by Clare Flynn
Jim nodded. ‘Didn’t Joan tell you? I called round to your house as soon as I got out of the sick bay but she told me you didn’t want to see me.’
Ethel nodded and sighed. ‘She always tries to protect me, does our Joan. But you can’t protect someone from their own feelings.’ She smiled up at him. ‘It’s a kind of comfort to see you. Greg loved you like a brother, Jim. I would never turn you away.’
‘But…don’t you blame me for what happened?’
‘It wasn’t your fault. They said it could have happened any time. I’m grateful that we had a little bit of time together. It may not have been long but it was long enough to feel truly loved and I hope I had a chance to make him happy for his last days.’
‘He was the happiest man in the camp. Did you know he told me that first night in The Stag that he’d met the girl he was going to marry? Love at first sight.’
‘Me too.’ She smiled and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
‘What will you do now, Ethel?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve done with crying. Had to change the pillowcases every night. Couldn’t get out of bed. Didn’t want to go on. But you know, Jim, you have to get on with life. I tell myself that it’s what Greg would have wanted. He said the thing he loved most about me was my smile and I keep telling myself that he’s looking down on me from up there and he’ll want to see that smile.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Do you believe in heaven, Jim? Do you think he’s up there waiting for me?’
Jim shuffled his cap in his hands. ‘I’m not a religious man myself. Church on Christmas. That’s about it. But if there is a heaven you can be sure Greg Hooper’s in it.’
‘I can’t believe I only knew him for such a short time. It felt as if I’d known him my whole life. I can’t blame the war for taking him. I’m grateful that it brought us together. Does that sound terrible?’
Jim shook his head.
‘So many people are losing loved ones every day. I’m not unusual. If they can keep going then so can I. There’s a woman down the street has already lost two of her sons. One at Dunkirk and the other shot down over the Channel.’
They walked on in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Jim said, ‘I hear Joan’s left town.’
‘She told you?’ Ethel sounded surprised.
‘Her mother told me. But she wouldn’t say where she’s gone.’
‘She’s moved to another camp – over on Salisbury Plain. She’s going to be working in the NAAFI there. She’ll hate that. Serving up food to soldiers – she’ll feel like she’s back in the chippy.’
‘Have you heard from her?’
‘I got a letter. Told me she was stuck in the middle of nowhere. But to be honest, Jim, I think she was glad to be transferred.’
Jim nodded. ‘Maybe she fancied a change of scenery. She wasn’t too happy cleaning the latrines here.’
‘I think she wanted to get away from you.’
Jim stopped walking. ‘From me?’
‘Come on. You know even better than I do. She had a big thing for you.’
The blood rushed to his face and he struggled to find words.
‘Joan never talked about it, but I could tell. She knew you weren’t interested. Especially when you ran down the street to get away from her in London. That was cruel of you.’
His head dropped and he felt ashamed.
‘I wanted to spend the day with her. So did Greg. We both felt bad for her. But she wouldn’t hear of it. We set off together to have a cup of tea in Lyon’s Corner House and while we were queuing for a table she disappeared. We turned around and she was gone.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to behave that way. I was actually angry with Greg, not her. He hadn’t told me you were both coming to London. And it wasn’t that I wasn’t interested in Joan. It’s that I didn’t want to get tangled up with someone engaged to another guy.’
‘I said the same thing to her. Told her I could tell she was soft on you and that maybe she should break it off with Pete, but she wouldn’t have it. Told me she was in love with Pete and had been having a flirt with you to pass the time.’
‘I think that’s right. She was playing with me.’
‘Look, Jim, it’s not up to me to interfere but I don’t believe that. I know my cousin and even if she did her damnedest to convince me otherwise, I think she had feelings for you.’
Jim didn’t know what to say. They walked on in silence, then he said, ‘We’re leaving town too. Being sent to Sussex. By the sea.’ He grinned at her. ‘Oops. I wasn’t supposed to tell anybody that.’
