Keep the Home Fires Burning

by Anne Bennett

  ‘He was my best friend, Aunt Marion,’ Jack said. ‘I will miss him so much, and I’ll never forget him, not even if I live to be a hundred.’

  ‘I’ll miss him too, Jack,’ Marion said. ‘Every day of my life I will miss him, and yet I know that we must learn to live our lives without him, however hard that is, because that’s what Tony would want us to do.’

  Despite Marion’s words to Jack, it was hard for her to live without Tony, hard even to believe she would never see him again. The whole family missed him, each in their own way. Sarah had been four when he was born and she remembered looking at him for ages as he lay in his cot or in his mother’s arms, and thought him so incredibly sweet. Marion remembered this and though she knew Tony would annoy Richard greatly sometimes, and tease the twins, there was no nastiness or malice in it; he was just mischievous. He had such a cheeky grin and infectious laugh no one was cross with him for long, even Magda, though sometimes they’d go at it hammer and tongs. What their mother would give to hear them quarrelling now.

  Tony’s death made a large hole in Bill’s life too, and his hurt and pain could almost be lifted from the pages of the letter he sent Marion. He also felt a measure of guilt that he had exacted a promise from her that she would use the cellar whenever there was a raid, and hadn’t given a thought to the gas taps. If it hadn’t been for her mother, she wouldn’t have thought of them either.

  No one would agree to use the cellar any more and Marion could hardly blame them. She was just glad that since that fateful raid there was only light and sporadic bombing. The children found it very hard to speak about Tony and, as if by tacit consent, avoided his name, fearful of upsetting their mother further.

  Then one evening, recounting some tale, Magda let Tony’s name slip out and immediately clapped her hand over her mouth.

  ‘I don’t mind you talking about Tony,’ Marion said. ‘I won’t promise not to get upset, but that isn’t always a bad thing. Not to talk about him means that he might as well not have existed, and yet he was an important part of our lives for almost eleven years – all your lifetime, Magda, and yours too, Missie. We will all have our memories of him and if you want to share them, in the end it might help us all cope better.’

  How Richard and Sarah admired their mother for that. They both knew that while Tony’s death had affected them, it had knocked their mother for six. At first their attempts to talk about their brother were tentative and cautious. However, Tony had been full of life and mischief, and was often very funny, so that remembering the things he said and the escapades he had got up to meant the tears were frequently replaced by smiles. Marion found this strangely cathartic and it helped to fill the black hole.

  By the last Saturday in July she felt strong enough to sort Tony’s clothes out.

  ‘Are you sure, Mom?’ said Richard. ‘It’s early days yet.’

  ‘There’s too much of a shortage of clothes to hang on to any of Tony’s that someone might make better use of,’ she said. ‘You can help, if you like.’

  Richard did help, and so did Sarah. Marion found it more upsetting than she’d anticipated, making parcels of Tony’s clothes, including the coat from Polly that he was just beginning to grow into. But in searching through Tony’s other things, Richard came upon the bag of marbles he had given him for Christmas. He weighed it in his hand and his eyes filled with tears as he remembered how touched Tony had been when he had given him the bag, and the awe on his face when he had tipped them out onto the table.

  ‘What have you there?’ Marion asked.

  ‘Tony’s marbles, or marleys, as he insisted on calling them.’

  ‘What are you going to do with them?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘I thought to give them to Jack.’

  ‘Oh, Richard,’ said Marion, ‘you couldn’t do a better thing. Polly is that worried about Jack because he doesn’t seem to be coming to terms with Tony’s death at all.’

  ‘It’s hard, Mom, hard for all of us,’ Sarah said.

  ‘God, don’t I know that,’ Marion said. ‘But we have to battle through it because it’s the only way. And being given something of Tony’s that he placed such value on might make a difference to him, that’s all I’m saying. If you want to see Jack now, you’ll probably find him down the allotment. Polly’s said he virtually lives there just now.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t need me at the moment,’ Richard said, ‘I’ll go and see if I can bring a smile to his face.’

