Wartime Brides

by Lizzie Lane

  Her earlier high spirits had fallen to earth and, as her mood changed, so did the display. She could see it now for what it was. Cheap, tawdry, made from spare bits and pieces of cardboard and paper. The cotton wool was probably from First Aid stocks handed out during the war but never used.

  What would David be like over Christmas? A shiver coursed down her spine. She made a momentous effort to regain her self-control. Never mind. What is a family Christmas? A lot of husbands didn’t come home at all.

  Suddenly the lights went out. Yet another power cut. A groan rose from the crowd around her because the world was less gay and winter darkness had descended again.

  Polly’s head hurt but her vision gradually cleared. They’d come to a standstill and it was pitch dark outside. For a moment she half imagined she was back in the blackout, necking in a staff car up along the sea walls, an area of wilderness on the edge of Avon Gorge.

  Once her eyes had focused she realised that was indeed where she was.

  David was sitting silently beside her. She wondered how long they’d been there and what his intentions were. Obviously they weren’t here for necking. He wasn’t making the right overtures for that.

  Her whole body seemed to have frozen. She was desperate to escape. If she could just catch him off guard …

  As her fuzziness began to clear, the urge to take flight became stronger.

  She looked at David, his eyes staring out at the darkness, the film of sweat lightly coating his face, the shaking hands. Why the hell had he brought her up here? What was in his mind?

  They were at the very top of the Avon Gorge. A few feet away there was a sheer drop to the bottom. A terrible thought came into her mind and she trembled. She closed her eyes and swallowed as she imagined her body bouncing against the rocks, falling headlong through the bushes, and finally shattering like a rotten apple on the ground three-hundred feet below.

  Another car went by, its headlights picking out the angular jaw and deathly white features of David’s face. The beam was bright but quickly gone. Yet in that moment she’d seen the wetness on his cheeks. David was crying.

  It occurred to her that he had forgotten she was there and relaxed slightly. Her chance had come. Slowly and silently she reached for the door handle. For a moment its precise position eluded her. She felt her way, determined not to panic. It had to be done slowly. He mustn’t notice.

  The fact that David began sobbing audibly filled her with fresh fear. Despair is pretty deep when it causes a man to cry. She went rigid as he wrapped his arms over the steering wheel then banged his head against it again and again and again.

  Her fingers touched something cold. The handle! It moved. One push, the door was open and she was out, running, running for her life.

  ‘Come back here!’

  Polly ran, fear propelling her legs faster at the sound of his running footsteps. Closer and closer! The tips of his fingers brushed her shoulder. She screamed, scared of the darkness but more scared of David and the fact that the gorge was so close and so deep.

  Then suddenly it wasn’t dark. Headlights, perhaps the same ones that had passed earlier, pierced the night. They approached quickly. There was a squeal of brakes. The car doors opened even before it came to a standstill.

  Two men got out. She ran past but heard their footsteps joining those of David.

  He got to her before they did. His fingers gripped her shoulder. She screamed and stumbled. Then suddenly he was dragged off her and she could get to her knees and then to her feet.

  ‘Now then, what’s going on here, sir?’

  Even though they weren’t wearing uniforms, Polly knew the police had arrived. But there was no way she wanted to be asked awkward questions like who she was and what her relationship was to the man chasing her. It was all in the past. She didn’t want it intruding on her life.

  Without a backward glance she took to her heels, mindlessly running into the darkness, dipping to take off first one shoe then another, continuing to run faster than ever, the grass frostily cold beneath her stockinged feet.

  After the call came Charlotte phoned Julian and begged him to meet her at Bridwell Police Station.

  She was shocked when she entered the cell. There was David, his face the colour of cold ashes, his eyes staring and seemingly devoid of emotion.

  She whispered his name.

  He continued to stare, his fingers entwined in front of him.

  She said his name louder.

  He looked at her then looked away.

  Charlotte raised her hand to her face. This was just too much to bear!

