Our Last Goodbye: An absolutely gripping and emotional World War 2 historical novel

by Shirley Dickson

  ‘Blimey. I didn’t realise.’

  ‘The silly thing is, that as time goes by, I don’t get a single letter, then a glut of them arrives all at once.’

  There was a pensive silence.

  ‘May.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Etty steeled herself. She had no ulterior motive; she was only trying to help, after all. ‘I don’t want to intrude, but you owe it to yourself to move on from Billy. Start afresh with somebody else. Don’t let life pass you by.’ She laughed, shamefaced. ‘Hark at me with all the clichés.’

  ‘I don’t know what a cliché is but I know Billy.’

  Etty inwardly groaned. May, poor lass, was blinded by love.

  May went on, ‘He does care… you should have seen the wreck he was when his dad died of a heart attack. He went to great lengths to look after his mam and kid sister. He cares about family and he’s good at heart and…’

  ‘Fickle,’ Etty exploded and then clapped her hand over her mouth.

  May looked at her in a peculiar way. ‘Why d’you say that?’

  As she tried to think of a satisfactory answer, the heat of shame rose in Etty, culminating in her neck and cheeks flushing. ‘All I’m saying is, don’t ruin your life waiting for Billy Buckley to settle down.’

  May didn’t answer but Etty could tell by her stubborn expression that that was exactly what she intended to do.

  * * *

  When she felt ready to leave, May caught a trolley home. Sitting in a window seat, she went over the day in her mind… Derek at the farm, the aeroplane crashing with probable loss of civilian life, the certain knowledge she must find somewhere to live… The future, a black hole of unpredictability May was afraid to explore, looked bleak, especially now she didn’t have Mam to rely on. But the dream that one day she could become a nurse played in the recesses of her mind.

  She got off the bus at her stop in front of the shops and over the road from Tyne Dock entrance. There was no point in knocking, she decided when she arrived at her front door, as she could tell by the open curtains at the bay window that Dad wasn’t in. As she closed the front door and switched on the passage light, May saw two envelopes sitting on the door mat. She made her way along the passageway, wondering who had sent the envelope addressed to her. In the kitchen, she switched on the light and the room, with its air of neglect, became visible. May set the letter addressed to Dad on the table and, ripping open the one with her name on it, read its contents.

  Dear Miss Robinson,

  I am pleased to inform you that Edgemoor General Hospital has accepted your application to train as a probationer nurse.

  The letter went on to explain that she was required to send a note of acceptance and inform Matron of her dress size for her uniform. The letter ended,

  Starting date is 5th of December at half past eight. You are required to collect your uniform from the sewing room and change. Then make your way to report to Matron’s office.

  The letter described the training school and what was to be expected of her. As May’s hands formed a steeple over her mouth, the letter fluttered to the mat.

  She could hardly believe what she’d read. She – May Robinson – was going to train to become a nurse.

  Etty was right; you never knew what was going to happen next in life. She picked up the letter and clutched it to her chest.

  * * *

  The next morning, leaving the factory after the night shift, May pedalled along the road. A cyclist drew alongside her.

  ‘Hang on… where’ve you been hiding?’

  In the half-light, she looked into the strikingly handsome and determined face of Alec Hudson.

  ‘Pull over,’ he commanded.

  May did as she was bid and stood holding the bike’s handlebars as she waited at the kerb.

  Alec came to stand next to her, straddling his bicycle. ‘I’m early in to work. I’ve kept an eye out for you all week,’ he greeted her.

  ‘I’ve been on night shifts.’

  ‘Ahh! I never thought.’ His eyes locked with hers. ‘I wanted to ask you out.’

  Flummoxed, May didn’t know what to say. She fumbled, ‘I don’t even know you.’

  ‘You know me name and that I ride a Raleigh bike and you must have twigged I work at the yards.’ His green eyes twinkled. ‘What more d’you need to know?’ She laughed when he pulled a hurt, boyish face. ‘I’m single and fancy-free and with this war on it doesn’t pay to wait.’

