Coming Home To Holly Close Farm

by Julie Houston

  ‘Well? I’m as well as can be expected, holed up down in Surrey with four chaps.’ She grinned and reached for her cocktail.

  ‘Four chaps?’

  ‘Married to one and gave birth to the other three.’

  ‘Three sons? Goodness me. They must keep you busy?’

  ‘Oh God, no, I merely pop out the little beggars and then hand them over to Nanny so I can come up to London to shop and have lunch.’

  ‘Don’t believe a word she says, Madge,’ Beryl tutted. ‘I’ve been to stay with her, and Nanny doesn’t get a look in. She’s constantly bowling cricket balls for them or being rugby tackled in the garden.’

  ‘Yes, and that’s why I have to escape to London to keep myself sane every now and again. And you, darling?’ Fran turned back to Madge, holding her gaze until Madge, in confusion, reached for the cocktail that had been ordered for her. ‘You never kept in touch once you had your posting up to Harrogate.’

  ‘Oh, you know me,’ Madge felt herself begin to perspire. ‘I was always a northern girl at heart. I’m back in Midhope.’

  ‘And married? Any children?’

  ‘Just the one. Nancy.’

  Fran didn’t say anything but continued to appraise her through a cloud of cigarette smoke.

  She knows, Madge thought in a panic. She knows Nancy is James’s daughter.

  ‘Just the one? And how old is Nancy?’

  ‘Almost eight,’ Madge lied, knocking off a year in order to alleviate any suspicions Fran might be harbouring.

  ‘You left so suddenly,’ Fran continued, smiling. ‘We missed you so much, darling. One minute you were with us, driving Briscoe mad with your terrible cooking, and the next you were up in Harrogate.’

  ‘Well, you know what postings were like. Once you were told you were moving you were off, no argument. And, to be honest, I’d had enough of London.’

  Fran arched a heavily outlined eyebrow. ‘Really? You loved London, Madge. James, I suppose?’

  Madge was saved from answering by Mary thrusting the menu under her nose. ‘Now, stop monopolising Madge, Fran, we’re about to order and then, Madge, I need to know all about this heavenly costume you’re wearing.’

  Madge took a long drink of her pink cocktail. She didn’t know what the hell it was but she welcomed the way it went down and made her feel more relaxed. She didn’t drink, as a rule. Arthur had come home with a cocktail bar one evening and it had pride of place at one end of the sitting room at Holly Close Farm. Madge thought its garish chrome and mirrored exterior ugly but Nancy loved it, especially when Arthur allowed her to make up cocktails for them using the heavy silver cocktail shaker that he kept polished with a weekly going over with Silvo. She took another sip, a deep breath and joined in with the conversation around her.

  *

  Madge looked at her wristwatch. It was the same one, despite Arthur buying her a more expensive one for her last birthday, he’d first given her when she was nineteen and about to enlist. She liked its simple lines, the way it reminded her of being a young girl again. She needed to get a taxi back to the station.

  ‘Which train are you catching, Madge?’ Fran turned towards her.

  ‘The seven o’clock from King’s Cross.’

  ‘You’ve loads of time,’ Fran smiled. ‘I’m just popping to the Ladies; I’ll ask them to order you one at Reception. I’m staying up in London tonight; you could have stayed with me, you know. We could have had a proper chat then.’ She’d given Madge a knowing look.

  Madge smiled back. ‘It’s been lovely to see you all.’ And it had. She’d enjoyed catching up with everyone, finding out what these girls were now up to. Two had trained as teachers and another as a nurse, but none of them appeared to have used their culinary skills learned on Oxford Street in any professional respect. Most, including herself, she realised, were stay-at-home wives and mothers. There’d been one tricky moment when Mary, after rather too many cocktails, had started to tease her about her ‘terrible crush on that rather gorgeous squadron leader – wasn’t he related to you, Fran?’ But Fran, seeing Madge pale, had smartly changed the subject.

