by Daisy Styles
‘Good morning, mister,’ she said fondly.
In a preoccupied manner, Arthur smiled and stroked her long hair that had slipped loose under her turban. Sensing his unease, Violet immediately asked, ‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’
‘The Desert Rat’s finally on the run,’ he replied.
‘Rommel?’ she said knowingly.
Arthur nodded as he gave a brief hard smile. ‘Turns out the Jerries are an exhausted army after months of fighting in the scorching desert – we’re holding the line and repelling Rommel.’
‘Victory at last!’ Violet exclaimed, but she could see no joy in Arthur’s troubled face.
‘I should be there, Vi,’ he murmured.
Tracing the livid scars on his damaged hand, she patiently listened to him.
‘Mates of mine are fighting in the Eighth Army. I should be alongside them, not sitting here digging up carrots and spring onions,’ he said self-mockingly. ‘What kind of a man does that?’
‘Darling, you’ve made your sacrifice,’ she pointed out.
‘I can still fire a gun and use a bayonet!’
‘Can you?’ she asked. ‘Really, would you be as quick as your pals when it came to shooting accurately?’
It was a harsh question, but she knew if there was any comfort to be had in this conversation it would be cold comfort. She saw Arthur wince, but she pushed on with her questioning. ‘Instead of beating yourself up, be honest,’ she urged. ‘Don’t you think the army would have kept an experienced explosive expert on if they thought it was safe for you to fight?’
She saw his eyes fill with angry tears.
‘I just feel so bloody useless, Vi,’ he sighed as he laid his head against her soft warm bosom. ‘A real Nancy boy, doing nothing but checking safety regulations in a bloody arms factory!’
Violet was wise enough to let him be. He’d had his outburst and she understood his shame, but she was determined that she would make him come to terms with his injuries, which he dismissed as nothing when in fact he’d been maimed for life whilst on dangerous active service. Eventually he pulled away from her and gave her a soft kiss on her full pink lips.
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, my sweetheart,’ he confessed.
‘And do you know what, Mr Grumpy Leadbetter? I don’t know what the Phoenix girls would do without YOU!’
A slow smile warmed his dark blue eyes that held her loving gaze.
‘I only really care about one Phoenix girl – and that’s my beautiful Violet!’ he declared as he pulled her back into his arms.
Shortly after Nora’s mother had set off on her long journey South to see Nellie in Exeter, Gladys received a troubling letter from her dad in Leeds; he admitted to also being ‘concerned’ about Les; like Gladys, he’d had no word from his son.
Obviously I’ve not shared my concern with your mother; she’s worried enough as it is. We know Les isn’t a natural letter-writer, but it’s been nearly a month now since he last communicated, so, Glad, if you should hear from him please notify me right away and then I can set your mother’s mind at rest.
Ever your loving, Father X
Gladys felt heavy-hearted as she folded the letter. There was no doubting the triumphant progress of British troops in North Africa, but there seemed to be more losses than victories in the war that raged on in the battlefields of northern Europe, where they believed Les had been posted. Gladys was even more heavy-hearted when she heard another news item. It seemed German bombers had been dropping bombs all over the British countryside. A young boy had witnessed a low-flying plane’s bomb bay opening wide and two bombs dropping out. The local boy from a village near Exeter reported seeing one bounce across open fields, then explode in the middle of a row of sheds, whilst the other hit a Royal Ordnance Factory, killing seventeen young women who worked there. As the girls listened to the news on the radio in the cowshed, Violet’s eyes grew wide with alarm.
‘Oh, my God!’ she cried as she leapt from the sofa, where she’d been peacefully smoking a cigarette. ‘Did he just say the Exeter area?’
Kit nodded.
‘I’m pretty sure he said the boy lived near Exeter.’ She looked towards Gladys, who nodded too.
‘What’s the matter, Vi? Where are you off to?’ Kit asked, as Violet headed for the front door.
‘Nora’s sister’s working in that area!’ Violet answered quickly. ‘And her mother’s down there too, visiting Nellie.’
Violet ran over to the dispatch yard, where she found Edna packing up for the night.
‘Can you call in on Nora on your way home?’ Violet asked the older woman.
