by Annie Groves
‘You didn’t have to do that, Sar.’ Danny was thrilled to see Sarah Feeny all decked out in her Red Cross uniform, looking lovely. He knew she must have been busy with incoming casualties and didn’t expect to see her here today. ‘But I’m glad you did.’
‘Have you walked from town?’ Danny asked, knowing work was being carried out on the dock road tramlines. As she came closer he was admiring her slim, shapely legs beneath her navy-blue woollen cloak.
Sarah nodded, she was tired. But she could not go home without popping in to see her old pal Danny first.
Anyway, she thought, he had always been her one true friend and they could talk about anything. Danny was a man and she needed a bit of male advice. In fact she could think of nobody better she could discuss her problem with.
‘I brought you some American comics. We had some Canadians visiting an injured pal and they left quite a few,’ Sarah said.
Danny’s eyes lit up when he saw Superman, Batman and Captain Marvel among the comic strips. ‘This is the life, hey, Sar?’ He didn’t tell her their Kitty was bringing some in later – and he hoped they weren’t all the same.
Sarah was thrilled she had made his day. She wouldn’t stay long because she didn’t want to tire him out, nor did she feel she had the energy to keep her own eyes open much longer. There had been over fifty air raids on Merseyside since they began in August, with each raid lasting anything from a few minutes up to ten hours. Sarah was glad there had been no raids last night, but there was still plenty of clearing up to do and many casualties from the raids.
Danny looked deadbeat now, and she still worried about him and the strain that had been put on his heart. He had always been a grafter when he could get work, even more so now. The docks had to keep going no matter what aggression the men faced. Loading and unloading the ships was of paramount importance for the whole country and Danny, along with every other man in the reserved occupation, would not shirk his duty.
‘Are you on duty tonight, Sar?’
‘No, I’ve got the night off, unless there’s an air raid. I hope there isn’t. It seems ages since my last night off.’
‘I hope Father Christmas brings you something nice,’ Danny said, rolling the comics into a tube for the want of something to do – he had always liked Sarah, he found her so easy to talk to. But he did not want her to see him as an invalid. Now he knew what Sarah’s brother Frank felt like when he lost his leg, but Danny was just as determined to get back to work. If he didn’t work he didn’t eat – simple. ‘I hope you get everything you wish for, Sar,’ Danny said tenderly. She deserved it.
‘Just forty winks will do me.’ Sarah gave a tired laugh. ‘I’ll sleep without rocking, that’s for sure. Are you going up to see Tommy today?’
Danny nodded. ‘Maybe this afternoon.’ Danny was now allowed to walk over to see his little brother, but the effort was sometimes too much. He could feel the energy draining from his body, but he did not want Sarah to leave on his account.
‘How is he doing?’ Sarah asked, concerned.
‘Swinging the lead, I think,’ he laughed tiredly. ‘He’s got those doctors fooled into thinking he’s worse than he is because he got wind that there’s going to be a party.’
Sarah laughed and Danny gave a contented sigh. She had a nice laugh … His eyelids grew heavy … Now what did he go and think a daft thing like that for? ‘I can’t wait to see his face when he sees his new football boots.’
‘He’s football mad, your Tommy,’ Sarah answered. ‘He’s broken more windows than the Luftwaffe.’ They both chuckled, knowing Tommy had taken the toes out of more left shoes than any other kid he knew.
‘Our Kitty says he’s the only kid with a mouth on his left foot!’ His speech was slurring and Sarah knew it was time to go when his eyes closed. She made to get up and suddenly Danny was wide-eyed and continuing to talk as if he hadn’t stopped.
‘The boots are two sizes bigger than Tommy’s normal shoes,’ he gave a tired chuckle, ‘but due to the shortages, they were all I could get.’
‘I’d best be off, let you get some rest.’ Just the sight of Danny’s heavy lids made her want to curl up and go to sleep too.
Danny raised a heavy finger. ‘All the best, Sar …’ He was fast asleep before Sarah reached the ward door.
‘Same to you, Dan.’
