Soldier's Daughter, The

by Goodwin, Rosie

  Talwyn and Howel were downstairs waiting for her when she entered the kitchen and she flushed slightly as she saw Howel eye her up and down approvingly. He was looking very handsome in a dark suit and a crisp white shirt, and with his hair slicked to his head with Brylcreem she thought how different he looked.

  Mrs Dower was fussing over the children and seeing Briony, she exclaimed, ‘Why, you look as pretty as a picture! Now get off with you and have a good time. And don’t worry about these two tinkers. They’ll be good as gold with me.’

  Briony put her warm coat on and after giving Mabel and Alfie a quick kiss the three set off. The mist was rolling in from the sea and somewhere far out on the waves a ship’s foghorn sounded mournfully in the darkness.

  Howel made Talwyn and Briony tuck their arms into his to prevent them from slipping, and in no time at all they arrived at Poldak village hall. As they entered, Briony saw the band tuning up on a small stage at the end of the room. A number of young people were already assembled there, and she saw one girl in particular glaring at Howel; she guessed instantly that this must be Megan, his former girlfriend. She was very pretty – fair-haired with big blue eyes – and Briony wondered why he had ended their relationship. Megan certainly looked nice enough. She took Talwyn to a small cloakroom where they hung up their coats and tidied their hair, and when they got back, Howel had found them a table and got them a drink. He had bought a pint of ale for himself from a small bar, and a shandy for her and Talwyn.

  The blackout curtains were firmly in place across the windows and eventually the lights inside dimmed and the band began to play. A young woman who turned out to be the singer took centre stage and began to belt out ‘You Are My Sunshine’ – one of Briony’s particular favourites. Soon Briony was tapping her feet in time to the music and slowly she started to enjoy herself. The dance floor was already full, and when the singer began to croon ‘They Can’t Take That Away from Me’ Howel bowed and held his hand out. As they whirled past Megan, Briony saw the girl’s eyes follow Howel hungrily and she couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Even so, she decided that it wouldn’t hurt to let her hair down for a change. The only thing that stopped it from being perfect was the fact that she was dancing with Howel and not Ernie – but she tried not to think of that.

  Every so often, she dragged Talwyn onto the dance floor. She didn’t want the girl to feel left out and she was surprised at what a good dancer she was. Talwyn had a natural rhythm and grace and she was so pretty that every young man in the room watched her as she moved.

  The time passed in a flash, and soon it was approaching the end of the evening. When Howel was about to drag her onto the dance floor again, Briony laughed and rubbed at her ankles, saying, ‘These damn shoes are killing me! Why not take Talwyn on for a dance? I need to nip to the ladies’.’ He obligingly did as he was told and Briony grinned as she noticed that his thick hair had now sprung out from his head again and he had taken his tie off.

  When she came out of the lavatory and went to wash her hands, she found herself face to face with Megan, who was combing her hair in the small mirror above the basin.

  The girl obligingly moved aside to allow Briony to rinse her hands before saying, ‘You must be Briony. Hello, I’m Megan Brown.’

  ‘It’s nice to meet you,’ Briony said politely, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

  ‘So how long have you and Howel been seeing each other then?’ the girl asked next.

  Briony’s mouth gaped before she stuttered, ‘Oh . . . we’re not seeing each other. I mean, not in that way. Howel and I are just friends.’

  Megan said sadly, ‘You might think of him as a friend, but I don’t think Howel thinks of you that way. I can’t remember a time when he looked at me as he looks at you now.’

  ‘Please . . . you’ve got it all wrong. I have a young man back at home,’ Briony spluttered then added hastily, ‘Well, he’s not back at home at the moment. He’s in the RAF.’

  Megan stared at her for a moment, then shaking her head, she walked out of the cloakroom without another word. Briony felt confused. Whatever has given her that idea? she thought. Howel has never been anything other than a perfect gentleman to me. She went back to their table hoping that Megan had believed her.

  The singer was having fun with the Andrews Sisters hit ‘Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh!’ Briony noticed that Megan had left and as she watched Howel twirling Talwyn around, she felt as if she was seeing him for the first time. He was very handsome, not in the classic style like Clark Gable, one of her favourites actors, but in a rugged sort of way. And he was undoubtedly kind and dependable. In fact, she wasn’t sure how she would have got through these last awful weeks without him. But she was in love with Ernie – wasn’t she? Admittedly, they hadn’t openly agreed to become a couple, but since his visit they both knew that once the war was over they would be. It was an unspoken agreement. She shook herself mentally and looked away. She had enough complications in her life without adding to them. So why, she wondered, did her eyes keep straying back to him?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Once Mrs Brindley had gone, Lois crossed to the sink and fetched out the bottle of cheap sherry she had hidden behind the packet of washing soda. The temptation to take a swig was great, but summoning every ounce of willpower she had, she resolutely poured it away. She would be no good to her children if she allowed herself to become a sot, and she wanted to be there for them when they came home. Her mind drifted back to happier times, and just for a few moments the pain inside subsided and she could pretend to herself that all was well with the world. Any minute now, James would walk through the door and he would take her to bed and she would snuggle into his warm firm body. But first she would peep in on the children and see them all tucked up snug and warm and fast asleep with not a care in the world . . . But then the sound of an explosion close by jerked her back to reality and she shuddered. Her mind was now torturing her with images of Sarah lying in an iron lung, an empty crippled shell of the pretty little girl she had once been, and James dying on the battlefield in thick cloying mud as he called out for her with his last breath. She pushed the images away as she raced towards the front door, snatching up her coat, gas mask and handbag on the way. Some poor sods had copped it already, if she was any judge, so no doubt they would need as many helping hands as they could get up at the church hall.

