Maralinga

by Judy Nunn

  ‘Yes, one or two of them did,’ she admitted, recalling Buzz Barker.

  Barry ‘Buzz’ Barker, a popular sports columnist known to be ‘a bit of a lad’, had certainly copped some flak from Elizabeth. She’d been suffering the unwelcome attentions of her colleagues in silence for some time when, on this particular day, she’d seen the wink Buzz had shared with a couple of his chums just before he’d ‘accidentally’ collided with her. On groping about to recover his balance, he’d managed to grasp a healthy handful of her left breast and she’d belted him as hard as she could across the face, right there in the middle of the crowded newsroom. The action hadn’t endeared her to Buzz, who’d insisted he’d tripped, nor to his chums who’d egged him on, and thereafter they’d attempted to spread the word to all who would listen that Elizabeth Hoffmann was a stitched-up cow with tickets on herself. But Elizabeth had successfully drawn attention to her predicament, and in so doing had gained the respect of a number of the others who realised they too may have overstepped the mark, albeit inadvertently and not in quite such spectacular fashion.

  ‘They leave me alone these days,’ she said. ‘And now that my features are published they’ve changed their tune altogether. It was a whole six months before E. J. Hoffmann appeared in print,’ she added dryly, ‘but when he did, they all got one hell of a shock. They couldn’t believe it was me at first, and they weren’t prepared to ask. Just whispers in corridors, which I ignored. Then Lionel let it be known that the public was not to be informed of E. J. Hoffmann’s true identity. So there I was, suddenly on an equal footing.’ She sipped her tea. ‘Strange,’ she said, ‘how quickly we became friends once they respected my work.’ With the exception of Buzz Barker, she thought. But then Buzz had been publicly humiliated – and by a woman! For that, he would never forgive her.

  Elizabeth was halted by the arrival of the cake trolley, and the next several minutes were devoted to a plethora of choices, including the many varieties of cheesecake for which the teashop was renowned. Ignoring the sponges, trifles, meringues and chocolate puddings, they selected variations of the house specialty.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen any of them, by the way?’ Her tone was casual as she toyed with her choice of lemon cream.

  ‘Seen any of what?’ he asked, concentrating on his baked vanilla. He knew very well she was referring to her articles in The Guardian, and that she was pretending indifference while waiting with bated breath.

  ‘My features. The last one was a piece on Churchill. It came out the first week in December.’

  He popped a hefty forkful of cheesecake into his mouth and looked up from his plate vaguely, as if trying to recollect.

  Elizabeth disguised her disappointment with a careless shrug. ‘Well, naturally you wouldn’t have seen it, why on earth should you? I brought a copy along – it’s in the trench coat …’ She stood. ‘Won’t be a minute …’

  ‘Don’t bother. I’ve read it.’ A pause as she froze. ‘Of course I saw the article, Elizabeth. How could I not see it? I scour The Guardian on a daily basis.’

  ‘Do you really?’

  He nodded. She sat. Another pause, and Elizabeth found herself literally holding her breath. His approval was of immense importance to her.

  ‘So come on, tell me,’ she said after several agonising seconds, ‘what did you think?’

  ‘I thought it was brilliant. Bloody brilliant. In my opinion, quite the best thing you’ve written yet.’

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Honestly.’ She was clearly waiting for him to go on and he was happy to oblige. ‘It was a controversial piece, as I’m sure you meant it to be,’ he said, ‘and I’ll bet a lot of staunch Churchill fans were offended. But I thought your argument about a “man of his time, for his time” was really well-balanced.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ she said with a huge sigh of relief. ‘I was a bit concerned that … well, you know … that being military, you might disapprove of the negative aspect.’

  ‘Why would I? And even if I did, I’d still admire the article, it was really well-written.’ He raised his teacup in a toast. ‘I’m proud of you, Elizabeth.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ She raised her own cup. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d rather hear you say.’

  They clinked and drank to each other, and she dived back into her cheesecake.

  ‘The piece certainly aroused some comment here amongst the top brass,’ he added casually.

  She halted, cake fork mid-air. ‘You mean they saw it?’

