A Ration Book Daughter

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A Ration Book Daughter Page 24

by Jean Fullerton


  ‘Would you mind carrying these to the kitchen for me, Sergeant?’ she asked.

  With his eyes still burning into his commanding officer, Cathy felt Archie tense again, but then he adjusted the weight in his arms and stood aside.

  Without looking at Monkman, Cathy turned and walked to the door with Archie no more than half a step behind her.

  Carrying the box effortlessly in his arms, Archie walked with Cathy to the serving hatch.

  ‘There you are, Sadie,’ Cathy said, with a slight waver in her voice as Archie slid the box across the counter.

  ‘Thanks, luv,’ the jolly-looking woman on the other side replied.

  Turning, Cathy looked up and gave Archie a too bright smile.

  ‘And . . . and th . . . thank you, Archie, for . . .’ Her chin started to quiver.

  Taking hold of her elbow, Archie guided her away from the bustling canteen and behind the book-exchange shelves in the corner.

  Tears welled in her eyes as she started crying.

  The image of Cathy’s rumpled clothes and fearful eyes flashed through Archie’s mind, igniting fury in his chest.

  Balling his fists, Archie turned but Cathy caught his hand.

  ‘Don’t,’ she said, holding his tight fingers in her soft ones. ‘I said he’s not worth it.’

  Archie mastered his temper then stepped in front of her to shield her from prying eyes. He pulled out his clean handkerchief and handed it to her, then watched helplessly as she wept.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, aching to take her in his arms.

  Gathering herself together, Cathy looked up.

  ‘It’s not your fault, Archie,’ she said, tears shimmering on her lower lashes. ‘It’s his. For being a pig.’

  ‘But if I’d seen him disappear after you, I could have stopped him,’ he replied.

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘I think I did that pretty well myself.’

  The corners of Archie’s mouth lifted slightly. ‘You did that, bonny lass. But I hate that he’s upset you so.’

  ‘He hasn’t,’ said Cathy. ‘To be honest, I’ve been dealing with blokes trying it on since I stopped wearing pigtails, it’s just that when he put his hand over my mouth it reminded me of . . .’

  Biting her lower lip, Cathy gave him a hesitant glance.

  ‘Your husband?’ he said.

  She nodded and anger again flared in Archie’s chest.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, seeing his expression. ‘Lots of women have it worse than I did.’

  ‘That doesn’t make it right,’ Archie replied.

  She studied him for a moment then spoke again. ‘You’ve never laid hands in anger on a woman, have you, Archie?’

  ‘Never,’ he replied.

  Cathy gave a low laugh.

  ‘I don’t know why I even asked because I already knew the answer,’ she said, dabbing the last few tears away. Her too-bright smile returned. ‘I can’t stand here chatting to you all afternoon. I have a rest centre to run.’

  He placed a hand on her arm. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Cathy?’

  ‘I’m fine, honest,’ she replied. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Letting his hand fall to his side, Archie stepped back.

  Giving him another little smile, Cathy walked past him and headed into the main part of the hall.

  Archie watched her go.

  No woman deserved to be manhandled by the likes of Monkman or beaten and abused by her violent husband. What beautiful, clever, generous, open-hearted Cathy Wheeler deserved was to be loved and cherished for the rest of her life, and he just prayed she would let him be the man who would do just that.

  Chapter Eighteen

  AS SHE GAZED around the crowded hall, Marjory Paget had to admit that, despite her fury that Cathy Wheeler and her cronies had voted to adopt the bomb disposal squad instead of her dear son Reginald’s squadron, the afternoon had gone very well. Very well indeed.

  Even the appearance of that uppity sergeant and his rough soldiers hadn’t marred proceedings. Well, not much.

  And what good fortune, nay, divine intervention, that Lieutenant Monkman, an officer and a man of refinement, had been designated to represent the Section at the centre’s little ceremony.

  Of course, those of superior breeding recognised others of the same, and having established that the Monkmans and the Pagets were, albeit distantly, related, the whole afternoon had gone swimmingly. Especially when the lieutenant mentioned in passing that the Bishop of Banbury was his godfather and that he was looking for a new chaplain.

  Her smile widened at the thought of exchanging the filthy streets and coarse people of East London for the lush fields and forelock-tugging yokels of the shires.

