by Leah Fleming
Send me some photos of you both for my album. Business is brisk here, still churning out happy films to cheer the troops and folks at home. I was background in one of the Bob Hope films with Dorothy Lamour, but now I’m back on Main Street parading up and down in shawl and bonnet. I’ve had to let the corsets out a notch or two.
Back where I started, but it pays the bills.
We’ve got a committee together making sure we get donations of clothes and food from the studios to send to ‘Bundles For Britain’. I’ve been telling everyone about the bomb damage and the homeless children, and making sure they know I have a girl serving abroad who has seen it all for herself. Some stars are generous and others I could name are pretty mean monsters. When I think of all the lies that are peddled in these movie magazines about the stars to promote their films, I could tell some real horror stories about them.
Pearl Levine is one of those who needs her eyes opening to what’s happening to her race. She’s just had a face lift and is covered in bandages and won’t go out, so I’ve cleared out her wardrobe while she’s not looking and packaged stuff up. If she sacks me I’ll give her a piece of my mind, and I know Lisa will!
Give my love to Ruth and Sam. It was sad about Lady Hester, I suppose, but I have my reasons for not mourning her passing. Do ask Ruth to put flowers on my parents’ grave when she next visits.
Take care of yourself,
Mom
25
April 1944
Shari lay back in Charlie’s arms, contented. If this was married life, it was wonderful: the fusion of their bodies, the deep closeness she felt when they were talking and sharing their different lives. Their marriage had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. They both had to ask permission from their seniors and grabbed a long weekend for their honeymoon. They found a half-bombed church and took their vows with all their friends by their sides. Gary stood up as best man, Pam and Deirdre as her maids; everyone in uniform, no-frills, just little bouquets of flowers for the girls and a special buffet laid on by the Rainbow Club staff. It was wonderful.
There was so little time to be together. Things were hotting up for some big push, the American army was moving down towards the coast, slowly, inexorably trundling towards the Channel and France. Charlie’s supply unit was following behind. It was now or never, and they’d taken fate into their own hands.
‘How does it feel to be Mrs West?’ Charlie whispered into her ear.
‘I’m getting used to it,’ she said, fingering the little gold band they’d found in a pawnbroker’s shop window. It was rolled gold and well worn, but she had the idea that it’d been handed down to them with love, and it was a good omen.
‘We’ve got a whole day to ourselves, we ought to go and enjoy it,’ he suggested.
‘I’m enjoying it here,’ she said, snuggling up to him. ‘I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.’
‘Me, neither,’ Charlie smiled. ‘You know sometimes I wonder if we met in another life. I feel I’ve always known you. We seem to agree on so many things. Even our names fit together—West Sharland…I can’t get over that. I told you about the old dame who thought I was her son.’
‘And Aunty Ruth said my granny worked for her until she died. It’s creepy.’
‘Did I tell you, I saw a ghost there? The first time I went there, on the lane. I thought I’d killed a soldier,’ Charlie said.
‘That’s only the drummer boy. Aunty Ruth says he’s often seen walking on the lane at dusk. I’m not sure I believe in ghosts.’
‘Nor did I, until I saw one. Gary saw him too. Do you think we were both meant to meet up? I hope you’ve no regrets. It’s all been a bit of a rush and not the sort of wedding a girl might dream of.’
‘It was perfect and romantic. I’m only following tradition. Mom met my pa on a train going out west.’
‘But you said it didn’t work out.’
‘You’re nothing like my pa. No one ever said anything, but the date of my arrival speaks for itself. That’s not going to happen to us; I’ve taken care of that.’
‘Pity. If anything happens to me,’ Charlie sighed. ‘I’d like to think there was a child.’
‘Don’t say that! Don’t even think it. I’ve learned one thing—that guys who think they’re not coming back often don’t. I’m only loaning you to the war effort. When we get home stateside we’ll have one big party and our folks can meet and celebrate together!’
