Bluebirds

by Margaret Mayhew

  There’ll always be an England

  And England shall be free

  If England means as much to you

  As En – gland means to me!

  On the final note, a deafening cacophony of applause, yells and whistles erupted in the hangar. The contralto, who had finished centre-stage, was bowing graciously, the chorus girls grinning and waving. Felicity looked along rows of pilots again. They were clapping hard – one of them, a pink-cheeked sprog with a touchingly earnest politeness. In front of them Group Captain Palmer was applauding gravely. He had been up many times, too, with them – up fighting one moment and down running his station the next. She had to admire him for that.

  Somehow the Battle of Britain had been won. They had hung on, against the odds. She could feel the tears that had come into her eyes during the song beginning to run down her cheeks and put up her hands to wipe them quickly away. Then she joined in the applause with the rest.

  Twelve

  ‘YOU CAN ONLY stay for a few minutes. He’s not at all well today.’

  Mrs Jervis turned her back on Winnie and began rearranging some tins on the shelves behind the counter.

  ‘I’ll go on up, then, shall I?’

  ‘If you must.’

  Winnie went through the door that led to the living quarters at the back of the shop. She had sat through many a stiff and awkward hour here in the downstairs room, trying to make Mrs Jervis like her better. She had only been upstairs once before, though. Mrs Jervis had been out one day and Ken had shown her his bedroom. It was very small, with only room for the bed, a chest-of-drawers and one chair. His hobby was bird-watching and on the wall he had pinned a collection of wild bird pictures, cut from magazines and newspapers. His mother had come back unexpectedly and found them sitting, side by side, on the bed, looking through a bird book. There had been a horrible scene and she had called Winnie a loose woman. For once, Ken had stood up to his mother, and that had not helped her to like Winnie any better either.

  She climbed the steep little staircase that led up from the corner of the living-room and knocked at his door. Ken was lying in bed, holding a book open on the sheet before him, but he was dozing, not reading. He opened his eyes as she went in and his face lit up. She was dismayed to see how drawn and pale he looked.

  ‘Oh, Winnie! It’s good to see you! I am glad you’re back.’

  He held out both his hands and she went and took hold of them in hers and bent to kiss his cheek. He was wheezing badly, his chest rising and falling as though every breath was an effort.

  ‘It’s good to see you, too, Ken. How’re you feelin’?’

  ‘Oh, fine. Fine. Much better, thanks.’

  She sat down on the chair but he patted the eider-down.

  ‘Sit here, Winn. Closer to me.’

  ‘Your mother might be cross.’

  ‘Let her be cross. I don’t care.’

  ‘She says I’m only to stay a few minutes.’

  ‘You’re to stay as long as you want. As long as you can.’

  She perched on the edge of the bed and held his hand. The sleeve of his pyjama jacket had fallen back and his forearm looked thin as a broomstick.

  ‘I’ll stay as long as you like, Ken. I wish you’d told me before that you’ve been poorly like this. Why didn’t you write and say?’

  ‘I didn’t want to bother you, Winnie. You’ve had plenty of more important things to think about. So’s everybody, with everythin’ bein’ so serious. Another one of my stupid chests didn’t seem to matter much.’ His fingers tightened on hers. ‘I’ve been so worried for you, though. All those bombin’ raids . . . knowin’ you were in danger.’

  She said comfortingly: ‘They’ve stopped comin’ near us now.’

  ‘They say it’s ever so bad in London.’

  She nodded. ‘I think it’s worst down in the docks and the East End. I saw some bomb damage from the train, though. Quite a bit.’

  She had stared down at the gaps in the rows of houses beside the railway line; at the strange sight of odd walls left standing alone, and what had once been indoors now open to the sky. She had seen the patterned wallpapers, curtains flapping at empty windows, firegrates suspended halfway up in space, even a bed roosting lopsidedly on a ledge. Some of the streets had been carpeted with broken glass and rubble.

  ‘They bombed Buckingham Palace,’ Ken said.

  ‘I know.’

  Somehow that had seemed more shocking than anything. The King and Queen might have been killed. She looked up at the pictures of the wild birds pinned to the walls.

