by Annie Murray
‘Toiletries, Mother said. I should have got them when we were down there before.’
They made their way back through the busy store. The war hadn’t prevented the festive spirit. They saw a sign ahead saying, ‘Come and visit Father Christmas today!’
‘Ah,’ Joyce said pointing, her crimson painted lips parting in a smile. In front of them had gathered a line of excited children waiting to go and meet Father Christmas, under the tinsel and dangling streamers. The two littlest children in the line were literally jumping up and down with impatience. ‘Aren’t they gorgeous? Oh Janet, don’t you think it must be lovely to have kiddies of your own?’
‘Yes,’ Janet spoke lightly. ‘It must be nice, with a good husband behind you. Otherwise it involves a lot of drudgery, I’d say.’
Joyce caught sight of a little girl with thick, blonde bunches dangling each side of her face. ‘Ah!’ she cooed. ‘Look at that one!’
As she said it, Janet froze, horrified. She didn’t hear more of Joyce’s chatter because in that moment, joining the back of the queue, was a face she recognized. He was a head taller than the people in front, holding in his arms his young son, who was dark-haired like him. Alec. Right there in front of her. And beside him, through the huddle of people, she saw a small, delicate-looking woman with neat brown hair curling round her collar. Though not a raving beauty, she had a fresh-faced, timid look. Alec was leaning down to hear something she was saying.
Heart pounding, Janet seized Joyce’s arm.
‘I know, let’s go and get that cup of tea. I’m parched.’
‘But what about the present you were going to buy?’
‘Oh,’ Janet tried to sound casual, though sweat was breaking out under her arms. ‘I’ll get that somewhere else. I don’t want to have to wade all the way through the shop again. Come on—’
Only once she was out in the street did Janet feel she could breathe easily again. As she and Joyce sat with their tea and cream horns, amid the tinkling of cups and saucers and teaspoons, Janet gradually felt her pulse return to normal. She listened to Joyce, who was running on about her latest prospect, Dickie, a worker in the print room at Cadbury’s, and when the factory would be going over to war work and would Dickie have to join up? Janet nodded and smiled, pushing her cake back and forth across the plate, wishing she’d only chosen tea. She felt as if she’d been punched. Slapped in the face by reality. She’d nearly come face to face with Alec and his wife and son. Real people. A marriage.
What would he have done? her horrified mind demanded. Pretended he’d never seen me before? What was I to him, after all? Mistress? Bit on the side? That’s the truth of it. She had allowed herself for months to be part of that sordid, deceptive situation and had kidded herself that it was something more. He’d bought her with evenings out and trips. She’d been little less than a prostitute! And look how her life had almost been ruined – for what? For a lying, deceiving, sex-obsessed man! She felt herself turn rigid with anger, boiling inside. She wanted to rage and storm at him, to hurt him badly. How could she have been so naïve and stupid?
‘You don’t seem to be getting on with that cake very well,’ Joyce observed, peering over, a dab of cream at the corner of her lips.
‘I don’t seem to have any appetite.’ Janet just managed to jerk her lips into a smile. ‘Don’t know why. Would you like to finish it?’
1940
Nine
‘Edie – are you awright? You’ve gone pale.’
Ruby mouthed the words to her along the bench where they were working, assembling gas masks.
Edie tried to smile back, but another griping pain tore across her innards. Sweat broke out on her forehead. She leaned against the bench, letting out a long, jagged breath. She felt hot, and nauseated by the warm day and the rubbery smell of the respirators.
As the pain passed she wiped her sleeve across her face.
‘I’ll be awright,’ she told Ruby, whose plump face was also red in the spring warmth. No one on the shop floor except Ruby was supposed to know Edie was expecting, though a couple had guessed. But her stomach was very ‘tidy’ and she wore a loose overall. She had been desperate to have her job back. Straight after Jack’s death it was all she could think about. She couldn’t face the reality of what was going to happen after the baby arrived.