The children’s ward was decorated with bunting of colourful crepe paper gleaned, borrowed or begged over the last couple of weeks, and making it had kept the children quiet for days. Now it adorned the middle of the ward between the iron beds and cots. Rita and the rest of the nurses sang Christmas carols, encouraging the excited children to do the same, while some, like Tommy who were not so badly injured or ill, had been allowed to help with pinning up the decorations. Afterwards the staff and the children looked on in wonder at their splendid efforts.
‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’ A booming voice resonated down the corridor after the children had finished their lovely chicken dinner and Christmas pud. The jolly greeting alerted the twenty children, who sat up in bed with polished faces and not a hair out of place, eagerly anticipating a meeting with ‘him’! Some of them actually squeaked with excitement.
Father Christmas was on his way!
A five-year-old boy looked troubled as he sat stiffly in his cot, showing the blistered effects of an incendiary bomb fire, his face partly bandaged. ‘But what if he doesn’t know it’s me?’ he said.
‘Don’t you worry, Sammy, Father Christmas knows all the good little boys.’
‘And girls!’ a determined voice came from the other side of the ward, and Rita laughed.
‘He won’t forget the girls either, Mary!’
‘Just as long as he doesn’t,’ Mary replied indignantly as all eyes focused on the ward door. However, there was a collective groan when the janitor came on to the ward with a shovel of coal for the fire.
‘Oh, you’re not happy to see me?’ the janitor asked and, sensing a bit of fun, the children chorused in unison, ‘We want Father Christmas! We want Father Christmas!’
‘I bet you’ll want to see what I’ve got for you,’ the janitor said, and the children nodded. He left the ward and moments later they were rewarded with a Christmas tree, which was put in a bucket at the end of the ward.
‘Who wants to help me decorate it before Father Christmas gets here?’ The janitor, a Great War veteran, laughed when those who could, jumped up and down with their hands in the air.
‘Me! Me! Me!’ They jumped from the beds as regimentally straight covers were thrown back and pyjama-clad children in bare feet bounced around the ward.
‘This is much better than last year,’ Tommy told Rita, whose recollection of Tommy at death’s door with diphtheria was still fresh in her memory. Thankfully the traumatic episode was well behind him – except that now he was getting in the way of burning buildings and high explosives instead.
‘You little hooligans should not be out of bed! Matron will have my guts for violin strings!’ Rita laughed, clapping her hands, and all the kids talked at once, excited at the sight of coloured glass balls, which, she presumed, had never graced many poor homes.
The little girls, emboldened by the boys’ forthright eagerness, were now cooing over the manger in the corner, which the nurses had set up while they were all asleep last night. Rita and Maeve watched the boys, Tommy Callaghan among them, who were deadly serious in the positioning of tree decorations. Hopefully they would have it finished by the time Father Christmas got here.
It was a wonderful sight and Rita wished she had a camera. Such a peaceful scene. Somebody should make a Christmas card of it and sent it to Hitler, she secretly reasoned. She missed Michael and Megan so much it caused physical pain. What would they be doing now, she wondered.
However, she had no time to dwell as a little voice called, ‘Nurse, Nurse! Come and have a look at this.’ One of the little girls beckoned her and, thankfully, Rita’s mind returned to the matter in hand.
‘Do
you think baby Jesus will have a party for his birthday, Nurse?’ one of the little girls asked, slipping her little hand into Rita’s, and she nodded, unable to speak now for the lump in her throat.
‘I’m sure, when we have our party later,’ said Maeve, sensing that Rita could not speak right now, ‘we can all sing “Happy Birthday”.’ All the children gleefully nodded, even more excited now.
‘Is our Kitty coming in this afternoon, Nurse?’ Tommy was careful not to call Rita by her Christian name on the ward, even though he knew her as well as he knew his own sister, as Kitty had told him she must be called ‘Nurse’ at all times and afforded the respect her uniform deserved when she was on the ward.
‘I’m sure she’ll be here as soon as she can, Tom,’ Rita smiled. She loved Tommy like one of her own and was glad she had been put on the children’s ward, where she could keep her eye on him and reassure Kitty and Danny.