  She began to mount her bicycle.

  ‘Look, I’m not asking for your hand in marriage… just to walk out. How about the flicks, ice cream parlour…? Anywhere you like.’

  May made up her mind and, mounting her bike, she cycled off. Laughing, she called over her shoulder, ‘On your bike.’

  ‘I won’t give up that easy,’ he shouted back.

  * * *

  At the end of November, excitement was building within May. For soon she would be following her dream to become a nurse – she felt like pinching herself.

  But leaving the only home she’d ever known with memories of Mam in every room – her best china on the plate rack, trinkets covering every surface, the peculiar lived-in, mildew smell of the place – would be a wrench. Then there was Derek, who’d been born in the attic bedroom, spoken his first word and taken his first faltering steps in the front room. Happy and sad times, all shared in the space of the four walls of the Templeton Street house.

  ‘Change is always frightening,’ Etty had said when May visited and shared both the thrilling news of her acceptance at the hospital and her misgivings about leaving home. Etty was the only person she’d confided in about becoming a nurse apart from the labour manager at work. When May had gone to his office to hand her notice in she’d asked him not to mention her leaving to anyone as she didn’t want a fuss.

  Etty had continued, ‘With this war on, change is inevitable and sometimes, as we know, for the worse. But your news is the jolliest I’ve heard in a long time. A change for the better! Blimey. Grab it with both hands.’

  ‘You’re right’ – May grinned – ‘and without a doubt if Mam were here, she’d be brim-full of pride.’

  * * *

  With only three days to go before she left work, tired and drained from the long night shift, May arrived home hungry and desperate for a kip. In the semi-light, she bumped her bicycle up the front steps.

  The door opened and a small woman with permed silvery-blonde hair stood in front of her. Her expression belligerent, she closed the door behind her to prevent the light shining out, and, folding her arms, stood outside on the front step.

  ‘Hello.’ May presumed this must be Dad’s lady friend, Gertie. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m May.’

  ‘I know who you are. But what I’m thinkin’ is, what are you still doin’ here?’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘You heard.’ Gertie drew herself up. ‘Folk have answered the advert and we’ve—’

  ‘What advert?’

  ‘In the Gazette, to rent this house. We’ve had an offer too good to miss from a dentist whose house foundations are shot after the last raid.’

  May couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  ‘I told your dad to be firm but he’s soft and he’s left it up to me to inform you. The family interested wants to move in as quick as possible, with Christmas just around the corner.’

  She turned and moving into the dark hall, returning with a battered leather suitcase. ‘You’re a grown lass with a job. It’s time you fended for yersel’.’

  She dumped the small suitcase at May’s feet. ‘Your stuff’s in there.’

  ‘But I’ve nowhere—’

  ‘That’s no fault of ours… you’ve had plenty o’ notice. I’d try rooms in Ocean Road, if I was you.’

  As May picked up the suitcase, she saw Dad’s gaunt and white face staring from the bay window.

  Gertie, entering the hall, slammed the door behind her.

  * * *

  ‘The bitch
,’ Etty exploded, when May told her what had happened. ‘She threw you out?’

  Seeing the state her friend was in, Etty ushered her into the kitchen.

  ‘Does this Gertie have a job?’ Etty asked.

  They sat at the drop-leaf table over a breakfast of porridge. The baby was still asleep and Norma wriggled in her high chair as Etty tried to feed her.

  ‘I don’t know anything about her… Not even how she and Dad met.’

  ‘If you ask me, she’s after his money.’

  May couldn’t believe anyone would be that calculating and said so.

  ‘You’re priceless, May. It’s a pity there aren’t more folk like you… the world would be a far better place.’ Etty wiped milky sludge from the bairn’s chin. ‘Let’s not talk about the woman any more. I can tell you’re pooped and done in. Why don’t we go for a walk by the sea and blow Gertie’s evil aura away?’

  May rose from the chair. ‘I need sleep.’ Then as realisation hit, she slumped down again. ‘But I’ve got nowhere to go.’

