by Peggy Savage
1939
‘Could I speak to you for a moment, Doctor?’ Mrs Parks looked stressed, Amy thought. Of course she did – everyone was stressed.
‘Of course you can, Edith,’ Amy said. ‘Come into the kitchen and we’ll have a cup of tea.’ They sat down at the kitchen table.
‘It’s my daughter,’ Mrs Parks began. ‘She’s so worried about a war. She’s writing to me nearly every day.’
‘I know,’ Amy said. ‘We all are, Edith, aren’t we? What can I do to help?’
‘She says her husband will be called up for sure. He’s only twenty-seven and he works in a chair factory in High Wycombe. That’s not a reserved occupation. He’d have to go for certain.’
Amy thought she knew what was coming. ‘I’m so sorry, Edith,’ she said. ‘It’s a dreadful time.’
‘She wants me to go and live with her if war breaks out,’ Mrs Parks said. ‘She says she can’t manage the children on her own, especially with the baby.’
‘I understand,’ Amy said. ‘Of course she can’t.’
‘She says she might have to get a job. She won’t be able to manage on army pay.’
Oh God, Amy thought, every little thing, every life disrupted and spoiled and possibly ended. And for what? Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh Edith,’ she said. ‘It’s all so awful. How can anyone even contemplate it? Hitler must be mad.’ Mrs Parks reached out and took her hand. For a few moments they sat in silence, hands joined, both mothers, both afraid.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Mrs Parks said. ‘I don’t want to leave you at a time like this. I’ve been really happy here, helping you, watching the children grow up. They’ve been good years.’
Amy wiped her eyes with her fingertips. ‘I know, Edith. We’ll miss you terribly, but you have to look after your own family.’ She paused. ‘Charlie says he’s joining the air force if it happens. He’s been learning to fly at Cambridge.’
‘Oh. Little Charlie. It doesn’t seem five minutes since …’ Mrs Parks closed her eyes for a moment. ‘It hardly seems possible. All the children. I wish she hadn’t had another baby. What a world to bring a baby into.’
‘They’ll be all right,’ Amy said. ‘You’ll all be in the country. They won’t be bombing there.’
‘But suppose they get here – those Germans? They seem to go anywhere they want.’
‘They won’t.’ Amy said firmly. ‘We just have to believe they won’t. We haven’t been invaded since 1066 and we’re certainly not going to let it happen now.’
‘I lost my husband at the very end of the last war,’ Mrs Parks said. ‘Almost on the last day. All for nothing. My daughter never had a father. And now my grandchildren …’ Amy could find no words to comfort her. ‘What would you do, Doctor? How would you manage?’
‘Don’t you worry, Edith,’ Amy said. ‘I’d have to find someone else. I’d miss you more than I can say, but I’ll find someone.’
Mrs Parks got up. ‘Maybe it won’t happen. Maybe I won’t have to go. We’d better get those blackout curtains made, though, just in case. I believe they’ve still got some stuff at John Lewis’s. And we should lay in some candles and matches and some torch batteries.’ She sighed. ‘I’d better go and finish the dusting.’
Amy sat on for a few moments. She rubbed her brow with her fingertips. Edith was the kingpin of the house; she’d been a fine housekeeper and a reliable friend for ten years. She would have to find someone else who perhaps would live in, in Edith’s little flat at the top of the house. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to work, and God only knew how bad it might get, how much and how many doctors might be needed.
The days wore on through August. Dan went off to work each day, Amy did her surgeries and clinics and visited her patients with a kind of mechanical efficiency. The atmosphere was extraordinary, tension and apprehension were everywhere. Some of the mothers in her clinics were close to panic. ‘What will we do? We’ll have to send the children away, to the country, Canada, Australia, anywhere away from here. Will we ever see them again?’ She could share the pictures that were in their heads, the pictures that had been in the papers of dying men and women and children in Spain after the German bombing. She thought of the Jewish children, sent alone to England by their agonized parents to escape the horrors of Germany. Surely it couldn’t happen here?