  Richard had been surprised and pleased that his brother and cousin had started to help their grandfather on the allotment, but he had imagined it would be a passing fancy that they’d soon grow tired of, though he always been amazed what they had achieved whenever he’d gone down at weekends to give a hand. But they hadn’t grown tired of it at all, and now the allotment was furrowed in perfectly straight rows. Richard saw potatoes, carrots and onions were ready to be dug up, and crisp cabbages just needed to be lifted from the ground, and the sweet succulent garden peas were climbing the trellis he remembered Colm making from scrap wood.

  Jack was walking up and down each row watering the plants. His grandfather came out of the shed wiping his hands on a rag as he saw Richard approach.

  ‘What brings you here?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve come to see Jack.’

  At the sound of his name Jack raised his head.

  ‘Come here,’ Richard said. ‘I have something for you.’

  Jack approached slowly, almost reluctantly, and Richard was shocked by his grey pallor and the bleak bereft look in his deep dark eyes. ‘You all right, Jack?’

  Jack shrugged, and Richard saw the tremble of his bottom lip. He said gently, ‘We all miss him, Jack.’ Jack nodded, but didn’t speak, and with a sigh, Richard withdrew the bag from his pocket and placed it in Jack’s hands. ‘I think Tony would have liked you to have these.’

  Jack gave a gasp. He didn’t need to open the bag to see what was in it; he had seen it often enough when it had belonged to Tony, and he remembered how proud he was when Richard gave him that wonderful marble collection. He could scarcely believe that now it would belong to him. Somehow it brought Tony closer, and when he looked at Richard his face was full of gratitude. But as he opened his mouth to thank him, the loss of his cousin hit him afresh and what came out of his mouth was a howl of deep distress. The tears that followed came from Jack’s mouth and nose as well as his eyes, and he sank down into the earth.

  Richard had never seen such a paroxysm of grief and he was shocked. ‘I didn’t mean to upset him,’ he said, looking from Jack to his granddad, who was rushing towards them. ‘I thought that he’d be pleased.’

  ‘He is pleased,’ Eddie said. ‘Can you bring him into the shed?’

  Richard lifted Jack as if he was half the age he was, carried his limp and weeping form into the shed and placed him in his grandfather’s arms as he sat in the armchair.

  Eddie’s held his grandson tight as he said huskily, ‘He needed those tears for he has not cried since the funeral. They have been tight inside, like a spring, and you’ve opened up the floodgates.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Richard. He felt a little at a loss because Jack’s reaction was the last thing he had expected and he hovered uncertainly in the doorway. ‘Can I help? Is there anything I can do?’

  Eddie shook his head. ‘You have already done a wonderful thing, Richard. Jack will be fine now.’

  And Jack was fine, or as fine as he would ever be, and that evening it was an embarrassed Jack who came round to see Richard and apologised for his tears.

  ‘No need to apologise, Jack, none at all.’

  ‘It was just seeing that bag,’ Jack said. ‘T-Tony was so proud of them flipping marleys. He’d get on my pip sometimes, and the memory of him just sort of flooded in and it just …’ His voice trailed away and he looked Richard full in the face as he said, ‘I’ll never have another mate like Tony.’

  ‘I know, Jack.’

  ‘Thank you for the marleys, anyway. I
never did say that.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Richard said.

  ‘Your mom said that we had to get on with our lives without Tony,’ Jack said. ‘She said that’s what he would want. All I really want to say is I suppose that I’ll find it a little easier to do that now.’

  In early October it was Sarah’s sixteenth birthday. That morning she faced Mrs Jenkins in the shop and said, ‘I want to hand in my notice.’

  Ma Jenkins stared at her and snapped, ‘You what?

  Sarah refused to allow herself to be intimidated. ‘I think you heard what I said,’ she answered politely enough. ‘Will a week be sufficient for you or would you want me to work a fortnight?’

  ‘You will work a month, my girl.’ Mrs Jenkins said. ‘How am I going to fill your place with all the lasses off to war work?’

  ‘How you fill the vacancy is up to you,’ Sarah said. ‘But I can’t work no longer than a fortnight. My cousin has asked for a place for me at the munitions factory where she is, but they can’t hold the place for ever.’

