by Ellie Dean
She drew five bob out of her purse and made Rita take it. ‘Buy Ruby a drink while you’re at it, and try not to wake us all up when you come home.’
‘Thanks, Aunt Peggy,’ Rita replied, kissing her cheek. ‘I’m sorry about earlier.’
‘So am I,’ said Ivy. ‘You won’t stay cross with us for too long, will yer?’
Peggy chuckled. ‘You’re a naughty pair, but you know very well I always forgive you. Now get out of here, forget all your troubles for a while and enjoy your evening.’
9
Briar Cottage stood at the end of a rutted lane which opened out into fields, and overlooked the town from the northern slopes. Roger, Freddy, Kitty and Charlotte had bought it so the men had a home to come to when not on ops at RAF Cliffe. They’d renovated and extended the rather dilapidated bungalow, and now it provided a cosy home for Freddy’s sister Kitty, her baby, Faith, and his wife Charlotte and ten-month-old twins, David and Hope.
The tension had been rising since the declaration of peace, for Roger and Freddy had been prisoners of war for some while, and the young women were on tenterhooks awaiting news of their liberation. RAF Bomber Squadron’s Operation Exodus had been up and running since before VE Day when it became clear the Germans were surrendering, and the camps were being emptied of prisoners; now the AAF had joined in to bring the POWs home, so there were numerous flights over the Channel every day.
‘My biggest worry is that Freddy might not be picked up,’ said Charlotte as they sat knitting in the kitchen by the range fire. ‘With his camp being in Poland, the Russians might have got to them first.’
‘The Russians wouldn’t harm them,’ soothed Kitty. ‘They’re on our side, remember, so they won’t hold a grudge against our POWs.’
‘But they could have freed them and left them to wander and get lost,’ persisted Charlotte.
Kitty put down her knitting and patted Charlotte’s arm. ‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you, love. I’m sure that if the Russians did get to them first, they would have made arrangements for them to make contact with our troops. They’re probably on their way home and we haven’t heard anything because there are so many prisoners, it takes time to sort them all out.’
Charlotte nodded, but Kitty had known her since their schooldays, and could tell she remained unconvinced. She gave a sigh, dumped her knitting and went to fill the kettle. She was worried about Freddy too, for there had been very little news of him once he and Randy had been moved to Stalag IV. At least she knew Roger was alive, and that he was still with Martin, for there had been a few cards from them before Christmas. It was the lack of communication and information from RAF HQ that was getting to them both, and even with their strong ties to the service – they’d both flown planes as ATA girls – it seemed the powers that be were remaining tight-lipped.
She rubbed the stump of her leg which always played up when the weather was damp, and wondered if winter would ever end. Apart from a very few sunny, pleasant days, it had been overcast with squally showers and gusty winds – not at all like May. The fruit trees they’d planted in the back garden should be in bud by now, and the summer vegetables shooting up, but the ground was sodden and everything was struggling. There was even talk of rationing bread and potatoes because of the terrible wheat harvest at the end of last year, and the potato crops rotting in the ground.
Kitty gave a deep sigh and adjusted the strap on her prosthetic leg in the hope it would ease the ache in her stump. Life was difficult enough without the added strictures of rationing those staples.
‘I’ll make the tea,’ said Charlotte, taking charge of the whistling kettle. ‘You’ve clearly done more than enough today. Why don’t you sit down, get that leg off and relax?’
‘I think I will,’ Kitty replied. ‘The walk home from town was too much after standing in the queue at the grocer’s for so long.’
‘You should have let me do the queuing,’ said Charlotte, filling the teapot and giving the leaves a vigorous stir. ‘You’re too stubborn for your own good at times.’
‘You were busy at the clinic with the twins,’ Kitty reminded her, sighing with pleasure as she released the final strap and set the prosthetic leg to one side. ‘Besides, I’m perfectly capable of doing the shopping,’ she added, giving her stump a jolly good rub.
Charlotte was about to pour the tea when the telephone on the dresser began to ring. The two young women looked at one another in dread, and then Charlotte quickly grabbed the receiver.
