Into The Unknown

by Lorna Peel

  “Thank you,” Kate replied and Mrs Hodges frowned.

  “Where are you from, my dear?” she asked, curiosity clearly getting the better of her.

  “Ireland,” she said.

  “I thought so.” Mrs Hodges nodded. “Well, I’m glad to see you joined up. It’s good that some Irish people are prepared to help in the war effort.”

  Furious, Kate almost caught her breath but, luckily, Charlie stepped forward before she could respond.

  “Thank you, Mrs Hodges.” He took the key from her and politely but firmly ushered her to the front door and out of the cottage.

  “If there’s anything you need, Mr Butler,” she added as the door was closing. “We’re just next door.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Hodges,” he repeated, closed the door with a bang, and leant back against it with a sigh. “Right, we have a nosy, prejudiced old bag for a neighbour. Great.”

  “Are people often rude to you, Kate?” Toby asked.

  “A few, but I try not to take any notice.” She gave him a little smile. What a start. “Shall we have a look around? Then we can try the village shop and the obliging Mr Gibson?”

  The cottage was surprisingly large. Windows were opened as they went from room to room to let out the musty unlived-in smell. The living room contained a two-seater floral sofa and two armchairs, a large wooden radiogram – which combined a radio and a gramophone – a bookcase, sideboard and open fireplace. The bedrooms were conveniently laid out, one with a double bed, while the other had two singles.

  Kate began to search for bed linen, eventually finding what she wanted in a chest of drawers in the double bedroom. She hung the sheets, blankets and pillowcases out on the washing line in the back garden to air while Charlie brought their suitcases inside.

  “I don’t think it’s going to rain,” he said, glancing up at the sky, then at the wooden shed in the far corner of the garden. It was too small to put up a washing line in. “I think it’s safe to leave the bedding out on the line and the windows open while we go to the shop.”

  Kate admired Market Kirby as they all walked along the village street. It was typically English, just like the villages she had seen in films. The Church of England parish church, vicarage and church hall stood at one end of the village street. The village inn – the Kirby Arms – butcher, baker, post office, and village shop all stood in a neat row at the other end. Small cottages with roses growing around the doors and in their immaculate gardens stood in between.

  If the village was lovely, Kate hoped the villagers could equal it. As they all trooped into Mr Gibson’s shop she crossed her fingers.

  Mr Gibson did a double-take when he saw the uniforms – RAF, WAAF and school – and smiled nervously as Charlie braced himself and explained for what seemed like the umpteenth time who they were and their circumstances. Thankfully, Mr Gibson turned out to be a gentleman.

  “My brother and sister-in-law live in London; I worry so much. How terrible for you, I’m so sorry. Now choose away and we’ll sort things out when your ration books come.”

  Kate peered at the shelves behind the shopkeeper. She hadn’t a clue what to buy; she didn’t know what any of them liked to eat.

  “What don’t you like?” she asked them, deciding that would be easier.

  “I’ll eat anything,” Charlie replied.

  “Clive?”

  “Parsnips.”

  “Parsnips. Right. Toby?”

  “I don’t mind, Kate.”

  “All right.” She looked up at the shelves again. “I’ll take a loaf of bread, but tomorrow I’ll bake. So, a loaf, tea, flour, baking soda, milk, eggs, butter, potatoes, carrots, jam, oat flakes…” She tailed off, not being able to think of anything else.

  As Mr Gibson went to look for a box, she and Charlie counted their money. They found themselves quite well off and paid for the first lot of shopping before going to the butchers.

  Not at all sure of what she would find in a wartime country butchers, Kate was impressed by what was on offer. Mr Duke was equally sympathetic and they came away with sausages, bacon and stewing beef.

  The school caretaker was waiting outside the cottage with Clive and Toby’s trunks and they were carried inside. He wouldn’t come in for a cup of tea and left straight away. Charlie and the boys took the bedding down off the washing line before going to make the beds and unpack the trunks.

