Poppy's War

by Lily Baxter

  Working on the wards was the only thing that kept Poppy sane. The hospital was filled to capacity. There were beds in the corridors and the walking wounded were treated in a marquee set up on the bomb site which had once been the casualty department. Staff shortages meant that probationer nurses worked even harder and were given more responsibility than they would have had in peacetime. Poppy was eager to learn but she found it almost impossible to study at home. The small house was hopelessly overcrowded and the air in the front room was invariably polluted by cigarette smoke and stale cooking smells. Mabel and Poppy were the only non-smokers in the house and sometimes it was difficult to see across the room through the manmade fog from Capstan Navy Cut and Passing Clouds cigarettes. Poppy thought that whoever gave the latter product that name had never had to sit in a small room with three women puffing out smoke like factory chimneys. The fug never seemed to dissipate completely even if the windows were left wide open after everyone had retired to bed.

  Although Poppy had tried to end her relationship with Dennis he seemed to have a skin as thick as an elephant’s. He had kept away for several days after she had told him that she never wanted to see him again, but he turned up at the end of the week as if nothing had happened, bearing gifts for all. He brought flowers for Mabel, cigarettes for the smokers, a Havana cigar for Uncle Fred and a box of chocolates for Poppy, which she could hardly refuse without causing a scene. He complimented the two aunts on their new clothes and volunteered his services should they require any of the little luxuries in life. He had, he said, made friends with some of the American soldiers who were based at a camp not too far away, he could not say where of course for security reasons. But the Yanks were good fellows and they had chocolate, chewing gum and nylons. The ladies had only to ask.

  Mrs Tanner called him a rascal and Auntie Ida said she did not believe in the black market, but Uncle Fred asked her where she thought the chops came from that they had eaten for supper. ‘You’ve just had your whole month’s meat ration in one meal, you silly cow,’ he said, puffing on his cigar and winking at Dennis. ‘Thanks, old chap. A fine Havana is what I miss the most.’

  ‘Rolled on a luscious Cuban lady’s thigh,’ Dennis said, grinning.

  Auntie Dottie stubbed her cigarette end out in her saucer. ‘Shame on you, talking that way in front of ladies.’

  ‘He’s a bad ’un.’ Mrs Tanner chuckled, jerking her head in his direction. ‘You’re a cheeky devil, Dennis. That’s what you are.’

  Dennis had been standing on the hearth rug with his back to the empty grate, but he knelt at Mrs Tanner’s feet in a theatrical gesture. ‘You love it, Maggie, me old china.’

  She slapped him on the shoulder, smiling coyly. ‘You are a one. Get up, you fool. Save your soft words for young Poppy.’

  Poppy had been keeping out of the way as much as was possible in a room filled with bodies. She had perched on an upright chair by the door in readiness to escape to the kitchen should anyone ask for more tea, but now everyone was looking at her and Dennis had risen to his feet. He came towards her, holding out his hand. ‘Perhaps Poppy would like to come for a walk. It’s a fine evening and the nights are drawing out. How about it, girl?’

  She was going to refuse but anything was better than sitting listening to Mrs Tanner and her sisters complaining about shortages and harking back to the good old days. ‘I’ll get my cardigan.’

  She met him outside the front door. Spring was well and truly in the air. The birds seemed oblivious to the fact that there was a war on. They trilled their songs, made their nests and went about their short lives as they had done since the beginning of time. The scent of wallflowers filled the cool air together with the fruity smell of freshly turned soil where householders had dug up their front lawns in order to plant vegetables. Poppy hooked her cardigan around her shoulders as she followed Dennis down the path. He opened the gate and held it for her. She struggled to think of something to say. ‘You’re quite a hit with the aunts and Mrs Tanner,’ she said with an attempt at levity.

  ‘It’s my personal charm. It works on almost all females, present company excepted.’

  She fell into step beside him. ‘I’m happy to be friends, Dennis. I just want to keep it that way.’

  ‘I was out of order the other night, but it’s only because I care about you, kid.’

