Christmas with the Bomb Girls

by Daisy Styles

  ‘Can we come in?’ Malc asked abruptly.

  Ian held the door wide open for the couple, who hurried into the kitchen, where Edna exclaimed with relief when she saw Stevie wrapped in a warm shawl in Kit’s arms. ‘Thank God he’s safe with you!’

  ‘Where’s Violet?’ Kit immediately asked. ‘Have you seen or heard from her? We don’t know where she is.’

  Edna’s eyes strayed to Malc. ‘We’ve got bad news,’ she said.

  Seeing Kit go pale, Edna reached out for the baby in her arms. ‘Violet’s dead,’ she said almost in a whisper.

  Seeing his wife sway, Ian grabbed Kit and led her to one of the chairs by the Aga. Edna quickly filled up a glass with tap water, which she handed to Ian, who pressed it to his wife’s lips.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  ‘She were running to’t nursery when the bomb went off,’ Malc said in tremulous voice. ‘She were trying to find the little lad,’ he added as he reached for his handkerchief to wipe away the tears that seeped from the corner of his eyes.

  ‘Holy Mother of God,’ Kit gasped. ‘Violet, my Vi, dead!’ she sobbed. ‘I should have gone back inside and looked for her,’ Kit cried guiltily. ‘Why did you stop me Malc?’ she wailed.

  ‘It would have been too late, lovie; she’d have left the factory by then,’ Malc told her sadly.

  ‘I can’t believe she died like that,’ Ian said as he too bit back tears. ‘How’s Arthur?’ he asked.

  ‘We’ve just left him at the infirmary; he’s out of his mind,’ Edna replied as she rocked Stevie back and forth. ‘They’ve sedated him, but he just keeps blaming himself, keeps saying if only he’d told her Stevie was safe she’d never have run off on her own.’

  Shocked beyond words, Ian slumped into the chair beside his wife’s. ‘How’s the poor fella ever going to get over a tragedy like this?’

  ‘And as for Stevie, God help the poor little mite,’ Edna said as she kissed the top of the sleeping baby’s head.

  ‘At least he’s safe,’ Malc added gratefully.

  ‘And that’s all Violet ever wanted,’ Edna sighed.

  After several strong cups of tea, which Ian laced with brandy, Kit put Stevie to bed in the room he’d shared with his mother such a short time ago. When she came back downstairs, she’d made a decision which she shared with the group. ‘Stevie’s got to know us of late; he should stay here until Arthur’s well enough to take him home.’

  Ian nodded. ‘He’ll be lost and confused without either his mother or his father, but we’ll do our best till Arthur can manage.’

  ‘Arthur will be relieved to hear that,’ Edna said.

  ‘The tragic irony is that Violet died trying to save her baby, who was safe the whole time,’ Ian said mournfully.

  Malc slowly rose to his feet. ‘Come on, lass,’ he said as he held out his hand to Edna. ‘We’ve got to go and break the bad news to the other lasses now.’

  As Ian showed Malc to the front door, Kit whispered to Edna with tears in her eyes, ‘Life will never be the same again. Violet was a ray of joy – the world will be so much poorer without her.’

  For the second time that night, Edna and Malc broke the tragic news, this time to Gladys and Rosa, who were utterly pole-axed. As the three women clung to each other and wailed with grief, Malc went outside, where he smoked several cigarettes in rapid succession. The snow had stopped falling and the stars twinkled in an icy-cold sky; a new moon sailed out from behind a tissue of cloud and gently illuminated the moors, from where owls hooted. It had been without doubt one of the worst days of his life. ‘And it’s still not over,’ Malc muttered to himself. They’d yet to tell Maggie and Nora, who would be devastated. They were living through a time of war; loss of life was, whether you liked it or not, commonplace, but this particular loss of life – sweet beautiful Violet who after so many years of hardship had found a man she could love and trust – was particularly hard to take. And then their joy of having Stevie, who Violet loved with such a passion that she had risked her life trying to find him. Malc gave a weary sigh as he stubbed out a cigarette; the impact her passing would have upon the lives of those she’d left behind was immense: Arthur widowed, Stevie motherless, her friends bereft – a light had gone out, never to be replaced.

