by Annie Murray
Frances folded up the letter when she’d finished and sipped her tea, asking Janet about her day. Cadbury’s were pushing forward production of a whole range of things: tools and jigs for other firms, milling machines and parts for guns and aeroplanes and the shop floors and offices hummed with activity. Industry was on red alert to produce for the war effort.
‘I do feel,’ Frances said, ‘that I’m being rather a useless item sitting here. Maud’s letter brought it home to me. Of course I could volunteer for something, but Janet, I wondered—’ She hesitated. ‘A number of the other Friends have taken in refugees and I do feel put to shame. With all these people coming from Jersey and Guernsey they’ll need billets, and I wondered whether we might think of taking someone.’
Janet smiled encouragingly. ‘Of course. Why ever not? I know you mentioned it before and my – problems – got in the way. We’ve so much more space than some people.’
Frances beamed back. ‘You wouldn’t mind? Only it might mean quite a bit of inconvenience for us.’
‘No, of course I wouldn’t mind.’ As she said it a weight seemed to fall from her. It was such a relief to do something right and good. ‘Some of these people must have had a beastly time of it. It’s the least we can do.’
‘Well, I’m proud of you, my love.’ She poured Janet another cup of tea and cut her a slice of cherry madeira.
‘Cake’s a bit dry, of course,’ she apologized.
‘No, it’s lovely.’ Shyly, she looked up. ‘Mummy, look, you’ve been so marvellous. About everything.’
They had talked, of course, over the months since the miscarriage. Janet had explained about Alec, how she felt. She’d said how sorry she was about it, about the untruths she’d told in order to see him. She knew how much grief it had caused her mother, yet she barely uttered a word of reproach. Janet had been astonished at her calmness.
‘Well, you’ve learned the hard way,’ Frances looked at her over the edge of her teacup. ‘At least, I hope you’ve learned.’
‘Some mothers would have put me on the streets.’
‘I daresay,’ Frances said dryly. ‘Though I’ve never fathomed what good that does anyone.’ She put her cup down.
‘But what would you have done if I hadn’t lost the baby?’
Frances’s liquid brown eyes studied her face for a moment. ‘Darling, it would have been difficult. There would have been tongues wagging furiously, but we’d have managed. You’re my daughter, that’s the most important thing, and I do think it’s terrible to treat the arrival of a new being as if it’s the end of the world. And you know . . .’ A smile played at the corners of her mouth.
Janet was taken aback. ‘What?’
‘No, I really shouldn’t say it.’
‘Oh, you can’t not tell me now!’
‘Well, oh dear, this is terrible, but when you were so out of sorts and behaving rather secretively . . .’
So she had noticed something, Janet thought.
‘I mean it’d been some time since you’d had a young man in your life – at least, that’s what I thought. And you were always at the tennis club, and spending all that time with Joyce. Well, I did begin to wonder if you were perhaps more that way inclined. I mean you’d never shown signs of it before but then sometimes it comes out later. I’m a broad thinker in my way and I was trying to accommodate myself to the idea.’
Janet stared into her mother’s face with its confiding expression for a full ten seconds in blank astonishment before bursting into peals of laughter. She pushed her chair back and laughed until tears poured down her cheeks. All this time, creeping about with Alec, their secret meetings and urgent, self-indulgent passion, and her mother thought she was mooning over Joyce! Seeing her, Frances began to laugh as well and it was some minutes before either of them could speak.
‘Oh Mummy!’ Janet spluttered at last. ‘You are extraordinary, you really are!’
‘Well, I know now that I got it all wrong,’ Frances said.
They looked at each other, and began laughing all over again.
Eleven
Edie was working on the line, amid the stench of the respirators, when the unearthly wail of the air-raid siren tore through the hot afternoon. One of the the girls who’d gone to the pictures the night before was giving them a blow-by-blow account of the story. Edie loved to hear romantic stories and her deft hands could do the job before her automatically now. She had slipped into a fantasy world where everything turned out right, and the siren made her jump violently.
‘Oh my God!’ she cried, clutching at her chest. ‘Not again! I feel as if my heart’s going to give out every time I hear it!’
