Rising Summer

by Mary Jane Staples

  Poor Edie Hawkins had had her baby, a little girl, and her mother had said it was a lovely mite. It didn’t look a bit like it had been born out of wedlock and perhaps when Edie’s husband saw it he might not want to give Edie a good hiding. Aunt May wondered just how he would behave to a wife who had fallen from grace. By the way, she wrote, your friend’s uncle, Mr Clayton, happened to come round to see me and offered to re-paper the kitchen one weekend, he’s got some rolls of nice pre-war wallpaper. She couldn’t say no to such a kind generous offer.

  I had another word with Gunner Simpson. ‘Is your uncle getting ideas about my Aunt May?’ I asked.

  ‘Is he? How do I know?’ said Simpson.

  ‘Well, find out. I’m particular about whoever might get his feet under her kitchen table.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Simpson, ‘you can make that your business, if you like, I ain’t makin’ it mine.’

  ‘Have a gasper,’ I said. We both had one, we both lit up. ‘The point is, Simmo, I don’t want my Aunt May being taken in by some old goat who’s lookin’ for tree board and lodging.’

  ‘’Ere, watch it, you’re talkin’ about me mother’s brother, who I can guarantee is a gent.’

  ‘Well, that’s good, Simmo, I’ll take your word for it.’

  I saw a fair amount of Kit. Not when she was out of bounds, of course, as Sergeant-Major Baldwin was always on the prowl up there on the first floor. Sometimes when I had an evening pass, Kit came to the pub with me and sometimes she didn’t. Sometimes I think she was out with Major Moffat on what he would probably say was official Allied business. Cassidy, the friendliest girl, offered to stand in. I said that was really nice of her, but if Top Sergeant Dawson found out I’d never live to see next day’s breakfast. Cassidy said she’d come to my funeral, she’d be a heel if she didn’t.

  Frisby continued to be Cecily’s guide, doctor, mother, father and grandma. She liked it. It did wonders for her. She shone. So did her fully-fashioned Waac stockings. Her skirt, previously very long in length, had been shortened. I assumed it meant she wanted Frisby to see she had legs. I asked him if it did. Frisby said she hadn’t said so to him. He hadn’t even noticed, he said. I said that had to be a stand-up lie.

  ‘All right, I’ll be frank,’ he said, ‘I don’t talk to Cecily about things like her legs. I don’t want her suffering a setback. She’s still sensitive, y’know.’

  ‘But she doesn’t twitch any more, does she?’ I said. ‘And you’re dating her and making her happy, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m doing my best,’ he said.

  ‘You going to pop the question or not?’

  ‘I’m just taking my time. You can’t rush a girl like Cecily.’

  ‘Well, watch out, mate, someone else might. In case you haven’t noticed on account of being her doctor, Cecily’s turned into a Lulu.’

  ‘Think so?’ Frisby looked proud of his accomplishment. ‘I’ll make a note of that.’

  The rumours about Burma died a death. Others began to circulate. They were all to do with a Second Front, which John Gordon in the Sunday Express thought ought to start sometime next week. Sounded dangerous to us. It was no good anyone saying we’d had it cushy so far. Everyone still wanted to stay alive, especially the gunners out on site. They were having a wonderful summer. Only Major Moffat and Sergeant-Major Baldwin wanted to see blood.

  A senior officer from Brigade put in an appearance and gave us a lecture on rocket warfare. It meant the regiment was going to be equipped with rocket-firing machines as well as Bofors. It also meant that various personnel would be on a course soon.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IN THE PUB, Kit crowned one of her men to make a king.

  ‘There’s a clever old sergeant,’ I said. ‘By the way, someone’s been talking to Major Moffat about me.’

  ‘I have,’ said Kit. ‘I wanted to take his mind off other things.’

  ‘What other things?’

  ‘Yes, you’ve got it, old buddy,’ she said, watching my move. ‘I simply told him that in view of your many talents, I couldn’t understand why you hadn’t made sergeant at least. I said you could fix anything and he said he knew that and that the last thing he’d do was put you in a position where you could fix him as well.’

  ‘I don’t fix things,’ I said, ‘I just do odd jobs for old ladies.’

  ‘What old ladies?’ asked Kit, surveying the board. She moved one of her men, forcing me to take it. ‘Zap,’ she said, ‘and bang bang.’ She smiled. ‘Old buddy, that’s cost you two men and a king.’

  ‘Did it when I wasn’t looking,’ I said.

