by Rosie James
‘When do you think the roundabout will be starting?’ she asked.
‘You must be patient, Emily,’ Abigail said. ‘I expect they’re waiting for those strong men to arrive to make it work. Now then, let’s go and see what cakes you’d like us to have with our tea.’
After a while, people started sitting down at the small tables and almost at once, Eileen, with her mother having re-joined them, found a table for five in a secluded and shady corner of the garden. She came over to speak to Abigail.
‘I’ve bagged that table over there for us,’ she said, ‘and Carrie will be joining us in a minute. So choose your cakes and I’ll bring the tea over for us.’ She smiled. ‘It’s turning out to be quite a busy afternoon, isn’t it, and apparently the stalls are all doing well.’
Abigail smiled back. ‘Do you know, Eileen, I’ve never felt so – so completely relaxed,’ she said. ‘There’s such a lovely atmosphere here, and I feel absolutely at ease with the world.’ She paused. ‘You wouldn’t think there was a war on, would you?’
Abigail, Emily and Mrs Matthews went over to their table, and Eileen’s mother nodded as she sat down. ‘I agree with you, Abigail. This is a different world, isn’t it?’
When Carrie joined them, word got around that the roundabout was in business and Emily jumped down from her chair excitedly. ‘Can we go over, Mummy? Look, there’s a little queue waiting already.’
Gladys Matthews got up. ‘Let me come with you, Emily,’ she said. She glanced at Abigail. ‘You stay and chat with Carrie and Eileen, dear. I’ll make sure Emily comes to no harm.’
The others laughed at that and Carrie said, ‘I don’t think that little contraption is capable of harming anyone! And look – my dad is already taking his turn at making it work! Bless him,’ she added fondly, ‘he’s always the first to volunteer.’
Carrie half-closed her eyes and dropped her head back for a moment. ‘Gosh, I’m tired,’ she admitted. ‘Mum and I were up early to make the scones and finish the butterfly cakes.’ She yawned. ‘And the phone hasn’t stopped ringing with people making last-minute enquiries.’
Presently their attention was alerted to Joan Waters who was sprinting across the lawn, beckoning to Jonathan urgently. He immediately passed his position at the roundabout over to someone else and followed his wife as they both ran back into the vicarage.
‘My poor father,’ Carrie said as she watched them go. ‘Will people never give him any peace! That telephone doesn’t leave him alone for five minutes – there’s obviously another parish crisis for him to deal with.’ Then, after a few moments, shading her eyes from the sun, she pointed at the roundabout. ‘Look, it’ll soon be Emily’s turn – she’s been so patient, love her.’
‘And I’ve had to be patient, too,’ Abigail said, ‘listening to her going on and on about it.’
After a minute or two they saw Jonathan come back outside, and he was almost running towards them, nearly tripping over as he hurried. Frowning, and sensing that something must be wrong, Carrie immediately stood up and went quickly forward to reach his side.
‘Dad?’ she said anxiously. ‘What is it? What’s going on?’
And although from where they were sitting the others could not hear what was being said, what they did hear was Carrie’s desperate cry, and she clung to her father, burying her face into his neck. Then, horrified, they saw her knees begin to buckle, saw Jonathan Waters try to prevent his daughter from collapsing to the ground.
‘Oh no, please no,’ Eileen whispered, tears beginning to fill her eyes and Abigail’s throat tightened in horror. Because this could only mean one thing.
After a few moments, both girls stood up and slowly walked the few steps towards the heartbreaking scene they were witnessing. Because they knew Carrie would want them to be close.
Then, releasing herself from her father, and with tears still streaming down her cheeks, Carrie looked at Eileen and Abigail.
‘It’s Mark … it’s M …’ The word could barely leave her lips and Eileen grasped Carrie’s arm tightly.
‘Hold on, Carrie,’ Eileen began, but before she could utter another word, Carrie broke in, her voice shaking and tremulous.
‘Mark is alive!’ she said. ‘Dad just received the news on the phone! Mark is alive and he’s all right and he’ll soon be coming home! He’ll soon be here with all of us again!’
