RITA BRADSHAW
Beneath a Frosty Moon
PAN BOOKS
For Jane, my lovely bestie. Over forty years of friendship filled with joy and sometimes sorrow, fun and laughter and occasional tears, walks with the dogs when we’d put the world to rights and marvel at the beauty in God’s creation, and overall a spiritual oneness that is infinitely precious.
Love you, bestie. Always will.
Contents
Preface
PART ONE
Evacuation, 1940
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
PART TWO
Conflict Within and Without, 1941
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
PART THREE
When Opportunity Comes Knocking, 1943
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
PART FOUR
Hell Has Many Forms, 1944
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
PART FIVE
Births, Marriages and Deaths, 1945
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Beyond the Veil of Tears
The Colours of Love
Snowflakes in the Wind
A Winter Love Song
The People’s Friend
Preface
‘What if he tries to come in here when we’re asleep? We wouldn’t hear him.’
‘Yes, we would. That’s why we’ve moved the chest of drawers in front of the door, isn’t it? We’d know if he tried to sneak in.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘Well, don’t let him see it, all right? That’s what he wants, for people to be frightened of him.’
‘Aren’t you scared?’
There was an infinitesimal pause. Then, as though to make up for it, the second voice was fierce in the darkness: ‘No, I’m not. He’s just a bully, and you know what Da always used to say about bullies. At heart they’re lily-livered cowards and you have to stand up to them.’
‘Da was talking about Linda Fox and her gang at school when he said that.’
‘It doesn’t matter who it is. The principle is the same. Bullies like people to be scared of them and that’s that. You have to pretend you’re not, however you might be feeling inside. It’s the only way. Bullies threaten and carry on but you have to stand up to them. You stood up to Linda and her pals when Da told you and you didn’t have any more trouble, did you?’
There was a longer pause. Then the first voice came small and trembling: ‘I wish I was like you. You’re not scared of anything or anybody.’
‘I don’t know about that, but I do know that we have to stick together and look after the little ones an’ all and everything will be all right. You trust me, don’t you?’
‘Aye, you know I do.’
‘Well then, go to sleep now. Tomorrow’s another day and everything always seems worse at night. We’re together, that’s the main—’
The voice was cut off as footsteps sounded on the floorboards of the landing outside. They lay not daring to breathe for what seemed like minutes but in reality was only seconds. Then the floorboards creaked as the footsteps walked away.
‘There, you see? What did I tell you? You’ve got nothing to worry about.’ But the reassuring whisper shook a little . . .
PART ONE
Evacuation
1940
Chapter One
‘But why, Mam? It’ll be the same as before, I know it will, and we want to stay here with you. Don’t send us away again.’
Nancy Stubbs stared down into the indignant face of her thirteen-year-old daughter. She had been expecting this reaction from Cora when she told the child about the evacuation, and in truth she couldn’t blame her. She sighed heavily.
The year before when everyone’s worst fears had come true and war had been declared, the government had scared people to death with their dire prediction about the Nazis. The Luftwaffe were going to rain death and destruction from the skies; every town and city in Britain would come under attack, and industrial places like Sunderland would be a special target. She, like so many other parents, had believed every word. So Cora and her brother and sisters had been duly dispatched to the safety of the countryside.
And what had happened? Nowt. No bombing. No German planes. No bodies for the thousands upon thousands of cardboard coffins the government had made such a song and dance about requisitioning. Everyone had been left wondering what all the fuss had been about. She’d fetched the bairns home in time for Christmas and normal life had been resumed, or as normal as life could be with Gregory over the water in France.
Telling herself she had to be patient with Cora, Nancy said quietly, ‘It’s not the same as before, lass, and you’re big enough to understand that. The war’s begun proper now, what with Dunkirk and everything.’
‘But it was horrible the last time, Mam. Right from the minute we got off the train and people walked about picking the children they wanted like we were in a cattle market. They wouldn’t let us stay together and I didn’t know where Horace and Anna and Susan had gone—’
‘I know, Cora, I know.’
‘And Horace lost his suitcase because I couldn’t look after him and he didn’t get it back for days. Please, Mam, let us stay here with you.’
‘Don’t you think I want to do that, lass? I missed you even more than you missed me.’
Cora’s truculent expression told her mother what she thought of that.
‘I did, really. But I knew it was for your own good.’
‘But it wasn’t, was it? Nothing happened here. We could have stayed.’
‘That was then and this is now, and like I said, it’s not the same.’ Hitler had shown all too clearly what he was capable of when he’d sent the German air force to bomb Guernica to support Franco two years ago, Nancy thought, a chill flickering down her spine. The terrible outcome for the undefended town had shocked everyone and she’d never forget a word of what she’d read. The reporter had written that the whole town had been systematically pounded to bits and reduced to just charred bodies, flames, smoke and debris. It’d been a calculated act of terror by Hitler, and it hadn’t even been his war, not like this one. What that madman would do now didn’t bear thinking about. Her thoughts making her voice sharper, Nancy said, ‘Don’t argue, Cora. You’re going and that’s that. I’m not having you and the others put in harm’s way when I can do something about it.’