  ‘You’ve got some new ones, haven’t you, Ken? I don’t remember that one there in the middle. What is it?’

  He turned his head on the pillow. ‘A bearded reedlin’. They live in the reed beds. I saw a whole flock of them this summer. It’s more of a moustache than a beard, though, isn’t it? That black patch.’

  He would bicycle for miles, over towards the sea. She squeezed his hand. ‘When you’re better you must go out bird-watchin’ again.’

  He started coughing suddenly and turned his head away. When it had subsided, he said weakly: ‘Yes, I’ll do that.’

  She had noticed something else new in the room. There was a steel helmet hanging up on the hook behind the door which must be the one he’d been given as a Local Defence Volunteer. Near it, propped against the wall in the corner was a long pole with some kind of rusty, curved blade on the end of it.

  ‘What on earth’s that, Ken?’

  ‘A pike. You know, soldiers used to have them in olden times. Colonel Foster gave it to me. He had four of them hangin’ on the walls up at the Hall. And some swords. They were all a bit rusty, but I’m goin’ to clean it up. Soon as I can. I’ll use it for drill with the platoon, when I get back on my feet again. We’re called the Home Guard now, you know. Mr Churchill called us that in a broadcast on the wireless. Instead of the LDV. Sounds better, doesn’t it?’

  He seemed proud and she was glad for him. Glad that he need not feel so useless with the war effort. It was the pike, she thought, that would be useless against the Germans.

  ‘Haven’t you got any proper weapons yet?’

  He smiled wryly. ‘Well, we’re supposed to be gettin’ some rifles soon. They keep sayin’ so. We’ll just have to hope Hitler won’t invade ’til then, won’t we?’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll want to invade just now. It’s too near winter. The weather’ll be bad soon. He’ll have to wait ’til next year.’

  She could hear some fighters approaching and went to the window to watch them pass overhead, roaring throatily. Hurricanes. Rolls Royce Merlin vee engines. Twelve cylinder, liquid cooled.

  ‘They come over all the time,’ Ken told her. ‘Bombers too. Your RAF saw the Jerries off good and proper, didn’t they? Made sure Hitler didn’t get a chance to try it.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘They did.’

  ‘That must make you proud,’ he smiled up at her. ‘I’m glad you joined, Winn. Honest. At the time, I didn’t understand it at all, but now I see it was the right thing to do. It was plain selfish of me to want you to stay here.’

  She suddenly felt close to tears. ‘Don’t say that, Ken. It wasn’t. And I miss you badly.’

  ‘I was so afraid you’d meet someone else, you see. I mean, I’m not much of a catch. I know that. But there isn’t anyone else, is there?’

  ‘No, of course there isn’t. I told you so before.’

  ‘I know,’ he persisted. ‘But if ever there was, I’d understand. I wouldn’t blame you, and I wouldn’t stand in your way . . . I want you to know that.’

  She could feel the colour staining her cheeks. ‘Don’t be silly, Ken. There’d never be anyone else but you.’

  She saw the gladness and relief in his face. He looked brighter, stronger.

  ‘That makes me very happy, Winn. So happy, you can’t imagine.’

  They could hear his mother moving about in the living-room directly below.

  ‘I’d b
etter go now, Ken. I don’t want to tire you, or cause any trouble.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Mother. She’s just shut up the shop, that’s all.’

  ‘Just the same . . . I’d better go. I’ll come and see you tomorrow, Ken. And every day of my leave.’

  She kissed his cheek and went downstairs. Mrs Jervis had taken off her overall – the one patterned with faded red and blue flowers that Winnie had seen her wear for as long as she could remember. In her black blouse and skirt – she’d worn black ever since Mr Jervis had died – she looked even more severe.

  ‘I hope you haven’t tired him.’

  ‘I’m sure I haven’t, Mrs Jervis. He was pleased to see me. I think it cheered him up.’

  ‘I can’t think why. Not after the way you’ve treated him.’

  Colour flooded into her face. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Going off and leaving him. Breaking his heart.’

