Daisy loved Christmas and all its trimmings. For the past two years she had helped to decorate the school. Delivered on the first week of December from Cox Street market, the arrival of the tree caused a stir of excitement. But this year her heart sank for the hall stood empty and lacklustre. The scarred red brick walls and scrubbed wooden floors indented by scores of Blakeys hammered into the cheap soles of the children’s shoes, were barren. All down to the shortages and hardships posed by the rumoured conflict.
‘What will we do with a coat stand, Miss Bailey?’ one girl wanted to know.
‘Ask Mr Potter for a sheet to drape over it. Use your imagination.’
Daisy didn’t think for a moment that Mr Potter would oblige. As old as the hills and clearly suspicious of any child in the vicinity, the caretaker stoically guarded the school’s property cupboard. ’Please Miss, what if the cover’s not green?’ Nora Fudge, the class know-it-all, enquired.
‘Any colour will suffice, Nora. We have very few choices.’
Daisy and her friends left to scour the girls’ cloakrooms where a suitable coat stand was eventually found. Mr Potter unexpectedly provided a torn grey tarpaulin together with a battered box labelled, “Christmas Decs”.
In the cold assembly room, the box revealed ancient pupil-made decorations which helped to disguise the sheet. At home, Daisy cut out a star from a large brown envelope that Pops brought from the factory.
‘From Aunt Betty,’ he explained. ‘And look here, some coloured chalks. You’re bound to do wonders with these.’
‘Are Aunt Betty and Uncle Ed coming to watch?’ Daisy enquired, a strange little shiver creeping down her spine as she thought of Aunt Betty’s secret.
‘Indeed,’ he assured her. ‘Just as they always do.’
Daisy recalled with pride the many Nativity plays produced at Wattcombe Primary. She had never been chosen to play Mary or Joseph or even a wise man, but she had excelled at helping to dress the cast. Over the years she had secured belts and braces, stretched towels and turbans over tiny heads and made shepherd staffs from the many donated walking sticks. One year, a farmer’s donkey had been led into the school yard. Mary and Joseph, head-height to its belly had been terrified at the sound of its braying. Daisy remembered with fondness her village school even though she had never won a great role in the play. So she had been more than surprised last year at her new school, when Miss Bailey had given her a solo to perform.
‘You’ve wonderful lungs, Daisy,’ she encouraged. ‘Let’s hear you make use of them.’
Daisy had done her very best and the applause after her solo of It Came Upon the Midnight Clear had been unexpectedly rewarding. Mother and Pops had watched from the second row and Aunt Betty and Uncle Ed sat to their left. Aunt Pat and Grandma who always stayed over at Christmas had joined Aunt Minnie, Uncle Leo, Matt and Will, in the row behind. The whole family had applauded so loudly, that Daisy’s moment of triumph had seemed a little embarrassing. But Miss Bailey had congratulated her afterwards and Daisy’s reward was in being chosen again this year.
’As the finale, you will sing a solo verse to Land of Hope and Glory,’ Miss Bailey decided. ‘Please learn the words carefully. I shall ask Mrs Jones to take you for practice. Nora, you will be Daisy’s understudy.’
Daisy glanced enviously at Nora Fudge, the class favourite. As school monitor, a day didn’t pass without her shiny brown hair being tied studiously away from her face. A waft of Sunlight soap followed her wherever she went and the perfection continued in her sweet singing voice.
Daisy abruptly reminded herself that it was she who had been chosen to sing the solo, even though Nora was cleverer and prettier.
As Daisy wrestled with her doubts, a soft ray of sunshine fell on the silver threads of the old tarpaulin. It lit up the five pointed star balanced on the top of the coat stand. A breeze spun the paper decorations hanging from the stick branches. Mr Potter’s dustbin had been secured for the ballast and a curl of excitement tickled in her stomach. She couldn’t wait for practice with Mrs Jones the music teacher. Even if Nora was present as understudy. Even if Nora looked down her freckled nose at Daisy as if she was smelling something unpleasant. None of that mattered. It was she, Daisy, who was to sing a solo verse of Land of Hope and Glory.
Miss Bailey gave a smile of approval. ‘Keep up the good work, girls. I fear this will be a Christmas to remember, so please make the very most of our celebrations.’
Later, at break, Daisy hurried to the cloakroom with her friend Sally Watson to put on their coats. Nora and her friends made a great show of excitement, but Daisy ignored them.
‘Me dad wouldn’t half give them cows a piece of his mind,’ Sally muttered as they dressed. ‘They need pulling down a peg or two if you ask me.’
Sally was a tall, thin girl who had attached herself to Daisy in her first term at Poplar Park School. Her uniform was faded and patched and once Daisy had noted the little white eggs nestling in the parting of her untidy ginger hair. Miss Bailey had sent her home to have it washed and cleansed of nits.
‘I don’t care about them,’ Daisy shrugged.
‘Me neither,’ agreed Sally with a grin.
’What did you think of our tree?’ Daisy asked as she slipped on her shoes.
‘For a coat stand it don’t look too bad.’
Daisy hurried with Sally along the corridor. ‘At least it won’t die.’
‘No, but we might,’ replied Sally.
Daisy came to a sudden halt. ‘Die?’
‘Yeah, when Hitler arrives.’ Sally was always eager to pass on the news gleaned from her docker father. ‘Dad said London will be the first to fall.’
‘Fall where?’ Daisy asked innocently.
Sally tucked her hair firmly behind her prominent ears. ‘Me
