Home Fires and Spitfires

by Daisy Styles

  Gracie vehemently nodded her head. ‘I’d trust Father Ben’s judgement one hundred per cent,’ she declared.

  Observant Diana noticed that Zelda seemed quite happy to be in Gracie’s shadow. Determined to draw her out a little, Diana patted her own tummy; then, speaking in German, she said, ‘When is your baby due?’

  Zelda’s huge dark eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘You speak German?’

  Diana gave a modest smile. ‘My school was keen on languages, French, Latin and German.’

  Over breakfast, chattering away, the two women learnt a little about each other’s former lives. Diana’s heart ached when she heard about Zelda’s tragic loss; then suddenly, when gently questioned by Zelda, she found herself opening up about her own loss. Weepy with emotion, she confessed, ‘I was supposed to be getting married not long ago; then my fiancé disappeared. I haven’t a clue where he is.’

  Zelda laid a cool hand over Diana’s trembling one. ‘I will pray for his safe return,’ she promised. ‘It breaks the heart to lose the one you love.’ Casting her eyes around the room, she added quietly, ‘I think many hearts are broken here.’

  ‘Yours too, I’m sure,’ Diana said gently.

  Zelda dropped her voice to an embarrassed whisper. ‘Diana, I have to ask you a favour. Though it is good to speak in my mother tongue with you, it is not good for the residents to hear me speaking German. It is the enemy’s language and it upsets them.’

  Diana gave an understanding nod. ‘So, please, do you mind if we only speak German when we are in private?’ Zelda finished.

  ‘English it is!’ Diana replied. Pushing back her chair, she rose to her feet. ‘Now will you please show me the chores list?’ she asked with a grin. ‘I’ve been told I’ve got to earn my keep, so I’d better get started right away.’

  9. Market Gardening

  Ada was immensely relieved to see how much more at ease Zelda was in the dining room – sharing meals with her fellow residents, who now bade Zelda a cheery good morning when she walked into the room, to which blushing Zelda would reply: ‘Good morning, how are you?’

  ‘The situation’s a lot better than it was,’ Ada confided in Dora one morning, as they sterilized instruments in the delivery room.

  Hollow-cheeked Dora, who had not returned to her former bouncing good health since her son’s tragic death, sighed with relief. ‘Thank God for that. I don’t think the poor kid could have taken much more.’

  As they worked side by side, Ada gave Dora a quick glance. ‘Any news from your Jack?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘We got a letter in answer to ours telling him about our Percy, no address of course.’ She gave a long, shuddering sigh. ‘He’s utterly heart-broken, poor lad, says he can’t imagine life without his twin brother. Oh, dear God, keep him safe,’ she prayed out loud.

  ‘Dearest,’ Ada murmured, as she comforted tearful Dora, ‘all of us pray for your Jack’s safe return.’

  Dora mopped her tears with the hankie that Ada handed to her. ‘I suppose half the country’s in the same state,’ she continued sadly. ‘Worried out of their minds and jumping every time they see the postman walking down the path.’

  Ada smiled sympathetically. ‘We’re a nation of fathers, brothers, mothers, sisters and lovers, all praying for the same thing.’

  ‘Peace,’ Dora said with a yearning sigh.

  Unfortunately, Dora’s hope for peace was shattered by Italy’s declaration of war on Britain almost immediately after the Germans started heavily bombing Paris. Though the sun shone down on Mary Vale, and the Irish Sea sparkled under a blue sky, these were undoubtedly dark times, with Hitler running roughshod over Europe.

  One sunny morning Ada was surprised to find Zelda crouched down on the grass, apparently looking for something on the ground. She approached the girl, who was completely absorbed in her task.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ada asked curiously.

  Taken by surprise, Zelda jumped at the sound of Ada’s voice; then, frowning, she tried to explain herself. ‘I … er, this …’ She demonstrated pulling up weeds growing around a clump of carnations.

  ‘Weeding!’ Ada laughed.

  ‘Weeding,’ Zelda repeated the word. ‘I like flowers here,’ she said.

  Stretching out an arm to take in the wide sweep of the flowerbeds fragrant with the combined perfumes of lilies, roses, stocks, larkspur and daisies, she said to Ada, ‘In München I work in big beautiful garten – I make gardens.’

