Читать книгу The Evacuee Christmas - Katie King, Katie King - Страница 14

Chapter Nine

As it turned out, the children and teachers were squeezed onto one or other of the four coaches by about ten o’clock, following a lively debate between the drivers as to the best bridge to drive across the River Thames – New London Bridge or Tower Bridge – a decision made more complicated by the drivers discussing the likely amount of traffic on the other side. The vehicles belted out black exhaust fumes as they were then driven away from Bermondsey in what turned out to be an achingly slow convoy.

It seemed to Peggy as if all of London was jam-packed with traffic as the St Mark’s buses crawled over Tower Bridge and northwards up to King’s Cross railway station.

At the massive London terminus there was then a tremendous kerfuffle going on already as, quite literally, chaos was reigning.

There were thousands of people milling hither and thither, with those from various evacuation centres and the ordinary fare-paying passengers rubbing shoulders with one another as they attempted to find out where they were supposed to be and which platform was the one that they needed.

Amongst them bustled all manner of people in uniform, some of whom were walking around with clipboards as they tried to organise those awaiting evacuation (these clipboard-holders were the people looking most harassed), while others shouted instructions and directions to various parts of the station through handheld megaphones. There were crackling announcements over the station tannoy too, but it appeared that nobody could decipher anything that was being said by these announcers.

One of the first things that Connie saw was a rotund woman in an expensive fur-collared tweedy two-piece suit that was at least a size too small for her, but who looked nevertheless like an imperious head of an exclusive girls’ school. She was standing on an upturned wooden beer crate while her quaking voice was veering towards the tone that the twins associated with an oncoming tantrum.

Grown-ups were feeling out of their depth, clearly, and tempers were being frayed in the noisy hubbub of the station. Connie whispered to Jessie with a nod towards the portly woman on the wooden box, whose cheeks were quickly taking on puce undertones, ‘King’s Cross… And it don’t look as if the Queen’s too happy either!’

Of course, everybody from St Mark’s needed now to go to the toilet, and there was an almighty queue for the gents and a spectacularly huge one for the ladies that was snaking to and fro in great loops.

Miss Pinkly had come to King’s Cross to help with making sure no one got lost at the station, although once they’d chugged out of the station finally she would be going home later by hopping on a number 63 bus. Connie heard her and Peggy joke to one another that at this rate the children could go to the lavatory and then rejoin the queue at the back, as by the time they’d get to the front once more it would be time for them to relieve themselves again. At least Connie thought they were making a joke, but after spending thirty minutes edging forward a couple of inches at a time and still not having made it into a cubicle, she wasn’t so sure.

St Mark’s headmaster Mr Jones huffed with obvious disapproval at the chaos and promptly disappeared into an office marked Evacuation Orders for what seemed an age. When, finally, he returned with his bristly moustache quivering in indignation to where the pupils and teachers were standing with their luggage, he announced that they were to get the next train that would come in at the furthermost platform on the far side of the station. The train had been specially commissioned and they would see B:71 in the driver’s window at the end of the train closest to where they would get onto the platform; this meant, apparently, it wouldn’t have any ordinary passengers, as some of the other school evacuee trains did.

It was going to take them to Leeds, after which they would be transferred to another train that would take them on to Harrogate which was, apparently, where the powers that be had decided the schoolchildren of St Mark’s, and Peggy too, would be billeted.

At this news, Peggy’s heart sank. She’d hoped they’d be heading for somewhere within – at the most – an hour of London by train. Kent, possibly, or Hertfordshire or Berkshire, or even, at a stretch, Bedfordshire.

Harrogate seemed without doubt a ridiculously long way for them all to go. It had to be close on two hundred miles between the two places.

In addition, it was already past one o’clock, and so with the best will in the world it would be late afternoon by the time they got to Leeds, and then they’d still have another train to take before their journey would be completed and before they would end up presumably at some sort of reception centre, and only at that point would they finally be allocated their billets.

It was hard to think that there wouldn’t be tears before bedtime from most of the children, as this was a punishing timetable for them, and Peggy wondered too if she might also be faced with her own sobs before the day was out. Her ankles felt uncomfortable, and the baby seemed to have picked up on her own anxiety as now and then she had a stab beneath her skirt waistband of something that felt not too far away from pain.

However, the children were being told right now to make sure they had the right suitcase or bag, and that they should get into pairs and then form an orderly line, all of which was easier said than done on such a busy day at the station.

Peggy and Susanne embraced and said farewell. Then Peggy tried to concentrate on making sure she and the pupils were as organised as they could be rather than allowing herself to think of how peaky she was feeling personally.

Then, once some sort of order had been established, a nice woman with a megaphone and a small triangular red pennant held aloft on a bamboo stick walked with them to the platform they needed, with Miss Crabbe saying repeatedly, ‘Children, follow that red flag and look sharp about it – no stragglers.’

When the party from St Mark’s got to the right platform they discovered they were to share the train with a school from Camden that was apparently destined for somewhere over near Sheffield or Leeds. Apparently there was confusion as to where that school was going and so everyone from this other school had been told to go to Leeds and the local officials could sort it out from there.

Oh well, thought Peggy, thank heavens for small mercies, I suppose. At least we know what town we are destined for, which is more than can be said for those poor pupils and teachers from Camden.

Once the St Mark’s group had shuffled past the other school to the far end of the platform as the lady with the flag had directed, and then put their cases and bags and gas masks down on the platform to wait for the train, which was being brought to them from a rail siding nearby, Peggy clapped her hands for attention.

‘Right, St Mark’s school pupils, please go and stand with your own classmates. And when we get on the train and have sat down, there will be a headcount and your names will be ticked off against each class register. While the teachers do that, I want you all to eat your packed lunches and then try to have a nap. It’s going to be quite late by the time we get to Harrogate, and you will feel tired, and so you will definitely find it of benefit to have a snooze on the train if you can.’

‘Do yer know where we’re going, miss?’

‘’Ave yer been there yerself, miss?’

‘Is it in the country, miss?’

‘Is ’Arrowgate posh, miss?’ were the questions the children wanted to know.

‘All I know is that we are definitely going to Harrogate as that is what Mr Jones said to us just now,’ said Peggy, ‘and I don’t know much about Harrogate other than that it is famous for its water spas and it was very popular with Victorian visitors, and that it is in Yorkshire. Aside from that, you all know as much as me, which isn’t very much, is it? Won’t it be fun having a whole new town to explore and find out about?’