by Kitty Neale
‘I know it sounds daft, but it’s all I’ve got left of her and it sort of brings me a bit of comfort. It…it was an awful time, Doug, and to top it all Ellen’s nerves went.’
‘She seems all right now, though it’s a shame you’re so far from the village that she hasn’t got any friends to play with.’
‘I know, but she’s grown to love it here, the peace, the quiet, the animals and the woods, yet I can’t stand it.’
‘It won’t be for ever and, now I know I haven’t got anything to worry about with Gertie, you’re to stay here until the war’s over,’ Doug ordered, but then as Hilda reared back he knew he’d put his foot in it.
Her shoulders stiff, neck stretched to look up at him and eyes flashing, she snapped, ‘If I want to go back to London I will, and neither you, nor the bloody Germans, are going to stop me.’
‘All right, calm down,’ Doug placated. Just a moment ago Hilda had seemed so soft and vulnerable, but now she was back on form. His wife might be tiny, but he had long since learned that he couldn’t win an argument. If you got Hilda’s back up, woe betide you, and he should have known better than to issue an order. He tried a different approach. ‘What about Ellen? Surely you don’t want to put her at risk again?’
‘Of course I don’t. Oh, take no notice of me, Doug,’ she said, her features softening as their daughter ran up to them. ‘It’s just that I’m fed up, that’s all.’
Doug couldn’t get over the change in Ellen. She was so much taller, her nose sprinkled with freckles and her complexion glowing with health. Life in the country suited her and, in fact, Doug had found he liked it, too, enjoyed working the land – the digging, the planting – and when the war was over he’d love to live out of London. Of course, Hilda would take some persuading, but surely he’d be able to talk her round?
‘Come on, Mum, come on, Dad,’ Ellen urged.
‘Yeah, all right, but slow down,’ Hilda called as Ellen dashed off again, Bertie at her heels, yapping with excitement.
‘It’s a shame we’ve only managed the one child,’ Doug mused.
‘I know, but after having so much trouble falling pregnant, Ellen still seems like a miracle. My mum was the same, and her sister, all of us only managing one child.’
‘You never know, you might fall again one day.’
‘Don’t bank on it, Doug.’
‘I’m not,’ he said, with a cheeky smile and a wink as he added, ‘though if you ask me nicely, I’ll give it another go tonight.’
Ellen had become used to playing alone. She loved exploring, finding things, and had turned the woods into her own magic kingdom. This time, instead of roaming alone, it felt strange to be out with her parents and so far, amongst other things, they had seen a squirrel that was thankfully in a tree and safe from Bertie. Ellen led her dad to one of her favourite places, a pretty glade where if she sat quietly rabbits would emerge from their burrows, noses sniffing, but there was no sign of them today.
‘Come on, Ellen, it’s time to go back to the cottage.’
‘Oh, Dad, do we have to?’ Ellen appealed. ‘There are so many things I want to show you.’
‘I’m afraid so, but we’ll come here again another day.’
Ellen nodded, looking forward to that, but sadly aware that her dad would be leaving again soon. She still found that if she kept quiet, her parents would sometimes forget she was there and it was then that she found things out – like at breakfast, when they had been talking about U-boats. Ellen was still worried about the danger she’d heard her dad was in and asked now, ‘Dad, what’s a submarine?’
‘Well, I suppose the easiest way to describe one is to say that it’s a kind of boat, but one that submerges and spends most of the time underwater.’
‘Have you been on one?’
‘No, and I don’t want to.’
‘Why did Mum say you’re in danger?’
A look passed between her parents and Ellen saw the small shake of her mum’s head before her dad replied, ‘You know what a worryguts your mum is, but there’s no need. I’m not in danger, pumpkin, and she’s worried about nothing.’
Ellen wasn’t convinced, but her dad refused to talk about the war again and soon they were back at the cottage. Once again Ellen saw a strange look pass between Gertie and her mother, a sort of half-nod from Gertie that puzzled her.
‘Why did you have to go to the village?’ Ellen asked, sure that the trip held the answer.
‘I went to get a few things in. Now let’s grab some lunch and then it’s back to work.’
