by Mary Wood
‘But where to? How would we begin to find our real family?’
‘I – I have an address, Elka, my dear. It is that of a woman in France whom your mother loved very much: an aunt of Edith’s cousin, called Marianne.’
‘Edith? Our mother’s name is Edith? And all of this happened in France?’
‘Yes, Ania. Your mother was a doctor. She was working in the Somme area in the midst of the fighting, and your father forced her to leave with him. There were strong feelings between them. He was deserting – he’d done something very bad, though I don’t know what. He kidnapped Edith, but he was mentally disturbed as a result of everything he had been through in the trenches, and ended up shooting himself. Your grandfather found Edith in a deserted farm about a mile from the farmstead we were running at the time. The poor girl was desperately ill. He brought her back to me and we took care of her, day and night, and nursed her through pneumonia. When eventually she was strong enough to re-join her unit and get in touch with her family, she discovered she was pregnant. She dared not contact anyone else, for fear of the repercussions – not just of her family abandoning her, but of being prevented from practising medicine ever again.’
‘Poor Edith.’
‘Ania, Edith is our mother – not some woman to whom this tragic tale happened. Our mother. And a very brave woman, whose heart must have broken to lose us.’
‘Yes, I know. I just find it difficult to think of her like that. But, Elka, you are just like her. That is the reason you have an inclination to be a doctor! So what about me – how do I take after her?’
‘You both look very like her, except that she had dark hair and was smallish, but your eyes and your features are hers. Your hair and your height, I think, must have been your father’s, but I don’t know for sure. My dear Aleksi would not talk about what your father’s body looked like. You, Ania, have many of Edith’s caring ways and even some of her mannerisms, which is strange, as you have never known her. And you, Elka, have her strength of character, as well as wanting to heal the sick, as she did.’ Babcia sat up straight once more and faced them both. ‘Now that you know your true roots, I hope you’re convinced that you both have to leave Poland.’
Elka felt a disgust that was akin to loathing and couldn’t keep the emotion from her voice. ‘How did you get the address of this woman in France? Did our mother give it to you? Were you meant to contact her through this woman?’
‘Yes, but I never did. I – I wanted to save you, I—’
‘Save us! You stole us from the mother who loved us!’
‘And now you have done so again: you have stolen from us the woman we thought was our mama. All the years of our loving her and thinking of her as our mama, we were living a lie! Oh, I can’t bear it. I want Mama back.’
Hearing the anguish in Ania’s voice compelled Elka to go to her side. Holding her sister, she said gently, ‘Don’t – don’t torture yourself. Oh, Ania, don’t cry . . .’
‘But I don’t know who is lying in Mama’s grave now. I don’t know what to call her. I – I thought she was our mama, but she wasn’t. What about our cousins who are not our cousins? And Babcia? She is not our grandmother. And Dziadek Gos and Babcia Miriam aren’t our grandparents, either . . . Oh, Elka, how are we to bear it?’
‘I don’t know, but we will, darling. Together, we will.’ Elka turned to look at Petra. ‘Do Dziadek Gos and Babcia Miriam know about us?’
‘They do, Elka, but – like your mama – they thought Edith had died giving birth to you. They were happy for their son and welcomed you. But after your papa – their son – died, they lost interest. But I have loved you from birth and have looked upon you as my grandchildren ever since. And I love you as a babcia should, and I always will. I’m sorry.’
As Petra’s body crumbled, Ania left Elka’s arms and ran to her. Drawing Petra to her, she hugged her, but Elka could only sink back onto the sofa behind her sister and stare at them both. A coldness had entered her heart. This woman, whom she had loved and trusted, had betrayed them. She wasn’t the loving grandmother she had portrayed herself to be. Elka didn’t believe Petra had thought she was protecting them. Their real mother had loved them, she was sure of it, and she was rich; she would have been able to find a way of keeping them and taking care of them, without this ‘society’ that Babcia talked of ever knowing.
