Farming, Fighting and Family

by Miranda McCormick

  After a night such as this, I found it even harder to get up at some unearthly hour next morning, and walk through the dark country lanes to where the girls were breakfasting in a Mess half a mile away … In a hopefully formidable voice, I was instructed to say, ‘Any complaints?’ I can’t remember anyone actually piping up that her porridge was burnt, but I should have been hard put to it to know how to deal with such an eventuality.

  Although Pamela tried to soldier on as best she could, given the lack of sleep from which she clearly suffered, she became more and more exhausted. In a letter to her mother early on in her new posting she wrote: ‘I’ve come to the conclusion that somehow or other it will soon be put to the test as to whether I can lead a normal life or not and if I can’t I can’t. I don’t suppose I ever have really.’

  Evidently Pamela’s lack of stamina was understood by her commanding officers, who did their best to lighten her load, as a later letter to her mother reveals:

  They are very kind to me at the moment and not let me go to any of the duty social functions which happen every night but when my rest is over presumably I shall have to make up for lost time. I never have been able to work and play though so if I can’t I can’t – I feel so like a wet blanket as most of them are rung up every night & out somewhere and I toddle off to bed at 9 …

  Despite this special treatment, however, it was not long before Pamela succumbed to yet another flu-like illness, as she told her mother:

  I’m more certain than ever I wasn’t made for work – this is the 2nd time I have lasted exactly a fortnight, smiled sweetly & retired to bed, and the C.O. has lent me her wireless. I’m a borrower of wirelesses, I am. I shall have spent so many days in bed at so many different houses that I shall soon only pack pyjamas & dressing jackets …

  Pamela never made a full recovery. Instead she was sent to the company’s medical officer who, mystified by her case, sent her on in turn to a hospital in Bristol. Informing her mother of this latest development, Pamela wrote reassuringly:

  It is the Royal Naval & Military Hospital, Durham Downs, Bristol … Now Mummy you aren’t to worry – I may only be there 2 or 3 days as they want to take a blood test to see if I’m anaemic. As soon as they find out I’m not I’m afraid they will pack me straight away back as I know it’s not that but just plain tiredness.

  It is unclear how long Pamela remained at the hospital, but the upshot was that she was declared unfit for further military service, and received formal notice of her dismissal in a letter dated 5 May: ‘The War Office takes this opportunity of thanking you for your services in the A.T.S. and expresses regret that ill-health has necessitated the termination of your employment.’ What neither Pamela’s parents nor her superiors realised during this period was that there was an additional psychological element to her illness that had nothing to do with her ATS work. What Arthur and Vera Street did pick up, however, was how unusually pre-occupied Pamela seemed during her last period of leave, so much so that she failed to notice that her puppy Rego – named after David’s dog – was missing. It was only after she returned to Corsham that she realised, and wrote to her parents to enquire after his whereabouts. Arthur Street replied in typically compassionate but light-hearted manner, attempting to soften the blow, for Rego had indeed vanished:

  With regard to Rego – we all marvelled that you did not refer to his absence last weekend, but now you have inquired I must tell you that he strolled off the other week and has never returned. We have heard no news of his being run over, and are all convinced that he has been picked up by some troops. My own view is that he is now a popular figure in some American unit. You must admit that he had an American appearance, a decidedly American penchant for feminine society, and a rather swashbuckling appearance of transatlantic flavour. I feel convinced that by now he has learned to chew gum, to take flappers to the pictures, and that if any of we poor Wiltonians should meet him, he will say, ‘Hiya babe, what’s cooking’ with a nasal twang in his bark. Seriously I think you can take it that he is alive and well, and being frightfully spoilt by somebody …

  Arthur’s reference to Americans was unwittingly not the most tactful at this point in his daughter’s life. When Pamela returned home on leave over Christmas 1943, she not unnaturally resumed her relationship with Holden Bowler. This time, however, Pamela realised that things were getting seriously out of hand.

  In her Second World War novel Many Waters, Pamela leant heavily on her own experiences, so it is reasonable to assume that what happened to the heroine of her novel, Emily Mason, and her American admirer Vernon Keeler on Boxing Day 1943, actually took place between Pamela and Holden. It would be their last encounter:

  She had happened to come home that afternoon surprised to find that Vernon was there and also appeared to have a few hours free. He had suggested going for a bicycle ride and they had gone up to Barbury [Pamela’s fictitious name for Grovely], and then pushed their bicycles along the track until they reached the old keeper’s cottage belonging to the Fairfaxes [Pamela’s fictitious name for the Pembrokes]. It was semi-derelict, the only temporary occupants being members of the Home Guard who sometimes used it as a shelter at night. It had been a very clear cold day, the sky a pale icy blue, dotted about here and there with small white clouds like soap-suds. For a while, they leant against the porch looking down on the Willon Valley in silence. All at once, she had shivered and, without quite knowing how it had happened, she had allowed herself to be drawn inside. In a shaft of winter sunlight, filtering through one of the latticed windows, she had noticed an old primus stove, a kettle, a couple of tin mugs and a broken-down bunk.

