Mummy was in her bedchamber, with the lights turned out, and all of the blackout curtains in place. Papa was not at Willow Grove Abbey, as he was on a short trip to London. Of course Isabella and I were there, as well as the servants, but we had all retired for the night. Mummy awakened in the darkness, at about two o’clock in the morning. She heard sounds in her room, and slowly opened her eyes. There, not ten feet from her bed, was a man … a German Parachutist, we were later to learn … rifling through her jewel box, which sat atop of the dresser. Amazingly, she did not fall to pieces, and she did not scream. Instead, she slowly, and soundlessly, scooted across the bed and reached for a cane that was resting next to Papa’s side of the nightstand. Papa did not use the cane very often, but occasionally he had difficulty with lumbago, and so it was always at the ready, to help him get around when he arose in the mornings, stiff and in pain. Mummy grabbed hold of the wooden cane, and then slowly crawled out of the bed. The German soldier’s back was to her, and by now her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that she was able to see that it was a German. No one and nothing infuriated Mummy like the presence of a Hun! Particularly a Hun in her own bedchamber! She must not even have thought for a moment of the fact that the soldier was surely armed, and that her life was in danger. Her volatile temper had once again taken control of all reason.
Creeping bravely up behind his erect back, she hit him squarely on the head with the cane. Whack! He roared in pain, and went down on the floor. He’d had a pistol in his hand, but when he was hit, he dropped it, and it flew across the room. He was a large man… at least six feet two inches, and broad shouldered. But, that didn’t stop Mummy. As he went to try to pick himself up, she began to beat him unmercifully again with the cane. She battered him all over, from head to foot. Each time he made a move to steady himself, he received a whack in the head. All of the while, Mummy was shrieking in a tirade. “Just who do you think you are, you disgusting Hun, showing up in a Lady’s bedchamber at this hour? Only a dirty Hun would do such a thing.” Whack! “There, how do you like that? One of your kind killed my dear brother in the last war. Don’t think for one moment that you will get out of here alive.” Whack! “I’ve waited a lot of years to avenge my brother’s death. Well, now is my chance.” Whack. Whack. Whack. Finally I heard the uproar, and I was immediately wide awake. I threw on a robe, and ran to Mummy’s room. There in the corner huddled into a ball, like a fetus, was the German soldier, trying to shield himself with his hands, as Mummy continued hitting him. As I walked in, she was whacking him in the crotch, and he was howling like a wounded dog.
“Mummy, I screamed. “Stop. I’m ringing the police. They will take care of him. If you continue on, you will kill him.” His face was bruised black and blue, and there were several teeth missing. One arm hung at his side, as though it was broken.
“I fully intend to kill him. That is my wish,” she screamed. Whack! Another hit in the crotch. Now he was begging her for mercy. I quickly rang the police, and in no time at all they were with us in the bedchamber. I suspect that no German had ever been so happy to see an English policeman in his life. The police took him away, and as he was being led out of the doorway, Mummy screamed “There! Now you go back to your filthy country and tell your Hun friends that this is what they’ll face if they ever try to mess with a British Lady.” Truthfully, we were all rather proud of Mummy. She was only disappointed that they wouldn’t let her finish him off. “Damn! I wanted to kill him, she shouted.
“Mummy, once you’d rendered him unable to do any harm” it would have been illegal to kill him.”
“Why? We’re at war with the bastards?”
“I know Mummy, but the rules of self-defense still apply.”
“Well he won’t be invading any other ladies’ bedchambers, I can tell you that. I don’t think he’ll ever be able to do anything in a bedchamber, or anywhere else, ever again.”
***
On 7 December 1941 The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. It was a ghastly blow. Catching the American naval men unaware on a Sunday morning, over 3000 lives were lost, and nearly the entire American fleet as well. Following that horror, the Germans declared War on America. Of Course, America retaliated with a declaration of war against Germany and Japan. Before the beastly war was ended, the entire world would be engulfed in its madness. The declaration of war against Germany by America meant that finally the Yanks would be joining us in our fight and that England would no longer stand alone. The first of the Yanks arrived in England in January of 1942. Spence had been missing nearly eight months at that time. I had such strong hope that America’s involvement would turn the tide, and that if Spence was alive, he would return home. I was virtually convinced that he was being protected by some wonderful French family, who were a part of the Resistance. I couldn’t bear to think that he might be a prisoner of war in a German internment camp, and of course, I didn’t allow myself to believe that he was dead.