Confusion consumed Elka, but now she knew that Petra wasn’t their grandmother, she would not give her the title of Babcia any longer. She had made them live a lie; had lied to their mama, who wasn’t their mama any longer. If Petra loved them, how could she have done this to them all? Dearest Mama, you were deceived, too. You thought our mother and father were both dead and that we would be rejected by our real family. Oh, Mama, Mama, how I wish you were here now . . .
Once more, tears poured from her. Clinging onto the back of the sofa, Elka allowed the racking sobs to take hold of her – somehow they helped to release her pent-up confusion and anger that had risen in her and made her want to slap this woman, who had caused such pain.
‘Come, Elka, come here. Please forgive me.’
Petra was back in her chair, one hand holding Ania’s, the other stretched out towards Elka. Her expression betrayed her heartache. But Elka could not go to her, or forgive her. Taking her eyes from Petra – the woman she now hated – Elka looked up at Ania. It seemed as if her darling sister had shrunk, as her trembling body bent in a way that made it look too heavy for her to hold straight. Her mouth was slack and her eyes looked empty of all life. Ignoring Petra, Elka cried, ‘Ania, Ania, it’s going to be all right.’
With the new-found strength that the situation gave her, Elka managed to get to Ania before she fainted. She helped her sister to the sofa. Taking no notice of Petra’s pleas, she rang the bell cord next to the fireplace to summon their maid to call for the doctor.
When the doctor had left, and with Ania now sleeping the slumber of the drugged, Elka sat by her bed and thought everything through. Logic would not confirm the scenario that Petra wanted them to believe. The only redeeming part of Petra’s abhorrent act was her real motive – her deep sorrow at the knowledge that her daughter hadn’t been able to have children. Petra hadn’t been able to bear this, for their mama . . . Mama? Yes, Elka wouldn’t question the status of the woman they had just buried. She had truly been – and would always be – their mama. She had done nothing wrong. Neither had Edith, their real mother. All the blame lay with Petra.
A feeling of shock pulsed through Elka as the hatred that had consumed her earlier intensified. She would never forgive Petra – never!
She and Ania would leave for France. They would find this Marianne and, through her, find their mother. But what about Jhona? The implications of this thought suddenly registered with her. Those she had thought of as family were no longer so. Jhona and I aren’t cousins! Our love isn’t forbidden. Oh, Jhona, my love.
A small part of her felt joy at this revelation, though she wondered if their path towards being together might still be strewn with difficulties. Dziadek Gos had refused to attend their house yesterday after the funeral. Now, as she remembered his words, with the new knowledge that she had of her status, it seemed that he meant to cut all ties with them: ‘I see no reason for us to return to your home with you, Petra. Your daughter – our daughter-in-law – is now laid to rest. I think that should be an end to it.’
Suddenly, clarity concerning the real reason Petra had told them the truth came to Elka. Petra had known that the time had come when she had to tell the truth, or Gos would do so. Or at least the truth as he knew it: that she and Ania were not part of his family.
How little he knew. Now that her own and Jhona’s love for each other was no longer illegal, Gos would never be rid of her! Nor she of him. But this last thought did not deter her. Checking that Ania was peaceful, she decided to go and find Jhona as soon as she could.
This decision made her clutch at her heart. Something good would come from all of this. No,
not just good – something wonderful. Her life to date had been turned into a sham, on hearing the truth of her birth, but now she realized that she’d been given a gift so great that even her fears for the future faded, in light of the wonder at being able to declare her true love. And she knew that love was returned. Jhona’s love for her showed in his every look, and yesterday in the way he had held her. Every cloud has a silver lining, they say. Hers had a lining of future happiness. But even as she thought this, she wondered how true it was. There was still the turmoil caused by the invasion of Poland’s neighbouring countries, and the terrible threat hanging over her people and her beloved country.
Pulling herself up straight, Elka decided that – no matter what – she, Ania, Jhona and Isaac would escape. They had to.
3
Ada
London, July 1939 – Full Circle
Ada swallowed hard as she looked over at Brendan. He’d emerged from the door leading to the stairs, with his head bent forward to lower his height, looking immaculate in his army uniform.
