Evacuation’s Eve
‘Peter, I’m aware your brother’s being rather difficult at the moment…’
I knew what was coming.
More pearls of wisdom from Mother. All about the importance of shouldering responsibility. Showing more understanding towards my most annoying sibling. Looking after the girls - especially little Lu.
I sighed.
Mother paused, smiled, and took my hands in hers. Continuing to expound her theme more gently, she said:
‘I’m sorry. You’re thinking - not another lecture - aren’t you? I know being the eldest child in the family hasn’t always been straightforward. Great expectations, and all that. It’s been especially difficult, of course, since your Father went away to sea.’
‘I just don’t understand why you can’t come with us, Mother. Judging from the photograph you received with the letter, this old chap’s house has more than enough room for you too. By Jove, it’s practically a mansion!’
‘I’d love to join you, truly; and I have been told I’d be more than welcome. Perhaps I shall be able to visit in a month or so. But I can’t leave my secretarial job just now - you know how important it is in the current climate, Peter.’
What she really meant, of course, was: it’s important for the war effort. But Mother always avoided using the W-word, whenever possible.
‘All right. You can’t come with us. But in that case, I don’t see why we can’t remain in London with you. Who will look after you? Some of the other chaps I know from school are spending these summer hols at home. They’re not being evacuated. I’m not afraid of Herr Hitler and his stinking Stukas. Send the girls away, if you must - but “It” and I can stay, surely?’
*
It was currently my preferred name for my beastly younger brother. Ever since he’d started that horrid new school the previous autumn, he hadn’t been the same. For a long time I hadn’t understood why Mother and Father hadn’t sent him to the same boarding school as myself. But then, just a few days ago, I’d been talking about it with my sisters. My elder sister - who often had a greater intuitive understanding than I of the ways of the world, even if she sometimes expressed that understanding with waspish words - had ventured that it was probably a matter of money.
‘Peter, you don’t seem to realise’ - she had said - ‘that our parents have made considerable sacrifices to ensure you get the very best education. But you are only one of four. RHIP - rank has its privileges - as Father would say. And as the firstborn, you outrank us all. It’s not fair, but it’s true.’
I might have won the ensuing pillow-fight, but I wasn’t sure that I could dispute her penetrating logic. And nothing changed the fact that “It” still had a propensity to act like some insufferable oik at times. His tendency to tease Lu - the youngest and most sensitive of the four of us - was especially obnoxious. That, at least, I was determined to put an end to this summer.
*
I realised Mother was shaking her head.
‘Stay in London? Out of the question. I don’t need you to be my knight in shining armour, Peter. If you want to play the part of gallant champion, then do so for your sisters. I’d feel far happier if you went with them.’
I glowered. ‘Taking “It” with me too, I suppose.’
‘I really don’t like you calling your brother that. He has a perfectly good name of his own.’
‘An old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon one, actually. I’m glad you and Father gave me a sensible name.’
‘Enough, Peter. Give me your word that you’ll be sensible, and that you’ll look after the others. And no outlandish adventures, please. I know you’ll want to explore the countryside, and there’ll be plenty to see and do, I’m sure. Terra incognita, and all that. But I don’t want to receive a letter from this mysterious professor informing me that the four of you have gone missing whilst looking for badgers in the woods.’
‘Badgers in the woods?’ I said enthusiastically. ‘Do you really think so?’
She laughed. ‘Behave. You really are incorrigible. Your word?’
I shrugged, feigning an indifference that I did not feel. ‘Yes Mother. I’ll look after all of them. Even–’
I nearly uttered that impersonal pronoun again. I decided to change tack.
‘All four of us will behave ourselves, I promise. We’ll make you proud that we bear the Pevensie name.’
Mother visibly relaxed. ‘You’re magnificent, Peter. Truly. And remember, this nasty business’ - she meant the W-word again - ‘will be over soon enough.’ I thought not, but knew better than to challenge her excessive optimism. ‘Your Father will be home in no time. We’ll all be back together again. You’ll see. Maybe even by Christmas. Just hold that happy thought, Peter.’
I smiled, but inwardly said to myself: By Christmas. Fat chance of that, now that France has fallen. Last Christmas - the first of this war - didn’t feel much like Christmas, did it? Next Christmas probably won't either.
‘Always winter, never Christmas,’ I murmured. The phrase had popped into my head - from somewhere. I didn’t altogether like the sound of that...
‘What was that, dear?’
‘Nothing.’
Mother hugged me. ‘Cheer up. You, Susan, Edmund, Lucy - you’ll love exploring a big old house in the heart of the countryside. Just wait: you’ll see.’