Octavia's War

by Beryl Kingston

  The thing is, Miss Smith, she wrote, he wants to get married before the invasion and so do I but I can’t see Pa giving his consent. He wouldn’t do it before and he’s not a man to change his mind. What do you think I should do?

  Octavia put the letter down on her desk beside the invitation and began to consider. Lizzie was right. He could be terribly stubborn and he didn’t like losing face. So what could be done? She stared down at her desk, idly admiring the elegance of the invitation and noticing the passion of Lizzie’s bold handwriting. And the juxtaposition gave her an idea. She took up her pen, found a postcard and sent a quick message to her pupil. Phone me. Then she went off to her first lesson, treasuring her plan like the sweetie it was.

  Lizzie phoned the following afternoon at the end of the school day, when she knew Smithie would be back in her room.

  ‘I’ll be quick,’ Octavia said. ‘I don’t want you getting cut off in the middle. Now then. You’ve been invited to the christening, of course.’

  ‘I’m a godmother.’

  ‘Splendid. Now what I advise you to do is this. Write to your brother and ask him to send an invitation to Ben.’

  ‘Yes but…’

  ‘Make sure Ben knows how important it is for him to be there. It’s a Sunday so it shouldn’t be too difficult. But – and this is important, Lizzie – don’t arrive together and don’t pay any attention to one another when you’re in the church. And tell him to wear his beret. Then leave it to me.’

  ‘I will obey you “point-device”,’ Lizzie said.

  And did.

  The new Heather Elizabeth had a fine day for her welcome to the Anglican Church and behaved herself impeccably, only protesting slightly when her head was doused with unexpected water. Afterwards, cradled in her mother’s arms, in her grandmother’s crowded front room, she gazed solemnly at her admirers as they told her what a dear little thing she was and didn’t remind her mother that feeding was an absolute necessity until a full twenty minutes had passed.

  ‘She’s a good baby,’ Tommy said to her doting father when she’d been carried away to be fed.

  ‘She’s not bad, is she?’ Mark said. Then he remembered what Octavia had instructed him to do. ‘You haven’t met my friend Ben Hardy, have you?’ he asked and signalled to Ben that he should join them. ‘Corporal Hardy. Major Meriton.’

  They shook hands and sized one another up.

  ‘Eighth Army,’ Tommy said, noting the beret.

  ‘Joined at El Alamein,’ Ben said, with some pride. ‘Just before the battle.’

  ‘First-rate show.’

  ‘Yes. It was. Monty knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘Tell me, what do you think of the new Churchill tank?’

  Mark drifted away from them and left them to it. Now he had to find Octavia and tell her the deed was done.

  ‘Excellent,’ she approved. ‘I’ll give them a few more minutes to get going. Just one more thing. Could you find Lizzie for me and tell her to watch for my signal?’

  ‘This is better than a thriller,’ Mark said. ‘I keep expecting a spy to leap out and confront us with a Luger.’

  ‘Keep watching,’ Octavia told him, ‘and you’ll see a headmistress confront a Major with a Ben.’

  She left the two men talking until Tommy moved on to make conversation with someone else, then she inched after him.

  ‘Nice chap?’ she asked, as the christening party talked and laughed and made approving noises around them.

  He bent his head towards her. ‘Who?’

  ‘The soldier you were talking to.’

  ‘First rate,’ he said. ‘Eighth Army. One of Monty’s mob. Seen a lot of action. They had a hell of a time at Monte Cassino.’

  ‘So I believe,’ Octavia said. ‘You approve of him then?’

  He was smiling at his brother, who was smiling and walking towards him and not paying overmuch attention. ‘Stout feller,’ he said. ‘Salt of the earth. We could do with a few more like him.’

  ‘So he’ll make a good son-in-law,’ she said.

  He turned away from his brother’s approach and looked at her quizzically. ‘What are you talking about, Tavy? What son-in-law?’

  ‘Yours,’ she told him levelly. ‘He’s engaged to Lizzie. Isn’t that right, you two?’