  She said stoutly: ‘I haven’t broken his heart. We’re still engaged. Nothing’s changed.’

  Mrs Jervis took no notice. ‘He wanted you to marry him decently – not go gallivanting off. You could have stayed here, helped in the shop . . . But no, you had to go and join up. Go miles away.’

  ‘I wanted to join the Air Force, Mrs Jervis.’

  ‘And I know why! You thought my Ken wasn’t good enough for you, didn’t you? Thought you’d find something better. You’ve played fast and loose with his affections, that’s what you’ve done. He’s suffered torment, wondering what you might be up to with all those airmen. It’s you that’s made him ill. Brought all this on.’

  The living-room table with its brown, fringed cloth lay between them like a barrier. Winnie hung onto a chair back, feeling almost sick. Her legs were shaking.

  ‘That’s not fair, Mrs Jervis. And it’s not possible. I’ve given him no cause for worry. If Ken’s ill, it isn’t because of me.’

  There was a silence. Mrs Jervis’s lips were pressed into a thin line and her eyes were hard as stone. She stared at Winnie.

  ‘You’d better know something. Ken’s going to die.’

  Winnie thought she had misheard. ‘What? What did you say?’

  ‘I said he’s going to die. He might live a year or two, if he’s lucky. He went to the hospital in Ipswich for some tests. He didn’t tell you that, did he? He wouldn’t want to worry you, however much you worried him. The doctor told me last week. He’s always had a weak heart, though I never told him that, and the asthma’s damaged it even more. A bad attack or infection could carry him off any time. That’s what they say.’

  She struggled to take in the words: to understand that they were real.

  ‘I can’t believe it, Mrs Jervis. It can’t be true.’

  ‘Didn’t you see how ill he looked?’

  ‘He’s been ill so often before . . . I didn’t realize it was so bad . . . I’m so sorry, Mrs Jervis. So very, very sorry.’

  ‘I don’t want your sympathy. I only want my Ken to be happy for what time remains to him.’

  She swallowed. ‘Does he know?’

  ‘No. They haven’t told him. And I haven’t. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it from me. And if you breathe so much as one word to him, I’ll make you sorry for the rest of your days.’

  ‘I won’t. I swear I won’t. I’ll do anythin’ to help make him happy. Anything.’

  Mrs Jervis folded her arms. ‘You can marry him, that’s what you can do. Like you should have done in the first place. He worships the ground you walk on – you should know that. Marrying you is all he’s ever wanted since he was a boy. All he’s ever dreamed of. You’re the only thing he’s ever really cared about. I’ve had to come to terms with that, and it hasn’t been easy. I’m his mother but I don’t mean half as much to him as you do. But I love my son and all I care about now is that he dies happy. If you marry him they’d let you leave the Air Force with your husband being so ill. Compassionate grounds, they call it. You could come here and help me look after him. Give him some happiness in the time he’s got left. If you love him, like you make out, that’s what you’d do.’

  She stared miserably down at the table. Leave the WAAF? Give it all up – the friends, the company, the new life that she had discovered? Give up any chance of ever working with the ’planes? Come back to Elmbury and live here in this gloomy place with Mrs Jervis who hated her? Her heart sank at the thought of it.

  Overhead, Ken started coughing again – a pitiful, sad sound. Poor, poor Ken. It couldn’t be true that he was going to die. Mrs Jervis might have said that just to punish her. But he had looked very bad . . . worse than she had ever seen him. And, if he was really going to die, how could she be so selfish as to think only of herself like this? Even to hesitate? She was very ashamed and lifted her head to meet his mother’s scornful gaze.

  ‘I’ll marry Ken, Mrs Jervis,’ she said. ‘As soon as he wants.’

  It was getting dark when Virginia walked up the hill from Wimbledon Park tube station, but not yet dark enough to hide all the bomb damage. She passed clear evidence of the Luftwaffe’s night-time visits – fallen tiles, shattered windows, collapsed walls, a mound of broken glass swept into the gutter. Number twenty-three at the corner must have received a direct hit because hardly any of it was left standing. The gate, unscathed, was closed incongruously on a shambles of bricks and glass, pipes and porcelain. Part of the staircase climbed out of the debris to nowhere, and the ginger cat who had lived there was sitting on what remained of the front doorstep.

