I’ll always love you.”
Louis had wriggled through the barrier and headed onto the platform along with a couple of the other boys. He had a huge grin on his face as Bess caught up to him. Then they were inside the train, poking their heads through an open window.
Just then the stationmaster’s whistle sounded outside on the platform. “Last call for Liverpool!” he shouted. “All aboard!”
Louis waved wildly to their parents. “Don’t forget to look after the rest of my train set!” Louis called out. Bess’s heart lurched as the train began to move. She waved as she watched her mother and father recede into the distance. They were off.