by Daisy Styles
Though none of them had much money, the Mary Vale residents started to think of little gifts they could leave for each other underneath the Christmas tree. Zelda for one had quite ambitious plans, which would only come to fruition if she could spend time in her garden shed. Waiting until Constanza had had her feed, Zelda settled the sleepy baby in the Silver Cross pram with its sparkling chromework and smart waterproof hood and cover one morning. Gently bouncing the pram, Zelda made her way carefully along the snowy path to the shed, which was freezing cold. Putting the brake on the pram, Zelda hurriedly made a fire in the wood-burner, which crackled into life and heated the shed in no time. Knowing full well she could not go foraging in the nearby woods and fields for wild herbs, Zelda skimmed through her existing collection of precious Herbals.
‘Marigold hand cream!’ she exclaimed when she had found what she had been searching for. Scanning down the list of ingredients, Zelda muttered out loud, ‘Marigold petals if in season, otherwise combine dried lavender, rosemary and sage and a pint of good oil, simmer ingredients in a pan until a satisfying consistency is reached, strain off the herbs, cool the mixture and bottle when cool.’
Zelda was so engrossed in her reading she barely heard Constanza whimpering in her pram, and by the time she became aware of her baby’s cries the child was wailing indignantly – at which point Frank Arkwright came striding into the shed. He called out in his characteristically direct way: ‘Everything all right?’
Zelda smiled at his anxious face. ‘Yes, thank you, Frank,’ she answered calmly.
‘It’s just that I heard a baby crying and I thought I’d better check like …’ he mumbled, before peering under the bonnet of the big pram and winking at Constanza, who gazed up at him with the same beautiful dark eyes as her mother.
‘I’m afraid I didn’t respond immediately she summoned me,’ Zelda admitted. ‘I was lost in my Herbals. I want to try to make some Christmas presents,’ she confided in him. ‘None of us have any money so we’re all racking our brains trying to think of gifts that are inexpensive but a little bit unusual.’
Frank stared curiously at an open page in one of the Herbals. ‘Face and hand cream,’ he said. ‘If you come up with summat as good as what you brew for me, lass, your gifts are bound to be much appreciated.’
Zelda coloured at Frank’s kind words. Since he had delivered Constanza, their relationship had reached another level: previously she had jumped at the sound of his voice, but now she found it warm and comforting. In the past she would have fled at the sight of him, but now she gave a welcoming smile at the sight of Frank, who always grinned back at her like a big cheeky boy. Frank’s kindness had generated trust and love in her heart, which she knew was fully reciprocated. Nowadays he was unquestionably one of her dearest friends, a man she could truly rely on.
‘I’ll take the little lass for a walk in her pram,’ Frank generously suggested. ‘Give you a bit of peace.’
Looking at the glittering bright frosty day outside the shed window, Zelda had a change of mind. ‘I’d like to walk with you, if you don’t mind?’
Frank nodded and, taking hold of the pram, he pushed it outdoors and bounced it several times. ‘Damn good springs if I say so myself,’ he mumbled gruffly.
As they set off, Frank was suddenly struck by an idea. ‘If you don’t mind,’ he started nervously, ‘I’d like to take the little lass to meet mi father down at farm?’
Zelda smiled her agreement. ‘I’d like that; he might like to see the new pram you bought Constanza.’
‘Aye, he might well,’ Frank agreed.
The farm track was rutted and filled with drifts of snow, but Frank thoughtfully steered the pram on to smoother patches, so he didn’t disturb the baby.
‘We should have resurfaced this blasted road years ago,’ he grumbled.
‘Well, now is definitely not the right time of year for road-laying,’ Zelda laughed as she manoeuvred her way around the banks of snow.
Frank was surprised at how much slimmer she looked these days; he was used to seeing Zelda big and pregnant, but now she walked with a quick lightness in her step. Her hair looked longer too; he liked the way it sprang in bright red curly tendrils around her delicate, heart-shaped face. Gazing at her with pleasure, Frank, sensing a tell-tale blush of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks, quickly looked away.
Farmer Arkwright was thrilled to see the ‘Babby’, as he called Constanza. ‘She might need feeding,’ Zelda said, as the baby began to stir again after her long walk in the cold.
