by Mary Wood
It did her heart good to see that Jay and Eloise’s love and compassion shone also from their girls. They had turned out well. Looking at Andria, she thought of how Eloise had been torn between calling her after dear Andrina – her late sister, whom she still missed so much – and Ada, whom she had come to love. They hadn’t wanted to use Andrina’s name in its entirety as it was too painful. Nor could they call her Ada. So they had come up with a compromise. It was funny that ‘Ada’ wasn’t an acceptable name for the child of an aristocratic family, and yet it had been the name of someone who was more deserving of being elevated in life than any of them were. Oh, Ada, how I miss you.
On Eloise’s right sat her parents, Edith’s dear uncle and aunt; and then Marianne, still very lively and a rock upon whom everyone could lean.
Behind them was Christian’s devoted nurse. There was no one better to represent her late brother than this lovely woman. Of all the deaths the family had suffered, Christian’s had been the least painful. It had come as a relief when a sudden stroke took him from the agony of what was really a non-existence and, she hoped, towards a blessed happiness in heaven. Yes, she missed him, but time had tempered the grief, as missing Christian had begun years ago when the whole of him hadn’t come back from what she and Douglas always called their war.
And there, at the back of the church, sat others – dear friends who’d served with her in the First World War, and who’d done their bit in this second generation’s war: Connie, matron of a military hospital in Kent; Nancy, who’d worked in the munitions factory close to her, and who was now happily married and a grandmother; and Jennifer and Mark, who had spent the war years working in the same hospital as Connie, but who were now setting up a general practice in a small village. Proud parents, they had remained relatively unscathed by the war. Though was that possible? No – no one remained free from the pain of it. No one.
Surely this would be the end of war for them all. Truly the end? They had lived their youth and middle years under a cloud of terror and grief. Enough was enough. Would the peace they’d won now really mean peace forever? Oh God, she hoped so.
The hand in hers tightened, bringing her back to Elka’s words: ‘My wish for my sister is that she is safe and happy in the arms of her beloved Baruch. He was one of the bravest men I ever knew, who died in the Warsaw Uprising two years ago . . .’
Edith’s conscience pricked her at this. Did she wish that? Could she forgive this man? Hadn’t Baruch been the channel for her darling daughter’s suffering? But then Ania had loved him. And, as she herself had done with Albert, Ania had gone to the farthest point that her man had asked her to travel.
Asking so much of the women they loved was in the nature of men driven by the circumstances of their time – time spent in a war-torn world, where different decisions were needed. Yes, Edith concluded, she would, eventually, try to forgive Baruch.
The eulogy came to a close. One day she would read it through and take in all the parts she had blocked out.
A strong hand grasped her waist. She turned to see Jhona, who had stood behind them throughout, ready to help them if they needed it. But they had faced the ordeal of the memorial service with courage – a courage that now shone through the glistening tears in her darling Elka’s eyes, as she turned towards Edith. ‘I am here, Mama, and as I promised you once before, I will be your Elka and your Ania.’
Pride filled Edith and a peace came into her. ‘You are, my darling, you are.’
War bound people through courage. That courage, she knew, would bind her and Elka, and all of those gathered around her today, as they rebuilt their lives. She must be a source of strength in the centre of those lives. Ada would want that of her.
Elka took the hand Jhona offered her. His eyes showed concern as they looked deep into hers. Still emotionally and physically drained, she held on to the comfort she found in his touch. Theirs had been a long, harrowing war, with most of it spent apart as they had undertaken missions to Poland and France. They had come through alive, but scathed.
In the year since their last mission they had allowed each other time to recover. To talk. To cleanse. And then to rekindle the passion they had found in the early days before their marriage and just afterwards, and which they had rarely revisited when they had come together for a few days between assignments. Now she had the best news of all to tell him. She was expecting a child.
Their child – their future. She hoped this would finally lay to rest Jhona’s ghosts and allow him to embrace whatever was to come, knowing that he was doing all that was asked of him. Although he didn’t need to recompense for the lives for which he felt responsible – Ephraim, Rafal and the men hanged in reprisal for his escape – she hoped he would at last realize that he had done so, in the part he’d played in bringing about world peace. The dangerous missions he’d accomplished, and the times he’d put his own life on the line, had done that. It was time for Jhona to come to terms with what had happened and shed the guilt of blame.
Squeezing his hand, Elka gave him an ‘I’m all right’ smile. His answering one, she could see, came from his heart. Feeling joy surge through her, she turned to see that her mother was already seated and was beckoning them to their places next to her.