Ruby had sorted it out for her. ‘I’ve spoken to Miss Dorothy,’ she told her. ‘You’re not a married woman any more, you’re a widow. She knows you’re in the family way, and they don’t like mothers working, but you are a special case, and with the war on things’re changing anyway. She said you should come and see her. She was ever so nice, Edie.’
And Miss Dorothy had been very kind. Edie returned to work at Cadbury’s in the autumn to find things already changing because of the war. Some old familiar faces had moved to other factories for war work, and some blocks of the Bournville factory had been turned over to Austin and Lucas and other firms involved with war production, so the trains which passed through the site and the canal boats coming to the factory wharf were now carrying quite different components from cocoa butter and condensed milk.
By the spring of 1940, the Germans had moved across Denmark and Norway, and into the Netherlands and Belgium. The war was coming closer. The workers at Cadbury’s were told that there was to be a new development. While there was still some chocolate being produced, especially for the forces, a new company had been formed called Bournville Utilities Ltd and another section of the factory was to be turned over to production for the Supply Departments of the British Government. Two thousand workers were to be transferred and Edie and Ruby found themselves among these. They were very happy to know that they were to work together, assembling the service respirators. Being back at Cadbury’s was the one thing which had carried Edie through her time of most intense grieving for Jack.
She carried on working again for a few minutes, screwing the nozzles on the front of the respirators, but in a few minutes she was gripped by another excruciating pain and only just managed not to cry out. As it died away she was seized by panic. It had begun as a low grumble, like her monthly tummy-ache, but it was getting worse and worse. What could be the matter with her? She wasn’t due until the end of June – that was another six weeks away!
Another half-hour passed and she became unable to hide her distress. A pain came which was so agonizing that she doubled up over the work bench, sobbing in agony. Ruby immediately left her place and ran round to her.
‘Ede? Edie – can yer speak to me?’
Edie shook her head, crying.
Other women were crowding round as well.
‘You feeling bad, Edie?’
‘What’s the matter with her, Ruby? ’Ere, stand back, let the poor girl have some air!’
One of the older workers, a Mrs Fisher, who had been re-employed now the war was on, took Ruby’s arm.
‘Is she, you know, in the family way?’
Ruby nodded, frightened. ‘Only it ain’t due yet. I don’t know why she’s in this state.’
Edie gave another howl of pain, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the bench. ‘Oh God!’ she moaned. ‘Help me . . .’ Her words died out into a deep gasp.
The supervisor appeared, Miss Larkin, a rounded, calm woman.
‘What’s all the fuss?’ she demanded.
‘It’s Edie,’ Mrs Fisher said. ‘Seems like her babby’s on the way.’
Miss Larkin took one look at Edie and without batting an eyelid said, ‘Ambulance. Mrs Fisher, could you and Ruby help Edith downstairs please?’
Ruby was very grateful for the older woman’s concerned presence, because Edie was panicking and in a bad state. She doubled up when they were half-way down the stairs, panting and sobbing. Once she could speak again she cried out, ‘Oh – it hurts, it hurts! Oh God, what’s happening? This shouldn’t be happening!’
‘Come on, bab.’ Mrs Fisher guided her down the rest of the stairs, arm round her shoulder. ‘You’ll be aw
right – maybe the babby’s decided to come a bit early, or you might’ve got your timing wrong. There’s nothing the matter – this is just how it is when the babby comes.’
Ruby, squeezing her other arm, said, ‘Just hang on, Edie, you’ll be all right.’
When the ambulance drew up outside, Edie was once again gripped by the fierce contractions. She could think about nothing else. There was a woman driving the vehicle and she took one look at Edie and said, ‘Oh, I see how things are. Well, not far to go. We’ll get you into Selly Oak.’
‘Can I go in with her?’ Ruby begged.
The ambulance driver looked at Mrs Fisher.
‘Well, I don’t know,’ she hesitated, looking at Ruby’s pleading face, then tutted. ‘Go on then – I’ll tell ’em in there.’
It was barely a mile to the hospital, but to Edie the short journey seemed endless. She lay in the ambulance, waves of agony crashing over her, the sweat soaking her clothes, hair plastered to her head.
