Moonlight and Ashes Read online

  The children obediently piled onto the rusty yellow bus and soon they were off yet again. The bus passed though the town and once the cottages were behind them they found themselves travelling through green fields, past mountains whose peaks were lost in the clouds. And then suddenly they rounded a bend and there it was, laid out before them. Their first glimpse of the sea. Many of the children cried out with delight, one of them Danny.

  ‘Cor, just look at that.’ He was unable to contain his excitement. ‘It just goes on forever an’ ever.’

  Even Lizzie was wide-eyed with wonder now as she watched the frothy waves crashing onto the shore. She had seen pictures of the sea in books and at the cinema, but nothing could have prepared her for this vast expanse of water.

  ‘I thought the sea were supposed to be blue!’ one of the other boys exclaimed. ‘That there sea is brown.’

  ‘That’s because the weather is inclement and it’s late afternoon,’ the little birdlike lady explained. ‘As soon as the sun comes out tomorrow it will be blue, so it will, bach.’

  The small boy had no idea what inclement meant and had no intention of showing his ignorance so he merely sniffed his disappointment as the bus trundled around yet another twist in the road. And then the sea was gone from sight as the vehicle began to wend its way up the side of a steep hill. Quaint stone cottages were dotted here and there on the hillside, with smoke spiralling into the drizzly sky from their chimneys. They passed fields full of sheep and cows that were huddled in the hedgerows as they tried to shelter from the rain, and a silence settled again as the children watched with interest.

  Once the bus had reached the crest of the hill they saw a tiny village laid out in a valley below them, and even as they looked, lights began to appear in the windows of the dwellings, for the late afternoon had darkened. The old bus had laboured up the hill, but now on its downward journey it picked up speed and the village hurtled towards them. They passed a small harbour where fishing boats bobbed on the water beside a hotel that looked very grand.

  ‘Very popular with tourists, that is,’ they heard the little woman say; she had now introduced herself as Miss Williams. On they trundled, past grey cottages that all looked the same and a blacksmith’s. Then they crossed a bridge and the bus drew to a halt in front of a small building with Sarn-Bach Village Hall painted above the door.

  The hall was built in the same grey stone as the cottages, and lights burned brightly from its bare windows.

  ‘Don’t they have to use black-out curtains here?’ Lizzie whispered to Danny.

  He pursed his lips. ‘Don’t look like it,’ he whispered back, but there was no time for further comment, for as soon as the driver turned off the bus engine, Miss Williams leaped to her feet and clapped her hands.

  ‘Now then, children, I want you all to collect your luggage together and follow me in an orderly line.’

  Once more the children found themselves lined up on the car park as Miss Williams ticked their names off on her clipboard. When she was content that they were all present and correct, she marched them towards the hall with Miss Timpson following behind. Just once, Lizzie dared to glance back at her and Miss Timpson gave her a reassuring wink. By now the children looked a sorry sight, not at all like the smart little individuals their mothers had waved off only that morning. Many of them had come from the heart of the city and were pale and thin. Added to this, they were all tired from the long journey, so they made a pitiful sight as they trooped into the hall with their gas masks slung across their shoulders, clutching their rucksacks and suitcases.

  The babble of foreign-sounding voices died away as the children trailed into the hall. They blinked as their eyes adjusted to the harsh, bare electric light bulbs strung at intervals along the ceiling. A trestle table was set with dishes and cutlery.

  ‘Leave your luggage by the door now,’ Miss Williams ordered. ‘And then kindly take a seat at the table, children.’

  At the end of the table was a huge tureen that was emitting delicious odours, and as Danny and Lizzie sat down they realised that they were very hungry. Three women, who the children later learned came from the village, were rushing back and forth, filling glasses with milk and ladling a thick stew onto plates as the newcomers were seated.

  After tasting hers, Lizzie whispered to Danny, ‘What is this?’ It was certainly like no other stew she had ever tasted.

  Before Danny could answer her, one of the women, who had overheard her question, grinned at her and replied, ‘Why, it’s a good old Welsh rabbit stew, bach.’

