Song of the Skylark

by Erica James

  In the corner of the room stood the Christmas tree, its brightly coloured glass baubles catching in the lamplight. It reminded Clarissa poignantly of her own childhood Christmases with her parents, when she had never given it a second thought that life would be any different. How she wished her parents were still alive to know their grandson. ‘And just what would Grandma Ethel make of all this?’ she asked Nicholas.

  His answer was to flutter his eyes open and stare at her while wrapping his little hand around her thumb. It was such a small gesture, but it melted her heart. ‘My hand will always be there for you to hold,’ she whispered to him, ‘I’ll never let you down, and that’s a promise.’

  Her words made her think of the promise Artie had made to Walter. Just as Walter didn’t want Artie to leave, nor did Clarissa. Nobody had asked her what her wish was; had they done so, she would have said she wished Artie could stay here with them at Skylark Cottage out of harm’s way. Perhaps it was hearing Walter say aloud what was in her heart that she now feared for Artie’s life more than she ever had before.

  They were in the middle of playing a game of snakes and ladders when there was a knock at the front door. Thomas went to see who it was and came back with a beaming Mrs Cook and a very smart-looking young woman dressed in a red dress with lipstick to match. It wasn’t until the woman spoke that Clarissa recognised her – it was Lily!

  ‘I couldn’t come to Shillingbury and not see you all, miss,’ she said. ‘Here, you two,’ she said, delving into a basket hooked over her arm, ‘I’ve got some chocolate for you.’ Thomas and Walter all but fell on her. She held out a small package to Clarissa. ‘And something for you, miss.’

  ‘Lily, you really shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Why ever not? You gave Auntie Dot something to give me.’

  ‘But that was just a box of dates. This,’ Clarissa said, the wrapping now removed from the package, ‘is so much more extravagant.’ She held up the packet of stockings. ‘What a luxury! Thank you so much.’

  Lily then turned to Leon and smiled brightly at him, which in turn had his face turning almost as red as her dress. ‘I got you something as well.’

  Leon took the gift from her, but seemed to have lost the power of speech. Rooted to the spot, he stared at Lily.

  ‘Go on,’ she said, ‘don’t just stand there, open it then.’

  His fingers, usually so adept at fixing things, suddenly seemed incapable of undoing the simple bow of the ribbon. When he had it done, Leon opened the slim box and showed everyone what was inside: a pen.

  ‘It’s so that you can write to me,’ she said with a wink.

  If it were possible, poor Leon’s face turned an even deeper shade of red.

  ‘Don’t I get a kiss, then?’ she asked. ‘I call that a very poor show. I’ve been gone for what feels like forever and was expecting a bit more of a welcome back.’

  Mrs Cook laughed. ‘Get on with you, you saucy baggage. Stop teasing the poor man. Now who’s for a nice cup of tea?’

  ‘Never mind tea, where’s the baby? He’s the one I’ve really come to see. I’ve got him a present.’

  Right on cue, Artie appeared behind Lily carrying Nicholas. ‘Oooh, look at him,’ she exclaimed, ‘he’s the living spit of his dad!’ Her expression dropped and she looked at Clarissa. ‘Sorry, miss, perhaps I shouldn’t have said that, but gawd, I’m as giddy as a kipper to see you all again!’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Clarissa said with a smile. ‘And do please stop calling me miss. Call me Clarissa. Would you like to hold Nicholas?’

  ‘Just you try and stop me!’

  Over tea and cake – the one in the tin Effie had sent from America – Lily regaled them with her tales of life in the Midlands and the munitions factory she worked in. Clarissa marvelled at the change in her – how confident she now seemed, and infinitely more mature and knowing. She had changed the way she spoke as well, her pronounced East Anglian accent barely discernible.

  ‘The girls I work with are always talking about how life will never be the same again,’ she was saying now, ‘that there’ll be a New Order when we will all do more for each other. We’ll have a fairer society and us poor folk won’t be put upon like we always have been.’

