Rising Summer

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘A pity, though,’ said Aunt May. ‘I thought you’d found a really promising young lady. Never mind, you’ll get over it, Tim, you’ve never let things get you down in the dumps.’

  I said nothing about Minnie Beavers. That horrendous situation had to be kept to myself for the time being.

  Aunt May asked if I was ever going to be sent overseas.

  ‘Yes, to Italy, probably,’ I said.

  ‘Italy?’ said Aunt May. ‘But there’s no war going on there.’

  ‘Not yet, no,’ I said, ‘but Jim Beavers—’

  ‘Oh, your friend whose wife gives you eggs? The London family that went to Suffolk?’

  ‘That’s them.’

  ‘There’s a daughter too, isn’t there?’ said Aunt May.

  I don’t suppose any bloke can make women out, but sometimes you can see exactly how their minds are working. Aunt May’s mind was fastened on my future.

  ‘Yes, she’s at school,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, she’s as young as that?’

  ‘Most girls are when they’re at school.’

  ‘How old is this one?’ asked Aunt May.

  ‘About forty,’ I said unthinkingly.

  ‘Forty? Forty?’

  ‘Well, fourteen, say.’

  ‘I thought you said forty,’ said Aunt May, ‘and I thought when you first wrote about them that she was older than fourteen.’

  ‘She probably is,’ I said. ‘Anyway, her dad reckons the battery will be going to Italy.’

  ‘How does he know?’

  ‘Well, Aunt May, there’s a lot of dicky birds flying around Sheldham and he gets all his information from them.’

  ‘You’re a real joker, that’s what you are, Tim. By the way, Mr Clayton’s calling this evening. I told him you were coming home on leave and he’d like to meet you.’

  ‘What, the short fat—’

  ‘I’ll hit you,’ said Aunt May.

  I forgot my troubles and concentrated on what might have been happening in the life of the woman who’d been a mother to me nearly all my life. I looked hard at her. She stood up to it with her equable smile.

  ‘Aunt May, I think you’ve got a boyfriend.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘You cheeky girl,’ I said. ‘Still, good on yer, lovey and good luck, I’ll be pleased to meet the cove.’

  ‘He’s just a friend,’ said Aunt May.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘It’s nothing serious.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘He did the kitchen up very nicely.’

  ‘I can see he did, but not seriously, of course.’

  ‘What d’you mean, how can you do a kitchen up not seriously?’

  ‘Only if there’s nothing in it.’

  ‘Nothing what?’ asked Aunt May.

  ‘Nothing serious.’

  ‘What’s the use?’ asked Aunt May and laughed like a girl.

  Aunt May, I thought, was not only contented, she was happy about something. Bill Clayton, of course, Simpson’s uncle. Well, if she was getting fond of him, he had to be a likeable bloke. Her instincts were sound. I felt glad for her. My Aunt May was a good ’un.

  She’d made no mistake about the man she’d let into her life. Bill Clayton, a soldier of the last war, with a limp to his left leg, was very likeable. A Walworth man, he’d bettered himself in several ways and his iron-grey hair and regular features gave him quite a distinguished look. He complemented Aunt May’s well-preserved attractiveness. They fitted and they talked and behaved as if they’d known each other all their lives. He had her laughing and Aunt May liked to laugh. So did Minnie Beavers. A laugh was always ready to spring from Minnie.

  The three of us had a very talkative evening together. Bill gave me a good account of what the Army had been like in the last war and I gave him my impressions of what it was like in this one.

  ‘No difference,’ said Bill.

  ‘Same boots, it seems,’ I said.

  ‘Same sergeant-majors?’

  ‘No difference,’ I said.

  ‘But you’ve got ATS girls in your gun crews.’

  ‘Not in our battery. Our major would set his dog on them. As it is, the hound’s after chewing every ATS skirt in our BHQ.’

  ‘That’s one of your jokes, of course,’ said Aunt May.

  ‘It’s no joke, Aunt May, that dog’s six feet high.’

  ‘How d’you get on for time off?’ asked Bill.

  ‘Most evenings and most Sundays,’ I said. ‘You need a chit, of course, if you want to go out and a late pass if you don’t want to be back too soon.’

  ‘Same army,’ said Bill.

  ‘Same chits,’ I said.

