by Maggie Ford
‘You’re quiet tonight, love.’ Her mother’s voice startled her.
‘Just thinking, Mum.’
‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing much.’
‘Private?’ Her mother laughed, but Connie didn’t rise to the challenge.
‘I might pop across to Cissie’s,’ she said, quickly changing the subject. ‘Ask if she’d like to go to the pictures tomorrow night.’
Why had he done that, kissed her on the cheek like that? It wasn’t the sort of thing a girl expects from her boss. In that brief peck she had felt the warmth of those lips against her skin, making her whole body tingle.
For him it might not have meant anything at all – a brief display of appreciation of her work, carrying him away for a second. He had probably considered it just a mere gesture. And he had not long been widowed, and was probably still grieving his loss.
But for her it had gone deeper than a mere gesture. She was in love with him. But what would such a man want with a girl like her?
Hurriedly she brushed the silly thoughts from her mind and, hanging the teacloth back on its hook by the door, went from the kitchen to comb her hair, put on a coat, and went back to say a final goodbye to her mother before she went to knock on Cissie’s door.
Albert had already gone out, leaving while they were washing up, poking his head around the kitchen door saying apologetically that he was off to surprise his Edie.
‘Don’t mind, do you, Mum – you and Dad, I’m only just home, and—’
‘Course we don’t mind,’ she’d said. ‘You go and surprise her, love.’
His going had apparently given Ronnie food for thought. Ron had got up, stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray and announced he might look some girl up whom he used to know, rather than going to the pub.
As Connie came into the room, she heard her dad say, ‘And don’t ’ave no truck with them seein’ you’re in civvies and coming funny. Tell ’em if they want to see your uniform it’s bloody runnin’ alive wiv bloody lice from the front line. Tell ’em they can put that in their bloody pipe and smoke it!’
‘I will, Dad, don’t you worry,’ Ron laughed as he let himself out. The very second he’d gone, Mum picked up the ashtray to empty it, her nose wrinkling. The aroma of pipe smoke was far different, smoother, comforting even, much nicer than what the boys smoked. Connie couldn’t help but smile.
Chapter Twelve
Edie’s father answered the knock on his street door, amazed on seeing Albert standing there. ‘Good God! Albert! Come in, son! Come in!’ Raising his voice, he yelled over his shoulder: ‘Edie, someone for you!’ As they stood in the narrow passage, he asked, ‘How come you’re home, son?’
‘Four days’ leave,’ Albert began, but there was no time to say more as Edie appeared in the passage.
Pulling up in shock at seeing him, she galvanised herself into action, almost throwing herself at him, the two clinging to each other, her father retreating, her mother’s voice heard calling from the kitchen, ‘Who is it, Edie?’
But the two had no interest in any other than themselves, lips locked in a long, hungry kiss.
‘I had no idea you were coming home, darling,’ Edie gasped as finally they broke away, breathless. ‘I thought you were still over there.’
‘Got leave,’ he said, grinning. ‘Four days – got to be back on Monday, got to leave here Sunday night to be back on time. You didn’t get my letter?’
‘No.’
‘Soon as I was told I was being given leave, I wrote you one to tell you. Didn’t want to give you a shock when I turned up.’
‘It’s a lovely shock, darling, it really is, the best shock ever.’
But this was no time for talking. Pulling her to him, he kissed her yet again, lingeringly, she hungrily returning his kisses while he murmured against her lips, ‘I love you, my darling.’ And she saying, ‘I love you too.’
Having let himself out of the house, Ronnie stood wondering what on earth he should do. He’d so looked forward to going out for the evening, an evening of freedom, not stuck in a trench for forty-eight hours at a time; hemmed in by his comrades in arms while the artillery gave the enemy a good pasting; a constant bombardment that became hardly noticeable after a while; whistles ordering men over the top. Thank God he’d come back each time in one piece after every aborted advance.
Here in the street, all silent and still, the bombardment he’d become used to seemed now to be echoing in his head in the quiet night. There was no one to look up – all his mates were gone, joined up – and this sudden realisation that his evening could be spent alone. There was no one he knew any more.