  Vernon wasted no time. Leading her across the room, he pushed her gently down on the bunk and began kissing her firmly in a way she had not before experienced. When she made an attempt to stop him, he had put a finger to her lips and said, with mock severity, ‘Come now, Emily, you know perfectly well it’s what you’ve been waiting for.’ And, as he began kissing her again, she had known he was right …

  It had been Vernon, not she, who had finally and abruptly broken off their dalliance. Pulling her almost roughly to her feet, he had said, ‘Come on. We must go. Girls like you are too much of a good thing to be alone with in a place like this.’

  She had known, without wanting to know, what he meant. She had known that she wanted to be alone with him, that she would have liked him to go on kissing her, that she would have liked …

  As a result of this episode, Pamela realised that the time had come to choose between following the path that was expected of her, or casting all propriety to the wind and giving in to her instincts. She became more consumed by guilt than ever, as she later explained:

  But there was this other, younger man, a long-time prisoner of war, cold and hungry … to whom I was still writing regularly and receiving, along with his mother, letters full of cheerful stoicism.

  My conscience became unbearably active. Not only was I being mentally unfaithful, but if I went on seeing my American I was in danger of suffering the same fate as about three quarters of all the young girls in Wilton. I might become pregnant.

  In this last statement, Pamela was almost certainly correct. Family planning was only available to the more sophisticated married couples, and the sheltered Pamela would have had no clue as to where to obtain such unmentionable devices. Although the Americans came over equipped with condoms, it would seem that few of them, in the heat of the moment, actually bothered to use them. For the dutiful Street daughter, terrified of bringing disgrace on her family, there was really no contest. In Many Waters, her heroine Emily follows the same course as did Pamela:

  At last, with infinite regret, she decided that the only thing to do would be to write to him, telling him that she had behaved wrongly on Boxing Day, that she would not be able to go out with him again and that their association must cease. It would be a difficult letter to word, but she would have to do it and the sooner the better …

  Not surprisingly, Holden
Bowler was mystified on receiving Pamela’s letter, unable to fathom what crime he had committed to be shut out of Pamela’s life so suddenly and comprehensively. It was perhaps as well that her letter coincided with orders for a new posting and that he would be leaving Wilton. His final note to Pamela reads:

  Dear Pamela

  Thank you so much for your note – please thank your Mum & Daddy for their good wishes.

  Pam whatever I said or didn’t say or did or didn’t do, that sort of ‘cooled’ the family on me – I’m sorry. I couldn’t mistake it of course – & God knows I can think of hundreds of things I’ve said that might have offended – but never one intentionally – am afraid that’s just how I am. Would have confronted you with the question ‘what have I done’ the first time I met you in the street so at least you are spared that. I’m sincerely sorry, Pam, whatever it was. Forgive?

  Trust David will be home soon & I can send you a congratulatory note.

  Be happy, Pamela.

  Ho

  It was only once Pamela was back for good at Ditchampton Farm that Vera Street finally understood the full extent of her daughter’s anguish. In Many Waters Pamela describes the relevant conversation between her heroine, Emily, and the latter’s mother. What she wrote in her novel must surely reflect a similar conversation between Pamela and her own mother:

  ‘You didn’t actually …?’

  ‘No, of course not, Mummy.’ Impatiently, Emily cut her mother short.

  ‘Thank God.’

  Katy knew that her daughter would not lie to her. The worst had not happened. Emily had not been seduced. She was not pregnant. On the other hand, it was alarming to see her looking so wretched. Katy had long suspected that there was some trouble connected with Vernon Keeler, but she had never thought it was quite so serious …

  ‘When did you realise you were … well, quite so attracted to him?’ Katy could not bring herself to say ‘in love’.

  ‘Ages ago.’

  ‘And Vernon?’

  ‘I’m … not sure.’

  ‘Has he said anything to you about marriage?’

  ‘Yes. Soon after Christmas.’

  ‘What exactly did he say?’

  ‘That he probably had no right to ask, but if I wasn’t sure about John, would I consider becoming his wife.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘What could I say?’ Emily began to sob, uncontrollably.

  So pitiful was Pamela’s state, both psychological and physical, that Arthur and Vera Street decided that what she needed was a complete change of scene. Vera was also in poor health, and despite the fact that the Second Front might start at any minute, arrangements were made for the two invalids to spend a period of time in Tintagel in Cornwall, leaving Arthur to get on with his work in peace. After such a long period of enforced idleness due to his own illness, he had much catching up to do, which helps to explain a series of exasperated letters that he wrote to Vera during her stay. Once she and Pamela had arrived in Cornwall, Vera evidently had second thoughts about being so far away if or when D-Day happened, and felt they should return without delay. Arthur would have none of it, as his first letter shows:

  Dear V,

  Presume from your wire that you have decided to stay. Your rooms were booked for a fortnight, that is until next Saturday, and it was understood that you would try to get further accommodation for at least a second fortnight making a month in all. Knowing from bitter experience the way women’s minds work it occurred to me that the real trouble is money, so I herewith enclose cheque for £50.

