by Casey, Jan
Dad never said, ‘Call me Charlie.’ The respectful epithet Alec afforded him gave him too much pleasure for that. As a wind-up, Evelyn and Sylvie started addressing Dad as ‘sir’ and now slipped easily between the two monikers. Dad beamed when he took Alec, smart in battle blouson, a maple leaf insignia pinned on his cap, to the pub for a pint. He saved cuttings from the paper and made a list of points he’d heard on the radio to discuss with Alec; sometimes Uncle Bert joined them, too. Evelyn wondered that Sylvie didn’t get impatient to have him to herself, but him being there seemed to be enough to satisfy her and they did always manage to find some time to be together.
That afternoon they were talking about the Baedeker Raids. Sylvie moved to and fro with tea and morsels of food she’d been saving her rations to buy. Alec never arrived empty-handed either, bringing a small packet of biscuits, a square of chocolate or cocoa powder in a twist of wax paper. Alec let Sylvie hand the cups and plates around, saying a thank you to her that was much lengthier than necessary, his fingers grazing hers and holding her back with a long, deep look until they ended up grinning at each other. But, Evelyn noticed, he would not let her clear up after him. He insisted on piling up as much crockery as he could carry and taking it into the kitchen, where Evelyn could hear him talking and laughing with Sylvie. Sometimes he rolled his sleeves back and washed up as if it was an ordinary everyday occurrence. Perhaps that’s how things happened in Canada, but Ron had never done anything like that.
Evelyn was impressed. That’s the way it should be, she thought, no silly grievances about who does what, more getting on with things together.
Looking in from the kitchen door, Sylvie said, ‘Are you coming out with us tonight, Evelyn?’
‘Where to?’
‘The Paramount.’
Evelyn knew the place on Tottenham Court Road: a favourite haunt of the Canucks. It was a lively place, almost too small to contain the full-bodied laughter and high spirits that filled it. If it wasn’t for the uniforms you could almost forget there was a war going on. She hesitated, hearing the music and recalling the party atmosphere. She knew she would kick herself later, but said, ‘I promised Gwen I’d spend a couple of hours with her.’ She saw Dad, Sylvie and Alec exchange a glance. ‘Her husband’s on nights and her friend’s visiting her daughter-in-law.’
Sylvie put a hand on her hip, emphasising her slim waist for Alec’s attention. ‘You’d be better off coming with us,’ she said. ‘You spend every day with Gwen at work and she’s still an old misery.’
Although that was the truth, Evelyn hated to hear it. ‘And so might you be,’ she retorted.
Evelyn waited for remorse to hit Sylvie. When her sister’s face dropped, she carried on. ‘She’s better. Getting better, anyway. And I don’t mind keeping her company.’
‘It’s thoughtful of you, love,’ Dad said. ‘We just don’t want you to miss out.’
‘Yeah.’ Alec felt comfortable enough to add his penny’s worth. ‘You always have a great time at the club. You’ve got to have some fun, too.’
Sylvie nodded. ‘I don’t want to see you back in that rut.’
‘No fear of that,’ Evelyn said, making her way to the side door. ‘You’ll be stuck in a pothole long before me, the way things are going.’
Chuckling, Alec said, ‘If I have my way.’
‘You cheeky mare,’ Sylvie said, throwing a tea towel at Evelyn. ‘Get out of here,’ she yelled. ‘And make sure we see you later.’
‘You probably will, so save me a seat. Though I don’t plan to sit down much.’
*
Sometimes, Evelyn’s heart sank when Gwen asked her to visit. For one thing it was a trek to Cubitt Town. Tube to King’s Cross; change for Whitechapel; walk through to Limehouse for the number 56 to Stebondale Street. For another, Sylvie was right in supposing the evenings there were less than thrilling. Evelyn had never actually said that, always sticking up for Gwen, but Sylvie and Dad had made up their own minds on the two occasions Evelyn had asked Gwen back to Wood Green. Neither visit had gone well. Gwen had seemed overwhelmed by the chat flying backwards and forwards and couldn’t muster much to say about anything that was brought up in conversation, not even the bridge. Dad and Alec, who’d been there one of those times, were charming to her, but she sat on the edge of her chair, struggling painfully to keep her fingers away from her mouth.