  Ben and Lizzie were edging through the crush towards him, hand in hand. ‘And you call me devious!’ he said to Octavia. Then he looked at his brother. ‘Hello, James,’ he said. ‘You’ve walked in on a family crisis.’

  Octavia felt distinctly anxious. He hadn’t refused the idea outright, he’d even made a joke of it but calling it a crisis wasn’t a good sign. If only James wasn’t there she might be able to tease him a bit, make it easier for him.

  The brothers were shaking hands. ‘Have I?’ James said, smiling at Lizzie and Octavia. ‘Well bless my soul. I thought it was a christening.’

  Now Tommy was turning to Ben, squaring up to him, stretching up to his full height, looking stern. Oh God, the signs were bad.

  ‘You never said you were engaged to my daughter,’ he said.

  ‘No, sir,’ Ben said visibly standing his ground. ‘You never asked me.’

  Tommy shook his head, paused and began to grin. ‘So I suppose you want to get married before the balloon goes up,’ he said. ‘Is that it?’

  Ben grinned too. ‘Got it in one, sir.’

  Octavia was so relieved she had to lean on the back of a chair. But she didn’t get a chance to say anything because James and Lizzie were both talking at once, James saying, ‘Well, they are engaged, Tom,’ and Lizzie throwing her arms round her father’s neck, saying ‘Darling, darling Pa!’

  Tommy was beaming but practical. ‘What sort of date did you have in mind?’ he said to Ben.

  Ben and Lizzie answered in unison. ‘Easter Saturday.’

  Tommy grimaced. ‘Bit short notice, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s the war for you,’ Ben said, daring a joke.

  ‘And what’s Miss Mann going to say?’ Tommy said, looking at Lizzie. ‘I’ll bet you haven’t thought about that.’

  ‘I have actually,’ Lizzie said coolly, stepping away from him and going back to Ben. ‘She’s not going to say anything because I shan’t tell her.’

  ‘You mean you’re going to get married and go back to college as if nothing’s happened? Good God, girl, I’ve never heard the like.’

  ‘Well, good for you,’ James said to his niece. ‘Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you, eh.’ And he laughed at his brother. ‘You’ve bred a revolutionary, Tom. I never thought you had it in you.’

  ‘Easter Saturday it is then,’ Tommy said. ‘You’re not to cut finals mind Lizzie. And I shall expect a brilliant result.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lizzie said. ‘You shall have one.’

  He smiled at that. Then he looked at Octavia. ‘I shall expect a bit of reciprocation too.’

  ‘You shall have it,’ Octavia promised. ‘Just as soon as I’m back in London.’

  Lizzie was looking over her shoulder into the crowd. ‘Must tell Mark,’ she said. ‘Be back in a tick.’ And she ran off to find her brothers, pulling Ben with her.

  ‘What it is to be young!’ James said and he moved into the crowd too.

  Tommy and Octavia were left on their own together, hidden in the blur and buzz of the party.

  ‘That felt like an Octavian put-up job to me,’ he said.

  She wasn’t sure whether he was praising her or blaming her but she admitted her involvement. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose it was in a way. I thought you might need a bit of persuasion.’

  ‘A more accurate word would be coercion.’

  Yes. It did feel like blame. She would have to stand up to him. ‘They’re young, Tommy,’ she said, ‘and they’re in love and they don’t know how long they’ll have together or whether he’ll come through or be injured or killed or what will happen to them. I think they deserve their wedding and as much happiness as we can give them and if I have to
use a bit of coercion to get it for them then so be it.’

  He held out his hands, in the old familiar gesture, as if he were fending her off. ‘All right. All right,’ he said. ‘You’ve got what you wanted. You don’t have to bite my head off. But I shall hold you to your promise, mind.’

  ‘I know,’ Octavia said, smiling at him because she had been a bit fierce. ‘But let’s get this wedding organised first, shall we?’

  He took out his cigarette case, offered it to her and lit up for both of them. ‘And what’s all this about you coming back to London?’ he said.