Not knowing was the worst thing, she thought. If you knew what was going to happen, you could prepare yourself; prepare your mind and your actions. Otherwise imagination could run riot. She saw the physical preparations all around her – trenches dug for air-raid shelters in the parks, barrage balloons tethered, ready to be raised, shops running out of heavy black fabric for blackout curtains and sticky tape for the windows to stop flying glass. There were already men in the streets with bells and rattles and tin hats, ready to give the alarm if there was poison gas. That frightened her the most. She remembered all too clearly the men in the last war, gassed horribly in the trenches. Surely to God they wouldn’t do that to the children? The country seemed to be moving steadily to an inevitable and terrifying future.
The twins seemed to be extraordinarily cheerful, Charlie now as obsessed with flying as Tessa was with medicine. Of course they saw the danger; they must. But they were so full of life, of optimism, of the absolute youthful certainty that life would go on for ever. They put me to shame, she thought. I must be as they are. I must forget the last war. This is a new challenge. It will not be the same. But why? Why, twice in one lifetime?
‘We’re going out on Friday night,’ Charlie said one day. ‘We’re going to the Café de Paris. It’s Rob’s birthday.’
They came downstairs that evening, looking so young and so happy and so handsome that Amy’s heart turned over; Charlie was in a dinner jacket and Tessa in her blue evening dress, silky, bias cut, clingy around the hips and swirling out below. They are beautiful, she thought, as all young people are – beautiful in their promise, not children any more, and not quite adults either – somewhere in between. How was that bridge to be made? Gently, with time, or a bitter wrench from one to the other?
‘You both look lovely,’ Amy said. ‘Have a good time.’
‘Oh, we will.’ Tessa kissed her cheek. ‘Don’t worry, if they drop a bomb on us, we’ll be all right – the C de P is underground.’
Amy paled. ‘Don’t joke, darling.’
Tessa grinned. ‘What else can you do? Come on, Charlie. The taxi’s waiting.’
They arrived at the Café de Paris and walked down the long steep staircase to the small dance floor with the tables around it. The band was playing a version of Moonlight Serenade. Their friends were waiting. ‘Good band,’ Rob said.
‘I love Glen Miller,’ Tessa said. ‘Cheers you up like mad.’
Rob grimaced. ‘We could do with cheering up. I hope I actually live to see my next birthday.’
‘None of that,’ Charlie said. ‘Of course you will. You can come and live here, underground, like a mole. Spend the whole war safely tucked away in the C de P.’
Rob laughed. ‘Hope they’ve got enough champagne to last.’
‘Well they’ve got enough for tonight,’ Charlie said. ‘Let’s dance. Eat, drink and be merry.’
‘Shut up, Charlie.’ Tessa said. ‘Don’t finish it.’
Amy and Dan sat over their coffee in the sitting room. Dan looked grey and drawn. He looks older, Amy thought. Weary.
‘What’s happened, darling?’ she said. ‘Something new?’
‘We’ve been ordered to clear all beds of chronic cases,’ he said, ’move them out of London. They want those fifty thousand beds for civilian casualties, just for a start, and God knows if that will be enough. Some people seem to think we’ll need hundreds of thousands. They’re putting huts up in the hospital grounds to make more wards. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’ He took Amy’s hand and drew her close. ‘Do you want to leave London, darling? You could go to your father in Kent. He’ll be safe there, in the country. I’d feel better if you did.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I thought you would say that.’
She looked up at him. ‘Do you think I should go back to surgery? I could do some retraining.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘If it happens, this time it’ll be a civilian’s war as well. We’ll need the family doctors. The common things will still go on – people will have babies, the kids will still get sticky ears and measles and chickenpox. They’ll all have to be looked after even more.’
She leant against his shoulder, solid and comforting. ‘The Ministry’s survey of London GPs is in,’ she said, ‘about whether we’d work under emergency conditions. Ninety per cent of them say they would stay. I’m not going to be among the bolters.’
He kissed the top of her head. ‘We’ll do it together then, like we did before.’
Charlie came home from a weekend in Cambridge looking very pleased with himself.
‘I’ve done it, Dad,’ he said, ‘I’ve done my cross country and passed the papers. I’ve got my licence. I am a pilot, of sorts.’
Dan shook his hand. ‘Well done, Charlie. Very well done. We’ll tell your mother. I think it’s an occasion for a glass of champagne.’
