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

by Shirley Dickson

  May braced herself. ‘I’m not afraid of malicious wagging tongues. But neither do I want to be the latest hospital gossip.’

  ‘I don’t want that for you either.’

  ‘Tell me, Richard, where d’you live?’

  ‘Not far from here in Salmon Street.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yes. Apart from the owner of the house downstairs.’

  ‘Can we go back to your place?’

  ‘D’you think that’s wise?’

  ‘Not if you’re going to tell anyone.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Richard, I’m guessing you won’t take advantage of me.’ She gave a playful grin. ‘Besides, apparently, I’ve got a chaperone downstairs if needs be. Seriously though, there’s nowhere else to go and I don’t want to be on my own.’ She didn’t add that he intrigued her and she couldn’t help being interested in him, in seeing where he lived, and finding out what made him tick.

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  * * *

  They passed the tobacconist’s on Marrs Corner then as they went on past the Scala Cinema, May noticed The Song of Bernadette was showing. She stopped and an aching lump hurt her throat. Jennifer Jones, the actress, dressed in a nun’s garb, wore the very same serene expression Maureen had done when she’d told May she was leaving the hospital to become a nun.

  What if – May had the unbearable thought – in her last moments Maureen had regretted the decision? But, May reasoned, this would never be true; Maureen’s faith transcended doubt, she believed life was ordained and she’d be ready to meet her maker. For the first time since she’d learned that Maureen had died, May was comforted.

  A hand grasped hers and, looking up, tears blurring her vision, she met Richard’s understanding gaze.

  ‘Maureen gave me her rosary beads…’ Her voice cracked and she couldn’t go on.

  He squeezed her hand and they continued walking.

  They turned the corner into Salmon Street where May saw a row of terraced houses that shouldered up the hill. The evening sun broke through the clouds, yellow sunlight chasing the dark shadows away. May felt heartened, as if she’d emerged from the long black tunnel of winter into spring.

  Richard stopped at a tall house with a blue wooden front door whose paint flaked off in places. He brought out a key.

  ‘Does this belong to you?’ she asked incredulously.

  ‘Don’t be daft, I could only buy a shoebox on my pittance.’ Richard laughed. ‘I rent the two upstairs rooms.’

  Inside, it was gloomy and smelt of damp. A door further along the passage squeaked open.

  ‘Is that you, Richard?’

  ‘Who else, Ernie?’

  A light switched on and an older man emerged from a doorway. His hair was grey and he stooped slightly – probably because he was so tall.

  ‘Ernie, this is May Robinson.’

  ‘Ahh! Pleased to meet you, hinny.’ He held out his hand and May noticed that his other shirt sleeve was empty and pinned at the elbow.

  She smiled and shook his hand.

  ‘I’m makin’ a cuppa,’ Richard told him. ‘D’you want one?’

  ‘Don’t bother yourself about me.’ Ernie gave May a wink. ‘He’s the best lodger I’ve ever had. Heart of gold. Nothin’s too much for the fella. Looks after me proper, he does.’

  He withdrew into the room and closed the door. She wondered if Ernie knew Richard was a conscientious objector.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking and yes, he does,’ Richard told her as he led the way upstairs.

  ‘He seems nice. Does he have a wife?’

  ‘No, she died in childbirth. Ernie never remarried. He rents out the two rooms as much for the company as the money.’

  ‘How did he lose his arm?’

  ‘In the Great War.’

  Richard led her to the landing where he opened a squeaky door and May entered a spacious room with a high ceiling.

  Richard bent and picked up newspapers, a book with a lending library date on the open page and a tea cup from the floor, placing them on the table. May surveyed the room. There was clutter on most surfaces – the mantelpiece, table beneath the window and bureau – and she deduced that Richard wasn’t the tidiest of people.

  ‘The rooms are just a base,’ he justified. ‘I’m hardly ever in.’