Then, after a few breathless seconds, and as if at a given signal, the three girls clasped each other around the waist and circled around and around and around in a triangular dance of uninhibited joy.
Almost at once Joan Waters arrived to join them all in their excitement. ‘What a day!’ she exclaimed, hugging her daughter tightly. ‘This is the news we’ve all been praying for, isn’t it, and our prayers have been answered!’
Carrie tried to dry the tears which were still streaming down her face. ‘What else do you know, Dad?’ she said. ‘Is Mark all right? I mean, it’s been such a long time since we’ve heard a single word. Is he, is he injured?’
Jonathan shook his head. ‘I wasn’t given much to go on,’ he said, ‘only that Mark returned to England two days ago and is now being de-briefed. Once that’s happened, things will become clearer.’
Drying her own eyes, Joan said, ‘Now, all of you go and sit down again because I’m going to make some fresh tea – and there are still plenty of cakes left.’ She smiled. ‘Of course, I would rather open a bottle of champagne because I think the occasion calls for it, but that will have to wait. And when Mark finally shows up,’ she said, ‘we’ll have a party – a proper party!’
And sitting at the table with the three girls – who were still clutching each other’s hands in relief, Jonathan Waters offered a personal prayer of gratitude. Gratitude to the young padre who’d been on the duty desk when Carrie’s father had gone to the War Office, and who’d kept his word that, when it came through, any news of Captain Mark Anderson would be relayed to All Saints vicarage at the earliest possible moment.
Chapter 21
The prevailing, peaceful atmosphere of the occasion – disturbed only by the clink of tea cups and the companionable murmuring among those present – suddenly changed into one of abject terror as, without prior warning, the air raid sirens began to scream out their terrifying message making everyone clap their hands over their ears. Straightaway, Jonathan Waters got up and ran among the crowd, urging everyone to leave the garden and run, run to their nearest shelter.
‘Quickly!’ he called out urgently as he rounded up those who still could not comprehend that they were apparently soon to be in the middle of an air raid. ‘Leave everything where it is and just get to your shelters! Take cover! Now!’
Galvanised, Eileen, Abigail and Carrie raced over to the roundabout and grabbed Emily out of the little car she’d just sat in.
‘Sorry, darling,’ Abigail said breathlessly, ‘you won’t be having a ride this afternoon after all, I’m afraid. Come on, we must get to the shelter. And Mrs Gladys is coming too,’ she added, ushering Eileen’s mother in front of them.
Emily looked up. ‘Is this another air raid, Mummy?’
‘Yes, but we’re going to be all right,’ Abigail said.
‘There might not be enough room for us all in the municipal shelter across the road,’ Carrie said breathlessly, ‘so I think we should go straight into the church crypt. Are you all right, Mrs Matthews? Shall I take your other arm?’
‘No, I’m managing quite well, thank you, Carrie,’ Eileen’s mother said. ‘My daughter knows how to force me to get moving when the need arises.’
They all hurried, half-walking, half-running out of the gardens, and clutching Emily’s hand tightly, Abigail couldn’t help feeling that apart from the amazing, wonderful news Carrie had just received, everyone had been dealt an unjust hammer blow that afternoon. It had been such an innocent event, enjoyed by young and old alike, but how could you be sure of anything, anymore? Were they all going to get out of this one alive? There had been no m
ention, no rumour, that this raid was likely, and since the last one in June, the city had known comparative quiet which, once again, had lulled everyone into a sense of passivity.
As they paused briefly at the gate to let Mrs Matthews go first, Emily looked up at her mother.
‘I think the Germans are really mean,’ she said. ‘They could have waited until I’d had my turn.’
On Monday two weeks later, the telephone rang in the study at the vicarage, and Jonathan Waters swivelled his chair around to reach the receiver.
‘All Saints – good afternoon,’ he said pleasantly. Then – a brief silence and Mark’s voice.
‘Hello, Mr Waters. It’s Mark.’
‘Mark! My dear chap!’ Jonathan automatically got to his feet. ‘How wonderful to hear you! How are you – and where are you?’