Of course Gwen knew Sylvie, but that didn’t help the situation either. ‘What do you think of the dinners in the canteen, Gwen?’ Sylvie had asked.
‘It’s something hot,’ Gwen answered, shrugging.
‘Were you there when Olive took hers back and complained?’
Gwen shook her head.
‘I wouldn’t have had the nerve.’ Sylvie pursed her lips and looked up through the corner of her eyes. ‘Well, maybe I would. But Evelyn wouldn’t.’
‘No, I would not,’ Evelyn said.
‘I mean one day it’s tasty, the next it’s like cardboard. I don’t know what to make of it, I’m sure.’
Gwen drank half a cup of tea – barely able to lift the thin china to her lips – and managed a piece of toast and jam. It all got too much for her when Sylvie pushed the sitting-room furniture back against the walls, tuned the wireless to the Forces Programme for an hour of swing music, and started practising jive moves with Alec. ‘Come on, Gwen,’ she’d shouted, jitterbugging with twitching limbs. ‘You be the man; Evelyn can be the woman. We’ll show you.’
Her eyes wide and looking appalled and awed at the same time, Gwen watched Sylvie then turned an imploring look on Evelyn. ‘I think we’d better make a move,’ Evelyn said, feeling annoyed about missing out on the dance practice. Gwen mumbled her goodbyes, her hat and coat on in an instant, linking arms with Evelyn as they strode to the underground. Because Gwen found the journey to Wood Green arduous, Evelyn fetched her and took her home, ending up sleeping the night as it was invariably too late to make the trip back. It was wearing and rather puzzling, as Gwen had managed to get to Wales and back by herself.
Feeling cheated about missing out on the fun at home had made her decide to confront Gwen. Keeping her voice even she said, ‘I’m not sure if I mentioned how plucky I think you were. You know, going all the way to Llansaint on your own.’
Gwen looked down at her feet, then at that spot in the distance she stared at endlessly. ‘I needed to make sure the kids were alright.’
‘Yes, I know. But I don’t think I could have made that journey on my own. Somewhere I’d never been. So I was wondering. If you can do that, why do you find it so hard to get across London by yourself?’
Evelyn could feel Gwen’s arm stiffen in hers.
‘And you get to the bridge and back every day. How do you manage that?’
There was a long silence and Evelyn began to wonder if she’d said too much. Or if what she said was unfair and harsh.
‘I’ve never thought about it like that before,’ Gwen said. ‘But now that I do, I suppose I felt I had to go to Wales. For the kids. And I have to go to work. So I force myself. Just block things out and get on with it.’
Evelyn knew all about that. Perhaps she wasn’t doing Gwen any favours, making it easy for her to stand back from some situations and not plough on as everyone else had to. But she wanted Gwen to continue, to talk about herself rather than the kids or Betty or George, so she didn’t interrupt.
‘It ain’t that I don’t want to be like I was before.’ Gwen’s voice rose. ‘But journeys around London.’ She shook her head. ‘Ain’t nothing about London is the same. And no one ever knows what’s around the corner or what will happen in the next minute. The familiar is unfamiliar.’
‘But didn’t you feel that on the way to Wales?’
‘Not really – I suppose I didn’t know what it was like before, and like I said, I was just thinking about the kids. Or maybe the journey used up all my reserves. Perhaps I’ll be better when I get my strength back. I don’t know. I can’t make any more sense of it than that.’
Well, Evelyn thought, we’ve been thrown together and I feel an allegiance towards you that I can’t fathom either. They picked their way through a length of broken pavement, a crowd of men working hard to mend it. Evelyn sighed and thought that none of what was happening since the war began made any sense at all. But she did so want to help Gwen all she could and wondered how best to go about that, making sure that it wasn’t at the expense of her own fun.
*
A rather good-looking gentleman in a grey overcoat and striped tie gave up his seat for her; sinking into it she leaned back and closed her eyes. Even if she spent three hours with Gwen she’d have time for a couple of drinks and a few turns on the dance floor.