‘Slave driver,’ Hilda groaned.
While her mother began to make sandwiches, Ellen wandered outside with Bertie, the dog running to his bowl to slurp water. There was something going on, Ellen was sure of it, but if she kept really quiet during lunch they might let something slip. Why did grown ups have to be so secretive? She wasn’t a baby now, she was nearly ten and a half years old, but still treated like a little kid. The village – Gertie hated going to the village, so why had she gone that morning? It was only when Ellen thought about their last trip that the penny dropped. Gertie had told her about the pig, but then her dad had turned up and everything else had been forgotten in the excitement.
With her heart thudding, Ellen ran to the sty. There was only one pig now, her belly fat with babies, and, sobbing, Ellen ran back to the cottage.
‘Pinkie’s gone! You took her to be killed, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
It was her mum who answered. ‘Because we knew you’d be upset.’
‘I…I don’t want Pinkie to be killed.’
‘Ellen, I told you not to give the pigs names,’ said Gertie, ‘and warned that you shouldn’t get too fond of them. They aren’t pets and you know that.’
‘You’re horrible! I hate you,’ Ellen yelled before dashing outside again, but only five minutes later her dad found her.
‘You shouldn’t have yelled at Gertie like that. She knew you’d be upset, we all did, but Gertie hoped to make you feel better with a special surprise.’
‘Don’t care. I hate her.’
‘Let’s see if you feel the same in a minute,’ he said, taking her hand to pull her along. ‘Come back inside.’
Sullen, Ellen was dragged back to the cottage, but she refused to look at the cardboard box that Gertie held out.
‘Come on, Ellen, open it,’ her mother urged.
Gertie laid the box on the table. ‘It’s something for you, Ellen, something all of your own to love.’
‘Don’t want it.’
‘Are you sure?’ Gertie asked and opening the box herself she drew out a tiny bundle of black and white fluff.
There was a mewling sound and, unbidden, Ellen rushed forward. A kitten! Gertie had got her a kitten, and, her eyes brimming, Ellen took it from her hands.
‘Do you like him?’ Gertie asked.
‘Oh…oh…yes, and…and thank you.’
‘You need to apologise too,’ her mum cajoled.
‘No, it’s all right, Hilda. She was upset, and I understand that. Now then, Ellen, what are you going to call him?’
Ellen looked at the kitten. He was mostly black, but there was a white band at the bottom of both front legs. She grinned. ‘I’m gonna call him Socks.’
‘Socks,’ her dad chuckled. ‘Yeah, it kind of suits him.’
Bertie jumped up at her legs and Ellen held the kitten protectively to her chest.
‘It’s all right,’ Gertie said. ‘Bertie has had a few scuffles with Wilfred and knows better than to go up against a cat. Just let him smell Socks and he’ll be fine.’
Tentatively Ellen crouched down, her fears soon alleviated, but then the kitten burrowed inside her cardigan.
‘Right, Ellen, he’s your cat and you’ll have to look after him. It’ll be your job to feed him, and until he can go out you’ll have to change his litter box regularly,’ her mum said, then puffed out her ch
eeks. ‘I must have been mad to agree to this and heaven knows how we’ll get him back to London.’
‘London! But I don’t want to go back to London.’
‘I’m not talking about now, you daft moo, but the war won’t last for ever.’
Ellen pulled back her cardigan to look at Socks. He was almost under her arm, snuggled close, and though she wasn’t looking at her father she was aware of his words.
‘There isn’t an end in sight yet and, who knows, you could be here for years.’
‘Doug, I hope you’re wrong,’ sighed Hilda. ‘I’m going potty stuck here in the sticks.’
‘Well, thanks,’ Gertie snapped.
‘I’m not having a go at you, Gertie, and I’m really grateful that you took us in. It’s just that I’m not suited to life in the country, that’s all.’
‘Suited or not, it’s where you need to stay,’ Doug warned.
‘All right, don’t go on about it.’
Ellen’s emotions were mixed. She was thrilled with the kitten, sad that her dad would be leaving soon, but ecstatic at the thought of staying here with Gertie for a long, long time.
