Daughter of Mine

by Anne Bennett

  He was going over the letter he would write to her in return and didn’t seem to see his surroundings, or the comrades he passed, or those who called out to him. Some of them noticed his wild eyes, hair on end, his dishevelled appearance, and asked him if he felt all right. He didn’t answer them and two were concerned enough to go for Mike. ‘Not surprising really,’ Mike said. ‘He needs a break. God, we all need a break. I’ll see if I can find him and have a word.’

  Steve by then had reached the outskirts of the city, where the watch had been positioned. He had no idea where he was going. His head was filled with roaring sounds and he saw Lizzie’s face before him and his fist pounding it over and over. ‘Hey, mate, what’s up with you?’ one of the watch stationed on top of a building shouted to him. ‘Don’t go no further. There was sniper fire just a while ago.’

  Steve didn’t hear them. Didn’t even turn his head. He just kept on walking and the two on watch looked at one another horrified. They couldn’t leave their post, and anyway, it would take time to get off the roof. There was no one else in sight. ‘Must have gone off his rocker,’ one of the watch remarked to the other.

  ‘Wants to watch his rocker don’t get blown clean off his shoulders,’ the other replied.

  The words had just left his lips when the rifle shot cracked into the still air. Steve jerked and fell to his knees. Another shot laid him out on the sand. The two watchmen swivelled around the machine gun and were soon pounding the area where they’d seen movement, but for Steve Gillespie their response came too late.

  Mike was devastated by the news of Steve’s death. Although they walked with death daily, somehow this wasn’t the same. From what he was told, he just walked out into the desert as if…as if he was inviting death. But why? Steve loved life.

  It became clearer to Mike when he read the letter. As Steve’s mate, he was asked to collect his effects to send home and he read the letter that Steve had left. As he read he found he had to sit down, for his legs trembled so much. He cried then for the mate he’d known all his life, who’d almost gone as far as taking his own life because he’d not been able to stand the shame of Lizzie coming home to Birmingham with a black bastard child she’d given birth to.

  Steve had loved Lizzie with a passion in his own way, though he had never been faithful to her, but carnal desire was not something he imagined ‘good’ women, the sort men married, had in abundance.

  He knew Lizzie had been attacked, for Tressa had written and told him, and it had been an horrendous assault by all accounts. But what if it had happened to Tressa instead and she’d carried and given birth to a child she wanted to bring home, as if it was the child born from a loving relationship? He’d not stand it, not even if the child was white. He’d never understand why Lizzie would want to keep such a child.

  She wasn’t stupid and she knew the manner of man she’d married. How had she imagined he’d react when he got that letter? God Almighty, he thought, Lizzie killed Steve just as if she’d pulled that damned trigger.

  But then, he thought, at least Lizzie hadn’t given herself freely to the man. Clearly he had been unhinged. Added to that, Mike liked Lizzie and knew Tressa thought the world of her.

  Steve was dead and nothing would alter that fact, but Mike thought little would be gained by letting Lizzie take the blame for Steve’s death on her own shoulders, as he knew she would if she knew he’d read the letter before he died. In many ways she had been suffering for months herself, and Mike replaced the letter and sealed the envelope carefully so that it didn’t look like it had ever been opened. Then he got to his feet, wiped his eyes and began to collect his mate’s stuff together for the last time, already composing in his head the letter he would write to Tressa about the whole business.

  What consternation there was when it was discovered Celia had vanished. It was immediately suspected she’d climbed into the laundry van, for that had been done before. It certainly wasn’t connected to Lizzie leaving that day, for the girls had covered for Celia well and it was some time before her disappearance was noted. Lizzie was well gone by then, and most girls thought if Celia had managed to sneak away too, then good luck to her.

  The laundry van had almost finished distributing the laundered clothes to those in the town who took up the convent’s services, and Sister Maria and Sister Benedict were despatched to find the girl and bring her back.

  The day was cold and blustery and the rain continued to fall as the nuns walked quickly. They were none to happy in their errand and promised themselves Hetty would pay dearly for it when they did find her.

