War Babies

by Annie Murray

  Twenty-Eight

  June 1943

  ‘I’ll come with you today and give you a hand,’ Rachel said as Gladys gathered herself to head into the market on a warm Saturday morning. ‘I could do with a change. I can keep an eye on Melly, this once, and she’s no trouble is she? She’ll like coming.’

  ‘All right,’ Gladys said. ‘We can give it a try.’

  Rachel realized that Gladys rather liked the idea of showing off her granddaughter.

  It felt very nice to be out and about, travelling into town on a fine day, and Rachel’s spirits lifted. Even all the destruction of the smashed-up city, the bomb sites and wrecked buildings, the grey warehouse walls and grimy streets, looked less glum and depressing in the sunshine. Rachel pointed out things to Melanie as the tram rumbled along.

  ‘We’re going to the market,’ she said, excited. Melanie snuggled up on her lap, looking about her, wide-eyed and happy. She was wearing a little pink-and-white flowery frock and Rachel enjoyed the warm loveliness of her. She stroked the little girl’s bare, fleshy arms.

  Gladys went round and picked up the basket carriage and the stand she used to hang some of her clothes on and they set up together. The war was pinching everything tight with shortages, but everyone struggled on the best they could with goods off the ration, and there were many people looking for a bargain in these difficult times. Rachel, now six months’ pregnant, felt well and was full of energy. It was lovely to be back in all the hurly-burly of the Rag Market. The only thing was, she kept half-expecting to see Danny come in and head across to her with his fast-moving stride. Each time she thought of it a pang of longing went through her. When would she ever see him here again, his eyes seeking her out?

  When the big gates swung open, as usual the crowds came surging in, some of them at the front, breaking into a run. The woman who was in the lead, a large matron in a big black coat, her old shoes forced out of shape by bunions, was cackling with laughter, she and her friend elbowing each other to get in front. Her open mouth revealed a few remaining stumps of teeth. Rachel chuckled, loving the atmosphere and excitement of it all, and Melanie shrieked with delight as well, clapping her hands.

  ‘It’s nice to be back, Auntie!’ Rachel said. ‘And you,’ she addressed Melanie who was on her hip. ‘You’ve got to behave yourself, all right?’

  People kept pouring into the market. In these drab, worrying times of war the market was another place to go for entertainment and to forget your troubles for a while. The place was soon heaving with people. Between them, Rachel and Gladys looked after their pitch. There were more tables in the market now, with metal poles through them and you could hang things between them. They set everything up together and took it in turns to mind Melanie. At times they sat her down for a bit and found her a few things to play with. Gladys had a little cotton bag with some pegs and cotton reels and ribbons in and Melanie loved it. Later in the afternoon when she was tired, they were able to lay her down in a safe spot behind their wares for a nap.

  Amid the milling heads and shoulders of the crowd there were a number in uniform, mainly khaki, a few in air-force blues. Gladys nudged Rachel and nodded towards a section of the crowd.

  ‘Here we go,’ she said. ‘Look who’s here. They’ll be after a rag or two for their brahmas.’

  ‘Their what?’ Rachel said, frowning.

  ‘You know, their fancy bits – girls.’

  Rachel saw a cluster of servicemen strolling through the market in khaki, but the uniform was different. And they looked bigger, broader in the shoulders than all the others, as well as nearly all being tall and well-fed-looking. Two were black men, one with a white girl on his arm, dark haired and pretty with scarlet lips, who was looking up at him, saying something. Rachel looked at Gladys.

  ‘Yanks.’ Gladys stood tall, trying to catch their eye.

  Rachel had only heard about the Americans who had been arriving in the country for months. Until now she had never seen any of them. Gladys had mentioned them coming to the market before.

  ‘Rolling in it, that lot are. Overpaid and over here – that’s it, lads, you come over here and spend your money.’ She stood tall, hands on her hips, beaming at them and beckoning, to distract them from the other clothing sellers and the woman across the way selling cheap perfume and paper flowers.