‘Clever old you, Charlie,’ Tessa said. ‘You’re a star. Old Biggles Charlie.’
Amy hugged him. ‘What did you have to do, darling?’
‘Some papers,’ he said, ‘about navigation and weather and air law and stuff. And a flying test and a cross-country flight.’
‘Where did you have to fly to,’ Amy asked, ‘on your cross country?’
‘Birmingham,’ Charlie said. ‘There and back.’
‘How do you ever find your way?’
Charlie laughed. ‘I’ve got a compass, Mum,’ he said, ‘and a map.’ He grinned. ‘And you can’t really miss Birmingham.’
She raised her glass. ‘Here’s to you then, Charlie.’
‘Flying’s wonderful, Mum,’ he said. His face was alive, alight. ‘I’d like to do it for the rest of my life, for my job.’
Yes, she thought, yes. He’s found what he wants. ‘Would they let you do that in the RAF?’ she said, ‘as a career?’
‘No, not as I got older. You have to be young to fly combat planes, but Arthur says there’ll be a lot of commercial flying in the future, passenger planes all over the world. Especially if this man Whittle develops his new engine. I’d like to be a commercial pilot.’
Amy deliberately formed a picture in her mind of Charlie, dressed in a smart uniform with a peaked cap, not a flying helmet, walking out to a great aircraft, settling himself into a comfortable cockpit, flying between peaceful countries in safety and pleasure. She made the picture as real as she could. She saw him as older, more mature, a family man. This was the picture she would hold in her mind, whatever happened. Thoughts were things; thoughts were things.
Later, Charlie managed to get his father alone. ‘I’m joining the RAF Volunteer Reserve, Dad. That’s what its all been for.’
Dan took him in his arms and held him for a moment. ‘I know, son,’ he said. ‘We’re both very proud of you – your mother and I.’
On the twenty-first of August Dan came home early. ‘You know what’s happened?’ he said.
Amy nodded, holding out the evening paper, the headlines stark and bleak. The Russians had signed a non-aggression pact with Hitler – the last thing anyone had expected.
‘That’ll leave Hitler free to do what he likes in Europe.’ Dan said. ‘Now that he won’t be fighting the Russians. It doesn’t get any better, does it?’
‘There’s something else,’ Amy said. ‘I’ve had a letter telling me to be prepared to go to Paddington Station at short notice to help with the evacuation of the children.’ She bit her lips. ‘Short notice, Dan.’ He took her in his arms and held her close.
The family was in the kitchen, having breakfast; Mrs Parks was frying eggs and bacon. The wireless was on, as usual. It was on all the time these days. For Amy it held a kind of fascinating horror – she had to listen, but dreaded what she might hear. September the first, she thought; the year was dragging on. The appalling news was given in a very calm, very unemotional way. At dawn, the German army had invaded Poland. The Prime Minister had ordered the mobilization of all forces.
Dan turned the wireless off. For a few moments no one said anything, then Charlie blew his breath out through his teeth. ‘That’s it then,’ he said. ‘It’s started.’
‘Not yet,’ Amy said, her voice cracking. ‘Not yet. There might still be some way.…’
Charlie put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. Then he went out into the sunlit garden. He wasn’t sure how he felt. His mother, he was sure, was wrong; there was no way out now. In a way it was a kind of relief – better to know what was to happen and be prepared. Was he prepared? It wasn’t the flying. He was more than prepared for that. Was he prepared to kill? Now it was not theoretical; it was real. He turned back to look at the house. He could see his family through the window. He could see his father with his arm around Tessa’s shoulders; he could see Mrs Parks with her face in her hands, and his mother bending over her, speaking to her. His family. His home. Yes, he thought, yes, I would be prepared. I will have no choice.
Tessa came out to join him. She gave a hesitant smile. ‘What happens now, Charlie?’
‘Nothing for you, Tess,’ he said. ‘Go back to Cambridge, carry on as normal. I’m going to be called up, of course. I’ll still have a lot of training to do. Flying a Spit or a Hurricane is a bit different from flying a Tiger Moth.’
‘I wish I could do more,’ Tessa said. ‘I feel so useless.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he said. ‘You’ll be of enormous use when you’re trained. Vital. We’ll always need doctors. You’ll have to put it all together again – after the war.’
