by Mary Gibson
I’m afraid we left it too late, my darling. Someone flagged me up as A1, fit for overseas posting, and the orders have come through. It looks like we’ll have to wait a while before we can marry, but believe me, May, I don’t regret our decision and in my mind you’re already my wife. I’m only sorry I couldn’t kiss my angel goodbye. We’re packing up today and I’ll be on the train by the time you get back to camp tomorrow. I don’t know where I’m going, May, and even if I did, couldn’t tell you, but I’ll write as soon as I can, darling.
She found it hard to breathe. She stared at the girls giggling over their cocoa and she wanted to shout at them to be quiet, they couldn’t be happy, there was no place for laughter. Bill was gone, already on a train somewhere, he couldn’t tell her where. She went back over the letter, searching for any details that would prove her wrong, searching for a mistake. How could he be already gone? They were getting married.
So, my darling May, keep your angel’s wings with my picture close to your heart all the time I am away and remember our special place and time. I’ll meet you in our fairy ring, every night, before you go to sleep. I’ll reach out and kiss you, wherever I am, however far away, I promise…
And he had signed off with a row of kisses that filled the width of the page but left her heart empty and aching. She put the thin paper to her lips and smudged the crosses with her own kiss. When the bugle sounded lights out, she got into bed and imagined herself in the quiet clearing in the forest. She felt the golden leaves falling on her cheek and then Bill’s lips on her own. She’d known he would come. ‘Goodnight, my darling,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
27
Letters
Christmas 1942–1943
Rabbits! Here he was writing about rabbits and all she wanted were words of love. Could you bring a rabbit from Moreton-in-Marsh for my mum? he’d written. I know she’ll appreciate it as she says meat is very short at the moment. May was going to Angelcote for a few days, before bringing her mother back to Bermondsey for the rest of her Christmas leave. The visit was an experiment, which if successful, May hoped would see her family reunited in Southwark Park Road once more. Her mother had been persuaded to leave her haven in the Cotswolds because Peggy needed her and Carrie Lloyd’s fear of the bombs was paling in comparison to her fear of losing her daughter to the twilight world of grief.
But rabbits, how could he? It was hard, having to learn about the more annoying aspects of the man you loved through letters alone. You couldn’t have a spat, pout and then make up deliciously afterwards. Bill’s reserve on paper was infuriating. But she smiled to herself as she realized they had never yet had a proper argument. Like so many other things, that would have to be postponed till he came home again. But for now, she was content to be mildly annoyed at him. She turned back to his letter: four sheets of paper covered in his blue looping handwriting. She tried not to, but was unable to resist skipping to the end. All my love always, your own Bill, followed by a satisfying row of crosses, covering the width of the page. It was something.
At least now she had his address and could write back to let him know how unsatisfying his letters were and what was required of him in future. He was in Morecombe, in civvie billets with a crowd of other unfortunates, all waiting for their overseas posting. And his days were spent killing time in the chilly, grey-skied seaside town. Since he’d been there he’d wandered the length of the prom countless times, roamed the town and found not much to delight him. He made light of it and she wondered how he could talk so normally, when all she could think of, day and night, was what hellhole of a foreign battlefield he was destined for. He’d never been to the flicks so often, he said, four times in as many days, and always the cheap seats of course, ha ha, and nothing like Leicester Square… But the NAAFI was good and the civvie billets even had sheets and… Oh, Bill, she thought, why won’t you tell me you love me? Are you too embarrassed by the censor?
And it hurt to hear he was eager to be gone. The waiting was too hard, he said. If they had to go, best it was soon. But she thought the opposite, best if he stayed in Morecombe, best he be bored witless by the endless grey waves rippling towards the prom and the old flicks repeating in the Odeon. So when she replied, she told him that he must forget the censor, and speak to her as if it were just the two of them, in their special place, and though she loved to hear what he’d had for his dinner, he must tell her he loved her and say something sweet for every mention of rabbits for his mum.
