Octavia's War

by Beryl Kingston

  ‘You’ve got to hand it to Roosevelt,’ he said, pouring himself more orange juice. ‘He’s a first-rate politician. A declaration of the – how does he put it? – “joint war and peace aims of the US and the UK” will make it harder for the isolationists to resist.’

  ‘Will they join in the war though?’ Octavia asked.

  ‘No,’ he had to admit, ‘but it’s a good first step. They can’t fail to accept the peace aims, nobody could, and if they accept them publicly they will be assumed to be accepting the entire package. It’s very clever.’

  The peace aims were good. There was no denying it. The Allies would seek ‘no aggrandisement, territorial or other’, there were to be ‘no territorial changes that do not accord with the freely expressed wishes of the people concerned’, they would seek to ensure ‘the enjoyment by all States, on equal terms, of access to the trade and raw materials of the world’, they would establish ‘a peace in which all men can live out their lives in freedom from fear and want’, they believed that all the nations of the world ‘for realistic as well as spiritual reasons, must come to the abandonment of the use of force’.

  ‘You can’t fault it,’ Octavia said. ‘They’ve even made provision for a new League of Nations. Just look at this.’ And she read the words aloud. ‘Since no future peace can be maintained if land, sea or air armaments continue to be employed by nations which threaten, or may threaten, aggression outside of their frontiers, they believe, pending the establishment of a wider and more permanent system of general security, that the disarmament of such nations is essential. It’s superb.’

  ‘It is, but we must remember all the other audiences it’s been written for and hope it doesn’t fall on deaf ears,’ Tommy said. ‘Is there any more coffee?’

  ‘You’re such a cynic,’ Octavia said, taking the lid off the coffee pot.

  ‘And you’re such an idealist,’ he said, signalling to one of the waiters for attention. ‘We make a good pair.’

  It gave Octavia quite a jolt to fly back to Croydon and pick up her life again in wartime Britain. After a fortnight’s colour and luxurious living in Grenada, London looked shabby and uncared for. Now, heading for Woking on a dirty train with its windows obscured by sticky tape, she noticed how uniformly grey and grubby everything was, how tired people looked, trudging about the streets, and how many bomb sites there were. She couldn’t avoid seeing them, for they were covered in the bright pink flowers of the fire weed that people called London Pride. It seemed sad to her that a weed should be the only patch of living colour in the whole place. In a few weeks we shall be into the third year of this war, she thought, and we’re no nearer to winning it than we were at the beginning. If only the Americans would come in and join us. That would make such a difference. But it wasn’t likely and she had to face it. We must go on living on our inadequate rations, she thought, and enduring the blackout and skimping and saving and making ends meet until we’re strong enough to invade France and start the long battle to push the Germans back to Germany. It felt like an impossible task.

  The train gave a shudder, as if continuing was beyond its strength and creaked to a halt. They’d stopped right in front of a very large bomb crater and she looked out at it idly. Even here the fireweed was growing boldly, its pink flowers bright against the dark dead earth, the remains of the foundations, the splintered doors and the heaps of broken brick. Even here, she thought, and it occurred to her that this was new life she was looking at, new vibrant life taking root in the remains of death and destruction, and the thought cheered her. But it was jolly cold, even if it was August.

  Lizzie was warm with love, sitting in her window seat in the afternoon sun, reading Ben’s latest letter. It was a long one this time telling her how much he missed her and how much he wanted to see her again and, best of all, saying that he might be able to swing a weekend pass and get back to Woking in a fortnight’s time.

  ‘I do so hope you can,’ she wrote back. ‘I feel as if I haven’t seen you for years.’

  I shall tell Matron I’m going to see Pa, she planned, as she licked the envelope. It was an established excuse now. There wouldn’t be any problem with it. Then we can be together again and I can kiss you and tell you I love you. Because she did love him. There was no doubt about it now. She loved him and when they were together again she would tell him so.

  Maggie Henry was glad to see her Miss Smith back in Downview again. ‘And looking so well,’ she said. ‘You’ve got quite a tan. It’s done you good.’

  ‘So, how are things?’ Octavia said, settling into her familiar chair. ‘How’s the chicken pox?’