  Two of the white boys in the group noticed Gladys staring at them. She was an eye-catching person and they were obviously curious. One said something to the other and they peeled off from the group, moving closer in their USAAF uniforms. They were almost the same height as each other, one ginger haired with freckles, walking with a loose-limbed swagger, the other dark haired, with a long, thin face. They nodded shyly at Gladys and eyed her wares.

  ‘Say, Ed,’ the ginger one said. ‘Look at these, will you? These are really swell.’

  He fingered two coats which were hanging from the stand. One was in soft camel, the other black with a smooth sable collar – a bit the worse for wear, but not bad. Gladys moved over to them immediately.

  ‘Hello, boys – looking for something for the ladies?’

  ‘Hello,’ they said sunnily. The dark-haired one immediately fastened his eyes on Rachel, who sat perched on a little stool behind their wares. ‘Hello, miss,’ he said, touching his cap. Rachel nodded back, lowering her eyes, flustered, but she soon raised them again out of sheer curiosity, to see that he was coming round to speak to her. His ginger friend was talking to Gladys, holding up the sable-collared coat, trying for a bargain.

  ‘Hi there,’ the darker one said. ‘You’re looking mighty comfortable down there.’ He held his hand out. ‘My name’s Ed.’

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m Rachel.’ To her annoyance she found she was blushing.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Rachel. Him over there, that reprobate’s real name’s Patrick Finnigan but we always call him Fin. He’s after a bargain and the way it looks, he’s going to get one.’

  He was not exactly handsome, but he had dark, dancing eyes that made Rachel smile. It was nice to talk to a man of her own age again. It felt a very long time since she had had any carefree fun.

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure,’ she said. ‘Auntie drives a hard one.’

  ‘A hard bargain?’ A little frown rippled across his eyebrows for a second, before his face cleared. ‘Does she now? Well, never mind – Fin would do anything to get around that gal of his.’

  Rachel thought about Gladys’s comments about the brahmas, and from her tone she obviously thought they were no better than they ought to be.

  ‘Does he have a girl in America?’ she asked. She wondered how old Ed was – not much older than her, she guessed, but he seemed much more worldly wise.

  He squatted down suddenly and Rachel found that they were level with each other. She was looking into his brown, laughing eyes and he was searching hers. She tried to look back at him as if she was not aflutter inside at his tall form so close to her and intent on her.

  ‘Oh, maybe – but it’s his gal here I’m talking about. A fiery little redhead like him! Great gal.’ He looked attentively at Rachel. ‘Say, you’re a pretty little thing. How would you fancy coming out for a walk with me?’

  Rachel blushed even deeper. ‘What – now?’

  ‘Well, no, not now,’ he laughed. ‘You seem to be quite occupied right now. I was thinking of later.’

  Rachel realized that as she was sitting down, Ed could not see that she was expecting a baby. And she had certainly not told him she was married. She found herself keeping her left hand, with Danny’s ring on it, tucked well down in her lap. She knew she should tell him straight away, that that would immediately break the spell. But it was such a long time since she had had attention like this, so long since Danny left. She was tingling with excitement. It was so flattering to have a man looking at her with frank admiration the way American Ed was looking at her.

  ‘Where’re you from?’ she asked, trying to delay the end of the conversation. She smil
ed, patting her hair. Dolly had given it a little trim yesterday and put a couple of rollers in it for her. She was quite pleased with the way it was looking.

  ‘Me? Oh, I’m from Franklin, Indiana,’ he said. ‘Fin over there’s from upstate New York.’

  Rachel kept smiling and nodded away as if she knew where Indiana was, let alone Franklin.

  ‘Say, you really are swell,’ Ed said, staring into her eyes. ‘What d’you say we go out tonight – hit the dance floor?’

  Out of the corner of her eye Rachel could see Gladys moving closer with the other Yank. It looked as if she had made a sale and when she turned to look, Rachel saw that Gladys’s face wore a satisfied smile. However, a second later she caught sight of what was going on, Ed squatting there like that, the intent look in their eyes. Gladys immediately moved closer.

  ‘I see you’re getting acquainted with my assistant,’ she said to Ed.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said easily. ‘And a most charming young lady she is too.’