After their arranged afternoon nap, which none of the children could manage as they were so excited, tables were brought in. The nurses arranged them in a long line down the centre of the ward, and covered them with brilliant white cloths. Delightedly the children watched with hardly a sound as the paste sandwiches, jellies, cakes and biscuits, which had been donated from all over the borough, were ceremonially brought in and placed on the long table.
Jugs of evaporated milk to pour over the jelly and tinned fruit, and beakers of orange juice and lime cordial, which some of the children had never tasted before, were placed on the tables alongside paper hats and whistling streamers.
At last the children were allowed to get out of bed and hobble, hop or hurry to take their places at the table.
There was an air of expectation when one of the children said he heard the sound of a ringing bell coming from far away. Rita prayed that, as dusk was closing in, there would be no raids this afternoon.
Let the children have their day.
Moments later Father Christmas, complete with a soft pillow for a bulging tum, ho ho ho’ed his way onto the ward, much to the delight of the waiting children.
However, their delight was nothing compared to Rita’s when she saw the distinctive outline of Jack Callaghan. She felt her heart jump so sharply she could not catch her breath! Jack entered the ward behind Father Christmas with Kitty and Danny following.
It took all of Rita’s professional reserve to stop herself from calling his name aloud and she only just managed to silence the gasp of appreciation his dignified presence evoked, looking more handsome than ever in the uniform of the Flight Air Arm. For the moment Rita was speechless. His presence seemed to radiate out across the whole ward. Rita wondered if everyone else could feel his strength and goodness too. But no one felt for Jack the way that she did.
‘Hello, Rita,’ Jack said eventually, and she knew it was not her imagination when she saw his eyes soften.
Rita, standing beside him, almost touching but not quite, longed to feel his arms around her.
There was no need for words, just to have him standing next to her was thrilling enough for Rita right now. Their letters to each other had become more intimate as time went on and Rita found she had opened up her heart to Jack in a way she would once never have thought possible and – even more thrilling – he had done the same.
Kitty noticed that her brother’s gaze lingered on Rita’s face for a long while longer than was necessary and, if she had not guessed by the enthusiasm with which Rita had received Jack’s letters, she quickly realised that Jack and Rita had lost none of their mutual affection for each other. Kitty could see the two of them were still very much in love. Why did life have to be so complicated, she wondered?
‘It’s good to see you home, Jack,’ Rita smiled, willing her thundering heart to slow down, glad the children, staff and families were preoccupied with Father Christmas. ‘The hospital has been bursting at the seams this week.’ Her voice, even to her own ears, sounded high-pitched and unfamiliar.
Kitty now knew there was still something special and the letters that went back and forth between her brother and Rita were, as she had guessed, more than just neighbourly. Jack was playing with fire now. Rita was a married woman. There would be repercussions to a special friendship like theirs.
Rita knew she must think of something more mundane than Jack Callaghan’s perfect brown eyes. She had not greeted him with a wide smile and a cheerful hug of welcome as she always had done before and she told herself she was on duty and must behave accordingly. However, she had hugged Kitty and even Danny. Rita was finding it difficult to breathe now.
Rita knew now that she loved Jack Callaghan with every beat of her heart and she always had. But even though she acknowledged her marriage to Charlie was over and done with, she could not shake off the feelings of guilt eating away inside her. She felt wicked just thinking about Jack the way she did … She could never love anybody the way she loved Jack. However, any dalliance was out of the question, it would bring shame to her family.
It was a crying shame she had married Charlie. Her mother had said many times right from the beginning that Charlie did not deserve her consideration and, like the wily fox he most certainly was, he had shown Rita his true colours only after the wedding ceremony. Her frustration was the price she had to pay for marrying Charlie, a life of wondering what could have been, and Rita knew that the feeling would eventually destroy her if she let it. She shivered.
‘Are you cold?’ Jack’s concern was obvious now and Rita felt a flood of heat rush to her face. There was nobody else in the whole world for her except him. How she longed to run into his arms and tell him how much she had missed him. How much she had worried about him. How much she longed to feel his arms around her once more. But she couldn’t. It was impossible.
