Dear Mrs Bird

by AJ Pearce

  Joan, Thelma, and Mary, like thousands of others, spent day and night, after day and night carrying on with their jobs in the most frightening of conditions. Every day they helped save strangers they didn’t know and would never meet. But today it was their friend. Stiff upper lips and getting on with things were all very well, but sometimes there was nothing to do but admit that things were quite simply awful. War was foul and appalling and unfair.

  For once, not one of the telephones rang.

  After a few moments, I carefully let go of Joan, wiping my face and then grasping her hand and Mary’s as well. They both reached out to Thelma and for just a moment the four of us stood in the middle of the call room, gripping on to each other’s hands as if we were a special, secret society.

  I spoke first, wanting like anything to make them feel the tiniest bit better or help find it easier to carry on.

  ‘Come on, girls,’ I said, voice shaky but doing my best. I looked at Mary and added very gently, ‘Come on. Chins up.’

  It was only four months since her brother had gone missing in Africa. I knew Mary’s tears for William were mixed with ones for him too. I squeezed her hand harder and hoped I looked like a reassuring big sister. She tried a brave smile back.

  ‘Good girl,’ I said. ‘That’s the ticket.’

  Thelma took up the baton.

  ‘Look at us,’ she said, sniffing. ‘This won’t do, will it? In uniform and everything.’ She ran out of steam.

  Joan tried manfully to carry it on. ‘What would Bill say, eh?’ she said trying to raise a laugh, but wobbling badly. ‘Oh dear,’ she finished. ‘Oh dear.’

  They were trying so hard. It was difficult to bear.

  ‘Well,’ I said, slowly. ‘I think Bill would be ever so sad to see everyone so upset, but I think he would understand. And he’d probably try to cheer us all up.’

  It was despicable speaking on his behalf but it seemed to boost everyone. They all nodded and agreed and tried their hardest to smile.

  The noise of an engine sounded downstairs. The first of the team had returned from their calls.

  Mary looked panicked and felt in her pocket for a hankie. The others did the same. No one wanted the boys to see them in tears.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘They’ll be parking up. I’ll go down and see them in a minute.’

  ‘Thanks, love,’ said Thelma who then blew her nose briskly. She seemed to steel herself slightly before asking how Bunty was.

  ‘She’s doing tremendously well,’ I said, giving her my rehearsed answer. ‘Though it’s probably going to take a bit of time to be fully back up to scratch.’

  ‘You will give her our love, won’t you?’ said Thel and I nodded, feeling sick.

  I could hear the growl of more pumps coming in downstairs and a few shouts and calls between the men. Any second now, one of them would come tearing up the stairs asking for tea.

  ‘I must go down and see them,’ I said, hoping I sounded plucky and upbeat and all the things I wasn’t at all.

  ‘They’ll want to see you, of course,’ said Joan.

  Will they? I thought. If only they knew the truth.

  But with one last smile at the girls, I headed downstairs to face William’s friends.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Yours Ever, Mrs. Wardynski

  When I left the station, being an absolute coward I walked the long way home in order to avoid going past Mr Bone’s newsagent’s. I was pretty sure he would know what had happened and I couldn’t face another desperately sad conversation, especially as I knew this would have opened the wound of the loss of his son. People were beginning to fill the streets on their way to work and I kept my head down, anxious to avoid anyone I knew. I was already beginning to recognise an odd expression on their faces when they saw me. A flicker of not quite panic, followed by a well-meaning grimace of a smile as people searched for something to say, or far worse, tried to cover up sadness of their own.

  I passed the little playground as usual and stopped momentarily to watch two children playing chase with their dog. The children were shrieking and the little terrier was yapping with excitement, oblivious to the cold, the damp, and the thundering great craters that formed the backdrop to their games. The little girl called the dog and he ran over to her, tail wagging furiously. She scooped him up in her arms and hugged him tightly, as he licked her face, his back legs hanging down where she was too small to hold him properly, and leaving happy smears of mud on her coat.

  I wished I could run around the playground, playing and shouting and laughing as if everything was fine. I allowed myself a moment of wishing Charles was here. He might hold my hand and tell me things would be all right. Even though they wouldn’t, I would like to hear him say it. He had a way of sounding sure, not an arrogance, but a calm that made you feel somehow safe and as though there was nothing that couldn’t be sorted out.