  Julian stepped forward, pulled at his trousers just above the knees then hunkered down, looking upwards into David’s face as he spoke. ‘What were you doing up on the sea walls, old chap? Can you tell us that?’

  David blinked. Charlotte’s hand dropped to her breast. Her heart was thundering along like an express train. Nerves fluttered in her stomach.

  Julian tried again. ‘Who was the woman you were chasing?’

  Again he merely looked into Julian’s face and blinked.

  ‘Probably just a lady of the night,’ said the station sergeant, who had danced attendance on them since the minute they’d walked through the station door. Suddenly remembering there was a lady present, and a very upmarket one at that, he blushed and mumbled his apologies. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’

  Julian got up, cupped Charlotte’s elbow in the palm of his hand and guided her to the door.

  ‘Charlotte, will you hand David over to my guardianship entirely?’

  She stared at him, fearful of hearing the awful facts she knew he was leaving unsaid. Marmaduke Clements and his advice sprang to mind. He’d said something to the effect that nothing would be done until violence had occurred and the law became involved. Well, now the law was involved.

  ‘Are we talking about a mental institution, Julian?’

  He paused as if for breath, but she wasn’t fooled. She saw the hesitation in his eyes.

  ‘Tell me the truth,’ she said.

  ‘I’m pretty certain it’s a breakdown. Everything’s been leading up to it. Bottling things up – all the experiences he suffered overseas.’

  Charlotte thought about some of the difficult marriages she’d been dealing with lately. Women complained of men coming back from the war as strangers; the same in body, but different in mind and behaviour. She’d heard terrible things in her job. Children neglected while their mothers were out drinking, new-born babies found in dustbins, wives beaten to within an inch of their lives. And I’m one of them, she thought. It was the first time she’d fully admitted it to herself.

  Eventually, taking her courage in both hands, she took a deep breath. ‘If you think you can cure him, then I agree.’

  ‘I’d like to try,’ he said gently.

  ‘I would have liked him home for Christmas,’ she said with a hopeful smile. But in truth she already knew what his answer was likely to be.

  He shook his head and smiled sadly. ‘I can work wonders but I don’t do miracles. I’ll do my best, Charlotte. I promise I will.’

  She asked what she could do to speed things along. He only asked her to promise not to visit for a while until David had made some obvious progress. She promised she wouldn’t. There was no time for her to brood on what he would do. It was three weeks to Christmas. The children would be home from school for the holidays and would take her mind off things.

  She was determined to give them a good Christmas. One thing she had no intention of giving them was the news that their father was in a mental institution. If adults were likely to be openly intolerant to those with mental problems, children could be downright cruel. Janet and Geoffrey would be hurt and ashamed. Neither they nor David deserved that. She would tell them he was abroad working. ‘Something to do with the army.’

  Christmas festivities for the Hennessey-Whites began with a day out. Charlotte took Janet and Geoffrey to the same teashop she’d gone to with Edna up on Redcliffe Hi
ll. The children, thankfully, had seemed to accept David’s absence and the reason she’d given for it.

  At the teashop the waitresses were still offering digestives to compensate for the ongoing sugar rationing. In addition to the brass bits and pieces that festooned the wall, there was an Office of Information poster which suggested – though ordered might be a better word – that bread should only be asked for if you couldn’t possibly do without it. A war followed by a bad harvest and a lack of dollars. It was certainly hard work being the victor in a modern war!

  ‘So tell me about school and your plans for university,’ Charlotte asked enthusiastically.

  Janet’s attention was fixed on the teaspoon she was presently dangling over her teacup. Charlotte immediately sensed she was going to hear something she didn’t want to hear. Not pregnancy, she prayed, but thought it unlikely. Janet’s beloved Americans had mostly gone home.

  ‘I’ve decided not to try for university,’ Janet stated defiantly. ‘I haven’t got a hope in hell.’

  Charlotte was taken aback. ‘Janet! How can you say that! Things are going to change for girls. Just you wait and see. If you work hard …’

  ‘Working hard has nothing to do with it,’ Janet snapped.

