Peace In My Heart

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘I’m aware this bloody war is still going on in the East, but I live in hope my son and daughters will all be home soon,’ she stoutly announced. ‘They’ve been gone over five years and I’ve missed them so much.’

  ‘Haven’t you seen them at all?’ Cathie asked, looking stunned.

  ‘My son Danny is in Cumberland where he’s lived throughout the war. I’ve written to him regularly and did once pay a visit. It took twenty-four hours or more to get so far north with the train constantly halting. And the cost of the journey was considerable, not to mention finding local accommodation. Not an experience I could afford to repeat. He was then moved out to a camp for some reason or other.’

  ‘Oh, poor you. I’ve every sympathy with that, Aunty. And didn’t you once tell me that you have to pay six shillings a week for their care?’

  ‘Indeed I do, whenever I can afford to, although thankfully the Government has helped with that cost. Frustratingly, I’ve not received details for some years of exactly where my daughters are. I’ve spoken to our local billeting officer to ask him to investigate where they might have been moved to, presumably somewhere in Cumberland or Westmorland. He’s agreed to look into that for me by contacting the volunteers who do this job in rural areas without pay,’ she said, showing a slight tension in her smile of approval.

  Reaching forward, her niece gave her hand a little squeeze. ‘I’m sure they’ll be located and soon be back in your care. Little Heather here is safe too, although as you know we’ve recently lost her mum, my beloved sister,’ she said, tears suddenly flooding her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

  Evie gave a sad smile. ‘I know, dearie. Such a tragedy that Sally should be killed in a road accident having survived this dratted war. Thanks to you this baby is indeed safe and well loved. And, as you know, I’m happy to help child-mind whenever necessary. Oh, it is a bit nerve-wracking when I think the last view of my children was when they too were still young. Now they are so much older I worry about how they’ll react once they do come home. Will I even recognize them?’

  Cathie’s friend Brenda gave a little nod. ‘I can understand your concern, Evie. When I was working in France with the Oeuvre de Secours aux Enfants, known as the OSE, many children who had lost touch with their parents developed problems and some had no wish to return home. They might have grown very fond of the family they’d been living with throughout the war, some suffered the loss of memory of their real parents, or their father could be dead and they’d no idea where their mother might be.’ Brenda fell silent, making no mention of what she had suffered in France.

  ‘Are you saying mine could accuse me of abandoning them?’ Evie asked, filled with a burst of anxiety.

  Brenda firmly shook her head. ‘I’m sure yours were much safer than was the case in occupied France. Some suffered a heart-rending and difficult time there. Not at all easy for them. I’m sure your son and daughters will be eager to come home and see you, their beloved mother.’

  ‘I do hope you’re right.’

  ‘Why would they not be when you’re such a loving, caring person?’ Cathie said. ‘Your family has been much more fortunate than mine, despite the war. I wish you’d been my mum, instead of my own selfish mother who is always more interested in her string of lovers. Not to mention my absentee father, your brother, whom I haven’t seen in years as he’s apparently living somewhere abroad. But have you heard any news about dear Uncle Donald, your darling husband? Could he be safe and well?’

  A crease marred Evie’s brow as she recalled the years of silence she’d endured after he’d been declared missing, constantly worrying over whether he would ever be found or presumed dead. Eventually she was informed that he’d been captured and was being held as a prisoner of war. Now she unfolded a letter and handed it over to her niece with a warm smile. ‘I’ve recently had word that as an ex-PoW he’s now in rehabilitation being cared for by the Civil Settlement Service. They are checking his health and helping him to recover. He’s apparently a bit thin and worn out, but alive and will hopefully be home soon. How wonderful that will be. I can’t wait to see him,’ she said, her face a picture of joy. ‘My dream is to have all my family together again. I do hope you’re right, Brenda, and my son and daughters will be eager to come back home. I will pay attention to any possible problems they might have. Having no idea where they are, I shall go and speak to the billeting officer again, to see if he’s found them.’

