Home Fires and Spitfires

by Daisy Styles

  ‘Yes …’ she asked tensely.

  ‘Gordon said that his senior officer had recently managed to make contact with Harry.’

  Ada gasped with relief. ‘So he’s alive,’ she cried.

  A smile spread across Diana’s pale but lovely face. ‘Yes, thank God.’

  She took a deep, shuddering breath as she recounted her story. ‘Only a few months ago Harry left the base for what was supposed to be a few days; we had made arrangements to marry just after he was due back.’ Her head drooped. ‘Obviously that never happened.’

  Ada gave Diana’s hand a sympathetic squeeze. ‘I’m sorry, dear, it must have been hard for you.’

  Diana’s pale-blue eyes filled with unshed tears. ‘It was agony, Ada,’ she confessed. ‘The very worst thing was that nobody – none of his friends or colleagues – even mentioned his name; it was as if Harry were dead. I was left thinking, “Did I dream this?” When, in sheer desperation just before I left Duxford, I plucked up the courage to talk to one of his pals, the poor chap clamped up.’ She gave a bitter laugh as she recalled Gordon’s terrified expression when she had spoken to him in Duxford’s NAAFI. ‘At least I got to leave my forwarding details with him, which is lucky, as otherwise I would never have got the wonderful news I’m telling you now.’ Diana’s voice trailed away before she continued. ‘During one of the last conversations we had, Harry made it quite clear that he wanted me to keep our baby, but when he went missing and I was on my own I questioned my ability to bring up a child single-handed.’ Diana stared at the stars, which were starting to prick the clear navy-blue sky. ‘I was frightened, Ada. I wanted to get back to my old life, my war work, which I loved.’ She gave a guilty shudder. ‘I was even thinking of adoption, which is exactly what Harry didn’t want.’

  Ada gently patted Diana’s hand. ‘Dear, you’ve had good news today – concentrate on that for now.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Diana agreed. ‘Who knows?’ she added wistfully. ‘Harry might even come home soon.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, just to see him again, hear his voice, touch him,’ she said with such yearning. ‘I miss him so very much.’

  The thought of her growing feelings for Jamie filled Ada’s gentle heart with compassion – how would she feel if the man she was rapidly falling in love with should suddenly disappear from her life? She gave Diana a big hug. ‘We’ll all pray for Harry’s safe return.’

  Diana rested her tired head against Ada’s strong shoulder. ‘I’m glad I’m here at Mary Vale,’ she said with a catch in her voice. ‘It’s such a support having you to turn to.’

  ‘We’ll always be here for you, Diana,’ Ada replied. ‘Now, come on,’ she added, helping her patient to her feet. ‘You’ve clearly been worrying yourself sick all day, and you need your sleep.’

  After her talk with Diana, Ada felt almost guilty as she counted down the days to her next outing with Jamie; it seemed wrong to be so excited at the thought of seeing her sweetheart when so many women across the nation were missing their own loved ones. When the day dawned, Sister Mary Paul presented Ada with yet another picnic basket.

  ‘Mary Vale Lancashire cheese, some fruit, a bit of rationing carrot cake and hot tea to keep your strength up,’ she announced.

  Touched by the old nun’s generosity, Ada gave her a grateful kiss on the cheek. ‘We’re only fell-walking, Sister, not climbing Mount Everest!’

  Always one to doubt the benefits of Mother Nature, Sister Mary Paul wagged a warning finger in the air. ‘You can never take chances when you’re facing the elements – a full stomach will keep you going in the wind and the rain,’ Sister Mary Paul insisted.

  ‘Thank you – we’ll both be sure to enjoy it,’ Ada assured her.

  Reluctant to carry a cumbersome picnic basket up the fells, Jamie managed to pack most of the food into his rucksack. ‘Off we go,’ he cried, as he started up the ignition and they bounced down the drive and out of the gate. ‘A whole day on my own with sweet Sister Dale!’

  It was a hot, still-golden September day. The leaves on the trees seemed to hang suspended as if holding their breath, afraid of catching the first autumn wind that would hurl them into winter. As they drove along the A66, Ada marvelled at the colour of the surrounding fells: burned by the summer heat, they were now dark sage-green, mottled brown and deep purple, with rolling stretches of tall bracken turning dark ochre.