‘Hello? Yes, this is Charlotte Pargeter.’
Kitty anxiously strained to hear what was being said at the other end as Charlotte listened, her face slowly draining of colour.
‘Thank you, Air Commodore. We shall be waiting – with the children. So you’d better make suitable arrangements.’
Kitty could hear the loud protest at the other end of the line before it was cut short by Charlotte unceremoniously replacing the receiver.
‘It’s Freddy,’ Charlotte said. ‘He’s been flown to some place in Buckinghamshire where he’s been admitted to hospital.’ Her voice wavered and tears shone in her eyes as she took Kitty’s hand. ‘He’s very ill, Kitty, so the RAF are flying us up there from Cliffe.’
The shock hit Kitty so hard she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move at all.
‘We have to be ready in half an hour. Someone’s picking us up to drive us to the airfield.’ Charlotte was suddenly all motion, moving about the kitchen, dampening down the range fire, putting things away, gathering up coats and hats, and straightening chairs.
Kitty slowly reached for her tin leg, her numb fingers fumbling with the straps. The idea that Freddy was in a really bad way was simply impossible to contemplate. He’d pull through, she was sure of it. He was her brother and like a cat he had nine lives, surviving all sorts of scrapes and disasters. He was the boy who could ride horses and motorbikes with such speed and skill it took your breath away; the boy who’d given her the thirst to learn to fly; the beloved naughty brother who was forever getting into mischief and breaking hearts wherever he went. She could see him now, with his black curly, wayward hair; his dark, flashing eyes in that handsome face which always seemed to be smiling with the sheer joy of being alive.
‘He’ll be all right,’ she mumbled. ‘Freddy’s never had a day’s illness in his life. The RAF is just being very careful because of who he is and our history of flying for them.’
Charlotte knelt down and finished fixing the last buckle. ‘Don’t you think I pray that’s the case?’ she asked, the tears streaming down her face. ‘But the RAF wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble if they’d thought his situation wasn’t serious enough to warrant it. Oh, Kitty, he must be in a very bad state indeed. I can only pray we’ll get to him in time.’
She collapsed against Kitty, and they held one another tightly for a moment, trying to absorb the awful possibility that they might lose the man they loved so much, and not have the chance to say goodbye to him.
‘We must hurry and get the children ready for the journey,’ said Charlotte, pulling away and once again becoming a whirlwind of activity. ‘We’ll need to pack overnight things and changes of clothing for the children as well as ourselves – and then there’s nappies and bottles, tins of baby food and blankets. It’ll be cold in that plane, so we’ll need our warmest coats.’
Kitty determinedly pulled herself together and hurried off to pack an overnight bag for herself and Faith – although she had no idea of how long they would be away. She offered to help Charlotte, but soon realised her best friend needed to keep busy, or she’d fall apart. Leaving Faith to sleep for as long as possible, she went back into the kitchen and telephoned Peggy to let her know what was happening.
Peggy was distraught for all of them, and made Kitty promise she’d stay in touch, but the call was cut short by a discreet knock at the front door. The RAF driver had arrived. It was time to leave.
Both Kitty and Charlotte had flown Oxfords during the war, and i
t was whilst piloting an Oxford that Kitty had been forced into a crash landing which had resulted in her losing most of one leg. The Ox Box, as it was lovingly known, had been used as an air taxi during hostilities, ferrying personnel back and forth between different airfields and factories, and carrying vital engine parts to where they were needed.
Kitty and Charlotte climbed in to find that three small canvas cots had been firmly strapped into the seats, and although the babies cried a bit when the plane took off, they were soon asleep again, lulled by the steady throb of the engine. ‘They’re natural fliers,’ said Charlotte tearfully, ‘just like their fathers.’
Kitty nodded and concentrated on the flight path their pilot was taking. It was pitch-black outside, the rain streaking the windows, with no sign of a moon to guide them. Freddy had to be all right.
They arrived at RAF Oakley at three in the morning, and were driven straight to the military hospital in the Commanding Officer’s car. A nurse took charge of the children and whisked them away to the nursery, and then Matron led them along endless corridors to the Intensive Care Ward.
