The Orphans of Halfpenny Street. Cathy Sharp

they put yer in a home even if both of ’em are still around. I heard as they’re all right at St Saviour’s – not like some places where they treat yer rotten. Nanna told me I should go there. She warned me she was too old to have the care of a young lad, and I reckon it’s the worry of it wot’s made her bad.’

      ‘I put you off; you can throw again,’ Mary Ellen offered, because he looked worried about his nanna, but he insisted it was her turn. She threw, hopped up the squares and executed a perfect turn, coming back to balance on one leg as she picked up her stone. ‘I reckon we’d be all right there together – it wouldn’t be as bad as if we were on our own and didn’t know anyone.’

      ‘All right,’ he said and gave her a wide grin. ‘If they say that’s where I’m goin’ I’ll let them put me there. I can always run orf if I don’t like it.’

      ‘Where would you go?’

      ‘Don’t know; I’d probably just hang about the streets until I could find Arfur. There’s plenty of bombsites wiv ’ouses half standin’ where you can hide. Me bruvver won’t have left the East End and he might let me stay wiv him if I asked,’ he said hopefully.

      ‘It would be better than living on the streets alone, I suppose.’ Mary Ellen didn’t much like Billy’s brother. He was mean and vicious and made her feel nervous when he looked at her. ‘Besides, you’re nine, aren’t you? How long can they keep you at places like that?’

      ‘If Dad was alive I should’ve gone to work down the Docks as soon as I was twelve, that’s wot he told me. I ain’t sure if it was legal but he said he’d be damned if he kept me any longer than me twelfth birthday. He was an old devil but I wish he was still around.’

      ‘You’ve only got three years until you can work then,’ Mary Ellen said with a sigh. ‘I’ve got ages more before I can train to be a nurse like Rose.’

      ‘Work’s a waste of time if yer ask me,’ he said, watching as she completed a second turn. ‘Arfur says he can earn more in one night than me farvver made in a month.’

      ‘What does Arthur do?’

      ‘I dunno,’ Billy said, but Mary Ellen thought he was lying. She could always tell, because his ears went red and so did his neck. Rose said Arthur was a thief for certain, but she couldn’t say that to her friend. She threw for a top square and missed, and Billy chortled, stepping in to throw his own stone. This time he landed it exactly where he wanted and set off up the squares. He was on his way back when Mary Ellen saw her sister coming down the lane and knew it was time to call a halt. Before she could speak the delivery boy screeched to a stop beside her.

      ‘Wotcha, Billy,’ Bertie Carter called. ‘I ain’t seen yer for a while. Where yer been?’

      ‘To stay wiv me nanna,’ Billy said, his attention turned. ‘What yer doin’, then?’

      ‘Got a job delivering sausages,’ Bertie said. ‘Me bloody pa’s drunk all his pay again so ma told me to get out and find a job.’

      Mary Ellen saw Rose glaring at her and knew she would be annoyed to see her talking to two boys she would describe as being rogues.

      ‘I’ve got to go, Billy,’ she said. ‘It’s time for my tea now.’

      ‘All right,’ he agreed but looked disappointed. ‘It was nice seein’ yer, Mary Ellen. Don’t forget, if they put me in that home I shall be there waitin’ fer yer …’

      ‘I’m orf,’ Bertie said. ‘Yer can come wiv me, Billy. I’ll get a bag of chips on me way home and you can share ’em.’

      ‘All right,’ Billy agreed.

      Whistling, he ran off after Bertie, the pair of them reaching the end of the lane just as Rose came up to Mary Ellen. She stared after him with a look of annoyance on her pretty face. ‘Was that that Baggins boy?’

      ‘Yes. His nanna’s gone into hospital and he came to see if his brother is back, but he isn’t – and they’re going to put him in a home.’

      ‘In my opinion they should have done it long ago,’ Rose said. ‘If he’s left to run the streets he will turn out just like that good-for-nothing brother of his …’

      ‘Billy isn’t like his brother.’

      ‘Ma told you not to have anything to do with him, Mary Ellen, and now I’m telling you. He comes from bad blood and we do not want you getting into trouble because of him. Go in now and wash your hands. Then you can help me set the table and get the tea on …’

      ‘I thought we were going to have ham and tomatoes tonight?’

      It was Friday night and before Ma got ill they’d always had ham for tea, because it was pay day, but now there wasn’t enough money for treats like that unless Rose brought them.

      ‘There was no ham left by four this afternoon, and Mr Brown wouldn’t cut a new one until tomorrow. I bought a bit of fish and I’ll mash some potatoes to go with it.’

      Mary Ellen pulled a face behind her sister’s back. She didn’t like fish and she’d been looking forward to a slice of ham all day, because all she’d had at midday was a slice of bread and dripping. Rose could be mean sometimes, finding fault with Billy for no reason, and then bringing fish for tea when she knew Mary Ellen hated it.

      She would rather have a piece of bread and jam and if Rose hadn’t brought a fresh loaf, she would make toast of the old bread and put the last of the strawberry jam on it.

       TWO

      ‘Angela, this is a welcome surprise.’ Mark Adderbury rose to his feet, offering his hand as his guest entered the study of his old, rambling, but rather lovely house, which adjoined the surgery attended by his private patients. Situated at the edge of the small but charming Sussex village where they both lived, its appearance was testament to his status as a respected and expensive psychiatrist. He’d come down for a long weekend and did not return until the following day. ‘What may I do for you?’

      ‘I haven’t come as a patient,’ Angela said with the sweet smile that won hearts but these days did not quite reach her eyes. Mark understood the sadness that lay behind those expressive eyes, because when her husband John had been killed in the war, he too had felt the sharp pang of loss for his best friend. It had been then that Angela had drawn closer to him, glad of his sympathy and understanding. ‘I wanted to ask your advice.’

      His eyes moved over her, noting the style of her dress, the New Look which Christian Dior had introduced that April, with its longer full skirt and shaped waist that gave women’s figures that hourglass shape. The rag trade in London had copied it within hours, getting cheaper versions into their shop windows to tempt women who were sick to death of the Utility dresses that were all that had been available during the war. However, by the look of Angela’s dress, she had probably bought it in Paris when she stopped there on her way back from Switzerland, where she’d been on behalf of some patients; military personnel with private means, whose families had sent them for a rest cure after their traumatic experiences.

      In her capacity as an administrator for the military hospital in Portsmouth, she’d sought Mark’s advice when it was deemed necessary to find a clinic which might just be able to mend the minds of some badly damaged war heroes. Yet Angela had known only too well that it wasn’t just their minds that had been damaged; in many cases they had lost a leg or arm, sometimes both, but there was help for amputees these days. It was the men with faces so severely burned that they looked like something from a horror film that Angela had felt for the most, skin blistered, eyes damaged, sometimes sightless – and some poor devils didn’t even have a nose. Yes, there were wonderful surgeons ready to reconstruct a face, but it would mean endless pain and operations. She’d told Mark afterwards that she believed a lot of men would rather be dead than endure the look in the eyes of friends and family