Maralinga

by Judy Nunn

  ‘Excuse me. May I be of assistance?’ The voice, with a slight Midlands accent, was pleasing in tone, and the manner respectful.

  Elizabeth looked up from her notepad. The two pips on the young man’s shoulder informed her that his rank was that of lieutenant. But for how long, she wondered. He couldn’t be more than twenty. Pleasant-looking, fair-haired, little more than a boy really; she’d bet her last shilling he was fresh out of military school.

  ‘Of assistance in what way precisely?’ she asked, her voice clipped, her message clear. The younger, the brasher, she’d found. No doubt several of his army chums were nearby, nudging and winking.

  ‘Well, you’re press, aren’t you?’ The young man darted a glance at Walter. ‘And you’re interviewing people …’ Or trying to, he thought. He’d been watching Elizabeth for quite some time and felt sorry for the way she’d been fobbed off or leered at. It didn’t seem fair to him. ‘I’m happy for you to interview me if you like.’ She was scrutinising him so closely, he felt a little uncomfortable. ‘That is, if it’d be any help,’ he finished lamely.

  ‘It would be a great help, Lieutenant, thank you very much.’ Elizabeth, recognising he was sincere, smiled warmly and offered her hand. ‘I’m Elizabeth Hoffmann from The Courier-Mail, and this is Walter Barnes.’

  ‘Daniel Gardiner, how do you do.’ By golly, she was a looker, he thought.

  They shook hands all round.

  ‘Shall we have a cup of tea?’ Elizabeth led the way over to the trestle tables and urns, where army wives were selling tin mugs of tea and shortbread biscuits for threepence, proceeds to go to the Widows and Orphans Fund.

  ‘No, no,’ she insisted as they got to the end of the queue and Daniel dug in his pocket for change, ‘The Courier-Mail takes care of all incidentals.’

  Daniel looked at Walter. It didn’t seem at all right that a woman should pay, but Walter just shrugged and nodded. He was eager to get his mug of tea and take off. Elizabeth didn’t need him for the moment, and there was a wealth of photographs yet to be taken. The Courier-Mail intended to accompany Elizabeth’s feature story with a pictorial souvenir lift-out section devoted entirely to Aldershot’s military centennial celebrations.

  ‘So tell me about yourself, Lieutenant,’ Elizabeth said when Walter had gone and they’d settled themselves in the only two spare canvas chairs at the far end of one of the trestle tables. ‘How long have you been stationed in Aldershot?’

  ‘Only a few months,’ he replied. ‘I graduated from Sandhurst just last year.’

  ‘Ah.’ She gave a nod and smiled, inwardly congratulating herself. ‘I thought so.’

  ‘It shows that much, does it?’

  ‘Well, yes, it does rather. You’re very young.’

  ‘Twenty’s not that young. Not when it comes to a war.’ There was no belligerence in his tone, but he was quite firmly correcting her. ‘Men much younger than me have died for this country.’

  ‘Oh.’ Elizabeth felt instantly contrite. ‘Oh God, how awful of me.’ She’d just treated him in the very same manner she herself so detested. ‘I didn’t mean to patronise. I’m sorry, Lieutenant.’

  ‘You didn’t patronise, and you don’t need to be sorry, and the name’s Daniel.’ He grinned, eager to put her at her ease. ‘No offence taken, I assure you. But if you really want to make amends …’ He looked at her hopefully. ‘Do I get to call you Elizabeth?’

  She laughed. His boyishness was disarming and she was thankful to be so easily forgiven. ‘Elizabeth it is.’ Then her manner briskly reverted to that of interviewer. ‘So, Daniel, you’re with what unit?’ she asked, pencil poised over notepad.

  ‘I’m actually with the Royal Army Service Corps. Transport.’

  She noted it down. ‘And you were posted here to Aldershot direct from the Academy?’

  ‘That’s right. How about you?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ She looked up.

  ‘Are you from Aldershot?’ She didn’t look like a country girl, he thought.

