A Distant Dream

by Pamela Evans

  ‘I know he means the world to you and you’re worried about him,’ said the older woman. ‘But I promise you that I will do everything I can to make sure my grandson has the best life I can give him until George gets back.’

  May stared at her, noticing the resolution in her voice and perceiving something she had never seen in Mrs Bailey before: strength.

  ‘I know I’ve been a bag of nerves since I lost my husband in such a terrible way and everybody thinks I’m a feeble old bat,’ Dot went on. ‘But I have been given a challenge now and I intend to rise to it.’

  ‘Good for you,’ said May.

  ‘Of course, if Joe’s adoring godmother wants to help me out now and again and offer some moral support, it will be very much appreciated.’

  ‘I’ll call round every day in my lunch hour to see how you’re getting on,’ said May. ‘And I’ll have him on my afternoon off or on Sundays to give you a break if you would like.’

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ said Dot, reaching over and putting her hand on May’s. ‘Together we’ll get through this.’

  May’s eyes filled with tears. Suddenly she trusted Mrs Bailey. ‘Yeah,’ she said thickly. ‘We will.’

  There was only a small gathering for Betty’s funeral. It had been arranged by her parents, who May didn’t know well because Betty had never been allowed to have friends home as a child.

  When May had delivered the news of their daughter’s death to them, it was the first time she had ever had a conversation with them. They had just been the shadowy figures inside the house when she and Betty were children, as indeed most parents were. They must have recognised their duty in arranging this one last thing for their daughter, but there was no wake back at the house because of the rationing.

  ‘That wasn’t much of a send-off, was it?’ said Sheila to May as they walked home together. Dot had stayed home with Joe, who they had considered to be too young to attend the funeral. ‘I wasn’t a particular fan of Betty’s but surely they could have done better than that.’

  ‘You can’t put on a spread with rationing being as it is,’ May pointed out. ‘Anyway, they’d been estranged for years.’

  ‘Mm, I suppose so,’ said Sheila, who was on compassionate leave because of a death in the family. ‘It’s a shame George didn’t make it. We did let the army know his wife had died but I suppose he’s too far away to be able to get back.’

  ‘Probably,’ said May. ‘He’ll be worried about Joe, though, wondering who’s looking after him.’

  ‘Mm . . . and that’s the biggest surprise I’ve had in years, Mum getting stuck in and making such a good job of it.’

  ‘I was amazed when she said she would do it,’ said May. ‘I was quite prepared to have him but she insisted. I do take him off her hands on a regular basis, but I do that for me because I love to have him.’

  ‘You’ll be keeping your beady eye on her, I expect,’ suggested Sheila.

  ‘Not really,’ said May. ‘I thought I would need to, but she’s doing really well.’

  ‘It’s taken something like this to get her back to her old self,’ said Sheila. ‘I knew she still had it in her. That’s why I was always so impatient with her, because I knew it was possible for her to get back to how she’d been before.’

  ‘Poor little Joe, though,’ said May. ‘It’s heartbreaking when he cries for his mother.’

  ‘Yeah, but because he’s so little he’ll soon forget, and he’s got a good back-up team in you and Mum,’ said Sheila. ‘I’m sorry I’m not around to help.’

  ‘Are you glad you joined up?’ asked May.

  ‘Yes and no. I miss the home comforts, of course, and it’s a very hard life, but there’s great comradeship and lots and lots of laughs,’ she said.

  ‘I thought about it myself but I know I wouldn’t pass the medical,’ said May.

  ‘I’ve learned to drive and to weld and to use a typewriter. Chances I’d never have had before the war.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s one positive thing the war has done for women: given them jobs other than working in a shop and cleaning up after other people.’

  ‘I think we would all rather not have had it, especially poor old Betty, but it’s here and we have to put up with it.’ Sheila thought for a while. ‘Of course you’ve had a double blow, haven’t you? First your intended, then your best friend.’

