Janet Woods

by I'll Get By

  ‘I’ll swap your aching feet for my rump,’ Leo said. ‘I had a couple of heavy landings today. All I want to do is lie on the settee in front of the fire and listen to some nice soothing music. That’s all the dancing I’m doing.’

  ‘I’ll do your hair for you after dinner, Meggie Moo,’ Esmé said. ‘Dinner smells nice. You must have got home early.’

  ‘It was a quiet day. You look tired, Es.’

  ‘I’ll be all right as soon as I’ve had a cup of tea. After dinner I’m going to rest and allow Leo to give me a foot massage.’

  Leo grinned at that. ‘My pleasure, madam.’

  Meggie wore a blue satin blouse borrowed from her aunt, with a pleated navy skirt. She pinned the brooch Rennie had given her to the shoulder. Her hair fell in soft curls after Esmé had used the heated tongs on it.

  Rennie arrived on time. He helped her into her overcoat, saying, ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to walk, unless we can find a cab. It’s not far, about half an hour.’

  The services club was packed, but Pamela and her companions had got there early and had a table. The merriment was in full swing with the band playing the latest tune and everyone dancing. Pamela’s escort was a man of about forty, a bank manager. They bickered with each other a lot, which was a bit uncomfortable for the rest of them, but they were otherwise friendly.

  It was nearing eleven when the sirens began to sound a warning. There was a scramble to get into their coats and hurry to the nearest air raid shelter. Some went down to the cellars, while others hurried on to the street, heading for the nearest underground station, where a warden blew his whistle and shepherded the crowds inside with some urgency. Pamela and her escort had gone in the opposite direction after bidding them a hasty goodnight.

  The first crump of the bombs exploding in the distance, the throbbing of the bombers and the searchlights piercing the night sky with their beams was heart-stopping. They went down into the station. It was crowded with families, children asleep, head to toe, guarded by parents who, rightly of wrongly, couldn’t bear to be parted from their offspring in the early push for evacuation.

  They found a clear space in a shadowy corner, where Rennie folded his greatcoat. They sat on it, their arms around each other while they waited it out. Further along the platform a man was playing ‘I’ll get by’, on a harmonica.

  Rennie sang the words softly against her ear. He had a pleasant voice and sang in tune.

  ‘I didn’t know you could sing,’ she said when he finished.

  ‘Neither did I.’

  She jumped, burying her face in his chest when there was an extra loud, but muffled explosion. Dust drifted down on them and the lights flickered off, and then came on again. What if they took a direct hit and were buried down here, slowly suffocating as they ran out of air? She began to feel claustrophobic. ‘Let’s get out of here, Rennie.’

  ‘Not until it’s over. You’re scared, aren’t you?’

  ‘A little bit . . . no, quite a lot. I keep thinking—’

  His finger covered her lips. ‘Don’t keep thinking anything.’

  A few feet away from them a baby began to cry, and its mother hushed it with a soft lullaby.

  Meggie felt comforted by Rennie’s arms while the world crashed around them. ‘Aren’t you scared?’

  ‘Not for myself.’

  ‘You’re going overseas soon, aren’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll be back . . . and don’t forget, you’re going to dazzle me.’

  She chuckled through her tears. ‘I won’t forget.’

  ‘I’m counting on it.’ He kissed her mouth, a tender sort of kiss that gave more than it took and left a memory printed on her mouth. He glanced at his watch afterwards. ‘I can hear the all clear. I’d better get you home, your uncle and aunt will be worried sick about you.’

  There was a fiery glow to the sky on the other side of the river. ‘It looks as if the docklands copped most of it, poor sods,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you for tonight, Rennie.’

  They didn’t need the torch, for the moon was full, providing illumination for the bombers, even while it lit the streets and gave them a safe journey home. There were tiles blown off roofs and broken glass everywhere. Rennie stopped to help a man board up a broken shop window.

  Leo must have been keeping a look out for her, because he called softly from the bedroom window when they reached the house. ‘I’ll let you in, love. Es is asleep and I want her to stay that way till morning. She’s a bit under the weather.’