  By the end of the conversation Ada discovered that Zelda had, in fact, been a landscape gardener in Germany, and it was clear from her unusually animated manner that it was something she was passionate about.

  ‘You could always do some gardening here?’ Ada suddenly suggested.

  Zelda looked puzzled. ‘Here, in Home?’

  When Ada nodded, Zelda’s face lit up. ‘I like that,’ she grinned. ‘Yes, please!’

  Ada grinned back at her. ‘I’ll speak to the gardener right away,’ she promised.

  The gardener willingly handed over a small plot of land at the side of the house, which was well sheltered by the neighbouring farmer’s drystone wall.

  ‘Lass will be doing me a favour,’ the gardener said; then, after he’d given a rather embarrassed cough, he added, ‘But should a lass in her delicate condition be diggin’ in’t garden?’

  ‘I’m quite sure she won’t be doing too much digging,’ Ada assured him. ‘Just a bit of pottering about, something to occupy her mind.’

  But digging was exactly what Zelda had in mind. The next time Ada saw the plot it had been almost completely dug over, and Zelda, wearing a loose cotton smock and a floral scarf as a turban, was on her hands and knees grubbing up earth with her bare hands.

  ‘Hello, Zelda!’ Ada called.

  When the girl looked up, Ada could see her face had caught the sun and her dark eyes were much brighter. ‘Plant cabbages,’ Zelda answered proudly. ‘See.’ She held up a packet of seeds. ‘Cabbages.’

  Ada peered at the picture on the packet. ‘Sprouts,’ she said, smiling as she corrected Zelda. ‘Like little cabbages.’

  Standing on the edge of the plot, Ada admired Zelda’s hard work. ‘I thought you were going to grow flowers?’

  Zelda shook her head. ‘Garden here has many beautiful flowers, but no cabbages. I grow food for mothers, and good food for our babies.’

  Ada was incredibly touched by the girl’s generosity; here she was slaving away, growing food for her fellow residents, who had only recently stopped treating her like a German spy.

  ‘You’re very kind, Zelda,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure the residents will appreciate it, and Sister Mary Paul always needs plenty in the kitchen.’ She stopped as she gazed at the seed packets lying on the ground. ‘Where did the seeds come from?’

  ‘Farmer man,’ Zelda explained, pointing to the farmhouse across the fields.

  ‘Ah, yes, his name is Farmer Arkwright,’ Ada told her.

  Zelda wiped a muddy hand across her face. ‘Tomorrow farmer man bring more seeds.’

  It wasn’t long before everybody knew about Zelda’s garden, curiosity driving the residents outdoors to inspect her vegetables growing in healthy abundance in the sunshine.

  ‘We’re lucky,’ Sister Mary Paul told Shirley, who was helping her with the daily bread-making. ‘On top of our weekly food rations we get milk, eggs, cheese and the occasional rabbit or pigeon from Farmer Arkwright, and now we’ve got Zelda growing beautiful vegetables for the Home.’

  ‘And it all disappears,’ Shirley pointed out. ‘There’re never any leftovers.’

  ‘The residents are always hungry,’ Sister Mary Paul chuckled. ‘Not surprising when you’re eating for two.’

  After Shirley had left the bread to rise, she made a flask of strong tea, then went to the garden shed, where she found a spade and a trowel. Tucking the flask under one arm and the tools under the other, she set off for Zelda’s plot. She found the girl watering a row of tender tomato plants that s
he had only just dug in.

  ‘Here, let me do that, lovie,’ she said, as she relieved a sweating Zelda of a heavy watering can.

  ‘Thank you, Sister,’ Zelda muttered.

  ‘Drink this,’ Shirley said, and she handed over the flask. ‘Go on, sit yourself down over yonder.’ She nodded towards a line of shady fruit trees. ‘Take a break – you look like you need it.’

  Smiling gratefully, Zelda took the flask and went to sit on the cool grass under the trees, where she drank every last drop of the hot tea. When she looked across in Shirley’s direction, she was astonished to see her on her haunches, grubbing up weeds in her crisply ironed postulant’s blue smock.

  ‘No, no!’ Zelda cried as she rose to her feet. ‘I do this.’

  Shirley firmly held up a hand, which Zelda ignored; picking up her own trowel, Zelda smiled and said, ‘We dig together, please?’