  ‘It has been hard,’ May told her. ‘Of the two it’s Betty I shall miss the most because we’d known each other all our lives and shared so many experiences. I don’t quite know how I’m going to get through it, to tell you the truth.’

  Sheila linked her arm through May’s companionably. ‘You’ll do it,’ she said warmly. ‘You’re the sort of person who will get through anything and come out smiling.’

  ‘Really?’ said May. ‘How do you make that out?’

  ‘TB, the loss of your brother, even before the latest disasters, and you’re still game to fight another day.’

  ‘I’d never thought about it in that way.’

  ‘Well you can give yourself a pat on the back and that’s definite,’ Sheila said with a smile in her voice.

  Those few words of encouragement raised May’s spirits and renewed her strength. Betty’s death had all but floored her, but now she felt as though she could carry on and win through.

  ‘Thanks, Sheila,’ she said, and they went on their way chatting pleasantly. May thought how far Sheila had come from that petulant child who was forever being horrid to her mother. Now she was remarkably mature for her eighteen years, which probably had something to do with being in the services.

  The air raids eased off towards the end of the month and into February, something Londoners attributed to bad flying weather and the fact that the Luftwaffe were concentrating on provincial cities. Missing Betty and badly in need of a friend now that Sheila had gone back to camp, May took advantage of the lull in the bombing to get together with Connie again. They met on a Sunday at Marble Arch and had a walk through Hyde Park, which was awash with people in uniform.

  ‘Betty wasn’t what you could call the most loyal friend,’ May confided as they walked at a steady pace, the weather cold but bright and clear, the silver barrage balloons gleaming in the pale sunshine. ‘In fact she was a taker and out for herself and could drive me mad at times, but I miss her something awful and think I always will. We shared so much history, and for all her faults – and she knew she had them – she made me laugh.’

  ‘That’s what friendship is all about, isn’t it?’ said Connie. ‘Liking someone warts and all.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said May. ‘I probably got on her nerves at times.’

  ‘None of us is perfect.’

  May laughed. ‘You were supposed to say that you were sure I didn’t.’

  ‘Ha ha, sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not best known for my sense of diplomacy.’

  ‘No you’re not. I remember that from Ashburn. You always did say it like it was, especially with your predictions about Doug and me.’

  ‘I was right too,’ said Connie, adding more seriously, ‘poor old Doug. He survived TB then fell victim to a bomb. Staying alive is such a matter of luck these days.’

  ‘Not half,’ said May and changed the subject quickly to raise the mood. ‘Anyway, what have you been doing since we last met?’

  ‘I’ve gone into war work.’

  ‘Have you really?’ said May in surprise. ‘No problem with your medical history then?’

  ‘No, probably because I’m not in munitions,’ she explained. ‘Anyway, they are so desperate for people now they can’t afford to be too strict.’

  ‘Where is the job?’

  ‘In a parachute factory.’

  ‘And you actually told them you’d had TB?’

  She nodded. ‘I was quite honest about it and expected the bloke to turn me down flat, but he thought about it for a while then said they wanted people to make parachutes and he thought I should be all right with that, especially as I’m very experienced with sewi
ng machines.’

  ‘A different attitude to before the war, then.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ she agreed. ‘With so many men away at the war they have to cut a few corners, I think. You don’t get a choice about where you work either. I’m based in Acton, which is fine for me, but I know people who have quite a journey to work. Some even have to leave their area and find lodgings.’

  ‘Dad has to go a long way every day to the docks,’ said May. ‘It’s right across London on the tube.’

  It wasn’t warm enough to sit by the lake, so they made their way back to Oxford Street and went into Lyons and had a cup of tea and a wartime bun.

  ‘So you’re single again then,’ remarked Connie casually.

  May nodded. ‘Sadly, yes. How about you in the love-life department?’ she asked.

