by Anne Bennett
‘Betty I suppose.’
‘Doubt she’d welcome telegrams or whatever arriving if she hasn’t told Daniel the truth about his father.’
‘She might have no say in it.’
‘Well I hope she’ll tell us if she does hear bad news,’ Angela said. ‘Or anything could happen to him and we’d know nothing. It could have already happened because we usually hear from him every fortnight or so and it has been a month now. I mean he might not have made it.’
‘Write to her, why don’t you?’ Mary said. ‘Ask her straight.’
‘I will,’ Angela said. ‘But I will write a reply to Barry first. Have to get my priorities right.’
TWENTY-FOUR
Before Angela had a chance to write to Betty she received a letter from Stan explaining that he had been unable to write before because he had been injured. He didn’t explain his injuries, seeing no purpose in telling her that he had been in a coma for a week, or that when he came round he had been raving. The savage butchery he’d witnessed, and contributed to, was too much for his brain to cope with.
No need telling Angela any of that but he did want news of Barry and was immensely relieved to hear that he had survived too. So was Angela, knowing that in hospital they were safe. The Military Hospital was on the South Coast and with the job she had, she knew she wouldn’t be given time off to visit either of them, but she was able to write.
‘I suppose we must just be grateful that they have been shipped to Britain,’ Angela said. ‘In his letter Barry said many were being treated in Field Hospitals. I mean a proper hospital is bound to have better facilities.’
‘I should hope so,’ Mary said. ‘So probably the severity of illness or injury determines who will be sent back to Britain.’
‘D’you think they will have leave after, you know when they’ve recovered a bit?’
Mary shook her head. ‘I would like to say yes,’ she said. ‘But I doubt it. That battle that started with that terrible loss of life on the first day is still raging.’
And it was, day after day with no side gaining much ground, for Angela avidly read the news in the papers. ‘I would say that losing so many soldiers would mean that they want these patched up and back on the battlefield in short order.’
Angela thought Mary was right. Everywhere she went now she saw more and more widows’ bonnets, more people with black arm-bands which signified how bad the losses were on a daily basis and she knew if they were to have any chance of winning this brutal, savage war they couldn’t really do without all those trained soldiers. So many had died, those who could recover would be needed again.
The long summer was a good one and most days the sun shone from a sky of cornflower blue and Angela was glad to be out of the hot stuffy factory, for most of her time now was spent delivering the shells. Mr Potter was pleased with Angela, despite their disagreement about her taking time off to say goodbye to her husband. In fact it had made him rethink his rigid stance and relax it a little and so it was common now for any woman in a similar position to be given time off. Mr Potter knew Angela was no shirker and a natural driver and she had been sent to areas of that teeming city she didn’t know existed and she loved the freedom of the roads.
In late August Barry wrote the weekly letter on his own and said his arms were nearly as good as new, he just needed a bit of physio. He was then going back to the fray and Stan too wrote that he was improving daily. Angela was relieved they were both getting better but she knew when they left the safety of their hospital beds the dread would settle in her heart again.
Part of her thought that because they had both survived that ferocious first day of the Battle of the Somme, and so had Maggie’s Michael, when so many hadn’t, it could be seen as a sort of talisman for them both surviving the war. It wasn’t as if they had got away unscathed.
In her heart of hearts though, she knew the fight was far from over. Those who had said the Somme would be the deciding battle in the war were proved wrong and, as for shortening the war, it had done the opposite and had been an abject failure and she had to face the fact that they might lose the war altogether, or they might win after all but the cost would be the body of her darling husband and the father of her child left in a French field, and that would destroy her totally. She wanted nothing bad to happen to Stan either for he was very dear to them all and when they returned to the melee in France, worry could have overwhelmed her if she’d let it. During the day though, especially if she was driving, she had to push these worries to the back of her mind and concentrate on the road.