‘Eeh, lad, it’s like me life’s come full circle. I can’t believe we’re facing war all over again. I couldn’t bear it, if owt happened to you.’ ‘I’ll be fine. It won’t be like last time, Aunty Ada. Don’t worry. All this talk of, and preparations for, another war must be opening the wounds of your loss again, but this time soldiers will be much safer. They will have proper training and equipment, and there won’t be trench warfare on the scale there was back then. Anyway, there’s nothing certain about there even being a war. So stop worrying, eh?’
‘I knaw, but I feel it in me bones that there will be. That Hitler fellow is causing so much unrest, it can only end in war.’
‘Ha, those bones of yours are blamed for a lot these days: you not being so quick on your feet; the aches and pains you suffer; and now they’ll be blamed if war breaks out.’
She laughed with him, loving his sense of humour, as always. She knew Brendan got that from Paddy, along with his handsome good looks, dark curly hair and deep-blue, twinkly eyes. But those were all he’d inherited from his da, for in nature Paddy could be likened to a hair shirt, whilst Brendan was more of a silk one: kind and caring, intelligent and hard-working – everything his da hadn’t been.
After all these years, the affair of her late first husband, Paddy, and her sister Beryl still hurt, in a small place of her heart. Brushing the thought away, she asked, ‘But why you, lad? I know they’re only making preparations, but you work in the War Office – you should be exempt.’
‘Very few are exempt, Aunt Ada. We’ll all have a part to play. War Office personnel will have to be as ready as the next man. I expect women will do our jobs, if we have to go and fight, just like they did last time.’
‘Aye, well, at least it’s officer training you’re going on. You should be safer as an officer. Eeh, lad, me and Joe are reet proud of you. You getting on so well, with a high-up position as an interpreter. It’s a real feather in your cap. Eeh, life should be grand, but now it’s shrouded in this cloud of uncertainty.’
‘I’ve been lucky that I had you and Joe, and Aunt Edith and Laurent, and Lady Eloise. It is all of your efforts on my behalf that you should be proud of.’
‘We’ve both been lucky to have them in our lives. And don’t forget Aunt Rene and Aunt Annie. I had me troubles, but them troubles brought these wonderful people to me.’
‘Where is Aunt Annie?’
She’s resting. She’ll be up and about soon. And Joe will be in shortly, an’ all.’
‘And what are you doing home so early?’
‘I got an afternoon off, as I wasn’t needed after surgery.’
‘Good, you could do with a rest, but you foiled me. I wasn’t expecting you to be in. I was just coming down to look in the mirror, as you get a better view in this one. I didn’t mean you to find out like this. Seeing me in uniform must be a shock to you.’
‘Aye, it is.’
They both fell silent. Ada’s memories nudged her, making her heart thud against her ribs, but she wouldn’t let them take hold of her.
‘I had a letter from Rene. It’s funny she ain’t never married. She was a nurse when I met her, and still is one – well, a matron, but that’s the same thing. Eeh, it were a good day and a bad day when I met her. She was the one who introduced me to Lady Eloise. It was—’
‘When you were injured in the explosion of Low Moor Munitions Factory.’
‘Eeh, sorry, lad – I’ve told you that story afore.’
‘Many times, Aunt Ada. You’re getting old. Ouch! That hurt.’
Ada had playfully thrown an apple from the fruit bowl, thinking Brendan would dodge it, but it hit his arm. ‘By, I’m sorry, lad, but you should mind your cheek!’
As he turned to admire himself in the mirror, Ada rubbed her ribs on her left side. She’d long since come to know that emotional pain could hurt in a physical way. And now seeing her nephew excited and looking forward to ‘doing his bit’ caused her fresh hurt, as her fears for him churned up painful memories from the past that constantly ate away at her. But then, Brendan wasn’t a stranger to emotional pain himself.
He’d suffered it in bucketloads, despite being surrounded by love. She looked around the cosy kitchen. It didn’t look much different from when Annie had first brought her here to live with her. A fresh coat of paint every few years and new tablecloths and antimacassars – matching the colours of the pretty curtains, which had stood the test of time – couldn’t change the heart of a place that beat with love and a warm welcome.