  ‘I met a really nice chap at a dance but he’s a soldier and away at the war,’ she said. ‘I write to him regularly and we have a sort of understanding, but he isn’t around so I’m free if you’d like company at any time. We could go to the pictures one night if you fancy it. Nearer to home than the West End might be better. Ealing Broadway is only a few stops on the train for me.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ said May.

  No one would ever replace Betty, but having some female company of her own age did help to ease the aching loneliness of life without her long-term friend.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was generally thought that children were surprisingly resilient, and May saw proof of this when Joe’s bewildered cries for his mother began to abate quite soon. He was, of course, very young, with a short memory span, which meant he might have very little recollection of Betty as he grew up. So once things had settled down after the death and she felt the time was right, May made a conscious effort to keep his mother’s memory alive in a cheerful way by mentioning her in happy circumstances every now and again.

  ‘Mummy would be so proud of you,’ she would say if he did some praiseworthy little thing like standing still while she put his coat on, or not yelling when she washed his hair as she sometimes did to help his grandmother.

  ‘Would she?’

  ‘Oh yes; she’d want to know that her boy is being good,’ she would assure him.

  Such was the dialogue between them one blustery Wednesday afternoon in March when they were at the playground and he’d been down the slide for the first time sitting on her lap.

  ‘I’ve broken all the playground rules by going on the slide with you, since I’m well over the age limit,’ she told him chattily. ‘But wasn’t it fun, and your mummy would think you were such a brave boy.’

  ‘Again,’ was his beaming response.

  She looked around furtively.

  ‘I’ll turn a blind eye,’ said a young woman pushing a child on a swing.

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ said May, running after Joe, who was tearing towards the slide.

  ‘Wheee,’ she cried as they slid down together, both laughing with exhilaration at the bottom.

  ‘Again,’ said Joe.

  ‘You’ll have me at this all afternoon, you little perisher,’ May said, grinning, completely engrossed in him. ‘Once more, then, and it really will be the last one, I mean it.’

  It was only then that she realised that they were not alone. She saw a pair of shiny black boots, and as her gaze moved upwards it rested on a tanned and smiling soldier.

  ‘You always did like the slide,’ he said. ‘You’ve been down it a time or two on my lap.’

  ‘George,’ she gasped, welling up with emotion. ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘In the usual way, I walked in through the gates.’ He threw his arms around her. ‘Oh it’s so good to see you, May.’

  ‘Likewise.’ She turned to see Joe about to climb the slide steps on his own. ‘Oh my Lord. Joe, no, come back.’ She tore after him. ‘Joe, Daddy is home. Come and see Daddy.’

  But the child had only one thing on his mind, so she had to go down the slide with him again.

  ‘Hello, Joe,’ said George thickly when they got to the bottom, holding his arms out to his son.

  Joe fixed him with a long, studious stare, then opened his mouth and emitted a scream of epic proportions, clinging on to May as though his life depended on it.

  ‘He wasn’t much more than a baby when you went away,’ May reminded George when the child had finally calmed down and Flo had taken him into the Pavilion so that May and George could have a chat on their own, sitting on a bench near the swings. ‘Children of that age have short memories, so it’s only natural he wouldn’t remember you.’

  ‘I know,’ sighed George. ‘But I’ve been longing to see him and I wasn’t planning on making him yell his head off.’ He paused and she could see that he was desperately disappointed. ‘I was so proud to see him, May. He’s a proper little boy now.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, wanting to howl with a mixture of joy at seeing George and sadness at Joe’s reaction to him. ‘He’s a proper little boy all right and a very fine one too. He’ll be three tomorrow.’

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten.’

  ‘How long are you home for?’

  ‘Ten days’ compassionate leave. I should have been back for the funeral, but that’s the war for you. By the time the news reached me, then the leave was arranged and they got me on to a boat, the whole thing was over and done with.’