  A gentle hand touched my shoulder. ‘Hi,’ said a friendly voice. Cecily. She’d arrived with Frisby. ‘How’s it going, Tim? Hope you’re pitching good.’

  ‘He’s not,’ said Kit, ‘he’s throwing weird ones as usual.’

  ‘Hi, guys,’ said Cassidy, arriving with Top Sergeant Dawson. He looked like a brown bear, Cassidy looked like his honey, Cecily looked 100 per cent cured and Frisby looked tidy. Cecily had taken to knotting his khaki tie for him and prettying him up. It was like taking up ownership. Except that Frisby hadn’t officially given in yet.

  The latest rumour was that our little bunch of seconded Americans, male and female, were soon to leave us. Jim had said he reckoned that was right, right enough. Cecily refused to believe it. No way did she want to believe she was going to be parted from her doctor. Frisby, now in need of a doctor himself, had confided certain relevant details to me. I didn’t feel too qualified and all I could give him was a sympathetic hearing. He said that Cecily wanted to know if they’d still get to see each other. Frisby said he’d do his best. Cecily said that she’d have to fight any new feeling of insecurity.

  ‘That’s right, you fight it,’ said Frisby, ‘you’re a fully-grown woman now.’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ said Cecily, ‘but fully-grown women can still have their bad days when someone important to them isn’t in contact.’

  Frisby said he’d have to do some heavy thinking about what was best for her. I told him to stop all his thinking and get on with things.

  At the moment, however, Cecily had gone back to disbelieving the rumour. In her acquired spirit of camaraderie, she paid for drinks for all. We all sat as wartime mates around the table.

  Jim came in, looking a bit dark under his hat and sucking his pipe upside-down. He beckoned me.

  ‘Excuse me a tick,’ I said.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Kit. ‘It’s your mafia godfather.’

  Jim took me outside, right outside, which I thought meant trouble. Without preamble, he said, ‘Missus reckons our Min’s in the fam’ly way.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘It’s what we both reckon,’ said Jim.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I ain’t goin’ to shout it, son,’ said Jim. Son?

  ‘You’re kidding me, Jim,’ I said. I wasn’t going to call him dad.

  ‘Wish I was, but I ain’t,’ he said. ‘Missus is fair certain and I been wonderin’ meself about Min gettin’ broody at times. I asked ’er straight out this mornin’, was she pregnant or wasn’t she. Told me to mind me own business. Told Missus that too when Missus asked. Missus reckons she’s been ’aving a bit of mornin’ sickness and said she’d best take ’er to the doctor’s. Min said she wasn’t goin’ to be taken to no doctor’s. Told us to leave ’er alone, said she’d got enough miseries as it was on account of you takin’ up with yer American lady sergeant. But I’m tellin’ yer, son, Missus and me both reckon Min’s in the club all right and Missus wants me to ask you a straight question. Did you get up to it with Min?’

  ‘You asking that for a laugh?’ I said.

  ‘Ain’t no laugh, Tim lad. Puttin’ a bun in Min’s oven ain’t nothing but serious and nor ain’t it good manners, neither. Missus is shocked.’

  ‘So am I.’ A picture of Major Moffat getting me for rape leapt into my mind. He would too, if he could. ‘I wouldn’t do a thing like that to Minnie, Jim. I couldn’t.�
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  ‘Maybe you wouldn’t,’ said Jim, gloomily eyeing the village street. Cottage windows winked in the evening light. ‘But I ain’t sure you couldn’t. Manly young bloke like you. And Missus reckons Min would ’ave let you. Gone on you, our Min is. She wouldn’t ’ave let no Yank touch ’er, she’d ’ave poked ’is bleedin’ mince pies out. She’s got too much sense to fall for any Yank’s fancy talk, got ’er mind set on bein’ some nice chap’s wife. Yourn, I reckon, son.’ I honestly didn’t like the way he kept calling me son.

  ‘Listen, Jim, if Minnie really is pregnant, it wasn’t me. Have I ever been out with her or had a date with her? You know I haven’t. She’s too young.’

  Jim peered darkly at me. The crowded pub was a buzz at our backs, the village street quiet. Very quiet. I felt every window was looking, listening and winking.

  ‘Well, I ask yer, Tim, ’ow about risin’ summer night? I reckon you got pretty close to Min that night, didn’t yer? Mind, I trusted yer. Tim won’t do wrong by our Min, I thought. She’ll maybe get ’im to kiss ’er, I thought, but Tim won’t give ’er more than that.’