‘Course I can,’ said Edna. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘I’ve just heard some bad news on the radio, and I wanted to check that it’s nothing to do with Nora’s family,’ Gladys replied.
Smothering a yawn, Edna said, ‘If it’s bad news, I’ll drive back up here and tell you; if there’s nothing to report, I’ll snuggle down in my bed for the night.’
An hour later, after Edna hadn’t returned, Violet fell asleep, happy in the belief that no news was good news, but when there was no sign of Nora the following morning everybody suspected the worst. Myrtle, who’d become rather protective of Nora over their many trombone lessons, said quite decisively, ‘I’ll finish my shift, then I’ll walk into Pendleton and visit young Nora.’
‘Shall I come with you?’ Maggie asked. ‘I know where she lives.’
‘No, thank you, Margaret,’ Myrtle replied firmly. ‘I shall be fine on my own.’
‘Will you let us know how you get on?’ Violet said anxiously.
‘If it’s not too late I shall drop by with an update,’ Myrtle promised.
When Myrtle knocked on their door later that evening, the girls ran to open it and immediately knew from the expression on her face that the news was bad. Kit put the kettle on the wood-burning stove, whilst Violet led Myrtle to the battered old sofa, where she wasted no time in beating about the bush. ‘Nora’s father received a telegram this morning: both his wife and youngest daughter are dead.’
‘Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ Kit cried as she crossed herself.
‘The sheds that the first bomb landed on were in fact cowsheds, in one of which was poor Nellie, milking cows; her mother was in there with her too,’ Myrtle said as she wiped tears from the corner of her eyes. ‘At least they were together,’ she continued briskly. ‘And it certainly would have been a quick death.’
‘Poor Nora,’ sighed Kit.
‘Poor Mr Barnes,’ gasped Violet. ‘If his wife hadn’t gone down South to help Nellie get away, she’d be alive today.’
‘But Nellie would have died on her own, all alone and terrified,’ Myrtle pointed out.
‘OH, GOD!’ seethed Gladys as she angrily paced the room. ‘When will this bloody war end?’
‘Hitler will only be happy when he’s bombed Britain off the face of the earth,’ Violet said bitterly.
Myrtle rose to her feet, and like a warrior leader she surveyed the troubled tearful girls before she said with complete conviction, ‘There’ll always be an England!’
20. The Irish Visit
Kit received a letter from Mr McIvor saying he’d returned home from Ireland and asking her to come to see him at the office as soon as possible.
Kit wondered why he hadn’t come to see her himself like he had before, or left a phone message for Edna to pass on to her. Letters took so long and they had so much urgent business to discuss. After a long night, Kit got the first bus into Manchester, where she hurried eagerly across Piccadilly to McIvor’s office. Shocked by the sight of grey-faced Kit with dark bags under her eyes, McIvor settled her in a chair, then called for his secretary to bring tea and biscuits.
Impatient for news Kit came straight to the point. ‘Did you see Billy?’
McIvor nodded. ‘Billy looked very well,’ he assured her.
Kit smiled proudly. ‘Did you give him a kiss from me?’ she asked.
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br /> ‘I thought he might not like that but I did sing him a few nursery rhymes,’ McIvor admitted with a shy smile.
Kit smiled too at the thought of this kind man spending time with her little boy, but McIvor interrupted her fond line of thought. ‘Your father was less than pleased to see me.’
‘Well, that’s no surprise!’ she burst out. ‘What did he have to say for his miserable self?’
‘He insisted Billy was his and he had every right to choose what was the best course for him.’ He paused before he added rather shortly, ‘I would have been grateful if you’d told me before I left for Dublin that you’d signed the adoption papers, Catherine.’
Seeing her rendered speechless by his comment, McIvor continued, ‘I saw your signature right there on the document, next to your father’s and Mother Gabriel’s. You can’t imagine what a fool I felt,’ he snapped. ‘With your signature on those documents we simply don’t have a case!’
Alarmed and indignant Kit finally got her breath back. ‘I did NOT sign any papers!’ she insisted, her voice icily calm.
McIvor stared at her incredulously. ‘I saw your name, in black and white, “Catherine Murphy”,’ he declared.