There was torrential rain in October putting an end to the lovely summer, but while no one enjoyed it much it was much worse for the troops trying to advance across battlegrounds turned into muddy quagmires. Because the war had been brought into homes via the newspapers illustrating the first day of the Battle of the Somme, Angela and Mary knew how much the soldiers must be suffering.
They knew more about this battle now, though it wasn’t one battle but comprised many battles and they didn’t seem to be going forward very quickly. As Mary said, it was like them taking one step forward and two back, and it did seem a bit like that and it was hard to remain hopeful.
Halfway through November though the battles on the Somme were over. In one of the bloodiest battles in history the British had suffered 420,000 casualties, the French nearly as many, and they had gained just 8 kilometres, about 5 miles of enemy ground.
The figures were staggering. It was hard even to imagine so many people. It was as if the world had gone mad. There would be no young men left, because those casualty figures were only for the battles fought around the river Somme. Soldiers had been killed before 1916 and were still being killed in battles being fought elsewhere.
Angela’s eyes were full of pain when she lifted them from the paper and met Mary’s, and she imagined all the families getting the telegrams to tell them their father, son, husband, brother or uncle was never coming home again. He was littering a foreign field in France with comrades who were killed alongside him. ‘This is not a war,’ Angela said to Mary. ‘This is carnage on a massive scale.’
Neither woman had much heart for Christmas, but Connie was only a child so for her sake Angela got down the tree and the decorations from the attic and put them all around the room and Santa visited with books to read, colouring books and a paintbox, and a whip and top. So for her it was a good Christmas.
Connie had stopped asking about her father and though she kissed his picture at night he was really a stranger to her and that bothered Angela. She was not the only one, many other children’s daddies were soldiers as well and most of them hadn’t a clue what daddies did. ‘Why worry about it?’ Mary said. ‘Barry can’t fix that till he’s home again.’
‘I know,’ Angela said. ‘It’s just sad that’s all. Not just for Connie. I mean for all the children.’
‘War is sad,’ Mary said. ‘There is no better word for it.’
The year turned 1917 and peace seemed as far way as ever. The winter was bleak and snowy, gusty winds driving the snow into drifts. It was hard for people to get around, Angela had to take great care driving the trucks on the wet, slippery roads, and even basic things were in short supply in the shops, which was also blamed on the weather.
March was drier, but blustery. ‘Well it is supposed to come in like a lion and go out like a lamb,’ Angela remarked to Maggie, both holding on to their hats for grim death as they crossed the Bull Ring after leaving the tram.
‘We’re a third of the way through the month,’ Maggie complained. ‘Anyway I wish that wretched lion didn’t have such a roar. These winds could take a person off their feet.’
‘You’re right,’ Angela said. ‘Hold your hat with one hand and link arms with the other and we might get to work in one piece.’
They did, though even linked they were blown from side to side and everyone was talking about it as they clocked in.
‘I never thought I would be so pleased to see
the factory as I was today,’ said one girl and there was a ripple of laughter at that.
‘I know what you mean,’ said another. ‘It’s blooming hard going and it takes your breath away.’
‘Hope it dies down a bit before home time,’ Maggie said. ‘Pity you, driving in this, Angela.’
‘Maybe I’ll not have to do much today,’ Angela said. But barely had the words left her mouth than Mrs Paget entered the room as they were changing into their overalls and said that Mr Potter wanted to see her.
Immediately one of the girls said teasingly, ‘Oh what you done, Ange?’
‘Been a naughty girl I reckon,’ said another.
‘That will do girls,’ Mrs Paget said. ‘On to the shop floor if you’re changed and stop wasting time teasing Angela.’
Grumbling good-naturedly they made their way down to the factory and, slightly intrigued, Angela went down to Mr Potter’s office and was astounded by what he asked her to do. ‘The coast, Mr Potter? I’ve never driven anywhere near a distance like that.’