  ‘Same kind of men too, if you ask me,’ said Aunt May.

  I had a peaceful leave. Well, the whole country was relatively peaceful now that the German Luftwaffe was having to concentrate on the Russian front. Bill Clayton dropped in most evenings. He had a good job in the drawing office of an engineering company, which to me meant he was going to be able to keep Aunt May in comfortable style if they decided to marry. I couldn’t see Aunt May letting him keep her in any style unless they did marry.

  ‘Is Bill going to?’ I asked her one day, when I was peeling potatoes for her. Her gentleman friend was joining us for supper. He lived in lodgings himself.

  ‘Is he going to what?’ asked Aunt May.

  ‘Ask you.’

  ‘Ask me what?’ She had a smile on her face.

  ‘To be his one and only.’

  ‘How do I know?’ she said.

  ‘I’ll have a word with him,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t you dare.’

  ‘It’s my duty.’

  ‘Your what?’

  ‘You’re right, Aunt May, someone’s got to ask him what his intentions are. I’m not saying—’

  ‘That’s it, you’re not saying anything,’ said Aunt May. ‘The very idea.’

  ‘Yes, good idea,’ I said, ‘there’s only me, I’ve got to be the one to ask him. After all, I’m away most of the time, which makes you a helpless little woman all on her own.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh,’ said Aunt May and laughed. ‘And don’t you ask him anything, my lad, I’m not too helpless to go for you with the frying-pan.’

  ‘Well, he’s a decent bloke,’ I said. ‘I can probably leave it to him to make up his mind.’

  ‘Well, thanks,’ said Aunt May. ‘I hardly know when I’ve been more grateful.’ She gave me a direct look. ‘Tim, d’you like him?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ she said. I knew why she wanted me to like him.

  Bill was present on the last evening on my leave. We went for a short visit to the Browning Street pub before Aunt May served supper. At Bill’s invitation. We had a half-pint each and a little chat.

  ‘What I wanted to say, Tim, was this.’

  ‘Good,’ I said.

  ‘I haven’t said it yet.’

  ‘No, right, go ahead, Bill.’

  ‘Thing is,’ he said, ‘would you mind if I asked your Aunt May to walk up the aisle with me?’

  ‘Ruddy marvellous, good on yer,’ I said. ‘Bloke after my own heart, you are. Look after her, she’s not just one of the best, she’s the best. Mud in your eye, old man.’

  ‘You’re a case and a half, you are, Tim,’ he said, ‘easy to see you’re her nephew, there’s a fam’ly resemblance. So let’s have another, we’ve got time.’

  ‘My shout,’ I said.

  The burly figure of Alf Cook barged in beside us. ‘Shandy,’ he said in a hoarse whisper to the publican.

  ‘Eh?’ I said.

  ‘Shove off,’ said Alf.

  ‘What d’you ask for, Alf?’ enquired the publican, gaping.

  ‘You ’eard,’ said Alf in a hoarser whisper.

  ‘Gawd strike me beer barrels,’ said the publican.

  ‘Lemonade or ginger beer shandy?’ I said to Alf.

  ‘Leave orf, will yer
?’ said Alf. ‘Lemonade,’ he said to the publican.

  ‘My treat, Alf,’ I said, ‘I’ve just come into some good news. Same again for me and the other gent,’ I said to the publican.

  ‘I got to drink something,’ said Alf, ‘I’m goin’ bleedin’ rusty. ’Owdjerdo, cock,’ he said to Bill. ‘Seen yer around a bit.’ He received his shandy and took a swallow. ‘Bloody blimey,’ he said, ‘it’s bleedin’ wee-wee.’ He eyed our glasses of beer enviously.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Bill.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ said Alf, ‘enjoy yourselves. I’ll just kill meself with this stuff.’

  Life was hard for Alf at the moment.

  After supper, I did my good deed. I washed the dishes while Aunt May and Bill had time together in the parlour. I let them have extended time. Aunt May finally appeared in the kitchen doorway when I was lighting up a fag.

  ‘Well, bless me,’ she said, ‘you’re keeping yourself to yourself a bit this evening, aren’t you?’

  ‘Any news?’ I asked.

  ‘It’ll be the same as it was at six o’clock, I expect,’ said Aunt May, ‘but you can turn the wireless on now, if you like. Perhaps the war might be over.’