The farmer sensitively showed her into a little parlour, where a warm fire crackled in the hearth.
‘We’ll leave you in peace,’ he said softly. ‘When you’ve done, there’ll be a cuppa tea waiting for you in’t kitchen.’
Zelda felt strangely peaceful sitting by the fire feeding her baby in Farmer Arkwright’s parlour, a place she would never have expected to find herself in her wildest dreams. After Constanza had fallen asleep on her breast, Zelda buttoned up her blouse, then made her way to the kitchen, where a collie dog lay flat out in front of the old black grate, while a kettle merrily whistled on a hot plate.
‘Father’s just gone out to milk the cows,’ Frank said, as he laid a tray on the table.
Zelda was touched by the trouble he had gone to: dainty china crockery on a pretty embroidered white linen cloth, a pot of tea and slices of cake.
‘That looks very pretty, Frank,’ she commented.
‘Me and mi father don’t normally dine in such a genteel lady-like fashion,’ he chuckled, as they sat down together. ‘Though Sister Mary Paul, bless her heart, does make us a cake every week, from the eggs she gets from the farm,’ Frank explained as he poured her tea.
‘Delicious,’ Zelda exclaimed, sipping her hot tea and nibbling the nun’s coconut and carrot cake.
Sitting on either side of the grate, they ate in a comfortable silence, broken only by the collie’s loud snores. It was the closest Zelda had felt to home in many, many months.
28. Basque Country
The parishioner of the kind priest in Nantes kept his word. After smuggling his charge safely out of Nantes, Harry was passed on to another worker, who guided Harry south. After many weeks of being on the run, Harry met the Resistance worker who would lead him and other escapees over the Pyrenees. Though thoroughly daunted by the journey that lay ahead of him, Harry knew that if he had to scale every mountain between France and Spain to be reunited with Diana, he would do it – even if it killed him.
That night before his journey into the Basque Country, Harry dreamt of his first meeting with Diana. She had been wearing her pale-blue WAAFs uniform but had removed the jacket in order to sit more comfortably in the chairs ranged around the wide mapping table that dominated the Ops Room. Even from the gallery, as he puffed thoughtfully on his pipe, Harry could see Diana’s long, slender legs, narrow waist and full bosom. When she stood up to rearrange the position of the markers, her shoulder-length silver-blonde hair fell in a silky curtain over her pale, intense face and, as she turned towards him, Harry noticed how big and blue her eyes were.
‘The colour of summer cornflowers,’ he thought dreamily.
It soon became perfectly clear that Harry wasn’t the only officer on the base who rated beautiful WAAF Officer Diana Bishop. She had only to walk into the NAAFI and all heads turned her way.
‘Best-looking girl for miles,’ Harry’s immediate boss and best pal, Flight Commander Derek Robson, remarked. ‘Bright too – doesn’t natter away like most of the other girls and always gets the map locations spot on.’
Seeing the effect Diana had on men in the NAAFI, their smiles and wolf whistles that she assiduously avoided, caused Harry to wonder if she was, in fact, already married or engaged. So convinced was he that Diana was spoken for Harry decided it would be wise not to pursue her. It was only after bumping into her crouched down pumping her bicycle tyre in a dark alleyway outside the Ops Block that his opinion started to change.
&nbs
p; ‘May I help?’ he asked rather formally.
Even though it was getting dark, Harry could see the gleam of Diana’s perfect white teeth as she smiled up at him.
‘I’m afraid I’ve got a puncture,’ she told him.
After several minutes of trying to inflate the back tyre, Harry agreed with her. ‘It’s as flat as a pancake.’ Seeing her pretty crest fallen face, he quickly added, ‘Come on, I can give you a lift home.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she protested.
‘Where do you live?’ he insisted.
‘In a little village called Shelford – it’s miles away.’
Harry laughed. ‘It’s hardly any distance at all. Wait here while I go and fetch my car.’