  The furniture, though old, was tasteful. Two worn leather winged-back chairs with Queen Anne legs (the same as Sister Jordan’s desk) stood in front of a tiled fireplace. The room must have come furnished, she thought, as she couldn’t imagine Richard owning anything. She could see him leading a nomadic kind of life.

  ‘Make yourself at home.’ Richard made for the door. ‘Tea?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Once alone, May took off her woollen jacket and placed it over the chair. She went over to the table where a wireless stood and switched it on. Tommy Handley’s voice came through the grille. May, not a fan, turned the knob to another station and Vera Lynn’s yearning voice singing ‘We’ll Meet Again’ came into the room.

  May then caught sight of the black and white photographs assembled on a mahogany bureau top. She moved closer and studied them. The larger one was of a man and woman and it looked as though they were attending a wedding, as they had buttonholes in their coats. The man, distinguished-looking, wore a bowler hat over his dark hair and a moustache brushed his upper lip. The woman had a carefree smile showing perfect teeth and wore the most gorgeous wide-brimmed tilted hat with an enormous bow at the front. The two smaller matching-sized photographs were of the same middle-aged man, only this time he wore a uniform, as did the young man in the other picture frame who looked remarkably like Richard.

  ‘My younger brother, Jeffrey,’ Richard’s voice spoke from the doorway. In his hands he held two cups of tea.

  As Vera Lynn’s heartrending voice continued to sing in the background, May noticed Richard’s eyes had a faraway look.

  ‘Were you close to your brother?’ she asked.

  Richard appeared to give himself a mental shake and, crossing the room, handed her a cup of tea. May sat on a wing-backed leather chair, while Richard sat opposite.

  ‘Jeff was my younger brother by four years,’ he eventually said. ‘He lied about his age and joined the army when he was seventeen.’

  ‘Goodness me, what a shock for your parents.’

  Richard took a sip of tea. ‘On the contrary, Pa was proud… he already had one son a coward.’

  Uncomfortable, she decided not to comment on his statement. ‘It must have been terrible for the family when your brother was killed.’

  ‘Pa felt that Jeff upheld the Bentley name and died a hero.’

  May heard the bitterness in Richard’s tone and didn’t know how to reply. Her nurse training came to the fore and she decided to let him do the talking.

  ‘Jeff died at Dunkirk. He was dodging bullets as he ran towards an enemy machine post. He managed to throw his grenade but was killed in the resultant blast.’

  Pride gleamed in Richard’s eye.

  ‘That was brave.’

  During the silence, as they drank their tea, May imagined the scene – the terrible injuries Richard’s brother would have endured if he’d lived.

  She asked, ‘Is that your dad in the other photo, in uniform?’

  ‘Yes, that’s Pa.’

  ‘Did you live on an army base?’

  ‘Yes, while Pa was at Aldershot. Then when he was posted abroad Ma went with him. They left Jeff and me behind.’

  It seemed a strange arrangement but May thought it best not to say so.

  ‘Who brought you up?’

  ‘My maternal grandparents. They saw to it I got a university education.’

  ‘What did you study?’

  ‘Originally, I was going to study theology.’

  ‘What’s that?’ May hadn’t come across the word.

  Richard hesitated before choosing his words.

  ‘Let me answer this way. A
s a committed Christian I wanted to study to help me understand Christianity more deeply. I spent a lot of time with my grandfather. A man I hugely admired. He was a vicar but not the Victorian kind… he had a huge sense of humour. I grew up wanting to spend more time in his company than I did with Pa.’

  ‘Is your grandfather still alive?’

  ‘He died of a heart attack the year war started.’

  ‘Did you speak with him about…’

  ‘Me being a conchie? Yes… and before you ask’ – his eyes twinkled – ‘he told me I should do what’s right for me… to be guided by my conscience.’

  ‘But you would naturally be influenced by him,’ May put in. ‘Because you admired him so much and you knew that’s what your grandfather would do if the situation arose for him.’

  Richard’s eyes gleamed in admiration.

  ‘You confess to having not had much schooling… but you have real insight. That, in my book, counts far more than university qualifications.’