  Lizzie almost dropped her spoon as her stomach rebelled at the thought. She and Danny had once owned a pet rabbit called Flopsy, who had lived in a hutch in their back yard, and the thought of eating one of his cousins was more than she could cope with.

  Danny felt much the same way but he was hungry so he ate his anyway. As the meal continued, the sound of motors pulling onto the little gravel car park outside filtered into the hall.

  Seeing Danny look towards the sound, Miss Timpson leaned over and whispered, ‘That will be the people you are all going to be staying with.’

  Newcomers began to filter into the room and the children watched them curiously. Men, women and children of all shapes and sizes were soon crowded down the opposite wall.

  At last the meal was over and Miss Williams, who they were later to discover was the billeting officer for that area, again took up her clipboard and approached the different families, pointing to children on their table as she did so.

  By now, Lizzie’s eyes were almost starting out of her head and she was clinging on to Danny’s hand beneath the table as if she would never let it go. They saw Miss Williams pointing to different children, and people shuffled forward to introduce themselves to their new charges until there was only them and another two children left seated at the table.

  And then suddenly there was a large woman in a voluminous coat with a red-faced man at the side of her lumbering towards them. Lizzie knew instinctively that they were heading for her and Danny, and she choked back the sob of fear that was lodged in her throat.

  ‘Right then, it’s Lizziebright, is it now?’ The woman was towering over her and holding out her hand, and Lizzie tentatively shook it as her head bobbed up and down in agreement.

  ‘Good, good. This is Mr Evans, my husband. You’ll be coming to stay with us for a while. You collect your things then now, bach, and come along with us.’

  Lizzie was pleased to note that the woman looked kindly, so she plucked up the courage to ask, ‘What about my brother Danny. Isn’t he comin’ too?’

  ‘Ah, sadly we only have the room for one evacuee, bach. My husband is the local blacksmith and our cottage only has two bedrooms, so you’ll get to have a room all to yourself, so you will. Won’t that be nice now, eh?’

  Lizzie stopped and shook her head as panic engulfed her. ‘I ain’t goin’ without Danny,’ she stated stubbornly.

  Fearing a tantrum, the woman looked at her husband, who scratched his head, bemused.

  ‘Now, now, don’t take on, so. You’ll get to see your brother every single day at the village school, so you will. And then of course you’ll be able to play together after school too, when the weather permits. So come along now. Show the others what a big brave girl you are.’

  Lizzie flashed Danny a look of pure desperation, but all he could do was shrug his shoulders as the large fair-haired woman led her away. He was so intent on watching the plight of his sister that when a man’s voice addressed him in an English accent he almost jumped out of his skin.

  Glancing up, he found himself looking into the frowning features of a giant. The man had jet-black hair, which was slicked away from his forehead. A large black eye-patch covered one eye, and below that Danny saw that one side of his face was horrifically disfigured with livid red scars. His brain immediately began to work overtime. Perhaps the man was a hero who’d been injured in the war? He had no time to think on it, for suddenly Lizzie’s voice pierce
d through the babble of voices in the hall.

  ‘Danny. Dannnnnnnny!’

  His face crumpled as he saw the big woman dragging Lizzie towards the door. His sister was looking across her shoulder imploringly at him, as tears rained down her face, but he was powerless to do anything about it. Even as he watched, she disappeared through the door into the darkening evening, and his heart did a somersault in his chest.

  The man standing beside him said not a single word until Danny finally dragged his eyes away from the door and looked back up at him.

  ‘Danny Bright, is it?’ the man snapped. ‘I’m Mr Sinclair and you’re coming to stay with me.’

  Danny nodded fearfully. The man wasn’t the nicest to look at and he didn’t seem to be any too friendly either.

  ‘Good. Get your bags and follow me then. I haven’t got all night to waste.’

  Too afraid not to obey, Danny scooted away from the table, almost overturning his chair in the process, and snatched up his small suitcase. He noticed that all the other villagers were chatting and standing about in little groups, but no one spoke to the man as he headed purposefully towards the door.

