The days on board ship did indeed seem like the holiday Emily Vanstone had promised to the children from Laurel House. Before the war the Pride of Empire had been a three-class ocean liner, regularly plying her trade from London to Sydney. Her war work as a troop ship over, she’d had a refit, and was back in service on her old route. Now, she transported migrants in search of a new life across the world, rather than the pre-war, rich passengers, but to the migrant children, she was the grandest place they’d ever been in. None of them slept well that first night. It was far too exciting to be going to bed in a cabin, and feeling the movement of the ship as she ploughed through the English Channel.
‘Now, you’re all to go to sleep and no chatting,’ warned Miss Ellen. ‘I’m going to turn out the light and you’re to settle down. It won’t be completely dark, there’s a night-light up there.’ She pointed to a tiny green light, high up in a corner. ‘I’ll come and tell you when it’s time to get up, but until then you stay in the cabin, understood?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Right, well, goodnight.’ She turned off the light, and shut the cabin door.
After morning prayers, a bell sounded, the signal to go into the dining room. The children had never seen so much food.
‘You seen what there is?’ whispered Daisy, pointing at a plate of food being served at the next table. ‘Them’s fried eggs, two, and bacon. D’you reckon we can have some of them?’
‘Don’t know,’ Rita sounded doubtful. ‘P’raps it’s just for that lot, you know. Maybe they’re special or summat.’
‘What can I get you, miss?’ said a voice, and Rita turned round to see a dark-faced waiter wearing a smart white jacket, smiling enquiringly.
‘What?’
‘What would you like to eat?’ he asked. ‘Would you like some egg and bacon, or a sausage? I bring toast after.’
‘Yes,’ said Daisy, quickly. ‘I’ll have all of that.’
‘Me too,’ said Rita, and looking at Rosie, she added, ‘and the same for my sister.’
‘Certainly, miss,’ said the waiter. ‘Just a few minutes.’
He was back in less than five minutes bearing three plates, piled with the food the children had asked for. They couldn’t believe their eyes, and when he offered orange juice they all nodded yes please, their mouths already too full to make an audible answer.
Though several of them, Daisy included, were feeling distinctly queasy as the ship continued down the English Channel, they all devoured everything they were offered. Afraid such food might not be there again, they all stuffed themselves, despite their seasickness. Rita didn’t feel too bad, as she adjusted quickly to the motion of the ship; Rosie did not.
‘Reet,’ whimpered the little girl, ‘I feel sick.’
‘You can’t be sick here,’ cried Rita looking round the posh dining room in agitation. ‘Come on, Rosie, we got to get to the cabin.’ Leaving the last of her own breakfast on the table, she grabbed her sister’s hand and dragged her out of the room, back down to their cabin two decks below. Rosie was beginning to retch as Rita pulled her inside and they only just made it in time for Rosie to return her breakfast into the basin. Rita held her head, muttering soothingly, until at last Rosie, pale and scared, lifted her head.
‘I don’t like it,’ she wailed. ‘I don’t feel very nice.’
‘Get on your bunk and lay down,’ advised Rita. ‘I’ll stay here with you. OK?’ She helped Rosie onto her bunk, but within moments she was up again, leaning over the basin. When there was nothing left to come up Rita helped the little girl back to bed, where moments later she fell asleep.
Daisy and Sylvia felt seasick too, and it wasn’t long before they were lying on their bunks, eyes closed, fighting to keep their breakfasts down.
‘You silly girls,’ cried Miss Ellen when she came to see how they were faring, ‘you shouldn’t have eaten so much. You’d better not eat anything else until you’ve got your sea-legs.’
‘What’s sea-legs?’ quavered Rosie. ‘Where do we get them?’
Miss Ellen laughed. ‘Sea-legs just means getting used to the ship moving. Then you can eat to your heart’s content.’
‘Will we get breakfast like that every day?’ asked Rita in wonder.
‘Of course,’ replied Miss Ellen. ‘And lunch and tea and dinner, so you don’t have to eat yourselves sick!’
At first there was still confusion about the meals that would be served. As far as most of the children were concerned, lunch was a mid-morning snack, dinner meant the midday meal, and tea was the evening meal. No one expected four meals a day.
‘Tea’s awful early,’ said Rita to Daisy when the bell summoned them to the dining room at half-past four, the first afternoon.
‘Not much of it neither,’ said Daisy, looking in disgust at the bread and jam set out on the table. ‘We won’t half be hungry by breakfast.’
‘Cake!’ cried Rosie, pointing to slices of cake arranged on a dish. ‘There’s cake!’ They helped themselves to several slices of bread and jam, piling pieces of cake onto their plates in case it disappeared.
‘For goodness sake, children,’ admonished Miss Ellen, seeing the food stacked up on their plates, ‘if you eat that lot, you won’t have any room for dinner.’
‘But we had dinner, miss,’ pointed out Sheila, taking the lead. ‘Fish pie and ice cream.’
Miss Ellen laughed. ‘Silly girl! That was your lunch. Tea is in the afternoon, just to keep you going, and then dinner is at seven in the evening.’