‘I know but really you’re the only one I can send,’ Mr Potter said. ‘You are the best driver and one who can read maps.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘Angela there is a container ship leaving on the afternoon tide and there is room on it for more shells and you know how important those shells are. We have them made but they are doing no good here. They are loading the big truck as we speak.’
‘I’ve never taken the big truck out,’ Angela protested. ‘Bert always drove that. He’d not like anyone touching his truck, you know that.’
‘He hasn’t got to like it,’ Mr Potter said. ‘The fact is, Bert came out of retirement when the war began and he had a heart attack last night. He’s not dead, but the doctor has said he is no longer fit for work.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Angela said. ‘He was a nice old fellow.’
‘He was,’ Mr Potter said. ‘Still is, but it is too much for him. He often looked strained. His wife is pleased because she’s been worried about him for ages. I’ve been a bit concerned myself just lately. Even if he had been at work today I would have hesitated to send him on such a journey.’
‘Oh that would really have set the cat among the pigeons,’ Angela said. ‘You know how possessive he always was about that truck.’
‘I do indeed,’ Mr Potter said. ‘But it’s time now for Bert to take life a little easier and as it is, at the moment there is only you.’
‘I think I’d be nervous driving that.’
‘It’s not that much different to driving the smaller one,’ Mr Potter said. ‘And a sight safer in the wind today. Now, after you’re done, get something to eat in the town before heading back,’ Mr Potter went on giving her a ten-shilling note along with the paperwork needed to give access to the docks. ‘You might be later back than usual, is that a problem?’
Angela shook her head. ‘No. Maggie will call in and tell Mammy if I’m late back.’
‘Good,’ Mr Potter said. ‘And I will be still here whatever time you arrive. I want to see that you are in one piece and make the truck secure for the weekend.’
‘Righto.’
‘You’re all set then,’ Mr Potter said. ‘The truck should be ready for you now.’
The truck was ready, filled with as many shells as it could carry with tarpaulin sheeting roped on top of it and it looked very big, enormous in fact. ‘Are you ready?’ Mr Potter asked.
‘As ready as I ever will be I suppose,’ Angela said as she climbed into the cab. She seemed very high up and that gave her good visibility. The engine growled into life and Angela found it was surprisingly easy to manoeuvre and though she edged her way a little cautiously out of the yard, once on the open road she felt more confident. The sky was just beginning to lighten and she set off at a steady lick for Plymouth was some distance away and if the ship was sailing on the afternoon tide she had to be there in time to have the shells unloaded to catch that tide.
Mr Potter had drawn Angela a very detailed map and she followed it meticulously and found the docks easily. All her paperwork seemed to be in order and she was waved through. She was in a queue of trucks on the same errand and she saw only two of the drivers were men. The queue was moving slowly as they were offloading the shells straight from the trucks to the cargo holds of the ship and Angela was very glad she had made good time, there being many trucks trailing along the road behind her. She was suddenly aware of how stiff she was and as the trucks before her were stationary she got out to stretch her legs. The girl from the truck behind her got out too. ‘God,’ she said to Angela, ‘I’m as stiff as a board.’
‘Me too.’
‘Come far?’
‘Birmingham. What about you?’
‘Exeter. You’ve come a fair distance.’
Angela shrugged. ‘They need the shells don’t they?’
‘Oh I’ll say they do,’ the girl said. ‘After the battle of the Somme I’m surprised they had any left. Did you see the newsreel?’
Angela shook her head. ‘Couldn’t bring myself to watch it.’
‘You got a chap in the forces?’
Angela nodded. ‘A husband. He was injured at the Somme, but it wasn’t life-threatening. He was one of the lucky ones.’
‘He was certainly.’
‘How about you?’
The girl shook her head vehemently. ‘Not getting involved with anyone till this little lot’s over. I have two sisters, my eldest sister’s husband was killed and our middle sister’s fiancé too. It’s not worth the heartache, but I sometimes wonder if there will be anyone left for us when it grinds to a halt. Seems to me the whole world is being stripped of young men. Oh looks like we’re moving again.’