He’d told Mum and Dad that he was going to look up a girl he knew. Some hope! He could possibly go for a drink in the Salmon and Ball, the big and usually busy pub under the railway arch in Bethnal Green Road. But what was the point of drinking alone, with no friends?
Besides, he wasn’t in uniform. That still hung, filthy, in the backyard, Mum having hung it up on a hanger in the hope that the clean air would rid it of infestation. He’d forbidden her to try to wash off the dried mud, and he didn’t want her handling it too much with the lice it held. In four or five days’ time it would be just as filthy and lousy.
He’d heard of people mistaking any man seen in civvies for a coward, never stopping to find out whether he was home on leave and glad to be out of uniform for a while. All very well wearing one’s uniform with pride, as many a serviceman did, but not what he’d come home in. No, not to go to the pub.
But where else? He suddenly thought of a girl he used to know. Dorothy Bacon.
She’d be about eighteen now, a few months younger than him. He used to like her a lot. Maybe he could ask her out if she was still around.
Hoping her family hadn’t moved away, he took himself to where she used to live and tentatively knocked on her door. What if they’d moved? But it was she who answered, gazing down at him from the top of the two steps that led up to the house, her expression one of surprise.
‘Ronnie? Is that you? What you doing here? But I thought you’d joined up ages ago.’
‘I did.’ He felt just a tiny bit rattled. This blooming business of must be seen in uniform or else. ‘I’m in France, in the thick of it.’ Why in God’s name did he need to justify himself? ‘I’ve been given four days’ leave. They do that sometimes after you’ve had a dose of fighting at the front.’ Justifying himself again! ‘I’ve got to go back there. Leaving Sunday night, but while I’m ’ome, I thought I might look you up, see ’ow you are.’
Her face had broken into a smile. Was it relief? ‘Well, you’d best come in. Me parents are down the pub. They always go there on Thursdays.’
Inside, he said, ‘I thought you might like to go dancin’ somewhere. It’s not late. And it’s still a bit light out there.’
She pulled a face. ‘It’s not that, Ronnie. It’s lovely to see you. But with you not being in uniform …’
‘I ’ad to leave it at ’ome,’ he said quickly as she led the way into the front room. He was offered a seat on the rather dilapidated sofa and she sat herself down next to him. He went on talking. ‘It’s filthy – couldn’t wear that here.’ He made a feeble attempt at a joke: ‘You’d’ve taken one look at me and shut the door in me face!’
To his joy, she laughed. ‘No I wouldn’t have.’
No, of course not. Filthy and lousy, he’d still have been wearing a soldier’s uniform and she’d have looked proud instead of that sceptical look she had first offered him.
‘I saw a bloke a couple of days ago who wasn’t in uniform,’ she went on. ‘He was buying something in the shop where I work. Some customers began calling him a coward. Then one of their wives went and stuck a white feather in his breast pocket. The way he slunk out of that shop made me feel ever so embarrassed for ’im. He never said a word, just slunk out. I mean, who knows, he might have been in the forces, like you, on leave and just wanted to get back into civilian gear. Or he might
not have been fit enough to be taken in the forces, though he looked ’orright to me. I think I’ve heard that some soldiers put on special armbands to show they’re on leave when they put on civvies.’
The wind was spilling out of his sails with every word she spoke and he wished he hadn’t come round here at all. But she was still talking.
‘I know you wouldn’t have slunk out like that, Ronnie. You’d’ve walloped into one of ’em. I think you’re a real hero, joining up like you did, and you still being underage when you did.’ He was aware of her gazing sideways at him as she sat there beside him. ‘I often think about you and wonder how you got on and where you are,’ she went on in a soft, dreamy tone. ‘I’ve not seen you for such a long time but I think about you a lot. Always did, right from school when I first knew you.’ She leaned against him a little. ‘I hoped you might come to see me before you left. But you never did.’
She sighed deeply, then turned to him, giving him a lovely smile, changing the subject self-consciously.