Ethel nodded. ‘I won’t breathe a word. But the whole town knows anyway. You’ll like it more than Aldershot. It’s supposed to be a nice place. I hope I’ll see you again one day, Jim. Maybe when this horrible war is over and you get sent home they’ll send you back via Aldershot. If so, please come and see me and Mum.’
‘Of course I will. If you hear from Joan, tell her…No never mind. Better not to say we met and we talked.’
‘I’ll say nothing. She’d have a fit if she knew I’d been telling you all this.’ They had reached the centre of the town. Ethel pointed towards a store on the other side of the street. ‘That’s where I’m headed.’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed Jim on the cheek. ‘Bye bye, Jim. Don’t ever forget Greg, will you?’ She hurried across the road and disappeared into a drapery store.
It was cramped and uncomfortable in the back of the truck but the men’s spirits were high. Anywhere but “Aldershit” had been the consensus. The CO told them they would be billeted in houses around the small coastal town of Eastbourne and they relished that prospect. The old Victorian dormitories of the Aldershot garrison had been draughty, spartan and overcrowded. The institutional food was barely edible and although they would be eating in a regimental canteen in Eastbourne too, they were convinced that it couldn’t be as bad as the mass catering at Aldershot. They drove into the town with the truck stopping at intervals to drop men off at their billets.
The truck climbed up a long road from the centre of the town, through tree-lined roads with big houses. The men couldn’t fail but be impressed by the grandeur of some of the residences, several of which had formerly been exclusive private schools, but the majority were substantial, architect-designed family homes. It was a marked contrast to the shabby streets of Aldershot with its lines of brick barracks. The Regimental Sergeant Major had issued them all with detailed guidelines about how they were to conduct themselves in their new accommodation, with particular regard to the preservation of hardwood parquet floors, rationing of bath water and the avoidance of drunken carousing in the streets.
Jim, Mitch and a lad called Gordon were assigned a billet in a house with civilian occupants. They groaned when they heard the news. How much better to have the unfettered run of a house left empty after its occupants had been evacuated, than to be tiptoeing around trying not to upset their hosts.
‘There aren’t enough empty buildings to house the whole unit so you fellows are going to have to move in with the householders. I know you don’t like it, but rest assured the home owners like it even less,’ said the RSM. ‘Imagine how your wives or mothers would feel about horrible people like you invading their homes. I expect you to behave the way you’d want British soldiers to behave if they were staying in your place back home. Clear?’
‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’ They spoke as one.
Lodgers
Eastbourne
The news of a new inflow of Canadian soldiers into the town news had reached Gwen a day before they arrived. There was a knock on the door. It was Daphne.
‘Now don’t say I didn’t warn you, old girl, but it’s finally happened.’
‘What’s happened?’ Gwen frowned. She hated it when Daphne tried to be enigmatic.
‘The Canadians.’
‘What about them?’
‘Some of them are being billeted up here in Meads. Handier for the Downs which they are apparently intent on totally destroying with
their guns and tanks.’ She consulted the clipboard in her hand. ‘You’re getting three of them. They’re not officers, I’m afraid.’ She rolled her eyes at Gwen. ‘Rank and file. I tried. Sorry!’
‘I don’t care what rank they are. But why do I have to take them?’
‘Desperate times. Desperate measures. We all have to do our bit. Most of them are crammed in together in empty houses but there’s only so many available and we need to get people like you to take the last few in.’
‘And how many are you taking in?’
Daphne tilted her head on one side. ‘Come on, Gwen, you know that wouldn’t do at all. Not with Sandy being in charge of all the home forces for the area. Apart from his position as Group Commander there’s also the security implications.’
‘But I’ve already taken in Mrs Simmonds and her children. I’m already doing my bit.’
‘I thought Mrs Simmonds had taken on the job of Mrs Woods. That’s hardly taking her in without strings.’
‘But the baby crying at night will disturb the soldiers. And if the men roll in late at night they will wake the children.’