  I checked myself. There was no point in getting soft over him now. Goodness knows what he would think about the whole sorry story once he came home. There was only so long I could bluff about Bunty’s recovery. What would he think of me then? We hadn’t known each other very long, and although I wrote to him a lot, and had received his first letters from overseas, it was still such early days.

  I shivered, and crossing my arms in front of me against the damp, set off smartly again. I would wash my face and make myself presentable for the office. Then I could start my plan to keep as busy as possible until I got war work and could leave Woman’s Friend.

  *

  At work, everyone, without exception, was lovely on my return. Kathleen was even waiting for me by the lift on the third floor and after she had given me a huge, worried hug, we walked the two flights to the office together, Kath with her arm through mine and telling me over and over again how sorry she was.

  We had barely made it through the doors to the Woman’s Friend corridor when Mrs Mahoney and Mr Brand appeared and offered the warmest of words. Mr Collins must have told them what had happened and they were terrifically nice. Anxious to move the attention away, I thanked them and assured everyone I was perfectly fine to be back at work. Kath took the hint and chivvied me into her little room. I was just taking off my coat when Mrs Bird appeared in the doorway. She was resplendent in a black feathery outfit and hat which made her look like a very large crow just off on its way to church.

  ‘Ah, Emmeline,’ she said in a matter-of-fact way, but at an acceptable volume and using my first name, which had never happened before. ‘I thought I’d come and see you.’ She pursed her lips and looked grave. ‘I hear you’ve had a grim time of it. Difficult days.’

  It was most unlike the Acting Editress to actually come into Kathleen’s office, rather than bark orders from outside, and it was a gesture that was both surprising and kind.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Bird,’ I replied, ‘and for letting me have the week off.’

  ‘Quite all right,’ she said, brushing it away. ‘Mr Collins gave me the gen. Rotten business. They are not people, they are vermin. Well done for turning up. Wobbly?’

  I shook my head. I wasn’t used to Mrs Bird in sympathetic mode. I looked at Kathleen, who was rooted to the spot and staring.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Bird,’ I said again. ‘I really am fine, thank you.’

  ‘Good for you,’ she replied with a mixture of gusto and probable relief at the fact I was not doing anything hideous like having a cry. ‘Best thing is to keep busy. Throw yourself in.’

  I wondered whether now was a good time to tell her I intended to leave Woman’s Friend and apply for a full-time job in the war effort, but Mrs Bird ploughed on.

  ‘Now, Mr Collins tells me he could do with some overtime from you. Perfect to get you back in the swing.’

  She had returned to her usual, much preferred approach of human steamroller.

  ‘An extra afternoon a week and all day Monday has been discussed. But I still need you to remain on top of my letters. Miss Knighton has enough on with th
e rest.’

  I nodded gratefully. It was just what I needed for now. If I added more shifts at the station as well I could keep myself from thinking about things. All I would have to do would be work and sleep.

  ‘However, I must warn you,’ said Mrs Bird, manoeuvring her eyebrows into a stare that would turn milk, ‘that we have had some very Unpalatable Correspondence lately. Very. Unpleasant. Indeed.’

  The letters. Not now, I thought. Not now.

  Mrs Bird glowered.

  ‘Nastiness, Miss Lake. I can’t imagine what’s come over our readers but I’m afraid Miss Knighton has had to cut up several highly unacceptable letters in your absence.’

  Kathleen nodded and looked awkward. I waited, holding my breath.

  ‘One obviously hopes this is not An Unsavoury Fad, but I would ask you to be more than vigilant and report any Unpleasantness to me. We shall not move in this direction.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I’m sure it’s been just one of those things.’ I bit my tongue. I should know better than to put in a throwaway platitude as it was likely to make Mrs Bird more than irate.

  ‘Hmm,’ she said in a threatening manner and then turned to Kathleen. ‘I will be in the Boardroom discussing Fire Buckets.’

  And then she was gone.

  Kath and I looked at each other as the doors to the stairs crashed shut.

  ‘She was very nice,’ I said. ‘I hadn’t really expected that.’

  ‘Mrs Bird really isn’t nasty,’ said Kath. ‘She’s just, um . . .’

  ‘Assertive,’ we said together, which raised the smallest hint of a smile and the first one for me in days. It wasn’t much, but I had to admit it was a relief to be back. No one at Woman’s Friend knew William or Bunty, and selfishly, not having to worry about people’s grief made things easier.

  I sat on the edge of the desk and asked Kathleen if Mr Collins was in yet.