‘I’d rather be in harm’s way than living with Mr and Mrs Riley. They wouldn’t let us stay in the house except to eat meals and sleep, even if it was pouring with rain. Weekends they’d turn me an’ Maria out after breakfast and we’d have to walk the streets. I’m not going back there.’
‘You won’t have to. It’ll be somewhere different.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know, Cora, but that’s enough now. I mean it.’
When her mother spoke in that certain tone Cora knew she meant business. For a moment the temptation to scream and shout and stamp her feet like a bairn in a tantrum was strong, but as the eldest of five siblings she was expected to be sensible and grown-up, besides which she had promised her da she’d help her mam while he was away fightin
g.
The thought of her father melted the hard ball of resentment in her chest. She knew her mam was worried to death about him and so was she. He hadn’t been one of the vast number of men who had been rescued from Dunkirk, and they had no idea if he had been killed or taken prisoner by the Germans. She felt sick just thinking about it.
She put a tentative hand on her mother’s arm. ‘Sorry, Mam,’ she said quietly, her voice subdued. ‘I – I just want us to stay together as a family in our own home.’
‘So do I, lass. So do I. But I have to think about what’s best for you and the others first and foremost and that’s not staying here. Now go and pack your things and then you can help me get the other suitcases ready. You’ve got to be at the school for eight tomorrow and you can’t be late.’
She didn’t want to start packing. It made this too real. Cora bit down on her bottom lip as she glanced towards the kitchen window. Beyond their yard her brother and three sisters were playing in the back lane, oblivious of what was afoot. The four of them had had instructions to stay in the lane and not venture into the streets as they sometimes did, especially her brother who was always disappearing given half a chance. But a few days ago there had been a nasty accident involving one of Cora’s classmates, Godfrey Taylor, a lad who lived in the next street. He’d been playing with some pals when he’d fallen under a tram and had had both legs chopped off above his knees. They had been told at school by a grim-faced teacher that he was in hospital and fighting for his life, and that if he recovered he would be in hospital for a long, long time. Cora had sat next to Godfrey in class and she had always liked him. He was the class clown and made her laugh; sometimes they had sat talking together at playtime, and he’d taken to walking home with her and carrying her bag. Now he would never walk again, not on his own legs. It was horrible, just horrible.
Dragging her mind away from Godfrey she returned it to the matter in hand. Her mother had kept her back when the others had gone out to play, ostensibly to help with the ironing. She had thought that was strange on a Sunday because her mam normally kept Sundays free of jobs, but she hadn’t argued. She didn’t mind helping her mam, in fact she liked it. Sometimes she and her mam would have a right good crack when they were working together and the others were out playing or what-have-you. She loved those times.
She sighed heavily. It was the first of July tomorrow and the evening was hot and muggy, the air sticky with a sultry heat devoid of the normal north-east breeze. Some of the neighbours’ privies in the back yards had begun to stink to high heaven and she had complained about the smell earlier, grumbling about the fact that some of the women in their street were less than particular, unlike her mam. Now she felt she would never find fault with their neighbours in Lumley Street any more if only her mam would change her mind about sending them away again. But she wouldn’t. Cora glanced at her mother’s set face. Mind, compared to poor Godfrey she supposed being evacuated again was nothing. He’d been a tall, well-built lad who’d loved playing football, and now . . . She had thought Godfrey was the reason her mam had taken them all to the lovely beach at Roker the day before, to take their minds off what had happened. Her mam had known she liked Godfrey. They’d had an ice cream each and a donkey ride and had used up all their bacon ration on butties when they’d got home. But all along their mam had known they were going to be evacuated.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Cora turned to her mother. ‘Will you at least come and see us off?’
Nancy sighed. They hadn’t been told exactly what time the children would leave the school for the train station, but the headmaster had stated in his letter that the powers-that-be thought it would be less distressing for all concerned if parents were not present. She could see why but it made it look as though they didn’t care about their bairns, and she knew Cora had been angry with her the year before when she wouldn’t wave them off.
‘Look, lass, I told you last time why I didn’t come and it’s no different now,’ she said with as much patience as she could muster. ‘The school doesn’t hold with it.’
Cora scowled. ‘Blow the school. Anyway, some mothers did come before.’ She didn’t add that the previous year, when word had spread that the bus taking the children to the train station was about to leave, a group of women had run down the street trying to catch up with it. Children had become hysterical, the grown-ups’ distress adding to their own. A couple of women had fallen over and others had stood with their aprons to their faces to hide their anguish. It had been pandemonium.
‘I’m not coming, Cora,’ Nancy said firmly. ‘I don’t think it would be good for your sisters if I came. I know you’ll look after the others for me till you’re all back home again. You’re a good girl, pet.’
It was scant comfort.