  ‘Look, I went in search of some fresh air and Min came with me. Then I fell down and that was that. I prefer falling down to having unlawful relationship with a minor.’

  ‘Don’t use them there French words, Tim. Makes it worse, that does.’

  ‘Well, hard luck,’ I said, but I was having sudden uneasy feelings about that night, especially as Min had said more than once that I’d been loving to her. ‘Listen, if it had been me and Minnie is pregnant, she’d say so, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Won’t say nothing,’ gloomed Jim, ‘only that she’d like to do grievous bodily ’arm to yer American lady sergeant.’ He gave me a long look. ‘Tim,’ he said, ‘I’m askin’ yer man to man, did you get to Minnie or didn’t yer?’

  ‘Didn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.’

  Jim sighed. ‘So who bleedin’ did, then?’ he asked.

  ‘Point is, did anyone? If Minnie’s not admitting she’s pregnant, it’s all in your mind, Jim.’

  ‘Well, son,’ he said, ‘Missus bein’ a woman and sharp-eyed accordin’, an’ me bein’ Minnie’s dad, it’s a bit more than that. Missus an’ me both reckon Minnie’s moods and ’er bit of mornin’ sickness add up to an ’ighly suspect condition. Missus wants to see yer. She’s upset, I tell yer.’

  ‘So am I. I’ll come and talk to her.’

  ‘I’d better go first,’ said Jim, ‘or you might cop the chopper. Missus is given to choppin’ first and askin’ later when she’s as upset as this. I’ll put a word in, lad.’

  ‘Yes, tell her I’m feeling ill. I’ll be along.’ I went back into the public bar and told Kit I had to go, that Jim was having trouble with a young chick.

  ‘You amaze me,’ said Kit, ‘you can fix sick chickens too?’

  ‘I don’t know, this is my first time.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Kit, ‘I’ve never seen a baby chicken being treated by an enlisted guy filling in as a vet.’

  ‘No, stay there,’ I said. Fortunately, she was too wedged in to spring free and I departed at speed.

  Jim let me in and took me into the parlour. The parlour meant serious business. Missus was present. She was on her feet and for once she was looking stiff and starchy.

  ‘So here you are,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, good evening, Missus.’

  ‘Nothing good about it,’ said Missus.

  ‘Where’s Min?’ I asked.

  ‘Out. Jim told you she’s expectin’?’

  ‘He told me you think she is, but that Minnie won’t say.’

  ‘It don’t matter that she won’t say,’ said Missus, ‘it’s my belief she’s expectin’ all right.’ She sighed and her stiffness eased a little. ‘Now you know, Tim, there’s no-one Minnie would’ve give in to except you, she can’t look at no-one except you. But I never thought you’d take that kind of advantage, I don’t know when I’ve felt more sorrowful.’

  ‘Well, I feel sorrowful myself,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how you can even begin to believe I’d take that kind of advantage. Look, if Min won’t say she’s pregnant, there’s got to be a reason for it. Perhaps she’s having trouble growing up. In any case, if you’re thinking about me and Min on rising summer night, I can tell you I was incapable.’

  ‘Incapable of rememberin’, perhaps,’ said Missus and I gritted my teeth at that.

  ‘Well, Missus,’ said Jim, ‘I asked our Tim straight out, man to man, and ’e answered me straight out. Said it wasn’t ’im. Good enough for me.’

  ‘I dare say,’ said Missus, ‘but all that cider and all. Like I just said, it’s maybe he just don’t remember. Now, Tim, I’m not sayin’ you had it in mind to do wrong by Minnie, only that when risin’ summer got you heated up and you found yourself alone with her, you let it ’appen. And I don’t suppose she wasn’t willin’. All I’m sayin’ is that I hope you’ll do right by her now she’s in trouble.’

  ‘Pardon?’ I said.

  ‘Any decent young chap’s that’s done a girl wrong ought to do right by her,’ said Missus.

  ‘I’ll fall over in a minute,’ I said. ‘You’re talking about me marrying Min?’

  ‘What else?’ said Missus.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll wait till Minnie’s seen a doctor and I’ll wait till she says it was me,’ I said.

  ‘Tim can’t say fairer,’ mused Jim.

  ‘I’ll talk to Minnie again,’ said Missus.

  ‘I’d like to have a talk with her myself,’ I said.

