Rising Summer

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘We don’t have no rockin’-horse,’ said Missus, a trifle indignant.

  ‘Well, stuff her up the chimney, then,’ I said. ‘Still, ta for the eggs, you’re a lovely chicken, Missus. Got to push off now.’

  I went on my way, I motored out of the village and dropped mail in at three sites. I motored on. I slowed approaching a crossroads. Two American military personnel were thumbing, one male, one female. Giving lifts to civilians was forbidden and giving lifts to the military was discouraged. They might be disguised German parachutists. But camaraderie counted for more than piffle typed in triplicate. And besides, I knew the female. So I stopped and put my head out.

  ‘Watcher, Cass,’ I said.

  Cass, the blonde Wac, was with a lanky GI. She gave a happy little yelp at seeing me. ‘Oh, you dog,’ she said, ‘long time no see, but see good now. Number one Limey guy. You go all alongee Uncle Sammy’s base?’

  ‘I’m not that kind of Chinaman,’ I said. ‘Your base is ten miles from here.’

  ‘Ten miles is right,’ said Cass, ‘so it’s great to see you and your old mousetrap. Legs – this is Legs – was driving me to Ipswich to pick up a Wac there, but our jeep caught a cold or something. Anyway, it coughed itself sick and died.’

  ‘OK, love,’ I said, ‘hop in, you and Johnny.’

  ‘Pardon me, bud,’ said the GI. ‘How do I get myself in without a can opener?’

  ‘Through the back curtains,’ I said, ‘and would you mind chucking yourself in sharpish? I’m supposed to be delivering mail and I’ll get shot out of a cannon if I’m late back.’

  ‘OK,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t read the mail,’ I said. ‘It’s private.’

  He got himself aboard and Cass tucked herself in beside me. I drove at a lick for Chackford. I didn’t want any more trouble than I already had. If I got back late to BHQ, Staff-Sergeant Dix was going to ask questions about time, distance and petrol. The Austin utility rattled along gamely through the winding roads.

  ‘All right, Cass?’ I asked.

  ‘You bet,’ she said. ‘The lift I mean and seeing you. I guess I got to like your homely base. Ours is a concrete dump. No rating. When it’s all over I’ll settle for homeliness if I can’t catch me a millionaire.’

  Try for a millionaire, Cass, you’ll both get a bargain.’

  ‘Well, thanks,’ said Cass, ‘but I guess it’s Cecily who’s really suffering. She’s crying her eyes out for a one-way ticket back to your coconut palms.’

  ‘Not really, is she?’ I said.

  We were making good time. A great spread of American bombers appeared in the sky ahead of us. Up they came from the west, flying east towards occupied Europe and the thunder of their engines drowned us for long minutes.

  ‘Cecily’s hooked,’ said Cass when she could make herself heard.

  ‘On Claud?’

  ‘On the buttercups and daisies as well.’ Cass laughed.

  ‘Still, no more mental turmoil?’

  ‘Claud did a great job. Say, would you ever think a guy by the name of Claud could have done that for Cecily?’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything, I suppose.’

  ‘I guess so,’ said Cass and chatted on in her chummy way, while her GI friend made what he could of the mousetrap. I did a very fast ten miles without anything falling off and the American Army base outside Chackford came up at us out of the cloudy summer day. It was new and vast. I turned in at the gate on Cass’s instructions. Two Snowdrops pushed me back to a white line. The Austin quivered.

  ‘Hold it, bud,’ said one, ‘what’s your hurry?’

  ‘Is this a can?’ asked the other, eyeing the Austin in disbelief.

  ‘Can?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, d’you make water in it?’

  ‘Better not,’ I said, ‘you’ll swamp the mail. And the passenger. I’m delivering.’

  ‘Papers, bud,’ said the first Snowdrop, extending an enormous mitt.

  ‘Give over, I’m delivering American personnel, one male, one female.’

  ‘OK, you guys,’ said Cass, putting her head out, ‘move over. He’s doing us a favour. Straight on, Tim honey.’

  ‘Well, it’s your say-so,’ said the Snowdrop, ‘but I ain’t sure it’ll make it.’

  ‘Make room,’ said Cass, ‘it’s an old and dear friend of mine.’

  They grinned at her. Cass was a character. I hoped she’d catch herself a millionaire. I drove along a clean concrete road that seemed endless with intersections and with camp buildings erected in square complexes on either side. Horrible, it was. It made me feel sentimental about the bits and pieces that made up BHQ.