‘And when do you think that will be?’
‘God knows,’ he said. ‘It isn’t going to be easy, not if what I saw in Berlin is anything to go by.’
‘What will we do, Charlie? What will they do?’
He smiled. ‘They’ll lose, of course. They’re far too nasty to win. We can’t let them do that.’
‘Oh Charlie,’ she said.
He took her hands in his. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I’ve every intention of coming through this, but if I don’t …’
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘No Charlie,’ she said, ‘don’t even say it. We’re not at war yet.’
‘If I don’t, you’ll look after the parents, won’t you? Especially Mum.’
‘Charlie. Please!’
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘It won’t happen. I only said if.’ She let go of his hands and walked down to the bottom of the garden. He could see her shoulders shaking. He went after her and put his arm around her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It was a daft thing to say. It won’t happen. Come on, no tears. Let’s go in. Don’t let Mum see you crying.’
He thought suddenly of Kurt. What was he doing now? Joining up probably, like everyone else. What service would he be in? The German air force, perhaps? He’d be fighting Kurt – what a crazy thought. What a bizarre, stupid world.
His parents and Mrs Parks were still in the kitchen. ‘There’s no point in me going back to Cambridge,’ Charlie said. ‘Even if I’m not called up yet.’ His mother was about to protest, he could see that, but his father intervened.
‘I think you’re right, Charlie,’ Dan said, ‘unless there’s a miracle. You’d better write to your college. I expect they’ll have some system of letting you finish your degree afterwards.’
‘If I want to go back,’ Charlie said.
Nora and Sara took the bus to Paddington station. ‘I don’t want to go, Mum,’ Sara said. ‘The school isn’t closing. The teachers are going to carry on.’
; Those that will still be there, Nora thought darkly. Those that haven’t been called up.
‘Your friend, Kathy, is going away, isn’t she?’ Nora was trying very hard not to cry, but it was a struggle. She could feel the tears pricking, and she didn’t want Sara to see. ‘I’m not having you in any danger. I wouldn’t be able to go on.’
Sara stared out of the window. She was filled with an overwhelming anger, anger at the Germans, anger at the thought of having to leave her mum, losing her place at school, and dread that everything was so messed up that she could never get it back. Other dreads she couldn’t really imagine – bombs dropping, houses falling down, people being hurt or killed. That didn’t seem real. Having to go away was real. And her father going away to be a sailor or a soldier. She couldn’t imagine her dad harming anyone. All because of the Germans. Why couldn’t somebody just stop them?
‘I just want to be at home with you and Dad,’ she said. ‘Not with strangers. And I’ll worry about you if I’m not there. I don’t care what happens.’
‘Well I care.’ Nora took Sara’s hand. ‘You’re everything in the world to me, Sara. Just do it for me, so I’ll know you’re safe. I’m sure they’ll find you somewhere nice to stay.’
‘Suppose I don’t like them, or they don’t like me?’
‘They will.’ She took a pound note out of her handbag. ‘Here, take this. Hide it somewhere. Just in case you ever need it.’
Sara held it in her hand. She had never had a whole pound before, just for herself. It seemed unreal, just like everything else that was happening. ‘Where shall I put it?’
‘Put it in one of your books for the moment. Find a good hiding-place when you get there.’
They arrived at the station. Nora couldn’t believe what she was seeing. A constant stream of children was moving over the footbridge to the mainline station. The noise was loud and disturbing – a noise, Nora realized, she had never heard before – the sound of hundreds and hundreds of confused and frightened children. A friendly voice, intended no doubt to be comforting, was repeating over the loudspeakers, ‘Hello children. Please go quickly to the train and sit down. Do not play with the doors or the windows.’ The platforms were teeming, tiny five-year-olds were looking bewildered, many of the older children were crying, mothers were crying, some of the older boys were misbehaving, running about, jumping and wrestling. There was a pungent smell, the burning coal and oil and steam from the engines, and here and there were little groups of children who, Nora thought, wrinkling her nose, could do with a good wash. The ladies from the WVS, in their dark-green uniforms, were trying to bring order to the apparent chaos.