‘Wing Commander Pargeter has, amongst many other things, typhoid fever and has had to be isolated in a side room,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s in a bad way, I’m afraid, and mostly in a state of delirium, so don’t be too upset if he doesn’t acknowledge you.’
‘He’ll pull through, though, won’t he?’ asked Charlotte, on the brink of tears.
‘We are doing all we can, Mrs Pargeter, but I should warn you that he’s extremely weak and it’s doubtful whether he has the strength to fight the many infections he’s suffering from. You should be prepared for the worst, I’m afraid.’ She handed Charlotte and Kitty masks and gowns. ‘You must wear these to protect yourselves,’ she said gravely.
Charlotte became ashen faced, her hands fumbling with the mask and gown, her eyes haunted as she fought to keep a stoic resemblance of calm. She and Kitty clasped hands to bolster their courage and followed Matron into the dimly lit room. But nothing could have prepared them for the shocking sight that greeted them, and they stood there unable to equate this stranger with the man they knew and loved.
Freddy’s handsome face was gaunt, his sunken eyes and cheeks making him look like an old man. His hair had been shaved off, frostbite had attacked his ears, lips and nose, and his skin was the colour of parchment. He lay muttering and rolling his head against the pillow, his eyelids twitching, his almost fleshless hands clawing at the bedclothes.
Charlotte approached the bed and reached for his hand. ‘Freddy? It’s me, Charlotte. Kitty’s here too, so please wake up, darling.’
There was no response, even when Kitty took his other hand.
‘You’re home, Freddy,’ Kitty urged. ‘It’s all over and we’re here to take care of you.’ She gripped his bony fingers. ‘Come on, Freddy,’ she urged. ‘You’ve got to fight this thing and live to see your twins growing up.’
His eyelids fluttered and he took a rattling breath. ‘Twins?’ he managed.
‘Yes, Freddy,’ said Charlotte eagerly. ‘You never did things by halves, did you, and we’ve got twins. David and Hope.’ She gripped his hand. ‘Oh, darling, you must get better. They are so beautiful.’
Freddy was struggling to breathe, his face streaked with sweat as his thin chest rose and fell with the effort. ‘Twins,’ he rasped again.
‘Would you like to see them, Freddy?’ urged Charlotte. ‘They’re here. I could bring them to you.’
‘I wouldn’t advise it,’ said Matron quickly. ‘The infections are contagious, and you’d be putting the children at terrible risk.’
‘They could have masks,’ said Charlotte. ‘If Freddy could only see them, it might make all the difference.’ The tears were streaming down her face. ‘Please, Matron. Please,’ she begged.
Freddy’s fight to breathe was the only sound in the room as Matron hesitated for a long moment. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said finally and left the room.
Kitty and Charlotte sat down next to Freddy’s bed and gripped his hands as they watched him. ‘It’s so lovely to have you home again, Freddy,’ murmured Kitty through her tears. ‘I know you’re in a very bad way, but you’ve got to keep fighting. There’s so much to live for, and the twins need their father.’
Freddy muttered something incomprehensible as he rolled his head against the damp pillow. Then, without warning, he sat up and stared at something on the other side of the room. ‘Randy. Wake up. They’re here. They’re here. We’re going home.’ And then he collapsed back onto the pillow and was still.
Charlotte looked at Kitty with tear-filled eyes. ‘Does that mean Cissy’s Randy could be here too?’ she asked.
Kitty shrugged. ‘Maybe. Perhaps Matron can tell us if he is.’
All speculation came to a halt as the door opened and Matron appeared. She was pushing two specially adapted bassinets that were normally used to provide oxygen to premature or struggling sick babies, and which were fully covered in Perspex. She wheeled them into the room and closed the door. ‘They are a bit of a tight fit, but it was the best I could do in the circumstances,’ she said solemnly.
David was yelling fit to bust as he squirmed and fought against the restricting shield, and Hope was working herself up to a screaming fit for having been woken up.