  ‘Well, that there –’ Gladys pointed to Melanie, fast asleep at the back of their pitch on her blankets – ‘is her daughter. Have you told him about your husband being away in the army, Rachel?’

  Ed stood up hastily. The charm with which he had been wooing her dropped away. ‘Say, you don’t look old enough to be a married woman!’ He looked shocked and fed up.

  Rachel lowered her head, her face burning. Gladys took the money from Fin and bundled up the coat for him.

  ‘So long,’ they both said, and moved away. Rachel looked up, but Ed did not even glance in her direction again.

  ‘I tripled the price – he didn’t even notice,’ Gladys said, tucking the money away gleefully. She turned to Rachel and in a sarcastic tone said, ‘Enjoying yourself, were you?’

  Rachel kept her gaze on the feet passing in front of her, burning with annoyance at Gladys. She’d frightened that American off, as if she was her mother or something! Who did she think she was? She had been about to tell him she was married – any minute! A tantrum of misery and self-pity erupted silently inside her. Would it really do so much harm to have a drink with a man? Danny had been away for so long. She could never be sure if he was alive or dead and here she was, left with their child and another on the way. And she wasn’t even eighteen yet – wasn’t she allowed to have any fun, ever, without Gladys acting like a prison guard?

  More gently, Gladys said, ‘You want to watch that lot. Here today, gone tomorrow – and far too full of themselves. You can be sure they’re after one thing and one thing only.’ She shook out a blouse that someone had left in a tangle on top of the other clothes and began to fold it. ‘Brahmas,’ she muttered scornfully.

  When they were clearing up that afternoon, Gladys packing some of the leftovers into the basket carriage, Melanie kept trying to make a game of it and climb in.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Gladys said in the end. Melanie became furious every time they tried to stop her. ‘All right, madam – you stay in there for now. We’ll all go round to Bromsgrove Street together – you bring the other bundle, Rach, and the stand, and I’ll push her in this.’

  Everyone else was packing up and nearly all the punters had gone. Some pitches were already empty and a man was pushing a broom across one of the largest spaces. It was still a nice afternoon though the sun had sunk low by now. Rachel breathed in the street smells of horse, of fumes from trucks that were grinding along towards Bradford Street and the delicious scents of cooking food. Over her shoulder she carried the bundle they were taking home, wrapped in a sheet, the stand in the other hand. It was made of cane, so not heavy.

  ‘It’ll be nice when summer really comes,’ she said. She was gradually simmering down and getting over her annoyance with Gladys. She knew Gladys was right really. She had never intended to be unfaithful to Danny, had she? As if she would, ever!

  Gladys, pushing the carriage with Melly clinging on inside, made no reply. Rachel sensed that she was very weary. They went up to the pub on Bromsgrove Street and stashed the carriage in the stable, handed over their money for the pleasure and set off again. This time Rachel carried Melanie and Gladys the bundle.

  They were aiming to walk across town to get the tram to Aston, which would no doubt be crammed full. The streets were choked with traffic, not helped by the fact that two large lorries were parked end to end at the corner of Jamaica Row. They seemed to loom over the pavement and Rachel and Gladys squeezed past them. Behind the second one, a man was standing with the back open, smoking a cigarette and looking as if he was waiting for someone. They barely gave him a glance, but as they passed they heard him call out:

  ‘Poll! Hey – Polly!’

  Footsteps hurried after them and the man was beside them. Rachel saw a burly, strong-looking man with a head of black curly hair and stubbly cheeks walking up close to Gladys. He pawed her arm.

  ‘Oi – Poll. Long time no see! Don’t just march on past like that when an old pal’s saying ’ello to yer!’

  Gladys’s face was a mask of bewildered irritation. ‘Loose my arm, will you?’ She shook the man off with a forceful jerk. ‘Get your hands off me! You’ve got the wrong person, pal. My name’s not Polly and never has been. So sling yer hook.’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Poll – I’d know that face anywhere,’ the man said, with a laugh. ‘You can’t just go pretending you’re someone else now you’ve gone up in the world. Not with those eyes of yours. Remember me – Joe the Diver?’ He was laughing even more now. ‘Come on, Poll – you can’t’ve forgotten old Joe.’

