A Childs War by Richard Ballard Read Free Book Online

Cinema further up the road from where they were now living had ceased showing films when war broke out, and had become filled with evacuee mothers and their children from the East End of London. It was being said that there were getting on for a thousand of them in there and the stink from the doors was terrible because all they had in the way of washing and lavatory facilities were those provided for cinema-goers. Many children had contracted head lice as a result and the women had given up on basic cleanliness. They had nowhere else to seek shelter and it was said that the local people shunned them and offered them nothing in the way of help or comfort. What made Edna more resentful was that if any of the East-enders had come looking for shelter in SW20, she would have reacted with the same kind of respectable apprehension as the people up the road had - and yet she was sharing the fears that had made her an evacuee in Oxford too. Edna made attempts at self-composure, but did not respond to anybody in the waiting room who tried to open a conversation with her.
    Alex found that the pile of old copies of Country Life contained pictures from outside the range of his imagination, but went through a good many of the magazines because he did not want to talk any more than his mother did. When he did sit still, as he was constantly being told to do in a loud whisper, he found he was interested in the elegance of the room with its oddly pointed windows, its blue and white decor and two large lumps of shiny, flecked stone with the oddest handles coming out of the top of them on either side of the fireplace.
    He was deeply considering the possible uses of these when the receptionist called out, “Master Alexander Ryland.” He did not recognize that as his own name and it took a long time for it to register with Edna. The woman was about to pass on to the next name on her list when realization dawned and Edna stood up, took Alex’s hand and dragged him into the consulting room where the skirts of a large white coat over thick stockings at a desk was all he could see at first. Then the elderly head above it and eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses loomed down over him and a voice, later discovered to be Scottish, said, “Oh, little man, we’ll soon have those wretched things out for you. Would you take that seat, Mrs Ryland, while I see to your brave boy.”
    Alex did not consider himself to be brave: that was a word that Alvar Liddell and other announcers on the wireless news used about soldiers, sailors and airmen, and he soon discovered that he was not. The doctor’s hand ripped away the plaster with even greater energy than his mother did, and set about cutting the stitches with some oddly shaped scissors before pulling them out of his face. After six loud protestations by Alex, which made Edna wince, the doctor said, “There! That didn’t hurt at all, did it?” and Alex said, “Yes, it did,” but nobody took any notice. Then, to his surprise, the doctor put a new plaster on, “To keep it clean, you see.”
    After a few hortatory words to Edna, the doctor opened the door and said, “I shall not need to see him again. It’s all healing very well,” and mother and son were ushered into the street by the receptionist before Alex could ask what those weird stones in the fireplace were. He asked Edna, but she did not know and was in no mood for such questions in any case.
    They were soon in Broad Street, and Edna made her way to the end of New Inn Hall Street past the theatre where they had gone on Saturday afternoon.
    â€œWe can walk home from here,” she said, and they did eventually, after Alex wanted to go to the lavatory, which meant retracing their steps all the way back to the Ladies in the centre of St Giles: an underground structure full of polished brass and white tiles which impressed him greatly as it provided him in his imagination with a vision of the engine