On the drive to Shelford, Harry kept peering at Diana out of the corner of his eye. Though he had to pay close attention to the road, particularly as he had his headlights dipped, he could not resist taking sneaky peeks at her perfect profile and glowing blonde hair. She talked easily about her work and enquired after his too; she appeared so cool and relaxed, while Harry felt uncharacteristically nervous. Much later, when he told Diana that he originally thought she hadn’t fancied him, she had burst out laughing. ‘I most certainly did!’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought you were the cleverest and most handsome officer in Duxford.’
‘Well,’ he had grumbled, ‘you managed to hide it pretty well.’
Diana gave a cheeky shrug. ‘You can blame my posh upbringing for that.’
As Harry drifted into sleep, he smiled as he remembered their first date at the Regal Cinema in Cambridge, where Rebecca was showing. When he had nervously whispered, ‘May I kiss you?’, Diana had replied without a hint of coyness, ‘I would love that.’
There was no going back after that first kiss: beautiful Diana Bishop was all that he had ever dreamt of.
When morning dawned Harry and his fellow escapees embarked on the most dangerous journey of their lives. As they gained height and walked higher and higher into the mountain range, Harry shivered, not with cold but with the memory of his guide’s words before they departed.
‘This is a perilous journey that brave men have died doing,’ he had warned. ‘You all know what will happen if any of you are caught.’
If Harry was to return home he had no choice but to take chances; nevertheless, as he gasped for breath in the high altitude and slithered on the frozen mountain tracks, he prayed with all his heart: ‘Please God, guide me safely home to the woman I love.’
29. Christmas Eve
Christmas Eve dawned bright and frosty. As Ada’s working day began, she paused briefly on her way into the hospital to gaze up at the mountains. The light was so crisp and clear she could see the snowy peaks of some of the northern fells etched sharply against the sparkling blue sky. Her thoughts immediately flew to Grasmere and Keswick, to the fells where she had walked hand in hand with Jamie, whom she missed so much it sometimes physically hurt her.
‘Darling, darling Jamie,’ she sighed.
His letters were no longer quite as regular as they had been when he was first called up. He had mentioned in a recent letter that all correspondence had been heavily censored now that his unit was ‘moving in deeper’. It certainly didn’t take a genius to interpret what he meant. His clearing station was obviously moving closer to enemy fire, the thought of which terrified Ada.
‘He’s a medic,’ everybody said to comfort her. ‘He’ll be a lot safer than the men fighting on the Front Line.’
Unfortunately, Ada knew quite the opposite: just because Jamie was a doctor didn’t mean that he was safe; she had read too many newspaper articles about first-aid ships and casualty hospitals being bombed and destroyed during an attack. There were some days when she felt paralysed with fear and apprehension, and the only person she could share her worries with was her close friend, Sister Ann.
‘I feel so guilty making a fuss,’ she blurted out one day as they shared a pot of tea in the Matron’s office. ‘Diana has lost her fiancé, Zelda is a young widow, and Dora’s son is dead. I should thank my lucky stars that Jamie is alive, at least as far as I know, and that I still receive letters from him.’
Sister Ann laid a gentle hand on Ada’s arm. ‘Child, how can you not worry?’ she reasoned. ‘There are thousands of women all over the country enduring the same pain as you.’
Ada swiped the tears from her eyes. ‘I feel like I’ve waited all my life for a man like Jamie, and just when I’ve found him, he’s been snatched away from me.’ She gave a shuddering sigh. ‘I know it’s what he wants: he was miserable and ashamed when he felt he wasn’t doing his bit. I really have no right to complain,’ she finished determinedly.
Seeing Ada struggling to regain her composure, Sister Ann tactfully changed the subject. ‘Tell me, how is Zelda progressing?’
‘She’s a wonderful mother,’ Ada replied, as she pocketed her damp handkerchief. ‘Totally besotted by little Constanza, who is thriving. I have difficulty keeping Zelda out of her garden shed,’ she smiled. ‘Now that she’s back on her feet, she’s busy once more mixing her healing salves and poultices.’
‘She’s a wonder with those herbs,’ Matron replied. ‘Diana seems to be thriving too. Whenever I see her, she has George in one arm and Teddy in the other.’
‘Is there any news from Father Ben about George’s adoption?’ Ada enquired.