It was wicked and she knew it, but she sometimes found it difficult to stop the thought that in many ways this war was the most exciting thing that had ever happened. How else would they ever have had the chance to meet so many different men? Alec’s cousin Malcolm, for instance, who pursued her with unabashed, good-natured tenacity. Not like Ron who’d eyed her up for ages before approaching her. Malcolm swung her around the dance floor as if she were a toy who’d lost its stuffing, his own movements casual, almost indolent. He told her stories about Saskatchewan, the vastness of the place overwhelming.
‘Oh, that’s only one small part of it,’ he’d say, amused by her amazement. She loved the place names, too: Maple Creek, Moose Jaw, Regina. She imagined everyone living in log cabins they had to build with their own hands, plotting out acres of land to defend. ‘Not anymore,’ he said. ‘Not in the cities, anyway. Although there’s still a hell of a lot of open space. If you want to take a hike, you could go days without seeing another person or a dwelling of any sort.’ The picture filled her with fascinated trepidation. She’d shuddered and said, ‘The thought of it gives me the jitters.’
But she kept him at arm’s length and fended off the others who wanted more than a chat and a twirl. Sylvie asked her if she missed Ron and regretted what had happened to their engagement, despite evidence to the contrary.
‘No. Definitely not. I hardly ever think of him now and when I do it’s with relief that it’s over.’
‘Is it Joe then?’
‘Joe?’
‘You know. The great kisser.’ Sylvie hugged herself tight, fingers kneading her arms and back, miming a passionate kiss.
Evelyn smiled. ‘He was rather sweet. I do sometimes wonder where he is and what he’s doing.’
‘Maybe we could find him?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Evelyn said. ‘I’m alright as I am. Just because you’re no longer free as a bird doesn’t mean I can’t be.’
Sylvie let it drop but Evelyn knew it wouldn’t be for long. There was something missing, though, and it wasn’t an Alec or Ron, Malcolm or Joe. Yet despite that thought, she stole another glance at the gallant man who’d offered her his seat, and she admitted to herself that someone to feel special for would indeed be lovely.
But, the true heart of her unrest had something to do with the bridge. And that was another opportunity that wouldn’t exist without the war. She would never have had the chance to feel the exhilaration of pouring concrete into formwork that would shape an arch above the river, or cut steel reinforcements, or fix a length of wood into asphalt to mark out the lip of a pavement. Standing on the structure, she felt smaller and meeker as each day went by and the bridge loomed larger and more solid around her. At the same time, she was overcome with a sense of power; she had the ability, the common sense, strength and agility to be part of creating something majestic. No wonder men were so full of themselves; those feelings must be a part of their everyday lives.
A couple of weeks ago, after wetting a pencil on her tongue and checking to make sure no one was watching, she’d written EVELYN DRAPER AGED 23 YEARS BUILT THIS BRIDGE APRIL 1942 on a reinforced concrete beam that would be hidden under the footway.
The whole operation gave her a sense of restlessness that she couldn’t quite pinpoint; an impatience and disappointment with herself. She wanted to know more about how it all pieced together from starting point to completion. Why one design was chosen over another. Who chose the materials and for what reasons. How measurements were taken with accuracy. Most of the women didn’t care and there were times when she didn’t either, when she was out on the dance floor or having a smoke and a gossip over a cup of tea at break. A few of them wondered aloud about the logistics and execution, she’d heard Joan talking to Alice in the changing room along the same lines. But as the months had gone by, she seemed to garner more questions and fewer answers.
Rather than catch the bus, Evelyn decided to walk from the underground. It was a beautiful afternoon, cloudless and fresh. A few daffodils ringed tree trunks and pushed themselves up in random clusters amongst scattered debris. Perhaps she’d haul Gwen out for a walk, see if there was a café in the park where they could get a cup of tea and a bun. She rapped on the door. ‘Here I am,’ she said when Gwen answered. ‘Look at this weather – glorious, isn’t it? Grab your coat and we’ll go for a stroll. I’ve not seen much round this way.’
Gwen scraped her hair back and looked down at her slippers. ‘I ain’t dressed properly. Besides, I’ve got a few things ready for tea here.’
Evelyn was not going to let her off. ‘We’ll have them when we get back,’ she said. ‘Come on, it won’t take you a minute to get ready. We’re not going to the Palace.’
Gwen stepped out into the sunshine and took a deep breath. ‘Yeah. Alright,’ she said. ‘We’ll walk up to the park. Give me one mo.’