  A gruff male laugh cut across her rural dream and Marjory looked around. She saw two of the bomb disposal squad with their arms around the shoulders of a couple of loose-looking young women.

  Marjory’s mouth pulled into a thin line. Typical!

  And where was that sergeant of theirs who was supposed to be keeping them in order?

  She glanced around and her mouth pulled even tighter when she spotted him tucked in the far corner with Mrs Wheeler. Their heads were bowed and they looked deep in conversation.

  She was just going to go over to give him a piece of her mind about his men’s behaviour when the hall door swung open and Lieutenant Monkman walked unsteadily back into the hall.

  He spotted his subordinate and loathing contorted his face.

  Marching across to the edge of the stage, he grabbed his cap and swagger stick. Tucking the latter under his arm and jamming the former on his head, the commanding officer of No 8 Section marched back across the hall and practically swung the double doors off their hinges as he stormed out.

  Seeing her dreams of a leafy parish in Oxfordshire leaving with the lieutenant, Marjory hurried after him.

  He was just a few paces from the exit when she reached the corridor.

  ‘Are you going, Lieutenant Monkman?’ she called.

  He spun on his heels and glared at her.

  ‘I most certainly am, Mrs Paget,’ he snapped back. ‘And if I’d known—’

  ‘Known! Known what?’ she asked, her heart palpitating in her chest. ‘What has happened?’

  He paused.

  ‘Please,’ she urged. ‘Whatever has caused you such distress, Lieutenant, at least give me the chance to make it right.’

  He studied her for a moment then let out a long sigh.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t blame you.’

  ‘Blame me for what?’

  ‘For the loose morals of . . . no.’ He raised his hand. ‘Perhaps better to leave the matter there.’

  ‘I think not,’ said Mrs Paget, striding down the corridor. ‘If there is any immorality taking place in my rest centre then I need to know.’

  ‘Very well,’ he replied. ‘I found that Wheeler woman in . . .’ He shot her an uncertain look. ‘Let’s just say an intimate position no respectable married woman should be found in.’

  ‘With whom?’ asked Mrs Paget.

  ‘Sergeant McIntosh,’ he said.

  ‘They weren’t . . . ?’

  ‘Not quite,’ Lieutenant Monkman replied. ‘But I’m sure she’s as much at fault as him.’

  ‘I’m sure she is,’ agreed Mrs Paget. ‘Her poor widowed mother-in-law is a member of our congregation, so I know exactly what the young Mrs Wheeler is like.’ She pulled a face. ‘She’s from Irish stock.’

  ‘That explains a lot,’ he said. ‘Of course, as a gentleman, I intervened and got this for my troubles.’ He pointed to the red patch on his left cheek.

  Mrs Paget’s jaw dropped. ‘He struck you?’

  ‘Just a glancing blow.’ Lieutenant Monkman frowned. ‘And although it doesn’t excuse her lapse in judgement, a man like McIntosh does seem to have a savage or animal appeal, if you will, that some women find hard to resist.’

  ‘Common women, Lieutenant, common women,’ Mrs
Paget replied.

  He nodded sagely. ‘Of course, I should report the whole thing to HQ.’

  ‘I should think so, too,’ Mrs Paget replied with relish. ‘I’m sure your CO would take a very dim view of you being assaulted by a subordinate.’

  The lieutenant looked puzzled. ‘Not my HQ, Mrs Paget, but yours.’

  Something akin to ice water drained through Mrs Paget’s veins.

  ‘Is that really necessary?’ she asked, hoping only she could hear the quiver in her voice. ‘I mean, you’ve dealt with the unfortunate incident, so surely the WVS Area Committee need not be involved.’

  The lieutenant’s moustache moved back and forth a couple of times.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I think we can let the matter rest. After all, I wouldn’t want one unfortunate incident to disrupt the most excellent work you and your ladies do for the war effort.’

  Mrs Paget let go of the breath she was holding.

  ‘And even if there was some sort of inquiry,’ he continued, ‘it would be their word against mine.’

  ‘Well, I know who I believe,’ said Mrs Paget. ‘And don’t worry, from now on I’ll be keeping a close eye on Mrs Wheeler.’

  He pushed open the door.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, pausing on the threshold, ‘what puzzles me is why they couldn’t have just waited until they got home before they gave free rein to their passion.’