  He came down fully dressed. ‘I’ve been called out. There are civilian casualties, too many to handle. They’re sending transport and it should arrive any minute. We can give you a lift most of the way home, Rennie, that’s if we can avoid the rubble. I imagine we’re going in the same direction.’

  ‘I’d appreciate it. I’ve been danced off my feet tonight.’ He kissed her hand and whispered. ‘Until next time then, Margaret.’

  No sooner had he finished speaking when there came the sound of a motorbike. The two men arranged themselves around the driver, Leo folding himself into the sidecar. They putted off into the night.

  Taking off her shoes, Meggie tiptoed up the stairs by the light of the torch, trying to avoid the creaks.

  ‘I’m awake, Meggie,’ her aunt called.

  ‘I’m sorry if I woke you. Leo said you were unwell and he wants you to sleep.’

  ‘It’s nothing, I’m tired that’s all. I’ll be all right in the morning. Your mother rang earlier. I told Livia you’d give her a ring tomorrow. Don’t forget.’

  There was an edge of excitement in her aunt’s voice and Meggie smiled. ‘There must be a reason why you’re tired. Come on, out with it.’

  ‘I haven’t told Leo yet, because I’m not sure myself yet, and the last time this happened it came to nothing. My period is overdue, and I think, and hope, that I might be pregnant. I’ll see my doctor if needed next month. And I’ll tell Leo when I’m sure.’

  ‘Isn’t there a test?’

  ‘Yes . . . the Hogben test, where they inject urine into the back glands of a frog. If it ovulates it means that you’re positive. I don’t see the point. There are other signs beside a missed period, morning sickness to start with. You won’t tell anyone will you? Not even your mother. I want to be the first to tell Leo when I’m sure.’

  ‘I’ll keep quiet about it. I’ll also keep my fingers crossed.’

  ‘It’s cold out there. Get in bed with me so we can talk. Leo won’t be back until morning and you can tell me all about your evening.’

  They didn’t talk for long before her aunt felt sleepy. Yawning, Meggie turned on her side. She couldn’t be bothered to go to her own bed, and there was only three hours of darkness left.

  ‘The doctor has prescribed an iron tonic. I used to like it when I was a kid. I had chronic bronchitis and was iron deficient from poor nutrition in the orphanage. I’ll be all right in a couple of days when this starts to take effect. I have the day off today, thank goodness.’

  ‘Leo is worried about you. I’m surprised he hasn’t put two and two together.’

  ‘He’s been disappointed in the past too, so he probably doesn’t want to think along those lines at the moment. He’s working round the clock, poor love. Besides I’ve seen my doctor and there’s no need for him to worry.

  ‘Then you can stay in bed and rest. I’ll wait on you hand and foot. Now, go to sleep.’

  Esmé did.

  Several months into 1940, an official-looking letter arrived for Meggie telling her to report for another interview for the WRNS if she was still interested.

  She arrived at a heavily sandbagged building, wearing her work suit of sober grey with a pretty blue blouse, to be directed by the doorman to an office. There, she was seated in an armchair in a small sitting room. She stood when two officers came in to occupy chairs on the other side of a small table. One of them she recognized from the last board.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am . . . and
ma’am,’ she said.

  She sat when indicated and the older of the two women engaged her eyes. ‘Miss Elliot, we have asked you to return for an interview, to ascertain if you’re still of the mind to become one of us. The fact that you’re here suggests you are.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Your examination results were exemplary and the medical report tells us you’re quite healthy.’ The woman moved the paper around with a fingertip, topped by sensible short, squared-off nails. ‘It was thought at the last interview that, at that time, you were a little too young in your ways to take on the responsibility that comes with being a Wren. As well as being underage, and lying about it to the board, your mother was not forthcoming with her permission, when contacted. Mrs Elliot felt, as did we at the time, that we should wait until you’d matured, both in years and attitude. Do you have anything to say to that?’