The factory bull had been silenced by the war, but in August the first bombs had fallen on Birmingham and the siren was going off in the daytime. They all had to troop out.
Shrugging off their overalls, the workers left everything on the benches and moved down the stairs, streaming like ants through the factory. Edie, like everyone else, strained her ears to try to make out the sound of planes approaching through the blue summer sky. Soon, they were all crushing into the gloomy basement.
‘Ey-up, Ginger,’ said a girl called Connie, plonking herself down beside Edie. ‘At least we get to ’ave bit of a sit down. I’ve even remembered me knitting today.’ She unwrapped her needles with a few curling rows of white wool on them.
‘That’s a good idea,’ Edie commented. ‘Help keep your mind off it. What’re you knitting?’
‘It’s for me sister – ’er babby’s due next month. I’m doing a matinée coat.’
‘Ah.’ Edie felt grief twisting inside her. ‘That’s nice.’
Ruby was in another part of the basement. She loathed the closed-in feel of the stuffy, dimly-lit basement, and had to fight against the panic that rose in her at the thought of being entombed in there by the building above. She tried to keep her mind diverted from listening for the sound of planes overhead, or worrying about what might happen.
Think about Saturday, she told herself. Just a few more days and Frank’ll be here and we’ll be married! He’d managed to get himself twenty-four hours’ leave to come to Birmingham. Soon she’d be his wife. It was true that she’d carry on living at home for the moment, that nothing much would change, but she was so happy now she knew she could marry and keep her job. She sat thinking about seeing Frank, about the little cream dress she’d found in the rag market, which looked almost new.
It had been a long wait and she understood Frank’s frustration over it. At times she’d almost given in and thought to hell with it, let him have his way, he wanted her so much. But all the warnings her mom had given her about ‘letting them have their way’ and ‘being left holding the baby’ rang in her head. In the end it was Ethel who persuaded her to get married.
‘You mustn’t let me stand in your way, Ruby. Your Frank’s a fighting man and he needs you.’ And George’s girl Dorrie came round often and helped out.
Over the months Frank had been home on leave a few times. After initial training as a wireless operator at Compton Bassett in Wiltshire he’d been posted over on the east coast, to Bomber Command. He was ranked as Sergeant now he’d completed his training. He told her about the other lads, their pranks and exploits, the entertainments on the base and talk in the bar during their hours off. She heard about Beaky (‘he’s got a great big conk on ’im’), Wally Wodgers (‘’cos he can’t say his r’s pwoperly’) and Sam Corcoran, an air gunner who was his best pal on the base. Ruby would laugh, watching his face light up, though at times she felt wistful and a bit left out. But when he kissed her and held her close it all felt right. They’d go to the pictures and sit at the back. As soon as the lights went down Frank was all over her, hands exploring inside her dress.
He’d been home in May and they went out to the Lickey Hills. The tram was full to bursting with families having a spring day out to see the bluebells in flower on the wooded hilltops. When they were disgorged at Rednal the children scattered away
from the road, which was lined with an assortment of tearooms, to dive amid the bracken and bluebells and gather bunches almost too big for their hands to hold.
‘I remember doing that,’ Ruby laughed, her arm looped through Frank’s as they walked. ‘And they’re all wilted when you get them home!’
Frank leaned down and picked a couple of sprays of the mauvish blue flowers and threaded them through Ruby’s top buttonhole, kissing her nose as he did so.
‘There, Queen of the May.’
‘It’s lovely here,’ Ruby said. ‘It’s hard to take in the war when you’re somewhere like this.’
‘Feels real enough in the Forces,’ Frank said tersely.
She glanced up at him. They’d climbed until they could see the sweeping view of the surrounding counties. The air blew sharply in their faces with a tang of cold to it, and ragged clouds brushed across the sun. Frank seemed remote suddenly, and hard. Sometimes he frightened her, the way he looked.
‘Frank?’ she touched his arm. ‘What’s up?’
He looked round at her sternly. ‘We don’t know how bad it’s going to get, do we? I just want to make you mine. Before it’s too late.’
