Madame Barbara

by Helen Forrester

  ‘She always was a great manager,’ Léon replied with a grin. ‘Naturally, I’ll be sending her something towards the funeral.’ He pulled up another chair, and surveyed his nephew. ‘Sit down, sit down,’ he ordered.

  The lad looked far too thin, the lines in his haggard face showing like deep seams, and his borrowed clothes hanging loosely on him. ‘I’m relieved about your mother; Claudette will take care of her. And Rouen’s normally a nice place to live in. It’s recovering slowly, though it’ll take years.’

  Michel nodded agreement. ‘There’s lots of work there in the building trade.’ He hesitated, feeling that his uncle might despise him for what he was about to say. Then he burst out, ‘I’m looking for a job – better than labouring, which I could easily get in Rouen – because my shoulder objects strongly.’ He grimaced ruefully. ‘That’s why I didn’t go with Maman, though Claudette offered me a bed until I got started.’

  ‘Well, what are you going to do?’ enquired Léon. ‘I doubt if we’ll ever see the farm again.’ He dug a packet of cigarettes out of his trouser pocket and offered one to Michel, who took it. ‘I’m pretty sure the Government will make a huge coastal park – and our little patch will just about be enclosed in it. People are saying that it’ll be a great tourist attraction – provided they can get rid of the mines.’ In the light of the match he struck for their cigarettes, his face looked grim. Though he no longer had a financial interest in the property, he did not very much like such a valuable asset being lost to the family.

  ‘I hope they pay for it, Uncle Léon – not simply appropriate it.’

  ‘They will. Normandy has gone through so much, particularly Calvados; there would be an insurrection if they didn’t.’

  Michel nodded, and replied firmly, ‘I mustn’t depend too much on compensation, because first, it has to be shared in the family, and second, we still have some debts to clear. The Boches were, sometimes, so tough on us that we actually had to borrow money in order to eat!’

  ‘I know. So what’re you going to do?’

  Michel did not answer, while Hortense handed Léon and himself a mug of coffee each.

  ‘I want to get a decent post, preferably in something connected with poultry. I want to sit at a desk – tell others how to do the heavy work. I know enough to be able to do it.’ He gave a sideways glance at his uncle to see how he was taking this.

  Léon considered this soberly as he sipped his coffee. Michel certainly had enough experience of raising hens – it was amazing what he had got off such a limited space, to satisfy the Boches.

  Michel went on slowly, ‘I can only do it by steps. After losing the farm, I’ve no decent clothes.’ He laughed ruefully up at the garments hanging on the clothesline above the fireplace. ‘I must earn enough to buy clothes that look right for an office job – or even for some sort of an outdoor supervisor.

  ‘You know, I wouldn’t mind working in a hotel, but as Reservations or Maintenance.’ He stopped, and then added unwillingly, ‘I may even be forced to do labouring, at first, to raise a bit of ready cash simply to get some decent clothes.’

  His uncle gave one of his sly grins. ‘You’ll become a true bourgeois,’ he mocked lightly.

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Michel promptly. ‘It’s much more comfortable – thousands did it just before the war. They went to the cities. You went to sea, Bertrand’s father did it – and now you’ve got your own boat and Bertie has his own bakery.’

  ‘We voted with our feet.’ Léon’s grin broadened, as if amused that he had personally outwitted an oppressive hierarchy by simply laying down his spade.

  ‘Right. Fed up with being despised and downtrodden good-for-nothings,’ responded Michel with deliberate melodrama, which made his uncle chuckle, because it was so true. ‘And, you know, I can speak English well enough for hotel work. I know some German, too, thanks to the sales Boches. And I can read and write and do arithmetic.’

  ‘Well, why not, indeed? I did it. And, as you say, now I have the Marie-Reine.’ He did not add that he had no one to whom he could leave his little freighter, which grieved him. He and his wife had remained childless from choice, while they both worked to improve their existence. She had died of cancer in 1938. Now, he had only Hortense.

  Michel interrupted his wandering thoughts. ‘I knew you’d understand, Uncle; that’s why I came to discuss things with you – before I tackle Maman. She naturally hopes I’ll go to Rouen.’