  As she pelted along the road, the sky overhead became black with enemy planes, which blocked out the light of the ‘bomber’s moon’. And then suddenly there was a whistling sound and before Lois could take in what was happening she was tossed into the road like a rag doll. Stunned, and deafened by the blast, she lay there for a moment, but then lifting her head, she saw the front of a house at the side of her collapse as if it was nothing more than a pack of playing cards. Screams rent the air as a woman, covered from head to foot in thick dust, staggered from the wreckage clutching a small baby in a shawl tightly to her.

  ‘My little girl is still in there,’ she cried hoarsely as Lois struggled to her feet. She could hear people running up the hill behind her, but because she was the closest to the woman, she went to her. The fact that the poor shocked woman was close to hysteria didn’t make things any easier, and the baby, was wailing loudly.

  ‘My Sarah is still in there,’ the woman whimpered, waving a trembling finger towards the house.

  Sarah! Lois gulped, then throwing down her bag and her gas mask, she scrambled across the rubble towards the back of the house, which was leaning drunkenly, without even thinking about what she was doing. She soon found herself in what had clearly been the kitchen. By then, her hands and knees were scraped and bleeding, and lumps of plaster were falling all about her but she was oblivious to the pain – and then she spotted a little girl huddling beside an overturned chair. The child was covered in dust and she was clearly terrified.

  ‘Come on, Sarah, sweetheart. We have to get you out of here,’ Lois coaxed as she clambered across the bedroom furniture that had
fallen down into the kitchen from the floor above. In no time at all she had scooped the sobbing child up into her arms and she was halfway back across the room when there was an ominous rumble – and glancing up, Lois saw the back wall tumbling rapidly towards her.

  As Mrs Brindley cowered in the shelter clutching her hot-water bottle, she trembled uncontrollably. She had lived through a fair few air raids by now, but never one like this. The explosions were distant but constant – in the direction of Coventry, she judged – although some had been a little too close for comfort and she knew that more than a few people would be losing their lives this night. She just wished that she could have persuaded Lois to come into the shelter with her instead of going off tramping the streets. The raid had been going on for hours, but as yet there was no sign of it abating. Eventually she risked dragging the shelter door open and peeping out. In the distance a huge pall of smoke rose into the air and the sky was red with flames. The clear, crisp, starry night had made the area an easy target. She shuddered and closed the door, dragging Tigger onto her lap. He usually slept through the raids but even he was nervous tonight and kept flexing his claws and arching his back. The bombs made a whooshing noise as the Luftwaffe released them from their planes, followed by loud bangs that were enough to waken the dead. But all the woman could do was sit there and pray that it might soon be over.

  At last, early the next morning the all-clear sounded and when she cautiously inched the door open Tigger shot off in search of a live breakfast. The bombsites all over the town were riddled with rats and mice; they were easy pickings and Tigger took full advantage of the fact. Crossing the yard, Mrs Brindley hurried through the filthy air. A fog of smoke shrouded everything for miles around and fires continued to burn.

  Once in the kitchen, she fiddled with the dials on the wireless until at last a voice crackled into being and made a terrible announcement. The whole city centre of Coventry had taken the brunt of the raid; even the magnificent St Michael’s Cathedral was gone. It was feared that hundreds, if not thousands, had lost their lives – but as yet it was too soon to know the exact death count. The trams were now no more than mangled wrecks, and hundreds of homes had been razed to the ground leaving countless people with nothing but the clothes they stood up in. The Army were furiously digging amongst the ruins for survivors, and fire engines were struggling to control the blazes which were still burning out of control. The announcer was advising anyone made homeless to go to the nearest church hall, where they would be given food and temporary shelter by the WVS. Already it was reported that there was a mass exodus of homeless people fleeing the city on foot, pushing whatever belongings they had managed to salvage in anything they could find: old hand carts, prams and pushchairs.

  As the full horror of what she was hearing struck home, tears began to spill down Mrs Brindley’s cheeks. The poor, poor souls! It just didn’t bear thinking about. She had a feeling that this night would go down in history.

  She was dog-tired now, but after making a pot of tea she decided she would take a mug over to Lois and then try to get a few hours’ sleep. God knows, they had all had precious little of it last night. She carried the brimming mug across the yard, trying her best not to spill any, and when she reached Lois’s back door she called, ‘Lois, are yer awake, luvvie? I’ve brought yer a brew.’ She tried the handle and was relieved when it opened at her touch. Stepping into the kitchen, she blinked as her eyes tried to adjust to the gloom. But it was no good; she couldn’t see a thing, so she carefully placed the tea on the wooden draining board and began to open the curtains, letting the early-morning light into the room. She then went to the foot of the stairs and called again. Only silence greeted her, so eventually she climbed the stairs and peeped into Lois’s room. Empty. Lois should have been back by now, surely? Deciding there was nothing much she could do, Martha set off back to the comfort of her own kitchen.

