Home Fires and Spitfires

by Daisy Styles

  It was lovely to sit by themselves in the cosy kitchen, which smelt of spices and baking bread.

  ‘The perfect end to the perfect day,’ Jamie said, as he finished off every single scrap on his plate. Picking up his glass of port, he raised it to Ada, ‘Here’s to us, my darling, happy days.’

  Smiling, Ada clinked her full glass against his. ‘Here’s to many more days walking beside you in the Lake District.’

  After Jamie had helped her to wash up their dishes, Ada turned to him. ‘Would you mind if I just popped on to the ward for a moment? I’m keen to see Gracie.’

  ‘Of course,’ Jamie answered. ‘But before you go can I ask you something?’

  Hanging up the tea towels with her back turned to him, Ada replied in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Yes, of course, what is it?’

  ‘Come and sit by me – there’s something I want to show you,’ Jamie said, smiling.

  Returning to the table, Ada sat down beside him; he gently took her left hand in his.

  ‘Will you marry me, my darling, wonderful Ada? Will you be my wife?’

  As he spoke, Jamie slipped a glittering diamond ring out of his pocket. Shocked, delighted and overwhelmed, Ada was completely lost for words and could only stare in disbelief at the beautiful ring.

  ‘Really?’ she finally blurted out before bursting into floods of tears.

  ‘I’ve never been more serious in my entire life,’ Jamie assured her.

  Sobbing and laughing all at the same time, Ada cried out her reply. ‘Yes, yes, oh, yes!’

  Laughing with joy too, Jamie eased the ring on to her wedding finger, then pulled her into his arms.

  ‘I was going to propose to you at Sty Head Tarn,’ he confessed. ‘But when we got there, I realized I had left the ring back here. What a chump I am!’

  Ada clung on to him; with her head pressed into his chest, she tried to stop the flow of tears that threatened to overtake her completely. How could she be so happy, so unbelievably lucky? She had met the sweetest man in the world, whom she longed to spend the rest of her life with. And yet her bubble of joy burst at the thought that tomorrow he would pack up his bag and return to the Front, to fight for all that they believed in. How would she bear being separated from her beloved all over again? Jamie was no longer her dashing, handsome boyfriend: he was her future husband; the man with whom she would spend the rest of her life, she hoped.

  ‘Please God,’ she prayed in the silence of her heart. ‘Look after my Jamie, keep him safe and bring him home to me. Amen.’

  33

  1941

  The post-Christmas lull hit hard. The atmosphere wasn’t lightened by the snow, which, before Christmas, had seemed magical, but now, melting in slushy pools as grey rain persistently fell day after day, was nothing more than an eyesore. The fields flooded in low-lying areas close to the river caused a lot of problems for Frank Arkwright and his father, who were just starting the lambing season.

  It seemed that the only resident who went happily about her daily life was Zelda. Every morning, after bathing and feeding Constanza, who grew sweeter and more charming with every passing day, Zelda pushed the baby in her pram down the garden path to her shed. Though the earth was still in the grip of winter, Zelda nevertheless peered closely at the damp soil, eagerly searching out for signs of new growth. Tightly curled small buds were in evidence on the trees in the wood that extended as far as Mary Vale’s garden, and in the garden borders Zelda could just about make out tiny spears of green coming through, promises of snowdrops and aconites soon to come. The thought of new life, new growth bringing herbs and flowers that would soon be available to harvest, brought a smile to Zelda’s face. After a busy winter of making tonics, lotions and salves, Zelda had almost depleted her stocks of dry herbs. Mr Marsden, the chemist in Kendal, had been her salvation over the winter months, supplying her with all the dried herbs she had run out of, and more besides. Though grateful Zelda had offered to pay from the money she had earned from her market produce sales, Mr Marsden simply wouldn’t hear a word of it.

  ‘Away with you,’ he had chuckled. ‘I refuse to make a profit from your good works.’

  After pooling their information and sharing remedies, Zelda had become quite good friends with Mr Marsden, who surprised her one day by suggesting that, on the back of her success with her herbal remedies, she should think about branding them and selling them on a larger scale. Zelda had been flabbergasted. ‘I couldn’t do that!’

  ‘Why not?’ the chemist enquired. ‘They’ve done no harm – quite the opposite – and they have all proved successful.’