‘Whyn’t you take off your jacket? It’s ever so warm in here. It’s been a really close day, despite the rain, and we always keep the windows closed of an evening, especially when me mum and dad go out. They get worried in case someone gets in. You never know, do you? You might as well take it off. I’ll hang it up for you.’
It was warm in here. Obligingly, he slipped out of his jacket, which she took and hung up on a hook behind the door, coming back to sit next to him again, her arm touching his. Through his shirt sleeve he could feel the warmth of her skin and something stirred in him, a feeling that instantly had him on his guard. He had no right to feel like this about her.
‘It was such a surprise seeing you after all this time,’ she murmured, ‘and ever so nice seeing you on your own. We was always with lots of friends and it’s nice just to be just the two of us. It’s ever so early still and Mum and Dad won’t be ’ome till the pubs shut. That’s hours away yet.’
Her sitting so close to him was beginning to heighten that sensation inside him and he compressed his lips to control it as she went on. ‘I was really upset when I heard you’d joined up. That’s when I realised I’d fancied you for years – ever since we left school. It sounds silly, but it’s true. I always wanted to tell you that but when you went and joined up, that was when I really wished I had. Ain’t that silly? But now you’re here and it feels just right to tell you. And you did have a soft spot for me, didn’t you, Ronnie?’
Yes, he had. At school she looked older than him, as girls often do, and his eyes would follow her slim, lithe figure. Fifteen, sixteen, always with groups of mates, other things to do, but he’d all but forgotten about her until this evening. Now, with her hand on his knee, the sensation it provoked growing ever stronger, he turned and kissed her. It was like magic as she placed her hand behind his head, preventing him from pulling away, and returning his kiss with such strength that he had to fight to stop himself pushing her down beneath him on the sofa. Seconds later, he pulled away from her, almost fiercely.
‘I’m sorry, Dorothy, I didn’t mean to do that.’
She’d sat back, not looking at him, her lips forming a little pout.
‘I’m sorry too,’ she said. ‘I thought … Well, I thought …’ She let her words die away, then began again: ‘I just …’ Again she lapsed into silence, leaving them both sitting in silence.
He was about to say that he should go, when finally she said, ‘I feel a real idiot, telling you how I felt.’
‘Don’t feel like that,’ he said lamely.
‘But I shouldn’t’ve come out with it like that. It must’ve sounded so daft and so embarrassing and so forward.’
‘It wasn’t.’ He needed to say something else. ‘I’ve always liked you, Dorothy. More than liked …’ It was hard to explain how he was feeling. ‘The way you say you felt about me,’ he began again. ‘I think I feel the same about you. But what with the war and me going into the forces, I put so much to one side. Then I thought of you this evening and suddenly I wanted to come to see you, see if you still lived here. And you do. And I’m so glad. And I really want—’
He broke off, realising he must sound a complete idiot. Then he heard himself saying, ‘Can I see you again? I’d like to. Before I go back Sunday night.’ He found himself out of breath in pent-up anticipation, and looked quickly at her to glean her reaction, saw those liquid brown eyes of hers, that shapely face, dark hair bobbed in the new style, and he knew: this was the girl he’d like to be with for the rest of his life.
She was gazing at him. He found himself waiting for a rejection. But instead she said, ‘On Sunday? What time?’ It was a simple question.
‘Let’s make it early,’ he said, his heart racing.
On Sunday, they’d have the whole day together until six when he’d have to leave. They could have dinner out somewhere – get to know each other better. He would ask if he could write to her and if she would write to him. And who knows …
‘I’ll call for you about ten o’clock?’
‘Lovely,’ she said and leaned her head on his shoulder. It was just as if they’d been together for years.
‘You’re my bloke now, aren’t you?’ she said suddenly. The way she said it made him feel he could have sailed on the clouds. ‘I know I’m seeing you on Sunday, but would it be all right if I come to the station and see you off?’
