Vera's Valour

by Anne Holman

  CHAPTER NINE

  NO-one took much notice of her when they landed. All the attention was given to talking the injured off the boat and into waiting ambulances. Vera hid the puppy in her bicycle basket and managed to get a sailor to lift the bike off the boat and onto the quay.

  She felt elated to have her feet on English soil again.

  The last few weeks were behind her as though they had been a nightmare – and yet parts of the dream in France had been strangely pleasant - meeting Geoff, and her time in the French house cooking.

  So much had happened to her in the past few weeks. Unbelievable experiences. Her mind was in a whirl thinking about what she’d been though. She wanted cry with relief that she was still alive - and yet she felt like singing with joy.

  But where am I? Where should I go?

  Standing around on the quay, with this strangely dazed feeling, and wondering what to do, she was soon told to move on by a military policeman, and so she began move. Why she felt so incapable of doing anything even though was safely back in England she couldn’t understand. It didn’t make sense.

  A little nose pushed out of the bicycle basket and the puppy looked at her mournfully.

  “Oh you poor little mite!” she spoke to the pup, “you’ve been so good, and just as I promised Bill, my boyfriend who died in Malta that I would look after his dog, I will look after you because you were Fred’s little doggie.”

  Having taken on the responsibly of Fred’s puppy it made her forget her memories of Normandy, and come to her senses.

  “Now, what shall we do, Freda?” she asked the little pup as she stoked its head.

  A series of whines reminded her that she must feed it.

  Getting on her bicycle she rode along the quay and saw a NAAFI mobile van.

  A nice cup of English tea was pictured in her mind - and water and some food for the dog.

  Having to concentrate on not only her needs - but on Fred’s puppy too, made her snap out of her lethargy as she approached the canteen van.

  The two women in overalls looked at Vera scornfully when she asked for a cup of tea. “We don’t serve civilians,” one said.

  For the first time Vera was aware of how others would see her: a ragamuffin. Her hair had grown over the past few weeks and was longer neat she normally wore it. And instead of it being brushed off the forehead and neatly rolled off her collar, it straggled untidily around her face and neck, as it had been blow about in the Channel wind. She hadn’t worn any lipstick for ages and her lips were not smooth and kissable. Her clothes were a mixture of some clothes she’d left home with and some Jeanette had kindly given her, because her bump was beginning to make her skirt too tight around the waist. Her stockings had many runs, and her shoes had seen any polish for ages and were covered with sand.

  But that didn’t make her feel inferior – in fact she felt quite pleased to think she’d come though all she had, and didn’t see why she had to accept being put down by a couple of stay-at-home tea servers.

  She propped her bike up against their van and ignoring their contempt she said crisply, “I’ve not just biked up from the town to cadge a free cup of tea.” Even mentioning tea made Vera’s mouth water, and she was determined to get it.

  As neither of them made any move to pour any out for her, Vera went on, “You might be NAFFI girls serving tea and buns to service personnel. But you are not supposed to shut up shop just because I’m not in uniform. I had to destroy my military identity card in France in case I was captured by the Jerries And the papers Colonel Parkington – he’s my husband – gave me, were kept by a military policeman on the beach at Arromanches.”

  “Oh yes?” said one young woman with a giggle, her poised with her hand on the huge metal tea pot handle, as she winked at her assistant and said, “Now tell us another story.”

  Vera took a deep breath and tried again. “I’m the supervisor of British Restaurants in Norfolk.”

  “So, why are you here? We can’t serve any Tom, Dick and Harry, a free cup of char, just because they happen to be on holiday here at the seaside.”

  Vera’s face glowered. Her argumentative nature came to the fore. “Listen you two, just because you can’t see any further than a tea urn, it doesn’t mean everyone else does their national service behind the hatch of a NAFFI canteen van. I’ve just come back from France after doing my duty helping with the invasion. Now don ‘t tell me you can’t spare me a cup of tea. Get on the phone to your manageress, Dulcie Swanton, or Doreen Thornill, or Susie Salter, they all know me – Vera Parkington - and they won’t refuse me a cuppa.”