  Charlotte pushed her cup of tea towards the centre of the table and said more severely than she had intended, ‘Then I suggest you explain yourself!’

  Janet sighed and slouched in her chair. Charlotte resisted the impulse to tell her to sit up straight in public.

  ‘I simply do not see the point,’ Janet said airily.

  ‘Your future depends on your studying as hard as you can,’ said Charlotte.

  Janet turned her big brown eyes onto her mother’s face. ‘What future, mother? Peace has been declared but everyone’s still arguing. And it’s all to do with the bomb. What chance will I have when the Third World War starts?’

  Charlotte searched for something to say. ‘I simply refuse to think such a thing will ever happen.’ It sounded lame. What right had she to make such a statement? In her heart of hearts she knew that Janet was making a valid point. Since the Americans had dropped the atomic bomb on Japan, talk about another world war had accelerated. But it won’t happen, she thought to herself, then looked across at her daughter and son. At least, she hoped not.

  ‘No one thought this war would happen,’ said Janet.

  ‘Now, Janet,’ Charlotte said adopting a brightness she certainly didn’t feel, ‘you mustn’t be a pessimist. Perhaps you’d like to tell me what you do intend to do with your life.’

  Janet’s eyes gleamed. ‘Enjoy myself and perhaps get married while I still can.’

  Charlotte frowned. Was her daughter talking about sex? She caught herself blushing at the same time as feeling concern. Was this a glimpse of the future? Goodness, she saw enough marriages contracted in haste. She found herself speaking as though to one of the innumerable couples she saw in her work. ‘One does need to consider the possibility of children coming along. One does have responsibilities.’

  ‘And precautions,’ responded Janet in a low, furtive voice.

  Charlotte turned away, embarrassed that she was blushing again. It was difficult to accept that Janet was growing into a woman. In an effort to hide her confusion, she turned to Geoffrey. ‘So how are things at school, Geoffrey?’

  At that moment the waitress came over to refill their cups. ‘Milk? Sugar?’

  Charlotte nodded, her eyes fixed on her son who, up until now, appeared disinterested in what she and his sister had been talking about.

  He began tapping his spoon against the side of his cup. ‘All right,’ he muttered. Yet she could see he was not all right. Since arriving home yesterday afternoon he had mooched around the house with his head down and his usually lively chatter oddly absent.

  Growing children! Charlotte sighed. What could she do with them? And then there was David. It hurt to think of him, not because of what he’d done, but because of what he’d gone through. She felt guilty for not having read the signs correctly; regretful that she hadn’t had the courage to ask him about the appalling things he’d seen.

  Dispirited, but still determined that the run-up to Christmas would be as happy as possible, she left the teashop, the children tagging along behind her. The pavement was two steps higher than the road where the car was parked.

  Having unlocked the passenger door for Janet and Geoffrey, Charlotte started round to the driver’s side when a woman guiding a pushchair carefully amongst a host of trousered and stockinged legs caught her eye.

  ‘Edna!’

  Edna stopped and looked down. Charlotte bounded up the steps.

  She peered in at Carol, pleased to see that being parted from her mother had done her no harm at all.

  ‘So when is Polly coming out of hospital?’ she asked.

  ‘She already is,’ answered Edna. ‘But she’s doing the matinee today so she asked me to look after Carol.’

  Charlotte forgot everything else when she was making a fuss of a child, which is why she said what she then said. ‘Golly, Edna. You are most certainly going to miss her when she’s gone. It must almost be like having your own.’

  The moment it was out she could have bitten off her tongue. Edna looked crestfallen.

  ‘Oh Edna, I am really so sorry!’

  She saw the sadness in the young woman’s eyes and knew immediately that, despite looking after Carol, Edna still hankered after the child her mother had forced her to give away.

