Cathie’s friend Brenda gave a little nod. ‘I can understand your concern, Evie. When I was working in France with the Oeuvre de Secours aux Enfants, known as the OSE, many children who had lost touch with their parents developed problems and some had no wish to return home. They might have grown very fond of the family they’d been living with throughout the war, some suffered the loss of memory of their real parents, or their father could be dead and they’d no idea where their mother might be.’ Brenda fell silent, making no mention of what she had suffered in France.
‘Are you saying mine could accuse me of abandoning them?’ Evie asked, filled with a burst of anxiety.
Brenda firmly shook her head. ‘I’m sure yours were much safer than was the case in occupied France. Some suffered a heart-rending and difficult time there. Not at all easy for them. I’m sure your son and daughters will be eager to come home and see you, their beloved mother.’
‘I do hope you’re right.’
‘Why would they not be when you’re such a loving, caring person?’ Cathie said. ‘Your family has been much more fortunate than mine, despite the war. I wish you’d been my mum, instead of my own selfish mother who is always more interested in her string of lovers. Not to mention my absentee father, your brother, whom I haven’t seen in years as he’s apparently living somewhere abroad. But have you heard any news about dear Uncle Donald, your darling husband? Could he be safe and well?’
A crease marred Evie’s brow as she recalled the years of silence she’d endured after he’d been declared missing, constantly worrying over whether he would ever be found or presumed dead. Eventually she was informed that he’d been captured and was being held as a prisoner of war. Now she unfolded a letter and handed it over to her niece with a warm smile. ‘I’ve recently had word that as an ex-PoW he’s now in rehabilitation being cared for by the Civil Settlement Service. They are checking his health and helping him to recover. He’s apparently a bit thin and worn out, but alive and will hopefully be home soon. How wonderful that will be. I can’t wait to see him,’ she said, her face a picture of joy. ‘My dream is to have all my family together again. I do hope you’re right, Brenda, and my son and daughters will be eager to come back home. I will pay attention to any possible problems they might have. Having no idea where they are, I shall go and speak to the billeting officer again, to see if he’s found them.’
‘I’m goin’ to fall, sir. One more move and this mountain and I will part company,’ Danny yelled. He was attempting to climb a mountain and a piece of rock had broken off somewhere below his right foot. He could feel his legs weakening, control oozing out of them.
‘You’re doing fine, Danny. Pull back. Your stomach is too close to the rock face. Look for a hold. You’re fourteen, not four. As you are so fond of telling us.’
‘If I lean back I’ll be into a skydive without a parachute.’ Panic swelled and bubbled in his stomach. ‘I daren’t move me eyes let alone me ’ead.’
A chuckle came from below. ‘There’s a jug handle up there. Get your hand round that and you’ll feel safe and secure again.’ This advice came from the camp leader who was supposedly a gifted mountain instructor if dismissive of this climb, treating it as a small practice.
Danny, however, had a very different view. He could hardly believe this death-defying feat he was involved with, probably his last movement in this world. How could a mountain have a jug handle? He did know, of course, that this name was simply a label for a particular type of hold. But he’d give anything right now to be safely back in his tent enjoying a glass of milk, his mouth having gone dry with fear. In all the time he’d spent at this camp he’d made no attempt to learn how to climb. But he’d been bullied into taking part in this event. Now he clung on, shivering, knowing that if he was to stand any chance of being chosen as a team leader on the next walking expedition he had to make an extra-special effort. His fingers stretched out and curled around the jug handle, which did feel better, and he let out a sigh of relief.
‘Now put your right foot where your left hand is and make ready to swing round and go backwards up the chimney.’
These instructions would have set him laughing if he hadn’t been too nervous of the results of such a foolish act.
‘This rope is too slack. I’m jiggered, so take it up,’ he yelled. ‘Who is belaying me?’ When the answer came from above he wished he hadn’t asked.
‘It’s me-ee. Yet again I have you in my power.’ This comment was followed by a much-exaggerated imitation of a wolf howling.
Danny saw a smirk of satisfaction on Willie’s face. Why had he stupidly agreed to come on this climb, which made him feel a complete and utter fool? He could never trust this alleged old friend who’d become so domineering and bad-tempered due to a disagreement and row they’d had some years ago. He’d been a pain ever since because of what he’d done back then. At first Danny had been billeted on a farm, which he’d loved. It had been hard work with one or two problems but he’d enjoyed roaming around the countryside, milking cows and feeding chickens. Willie had lived nearby and when charged with some petty crime of nicking fruit and veg, he’d insisted that he was only helping Danny look for stuff to eat and sell. They’d both been sent to this camp, classed as problem boys.
Since then this nasty liar frequently ordered him to do all manner of jobs or stupid tasks that Willie had no wish to be involved in, demands Danny had to accept to avoid being beaten. Or else he’d find his food messed up by Willie spitting in it. Now he’d got him into this mess, a climb he was making far worse than it should be. It felt as if this bully was wielding the power of life or death over him. Holding a knife in his hand and chortling with laughter, he looked as if he might cut the rope upon which Danny was hanging then drop him off the mountain.
The voice of the camp leader penetrated into his head, again giving him careful instructions. ‘Concentrate on what you are doing, laddie. Keep your weight on your feet. Don’t reach too high with your hand or you’ll lose your balance. Then move one foot at a time.’
Giving a tug, Danny pulled himself up through the so-called chimney but then came the last part – a nasty overhang. He felt his stomach heave into a dark hole of terror. If this practice pitch of fifty feet was so difficult, how did anyone ever have the nerve to climb a big mountain such as Scafell? And how could he be sure he’d survive? He strived not to assume he would suffer a possible disaster, telling himself that he must prove he had the courage to do whatever was required of him. Searching for a hold without the help of his stomach, let alone the unreliable strength of his limbs, he jammed every toe and finger into the minute cracks he could find and hung on to them, silently praying. He’d be so much happier on level ground, or preferably no higher than the bottom rung of a very wide ladder. But he had no intention of being beaten by this rocky crag. Gritting his teeth, Danny swung up his right foot and stuck it on a wide fissure of rock, rather like a long split in a bread roll. Now he just had to get his bottom round, his left foot up and – aah! His feet jerked and slipped off the ledge. The view of the countryside tilted around and a cold sweat broke out over him. Was this the moment he’d die?
‘Help!’ he yelled.
The jerk of the rope tied to his climbing belt felt almost worse than the slip. Knowing how a person could fall twenty feet in one second, he felt deeply grateful for this safety rope that the camp leader always attached in these practice climbs, in addition to the belay. Fortunately, Danny had fallen less than two feet, his nails managing to find contact with a crack in the rock face. Tearing himself up in a fury of panic, he dived over the top as if the devil himself was on his backside. Once he’d recovered from the initial effects of the shock, unhooked himself from the rope and pulled off his safety helmet, he flung himself at Willie to start belting him.
‘Yer a nasty wiry worm! Stop bloody attacking me the whole damn time.’
Within seconds they were fighting. Willie thumped Danny much harder and more brutally, being fatter, taller, stronger and nastier than him. ‘Do as I flamin’ well tell you,’ he roared.
Growing