  Kate went to inspect the kitchen and the small walk-in larder off it. The room was more modern than she had expected. There was a large table and four chairs, a dresser, an electric cooker and a solid fuel range. She set to work finding and cleaning the plates, cutlery, glasses, saucepans, kettle and frying pan before peeling the carrots and potatoes. She put them on the electric hob to boil and the sausages on to fry slowly. There were still a few odds and ends in the larder. Sugar, something she had forgotten; salt, that too, and coffee.

  Before serving the evening meal, she went to look for Charlie and the boys. She found them in the living room examining the photographs on the sideboard and mantelpiece. There were pictures of Charlie and Clive, their parents and others she didn’t recognise. At least they had something. Poor Toby was standing behind the sofa at the window looking out at the street. He didn’t have any.

  “It’s ready,” she said softly.

  The meal was devoured gratefully. They all helped with the washing up and putting away, then Charlie set to work lighting the fire in the living room with some of the small hoard of wood he found in the garden shed.

  “It won’t last long,” he said, arranging kindling sticks around an old newspaper in the hearth and setting them alight. “We’ll have to sort something out because it’s still quite cold in the evenings.”

  The bone-dry kindling burned fiercely, he put on some logs and within half an hour the room had warmed up. He went to turn the radiogram on, then clearly thought better of it, and sat down again in an armchair.

  “For the time being, I suggest we have a sort of conference every evening after dinner. Anything that has to be said can be said, things discussed, that sort of thing. What does everyone think?”

  Kate nodded, it was a good idea.

  Toby nodded slowly and a moment later Clive did the same.

  “All right. Today.” Charlie frowned, and she saw him grip the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white. “Today was most likely the worst day of our lives. The day is nearly over, thank God, but there is tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.” He paused, and they waited as he took a deep breath before continuing.

  “They say it gets easier but we’ll have to wait and see. Another suggestion; that we talk. Hard, I know, but hopefully it will help and make things a little easier. We mustn’t bottle things up because, well, it’s like a bottle of pop. A shake and everything fizzes up, the top flies off, and there’s an awful mess. You know what I mean?” he asked and everyone nodded. “We must never forget them.” He glanced at the photographs on the mantelpiece. “Never.”

  “I have a photograph.” Toby looked from Charlie to Kate. “Can I get it?”

  “Of course,” she replied, relieved he had one, and he got up and went out.

  “It’s Mother, Father and Granny,” he said, returning and passing it to her.

  Bob, Helen and Barbara were standing on the steps up to the front door of number 26 all smiles. A lump rose in her throat and she handed it back to him.

  “Put it on the mantelpiece – no, wait.” She peered at the others. “Move those and swap them around. Have your photograph, Toby, at one end, and that one of your parents,” she gave Charlie and Clive a quick look, “at the other. Maybe that one of…” She peered closer. “Is that you, Toby? With Clive?”

  “Yes, it was last year.”

  “Well, it can definitely go up. And the one of Charlie I have and the one of me you’ve got, Charlie. We’ll all be up there together.”

  “I’ll get them and the one Father took of the two of us.” Charlie fetched the photograp
hs and passed them to Clive, who had joined Toby in arranging them all. “That’s…” Charlie bit his bottom lip as he looked along the mantelpiece. “That’s just right.”

  “I know it’s hard that there will be no funerals,” she said. “So maybe we could have something to remember them by? A tree or a plant?”

  “Mother and Father loved trees,” Clive told her, glancing at Charlie, who nodded.

  “So did Mother, Father and Granny,” Toby added. “They loved the copper beech in the front garden.”

  “Shall we see if we can find one, then?” Charlie suggested and everyone nodded again. “Good. Now, we all helped out this evening, but we must all help out all the time. Whether it’s cooking, cleaning, washing up, bringing in wood – when we get some – we must all pull our weight. And the cottage.” He looked around. “I know it’s very old-fashioned, but tomorrow we can change it around to suit us. Think of how you would like to arrange the furniture, that sort of thing.”

  “Yes,” Kate replied, saw Clive yawn and he saw her see him.