  Chatting companionably about work and patients, they drove through Kendal, where the hills bordered the road, giving tantalizing views of higher mountains just up ahead. They both fell silent as they began the steep ascent past Helvellyn, one of the most compelling mountains in the Lake District, which rose in majestic grandeur in the clear autumn light. Thirlmere loomed dark and forbidding against sheer scree-covered crags, with bristling pines reflected in the still, brooding waters of the deep lake. After they had driven by towering Blencathra, with emerald fields and neat little farms at its base, they were suddenly within sight of Keswick, a small grey stone town lying comfortably within the sheltering circle of mountains and fells.

  Ada hungrily drank in the views. Smiling at her genuine delight, Jamie took the narrow, winding Borrowdale Road that ran beside Derwentwater glittering bright blue in the morning light.

  ‘Pity we haven’t got time to run up Catbells and say a good morning to Mrs Tiggy-Winkle,’ he joked.

  Ada’s brow crinkled into a frown. ‘Mrs Tiggy-Winkle – isn’t she a hedgehog in a children’s story?’ she enquired.

  ‘Indeed, she is,’ Jamie agreed. ‘And she lives on Catbells, the big fell over that way, towering over Derwentwater,’ he pointed out. ‘Sometimes you can see her scampering along the tops with her washing basket loaded with linen.’

  ‘Stop teasing me,’ Ada giggled.

  ‘Mrs Tiggy-Winkle was my favourite bedtime story as a child,’ Jamie confessed. ‘Whenever Mum and Dad brought me to Keswick, I’d search Catbells and Newlands looking for a little hedgehog with a hat on.’

  Stroking the thick tawny hair on the back of his head, Ada murmured, ‘You must have been the sweetest little boy.’

  ‘I was until I got polio, then I became a very grumpy little boy,’ Jamie confessed.

  Ada’s indulgent smile faded. ‘How did you contract the disease?’

  ‘Apparently in the local swimming pool. I had to wear a calliper on my left leg due to muscle loss after being laid up sick in bed for weeks and weeks,’ he explained.

  ‘But you made a good recovery; you must have been strong and very determined.’

  ‘I was nursed well by my attentive mother,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Poor dear, she was half mad with worry.’

  Not wishing to dwell on the subject, unless he did, Ada waited for Jamie to continue. ‘Going back to school was grim,’ he continued. ‘Children can be brutal.’

  ‘Did the teachers keep an eye on you?’ she asked softly.

  ‘To a point, but I didn’t want to come across as a softie, so I struggled on.’

  ‘Poor darling,’ Ada murmured with tears in her eyes.

  Jamie shrugged as he took a sharp left-hand turn off the main road. ‘Like all things, it passed.’

  They made slow progress up the steep track that led to a narrow stone bridge: they’d had to pull over into passing places to allow a farm tractor and a cart wagon loaded with hay to get through. After parking the old Rover behind some farm buildings, Jamie helped Ada out of the car, then, holding her hand, he led her across the fields to the tiny hamlet of Watendlath. Ada caught her breath at the sight of an ancient grey-slate farmhouse that faced on to a small tarn nestling in the heart of the mountains.

  ‘Perfect place for a picnic!’ Jamie announced.

  Taking a blanket from his rucksack, Jamie placed it close to the tarn, in which wild trout rose, then flipped back into the still waters with a loud plop. Smiling with pleasure, Ada made herself comfortable – but when she looked up Jamie was holding an old Kodak camera in his hands.

  ‘Smile, darling,’ he cried.
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  Blushing and feeling extremely self-conscious, Ada protested. ‘Not now – I must look such a mess.’

  Lifting her wonderful hair so it caught the breeze and floated prettily around her radiant face, Jamie took the shot, then settled on the blanket beside Ada, who cuddled up close to him.

  ‘Thank you for bringing me here,’ she whispered in his ear.

  ‘I plan to take you to all my favourite places, where I can kiss you all day, watched only by sheep and a few red squirrels,’ Jamie whispered, as he lay back and pulled her into his arms.

  For several minutes they lay in complete stillness, listening to little waves breaking in the shallows and the plaintive cry of ewes on the hillside; then, after giving Ada a final squeeze, Jamie sat up and started to unpack the picnic from his rucksack.

  ‘I’m starving!’ he declared.

  Sister Mary Paul’s sandwiches were delicious: tangy, crumbly Lancashire cheese combined with Zelda’s delicious plump, ripe tomatoes were followed by flaky Eccles cakes and hot tea from Thermos flasks.