  The Phoenix Factory was soon declared safe for production, and the Bomb Girls returned to their work, albeit with one of their number gone. It was a personal loss to anybody who had encountered lovely, delicate Violet, who everybody mourned. They mourned for her husband, and they grieved for her baby, who would grow up without the love of a mother who all but worshipped him. These were hard sad times, but life had to go on; as one of the women in the despatch shed said, ‘The Germans aren’t going to stop the war whilst we’re grieving.’

  After an extensive search for further undetonated bombs, workmen were allowed on the site to start rebuilding the nursery, which was urgently needed by munitions mothers who’d farmed their babies out to friends and relatives. Pregnant Kit had more than enough to do with two babies on her hands, and, given the tragic circumstances, Mr Featherstone gave her extended compassionate leave to look after Stevie until Arthur, who was mentally in an extremely fragile state and still needing hospital treatment, was fit to look after his son himself.

  Once the infirmary had released Violet’s body for burial, funeral arrangements had to be made, but, though Arthur was consulted, he was in such a state of shock nothing seemed to penetrate his profound grief. Yet again it was left to Malc and Edna to try to support the heart-broken widower, who couldn’t stop blaming himself for his wife’s death.

  ‘All this blaming business isn’t helping at all,’ Edna said as she and Malc sat outside Arthur’s ward waiting for the bell to ring for visiting time. ‘It’s getting him nowhere – it’s the future he’s got to look to now.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Malc with a heartfelt sigh. ‘I can’t seem to get through to him at all.’

  ‘He’ll have to make some decisions about the funeral,’ Edna insisted.

  ‘Just do what you think Violet would have wanted,’ Arthur told Edna and Malc half an hour later. As he stared hollow-eyed and vacant at them, Edna wondered if he was losing the will to live.

  ‘He’s GOT to see Stevie,’ she told Malc when they were leaving the hospital. ‘Seeing his son might be the only thing that helps him.’

  The battle-axe of a sister allowed them to bring the little boy on to the ward, but she warned them that if he started to cry she’d have to ask them to leave. ‘He’s bound to bloody cry,’ Malc seethed. ‘That’s what babbies do!’

  Holding the struggling baby in her arms, Edna whispered, ‘The sight of Stevie might bring a bit of life back to him.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ said Malc as they walked towards Arthur, who was sitting in the hospital chair beside his bed. Staring vacantly out of the window, he looked thin and unkempt; he needed a shave and his blond hair was unwashed and untidy. He bore little resemblance to the handsome man that Violet had adored, but Stevie had no trouble recognizing him. Throwing out his arms, he smiled and gurgled at his father, who glanced up and gazed at his son in wonder.

  ‘Stevie?’ he said, his voice quivering with emotion.

  As the child wriggled to reach his father, Edna quickly handed him over. ‘He’s missed you so much,’ she told Arthur.

  ‘Stevie, Stevie,’ Arthur cried, as tears coursed down his thin face. ‘I’ve missed you too.’ Kissing his son’s pale blond hair, which was exactly the same colour as Violet’s, he sobbed as if his heart would break, ‘Oh, little man … what are we going to do without her?’

  Seeing poor Arthur racked with grief and terrified the sister would swoop down and ask them to leave, Malc laid an arm around his friend’s shaking shoulders. ‘You have to be strong for Stevie now, pal; he needs you more than ever.’

  Arthur nodded as he wiped away his tears. ‘I know you’re right,’ he said as he stroked Stevie’s soft silky skin. ‘Who’s been looking af
ter the little lad?’

  ‘We told you,’ Edna reminded him gently. ‘He’s been staying with Kit and Ian at Yew Tree Farm; he loves Billy.’

  Arthur looked blank. ‘Billy?’ he asked as he tried to focus on the world outside the hospital.

  ‘Kit’s son,’ Edna explained.

  Dropping his voice, Arthur anxiously asked, ‘Does Stevie cry for Violet?’

  Edna wished she could lie but she couldn’t. ‘Kit says he cries the most at night-time; he needs his daddy,’ she added gently but firmly.

  Looking down at his son, now yawning widely, Arthur murmured, ‘He’s so like Violet … she died trying to find him,’ he added with a catch in his voice. ‘She loved him so much.’

  Seeing the sister looming, Edna quickly said, ‘We’ve got to go.’

  As Arthur reluctantly handed his son back to her, he said beseechingly, ‘Please bring him back soon.’