  ‘I’m goin’ to fall, sir. One more move and this mountain and I will part company,’ Danny yelled. He was attempting to climb a mountain and a piece of rock had broken off somewhere below his right foot. He could feel his legs weakening, control oozing out of them.

  ‘You’re doing fine, Danny. Pull back. Your stomach is too close to the rock face. Look for a hold. You’re fourteen, not four. As you are so fond of telling us.’

  ‘If I lean back I’ll be into a skydive without a parachute.’ Panic swelled and bubbled in his stomach. ‘I daren’t move me eyes let alone me ’ead.’

  A chuckle came from below. ‘There’s a jug handle up there. Get your hand round that and you’ll feel safe and secure again.’ This advice came from the camp leader who was supposedly a gifted mountain instructor if dismissive of this climb, treating it as a small practice.

  Danny, however, had a very different view. He could hardly believe this death-defying feat he was involved with, probably his last movement in this world. How could a mountain have a jug handle? He did know, of course, that this name was simply a label for a particular type of hold. But he’d give anything right now to be safely back in his tent enjoying a glass of milk, his mouth having gone dry with fear. In all the time he’d spent at this camp he’d made no attempt to learn how to climb. But he’d been bullied into taking part in this event. Now he clung on, shivering, knowing that if he was to stand any chance of being chosen as a team leader on the next walking expedition he had to make an extra-special effort. His fingers stretched out and curled around the jug handle, which did feel better, and he let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘Now put your right foot where your left hand is and make ready to swing round and go backwards up the chimney.’

  These instructions would have set him laughing if he hadn’t been too nervous of the results of such a foolish act.

  ‘This rope is too slack. I’m jiggered, so take it up,’ he yelled. ‘Who is belaying me?’ When the answer came from above he wished he hadn’t asked.

  ‘It’s me-ee. Yet again I have you in my power.’ This comment was followed by a much-exaggerated imitation of a wolf howling.

  Danny saw a smirk of satisfaction on Willie’s face. Why had he stupidly agreed to come on this climb, which made him feel a complete and utter fool? He could never trust this alleged old friend who’d become so domineering and bad-tempered due to a disagreement and row they’d had some years ago. He’d been a pain ever since because of what he’d done back then. At first Danny had been billeted on a farm, which he’d loved. It had been hard work with one or two problems but he’d enjoyed roaming around the countryside, milking cows and feeding chickens. Willie had lived nearby and when charged with some petty crime of nicking fruit and veg, he’d insisted that he was only helping Danny look for stuff to eat and sell. They’d both been sent to this camp, classed as problem boys.

  Since then this nasty liar frequently ordered him to do all manner of jobs or stupid tasks that Willie had no wish to be involved in, demands Danny had to accept to avoid being beaten. Or else he’d find his food messed up by Willie spitting in it. Now he’d got him into this mess, a climb he was making far worse than it should be. It felt as if this bully was wielding the power of life or death over him. Holding a knife in his hand and chortling with laughter, he looked as if he might cut the rope upon which Danny was hanging then drop him off the mountain.

  The voice of the camp leader penetrated into his head, again giving him careful instructions. ‘Concentrate on what you are doing, laddie. Keep your weight on you
r feet. Don’t reach too high with your hand or you’ll lose your balance. Then move one foot at a time.’

  Giving a tug, Danny pulled himself up through the so-called chimney but then came the last part – a nasty overhang. He felt his stomach heave into a dark hole of terror. If this practice pitch of fifty feet was so difficult, how did anyone ever have the nerve to climb a big mountain such as Scafell? And how could he be sure he’d survive? He strived not to assume he would suffer a possible disaster, telling himself that he must prove he had the courage to do whatever was required of him. Searching for a hold without the help of his stomach, let alone the unreliable strength of his limbs, he jammed every toe and finger into the minute cracks he could find and hung on to them, silently praying. He’d be so much happier on level ground, or preferably no higher than the bottom rung of a very wide ladder. But he had no intention of being beaten by this rocky crag. Gritting his teeth, Danny swung up his right foot and stuck it on a wide fissure of rock, rather like a long split in a bread roll. Now he just had to get his bottom round, his left foot up and – aah! His feet jerked and slipped off the ledge. The view of the countryside tilted around and a cold sweat broke out over him. Was this the moment he’d die?