  Shirley grinned and nodded. ‘Two hands are better than one,’ she agreed.

  The women worked along the rows of vegetables, side by side, Shirley talking non-stop in her broad Lancashire accent, while Zelda, happy and contented in Shirley’s company, smiled to herself. It was good to spend time with a friend.

  When Dr Reid next came to Mary Vale to check on his patients, he was delighted with Zelda’s marked improvement. He was also astonished when Ada told him about Zelda’s market garden project.

  ‘She’s hardly strong enough to lift a knife and fork!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘You should see her with a spade,’ Ada chuckled. ‘She’s a changed woman – and she’s got Sister Shirley hoeing and weeding alongside her.’ Ada’s big blue eyes sparkled with merriment as she recalled various scenes in Zelda’s garden. ‘Now that the residents know she’s growing food for the Home, half of them want to help,’ she giggled. ‘Not long ago, Zelda hadn’t got a friend in the world; now she’s got more than she can cope with.’

  Jamie smiled. ‘It must make a pleasant change to suddenly find yourself popular.’

  ‘It’s completely transformed her,’ Ada agreed. ‘She’s sleeping better, eating better, plus her English is coming on in leaps and bounds with everybody talking to her all the time.’ Ada suddenly burst out laughing. ‘I even heard the gardener asking her in a broad Lancashire accent if she wanted a butty. I could see that Zelda hadn’t a clue, but she politely said yes anyway. You should have seen her face when he handed her a great big cheese and onion oven bottom!’

  Listening to Ada’s spontaneous, full-throated laughter and gazing at her happy face, Jamie wondered how anybody could be so positive about life. Being crippled by polio as a child had left him feeling slightly marginalized. He had always come last in the running race; he couldn’t walk fast enough to keep up with his friends in the playground; and he sensed people were talking about him, pointing at him, even when they weren’t. As Jamie’s strength slowly came back, a steely determination grew in him not to be crippled mentally as well as physically by the disease that had nearly killed him. In his teenage years at grammar school Jamie worked hard on building up his muscle strength; at university he refused to shy away from sporting activities and instead actively involved himself in walking, swimming, running and climbing. He never gave in and as a consequence he never felt ostracized or inferior in his later life. It was only when war broke out and he tried to enlist that he had felt the sense of failure for the first time in his adult life. The experience of a very public rejection had left him bitter and angry, feelings that were mildly assuaged by the vital work he did in Barrow and at the Home; but nevertheless there were too many times when he felt like only half a man.

  Stunning, glowing Ada, all light and laughter, full of confidence, compassion and optimism, had clearly never been dismissed as an inferior human being. Losing himself in her sunniness, Jamie had an almost irresistible urge to touch the strand of golden-auburn hair that had wriggled free from the confines of her starched nurse’s cap and kiss it. Shocked by his feelings, he said a little too briskly, ‘Who’s next on the list, Sister?’

  ‘Diana Bishop, our latest arrival,’ Ada told him. ‘She’s very bright and well educated, I thought she might come across as cool and a bit snooty, but she’s mixing well with the other residents, mostly thanks to Gracie, who’s turning into the Home’s social secretary, organizing picnics and walks, swims even,’ Ada chuckled as she opened the surgery door to call in the next patient.

  As Jamie worked his way through the patient list that Ada had prepared for him, he was all the time aware of her presence: the way she smiled reassuringly at all of the girls as they entered his room; how she helped them settle comfortably on the examination table; the kind words and little jokes she shared with them; but above all the tenderness and concern she had for the vulnerable women in her care.

  ‘No wonder everybody loves her; men must be lining up round the block to date her,’ Jamie thought ruefully.

  He fleetingly imagined Ada with a tall blond Viking of a man, an RAF bomber pilot in a pale-blue uniform, goggles on his head, leather jacket thrown carelessly over his shoulders, striding across the tarmac crying out to his heroic team, ‘Scramble! Scramble!’

  Ada’s imaginary lover would perform great deeds in his little Spitfire, popping off Jerry as they attacked him, and blessed with luck he’d return unscathed from every raid and walk straight into the arms of dazzling Ada, who’d welcome him home with warm kisses.

  ‘Snap out of it, man!’ he growled angrily to himself. ‘You’re becoming obsessed with the bloody woman!’