  Seeing Zelda blushing and uncomfortable, he gave her a kindly pat on the shoulder. ‘Think about it,’ he concluded.

  As baby Constanza slept in her pram or gurgled as she played with her tiny pink fingers, Zelda worked on at her bench, warmed by the cheerful glow of the crackling wood-burner. When Constanza wailed with hunger, Zelda lifted her lovely, warm body from her cosy bed of blankets and, after settling herself comfortably in the battered old armchair by the wood-burner, she fed her baby. During these contented tranquil moments, Zelda’s thoughts ranged far and wide. Her major preoccupation was how long would she and her dear friends remain at Mary Vale? She was quite certain that Gracie would be the first to leave; in fact, she knew that Mrs Price was visiting this coming weekend to discuss the adoption of her granddaughter, Daisy, with Father Ben. Diana was reluctant to leave the Home, mostly because she was dreading leaving baby George behind. She was already talking about returning home to her parents in Suffolk, which meant that out of the three of them Zelda would be the last to leave. Much as Zelda loved Ada and the staff, the prospect of staying on longer than her friends held little appeal.

  Gazing down at her sleeping daughter, Zelda smiled. Constanza was so beautiful! Small and delicate, with the daintiest little heart-shaped face, deep, dark, inquisitive eyes and pink cupid-bow lips. It was all she could do not to kiss her sleeping baby, which would surely wake her up, so Zelda firmly resisted.

  ‘Where will I go next?’ she spoke out loud to her baby, who yawned as she snuggled under the blanket in her pram.

  Zelda had been excited when Frank had suggested that she rent locally; she would have liked nothing better than to stay in the Grange area, as she loved living so close to the forests and mountains that always reminded her of home. Most of all she loved the proximity of the vast Irish Sea, with its ever changing seasonal moods and tidal shifts, its incoming and outgoing tides bringing a peaceful, calming rhythm to her day that she already knew she would sorely miss.

  Unfortunately, Frank hadn’t mentioned rental property again since they had discussed the subject on Christmas Day. Zelda was cautious about troubling him further; she knew too well how busy he and his father were right now, dealing with the winter floods and lambing too. From the plaintive bleating coming from the sheepfold on the other side of the drystone wall, Zelda knew that more lambs were being born in quick succession. With the Arkwright men working around the clock, this certainly wasn’t the time to bother them with her problems.

  ‘Where on earth will we live, meine Liebe?’ she asked slumbering Constanza.

  As she sat staring dreamily at the sparks flying up the wood-burner’s chimney, Mr Marsden’s idea drifted into her head. What if she were to market her potions and creams – might she make an income? Straightening her narrow shoulders, Zelda rose slowly from the chair and laid her sleeping child back in the pram before turning to the Herbals laid out on her bench. Could these ancient remedies really sell over the counter? Would people really want to buy marigold and knitbone skin cream?

  ‘I’ll make it work,’ said Zelda determinedly. ‘If it means I can stay close to Mary Vale, I’ll work until I drop to make a living,’ she vowed.

  Mrs Price arrived from Barrow on Saturday morning, keen to see her daughter and her granddaughter too.

  ‘She’s a right bonny lass,’ Mrs Price announced, as she gazed at Daisy sleeping in her white can
vas cot in the nursery.

  ‘For God’s sake, don’t wake her up,’ Gracie begged, when her mum made to touch the little girl. ‘She’s got a voice like a fog-horn; she’ll have the entire nursery bawling in less than a minute.’

  ‘Just like you,’ Mrs Price remarked. ‘You could stop a bus once you got going!’

  Gracie hurried her mother out of the hospital wing and into the sitting room, where a log fire crackled in the enormous hearth.

  ‘We’ve got a few minutes before we go to see Father Ben,’ Gracie explained. ‘Do you want a brew?’ she asked.

  For once Mrs Price shook her head. ‘No, not till we’ve got this appointment over with.’

  Gracie suddenly realized her mother was nervous. ‘Mam, what’s up?’ she asked softly.

  Mrs Price gave an awkward shrug. ‘Are you quite sure this is what you want?’

