buy eggs and put them in her basket, she could hardly bear the memories. She wanted to leave not by the door they had entered but by the other door, the one at the top of the little cobbled hill in front of the butcher’s stalls, the one that led out into Fisher Street and to the Town Hall and across the square to the lane where she had lived. She was pulled fiercely in this opposite
direction and was harshly reprimanded by Madge for lagging behind. ‘If you’re going to be a lagger you won’t come again,’ Madge admonished her. So Evie controlled herself, as she always did, and marched resolutely back to the Home. So many thoughts she could have spilled out to Ruby but they all stayed in her head, and at the end of each day, especially market days, she went to bed confused, her head aching and heavy with so much suppressed emotion. She fell asleep eventually, convinced she would never escape back into the lane, back into a real house and household, but that there was nothing she could do about it. Fatalism was what her grandmother had dinned into her most successfully of all.
She had been in the Home a few more months after the tin box had been given to Mrs Cox when Madge came into the dormitory one morning and, after yelling at everyone to jump to it and get up, she shouted, for everyone to hear, that Evie was to go to Matron’s room straight after breakfast. Madge stood over her while she washed and dressed, and personally brushed her hair, complaining that it was no wonder Evie always looked as if she were pulled through a hedge backwards with hair like hers. It would be a blessing, swore Madge, if Evie got nits and had to have all her dreadful hair shaved off, that would cure it. Satisfied that no more could be done to make Evie fit for inspection, Madge let her go down with the others, but Evie noticed Madge watching her and then the other attendants staring and whispering. This attention was sufficient to alert all the girls to there being suddenly something special about scraggy little Evie, Miss Never-says-a-word. She felt a tension around her which, instead of alarming her as it normally would have done, somehow pleased her. She felt important and it was a rare experience. She ate her porridge slowly and drank her tea (more water than tea and not much of it) and then went to Madge and said she did not know how to find Matron’s room. One of the big girls was sent to guide her and Evie trotted dutifully at her heels far more cheerful than on the occasion when she had gone with the breathless Ruby.
There were two people with Mrs Cox, a man and a woman. Neither of them looked comfortable. The man in particular shifted about from foot to foot and was forever turning his cap in his hands. Evie dropped her eyes. It was rude to stare and indeed she had no desire to. She saw only that this man was quite old and bald and had a very red face. The woman was younger but, again, Evie allowed
39
herself only a quick glimpse, enough to take in that she was small and plump, and then looked at the floor.
‘This is Evie,’ Mrs Cox said. ‘She’s a good girl, everyone here speaks well of her I’m pleased to tell you. You’ll have no trouble. And she’s a hard worker for one so young, we’ll be sorry to lose her and I can’t say that for many of the girls here.’
‘She’s little,’ the man said, ‘and thin, desperate thin, not much on her bones. Is she healthy?’
‘Perfectly healthy,’ Mrs Cox said, sounding quite indignant. ‘You can’t go by appearances with young girls, let me tell you that.’
‘Did she bring anything with her when she came?’ the woman asked. ‘Any trappings?’
‘No, nothing,’ Mrs Cox said. ‘We took her in what she stood up in and a bag with a change of clothes.’ And the tin box, Evie silently added, but Mrs Cox didn’t mention it. ‘Well then,’ the woman said, ‘it can’t be helped. Will we take her now, is she ready? There won’t be a carry-on, will
direction and was harshly reprimanded by Madge for lagging behind. ‘If you’re going to be a lagger you won’t come again,’ Madge admonished her. So Evie controlled herself, as she always did, and marched resolutely back to the Home. So many thoughts she could have spilled out to Ruby but they all stayed in her head, and at the end of each day, especially market days, she went to bed confused, her head aching and heavy with so much suppressed emotion. She fell asleep eventually, convinced she would never escape back into the lane, back into a real house and household, but that there was nothing she could do about it. Fatalism was what her grandmother had dinned into her most successfully of all.
She had been in the Home a few more months after the tin box had been given to Mrs Cox when Madge came into the dormitory one morning and, after yelling at everyone to jump to it and get up, she shouted, for everyone to hear, that Evie was to go to Matron’s room straight after breakfast. Madge stood over her while she washed and dressed, and personally brushed her hair, complaining that it was no wonder Evie always looked as if she were pulled through a hedge backwards with hair like hers. It would be a blessing, swore Madge, if Evie got nits and had to have all her dreadful hair shaved off, that would cure it. Satisfied that no more could be done to make Evie fit for inspection, Madge let her go down with the others, but Evie noticed Madge watching her and then the other attendants staring and whispering. This attention was sufficient to alert all the girls to there being suddenly something special about scraggy little Evie, Miss Never-says-a-word. She felt a tension around her which, instead of alarming her as it normally would have done, somehow pleased her. She felt important and it was a rare experience. She ate her porridge slowly and drank her tea (more water than tea and not much of it) and then went to Madge and said she did not know how to find Matron’s room. One of the big girls was sent to guide her and Evie trotted dutifully at her heels far more cheerful than on the occasion when she had gone with the breathless Ruby.
There were two people with Mrs Cox, a man and a woman. Neither of them looked comfortable. The man in particular shifted about from foot to foot and was forever turning his cap in his hands. Evie dropped her eyes. It was rude to stare and indeed she had no desire to. She saw only that this man was quite old and bald and had a very red face. The woman was younger but, again, Evie allowed
39
herself only a quick glimpse, enough to take in that she was small and plump, and then looked at the floor.
‘This is Evie,’ Mrs Cox said. ‘She’s a good girl, everyone here speaks well of her I’m pleased to tell you. You’ll have no trouble. And she’s a hard worker for one so young, we’ll be sorry to lose her and I can’t say that for many of the girls here.’
‘She’s little,’ the man said, ‘and thin, desperate thin, not much on her bones. Is she healthy?’
‘Perfectly healthy,’ Mrs Cox said, sounding quite indignant. ‘You can’t go by appearances with young girls, let me tell you that.’
‘Did she bring anything with her when she came?’ the woman asked. ‘Any trappings?’
‘No, nothing,’ Mrs Cox said. ‘We took her in what she stood up in and a bag with a change of clothes.’ And the tin box, Evie silently added, but Mrs Cox didn’t mention it. ‘Well then,’ the woman said, ‘it can’t be helped. Will we take her now, is she ready? There won’t be a carry-on, will
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