They all stared at her in amazement. ‘You mean we got another meal to come, miss?’ asked Daisy.
‘Certainly you have, so leave some room for it.’
‘Is that the same,’ ventured Rita, ‘every day?’
‘Every day,’ Miss Ellen assured her, and seeing the incredulity on their faces, she suddenly realized how little these children normally had to eat. For the first time, she took in their skinny bodies, their pallid faces and their lacklustre hair.
‘Enjoy your tea,’ she said, ‘but leave room for your dinner.’
Life slipped into an easy pattern and the children began to enjoy their unaccustomed freedom. The Laurel House girls roamed the ship freely, exploring the different decks, finding a library and a games room, and were soon making friends among the other children who were also being sent to a new life in Australia. They hardly saw Sheila; she had palled up with two older girls who were travelling out with their parents to live in Perth. If any of the Laurel House girls bumped into her during the day, she scarcely gave them a glance as she and her new friends sauntered past.
‘I’m in charge of our group,’ Rita and Daisy heard her say on one occasion, ‘as I’m the oldest. They have to do what I say.’
Rita stared after her and remarked scornfully, ‘She ain’t in charge of nofink, and I ain’t going to do nofink she tells me, neither.’
‘P’raps I’ll tell her stuck-up friends that you bit her,’ said Daisy with a grin. ‘That’d learn her.’ And both girls burst out laughing.
The days began to merge into each other. Each morning started with prayers, and each evening, between tea and dinner, Miss Dauntsey read to any children who were in the children’s lounge. To begin with few children were interested in going to story-time, but as the word got round that she was reading a really exciting book, Five Children and It, more and more of the children came in to listen. Miss Dauntsey made no comment as the numbers increased, but each evening she read the next instalment, always leaving them waiting for more.
‘Where’d you get that book, miss?’ Rita plucked up the courage to ask her.
Miss Dauntsey smiled at her. ‘I found it in the library, Rita. Have you been in there?’
Rita shook her head. ‘Not really, miss, not looking at the books, like.’
‘You should,’ said Miss Dauntsey. ‘The shelf by the window has the children’s books on it. You can choose one to read yourself.’ She looked at Rita speculatively. ‘You can read, can’t you, Rita?’
‘Course I can.’ The scorn in her voice made Miss Dauntsey smile. ‘I was the best reader in my class at school.’
‘Well, that’s excellent,’ answered Miss Dauntsey. ‘There’s nothing like reading a good book. Why don’t you go and have a look tomorrow? I’ll be in there in the morning, so I can help you if you like.’
‘What on earth d’you want to go to the silly old library for?’ scoffed Daisy when Rita told her. ‘Dull as ditch-water in there.’
But Rita loved Five Children and It, and wanted to see if there were other exciting stories that she could read for herself.
Miss Dauntsey was already there. She had several books out on the table in front of her. She looked up as Rita came across to her. ‘Ah, there you are, Rita, that’s good. Sit you down and have a look at these.’ She smiled across at her. ‘Choose one you like the look of and read me a bit.’
‘You like reading, don’t you, Rita?’ Miss Dauntsey said when Rita had read her several pages.
‘I liked reading at school, and I used to read to my gran, when I lived with her. Gran read to us sometimes, me and Rosie when we was in bed.’ There was a quaver in her voice that didn’t escape Miss Dauntsey, and she wondered what on earth Rita and Rosie were doing going to Australia if they had a grandmother who loved them back in England. Not wanting to upset the child further, she said, ‘It doesn’t matter what you read, as long as you read. Books are meant to be fun, so if you’re enjoying one, keep reading it.’
‘I like the one you’re reading us,’ Rita said. ‘It’s good, isn’t it?’
‘I think so,’ agreed Miss Dauntsey, smiling. ‘There are other books written by the same lady, you know. Shall we see if we can find another one?’
When she left the library five minutes later, Rita was clutching a battered copy of The Phoenix and the Carpet and Miss Dauntsey sat staring into space and thinking how sad it was that a child as bright as Rita was being sent thousands of miles away from the grandmother she so obviously loved.
Once the Pride of Empire had progressed through the Straits of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean, the children began to blossom. Properly fed, and spending most of the day out in the warm, fresh air, there was little to see of the pasty-faced urchins who had boarded the ship at Tilbury. As the weather grew hotter the cover was removed from the small swimming pool, and here once a day the Miss Dauntseys allowed their charges a supervised swim. Few of the children had swimming costumes, but the boys were allowed to swim in their shorts, and the girls, swimming at a different time, wore their vest and knickers.
‘Hey, Reet,’ cried Daisy on the first swimming day, ‘you been in a pool before?’
‘Nope,’ replied Rita, ‘and I’m not sure I want to go in one now.’
‘Cowardy Custard,’ taunted Daisy, and to show she wasn’t afraid, she jumped in, disappearing under the water. It seemed an age to the anxious Rita before Daisy came spluttering back to the surface, only to disappear once again.
