War Babies

by Annie Murray

  Sitting here now under the barrage of her mother’s words, she had no defence to offer for herself or for him.

  ‘Rach?’ Cissy came up to her, her round, pink face full of a question she wanted answered. She leaned up against Rachel’s shoulder and looked winningly at her. Rachel found this comforting, but Peggy admonished her.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Cissy, don’t go throwing yourself on people like that – they don’t want you.’

  Cissy froze, a hurt expression on her face, and started to withdraw, but Rachel put her arm around her little sister.

  ‘It’s all right, Ciss,’ she said. ‘Course I want you.’ She gave her sister’s plump body an affectionate squeeze and Cissy brightened a fraction again. Rachel burned inside at the memory of their mother’s capacity to hurt and reject. Fred Horton still doted on his little girl but now that Cissy was past the baby stage and the novelty had worn off, Peggy was reverting to her true colours. Rachel felt very protective of her little sister. Melly had come up as well and the two girls looked as if they were plotting something together.

  ‘What, Ciss?’

  ‘Can I come and sleep at your house again?’ Cissy pleaded. She had come back with Rachel once, some time ago, to share the bed with Melanie and Tommy and thought it a great adventure.

  ‘All right, maybe next time I come – in a . . . a couple of weeks?’ She looked at her mother, glad to get off the subject of Danny, about whom there seemed to be no possibility of anything good to say. Every mention of him felt like a stab wound.

  Peggy nodded. ‘I suppose,’ she said wearily. ‘I don’t know why you want to go and sleep in that slum of a place, Cissy, but I suppose, if you must . . .’ Rachel knew that whatever Peggy said, she was glad of a break from mothering and as often as possible.

  Cissy and Melanie were all smiles. ‘I’ll bring Lolly!’ she said. Lolly was her raggy doll. The two of them scuttled away to make plans.

  On the way home, Melanie, who seemed happier for the visit, looked up at Rachel as they were waiting for the bus.

  ‘Mom?’ she said cautiously. ‘Is our dad ever coming back? Only I don’t know what to say to Cissy about it. Or to Mavis.’ Mavis was her best friend at school.

  Touched on the raw again by this question, Rachel wanted to scream back at her – how the hell should I know? Rage and hurt welled up in her. She took a deep breath and tried to be kinder, and more reasonable. God forbid, however bad things got, she should start acting like her own mother.

  ‘I don’t know, Melly. I wish I did. But it doesn’t look like it, does it? I suppose you could tell your friends that he’s had to go away for a bit – for work. If you have to tell them anything.’

  Melanie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Is it because of Tommy?’ she asked. ‘Is it me? Did I do something bad?’

  ‘Oh, babby –’ Rachel squatted down beside her as the traffic rumbled past. ‘No – it’s not you.’ This was true, she knew. ‘You’re your dad’s little girl. It’s just . . .’ What could she say? Grief swelled in her throat. ‘The war did some bad things to people. Made them different from how they were before. I think the war did bad things to your dad.’

  Melly was listening, her eyes wide and hurt.

  ‘It’s not your fault. I don’t think it’s mine, or Tommy’s either. It’s just something that’s happened, that’s all.’

  But deep down, she did think it was her fault. She had not been understanding enough of the state Danny was in, or of how much she had changed herself. And she had been so wrapped up in Tommy that she had not put Danny first. She had ruined everything. But she never meant to, she kept thinking as she cried herself to sleep in bed every night. She had just been trying to do her best.

  Everyone in the yard had been kind, in their own fashion. Even Ma Jackman said in her acid way, ‘I’m sorry for yer, bab. You’re back where you started.’ Rachel knew that she meant as if the war was still on. The way Ma Jackman was herself, only now she knew that Edwin was never coming back. The odd thing was that although Rachel was full of pain and the deep hurt and disappointment of it, it was all so familiar. She and Gladys and the children were back where they had been before, just trying to keep going.

  Gladys was alternately full of grief, anger and shame for her nephew’s actions. Rachel had never seen her so upset.