‘You’ll have to find a way round it. They only need one bedroom and the use of a bathroom. You don’t even need to provide furniture or bedding – they’ll have camp beds. It won’t be for long and they’ll get all their meals in their canteen.’ She tapped her pencil against the clipboard. ‘Would you like to know their names?’
‘No, thank you. I’ll save that pleasure until they arrive and can introduce themselves,’ Gwen said, her voice full of sarcasm. She was beginning to find Daphne’s smugness unbearable.
‘Righty-ho. They’ll be here later this afternoon.’ Daphne was already moving down the drive.
‘But I have to clear a room out–’
‘Don’t worry. The boys can move the stuff out themselves. All you have to do is tell them where to put it.’
Gwen had a good idea of where she would like to tell them – or better still Daphne – to put it. She closed the door.
‘Three soldiers? That will be interesting.’ Pauline was standing at the top of the stairs that led down to the lower ground floor, where she and the children had their room. ‘I hope they’re good looking!’ She did a little wiggling movement with her upper body.
‘Don’t be vulgar,’ said Gwen, trying to suppress her amusement.
Pauline grinned. ‘Come on, Mrs C. I’m only having a bit of fun. I wouldn’t look at another man. I’m happy with my Brian.’
Gwen suddenly felt tired. ‘I know that, Pauline. I'm sorry. It’s just that I don’t want three strange men tramping through the house.’
‘I’m sure they won’t be doing that. They’ll be up on the Downs firing those big guns all day. Then I expect they’ll be painting the town red of an evening.’ She sighed, then smiled. ‘If you stick them up on the top floor they’ll be out of your way. Since there’s another bathroom on that floor you won’t have the risk of them busting in on you when you’re taking a bath!’ She started to laugh. ‘Mind you, I wouldn’t like to imagine what would happen to any bloke that tried that on with you!’
Gwen decided to ignore the comment. ‘But the children?’
‘They won’t care,’ said Pauline. ‘I doubt they’ll see much of them. Sal should be in bed by the time they get in and the baby’s too small to notice. Now, you do need to lay down some rules. No more than one bath a week and no more than five inches of water.’
Gwen frowned. She felt like a seaside landlady. Oh God, she’d become a seaside landlady.
‘What about meals?’ asked Pauline.
‘They’ll go to their canteen for all their meals.’
‘But not breakfast? I could sort that for them.’
‘We can’t feed them. We don’t have the rations for three adult men.’
Pauline sighed. ‘Hmm, I can at least make them a nice cup of tea before they head off in the morning. Do you think they drink tea?’
‘Of course they drink tea.’
‘I meant them being Canadians. You never know, do you? They may have different ways over there. Do you think they’re going to be the French ones or our ones?’
‘What are you talking about, Pauline?’ Gwen sighed. ‘I doubt they’re French-speaking. The French Canadians are over at Pevensey Bay apparently. But I don’t think they’ll want to be described as being “ours”.’
‘I’d better break the news to Sal. I don’t want her getting excited and thinking her dad’s back when she hears men’s voices.’ She hurried down the stairs.
Gwen wandered into the drawing room and stood looking out of the window. The sea was a light blue, cloudy with chalk, flat and darkening towards the fuzzy line where it met the sky. The Downs, the houses and the school playing fields were washed in soft sunlight.
Why had she been so snappy? Pauline had clearly thought she was being critical. It had taken Gwen a while to get used to Pauline’s flippancy but she knew now it was her way of coping. And why should she resent taking in soldiers? She silently castigated herself for being ungrateful. These poor fellows were probably as thrilled at the prospect of staying here as she was at hosting them. The Canadians were all volunteers and had signed up at risk of their lives to help Britain in a war they didn’t actually need to get involved with. She bit her lip and told herself to be more welcoming. And she needed to be kinder with Pauline.
There was a loud knock at the front door.