  The women looked at each other “Well, in that case,” said one, “I suppose we’d better give you one.”

  “Well, don’t put yourself out too much, will you?”

  Looking a little nervous now because of her cross manner, and obvious officer tone as she was used to giving instructions, the girls handed her a cup of tea.

  “Mmm, it’s lovely. Heavenly,” Vera said, after sipping it.

  “Actually it’s a bit stewed.”

  “You wouldn’t notice that if you’d been without tea for weeks. You can’t imagine how much I’ve pined for a cup of tea while I’ve been in France.”

  “Glad you like it. Want another?”

  “Thank you, I would - if it’s not too much trouble.”

  The women’s eyes met and they smiled. “I’ll make you a fresh pot, Ducky. Want a bun?”

  “If you’re sure you can spare it.”

  As Vera munched her currant bun – which was probably very ordinary made with wartime ration ingredients, but tasted good to her, she wondered how other men and women returning to England after the war was over would be treated. Would they face the disbelief she’d had to put up with? No one appreciating just what it was like over there as the troops battling forward across Europe.

  She was determined that when – and please God it would be soon – Geoff returned home, she would be far more understanding about the agonies he had suffered.

  Feeling better after her refreshment, she asked the women where the NAFFI quarters were. After they directed her, Vera said, “Now I have one more waif and stray for you to help.”

  The women looked out of the hatch looking for another person. Vera went to her bike and picked up the puppy.

  Vera held up the rescued puppy for them to see.

  “Ahh!” They immediately showed it more sympathy than they’d given her. And Freda was soon lapping up some water and gulping down a small bowl of food.

  “Isn’t it sweet?”

  A little later, fortified with some fresh tea, and a contented puppy in her bicycle basket, Vera retrieved her bicycle and set off to find the NAFFI headquarters.

  * * *

  Vera soon became lost trying to find the way.

  The dockland was huge. She was glad she had her bicycle as she pedalled here and there, asking directions from service people she met, who looked at her as if she’d come out of a hedge backwards.

  She supposed that before the invasion, she would have been carted off as a suspicious person in a Top Secret location – but now security was more relaxed. And there were so many people wearing different uniforms.

  I expect they think I’m a char, come in from the town to clean some offices.

  She stopped finding a patch of nicely manicured green grass for the puppy to wee on. And decided she ought to go inside the Nissen hut marked with nothing more than a notice of letters and figures on it, when she heard marching feet and a loud American voice sounded, “Lady, you’re dicing with death allowing that little beast on the commander’s lawn.”

  Vera turned to look up at an American pilot speaking to her.

  “I won’t tell him - and hope you won’t,” she replied with a grin.

  “I guess not. But I advise you to scram.”

  Looking again at him more closely she came to the conclusion that he probably was one of the top brass. If not the Commander himself!

  Vera wa
sn’t fazed. “ I’m sorry, sir, to have chosen the wrong spot.”

  The officer walked over and crouched down to play with the puppy. “He’s a fine fella.”

  “Actually, he’s a she.”

  “OK then, she’s a fine English shepherd dog.”

  “Actually, she’s a German Alsatian. I’m sure she would have belonged to a German manning the defences in Normandy. I was given her on the beach at Arromanches. I was told the bitch and her pups had been killed in the bombing - but this one survived.” Vera added in a quiet voice, “Actually, the soldier who saved her, died - so I’m looking after her.”

  “Well, ma’am, if you don’t want her. She can come home with me.”

  “To America?”

  “Sure. I can take her there.”

  Vera looked doubtful. “The poor little mite. She can’t help her nationality.”

  “I wouldn’t allow her to be harmed because she happens to have belonged to a Jerry. And I can assure you she won’t be. My family are from Germany originally. We have a farm in Wisconsin and she’ll be fine there.”