  She had barely got inside when she heard someone knocking on Lois’s front door. Dashing along to hers, she opened it to find one of the firewatchers standing on the pavement. He was covered from head to foot in dirt and grime and looked so weary that Mrs Brindley’s heart went out to him.

  ‘Does Mrs Lois Valentine live here?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye she does, lad. But she ain’t in at present,’ Martha answered.

  ‘Then is her nearest an’ dearest here?’

  ‘No, the kids are evacuated to their grandparents in Cornwall, an’ her old man died some time ago.’ Mrs Brindley was worried now. ‘If there’s anythin’ yer need to pass on to the children, yer can tell me,’ she said weakly. ‘I’m about all they’ve got now, an’ I’ve been keepin’ me eye on Mrs Valentine since the little ’uns went – but as I said, she ain’t in at present. She’s in the WVS and went off to help last night – and she ain’t come back yet. I know ’cos I went round to check not long since.’ Her palms had suddenly become clammy and her heart was hammering so hard she was sure he would hear it.

  ‘Ah well, the thing is . . .’ The man paused to push his tin hat aside and scratch his head, sending a cloud of dust flying into the air. He was grey from head to foot apart from the whites of his eyes, and even they were red through smoke and lack of sleep. ‘The thing is, I’m afraid Mrs Valentine won’t be comin’ home, missus. She were killed last night, see, tryin’ to rescue a nipper from a house that had been bombed further up the Ford. The blast took the front clean off the place, but accordin’ to witnesses, Mrs Valentine went in there wi’out a thought fer herself. While she were tryin’ to get the child out o’ there, the rest o’ the house came down atop of her an’ she saved the little ’un by throwin’ herself over her. The woman were a true hero.’

  ‘My God!’ Mrs Brindley’s hand rose to her mouth as she stood there in shock trying to take in what he had told her and wondering what else this bloody war was going to throw at them. Lois might have had her faults, God rest her soul, but she had died making theirs a land fit for heroes.

  How on earth was she going to break the news to the children?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A cold hand closed around Briony’s heart the following morning as she listened to the wireless. There had been a terrible raid on Coventry, lasting all night and causing catastrophic damage and loss of lives. Had her home town managed to escape the attack? Was their mother all right? Her first instinct was to race to the station and get a train back home, but that was out of the question. She couldn’t just abandon the children.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Howel asked as he came into the kitchen and kicked the door shut behind him. His arms were full of logs and he dumped them onto the hearth. Briony was as white as a ghost and he wondered what could have happened now on top of everything else. She’d certainly had more than her share of bad news to cope with lately, and sometimes he felt that the poor maid was fighting her own war.

  ‘The Jerries have blitzed Coventry,’ she told him in a wobbly voice. ‘And it’s only a few miles from Nuneaton.’

  Without her saying another word he knew that she was thinking of her mother, and crossing to her he placed one arm about her shoulders and gentled the glossy dark hair from her face with the other.

  ‘Your mother will be fine, if that’s what you’re worrying about,’ he told her soothingly.

  She stared into his eyes, willing herself to believe him – but somehow she couldn’t. That awful feeling was back again and she felt sick inside.

  ‘I have no way of getting in touch with her apart from sending another telegram. What should I do?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing,’ he answered calmly. ‘If anything was wrong, someone would have telephoned here. And you know what they say – no news is good news, so stop worrying.’ Then hoping to cheer her up a bit he asked, ‘Did you enjoy yourself last night?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, as a brilliant smile transformed her face. ‘But I don’t think those two did.’ She jerked her head towards the door leading into the hallway. ‘Your mother told me Sebastian and my grandmothe
r had a tremendous row while we were out. It was so bad that she could even hear it in here.’

  ‘Huh! About money no doubt,’ Howel said caustically.

  She nodded. ‘Yes it was, as a matter of fact. Apparently Grandmother refused to give him any more and he called her all the names under the sun.’

  ‘I dare say he thought she’d be an easy touch once his father was out of the way, but Mrs Frasier seems to be finally coming to her senses. And with her husband barely cold in his grave, poor man.’ They sat down together at the table and Briony handed Howel the last slice of jam tart. She was going to bake a treacle one later on. It was as they were sitting there that Sebastian strolled in and glowered at them. He often took the short cut through the kitchen if he was heading for the barn or going to get his car.

  ‘It must be nice to have nothing better to do than sit there eating my food,’ he said sarcastically. ‘I wonder what I pay you for.’

  It was on the tip of Howel’s tongue to tell him that in actual fact it was Sebastian’s mother who paid his wages, but he decided against it.

  Briony, however, positively bristled. ‘For your information I only get paid a very small allowance,’ she said coldly.

  ‘And you should think yourself lucky to be getting that!’ he snarled. ‘Sitting here in the lap of luxury scrounging off us.’