Sister Ann shook her head. ‘Nothing, and to be honest it’s becoming a source of concern to all of us. Such a lovely little boy whom we can’t seem to place.’
‘I worry about him being parted from Teddy,’ Ada admitted. ‘The pair of them are like two peas in a pod. They sleep side by side, roll around on the nursery mat together. Diana occasionally manages to feed them together, one on the bottle and one on the breast. It’s quite an achievement,’ she chuckled.
‘Diana has been wonderful with George,’ Matron acknowledged.
‘I think taking responsibility for both boys has occupied all of her waking moments and saved her sanity in the process,’ Ada said. ‘I was worried sick she would go to pieces, but she put her baby’s needs before her own and now she’s taken on George too.’
‘We must leave it in God’s hands and trust that he’ll find the right parents for George.’ Matron held Ada’s gaze. ‘I would hate to send the little boy to an orphanage.’
Back in the Home the atmosphere was charged with excitement. Little colourful bootees and baby socks decorated the black-marble fireplace surround, and the home-made red, green and blue crêpe paper decorations that the residents had made were draped across the ceilings of the sitting room and dining room. Boughs of holly heavy with red berries were artfully arranged behind mirrors and pictures along with bunches of mistletoe that dangled over doorways.
‘Any excuse to get a kiss,’ Gracie joked, as she posed under a bunch of mistletoe with her full red lips pursed for a kiss. ‘Though to be honest I’m in no mood for kissing fellas,’ she admitted. Supporting her huge tummy with her hands, she gave a weary sigh. ‘Surely it can’t be long now: I’m well past my due date.’ Eyeing Diana’s slender figure, she added enviously, ‘You’re lucky: at least you’re the other side of childbirth, I’ve got it all to come.’
‘I would have preferred it if my labour hadn’t been brought on by grief and heartache,’ Diana sadly reminded her.
Gracie blushed with shame. ‘Sorry, Di, when will I ever learn to keep my big mouth shut?’
Eager to make amends for her slip-up, Gracie struggled to her feet. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’
‘Not right now, thanks,’ Diana replied. ‘I need to check up on the boys in the nursery then I want to put the last of my presents under the Christmas tree in the entrance hall.’
‘Me too,’ Gracie replied. ‘I’ll meet you there later.’
Diana found her boys rolling around on the soft playmat in the nursery. Dora, who had been keeping an eye on the babies, smiled when she saw her. ‘They’ve been having a little boxing match, grabbing each other by the nos
e and ears. Teddy even had hold of George’s hair a few minutes ago, little rascals,’ Dora said fondly.
Diana gazed down at them: Teddy tall and pale with serious blue eyes; George dark and smiling, with a strong, muscular little body. She had given birth to one child, but she had enough love in her heart for the two of them. George and Teddy, Teddy and George: she couldn’t say one name without immediately thinking of the other.
‘Are you okay to look after them for a little bit longer, Dora?’ Diana asked. ‘I want to put the last of my gifts under the tree.’
‘Fine, lovie, off you pop,’ Dora answered cheerfully.
‘I’ll be back in time to feed them,’ Diana said over her shoulder, as she hurried out of the nursery.
With one eye on the gurgling babies wriggling on the playmat, Dora continued changing the cotton sheets that lined the babies’ white canvas cots. With Percy gone and Jack posted overseas, she had been dreading Christmas: the thought of just her and her husband on their own all day with only their sad thoughts for company was simply unbearable. Matron’s generous invitation to spend the day at Mary Vale had cheered both of them up considerably. Dora would happily lend a hand in the kitchen or on the wards if necessary, while she knew that her husband would be content to chat to the residents and to the Arkwright men, who had also been invited to the Home for Christmas dinner.
Relieved that she was on her own, Dora let her tears fall unchecked. Christmas was a terrible time of the year when you were mourning the loss of a loved one. No matter how hard she tried to stop the flow of memories, they flooded back, bringing with them wave after wave of grief. How could she ever forget the sight of little Percy, his big brown eyes huge with wonder on the Christmas morning when he had found a red-and-yellow scooter propped up beside his bed?
‘Santa’s been,’ he said in an awed voice. ‘Mummy, look what he gave me for me.’
