The Miller's Daughter

by Margaret Dickinson

  They stood in the middle of the yard just looking at each other until Jamie let out a sigh that came from the very depths of his soul.

  ‘Oh, Emma, Emma,’ was all he said.

  Thirty-Three

  ‘What on earth?’ Emma began in surprise as she watched Leonard struggling through the back door with a huge wireless set in his arms.

  He set it on the kitchen table and turned to face her, his eyes shining with excitement. He was breathing rapidly but not only from carrying the heavy piece of equipment from the handcart down the passage and into the house. There was excitement in his voice and his eyes sparkled as he said, ‘Haven’t you heard? The Prime Minister is to speak at a quarter past eleven this morning. This is it, Emma. It’s going to be war again.’ To her amazement, Leonard actually rubbed his hands together.

  ‘And you mean – ’ she spluttered angrily, pointing at the brown box with knobs and dials on the front sitting innocently on the table, ‘you mean, you’ve actually gone and bought a wireless – just to hear the Prime Minister tell us what we already know? Have you taken leave of your senses, Leonard Smith?’

  Leonard grinned cheekily at her. ‘I haven’t bought it exactly.’

  She held up her hands. ‘I don’t want to hear. I don’t want to know.’

  But Leonard was too exhilarated today for her reproaches to upset him. Ignoring Emma’s furious face, he began to play about with wires and cables, muttering to himself. ‘Now let’s see, where does this go?’

  There was a knock at the back door and through the window overlooking their back yard, Emma saw the Porter family en masse, Mary, Alf and Joey, now a tall, broad-shouldered young man, standing there and peering in through the window. Tight-lipped Emma beckoned. ‘Come in. Come in all of you. Why don’t we fetch the whole street in to listen? Make it really worth your while,’ she finished, glaring at Leonard.

  The Porter family trooped into the kitchen and stood around watching Leonard fix up the wireless. Emma folded her arms under her bosom and tapped her foot angrily on the floor.

  ‘Picked it up on the market, Alf,’ Leonard said, ignoring his wife. ‘It’ll be useful to know what’s going on.’

  The big man nodded and said, as briefly as always, ‘On at quarter past eleven, ain’t he?’

  ‘That’s right. Now, let’s see . . .’ Leonard bent towards the wireless and twiddled the knobs. Strange noises interspersed with crackling came from the brown fabric of the speaker as he tried to tune into an interference-free wavelength.

  There was the thumping of feet on the stairs and Billy charged into the room, followed by Charles. ‘Aw, Dad, you’ve got a wireless!’

  ‘Be quiet, then. Let’s listen.’

  ‘It’s just gone eleven. He’ll be on in a few minutes.’

  As they all waited in the room, standing awkwardly, Emma noticed Charles move to stand beside Joey. A young man now, tall and thin, Charles was still quiet and rather reserved, his eyes large in a pale face. He had done so well at school that he had stayed on to take his Higher School Certificate examination and was now waiting to see if he had a place at a university, whereas Joey Porter had left school and was working in a local factory.

  ‘He’s a man now,’ Leonard had stormed. ‘He should be out earning a living, not still a lad in short trousers at school.’

  ‘He’s not in short trousers,’ Emma had retorted. ‘He’s a chance to go to a university, a chance to better himself.’

  ‘Better himself. Huh!’ Leonard had sneered. ‘He’d do better to get a trade.’ There had been a pause, then he had added slyly. ‘What about the milling trade, Emma? After all, he’s destined to become a miller, isn’t he?’

  Emma had glared at him, her lips tight, but she had made no reply.

  Now as they waited in the kitchen for the momentous words to issue from the wireless, Emma was filled with dread. What did the future hold for her quiet, studious son? What, indeed, did the future hold for any of them?

  ‘Well, that’s it then,’ Leonard said, glancing round everyone in the room as the voice died away. He switched off the wireless and turned to look at Alf Porter. ‘You joining up again, Alf?’

  ‘Eh?’ Mary Porter’s voice came, high-pitched with fear, her eyes wide as she stared at her husband. ‘You won’t have to go, Alf, will you? You’re too old, aren’t you?’