  ‘I left the odd open copy lying around in the officers’ mess. I thought you might be interested in the reaction of the old brigade.’

  She was. ‘And …?’

  ‘There was a lot of very strong feeling, as you can imagine. The members of the old brigade don’t like being told that Churchill’s had his day.’

  ‘They’d like it a lot less if they knew they were being told by a woman.’

  ‘My word, yes, that would cause a stir.’ Daniel laughed at the thought. ‘Mayhem, in fact.’ He pushed aside his dessert plate with its half-finished cake and started pouring himself another cup of tea. ‘No wonder your colleagues at The Guardian are so respectful these days.’

  ‘But why did they feel the need to be disrespectful in the first place?’

  ‘Ah.’ She’d stumped him. She’d also misunderstood him. ‘I’m sure they didn’t mean to be disrespectful, Elizabeth.’

  ‘I know.’ Damn, she thought, she hadn’t meant to sound so combative. The words had just sprung out in response to his rather glib comment. But now that they had, she couldn’t back down altogether. ‘You’re going to tell me they were just doing what comes naturally, right?’

  ‘Right. They’re men, you’re a good-looking woman – of course they’d admire you.’

  ‘I don’t want them to admire me, I want them to admire my work.’

  ‘And they do. You said so yourself. They changed their tune when your features appeared – they respect your work now, that’s what you said.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘yes, I said that, and yes, they do. But I needed E. J. Hoffmann to prove my worth, didn’t I? Without him I was nothing.’

  Elizabeth stopped herself. Argument was futile. Danny existed in the exclusively male domain of the military. For all his support and encouragement and pride in her, he had no idea what it was like for a woman in the workplace. Indeed, how could he?

  ‘The day will come,’ she announced with more than a touch of theatricality to lighten the moment, ‘when the name Elizabeth Hoffmann will stand on its own.’ She drained the last of her tea. ‘The Guardian’s brought out the fight in me, Danny.’

  ‘God forbid,’ he said, and he poured her another cup.

  They stayed at the teashop for a further hour, and were the last to leave. They would have stayed longer, but the teashop closed at six o’clock.

  It was no longer snowing, and the street lamps shone mistily through the gloom of early evening as he walked her to the railway station. She’d insisted upon the train, maintaining his offer of signing out an army vehicle and driving her home was altogether too complicated.

  ‘It’d take ages,’ she said, ‘and Daddy’s expecting me to ring when I arrive at Reigate – that’s our usual arrangement. Please, Danny, I’d much rather get the train. We’ll see each other after Christmas.’

  The previously deserted streets were swarming with an exodus of people who’d sought shelter from the snowstorm, and when they arrived at the station, the platform was more crowded than usual. Amongst the regular commuters were those determined to beat the rush of the following day, Christmas Eve, when the hordes would be heading out of town. There was nowhere to sit, the benches were all taken, but they had no desire to sit anyway. Instead, they snuggled together in a corner by the stairs, the fedora Elizabeth clasped crushed and forgotten between them. They snuggled close, not because they needed to, and not because they were cold, but because they wanted to.

  They’d discussed their
plans fully, deciding not to announce their imminent engagement to their parents over Christmas. ‘We’ll wait a month or so before making it official,’ Daniel had said, wary of rushing her. ‘There’s plenty of time.’

  ‘I need time to digest it all myself,’ she’d replied. ‘I’m about to become a fiancée!’ Her expression had been comical as if the word were faintly obscene. ‘I never thought I’d live to see the day.’

  There seemed no more to discuss, and they were silent in their cosy corner by the stairs. Only five minutes until the next train, Daniel thought. He wished it were hours. He wished he weren’t leaving in the morning. He wished he could stay here, right here, just like this.

  She lifted her face to him and they kissed, oblivious to the bustle of those jostling for position on the ever-increasingly crowded platform.

  Any minute now, Daniel thought, any minute now the train would arrive.

  ‘What if I stayed tomorrow,’ he whispered.

  ‘Oh, Danny, you couldn’t do that. Imagine how disappointed your parents would be. Besides, you told me how much you always love your family Christmases.’