  Her mother hadn’t told her that she’d been approached for her permission, and had refused it. She supposed it was no more than she deserved, since she hadn’t told her about her application to join up in the first place.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I apologize for lying about my age. It was a spur of the moment decision, made on the spot when I realized I wasn’t quite old enough. I knew my mother wouldn’t give her permission.’

  ‘I see. As a matter of interest, young lady, would you lie again to get your way? Bear in mind that the Wrens only take the best into their ranks.’

  Meggie slanted her head to one side as she thought about it for a couple of seconds, and then nodded. ‘It would depend on the circumstance. To be honest, I’m sorry I was caught out the first time. But since then I’ve learned not to be quite so impulsive. With hindsight, if I could relive that moment again I’d probably think things through longer, since I’ve learned a lot through my employment. I’m pleased I didn’t miss the opportunity it offered me though. It never hurts to have an extra string to your bow, does it?’

  One of the two officers leaned forward. ‘Now you have me intrigued. What have you been up to in the meantime, Miss Elliot?’

  Meggie had come prepared. ‘I’ve been working in a legal office. My employers have been aware of my plans to join the Wrens from the beginning, and have furnished me with practical experience for which I’m grateful. They’ve also provided me with a reference, signed by all the partners.’ She placed their card on top of the envelope and slid it across the table. ‘I’ve gained valuable experience and insight with their guidance.’

  The reference was read and added to her file.

  ‘Very good, Miss Elliot. You will receive official notification of your acceptance in due course. In the meantime, you may go and get yourself measured up for your uniform. Wear it with pride, and report to the officers’ training unit in Greenwich in four weeks’ time. It’s a two-week course, after which you will be given weekend leave, so you can go and visit your family. Then you will be given your posting.’

  ‘May I ask where that will be, ma’am?’

  ‘We’ll probably move you around a bit so you can gain experience. You’re young to be accepted into the rank of officer, but the best way to gain respect from the ranks is to know what you’re doing.’

  She had not told her mother that she’d finally been accepted into the WRNS, or that she was spending the weekend.

  Bidding a tearful farewell to her lawyers, who’d already found a suitable replacement for her, she left their employ with their best wishes ringing hollowly in her ears, and a vague promise to contact her when they had news of Rennie. She didn’t expect them to call.

  Now she was on her way home to Dorset, courtesy of a free railway warrant. The sky was a wash of silver from a fitful sun, the air smelled like rain and newly ploughed earth, and the fields were brown crumbly furrows waiting to cradle and nurture the seeds. The tiny pods would be turned into grain and vegetables to feed the troops. The logistics of such an exercise was totally baffling, and it made her feel humble, for she’d grown from a tiny fertilized egg herself and was part of the process.

  She passed Foxglove House. A high brick wall had been built, with thick shards of broken glass stuck into the cement capping. Looping along it, coils of barbed wire exposed its shining new surface to the weather. Beyond the wall the grass had been removed, the exposed earth replaced by a spread of black tarmac that curved through the gates and flared out both sides to the edges of the land boundaries. A small hut sheltered a soldier who operated the boom that served as a gate.

  What a boring job, she thought when he saluted her uniform. Her father’s beloved home looked impersonal and official – not like a proper home should look but a determined, standing-to-attention-and-doing-my-bit sort of look. It was hard to believe she’d hidden herself inside its dusty corners and told it her secrets. The house had always seemed to reject her, and it still did.

  The short slab of tarmac was a road that started nowhere and ended nowhere else, whichever direction you came from. At a pinch, it could have served as a runway for a Tiger Moth, except the telephone and electricity cables that looped from one rustic pole to the next, and onward, didn’t allow room for the wings. The tarmac disturbed the village of Eavesham’s previous air of bucolic timelessness, like a thick black line underlining Foxglove House’s sudden elevation to importance.

  When she reached her mother’s house she let herself in without knocking, disturbing her stepfather, who’d obviously been taking a nap in front of the fire while he had the house to himself.

  Denton smiled at her when she handed him a packet of humbugs from Esmé. ‘Aunt Es said you’re to make them last, because they’re becoming hard to get.’