  ‘Big,’ I said.

  ‘Painful,’ said Cass. ‘Turn left, lover.’

  I turned left, entering another long stretch. They must have had fifty thousand Yanks packaged in this place. Hitler wouldn’t have liked it, since it was only one of many similar American bases in the country. Cass told me to pull up outside a long admin block, so that she could go in and report the demise of a jeep. The long GI unfolded himself and climbed out.

  Cass gave my knee a pat. ‘Many thanks, Tim, you’re every girl’s best friend,’ she said.

  ‘You’re welcome, Cass, shan’t forget you.’

  ‘Me too.’ She planted a kiss on my cheek. ‘Take care, old buddy, the war’s coming.’ She got out.

  The GI showed his face. ‘Yeah, well, thanks, Limey,’ he said.

  They went off and Cass disappeared into the admin block. I was in a hurry, but I stayed a moment for another look around. Barrack blocks. Clusters of GIs and Wacs. Stars and stripes. Colossal, it was. Had to be, with Uncle Sam behind it all. It was Kit’s place. She was welcome to it. I started up and began a three-point turn. I heard quick footsteps on the concrete and then a voice.

  ‘Stop!’ It was Kit.

  ‘Hello, lovey,’ I said, ‘can’t stop, must dash, only came to drop Cass off.’

  ‘So she’s just told me.’ Kit’s hair was rippling in the breeze and her face looked slightly flushed. There were sparks about. ‘Were you going without seeing me?’

  ‘I’m short of time and what difference would it have made?’

  She disappeared. The next thing I knew the passenger door was open and she was climbing to sit beside me. Angrily, she reached and switched off the engine. ‘You stinker,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, is that a fact?’ I was fed up with fate and fortune. ‘Well, let me tell you, mister, I’ve just come a hundred miles out of my way to bring Cass back to you.’

  ‘Mister? Mister?’ Kit looked furious. ‘You cheap comic, is that supposed to be funny? Are you trying to prove something petty by coming here to drop Cass off without looking me up?’

  The concrete complexes must have done something to her head. ‘What’s your problem?’ I asked.

  ‘Listen, you earthworm,’ said Kit, ‘you dropped Cassidy off right outside admin. You must know I work in there. Why didn’t you come in and see me?’

  ‘I didn’t have time. I haven’t got time now. Honest. I’m late enough already.’

  She gave me a look full of rage. She got out. She slammed the door. The Austin shuddered. She walked away. I put my head out and called to her. She turned.

  ‘First sergeant I ever loved, you were,’ I said, then started up again and drove off. She watched me go, but she didn’t wave.

  When I finally got back to BHQ and returned the Austin to the vehicle stand, Staff-Sergeant Dix checked the petrol gauge and the spare can. And the mileage. And the condition of the vehicle.

  ‘I make you a bit up on mileage,’ he said.

  ‘Thought you would, Staff,’ I said. ‘I hit a diversion outside Long Melford.’

  ‘You would,’ he said. ‘All right,’ he said. He wasn’t a bad old lump.

  In the orderly room, Sergeant Johnson, checking the time I’d taken, asked me whose war it was, Churchill’s or mine.

  ‘Well, we’re both in it together, sarge. Actually, I hit a diversion—�
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  ‘Don’t give me a load of rockcakes,’ he said, ‘you’ve been gone long enough to organize your own second front.’

  ‘I’ve kept a place for you, sarge. First landing party.’

  Bombardier Wilkins grinned. Deborah and Deirdre giggled. Frisby winked.

  ‘And where will you be?’ asked Sergeant Johnson.

  ‘Right behind you, sarge.’

  ‘What a comfort,’ said Bombardier Wilkins.

  ‘Yes, not everyone’s like me,’ I said.

  ‘Hoo-bloody-ray,’ said Sergeant Johnson.

  I called on Jim and Missus. Minnie was out with a girlfriend, but Missus said she’d come out with it at last. She’d admitted she wasn’t in the family way. Not that she seemed pleased she wasn’t. She was still having upset moods.

  ‘Like you said, Tim, she’s ratty with you all right. Hates you, she said, but she don’t, of course.’ Missus looked a little sad. ‘Shame she’s too young for you, love.’

  ‘Maybe Tim’s right, though,’ said Jim, puffing on his pipe. ‘Girls of our Min’s age don’t get lastin’ feelings, Missus. Little Turk she was, though, lettin’ us think she was in the club.’