  Gracie gave her mum a long, steady look. ‘I’ve been over this a hundred times in my head,’ she started. ‘I’ve talked about it over and over again with my friends here in the Home and the staff too. I am absolutely crystal clear that I want to have Daisy adopted.’

  ‘I know that’s what you’ve always said,’ her mother interrupted. ‘But now you have a daughter, aren’t you in two minds about your decision?’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Gracie declared. ‘How many times do I have to say it? Maybe one day I’ll be ready to be a mother, but right now I know I would make a bad job of bringing up Daisy. I’m not ready, Mam. How could someone like me give a little baby a good settled home?’

  Her mother gave an understanding nod. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Gracie continued. ‘I really care about Daisy’s future; I want my child to be happy,’ she added with tears in her eyes.

  Not wanting to push Daisy further, Mrs Price let the matter drop. ‘You told me that Father Ben had been really helpful.’

  ‘He has,’ Gracie agreed. ‘That’s why I wanted you to see him for yourself, before I leave the Home, and Daisy too.’

  ‘Right, then,’ said Mrs Price, as she checked the time on the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Let’s not keep the man waiting.’

  Father Ben’s office in the convent was calm and quiet after the hurly-burly atmosphere in the Home, where girls constantly chattered, babies cried and visitors came calling.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Mrs Price,’ said the priest, as he held out a chair for her to sit on beside his desk.

  After a few polite preliminaries Father Ben started his update. ‘I think the best choice for Daisy is a couple who are in their thirties and live in the North-East.’ He glanced down at the notebook on his desk before he continued. ‘After suffering several miscarriages, they gave up on the idea of having any children at all until they read about Mary Vale in their church magazine. You can imagine there are quite a few procedures we have to work through, Mrs Price,’ he said to Gracie’s mother. ‘Matching a baby to the right family is vital to all of us. Anyway, the couple I refer to fell in love with Daisy at first sight and can’t wait to take her home and start their life as a family with her,’ he concluded.

  Mrs Price wiped a tear from her eye. ‘As long as our Gracie’s happy with the arrangement, that’s all right with me,’ she said as the meeting concluded. ‘Thank you, Father, for all your help.’

  As they walked back along the silent corridor that connected the Home to the convent, Gracie gave her mum a squeeze.

  ‘Sorry to put you through that ordeal, Mam,’ she said, with an emotional catch in her voice.

  ‘Don’t go fretting yourself, lovie,’ her mother staunchly replied. ‘I understand it’s the right thing for you, and, after hearing about the couple who want to adopt Daisy, I feel a lot easier.’

  ‘But you’re still upset?’

  ‘Aye, what mother wouldn’t be? I want the best for you, and for your baby too,’ she answered with a resigned sigh.

  Before she left, Mrs Price clearly had something else on her mind. ‘Would you mind if I didn’t say goodbye to the child?’

  Gracie shook her head. ‘It’s all right, Mam, I understand.’

  ‘I need to put a distance between her and me for both our sakes,’ Mrs Price explained. ‘She’s starting out on a new life that doesn’t involve me and I’d prefer to leave it like that.’

  ‘I know the feeling,’ Gracie answered quietly. ‘I’ve been doing the same thing myself. It’s not fair on Daisy to do otherwise. I’m the one that made the mistake; the poor little mite shouldn’t be the one to suffer for it.’

  ‘Aye, lass,’ her mother agreed sadly. ‘The sooner life gets back to normal the better.’

  On a gloomy, dank day in January 1941 Diana announced that she was leaving Mary Vale.

  ‘My parents have offered me and Teddy a home. They’re not happy, but they’ll do the right thing by me, for which I am truly grateful.’ She gave a heavy sigh. ‘The thought of that long, ghastly journey to Suffolk with a new baby is bad enough, but what’s worse is the idea of being cooped up in that rambling, draughty old house overlooking the North Sea with barely any company. I’ll miss you all so much!’ she cried.

  ‘Hopefully it’s only short term,’ Gracie suggested. ‘Until something better comes up.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be so bloody ungracious,’ Diana said guiltily. ‘At least I’ve got a bolt hole to go to. I’ve arranged to leave the Home at the end of the month,’ she added with no excitement in her voice. ‘Hopefully George will have found a family to adopt him by then.’

  Ada gave a bright smile that belied her own anxious feelings about the little boy’s future. ‘We will miss you so much, dearest Diana,’ she admitted.