Within the hour, five gas masks and five small cardboard suitcases had been placed out of sight in the front room and the door closed, and the luggage labels each of the children were required to wear round their necks had been duly written. Cora had been warned not to mention their imminent departure to the others when they came in.
‘Time enough in the morning,’ Nancy said firmly as the two of them walked through to the kitchen. ‘Not a word till then, mind. I don’t want your sisters carrying on and upsetting themselves.’
She didn’t include her son in this statement; Horace, at nine years old, was a tough, independent little boy blessed with a cheerful personality and resilient nature. He’d landed on his feet the year before with the family he had been placed with and had got on with them like a house on fire. She had no worries about Horace, Nancy thought fondly. Cora had some of this toughness too, in spite of looking as though a breath of wind could blow her away with her slender figure and mass of curly red hair that refused to be tamed by brush and comb.
Cora’s sisters were a different kettle of fish. Maria, who was ten, Anna, who was seven, and little Susan, the baby of the family at six years old, were shy and timid and easily reduced to tears. The three of them even looked the same, Nancy reflected. With their mousy brown hair and pale blue eyes they took after their da, whereas she liked to think Cora and Horace got their spirit, as well as their colouring, from her side.
‘What if we get separated again, Mam?’ Cora stared at her mother. It was all very well her mam saying she should look after the others but her mam hadn’t been there before. It had been horrible, her worst nightmare come true. Horace had been taken off to one place and Anna and Susan to another despite her loud protests, and probably because she had been so vocal and tried to prevent it happening, even going so far as to hold on to Susan as the woman who’d taken the younger two had tried to haul her sisters away, she and Maria had been left with others who hadn’t been selected. Maria had been crying and hanging on to her and one of the billeting officers had lost his temper with them and told them they’d never be homed if they carried on being so disruptive and naughty. The frightening ordeal had ended with the billeting officer, who had been sharp and terse, marching them and a few other unwanted children round the streets at ten or eleven o’clock at night, knocking on doors and demanding that unwilling householders ‘do their bit’ and take the tired, grubby and tearful small people into their homes. The experience would for ever be engraved on her memory.
‘Just because you couldn’t stay together before it doesn’t mean you won’t be able to this time.’ Nancy plonked the big black kettle on the hob; if ever she’d needed a strong cup of tea it was now. Not only was she losing her bairns to the war for the second time, but unbeknown to them she was starting work as a shipping clerk at the docks the next day. What her Gregory would say if he knew she’d got herself a job outside the home she didn’t know, but things had changed in the last months since the war. Women were being brought in to do all kinds of work which hitherto had been a man’s domain; with the menfolk away fighting, needs must. And a position in an office was a step up from the munitions factory or working on the buses or on a production line sewing uniform
s. She’d tell him that.
Thoughts of Gregory brought the ever-present anxiety about him to the forefront of her mind, and when she turned round and saw her daughter’s woebegone face, worry expressed itself in anger and irritation. ‘For goodness’ sake take that look off your face, girl. The others take their lead from you and it won’t help matters if you look like a wet weekend when they come in. I expect you to be a help, not a hindrance. Now go and call them and act normal. That’s not too much to ask, is it?’
As Cora flounced out of the back door, banging it behind her, Nancy wanted to slap her, but in the next moment her annoyance had been washed away by a flood of guilt and despair. She shouldn’t have shouted at the bairn like that, it wasn’t fair, but somehow she and her eldest daughter always seemed to rub each other up the wrong way. Probably because they were so alike. Both strong-willed and fiery. She grimaced to herself. And like Cora, she’d always been top of the class at school, and even now, if she ever had a minute to herself – which wasn’t often – she liked nothing more than sitting down with a good book from the library.
While she mashed the tea she asked herself, as she did more and more of late, why she had let herself be talked into marrying so young. She’d been fifteen when she’d met Gregory and less than two years later, on her seventeenth birthday, she had walked down the aisle. Part of it had been the thrill of being loved so much; Gregory was six years older than her and for this tall, kind-natured man to be head over heels about her had been flattering to the girl she’d been then, especially because she had never known love at home. Her father had been killed in an accident down Wearmouth pit when she was just a toddler, and her four older brothers had always been the apple of her mother’s eye. Even on her deathbed her mother hadn’t been able to say ‘I love you’ to her, the way she had to the lads.
Nancy’s lips tightened as her mind touched on Gregory again. She’d fallen pregnant within a week or two of her wedding night and from that point on the pattern had been set. It had only been then, when the trap had closed, that she’d realized she wanted more. More than being a housewife and a mother. She’d told Father Grant this once at confession not long after Maria’s birth when she’d found out she was expecting again. The priest had told her such thoughts were wicked and from the devil and she must resist them. It had been following the arrival of Susan, just eleven months after Anna, that she’d made a stand against more bairns though. She would accommodate Gregory’s needs, she’d told him, but only if he ignored the Church’s teaching on the matter and made sure she couldn’t fall for a baby again. And his desire for her had been stronger than that of being a ‘good’ Catholic.
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