Soldier Girl

by Annie Murray

  ‘They’ll not be long,’ Dymphna assured her as they turned back towards the house. ‘The pub’s only at the end of the road. We’ll go back and have a nice cup of tea and a biscuit to break our fast – we’ll not be doing it on ale, like them!’

  Molly suddenly realized she was extremely hungry. She’d forgotten they hadn’t had any breakfast!

  ‘Everyone was delighted to meet you,’ Dymphna said, as they strolled along, the sun just beginning to ease through the clouds. ‘That lady you met, Mrs O’Malley – she brought Tony into the world – not the girls, mind, but she’s been like a grandmother to them all, so she has. She’s a marvellous lady, you know. Her husband was . . .’

  An immense, crumpling explosion stopped her and they felt the vibration of it pass all through them. Everyone turned to see a thick pall of dust rise lazily into the air from the next street, from where they’d just come. There were shouts, screams, sounds of falling masonry.

  ‘Holy Mother . . .’ Dymphna’s hand went to her mouth, her face instantly pale. ‘That’s down . . . Oh dear God, what’s happened?’

  ‘Mam, Mam!’ Geraldine shouted. ‘That’s down the end of Stanley Street.’

  ‘Oh please God . . .’ Dymphna started to run back towards the church and they all followed. Molly, catching the acute sense of dread from Tony’s mother, tore along with her. Whatever it was, not Tony, please God, not him . . .

  Round the corner, a terrible sight met them. Further on, past the church, the road was a mass of smoke and dust and rubble. Someone was crying hysterically and there were people rushing about in confusion.

  ‘What is it, what’s happened?’ Dymphna shouted at a boy who came running towards them, his eyes wide with fear.

  ‘Dunno – think it was a bomb, got lodged somewhere. Mrs Flynn’s house blew up . . .’ He tore on past.

  All Molly could think was, Tony, where are you, where are you? She waited for him to appear out of the whorls of dust, the wreckage, the confusion.

  And then Dymphna screamed, ‘Fred, Fred!’

  A familiar burly shape, shoulders hunched, was silhouetted against the chaos, the smoke and licking flames. They reached him in seconds. For the first time Molly saw his face without a smile. His hair and moustache were grey with dust, which had caked the lines of his face. He seemed too stunned to speak.

  ‘Fred, oh my God, you’re all right!’ Dymphna and the girls flung themselves at him.

  ‘Daddy, Daddy!’ Josephine was crying.

  ‘Where’s Tony?’ Dymphna was shouting in his face. She shook him by the shoulders, seeing how shocked he was. ‘Where is he? You were together, remember?’

  ‘I dunno. He was here, right beside me . . .’ Fred held out his arm, completely bewildered.

  In the distance they could hear the sound of bells, fire engines, ambulances. Through the dust and smoke, Molly caught sight of the pub a few houses up, people spilling out, talking, shouting. Now there was a jagged gap in the row of houses, its wreckage blocking the street.

  ‘Tony!’ She leapt into life suddenly, running closer to look. He had to be here. He’d be helping, dashing about in his usual energetic way. ‘Tony – where are you?’ she cried, then stopped. Dread, disbelief took over. All they could do was stand and stare, and wait.

  Fire engines revved up, unravelling hoses, damping down the flames. Lifting crews arrived, and the neighbours pitched in and helped as the dust gradually settled. As the air cleared of smoke, everything became starkly visible. Two houses had come down, exploding out into the street, leaving the jagged arms of the supporting ones beside them, their walls covered in visible stripes of green and raspberry pink, a brass bedstead hanging as if it might topple down any moment. Everyone fell silent.

  It didn’t take long. Not long enough. They brought out two bodies – Mrs Flynn, in whose attic, it seemed, the unexploded bomb had nestled unnoticed, and Tony. Though Molly recognized him instantly, achingly familiar with every tiny part of him, he looked strange to her. He was pumice-coloured, except for the blood on his face. He seemed longer, thinner. After the cries of recognition, the sobs of horror, the five of them, too numb for words, silently linked hands and stood round his crumpled body.

