The Secret Orphan. Glynis Peters
the fretwork and was transported back to the day she’d received it and of how her parents had created a treasure trail for her to follow, ending in Elenor’s battered suitcase.
She glanced with affection at the case which now nestled in the corner of her bedroom; she’d refused to part with it even after Elenor had died. She remembered seeing Elenor arrive in Coventry carrying it and filling it with her papers to take back to Cornwall. It still housed paper memories of lives well lived. It also housed a letter which held the truth about Rose’s past life, and why Elenor had chosen to leave Britain and move to Canada. A secret Elenor had kept for so many years. A secret that had saved Rose’s life.
‘Happy birthday, Mom!’
The doors of Rose’s small home burst open and her family filled the silent room with their laughter and birthday greetings. Hugs and kisses were showered upon her in abundance. Floral bouquets were thrust at her from all angles and Rose felt the love flow from each of her children and her three grandchildren who stood before her, and her heart swelled with pride.
‘You guys will be the death of me! And you, you are stronger than you look, Abraham. Snowboarding suits you. Come champ, give me another hug, but be gentle this time.’
The room erupted with laughter and shouts of affectionate banter and teasing. She held open her arms for the youngest of her grandchildren. At six-foot tall he overshadowed her by several feet, and his body was that of an athlete. As he gave her the hug she’d demanded and gripped her tight, she had another pang of nostalgia. She thought of the last time her biological father had waved her goodbye. He’d given her no loving hug farewell, no warm memories for her to hold close on a dark night while Hitler’s bombs fell around them. She realised with a stab to her heart that he and her mother had left behind only questions and cold memories. She could never recall their love.
Her teenage granddaughters found a corner of the sofa and began clicking away on their mobile phones, capturing the moment to share with whomever would be interested. Rose forgave them their modern ways. Any form of communication was a good one. They always remembered her and brought her joy. Her grandson perched on the window ledge quietly cursing his cousins each time they snapped his way. Rose fussed around her sons and daughter, offering an enthusiastic thank you for the presents heaped upon her. They in turn delighted in her expressions of gratitude as she opened each parcel, folding the paper and ribbon with care. A habit from a lifetime of going without, Rose kept many items to recycle.
‘Thank you all. You spoil me. Now, I’m famished and could eat a …’
‘Carrot, Mother?’ Her daughter quipped. And once again laughter filled the room. The joke referred to her small appetite, and the fact she’d overeaten carrots during the war and could no longer face eating them.
The banter and laughter continued throughout the family meal in Rose’s favourite restaurant.
‘You don’t appreciate half of what you have,’ Rose said when plates were pushed aside and bellies declared full.
‘You’ve never really told us much about your time during the war, Mom,’ her eldest son responded.
Rose sipped a glass of cool water.
‘There’s too much to tell, and some things are so unpleasant they need to remain buried in the past. I’ve told you about Coventry, my home, the death of my parents. That’s one lifetime of darkness and confusion, lit only by your grandma and Pops Jackson.’
‘I wonder what Gran was like when she was young,’ her daughter said.
Rose sighed.
‘I only remember her from when I was about five, the year before the Second World War started. My memories before that are all a little foggy. I can remember her brothers died and that she returned to the farm. She loved it, but not them. They were cruel to her. She missed her boyfriend, your grandfather – Pops. I think he’d returned to Canada and left Coventry. Her Aunt Maude had died; she’d been my parents’ employer, and we stayed in her house until the night it was bombed to the ground. Then I went to live in Cornwall with Elenor, who adopted me and the rest is your history.’
Everyone around the table nodded or muttered their agreement.
‘Tell us more, Mom.’
Their corner of the restaurant was empty aside from their long table, and Rose’s family sat back in their seats indicating interest in her tale. Rose rarely opened up about her past, but she’d caught their attention. Even her granddaughters stopped taking selfies and pouting out their smiles to listen.
She looked at their faces, all eyes turned her way, waiting, anticipating what happened next in her story.
‘One of Elenor’s birthdays, I remember. My birth mother, Victoria, made a cake. She wouldn’t have bothered if I hadn’t worn her down and Aunt Maude hadn’t insisted. My mother never expressed joy over birthdays. In fact, I don’t even know when my own parents were born. How about that? Their papers disappeared in the bombings, and the only birthdays I remember are mine and your grandparents’.’
‘Ah, a cake for a birthday in the war must have cheered everyone up though, Mom’.
‘Oh, it did, and I’d learned to play a tune on the piano, and your gran sang songs with me. She had a beautiful voice. It was a very low-key party, nothing like today’s affairs, but oh the joy we shared. I remember for my birthday I used to love receiving a new pencil, or a notepad …’
‘Wow, they had notepads back then?’ her grandson asked.
‘Not the sort you know, son. The paper ones are what Gran’s referring to, not electrical.’
‘Oh, right. Really? You got excited over a paper book?’ he said.
‘I did. We had very little back than and expected very little. Each gift was gratefully received and treasured.’
‘Hence the old battered suitcase full of wrapping paper and string.’ Her daughter laughed, teasing her mother with a longstanding family joke. When Elenor had passed away, they’d found wrapping paper they’d used on gifts to her for years, all neatly folded in a drawer, and Rose wouldn’t allow them to throw it away, but instead put it with her private papers in Elenor’s case.
Rose grinned at them all. ‘You have all the gadgets, and shelves full of treats but how would you cope without them? Or what if you could no longer buy soda and chocolate?’
‘I’d die,’ her youngest granddaughter declared with a dramatic sigh.
Rose looked at them all and gave a slow nod.
‘Many did die over shortages such as soda and chocolate. Merchant ships were sunk and the service men and women died to get any types of food to us, and we still went without.’ She said. ‘I was luckier than most due to the farm in Cornwall. Thank goodness for the kind heart of Elenor, or I could have been in an orphanage and not had the pleasures of limited foodstuffs and fresh air.’
A silence fell around the table, and Rose let her words linger in their thoughts. She had no intention of lecturing them, but felt it was good to remind them of how much in the way of material goods they were lucky enough to enjoy.
‘Anyone for another drink? No? I’ll call for the bill then.’ Rose’s eldest son said, and she watched him walk away from the table. The rest of the family shuffled in their seats.
‘Thank you all for a wonderful day. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with my war talk.’
‘Hey Gran, no. We mustn’t forget that stuff. We learn it at school and forget you were part of it all. Besides, we love that you enjoy everything we give you, right down to the pretty ribbon on a gift. It’s kinda cool.’
Rose looked to her daughter who shrugged her shoulders. ‘I think it was a compliment,’