The Blitz intensified in both England and Germany, with the first 1000 bomber air raid on Cologne. Finally, the second half of 1942 saw a reversal of German fortunes. British forces, under Montgomery, gained the initiative in North Africa at El Alamein and Russian forces counter-attacked at Stalingrad. The news of mass murders of Jewish people by the Nazis reached the Allies, and the U.S. pledged to avenge these crimes. In February of 1943, The Germans surrendered at Stalingrad, the first major defeat of Hitler’s army. A combination of long-range aircraft, and the ‘codebreakers’ at Bletchley were inflicting enormous losses on the U-Boats. Toward the end of May, 1943 Admiral Donitz withdrew the German fleet from the contended areas. And the Battle of the Atlantic was effectively over. Allied bombers began to attack German cities in enormous daylight raids. The opening of a second front in Europe was being prepared for the following year, 1944.
During all of that time. I lived my life in a daze, and only thought of Spence. It was impossible to think ahead to what my life might be like if I lost him. I couldn’t bear that thought. I knew, of course, that I would do what Spence would have wanted…get on with my life, and try to make Isabell’s life as good as it could be. But, even the thought of such an existence made me terribly anxious and fearful, and so I tried to block all such notions from my mind. One evening, in late 1943, when Spence had already been missing well over two years, I made my regular visit to the USO canteen in Bristol. I arrived there at about seven o’clock, and greeted the other girls who were either just arriving for duty, or just leaving. We had all become good friends, after such a long time doing our bit for the soldiers. I put a fresh pot of coffee on, and hung up my coat. Not far from where I stood, I noticed an RAF officer, with the same emblem on his shirt as Spence wore, which signified that they shared the same squadron. My heart speeded up as I approached the young man.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you are in the same squadron as my husband, “I said, and introduced myself as Mrs. Stanton.”
“You must be his wife, Sophia,” he answered. I was completely taken aback. “I’m Captain Ian French, and I know Spence well. He’s been my wing man on several missions. Of course, I haven’t seen him since May of 1941, when we were both shot down.”
“You were both shot down? Where? Over France? Oh my God! Was Spence still alive when you last saw him?”
“I believe he survived, yes. Unless, of course, a Jerry came upon him later. Then, I suspect he would have been taken to a POW camp. His skills would make him too valuable for them to do away with him.”
“Oh, please, please tell me everything that you know. Everything that happened to you and Spence. I’ve had no information since I learned he went missing in May of 1941. I’ve been almost mad with worry.”
He sat down in a chair, and motioned for me to sit opposite of him. Then he began to speak. “There was a shortage of pilots. Had been for quite some time. Really, ever since Dunkirk. Spence and I both had been flying extra missions. Everyone was so confounded tired. We were getting by on almost no sleep. Yet
, Spence is an excellent pilot, and I will never believe that fatigue had anything to do with his crash. We were both sent up on the same mission, to intercept German planes over France, which were headed for the coast. We spoke back and forth on the radio during the entire mission, and he seemed in fine fettle. There were many more German planes than British, so we were terribly outnumbered. Both of us knew that we would be lucky to get back home. I was hit first. The whole side of my spitfire was nothing but holes, and I had to ditch. My leg had taken a bullet too. I’d had communication with Spence just before that, and told him I was pitching it in. Shortly after I radioed my communication, he radioed back that he too had been hit. I asked him if he was all right, and he indicated that he was, and that he was preparing to parachute out. The next thing I remember is coming down into the English Channel, with my parachute open. Spence was not near me, but I had seen his parachute. I’m sure he wasn’t injured when he jumped. As fine a soldier as Spence, it’s highly unlikely that he would injure himself in a jump. He was over land when he wa hit, so I am sure he wouldn’t have landed in the water like I did.
I put on my Mae West, and floated for about forty five minutes, and then I was picked up by a British ship and returned to England. Since he wasn’t injured, he may have tried to scout about the area, to see if there was a farm house, or a barn, or someplace where he could get out of the night air. Even though it was May, it was very cold, and damp. That’s the last I saw of him, Ma’am.”
“My God, My God! You’ve been the first person to give me any hope. Do you believe that he could still be alive?”