There wasn’t much left down by the river. Factories and businesses razed to mounds of brick and wood. ‘When we finish the bridge, we can start on all of this,’ Evelyn said.
‘They won’t want us,’ Gwen said, leading the way through her stamping grounds. ‘Not when the men come back.’
‘If and when.’
‘Don’t talk like that. It makes me glum.’
I’ll be blowed, Evelyn thought and lifted her eyes skyward behind Gwen’s back. How often had Gwen been the gloomy one?
‘Besides, it ain’t like you.’
‘No. I know. Sorry. Anyway, we don’t know how long it will be until it’s all over.’
‘Churchill says we’ll win soon.’
‘Of course he does. How would we feel if he said there is a real possibility that we could, uh, lose this conflict? And if we do, uh, by any chance, uh, win I predict that it won’t be for many, many long years. Chin up, best foot forward, onward we go.’
Gwen chuckled. ‘But we have to believe him, don’t we?’
‘Yes,’ Evelyn said. ‘We do. But I still think we might have to carry on with what we’re doing all over London. Wouldn’t you like that?’
‘I can’t for the life of me think of anything I’d like less.’ Gwen spat out each word.
They stopped and looked down the Thames towards Waterloo. ‘It’s a much different view of the river from here,’ Evelyn said.
‘Not as nice is what you mean, ain’t it? Even without the bombing.’
‘Well, I suppose it should be nicer in the middle of town. You know, around all the lovely old buildings.’
‘It ain’t all that bad here,’ Gwen said. ‘Especially on a day like today. Everywhere looks better when the sun shines.’ She squeezed Evelyn’s hand. ‘Ta for forcing me out.’
Evelyn wanted to pursue the subject they’d been discussing. ‘What would you like to happen then? I mean, we all want the war to end, so don’t give me that. What would you rather do than what you’re doing now?’
They walked through the park gate and made their way up a gentle incline towards a bench. ‘I’d rather be exactly as we were before. George going out to work; me at home cooking, cleaning, mending, taking the kids to school, meeting them when they finish.’
Evelyn stretched out her legs and crossed them at the ankles. ‘But don’t you want some of what the men have? A bit of responsibility, a feeling of having done something at
the end of the day and getting paid for it.’
‘I did used to have that feeling. Well-being, Betty calls it. I don’t care about the money. George gives me his wages anyway, keeps a bit for his pocket, that’s all. No.’ She took off her specs and turned her face to the sun. ‘I want things to go back to how they were.’
‘Well.’ Evelyn didn’t want to sound thoughtless so hesitated and rehearsed in her mind what to say next. ‘Given that we can’t go backwards, wouldn’t you like to move forward?’
Gwen rubbed at her eyes. When she spoke, her voice caught. ‘No, I’ll only ever want to go back.’
A couple walked by, each of them holding the hand of a tot, teetering on his feet like a graceless fawn. Evelyn laughed when they swung him between them and he squealed with delight, then felt guilty for enjoying the moment. ‘Can we get tea anywhere?’ she asked. ‘That pavilion over there?’
‘Shall we have it here? They let you bring it out. The day’s too lovely to be indoors.’
‘I’ll fetch them,’ Evelyn said, not wanting to break the spell that was bringing the first trace of colour to Gwen’s pallid face, the first suggestion of brightness to her eyes.
Balancing the cups and saucers on the grass, they broke off pieces of a day-old iced bun and licked the syrupy sugar from their fingers, Gwen flinching when a trace of stickiness seeped into a sore hangnail. She skimmed a tiny fly from her tea and flicked it to the ground. ‘George is being posted out of London,’ she said.
‘Is he?’ said Evelyn. ‘How long will he be gone?’
‘Six to eight weeks at a time.’ Gwen seemed nonplussed. ‘Moving troops around, I think.’
‘Oh,’ Evelyn said. ‘I thought he’d been allowed to join up at last.’
‘No, though he did try again. Must be the tenth time at least he’s asked the railway to release him.’
‘He’s wasting his time then?’
‘And everyone else’s,’ Gwen said. ‘They ain’t about to let the drivers go. Although George says there’s plenty of girls around who could do it and be grateful for the work.’