Since Bill’s departure life on the gun park had been frenetic. As corporal she’d been required to familiarize herself with the new radar system which they were putting into action on the heavy guns. It was a miracle of night-time tracking which, although it would make her job on the predictor much easier, kept them even busier on the gun emplacements through the deepening frosty nights. But at least the ceaseless activity helped to alleviate the worry of those sleet-filled days when she was getting used to being without Bill.
A letter a day, sometimes two, came with reassuring regularity and, with each one, she could feel Bill’s deepening sense of loneliness matching her own. If she’d known he’d be kicking his heels in Morecombe all this time she could have asked for a day out of her upcoming Christmas leave and gone to him. Even if it were only for an hour, at least they would have the chance of a proper goodbye. After a week of his absence she was thinking of doing just that, when a letter arrived with a different address on it. He was still in Morecombe, but not for long, he said, and any future letters must be sent to this new address. She looked at it blankly. It wasn’t a place; it was a series of numbers and letters, denoting nowhere:
1429071 Ac/ GILBIE. W.
B.P.O.
ROYAL AIR FORCE
c/o A.P.O. 8250
Where was he? There was nowhere on earth or sea that she could place him and panic took her breath away, she breathed deeply and slowly, imagining the fairy ring beneath the tree, and his arms round her. She looked back to the letter and felt ashamed.
I know it’s hard for you, my darling, but you must be a brave kid and know that all day, every day, my thoughts are with you. And I promise, wherever I am in the world, if it’s at all possible I will write every day, until I am back home, God willing, in your arms again. All my love, always,
Your Bill xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The next day she woke to a leaden feeling around her heart. As corporal it was her duty this morning to muster the early parade and she couldn’t get out of bed. Emmy came to her bedside. ‘Rise and shine, Corp!’ She pulled back the scratchy blanket that was covering May’s head. ‘Oh, love! What are you crying for?’
‘I can’t do it, Em, I can’t be a bloody soldier today… Bill’s on the ship, he’s gone...’ And she gulped back a sob.
She knew he’d be disappointed in her. He’d told her to be brave, and there were hundreds of women in the camp in worse situations. But today was her twenty-first birthday and she felt as old as Granny Byron this morning.
Emmy gave her a hug. ‘Listen, don’t come to parade. You stay there and I’ll tell Sarge you’ve got your monthlies. All right?’
May nodded and flung the blanket back over her head. Since leaving Bermondsey, she’d only ever wanted to defend her home and help end the war. She’d never imagined that it would be love rather than the enemy that would lay her so low. In the darkness beneath the blanket she allowed hot tears to turn her face red and puffy, and even the threat of being on a charge couldn’t stem the flow of her self-pity. From under her pillow she pulled out the birthday card Bill had sent her. In his letter he’d told her that the words of the card spoke his love far more eloquently than he ever could, but May disagreed. His own sweet words were always the best.
Soon she heard the other girls tramping back from breakfast, their boots thudding on the duckboards, Emmy’s voice the loudest. ‘Move your arse, Rube!’ May heard her shout. ‘It’ll be stone bleedin’ cold by the time you get there!’
A blast of cold
air invaded the hut as the door banged open and her friends hurried in. They came over to her bed and Bee peeled back the covers, while the rest of them shouted ‘Happy Birthday, Corp!’
May sat up, bewildered, as Ruby spread a towel over her lap and placed a covered plate on it. ‘Breakfast in bed for the birthday girl!’
She removed the cover with a flourish to reveal sausage, bacon and beans, with a slice of fried bread and, most surprising of all, a real egg.
‘Oh, you lot are amazing! How did you wangle this?’
‘We bribed Enid in the NAAFI with Bee’s chocolate ration,’ Emmy said, handing May a knife and fork. ‘Here’s your irons. Tuck in before Sarge comes for hut inspection!’
They all sat on the bed, watching as May ate, and when Ruby’s hand reached out for the fried bread, Mac slapped it away. ‘Keep your paws off, greedy guts, it isn’t you needs cheering up.’
‘No, nor fattening up,’ Bee drawled, raising an eyebrow.
‘Thanks, girls, you’re the best,’ May said, after she’d cleaned the plate.