  Maggie gave her report with some pride. The epidemic was over, she was very glad to say. ‘No more cases for a week, so we’ve seen the worst of it.’ The girls had organised a sports day on the lawn and Iris had won the prize for the long jump. They’d had wonderful weather. ‘Nine whole days’ sunshine. It did us all a power of good. Especially our Lizzie. It came just at the right time for her.’

  ‘Why was that?’ Octavia asked, intrigued.

  ‘Well, her father came down, didn’t he, Poppy told me, and he took her out every single day and it was sunny the whole time. I’ve never seen a girl so happy. Then we had a cookery contest and we all ate the exhibits, even the peculiar ones, and a paper chase and an excursion to Guildford to see the castle. It’s been non-stop.’

  Octavia listened to the list of events while she decided what to do. It would be best to keep her misgivings to herself for the moment but she would have to check what Lizzie had really been up to and who she’d been with. Using Poppy to provide an alibi was highly suspect. I’ll talk to Tommy about it, she decided, and see what he says.

  Tommy arrived that Wednesday with an armful of roses. He was in one of his most cheerful moods, smiling broadly. ‘Couldn’t resist them,’ he said, as he held them out to Octavia. ‘What weather, Em! Isn’t it grand?’

  ‘I gather you had a good holiday,’ Emmeline said, giving him her shrewd look.

  He missed the look entirely. ‘Top-hole,’ he said.

  ‘You must tell us about it over dinner,’ she said.

  Which he did and at considerable length. It was well past midnight before Emmeline finally decided they really ought to go to bed ‘or we shall never get up in the morning’, and by that time Octavia was fidgety with the need to talk to him in private. As she stood by the window waiting for him to join her she was plucking the curtains.

  He strolled into the room, wearing his pyjama trousers, joined her at the window and put his arms round her. ‘Well, that was a very nice evening, don’t you think,’ he whispered. ‘Not quite Grenada, but nice.’

  She turned in his arms to face him squarely. ‘I need to talk to you,’ she said and her voice was serious.

  ‘You’re going to say yes,’ he said, delightedly. ‘I haven’t got to wait till Christmas after all.’

  He was so happy she felt quite mean to have to press on with what she had to say, but it had to be done. ‘It’s about Lizzie,’ she said.

  ‘Oxford,’ he said. ‘It’s the only place.’

  ‘That’s decided,’ she said. ‘It’s not about her career.’

  ‘Then what is it? She’s well, isn’t she? She looks as fit as a flea. Fairly gobbled up her tea. You’d think she hadn’t eaten for weeks. Had to put in a second order.’ It had been a really happy meal and he was still feeling the pleasure of it. ‘Don’t let’s bother about her. She’s fine. Come to bed.’

  ‘I think she’s got a boyfriend.’

  His face changed in an instant, darkening and scowling. ‘Nonsense,’ he said, forgetting to whisper. ‘She’s much too young.’

  She put a finger to her lips to warn him. ‘She’s not much younger than we were when we met, if you remember.’

  ‘That’s got nothing to do with it.’

  ‘It’s got everything to do with it. It’s no good looking like that, Tommy. I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t have reasons.’ And she t
old him what they were, remembering to keep her voice down.

  Her explanation didn’t change his opinion in the slightest. ‘She was cutting off with her friends,’ he said. ‘Didn’t want to make anything of it in case she was refused permission. Used me as an excuse. Obvious.’

  ‘One of her friends provided her alibi.’

  ‘Well, naturally. They were in it together.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You’re seeing more into it than there is, that’s all,’ he said.

  ‘I’m seeing straight, Tommy, which is more than you are. Look at the facts.’

  He turned away from her. ‘Don’t tell me what to do,’ he said crossly. ‘I won’t have that. Just allow me to know my own daughter, that’s all you need to do. She’s much too young for boyfriends, you can take my word for it, and if she did have one, I should know because she’d tell me about it.’

  Being put down made her angry. ‘For a renowned diplomat you can be very obtuse,’ she said.

  ‘For a renowned headmistress you can be very rude.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Tommy, I’m telling you the truth. Or aren’t you man enough to face it?’