  Ma Jenkins face took on a look of disgust. ‘You’re giving up a good job in a shop to work in a filthy factory? I suppose it’s for the money. That’s all people seem to care about these days.’

  Sarah thought that rich coming from her, who was one of the meanest people she had ever met, and then the old woman surprised her by saying, ‘I’ll increase your wages by an extra shilling a week.’

  Which would make the princely sum of ten shillings a week, Sarah thought. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s all arranged now.’

  ‘I bet your mother isn’t happy about you working in such a place?’ Mrs Jenkins said, and in all honesty Sarah couldn’t say her mother had been mad keen, but only because of the danger. Sarah had done her best to reassure her. ‘Mary Ellen said they take really good precautions. I mean, she has been there ages and Uncle Pat has, and nothing has happened to them. Siobhan is going next year as well, when she’s sixteen.’

  However, what Sarah said to Mrs Jenkins was, ‘My mother understands why I’m doing this. She’ll need more money when my brother enlists next year, anyroad, and in the munitions I can earn three pounds a week.’

  ‘And you’ll work for every penny.’

  Like I don’t work here? Sarah might have said, but instead she said, ‘I’m no stranger to hard work. In fact, hard work and I are the best of friends.’

  ‘There’s work and work,’ Mrs Jenkins said. ‘You’ll be begging to come back inside of a month.’

  ‘No,’ Sarah said, ‘I won’t.’

  Mrs Jenkins saw the steely glint in Sarah’s eyes and she said, ‘So your mind is made up then?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sarah said. ‘And I will work a maximum of a fortnight from today to give you a chance to get someone else.’

  ‘But today is only Wednesday. It should run from the weekend at least.’

  ‘From today,’ said Sarah firmly.

  ‘Well, get to work then,’ Mrs Jenkins snapped. ‘I don’t pay you to stand here and argue the toss with me.’

  Sarah expected her employer to be nasty, and she was all day, making snide remarks and trying to make her look small in front of the customers, but as Sarah told her mother later, she was well able to cope with that, because for spitefulness Mrs Jenkins didn’t hold a candle to Grandma Murray.

  Despite this, though, Sarah was full of trepidation going to work the next day. She opened the shop door cautiously to find a triumphant Mrs Jenkins inside and, beside her, a thin puny girl.

  ‘You’re not calling the tune here, girl,’ Ma Jenkins almost spat at Sarah. ‘It’s my shop and I say who comes and who goes, and right now you’re the one to go. Sling your hook, you’re not wanted any more. Young Margaret here is taking your place.’

  ‘The poor kid looked frightened to death,’ Sarah said to her mother as she explained what had happened at the shop that morning. ‘And if she is fourteen I would be surprised. She’s so small, and looks as if she’s never had a decent meal in her life.’

  ‘Well, she’s not likely to get one there.’

  ‘No, and Mrs Jenkins will work her into the ground,’ Sarah said. ‘And probably for eight bob a week, which is what I started on. Still, that’s not my problem any more. I’ll go round this evening and tell Mary Ellen I can start on Monday morning.’

  Sarah often wondered how her grandmother got to know of things when she hardly exchanged two words with her neighbours, but when she saw her coming up to the house the day before she was due to start at the munitions, she knew somehow she had found out what she intended to do. She was right and Clara started on her straight away. At the end of her diatribe she declared that she would not have a granddaughter of hers working in a factory and that she would be no better than a common guttersnipe similar to their lodgers if she worked in such a place.

  ‘I don’t really care what you think,’ Sarah hit back angrily. ‘I’m starting at the munitions work tomorrow and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to stop me. Personally I can hardly wait.’

  Mary Ellen had told her how it would be. ‘The girls are a laugh,’ she’d said. ‘But the best incentive of all is the nice fat wage packet at the end of the week. But the job ain’t bad either, and it helps to have Workers’ Playtime belting out from the wireless and some songs we all join in with. Course, that depends what job you’re on. You’ve always got to remember that if you make a mistake it could cost at least one young serviceman his life.’

  Sarah longed to be part of that body of young women all doing their bit, and also to be able to tip up more to her mother, and so what did she care about the warped ideas of a crabbed old woman?