The request was so poignant that it felt they’d been together for years rather than just an hour or two. The next leave he got, whenever that would be, he’d be straight round to her house; he’d meet her parents and gain their blessing for her to be his. Meantime he’d write to her and she’d write to him. In time he would propose to her, buy her an engagement ring, and when this war was over they’d get married, find themselves a little place to live, settle down, raise a family. With the war over, please God, life would be golden. Such a wonderful dream. He found himself determined to make it a reality.
Sunday morning he took her behind a park shelter, and she in turn, not having intended to, gave herself to him with tiny squeaks and sighs.
‘I must let Elsie and Lillian know that Ronnie and Bertie are home,’ Mum said early Sunday morning. The two boys were in bed still, taking advantage of luxuriating between clean sheets and a soft mattress, with no need to rise too early and no George to get under their skin.
Telling Dad where she was off to, she hurried away immediately after breakfast, first to Elsie’s, then on to Lillian’s, Connie going with her for want of something better to do.
For Connie, Sundays always seemed to drag, these days. It had become a joy to get back to work, to see Stephen, to catch glimpses of him in his office, to have him come and speak to her.
‘They’d be so upset if we didn’t tell them,’ Mum was saying as they hurried the few streets to convey the news. ‘There ain’t much time. Albert’s out with Edie this afternoon and Ronnie said he was seeing someone he’d not met for a long while and they’re having dinner out. So it’s this morning or nothing. Four days’ leave doesn’t give anyone time for anything,’ Mum gabbled breathlessly as they hurried back home with the girls. ‘So much time already taken up them getting home, and they’ve got to leave at six to be back by Monday. Today’s the only time you’ll get to see them. They’ll both be out this afternoon cos Albert’s taking his Edie out, and Ronnie says he’s taking some girl he’s met out for Sunday dinner and they ’ave to be back on the ship on time or they’ll be in trouble.’ Connie saw tears in her mother’s eyes as she hurried on explaining.
They hadn’t needed to be told twice. Elsie had snatched off her apron as soon as she heard, leaving her husband Harry in charge of little Henry, dragging a comb through her hair, grabbing her front door key and banging the door shut behind her, following Mum out to go round to Lillian’s house two streets away to convey the news to her. Lillian handed over baby James to her husband Jim and bustled out behind her sisters and their mother.
Back at home, Connie stood by as
her sisters threw themselves at their brothers. It was a strange, unsettling morning, filled with bursts of emotion. She found herself dreading the final farewells: Mum’s eyes glistening, trying hard not to shed her tears; Dad clearing his throat and blowing his nose. Even now her sisters were clinging to the two boys as if they would never see them again, giving their emotion full volume.
They were in full flow as Albert made ready to go to meet Edie, the only chance they’d have to be alone to say a private goodbye. Later Edie would go with him to see him off on the train, but those goodbyes, with other servicemen saying farewell to their own families and loved ones, wouldn’t be private. They needed their time together now.
Of George, there had been no sign all day. He’d not come home this morning after staying overnight at a friend’s house. When he finally appeared just before his brothers were due to leave, his excuse for not returning earlier was that he’d had to stay and help his pastor get ready for the eleven o’clock service and for convenience’s sake had accepted his friend’s offer of dinner before the afternoon Sunday School. He hoped Mum hadn’t minded but Sunday was a busy time. She didn’t reply, merely got on with making sandwiches for the other two on their journey. Leaving at six this evening so as to be there the following day, George only had hardly half an hour with them, thus escaping any drawn-out awkwardness.
His mother, her mind more on seeing her gallant sons off, chose not to even acknowledge him. His dad seemed to have forgotten he even existed. Not that George made any effort to address him. On the only occasion he did, he was met with a ‘Humph!’ and a dismissive shrug.
Seeing it, Connie could hardly ignore a feeling of contempt coupled with bewilderment. How he could so lightly sidestep his duty when his own brothers were out there fighting and dying for their country … No! Not dying. She felt herself cringe. If that ever happened, she would curse him for the rest of her days, even as she silently and fervently prayed that nothing so awful would happen to them.