  Twenty-Six

  Molly could scarcely remember anything about those days later on. The army had to be informed, compassionate leave applied for, a funeral arranged. Somehow these things were done, somehow they lived, breathed, ate – did they? Somehow.

  Dymphna’s sister came from across London to comfort the distraught family. Ann, who was kindly and of a practical nature, took in the whole situation and insisted that Molly stay until after the funeral.

  ‘The poor girl’s got nowhere to go,’ Molly heard her say to Dymphna, ‘and the state of her, she looks half mad.’

  ‘Well he was her future husband,’ Dymphna said, in a tear-thickened voice. ‘Now it’s all taken away from her – from us all.’ Sometimes she’d say, ‘When they join up you’re always afraid for them. But it shouldn’t have happened like that, not like that.’

  They all kept inside, the curtains half drawn, Fred smoking silently, Dymphna with rosary beads in her hands, lips moving constantly, the hours swimming by somehow. Molly was too lost and bewildered by the shock of her grief to take in how kind they were – Ann kept them all fed and supplied with cups of tea, and she and the two girls tried to help, but then one would start crying and they’d all set each other off. At night, it was an agony for Molly to lie in the bed where Tony had slipped in to join her so few nights ago; the time seemed so close that she could almost feel him, yet it was also an eternity away. She hugged the pillow against her body, which ached inconsolably, wondering whether she should try to go with him. Was it worth carrying on living after this? And she would picture him again and again as she had seen him being brought out from under Mrs Flynn’s ruined house, ashen with dust, the blood, so still, all his electric life drained from him. Then she would see him as he had been on the cliffs, lying back, his whole body shaking with laughter, or pulling her close for a kiss, and this made her weep until her whole body hurt from weeping.

  And none of it could bring him back. Ever.

  The church was packed. The family was well known and liked in the district and many of those attending the funeral had watched Tony grow up. Molly was utterly dreading it. It was a warm day and she wore Dymphna’s dress, which she had washed carefully, remembering the look of admiration she had seen in Tony’s eyes when he first saw her wear it.

  She filed into the church with the family, aware of everyone’s pitying looks. Fred and Dymphna leaned on each other, distraught. A number of people were already weeping. The shock of his dying so close by and in such a way had been terrible for everyone. The contrast with the last time she was there, when her hopes were full of marriage and family and belonging, was too much to bear. Tony’s coffin was waiting for them at the front of the church, and at the sight of it, Molly, rather than letting out more of the ocean of tears inside her, seized on her old habit of making herself numb. By the time they were all seated in their pews, she beside Josephine, who was already crying quietly, she had a floaty, detached feeling that none of this was real. She could not hold her attention steady on what was going on. It was like all those times in her bed, as a child, when Old Man Rathbone had shuffled over her, and she had heard his breathing coming closer, closer. She had not been able to get away from him, not in her body, but she had drifted away in her head, separated herself, her eyes making shapes out of the shadows in the room, floating above what was happening, escaping him the only way she could. And now she could not stand to be here, to face the truth that Tony’s body was in that coffin, so close – his hands, his laughing face – yet gone for ever, wrapped round in the only love they could offer now: Latin words and the sound of muffled weeping. Instead she went into a kind of trance, that lasted until they were outside again, and people were speaking to her, offering sympathy, she hearing it suddenly loud, as if she had come up from u
nder water.

  She could not stay after that. Tony, her love, was gone. Being with his family was now an agony, and especially now the funeral was over, she felt in the way. There was nothing for her there.

  ‘I’ll have to get back,’ she told Dymphna. ‘They gave me a few days’ leave, but I’ve got to go tomorrow.’

  ‘My poor darlin’,’ Dymphna said. She seemed at a loss and physically shrunken. There was nothing she could offer Molly, no enduring link they could have with each other now. After all, she and Tony had not even been married and they had not known each other long enough. She would not be a Catholic, or part of the family. She could not belong there now.

