by Lizzie Lane
That was it.
Silently she passed the card to her father.
He read it and sighed. ‘Thank God.’
Mary read it and passed it to Bettina.
Bettina placed her hand over her chest and uttered a silent prayer. Mike had been scheduled to join a Canadian squadron in Singapore and then some place in Java. He’d changed his mind, preferring to stick with his RAF friends in Lincolnshire and loyal to his squadron leader friend, Guy. But this poor young man had gone to Singapore and was now a prisoner of the Japanese.
‘Thank God we know he’s still alive,’ she said aloud.
Stan grunted in agreement but avoided meeting her eyes. The atrocities the Japanese had perpetrated when they’d invaded China had been appalling. He couldn’t help feeling that they would be just as harsh towards their allied prisoners.
‘So where is this Changi Jail?’ Ruby asked him.
‘Singapore,’ he replied. ‘It’s in Singapore.’ Then he took his pipe from its place above the fireplace and went outside.
Ruby thought it her duty to write to John that night. She’d promised she would write and she still thought of him often. She had enough of an address now to do that through the International Red Cross. It was them who would pass the letter on to John.
She wanted to ask him lots of questions but thought better of it, instead asking after him, and then keeping her tone light, she wrote to him about their latest recipes and the talks they’d given.
Mary and I did a talk together at a factory in Somerset making boots for the army. We were required to stay overnight which was why Dad insisted we go together. Frances, Mrs Hicks and our Dad were left to run the shop and look after Charlie.
We had a bit of a problem with the rock cakes we were taking as samples to the talk. Charlie had watched us take them out of the oven. He’d also noted where we’d put them to cool. That evening, while we were cooking supper, we turned round to find Charlie missing. The little tyke had not only eaten three of the rock cakes, he’d sprinkled crumbs outside the back door for the birdies.
We could have been angry, but he’s got such lovely dimples when he smiles and yes, he can wind both of us around his little finger. The thing is it is now an offence to feed crumbs of any description to wild birds. A woman in Taunton did just that and was fined ten pounds!
Did I tell you that Mary is expecting a baby? Dad is over the moon. First Charlie’s baby and now Mary. She’s happy about it and Mike wants her to move up to Lincolnshire. She said she will once she’s had the baby.
In the meantime I am still the spinster of the family, lucky in a way. Both Dad and little Charlie need me. Besides, there’s no man on the horizon who I feel remotely interested in. Not in England anyway.
She raised her head from the writing paper, the pen nib poised just above the paper. Not in England anyway. It occurred to her that she was giving him unqualified hope. He wasn’t in England. Should she add that the American army had moved on to Siston Common? All those handsome young men to turn a young girl’s head.
She reread what she had written and asked herself whether it was right to raise John’s expectations that they could become sweethearts. On reflection she decided that John needed something to hang on to and if she gave the impression she would wait for him, then so be it. The words could stay as they were.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
IT WAS EARLY in April when Mary drove Bettina to the US Army base at Siston in the van provided by the Ministry of Food – the only one with enough petrol to get her most places. She was feeling good, the early morning sickness behind her now, not that she’d been that badly affected. Her father had told her that she looked blooming beautiful.
On this particular day Frances was looking after the shop and Ruby had taken it upon herself to look after Charlie while also measuring him up for some new clothes she intended making him from the least worn bits of adult garments.
Earlier that morning Mary had caught her twin pacing up and down the hallway, waiting impatiently for the letterbox to rattle and letters to fall on to the floor.
So far there had been no reply to the letter she had sent to John Smith. Mary reminded her that it had been less than two months since she’d written.
‘I still don’t know how he is, and anything could have happened by now,’ Ruby sighed.
Charlie was sitting on the bottom stair banging two bricks together. Every so often he stopped, his bright eyes shining with amusement as he waited for Ruby to clap. Ruby never failed to give him what he wanted. She knew she spoiled him, but Charlie was the bright spark who took her out of herself, who helped her cope with being alone.
‘You don’t know how long the post will take to get to him.’
Ruby had agreed that she was probably right and went back to cutting and sewing, singing to Charlie and keeping an eye on him as he tired of his bricks, toddling around the room shaking a floppy bunny rabbit; his favourite toy that he called Bunz.
‘You’re looking well,’ Bettina remarked as they drove along the empty roads, stopping off at village shops to deliver Sweets’ Best Bread and any other items they wished to sell. People said it was a miracle that the Sweet Sisters made such delicious treats in such desperate times. A few, not from their own village, suggested they were getting more rations than most people. In a way they were. The Ministry of Food gave them extra rations in order that they could carry on their important war work.
‘I take it you’re getting plenty to eat,’ Bettina added, as she admired Mary’s curving stomach. ‘Is that steering wheel uncomfortable? It looks as though it’s resting on your bump.’
‘Of course I am, and my bump is fine,’
It was quite true. She ate well. She also managed to save a little something from all the rations she received. Her thoughts were on the time when there would be no war. There would be no extra things or salaries from the Ministry of Food then. The shop would have to stand or fall on what it sold. Hopefully it would continue to be a bread and cake shop, the hot oven behind the shop still baking bread in the same old-fashioned way. There was a rumour going round about a new mechanised bakery being built in Warmley. According to gossip, the plans had been put on hold for the duration of the war but in peacetime it could change the need for a local bakery.