The girl was right and Angela climbed back in the truck, but as she moved forward the girl’s words reverberated in her head, ‘a world stripped of young men’. A whole generation lost. It was a sobering thought.
Angela’s truck was unloaded shortly after this and she set off for the town for something to eat. It was a rare occurrence for Angela to eat out, but she avoided anywhere that looked any way posh, for she was in her work clothes, eventually settling for a small cafe where she had fish and chips with two slices of bread and butter and two mugs of very strong tea and felt in great shape for the journey back.
It was slower going home though, because she encountered more traffic as she neared the cities and then had to negotiate her way through them. The dusk deepened as she approached Birmingham and that meant that she had to cut her speed because the lamps were not very effective.
She gave a sigh of relief as the factory loomed before her. Mr Potter must have heard her coming because he had the gates open and she was able to drive straight into the yard, where she stopped, turned the engine off and jumped down with a sigh of relief. ‘All right?’ Mr Potter asked anxiously.
‘Fine, just a bit stiff sitting in one position so long,’ Angela said. ‘I’m more tired than I imagined I’d be as well.’
‘All that concentrating would tire anyone,’ Mr Potter said. ‘And it has been a long day for you. It’s half past seven now.’
‘Yes, I’ll just take my boiler suit off and get my coat and be on my way,’ Angela said. ‘I’ll be glad to reach home tonight.’
As she got out of her boiler suit though she heard the jingle of coins in her pocket and so before she left she sought out Mr Potter who had returned to his office. ‘These are yours,’ she said, placing the coins on the desk. ‘The meal was only two shillings.’
‘Keep it,’ Mr Potter said. ‘You earned double that by what you have done today.’
Angela was quite surprised. Mr Potter was not known for gestures like that, though he was usually fair and she hadn’t expected extra cash for doing what she had today. It was all part of doing her bit. ‘Thank you Mr Potter,’ she said. ‘It’s very generous of you.’
‘Not at all my dear, not at all,’ Mr Potter said. ‘Least I could do. Now do you want me to call a taxi fo
r you?’
Angela had never been in a taxi and she imagined the hoo-hah in the street if she arrived home in one and so she said, ‘There’s no need, Mr Potter, I only live a step away.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘Positive,’ Angela said. ‘I’m just glad the wind has died down. Maggie and I were nearly blown here this morning and I hadn’t a great desire to be blown back home again this evening.’
‘See you tomorrow then.’
‘Yes see you tomorrow,’ Angela said and reflected as she walked across the Bull Ring that she would rather Mr Potter had given her the morning off than let her keep the eight shillings change. But he hadn’t and that was that and she was sure when she had eaten the meal Mary would have kept warm for her and had a good sleep she would feel as right as rain.
She alighted from the tram and went up Bristol Passage, only yards from home now, when she suddenly found her way blocked by three soldiers. Even in the dimness of the passage it was apparent that all three were very drunk and she gave a sigh of impatience as she said, ‘Can you let me pass please?’
‘Oh hoity toity,’ said one of the men. ‘What if we don’t want to?’
Another said, ‘What are you doing abroad this time of night anyway?’
‘Oh let me pass,’ said Angela. ‘I’m just coming from work.’
‘And what manner of work is it that you do at near eight o’clock at night?’ the first man asked.
‘You’re a street woman aint ya?’ the second man said accusingly.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Angela snapped. ‘I am a respectable married woman.’
The man nearest to her lifted up her left hand. ‘No ring,’ he said. ‘Who you trying to kid?’
He threw her hand down and it brushed against her coat pocket where she had put the coins Mr Potter told her she could keep and they jingled together. The soldier heard it too and his hand dived into her pocket though she tried to stop him and withdrew the coins with a cry of triumph. ‘And these are her earnings for this night’s work.’