  ‘She didn’t know where she was with Tim, that’s why,’ said Missus. ‘A girl’s emotions an’ feelings can make her do funny things. Be different if she’d been old enough for Tim and they’d been ’itting it off, she’d ’ave been singing all day.’

  ‘Yes, well, when she’s eighteen, Missus, I’ll pop in if I’m around,’ I said.

  ‘Now don’t say things like that, Tim,’ said Missus, ‘you know it don’t make sense. Still, I’ll make a pot of tea, there’s always sense in that.’

  So she made a pot of tea and we all chatted, mostly about Suffolk. Cockneys born and bred though they were, Jim and Missus had long decided this was where they were going to spend the rest of their lives. And Minnie liked it too. Minnie didn’t want to go back to the smoke.

  Dusk was just about giving way to dark night when I left. I stood at the gate to let my eyes adjust. Minnie, I thought, should have been home by now. She emerged from the dusk then. A little way behind her was a man. I made him out after a moment as a GI. Her head was turned and she was speaking in a vexed way, over her shoulder.

  ‘Go away, stop followin’ me, d’you hear?’

  I heard him say, ‘Honey, you sure are being difficult.’

  ‘Hello, Min,’ I said.

  She jumped. She stopped. ‘Oh, you Tim, I didn’t know you were there,’ she said.

  ‘Hi,’ said the GI and came to a halt a little distance away.

  ‘Looking for someone?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, well,’ he said uncertainly. ‘Guess it’s kinda crowded now. See you, maybe,’ he said to Min.

  ‘Not if I see you first,’ said Min and off he went. ‘Tim, you made me jump, but crikey, nice you bein’ here, ’e was tryin’ it on with me.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Young girls out in the dark are asking for it in this kind of war.’

  ‘I’ll hit you,’ said Minnie.

  ‘Now, Minnie—’

  ‘Don’t you now Minnie me. I’ve been out with Jane Goodwin, me best friend, to the pictures in Sudbury and I’ve just walked ’ome from the bus stop. That Yank started comin’ after me when I passed the pub, so don’t you try an’ make out I’ve been walkin’ around askin’ for it.’

  ‘Sorry, Min.’

  ‘So you should be,’ said Min. ‘You know I don’t go with any of them GIs. They all look the same to me, they all never stop chewin’ gum – ugh, fancy bein’ kissed by someone with a rotten wad of gum in ’is mouth. Tim, you do like me a bit, don’t you?’

  ‘You’ve got me licked, Min, I’d like you even if you fired a rocket up me waistcoat.’

  Her laughter burst. ‘Oh, ain’t you something, Tim? You never say soppy things like the Yanks do, like hiya, baby, you’re the cream in my coffee. I never ’eard anything soppier. And Hollywood, what a laugh, I bet most of them come off chicken farms in Kentucky and we’ve got our own chickens and I bet Suffolk’s nicer than Kentucky. Tim, I don’t mind about the two years, then, I don’t mind waitin’ till I’m eighteen if it means—’ She stopped.

  ‘If it means what, Min?’ I asked, feeling I’d set a trap for myself.

  ‘If—’ The darkness came and wrapped itself around us. ‘If it means you could fall in love with me.’ She was still serious. It amazed me that any girl still at school could think like this. They were all over the place, girls of sixteen. Walworth was thick with them. Too young to be called up, they were either at school or working in their first jobs and they were all gigglers and they all had crushes on people like Clark Gable or Gary Cooper. Yet here was Minnie Beavers talking about waiting until she was eighteen for me to fall in love with her. And compared to Clark Gable, I knew I wasn’t just nobody, I was almost invisible.

  ‘Well, I’ll come knocking, Min.’

  ‘Honest?’

  ‘I’m banking on the war being over, of course.’

  ‘Kiss?’ she said.

  ‘All right, for old times sake, Min.’ I gave her a kiss. She didn’t go mad, she actually gulped a bit. ‘Good night, Min.’

  ‘I don’t mind waitin’,’ she said again and ran up the front path and home.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  IT WAS ANNOUNCED next day that all leave was stopped. I was lucky, I’d recently had mine, but it put anticipation right up the spout for other men here and on site. And it had to mean something uncomfortable was about to arrive.

  On Sunday, Frisby took out a chit, a pass and a bike and rode over to see Cecily. In possession of identical items, I cycled to see Mary and to get away from it all.