  The point is this. Neither of you are of any value at home, but both a nuisance and a worry to everybody here. I have to earn the money that enables you both to be useless nuisances. I can only earn it if I have a little peace from both of you. I have had eight days, got up with my work, caught a couple of trout, and but for your worrying over the telephone should have begun another book this week. If you come home I shall never write another, and this means you will starve. For God’s sake have a little consideration for other people and stay away a full month. The hotel is comfortable, the food is good, the weather ideal, so what more can you want? Every other woman in Britain would envy you such a holiday during wartime. Daft as you must be please remember that to send the enclosed I have to work and earn nearly three times the amount, and I must have peace of mind in which to earn it.

  I go to London tomorrow, and shall not be back until Wednesday night, when I hope to hear some reasonable news of you.

  Yours disgustedly,

  Arthur

  Arthur carries on in similar vein in a letter written in the evening of the same day:

  Dear V,

  Since posting my first letter I learn that Vi has been on the phone to you, and that apparently the only worry for coming home that you can think up or manufacture is that you feel so cut off should the second front start. That, you idiot, is the whole idea, to get you both cut off and off my hands when it does start. If you can tell me one minute reason why you would be better here than at Tintagel when it starts, or of any use here, or that you would sleep better here, neither I nor anyone else can. But I and everybody who knows you both can find at least fifty good reasons why you would be an added worry to everybody here if you were here when it starts. So for Christ’s sake stay put down there for at least a month, and thank your lucky stars that you have a husband who is willing to work to pay for your daftnesses, even if he has suffered from them for over a quarter century.

  Now look, I mean this. Get some rooms for at least another fortnight, and stay in ’em. Otherwise if you come home, your train will cross mine taking me to Tintagel, for I’m damned if I’ll live with you here until you’ve rested and got well, and I HAVE HAD A REST FROM YOU.

  Yours,

  Arthur

  Vera was well used to her husband’s tempers, and does not appear to have taken umbrage at this tirade, though she evidently considered it prudent to follow his advice. Arthur’s next letter was far more conciliatory and even to an extent apologetic; it begins:

  Dear V,

  I’m so glad you managed to stay on, and hope that by now you’re enjoying life minus drains and clocks and what have you. As you can imagine, I said, ‘Of course, it would happen to them.’ But, even if it did, I still stick to it that having made that long journey in your weak state it was best to stay on until you could benefit from the change. But it does seem a pity that you never take my advice from a logical reason, but only after an explosion on my part. For which I am sorry, but I was at the end of my tether …

  Arthur’s tetchy mood was clearly aggravated by the fact that he, like the rest of the British population, would have been on tenterhooks waiting for the go-ahead for the Second Front, code-named ‘Operation Overlord’. This was finally launched on 6 June 1944, a day later than planned owing to unseasonally stormy weather. The deception of the Allied troops’ landing en masse on the Normandy beaches, instead of where the Germans expected them in the Pas-de-Calais area, proved ultimately successful. Although there was a great deal of fierce fighting and one or two notable setbacks still to come, the Streets – like the rest of the British population – followed the campaign with quiet optimism. This really was the beginning of the end.

  Sixteen

  D-Day, Dramatics and Winter Worries (July–December 1944)

  The progress of the heavy fighting that ensued after the apparent success of ‘Operation Overlord’ was being anxiously followed, not only by the civilian population at home, but particularly by David and his fellow captives, who once again were hoping for imminent release. On 6 July he wrote to Pamela: ‘Well, the war seems to be in its final phase now – let’s hope things will move quickly, Darling. I hope these V1s aren’t doing too much damage in England.’ News had evidently swiftly reached the prisoners of the retaliation for the D-Day landings that the Nazis were wreaking on the population of south-eastern England in the form of their new V1 flying bombs, nicknamed ‘doodlebugs’. These
revenge weapons, fired from launching sites in north-eastern France, did indeed have a temporary but significant impact on British morale during the late summer and early autumn of 1944. This second ‘Blitz’ differed from the first, because the vastly increased speed of these new rockets gave the civilian population little notice of their approach, and no time to reach air-raid shelters. London, East Anglia, the South Coast and Home Counties found the advent of this type of bomb particularly nerve-racking. The ‘doodlebug’ would suddenly be heard approaching, then when it reached its target the engine would cut out and there would be an ominous silence before the sound of a massive explosion.

  The situation improved once the Allied forces finally managed to overrun the launch sites in north-eastern France, but meanwhile by early September the Nazis unleashed their second version of the flying bomb, the V2 rocket, with a longer range, capable of being fired from a mobile launch trailer rather than a fixed site. The Germans would keep up their bombardment of south-eastern England by V2 rockets well into 1945.

  Meanwhile the prisoners of war were doing their best to keep themselves occupied. One of the standard forms of entertainment all through David’s captivity had been the production and performance of plays, and during the summer of 1944 it fell to David to take his turn on the stage, a prospect he viewed with some trepidation, as he informed Pamela in his letter of 6 July:

  You will be amused to hear that I am going on the stage in Sept. I have got a part of a rather irresponsible young dentist called Valentine in a Shaw play called ‘You Never Can Tell’. I am a bit nervous about it as it is quite a leading part & I have never been on the boards before & the audience expects a very high standard by now – I will let you know how it goes.