by Maureen Lee
She’d known this was coming. ‘Your mam asked if I’d keep an eye on the house,’ she explained, ‘but when me and Beth were desperate for somewhere to live, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to move in, just us two and the children. But I kept being told it was my patriotic duty to take in more people or look after other women’s children. I suppose,’ she added ruefully, ‘it’s all got out of hand. Lord knows what your mam’ll say when she finds out.’
‘Well, she won’t find out from me. You’re doing a great job while mum is having a grand time in the States according to her letters. Let’s regard it as her contribution towards the war.’
‘You’re being very kind and understanding.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ he said dismissively. ‘I was halfway to Liverpool when I began to wonder if I was mad, wanting to spend Christmas alone in a cold house where there wouldn’t be any food. I’ve rarely been so pleased about anything as finding you here. Bloody hell, Tiger!’ he exclaimed when the big cat appeared and launched itself on to his knee. ‘I didn’t know you were still around.’
‘There’s an old wardrobe he regards as his own special shelter.’
‘Me and Tiger used to be best friends when I was home from university.’ Tiger purred ecstatically as he feverishly licked the familiar face.
‘It looks as if you still are.’
It was almost four when the all clear sounded. They looked at each other thankfully, knowing they’d shared an experience they would never forget. Charles insisted Max use his bedroom. ‘I’ll just get some clothes first...’
Ruby was the first to emerge from the cellar, half expecting the house to have blown away and be met by open air. But Mrs Hart’s house had survived. A strange, sour smell turned out to be soot which had fallen down all the chimneys. They went straight to bed. Heather shared Wendy’s room and Charles slept on a settee.
Four hours later, everyone had gone to work as usual. Ruby peeped in to look at Max; he was dead to the world. Roy Deacon was delivered by his mother, but there was no sign of Mollie. The family had been sheltering in the understairs cupboard, Ruby learnt later, and the house had received a direct hit. Mollie, four years old, was dead.
The heavy raids continued in the run-up to Christmas. Ruby wondered if Hitler’s aim was to wipe Liverpool and its people off the face of the earth as the terror continued, night after night. Max Hart didn’t leave the house and spent much of his time in bed. He was having a lovely rest, he said, enjoying being made a desperate fuss of. People kept bringing him little treats; cream cakes, chocolate, a quarter bottle of whisky. The children had spent hours making a Christmas card especially for him – he had vowed to keep it for ever. The creases in his face had smoothed away, he looked more relaxed.
On Christmas Eve, Beth finished work at midday and announced she was taking Greta and Heather out to buy their mam a present.
‘They haven’t got any money,’ said Ruby.
‘I’ll soon remedy that. I’ll take Jake an’ all, let him get some fresh air.’
It was the first time Ruby could recall being in the house alone since they’d moved in – she didn’t count Max who was asleep upstairs. She sprawled in an armchair, luxuriating in the unaccustomed silence. When Beth returned, she might go out herself and buy a few last-minute presents. Although it was distressing to witness the devastation caused by the last day’s raids, there was also the feeling of being lucky to be alive. So many people had died: people who had worked with Beth or Connie, or she knew slightly, such as Charlie Murphy who’d been their landlord in Foster Court. Arthur’s little house in the coal yard had been damaged, though the occupants, Herbie and his family, were thankfully unhurt.
Ruby sighed and supposed she’d better get on with some work. She was heaving herself reluctantly out of the chair when she heard a shout, quickly followed by another and knew it could only be Max.
She raced upstairs and found him thrashing wildly about in the bed, covered in perspiration.
‘Max!’ She shook him. ‘Max! Calm down. Everything’s all right. You’re quite safe.’
He opened his eyes and looked at her fearfully, like a small boy. ‘I’m sorry. I was having this ghastly dream.’
‘The dream’s over now, love. You’re safely at home with us.’
‘God!’ He shoved himself to a sitting position. ‘It seemed so real.’
‘What was it about?’
‘I can only remember bits. I was in my plane, over Germany, and I’d lost my way. I didn’t know how to get home. The world was drowned in blackness, not a light anywhere. I was worried for my crew, that I was letting them down. I began to panic...’