  Alf shrugged his huge shoulders. ‘Dunno.’

  Mary looked around at the others standing in the room, her eyes wild. ‘He’s too old and the boys are too young. No, no, they won’t have to go . . .’ There was silence. No one spoke as she added, her voice a terrified squeak. ‘Will they?’

  ‘Well, I wish I was old enough to go,’ Billy said. ‘You’ll be going, Dad, won’t you? You could be an officer if you went back in the army, couldn’t you?’

  Emma watched her husband’s face, saw the calculating look on his features, the excitement in his eyes. Casually he rested his arm about his younger son’s shoulders. ‘Maybe so, son, maybe so.’

  ‘Cor, Dad. I wish I could join up,’ Billy said again, his worshipping gaze on his father. ‘I wish I was as old as our Charles. He can go, can’t he?’

  Before she could stop herself, Emma gasped and looked towards her elder son. She hadn’t realized, hadn’t thought, that Charles at eighteen, might really have to go to war.

  Standing behind them at the back of the room, the colour seemed to drain from Charles’ face. He was silent as Billy said again, ‘I wish I was Charles.’

  Joey Porter, burly like his father, put his arm about his friend’s shoulder. Quietly he said, ‘If we have to go, Charlie, we’ll stick together, eh?’

  Charles said nothing but only nodded.

  ‘They won’t have to go, will they?’

  If she’d said it once in the three weeks since the announcement that Britain was at war with Germany, Mary Porter had uttered the same words a hundred times, Emma thought. Biting back her rising irritation, she said, ‘To be honest, Mary, I think that eventually, yes, they will be called up. At least Joey and Charles. We’d best get used to the idea.’

  ‘But they won’t send them to fight, will they? I mean they’re so young.’

  Emma, standing at the white sink in her scullery, her arms deep in soap suds, leant on her hands, the warm water lapping around her elbows. She was remembering the last time when she had been what? Only fifteen. The picture was in her mind of Jamie Metcalfe, her sweetheart, marching off proudly to war; the war they had all said was to ‘end all wars’ and yet here they were again with another generation of young men having to do it all over again. Fleetingly, she wondered if Jamie would volunteer for this one, but then her mind was dragged back to the present and to the agitated little woman beside her. Poor Mary, Emma thought with sudden compassion. Her family were her whole life as indeed were Emma’s to her. If anything were to happen to any of them . . .

  Emma dried her hands and arms and said firmly, ‘Come on, Mary, let’s have a cup of tea.’

  They were sitting at the table, talking softly and drinking tea, when they heard footsteps in the passageway. They fell silent, staring at each other and listening for which back gate should open. It was the latch on Emma’s that was lifted and heavy boots came into her yard and to the door. Mary rose as the knock sounded. ‘I’d best go, m’duck. You’ve got a visitor. I’ll see you later.’

  As Mary Porter, her eyes wide with fear, went out, the policeman stepped into Emma’s kitchen.

  ‘Mrs Smith?’ the officer asked, removing his helmet. His huge bulk seemed to fill the room.

  Emma swallowed. Billy, she thought, it’s Billy got himself into trouble. Well, she’d been expecting it.

  She sighed as she said, ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Is your husband at home, Mrs Smith?’

  ‘No, he’s gone down to the market.’

  ‘Really?’ The tone of the constable’s voice as he said the one word made Emma stare at him. She watched as his glance went around the room and came
to a stop on the wireless set now sitting on a low shelf in the corner. ‘Can you tell me how your husband – er – came by that there wireless?’

  Emma gave up a silent prayer of thankfulness that she was able to say truthfully. ‘No, I have no idea.’

  Emma felt his glance upon her appraisingly but she returned his look unflinchingly.

  ‘Hmm,’ was all he said and, replacing his helmet, added, ‘Well, I’ll be calling back to see your husband later, Missis. I’ll bid you good-day – for the moment.’

  For some reason, Emma felt that there was a veiled threat in the last three words, but she managed to remain outwardly calm as the officer left the house. She stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen, her heart pounding as she listened to his heavy tread going slowly up the passage again.