‘Then it was forged!’ she cried. ‘Do you really think I’m that stupid that I would forget that I’d signed my son’s adoption papers?’
In the tense silence that followed McIvor beat his fingers on the desktop. ‘So, if you didn’t sign them, who did?’
‘I’ll give you three guesses,’ she replied angrily.
‘Your father?’
‘My evil father! Not only did he steal my boy but he also forged my signature,’ she cried as tears rolled down her cheeks.
‘When I met the Mother Superior I reminded her that you are legally Billy’s guardian, not Mr Murphy, and as such you should by law have been legally consulted. I thought we had a strong case until she produced the document with your signature on it.’
‘I never signed anything!’ Kit retorted emphatically. ‘We have to prove that the name on that document was not signed by me.’
Seeing McIvor’s brow crinkle, Kit began to panic. ‘Do we have a case if we can prove as God’s my judge that it wasn’t me?’ she pleaded.
McIvor’s taps on the desktop grew louder and more agitated. ‘We’d have to hire a handwriting specialist to prove that it was false.’ He suddenly thrust a sheet of thick white paper and a fountain pen at her. ‘Sign your name,’ he instructed. ‘Sign it several times.’
Unused to fountain pens, Kit wielded it awkwardly.
‘Take your time,’ he warned.
Slowly and methodically, she wrote her name, ‘Catherine Murphy’, in the formal script she’d been taught at school. McIvor peered closely at the rows of signatures she’d carefully written.
‘I believe you that it might have been a forgery,’ he sighed. ‘We’ll know better when we can compare it with the original. But I’ll be blunt, Catherine: the time we’ll need to prove this isn’t your signature is time we don’t really have.’
‘Why?’ she cried impatiently. ‘Sister Clare said adoptions take ages – surely we can stop them doing anything illegal?’ she cried.
‘I’ll write straight away to let them know we are contesting the documents. But you need to understand that I have to find a handwriting expert who will have to produce detailed evidence as to why the signature on the adoption papers isn’t yours. Then we’ll have to present it to Mother Gabriel, who might well challenge it. It’s not just a question of revoking the documents on the grounds that they’re fraudulent any more; this is all going to take much longer than planned, Catherine. I need you to understand that,’ he said with a heavy sigh.
‘Holy Mother of God,’ she wailed in despair. ‘Will this nightmare ever end?’
Feeling desperately sorry for the poor girl, McIvor got up from his chair so that he could put an arm around her shuddering shoulders.
‘Catherine,’ he said slowly, ‘the adoptive couple are making plans to take Billy to America.’
‘His home is not in America,’ she sebbed. ‘His home is RIGHT HERE with me!’ Almost out of her mind with rage and sadness, she added angrily, ‘If that filthy rich couple get to my Billy before you’ve proved my innocence, I could lose my son forever.’
Keeping his voice calm and steady McIvor replied, ‘I don’t think Mother Gabriel would dare to go against the law,’ he reasoned. ‘It would bring disgrace to her order and their adoption agency too. I will contact her right away.’
Furious and frustrated, Kit lost her temper. ‘It’s not fair!’ she cried. ‘Here am I, the rightful mother, fighting to keep my son from deportation, whilst Mother Gabriel is busy selling babbies for a big fat profit – and as for my father,’ she said as she ground her teeth in fury, ‘the thieving pig signed a pact with the devil the day he was born.’
McIvor tried his best to reassure her: ‘As I just said, I don’t think the order of the Sisters of Mercy would –’
Kit, in a murderously bad mood, muttered as she rose to her feet. ‘Who gives a fiddler’s fart about the bloody rotten nuns!’
Before she left the office, McIvor stopped Kit in her tracks. ‘Catherine, one other thing. Your sister asked me to pass on a message.’
Wide-eyed, Kit turned to him. ‘She said to tell you that your mother had a grand funeral and the chapel was packed with mourners.’
Kit’s eyes swam with tears. ‘Everybody but me to say a final goodbye to Mammy,’ she said sadly.
‘And when I saw Billy in the convent nursery, he really did look well. He’s a big bonny boy, well taken care of by the nuns. That’s something to hold on to, isn’t it?’