  Mrs Paget stared at him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Paget,’ he said, seeing her bewildered expression. ‘I thought you knew that Sergeant McIntosh lodges with Mrs Wheeler.’

  With his elbow on the window frame and his fist supporting his chin, Archie scowled through the rain-splattered window as he thought of several very effective ways to inflict permanent injury on his so-called superior.

  It was now nearly five o’clock and after thanking Mrs Paget, Archie and his men were heading back to base.

  ‘Archie,’ said Chalky, sitting next to him in the three-ton Austin.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Remember what you promised,’ his corporal said, turning the wheel to avoid a pothole in the middle of Leytonstone Road.

  ‘I didn’t promise,’ Archie replied.

  ‘Come on, Archie!’ continued Chalky. ‘From what you tell me, your landlady had already made Monkman’s eyes water before you arrived.’

  ‘Aye, she had,’ said Archie. ‘But that doesnae mean I shouldnae follow her example and give him a good pasting, too.’

  ‘For Gawd’s sake, Archie!’

  ‘Bloody gobshite,’ continued Archie, as the image of Monkman manhandling Cathy raged through his mind again. ‘I’ve a good mind to—’

  ‘Find yourself up on a charge for assaulting a superior officer,’ said Ron.

  ‘Superior, my arse,’ snapped Archie. ‘The man’s nothing more than a—’

  ‘We all know what he is,’ interrupted Arthur. ‘And if you let that temper of yours get yourself a spell in the glasshouse, then he’ll be able to call all the shots, and me and the boys will most likely end up lying on a mortuary slab like poor old Fred.’

  Archie chewed the inside of his mouth.

  ‘Listen, Archie,’ continued Arthur, ‘we can tell you’ve got a soft spot for your landlady, but after shrugging off all his ape and monkey jibes, don’t let Monkman get under your skin about this. He’s not worth it.’

  Despite his rampaging temper, the side of Archie’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. ‘That’s what Cathy said.’

  ‘Well, then.’ Arthur punched him playfully in the shoulder. ‘You should listen to her.’

  Archie sighed. ‘Aye, I should.’

  ‘And besides,’ said Chalky, gripping the steering wheel again, ‘if you get thrown in the can, some flashy Yank might move in while you’re gone.’

  Archie raised an eyebrow. ‘Bugger off, Corporal.’

  Chalky grinned. ‘Bugger off yourself, Sergeant.’

  Ten minutes later, and with Archie’s temper more or less under control, Chalky turned the wheel and guided the front wheels of their lorry through the square brick-built gateway of Wanstead High School’s playground.

  There were only a handful of vehicles in the yard because, with another two hours until blackout, the other teams were still digging out whatever UXB they’d been allocated that morning.

  Unfortunately, Monkman’s Rover 10 Tourer was one of the few officers’ cars parked alongside the side of the school building.

  Archie jumped down from the cab and slammed the door.

  ‘Right, lads,’ he said as the men tumbled out of the tailgate, ‘you’ve had a doss of a day today but you’ll be hard at it again tomorrow so have a drink—’

  ‘Or two,’ someone shouted from the back.

  ‘Or two,’ Archie agreed. ‘But have a good night’s kip as I’ll be wanting to see you keen and ready because with Jerry visiting us again tonight there’ll be no tea and cakes tomorrow.’

  ‘No, just poxy mud,’ shouted Mogg.

  Archie grinned. ‘Aye, poxy mud. And lots of it.’

  Laughing and jostling each other, the men of D Squad trudged towards their billets.

  After helping Arthur and Chalky secure the tailgate and awning, Archie, with his corporal and lance corporal alongside him, followed the rest of the team into the building.

  Raucous laughter from the officers’ mess greeted Archie as he passed through the entrance and into the main corridor.

  His jaw tightened but, fixing his eyes on the company offices at the far end of the corridor, he marched on.

  Without glancing to the side, Archie strode on past the open door of the officers’ drinking hole.

  ‘Sergeant McIntosh!’

  Archie stopped, as did his two men.

  ‘A moment of your time, if you please.’

  ‘Remember what Cathy said,’ Chalky told him softly.

  Taking a deep breath, Archie turned around. Pulling down the front of his jacket, he walked back and stopped at the door.