  ‘You better not go round talking like that too much,’ said Mrs Cook, ‘or you’ll be accused of being a communist.’

  ‘And what if I was?’ replied Lily. ‘Isn’t it right that we all get our proper share? And I’ll tell you this for nothing, I’m not going to be told by no hoity-toity Lord and Lady what I can and cannot do when this war’s over. No, you take it from me, we’re all going to be better off when we’ve done Hitler in. Especially us women. We’re all soldiers in this war for the liberation of humanity.’

  ‘Good for you, Lily,’ said Artie, clapping his hands, ‘that’s an admirable sentiment.’

  Clarissa smiled, proud of Lily. How good it was to see her so full of confidence. It made her feel she should be doing more herself. ‘If I’m not mistaken, I see a future member of the British Parliament before me,’ she said.

  Lily laughed and held Nicholas up to her face so he was just inches from the end of her nose. ‘What do you think, little fella,’ she asked him, ‘do you see a great future for me?’

  His answer was to hiccup loudly.

  Later that night, when the house was quiet and Clarissa was soothing Nicholas after changing his nappy and feeding him, she thought how perfectly Lily had summed things up. She was right, things would never be the same, and that perhaps would not suit everybody. Some would want life to go back to how it was. But how could it? Women were doing the jobs of men, and for the most part doing them just as well. They were independent as a result and for many that was a freedom never before experienced. How many of them would want to slip back into the old ways? She for one could not conceive of her old life when all Grandma Ethel had wanted for her was a good marriage.

  When she eventually got Nicholas off to sleep again in the bassinet by the side of her bed, she tightened the belt of her dressing gown and crept quietly downstairs to make herself a cup of tea. She made it as strong as she dared, hearing in her head Mrs Cook’s often spoken words that it wouldn’t be long before they’d be reduced to drinking tea made with a single reused tea leaf.

  She sat in the chair by the side of the range and no sooner had she taken a sip of tea than she heard footsteps and the door creaked open. It was Artie, also in his nightclothes.

  ‘I thought I heard you,’ he said. ‘Were you up with Nicholas?’

  ‘Yes. He took a little longer to get back to sleep than usual. I think he’s decided it’s time to start being more alert. Would you like me to make you a drink?’

  He motioned her to stay where she was. ‘I’ll do it.’

  While he waited for the kettle to boil, he said, ‘I meant it earlier today when I said I wish I could stay here longer with you.’

  ‘I know you did,’ she said softly. ‘And if anybody had been interested in my wish it would have been for you to do exactly that. The boys love having you here, and I can see that Leon really appreciates having another man about the place.’

  ‘What about you, do you appreciate having another man around? After all, you are heavily outnumbered.’

  She smiled. ‘I don’t mind that one little bit. But as Effie might say, it’s been a real hoot having you around.’

  He smiled too. ‘Good, I’m glad about that.’ He turned away to make his drink then came and sat opposite her. His expression had changed now; gone was the smile and in place was a look of grave solemnity, his eyes dark behind the lenses of his glasses. ‘When I’m back in Italy, will you do something for me?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Would you wish for me to return, please?’

  She frowned. ‘Are you asking for me to pray for you?’

  ‘I suppose I am. Just so
that all my bases are covered, so to speak.’

  ‘I’m not sure that God will listen to me; I’m hardly one of the faithful, am I?’

  ‘Neither am I. And if we’re going to be pedantic, God doesn’t seem to be listening to anyone in the world right now.’

  She leant forward. ‘What’s brought this on, Artie? Why do you suddenly feel that you’re in danger?’

  ‘We’re all in danger, every minute of the day. Look what happened right here in Shillingbury the night William—’ He broke off. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have—’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, ‘you can talk about William without me falling apart again like I did yesterday.’

  He shook his head. ‘You didn’t fall apart; you simply expressed your feelings for the husband you loved. You probably haven’t done enough of that. My guess is that you’ve been too busy holding the fort for everybody else. Am I right?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.’