‘Miss, miss!’ called Rita, running over to Miss Dauntsey, who, having finished her own swim, was lying on a sunbed. ‘Quick, miss, Daisy’s fell in. She’s drowning, miss!’
Miss Dauntsey took one look at Daisy, coming to the surface spluttering for the third time, and diving across the pool grabbed her as she began to sink again. ‘You stupid child!’ she admonished, as she hauled the still-spluttering Daisy onto the side. ‘If you want to go into the pool and you can’t swim, you must come down to the shallow end and walk in.’
‘Don’t want to go in, miss,’ muttered Daisy.
‘Well, you’re going to,’ insisted Miss Dauntsey. ‘Everyone should learn to swim. Come on, Daisy, back into the water. You too, Rita.’
After that, she gave swimming lessons every day, and over the next few weeks most of them learned to swim, enjoying the cool water as the skies above them remained blue and hot, and the sun toasted their pale skins brown. The routine swim had become the high spot of the day.
The Miss Dauntseys were not strict; they were chaperoning several groups, but the children only saw their guardians at the obligatory meeting before breakfast each day, at the afternoon swim and story-time after tea. It wasn’t long before the Laurel House girls were making friends with both boys and girls from other homes. All the children revelled in their freedom. When they passed through the Suez Canal, they leaned over the side of the ship watching little Egyptian boys diving for pennies thrown overboard by some of the passengers.
‘Wish I could swim like that,’ moaned Daisy as she watched a dark head burst upward through the water. She had got over the fright of her first dip in the pool, and could now dog-paddle from end to end with confidence. Rita wasn’t anything like as keen as Daisy.
She joined in the swimming lessons, but she was happy to get out as soon as she was told. There were books to read and quiet corners in which to read them, either out on the deck, enjoying the increasingly hot sunshine, or in the cool of one of the smaller saloons.
It was there, one afternoon, she met Paul Dawson. He was sitting at a table writing in an exercise book. He didn’t look up as she walked over to him, his concentration complete as his pencil flew across the paper. Rita wondered what he was doing. Surely he wasn’t doing school work. Nobody was doing school work. Suddenly Paul stopped writing and gazed up at her, unseeing and chewing the end of his pencil.
‘What are you writing?’ ventured Rita.
Paul noticed her for the first time. ‘This is my journal,’ he replied. ‘I’m writing about what’s happening on this ship.’
‘Can I read it?’
‘No,’ said Paul, firmly. ‘You can’t. Write your own.’
‘Write my own?’ said Rita. ‘I couldn’t.’
‘Don’t you do composition at school?
‘Yes, course I do. That’s just composition.’
‘Composition is writing,’ said Paul. ‘Writing a journal is just long composition. If you can do composition, you can do that.’
Rita thought for a moment. ‘I’d rather read,’ she said, and taking her book, curled up in an armchair in the corner, and within moments she was no longer on board the ship, but running to the railway embankment to wave to the old gentleman on the train. Later she thought about what Paul had said. She had always enjoyed composition at school; perhaps if she began to write about their journey to Australia, like Paul, that might get her started.
That evening, she asked Miss Ellen if she could have a book to write in.
‘I’ll see if I can find an exercise book for you, Rita,’ she said, ‘but if I can’t, I can probably find you some paper.’
Daisy was very scornful when Rita returned to the cabin carrying a new pencil and a thin exercise book.
‘What’s got into you, Reet?’ she demanded. ‘Why’ve you gone all goody-goody and started doing school stuff? Reading and writing and that! You’re dippy, you are. No school for two months and you’re writing compositions.’
But Rita, having decided she would write a journal, was not to be put off. ‘I’m writing about our voyage,’ she explained. ‘What we’ve seen and that.’
The days slipped by, merging one into another, so that Rita found she had no real idea as to how long they’d been travelling. She found the ship’s daily routine, marked off by the sound of bells, comforting. There was nothing around the ship to remind her of the past, nothing to trigger memories that might ambush her; and as for the future, well, she had no idea what that might hold. She thought of her mother and grandmother, but somehow they had faded, like an old photograph, and seemed only shadows of themselves.
Rosie, to Rita’s relief, had at last stopped asking for Mum. She seemed content to settle into the new and strange life on board, playing happily with her friends, romping like a water baby in the swimming pool. At bedtime, provided she had Knitty, she settled down to sleep without fuss. Just occasionally she climbed up the little metal ladder and crept into bed beside Rita, but not every night.
The day came when they had their first sight of Australia, and the Pride of Empire steamed into Perth. Some of the migrant workers and one large group of children disembarked there before the ship resumed her journey, docking again in Adelaide for two days, before sailing on to Sydney. One evening the captain announced that, the day after tomorrow, they would reach their destination. There was a ragged cheer from some of the migrant workers still on board, but the Laurel House girls were less happy, anxious about what awaited them when they arrived.
‘Perhaps this Carrabunna place won’t be the same as Laurel House,’ suggested Rita.
‘Course it will,’ scoffed Daisy. ‘Any place that Vanny has her fingers in will be the same, you’ll see!’