Mark chuckled. ‘I’m all right, thanks,’ he said. ‘Got home an hour ago – to the obvious delight of my parents! But now I have two weeks’ leave and I was wondering if I might come up to the vicarage later. I’m going to drop in at The Berkeley first, and see if Carrie’s allowed to see me for a few minutes.’
Allowed to see him? Jonathan thought wryly. Any soldier returning from active duty was welcomed with open arms by everyone, and Carrie would most certainly be allowed to see Mark.
‘Of course, Mark! Come whenever you like! And I will let my wife know that there will be an extra one at the table tonight. She will be thrilled – and so will Carrie, of course.’ Jonathan hesitated. ‘We have all been very worried about you, Mark.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry that it was impossible for me to get any news through to any of you,’ Mark said, ‘but it’s been, well, rather difficult to say the least.’
‘More than just difficult, I imagine,’ Jonathan said dryly.
It was afternoon tea time at The Berkeley, and in the Accounts department upstairs Carrie turned to her two colleagues.
‘Yes I know, I know … it’s my turn to fetch the cakes,’ she said, standing up. ‘Is it to be éclairs or meringues?’ But she needn’t have asked because they all preferred meringues.
She went downstairs to the main area and stood at the counter waiting to place her order and thinking how glad she was that Monday was nearly over.
Outside, and unnoticed by her, Mark was looking in at the window, and when he saw her there a rush of pure joy ran through him. There she was, no longer a vision in his imagination but his lovely sweet, gorgeous Carrie who he hadn’t stopped thinking about all these months.
Keeping a low profile, he went into the main entrance and stood close behind her, desperately wanting to put his arms around her, to hold her tightly to him, here, now. But he resisted the temptation. Then he heard her speak to the counter assistant.
‘Can I have the usual, please, Sylvia?’
‘Three meringues coming up,’ the assistant said, smiling and glancing at the tall, good-looking young man waiting to be served. ‘Won’t keep you a moment, sir,’ she said.
As Carrie reached up to take the plate of meringues and turned to leave, Mark said quietly in her ear, ‘Will you marry me?’
‘Wha—! Mark! Oh Mark!’ And in her confused delight Carrie dropped the plate she was holding, and it fell to the floor with a crash, scattering clouds of sugar everywhere.
Then his lips were on hers and they kissed, long and deep, not caring that several others were there witnessing the reunion.
After a few moments he held her away from him and gazed into her eyes. ‘So is it yes or no, Carrie? Will you be my wife … please?’
She dropped her head against his chest. ‘Oh yes, yes, Mark,’ she whispered. ‘How could you ever doubt it?’
Then her eyes twinkled. ‘But not before you pick up all those crumbs you made me drop on the floor,’ she said.
It quickly became known to all the others at The Berkeley that Carrie’s young man was there after having been away so long, and the manager had no hesitation in giving Carrie the rest of the day off.
‘Go home, Carrie,’ the man said, smiling broadly. ‘I’m sure you and Captain Anderson have a lot to catch up on!’
An hour later the vicarage doorbell rang, and together Joan and Jonathan Waters ran forward to answer it, both wondering how Mark was going to look after all his time away. It had been many, many months since they’d seen him. But at first glance he seemed unharmed, as handsome as ever, his skin bronzed. He was wearing grey slacks, a white, open-neck shirt and black blazer. And they were hardly surprised to see Carrie standing there as well, with Mark’s arm around her waist, her face flushed with excitement. Joan spoke first.
‘Mark,’ she said, ‘how marvellous to see you, my dear. The day we were afraid would never arrive!’ She glanced at Carrie. ‘They’ve let you come home early, Carrie … and I should think so too! Come in – the pair of you. What a wonderful way to start the week!’
Jonathan moved forward and grasped both Mark’s forearms in greeting. ‘My dear fellow,’ he said, his voice almost breaking. ‘What words can possibly express our delight that you are home.’
With Mark still holding Carrie closely to him, they all went into the sitting room and Joan Waters said, ‘Can I make you some tea, Mark? Or a cold drink?’
Mark shook his head. ‘No thanks, Mrs Waters, The Berkeley did the honours earlier – and very generously.’