  Diana gave her a warm smile. ‘You must get so used to women coming and going in this place,’ she commented.

  Ada threw Diana an affectionate look. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘But there are some women that you never forget.’

  34. Coming Home

  Harry’s prayers were miraculously answered as one freezing cold January morning, after weeks of arduous and hazardous travel, an airplane lifted him and twenty other prisoners of war off the Rock of Gibraltar. As they took off over the Atlantic, Harry’s eyes followed the coastline until it receded into a vast blue shadow; then he turned his eyes westwards. Harry was going home.

  Massively underweight, Harry arrived back on home soil a shadow of the man who had left it. Walking through the capital to his debriefing, he barely recognized London, with barrage balloons floating over the Thames and St Paul’s and sandbags piled high outside shops and hotels. After his rigorous debriefing Harry’s commanding officer took him to one side.

  ‘Well done, old man, you got out and you’ve been able to pass on vital information that will assist further reconnoitres.’ After giving Harry a hefty slap on the back he continued. ‘Time you touched base with the family and got some rest. I’ll be in touch in a week or two to discuss your future.’

  Having no idea where his fiancée and baby might be, Harry decided his best move was to start where he left off, so he wasted no time in getting the train back to Cambridge, from where he hitched a lift to Shelford. His heart lifted at the sight of Diana’s charming, picturesque cottage with its pale-blue front door, though he was saddened when he peered through the grimy windows to see the rooms empty and dusty: clearly nobody had occupied the place since Diana had left. Not finding the farmer (who rented out the cottage) at home, Harry hitched another lift, this time to Duxford, where he sought out his chum, Derek Robson, in the Ops Block. The man was visibly stunned at the sight of Harry.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ he exclaimed, as he sprinted down the flight of stairs that led up to the viewing gallery. ‘Sweet Jesus!’ he gasped in total shock. ‘You’re alive!’

  Taking hold of Harry’s arm, he added in an urgent whisper, ‘Listen, old man, we urgently need to talk.’

  In the Officers’ Mess, over two stiff whiskies, Robson wretchedly told Harry about his most recent communication with Diana.

  ‘She thinks you’re dead,’ he gulped.<
br />
  Harry slumped in despair. ‘Poor Diana,’ he groaned. ‘God knows what I’ve put the poor girl through.’

  Stricken with guilt, Robson apologized. ‘Believe me, Harry, I would never have written to her with such bad news if I hadn’t been informed at the highest level.’

  Harry stared miserably into the bottom of his empty glass before reassuring his friend that he quite understood.

  ‘Knowing how desperately fond you two were of each other, I thought notifying your fiancée of the situation was the right thing to do, especially given her circumstances. I’m sorry, old man,’ Robson muttered. ‘I seem to have got it all bloody badly wrong.’

  ‘Stop beating yourself up, man,’ Harry exclaimed. ‘I’d have done exactly the same thing. But I need to put things right. I need to go to her right away.’

  Robson quickly wrote Diana’s address on a piece of paper that he handed to Harry, who was already on his feet.

  ‘You can’t leave now,’ he protested. ‘Diana’s on the other side of England – you’ll be travelling all night.’

  ‘I need to go to her right away,’ Harry repeated frantically. ‘That’s if she’ll ever talk to me again.’

  Harry did indeed travel all through the night, sleeping standing up in packed, smoky corridors where airmen, soldiers and sailors jostled for a space in which to lie down. When the train finally disgorged most of its passengers at Lancaster, Harry flopped on to a carriage seat that a number of noisy soldiers had just vacated. Falling into a deep, exhausted sleep, he was jolted awake as the train shunted into Kents Bank Station, where Harry disembarked. Blinking, Harry stood on the empty platform, trying to get his bearings. As the train chugged away and the smoke lifted, Harry got his first view of Morecambe Bay, and the wide, dramatic sweep of the Irish Sea over which the weak winter sun cast a pewter sheen. Following the porter’s instructions, Harry left the station and, after walking through a small wood, he emerged in the gardens of Mary Vale with his heart starting to race. Would Diana still be here? If so, would she still want him after all he had put her through? Was his baby in the building he stood before, or would Diana, thinking Harry was dead, have had their child adopted?