Together they walked towards Edith. As they did so, Brendan began to clap. Within seconds the whole congregation had joined in. Brendan stood and his applause became more fervent, whilst others took up his lead. It was as if Britain was saying ‘Thank you’ to Elka and Jhona – two Polish people who had taken up the challenge and done all they could for both countries.
Tears filled Elka’s eyes. They were a mixture of pride at this humble recognition, joy for the secret she held of the new life inside her, and sadness that her own country wasn’t really free. The communist regime had taken over Poland.
She didn’t know whether she would ever go back there. For now, and for the foreseeable future, Britain would be their home. Once their child was born, they would keep their promise to visit America to see their family there. Thank God they had got out and hadn’t suffered the fate of the six million Jews of Europe who had perished in the Holocaust or had their lives torn apart.
As the applause died down, the couple took their seats. Her mother clasped Elka’s hand in her own. Looking into the beloved face of the woman who had given so much of herself in the First World War, Elka felt proud that she and Ania had followed in their mother’s footsteps and had done their duty in the second one.
Acknowledgements
For a writer to create a novel, many things have to come into play. Long hours spent in solitude, supported by family, friends and readers, is one, and I am blessed in having the most amazing family. My beloved husband, Roy, my children, Christine, Julie, Rachel and James, their husbands and partners, my grandchildren and great grandchildren, sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews, and cousins. And my wonderful ‘in-law’ family, the Woods of Sharnford. And friends, and readers who have become friends (too numerous to mention), but all valued. Thank you, I love you all. Without you, I couldn’t climb my mountain.
A special mention here to my daughter, Christine Martin, and son, James Wood, for the many editions they painstakingly read and advise me on. How you do it, I do not know, but I couldn’t get to the end of the journey without you. Thank you. And to my nephew, Chris Olley, for advice and guidance on historical matters and German phrases. Thank you, you make my journey easier.
Next there is the team who work at my publishers, the award-winning Pan Macmillan, whom I am proud to be associated with and thank very much for the opportunity you have given me, and the people you have put in place to take care of me: my brilliant editors, Louise Buckley and Victoria Hughes-Williams, and Laura Carr and her team. When you work your magic, you all bring clarity and something special to my raw manuscripts. Thank you, I wish every author had you all behind them. No team is complete without a publicist, and mine is Kate Green. Kate, I appreciate everything you do for me. Thank you. All of
you work so hard on my behalf. Your support and encouragement means the world to me.
And not least, my agent, Judith Murdoch. Judith has a reputation for standing like a rock beside her authors, and she has done this for me. Picking me up when I am faltering, and there in my corner at all times. Thank you, Judith, onwards and upwards as you always say.
Research and Inspiration
A thank-you to, and in remembrance of, the woman who inspired this book: Christine Granville. Christine skied over the Tatra mountains, no matter how cold it was, to take messages of hope and encouragement from our government to the Polish people, and then went on to carry out many more dangerous missions to further the Allies’ cause in the Second World War, before being cruelly murdered by a thwarted love. I honour you, Christine, and thank you. May you rest in peace.
I would also like to thank the lovely guides I had in Krakow, Poland. You all went the extra mile to help me experience the many places that are soaked in the blood of the horrific Holocaust, and the suffering of the Polish people. My experience at Auschwitz brought me to my knees. The beauty of Zakopane in the Tatra mountains took my breath away. And the poignancy of the chairs standing in the square that was once the Jewish Ghetto made me cry.
Reading Matter
Piotr M. A. Cywinski, Jacek Lachendro and Piotr Setkiewicz, Auschwitz A–Z
Anna Pioro, Magistar Tadeusz Pankiewcz: A Biography
Tadeusz Pankiewcz, The Krakow Ghetto Pharmacy
In Their Mother’s Footsteps
Born one of fifteen children to a middle-class mother and an East End barrow boy, Mary Wood’s childhood was full of love but beset by poverty. Her formative years in a large family shaped her outlook on life, and Mary developed a natural empathy with those less fortunate and a lifelong fascination in social history. In 1989 Mary was inspired to pen her first novel and she is now a full-time novelist. In Their Mother’s Footsteps is Mary’s eighth novel.
Mary welcomes interaction with readers and invites you to subscribe to her website where you can contact her, receive regular newsletters and follow links to meet her on Facebook and Twitter: www.authormarywood.com
BY MARY WOOD
The Breckton series
To Catch a Dream
An Unbreakable Bond
Tomorrow Brings Sorrow
Time Passes Time
Proud of You
All I Have to Give
In Their Mother’s Footsteps
The Cotton Mill saga
Judge Me Not
First published 2016 by Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2016 by Pan Books
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ISBN 978-1-5098-1117-5
Copyright © Gaskin Hinckley Ltd 2016
The right of Mary Wood to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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