‘I’m fine, Jack,’ she smiled gently. ‘But what about you? How’s your arm?’ Rita was trying to keep her voice steady as Jack removed his greatcoat with one hand and she saw his other arm was strapped in a sling across his chest.
‘Gunshot to the shoulder, right through there!’ He pointed proudly to the place just below his shoulder between his neck and his heart as Tommy proudly looked on, eager to know every detail. ‘A bit further and I’d have been going to see Ma.’ He grinned at Tommy. ‘I was ever so brave though, Reet. You’d have been proud of me.’
I’ll always be proud of you, Jack.
Kitty clicked her tongue and joked, ‘Going to Ma indeed! Don’t you know that only the good die young, Jack Callaghan? They’ll have to shoot you with a twelve-bore shotgun!’
‘I didn’t expect my own sister to ruin my hero image!’ Jack laughed, and Rita laughed too as the children busied themselves with eating as many goodies as they could muster because this kind of feast did not come every day.
‘You are a hero, Jack.’ The words were out of Rita’s mouth before she could stop them. Then, quickly regaining the no-nonsense persona of a ward sister she said brusquely, ‘And don’t let anybody tell you different.’
‘That’s my girl, Reet!’ Jack said quietly, looking straight into her eyes, and Rita felt that old familiar frisson of electricity shoot through her. He was the only person she allowed to call her Reet. However, she had duties to perform and she could not stand around here, no matter how much she wanted to.
‘I’ll catch up with you later.’ She aimed the remark at Kitty, who nodded.
‘See you later, Reet,’ Jack answered with a smile.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘Vi, where’ve you been? We’ve been ever so worried, love.’ Dolly hurried forward as Violet entered the warm cosy kitchen and gave her daughter-in-law a hug. Not usually one for shows of sentiment, Violet gladly accepted the motherly embrace, knowing her own mother had looked so worn out yesterday.
‘I just went for a little walk,’ Violet said. She needed time to sort things out in her head. She decided that she was going to write to tell Eddy the truth if he didn’t make it home for Christmas, and seeing it was nearly dinner time she didn’t hold out much
hope of him arriving today. However, it wasn’t fair that her brave sailor be married to a liar.
She would have to take the consequences of the underhand way she had trapped him into marriage. He thought she was married to the only daughter of a respectable, decent couple who had been killed in an air raid. The good thing was that Eddy had not seen where she came from. The bad thing was she had told him so many lies she didn’t think he would ever trust her again.
The reason she had lied to him was because she didn’t want to lose him. From the first time they met she loved Eddy with every fibre of her being. But, she recognised, he was entitled to know the truth if they were to have any kind of life together when the war was over.
A heavy ran-tan on the front door postponed any further questions.
‘I’ll get it,’ Violet said, still in her coat. Moments later, after closing the blackout curtains across the door and turning on the light she called from the hallway, ‘Pop, it’s ARP business for you!’
Dolly looked at her husband and he looked back, his brows puckered before he shuffled out in his carpet slippers. Dolly was about to put the chicken in the oven and start the dinner, seeing as there was no sign of her sons coming home. A little disappointed, she had refused to peel the vegetables in case they turned up, but time was getting on now. They’d had the King’s speech and everything.
Pop wondered what he was about to face. Dolly said Christmas dinner would be a couple of hours yet. Anyroad, he thought, looking forward to his chicken dinner, they were lucky to get any kind of Christmas this year.
‘Who is it, love?’ Dolly asked Violet when she came back into the kitchen.
‘I don’t know. The man says he’s from the Salvage Corps,’ she shrugged, ‘but don’t they usually go around with the fire brigade?’
Dolly’s face darkened, mentally working out what to do next. She knew why the Salvage Corps was here.
‘Everybody, collect your things. There’s an unexploded bomb at the bottom of the street – we’re being evacuated to the church hall,’ Pop said in that calm, measured but determined tone he used to urge people into air-raid shelters.