  ‘Don’t you want to go there? It’s a huge place, with factories, and so on. There must be other work there. If there aren’t jobs now, other than construction, there soon will be – now that France is finally getting Marshall Aid from the Yanks. It should facilitate other businesses in both Rouen and Cherbourg as they reopen.’

  Michel nodded agreement, and then objected, ‘It won’t be us who’ll make anything out of that immediately, Uncle Léon, and I need to get started now.’

  ‘I see that. But it’s essential for goods – and people – to move about. Look how difficult it’s been for you. I don’t suppose you could have looked for a job outside Bayeux?’

  ‘Right. There are still no buses in Bayeux – and only one taxi. I couldn’t move much, anyway, while Anatole was with us. Now I can live anywhere – and go anywhere – on the bike.’

  Léon stabbed out the last of his cigarette and lit another one. He felt there must be an urgent reason for Michel’s visit, and he asked abruptly, ‘Well, what do you want me to do?’

  ‘My seaman’s book was lost in the house. Can I get it renewed?’

  ‘Certainly. I’ll give you the address.’

  ‘And how do I get a passport?’

  ‘Well, that’s not too difficult, as long as you’ve got identification and the money for it. But why on earth do you want a passport?’

  ‘I don’t want it immediately. First, I have to get a job that pays more than subsistence, and find a room in which to live somewhere near it.’

  ‘And what sort of job will you look for, first?’

  ‘As I said, I’ll work as a labourer; maybe on a big poultry farm. There are some that were not smashed up in the invasion. Then I’ll try to get work in the office there.’

  ‘And once you’ve got a little money?’

  Michel hummed under his breath, and then said reluctantly, ‘Well – well, if you promise not to say anything to Maman until you are sure I’ve told her, I want to work a passage to England.’

  ‘Mon Dieu! Why? I’ll take you on as ordinary seaman, of course. Not that you’ll earn much.’

  ‘All I want is to be discharged at a British port. I’ll have a visa – if I need one for a holiday – and a passport, and I want to go and see a friend of mine.’

  ‘One of the airmen you sheltered?’

  ‘Yes, I want to see him – I’ll need his help.’

  ‘There’s more to this than meets the eye. Open up, boy, and tell me what it’s really all about.’ Léon took a sip of coffee. ‘I hope it’s got nothing to do with the black market or smuggling. I can’t afford to lose my reputation, if you’re involved in something illegal.’ Over the rim of his coffee cup, Léon’s eyes were suddenly steely.

  Michel exploded with laughter, and assured him that it was nothing illegal. ‘All I want to do is marry an English-woman,’ he announced quietly, hoping that Hortense, busy at the kitchen sink, would not hear him.

  ‘An Englishwoman?’ Léon sat bolt upright in surprise. ‘You’re crazy. What on earth for? You must be out of your mind. Marry some stiff-necked, cold foreigner?’

  Michel sighed. ‘I don’t think I’m quite dotty. I want to marry her for lots of reasons. She’s a wonderful little woman. She and her mother own a bed-and-breakfast, a kind of small hotel, near Liverpool.’ His voice rose with enthusiasm. ‘They’ve two hectares of unused farmland round it – good possibilities there.’ Cigarette between his fingers, he made a wide gesture to show how good the possibilities were.

  Léon was still regarding him as if he had sudden
ly gone mad.

  Undeterred, Michel continued, ‘She tells me that Liverpool’s a great centre for importing food – and processing it. And we both know that that’s likely true – you’ve taken cargoes up there. So there’s a chance that I could get a decent job to do with poultry. They must need eggs in a city that big, and I could work her land in my spare time.’ He threw his cigarette end into the fire and then said wryly, ‘They must be short of men, the same as we are.’

  There was dead silence as Uncle Léon tried to grasp the implications of this most unexpected announcement. Michel smiled knowingly at his uncle, and then added one more bombshell, ‘What’s more, I’m truly in love with her!’