  ‘Keep in touch, darling,’ Fran murmured as Madge said her goodbyes and made to leave. The black cab took her along the boundary of Green Park where she’d walked on that very first night with James, and Madge felt such a sense of loss and despair she had to close her eyes in order to blot out the couples walking hand in hand, as well as images of herself and James in the past. She tried to breathe deeply and took out her lipstick, repainting her lips in an effort to calm herself. She didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want to go back to Arthur; he’d question and interrogate her as to who she’d seen, who she’d talked to. Nancy. She had Nancy. Think of Nancy and how much she loved her. But Nancy, she admitted to herself now, maybe for the first time, was closer to Arthur than herself. Probably because he spoiled her so; called her his Little Princess, paraded her around their respective families in the new outfits he was forever buying her. Madge sighed, determined that this spoiling of her daughter must stop; it wasn’t good for her. Madge determined to pack Nancy off to stay with Lydia’s brood up the road for a few days once her school closed for the summer holidays. That would soon knock the airs and graces out of her.

  As the red brick of St Pancras, and then the glazed arched facade of King’s Cross stations appeared through her window, Madge adjusted her hat and gloves and gathered her bag. She smiled at the cab driver, paid him the required amount and gave far too big a tip before stepping out onto the dusty, busy street. It was Friday evening and, while most of the commuters had already made their way home, the concourse as she walked towards her platform was still busy.

  So she didn’t see him at first. Didn’t see him as he waited for her at the gate, knowing that she would have to pass him in order to board the train.

  Madge’s felt her heart stop and then there was a rushing sound in her ears as she clutched her handbag and stared. She couldn’t move as his eyes found hers, and then he was moving, coming towards her.

  28

  ‘Madge? Speak to me.’ James was at her side, holding her arm, pulling her out of the way of passengers hurrying for the train. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘But, you’re dead. He told me you were dead?’ Madge felt faint. She’d never ever fainted in her life but the rushing noise in her ears was still there and she was experiencing strange zigzag lines dancing erratically at the corner of her eyes. She shook her head to rid herself of the sensation and willed her heart, which had gone from nothing to absolute overdrive, to maintain its usual beat. ‘All these years? You’ve been alive all these years and yet you never came to find me?’

  ‘Madge, come and sit down. Come and talk to me.’

  ‘I can’t. I can’t, James. I have to catch this train.’ Madge looked feverishly towards the station clock. She had five minutes. Just five minutes with him. She gazed at his beloved face and at the angry, puckered skin that reached from below his right eye, stretching all the way down his face and into his neck.

  ‘Madge, you can’t go. I won’t let you. There’s another train – there’s the next one.’

  ‘Arthur will be waiting for me off the train.’

  James showed no surprise that it was Arthur who would be there for her at the other end. ‘Are you on the telephone at home? Please, Madge, I have to talk to you. I can’t let you go now I’ve found you.’

  ‘But I wasn’t lost, James. You must have known where you could find me. It’s been ten years.’

  ‘Madge, you were married. With a baby. You’d married Arthur. How could you? Why didn’t you wait for me to come back?’

  ‘Are you for this train, madam? If you are, could you get on board? I’m about to blow the whistle.’ The guard was impatient.

  ‘Yes, I’m coming, I’m coming.’ Madge turned in panic, moving towards the door of the train and then turning once more to James. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t leave him. She couldn’t do this.


  ‘No!’ James took both her shoulders in his hands, pulling her right up to him so that she had to look into his eyes.

  ‘Oh, James, your poor face.’ Madge lifted a gloved hand and touched the marked, scarred and puckered skin. She pulled off the glove and stroked his cheek once again with her bare hand.

  ‘That’s not the worst of it, Madge.’ He wasn’t smiling. ‘I’m a crock, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What? What is it?’ Madge stood back, not even taking in that the train was moving off, gaining a steady momentum as it left the station.

  ‘Lost my right leg.’ James stared hard at her in order to gauge her reaction.

  ‘But you ran over to me. You ran.’

  ‘Pretty nifty with my peg leg after ten years’ practice.’ He grinned the old James grin and then became serious once more. ‘Madge, please, we have to talk. Telephone home. Say you’ve missed the train because… because the taxi was stuck in traffic. You can stay with Fran. She’s staying up in London at her flat.’

  Madge couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think of what to say or what to do.

  ‘There’s a phone box over there, Madge. Please. I have to talk to you.’

  In a daze Madge made her way through the thinning crowd of travellers and commuters. She needed to know. She had to know.