Ruby stroked his brow. ‘It was only a dream. Here, have a drop of your whisky. It’ll calm you down.’
‘You’re very kind,’ he said when she put the glass in his hand.
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ she asked, surprised.
‘You can’t have a very high opinion of me. I presume you know why Mum had to pawn so many of her things?’
‘To settle your debts at university. Yes, but it doesn’t alter what you are now: a pilot in the Royal Air Force who won a medal for bravery.’
‘I got in with this crowd of chaps who had money to burn,’ he said ruefully. ‘I wanted the things they had; clothes, a car. I spent a fortune on booze. We played cards, the minimum stake was a quid.’
‘That’s all in the past,’ Ruby soothed.
‘As for my medal, I don’t deserve it. I’d only been in the air a matter of seconds when I came face to face with a bloody Heinkel. I knew my plane had been hit, but just carried on with what I was there for, to bring down every Jerry plane in sight. I got the Heinkel and half a dozen others. When I got back to base, there was a bullet in my shoulder.’ He gave an ironic shrug. ‘I hadn’t felt a thing, but they gave me a medal all the same. The thing is,’ he went on, suddenly angry, ‘every man in every damn aircrew deserves a medal for bravery.’ He frowned irritably. ‘Why is this house so damn quiet? It feels eerie. And where’s that bloody cat?’
‘Everyone’s out except you and me. Tiger was up a tree when I last saw him.’
His face crumpled. ‘I was as mad as hell when Mum said in a letter that she’d given him away.’
‘He’ll be here when you come back,’ Ruby said consolingly.
‘Will you be? Here when I come back, that is?’
‘Only if you come back soon. As soon as the war ends, your mother will come home and we’ll have to find somewhere else to live. Could I have your mother’s address before you leave?’
‘It’s in my locker at the base. I’ll have to send it to you.’ He gave a satisfied sigh. ‘It’s nice, knowing you’re here, keeping the place warm.’
He looked so young and vulnerable, had suffered so much, that Ruby felt an impulse to plant an affectionate, sisterly kiss on his cheek, though was unprepared for his response. Max immediately grabbed her and kissed her back in a way that was anything but brotherly.
‘Max!’ She was about to push him away, but hesitated. For months, he’d been risking his life for people like her. He could have died a hundred times. It wasn’t much to ask, she thought impulsively, to give herself in return for the sacrifices he had made. She slid her arms around his neck.
‘You’re so lovely,’ he was saying gruffly. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this ever since we met.’ There was desperation in the way his lean hands caressed her, as if he was trying to shed the nightmare that was now his life and lose himself in the curves and secrets of a woman’s body. She wondered if any female body would have done as she let him remove her clothes, at the same time she felt concerned that Beth might come home.
Max said no more, just gave a rapturous groan when he plunged inside her.
Ruby tenderly stroked his face, pretending to respond, appear as passionate as he was, listening with one ear for Beth and the children. All that mattered was that Max momentarily forgot the violent times in which they lived.
‘That was wonde
rful,’ he whispered when it was over and she lay in his arms. ‘I’ll come back for you one day.’ His face was soft with emotion and he was about to kiss her again when a shout from down below made them both jump.
‘I’d better go.’ Ruby struggled into her clothes. At the door, she paused. ‘It was wonderful for me too, Max.’
The siren went that night at seven and the onslaught didn’t stop until the early hours of Christmas morning.
Dinner would have been a sober affair if they hadn’t done their best to appear in good spirits for the sake of the children who had never received so many presents. Their happiness was infectious and by the end of the meal the good spirits were quite genuine.
‘After all,’ Charles pointed out, ‘if the good Lord has seen fit to spare us, we should celebrate that fact, not mope.’
Max Hart left on Boxing Day. It could take days to return to the base in Kent. A friend of Charles had offered to take the young airman as far as Manchester from where he might catch a train – or he might not. Nothing was certain any more.
The car arrived at eight o’clock that morning. Everyone gathered outside the door to say goodbye. Max hugged the children, kissed the women, shook hands with Charles. ‘It’s been the best Christmas of my life,’ he told them with a happy sigh.