  ‘Got to be careful ’ere,’ said Jim. ‘Min was under age when it ’appened. The doctor won’t like that. ’E might ’ave a duty to tell the coppers. They’ll come round. Best keep this quiet, Missus.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got to make ’er see a doctor,’ said Missus. ‘I’ll take her to one in Sudbury but I won’t give our right address or our right names.’

  Minnie arrived home then. She came in through the open front door and put her face round the door of the parlour. ‘Oh,’ she said.

  ‘Tim’s here,’ said Missus unnecessarily.

  ‘That’s a change,’ said Minnie.

  ‘Listen, Min,’ I said, ‘your mum and dad have been talking to me.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Minnie, ‘but you can talk to me now, we can go for a walk, it’s still a nice evenin’ and fancy you not bein’ out with that ugly American sergeant.’

  ‘Stop actin’ up,’ said Jim, ‘let’s get things straight. Yer mum’s goin’ to take you to a doctor’s in Sudbury—’

  ‘Oh!’ Minnie was in a paddy then. ‘She’s not takin’ me because I’m not goin’!’

  ‘Now look, Minnie,’ I said, ‘are you in trouble or not?’

  ‘Who said I was?’

  ‘Your dad and me’s not blind,’ said Missus, ‘so you’d better speak up, my girl.’

  ‘Won’t,’ said Minnie, ‘ain’t goin’ to.’

  I felt then that if she was pregnant, it had to be somebody else, not me.

  ‘I’m lookin’ at you, Min and I’m thinkin’ things,’ said Jim. ‘I’m thinkin’ some geezer ’elped ’imself to what ’e wasn’t entitled to and yer maybe don’t even know ’is name.’

  ‘Oh,’ gasped Minnie, ‘me own dad sayin’ a thing like that to me!’

  ‘Now see what you’ve done,’ said Missus to Jim, ‘you’ve been and upset your own flesh an’ blood. I never ’eard anything more upsettin’, specially when we all know Min wouldn’t ever go with no-one but Tim. That’s right, isn’t it, Minnie love?’

  ‘I’m not sayin’, I’m not talkin’,’ said Minnie. ‘I been insulted rotten by me own dad and I’m goin’ to bed. So there.’ She disappeared. I heard her running up the stairs.

  ‘It’s ’er condition, poor lamb,’ said Missus, ‘it’s put her in a terrible upset state. I just hope you’ll be a nice understandin’ chap, Tim.’

  ‘I still ain’t sure we can lay it on Tim,’ said Jim.

 
; ‘Now don’t you get more upsettin’,’ said Missus, ‘you’ve done more than enough of that. Tim knows how Minnie feels about him and that she wouldn’t go with any Yank. Oh, lor’, I never thought I’d suffer this kind of worry. Still, I hope you can make up your mind and not take too long, Tim. You take too long and Min might be about due. I wouldn’t be able to ’old me head up if Min got to be a bride and a mother all on the same day.’

  ‘Get in all the papers, that would,’ said Jim gloomily, ‘an’ maybe on the wireless too.’

  ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’ll go away and have a good long think about it.’

  ‘There, I thought you’d act decent, Tim,’ said Missus and was kind enough to see me out and down to the gate. ‘I’m not givin’ you hard blame, love, I expect it was bein’ tiddly that done it. That risin’ summer cider’s special, Jim should’ve told you.’

  ‘Special? Lethal, more like,’ I said.

  ‘I’m not one to keep on,’ said Missus, ‘and not to say you got to marry Min. It’s up to you, Tim. Doin’ right because you ought to isn’t the same as doin’ right because you want to. You wantin’ Min for a bride is a lot better than bein’ sorry for her. She’s a handful, but better than you maybe think. She’s got loyalty, Min has, love. You marry her and she’ll stick to you through thick and thin. Mind, I know she’s a mite young, but she’s grown up quick. That’s ’er trouble.’

  My trouble was that I was thinking about what Aunt May and everyone else would say about me walking down the aisle with a pregnant schoolgirl. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Missus, I’ve got a headache.’

  ‘I dare say you ’ave, love. So has poor Min.’ Missus sighed at events. ‘Still, off you go now. I know you’re a decent young chap, likin’ to do what’s right.’

  A jeep passed by. In it were Kit, Cecily, Cassidy, Frisby and Top Sergeant Dawson, all getting a lift back to BHQ. Kit gave me a wave. I was too numb to ask for a lift myself. I said good night to Missus and walked back to BHQ in a frail state of mind.