“I’d almost bet my life on it, Ma’am. Spence is one brave soldier. Plus, a smart one. If the Huns got him, and they learned he was a doctor, there’s no way that they would want to lose him. He would be too valuable to them. So, my guess is that one of two things has happened. He is either being hidden by a French family, or he has been taken prisoner, and they’re using his skills as a physician. Since it’s been such a long time, I would put my money on the latter.”
“So, you believe that he is a Prisoner of War?”
“Yes. That would be my best guess. Of course, I could be wrong. Don’t put all of your trust in what I say. But, I know Spence pretty bloody . . . pardon me, ma’am’ . . . pretty darned well, and I know he’s a survivor.”
My head was awhirl with this new news. Hope! I had finally been given a reason to hope. A concrete reason. I agreed with Captain French. If Spence had been captured, it seemed unlikely that they would not use his training and skills to their advantage. I poured Captain French a glass of soda, and then told him that I must excuse myself and go home to report this marvelous news to my daughter.
“That must be Isabella,” he replied. “Spence talked about her constantly. He sure loves that little girl.”
I had tears in my eyes. “Yes, I know he does. And she loves him so dearly. She will be thrilled to hear that he may still be with us. Thank you so much Captain French. Here, let me write down our address and telephone number. Please ring us up for anything at all. We would be glad to have you as a guest, if you get furlough, or simply come to dinner if you can. I’m so terribly grateful for the information you’ve provided.”
“That’s awfully thoughtful of you, ma’am. I just might take you up on that, if I get a chance. At any rate, I’m glad I could be of help, and I do hope to see you again.”
With that, I quickly donned my coat, and got on my bicycle for the ride back to Willow Grove Abbey. I had stopped driving my car quite a long bit ago, as petrol was so dear. It was only there in case of dire emergency. As I peddled along, my heart was soaring. “Spence is alive! Spence is Alive!” That is all I could keep saying to myself, and sometimes I even shouted it aloud. It never once crossed my mind that he wasn’t. I had a certain feeling deep inside that he was fine. That he would be coming home to us. How amazing that I had come upon Captain Ian French. Spence would definitely describe it as another ‘serendipitous’ moment. But, how long would this ungodly war keep on, and how long would it be before I could hold him in my arms again?
When I returned to Willow Grove Abbey, everyone was surprised to see that I had returned from the canteen so quickly, and wondered if I didn’t feel well. That was so far from the truth. I ran into the drawing room, shouting out what I’d learned about Spence and the shooting down of his plane. For once, my parents listened, and didn’t act like I was a fool for believing the best possible outcome. Isabella came running from the nursery upstairs, when she heard my voice, and we all sat in a circle while I went over word for word what Captain French had related to me. Papa agreed that the best and most likely scenario was that Spence was in a Prisoner of War camp, where the Nazi’s were utilizing his medical skills. This new information gave us all more hope, and lightened the atmosphere in the house enormously.
Interestingly, almost overnight, Isabella’s lisp cleared up. She just suddenly began to speak using the proper pronunciation for words with an “S” in them. The doctor thought that the lessening of the anxiety she had been carrying about her father had helped her to get beyond an infantile stage of development. Of course I was happy to have her speaking in a more adult manner, although I have to admit that I missed that sweet lisp.
And so, Life continued on, but with more hope, and a different sort of waiting. On June 6, 1944 Operation Overlord got underway. It was what we had all been waiting for. Some 6,500 vessels landed over 130,000 Allied forces on five Normandy beaches codenamed Omaha, Utah, Gold, Juneau and Sword. Some 12,000 aircraft insured air superiority for the Allies, bombing German defenses and providing cover. Pessimistic predictions had been made of massive Allied causalities, but they were not borne out. On Utah Beach, 23,000 troops were landed, with only 127 causalities’. Most of the 4,649 American causalities that day occurred at Omaha Beach, where it was significantly more difficult to achieve the landing, and the Allies met with fierce German resistance. Overall it was a tremendous victory, catching the Germans by complete surprise. It still took however, a considerable amount of time for the Allied soldiers to make their way toward Paris, due to the thick overgrowth of hedgerows on French lanes. It was slow going. Finally Cherbourg was liberated by the end of June, and Paris followed two months later. I couldn’t help but think of Edwina when Paris was liberated. It had been five years since she had escaped the dreadful German occupation, and Kippy had just been a newborn. It was strange to realize that so much time had elapsed and that Kippy would now be five years old. I wondered if Edwina would pack up her belongings and make way for a return to Paris and her designing dreams. I had no wish to see that happen. It would be much too close for comfort.