  ‘No. I’m from London.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ Well, that made more sense. ‘So why’d you pick Aldershot?’ He was genuinely intrigued. ‘I mean, Aldershot of all places – seems strange to me.’

  ‘Why don’t I ask the questions,’ she said firmly, but not unkindly. He didn’t appear to be flirting, indeed she found him most pleasant, but wiser to keep things on track, she thought.

  ‘Sorry.’ He shrugged apologetically. ‘It’s just that I’ve never met a female reporter before, and it’s really interesting. I wondered why you chose Aldershot, that’s all.’

  ‘I didn’t. Aldershot chose me.’ There was something so ingenuous about young Daniel Gardiner that Elizabeth felt a sudden obligation to give an honest answer. ‘The editor of The Courier-Mail is a brave, modern-thinking man who believes in allowing a woman journalist a chance.’ She recalled the steady stream of rejections she’d received from the other provincial editors to whom she’d sent applications – over fifty in all. ‘Believe me, there are many who don’t.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  Daniel did. From the candour of her response, and the flash of rebellion in her eyes, Daniel saw a great deal. Elizabeth Hoffmann was not only good-looking, she was intelligent and tenacious and downright fascinating. He put his mug on the table and leaned forward on his elbows, keen to discover more. ‘What made you want to become a journalist, Elizabeth?’

  But the boyish enthusiasm didn’t work a second time. In his eagerness, he’d just overstepped the mark.

  ‘Let’s get on with the interview, shall we?’

  The brief glimpse Elizabeth had allowed was over. The shutters were down and it was back to business.

  ‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’

  He sat up, straight-backed and duly chastised, but already wondering what possible tack he could take that might afford him another glimpse. He wanted to get to know Elizabeth Hoffmann.

  ‘Tell me how you felt about today’s ceremony, Daniel. How did it affect you personally?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘In every way. You’re a young man embarking on a military career, and here you are in Aldershot, the very home of the British army, celebrating 100 years of military tradition. Surely the symbolism of today must have had a tremendous impact upon you.’

  As her eyes locked onto his, seeking to make a connection, Daniel knew exactly the tack to take. The way to get to know Elizabeth Hoffmann was to appeal to her intellect. And the way to appeal to her intellect was to give her the best possible interview – one that would, hopefully, surprise her.

  ‘Symbolism’s fine when you’re dealing with the past,’ he said, ‘but you need to consider the future. It’s all very well to celebrate the last 100 years, but what about the next?’ Good, he thought, that had got her attention. ‘Wars don’t go away, you know.’

  It was the catchphrase repeatedly trotted out by his superiors in the officers’ mess, and it had exactly the desired effect. This was clearly not the response she had expected and he could tell she was interested.

  ‘Go on,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘The government has developed a dangerous sense of post-war complacency,’ Daniel continued, in an excellent imitation of his superior officers. ‘The assumption appears to be that the army is nothing more than a peacekeeping force in Europe, when in fact our troops are still serving in highly volatile areas – Palestine, Korea, Singapore … Anything could happen. It’s most unwise of the British government to cut back on military funding to the degree that it has.’

  Elizabeth didn’t interject, she had no desire to stop the flow. Here was a whole new viewpoint to add to her feature. Post-war unrest in the military – an excellent angle, she thought. Contemporary, and also a touch controversial, particularly given the fact that she was reporting from Aldershot, the very home of the British army. She looked up intermittently from her notepad to nod encouragement.

  ‘In my opinion, it’s all because of the Cold War,’ Daniel
went on. Gratified by her attention, he stopped imitating his superiors and warmed to his own personal theme. ‘The government’s concentrating its resources on the race for nuclear power, and you can hardly blame them. They can’t rely on America to the extent they’d hoped – the Yanks are keeping their secrets very much to themselves. So if Britain wants to compete with Russia and France in the nuclear stakes – which, of course, she does – then she has to fork out hugely on scientific research. Which is exactly what the government is doing,’ he concluded, reverting to the imitation of his superiors, ‘and, might I add, to the severe detriment of its own armed forces.’