The look in his eyes and his tone brought the blood to her cheeks.
‘You want to get married, straight away?’
‘If that’s what it takes. I want—’ He turned and pulled her to him. ‘I’ll show yer what I want.’ He kissed her hard on the mouth.
Clapping, accompanied by ribald comments, broke out from the picnickers seated round them.
‘Frank!’ Ruby pushed him away, pretending to be on her dignity.
‘We’re going to get wed!’ Ruby shouted joyfully to them. ‘How about that, eh?’ She let out her loud, jolly laugh and more applause followed. She felt foolish now, not having said yes before. How could she deny Frank when he was a fighting man?
She sat in the basement, trying to ignore the air-raid and dreaming of her wedding night.
‘They’re coming, listen,’ someone said, shushing everyone.
The droning sound of planes grew louder and closer. Ruby looked at the faces around her, waiting tensely in the sudden quiet. The first wave passed over and everyone let out a long breath of relief.
Edie watched Connie’s fingers twining the wool round her needles. The sight of the half-knitted matinée coat, so like the one she had laboriously made for her little baby, brought all her emotions to the surface. Though months had passed, sometimes it all came back harsh and raw as if Jack had died only yesterday. She’d seen his cold body before they fixed down the coffin lid. His face was grazed from where he had hit the ground. Edie had leaned down and stroked his dark brows with her finger. She kissed the unblemished part of his cheek. He looked younger, more as he had when they were fifteen and the Weales first moved into the area.
‘Oh Jack,’ she whispered, her tears falling on his cold, still face. ‘I love you so much. Why did you have to go and leave us?’
Ruby had seen her through the funeral, had spent all the time she could manage with her. After the first shock of grief all the worries about practical things assailed her, adding to her pain. She felt horribly lonely. The emptiness of their rooms without Jack coming home was almost unbearable. She knew it would be cheaper to rent only one room, yet she couldn’t stand the thought of moving anywhere unfamiliar. Once inside she could hide away in their little nest and remember the sound of him coming through the door, the feel of him lying beside her at night. She’d imagined telling their child, ‘That’s where your dad used to sit, and he stood and shaved by the little mirror over there, that speckled mirror which he said gave me even more freckles on my nose than are really there . . .’
After she lost the baby, little Jack as she called him, weeks of numbness were followed by acute pain and and misery at the double loss. She felt so alone. Everything had been taken from her. Many an evening she sat crying, holding the little white matinée coat and bootees, stroking them, aching to hold the child, and to be held in her turn and comforted by Jack. She had to endure her breasts producing milk when there was no baby to feed and at times she felt beside herself, as if she just couldn’t go on. As the spring turned into summer, she saw that in one way at least, her mother’s harsh comments had been true. How on earth would she have managed if her baby had survived? She had never faced up to the reality of what was happening. And now it was all over.
She was so glad to be able to go back to work and be amid the camaraderie and busy atmosphere. Neville Chamberlain had resigned as Prime Minister and they were becoming used to the sound of Churchill’s growling voice on the Pattisons’ wireless. The war was coming to their doorsteps, quite literally, as a trickle of the uninjured lads from Dunkirk turned up at their homes. Fear and tension permeated everything.
And now I’m sitting here waiting for them to drop bombs on us! Edie thought. Everything welled up inside her and she leaned forward and shielded her face with one hand to hide her tears. Another thing which was setting her off was the thought of Ruby and Frank’s wedding that weekend. It was lovely that they were getting married. Ruby had been so good to her and Edie was genuinely delighted for them, but the imminent wedding only made her feel more lonely. She felt sobs rising in her.
The planes moved overhead and everyone waited, as if holding their breath. There was a sigh as they passed, then an outbreak of cheering.
‘Let’s ’ave a sing-song!’ someone called from the other end, and after several ragged attempts, launched into ‘Kiss Me Goodnight Sergeant Major’. Edie kept her head down, glad that her crying would be hidden in the raucous noise.
After a moment she felt a hand on her shoulder. Someone was budging the others up to sit beside her, and then a pretty cotton handkerchief, embroidered with a curling ‘J’ in the corner, was pressed into her hand.