  Once outside, he nodded towards a small car that was parked against the hall. ‘Get in there.’

  Obediently, Danny clambered in as the man slid into the driving seat. ‘Wh . . . where are we going?’ he dared to ask in a very small voice.

  ‘To my home on the hillside, of course. You’ll find it basic but comfortable. Let’s just hope that you don’t have to stay too long.’ As he spoke he was reversing the car onto the road and for a time Danny was silent as he enjoyed his first ride in a motorcar. He kept watch for a sight of his sister as they drove through the village but there was no sign of her, so when they hit the unlit roads Danny leaned back in his seat and studied the man from the corner of his eye.

  ‘Do you live very far away?’ he ventured eventually.

  The man sighed as if it was too much trouble to have to reply. ‘Not really. You’ll be well within walking distance of the village school.’

  Danny gazed at the window but it was dark now and the drizzle had caused a mist, which made it difficult to see beyond the car headlights. Leaning his head against the back of the seat he rested his eyes and before he knew it, he had fallen fast asleep.

  The man shaking his arm brought him springing awake. He blinked, and as the man climbed out of the car he scrambled out and snatched his suitcase before following him up a path that led to what looked like a large house, surrounded by trees nestling in the hillside.

  There were no lights on in the windows, which looked like dark hungry eyes blinking out into the night. The place looked cold and uninviting, and when Danny involuntarily shuddered he wasn’t sure if it was through cold or his circumstances. A picture of the cosy little kitchen back at home flashed into his mind and he had to blink away the tears.

  He stood silently in the misty drizzle as the man took a key from his pocket and unlocked the front door. He went in ahead of Danny then motioned with his hand for the boy to follow him. As he snapped on the light, Danny blinked and looked around at what was to be his home for the unforeseeable future. He found himself in a spacious hallway with various doors leading off it. An ornately carved banister curved upwards to the first floor. He followed the man to a doorway right at the end of the long hall and found himself in what was obviously the kitchen. The room was reasonably clean and tidy, though there were no knick-knacks of any description to make it homely. A large scrubbed table took up the centre of the room, surrounded by four matching hard-backed chairs. A dresser in the same wood stood against the far wall, holding various plates, dishes and bowls. In a corner was a deep stone sink with a window above it, and on each side of the fireplace was an armchair. A large cooking range, in dire need of blackleading, stood apart from the sink but other than that, the room was bare. There were three more doors leading from the room, which the boy would later discover led to the stairs, the outside yard and a deep walk-in pantry.

  A huge tabby cat was curled up fast asleep on one of the chairs, and when Mr Sinclair saw Danny looking at her, he told him, ‘That’s Hemily. I bought her to catch the mice round here but she tends to eat and sleep for most of the time. And that’s Samson.’ Even as he spoke, a huge black Labrador with a furiously wagging tail lumbered towards them. Danny would have loved to stroke him but was too afraid to in Mr Sinclair’s presence, so he just stood mutely as the man bent to fondle the huge dog’s ears.

  The man seemed as ill-at-ease as Danny felt, and when he straightened he told him brusquely, ‘You can hang your coat there. There are some hooks on the back of the door. Then, if you follow me, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping. I’ve no doubt you’ll be tired after your journey.’

  Clutching his case, Danny trod across the dull red tiled floor, followed the man back the way they had come and up the staircase. He glanced curiously at the doors leading off the hallway as they passed through it, but was too afraid to ask where they led. At the top of the stairs, the man marched along to a door which he pushed open. Danny stepped past him into a sizeable room that again was scantily furnished.

  ‘You’ll be sleeping here,’ Mr Sinclair said. ‘If you need to . . . you know, there’s a chamber pot under the bed. You can empty it into the outside lavatory in the morning.’

  He was about to close the door when Danny plucked up his courage and asked him, ‘Sir, what am I to call you?’

  The man paused. ‘My name is Eric - Eric Sinclair. You can call me Mr Sinclair.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Danny replied, remembering his manners, and then the man closed the door and he was finally alone.