  ‘Ciel! No wonder you don’t want to tell your mother. It sounds absolutely crazy to me. Are you sure you want to do this?’ He flicked his cigarette ash into the hearth. ‘What about a nice French girl?’ he suggested. ‘I could look for one for you – with a dowry, possibly.’

  ‘After Suzanne? Mais non! And you know and I know that Englishwomen are famous for their faithfulness.’

  Léon made a wry mouth. ‘I suppose,’ he answered doubtfully. ‘It’s a nice story. But the war’s changed England as well as France – I feel it every time I dock there.’

  He called to Hortense for another cup of coffee. Then, his voice sombre, he said, ‘What Suzanne did was hard on you. Against that, not all French girls are the same.’

  ‘I know. Maman is going to say that, too. But once bitten, twice shy. And Maman can’t complain that Barbara isn’t suitable. She’s Catholic. Nor can anyone complain much about a dowry – she’s plenty to offer.’ His eyelids half closed, as if from a sudden pain, and it was obvious to Léon that the lad was still very bitter at his betrayal.

  Léon allowed Hortense to bring him his coffee, and waited until she had returned to the kitchen sink and her chopping of vegetables. Then he said, ‘It’s true, when I think about it, you’ve nothing much to lose here. However, Englishmen make any self-respecting Frenchman creep, you know that – ignorant boors. They aren’t liked here; and you won’t be liked there, I can tell you from experience.’

  ‘I know. But you haven’t seen Barbara.’

  ‘I can’t say I want to,’ retorted his uncle irritably. ‘She’ll never understand you. It’s a different outlook – and a different life.’

  ‘She’s got common sense, Uncle. She wouldn’t have committed herself, unless she thought we’d make a go of it,’ Michel replied patiently.

  ‘Look here, Michel. You’d have to face Englishmen to get a job; every time you walked in the street, you’d be a target for any hooligan that may be around; and you’d have no friends to help to protect you. I know it.’ Uncle Léon’s knowledge of England was limited to dock areas, and he spoke from that experience.

  Michel’s heart sank while he inwardly cried for his chérie Barbara.

  Determinedly, he tried another tack. ‘She’s suggested that I go first for a holiday, to her home. I can look around, get the feel of it all. It won’t cost much, if you’ll let me work my passage. I can use the bike to get me up to Liverpool from, say, Portsmouth.’ He leaned across the fireplace towards his uncle, and went on, ‘I can always return, if I don’t think I can face it. She can come here, if she wants to, though it’ll be years before Normandy is on its feet again.’

  Hortense called that the evening meal was ready.

  Without a further word, the two men clumped to the table, where, perforce, the conversation was taken up by Hortense, who wanted to know about the funeral and each member of the family; she had no family herself, and clung to the hope of belonging to her lover’s family. They tolerated her, she knew, though they regarded her as an unnecessary expense in which Uncle Léon indulged himself.

  After dinner and a glass or two of cheap wine, Uncle Léon was in a more tolerant mood. A holiday in England might be sufficient to put Michel off his mad idea. He had a real affection for the younger man, and a genuine desire for his happiness – and he could not imagine any self-respecting Norman ever being happy in such a benighted northern island full of traditional Protestant enemies of France. But a holiday? There was a compromise. He would have been surprised to learn that Phyllis had come to a similar conclusion.

  After Hortense had done the dishes and gone to bed, Léon tried once more to deter his nephew from his mad idea, but to no purpose. He decided that the man must be absolutely besotted by this widow, that time in England was probably the only way to disenchant him.

  ‘You don’t only marry a woman,’ he warned. ‘You marry a family – and in this case, you’ll be marrying into a strange society as well.’ He made a wry face. ‘I’ll take you there, if you still want to go in a few months’ time. If you can get a decent job here, you may change your mind.’

  ‘I doubt I will,’ replied Michel woodenly, though his uncle’s description of his likely reception was the popular view of England and the English.

  ‘Well, we’ll leave it open. And I’ll certainly bring you back if you do go and don’t like what you find.’

  ‘Thanks, Uncle. What you’ve said is sensible, I know,’ Michel admitted aloud. Silently, he promised himself that, for Barbara, he would sacrifice his life.