‘I’ll let them in,’ said Gwen, as she met Pauline in the hall.
There were three of them, all looking exceedingly young. They stood in a line across the pathway. It was bitterly cold and the men hopped around trying to get warm. They filed into the house in silence behind Gwen and followed her into the drawing room where she introduced them to Pauline, explaining that Pauline did the cooking and helped out around the house but stressing she was not a servant. She didn’t want these lads getting ideas and presuming on Pauline’s good nature. They were to take their meals in the canteen which had been set up in a nearby school hall so Gwen hoped to see as little as possible of them. They would be out on exercises all day and no doubt would be haunting the bars of The Ship or The Pilot by night.
It was only four o’clock and she usually didn’t light a fire in the drawing room until after supper, to save on the coal rations. But it was their first night and they were obviously in need of warming up. Pauline knelt down and lit the kindling in the grate she had laid that morning. The fire sprang into life and Gwen urged the men to sit close to the hearth while she went to make the tea. She brushed aside Pauline’s offer to make it, eager to escape from the need to make polite conversation.
When she returned with the tray, one of the soldiers was showing Sally how to play jacks while Pauline was perched on the arm of the sofa next to the other two, regaling them with the story of the destruction of her home.
‘You’ve had a lot of bombing here?’ The man speaking had a shock of red hair.
‘We’ve had a right old clobbering. Through the second half of ’40 it was bomb after ruddy bomb.’ Pauline was enjoying having a captive audience.
‘We had no idea you’d had so many raids here. It wasn’t that bad in Aldershot, was it, guys?’
‘Four civilians killed in 1940. None since.’
‘We’ve had loads more than that killed, haven’t we, Mrs C?’
Gwen passed out the cups of tea and said, ‘Thirty-five dead.’
The men all whistled.
‘But it’s not a competition.’ Gwen glanced at Pauline.
‘One of them was my grandfather,’ said Pauline, suddenly serious.
‘Sorry to hear that, Pauline,’ said the redhead.
Pauline blushed and looked away, her smile fading. Her cheerful facade masked a lot of pain. Gwen marvelled that she had only been out of the room a few minutes and the guests were all on first name terms with Pauline.
Pauline moved to stand against the door, eyeing the men up and down in frank appraisal. She had a
developed a habit, whenever there were men in the vicinity, of tossing her hair and pouting her lips, like a Hollywood star. Although amused, Gwen thought it made her look faintly ridiculous but would not have dreamed of passing comment.
‘Tea for everyone? I’m afraid we have no coffee,’ said Gwen.
One of the Canadians, a tall man with a shock of blonde hair gave her a broad smile. ‘Tea’s great. But I think we can probably remedy the coffee situation, Ma’am. We’ll bring you a couple of tins tomorrow.’
‘I’m sorry; I wasn’t hinting. You don’t need to bring us anything.’
‘Our pleasure, Ma’am. And do let us know if there’s anything else you need and we can try and get hold of it for you. We know you folks have to manage on slim rations.’
Gwen gave him a weak smile and they lapsed into silence again, which was accentuated by the clock ticking on the mantelpiece. As the men were drinking their tea, the baby started crying downstairs and Pauline excused herself, taking Sally with her and leaving Gwen to face her guests alone.
She took a deep breath and forced a smile to her lips. ‘You haven’t told me your names.’
They each intoned their first names – Gordon, Mitch and Jim. Gordon was the lad with the red hair, Mitch had a crewcut and a heavy lantern jaw like a cartoon thug. Jim was the tall blond one who had offered the coffee. Gwen hoped she was going to remember them.
The tea was scalding hot, so there was no hope of swigging it down and excusing herself. Why did she find it so hard to make conversation? Perhaps it was the evident solidarity of the men, sitting side by side in a human wall on the sofa? Or their accents? Or the incongruity of three young soldiers sitting here in her drawing room. Suddenly she wanted to laugh and had to suppress a giggle.
‘What part of Canada do you come from?’