Annie, onetime maid of Rene, who had nursed Ada after she’d been injured in a devastating explosion at Low Moor Munitions Factory, had brought Ada down to London to live with her – ‘Just till you’re settled, luv,’ she’d said in her cockney accent.
That was after it came to light that her son Jimmy had been shot for cowardice. Ada had known she needed to get away from the pointing fingers of the lasses of Low Moor, especially from those who had lost their sons fighting. They’d have forgotten that she’d already lost two older lads in the first battle of Flanders in ’14, and would have wanted to hold her to account.
Ada shut the oven door on the pie that she’d peeped at, satisfied the crust was browning nicely. She’d have to wake Annie from her slumber, to give her time to rouse herself sufficiently to get ready for dinner. Ten years older than Ada, and riddled with arthritis, Annie needed help; and it felt good to give something back to her by taking care of her.
Her thoughts turned to her sister, Beryl. She had been the one to cause Brendan so much upset. He’d had to contend with having his mother in and out of mental institutions; trying to live with her, when she was allowed out, and then coming back to Ada when Beryl was sectioned again. But Brendan had shown his strength of character by never giving up on Beryl, visiting her whenever he could, and even more so when she’d been moved to Bethlem Royal Hospital in Bromley, which was close to them.
Brendan had coped better when he’d reached an age when he could understand – especially as Beryl had gradually taken to him, after her initial rejection of her son. She’d even come to love him, which was easy for Ada to do, but something Ada never thought would happen, where her sister was concerned.
The same couldn’t be said for the feelings Beryl harboured towards her sister, for Ada knew they still held bitterness and blame. That was something Ada could do nothing about. Her own conscience was clear. Beryl’s affair with her Paddy had caused her downfall. Aye, and a whole lot more, if the truth be told.
‘That was a deep sigh, Aunt Ada. You’re not afraid for me, are you? I’ll be fine.’
‘Aye, I’ve heard that enough times, lad. But this time I’m sure it’s reet.’ The words were easily said, but belied her true fears. ‘Anyway, I don’t think as you’re telling me everything. I can understand them taking you from your job, if they were short of men, but they’re not. Aye, they have to get ready in case, but your job’s important and there’s thousand
s of others that can go and become militiamen. That’s what they’re calling those conscripted, ain’t it?’
As he nodded, Brendan’s face took on a look of confusion, sparking a worry that made Ada’s stomach churn.
‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean I will be deployed. All War Office staff will be attached to the military. Look, Aunt Ada, you’ve been through one war – you know you shouldn’t ask questions.’
Aye, she knew it alreet, but him saying that must mean that he was doing something secret. Oh God, how am I to go through it all again? And why . . . why is so much asked of me?
‘It’ll be alright, Aunt Ada, I promise. Now what’s for tea? It smells good.’
‘Steak-and-kidney pudding – Joe’s favourite.’
‘Oh, so it’s not mine then? You didn’t cook it for the best man in your life then?’
Laughing at him, Ada hit him playfully with the oven cloth, which she had been twisting around in her hands, and told him to go and get changed.
A cough made them both quieten and turn in the direction from which it came. Joe stood in the doorway of the back door. Behind him stood a young lady who looked familiar.
‘You’ll never guess who this is, our Ada. Come on in, lass, and let me introduce you. This is Ada, who you’ve come looking for, and this is . . . By, lad, what’re you doing dressed like that?’
Surprised and inquisitive about the young lass Joe had with him, Ada stepped in. ‘There’s nowt for you to worry over, Joe. I’ll tell you all about it later. Lass here looks familiar, and I’ve a mind she’s linked to our past, but I can’t think how. So come on, get on with your introductions.’
‘Me name’s Ginny, Missus. Me mam were Betsy Smithward, and me dad were Harold Smithward.’
‘Eeh, Betsy’s lass. But you said “were”? Has owt happened to them, love?’
‘Aye, they’ve both passed on. Me mam died of cancer, and me dad took his own life. He couldn’t live without her. He was having to cope with a lot from his injuries during the war, and he’d gone downhill more and more as the years passed. Mam devoted herself to him.’