  ‘Your mother is at the church, dusting the pews or doing some other equally useless activity, since all churches have dust. I often wonder if it’s the same dust that was there hundreds of years ago, and it just flies up in the air, then lands again when you’re not looking.’

  She kissed the top of his head. ‘I imagine that’s exactly what happens.’

  ‘Why don’t you surprise Livia? She’ll be glad to see you; she misses you, you know.’

  Meggie found her mother in the graveyard. She was wearing a jacket that had seen better days, and was weeding Richard Sangster’s grave. A beam of sunlight stroked against her hair now and then, revealing a lightening streak of grey at her temples. How old was her mother? About forty-four Meggie thought. She was still slim, still lovely, with barely a line.

  She glanced up at Meggie’s footfall, smiling when she saw the uniform. ‘I’ve been expecting this since you turned eighteen. You look so grown up.’ She held up a hand, laughing, when Meggie sighed and was about to protest. ‘I know . . . I know, you are all grown up. Your father would be proud of you.’

  ‘Are you proud of me, Mother?’

  ‘That’s an odd question. I suppose it’s because I refused to sign your papers last year. I didn’t think you were old enough or responsible enough then. If you had been you would have paid me the courtesy of approaching me first.’

  Meggie hadn’t expected her mother to go straight into the attack, and she knew she’d hurt her. ‘Yes, I know, and you were right. I thought I was clever enough to outwit everyone, but I discovered I couldn’t. I didn’t deliberately set out to hurt you. I just wasn’t old enough to know I had.’

  Her mother looked surprised for a moment, then she grinned. ‘You mean I actually did something right?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so then, had I’d known, but time has changed my perspective on things. You allowed me to stay in London. Why?’

  ‘Esmé said you needed friends and activities to keep you busy. She offered to take responsibility for you if I allowed you to stay. You always got on better with Esmé than you did with me.’

  ‘Now you’re making me feel guilty. Was I much of a brat?’

  ‘At times you were precocious, and I found it hard to cope with you. I didn’t realize then that you were one of those children who were born gifted. Everything came easily to you an
d you became impatient with those of lesser intellect.’ Her mother stood and, placing a hand either side of her face she gently kissed her forehead, as though she was bestowing a blessing on her. ‘Just so you understand, Meggie. I am proud of you. You’ll never know how proud, or how much I love you . . . not until you’ve got children of your own.’

  ‘You’re going to make me cry if you keep that up.’

  ‘I know you think I loved the boys more than I loved you, but it’s not true. They just needed me more. You were so independent and self-contained, and would never let me in.’

  Now Meggie did weep, a pair of tears making a wet track down her cheeks. Even as she controlled it, she wondered why the twin displays of physical emotion had arrived in unison, rather than one measured tear on one side.

  Her mother dabbed them away and filled in the moment with: ‘Did my cake arrive in one piece? I had the feeling it was still a little bit damp in the middle. You know what my cooker’s like. It never gets anything right. One of these days I’ll get a new one installed.’

  Meggie hid her grin. ‘Yes, it arrived in perfect shape, and it was delicious. I thought I told you that on the telephone. But you mustn’t do it again, d’you hear? You need those dried fruits for your own use.’

  ‘Be careful, my dear, won’t you? Where will you be posted?’

  ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to tell you even if I knew. I had to sign the Official Secrets Act. I won’t be at the front with a rifle though, Mummy. Just stuck in some boring office somewhere typing blisters on to the ends of my fingers. And it’s only for the duration of the war. It might be over by next week.’

  ‘Yes . . . I suppose it might.’

  Her glance went to Major Henry Sangster’s neglected grave, situated next to his son’s. Taking off her gloves she picked up her mother’s trowel and began to tease out the weeds. ‘Major Henry did something hush-hush in the last war, didn’t he? Perhaps I take after him.’ Her mother didn’t answer, and when she finished her task, Meggie offered, ‘He was sorry about what happened, you know. Can’t you forgive him just a little after all this time.’1