  The laundry-van driver and his mate were none too happy either. Since the one girl had sneaked into the van they had been more vigilant. ‘There was no girl in our van.’

  ‘It’s been done before.’

  ‘Aye, but it hasn’t been done this time.’

  ‘Did you check?’

  ‘We didn’t need to check. We were at the van all the time.’

  ‘The van’s near empty now,’ the driver said. ‘Have a look if you like.’

  ‘She’ll hardly be there now,’ Sister Benedict snapped. ‘If she managed to get into the van, she’d leave it when you were delivering.’

  ‘I tell you…’

  ‘And I tell you, the priest will take a very dim view of anyone helping that girl escape, or anyone harbouring her in the town,’ Sister Maria said. ‘And she’ll be found, don’t doubt it. Such a girl, with a shorn head and in convent clothes, will stick out like a sore thumb, and some God-fearing soul will feel it their duty to tell us if they see her. I just hope it is not linked back to you.’

  ‘It won’t be,’ the driver said, mentally casting his mind back to any time the van had been left unattended, even for a brief second. But he displayed no doubts before the two nuns glaring at him accusingly, nor was he prepared to argue the toss any more. ‘I’ve said all I intend to about the matter,’ he told them. ‘But now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job of work to attend to.’

  They didn’t believe him of course, but had no option but to return to the convent. They were angrier than ever, wet to the skin, and their thoughts about Hetty bordered on the murderous.

  They waited all day and evening for someone to arrive at the convent and tell them they’d seen one of their girls, or even someone to use the phone, but nothing happened. The girls, who knew full well Hetty had climbed in no laundry van, were questioned but claimed they knew nothing and had seen nothing. If the chance had been given to them to leave that accursed place, they would have grabbed it, and they’d give the nuns no information to help them track Hetty down.

  By the time the Guards had been called, black night had fallen, and by then Lizzie, Celia and Georgia were aboard the mail boat to take them to England, where Lizzie would be safe from the nuns, but exposed to ridicule, scorn and prejudice. She knew Johnnie would be on the quayside till the ship pulled away, but in the darkness she could barely see him.

  There were few passengers travelling at that time of year and Lizzie didn’t wonder at it, for the cold ate into a person, and as soon as the engines began to throb causing black smoke to escape from the two funnels with a shriek, she took the baby inside. Celia followed with a sigh of relief at leaving her native land behind.

  Later she was to tell Lizzie that even the seasickness was worth it. They kept to themselves as much as possible, not wishing to draw anyone’s attention, glad of the small numbers travelling with them. They were thankful too of the darkness of the boat, as it was approaching the north Wales coast where blackout restrictions were in force, and Lizzie knew that without Celia it would have been a lonely and miserable crossing.

  The shaded lamps in the station at Holyhead barely pierced the gloom of the place, and they were glad to get off the draughty platform and on to the train. Even there, the carriages were only dimly lit and the windows had thick blinds drawn across them, but Lizzie sank on to the seat, suddenly aware of how tired she was. She closed her eyes but dared not sleep
, for she had Georgia in her arms. ‘Give her to me,’ Celia said, seeing the fatigue etched on Lizzie’s face. ‘You’ve barely recovered from the birth, no wonder you are worn out.’

  Lizzie passed the baby over thankfully and was soon fast asleep. Celia sat taking comfort from the feel of the baby against her and knew with every clatter of the train’s wheels the distance between her and that accursed convent increased. She felt the weight between her shoulder blades ease.

  Lizzie woke as the baby made little complaining snuffles prior to waking properly. ‘Where are we?’ she asked as Georgia fastened on to one of her breasts.

  ‘How would I know?’ Celia replied. ‘When I did peep past the blind a while ago, the station name was blotted out.’

  ‘That was done to confuse the enemy,’ Lizzie told her. ‘Particularly after Dunkirk, when the whole country seemed to be perched on the edge of invasion. People were told to disable cars, and bikes too, and hide maps, and were discouraged from moving far at all, particularly on the trains, which were for the troops. Posters screamed at you: ‘Is Your Journey Really Necessary?’ I tell you, Celia, with the station names blacked out, some signposts removed totally, and the stop-start nature of the wartime train service, you’d go nowhere unless it was a matter of life or death.’