  Vera thought quickly. She already had two dogs to care for. One belonged to Geoff and the other she was given by her previous fiancé to look after. A big dog, like young Freda would grow to be would take a lot of feeding.

  “I’ve only been looking after this pup for one day, but I love her, and would hate her to come to any harm. Are you sure you can give her a good home?”

  “The best. Our family love dogs.”

  As a senior officer she knew he would have no great difficulty having Freda shipped to his home. “Well, I don’t know if I should . . . .” the American officer looked fairly old, a reliable gentleman - and he obviously liked dogs.

  As she was hesitating he asked, “Can I give you anything for her?”

  Vera hesitated. The Americans had so much more money, food and it was tempting to ask for something. “No, no. Just look after her, please. And in Fred’s memory, call her Freda, will you?”

  She felt tears coming into her eyes as she handed the puppy over to the American. But she felt quite sure Freda would have as good a life as she could give her.

  She was asked for her name and address, so that he could send her a report on Freda. And then the officer gave her the directions to the NAAFI Headquarters.

  It was hard to have to get on her bike again and pedal away without the little dog sitting up in her basket.

  “Sure you don’t want anything?” he called after her.

  Vera was so close to breaking down. She dare not stop. She pedalled on but shouted over her shoulder, “Send me some nylon stockings.”

  * * *

  It was just as well she knew Dulcie Swanton, and was soon given the help she needed. After a bath in the regulation height of four inches of water, and a change of clothes - albeit wartime utility quality - and a hair cut, Vera felt more herself. And yet, she knew she was not as she used to be, she’d changed forever.

  Tucked away in her heart and memory were all those people she’d met in the last few weeks. Brave people, who had died, or some had survived as she had through one of the most eventful periods of mankind. Each person had their own experiences to talk about, or refuse to talk about because it was too painful for them.

  She would be able to share some of her experiences with Geoff when he got home, because she now had some knowledge of the war. And in later years they would be able to tell their child about the wartime they’d experienced.

  She was delighted to meet Susie and Doreen again, when they came off duty in the evening. Having an evening meal they listened to what Vera told them, with urges to go on and tell more.

  Susie said, “Well I think you are very brave, Vera.”

  “Me? Go on. I merely did what I had to just to survive.”

  “And how is Parkie? I mean your husband, Colonel Parkington?”

  A cloud came over Vera’s face as she chewed a piece of sausage. “He was well the last time I saw him . . . but he looked as if he’d had . . . “

  To her surprise picturing him was too much for her, and Vera put her hands over her face and sobbed.

  “She’s exhausted,” said Doreen standing up and putting her arm around Vera. “Come on love, we’ll get you to bed.”

  In a motherly fashion the two NAFFI girls soon had Vera tucked up on a camp bed having given her another nice cup of tea.

  “Thank you,” murmured Vera, and went to sleep almost at once.

  The two NAFFI girls looked back at sleeping Vera before they switched off the room light.

  Susie said quietly, “I can’t imagine what she says she’s been though. Can you? I can’t believe all she said had happened to her was true.“

  “I dunno,” whispered Doreen, “she didn’t strike me that she was making it all up.”

  They closed the door and walked along the corridor, Susie commented, “Well it’s true she’s expecting a baby – that’s obvious.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  AFTER arriving home at last, her mother hugged her tightly.

  “You’ve been away for so long. Now tell me about what you’ve been up to,” Mum said, as the two dogs barked and wagged their tails furiously. The dogs demanded their share of the joyous homecoming, and Vera had to spend a few moments quelling their enthusiasm to jump all over her.

  Vera, who was dressed in a government utility issue suit, shoes and stockings, took off her battered kitbag and said, “I got my bicycle mended by a German soldier.”

  Mum looked down at her visible bump and quipped, “I hope you didn’t get that too!”