  ‘Thing aren’t straightforward in wartime,’ she said. ‘But I’m sure you were there in spirit.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said in a serious tone. ‘Poor Betty. It’s such a shock and so dreadfully sad. It seems really odd to think that she isn’t here any more. She was so young and had always been around, a part of our lives.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘It must have hit you hard, May, having been best friends all your life.’

  ‘Yes, it has been tough.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Seeing you with Joe in the playground where we spent so much of our childhood was so . . . so comforting,’ he said. ‘Mum said you are an absolute godsend to her, so thanks for that. I’ve been worried sick about him, wondering who would look after him. But then I saw Mum and I couldn’t believe the change in her.’

  ‘So you can go back with an easy mind, though you’ve only just got here so you won’t want to think about going back.’

  ‘You’re right about that.’

  There was a silence, and tension drew tight. They each knew what was on the other’s mind.

  ‘Mum said you were with Betty when it . . . er, happened,’ George said at last.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Did she suffer?’

  May had a vivid flashback to that terrible night, the blood and the grimness of Betty’s death and the events preceding it. ‘Not for very long,’ she said, managing to keep her voice steady. ‘It was all over quite quickly.’

  ‘Hit by debris, Mum said.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He would never hear from her of what else had ailed Betty at the time of her passing. ‘It hit her head.’ She swallowed hard. ‘A very deep wound.’

  He reached across and put his hand on hers in a gesture of comfort. Neither of them spoke; there was no need.

  Joe flatly refused to go home with his father on his own, so May went with them, the boy clutching her hand.

  ‘He’ll come round,’ she said to George encouragingly. ‘When he’s had time to get used to having you home.’

  ‘By that time I’ll be due to go back.’

  ‘Don’t talk daft,’ she said. ‘You’re George Bailey. You could persuade Hitler himself to surrender if you could get near enough to him. I’m sure you can make your charm work on a three-year-old boy.’

  ‘If I don’t, it won’t be for want of trying.’

  They walked on in silence for a while, then May said, ‘What’s it like being at the war?’

  ‘Hot,’ he replied.

  ‘I know that, but is it terrible, the fighting I mean?’

  ‘We manage,’ he said, and moved on swiftly. He didn’t want to think abo
ut the fierce, inescapable sandstorm that had howled around them for days in the desert and penetrated the nose, mouth, eyes and ears of men on both sides in the battle against the Italians for Tobruk. He didn’t want to remember the noise of the guns or the deafening explosions or the dead soldiers on the barbed wire and strewn around on the ground. ‘So what’s been happening around here, apart from the air raids and the rationing and people getting killed long before their time?’

  She realised that he was telling her he wasn’t going to talk about his life as a soldier and would rather she didn’t ask, so she brought him up to date with local news.

  As they approached the Bailey home, Joe let go of May’s hand and tore towards the house. ‘Gran!’ he shrieked, banging on the door with his fists because he couldn’t reach the knocker. ‘There’s a soldier out here. Come quick.’

  May couldn’t help but laugh, and fortunately George saw the funny side too.

  ‘You’d better start working your charm on him right away, I think,’ she advised.

  ‘It does look that way,’ he agreed.

  George had been watching May and Joe in the playground for a while before he’d made his presence known; just feasting his eyes on the pleasurable sight of a young woman and a small boy totally engrossed in each other, comfortable and happy together, all the more poignant as the boy had just lost his mother. Thank God for May, who seemed to get the balance of fun and authority just right. She played with him, but the boy knew he could only go so far. You could see the bond between them and it touched his heart. Seeing May coming down the slide with her blond hair flying had made him smile and swept away the years to those golden carefree days now gone for ever.

  After the things he’d seen this last year or so, he knew there was no going back to more innocent times. The world had changed. Even here at home the evidence of brutality was all around in shattered buildings and bomb craters. But one thing that shone through the violence and hatred of war was human spirit. He’d experienced it first hand in his comrades in battle and he could see it here at home. People carried on against all the odds.