  He looked at her with such fury on his face it was almost like loathing, then he strode away from her without another word, too angry to speak, dressed, slammed out of the dressing room door, stamped down the stairs, banged the front door after him and drove away. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Octavia thought, how childish! Well, if that’s the way he wants to behave, let him. But it kept her awake for a very long time, wondering how it could have gone so badly wrong. When she woke in the morning she had a throbbing headache and felt quite sick.

  She was mixing an Alka Seltzer when Emmeline came yawning into the kitchen.

  ‘What was all that about last night?’ she said, scratching her head as she always did in the morning.

  ‘Lizzie,’ Octavia told her. ‘I think she’s got a boyfriend and he won’t hear of it.’

  ‘Ah! I thought it was something. He made enough row.’

  ‘Row is about the right word for it, I’m afraid,’ Octavia said, drinking her mixture.

  ‘Headache?’

  Octavia sat in her chair and rubbed her eyes. ‘Um.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Emmeline said, as she carried the kettle to the tap. ‘It’s always the same with a lovers’ tiff.’

  Even through the squeeze of the headache Octavia recognised what was being said. There was something about the tension in Emmeline’s back, and the way she was hiding her face. She knows, she thought, and struggled to find the words to acknowledge it without upsetting either of them. ‘Lovers I’ll admit to,’ she said carefully, ‘but it’s not a lovers’ tiff, or at least not in the way most people would understand.’

  Emmeline put the kettle on the stove and lit the gas and didn’t say anything. But she was pursing her lips and obviously thinking.

  ‘How long have you known?’ Octavia asked.

  ‘Since the beginning,’ Emmeline said and smiled. ‘It was always on the cards, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it was. It feels as though it was.’

  ‘Right, that’s settled then,’ Emmeline said, leaning her hands on the table. ‘Now you can tell him to sleep in your bed and stop pretending. It’ll save me washing all those sheets he never uses.’

  So that’s how she knew, Octavia thought, and smiled back at her cousin, feeling almost conspiratorial. What a long way we’ve both come, she thought. In the old days she’d have been shocked to the core. Now she’s accepting this. It doesn’t solve the problem of what’s to be done about Lizzie though.

  At that point, Barbara and Maggie came bouncing into the kitchen and scraped their chairs towards the table, chirruping their early morning greetings. ‘Morning Gran. Morning Aunt Tavy. Did you hear the blackbird?’ So she had to pause in her thoughts to answer them, wondering why the young always made so much noise. And then Edie and Joanie came down and there was the usual bustle of breakfast. The day was upon her, headache, problems and surprises notwithstanding and she would have to get on with it.

  ‘There’s the post,’ Edie said, hearing the flump of the arriving letters. ‘I’ll get it. Should be a card from Dora.’

  There was, among several bills and a letter from Arthur to say that he was well but very homesick and missed her terribly. ‘Poor man.’ Octavia had a long letter from Janet saying she and her husband were both safe and well, and Emmeline got a short one from Johnnie who said he was being posted to another airfield and had a spot of leave owing. And at the bottom of the heap there was an airmail letter from America addressed to Octavia in Mr Mannheim’s elegant handwriting.

  She opened it last, looking forward to hearing how he was. But in fact it was a very disturbing letter, and the news it contained was so appalling it took her a while to comprehend it.

  Dear Miss Smith, he said.

  I trust you are well and that the news I have to tell you will not distress you too much. I have been trying to contact Miss Henderson but without success. I fear she may have moved or been bombed. If you know where she is, could you perhaps forward this letter to her? It is for her information as well as yours and I am earnest that she should receive it.

  I fear that the situation of the Jews in Germany and the occupied countries has become very grave. From what our correspondents are able to tell us, and they have to be extremely careful as you will understand, there is now an official German programme to exterminate as many Jews as they can. They call it ‘The solution to the Jewish problem’. They have set up four Einsatzgruppen and given them the job of carrying out the killings. At first they took groups of Jews out into the streets or the fields and shot them where they stood, but now their methods have become crueller and more sophisticated. According to our correspondents they have built a special concentration camp that is designed for mass murder. They have gas chambers there where the Jews are killed and massive ovens where their bodies are burnt and large new railway sidings where the trains bringing their victims to the camp can be unloaded. It should be possible for the RAF to spot the sidings and pinpoint the location of this camp. It is not hidden.