Joan and Jonathan took their places in the two easy chairs opposite the sofa where Carrie and Mark were already sitting, holding hands. And after they had all exchanged the usual pleasantries Mark came straight to the point. Looking at Carrie’s parents, he said, ‘You will want to know – and I want you to know – what happened to me during the last three months.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘It has been an unusual experience.’
‘Well, fire away, Mark,’ Jonathan said. ‘The only information I was able to glean was that your regiment was with the British Expeditionary Force in France.’
Mark nodded. ‘That much is true,’ he said, ‘but when we got there things didn’t turn out quite as we’d thought. The German army had already moved into Belgium and the Netherlands, and as we kept advancing, we realised we were soon going to be completely surrounded.’
‘Oh Mark,’ Carrie whispered. ‘I can’t bear to think you were there.’
‘It didn’t take long for it to dawn on us that the only thing open to us was to retreat … to get to the beach at Dunkirk and back across the Channel.’ Mark’s expression was serious as he spoke. ‘As a fighting soldier, retreat is not the desired option, but war is war, and one has to face the reality of what is happening at a given time. Our orders were – retreat – get to the beach and get your men home.’ Mark waited before going on. ‘Retreat does not always mean defeat,’ he said. ‘Retreat can mean a short intermission or delay – and that is what Dunkirk will be, I’m sure of it.’
Jonathan nodded slowly. Mark Anderson was a soldier, through and through, and although war was not usually on the Christian agenda, sometimes war was unpreventable. Everyone knew what Hitler was up to: he wanted to overrun and command the whole of Europe, and, eventually, England too.
Mark leaned forward. ‘Anyway, after what seemed like an endless march back, we got to Dunkirk and then waited in long queues for the shipping which we thought would be there to take us home. And – well, yes, some big vessels did arrive – but not nearly enough because there were now thousands of us waiting on that beach with enemy aeroplanes screaming overhead trying to sink those ships.’
Mark frowned briefly before going on. ‘What we couldn’t understand was why Hitler didn’t command his troops to finish us all off, there and then, because he could have done, easily. Could have mown us down like sitting ducks.’
Carrie dropped her head onto Mark’s shoulder, trying not break down at all he was saying.
‘But,’ Mark went on, ‘he chose to let us stew in our own juice. And then … and then …’ Mark swallowed. ‘Coming into view, we saw dozens of small boats begin appearing, one after the other, little pleasure
boats, fishing boats, small tugs … and they began taking on two or three men at a time. Of course, we knew it was going to take days to get us all off that beach and all we could do was to sit there and wait our turn.’
‘Mark,’ Jonathan said gently, feeling that Mark needed a second to recover himself, because what he was revealing was taking its toll on the young soldier, ‘I don’t know how you all find the courage to do what you do.’
Mark smiled briefly before going on. ‘There is an unforeseen end to my story, Mr Waters,’ he said, ‘because it was suddenly discovered that two of our unit had gone missing and appeared to be unaccounted for. Then someone said that these two had retraced their steps and gone back on the mainland.’ Mark shook his head. ‘That was completely pointless and counter to orders of course, but war does strange things to people. Anyway, my orderly and I scrambled back away from the beach and started searching for them, and half a mile away we found them – stranded – because one had a broken ankle, and the other was in a state of utter shock. And unfortunately for us,’ Mark went on, ‘the German troops were there, now, right on our heels.’
‘What on earth did you do, what could you do?’ Jonathan said slowly.
Mark took a long, deep breath. ‘Well, the decision was taken out of our hands because there, in that dense part of the forest where we’d found the men, we suddenly heard a voice, a French voice.’
‘English … you come! Now!’
There was quite a long pause before Mark spoke again. ‘I had no choice, really,’ he said. ‘By this time, I knew we were surrounded by Germans and if we tried to make a run for it back to the beach – carrying a wounded man who couldn’t even take his own weight – we’d be picked off with no trouble at all. So we followed this French peasant to his little place, a small farmstead I suppose you’d call it – it took us ages to get there.’ Mark smiled for the first time. ‘This chap and his very kind wife took us into their humble home, and we were soon given a baguette and a bottle of red wine. I can’t tell you how good it was, to taste normality – as well as the wine … well, we’d been away from home for a very long time.’