  “I think I’ll go to bed.”

  “All right. Goodnight.”

  “I think I’ll go to bed, too.” Toby got up, hugged Kate and kissed her cheek and was followed by Clive. She smiled as they hugged Charlie then left the room.

  “What about you?” she asked, sitting on Charlie’s lap. “You look all in.”

  “I feel it.” He stroked her cheek. “But I don’t know if I could sleep.”

  “Come anyway. Talk to me. Be with me.”

  He nodded and kissed her lips. “I’ll just go and check on the boys.”

  She slid off his lap and put the spark guard in front of the fire then turned the light off before opening the curtains. Leaving the door open to allow the heat to flow through the house, she went into the bathroom, then into their bedroom. Their bedroom. She closed the door and the curtains then switched the light on. What a pity it was under such circumstances. Taking her uniform off, she stared at it before hanging it up in the wardrobe. When would she wear it again? She quickly pulled on a nightdress and got into bed. It was freezing and she shivered as Charlie came in.

  “They’re fine,” he told her. “Well, as fine as can be expected.”

  “And you?” she asked, crawling to the foot of the bed and kneeling behind him as he sat down.

  “Oh.” He shrugged, undressed, and stood up to hang his uniform in the wardrobe. He pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms, they got into bed and he gently drew her to him. “If you weren’t there today, then, I don’t know.”

  She felt the same but was worried. He hadn’t cried yet and that speech he’d made about bottling things up… “We’re safe here,” she assured him softly, stroking his hair and he sighed.

  “Oh, do you feel like you’re suddenly a hundred years old?”

  “Yes. I have to tell my parents. Daddy’s…” She curled her lip. “Daddy is going to do a Daddy, I know.”

  “He won’t make you go back?” Charlie was alarmed, she could see it in his eyes.

  “He’ll try, but he won’t succeed. I’m not leaving you,” she whispered. “Don’t ever think I would.”

  “Thank God.” He kissed her lips. “I need you.”

  “I need you.” She laid her head down on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She woke some hours later, not knowing where she was. Everything flooded back and she closed her eyes but felt Charlie shaking. Raising her head, she heard him sniff.

  “Charlie?”

  “Oh.” He swallowed noisily. “I woke you. I’m sorry.” His voice was uneven and full of tears.

  “Don’t be silly, you have to cry.”

  “I just can’t believe it. My mother and father. Your aunt, uncle, grandmother. I just—” His voice cracked and he sobbed.

  At last, she thought, reaching out for him. He moved into her arms and cried uncontrollably. It wasn’t long before tears stung her eyes and they cried themselves to sleep.

  A loud bang woke her and she felt Charlie jump. Another bang followed and she realised it was the knocker on the front door. Picking up her watch from the bedside table as a third bang echoed around the house, she saw that it was half past ten.

  “I’ll go,” Charlie told her and climbed out of bed with a groan.

  She stretched as he left the bedroom before following him out of bed and putting her head around the door just as Charlie opened the front door. Mrs Hodges stood on the step and Kate rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t their neighbour just leave them alone?

  “Oh—” Mrs Hodges faltered on seeing Charlie’s state of undress and his stubbled, tear-stained face. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, Mr Butler, I just wanted to see if you were all right.”

  “We’re fine, thank you, Mrs Hodges.”

  “Did you go to Mr Gibson?” she asked, then glanced down the hall and Kate blushed, despite her efforts not to, as the woman fixed a cold stare on her.

  “Good morning, Mrs Hodges,” she said, daring her to say anything.

  “Miss Sheridan,” she replied, putting great emphasis on the ‘Miss’.

  “We did go to Mr Gibson,” Charlie informed her. “He was very kind, as was Mr Duke in the butcher’s.”

  “Oh. Good. Well.” Mrs Hodges peered at her hands then up again at Charlie. “I, er, I just wanted to tell you, too, that Mrs Rowlands up at Feathertown sells eggs and milk. All fresh and cheaper than the shops and you won’t need ration books. I’m sure she’d be pleased to see you. Winnie always used to go there, so if you told her who you are…”

  “That’s very helpful, thank you, Mrs Hodges.” Kate smiled as brightly as she could. “Where exactly is Feathertown?”