‘I’m frightened, Rube,’ she sobbed between contractions. Ruby gripped her hand, not knowing what to say. She was scared herself. Edie was in such agony, and why was the baby here so early?
The attendant in the ambulance made soothing noises. ‘Soon be there,’ she said. ‘We’ll get you comfortable and sorted out.’
When they rushed into the back of the Infirmary at Selly Oak, the thought of having to get up and move made Edie sob again.
‘I can’t,’ she cried. ‘Can’t I just stay in here?’
Ruby and the ambulance woman helped her up, and as she managed to get upright, a gush of greenish-brown liquid ran down her legs.
‘It’s all right – that’s just your waters gone,’ the attendant said, but her eyes met Ruby’s and Edie saw it. Something was wrong, she sensed, though not really knowing or understanding. Ruby felt a chill go through her. She had been at home when her mom started off with Alfie’s birth, and the breaking waters had been a healthy, pinkish liquid, not this murky, faecal brew.
‘Come on, Ede,’ she said gently, trying to sound calmer than she felt.
She wasn’t allowed into the labour ward with Edie.
‘I’ll wait outside!’ she called as they took her away through the doors. Ruby sat down shakily on a chair in the corridor. From inside the ward she heard snatches of cries from the women in their labour pains, which made her feel even more unsteady. For a second she thought about running round to Charlotte Road to tell Edie’s mom, but realized what a stupid idea that was. Nellie Marshall would be no help or comfort at all. If anyone loathed childbirth and anything to do with it, it was her.
Inside, Edie floated on a sea of pain and confusion. Her distended stomach tightened like a drum and released with every contraction until they came so close together that she was awash with discomfort. Another woman across the ward was in hard labour as well and it got so that at times Edie could hardly tell which of them was crying out. She felt people tugging at her clothes. Mostly she kept her eyes closed, going deep inside herself, trying to fight the pain. She was barely aware where she was. There were voices, snatches of words, ‘foetal distress . . . very premature . . .’
It felt as if hours had passed, though it was hard to tell if it was more than hot, searing moments. Opening her eyes, she saw the dark windows but didn’t know if they were blackouts or the sky. The pain mounted and burned and a voice floated past . . . ‘Should we think about opening her up . . .?’ She wanted to shout ‘No! No!’ and perhaps did, but nothing more happened than a pricking in her arm. More time passed and suddenly she was awake again and her body seemed to belong to someone else. Her head jerked up as her belly contracted, crushingly, and the people round her were saying, ‘Push!’ and she suddenly split apart with such pain that her cries became one long, high scream. At last she pushed the baby out with a terrible heave and a slither. She lay back, groaning.
There was a long silence. She didn’t know if she’d slept. When she opened her eyes the doctor and midwife were shaking their heads over something lying between her legs.
‘My baby,’ Edie whimpered. ‘Jack’s baby . . .’ She held her arms out and the midwife’s face swam into view.
‘I’m sorry, dear. Your baby got into trouble. He was in too much of a hurry to get into the world. I’m afraid he hasn’t made it.’
Edie heard a long, agonized whimper like a dog in distress coming from somewhere and only after a few seconds did she realize it was coming from deep within herself.
They came home from burying the little white coffin on a perfect spring afternoon. The lilac was in blossom and yellow laburnum swung like bells. The warmth and fertility around her only increased Edie’s despair. She knew she was burying all hope of a living memory of Jack and of being able to share that with their child. She was burying her love, her future. She staggered out of the cemetery supported by Ruby, her mom and dad walking behind.
‘I’m sorry for yer, wench,’ Dennis had said gruffly, in the cemetery. He stood very straight, barrel-chested, not knowing what else to say, but Edie at least felt he had meant it.
‘You coming in for a cup of tea?’ Nellie said as they walked slowly back along the Bristol Road. ‘I’ve made us a few sandwiches like, a nice tin of ham.’
Edie said nothing. She couldn’t think about anything, least of all sandwiches and tins of ham opened for show.
‘Thanks, Mrs Marshall,’ Ruby said politely.