  She let herself into the flat with her key and found her mother in the sitting-room, knitting. The blackout was already in place, the curtains drawn.

  Her mother lifted her cheek to be kissed. ‘I expected you much earlier than this, Virginia. In your letter you said that you would be home in the early afternoon.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. The train was held up. How are you, Mother?’

  ‘As well as can be expected, considering the disturbed nights we’ve been getting.’

  ‘I saw all the damage as I walked up from the station. The house on the corner is a terrible mess.’

  ‘It was hit two nights ago. The woman who lives there was killed, apparently. And a child.’

  ‘How dreadful!’

  Virginia sat down, shaken. It was wicked that the Germans were bombing defenceless civilians now – women and children. Number twenty-three was only a hundred yards or so away.

  ‘Mother, don’t you think you ought to move out of London – for the time being at least?’

  ‘And where would I go?’

  ‘A hotel, perhaps?’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly afford that.’

  ‘A boarding house, then.’

  ‘Full of awful people.’

  ‘It can’t be right for you to stay here. It isn’t safe.’

  Her mother turned the knitting and began another row. ‘I’ve no intention of letting the Germans drive me out of my own home, Virginia. The Government should stop them roaming about the skies all night. All those guns seem to do is to keep us awake. Can’t the Royal Air Force do something?’

  ‘I think it’s difficult for the fighters to see the bombers in the dark.’

  ‘Well, the German bombers seem to find their way around, all right. It’s all very well for the Air Force, out in the countryside, but we civilians appear to be the main target these days. There’ll be another raid tonight, you’ll see.’

  ‘We can sleep in the shelter.’

  ‘I never go in there. It’s extremely damp and it means sharing it with that woman from upstairs. That uniform doesn’t seem to fit you very well, Virginia. And it looks poor quality material. Rather cheap and nasty. You never say anything in your letters about this important work you’re supposed to be doing.’

  ‘We’re not meant to tell anyone about it.’

  ‘How ridiculous! Your own mother! You’re only a clerk, aren’t you?’

  ‘A special sort of clerk, really.’

  ‘Well, it
seems absurd to make such a secret of it. It can’t be anything that important.’

  Supper was dry, grey liver and tinned peas. Virginia listened patiently to a catalogue of complaints about food shortages, about shopkeepers who kept things under the counter, about long queues for everything and about the ATS girls billeted opposite who had no consideration for anybody.

  The air raid siren began its rising and falling wail soon after they had gone to bed. Virginia went into her mother’s room, but she flatly refused to go out to the Anderson shelter in the back garden. She went back to bed and lay listening uneasily to the drone of German bombers. The anti-aircraft batteries had started up and she could hear the thunderous crack of their guns and the muffled, distant explosion of their shells. Presently the heavy crump of bombs began. Sleep was impossible. She got up again, put on her dressing-gown and slippers, and pulled aside the curtains and the black-out blind.

  Because the house was on a hill she could see clearly eastwards across towards the centre of London. The black mass of the city was dotted with incendiary bomb fires. Searchlights crossed and re-crossed the night sky, groping for the bombers. Their long white beams petered out in misty, cotton-wool like swabs that swept endlessly to and fro. Below, the battery guns winked and flashed, patterning the sky with small starbursts of red. An exploding bomb sent up tongues of yellow and red and another, landing closer, produced a sudden flare of brilliant light that was probably a burning gas main. It illuminated the tall chimneys of Battersea Power Station as clearly as day. Two more explosions, coming closer still, sent her hurrying again into the next door bedroom.

  ‘Are you asleep, Mother?’

  ‘How could I be, with all this noise going on?’

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  She made the tea and carried it through on a tray. Her mother was sitting up in bed, her lamp switched on. She had put on her bedjacket and was straightening it fussily round her shoulders.

  ‘Just because there’s an air raid on, Virginia, it’s no reason to forget to put a cloth on the tray. We must keep up standards.’