  ‘Yes, you have. You’re staying here, my girl, and that’s final.’

  ‘But won’t I be in the way?’

  ‘Only if you make a complaint about the incessant racket in this mad house. You can kip in our double bed during the day. Luckily Trevor’s on the day shift.’

  Forced to admit she had no other choice, May agreed. ‘You’re too good to me, Etty.’

  At her words, the old suffocating cloud of guilt and doubt overwhelmed Etty. She could never make up to May for what she’d done.

  ‘Besides,’ Etty said, surfacing from the emotions that plagued her, ‘it’s only for two days, then you’ll be off to pastures new. For now, go and have a kip or you’ll suffer later when you’re at work tonight.’

  * * *

  In the bedroom, the curtains drawn, Etty’s clothes strewn on the floor, May undressed to her underwear and lay on the unmade bed. Pulling the sheet up to her chin, she smelled the warm, comforting smell of the previous occupants. She tossed and turned for a while, thoughts nagging her brain, and then fell into a fitful sleep.

  Later, when she woke up, she looked around and wondered where she was. Then it clicked. May checked her watch. She was ravenously hungry.

  She dressed and went through to the kitchen-come-dining room where embers glowed in the grate. She looked at the clock on the mantle. Half one. Etty, sitting at the table, was feeding the baby from a banana-shaped bottle while Norma sat in her playpen stacking wooden building blocks.

  Etty gave a rather preoccupied smile, then nodded to the bottle. ‘This is my life; I’ve become a feeding machine. Saying that, you’ll be famished… there’s left-over pie in the scullery.’

  May visited the lav down the yard and then washed her hands in the scullery under the cold water tap. She cut a slice of the corned beef pie standing on the drainer and returned to the kitchen.

  ‘You’ll scarce taste the corned beef it’s spread that thin,’ Etty told her, ‘but needs must when you’ve to stretch two meals out of a tin.’

  They purposely avoided talking about Gertie, for which May, who was still in shock somewhat, was thankful. Instead, they talked about shortages and the state of housing after the raids.

  ‘Did you hear that if you take in a conscripted miner you can earn twenty-five shillings a week?’ Etty said.

  ‘A conscripted miner?’

  Etty rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t you listen to the news?’

  ‘I’m whacked after I’ve finished me shifts. And I can’t hear the newsreader’s voice at work because of the racket in the canteen.’

  ‘Bevin announced earlier in a speech that one in ten men between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five who’ve been called up will work in the coal mines,’ Etty said.

  ‘How will that work?’

  ‘By lottery.’

  ‘You’re kidding me?’

  ‘No, really. Servicemen’s numbers will be put in groups of ten and to make the system fair figures from nought to nine will be put in a hat. Bevan’s secretary will pull one out. The serviceman with that figure at the end of their National Registration number will find himself down a coal mine.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘So the man said.’ Etty’s expression was one of disbelief. ‘You’d think they’d take a more scientific approach.’

  ‘Yes. I find it hard to believe a man’s fate would be decided by lottery.’

  ‘Precisely. And can you imagine some toff from London having to live with us heathens up here?’

  ‘The scheme’s never going to be popular,’ May agreed.

  ‘I feel guilty because part of me is glad about it.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Because Trevor was about to enlist.’

  ‘Doesn’t he like working down the pit and helping out at the funeral parlour any more?’

  Newman’s funeral parlour, situated over the road in Whale Street, consisted of two houses knocked into one, with the Newmans living upstairs and the funeral parlour and workshop on the ground floor. Trevor, in his time off from the pit, helped Mr Newman out (and May thought it admirable that he did). And for his effort, Trevor learned the funeral trade. His hope was that after the war was over, he’d have a permanent position at Newman’s. Providing, of course, the Newmans’ son was agreeable. Danny, the Newmans’ beloved only child and heir, was a pilot in the air force, and his folks expected that one day he’d take over the family business.