  Molly dressed in her uniform the next day, leaving the pink-and-white dress folded on the bed. She could not bear to wear it again. With desperate sadness she said goodbye to all of them and made her way to Paddington, carrying all the ache of grief inside her. As the underground train rumbled across London, she sat staring at her reflection in the blackness of the window. The journey ahead of her spun through her mind. There would be the long ride all across the south, to the Welsh coast, the transport from the station, arriving back at the camp, the mess, the kitchens, guns firing off the cliffs, the ATS girls, the gunners, the lovely sea, and cliffs, all haunted now with taunting happiness. But not her love, her future. Not him.

  She climbed out at Paddington and in the bustle of the station she found her way to the army transport, to which she was automatically entitled.

  ‘I need to go the Euston Station please,’ she said.

  She could not go back there, not to Wales, not to the army, or anywhere near it. Not now. The memories would be too much for her. She had to go anywhere but there.

  Within just over an hour, she was on a train to Birmingham.

  Homefires

  Twenty-Seven

  Edna Stapleton, Norm’s mom, was quite a religious woman, and since Bob and Cynthia scarcely ever darkened the doors of a church, Em agreed to be married in her church, St Saviour’s in Saltley. The question then arose of where they were to live. With Norm about to join up and houses in short supply, the obvious thing was for Em to remain at home while he was away.

  ‘In the meantime, before I go, you can come and stop with us,’ Norm told her enthusiastically. ‘We’ve got more room with Rich gone and everything.’ He was determined that they were going away after the wedding too, at least for a night.

  ‘Where d’yer want to go?’ he asked Em, when he was round at the Browns’ house one night. It was late and everyone else had gone to bed. Norm seemed to have endless energy.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Em said, swallowing down a yawn. She’d never been anywhere in her life beyond the borders of Birmingham and wasn’t even sure if she wanted to.

  ‘Tell yer what’ – Norm looked very pleased with himself – ‘I’ll surprise you.’

  ‘Well we can’t go too far,’ Em said, nervous enough about leaving home at all.

  ‘I’ll think of summat, love – you leave it to me.’

  Em wore a much prettier and more elaborate white wedding dress than she had expected to, satin trimmed with lace, which Dot had been given by her Italian sister-in-law, Margarita.

  ‘No point in leaving it hanging in the cupboard for the moths when that lovely girl can use it!’ she said kindly. ‘Where’s she going to get a decent dress these days? No – you let her have it. We’ll alter it for her so that it fits her perfect.’

  It had a long, flowing skirt and Em wore a lacy headband and veil. Cynthia was overcome by emotion when she saw her all dressed up, ready to leave for the church.

  ‘Oh Em – you look so beautiful,’ she wept. ‘And so grown-up. Oh I hope you’ll be happy, love!’

  They embraced up in the bedroom and Em nearly cried as well. She was so excited and so apprehensive all at once and she knew that within her mother’s emotion lay anxiety and mixed feelings. But she couldn’t say anything. Forcing a smile, she said, ‘I s’pect I will be. Norm’s a good sort. And I’ll be back here soon, once he goes off, anyway.’

  Entering the dark, rather grand church felt very strange to Em, and as she processed along the aisle on her father’s arm, she was suddenly full of nerves and found her legs trembling so much that she could hardly stand. Bob, hair trimmed specially and squeezed into his Sunday best suit, was taking short, wheezing breaths and she felt very affectionate towards him. Her dear old dad wasn’t used to this sort of thing – she was the oldest and first to get married!

  Norm turned as she approached, and she saw his face change from nervousness to wonder, to the makings of a grin of utter delight, which he quelled immediately since this was a solemn occasion. Even she had been taken aback by her own transformation when she looked in the mirror. Of course her same old face had looked back at her – young-looking for her eighteen years, a few freckles still scattered across her nose – but with her hair pinned back, curled under at the ends, and the lacy veil, she looked suddenly grown-up and dramatic.

  ‘You look lovely Em. Really beautiful!’ Joyce had said, sweetly, once she was dressed that morning, and it was a rare thing for Joyce to pay compliments.

  Norm stood beside her, tall and proud in his policeman’s uniform which he had yet to exchange for an RAF one, and took her arm in his. He spoke his vows with the confidence of a man without a shred of doubt about what he was doing.