Despite her misery, Kit smiled. ‘He is a beautiful child, isn’t he? Has he still got dark hair?’
McIvor nodded as he recalled the baby boy. ‘Yes, a mop of it – and dark eyes just like yours.’
‘Maybe that’s all he’ll ever have of me if he goes to America,’ Kit said as she left the office in floods of tears.
Before Kit clocked on for her night shift, she managed to have ten minutes in private with Edna, who listened to the poor girl pour her heart out.
‘It was complicated enough to start with, but proving my signature’s been forged really adds to the pressure,’ Kit said as she stubbed out her cigarette under the heel of her threadbare shoes. ‘Maybe Billy would be better off with a rich American couple,’ she added bitterly. ‘What kind of a mother am I? Look at me, with not a decent pair of shoes to mi feet, what have I got to offer?’ she cried as her tears flowed once more.
Edna grabbed her by the hands and shook her. ‘You’ve got to stop this, Kit, right now!’ she declared fiercely.
‘I know, I know!’ Kit sobbed hysterically. ‘I love him so much – I just want what’s best for him.’
‘What’s best for him, sweetheart,’ said Edna modifying her tone, ‘is YOU. Nobody can replace a mother; nobody will understand him better than you who carried him inside you and gave birth to him and loved him so much you even left home to provide for him. There is no greater sacrifice than that; leaving him behind was the act of a mother who put her child’s safety before herself.’
Kit was surprised to see tears filling Edna’s green eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Edna, I never meant to upset you too,’ she said apologetically.
‘It’s nowt to do with you, sweetheart; it’s something I did years ago which I’ve regretted every day of my life since.’ She quickly wiped away a tear. ‘You see, Kit, I had a baby too, a daughter …’ Edna’s voice trailed away as the memories rolled back. ‘A beautiful little girl … I called her Flora – I don’t know what she’s called now, or even if she’s alive.’
Too shocked to speak, Kit could only gaze in sorrow at the friend who’d always seemed indomitable in her strength; yet here she was, lost in a profound grief that she’d bottled up for years.
‘At six weeks she was taken from me, adopted by a rich childless couple in Penrith, or so the agency tol
d me.’
Finding her voice, Kit whispered, ‘Did you ever see her again?’
Edna shook her head. ‘I tried but there was no Flora Chadderton on any adoption records.’ She shrugged as she added. ‘The couple who took her probably gave her their own name anyway.’
‘And the father?’ Kit inquired timidly.
‘Edward Pilkington. A local lad. Wed been courting since our school days; We only did it once,’ Edna answered with a wistful smile. ‘Just before he went off to war, the First World War that is. He never knew he had a daughter; he died at Passchendaele before she was born, blown up in a German rocket attack.’
‘God in heaven,’ Kit gasped.
‘Nobody but my parents knew about my pregnancy; as soon as Flora was born they couldn’t get shot of her quick enough. I begged and pleaded, wept and raged, but nothing changed their minds. They didn’t want the shame of a bastard in the family.’
‘I don’t feel like that about my lovely boy!’ Kit cried passionately. ‘I can see no shame in him, even if I do hate his evil-hearted father,’ she said as she clung to Edna, who gently stroked her tired, tear-stained face.
‘Keep on fighting for your son, lovie, never let go!’ Edna whispered. ‘Don’t do what I did and live with heartbreak for the rest of your life.’
21. Brave Girl
Preoccupied with Billy’s case and all the awful uncertainties, Kit lost interest in almost everything, and that included the Bomb Girls’ Swing Band. It was the last thing she could turn her mind to, even though she felt guilty letting her friends down. Gladys, Violet, Myrtle and Maggie talked in private about their friend’s change of mood.
‘What’s got into her?’ Maggie snapped crossly. ‘She was so gung-ho not long ago, pushing us on, urging us to do better; now she doesn’t even turn up for the bloody practice sessions!’ she finished angrily.
‘It must be something to do with that lawyer fella in Manchester,’ Violet commented. ‘Every time she has anything to do with him she comes home in a state.’
‘I wish she’d talk about this family business with her cousins,’ Gladys said. ‘If we knew what was worrying her we might be able to help.’