  As dusk fell, Emma pulled on her hat and coat and walked to the bottom of the street to stand on the corner where the long road from town ran at right angles to their own. Standing outside the off-licence, she waited, stamping her feet in the cold.

  ‘What you doing here, Mam?’ She heard Billy’s voice out of the darkness and when she beckoned him he detached himself from the other lads, shouting a cheery, ‘See ya,’ to his mates.

  Emma gripped his shoulder and without preamble demanded, ‘Where’s your dad?’

  ‘In a card game in the back room at one of the pubs near the market.’

  ‘Fetch him.’

  ‘Aw, Mam, he’ll kill me if I interrupt his game.’

  ‘Tell him it’s me sent you and tell him it’s urgent. I’ve never yet fetched him out of a game before – and he knows it.’ She nodded grimly. ‘He’ll know it’s urgent.’

  The boy seemed to consider for a moment, then he shrugged his thin shoulders and said, ‘All right, then. What’s it all about anyway?’

  ‘Best you don’t know, young Billy. Just fetch him here.’

  He turned to go and then glanced back as she made no move to go home. ‘You staying here then?’ he asked incredulously.

  ‘Yes. Just you get off and look sharp about it.’

  ‘Right,’ Billy said and began to run, his socks wrinkling around his ankles as his boots pounded along the pavement. In the deepening gloom she heard the echo long after he had disappeared from her sight.

  It was almost an hour later and she was stamping her icy feet and rubbing her deadened fingers before she heard two pairs of footsteps approaching along the street towards her.

  ‘About time,’ she muttered crossly.

  ‘What on earth’s the matter, woman, that I have to be dragged away from a game? And I was winning too.’ His voice reached her out of the darkness before he did.

  ‘You’ll not be winning, m’lad, if you come home tonight. But why I’m bothering to save your thieving hide, I’ll never know.’

  He was close to her now, his eyes on a level, boring into hers. ‘What the hell are you on about?’

  ‘I had a visitor today. A bobby.’

  She heard him pull in a sharp breath. ‘Oh aye,’ he said carefully.

  ‘Asking,’ Emma said with slow deliberation, ‘about your wireless.’

  ‘Aaah.’ She heard him exhale, long and slow, and then he said again, ‘Well now, that puts a different light on it.’

  She felt him grasp her arm and give it a quick squeeze. ‘You’re a good ’un, Emma. Thanks.’ He paused and then he put his face close to hers. ‘Though, I have to admit I’m a bit surprised.’ She heard his low chuckle as he added, ‘I’d have thought you’d have let me swing and stood back laughing.’

  In a low voice she said, ‘No, Leonard. I may not approve of what you do and we have our ups and downs, I know, but you’re still my husband and – and the father of my children.’

  ‘Dad?’ Billy’s voice came out of the darkness and both Emma and Leonard jumped.

  They had forgotten he was there, no doubt listening to every word. ‘Dad, shall I get shut of it for you? I’ve got a mate who . . .’

  ‘No,’ Leonard’s voice was like a pistol-shot, then more quietly and reaching out his hand to touch his son’s shoulder. ‘No, lad, you keep out of it.’ He turned back to Emma. ‘Look, Emma. I’ll have to disappear for a while. They’ll not do anything to you or the boys, though they’ll maybe come and take the wireless.’

  ‘That’ll not bother me,’ Emma said tartly.

  ‘Right then. Pack me a few clothes and my razor and Billy can bring the case to the station.’

  ‘But where—’ she began, but his only answer was to squeeze her arm again and to say quietly in her ear. ‘It’s best you don’t know. But I’ll be back.’

  She felt his lips seek hers, felt his warm mouth on hers and his wiry moustache gently scratching her cheek. And then he was gone, striding away in the darkness.

  ‘Come on, Billy. Let’s get home and pack a case for him before that bobby comes back.’

  Several weeks passed and no word came from Leonard. The police visited again and took the wireless set away, just as Leonard had known they would, but after that, though they questioned her as to his whereabouts they seemed to believe that she did not know where her husband was and left the family in peace.