  Later, when they caught the train, Em still didn’t know where they were going. The two families had gone back to the Stapletons’ house and eaten the food they had pooled. Em was relieved to see that her mom and dad got on all right with Norm’s. When all the eating and drinking had been done, and the last cups of tea were being drained, Em went up and changed into a simpler dress, regretful that her moments of magic in the white satin one were over so quickly.

  ‘Back to being Cinders,’ she said wryly to herself. But she was very grateful to Dot that she had been able to dress up so beautifully, at least for a short while.

  She had enjoyed the day, basking in the attention, with Joyce, Violet and even Sid being good-natured to her, and Mom and Dad looking proud. But once she was alone with Norm in the compartment of the train, the brass ring on her finger, and he slipping his arm under hers and taking her hand, she was seized with panic. What the hell’ve I done? she kept thinking. I’m married – married!

  ‘So – where d’yer think we’re going then?’ Norm said. Em had no idea – she’d boarded the train in a trance.

  I don’t care, she thought, trying to take deep breaths to calm herself. I want to go home. Why on earth did I get myself into this? The thought of the evening to come, of being alone with Norm in a strange room somewhere, was making her increasingly uneasy.

  ‘I dunno.’ She forced herself to speak amiably, looking down at Norm’s long, spindly fingers wrapped round hers. After all, Norm was being so kind – it wasn’t his fault she was in a state, was it? She just felt unprepared, too young, as if she wanted to wind time back and let herself be a child again, when now she had to be a woman. She didn’t seem to have been a child for long enough. She was glad that the compartment was crowded, because she knew that otherwise Norm would want to kiss her. She could sense his excitement, that at last he would soon be getting what he wanted from her, what it was her duty to give him, and this made her even more nervous.

  They arrived in Worcester, and Norm took her to a pretty guest house a mile from the station. He was excited, and full of chat.

  ‘It’s a nice place – I thought you’d like it. I came here once with our mom, to see the cathedral. She likes old places; she says she gets a nice feeling off them. When the war’s over, we’ll go to the seaside, eh? Go on the beach?’

  In their little room with a sloping roof, looking over the street, Em busied herself settling in, talking lightly about where she should put this and that as if to keep him at bay with chatter. But Norm came up behind her and took her by the shoulders.

  ‘Come ’ere, love – I haven’t even had a p
roper kiss yet.’

  Seeing his ardent expression, Em felt ashamed of her hesitation and smiled shyly at him.

  ‘So – Mrs Stapleton.’ He wrapped his arms round her and kissed her enthusiastically. Em, touched by how much he wanted her, did her best to respond, and she felt better. Best not dwell on what might happen later, she thought. This was her Norm, her sweet, kindly husband. (Husband!!) She told herself not to be so silly.

  ‘It’s nice here,’ she said, when he drew back to look at her. Their room was simple, but clean and cosy, with a couple of old rugs on the bare boards, a big, solid wooden bed, a cupboard and two chairs. ‘Thanks, Norm,’ she said, then giggled. ‘Your ears have gone all pink.’

  Norm grinned sheepishly. ‘They’re like blinking traffic lights, aren’t they?’

  She put her hands behind them and waggled them affectionately. ‘I can always tell it’s you coming along, anyhow.’

  They ate the filling evening meal provided by the guest house, a tasty rabbit stew and potatoes followed by Miss Muffet junket, and then strolled round the sedate old city in the dying light. The streets were very quiet and it felt as if they had the whole place to themselves. They walked beside the river Severn and looked up at the old façade of the cathedral as the first stars were appearing.

  ‘Let’s go back now,’ Norm murmured, his arm round Em’s shoulder. His lips brushed her ear.

  As soon as they were back in their room shrouded by blackout curtains, the dim light on, Norm could not contain his excitement any longer. He took her eagerly in his arms.

  ‘Let me undress yer,’ he begged. ‘I’ve thought about it so many times – seeing yer, love.’

  With rapt concentration, he removed her cardigan, then began undoing the buttons down the front of her frock.