born here.”
“But I bet they support Hitler.”
“Yeah – they’re still Huns, aren’t they?” said Stan.
No one was taking any notice of Edith, and Josie could feel her cousin’s annoyance.
“We’ll be late for school, Josie,” Edith said. “And we’ve been warned about chatting with boys on the street.” She gave Vic another of her smiles.
The two groups separated.
“See you around!” Vic said.
As soon as the boys had gone, Edith turned on Josie. “You never told me about Alice being German!”
Josie shrugged. “I only found out on Tuesday. Anyway, you know now.”
“Wait till the others hear!” said Edith, already appropriating the story for herself. “We can really get back at Alice now.”
“It’s not Alice’s fault—” Josie began; but Edith withered her with, “Oh, don’t be such a drip , Josie.”
“Heil, Hitler!”
Pam gave Alice the Nazi salute.
The girl looked at her pityingly and turned away. They had cornered her in the toilets at the end of recess.
“Alice! Alice Hauptmann!” said Edith. “Are you a Nazi, Alice?”
“Is your father a spy?” asked Sylvia, giggling nervously as if she half believed it.
Alice tried to push past them. “You’re all so stupid,” she said.
“No, we’re not!” said Clare, barring the doorway. “You can’t fool us any more. We know who you really are, Alice Hauptmann, and we’re going to tell everyone. We know your grandfather’s a German. He changed his name, but you can’t change who you are. You’re still Alice Hauptmann.”
“What are you talking about?” But a look of fear crossed Alice’s face. She looked, Josie thought, as if she was caught in a trap she didn’t understand.
Chapter Ten
“Huns”
That night was cold and clear. There was an air-raid warning, and they all spent three hours in the basement. Edith and Josie took their knitting. Although there was no school the following week, the teachers and the WVS had organized a “Knit for Our Forces” morning on Tuesday. The plan was to encourage the girls to finish their projects and get everything parcelled up. A photographer had been promised as an inducement. As they listened to the bombing – which was distant: “Some other poor souls”, as Mrs. Prescott put it – Aunty Grace helped Josie with her balaclava and sighed over Edith’s scarf. Josie wondered if all the other girls would come on Tuesday. The class was not compulsory. She hoped Alice would stay away; she wasn’t sure she could face her.
Good Friday was colder still. In the morning, after a breakfast of porridge and hot cross buns, Aunty Grace took the girls to church. There was frost on the pavement and Josie could see her breath on the air. “It’s cold enough for snow,” her aunt said.
When they returned to the house there were letters on the mat. Josie watched eagerly as her aunt sorted through them. Daddy, she hoped. Or Ted. She was lucky. Aunty Grace said, “One for you, Josie,” and handed her a letter. Ted! At last! She recognized his handwriting. Edith wanted to see, but Josie, still in her coat, ran out to the back garden and climbed the walnut tree to read it in private.
Dear Josie, Ted wrote , I expect Ma has told you I’ve got leave next week and will be coming to see you. I’ll phone Aunty G. when I know the exact time. Meanwhile here’s some news from the depths of Cheshire. I can’t believe I’ve been here two months now (yes, and not written to me, Josie thought) . Arrived at Chester late evening back in February, needing to get a train to Delamere. Absolute chaos at the station. There had been a direct hit and all services disrupted. People sitting about waiting; WVS handing out tea and sandwiches; fire engines, hosepipes snaking everywhere, broken glass. Nobody knew where to go or what to do. Finally got my train. Shared a carriage with a bunch of Land Army volunteers – girls – and several soldiers. Guess who the girls talked to? They don’t even
“But I bet they support Hitler.”
“Yeah – they’re still Huns, aren’t they?” said Stan.
No one was taking any notice of Edith, and Josie could feel her cousin’s annoyance.
“We’ll be late for school, Josie,” Edith said. “And we’ve been warned about chatting with boys on the street.” She gave Vic another of her smiles.
The two groups separated.
“See you around!” Vic said.
As soon as the boys had gone, Edith turned on Josie. “You never told me about Alice being German!”
Josie shrugged. “I only found out on Tuesday. Anyway, you know now.”
“Wait till the others hear!” said Edith, already appropriating the story for herself. “We can really get back at Alice now.”
“It’s not Alice’s fault—” Josie began; but Edith withered her with, “Oh, don’t be such a drip , Josie.”
“Heil, Hitler!”
Pam gave Alice the Nazi salute.
The girl looked at her pityingly and turned away. They had cornered her in the toilets at the end of recess.
“Alice! Alice Hauptmann!” said Edith. “Are you a Nazi, Alice?”
“Is your father a spy?” asked Sylvia, giggling nervously as if she half believed it.
Alice tried to push past them. “You’re all so stupid,” she said.
“No, we’re not!” said Clare, barring the doorway. “You can’t fool us any more. We know who you really are, Alice Hauptmann, and we’re going to tell everyone. We know your grandfather’s a German. He changed his name, but you can’t change who you are. You’re still Alice Hauptmann.”
“What are you talking about?” But a look of fear crossed Alice’s face. She looked, Josie thought, as if she was caught in a trap she didn’t understand.
Chapter Ten
“Huns”
That night was cold and clear. There was an air-raid warning, and they all spent three hours in the basement. Edith and Josie took their knitting. Although there was no school the following week, the teachers and the WVS had organized a “Knit for Our Forces” morning on Tuesday. The plan was to encourage the girls to finish their projects and get everything parcelled up. A photographer had been promised as an inducement. As they listened to the bombing – which was distant: “Some other poor souls”, as Mrs. Prescott put it – Aunty Grace helped Josie with her balaclava and sighed over Edith’s scarf. Josie wondered if all the other girls would come on Tuesday. The class was not compulsory. She hoped Alice would stay away; she wasn’t sure she could face her.
Good Friday was colder still. In the morning, after a breakfast of porridge and hot cross buns, Aunty Grace took the girls to church. There was frost on the pavement and Josie could see her breath on the air. “It’s cold enough for snow,” her aunt said.
When they returned to the house there were letters on the mat. Josie watched eagerly as her aunt sorted through them. Daddy, she hoped. Or Ted. She was lucky. Aunty Grace said, “One for you, Josie,” and handed her a letter. Ted! At last! She recognized his handwriting. Edith wanted to see, but Josie, still in her coat, ran out to the back garden and climbed the walnut tree to read it in private.
Dear Josie, Ted wrote , I expect Ma has told you I’ve got leave next week and will be coming to see you. I’ll phone Aunty G. when I know the exact time. Meanwhile here’s some news from the depths of Cheshire. I can’t believe I’ve been here two months now (yes, and not written to me, Josie thought) . Arrived at Chester late evening back in February, needing to get a train to Delamere. Absolute chaos at the station. There had been a direct hit and all services disrupted. People sitting about waiting; WVS handing out tea and sandwiches; fire engines, hosepipes snaking everywhere, broken glass. Nobody knew where to go or what to do. Finally got my train. Shared a carriage with a bunch of Land Army volunteers – girls – and several soldiers. Guess who the girls talked to? They don’t even
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