The next five days seemed to fly past, and soon Gertie was hiding her feelings of satisfaction as Doug said his goodbyes. It was irritating to see how Hilda clung to him, tears in her eyes, but touching to see Ellen doing the same.
Gertie shook Doug’s hand and then left them to it, pleased to hear the roar of the motorbike only minutes later as he sped away. It might take a few days, but then it would be back to normal, the three of them again living contentedly together.
Both Hilda and Ellen were in pieces when they came indoors, and Gertie did her best to sound sympathetic. ‘Oh dear. You poor things.’
‘I can’t believe how quickly the time went, and…and who knows when I’ll see him again…’ Hilda said as she dashed tears from her cheeks.
Ellen ran to pick up Socks, seeking comfort as she held the kitten close, and Gertie was pleased with her idea. Ellen had soon forgotten the pig in her joy at having her own pet, and as the farmer’s cat had just had kittens, the timing was perfect. Her own cat, Wilfred, rarely ventured indoors and so far hadn’t seen the kitten, but Gertie feared that fur might fly when he did.
‘How about a nice cup of tea?’ she suggested, deciding that there was time enough later to worry about Wilfred.
‘I won’t say no.’
Gertie busied herself with putting the kettle on the range and by time it came to the boil, Hilda had at last stopped sniffling. Gertie decided to try a touch of lightness as she poured the tea, saying with a smile, ‘I suppose you’ll be back to wearing trousers now.’
‘I suppose so. I never thought you’d get me to wear them, but must admit they’re comfortable. It was murder doing the planting in a skirt.’
‘Once summer’s here, we’ll all be in shorts.’
‘Things in London may have eased up by then. I might be able to go back; to find us somewhere to live, a home for Doug to return to.’
‘Don’t bank on it,’ Gertie said. There was no sign of a let up, the Luftwaffe still bombing the city and, as Doug had said, they could be with her for years. At least she hoped so – the thought of Hilda leaving was more than she could bear.
Chapter 6
Hilda turned over in bed, hating that it was winter again, and loathing life in Somerset. She had come here expecting the war to be over long before this, but how long had they been here now? Nearly two years, but it felt like ten, and so long, so very long since she’d seen Doug. At least in London she saw people, had friends, heard a bit of music and jollity; but nothing happened here to break the month in, month out of boring routine.
Hilda heaved a sigh. She had stuck it out for Ellen’s sake, and Gertie had seemed to sense how she felt, taking her to the village at least once a week now. Though Hilda enjoyed a bit of gossip with the shopkeeper, and one or two other villagers, she felt she had little in common with them. They were nice folks who seemed content with their lot, with their sleepy, tiny community, but even after all this time in Somerset, Hilda knew she’d never feel the same.
Ellen woke beside her and as soon as the sleepiness left her eyes she said, ‘It’s my birthday.’
‘I know. Happy twelfth birthday, but don’t expect much,’ Hilda warned. This would be Ellen’s second birthday in Somerset, but there wasn’t a lot on offer in the village store now, though thanks to Mrs Brandon she had a little extra something up her sleeve. It was Monday, and with the shop closed yesterday they’d have to go into the village to pick it up today. It was a special treat and sure to bring a smile to her daughter’s face.
‘Mum, I feel a bit funny, sticky,’ Ellen said as she got out of bed. Her voice then rose to a yelp of fear. ‘Mum! Mum, I’m bleeding.’
Oh no, Hilda thought, already? What a thing to happen on her daughter’s birthday. ‘It’s all right. It’s nothing to worry about.’
‘But what’s wrong with me?’
Hilda fought for words as she flung back the blankets. As far as she was concerned, Ellen was far too young to be told the facts of life. Her tone was brusque as she said, ‘It’s just something that happens to all girls when they get to a certain age.’
‘But why?’
‘It’s just that things are changing in your body, that’s all, and this is going to happen every month now.’
Ellen looked appalled. ‘Every month!’
‘I know it sounds awful, but you’ll get used to it. Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up,’ Hilda said, knowing that Ellen’s questions were far from over.