Mary smiled. ‘I’m feeling well. I’ll be only too pleased if my pregnancy goes on like this.’
She resisted the urge to pat her stomach. Despite there being no traffic except for the odd horse-drawn farm cart, she was a stickler for keeping her eyes on the road.
On arriving at the base and explaining their mission, the guard picked up his phone, turned a handle and spoke to whoever was on the other end.
They were shown into a smart office that smelled of new paint and a brisk cleanliness. The young man in uniform behind the desk told them that his name was Lieutenant Lehman. He addressed them politely and said he would deal with whatever it was they wanted. He got up to shake their hands and get them chairs. ‘Please sit down, ladies. I’m afraid the colonel’s a bit busy right now, but rest assured I can place any matter you raise on his desk for his urgent attention.’
His eyes were cornflower blue and he had the palest eyelashes. His hair was no more than a frosted white crust over his head such was the shortness of the regulation army cut. His smile had a fixed quality about it, as though it were part of the uniform he was wearing and just as much at the behest of the army.
Mary took the lead before he had much chance to study her, explaining that the village would like to put on a party welcoming the American army to the area.
‘We realise your boys are a long way from home and thought a friendly gesture might make them feel more at ease.’ She gestured at the invitation in Bettina’s hand.
It had been written on ordinary notepaper, addressed to the commanding officer and placed inside a plain brown manila envelope.
‘Like a bill,’ Ruby had commented. ‘Only bills come in manila envelopes.’
Bettina slid the envelope across the desk so its edges touched Lieutenant Lehman’s fingertips.
His smile stayed immobile on his face. ‘Well, that’s very kind of you. I’m sure the colonel will be very interested indeed.’
He reminded Mary of some of the civil servants she had to deal with, efficient but far from sincere. His tone of voice hinted that he really didn’t want to be bothered.
Actually she was quite right about him being condescending. Lieutenant Ira Lehman had already indulged another group of local people from some other village with his attention; they too had it in mind to arrange a party to welcome the mighty US army. Unfortunately for them their interest only served to feed his inbuilt arrogance. Yes, he was flattered by their interest, but he’d felt obliged to impress on them that the US Army did not need to be mollycoddled. Anyway, he didn’t like these people with their high-handed attitude, their crisp voices and shabby clothes. Some of the clothes they wore looked as though they’d been made from blankets and old curtains. Peasants, the lot of them, and he should know. His father owned a number of high-quality dress shops in New York so he knew quite a bit about fabrics, ladies’ fashions and quality sewing.
He had to concede that these two women, especially the younger one, looked well dressed, not that he cared that much. He had other things – more important things – to do.
Wanting only to get rid of them as quickly as possible, he glanced at the wall clock. They’d only been here for two minutes. He’d give them five. He’d given the women from the other village five, so it was only fair.
It was only on taking another look at the younger woman that he thought he might make it more. Seven for luck, he thought, once he’d taken in her pretty face. That was until he saw that she was pregnant.
‘Okay,’ he said, leaning back in his chair. He shuffled the files on his desk and fiddled with the triangular woodblock that bore his name, smiling until his jaw ached. ‘Well, the colonel is all in favour of firming up relations between our two nations. He’s also aware that some of our guys are feeling pretty homesick. Still, they have to get used to that. They’re here to fight not to enjoy themselves.’
He swivelled his eyes to rest on Mary again. Each time he did that, his expression changed.
Bettina Hicks never missed a thing. ‘Mary’s telephone number is on that invitation,’ said Bettina as she pushed it across the desk. ‘It’s the village bakery. Her father might answer. But you can always leave a message once you’ve had a word with your commanding officer.’
She’d adopted her no nonsense voice, her expression totally bereft of warmth and a cutting look in her eyes.
‘Right,’ he said wishing the old girl wasn’t here and he could have the younger one to himself. ‘Sounds good to me. Might even come along myself.’ His smile settled on Mary. ‘So how many of our guys would you like to attend this dance?’
‘The village hall can take no more than two hundred people,’ Mary replied.
‘So one hundred men and one hundred villagers?’
‘One hundred and fifty at the most, plus fifty villagers – or perhaps one hundred, but that would be a bit snug. It’s not that big a village hall.’
He scribbled something down on the corner of the envelope containing the official invitation they’d all agreed on. Mrs Webster, who lived in West Street, used to be a secretary to a company director, had typed it out on her old Imperial typewriter.
‘That’s fine. You can count on me,’ he said on rising to his feet, the chair legs scraping the floor with a high-pitched screech.
Mary and Bettina accepted they were being dismissed and weren’t exactly unhappy to leave. Bettina had taken an instant dislike to this young man and Mary also wanted to put as much distance between them as possible.
‘Allow me,’ he said. He helped with their chairs and led them to the door. ‘If the colonel okays it, we’ll put something up on the notice board. The guys can do the rest. We can’t force them to attend, but if they want to they just write their names on the list. Oh, I presume we’re talking about just white guys. No blacks.’