Nellie Marshall signalled to Ruby to move out of the way, and came up beside Edie and took her arm. She was dressed immaculately in black, face well made-up.
‘It’s a bad do losing a child.’ She spoke abruptly. ‘But in your case, with the war on and Jack gone, it’s a blessing in disguise, you must admit.’
Edie stopped and violently pulled her arm free of her mother’s.
‘How can you say that? That’s a terrible, wicked thing to say! It’s not a blessing and I’ll never say it was!’ she shouted, hysterical with grief and fury. ‘It might be to you, but then you never wanted any of us anyway, did you? Too much mess and trouble in your respectable little life, aren’t we? But I wanted my babby, and I’d’ve loved him, not like you.’ She took off fast down the road. ‘You can keep yer perfect house and your sodding sandwiches!’
Ruby glanced at Nellie Marshall and chased after Edie, muttering, ‘Hard-faced old cow,’ under her breath. Edie’s mom really was the limit at times.
‘Edie, eh Ginger!’ She caught up with her. ‘Where’re yer going?’
‘Home,’ Edie sobbed. ‘To my place and Jack’s. It’s the only proper home I’ve ever had.’
Ten
‘Here we are dear, sit down – you must be exhausted.’
As Janet settled herself wearily at the table, Frances Hatton laid a plate of chops, potatoes and greens, well lubricated with gravy, in front of her and poured from the pretty china teapot.
‘Thanks,’ Janet said, pushing a stray lock of her uncontrollable hair out of her eyes. ‘This looks nice. I could do with it, I can tell you.’
It was eight-thirty at night and her day’s work, which began at eight in the morning, had only just ended. Industries up and down the country were urgently gearing up for what the war might bring next, and twelve hours a day, seven days a week, had become commonplace working shifts. The Whitsun Bank Holiday had been cancelled. Since the retreat at Dunkirk the atmosphere had been tremendously tense. Who knew where the front line was to be in this war? Now the German planes which were attempting to break down the island defences were slugging it out over the Channel and Kent day after day in what was being called the Battle of Britain. There was talk of almost nothing else.
‘What’s happened?’ Janet wanted to know. ‘Have you listened in already?’
‘Yes, we can hear it again later. They’re evacuating the Channel Islands – thousands of them coming off.’ Frances stirred sugar into her tea. ‘And the fighting’s still going on like mad. The news was full of tallies of planes shot down, as usual. I’m so glad Rob
ert’s not involved.’
The idea of her rather stodgy brother as a fighter pilot seemed quite absurd to Janet. Fortunately he was safe in a reserved occupation in the bank. She tucked into her meal with relish. Frances forgot the war for a moment and smiled at the sight of her. Janet had always had a good appetite. She looked so much better now, the colour back in her cheeks again.
‘I had a letter from Auntie Maud today,’ Frances remembered, getting up to fetch it. ‘She wanted to let us know they’re all right, so far anyway.’ Janet raised an anxious smile. She liked Auntie Maud, with her flamboyant clothes and scatty ways. But she lived with her two daughters outside Maidstone, right under the fighting.
‘It must be awful down there,’ Janet said.
‘She writes – well, here’s a bit I can decipher: “They’re trying anything to prevent German planes landing. You see all manner of things scattered over the fields, so that the countryside is beginning to look rather like an endless church bazaar, if you can imagine anything so depressing. The other day I saw a farm cart, a very nasty looking double bed, an old kitchen range and a pile of rotting railway sleepers all in one field! Everyone’s nerves are in shreds – first bombs on Canterbury, now this. We’ve seen some snatches of it and it’s terrible to think about the pilots up there . . .” ’
‘I do hope they’ll be all right,’ Janet said. ‘They could come up here to us if it gets any worse.’
‘I’ve already offered,’ Frances said. ‘But I don’t imagine she’ll come. Not while the house is standing – her pride and joy, you know.’
‘Everything seems to be higgledy-piggledy these days, doesn’t it?’ Janet said, cutting up her chops. ‘Beds in fields, men marching about in the park, no street signs . . . It all feels rather barmy.’