  ‘I’m too full to move!’ Ada groaned, as she lay flat out on the blanket and gazed up at the azure-blue sky.

  ‘If only we could stay here forever,’ Jamie sighed, snuggling up beside her. ‘Sweetest Ada, you’re bewitching me.’

  Jamie’s hands swept over the length of her long, slender body. ‘God, you’re gorgeous.’

  Responding to his delicate touch, Ada pressed herself against his strong chest, slipping her hand inside his shirt. With the top buttons undone, she could feel the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his heart. Nuzzling the soft, golden hair growing on his chest, she breathed in the smell of him, a heady combination of soap, antiseptic and sunshine. Locked in each other’s arms, they lost track of time until a sheep dog barking from the nearby barn startled them.

  ‘Lucky that happened,’ Jamie chuckled. ‘I was on the point of losing myself entirely.’

  ‘Oh, Jamie,’ Ada sighed, as she held him close. ‘I can’t remember a day when I’ve ever been so happy.’

  Driving back in the cool of the evening with one arm around Ada’s shoulder and the other on the steering wheel, Jamie gazed up at the glittering bright stars illuminating the fells they drove by. The day had been made up of all the things he treasured most: sunlight and stars, Watendlath, Derwentwater, Catbells and the beautiful woman by his side he was fast falling madly in love with.

  ‘Could life get any better than this?’ he thought with a contented sigh.

  A dark-red fox flashing across the road caused Jamie to brake sharply. ‘It was only a fox,’ he told himself.

  But the bubble of happiness that had cocooned him all day through was gone. Jamie shuddered as if somebody had walked over his grave. Little did he know that it would be months before he would spend another day such as this, on the mountaintops with his beloved, and, by then, he would have witnessed things that would change his life forever.

  15. Alf Arkwright

  Early one Saturday morning Gracie and Zelda drove over to Mary Vale Farm to pick up Farmer Arkwright as usual. They arrived to find crates and punnets of market produce neatly stacked outside the barn but no sign of Alf himself. Zelda and Gracie (who were now on first-name terms with the farmer) cast about the farmyard hoping to catch sight of him.

  ‘Odd,’ said Gracie. ‘He’s usually outside waiting for us.’

  Though well into her pregnancy, Gracie lightly hopped out of the van and ran over to the farmhouse to knock on the front door. A few minutes later Alf appeared with a stricken expression on his face.

  ‘We’re just loading up,’ Gracie said pleasantly. ‘Will you be long?’

  Arkwright shook his head. ‘I won’t be going to market today, pet.’

  Gracie couldn’t stop herself asking, ‘Is everything all right? You don’t look yourself.’

  ‘It’s not me, it’s my son, Frank,’ Alf replied. ‘He’s been badly wounded. The Army’s sending him home – I just heard. I’m staying put at home in case any more news arrives.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Alf,’ Gracie said softly.

  The farmer gave her a brief smile, then patted her hand. ‘Best get on your way, eh? You mustn’t be late setting up your stall in the marketplace.’

  Upset at the thought of leaving poor Alf on his own, Gracie hung back. ‘Do you want any company?’ she asked softly. ‘I could put the kettle on for a cuppa if you like?’

  Seeing her sweet young face clouded with anxiety, Alf shook his head. ‘Nay, lass, be on your way,’ he urged.

  ‘I’ll drop by later with your earnings,’ Gracie promised, before she hurried back to Zelda waiting for her in the van.

  After a busy market day Zelda and Gracie returned the farmer’s crates to the barn, then dropped his earnings through his letter-box. ‘I don’t want to disturb him again,’ Gracie told Zelda, as they drove back to Mary Vale, where they were just in time to catch a supper of spam fritters and salad served up by devoted Sister Mary Paul.

  ‘Farmer Arkwright didn’t come to market with us today,’ Gracie said, ravenously digging into another salty spam fritter.

  ‘He told Gracie that he’d had some bad news,’ Zelda added.

  After setting down a plate of bread and butter, Sister Mary Paul sighed heavily. ‘His only son’s been discharged from the Army.’ Dropping her voice to a whisper, she added, ‘The lad got shot in the head and has lost the sight in his right eye.’