  ‘Help!’ he yelled.

  The jerk of the rope tied to his climbing belt felt almost worse than the slip. Knowing how a person could fall twenty feet in one second, he felt deeply grateful for this safety rope that the camp leader always attached in these practice climbs, in addition to the belay. Fortunately, Danny had fallen less than two feet, his nails managing to find contact with a crack in the rock face. Tearing himself up in a fury of panic, he dived over the top as if the devil himself was on his backside. Once he’d recovered from the initial effects of the shock, unhooked himself from the rope and pulled off his safety helmet, he flung himself at Willie to start belting him.

  ‘Yer a nasty wiry worm! Stop bloody attacking me the whole damn time.’

  Within seconds they were fighting. Willie thumped Danny much harder and more brutally, being fatter, taller, stronger and nastier than him. ‘Do as I flamin’ well tell you,’ he roared.

  Growing taller and stronger, Danny felt the need to defend himself more, following years of bullying. It was only when they saw the camp leader reach the top of the climb that they pulled away from each other. Danny gasped for breath; all too aware he’d probably collected yet more bruises, as had happened to him so often in the past.

  ‘It was just a joke, what I did. I’ll make sure you regret having hammered me,’ Willie snarled as he stalked off, leaving Danny spitting with fury. How could he believe he’d done the wrong thing when this bastard was constantly harassing him? Willie Mullins had made his life a thousand times more difficult and painful throughout this dratted war. How he longed to be rid of him and ached to be back home with his mam, whom he sorely missed, as well as his sisters. According to the camp leader that wasn’t going to happen until the war in the East also ended, the Government having no wish to risk danger for evacuees.

  Unfortunately, Willie too lived in Castlefield, both of them having attended the same school even though he was two years older than him, so when that did happen Danny could but hope he’d manage to stay well clear of him, now he too was almost grown up.

  Chapter Three

  When Joanne and Megan returned to the boarding house where they happily lived, they found it packed with soldiers. These comprised Polish aircrew, as well as many of their wives and children who had come to visit their husbands, always welcome thanks to these kind landladies. On this occasion everyone was happily engaged in watching a performance of brightly lit puppets before a curtain strung across part of the dining room, the children in particular excitedly laughing and enjoying the show. Joanne guessed the man creating this show would be Tomasz, a dapper young Polish man with fuzzy dark brown hair. He would often sing, play music or perform a mime, acting out a story with no speech but lots of clever movement. He was most gifted and great fun. Soon, he and his Polish colleagues would all be gone, and Joanne could see by the joy in this group how they were all looking forward to returning home. Not something she could expect to happen for herself and her sister.

  Striving to block out the fears for their uncertain future, Joanne grabbed an empty tray of plates and carried it briskly to the kitchen. Aunt Annie was busily boiling kettles on the stove to make tea. Aunt Sadie stood at the table, slicing bread to make more sandwiches. This younger sister, in her mid-fifties was a small, round-faced lady with a plump nose, her piercing dark eyes guarded by tiny spectacles, her black hair firmly clipped up. As always, she was tidily dressed in a long dark skirt, a white blouse and a huge apron, her stockinged feet held in a neat pair of strapped flat shoes.

  Joanne dashed to help by starting to chop Spam and lay slices onto the bread ‘We’ve had a lovely time today on the promenade and, of course, have enjoyed living here in Blackpool these last few years.’

  Giving her a warm smile, Sadie said, ‘I remember the happy day we met you in that centre on Whitegate Drive early in 1942. You were such lovely little girls, if looking rather tired and sad, poor little Megan constantly weeping. How could we resist taking you in?’