‘And tonight you’re coming with us to the dance in Barkingside, no arguments!’ Emmy said.
And though she hadn’t felt like living, let alone eating an hour ago, just knowing that she had friends like these, who simply wouldn’t allow her to sink into despair, made it easier to face the future. She flung off the blanket, and set about barracking her bed, ready for inspection and a new day on the guns.
*
She caught the night train alone to Moreton-in-Marsh, Pat having travelled up earlier with Mark, who was on leave. She spent the night wrapped in her greatcoat, fur boots and grey sheepskin mittens, which she knew from their ingenious flapped design had come out of the Alaska fur factory opposite Garner’s in Bermondsey. She wiggled her fingers into the fine sheepskin and blessed the girls in the factory, working treble shifts to keep the forces supplied with winter gear. There were no seats to be had, so she sat on her kitbag and jolted into an uncomfortable slumber in the unheated corridor. A pewter day was just dawning as she tumbled unsteadily off the train, but she was lucky enough to pick up an army lorry at the station, which dropped her at Bourton-on-the-Hill. Bare trees, rimed with a silent frost, lined the road and, as she mounted the hill to Angelcote House, silver steam rose from pale green fields. The silence was broken only by the scraping of her steel-tipped boots on the frosty road, and the cawing of some rooks in a black-branched tree. But then a sharp crack startled her. Gunfire! She knew the sound well, though her guns boomed rather than snapped. She peered over the hedge and saw the familiar trilby hat. The major was abroad and he already had six rabbits strung on a pole. He lifted his hat.
‘For your ma!’ the major said.
Bill would be pleased.
Later, that first night at the cottage, snow fell, and she woke to views of hills, piled up like white pillows on a feather bed. Ice had frozen on to the insides of the windows and she ran across the landing to Mrs Lloyd’s room, jumping into bed with her.
‘Are you awake?’ she whispered.
‘I am now.’ Her mother groaned and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders.
‘Mum, I was wondering, do you think you’ll stay in Bermondsey?’
Her mother sighed. ‘I don’t know, love. Perhaps, if our Peggy’s really bad.’
‘Don’t you want to go home?’
‘It don’t feel like home to me any more, May.’
*
But after two days in the snow-shrouded peace of the country, it was time to leave for Bermondsey. Stepping off the bus in Southwark Park Road, the contrast between the frost-encrusted, fairy-tale landscape of Angelcote and that of Bermondsey was stark. Snow had fallen on London too, but here the trees lining the streets were often truncated, broken by bombs and torn by shrapnel, their jagged snowladen arms pointed accusing fingers at the ashen sky. May led her mother in a halting progress along Southwark Park Road. She had the benefit of her army boots, but Mrs Lloyd’s feet slipped continually on the packed snow and May could feel her trembling as she leaned heavily on her arm. Eventually they came in sight of their pathetically isolated house, its cracked walls buttressed with timber on either side, like some abandoned fortress. An involuntary gasp escaped her mother’s lips.
‘Oh, me neighbours have gone, we’re all on our own!’ she said, and May felt her grip tighten.
‘It’ll be all right, Mum, I promise.’ She urged her forward. ‘There’s been no raids to speak of for ages, and inside the house is quite cosy again.’
This was stretching a point. The house had a roof and Peggy, before her bereavement, had taken trouble to make it more comfortable. But it wasn’t the home her mother would remember.
‘I just want to get in and see our Peggy.’ Mrs Lloyd pulled herself upright and set her chin. ‘Come on then.’
A couple of their neighbours, tottering along the icy street on their way to the shops, looked up in surprise at seeing her mother back home and, though they wanted to stop and talk, it seemed Mrs Lloyd had no energy for anything other than reaching her front door. May had already begun to wonder if it was a mistake for her to have left the haven of Angelcote.
But as soon as Mr Lloyd opened the front door a change came over her mother. The family had gathered in the front room, including Granny Bryon and her grandfather. There was a fire in the grate and the best plush tablecloth covered the table, on which was laid what counted as a feast these days. Mr Lloyd fussed over his wife as if she were returning royalty. But as she was plied with tea and Granny Byron’s mince pies, May could see her eyes darting towards the passage.