  However, Sarah found working in the munitions factory was like entering a different world. To prevent the chance of raising a spark, every bit of metal she might be wearing, like rings or even kirbi grips had to be removed in the cloakroom and given it to the gaffer. She had to put on dowdy, khaki-coloured overalls that buttoned to the neck and reached past her knees, and an elasticated hat that she had to tuck every bit of hair beneath. Strangest of all, she had to exchange her shoes for wooden clogs, which felt very strange.

  When she said this to Mary Ellen, she smiled as she said, ‘Colm and Chris had to wear clogs when they worked at the brewery, too. You’ll soon get used to them.’

  Sarah doubted that. The clogs fitted all right, but they felt very stiff and hard, and there was no cushioning of any sort. She imagined her feet might well ache at the end of the day. However, everyone else seemed to be taking the uniform in their stride so she said nothing more and followed her cousin down the iron steps to the factory itself.

  ‘We work in threes,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘And as you’re my cousin and I’ve been here ages, our boss, Miss Milverton, said I can show you what to do. It ain’t hard. Come and meet Phoebe. You’ll be working with her as well.’

  It was hard to see what Phoebe really looked like, encased, as they all were, in uniform, but she did have warm grey eyes and a lovely smile. Her accent was strange, though, and she said she came from Doncaster. She had been drafted into Birmingham and, like Peggy and Violet, she lodged with a local family.

  Mary Ellen told Sarah they were assembling 303s and tracer bullets. Sarah was to put the casing in, Mary Ellen the lead nose, and Phoebe inserted the brass tube that held the powder.

  It wasn’t hard work, but it was tedious. Sarah was glad of Workers’ Playtime to relieve the boredom. But in fact the thing that disturbed her most were some of her fellow workmates. Many of the girls or women working there seemed to have harsh, raucous voices that grated on her nerves, and they all seemed to treat men in such a casual way. Even Mary Ellen did this, which surprised Sarah. She had always got on well with all her cousins, particularly Mary Ellen and Siobhan, because they were near her age and they had been to school together, but this was a side of Mary Ellen she had never seen before.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Mary Ellen said as they gathered their things together ready to go h
ome at the end of the first week.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Don’t give me that,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘It’s the girls we work with, ain’t it? I know it is ‘cos sometimes they say summat and I see your mouth go all prissy.’

  ‘It’s the jokes they tell,’ Sarah said.

  Mary Ellen laughed. ‘Thought it was,’ she said. ‘Sometimes you go the colour of a beetroot.’

  ‘And some of them swear worse than any men I’ve ever heard.’

  Mary Ellen let out a peal of laughter and yet she felt sorry for Sarah because she was like a fish out of water. ‘Our mom swears and you don’t seem to hold it against her.’

  ‘Oh, no, I don’t. I wouldn’t,’ Sarah said. And she didn’t, because that was part of her aunt, really, and what she had grown up with. And anyway, she had never come out with some of the words she had heard in the munitions factory.

  ‘Point with you, Sarah, is you have been too gently reared,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘Your ma has been better since the war began, but before that she was very la-di-da. You’ve got to admit that she sometimes acted as if she was a cut above anyone else. I mean, you only played out in the street with the other kids when you came to visit us.’

  Sarah knew that Mary Ellen was right. Like the twins and Tony, she and Richard had been raised in the garden, and when they had gone to Polly’s and there was only the street to play in, the clamour those children made and the lack of restraint in much of their play had unnerved her a little. Many of the people she was working with now were like grown-up versions of those children.

  ‘You haven’t had the corners knocked off you, that’s your trouble,’ Mary Ellen went on knowledgeably. ‘You don’t have to take no notice of what they say at work. They don’t mean owt. They’re just having you on, having a laugh. You answer in like vein.’

  Sarah, however, still thought their ways were alien to her own and, whatever Mary Ellen said, she couldn’t curse and swear the way they did. But after talking her mother into letting her go into the munitions in the first place, how could she go to her mother now and say she had made a grave mistake? She couldn’t, and she knew it, so she tried to make the best of it.