The noise seemed to rouse Freddy, and his eyes opened slightly.
‘Your son and daughter have got good lungs,’ said Charlotte, taking charge of the bassinets and bringing them to the side of the bed so Freddy could see them. ‘Say hello to David and Hope.’
He reached out a bony finger and touched each cot in turn, his drawn face slowly breaking into a soft smile. ‘David,’ he breathed. ‘Hope.’ He tore his gaze from them and looked at Charlotte. ‘Beautiful, like their mother,’ he sighed before closing his eyes.
‘We need you to get through this, Freddy,’ urged Charlotte. ‘Please keep fighting for all our sakes.’
There was no response from Freddy, and it seemed that short moment of clarity had exhausted him, for he lay very still – too still – and Charlotte grabbed his hand. ‘Freddy? Freddy?’
Kitty was on her feet at the other side of the bed, pulse racing, fearing the worst – knowing in her aching heart that Freddy could no longer hear anything, but praying she was mistaken and that he’d merely passed out.
Matron pushed through to his side, felt for a pulse both in his neck and his wrist.
Kitty and Charlotte held their breath as they watched her, their silent prayers clear in their eyes.
Matron dipped her chin, and gave a deep, regretful sigh. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Pargeter, but he’s gone from us and is finally at peace.’
10
The news of Freddy Pargeter’s death had come as a terrible blow to Peggy and the others at Beach View, for they’d all liked him very much and had thought of him as indestructible. Peggy had gone to Briar Cottage on the girls’ brief return to offer help and consolation, and discovered that plans had been made to fly Freddy’s body home to his parents in Argentina, and Charlotte would be accompanying him with her twins.
Kitty’s husband, Roger Makepeace, was making a rapid recovery in a Surrey hospital and once he’d been discharged they would fly out to join the others. They would stay for a while and mourn as a family.
Peggy’s son-in-law, Martin, was also making good progress in the same hospital as Roger, and Anne had telephoned in great excitement to tell her that he was expected to travel down to Somerset to join her and the children within the next week.
But of Randolph Stevens, there had been no news, and as the American authorities refused to tell her anything since she wasn’t registered as a family member, Cissy became ever more fearful that something must have happened to him. She moped about the house unable to settle to anything and spent half her time talking to her girlfriends from Cliffe on the telephone. Peggy dreaded to think what her bill would be this quarter, but Cissy had promised to pay her share, and as the calls seemed
to cheer her, Peggy was willing to accept the arrangement.
A week after Charlotte had left for Argentina, Peggy, Daisy and Cordelia had the kitchen to themselves. It was early Saturday morning, and as it promised to be a fine day for once, Cissy hadn’t moaned about taking Harvey for a walk on the hills, and had promised to be back in time to help with the special lunch. Peggy understood that her daughter needed to keep busy during this difficult time, and could only pray that Randy had survived and would get in touch soon.
Ivy was at the Crown serving breakfast to Gloria’s first set of holidaymakers before tackling the bedrooms, and would, no doubt, be on tenterhooks all day until Andy returned from his job interview at Walthamstow fire station which John Hicks had arranged. He’d left on the train last night to be sure he was on time for the early interview, and had taken the opportunity to stay with his mother – Gloria’s sister – whom he hadn’t seen for almost three years. No one knew when to expect him back.
Sarah was already at the bus station awaiting her younger sister Jane’s arrival now Jane’s mysterious job with the MOD had come to an end and she was free to visit. Rita was dashing about like a headless chicken as she prepared to meet her father’s train, and left in a whirlwind of excitement, banging the back door behind her; fortunately not disturbing Danuta who was having a well-earned lie-in after a long night helping to deliver a baby.
‘It’s certainly going to be a busy day with all the comings and goings,’ said Peggy, pouring out a second cup of tea and keeping an eye on Daisy who was playing with her dolls at the other end of the table. ‘Jane will, of course, be able to move in with Sarah, but Cissy’s being very awkward about moving out of the basement and refuses point blank to go upstairs, so I have no idea where I can put Jack Smith.’