  Monkman, with a drink in hand, was lounging by the fire in one of the leather button-backed chairs. Lieutenants Streetly and Paltock, also clutching glasses of spirits, reclined in a similar manner opposite.

  ‘Sir,’ Archie said, standing to attention and fixing his eyes on the faded portrait hanging over the mantelshelf.

  ‘Come in, man,’ smirked Streetly, a sallow youth who struggled to grow a moustache.

  ‘Yes,’ belched Paltock, sloshing the drink in his chubby hand as he spoke.

  Archie stepped over the threshold, and despite every nerve in his body being as tight as a Yarrow gangmaster’s fist, he stood at ease.

  ‘Lieutenant Monkman here has been telling us all about the little circus you attended this afternoon, McIntosh,’ said Streetly.

  ‘Has he, sir?’ Archie replied.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Paltock. ‘And all the tempting cake on offer.’

  Streetly sniggered. ‘Moist, too, wasn’t it, old chap?’

  ‘Very,’ said Monkman, his eyes fixed on Archie.

  Attempting to keep the red mist at the edge of his vision at bay, Archie returned his gaze to the oil painting above the fire.

  He snapped to attention. ‘If that’s all, sir, then—’

  ‘He was also enlightening us as to the outstanding qualities of your landlady, Mrs Wheeler,’ said Paltock. ‘Both of them.’

  ‘Didn’t you say they were a full handful, Monkman?’ asked Streetly.

  ‘I most certainly did,’ Monkman replied, leering. ‘But better still was the soft feel of her . . .’ He winked. ‘Isn’t that right, Sergeant?’

  Blazing fury shot through Archie.

  Crossing the room in two strides, he grasped the officer’s lapels and heaved Monkman out of his chair, dangling him like a rag doll.

  ‘Now steady on,’ said Paltock, rolling out of his chair and struggling to his feet.

  ‘Yes, steady on, Sergeant,’ agreed Streetly. ‘We were just having a bit of fun, that’s all, man to man, you
know.’

  Hands grabbed Archie’s arms.

  ‘Let him be, Archie,’ said Chalky, from what seemed like a long way away.

  ‘Do what Chalky says, Archie,’ Arthur added.

  Archie’s grip tightened.

  ‘Come on, Archie, lad,’ repeated Arthur. ‘Think of Cathy.’

  As an image of her smile floated into his mind, Archie released his grip.

  Monkman fell back. Regaining his balance, he stood.

  Giving Archie a murderous look, the officer pulled his jacket straight.

  ‘Do you think after your bit of common fluff opened her legs for a half-bred animal like you, McIntosh, I’d touch her with a barge pole,’ he spat out.

  Balling his right hand into a fist, Archie drew his arm back but, as he stepped forward, his two men grabbed him again.

  ‘What on earth is going on here?’

  Monkman and the two other senior officers snapped to attention and saluted as sharply as the almost empty bottle of brandy on the table between them allowed.

  The two men holding Archie let go immediately and he looked around.

  ‘I said—’

  ‘Just a bit of high spirits, sir,’ Lieutenant Streetly replied, attempting to stand up straight as he saluted No 8 Section’s commanding officer.

  Major Williamson looked Archie over then fixed his eyes on the three lieutenants.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Ye-yes, sir,’ spluttered Paltock. ‘As Streetly said: just high spirits.’

  The CO’s hooded eyes shifted to Monkman.

  Monkman, who held his superior officer’s gaze for a few moments, gave a curt nod.

  ‘Good,’ said the major. ‘Because we’ve got a bloody crisis on our hands. We’ve had three squads blown up in the past two days. They were dismantling what was, on the face of it, a straightforward number seventeen, so the top brass and boffins at Woolwich suspect that Jerry has developed a booby trap specifically designed to kill bomb disposal personnel.’

  ‘Bastards,’ muttered Archie.

  ‘My thoughts exactly, Sergeant,’ Major Williamson replied. ‘But until we have figured out how to get around whatever it is they’ve concocted, no one touches a bomb. Do you hear? No one.’

  ‘It’s not your rations you’re using, Mrs Day, so I’ll have a bit more milk in my tea if it’s not too much trouble,’ said Violet, giving the woman behind the refreshments table a tight-lipped smile.

 

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