  May, embarrassed, changed the subject. ‘So, what did you end up studying at this university?’

  ‘I wanted to become an architect and build houses. So that people wouldn’t have to live in slums.’

  The more she got to know Richard the better she liked hm.

  He gave a mock long-suffering sigh. ‘Are we done with the interrogation? Anyway, how about you telling me something about yourself.’

  What could May say? Every part of her life was a minefield to talk about and she didn’t want him to know. It mattered that he kept his respect for her. She evaded the question by telling him about her lack of schooling, how ignorant she was and how becoming a nurse was a dream come true.

  In the silence that followed he looked intensely at her.

  A burning curiosity made May ask, ‘What did… Jeff think—’

  ‘About me being a conchie?’ he finished for her. He stood up and placed his cup and saucer on the table.

  ‘Jeff looked up to me when we were growing up,’ he told her. ‘We were very different. I was the lanky awkward one while he was outgoing and sporty – the son every father wants.’ His tender smile showed no resentment. ‘But Jeff couldn’t understand my view on war.’ A dark shadow crossed Richard’s face. ‘We had lengthy discussions that turned into heated arguments. When Jeff couldn’t make me understand that it was every man’s duty to join up, he grew angrier than I’d ever seen him and he called me a bloody coward.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told him to go to hell.’ Richard, staring into space, relived the scene and looked visibly upset. He continued, ‘Jeff had a volatile temper, and I figured if I left him alone, he’d come around and we could talk sensibly. Jeff was fair-minded and I knew that given time he wouldn’t hold my views against me.’

  ‘So, did you make up?’

  Richard shook his head. ‘The next day he joined up.’ He swallowed hard. ‘I never saw him again after that.’

  In the silence that followed, May’s pity for Richard knew no bounds. How many more lives would be ruined by this war? Richard walked over and, reaching out, he took the empty cup from her hand and paused to stare wonderingly at her.

  ‘I’ve never told anyone that before. Or that I’ll carry the guilt of not making up to Jeff till my dying day.’

  His imploring brown eyes met hers and the air between them electrified. He leaned forward and their lips met.

  Richard was startled. He hadn’t meant the kiss to happen but it had just seemed the right thing to do in the moment. But had he taken advantage of her?

  To be fair, he mused, May was party to the kiss too. But it nagged Richard that he’d kissed her when her defences were down. What about later, when she came to her senses and realised what she’d done?

  He hadn’t known her long and originally wondered if this was just an infatuation. But when he’d seen her tonight by the cinema billboard, her face blotchy with crying but still beautiful, he knew then he’d fallen in love with her.

  Vera Lynn now singing ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ blared from the wireless, and Richard knew the song would always remind him of that special moment.

  Of course, May might never want to see him again – and he wouldn’t blame her. Neither did he want her to suffer because of his beliefs as she surely would if they became a couple. It was best he kept his distance from now on.

  But was he that selfless?

  ‘I have to go.’ She appeared uneasy as if she’d done wrong. The kiss would never be mentioned, he knew. ‘I need time to meself.’

  ‘Look, at least let me see you back to Parklands.’

  ‘No.’ She stood and made for the door. ‘I’ll catch a trolley at the bottom of the street.’

  When she’d gone, the room held a lingering sense of her captivating presence, Richard picked up the photo frame and regarded Ma and Pa. Had they ever been in love? he wondered. They’d been aloof with each other for as long as he could remember.

  Pa was a shadow of the man he used to be, while Ma blamed him for their youngest son going to war.

  When they were notified of Jeff’s death, she’d raged at Pa, ‘My son wanted to live up to your expectation of him. He was afraid of you. You ran this family army-fashion. All Jeff ever knew was regulations and confrontation.’

  For all that Ma despised war, she seemed resentful towards Richard because he refused to go. Her disappointed gaze made it plain she wished it were he who had died and not her favourite son. Richard had had no alternative but to leave the family home.

