earth to help young unmarried mothers, and of course babies put up for adoption were few and far between. So don’t judge Ellen harshly, everything I was told about her, and what I gleaned from her letter, points to her being a very decent, sweet girl who was just a victim of circumstance.
Daisy picked up the photograph of the two girls and looked at it more carefully. Mum was right, they were very alike. She thought Ellen’s family must have been quite poor, for the girls’ dresses looked very shabby.
She then picked up the slimmer envelope and opened it. It enclosed a letter from Mum dated April of this year, and a cheque for six thousand pounds.
Dear Daisy, she read. I always liked to get the last word in, didn’t I? As I sit here writing this, preparing to put it in the box with all the other memorabilia that I collected for you over the years, I sincerely hope that the doctors may be wrong in their prognosis, and that in a few years’ time we will go through the box together and laugh at its contents.
But if I am unable to share it with you, I hope you will find comfort in it, for it was accumulated with a great deal of love, and my little notes, though a little embarrassing to me now, do show how I felt at the time.
No child was ever loved more than you were. The utter joy your father and I felt when you were handed to us still gives me a lump in the throat now, after all these years. That joy was almost certainly the reason why five years later I managed to conceive the twins, when we had been told that was impossible.
You filled our lives with happiness after many years of disappointment and we were always so proud of you. Stay close to the twins, for the ties of a shared childhood are just as strong as blood lines. I wish you as much joy and happiness in your life as I had in mine, and the only sadness I have is that I won’t be around to see my grandchildren. The cheque I’ve enclosed is a share of the money left to me by my father. He too died without seeing the grandchildren he hoped for, and saving some of it for you, Lucy and Tom was my way of honouring him. So spend it wisely, my darling. A final goodbye is no time for lectures, and I’ve given you enough of those in the past. So all I can say now is that I love you, and that I shall be watching over you.
My love,
Mummy
Daisy read the letter three times, sobbing uncontrollably. It was so like Mum to have had the foresight to put something in writing that Daisy could hang on to, yet at the time she wrote it and sealed the envelope she must have been so afraid for herself.
What an incredibly brave and honourable woman she was, with such compassion for others, and an indomitable spirit. In the face of such courage and goodness, Daisy knew that now she had to put her own house in order and justify her mother’s faith in her.
She picked up the picture of the two little girls again later. Ellen had to be about eight, her half-sister six. They were standing under a tree, arms around each other’s shoulders, both smiling. The picture was crackly with age, the feel of it suggested Ellen had kept it close to her for a long time before sending it to Mum. Why send such an old picture? Did it hold some special significance?
Daisy thought about this deeply for some time. Most people would send a recent, flattering picture just of themselves, especially if they were in a position like Ellen’s, hoping to make a good impression. Therefore it stood to reason that this picture was very important to her. But why?
Chapter Three
Cornwall 1955
‘You’re mad, Ellen Pengelly, just like your mum,’ Sally Trevoise screamed out above the tumult of sixty noisy children turned loose into the small playground of Mawnan Smith primary school. ‘Go and jump off a cliff like she did.’
Trouble had started between the two eight-year-olds in the classroom a few minutes earlier. They had been painting at easels side by side, when Sally had spoilt Ellen’s picture by
Daisy picked up the photograph of the two girls and looked at it more carefully. Mum was right, they were very alike. She thought Ellen’s family must have been quite poor, for the girls’ dresses looked very shabby.
She then picked up the slimmer envelope and opened it. It enclosed a letter from Mum dated April of this year, and a cheque for six thousand pounds.
Dear Daisy, she read. I always liked to get the last word in, didn’t I? As I sit here writing this, preparing to put it in the box with all the other memorabilia that I collected for you over the years, I sincerely hope that the doctors may be wrong in their prognosis, and that in a few years’ time we will go through the box together and laugh at its contents.
But if I am unable to share it with you, I hope you will find comfort in it, for it was accumulated with a great deal of love, and my little notes, though a little embarrassing to me now, do show how I felt at the time.
No child was ever loved more than you were. The utter joy your father and I felt when you were handed to us still gives me a lump in the throat now, after all these years. That joy was almost certainly the reason why five years later I managed to conceive the twins, when we had been told that was impossible.
You filled our lives with happiness after many years of disappointment and we were always so proud of you. Stay close to the twins, for the ties of a shared childhood are just as strong as blood lines. I wish you as much joy and happiness in your life as I had in mine, and the only sadness I have is that I won’t be around to see my grandchildren. The cheque I’ve enclosed is a share of the money left to me by my father. He too died without seeing the grandchildren he hoped for, and saving some of it for you, Lucy and Tom was my way of honouring him. So spend it wisely, my darling. A final goodbye is no time for lectures, and I’ve given you enough of those in the past. So all I can say now is that I love you, and that I shall be watching over you.
My love,
Mummy
Daisy read the letter three times, sobbing uncontrollably. It was so like Mum to have had the foresight to put something in writing that Daisy could hang on to, yet at the time she wrote it and sealed the envelope she must have been so afraid for herself.
What an incredibly brave and honourable woman she was, with such compassion for others, and an indomitable spirit. In the face of such courage and goodness, Daisy knew that now she had to put her own house in order and justify her mother’s faith in her.
She picked up the picture of the two little girls again later. Ellen had to be about eight, her half-sister six. They were standing under a tree, arms around each other’s shoulders, both smiling. The picture was crackly with age, the feel of it suggested Ellen had kept it close to her for a long time before sending it to Mum. Why send such an old picture? Did it hold some special significance?
Daisy thought about this deeply for some time. Most people would send a recent, flattering picture just of themselves, especially if they were in a position like Ellen’s, hoping to make a good impression. Therefore it stood to reason that this picture was very important to her. But why?
Chapter Three
Cornwall 1955
‘You’re mad, Ellen Pengelly, just like your mum,’ Sally Trevoise screamed out above the tumult of sixty noisy children turned loose into the small playground of Mawnan Smith primary school. ‘Go and jump off a cliff like she did.’
Trouble had started between the two eight-year-olds in the classroom a few minutes earlier. They had been painting at easels side by side, when Sally had spoilt Ellen’s picture by
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