  Mary was an uncomplicated woman. Whereas Missus thought sex should be thoroughly gone into, Mary said it was something that was all right when you were in the mood, but in a sixteen-hour day it would never take up more than a few minutes of your time. The other eight hours you were asleep. So what was all the fuss about? Two people had to think seriously about what they had in common for sixteen hours less a few minutes a day, or they’d end up boring each other.

  ‘Why did you want to know?’ she asked, having answered my enquiry. I’d made it after saying hullo and so on.

  ‘Well, I’m naturally interested in what it’s all about,’ I said. ‘I might get married one day.’

  ‘Oh, you loon,’ said Mary, ‘it all happens natural, like. If it doesn’t, you’d better get unmarried. Let’s have a nice cup of tea.’

  Over a very nice cup of tea, she said she’d do a cold chicken salad for proper tea later. Had she cooked one of her chickens, then? Mary said no, she jolly well hadn’t, she couldn’t ever eat one of her own chickens, she’d feel like a cannibal eating a family friend. The chicken she’d cooked was one of Fred Plummer’s. She didn’t mind eating one of his and he and Mrs Plummer likewise didn’t mind eating one of hers. I said the chickens in question probably appreciated that kind of thoughtfulness.

  The August afternoon was warm, her garden inviting, so I offered to trim the edges of her lawns, front and back. Mary said that as it was hot I could take my army things off if I liked and she’d find me one of her late husband’s cricket shirts, which would be cooler for me. Also a belt.

  ‘Just a shirt and belt, Mary? I’ll look a bit undressed, won’t I?’

  ‘You great lummox,’ said Mary. ‘I don’t mean take your trousers off as well. I’ve got neighbours, I’ll have you know.’

  ‘Everyone’s got neighbours. It’s a problem for some people.’

  In the open-necked cricket shirt and belted khaki trousers, I began work on the front lawns.

  I nearly trimmed my left foot off when a jeep pulled up outside the cottage and Kit emerged legs first. She unloaded a bike from the jeep and spoke to the driver, a corporal. He nodded and charged off. Kit came down the path, wheeling the bike.

  Mary appeared, smiling in welcome. ‘What a nice surprise,’ she said.

  ‘You do
n’t mind?’ said Kit, who was taking no notice of me.

  ‘Mind? Of course not, it’s lovely to see you,’ said Mary. ‘Tim’s come too.’

  ‘Yes, I heard he was here,’ said Kit. ‘Is that him, the guy in the white shirt?’

  ‘I let him borrow it,’ said Mary. ‘Tim, hold Kit’s bike for her, I expect she’d like to tidy up.’

  ‘She looks tidy enough to me,’ I said, ‘and I’m already holding these trimmers.’

  ‘Just put it somewhere for me, thank you,’ said Kit, getting rid of the bike by leaning it against me, then disappearing with Mary through my porch door. Typical. And why had she come? The bike, I noticed, was one of ours. I put it with mine at the side of the cottage and resumed my pleasant labours. Kit reappeared after a while, her jacket and cap off, her military shirt in clean crisp contact with her disciplined bosom.

  ‘That shirt’s too big for you,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, the shirt’s all right,’ I said, ‘it’s my flat chest that doesn’t fit. What’s brought you here?’

  ‘A jeep took me to your BHQ,’ she said. ‘Deirdre told me you were here. She helped me to help myself to one of your bikes. I thought you and I could ride back together. The jeep’s picking me up at BHQ at eight this evening. Is that explanation good enough for you?’

  ‘Sounds all right,’ I said. ‘Sounds as if we’re friends again.’

  ‘What a cosy little war you’re having,’ she said.

  ‘I’m hoping it stays that way. I’m sold on a peaceful post-war future. There ought to be more people like me, then there wouldn’t be all these muck-ups every so often.’

  ‘Don’t give me hysterics,’ said Kit.

  Elsingham was sunny, quiet and sleepy. The sky was quiet too. Flying Fortresses seemed to be having a rest day.

  ‘What are you doing with those things?’ Kit asked.

  ‘Trimming the edges of Mary’s grass.’

  ‘Let’s make a fresh start,’ she said.

  ‘On the edges?’

  ‘No, you idiot, let’s you and I make a fresh start. Did you bring Mary anything?’

  ‘Oh, a bit of tea and a bit of sugar that were going spare in the ration stores,’ I said, wondering exactly what was on her mind.