‘Are you always this bossy?’Charlie laughed.‘I don’t know what mine will make of all this. They’ll love you, but they don’t hold with marrying out. I don’t want to upset them but I suppose I did that anyway when I enlisted. My pa was in the British Army. I know so little about his life. It’s all bricked up inside him, like a walled tower with no door. I know he changed his name. Do you think he did something wrong?’
‘Ask him. From what you said about that visit, it must be something to do with that old lady. Have you written to them yet?’
‘No, and you?’
‘Nope…Ma’ll be upset she’s missed out on things, but it’s our life, not theirs. They’ve had their turn. We don’t know what’s going to happen in the next few months,’ Shari whispered.
‘Only that we’ll be apart…There’s so little time.’
‘So let’s make the most of it right here and now,’ Shari smiled,opening up her arms with a grin.‘Come here,soldier, and give me a good time.’
‘At your service, ma’am!’
The mysterious package arrived one morning when Guy and his neighbours were busy preparing the farm roof after a bad storm. It was left on the doorstep, while he was at work. It had almost been trodden flat so he took the lantern to the table to open it. It was sealed with wax, and inside was his own letter to Mother returned, opened and resealed with an official stamp.
We took the liberty of reading this letter to ascertain that you must be Garth Angus Charles Cantrell, only surviving son of Hester Matilde Cantrell, late of Waterloo House, West Sharland in the West Riding of Yorkshire.
His mother was dead and she had never got to read his change of heart. He wanted to cry out at the stupidity of waiting so long. There were no tears at this news, just an aching sadness that everyone of his family was gone now.
If you could send proof of your identity, we will in due course take matters further. As regards the last will and testament of the aforesaid Lady H. M. Cantrell, concerning house, contents, the farm estate and other properties, these will be subject to probate.
On all of the above we await your instructions.
Yours faithfully,
Messrs Finkel, Boardman and Brown
Castle House, High Street, Skipton
He shoved the letters into the envelope with a sigh. What was he to do? He had no papers, no identity papers in his own name. Should he pursue the matter, rake up all the past and claim Angus’s identity?
‘My mother’s dead. My letter came too late,’ he told Rose. ‘You were right, things should have been seen to years ago. Now there’s land and property rightly ours, but only if I perjure myself to claim it.’
Rose shrugged. ‘Do you want to do that for money?’
‘For myself, no; for our children perhaps…It would give them a start in life,’ he replied.
‘How? If the price of this wealth is deception and lies, how can that be good for them? It’s against everything we believe in. We can manage without your legacy. We have until now.’
‘I know, but what will happen to it all? There are tenants who may depend on us there, not knowing what is to happen to them in cottages and farms.’
‘Leave it to the lawyers to devise some plan. It’s part of a life you wanted to leave behind, or is the idea of wealth already softening your resolve?’ Rose paused. ‘Is there any news of Charlie?’
Guy shook his head. Having sent his own letter to find him overseas, he had heard nothing for weeks now. That was worrying too when they’d gotten used to pictures of the Tower of London, Trafa
lgar Square…The last one had come from Somerset and then nothing, but now here was another service envelope with an overseas postmark in strange writing.
He opened it, curious, and a photograph fell out. Charlie was arm in arm with a pretty girl in uniform carrying a bouquet. He pushed the picture over to Rose. ‘Better look at that…That’s why he’s not written to us,’ he smiled. She took one look and turned it over, shaking her head. Guy picked up the letter.
Dear Mr and Mrs West,
Charlie and I were married in April in London. He is now overseas somewhere in France but he asked me to write to introduce myself to you. My name is Sharland Esther Barr. I am serving with the Red Cross in the capital. We met many months ago and decided we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. We thought it simplest to marry over here, but hope to meet up with you all when this war ends.
You might like to know that my mother named me after West Sharland, where she was born. Her name was Selma Bartley but she is Mrs Barr, now divorced and living in Hollywood where she works in the film industry. Her father was a blacksmith in the village.