  Yes, he always had, but the family Christmas had paled into insignificance after today’s events. ‘Of course, you’re right,’ he said. She was. It would break his mother’s heart if he didn’t turn up. ‘Just got a bit carried away, that’s all.’

  He could hear the distant clack of the train. They both could. Reluctantly, they broke from their embrace.

  ‘Oh, dear me, look.’ Elizabeth held up the crushed fedora. ‘It may never be the same.’

  ‘Does it matter? You won’t need it again.’

  ‘Perhaps not the hat,’ she said with a rueful smile, ‘but I doubt I’ll lose E. J. Hoffmann that easily.’

  They could see the train now, slowing on its approach.

  ‘I’m glad you came home for Christmas, Elizabeth.’

  The words resonated for a moment as a brief image of childhood Christmases flashed before Elizabeth’s eyes – a series of nameless restaurants and faceless people. She’d always felt just a little self-conscious admitting to her schoolfriends that she’d had Christmas dinner in a restaurant. Any minor embarrassment had been outweighed, however, by her superior knowledge, from a very early age, that Father Christmas did not exist – it had seemed to Elizabeth quite a fair exchange.

  ‘Christmas doesn’t mean much in the Hoffmann household,’ she said.

  The train’s engine pulled into the platform and, as the carriages snaked past, the crowd edged forward, eyes following each door, trying to pick which one would stop nearest, like the lucky draw on the slowing spin of a chocolate wheel.

  ‘Christmas isn’t why I came home, Danny.’

  The train stopped. Doors slammed open. ‘All aboard,’ the guard called.

  She kissed him, and with a squeeze of the hand was gone, swept away amongst a sea of commuters. All he could make out was an auburn bob and the upturned collar of a trench coat.

  Moments later, the doors slammed shut and the guard’s whistle sounded. He waved to the train as it pulled away from the platform. Just in case she could see him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Two months later, towards the end of February, Daniel and Elizabeth told their respective parents of their engagement. Alfred and Marjorie Hoffmann were not in the least surprised and both were delighted. Kenneth and Prudence Gardiner were completely taken aback and both had their reservations. Daniel was bemused by their reaction. He’d thought that he’d well and truly signalled his intentions during the Christmas break, when, it had seemed, he’d talked of nothing but Elizabeth, to the point where his younger brother, Billy, had accused him of being besotted. ‘I most certainly am,’ Daniel had readily agreed.

  ‘I thought she was just a girlfriend,’ his father said bluntly. ‘You’re far too young to get married.’

  ‘I’m twenty-two – exactly the same age you were when you married Mum. And we’re not going to get married for at least a year anyway. Elizabeth needs to establish her career.’

  ‘You said she’s Jewish …’ Prudence got straight to the point.

  ‘I said that her father is. I don’t think Elizabeth –’

  ‘You know that the children of Jewish women must be brought up in the Jewish faith, don’t you? You are aware of that fact.’ Prudence was clearly of the opinion that he wasn’t.

  ‘I really don’t think it’ll be a problem, Mum.’ As his parents exchanged a dubious glance and, as he sensed his mother about to continue, Daniel held up his hand signalling no more discussion. ‘Let’s just wait until you’ve met her, all right?’

  ‘No offence intended, son,’ his father said. ‘Your mother and I only have your best interests at heart.’

  ‘I know, Dad. I know.’

  Daniel couldn’t help feeling disappointed by the lukewarm reception of his news, but deep down he was not surprised. It wasn’t that his parents were anti-Semitic, but rather they were wary of those who were ‘different’. Both from staunch Protestant families, they’d grown up in the same country town, been childhood sweethearts, and were products of their own closeted upbringings. Daniel was aware of all that. When his father talked about the war, as Kenneth did vociferously, his heartfelt slogan was live and let live – ‘Bloody Hitler’s why we fought this war, and he’s why we won! Right over wrong! Live and let live!’ – but in his private life, Kenneth Gardiner did not happily embrace change, and nor did his wife. Preferring to follow their own well-worn path, and preferring others maintain theirs, live and let live really meant to each his own.