  ‘It’s forgotten.’

  ‘And forgiven?’ He stopped, holding out his hand with a twisted smile that was impossible to resist. Poppy conceded with a nod.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘We’re too late for the flicks. How about a quick one at the pub? Do you good to get away from the family for a while.’

  ‘They’re not my family. I’m the odd one out, and I can’t stand sleeping on that settee for much longer.’

  ‘Poor little Poppy,’ Dennis took her by the hand. ‘A glass of lemonade and a packet of crisps will cheer you up no end.’

  Dennis edged through the bar crowded with men in uniform and civilians enjoying a brief respite from their daily routine. Poppy had to admire the way he conquered his disability and managed somehow to carry two glasses filled to the brim, one with beer and the other with lemonade, without spilling any. He put them on the table and sat down, taking a packet of Smith’s crisps from his jacket pocket. He took a swig of beer and swallowed. ‘Look, Poppy. Going back to what you were saying about sleeping on the settee and it being crowded in Muriel’s house.’

  She sipped her lemonade. It was warm and sweet, tasting more like sherbet than lemons. ‘What of it?’

  ‘I’ve got a house all to meself, girl. I rattle round in there like a pea on a drum. You could have a room of your own if you move in with me.’

  Shocked at the thought, she shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, Dennis. It’s very kind of you, but …’

  ‘No strings, love. I’d be a perfect gent, and you wouldn’t be too far from the hospital.’

  ‘Mabel would have a fit, and Joe wouldn’t like it either. You must see that.’

  ‘All right then. I thought you might say that, and I’ve got another suggestion.’

  ‘What’s that, Dennis?’

  ‘That we get hitched. You’re old enough as long as you get permission from your next of kin, and that’s Joe. I don’t think he’d have any objection.’

  Poppy almost choked on a mouthful of lemonade. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m asking you to marry me, girl. I can’t live without you, Poppy. It’s as simple as that.’

  Stunned into silence, she met his earnest gaze with a sense of shock. She had thought at first that he was joking. She could tell by his expression that he was not.

  ‘I’d go down on one knee,’ he said with an attempt at a smile, ‘but I wouldn’t be able to get up again. Say something, Poppy.’

  ‘Oh, Dennis, I’m sorry. I can’t marry you.’

  ‘Why not? I’d be good to you, kid. I’d look after you and give you a decent home.’

  ‘You make me sound like an abandoned pet.’

  ‘I’m serious, Poppy. I’ve never been more serious in me whole life.’ He reached across the table to lay his hand on hers. ‘Think about it, love. You don’t have to give me an answer straight away. Get used to the idea.’

  ‘I don’t have to think, Dennis. I know it’s not right for me.’

  ‘We get on well, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes, we do.’

  ‘And I love you enough for both of us. You’d grow to love me too. We’d be a happy couple just like your mum and dad. My old man ran off with a waitress when I was two, and Mum had a string of boyfriends afterwards but none of them stayed for long. I always envied Joe having a proper family.’

  There was no doubting his sincerity and for a brief moment she was tempted. It would be wonderful to be the centre of someone’s existence, and sheer bliss to have a home of her own, but the shadow cast over her past by Mrs Tanner’s spiteful revelations came rushing back to her. She curled her fingers
around his hand. ‘I’m going to tell you something very private, Dennis. Something I didn’t know until recently, and I want you to promise not to tell anyone, and especially not Joe.’

  ‘Swear to God.’ Dennis crossed his heart and took another swig of his beer. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Mrs Tanner was in service with Mum years ago. She told me that my mum had an affair with someone while Dad was away in the army, and that man was my real father. Everything I thought I knew about my family was a lie.’

  He withdrew his hand, his brows drawn together in a frown. ‘It doesn’t matter to me, love. I know who you are, and I wouldn’t want to change anything about you.’