As Charlie said Mr West went to school there, you may have known her family. My grandmother went to work at Waterloo House under the Lady Hester Cantrell, who recently passed away. I have visited the village with my aunt, Ruth Broadbent. It is indeed a beautiful place. I hope you will correspond with me while Charlie is overseas. I am anxious for any news from his family to pass on.
I know you will be surprised at such a letter from a stranger but Charlie entrusted me with keeping in touch with you.
Yours sincerely,
Sharland West
Rose looked up at him,lost for words,‘A wife and an English wife…Not one of ours, and now he’s in danger. It’s just like Zack all over again. History is repeating itself, where will it end?’ she cried.
Guy was staring at the girl. ‘She’s a pretty girl. I didn’t recognise her at first. I knew her mother, though. She was my friend, her brothers were the ones who rescued us, and her brother Frank was the one shot; the one I couldn’t save. Is this a punishment?’ He found he was weeping. ‘Will this never end?’ He slumped forward. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘We keep apart as we always have, and I will write, of course. It’s only polite,’ said Rose. ‘But there will be no meetings, no reunions between us. Charleson has made his choice. He cannot expect us to approve.’
‘Don’t be so harsh! She’s Selma’s daughter. We can’t turn her from our door, but they must never know about all that sadness.’
‘Your identity is safe. It’s nobody’s business but yours and mine…not Charlie’s or his wife’s. I will write and she needs know nothing more about the connection. It’s for the best.’
‘But you don’t understand. Selma and I were once…’ he hesitated, not wanting to admit those old feelings.
‘You don’t need to tell me. I can see it in your eyes. It was a long time ago, and it’s nothing to us now.’ Rose could turn those sapphire eyes to steel when she chose.
Later that night Guy couldn’t sleep. He made an excuse to leave their warm bed to sit out on the veranda, watching the fireflies darting across the yard.
The Lord gives and the Lord takes, he mused. There was no escaping His cunning revenge. So you think you can escape your obligations by burying your head in the sand, Guy Cantrell? Think again. A lot of chickens are coming home to roost in your backyard now. So you’d better build some strong fences to keep them out or gather them in. That’s your choice.
Selma and Lisa drank a bottle of wine rereading Shari’s letter and shoving it back and forward to each other. Lisa’s fiancé was missing on board a ship in the Pacific. She was frantic with worry and Selma had been spending time supporting her friend. But now it was her time for comfort.
‘How could she do this to me—go and marry the first bloke she met; some guy from Hicksville, a ploughboy? I’ve never heard of a West in Sharland.’
The photo was grainy and the shadows fell over his face. It was hard to tell what he looked like, just another young soldier, nothing special. Why couldn’t they wait? Oh hell, not that again, she wondered. There was no mention of knitting bootees. These modern girls were sensible, but to rush into marriage…
Then she burst out laughing. ‘Hell’s bells! Now I know what my mom felt like when I wrote to her. Lisa, she’s gone and done what I did, jumped in with both feet. If she thinks we’re going to bring out the fatted calf for her, she’s going to regret it, like I did.’
‘That’s not fair, and you know it. Shari is a bright kid with a loving heart. She’s been round the block with some college boys. Trust her to have thought it through,’ Lisa said.
‘What if there’s a baby on the way?’
‘What if there is? You coped, didn’t you? That’s why you got married. I did my sums when Shari was born and she certainly wasn’t premature!’ Lisa winked at her friend.
‘So why all the rush then?’ Selma said.
‘Oh, come on…think about it. The second front’s opened up. Shari wants to give him hope; always something to fight for. I wish I’d married Patrick. We were too cautious,and now…’Lisa cried.‘What ifhe’s never coming back? How will I survive?’
‘You’ll find a way. You will get used to it but it hurts like hell.’