  Elizabeth flipped over another page of her notepad and hastily scribbled the last sentence. The speed with which he’d voiced his argument had tested her shorthand skills, but she’d got it all down.

  ‘Well, Daniel,’ she said finally, leaning back to survey him with new-found respect, ‘for one who’s been in the army a relatively short time, you’ve certainly formed strong opinions.’

  ‘Not altogether original ones,’ he admitted. ‘Not in regard to the government cutbacks anyway.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It’s all they talk about in the officers’ mess.’

  Elizabeth found his admission astonishing. ‘So you were actually quoting your superior officers?’

  ‘I certainly was, word for word.’ He grinned conspiratorially. ‘You wanted the opinion of the top brass, didn’t you? Well, now you’ve got it. Just don’t reveal me as the source.’

  He was so refreshingly candid that she couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I won’t. I promise. I’ll keep it to “the general feeling amongst many senior-ranking officers …” How does that sound?’

  ‘Spot on.’

  She jotted down a reminder, then again looked up. ‘Why are the Americans so unwilling to share their nuclear secrets with Britain?’ she asked. ‘We’re allies, after all.’

  ‘Oh, no, we’re not. Not any more.’

  She looked a query.

  ‘The war’s over,’ he said. ‘The Americans lead the field in the nuclear race, and they’re not about to share that power with anyone, including their “best buddy” Britain. And, of course, with the Russians breathing down their necks they’re paranoid about security. They might view us as a friendly nation, but they’re not game to place their trust in us.’

  ‘Is this “the general feeling amongst senior-ranking officers”?’ She raised an eyebrow teasingly.

  But this time Daniel’s response was not frivolous. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said. ‘Topics like nuclear power and the Cold War aren’t bandied about so openly by the brass. It’s a pretty logical assumption though, don’t you think?’ She was silent – he didn’t seem to expect a reply. ‘We younger chaps talk about that sort of stuff a lot. After all, it’s a new kind of war we’re going to be facing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

  Lieutenant Daniel Gardiner made a strong impression upon Elizabeth that day. So much so that she allowed a friendship to develop, which was surprising. With the exception of Walter, Elizabeth had avoided friendships with young men – they invited far too much complication. But as time passed and Daniel did not overstep the mark, she could find no reason to deny herself the pleasure of his company. He was fun and his conversation was interesting. Indeed, she could talk to him the way she could to no-one else. Daniel was understanding, sympathetic in a way others were not to the obstacles a woman encountered in a bid for a career. Elizabeth enjoyed having him in her life. It was like having a younger brother, she thought.

  As for Daniel … he was smitten. He’d wanted to meet Elizabeth from the moment he’d laid eyes on her during the march down High Street. There she’d been, the sole female amongst the covey of press gathered by the entrance to the park, so conspicuous that surely the eyes of every single soldier on parade must have flickered distractedly in her direction. What young man would not wish to make the acquaintance of such a woman? It had not, however, been his plan to fall head over heels in love. Nor had he been seeking a wife. On the contrary: marriage had been the farthest thing from his mind. But all that had changed now. Daniel, young, passionate and idealistic, had met the perfect woman. He was determined to make Elizabeth Hoffmann his wife.

  From the outset, he was aware he must tread with care. Elizabeth had her sights set on a career, and he admired her for it. Should she agree to marry him, he would not stand in her way, but he knew that any premature attempt at courtship would most certainly frighten her off. He also knew that Elizabeth had allowed no other man into her life, and his ego told him that she found him attractive, although she wouldn’t admit it. He must be patient, he decided. Frustrating though it was, he must say and do nothing until he could sense his feelings were reciprocated.

  ‘Just listen to this: Dear Miss Hoffmann …’ Elizabeth’s tone was cynical as she read the letter out loud. It had been a whole seven weeks since she’d posted her application to The Times, and the response she’d finally received was decidedly lacklustre.