  ‘We can move as soon as the Second Front begins,’ she said. ‘That’s official.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lizzie got married in her mother’s classical wedding dress, skilfully cut down to size and tailored to fit, with Mary and Poppy as her bridesmaids in dresses made of parachute silk and run up by Mary’s mother. It was the first time Lizzie had ever worn a full length gown and she looked vulnerable in it, very slender, very young and surprisingly shy, her long hair shining underneath her veil. As she walked up the aisle on her father’s arm she was so nervous she tripped and would have fallen had it not been for his steadying hand, and she made her responses in such a soft voice that the congregation had to strain their ears to hear her. When she and Ben stepped out of the church as man and wife and ducked under the guard of honour his uniformed mates had provided, and their friends and family showered them with confetti and the clouds showered them with soft April rain, she was giggling with relief.

  ‘Married!’ she said to Ben.

  ‘Married,’ he agreed and kissed her.

  ‘Hold it just like that,’ the photographer called. ‘That’s perfect.’

  The reception was in Tommy’s fine house, food and wine provided courtesy of the black market. Ben’s aunt and uncle were very impressed by it, and Jimmy, who’d acted as best man and had been almost as nervous as the bride, was totally subdued. ‘You never said you were rich,’ he said to Lizzie, when the meal was over.

  ‘I am now,’ she said, hanging on to Ben’s arm.

  Rich and stupid with happiness but with that horrible scrabbling anxiety lurking in her belly. Oh Ben, my darling, darling Ben, she thought, why do we have to have a war? Why can’t we just go away and live happily ever after, the way people did before all this horrible mess began?

  ‘A lovely wedding,’ James said, wandering over to join his brother with his wife trailing behind him. ‘Hello, Octavia. You’ve done them proud, Tom.’

  ‘We did our best,’ Tommy agreed, ‘didn’t we, Tavy?’

  ‘Wherever did she get that dress?’ Laura said, preparing to criticise.

  ‘From Chanel,’ Tommy told her. ‘I wanted her to have something special.’

  The name made her catch her breath. ‘How did you manage that?’ she said, much put out. ‘I mean she’s French. She’s in Paris. You’re not going to tell me you went there.’

  ‘Wheels within wheels,’ Tommy said. ‘It cost a small fortune.’

  ‘That’s the trouble with you, Tom,’ she complained. ‘I never know when you’re serious.’ And she drifted away from them.

  ‘That was naughty,’ Octavia said, as James grimaced and walked after her.

  ‘Couldn’t resist it, old thing,’ Tommy said. ‘She asks for it sometimes. Anyway it put a spoke in her wheels. I can’t have her being acid at my Lizzie’s wedding.’

  There was a stir on the far side of the room. Lizzie had changed out of her finery and she and Ben were ready to leave. She was still carrying her posy and stopped at the door to toss it to her guests. ‘Catch!’ she called. And as the flowers fluttered through the air, losing some of their petals as they fell, she was gone.

  ‘I do so hope they’ll be all right,’ Octavia said

  ‘They’ll be fine,’ Tommy told her. ‘Come and have some more champagne.’

  ‘But how long have they got?’ Octavia said. ‘That’s the question.’

  Lizzie was asking exactly the same question, sitting beside her new husband as they were driven to the station.

  ‘How long have we got, Ben?’

  He put his arm round her and answered her seriously. ‘Don’t let’s waste time thinking about it,’ he said. ‘We’ve got now.’

  But however hard they tried not to think about it, their parting was scheduled and there was nothing they could do to delay it. Preparations for the invasion were visibly speeding up. On the day Lizzie went back to Oxford to sit her finals it was announced that all coastal areas had been banned to visitors. There were constant army convoys on the roads and constant air reconnaissance over France, railway timetables were reorganised to accommodate troop movements, bombers flew by day and night until the sound of their engines was so familiar that people barely noticed them. It was as if the entire country was fidgety with impatience. And four weeks after their wedding, when Lizzie’s finals were over and she was looking forward to the moment when they could be together again, Ben was recalled to base and all camps were sealed.