‘Isn’t it about time you found another beau?’ Lisa smiled, changing the subject, but Selma shook her head.
‘I know it’s stupid but I always thought Jamie would come back and settle down or Shari would come home and we’d be a family again. Now she’s gone too. I’m too old for that sort of thing.’
‘Nonsense! It’s never too late to make a life for yourself.’
‘Listen to the kettle calling the pot black!’
‘It’s different for me. While there’s life there’s always hope…’
‘I know, I’m sorry, I’ve drunk too much. Shari’s news has unsettled me. It’s uncanny her husband having family in the same area as me. I don’t know why but I wish I could have met him first. It’s just a little too close for comfort, and I can’t explain. I suppose I ought to write to his folks and make myself known. If we’re going to be related it seems only polite. What on earth am I going to say that would impress them? A divorced, Hollywood extra isn’t the ideal ma-in-law.’
‘Don’t put yourself down, Selma. You’re always doing it. I bet they didn’t travel half way across the world to make a new life for themselves, forge a career out of nothing and raise a wonderful kid like Shari single-handed and without the benefit of a fancy Sharland School education. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. You’re born and bred in Yorkshire: God’s own county, as you’re always telling everyone here! Sing them your blacksmith’s song and show them your mettle. You’re as good as anyone else. We’ll give Shari and Charlie a homecoming to remember. Put those yellow ribbons out good and proper. You may have lost a daughter but you’ve gained a son with the promise of a family to come. Just be thankful for what you have.’ Lisa reached out her hand.
Selma smiled. Trust her best and oldest friend to put her straight on matters. She was just being selfish and mean-spirited. Who was she to complain? Her own mother never got the chance to meet her own grandchild. Never got the chance to visit America. Why did she feel so unsettled, as if Shari’s wedding had shifted something, stirred her up to face the barrenness of the past few years?
Her own daughter was waiting, worrying for the safety of her new husband as she had once done for her brothers and for Guy Cantrell. It was stirring up all those old feelings again, feelings of injustice, those sad telegrams with bad news, black armbands and mourning posters in windows.
Shari needed her love and support, not her criticism. Life was too short. What could she do to help?
Perhaps she could prepare the ground a little by writing to the West family, or better still, take a trip east and look them up. After all, they were almost one big family now.
It was almost Christmas when Ch
arlie and his supply trucks found themselves bogged down near the Ardennes, stuck in the freezing cold hell of ice and snow. The first he knew that this was no Alpine vacation was when a barrage of German artillery battered them through the forest, turning tree branches into flying scythes. There were sightings of snowmen advancing westwards, crack troops in Alpine suits for perfect camouflage, ghostly figures encircling the 106th Infantry, causing mayhem, confusion and retreat.
They were all caught up in the attack and every man had to defend himself. They were running short of supplies and air support because of the fog. By the middle of December the battle was raging round the hilltop town of Bastogne, and Charlie knew if they didn’t hold the town, all would be lost.
Charlie had been right through Europe and seen enough carnage to know what was in store. They’d been caught napping, thinking the enemy was retreating east, going home without a murmur. Now they knew different. Never underestimate a soldier with his back to the wall, but two could play that game. They may not have been the best frontline troops, but the kitchen boys and the mechanics were no pushover either.
He was sick of seeing carpets of frozen corpses, buddies knocked off by snipers and shrapnel. He was weary and scared of what was to come. He was no crack infantryman but once his dander was up he’d found himself cursing like a trooper, grabbing a gun with the best of them and leading his men forward into the worst of it.
He was gutted when Gary got hit, watching the life ebbing away from a tough guy, who had had so much to look forward to in his life. It wouldn’t be long before a bullet came with his number on it. He tried to think of Shari and those precious nights in the London hotel on their honeymoon; he thought of Ma and Pa and his sisters, so far away. Pa was right about war. He’d seen it all before in a foxhole in France. Had they learned nothing since then?