  ‘I will,’ Edna replied. ‘I promise.’

  There was no doubting that Stevie’s visits to the infirmary helped Arthur’s slow and very painful recovery. The sight and sound of his little boy brought a smile to his lined face and colour to his sunken cheeks. And when the day of the funeral dawned, Arthur carried Stevie down the aisle of the church to the front pew, beside which Violet’s coffin stood. As the vicar who had married Violet and Arthur, and baptized their first-born, now said prayers for the dead, then committed Violet’s body to a grave in the churchyard, there was not a dry eye in the congregation. It took all of Arthur’s strength not to throw himself into the dark grave where his wife lay. The only thing that prevented him from following her was the son she’d left behind. Holding Stevie tightly, Arthur made a promise by the graveside.

  ‘I’ll look after our child, my darling. I’ll give him all the love you would have given him, and I’ll tell him how much you loved him every single day. I’ll never forget you, my darling. Rest in peace, my Vi.’

  Weak with grief, Arthur turned to Malc, who was standing close by. ‘I need to go home,’ he murmured as tears coursed down his anguished face. ‘It’s time we were a family again.’

  24. Riding the Storm

  The days that followed Violet’s heart-breaking funeral were dark, as mid-winter approached and the world seemed drained of light. Dark in mood too: Arthur’s desperate need to be with his son urged him to request an immediate discharge from hospital.

  ‘I’m needed at home now,’ he told the doctors, who were concerned about his mental stability. Malc, who picked Arthur up, was also concerned about his friend’s state of mind.

  ‘Sure you’re up to this?’ he asked cautiously as he drove Arthur back to the domestic quarters, which, after the bomb blast, had been hastily repaired in order to rehouse the workers.

  ‘I’m not sure about anything these days,’ Arthur admitted. ‘One thing I do know is Violet won’t be at peace until she knows I’m home looking after her boy.’

  ‘I only hope you’re not tempting fate by coming home too soon,’ Malc fretted.

  ‘It’s got to be done,’ Arthur retorted. ‘I need to get back to work and I need to be with my son,’ he added as he blinked tears from his eyes. ‘I have to try and get back to normal, Malc. Violet wouldn’t want it otherwise.’

  ‘Don’t go overdoing it,’ Malc advised. ‘Edna’s prepared enough food for a fortnight, so you don’t need to worry about shopping and cooking, and Kit’s drawn up a rota for one of the lasses to take Stevie to nursery and collect him every day until you get yourself organized.’

  ‘Those Bomb Girls,’ Arthur murmured. ‘Violet always said her friends were angels: now I see exactly what she means. They’d do anything for one another.’

  ‘It’s true, they would,’ Malc assured him with a proud smile.

  As Malc pulled up outside Arthur’s home, he couldn’t help but see Arthur’s face drop: last time he was here, Malc thought as he helped his friend out of the car, Violet, Arthur and Stevie had been a happy little unit with hopes for the future. Wiping the depressing thought from his mind, Malc steered Arthur into the house, which Edna had mopped and polished until it was shining bright; there was a mouth-watering smell of baking coming from the oven.

  ‘Potato pie!’ Edna announced as she hugged Arthur. ‘Look who we’ve got to welcome you home!’

  Kit had arrived earlier with Stevie, who waved his little podgy hands at his father. Arthur swooped him up into the air. ‘WHEEEE!’ he cried. ‘Dada’s home.’

  They sat around the crackling fire drinking tea and, though they tried hard to find easy, harmless subjects to talk about, an awkward silence fell, which eventually Arthur filled. ‘I keep thinking she’ll walk in,’ he said with a catch in his voice. ‘She was so beautiful; she filled the place with laughter.’ His eyes drifted to the photographs on the mantelpiece: Violet on her wedding day, radiant with flowers in her hair, and another of Violet just after Stevie was born, smiling ecstatically with her new baby in her arms.

  ‘It’ll take time, lovie,’ Edna said softly.

  ‘We’ll do everything we can to help,’ Kit promised.

  Arthur buried his face in Stevie’s curls. ‘We’ll have to be brave soldiers,’ he said to the little boy on his lap. ‘We mustn’t let Mama down.’

  Though she’d thought of Roger Carrington more than once since his departure, Rosa had certainly not had time with all the traumatic events taking place even to think of sending him a postcard drawing, so when she received one from him she was delighted.