  Rachel watched in bewilderment. The man seemed completely sure that he had met Gladys before. But why was he calling her Polly?

  ‘I don’t know you from Adam, never mind Joe,’ Gladys retorted angrily, trying to push on along the road, but the man was keeping pace with her.

  ‘Come on, Poll,’ he joked. ‘Don’t be like that – where’s the harm? Come and have a bevvy with us – and your friend if you want?’ His weather-beaten face turned to Rachel and he winked at her.

  ‘Just get lost!’ Gladys fumed at him so forbiddingly that he did at last step back. ‘I don’t know who you are but I’ll report you if you don’t let go of me. Just leave me alone!’

  ‘Oh, have it your way – you ain’t lost yer spirit, Poll!’ The man stopped and they hurried on, his voice ringing out behind them. ‘Gone up in the world, have we? Well, good luck to yer, wench. But your old pal Joe ain’t forgotten you, whatever you call yerself these days.’

  ‘Auntie?’ Rachel said, puffing as she tried to keep up. ‘Who’s that? Why’s he called Joe the Diver?’

  ‘That’s not summat you need to know,’ Gladys snapped. Then, after a moment’s pause she added, with sudden indignation, ‘I’ve no sodding idea, have I? How’m I s’posed to know? I’ve never seen him before in my life – he must be off his flaming head. You get all sorts round here.’

  The man had seemed so sure, Rachel thought. He had known her, and Gladys knew who he was. But why was he calling her Polly? She had never heard Gladys swear so much before either. She eyed her from the side, but Gladys’s face gave away nothing. It was blank and hard, as if set in stone. But it was another thing about Gladys that seemed closed and secret – and she knew she would never dare to ask.

  Twenty-Nine

  Rachel didn’t dare say another word all the way home. Gladys was in a flamingly bad mood.

  ‘Did you get any soap yesterday?’ she demanded when they got back. ‘Oh, you stupid girl – I told you—’

  ‘They’d run out,’ Rachel protested. She was close to tears now out of sheer exhaustion. ‘There just wasn’t any to be had.’ I’m not a sodding magician, she felt like adding, but this was not the moment to push it.

  Gladys was tutting about how she had all these things to wash and how was she supposed to make a living if she couldn’t even get things clean? Melanie was sitting on the floor grizzling. ‘All right, all right,’ Rachel said crossly. ‘I’m getting you some soup . . .’
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  ‘Eh – look what’s come.’ Gladys’s voice changed abruptly. She held out a letter with the mauve censor’s stamp on it.

  ‘Oh!’ Rachel’s tiredness vanished instantly. ‘It’s from Danny!’

  Dolly’s head appeared round the door. Her expression held mischief and she clearly had things to impart. ‘Back, are yer? You lot’ve missed a whole lot of carry-on!’

  Rachel put the letter carefully in the pocket of her blouse, close to her heart, waiting to savour reading it once she was alone.

  Gladys gave a not especially interested sort of grunt, but Dolly was not deterred. She came and sat at the table, smoking, as Rachel spooned soup into Melly’s mouth. Each time Rachel felt the rustle of the letter in her pocket, a pulse of excitement went through her.

  ‘Them two over there were at it hammer and tongs at dinner time today,’ Dolly began.

  ‘Who – that new lot?’ Gladys looked up from folding the rest of her unsold goods away to be stored upstairs.

  ‘Yes. The bloke – he must’ve been at work but he came home at dinner time – from the pub and tanked up by the sound of things. Off they went, walloping each other – she was screaming like a pig being killed. Those two little girls came out in the yard and hid, crouched down by the wall, poor little buggers.’

  ‘It’s quiet now,’ Gladys said. She didn’t seem very interested in other people’s squabbles.

  ‘I know, but you should’ve heard them . . .’

  ‘You going to open that letter then?’ Gladys said to Rachel.

  ‘In a minute.’ Rachel wanted to read it by herself first. After all, she didn’t get any time alone with her husband these days – at least she could get a first read of his letter! As soon as Melanie was fed she slipped away upstairs with a candle to read it in the bedroom.