  ‘I never thought I’d see flesh and blood of mine behave like this,’ she said to Rachel, soon after Danny went. She was brim full of emotion, finding it hard to settle to anything. ‘If I could get hold of him now . . . By God, I’d give him what for. He’s his father’s son, all right – and I hoped I’d never say that. Mary’ll be turning in her grave, that she will.’

  Dolly was full of kind indignation. Netta was sweet and upset for her, while suffering her own grief as well.

  ‘You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do, won’t you?’ she said sweetly. ‘Anything at all.’ Rachel knew she meant it, but what was there that anyone could do? There was no one who could repair her lost love – all the dreams of the future that she had clung to through the war now lay at her feet like a pile of ashes.

  The only person who was not kind or sympathetic was Irene.

  A few days after Danny went, when it became clear he was not coming back, she waltzed up to Rachel in the yard, when she was out hanging washing.

  ‘What’s this about your feller taking off?’ she demanded.

  Rachel turned to her, already tense with fury at her tone of voice.

  ‘What’s what?’ she said, angrily shaking out a frock she had just put through the mangle. She felt geared up to belt Irene one. She could feel the force of her temper rising in her.

  ‘I heard he’s cleared off – days ago.’

  Irene sounded smug, as if she was enjoying all this as a piece of gossip. Rachel rammed a wooden peg onto the line at each shoulder of the dress. Behind Irene, she saw Evie wandering across the yard, looking cowed as usual.

  ‘Well, has ’e?’ Irene crossed her arms.

  ‘What’s it to you?’ Rachel asked. ‘Look –’ She nodded at Evie who was squatting down, pushing something into her mouth. ‘Why don’t you look after your daughter for once instead of keeping on at me?’

  ‘Evie!’ Irene yelled at her. ‘Gerroff of that – what’re yow putting in yower mouth? You put that down or I’ll lamp yer!’ She went over and gave the little girl’s hand a vicious slap. Evie dropped whatever it was she had been about to chew and slunk away down the yard. She did not cry, Rachel noticed.

  ‘So,’ Irene said again. ‘Your feller’s taken off then, has ’e? I hear ’e’s been gone a few days now and no sign of him coming back. So – about time yow stopped looking down your nose at me and Ray, I’d say.’

  ‘What the hell’re you on about?’ Rachel said, finally losing her temper. ‘What’s any of this got to do with you and Ray? I couldn’t give a kipper’s dick about either of you so leave me alone. You want to stop keeping on about your cowing drunk of a husband and look after that kid of yours!’

  She picked up the bucket and started to move away.

  ‘Well, at least I can keep my feller,’ Irene bawled after her.

  ‘Oh,’ Rachel mocked. ‘Really? He may be under your roof, but how many other women’s beds is he in and out of – eh?’

  Dolly appeared at her door. ‘What’s going on?’ she shouted, hands on hips.

  ‘Nothing you need to know about, yer nosy cow!’ Irene retorted, with a furious shriek.

  Before Irene could come back at her, Rachel stormed into the house and slammed the door. Sitting at the table, she allowed the sobs to rise in her.

  Forty-Seven

  21 April 1946

  ‘So you mean, you’re having a bit of a celebration, a year on, sort of thing?’

  Dolly was sitting at the table and watching with a puzzled expression as Gladys poured cake mix into two tins, brown and sticky and dotted with raisins and sultanas, the fruit of saved rations and scrimping. Their delicious aroma was al
ready filling the room.

  Gladys licked a finger. ‘Yes – sort of thing.’ She stared at the cake tins, as if her mind was on something else.

  ‘For Easter, you mean?’ Dolly said.

  ‘That too. Just a bit of a party.’

  As Rachel passed behind Gladys, Dolly gave her a look as if to say, Party? What on earth does she think there is to celebrate? It seemed very strange. Danny had been gone now for over a month. It didn’t seem like a time for festivities. And – the first shock of the day – Gladys had stayed home and missed church on Easter Day to bake cakes! This was unheard of. Dolly had drifted in mid-morning to see Rachel and exclaimed in surprise at seeing the baking in full spate.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you’ve got the energy, is all,’ Dolly said, sitting back, pushing her ribs out to try and catch her breath over her very swollen belly.

