The large woman beside her spread out even further and gave a long grunt of a snore. She smelled as though it had been some time since she’d had a bath. June sighed. She mustn’t judge her. Who knew what her circumstances were? Just get this journey over and you’ll be fine, she told herself.
But the time dragged. Once the bus turned round in a complete circle.
‘We can’t get through,’ called out the conductor. ‘There was a raid last night and our road is completely blocked. We’ll have to do a detour. Probably add another half-hour on to the journey.’
The half-hour turned into an hour. Every time the driver tried to take a detour, the detour road would come to a full stop and he’d have to turn back and try another route, negotiating his way past recently bombed buildings. Somehow she hadn’t thought she’d see such depressing scenes so far from London, as Pathé News at the cinema always seemed to draw attention to London devastation. She prayed her aunt would keep safe. Dear Aunt Ada. When she’d been undecided about whether she should choose the ATS or the orphanage, her aunt had encouraged her to take up the position with Dr Barnardo’s.
‘You’re a natural with children,’ she’d said to June. ‘And you don’t want to waste your nursery nurse training. But don’t forget to have a bit of fun sometimes. There’ll be plenty of time for sadness if this war carries on much longer.’ She’d looked June up and down, her eyes full of affection. ‘You’re very young still, and pretty as a picture, so don’t tie yourself down to one man … and that includes Howard Blessing.’
Howard Blessing. June had had a crush on him when they’d first begun dating, but the attraction had quickly petered out – on her side, at least.
‘Don’t forget, you were the one who introduced me to him,’ June said with a laugh.
‘That’s as maybe. But he was supposed to take you to the pictures and dancing, not ask you to marry him – at your age.’
‘He was only kidding,’ June said. ‘Anyway, I don’t love him and never did, so there’s nothing to worry about. I just want to concentrate on my new job, but if I ever settle down it will be for love … though I shan’t hold my breath.’
‘You’re also too young to be cynical,’ her aunt had said with feeling. ‘You’ll fall in love, no doubt about it, and when it happens it’s the best thing on earth.’
The conductor broke into her thoughts as he called out, ‘Next stop, Ferndale. That’s yours, hen,’ he said, walking towards her, smiling.
Hen? Was he referring to her? What a strange expression. She was sure she had a lot to learn coming all this way from London.
‘Oh, thank you.’ June scrambled to her feet, which was difficult in the confined space. The large lady struggled up to let her out and June moved towards the front of the bus. Someone had shoved her case into the luggage space, and as she tried to lift it out the bus jolted to a stop, pitching her forward.
‘Steady,’ the conductor said, holding her arm. He glanced at her curiously. ‘Where’re you off to, hen?’
‘Dr Barnardo’s home. Do you know it?’
‘Aye. It used to be Lord Bingham’s house. That’s where it got its name: Bingham Hall. It’s up the lane on the left, then left again. A good twenty minutes’ walk, I’d say, as it’s quite a climb.’ He threw her a cheeky grin. ‘But you’re young … you’ll probably do it in less than that.’ His eyes swept approvingly over her ankles before he asked, ‘Are you a teacher … or visiting one of the young’uns?’
‘I’m working there – matron’s assistant.’
‘You’ll be working for Mrs Pherson, then.’
June nodded, pleased that someone knew her new employer.
‘Well, good luck, hen, is all I’ve got to say. I think you’ll be needing it – and not just with the young’uns.’
She wondered what he meant by this, but there was no time to think. The conductor had already kindly set her case down outside and waved her goodbye.
June’s eyes stung in the bitter morning air as she watched the back of the bus disappear. She was the only passenger who had alighted. It was foggy now they were out of Liverpool and she wondered how far away the orphanage was from the nearest village. Wherever it was, and however far, there was no going back. It had started to drizzle and grey clouds had begun to pile up. Pulling her scarf more snugly around her neck, and pushing back strands of the honey-coloured hair that whipped from under her hat, she clutched the handle of her mother’s suitcase, somehow feeling close to her, and began the long trudge up the lane.
The house came into view almost brick by brick. The first things that struck her were the tall chimneys poking up into the heavy sky, smoke curling out of them. As she got nearer, the house looked even more impressive with its crenellated front, giving the air of a castle. Was this mansion really going to be her home? She thought of the little terraced cottage where she’d grown up – the small back yard – and pulled herself up sharply. She was being disloyal.
June wondered what had happened to Lord and Lady Bingham. Had the family fled when war was declared? How did the house come to be a children’s home? Had he lent it to them just for the duration of the war? But what did it matter how the house came to be a Dr Barnardo’s? Whatever had happened in the past, the house was providing orphaned children with a home. As she walked up the long drive the house took on such magnitude that she felt quite overwhelmed. Whatever must a child think, seeing a house like this for the first time?
At this moment she didn’t feel much more confident than a child, but she allowed herself a rueful smile as she craned her neck to look up at the dozens of windows peering down at her, imagining them slyly weighing her up as to whether she was welcome or not. There didn’t seem to be any sign of life.
She pulled the bell cord beside the massive oak door and waited. No sound at all. No scuffling of shoes. No running footsteps. Nothing. She pulled again, harder and longer. This time she heard a man’s voice shout something but she couldn’t make out the words.
The door swung back, groaning on its hinges, and a short figure of a man appeared, dressed in black from head to toe, back bent as though he’d worked in the fields all his life, grumbling and swearing under his breath.
‘I heard you the first time.’ His tone was irritable. ‘I’m not deaf, you know.’
‘I’m sorry,’ June said. What a rude man. She hoped she wouldn’t have much to do with him.
‘Are you the new assistant?’ He looked at her through dazed watery eyes.
‘Yes. I’m June Lavender.’
Was he ever going to ask her in?
He continued to stare at her. Did she have a smut on her nose or something? Her feet were beginning to freeze. She stepped forward into the doorway, forcing the little man back. ‘May I please come in?’
He gave a grunt. ‘You’d better come this way.’
June found herself in a magnificent hall. Her eye was immediately drawn towards the biggest fireplace she’d ever seen. It was built of stone, and rose twice as high as a man. A fire flared and snapped but from where she stood she couldn’t feel any heat; most of it was probably going straight up the chimney. Unlit candles in sconces were set in niches near the fireplace, and several chandeliers shaped like individual flares hung from the ceiling, which was painted with what appeared to be hundreds of coats of arms. In the middle of the flagstone floor was a huge oriental rug, rucked up at the side.
It was just as she imagined the great hall of a castle would look. This