  “You go through the village.” She pointed in the direction of the shops. “Go past the school, about a quarter of a mile, and it’s a big red-bricked farmhouse on your right.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Hodges. We’ll definitely go there.”

  “There is something else, too. I’ll be seeing the vicar today. Are you churchgoers?”

  Kate exchanged a glance with Charlie. She wasn’t, but she didn’t know about him.

  “We’re not, Mrs Hodges,” he told her. “But we’d be pleased to meet him.”

  “Oh.” She smiled for the first time. “Good. Well, I’ll tell him. Good morning to you both.”

  Charlie closed the front door and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I had to say we’d meet him. We’re going to be enough of an oddity as it is.”

  “And now she knows we share a bedroom,” she said and kissed him as he returned to her.

  “It might broaden her mind a bit.”

  “How are you now?” she asked, noting how tired he still looked.

  “All right, I suppose. You?”

  “The same. I must write to Mummy, today, though.”

  He frowned. “Write?”

  “A telegram would make them think I was dead, and I can’t telephone her, Charlie. It would be too awful, we’d just cry, and I would still have to write.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’ll have to put my thinking cap on.” She sighed. “And be careful as to what I do write, but I am staying here.” Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him again.

  “When you’ve quite finished.” Toby had opened the kitchen door. “Sorry we didn’t answer the front door, but we guessed it would be her. Clive and I have been making porridge.”

  “Good lumpy porridge?” she asked.

  “The lumpiest you’ve ever seen.”

  It was, but it was devoured along with rounds of bread and jam and a pot of tea.

  “That will do until dinner.” Charlie smiled. “We’ll wash up,” he told the boys. “Kate has to write to her mother.”

  Toby’s face paled and he stared at her in dismay. “What will happen when you tell her?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she replied. “I’ve told Charlie and I’m now telling you and Clive – we’re staying here.”

  “Promise?”

  She reache
d out and squeezed his hands. “Promise. So we’d better get used to Mrs Hodges and Market Kirby.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Charlie cleared the table, then he and the boys washed up as Kate sat down with some writing paper she found in the sideboard. He stole regular glances at her as she wrote. There was a lot of pen-chewing and frowning but half an hour later she folded the pages and reached for an envelope.

  “All right?” he asked, leaning back against the sink.

  “I think so.” She slid the pages into the envelope. “I’ve apologised for not telephoning but it would have been too awful. I’ve just told it as it was. Mummy usually wants to know everything and I’ve done that. I’ve told Daddy I’m staying. He can go mad, throw a tantrum – whatever he feels like – but it won’t make any difference.” She licked the envelope and looked up again. “Where are the boys?”

  “Rearranging the furniture everywhere and sorting out their records. We’ll be hearing Vera Lynn until it drives us mad.”

  She smiled. “I want to bake bread and will you help me with the stew? Then we can leave them baking and simmering while we go up to Feathertown. A regular supply of eggs and milk will be very useful.”

  Stew. He had never cooked before in his life. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Wash and peel the potatoes and carrots then chop them up.”

  They set to work and within an hour two loaves were in the oven and a large pot of stew was simmering on the hob.

  “The bread won’t burn while we’re out?” he asked as she closed the oven door.

  “No. You’re quite domesticated, you know?” she said and kissed his lips. “Shall we see the living room?”

  He nodded, taking her hand, and they went into the next room. It had been completely altered, with the sofa now against the wall opposite the fireplace. The room looked bigger yet cosy. A stack of records stood on top of the radiogram and Clive and Toby were going through them and making comments on each one.

  “This looks much better.” Charlie smiled. “What’s Aunt Winnie’s collection like?”

  “Some are all right,” Clive replied. “Unfortunately, she loved opera. We’re going to put those ones up in the attic so they won’t be in the way.”