  ‘Are we having a party?’ Rachel heard Cissy, who was staying over with them, say excitedly to Melanie. They were watching the cake preparations with great interest. Tommy was in his chair as usual. ‘Is it someone’s birthday?’

  ‘It’s the end of the war, silly,’ Melly said.

  ‘What’re you on about?’ Rachel said. ‘The war’s been over a year!’ She thought of Danny. ‘Well, months, anyway.’

  ‘Is it going to be a street party?’ Cissy said, bouncing on her toes with excitement. ‘With tables and jelly and fizzy pop?’

  Everyone laughed at this, but Rachel said, ‘It’s not for the whole yard, is it, Auntie?’ So far as she was concerned she didn’t want to go anywhere near flaming Irene Sutton. She felt hurt that Gladys thought there was anything to celebrate while she spent every night crying and struggled through each day feeling leaden and hopeless.

  ‘No, no,’ Gladys said. ‘Nothing like that – just us.’ She straightened up from sliding the cake tins into the oven and looked at Dolly. ‘A little way of saying thank you, that’s all. For all you’ve done for me over the years.’

  ‘Oh, Glad, don’t talk daft,’ Dolly said. ‘We’re pals. Nothing to say thank you for.’

  ‘The boys can come.’

  ‘What – all of them? Are you sure?’

  Gladys smiled. ‘Course. If there’s cake about they’ll be here anyway, won’t they?’

  ‘They can sniff it out miles away,’ Dolly laughed. Then she grimaced, laying a hand on her belly. ‘Ow – it’s kicking me! Not long now, thank God – I bet the little so-and-so’ll be late coming though.’

  By tea time, two large cakes sparsely dotted with fruit were on the table, surrounded by thinly cut sandwiches. It reminded Rachel, painfully now, of the day she had gone round, the day of Dolly’s birthday tea. That felt like another life now. She was bewildered by the whole occasion. Gladys had not warned her before that morning that this was what she was planning, nor had she asked for any help. She had sprung it on them all and then got on and prepared everything with a quiet, almost reverent determination. She had even bought a tin of salmon for the sandwiches. Her best embroidered cloth was on the table. The big crock teapot had been brought down from the shelf and the pretty one, like a country cottage, and all the best cups and plates were laid on the table. Dolly promised to bring a few extra ones.

  Before anyone came, Gladys went upstairs, reappearing later in a peacock-blue frock that Rachel had never seen before. Her hair was brushed and swept up high on her head and she was wearing deep-red lipstick. As she came into the room, Rachel and Melly both gasped.

  ‘Auntie – you look ever so nice!’ Melly cried.

  ‘Ta, kid,’ Gladys said. ‘There’s no need to sound so amazed.’

  To Rachel’s surprise, she noticed that Gladys seemed very nervous. She was sorting out cups and knives by the table and several times she dropped something. One of the cups dropped to the floor and, by a miracle, did not smash.

  ‘Let me do that, Auntie,’ Rachel said. She was trying to put two and two together in her mind, but when she did she was not sure if she was getting four, three, or some other completely different number. She wondered, with a dawning of possibility, whether, on the quiet, Gladys had a new man she was about to introduce them to, a surprise guest. After all, Gladys went out and about, to the markets, the church, often on her own. And plenty of men were interested, Rachel could see. Was that what all this was about?

  ‘D’you want me to get changed – smarten up a bit?’ she asked. ‘And the girls . . .?’

  ‘Oh – only if you’re in the mood,’ Gladys said. She seemed absent-minded. ‘There’s no real need. I just . . . I wanted . . .’ And she trailed off and never finished the sentence.

  ‘All right,’ Rachel said, thinking that she would maybe just tidy everyone’s hair instead. She did not dare ask any more. ‘Come on, girls –’ She beckoned to Melly and Cissy, who could not seem to stop gazing at the table and the food on it. Their noses were twitching like a couple of terriers. ‘Come and have your hair brushed.’

  Dolly was the first to appear at the appointed time of four o’clock.