  ‘I would. I’ve seen how you mother everyone here and how they adore you in return. Just as I love you. But you’ve always known that, haven’t you? The very first night we met on board the Belle Etoile, I knew that we would have a special relationship. And don’t worry, I’m not about to embarrass you like Henry Willet did, I’m not that stupid. So will you be my guardian angel when I’m in Italy?’

  Touched by his words, and the depth of his feelings for her, she reached out and took his hand in hers. ‘You know I will. I shall do all I can to ensure you keep your promise to Walter. But I don’t understand why you’re now so concerned about your safety.’

  ‘It’s quite simple, really: having had the courage to admit to myself how much I love you, I feel I have more to lose if I were to die.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  April 1944, Skylark Cottage, Shillingbury

  It was now April, and in the months that had passed since Artie had left for Italy, Clarissa had worried about him constantly.

  When he had first gone, she had tried to ignore how empty the house felt without him, or how often she accidently laid a place setting for him at the table, or looked forward to telling him something. Always trailing in the wake of her thoughts for Artie was a pervading sense of guilt that she was betraying William. But her aching heart whispered that Artie was alive, and no amount of guilt was ever going to bring William back.

  It wasn’t that she was trying to replace William with Artie, she really wasn’t; William was William and Artie was Artie, the two men couldn’t be more different. William had quite literally swept her off her feet and instilled in her a reckless abandon and the belief that they had a duty to live for the moment, to snatch whatever happiness they could. Despite their time together being cruelly cut short, Clarissa frequently consoled herself with the knowledge that they had made each other exceedingly happy for that time.

  More than once she was reminded of the passionate love her parents must have felt for one another, a love that had made her mother defy her family and run away to France. Without a doubt Clarissa would have done the same with William. She would have done whatever he’d asked of her.

  In contrast, the emotions she felt for Artie were grounded in the mutual trust and understanding they had for each other. He was more thoughtful and measured than William had been, less of a risk taker too. He was not the sort to rush headlong into something, and would be the first to say that he was an observer of life, hence the work he was doing. What she had always found so admirable about Artie was his integrity and absolute loyalty. He never exaggerated or said anything he didn’t mean, which was why she had been so alarmed by his asking her to be his guardian angel. It made her wonder if he’d experienced some sort of premonition that something bad lay ahead for him. Or had he simply seen so many awful things as a war correspondent that he couldn’t put his faith in surviving such a brutal war?

  The day he left she had clung to him with a fierce, protective love. ‘Please be careful,’ she had implored him, ‘you know how dear you are to me; I couldn’t bear for anything to happen to you. You have to stay out of danger.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ he’d said, ‘because there’s nothing I want more than to see you again. I love you, Clarissa.’

  She couldn’t bring herself to say the words in return, despite knowing that it was how she felt – her conscience forbade it – so instead she had kissed him, not on the cheek, but on the lips. ‘I’ll be waiting here for you,’ she’d said, ‘we all will. Goodbye, my darling.’

  Every day since she had avidly followed the news of what was going on in Italy. In January she had read of the Allied advance on Rome, how thousands of British and American troops had stormed ashore at Anzio taking the Germans by surprise. Then in February she had read of the bombing of Monte Cassino, of the massed formation of Flying Fortresses that had unleashed their deadly load of bombs. It seemed as if the Allies had the upper hand and were winning the battle there, but any optimism Clarissa felt was outweighed by her concern for Artie.

  She wrote to him as often as she could, giving him any amount of inconsequential news from the village, her letters posted to the address he had given her. She eagerly awaited the postman, desperate to receive word from him. He wrote intermittently, but always said how much he valued her letters to him.

  She wasn’t the only one waiting for the postman to call. With the fountain pen Lily had given him, Leon now wrote to her and always had a smile on his face after he’d read one of Lily’s letters.