‘I owe you one, sort of, don’t I?’ a gentle voice said. The woman smiled at Edie’s bemused expression as she turned to see a face framed by frizzy, curling hair which seemed determined to escape from any restriction imposed upon it in the form of hairpins.
‘D’you remember, the bus stop? I was rather upset that day and you said you’d give me a hanky if you had one?’
‘Oh!’ Edie tried to smile, wiping her eyes gratefully. In contrast to the last time they’d met, the young woman’s face was smooth and untroubled by tears and the brown eyes behind her spectacles were full of warmth and sympathy. ‘I didn’t recognize you.’
‘You seem upset,’ she said.
‘Yes, well . . .’ Edie said shyly. ‘I’ll be all right.’ But in the face of such kindness, more tears ran down her cheeks. ‘Thing is,’ she blurted out, with no idea why she was doing so except the woman looked so kind, ‘I lost my husband and then our babby, all since September.’
‘Oh my word, how dreadful, you poor girl!’ Janet immediately put her arm round Edie’s shoulders. ‘You don’t look old enough to have had all these awful things happen to you.’ Edie was a little embarrassed, but she welcomed the comfort. There was still plenty of noise around them: the singers moved on to ‘Ten Green Bottles’. ‘I do hope you’ve the support of your family to see you through.’
‘Not really.’ Edie stared down into her lap. She wiped her face fiercely. ‘Still. No good moaning. There’s nothing can be done. Just ’ave to get on with it.’
‘You haven’t been moaning, far from it. Look, I don’t even know your name. I’m Janet Hatton. I work upstairs: typist, in the buying department.’
‘Edie Weale. My pals here call me Ginger. I’m on the masks at the moment.’ She found herself telling Janet a lot about herself, how she lived alone above Miss Smedley. She told her she didn’t see eye-to-eye with her mom, but she didn’t elaborate much on that. She couldn’t explain Nellie even to herself, let alone a stranger, even though, within minutes, Janet didn’t really feel like a stranger at all.
‘I suppose I’m lucky with my mother,’ Janet said. ‘We’ve always got on quite well. My father died in the
last war and she’s looked to my brother and me really. She worries about things too much, but she’s very good to me.’
‘You ain’t, I mean, you’re not married then?’ Edie wondered if she was being too nosey, but she found Janet remarkably easy to talk to.
‘No,’ Janet said, with a faint smile. Edie thought she also saw her blush, though it was hard to be sure. ‘Not yet. There was somebody, but it would never have worked.’ Edie heard the sadness in her voice and wondered if that was why she had been crying that night at the bus stop. She didn’t feel she could ask any more. ‘Actually,’ she added gloomily, ‘I don’t think I’m a very good judge of men.’
‘Oh well, you’ll find someone, I’m sure,’ Edie said.
Janet smiled wistfully. ‘We’ll have to see, won’t we?’ She removed her arm from round Edie’s shoulders and they chatted for a while. The singing behind them came and went in waves. Janet told her that she and her mother had had two evacuees from Guernsey staying with them.
‘Mum thinks she ought to be doing more, so we said we’d have them. One of them’s still with us,’ she smiled wryly. ‘They were cousins, two girls. Very different characters. The quiet one, Marie, who’s stayed, has got herself a munitions job and she’s getting along fine, but the other was a right little madam. She’s twenty-one. I think she found our household a bit staid for her – thought her wings had been clipped. She’s gone up to Manchester to a friend of hers who’s come over as well. I’m not sure she’ll find the bright lights in Manchester either, at the moment!’ Janet looked carefully at Edie for a moment as if wondering whether to say what was on her mind. ‘I was wondering, have you volunteered for anything yet?’
‘Me? No. My dad’s in the Home Guard and my pal Ruby, her brother’s on firewatch here. D’you mean the ARP?’
‘Yes, of course. There are all sorts of things to do, especially if there’s going to be a lot more of this.’ She rolled her eyes to indicate the planes overhead. ‘I’ve joined up as an ambulance driver for the ARP – but you could do First Aid or work with the WVS.’