  On hearing the dreadful news, the colour completely drained from Zelda’s face; whenever she heard of wrong done by one of her countrymen she was filled with both guilt and fear. Yet again here was another German casualty, but this one had landed right on their own doorstep.

  Though Zelda and Gracie continued to take Farmer Arkwright’s produce to market every Saturday morning, Zelda, once she heard that Alf’s son was now home, stayed firmly in the van, leaving Gracie to communicate with Alf.

  ‘You’re being silly,’ Gracie chided.

  Zelda went white. ‘Please do not say that, Gracie,’ she implored. ‘Alf’s son was shot by a German. He will not want to meet another German. Don’t you see? I am his enemy.’

  Seeing poor Zelda so pale and frightened, Gracie tried to comfort her. ‘I’d have a word or two to say to anybody who upset you, lovie.’

  Zelda smiled weakly. ‘You are a good friend,’ she answered quietly, but Gracie’s staunch words of support did nothing to assuage her mounting anxiety.

  Zelda’s worst fears were confirmed a few weeks later when she was busy in her garden harvesting her herbs: basil, thyme, mint, marjoram, oregano and lavender. Smelling the neatly tied bundles, which she planned to dry out over winter, Zelda gave a sigh of satisfaction. In the peace of her teeming garden, with wildflowers and herbs growing alongside her summer vegetables, Zelda loosened the turban that she wore to cover her head and let her long curly red hair fly free. With the sun on her face and a soft breeze caressing her softly tanned cheeks speckled with golden freckles, she felt a surge of happiness that she could never have even imagined a few months ago. Her joy was suddenly shattered, and she jumped in fear as a loud, angry voice rang out from behind the drystone wall that adjoined Farmer Arkwright’s field.

  ‘Bastards, bloody bastards, all of them!’

  On hearing the rage in the man’s voice, Zelda dropped to her knees behind her tomato plants to avoid any possibility of being seen. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Farmer Arkwright calling across the field.

  ‘Frank, lad! Where are you?’

  Zelda’s heart beat so loudly that she was sure the men over the wall would hear it.

  ‘Just checking on’t sheep, Dad.’

  ‘I heard some shouting – is something wrong, son?’

  ‘No, just me, yelling at sheep.’

  It was clear from the proximity of the farmer’s voice that Alf was standing close to his son.

  ‘What’s troubling you?’ he asked tenderly.

  Frank replied in a harsh, bitter voic
e, ‘Apart from the fact that I’m half blind there’s nothing much troubling me, Father.’ Clearly ashamed of his cruel words, he faltered, ‘Sorry, Dad, one of those days.’

  ‘It will get better, lad,’ Alf gently assured him.

  ‘Good! Because it can’t get any bloody worse. I hate the Germans that did this to me. I could shoot the bloody lot of them!’ Frank growled moodily.

  With her body half hidden by overhanging foliage, Zelda held her breath until she heard their voices receding across the field. Scrambling to her feet, Zelda wiped the dust from her face, then, rising to her feet, she walked slowly back to her garden shed, where she reran Frank Arkwright’s furious words through her mind.

  ‘I hate the bloody Germans … I could shoot the lot of them!’

  What would he do when he found out that a German woman was living right next door to him? Take a gun to her too? Though she felt dreadfully sorry for Frank Arkwright, she would be mortified (not to mention terrified) if she were ever to find herself alone in his company. From now on, Zelda decided, she would be wise to avoid him at all costs.

  In his desperation to speed up his son’s recovery, Farmer Arkwright visited Mary Vale to have a chat with Sister Dale.

  ‘It’s not just his eye that’s been damaged: the skin on the right-hand side of his face is badly burnt and weeping pus.’

  Ada’s smooth brow crinkled in concern. ‘It sounds like the wound might be infected,’ she said knowingly.

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ the old man blurted out. ‘It’s bad enough Frank losing his sight in one eye but being scarred for life is quite another matter.’

  ‘I thought he was under the care of the hospital in Lancaster?’ Ada enquired.

  ‘Aye, he is, but he can’t always make the journey there,’ Alf sighed. ‘To speak the truth, Sister, he’s ashamed of his looks and hates going out in public, which is why I wondered if you might be able to keep an eye on him? You’re only across the field from us, that’s got to be an advantage.’

  Ada gave him one of her brightest smiles. ‘Bring Frank along to Dr Reid’s morning surgery tomorrow,’ she suggested.