  ‘What a thought,’ I said. ‘Any news?’ I asked again.

  Aunt May’s expression, as equable as usual, was uninformative. ‘Is there something on your mind, love?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing serious,’ I said.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Aunt May, ‘I thought it might be something really serious keeping you out here on your own. Come and join us in the parlour.’

  ‘Look, what’s the news?’ I asked.

  ‘Bill asked me to marry him,’ said Aunt May, ‘and I told him I’d think about it.’

  ‘Think about it? What for?’

  ‘Because I have to.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Never mind, I just have to,’ said Aunt May and that was all she would say. Somewhere, I’d gone wrong in taking her willingness for granted. All the same, it puzzled me.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BACK FROM LEAVE, I exchanged a few words with Frisby.

  ‘How’s your fiancée?’ I asked,

  ‘Eh?’ he said, looking startled.

  ‘Have you seen her?’

  ‘Oh, you mean Cecily. Yes, I cycled over last Sunday. Chackford, what a place. Big as New York, I should think. And where’d they get all that concrete from? Beats me. Cecily said she’s going to turn into a boiled cabbage if I don’t get her back to BHQ inside a month. I said she’d have to wait until I was friendly with Eisenhower.’

  ‘Apart from that, how was the reunion?’

  ‘Don’t get personal,’ said Frisby.

  The next day I got copped for guard duty. The following evening I met Jim in the Suffolk Punch.

  ‘Yer back, then,’ he said. ‘’Eard you was. It relieved me, I tell yer, lad. Thought you might’ve done summat silly.’

  ‘You only thought? Didn’t you know? What happened to your personal dicky bird? Had a day off, did it?’

  ‘I don’t like to ’ear you bein’ sarky, Tim. I’ll ’ave an old ’an mild as it’s your turn.’

  I got him one.

  ‘Well?’ I said, hoping all my troubles were over.

  ‘Missus’ll be glad yer back all in one piece,’ he said. ‘As for our Minnie, well, I dunno she ain’t bloomin’. Gets some of ’em like that when they’re in the club.’

  ‘Listen, you old goat, don’t talk to me about how she’s blooming or about anything else that’s mucking up my life. Just tell me if you’ve found that Yank.’

  ‘Don’t like to ’ear you bein’ ratty, Tim,’ he said. There was a dried bird dropping on his mossy hat. ‘Missus is waitin’ patient for you to call. You got to remember that even if she still thinks it’s you that’s the whacker, she’s still got a lot of lovin’ regard for you. Minnie’s actin’ quiet. Yer know what? I reckon the reason why she still won’t say is because bein’ under age at the time she’s worried the police might cop you.’

  ‘I’ll fight that,’ I said. I felt irritated for once by the rowdy GIs and their giggling village maidens. ‘I didn’t do it.’

  ‘I’m believin’ yer, ain’t I?’ said Jim. ‘Now, son, I been thinkin’ while I been watchin’ Minnie. I ain’t copped that Yank young Wally told yer about, but I will. I been thinkin’ why don’t yer take our Min out walkin’ one evenin’? She can’t go on not sayin’ anything, Missus says it’s worryin’ not seein’ a doctor when she’s so young, yer know. Missus reckons that if anyone can get Min to admit ’er condition an’ go to a doctor, it’s you. Maybe yer right, maybe at ’er age she don’t really know ’er own mind, that she’ll ’ave different feelings in a year or so, but right now she’s still gone on yer. So why don’t yer take ’er out walkin’ one evenin’ an’ get ’er to talk to you, eh? She won’t talk to me or Missus.’

  ‘OK, Jim,’ I said.

  ‘Good on yer, son,’ said Jim.

  I wasn’t sure I liked the way he said that.

  ‘Well, Min?’ I said the following evening, as we walked down the village street towards the country lanes.

  ‘Fancy you takin’ me out,’ said Min, shapely in a sweater and skirt. ‘Am I your best girl now?’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry,’ I said, ‘can’t you wait a couple of years till you’re eighteen? Then I’ll come knocking, how’s that?’

  ‘A lot can ’appen in two years,’ said Min darkly.