  Etty confided in May, ‘Trevor wants to do his bit and be in the thick of it. He now wishes he’d acted earlier to enlist because there’s no possibility he’ll be allowed to leave the pit under these circumstances.’ She pulled a satisfied face. ‘And I’m glad because I don’t want to see his name in the paper’s Roll of Honour.’

  May glanced at Norma, her chubby arms outstretched, wanting to be lifted from out from the playpen.

  ‘We don’t want your daddy dead, do we?’ May told the bairn. Glancing at Etty, she was baffled as to why her friend suddenly looked so flushed, and she wondered what she’d said.

  7

  May always caught Etty off guard. It was usually a simple thing like now when she mentioned Norma’s daddy – when the truth of the matter was: it wasn’t Trevor.

  How Etty wished she’d owned up about Norma’s parentage from the beginning when their friendship was casual but, in those days, Etty had never dreamed the pair of them would become so close.

  May, with her truthful nature, expected everyone else to be the same and she’d never understand Etty’s deceit. So, afraid of losing her friend, Etty had kept her secret. If she told the truth, Etty had convinced herself, she’d only hurt May – and what was the point of that? But, deep down, Etty knew she was only kidding herself, and that she was a despicable coward.

  All it would take was for Etty to say, ‘Trevor isn’t Norma’s daddy… her real dad is Billy Buckley.’ To confess the act only happened once, on the night raiders bombed South Shields market place, when the pair of them, together in the air raid shelter, feared the walls were about to cave in and they were going to die.

  From the first time May introduced them there was an attraction between Etty and Billy. Though, as May’s fiancé, he was strictly out of bounds as far as Etty was concerned. But in times of war when you think you’re about to die – things happen.

  In the silence, Etty became aware of May staring at her with a mystified expression.

  ‘Something wrong?’ May asked.

  A cold sensation crawled over Etty. She shivered. ‘Someone just walked over my grave.’ A stupid expression, she thought, and she saw her friend recoil.

  From the look of her pallid face, May was still reeling from the events of the last few days.

  ‘What time does Trevor get home from work?’ May asked.

  Etty checked her watch. ‘Any minute now. His shift is six till two.’

  May pushed back her chair and stood up from the table. ‘I’m going for a walk… it’ll do me goo
d and give you two time on your own.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, May. That never happens… not with these two.’

  ‘I’ll take Norma with me, if you like.’

  ‘Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.’

  * * *

  With Norma swamped in knitted blankets in the pram, May slung her handbag and gas mask over a shoulder, and, taking hold of the handlebars, bumped the wheels over the front step. The weather, cold but dry, would put colour in both her and the bairn’s cheeks.

  As she set off, she thought how thankful she was for Etty’s kind heart, for without the offer of a bed May would’ve had to find a room and she didn’t know if she’d enough money to stretch to that. She’d spent most of her savings on a pair of black sturdy shoes and pocket watch on a chain, requirements for when she started at the hospital. All the money she had, she calculated was—

  ‘May, is that you, girl?’ Ramona Newman’s strident voice called from over the street.

  Dressed in the green uniform of the Women’s Voluntary Service, the brimmed hat a little battered, Ramona wore a thick muffler scarf and mittens and carried a leather shoulder bag and her gas mask.

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’

  May pushed the pram over the cobbled road. ‘Hello, Mrs Newman. How are you?’

  ‘Don’t you hello me. You know fine well you’ve been avoidin’ me.’

  Mrs Newman, normally at pains to speak so properly, forgot she was a lady when she was vexed and lapsed into Geordie twang.

  ‘Not a sight have we seen of yi’ since the funeral.’ Her thin lips bunched. ‘You’d think, after all Mr Newman and I’ve done, we deserve a visit. What I’d like to know is, what’s happened to me sister’s possessions?’

  For the life of her, May couldn’t think what the Newmans (she was never allowed to call them aunt or uncle) had ever done for the family, except they’d once hired her as parlour maid – which Mam had been deeply opposed to because, in her opinion, her sister was a stuck-up cow who thought she was somebody just because she’d married into money.