  His eyes scanned the room. A large brass bed was placed against one wall with a big wardrobe one side of it and a chest of drawers the other. On the opposite wall, a pretty china jug and bowl stood on an elaborately carved washstand, which he noted was full of cold water. This, he guessed, was where he would be expected to wash in the morning.

  On the other wall was a huge window with plain dark curtains drawn tightly across it. Crossing to it, Danny swished them aside and peered out into the night. Below him he could vaguely make out the shape of what appeared to be a number of outbuildings, but beyond that he couldn’t see for the swirling mist.

  Sighing, he hoisted his case onto the bed and began to unpack the contents into the chest of drawers. Then, pulling on his pyjamas, he snapped off the light and clambered into the big brass bed. He shuddered as he snuggled down into the cold sheets and instantly his thoughts turned to his sister. He hoped that she was having a better reception than he was, for without saying a word, Mr Sinclair had made it more than obvious that Danny wasn’t welcome there. If that was the case, Danny wondered, why had he agreed to take him?

  He started as the lonely sound of an owl hooting in a nearby tree pierced the unnatural silence. He could hear the wind whistling through the trees and snuggled further down the bed. And only then did he allow himself to be a little boy who was far away from home as he cried himself to sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Down in the village, Lizzie was having a much more cheerful welcome to her new home. Mr and Mrs Evans showed her into a little stone cottage next to the village smithy that seemed to be bulging with ornaments on every available surface. Compared to the house that Danny was to stay in, the cottage was tiny, but it was also warm and welcoming. Mrs Evans, who was the mother of two grown-up sons, was looking forward to having a little girl to fuss over, and it showed.

  Mr Evans looked on indulgently as she cooed over their new arrival.

  ‘Now, bach,’ she told the child in that curious, lilting voice that Lizzie was struggling to understand, ‘if there’s anything you need, anything at all, you just ask me or Mr Evans now.’

  Lizzie, whose eyes were red-rimmed from crying, nodded as she looked around the bright little room. Everything shone like a new pin and it was warm and cosy, with a great fire roaring up the chimney.

  ‘Come a
long, cariad. I’ll show you to your room. Give me that case and let me carry it for you. And Father, while we’re gone, you put the kettle on now.’

  Like a child with a new toy, she took Lizzie’s hand and led her upstairs. When she threw open the bedroom door where Lizzie was to be staying, the little girl’s eyes opened wide with amazement. A little bed covered in a pretty pink satin bedspread stood against one wall, and bright flowered curtains hung at the window which, Lizzie was later to discover, overlooked the village green and the duckpond. The gaily-painted walls were covered in pictures of fairies, and on the windowseat sat dolls and teddy bears of various shapes and sizes. A soft rug covered the shining linoleum on the floor, and the huge wooden wardrobe and matching chest of drawers had been polished until Lizzie could see her face in them. Even as Lizzie gazed around her, Mrs Evans was unpacking her case, keeping up a continuous stream of cheerful chatter as she did so.

  ‘Have you ever been to the seaside before then, bach?’

  Lizzie had no idea why Mrs Evans kept calling her bach and carry something. She could only surmise from the way it was said that it was some form of endearment. She shook her head, setting her fair curls dancing, and the big woman’s heart melted with sympathy for the child. It must be hard for her to travel so far away from her mother at such a young age. And then to be parted from her brother only added insult to injury.

  At the thought of the boy, a frown flitted across the woman’s face. God help the poor little mite, being sent off to that dreadful man up in the hills. None of the villagers liked him, from what she could make of it, and was it any wonder? In the years since he’d moved there he had never shown the slightest inclination to become one of the community. Indeed, he was bordering on becoming a recluse, venturing down into the village only once a week to the post office and to buy groceries. He had snubbed everyone’s efforts to include him in village life, and the locals had long since given up trying, herself included, though that didn’t stop him from being something of a mystery. Miss Tibbs, who ran the village post office, had once confided to her that each week he posted off a huge envelope to an address in London, and this had added to his air of mystery. Who could he be writing to? And why did he never have any visitors?