  ‘Yes, the war could be over by then. That’ll be the time for me to make plans about the future. The only thing is – well, let’s face it, if you’re going to be a mother—’

  ‘Oh, yer daft lump,’ said Minnie, ‘course I’m not, I’ve got more sense than to let that ’appen to me. There’s girls in Sudbury and Long Melford and a girl in our school too that’s let it ’appen to them, the silly things, all because they think they’ll get taken to Hollywood. What a laugh. Their GIs won’t even marry them, let alone take them to Hollywood unless they get permission from their officers.’

  ‘You know that, do you, Min?’ I said. I knew it myself.

  ‘Course I do,’ she said, as we entered a lane and strolled between the bursting hedgerows of summer.

  ‘Your mum thinks you’re pregnant, so does your dad,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I’m not and I’m cross with me mum an’ dad,’ she said. ‘It’s your fault they thought I was and I been really wild with you. Goin’ out with that rotten boss-eyed American girl like you did, no wonder it’s made me act like a sick woman.’

  ‘A sick what?’

  ‘Good as,’ said Min.

  ‘Min, you’d better tell your mum and dad and stop them worrying.’

  ‘Not goin’ to,’ said Min with a hoity-toity toss of her head. ‘I can’t ’ardly believe me own mum an’ dad can believe I’d let ’em down like that. I wouldn’t have, not even with—’ She stopped. She went on. ‘Except – oh, I don’t know what I’d ’ave done.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Tim, I’ve got real lovin’ feelings for you an’ they’re never goin’ to go away.’

  Oh, hell, poor young Min, she’d got a crush that was heavy even for a schoolgirl and she was taking it seriously. I’d had crushes when I was at school, I’d had a crush on a nurse and on a young woman who ran the local Girl Guides and I’d thought them lifelong crushes. I’d taken them seriously too.

  ‘Well, in a couple of years, Min, when you’re really grown up, when you’re a young woman, let’s see how we both feel then.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘That’s fair, Min, you know it is. I’m being fair to you because you’re only sixteen, so be fair to yourself and give yourself time.’

  ‘Oh, I hate you!’ cried Min and turned on her heel and ran. She ran away from me, back up the lane to the village.

  I didn’t feel very happy about that, but I did feel enormous relief that she wasn’t pregnant.

  Two days later, I had the o
ld Austin utility out, taking a late delivery of mail round the sites. Usually it was delivered by the rations lorry, but the lorry had left before it arrived. Driving through the village, I saw Missus at her gate. I stopped. Up she came.

  ‘Just thinkin’ about you, Tim, I was,’ she said. ‘There’s some spare eggs.’

  Irresistible, her fresh eggs were. I got out. Missus, overflowing with country health and natural goodness, took me round to the back of her cottage and into the chicken shed. Chickens squawked and fled. On the table where Jim sorted his eggs was a box containing six. She gave me the box.

  ‘There, Tim love,’ she said. ‘Jim says you’re thinkin’ very sympathetic about our Min.’

  ‘Hasn’t Min told you?’

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘That she’s not pregnant.’

  ‘Oh, me gawd,’ said Missus and put a fluttery hand to her bosom. ‘She went walkin’ with you, but when she come back she wasn’t very talkative. Jim said ’e’d ask you what she said to you.’

  ‘She told me quite definitely she’s not pregnant.’

  ‘Bless me upset heart, what a relief,’ said Missus. ‘But why hasn’t she told me an’ Jim?’

  ‘Well, Missus, the fact is she’s cross with you for believing she could do a silly thing like getting herself in the family way.’

  ‘But she acted like she was, she kept not bein’ very well and I just know I ’eard her bein’ sick once or twice in the mornings. Jim said he never saw her more broody.’

  ‘Well, she’s been cross with me too, Missus,’ I said. ‘She complained I made her sick because of Kit, the American sergeant. And she’s ratty with me now. Well, I told her to wait a couple of years and to see what her feelings were then.’

  ‘Oh, me poor Min,’ sighed Missus. ‘I never did know any girl more gone on a young man. I’ll ’ave to talk to her, or get her Aunt Flossie to.’

  ‘Leave off, Missus, don’t let that naughty old bird get near Minnie.’

  ‘I ’ope you’re not speakin’ ill of Aunt Flossie,’ said Missus.

  ‘Just tie her up and put her in your attic with the rocking-horse,’ I said.