  ‘My parents are very conservative, Elizabeth.’ During the train trip to Crewe for their planned long weekend, Daniel felt it necessary to caution her.

  ‘So you’ve said – several times.’

  ‘No, I mean very conservative. Very set in their ways.’ He wanted to warn her that she may find them narrow-minded, but he loved his parents and felt disloyal in his criticism.

  ‘Oh.’ She was a little surprised. ‘Do I take that as a warning? Am I to be on my best behaviour?’

  ‘Good God, no,’ he said, and laughed. ‘Don’t you temper your behaviour for a minute, I want you to be as outrageous as you wish.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll take it as a dare then.’ Her smile assured him that she would do no such thing, but there was a challenge in her voice as she asked, ‘So what have you told them about me?’

  ‘Everything. Well, no, not quite everything,’ he corrected himself. ‘I haven’t told them about E. J. Hoffmann.’

  ‘I should hope not.’

  Elizabeth suppressed a smile as she caught Daniel’s look across the table. I did warn you, his eyes said, but at the same time they told her to respond in her own way. Go for it, Elizabeth, he was saying, and he even gave her the slightest nod of encouragement.

  She returned her attention to his father.

  ‘… Traitorous talk in my opinion – traitorous talk from those with short memories.’ Kenneth, a large man in his forties with a well-built body that made the ungainly limp of his right leg just that bit more shocking, was currently mid-tirade. ‘Winnie led our boys to victory and saved this country – there are some who are too quick to forget that these days …’

  Kenneth himself had brought up the subject, referring to a recent article in The Manchester Guardian about a possible general swing in popular opinion. It seemed that many, particularly amongst the younger set, favoured the current foreign secretary, Sir Anthony Eden, over Prime Minister Churchill as leader of the Conservative Party.

  ‘Dad reads most of the major newspapers,’ Daniel had remarked meaningfully to Elizabeth, ‘including The Times and The Guardian.’

  Daniel seemed determined to stir her into action, but she remained unmoved.

  ‘Where do these journalists get their statistics from anyway?’ Kenneth continued. ‘The average man in the street supports Churchill. At least the average man from around these parts does, I can assure you.’

  The small
coterie of Kenneth Gardiner’s friends who met at the pub on a Friday night being like-minded war veterans, it was doubtful their opinions would have been representative of the average local, but Kenneth was sincere in his belief that they were.

  ‘Who’s for more beef?’ As her husband drew breath, Prudence seized the moment and rose to her feet. She was a pleasant, tidy woman, her matronly figure neatly compacted in place thanks to the corsetry she wore at all times. ‘Dan?’ she queried, carving fork poised over the platter of sliced meat.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ Daniel slid his plate across the table.

  ‘Help yourself to gravy and pudding. And Ken, dear …’ Turning to her husband she continued in the same motherly tone, ‘Do eat up. You’ve hardly touched your food and it’s getting cold.’

  To Elizabeth’s complete amazement, Kenneth Gardiner did just as he was told. He ceased his tirade and, like a large, obedient child, applied himself diligently to his dinner.

  ‘Excellent as always, Mother,’ he said after several mouthfuls, and he beamed at his son. ‘There aren’t many who can serve up a baked dinner like your mother, eh?’

  Daniel nodded and helped himself to another perfectly puffed Yorkshire pudding.

  Elizabeth was intrigued. The compliment was obviously a mealtime ritual, but it seemed out of character for a man like Kenneth Gardiner. As the meal progressed, however, and as the state of play became apparent, she realised Kenneth Gardiner was not the martinet she’d assumed him to be upon first meeting. Like many of his generation, he was set in his views, which to Elizabeth’s mind rendered some areas of discussion pointless, but he seemed a nice enough man who genuinely appreciated his hard-working wife.

  How clearly defined the roles of the two were, she thought. Kenneth obviously deferred to his wife in all matters domestic, and Prudence, who appeared a non-subservient and highly capable woman, acknowledged her husband as the undisputed head of the house. Elizabeth was bemused by her own reaction to a patriarchal system she’d expected to find irksome. There was something surprisingly comfortable about the Gardiners. They worked well as a team.