‘Where’s our Peg?’ she asked eventually. ‘Hasn’t she heard us come in?’
‘She’s upstairs seeing to the baby,’ Granny Byron explained.
‘I’ll go and fetch her.’ May went upstairs, intending to volunteer to get Pearl to sleep, but when she crept into the bedroom her sister was standing at the window, looking down into the street, and Pearl was already slumbering peacefully in her cot.
‘Hello, love, it’s me. Mum’s downstairs,’ May said.
Peggy slowly turned to her and it was obvious she’d been crying.
May stood beside her at the window and took her hand. ‘I know. You must miss him so much,’ she said, thinking of her own separation from Bill. ‘But Mum’s really worried about you. She never would have left the major’s otherwise. Come down, she’s dying to see you, Peg.’
Her sister brushed a tear away. ‘George offered to take me back, you know.’
‘No! What did you say?’
She heard Peggy swallow. ‘I told him I’d think about it.’
No wonder her sister had been crying. ‘You did what? Surely you don’t want that, do you, Peg?’
‘Don’t be stupid – of course I don’t!’ her sister snapped. ‘But I haven’t got much choice, have I? My wages don’t keep me and Pearl, and I can’t expect Dad to bail me out forever.’
‘But what about Pearl?’
‘He said he’s willing to take her on.’
Peggy’s willowy body sagged and she leaned her pale forehead against the windowpane. May tried to imagine her sister forcing herself back into that prison.
‘Well, he’s changed his tune. What’s come over him?’ May asked.
‘I don’t know what changed his mind.’ Peggy spoke to the fat flakes of snow that had begun to fall. ‘But just the thought of going back to him made me feel like I’d lost Harry all over again. Perhaps he was trying to rub my nose in it. He knows I’ve got nothing left.’
Her sister placed her palm against the steamy windowpane and the gesture reminded May of something. She saw her grandfather, placing the flat of his hand against George’s chest, pushing him back into the Technicolor face of John Mills on that film poster.
‘As a matter of fact I don’t think it was George’s idea at all. I suspect someone might have leaned on him... literally’
‘What are you talking about? Who?’ Peggy stood up straight, suddenl
y alert.
‘Grandad! Remember last time I was on leave? Well, I saw him giving George an earful. I reckon he was reminding him of his responsibilities.’
‘That just makes it worse. I don’t want George’s pity, or Grandad’s interference! I wish people’d just leave me alone.’
Peggy went to sit on the edge of the bed.
Her sister’s bitterness had shocked May. ‘You can’t say that about everyone, Peg. You might not want to go cap in hand to George, but what would you do without Mrs Gilbie? You couldn’t have gone back to work at all without her, could you?’
Peggy gave a weak smile. ‘Nell Gilbie is different. She’s the only one who doesn’t look at me as if I’d lost me marbles. And she’s good for Pearl. Sometimes I wish she was my mum.’
‘Peg!’
‘Well, it’s true. Mum will just get into a state and we’ll end up having to run round her. I bet she thinks I’m as doolally as she is herself.’
‘Oh, Peg, don’t say that. You of all people should know what it can do to you when you lose someone, but Mum’s better now. She might not be as strong as Bill’s mum, but at least she’s come back to see how you are. And if you want her to go away again, then the best thing you can do is come down and put a brave face on it.’
May led her to the dressing table and powdered her sister’s face with Atkinson’s Black Tulip, then she took out a stub of red lipstick and made Peggy purse her lips, finally dabbing behind her ears with California Poppy.
‘There. Atkinson’s finest, you’re like a walking advert. Come on, love.’
And when Peggy made her entrance, May had to give it to her: it was a star performance. Her sister looked so much the picture of groomed grit, it was like watching Greer Garson in Mrs Miniver.
*
Towards the end of the day, May took Granny Byron to the scullery on the pretext of washing up. Her grandfather had passed out on the sofa, cuddling a bottle of rum, and Mr Lloyd was playing the piano, keeping his wife entertained with some of her favourite songs.