  ‘It’s not as easy as that. I can’t explain it exactly, but I can’t marry you or anyone until I find out who I am.’ Unable to bear the hurt look in his eyes, Poppy jumped up from the table. ‘I’m sorry, Dennis. Anyway, I’d best be going home or Mabel will worry. Don’t come with me.’ She pushed through the crowds, ignoring the wolf whistles and offers of drinks from the men in the bar. Outside the air was cool and fresh. She wrapped her cardigan more tightly around her shoulders and broke into a run. Dennis would not be able to catch up with her even if he tried. She glanced over her shoulder as she turned the corner but the street was empty. She walked on at a brisk pace, arriving home just as it started to rain.

  Mabel was in the kitchen making cocoa. She glanced up and smiled when she saw Poppy. ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘You knew?’

  Mabel put the saucepan back on the gas ring, beckoning to Poppy. ‘Come in and shut the door.’

  ‘How could you?’ Poppy demanded, closing the door. ‘Why didn’t you warn me?’

  ‘I promised Dennis that I wouldn’t breathe a word. He said that with Joe away in the army I was the closest you’ve got to family, and he asked me if I approved.’

  ‘And you said you did? Why, Mabel? I’m sorry, but it’s got nothing to do with you or anyone else.’

  ‘Love, you’re under age. You can’t get married without your guardian’s consent and I suppose that’s me.’

  ‘Well, you needn’t have worried. I said no.’

  Mabel stared at her with the heaped teaspoon of cocoa clutched in her hand. ‘You turned him down?’

  ‘Of course I did. I’m only sixteen, and I’m not even halfway through my training. I don’t want to get married now or in the near future.’

  ‘It’s wartime, Poppy. Things are different, and Dennis is a good man. He’d see you right and he’s got a nice little house. You could do worse.’

  Poppy eyed her curiously. ‘You know, don’t you? Your mum told you.’

  Adding the cocoa powder to a little cold milk in each mug, Mabel began stirring vigorously. ‘Told me what?’

  ‘About my mum and Harry Beecham.’

  Mabel gave a trill of self-conscious laughter. ‘Oh, that old chestnut. I’d heard something but it’s just gossip, love. Take no notice.’

  ‘So it’s true. I thought as much.’ Poppy snatched the saucepan off the heat as it was about to boil over. ‘I want to find him, Mabel. I want to meet my real father.’

  ‘That might not be a good idea, ducks.’

  ‘I’ve got to see him. I need to find out where I came from and who I really am. Come on, Mabel, you know where they worked. Please tell me.’

  Three weeks later, on her first full weekday off, Poppy caught the train to Epping. Mabel had been persuaded to give her the address of Beecham House which was situated on the edge of the forest a couple of miles from the market town. They had kept her mission secret from Mrs Tanner and her sisters, and Poppy had set out with a degree of trepidation. Harry Beecham might be dead for all she knew, but she could not rest until she had found out as much as she could about the father she had never known.

  After enquiring at the local post office, she followed their directions and walked the rest of the way. The trees on the edge of the forest were almost in full leaf and the hedgerows were lacy with fading heads of cow parsley, red and white campion and ragged robin. Poppy had become conversant with some of the wild flower names whilst living at Squire’s Knapp and the scent of the countryside in May took her forcibly back to what seemed now like halcyon days. With every step she became more and more nervous. This might go horribly wrong. Her father was almost certain to be married with a horsey wife and numerous offspring. Until now she had been living in the make-believe world of the movies where the long-lost daughter turns up and is welcomed with open arms, tears of joy and finds a happy family waiting to embrace her. But when she came to the brick wall surrounding the property and the wrought iron gates secured by a rusty padlock, she knew that the reality was going to be very different.

  Peering through the ornate scrollwork she could see the carriageway cutting a swathe through overgrown gardens knee-high in weeds and brambles. At the far end, the burnt-out shell of what must once have been a great country house stood out against the sky like a romantic etching of a ruin. She stared at the blackened walls in disbelief. The person behind the counter in the post office had failed to mention the fact that the house no longer existed, but then she had only asked its whereabouts. Perhaps they had thought she was a sightseer or an artist who wanted to paint fallen masonry with moss growing all over it. But this was no ordinary pile of bricks and rubble. This was the house where her mother had fallen in love with a young man well above her station in life, and he with her. The irony of the situation was not lost on Poppy. It seemed that history had repeated itself when by chance Marina Carroll had picked her from the line-up of evacuees. The circumstances were not the same but she, like her mother before her, had been taken into a household far different from the one in which she too had been raised. She too had fallen in love with the son and heir, although there the similarity ended. Hers was an unrequited love; a childish crush, nothing more.