  Gladys, who was polishing her work shoes, looked up when she heard Rosa gasp after opening a brown envelope.

  ‘It’s from a friend,’ Rosa replied as a tell-tale blush bloomed on her cheeks.

  ‘A man?’ Gladys asked with a teasing smile.

  Rosa nodded. ‘I met him at the art gallery in Salford – look,’ she said proudly, as she showed Gladys a beautiful little postcard drawing from Roger.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ Gladys said as she admired the small but perfectly accurate black-and-white sketch of a fighter plane, underneath which he’d written in tiny writing: ‘My delight, my Spitfire. Rog x’.

  ‘Have you sent him a drawing?’ Gladys asked.

  ‘No!’ shocked Rosa exclaimed. ‘Drawing pictures has not been my priority in these sad days.’

  ‘Well, you should think about it now,’ Gladys said as she put on her polished shoes and fastened the laces. ‘He obviously likes you, if he’s gone to all that trouble for you,’ she said as she nodded at Roger’s picture.

  ‘I like him,’ Rosa admitted with a small smile. ‘He talks so much and laughs so loudly. He got third prize in the painting competition,’ she said, recalling the happy evening they had spent together.

  ‘And you got first prize!’ Gladys exclaimed. ‘Violet told me.’ There was a sudden catch in her voice as she remembered one of the last conversations she’d had with Violet. ‘She told me you’d won fifty pounds …’ Her voice trailed away as she kept her head down, apparently concentrating hard on lacing her shoes, but Rosa knew Gladys was hiding her tears.

  ‘Violet was so excited when I won,’ Rosa said with a sad sigh. ‘She said I should buy lots of new clothes.’

  Gladys stood up and reached for her coat. ‘Typical Violet: she was always the first to wear the latest fashions. Will you treat yourself?’ she asked as she did up her coat buttons.

  Rosa shook her head. ‘I’ve sent the money to my relatives in Manchester,’ she replied. ‘I want them to help others like me,’ she explained.

  ‘Good for you, Rosa,’ Gladys said as she headed for the door. ‘I still think you should make time to do a quick sketch for that fella of yours, even if it’s just the rusty old wood-burner,’ she joked. ‘See you later, sweetheart,’ she called over her shoulder.

  Rosa watched Gladys through the window as she tried to cycle to work in the teeth of a bitter north-easterly wind that was blasting the moors. Since Violet’s traumatic death, Gladys had been less withdrawn, but Rosa longed to know what had happene
d in London that had made her so sad on her return. Sighing, she turned back into the room, where the first thing she saw was the crackling wood-burner. Smiling to herself, she grabbed a slip of writing paper and a pencil, then she quickly started to sketch; if she was lucky, she’d just have time to post her drawing to Roger before she clocked on for work.

  A few days later, Kit finally got to talk to her friends about something that had been troubling her since the explosion. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way,’ she started as they all gathered around their favourite table in the canteen for a short tea break. ‘Now may not be the right time to talk about it, what with all the sadness around us, but nevertheless I’m going to say it.’ Taking a breath, she added, ‘I’m really worried about Edna not getting the sort of wedding she deserves.’

  The girls looked across the table at one another; if truth be told, since Violet’s death, Edna’s wedding had not been at the forefront of their minds, which made them all feel a little guilty.

  ‘She’s booked the church for the service,’ Maggie said quickly to cover her unease.

  ‘And she told me that the Black Bull in town are doing the reception,’ Nora added.

  ‘I know,’ Kit agreed. ‘But she’s not bought a wedding outfit, plus we’ve not agreed on the music and the hymns, which we would have done in the past – and, worse still, she doesn’t even talk about it,’ Kit pointed out. ‘We’ve not done anything with her like she encouraged me and Violet to do on our wedding days.’

  ‘I suppose she’s just not got the heart for it,’ Gladys said sadly.

  ‘That’s exactly why we should push her into thinking of herself,’ Kit urged. ‘Knowing Edna, she’ll be assuming it’s not appropriate to make a fuss at this time of mourning.’

  Rosa smiled compassionately. ‘Edna, she always puts others before herself.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Kit’s right,’ Gladys said. ‘We’re Edna’s friends; we should be encouraging her to plan her big day. She’s waited long enough for it to come round.’