  ‘Mo’ll be here in a tick,’ she said. ‘But I thought you might need a bit of a hand, Glad?’ She looked at the newly tidied room, the beautiful table, Tommy all scrubbed up in his chair and the little girls and Rachel with ribbons in their hair. ‘It doesn’t look as if you do, though! Ooh – this looks nice! And don’t you look a picture, Glad –’ She stood admiring Gladys’s dress. Rachel could see the baffled look in her eyes but she did not ask any more. ‘That’s beautiful, that is. Sorry about the state of me – I’d’ve dressed up if I could fit into anything!’

  ‘You look lovely as ever, Dolly,’ Gladys said. ‘Come on – you have a seat. I’ll brew up in a minute.’

  The big kettle and another pan of water were steaming away on the stove. Gladys warmed the teapot and started spooning tea.

  ‘So come on, Glad, put us out of our misery – what’s all this in aid of?’ Dolly said, obviously deciding on the direct approach.

  Gladys had her back to them. The vivid blue dress showed off her voluptuous curves, and she had an apron tied over the top.

  ‘You’ll see,’ she said. Once again, Rachel could hear the nerves in her voice and Dolly picked it up too. Their eyes met and Rachel shrugged. Dolly rolled her eyes.

  ‘Well, you are a woman of mystery,’ Dolly teased. ‘Come on, Glad – there can’t be much you can have kept a secret from me after all this time. Spit it out then – who is ’e?’ Dolly had obviously had the same thought as her, Rachel realized.

  Gladys laughed suddenly, turning to them. ‘A feller, you mean? Ach – no. Tried a few of those, dain’t I? Never again – oh, no. Not worth it. I want a quiet life, I do. Anyone can bend down and pick up nothing.’

  Rachel and Dolly exchanged glances again, as if to say, Well, that’s telling us. Gladys popped the lid on the teapot, slipped the cosy over it and carried it to the table. At that moment a bedlam of Morrison boys erupted into the yard and a few seconds later they were clustered around the door. The youngest, Freddie, was now eight.

  ‘Hang on, hang on, yer little buggers – wait for me . . .’ They heard Mo come lumbering along behind. ‘Now you watch your manners or you’ll be out on your ears . . .’ He and the eldest boy, Ernie, had each brought a chair with them and Reggie, the middle boy, was carrying an orange crate. ‘Look, you can’t all fit through the door at once. Have some sense . . .’

  ‘Come on in, lads,’ Gladys said. ‘Come and have a bit of tea.’ She went and switched the wireless on and big band music streamed out in the background.

  ‘Cor – look at all them cakes!’ Freddie exclaimed with all the food-obsessed glee of an eight-year-old.

  Rachel watched Tommy as the boys crowded into the room. His face lit up and he started squirming in his chair with excitement. The girls, however, retreated to one corner of the room as if rumours of plague had just arrived. The Morrison boys were good-natured, all of them, but as far as Melly was concerned, and Cissy especially, they were boys and best avoided.

 
; ‘Well, this is very nice, Glad,’ Mo said, easing his capacious backside down onto one of the chairs as if he was afraid it would collapse under him. ‘Very nice indeed. Knock it off, Reggie,’ he instructed number three, who was fourteen. ‘Leave Freddie alone. Right, lads –’ Mo held up a thick finger in admonishment – ‘I ain’t going to say it again. Mrs Poulter has made us a very nice tea and you lot can sit down and behave yourselves, or –’ He jabbed his thumb towards the door.

  The youngest children sat on the rug by the fire and Gladys poured tea and everyone munched on the sandwiches, egg and jam for the children, the tinned salmon ones reserved for the adults, while the music played softly from the wireless.

  ‘You make sure you get one or two of those, Dolly,’ Gladys said, holding the plate out to her. ‘It’s good for the baby.’

  ‘Ta, Glad.’ She looked down at herself. ‘It’s getting to the stage when there ain’t much room in here for food!’

  ‘You eat, wench,’ Mo instructed. ‘We’ve got to keep you strong.’

  ‘Huh,’ Dolly said. Then she smiled, looking around. ‘It’s funny to think – this time last year the war was still on and we never knew when it was all going to be over, did we?’

  ‘We knew it was coming by then,’ Mo said.

  ‘Yes, but that waiting – and then, when the news came . . .’

  ‘Ah – that were a good day,’ Mo said. ‘All the lads down the Salutation . . .’