Mary frowned. ‘No, not at all. Everybody is welcome regardless of colour. After all they’ve all come over here to fight, haven’t they?’
Lieutenant Lehman shook his head and smothered a knowing laugh. The locals just didn’t get it. The US Army was segregated. He’d thought that as an empire these people would follow the same strict policy.
‘I’m sorry. You can work it so that our guys come one night and the coloureds another night, if you like, but we don’t have them socialise together.’
Bettina felt a hot, deep anger rising up inside her as she caught the disrespect in his voice towards the black soldiers and hated it. ‘Well, that’s not the way we do things in England, young man.’
The lieutenant laughed casually. ‘Whites and blacks do not fraternise in this man’s army. The whites can attend your little event one night, the blacks the next. If you really want that. If your local girls are that desperate.’
The insinuation hit Mary immediately. He was saying that white girls who ‘fraternised’ with black men were little more than sluts.
‘I thought you joined the war against that kind of thing,’ she said, her voice sounding distinctly shaky.
The lieutenant eyed her with a look bordering on contempt. ‘Would you go out with one of them, miss?’
‘The question doesn’t arise. I’m married. My husband’s a pilot.’
‘Bet he’s not black.’
‘No, he’s not. But there are black people in the RAF, lieutenant. There are a lot of people from all over the empire come to fight this war. Not just America.’
She was about to stalk away from him, when she suddenly realised Bettina had gone on ahead of her and that she was alone with him. Now Bettina was out of the way, he wasn’t rushing to shove her out of the door.
‘Am I right in thinking that you’re Jewish, Lieutenant Lehman?’
He looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, yes I am … but …’
‘My nephew’s mother was Jewish. She told us something of how your people were treated in Austria. She told us the Germans view Jews as subhuman. You would be talked about in the same way as you talk about these people you call, coloured, Lieutenant. Just you remember that!’
Mary stalked out of the office bristling with a disgust that was almost bordering on hatred. Lieutenant Lehman’s attitude had made her feel sick. She had to get out of here. She looked up and down the long corridor outside the offices separated from each other by little more than sheets of plywood. Bettina was nowhere in sight.
Then she heard a door open some way along the corridor.
On recognising whose door it was, Ira Lehman muttered something under his breath. The damned woman had gained entry into the colonel’s office. His butt would be on the line for this.
Mary stopped in her tracks as Ira surged ahead. A bald-headed man in uniform appeared with Bettina at his side.
‘Lehman. Get these ladies some tea.’
Ira knew by the look on the colonel’s face that his ship was sunk. He’d probably get posted to a combat unit after this, out of the comfortable office he’d always planned to stay in for the duration.
‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’
His face was like thunder as he stormed off. Behind him Mary was invited to join the colonel and Bettina in his office.
‘Now,’ he asked them politely. ‘What can I do for you?’
The colonel had also been emphatic that there was to be no fraternisation between black and white soldiers; the US government was determined that they were to be segregated, and segregated they would be.
‘You wouldn’t want conflict in your peaceful little village now. Not good for Anglo–American relations.’
Although Mary and Bettina found it hard to stomach the US army’s attitude, they had to concede that the colonel was obliged to obey US
law. He also knew his men.
Ultimately they agreed they would hold two parties, though pointed out that catering for the event could present a problem.
‘We have limited supplies,’ she pointed out.
‘We can deal with that,’ said the colonel. He went on to offer his support by way of surplus supplies. ‘I’ll requisition some supplies from the quartermaster’s stores. Anything we can spare, you can have,’ he pronounced.
The first party, for white soldiers only, was to be held in mid-April, the one for Negro soldiers, a week later.
A big welcome banner had been made and stretched across the far end of the village hall. Union Jacks and the American Stars and Stripes hung below that. The food was laid out at one end on a long trestle table along with tea, coffee, and quite a lot of locally brewed cider.
Mary had offered to look after Charlie for the evening. Bettina had protested.
‘No,’ said Mary, shaking her head. ‘You organised it. You deserve to have the fun, and anyway, I’ve got some knitting to do.’ She held up the needles and the tiny white matinee jacket that was slowly taking shape. ‘I’ve also got a radio broadcast to make next Tuesday. The Kitchen Front is doing extremely well and I’m doing a session on the best ways to bake Spam in a pie.’
‘Ah, Spam!’ exclaimed Bettina. ‘Who’d have thought we’d have grown to like it! Everyone thought it would never catch on until they realised there was a thick crust of fat at the top of the tin. What a boon that is. I’ve even managed to scrape a bit of fat from the tin of corned beef I managed to get hold of this week.’ Sounding exasperated by it all, Bettina sighed, laid her head back and closed her eyes. ‘Oh, for a return to those days of a roasted rib of good English beef on a Sunday.’ She licked her lips. ‘Do you know I dream of roast beef most nights.’
‘Did Mrs Darwin-Kemp make a generous donation for the dance?’ Mary asked her. Mrs Darwin-Kemp had once had servants, but now had to cope with just somebody part-time coming in. She was also the first person in the village who had come into the shop demanding her loaf of bread be sliced.