I was simply living out my dreary existence, expecting nothing of life, hoping for no more than solitude, and a lack of disarray. I was in a sort of limbo, a married woman, but not living the life of such, financially independent and fully adult, at twenty-five years of age, but still sequestered under my parent’s roof. A mother, who oft times felt like a child. My parents were still limping along in their own limbo. By then, it was clearly a love-hate relationship, at least on Mummy’s part. I could never ascertain with certainty what my father’s true feelings were. Sometimes I thought that he, too, merely existed. Of Edwina, I knew little. I’d heard from former school mates that she had, indeed, immigrated to America, and I was vastly relieved at the news. I already had a hard time remembering her voice or the way she looked. I made a conscious effort to erase her from my mind. I still despised having to spend any time alone with my mother, as our only conversations at such moments were recitations of every detail concerning the affair. And the never-ending scrutiny of the telephone bills.
Mummy had managed to convince herself that there had never been a full-blown affair. In her fantasy, Edwina was the evil villain, and Papa the duped fool. Papa, supposedly, had tried to escape her clutches, and to remain faithful to his marriage vows, so the story went. Edwina’s cunning had been too much for his weak, male ego. I listened and ag
reed. Papa pampered and spoiled my mother beyond imagination. He left small notes for her, even if he left the house for a quick errand, never forgetting to tell her how beautiful he thought she was, and how much he loved her. Her collection of jewels increased exponentially. At last, I believed that the relationship between Edwina and Papa was finished. There just seemed no way that they could have continued to see one another as the years progressed. Papa spent almost all of his time at home now, and he always asked Mummy to accompany him if he had to travel to London. He certainly never traveled to America.
There was one last battle of significance in Europe, when the Germans launched a counteroffensive in the Ardennes in France, where in December the Battle of the Bulge killed 19,000 Americans and delayed the Allied march into Germany. I spent another Christmas with just my parents and Isabella at Willow Grove Abbey in 1944. My initial thrill at learning that Spence was most likely alive, had dimmed somewhat, as the war just went on and on. There was no question that eventually the Allies were going to see a tremendous victory, both in Europe and in the Pacific theater, although both the Japanese and the Germans stubbornly refused to surrender. Shortly after the New Year, the Russians liberated Auschwitz, and the sickening revelation of the Holocaust was made. I thought of the unbearable Dieter Schoen, and his obscene comments about purification of the white Aryan race. I wondered how wonderful he thought Herr Hitler was now. Finally the bombing campaigns of the Blitz were over, but V1 and V2 rockets continued to drop on London. In the meantime, I simply existed. That is the way in which I view those months. I still don’t think of that period as a time when I truly lived. I remember it as years of drifting on the surface. Treading water. If I went too deep, there would be pain, and I did not want to feel that pain, so I kept myself far above that plane. I did all of the things one was expected to do, which included being the best mother I could be, performing duties as a good and faithful daughter, and carrying out my volunteer work with the Red Cross and the canteen. I wasn’t certain that I always excelled at any of those tasks. I reached the point where I hated living at Willow Grove Abbey with my parents, and longed for my own independence. Longed for friends and a whole life. Life at Willow Grove was anything but whole. It wasn’t as vile as it had been before Mummy learned about Edwina, as her rages had, for the most part, ceased, but in their place was a continual, never-ending despair. No laughter. No happiness. There were times when I sank very, very low and there were other times when I felt like giving up completely. And yes, there were even times when I wondered if I had really ever known Spence. But, I held fast, as did nearly everyone. I wasn’t unique, brave, or special in any way. Hundreds, even thousands of women had become war brides, only to spend years wondering whom they had married. Wondering whether there would ever really be a marriage. Thus, I was no exception. Isabella’s existence was what kept me sane and focused upon the future. She was all I had. Her sweet face was the living embodiment of her father, and I owed it to him to raise her properly. To make certain that she had memories of him, in the event that he never returned. Moreover, assuming that he did return, I didn’t want Isabella to wonder who he was, and why he’d suddenly appeared in her life again, after such a long absence.
Willow Grove Abbey: A Historical World War II Romance Novel (The Somerville Trilogy) Page 43