  ‘I suppose it’s what I should have expected,’ she’d said when Daniel had joined her in the corner of the little teashop in Victoria Road not far from the post office. It was a regular meeting place of theirs when he was on weekend leave.

  She read on. ‘With regard to your application for employment, we regret to advise that The Times currently has no suitable position vacant. ‘Note the royal “we”,’ she said, glancing up from the letter with a moue of disgust. ‘And just look at that.’ She jabbed a finger at the name on the bottom of the page. ‘L. P. Ogden, Dep. Ed. It’s not even from the editor.’

  Daniel gave her a look of sympathy. She was so bitterly disappointed he felt sorry for her, but he couldn’t help a guilty sense of relief at the thought that she wasn’t about to charge off to London and a whole new life.

  ‘We return herewith the feature article “One Hundred Years of Marriage: Aldershot and the British Army”, which you were kind enough to forward to us,’ Elizabeth continued. ‘While we are impressed with the quality of the piece, we must point out that this is not the style we would require from a lady journalist should such a position become available in those sections of The Times that are favoured by our female readers.’

  She thumped the letter down on the table, rattling her cup and saucer. ‘How insulting is that! They’re saying don’t bother applying ever again! They’re offended that the article was written by a woman!’

  ‘It’s a bit of a compliment in a way, don’t you think?’

  ‘A compliment?’ She looked at him in blank amazement. ‘How on earth could a comment like that be conceived as a compliment?’

  ‘They said they were impressed by the quality of the piece – that must mean something.’ Daniel was doing his very best to mollify her. ‘Golly, Elizabeth, if they hadn’t known you were a woman, they might well have offered you a job.’

  ‘Oh.’ Elizabeth’s tirade came to an abrupt halt. ‘You’re right. They might have, mightn’t they?’

  ‘Bound to, I’d say.’

  ‘Good heavens above.’ She smiled. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Do you mind if I order my tea now?’ He was pleased that his attempt at mollification had met with such success.

  But it wasn’t until a week later, and exactly two months from the day they’d met, that Daniel’s major breakthrough occurred.

  ‘Want to come to the Hippodrome next Saturday?’ he asked casually as they sat near the teashop’s open doors, which afforded the slightest of breezes on what was a surprisingly hot midsummer day. ‘An army chum of mine can’t use a couple of tickets he bought – pity to waste them.’

  He’d purchased the tickets himself that very morning in the hope of escalating their relationship. It was all part of his plan.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry –’

  Elizabeth didn’t appear to find his offer suspect, but the answer was obviously about to be ‘no’, so he dived in wi
th an enthusiastic sales pitch.

  ‘It’s the new revue that’s on tour, the one the critics have been raving about. We’d get to see it before it opens in the West End. Brilliant stuff, they say.’

  ‘I know all about the revue, Danny,’ she said with a smile. ‘I work for a newspaper, remember?’

  ‘So why don’t you want to come?’

  ‘I do want to come. I’d love to. But I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’ve promised I’ll have dinner with my parents next Saturday.’

  ‘You could make that the following weekend, couldn’t you?’ He knew she saw her parents regularly, but her visits didn’t appear to follow any pattern.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because next Saturday’s my birthday, that’s why not. Now stop badgering.’

  ‘Your birthday? That’s even better. We’ll go to the Hippodrome for your birthday, what do you say?’

  ‘I say no, Danny. I am not going to the Hippodrome, I am going to have dinner with my parents. I haven’t seen them for a whole three weeks, and I promised.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said sulkily, ‘what a pity. I’d have liked to be with you on your birthday.’

  She smiled, aware that his childlike petulance was aimed to amuse. ‘Well, you can’t, can you,’ she said briskly. ‘Not unless you swap a West End revue for dinner with Mummy and Daddy, and I hardly think –’

  ‘What a good idea.’ Manna from heaven, he thought. This was a definite step in the right direction. ‘I’ll come to dinner. I’d like to meet your parents.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. What about the Hippodrome?’

  ‘My friend can give the tickets to someone else. Don’t worry, they won’t go to waste.’