  Uncle Léon was saying, ‘You can always return to Calvados, you know that. And I can give you a roof, if you need one,’ he added kindly. Michel watched him lean back in his chair, and examine the smoke-blackened ceiling. ‘Try it. Let me know ahead of time when you need a berth – though I can carry you as a passenger instead of crew provided you’ve got your passport and a visa.’

  Michel felt that his uncle had been more reasonable than many would have been, more reasonable than his mother would probably be. He said humbly, ‘Thank you, Uncle. You’re very good.’ Then to change the subject, he suggested, ‘Next time you dock in Rouen, I know Maman and Claudette would love you to visit them.’

  ‘Naturally, I will.’

  ‘There is one favour I want to ask you, if you would. Could you watch what happens to our land, and deal with whatever comes up? Consult Maman, of course. There’s no one else I can trust.’

  Léon shrugged. ‘Of course, I will. But I hope you’ll return to us.’

  It was taken for granted that Michel would stay overnight, and while they sat over the last of the wine, Uncle Léon got out of his determined nephew, step by step, more details of how he had met Barbara and exactly how he intended to proceed.

  ‘Why do you want to farm her land? It won’t be easier than doing it here.’

  For a man in love, the answer was unexpectedly practical.

  ‘Because a bed-and-breakfast there might be built into a hotel eventually, if there is enough land. If I can’t get into a poultry company or similar, alternatively, I would like office work in a hotel, if I could get it – get experience to help to run the place with her,’ replied Michel, blithely unaware of the stultifying effect of British red tape where new construction or anything else to promote business was concerned.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing like ambition,’ said Léon, determined to handle the boy with diplomacy.

  Let the lad fly. Soon enough, he’d be thankful to return to Calvados.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  The last instruction that Uncle Léon shouted after him, as, in Portsmouth, Michel carried his bicycle down the gangway of the Marie-Reine, was to ride on the left-hand side of the road.

  Though he had been in England before, Michel had not remembered this simple fact. It was as well that he had been reminded, otherwise he would probably have been mown down by impatient, lumbering lorries before he had ever managed to get out of the dock area.

  He was armed with a map of England, on which he had marked the general north-westerly route he intended to take, and the smaller towns through which he proposed to travel in order to avoid heavy city traffic. He had not, unfortunately, been able to obtain maps of the towns through which he would pass. His uncle had, with many further admonitions regarding the ferocity of some B
ritons, shown him a map of Portsmouth, and the road which would take him in the direction of Winchester.

  Michel found, to his frustration, that the road suggested by his uncle was temporarily closed off by a barricade, while a bomb site was being cleared to make way for rebuilding.

  As he dismounted and stood uncertainly on the edge of a pavement, his bike tucked into the gutter, he realised how badly the city had been damaged. It was nothing like the damage to Caen, but he could see from where he stood a number of gaunt shattered walls.

  Warnings from his Uncle Léon still fresh in his mind, and predictions from his despairing mother, his family and one or two friends like Reservations and old Duval, about the traditional unfriendliness of the British to Frenchmen, made him hesitant. He stood there, amid hurrying shoppers, feeling very lonely.

  ‘If you’re lost, always ask a policeman,’ Barbara had advised. So, with some reluctance, he finally crossed the road, to where a white-clad constable, his back to the barricade, was redirecting the traffic.

  As the constable waved traffic across the front of him, Michel nervously asked for the road to Winchester.

  At the sound of the foreign accent, the constable nodded, but continued to wave vehicles in various directions, as he waited for a break in the traffic. Misunderstanding this silence, Michel began to think that he was not bothering to attend to him because he was French.

  Then the constable thankfully dropped his aching arms, wiped the perspiration off his cheeks with a hasty dash of a white glove, and glanced up and down at the clerklike person in front of him, mackintoshed and trilby-hatted. He asked the stranger quite civilly, ‘Winchester, you say?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Michel, not certain how one addressed the police in England.

  The constable duly instructed him, and then he asked, in a friendly manner. ‘You visiting?’