  Then Vera kissed her Mum saying, ”Geoff gave me that before I saw him in France.

  Her mother’s eyes sparkled, “I’m thrilled to be a grandmother.”

  “You’re not quite yet, Mum.”

  “No, but I’m going to be. I saw some beautiful kitting patterns for baby clothes in this week’s magazine.”

  Vera laughed, “Before you start on them, I need a new cardigan – I left mine in France.”

  “Say that again . . . you say you went where?“

  Vera put her arm around her mother’s shoulders, and said, “Let’s put the kettle on a have a cup of tea. Then I’ll tell you all about my adventures in France. I was there for several weeks.”

  Blinking, Mum said, “You might have sent me a postcard!”

  It seemed hours later – over several cups of tea – that Vera related her experiences in France. From the humorous moments to the tragedy of lives lost when the invasion began.

  “And Geoff?” asked Mum anxiously. “Where is he now?”

  Vera shook her head. “I expect he is busy. He was elated when they got the floating harbour over to France. And then repaired it after the terrible storm that ripped the American A Mulberry to pieces. But that was his job – where he and the other engineers working with him showed their grit and skill.”

  “You ought to be proud of him.”

  “Oh, indeed I am, Mum. That dock enabled enormous supplies to get ashore after the initial invasion, until they capture a port.”

  “So now Geoff will be coming home?”

  “I doubt it! The army will dream up another engineering problem to solve I expect as the army moves across Europe. I wish that wicked Hitler would give in – but Geoff says the German army is an excellent fighting machine and they are making our soldiers fight all the way . . . I’m worried about Geoff.”

  Thinking of all the people being killed and injured over there, made Vera put her hands over her face.

  “You did your bit, love,” Mum said, “Try not to worry too much.”

  “At least he hasn’t got to worry about me now,” Vera said, looking at her mother with a grin..

  “But I’m sure he will be thinking of the mother to be.”

  “He doesn’t know.”

  “Vera! Didn’t he tell you? Didn’t he notice?”

  “I don’t think so – anyway, he is such a worrier I didn’t want him to have to worry abou
t his son too.”

  Mum smiled with her mouth tightly closed. “You are something else, Vera.”

  Then feeling her age, Mum got up stiffly and said, “Well, we must get on I suppose. I have some ironing to finish and then I’ll get us something to eat. And the dogs need feeding and the hens will have to be put to bed.”

  “Oh, so you’ve got some hens in the garden now, have you Mum?”

  “Yes, four. John helped me to buy them and house them. He knows a lot about keeping hens. And I can exchange eggs with friends for other things. And they are laying so will you make us an omelette. No one can make them better than you can.”

  Vera looked at her mother with pride. The older lady had to cope with the wartime - just as the service personnel. Rationing had become even tighter - sometimes things difficult to buy even if they were on the ration.

  “Of course I will. And are there any saladings left in the garden?” she was thinking of the lettuces, tomatoes and radishes that had been planted earlier in the year.

  “You may find a few.”

  As Vera began to think about cooking again, she began to wonder how her British Restaurants were managing while she was away – and then of course she’d have to arrange for someone to take over her job when she had the baby.

  It was all a challenge. But Vera felt so glad to be home. Her only ache was wondering what was happening to her beloved husband in war torn France.

  “John will be popping in to take the dogs for a walk. Can you make an omelette for him too?”

  “John?”

  “You know John.”

  Vera smiled. She had the sense that she would soon learn much more about her Mum’s neighbour, John Baxter, who’d been helping her with walking the dogs. In her mum’s conversation, John was thrown in all the time!

  And when the elderly, upright gentleman arrived the dogs went mad to see him.

  Struck by his kindly face and the fondness he showed to her mother – as well as the dogs - Vera shook his hand warmly.

  “You would never believe half of what Vera’s been up to – in France,” Mum said, “It’s just as well I didn’t know all about it until she got back safely.”