  Pa couldn’t abide pacifists. His mantra was that every man’s duty was to fight for his country as he had done in the Great War without question. Richard ran his fingertips through his hair. Though he respected Pa’s views, he also knew if he ever had kids, they’d be allowed to have their own opinions, and if Richard didn’t agree with their choices he’d never disown them.

  As he laid the photograph face down, overwhelming weariness swamped Richard. Poor Pa, bitter and resentful, had suffered a nervous breakdown, while Ma had turned out the stronger of the two.

  Richard thought long and hard about his relationship with his parents but as always came to the same conclusion. He couldn’t have done anything differently.

  He’d done what was right for him and that was all a man could do. Why, then, did he feel so bloody bad about his decision?

  18

  May, making her way in the darkness along the cobbled street to Parklands, was confused by what had taken place at Richard’s place but strangely exhilarated too. His kiss was tender but was it a spur of the moment kind of thing and, if not, what did it mean? She chewed her bottom lip. Whatever the kiss meant, it had made her pulse race.

  Like turning a knob on the wireless, she switched the subject of Richard Bentley off in her mind. She knew she was a muggins where men were concerned, and she refused to get involved again, especially with a conscientious objector.

  As May opened the door and came into the downstairs room, she saw Valerie sitting in front of the fire, textbooks at her feet on the floor.

  Valerie looked unsure. ‘I’ve been waitin’ for yi’.’ She spoke in a small voice. May could tell by her puffy eyes that Valerie had been crying.

  ‘I don’t want to argue,’ May told her.

  ‘Neither do I… not tonight… not any more. Maureen would want us to be friends.’

  ‘Valerie, I’m whacked, can we talk about this some other time? I’d like to go to bed.’

  Valerie mightn’t keep to her word and May had had more than enough emotion for one day.

  She made for the stairs.

  ‘Wait,’ Valerie pleaded. When May turned, Valerie said, ‘I’ll never forgive meself for being so mean to Maureen.’ Her chin trembled. ‘She was the nicest person and I…’ She let out a sob and her face crumpled. ‘I was mean to her when she told me she was leaving. I… ridiculed her and I hate meself for it.’ Tears leaked from her eyes. ‘But even then she was kind to me. I’m such a fool but now she’s dead�
� and I can’t ask for forgiveness.’

  It was the second time that day that someone had talked about losing someone they cared for without having the opportunity to make up – and May hadn’t had an answer for either of them. But her heart ached for Valerie who she could see was truly broken-hearted.

  May remembered her promise to Maureen. She moved over to the couch and sat beside Valerie.

  ‘After you left that day’ – she put an arm around Valerie’s shoulders – ‘Maureen said if ever you were to feel guilty about how you acted I was to say she understood and forgave you.’

  Valerie’s watery eyes searched May’s face. ‘You’re kidding me?’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘And you’re not making this up just to make us feel better?’

  ‘Cross me heart. You were mean to Maureen that day but, lovely soul that she was, she knew you were going through a rough time.’

  ‘I was jealous of the way you two got on and I felt left out.’ Valerie confirmed May’s suspicions. ‘I… always blamed myself for Dad leavin’ us. Me Mam once said it was us kids that drove him away and I got it in me head I was a nuisance and nobody would like us. Maureen was always caring towards me.’ She sat up and faced May. ‘I do believe if Maureen were here now, she’d tell us she forgave me. I reckon she was a saint and she’s in heaven now with her maker.’ Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

  The pair of them sat in silence for a time thinking about their friend.

  May broke the silence. ‘At the time I thought Maureen meant she would be away at the convent but now I’m not so sure.’ She turned to Valerie, ‘I think she had a premonition she was going to die.’

  ‘Don’t say that… you’re givin’ us goose bumps.’ Valerie shivered. ‘I’m not religious but I do feel Maureen’s presence around us and it’s comforting, like she’s still somewhere in the universe.’

  May inwardly smiled. Valerie’s sensitive side was emerging.

  ‘Don’t you see?’ May continued. ‘It was as if she did have forewarning… Maureen wasn’t afraid.’ She shook her head.