  I can’t tell you anything except that I love you, he wrote to her. There are guards on the gates so as no one can go in or out and they’ve sealed up the phones and they’re censoring every letter. It’s all bull and pep-talks. Another one tonight. Aren’t we the lucky ones?

  Love you, love you, love you,

  Ben

  The pep-talk that night was a message from General Montgomery, Commander in Chief 21st Army, which was read to them by their Brigadier, and despite his cynicism Ben was moved by it.

  ‘The time has come,’ Monty had written, ‘to deal the enemy a terrific blow in Western Europe. The blow will be struck by the combined sea, land and air forces of the Allies – together constituting one great Allied team, under the supreme command of General Eisenhower.

  On the eve of this great adventure I send my best wishes to every soldier in the Allied team. To us is given the honour of striking a blow for freedom which will live in history; and in the better days that lie ahead men will speak with pride of our doings. We have a great and a righteous cause. Let us pray that ‘The Lord Mighty in Battles’ will go forth with our armies, and that His special providence will aid us in the struggle.

  I want every soldier to know that I have every confidence in the successful outcome of the operations that we are about to begin. With stout hearts and with enthusiasm for the contest, let us go forward to victory. Good luck to each one of you. And good hunting on the mainland of Europe.’

  Four days later they were crossing the Channel, struggling against a strong north-easterly wind, a sharp rain, fear and seasickness. The Second Front had begun.

  * * *

  The BBC gave the news in its usual well controlled way but the newspapers threw it at their readers in headlines six inches high: ‘Second Front – Allies invade Normandy’ and the next day they had the pictures to prove it.

  ‘Poor devils,’ Emmeline said, studying the taut, grimed faces and the heavily laden packs of the young men struggling onto the beaches. ‘God help them. Thousands of them it says.’

  Edith changed the subject. She had no intention of letting her mother sink back into hysteria, not when she was doing so well, and those pictures were just the thing to set her off.

  ‘I’m going down the shops,’ she said, ‘to get some more soap. Do we need any soda? I mean if we’re going to start on Aunt’s room. What d’you think?’

  ‘We can’t wash the curtains,’ Emmeline told her. ‘Not in this weather. They’d never dry.’

  ‘But we can start on the picture rails and the skirting boards and give the carpet a good hoover and clean out the wardrobes,’ Edith urged. ‘I mean, she’ll be coming home now, won’t she. You know what she said. And once she makes her mind up, she’s so quick. It wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t come walking through that door tomorrow. Let’s strike while the iron’s hot, eh.’

  Emmeline put the paper aside. Edith was right. They ought to get on. ‘Wait a tick,’ she s
aid, ‘and I’ll get my hat and come with you.’

  As Edith had predicted, Octavia drove back to Roehampton Secondary School on Saturday morning bringing Morag Gordon with her. The invasion was four days old by then and all the reports were saying that the Allied armies had established a bridgehead and that everything was going according to plan so it was time to start organising their return. It wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as it had been when they were preparing for the evacuation all those years ago, because nearly half their pupils were already back in London. She’d already worked out which rooms should be cleaned first, ordered a van to transport their class libraries and ensured that the fifth- and sixth-formers could take their state examinations in the comfort of their own gym. Next term’s syllabuses were written and printed. The LCC had been informed of their intentions. Now she was going to meet the school keeper and inspect the building and set the whole thing in motion.

  It gave her the most peculiar sensation to be walking into the school hall. It was so quiet that their footsteps echoed – so quiet and so large and so empty. She climbed up onto the platform, trailed her hand along the table, where the dust was so thick she could have written her name in it, looked out at the school clock and noticed that it had stopped at 3.46, and memories of that last day tugged at her mind. All those girls sitting on the floor with their luggage and their gas masks and their sandwiches, hot and sticky in their winter uniforms, waiting and being so good and sensible and patient.