  ‘We greatly appreciated that. Now I can’t get my mind round to leaving here and moving back to Manchester. I would sorely miss this town and you two caring ladies.’

  ‘Don’t fret, dear. We’ll miss you too when you leave but once that happens you can come and visit us any time you wish. Our work will thankfully calm down soon, although I shall miss spending each afternoon knitting scarves and rugs, soldiers no longer being in need of them, the war now over.’

  Quietly piling the sandwiches onto the tray, having little appetite for food herself right now, Joanne gave a tremor of a smile. She was highly appreciative that Aunt Sadie’s efforts to support the troops had been a most important part of this lovely lady’s life, as it was for her sister, Aunt Annie. They were also most supportive and kindly towards herself and Megan, as this conversation highlighted. But she had no wish to reveal the anguish she’d just gone through by losing the GI she adored. ‘My mam always loved knitting too, plus sewing and lacemaking. Not that I’ve seen anything she’s made in years, let alone any sight of her. Who knows if I ever will again.’

  ‘I’m sure you will, dear.’

  Joanne met her sympathetic gaze with speculation in her own. It was then that Megan burst through the kitchen door in a cloud of steam, her cheeks scarlet because of the heat of her surroundings as well as her fury. ‘If that RAF chap won’t keep his hands off tapping my bottom, I’ll land him a smack on his ear.’

  Aunt Annie, older and taller with similar coloured hair, eyes and spectacles to her sister, let out a heavy sigh, clearly realizing who she was referring to. ‘He’s probably just a bit drunk on this day of celebration and was only teasing you, lass. Not all men are a problem, although the odd one can sometimes enjoy marlicking about on occasion. Ideally, I should mebbe chuck that fellow out and be in possession of a vacant room come dinnertime. However, he’s a man very much in charge, visiting some of the troops and paid to stay here by the Government so there’s nowt I can do about that.’

  ‘He’s no right to touch me,’ Megan tartly remarked. ‘I don’t like men at all.’

  ‘Quite right, love. Go and have a rest up in your room and keep well away from all these drunken chaps. That would be wise. I’ll have a quiet word with that Wing Commander Ramsbotham, silly fool that he is.’

  Excusing herself with a spirited smile, Aunt Annie pushed up her sleeves and marched off to the dining room, a fierce look in her eyes as she prepared to do battle with this offender. What a character she was, and very meticulous. She had no intention of waiting hand, foot and finger on other folk’s whims and peccadilloes, appreciating the fruitlessness of such behaviour. Folk in this boarding house had to behave themselves or they were dispatched elsewhere, in spite of these landladies’ care and concern. Joanne knew that this dear lady was of the op
inion that the amount the Government paid for the soldiers and other military personnel who occupied rooms here, which didn’t match the amount of money they earned from tourists, at times left them a bit short of cash.

  Joanne gave Megan a quick cuddle, aware that she hadn’t found it easy being an evacuee with no mother present to comfort her, and having been constantly moved around because of ill treatment they’d suffered at times. At least they’d been fortunate to happily live here in Blackpool these last three years. She watched with a smile as her sister stamped off upstairs, knowing that she was not required to do any work, being far too young. She’d no doubt happily go and read or draw, as she so loved to do. Joanne didn’t at all mind working for these lovely ladies, really quite enjoying it, but she felt that their lives were in complete turmoil. What on earth would happen to them now?

  The next morning, having suffered a sleepless night quietly weeping over her loss, Joanne anxiously worried that Teddy might never write and arrange for her to join him. She felt herself engaged in a world she no longer wished to be a part of. Not that life throughout the war had been at all easy, with bombs falling and sirens screaming and wailing. Now, wiping the tears from her eyes, she got out of bed and found that she’d tossed that new blue dress she’d bought for the special VE Day celebration onto the floor the previous evening. She gazed in dismay at the creased fabric, parts of it torn and marked with brown stains, perhaps because Teddy had pushed her down on the wet sand under the pier. What exactly had he done to her? A part of her shook with fear; not at all clear about that. Could her life be ruined as well as this frock?