‘See you next Christmas, if not before,’ Connie called as he backed towards the gate, waving all the time.
‘Try and make it before,’ shouted Beth.
Ruby held her hands to her face, not knowing what to say. Max was about to get in the car when she ran down the path.
‘Take care Max,’ she cried. ‘I’ll never forget you.’
She watched the car, waving frantically, until it turned a corner and Max was gone.
She never saw him again and he never sent his mother’s address.
Chapter 8
In April, Greta started school. ‘Why can’t I go too?’ demanded an outraged Heather.
‘Because you’re not old enough. You’ll have to wait until next year.’ Ruby badly missed her eldest daughter, though not Roy Deacon who’d started at the same time. It hurt, handing over the care of her precious child to strangers. Would they understand her nervous little ways, her shyness? Would she be bullied? If so, Ruby would descend upon the school and raise Cain. Heather sulked and worried Greta wouldn’t cope without her.
Beth was informed that Ruby had exhausted her patriotic duty when it came to looking after other women’s kids and not to bring any more home.
‘Anything you say, Rube,’ Beth replied easily. ‘By the way, what’s wrong with Charles?’
‘I’ve no idea. I’ll ask him.’
Charles was moping around like a sick puppy. Wendy had met someone else, he confessed when Ruby questioned the reason for his miserable face. The someone else was a sub-lieutenant in the Navy. ‘It’s the uniform,’ he said gloomily. ‘Men in civvies are at a distinct disadvantage these days.’
‘I’ll take him out of himself,’ Connie Wallace vowed. ‘I’ve always liked Charles and I don’t give a damn about uniforms. After all, you can’t wear ’em for the rest of your life. They’ve got to come off sometime, even if it’s only for bed.’
Charles was taken out of himself so thoroughly that three months later the couple announced they were getting married.
‘Straight away,’ Connie said with a grin. ‘Charles thinks it’s silly to hang around while there’s a war on, one of us could get killed any day,’ which Ruby thought a touch morbid. She was pleased they wanted to continue living upstairs, sleeping in Connie’s room which had a double bed and, if Ruby didn’t mind, using the small bedroom for storage.
The wedding would take place two weeks on Saturday. Clothes rationing had just been introduced and Connie was given the choice of using all her precious coupons on a bridal gown or getting married in ordinary clothes.
‘I always wanted a white wedding,’ she said wistfully. ‘But never mind, eh!’
But Beth had other ideas. She enjoyed showing off her skill on the sewing machine. A pair of Mrs Hart’s lace curtains would make a fine wedding gown, she claimed. ‘And there’s enough for a veil, though you can’t have it over your face, it’s too thick.’
Roses from the garden would do for a bouquet and Martha Quinlan offered a supply of beer as her and Fred’s present. The church wasn’t far away so everyone could walk. The reception would be held in the house. There were some very old records under the gramophone for those who wanted to dance. Thirty guests had been invited.
‘What am I supposed to give them to eat?’ Ruby wanted to know. ‘It takes me all my time to feed you lot.’
‘Spam?’ suggested Charles.
‘Spam with what?’
‘Just sliced on a plate with bread and pickles.’
‘And when did you last see pickles in the shops?’ Ruby replied tartly. ‘I can’t remember what a pickle looks like.’
‘I’ll show you what a pickle looks like.’ Charles disappeared, returning minutes later with three large dust-covered jars which he put on the table with a thump. ‘Pickled onions, pickled cabbage, pickled plums,’ he announced, clearly enjoying the look of astonishment on Ruby’s face.
‘You don’t pickle plums, you preserve them. Where did these come from?’
‘The cellar. Max’s mother must have done them.’
‘Good gracious me! I never noticed before. Will they be all right after all this time? I don’t want to spoil the wedding by poisoning the guests.’
‘We’ll try them out beforehand.’
‘You can try them out beforehand, Charles. If you don’t die, I’ll serve them to your guests. It’s a pity the apples aren’t ripe yet, else I could have done something with them. And that rhubarb would make lovely wine, but one of the things they never taught us at the convent was how to make wine.’