Ellen was still confused by what was happening to her, and felt too queasy to eat her breakfast. She also had little cramps of pain in her tummy, but was distracted now as her mother held out three packages.
‘Happy birthday and these are from me,’ she said.
Ellen tore one open, loving the blue scarf with matching hat and mittens. She was sure her mum must have unravelled her nice jumper to provide the wool and managed a smile. ‘Thanks, they’re lovely.’
‘I made them in the evenings when you were in bed.’
In the next package Ellen found a new vest, but finally, best of all, she tore open the last one to find a large, beautiful book of plant illustrations. Ellen could see that it wasn’t new, but loved it anyway and hugged it to her chest. ‘Oh, Mum.’
‘I managed to buy it from one of the villagers.’
‘Happy birthday,’ Gertie said as she came in and handed over a roughly wrapped parcel.
Inside Ellen found tweed trousers that had been cut down, the pains in her tummy forgotten now as she grinned. ‘Thanks, Gertie, but weren’t these your best ones?’
‘Yes, but you’ve grown out of your others, and will need warm trousers now that winter is here. Here you are,’ Gertie said, holding out a paper bag. ‘I got these too. I know you love barley sugar.’
Ellen smiled with delight, but then her mother spoke again as she held out another parcel, saying softly, ‘I thought I’d save this one till last.’
As soon as Ellen took it, she knew who it was from and ripped it open eagerly. Along with a letter, there was a beautifully carved wooden cat.
‘Oh, look,’ she said holding it up. ‘It’s from Dad.’
‘I know, darling, and he made it himself.’
Ellen stroked the cat lovingly and then placed it down to pick up the accompanying letter, her eyes filling with tears as she read it. She missed her dad so much, longed to see him again, and said sadly, ‘He…he doesn’t say he’s coming home. It’s been so long since his last leave and he must be due in port again soon.’
Socks rubbed against her legs and Ellen bent down to pick him up. He was a big cat now, sleek and lovely, but like Wilfred he’d taken to wandering. She looked at the beautifully carved one, her voice a croak. ‘Dad must remember Socks and that’s why he made me a cat.’
‘I’m sure he does, but don’t cry, love. It’s your birthday and it should be a happy time.�
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‘Come on, Hilda,’ said Gertie brusquely as she rose to her feet. ‘You said you wanted to go to the village. We’ll wrap up warm and, Ellen, you can wear your new trousers, along with the hat, scarf and mittens.’
Ellen felt uncomfortable as she pulled on her new trousers, hating that it might show. ‘I’m ready,’ she said returning downstairs.
‘Right, I’ll harness Ned.’
As Gertie went outside, Ellen saw her mother looking at her before she said, ‘I’m sick of seeing you in trousers.’
‘You wear them all the time too.’
‘Sorry, pet, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that, like you, I’m missing your dad and it’s always worse when we’ve had letters.’
‘It’d be lovely if he was here for Christmas.’
‘Yes, it would, but come on, it’s your birthday and it’ll be nice to have a ride into the village.’
‘Mum, I feel funny wearing this…this rag thing. Does it show?’
‘No, you look fine.’
It wasn’t long before Gertie called out, saying as they set off, ‘As it’s your birthday, there’ll be no lessons for you today, especially as you did so well with your arithmetic yesterday.’
‘Thanks,’ Ellen said, but she really didn’t mind her lessons with Gertie. In fact, she made learning things fun. With Gertie’s way of bringing events to life, even history wasn’t boring, though Ellen knew she still struggled with geography.
‘It’s good of you to teach Ellen so much,’ said Hilda, ‘but once we’re back in London she’ll be able to go to a proper school again.’
‘That could be years away.’
‘Since the beginning of the war and that awful Blitz, there aren’t many bombing raids on London now.’
‘It still isn’t safe,’ Gertie warned.
‘Mum, you aren’t thinking about going back, are you?’ Ellen interrupted. ‘I don’t want to go. I want to stay here.’
‘All right, don’t go on about it. I didn’t say we’re leaving.’
They were all quiet then, the mood subdued, and Ellen doubled over as her tummy cramped. Gertie turned her head, her smile sympathetic.