  Forgive me for burdening you with such information but I would feel I was doing less than my duty if I did not try to warn whomever I can.

  I will write again when I have better news to impart. Please give my regards to the rest of your family and particularly to Mrs Thompson. We think of you all with great affection.

  Ernst Mannheim.

  ‘Dear God!’ Octavia said when she finally put the letter down. ‘Just read that, Em.’

  ‘What’s up, Aunty?’ Barbara said, anxiously. ‘Is it Uncle Johnnie?’

  ‘Your Uncle Johnnie’s fine,’ Emmeline told her quickly. ‘He sent you his love and he’s going to come to see us in a fortnight. You can read the letter if you like.’

  ‘Then what’s up?’ Barbara persisted. ‘You said, “Dear God.”’

  ‘It’s a bit of bad news from someone we know in America,’ Octavia reassured her. ‘Nothing worrying, just a bit sad.’

  ‘My word, just look at the clock,’ Edith intervened. ‘Come on you three, if you want to go swimming, we shall have to look sharp.’

  ‘Are we going swimming?’ Barbara said, half-delighted and half-surprised. It was news to her but very welcome because she loved swimming.

  ‘That’s what you said you wanted,’ Edie said. ‘But if we’re going, you’ll have to be quick.’

  Barbara was out of her seat already.

  ‘Right then,’ Edie said. ‘Upstairs and spend a quick penny.’ And she bustled them out of the room.

  ‘Is it true, do you think?’ Emmeline asked when they were safely out of earshot. ‘It can’t be, can it? I mean, they wouldn’t do anything so barbaric. Would they? They wouldn’t, surely. I mean, killing people in gas chambers. He must have got it wrong.’

  Octavia was lighting a cigarette. ‘If it were anyone other than Mr Mannheim I would say it was j
ust a dreadful rumour,’ she said, ‘because you’re right, it’s just too horrific for words. But as it’s from him I think we must face the fact that it could very well be true. He’s an honest man – we’ve always known that – and I can’t imagine him passing on a rumour. I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll phone Tommy tonight and see if he knows anything. And now I must copy the letter for Mrs Henderson. I’ll keep the original. It could be important. And after that I think I’d better go to Downview and see how they’re getting on.’ She might be able to find out more about Lizzie’s escapade and being there, with plenty to do, would put this horror out of her mind.

  But it didn’t work. The terrible words of the letter haunted her all through the day. Lizzie and her two friends had gone to town to buy Horlicks tablets according to Maggie, which seemed likely enough because they all bought the little tablets whenever they could as a substitute for sweets, but meant that she’d lost the chance to talk to them as she’d intended. She strolled through the garden, praising the girls for the good work they were doing among the soft fruits and in the vegetable patch, but instead of her own happy, healthy pupils she was seeing Jewish children being taken out into the streets to be shot; as she sat in Maggie’s parlour, eating their rather frugal sandwiches, she saw gas chambers full of corpses and huge ovens waiting to burn them. No matter whom she saw or what she did, Mr Mannheim’s terrible words crushed her heart. Designed for mass murder… mass murder…mass murder. How could such dreadful things be happening? she thought. What sort of a world have we created? And how are we ever going to set it right?

  By the time she got home that afternoon, she was tired to her bones and an unnecessary phone was ringing. She was glad to see Emmeline walking out of the kitchen to greet her and thought yearningly of a cup of tea but thought, with a sigh, the phone would have to be attended to first.

  ‘Yes,’ she said wearily.

  ‘Tavy,’ Tommy’s voice said. ‘Sorry about last night, old thing. Look, I’ve been thinking. I think I ought to come down and see my Lizzie and sort this out. Find out what she’s been up to, sort of thing. Bit of straight talking. Don’t you think that’s right? I can’t come next Saturday, I’m afraid. We’ve got a big reception and I’m hosting. But the Saturday after. How would that be?’