  10. Butter and Chores

  After her first examination with Dr Reid, Diana was relieved to discover that she was in good health and so was her baby.

  ‘Your baby is a good size with a strong regular heartbeat,’ the doctor announced.

  Shortly after her arrival Diana had seen Father Ben. In the privacy of his book-lined study in the convent she had admitted with a shame-faced blush that she was worried about her ability to bring up a child on her own.

  Father Ben had smiled sympathetically. ‘No rush, my child,’ he urged. ‘Take your time, and God will guide you.’

  After leaving Father Ben’s office Diana did indeed pray to God to help her to make the right decision, not just for herself but also for her unborn child. Deep in thought, Diana walked into the dining room reflecting on the life she might have had if Harry had not gone away. Maybe they would have moved into the Shelford cottage as a young married couple? She saw herself as a young, happy mother, pushing her baby in a big old pram around the orchard that backed on to the farm, looking forward to her husband coming home in the evening, tired but eager to kiss his wife and cuddle his new-born baby.

  Finding Diana looking miserably preoccupied at the dinner table, Zelda made a bee-line to sit beside her new friend and cheer her up.

  ‘We have a treat today this dinner-time,’ she brightly announced as she flourished a dish before Diana’s eyes. ‘Butter!’

  Accustomed to the margarine regularly served up at meal-times, she gazed incredulously at the dish of mouthwatering golden-yellow butter.

  ‘Where did it come from?’ she gasped.

  Zelda laughed. ‘From Mary Vale’s cow,’ she replied. ‘Good Farmer Arkwright he share some with us ladies. Is good, try,’ Zelda enthused. ‘Before all get eaten,’ she giggled conspiratorially.

  Unable to believe her luck, Diana thickly spread the butter on to her toast, then, sighing in anticipation, she raised the slice to her lips and sank her teeth into the salty butter, which melted in her mouth, making her groan with pleasure.

  ‘Mmm …’

  Zelda smiled at her ecstatic expression. ‘Is good, yah?’

  With her mouth full and her taste buds exploding, Diana slowly nodded. ‘Is absolutely bloody brilliant!’

  Gracie and Diana had been paired to work together on the chores rota, which was pinned up in the dining room.

  ‘Look, here’s the list of jobs,’ Gracie pointed out as they gazed at the chart. ‘We rotate laundry, k
itchen work, cleaning and fires – this week the pair of us are on fires, a bloody mucky job!’ she grumbled.

  Not only was it a ‘mucky job’; it was also (so Diana thought) a seemingly endless job too. Mary Vale, formerly a huge grand house that luckily for the residents could shelter numerous young women, had endless fireplaces. First, they had to sweep the ash from all the fireplaces in the Home, then, after laying fresh newspaper and kindling in the grates, they had to polish the fenders and the fire irons, and then (last of all) they had to fill all the coal buckets in readiness for the next time the fires would be lit. When their task was finally completed, Gracie slumped into the nearest chair.

  ‘I suppose it beats working all day with a welding iron!’ she joked, before soot got up her nose and brought on a sneezing attack.

  After a morning’s work and a heavy lunch of sausage and mash, Diana was inclined to have a lie-down, but there was no rest to be had; before Ada’s exercise and breathing classes, Gracie insisted that they visit Zelda’s garden.

  ‘We mustn’t let the poor kid overdo it,’ she whispered conspiratorially to Diana. ‘And you never know,’ she added with a wink, ‘we might get lucky and find some strawberries!’

  Standing on the edge of the garden now teeming with potato plants, tomatoes, carrots, onions and a raised bed for lettuce, spinach, radishes and a vast array of herbs, Gracie marvelled at what was before her. Not only was the produce a sight for sore eyes, but the radical change in her room-mate was a joy to see. No longer a bag of bones, Zelda’s body had rounded, and where before she had barely looked pregnant now her tummy was large and swollen under her smock. Her skin was freckled and tanned golden-brown by the sun, and her mass of long red curls was caught up in a colourful cotton turban.

  ‘Zelda!’ Gracie called out. ‘We’ve come to help.’

  Shirley’s head popped over a row of potato plants. ‘You two ladies should be resting,’ she chided.

  Ignoring her advice, Gracie led Diana along the narrow path that wound its way around the vegetable patch.