The Secret Orphan. Glynis Peters
kicked off her shoes and placed her brooch into its box. She slipped off her dress and wrapped herself in the new fleece dressing gown, a gift from her daughter. She fetched her reading glasses and read the simple picture by picture instructions on how to use the new coffee machine – a gift from her sons – and after following each one, she eventually poured the contents of the jug into a new mug that shouted out to the world she was the best grandmother. Sitting on her favourite chair, Rose settled down for the evening. She flicked on the TV from the remote control and selected a programme about purchasing a new home. It was an imported programme from the UK. Rose loved to step inside with the presenter and listen to couples deciding whether to purchase or keep looking. Some enjoyed browsing properties abroad, making the bold step to leave all they knew behind.
Rose sipped her decaffeinated coffee and nodded her approval when one couple opted to buy a property on the coast of Cornwall. With a sigh, Rose set down her empty mug, sat back and watched the credits role as the programme came to an end. She leaned back in her chair, yawned and allowed her eyes to droop into a semi-sleep as she recalled the day they’d all left England.
The sounds rattled over her head. The large ship sitting in dock blew its horn and people shouted to one another from ship to shore. Elenor had guided her one way and then another. Jackson had hailed a porter and offloaded their bags. Rose knew they wouldn’t lose their luggage because she’d been given the important task of writing their names and new address on the labels Jackson had given her. She’d used her best handwriting and when it came to writing Canada, British Columbia, she took extra care creating neat capital C’s.
Her new father had looked over her shoulder and gave it an affectionate tap the afternoon she wrote out each label. His praise still made her smile.
‘My word, well done little Rose. Those letters are sure proud and round.’
Her new mother gave her a hug.
‘She’s a clever little button, and this mummy is extremely proud of her.’
Once the porter had loaded all labelled suitcases onto his trolley and headed towards the ship, her father had lifted her high onto his shoulders. The view was incredible. Everyone looked like ants scurrying about their business.
‘I can see for miles! There’s hundreds of children. Do you think they will play with me?’
‘I’m sure they won’t want to play with a little scallywag like you,’ her father had teased, earning himself a tug of the ears.
They came to a standstill near the entrance to the ship. Her father had explained the gangway might sway as they walked up it to the ship’s deck, but that they were perfectly safe.
‘I’ll take you to a suspension bridge in Vancouver, the gangway will give you a sense of what to expect. Now stand here my little Rose while I give your mom some last minute instructions.’
Rose knew he meant kissing. They’d done a lot of that since their wedding day. She stood patiently and looked around at other couples embracing loved ones. Soldiers, sailors, airmen, women in uniform, women in everyday dress, and women in fine outfits were all squashed together in the crowd. Class separated no one when it came to saying farewell.
She took hold of her mother’s hand and received a warm smile.
‘Elenor. I’m scared,’ she said.
‘Afraid? We’ll be fine. What an adventure. Canada, here we come. We will be all right, you know. Besides, we have Jackson for good luck.’
Rose nodded, and she looked to the man who gave her his love unreservedly, who made her laugh and made it easy for her to love another father. He reached out and tucked one of the little blonde curls of hair struggling to break free back into place behind Rose’s ear.
‘It will be fine, honey. I’ll be with you all the way. Isn’t it a big ship? I wonder which cabin will be ours.’
As the ship left shore with her horns blowing, Rose’s legs trembled, and her bladder threatened to let her down. She knew life would never be the same again. She stood between her new parents and knew whatever their reasons for leaving Tre Lodhen and moving to Lynn Valley, they were the right ones.
August 1938: Cornwall, England
Elenor traced her finger across the label attached to the side of her battered suitcase.
Miss Elenor Cardew.
Care of: Mrs M. Matthews,
Stevenson Road
Coventry.
As the bus trundled noisily out of the village and headed for Plymouth, Elenor thought back to when the telegram requesting her help – well, more a command to do as she was told – was placed before her when she sat down for supper.
‘This came. You’d best pack and be ready to leave when the bus arrives tomorrow. You must collect your train ticket.’
Her eldest brother spoke in his usual gruff, stilted tone. At eighteen, Elenor was ten years younger than her brother James, and there was never a kind word spoken, or a soft expression of love for his youngest sibling.
‘Train ticket, James?’ Elenor said.
‘Read it. I’m eating.’
Elenor pulled out the thick white paper and read her aunt’s neat handwriting, which gave strict instructions of the date and time she was to arrive in Coventry. It also informed her a one-way train ticket would be waiting for her at Plymouth station, along with instructions of changes to be made along the way.
‘We’re both in agreement. It has to be done.’
Elenor looked to her other brother, Walter; he too spoke in a dull tone with no kindness. The twins resented her birth, and both treated her with no respect.
‘You’re both in agreement? And I have no say. Aunt Maude is a tyrant. A bore. Why me?’
She flapped the letter high in the air.
‘No dramatics. Just do as you are told.’
‘Oh yes, James. And who will run this place? You?’
‘We’ll manage.’ James replied.
‘But what about harvest? You need all hands available for harvest time.’
‘The matter is closed. Do as you are told,’ Walter said and bashed his hand on the table.
With the thought of not breaking her back gathering in the hay, and chafed hands not giving her problems, Elenor suppressed a smile. In an attempt to continue her pretence of hardship, she pushed back her chair and flounced from the room, calling over her shoulder as she stomped her way upstairs.
‘I’ll leave you to wash your dishes while I go pack. You’d best get used to the extra chores, idiot.’
‘Enough of your insults, get back here!’
Elenor ignored her brother, he really was an idiot, and slammed shut her bedroom door. What was the worst he could do? He had no intention of keeping her on the farm. She’d be as dramatic as she wanted.
She read the letter again. Not thrilled about caring for her aunt, Elenor was nonetheless excited about leaving Tre Lodhen – not the farm itself, but the life she endured within its boundaries. She loved her home and would miss the Cornish countryside, but she would not miss her brothers and their cold manner towards her. Coventry offered a smidgen of excitement for a young woman wanting more from life. The village of Summercourt did not excite her, it only held her back. A mantra she’d repeat for anyone who cared to listen.