  It was a terrible wrench for Edna to give Carol back to Polly, but Aunty Meg was back and Billy was home. Despite his needing some assistance from crutches, Edna fully expected to see Billy back on the van, flogging anything he could get his hands on. Until then someone had to go and see Mr Lewis, the toyshop manager, about sorting out some proper contracts – with deposits up front – for next year. Billy had sent a message that he was too ill to go. His legs were playing him up, and he suggested Edna go on their behalf.

  ‘We’ve got to see the bloke,’ said Colin. He held out his hands helplessly. ‘Or rather you will. Shops ain’t made for wheelchairs.’

  ‘But Mr Lewis will be expecting a man,’ said Edna, awash with nervousness at occupying the important position she’d been suddenly thrust into.

  Colin took hold of her hand. ‘Go on! You can do it.’

  Edna was not the sort who said no. She preferred to please people. There were fewer arguments that way. But she wished Billy were around to do the job. The sooner he was mobile again the better.

  Colin had another hospital appointment just before the meeting with Mr Lewis and Edna had no option but to go along.

  The waiting room seemed to be full of men who, like Colin, were missing limbs or suffering severe disfigurement.

  She sat nervously, not even bothering to take one of the tired copies of Picture Post or Good Housekeeping that lay in untidy piles on the table. She noticed Colin didn’t either. He seemed absorbed in what everyone else was doing, especially those that were walking with crutches. Jealousy, she thought, and wished that things could be different.

  ‘Colin Smith!’

  The abruptness with which his name was called out made Edna jump.

  Her throat was dry with apprehension. The words came out in a nervous rush.

  ‘Let me come in with you.’

  ‘It’s my body. My business.’

  He turned away abruptly. She never saw the look in his eyes and didn’t need to. He had to be hiding something really awful, something else to worry about.

  ‘You’d tell me if you were ill, wouldn’t you,’ she asked, hopeful at getting the truth but so prejudiced by her fears that she was certain he would be lying.

  ‘I’m all right,’ he answered impatiently and brushed her aside as the nurse wheeled him off down the dull cream corridor.

  Edna watched him go in, still afraid for his health but also hopelessly ashamed that there was another problem weighing her down. Regardless of anything else, she was going wi
th Charlotte to the orphanage on Saturday. She had been happy enough looking after Polly’s child, but all the time Carol had been in her care she had secretly fretted about whether Sherman had gone off to his new parents, or whether they’d perhaps brought him back – a bit like people did a wireless set gone wrong or a dress that they’d suddenly realised was not quite their colour. The latter seemed the most sadly apt.

  But her life was full at present. Colin’s home-based business was going from strength to strength. Few toys were coming in from the United States because of exchange controls and a severe lack of dollars, and people were prejudiced against German toys. It was they, Colin and she, who had gained.

  Again, just like before, it was an hour before Colin re-emerged from his appointment.

  ‘Have you got anything to tell me?’ she asked as she wheeled him away from the hospital towards Gloucester Road, a busy thoroughfare which still had some shops standing.

  ‘He says I’m as well as can be expected – for a man with no legs.’

  Again Edna felt cold fear clutch at her heart. It was likely that she was shortly to lose Sherman. Surely she couldn’t lose Colin as well? And if he was ill, then there was no way she could tell him about Sherman.

  Her heart was racing at the other problems she had to face. Mr Lewis, the man who wanted to buy so many of their toys. She fell into silence.

  ‘His name’s Lewis not Lion,’ Colin said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘He won’t eat you.’

  Edna’s sigh shook her from head to toe. ‘I know,’ she said, attempting to sound confident.

  Of course, Colin couldn’t come with her to see the man. Apparently his office was situated at the top of three flights of stairs. Other arrangements had been necessary.

  ‘Are you sure your friend Charlotte doesn’t mind?’ Colin asked as they made their way towards the local offices of the Marriage Guidance Council.

  ‘She said it’s all right to stay there until I get back. Anyway, she’s got a meeting, so you’ll have her office to yourself. You could work on that new toy design while you’re there.’

  ‘That was my intention,’ said Colin and patted the wedge of papers he had tucked under his coat. ‘Now you know what to say to Mr Lewis, don’t you?’ he asked her.