  That did not alter the fact that the home of her forebears had been razed to the ground. Her bright dreams of being part of a family had once again been shattered to dust. She turned away from the scene of desolation, and was about to start walking back towards the town when she heard a sound behind her. She paused, glancing over her shoulder as a man riding a bicycle drew level with her. She could see by his dog collar that he was a man of the cloth. He stopped, steadying himself with one foot on the ground. ‘Good morning. It’s a fine day for sightseeing.’

  ‘Good morning, vicar. Yes, I was just looking at the ruins.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Beecham House. It was a fine building before the fire.’

  ‘You knew the family?’

  ‘Very well indeed.’

  ‘My mother worked there a long time ago. I wanted to see the house.’

  He held out his hand. ‘Raymond Hayes. How do you do?’

  ‘Poppy Brown. How do you do, sir?’

  ‘Are you going back to town, Poppy? If so, perhaps you’d allow me to walk with you.’

  ‘I’d like that, sir. Perhaps you could tell me something about the family?’

  ‘I’m sure your mother has more interesting stories to tell.’

  ‘My parents were killed in a bombing raid. That’s one reason I came here. I wanted to see where she worked.’

  ‘I understand, and I’m sorry for your loss. What would you like to know?’

  By the time she reached Epping station, Poppy had learned the history of Beecham House and the Beecham family whose ancestor came to England with William the Conqueror. Poppy could not help thinking that if true it was one in the eye for Mrs Carroll. It was a pity she would never know that the kid from the East End had aristocratic forebears, even if she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. The Beecham family, according to the vicar, had suffered many reversals of fortune through the centuries. One of their privateering ancestors had become fabulously wealthy and had built the manor house, but the succeeding generations had either gambled the fortune away or made huge losses on the stock market. In t
he nineteenth century, Sir Timothy, a sober-sided man determined to salvage the reputation of his once respectable family, had become an MP and had pulled the family back from the brink of bankruptcy. But once again, in the nineteen twenties, the money had been frittered away by Sir Hereward Beecham, who fancied himself as a film producer and had spent what was left of the family fortune making films of questionable artistic merit that had flopped at the box office.

  At the station entrance, Poppy paused. ‘What happened to the rest of the family? My mother mentioned someone called Harry.’

  Raymond Hayes smiled. ‘Harry was a delightful young man. Very good-looking as I recall, but quiet and unassuming, totally unlike his father who was what you might describe as larger than life. Harry left to join the army, quite suddenly and to the surprise of everyone, including the family.’

  ‘Is he …’ Poppy could hardly bring herself to frame the words. ‘Was he killed in the fire?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t there when it started. They never did find the cause of the fire, but the gossipmongers said it was arson. Sir Hereward was accused of starting the conflagration with a view to claiming on the insurance but it was never proved. He died of a heart attack soon afterwards, and the estate fell into disrepair. The villagers always hoped that Harry would return one day, but so far he hasn’t shown any signs of wanting to take over the reins so to speak.’

  ‘What about the rest of the family? Do they still live round here?’

  ‘There were two younger sisters, both of whom married well and moved away from Essex. I believe that Sophia and her husband live in Northumberland and Margery married a Guards officer. I think they have a house in Chelsea, although my information is probably out of date by now.’

  Poppy held out her hand. ‘Thank you, vicar. It was good of you to spare the time to talk to me.’

  He smiled, shaking her hand. ‘Not at all. I enjoyed our little chat.’ He was about to mount his bike but he hesitated. ‘By the way, you didn’t tell me your mother’s name. I might remember her.’