  ‘Let that be a lesson to you, young Billy,’ Emma said, and though the boy was subdued for a while, she doubted if the salutary lesson would obliterate the years of teaching him to live on the fringes of the law that he had received from his father. For months, even years after, Emma’s nights were broken by nightmares and even in her waking hours she came to dread the sound of heavy footsteps in the passageway and every unexpected knock that came upon her door.

  Thirty-Four

  ‘Mam, I’ve – I’ve got my call-up papers.’

  Charles was standing on the peg rug in front of the fire in the living room, the official document in his hands. Emma had just dressed and come downstairs to start the day. As she opened the door into the kitchen, she knew something was different this morning for normally Charles had left for work by the time she came downstairs.

  She stared at him, her violet eyes suddenly wide. ‘Called up? But – but you can’t be. You’re going to university in October. You got a place. You’ll have to tell them—’

  Charles had left school and had taken temporary work for a year until he could take up the place he had been offered at a university.

  ‘Mam, listen.’ He came and put his arms about her, holding her close with the gentle tenderness that had always been his nature. Quietly, he said. ‘The truth is – I volunteered. Joey and me, we went together to the recruiting office.’

  She pulled back a little, just enough so that she could look at him. Her searching gaze scanned his face and, for a moment, she was seeing not the young man standing there, pale but with a newfound determination, but the little boy clambering over the smashed timbers of the mill, his anxiety for her driving away all fear. Her gentle, reserved, studious Charles was far more courageous than a dozen loudmouthed braggarts, she thought.

  She nodded and a deep sigh escaped her lips. ‘You’re a brave lad, Charles Forrest Smith.’

  He tried to smile but, standing so close, she could see it trembling on his mouth. ‘Am I? I don’t feel very brave.’

  ‘It’s like the night the mill blew down. You were dreadfully afraid then and yet when you thought I was hurt, you forgot your own fear and came climbing across all the wreckage to reach me.’

  He looked into her eyes and frowned slightly. ‘Did I? I don’t remember.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ She was surprised. Because every moment of that dreadful night was etched so sharply on her own memory, she had expected it to be so for everyone else, even for Charles, especially for Charles. But then, she reminded herself, he had been only a little boy, although a very heroic little boy. She had no doubt that her eldest son would act with that same courage in battle. Her only fear was that his very bravery might lead him into even more danger.

  Emma shuddered inwardly, but on her face her smile of encouragement was serene and confid
ent. ‘I was proud of you that night, Charles, and I’m proud of you now.’

  She voiced nothing of her innermost fears, the terror shared by thousands of mothers. At this moment, her son needed her to be brave for him.

  She made a pot of tea and they sat at the table and talked until Billy clattered his way down the stairs to disturb their last few precious moments together.

  When he heard the news, Billy slapped his brother’s back, his eyes gleaming. ‘Cor, our Charlie. You lucky sod!’

  ‘Billy!’ Emma began, although her reprimand was half-hearted. At this moment her mind was filled with her eldest son.

  ‘Emma. Emma! Where are you?’

  ‘I’m here, Mary, upstairs. Wait a bit. I’ll come down.’

  But already Mary was half way up the stairs to meet her. ‘It’s our Joey. He’s volunteered. Him and your Charles. Did you know?’

  ‘Oh, Mary,’ she came down and put her arms about her friend, and together they went down again and into the kitchen.

  ‘Did you know, Emma?’

  Emma shook her head. ‘Not until early this morning. Charles got his papers.’

  Mary’s lip trembled and easy tears filled her eyes. ‘Joey too.’

  ‘Well, you know what they said. They wanted to stick together. Maybe they’ll be able to after all.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Mary said, clinging to any vestige of hope. Her hair, liberally flecked with grey, was flying, wild and uncombed, around her face. ‘Oh, do you really think so?’

  Emma patted her hand. ‘Let’s hope so.’

  But in the event, Charles and Joey were not able to stay together. Joey Porter was drafted into the Navy and Charles into the RAF. The news brought fresh anguish to Mary. ‘The Navy. Oh, I don’t want him in the Navy, but he seems set on the idea.’

  Listening, Billy’s eyes were bright. ‘How old d’you have to be to join the Navy, Mam?’

  ‘What?’ Emma glanced at him absently, her mind still on what Mary was saying. ‘What did you say?’