  Celia laughed, though she sympathised. ‘It must have been hard for you all.’

  ‘You sort of get on with it,’ Lizzie said. ‘I mean, everyone was in the same boat.’ She changed the baby to the other side and said, ‘Anyway, it can’t be long now.’

  ‘But what if we go past the station?’

  ‘We won’t go past it,’ Lizzie assured her. ‘Remember, I am a seasoned traveller on this route and I’ll not miss the station even in the dark.’

  And she didn’t, and later, outside in the velvety darkness, Celia stood and looked about her. There was nothing to see, just blackness and a sooty sour smell in the air, and it was so cold it was making her teeth ache. ‘We’ll have to take a taxi,’ Lizzie said. ‘No buses will be running.’

  ‘Have you money enough?’

  ‘Aye, Johnnie gave me some,’ Lizzie said. ‘I have my Post Office book too. I’ll see about it tomorrow. I’ll have to get new ration cards, mine have expired anyway and we both need to register with a grocer. We’ll do it all tomorrow.’

  There was no traffic on the roads and there wasn’t a soul on the streets at that very early hour in the morning. The taxi drove effortlessly, its headlights catching the odd shuttered shop windows. It was eerie, like a ghost town, Celia thought, and she felt suddenly apprehensive of what lay ahead.

  The ride was short, and when they were on the pavement again Lizzie bitterly regretted not asking Johnnie to bring a torch for them. Oh well, she thought, I didn’t and that’s that. ‘Come on, Celia,’ she said. ‘Touch the walls and you’ll know when you come to the end.’

  The end of what, thought Celia, waving her arms forward.

  ‘There’s an entry here,’ Lizzie told her, but quietly, knowing how sound carried in the stillness of the night. ‘I’d hold your arm, but I can’t with the bag and the baby.’

  They each had a bag. Lizzie carried baby things and Celia carried Lizzie’s clothes that Johnnie had brought. But at least Celia had a hand free and she held on tight to Lizzie’s coat as they shuffled their way slowly forward.

  When they stepped into the yard, Celia could quite understand why Lizzie had been unable to identify her attacker, why she’d had no idea he was black. Lizzie had cautioned her to be quiet and so she whispered, ‘Have you let anyone know you’d be coming home today?’

  ‘Only Violet next door. She’ll leave the door unlocked for us, she said.’

  Violet had done far more than that. The gas lamps were turned down low and when Lizzie turned them up she gasped in surprise and pleasure. The little room shone and there was no smell of neglect about the place, more a hint of polish. The grate had been blackleaded and embers glowed to take the chill from the room.

  On the stove was a pan of stew, cold now but just to be heated, and on the oilskin covering the table was a jug full of milk covered with a circle of lace with beads hanging from it. There was a twist of tea, and another of sugar, and Lizzie marvelled at Violet’s generosity, for she knew what rationing was like. There was also a bit of a loaf wrapped in greaseproof paper and another little packet with margarine in it.

  A note was propped against the milk jug:

  Welcome Home, Lizzie. Here’s a few bits to give you a start. I’ll pop in tomorrow.

  Love, Violet

  ‘She doesn’t know about me, does she?’ Celia said.

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘How could she know? I daren’t write that while we were at the convent. God, if there had been a hint of what we intended the two of us might never have got out.’

  ‘Oh Lord, just think of that.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’ Lizzie asked. ‘I think I’m too tired to eat.’

  ‘Me too, but I’d sell my granny for a cup of tea, I’m parched,’ Celia said.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on, and if you make us a cup I’ll get the cradle down from the attic for Georgia.’

  ‘Go on, I’ll have a cup waiting when you come down.’

  ‘All right,’ Lizzie cautioned. ‘But go easy on the tea and we might be able to get another couple of cups in tomorrow.’