Fortunately, the guests saw fit to contribute items of food towards the wedding do. The bridal pair began to bring home tins of Spam, fruit cocktail, peaches and cream that they’d been given. Charles’s mother was fetching a cake from Dunstable, though as she said in her letter, it would be sadly lacking most of the essential ingredients.
Connie arrived one night with a basket containing a live rabbit. ‘I got it off this chap at work. He can’t feed it any more. Apparently, rabbit tastes just like chicken.’
Ruby screamed. ‘Only when it’s dead, and there’s no way I’m going to kill the poor thing. It’s beautiful.’ The rabbit was sleekly black with two white paws. It was nibbling a piece of carrot, innocently unaware what fate might have in store.
‘Chicken would be a real treat compared with Spam. Maybe Charles is willing to kill it,’ Connie said thoughtfully.
‘He can bone it and cook it too. I’d feel as if I was cooking Tiger.’
By the time Charles arrived, the children were playing with the rabbit and it had a name – Floppy. Tiger regarded it warily, unsure whether it was friend or foe.
Charles professed his unwillingness to lay a hand on the creature and Beth burst into tears at the very idea. ‘I couldn’t possibly eat it,’ she cried. ‘Anyroad, you can’t take it off the children now. They love it.’
‘You’re nothing but a shower of yellow-bellies,’ Connie said scathingly.
‘Why don’t you kill it?’ demanded Charles.
His bride-to-be shuddered delicately. ‘Oh, I couldn’t. It’s much too cuddly.’
Mrs Hart had several glorious hats stored in boxes in her wardrobe. Ruby borrowed a navy-blue straw boater that went perfectly with her new blue and white flowered frock which had puffed sleeves and a sweetheart neck.
‘You’ll not come across a frock like this again until this ruddy war’s over,’ the shop assistant said sadly. ‘From now on, they’ll be made from the minimum amount of material. Puffed sleeves are definitely out.’
Beth’s suit was strawberry red moygashel with a pleated skirt – pleats were something else that would take a long time to come back. With it, she wore Mrs Hart’
s cream organdie picture hat trimmed with silky cabbage roses.
‘Don’t we look wonderful!’ Ruby sang on the morning of the wedding when they were dressed in their finery. ‘I feel very elegant in this hat and you look like a Southern belle in yours – Vivien Leigh had better look out.’ She turned to the bride. ‘But neither of us can hold a candle to you, Connie. You’re a sight for sore eyes. Mrs Hart would be thrilled to bits if she could see you in her curtains.’
Connie’s perfectly painted face, surrounded by a frill of lace, glowed with happiness, and her eyes behind her smart glasses were misty with love for Charles, whose wife she would shortly become. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror. The dress had a high neck, long, tight sleeves and a gathered skirt with the curtains’ original scalloped hem. ‘This is the loveliest wedding dress in the world,’ she said huskily. ‘I couldn’t have got anything half as nice from the poshest shop in London.’ She flung her arms around Beth. ‘Thank you! You’ve made my wedding day extra-special. I’ll be grateful for as long as I live. And thank you, Ruby. You’ve worked wonders with the food. I bet Queen Elizabeth herself didn’t sit down to such a grand do when she married the King.’
Ruby rescued her hat which had fallen off during Connie’s emotional embrace. ‘I bet she didn’t sit down to rabbit either. I’m glad we didn’t kill Floppy. It would have ruined the day – and such a glorious day too. The sun’s hot enough to crack the flags and there’s not a cloud in sight.’
Greta and Heather were bridesmaids, their frocks peach-coloured slipper satin made from the skirt of a genuine bridesmaid frock that had belonged to Agnes/Fay Quinlan. Jake was adorable in a borrowed page boy suit of blue velvet, only a mite too big.
People came to their doors on that lovely July day, to watch and wave, to clap and smile, to shout their good wishes, as the wedding procession made its way on foot to the church. Hearts were warmed and tears were shed as the bright little pageant passed, reminding them that great joy and happiness was still possible even if their country was embroiled in a vicious war.
They arrived at a scene of devastation, where two houses had recently stood. Connie removed a rose from her bouquet and threw it on to the tumble of bricks. She gave another rose to a very old woman who was smiling through her tears as they approached.