  With the arrival of spring came not just the pleasing sight of leaf buds on the trees and daffodils with their trumpets of yellow in the sun, and the sound of the skylarks singing in the meadows, but an influx of American air personnel in the area.

  The peace and quiet of Shillingbury had long since been disrupted by the presence of military vehicles and aircraft, but now the noise and number of servicemen and women had swelled enormously with the arrival of the US Eighth Air Force. New airplanes, which Thomas and Walter expertly informed Clarissa were B-24 Liberators, became a regular sight in the sky as the pilots practised close-formation flying and bombing skills. It was common knowledge that they were carrying out intensive training in readiness for invading occupied Europe. Nobody knew when, but it had to be soon. The heavy bombers made a thrilling sight, and the thunderous noise they made stirred the senses.

  This new Fighter Group with its airbase a short distance away to the south-west of Shillingbury gave rise to a surge of high spirits in the village, especially when word went round that the Americans had brought with them more food than they knew what to do with. It was, of course, an exaggeration, but in no time delighted women in the village were showing off legs clad in nylon stockings and children were licking the chocolate from their lips given to them by the generous American servicemen. Hearing so many American voices at the same time made Clarissa realise how very English she had become.

  Then one sunny afternoon, when she was on her way home with Nicholas in his pram, after queuing at the butcher’s for more than thirty minutes only to find all that was left were a few scraps of liver being fought over by three determined women, Clarissa came to a sudden stop. There by the wooden gate to Skylark Cottage was a military motorcycle propped on its stand. What would somebody from the military want here? Unless … unless it was to deliver bad news?

  Oh, please not Artie. Not Artie as well as William.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  April 1944, Skylark Cottage, Shillingbury

  Clarissa could have wept with joy when she saw who was sitting at the kitchen table chatting to Mrs Cook. It was Ellis, dressed in a uniform which gave him an added vitality and achieved what she wouldn’t have believed possible: it made him even more handsome.

  ‘Here you are at last, Clarissa,’ he said, casually stubbing out the cigarette he’d been smoking and getting to his feet, ‘Mrs C and I thought you were never coming home.’ He spoke a
s though they had seen one another only yesterday.

  The relief that it was Ellis here, and not somebody to deliver bad news about Artie, suddenly welled up inside Clarissa and she threw her arms around Ellis in a rush of elation.

  Clearly he wasn’t expecting such a warm reception. ‘Now that,’ he said, ‘is a definite improvement on the welcome I received the last time I saw you.’

  Pushing her away from him, but keeping hold of her hands, he held her at arm’s length. ‘You’re looking well,’ he declared approvingly, ‘motherhood suits you. Where is the little guy? I’ve brought him a present.’

  ‘Captain Randall’s brought us all presents,’ remarked Mrs Cook with a broad smile – the kind of smile that told Clarissa she’d been totally charmed by Ellis. ‘Take a look in the box over there on the dresser – there are tins of apricots, evaporated milk, corned beef, salmon and packets of sugar, chocolate and coffee. And chewing gum for the boys.’

  Clarissa went over to take a look. ‘And stockings,’ she murmured. ‘Ellis, you shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Don’t talk so daft, of course he should!’ said Mrs Cook. ‘We’ll take all the help we can, thank you very much. He’s just been telling me where he’s stationed practically on our doorstep.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Clarissa.

  Ellis smiled. ‘Station 174, Sudbury. I arrived last week. Didn’t I say I’d be over one day to save you from those pesky Germans?’

  ‘You did,’ she said, flicking his shoulder playfully, ‘but you took your time about it.’

  ‘Believe me, I’d have been here sooner, but the might of the US military moves at its own pace. Come on, show me your son. Where’ve you hidden him?’

  She took Ellis outside to where she’d left Nicholas sleeping in the pram. He was awake now and staring contentedly up at the washing on the clothes line flapping in the breeze. Ellis bent over to take a closer look. ‘Yep, just as I suspected, he’s a looker – just like his mother.’