  Upstairs, Lizzie found that Violet had warmed the bed with a hot-water bottle and she put the baby in there and ran up for the cradle. When she came back down with it, Georgia looked so peaceful she decided to leave her where she was. The room was like an ice box anyway and she had no way of warming the cradle. ‘We’ll all have to sleep together for tonight at least,’ she told herself. ‘The nuns would be scandalised, but what do I care for their opinion.’ And she kissed her sleeping daughter and slipped downstairs for a cup of welcome tea before she turned in for what was left of the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Lizzie was roused by the wails of the baby, which sliced effectively through the shreds of sleep still clinging to her, and she struggled to sit up and then hauled the baby onto her knee.

  Celia too had woken and, pulling a coat around her that was hanging behind the bedroom door, she went to the window and lifted down the blackout shutters to look out. What she saw appalled her so much she almost gasped out loud, but she swallowed the gulp.

  Never had she seen so many houses crowded together around a yard. A tall gas lamp stood in the middle of it, little good now of course, with a squat building behind it. Dustbins were grouped against the wall on her left side, the contents spilling onto the cobbles, and beyond the squat building she could see the doors of the lavatories. God, what a way to live.

  She’d been almost too tired to take in the room below when they’d come in just a few hours previously, noting only that it was small, very small and cramped, but this…

  ‘Awful, isn’t it?’ Lizzie said from the bed. ‘When I first saw these houses, I could scarcely believe people lived like this, but,’ she shrugged, ‘you get used to it. I don’t think of it now, but I knew you’d be surprised.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘And there’s nowhere to hide here,’ Lizzie went on. ‘I would have said my neighbours were, in the main, the salt of the earth, but now…Well, we’ll see, and quickly too for I need the lavvy. Will you watch the child?’

  ‘You don’t need to ask.’

  It was one of the hardest things Lizzie had ever done to step out into the yard, dressed in the clothes she’d worn to travel in, donned hastily with a coat over them, her bare feet thrust into boots and the fierce wind whipping at her legs.

  Ada caught sight of her first, and then Gloria as Lizzie passed her window, and they stepped into the yard.

  ‘We know about the babby,’ Ada said. ‘Violet told us.’

  ‘Oh,’ Lizzie said, not sure if she was pleased or not.

  ‘Thought it would be less of a shock, like,’ Gloria explained.

  ‘And…a
nd how do you feel about it?’ Lizzie asked, knowing it was better to get that into the open straight away.

  ‘I think it’s a bloody shame and that’s the truth,’ Ada said. ‘We all do here, because we knew you, like, and we knew about the attack. I mean, we saw how you were, and the police involved as well.’

  ‘Aye, but not everyone will feel the same,’ Gloria warned. ‘Did you have to bring the babby back?’

  ‘Aye,’ Lizzie said. ‘I had no choice. One time, when I have a spare few hours, I’ll tell you tales about the place my mother sent me when I told her I was pregnant that will make your hair curl.’ She sighed and went on, ‘The nuns wanted to send my baby to an orphanage in Dublin, run by nuns of the same order. I couldn’t risk letting my poor, innocent baby go there, where she’d probably have spent her life being mocked and bullied because she is different.’

  Ada nodded sagely. ‘I see that. Anyroad, it’s a terrible thing altogether to give a kid away.’

  ‘We was all sorry to hear that Steve was killed,’ Gloria added.

  ‘I know,’ Lizzie said. ‘I was bitterly upset, for he was a good man and a terrific father. The children will be heartbroken.’

  ‘Didn’t you tell them?’

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘I wasn’t allowed to go home. My brother had to collect me from the convent and drive me straight to the boat.’

  ‘So you didn’t see your kids?’

  ‘Not for long,’ Lizzie said. ‘As soon as I told Mammy I was pregnant they couldn’t get rid of me quick enough.’

  ‘D’ain’t you tell them you was attacked?’

  ‘Aye, I told them, and they refused to believe it. Daddy was the worst. The priest was there too and he didn’t believe a word I said either, and that was that really. When my baby was born half-caste…Well, you can imagine the rest.’