  Throughout the ten-minute taxi ride to Fran’s house in Chelsea, James didn’t say a word. When Madge started to speak, the words tumbling out and over themselves like a dropped bag of marbles, James held a finger to her mouth. ‘Ssh, just wait. Wait until we get there.’

  *

  ‘I’m sorry, Madge, I had to telephone James and tell him where he could find you.’ Fran, her usual sang-froid gone, appeared shame-faced. ‘I just couldn’t let the two of you miss each other again.’ Once James had left the sitting room to find water for his whisky, she moved over to Madge and hugged her, seemingly unable to let her go. ‘I’m going out for supper with Bertie Collinsworth – he’s Hugo’s godfather and always wants an update as to his Christian duties – so you must help yourself to a drink and get to know one another all over again.’

  Madge stared at her. ‘You’ve changed your tune, Fran,’ she said slowly. ‘You were as bad as James’s father for wanting to keep the milkman’s daughter from up north in her proper place.’ Madge was cross and glared at Fran. ‘You’re ten years too late, Fran.’ She put a hand to her temple, massaging the insistent thump that was starting to make her feel sick.

  The tension she felt hadn’t been aided by Arthur’s terse response when she’d told him she was staying over in London for the night. ‘Arthur, I don’t need your permission to stay the night with Nora.’ She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t said Fran. ‘I’m still catching up on ten years’ worth of gossip. I’ll be back at some point tomorrow and if there’s any problem looking after Nancy then take her over to our Lydia’s or my dad’s.’

  ‘You need aspirin.’ Fran frowned in sympathy.

  ‘What I need, Fran, is an explanation.’

  ‘Madge, I’m sorry. I was wrong to try to come between the pair of you.’ Fran broke off before taking Madge’s hand in her own. ‘Darling, James has never loved anyone like he loved you. I’m so sorry.’ She brushed away a tear. ‘Good God, what is wrong with me? Getting soft in my old age.’ She turned smartly on her Amalfi stilettoes and headed for the door.

  *

  ‘We’d been sent to attack the Dortmund-Ems Canal, which was an important transport link for German industry near Gravenhorst.’ James had returned with his drink. ‘We did what we’d been sent to do but, travelling home, we were intercepted by a Junkers 88, a German night fighter, setting the bomber on fire. The crew bailed out just as the plane crashed into a field near a farm outside the village of Zelhem, near the German-Dutch border.’

  James took a sip of his drink but almost immediately replaced the glass on the polished walnut table in front of him. ‘But I had your little cross.’

  ‘Oh, James.’ Madge ignored her own drink, wanting to know it all.

  ‘But, as you see, I lost half my face and half my damned leg. Madge, I was lucky. No, really,’ he said as she made to protest, ‘I should be dead, like the others.’

  ‘You were dead. For ten years I thought you were dead.’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t remember much about it. Shock, amnesia, severe fracture of the skull as I bailed out, landing badly. The whole lot, apparently…’ James attempted jollity but failed. ‘Anyway, I was holed up in The Netherlands in a military hospital and then taken to several POW camps in Germany. The rest of the war went on without me.’

  ‘When Fran told me you’d been reported missing I tried to telephone your mother, but she was too upset to speak to me. I telephoned Bourne constantly until they got really fed up of me and told me to stop – they couldn’t tell me anything further. And then Arthur came over to Oxford Street to let me know as soon as it was confirmed at Bourne. Your group captain friend had confirmed it, he said. He’d seen some notice up with your name on it, he said…’ Madge felt feverish with trying to explain.

  ‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he?’ James arched an eyebrow. ‘He tells you I’m dead, that I’m out of the running, and he can seize his chance and get you back. What I don’t understand, Madge, is why you married him. Did you love him?’ James shook his head. ‘I don’t get it. Did I mean nothing to you that you could almost immediately marry someone else? And Arthur, for heaven’s sake?’ James stood up, knocking back his drink. He went over to the window, looking down on Russell Square, and then back towards Madge as he paced the room, as much as he could with his disability, like some caged animal.

  ‘But, you were dead.’ Tears that, until now Madge had managed to contain, ran freely down her face and she made no attempt to stop them.

  ‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean you marry someone you don’t love just because you can’t have someone you do.’

  Madge took a deep breath. ‘I got pregnant.’

  ‘Yes, Arthur said the pair of you had a little girl.’

  ‘Arthur said?’ Madge stared at James, who was still moving around the room, unable to sit down.

  ‘As soon as I was able, I drove up to your parents’ house. It really hadn’t changed a bit in the three years since I’d been there last. Anyway, there was only your grandmother there – I don’t know where your parents or Isaac were – and she took great pleasure in telling me you were married and living at Holly Close Farm.’ James glared at Madge. ‘That was when I wished I’d died like the others, Madge. Holly Close Farm. My farm, my dream. I can’t tell you how I’d designed and redesigned that place both in my head and then when I was able, in the POW camp, on paper. The other chaps used to tease me about it.’

  ‘But you could have written to me. Prisoners of war are allowed. They are, aren’t they?’ Madge felt herself grow angry and she stood up, her heart racing, facing this man who she knew she had never, ever, stopped loving. ‘You could have written and TOLD ME YOU WEREN’T DEAD.’ She shouted the five words, spitting out each syllable staccato until they seemed to hang in the room, joining the dust motes caught in the shaft of late evening sun pouring in through the open window.

  ‘I did, Madge, I did.’ James caught her wrist, pulling her to him, forcing her to look at him. ‘I was so ill for such a long time, Madge: didn’t seem to be able to remember a damned thing. But somewhere, here…’ James thumped his chest angrily ‘… there was this… this light, this picture of a blonde girl with big blue eyes. Someone I knew I loved, but I couldn’t quite grasp the picture. It would appear and then… and then it would disappear… I didn’t know who you were. I just knew I loved you and I had to pull through to find you again.’

  ‘Oh, James.’ Madge didn’t know what to say. She had to close her eyes to eradicate the image of James, unable to remember her, locked up in a POW camp with a burned face and his leg gone.

  ‘Eventually,’ James went on, ‘it all came back. I wrote to Fran, who said you’d been posted back up north and she wa
s no longer in touch. I sent letters to every damned RAF camp in the north hoping at least one would eventually make its way to you. I asked my parents to find you, I asked Fran to find you, I wrote constantly to you at home, never quite knowing if I’d got the right address.’

  ‘But I didn’t get anything. Nothing. Nobody passed on any letters. I swear, James, I didn’t know.’

  ‘Madge, darling, I know that now. As I say, as soon as I was home and able to drive with just the one leg –’ James grinned, ‘bloody nightmare, I can tell you – I set off to find you. My father was furious, tried to stop me leaving the house, telling me I was…’ James paused and searched for the exact words, ‘“a blithering idiot to be driving all that way with one leg in search of some milkman’s daughter you’ve got the itch for.” And that’s when your grandmother told me you were married. I had to see you, needed you to tell me yourself, so I drove down to Holly Close Farm. And there was pugnacious little Arthur, like a damned boxer ready for a fight, telling me in no uncertain terms to get off his land. That you were happily married with your little girl.’

  ‘And did you? Just go like that without waiting to see me?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. Arthur Booth, even with a gun in his hand and me pretty unsteady on one leg, didn’t frighten me.’

  ‘A gun?’ Madge was horrified. ‘A gun? Are you sure?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t a banana, Madge. I’ve seen enough guns in my life to know what one looks like.’ James reached out, drawing Madge to him, stroking her hair. ‘So, I drove up the lane and parked on the main road and waited and waited. And then a truck drew up and you got out.’

  Madge frowned. ‘A truck? No one drove much… no one had a car then… Oh, Lydia’s husband. He drove for the mill. I must have been at Lydia’s house and he’d dropped me off. But you saw me? James, you saw me? And you didn’t shout out to me? Didn’t stop me?’ Madge stared at James in bewilderment.

  ‘I couldn’t do it. You stood talking to whoever’d dropped you off and then you were smiling at your little girl, kissing her face with such love. How could I march back into your life after that? You’d not answered any of my letters; I was crippled and with a disfigured face. I watched you swing your daughter up onto your shoulders and walk down the lane. I sat there for a good half an hour willing myself to go to you, to claim you back. But I couldn’t come between you and your little girl.’