  ‘Any minute now, I should think,’ she said. ‘He’s awfully worried about you, Emmy,’ she added. ‘He’s been very quiet and rather unbearable to be honest.’ She looked at the door. ‘He’ll be ever so pleased to see you, I’m sure.’

  I didn’t really know what to say to that, but hoped he wouldn’t make a fuss. To change the subject I decided to take a risk and ask about Mrs Bird’s Unsavoury Fads. I hoped like mad that it hadn’t aroused Kath’s suspicions again.

  ‘So, has there been some colourful correspondence?’ I asked, hoping to look as if I was merely interested in focusing on work.

  My head ached from the lack of sleep. I was trying hard to push what had happened to the back of my mind and hoped Kath would allow my line of questioning and not put up a moral No Entry sign instead.

  To her credit, she joined in, merely picking some lint off her woolly before pulling a face.

  ‘Well, yes. A few have been a bit much, if you know what I mean. Because you weren’t here we had a bit of an All Hands On Deck and Mrs Bird even went through some of the letters herself. You know we’ve been getting a few more in than usual.’ Kath stopped and looked behind her, then reached back and picked up a small pile of letters. ‘These came in in yesterday’s second post. I haven’t opened them yet, but Mrs Bird opened personally about this many. It turns out there were two pregnancies and one asking how to get a divorce. She wasn’t best pleased.’

  I made a sympathetic face.

  ‘Mrs Bird said if this was the sort of person that wanted to read the magazine, we should have to have a long hard look at what we were writing about, and then do something about Raising The Tone.’

  I shrugged and looked blank, but it didn’t sound good. Kath motored on, sorting through the letters in an absentminded way.

  ‘The sad thing was, that there was the loveliest letter from a lady who said Mrs Bird had really helped her. I tried to show it to her yesterday as I thought she might be pleased, but she said she didn’t have time. I kept it as I thought it might cheer you up.’ Kath looked at me apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, I know it hardly would. But you always take such an interest in the readers, I thought . . . well. Anyway. I can just throw it away.’

  ‘Oh please don’t, I’d love to see it,’ I said.

  Kathleen opened the bottom drawer to her desk and handed me a letter. Thanking her, I added it to the rest of yesterday’s second post so I could read it on my own rather than invite further discussion. Then I scuttled off down the corridor to open all the post and wait for Mr Collins to come in.

  I had only spent a few hours in the old reporters’ office before my week away, but I already felt fondly of it. It made me feel I was at least in a proper journalists’ room, the smallest suggestion of my Correspondent dream. I had a romantic notion of what it might have been like when Woman’s Friend was a success and it had been full of writers in a hubbub of activity, sharing ideas and cigarettes and sandwiches. I rather wished it would be that way again one day, after the war. I turned on the light and opened a window as the musty smell was continuing to mount a stubborn defence against change. Then I sat down at the desk I had chosen. It was just by the door so I could leap to attention when Mr Collins called, but also as it gave me a nice, if partial view out of the taped-up window and over the tops of the buildings across the street.

  It was time to get on with things. I opened the letter Kath had kept for me.

  Dear Mrs. Bird

  I wanted to write to you to thank you for the advice you so kindly sent in response to my letter some weeks ago.

  You will know me as ‘In Love’, the girl with the Polish airman, who was told not to marry him by her mother.

  My stomach churned. So this was what Kath had wanted to show Mrs Bird. Talk about a close shave.

  Well, Mrs. Bird, I must tell you that my name is Dolly Wardynski, or rather, Mrs. Mieczsław Wardynski. We were married yesterday!

  I heard myself say ‘Oh’ as I clamped my hand over my mouth with surprise. In the midst of everything horrible, this was just lovely.

  I read your advice a hundred times and thought about things very carefully, just like you said I must. It made me sure that I don’t mind whether I move to Europe with Mieczsław after the war, or even to America or anywhere else. I know it may be difficult, but as long as we are together, I don’t mind. But I did think about it tremendously carefully, and my husband (it is such a thrill to write that!) and I discussed it very sensibly and he gave me all the assurances in the world that it would all be just fine.

  I had been worried about Mother, but you helped me be brave! Mother and Father aren’t terribly pleased about it, but I am sure they will come round in the end.

  Mrs. Bird, I can’t thank you enough for your kindness. My husband is in a dangerous job and none of us really know what may happen next, but now I am his wife, I am the happiest girl in the world.

  Yours ever,

  Mrs. Mieczsław Wardynski. (Dolly)

  Scotland.

  In Love had done it. Outside, a weak but plucky sun was trying to push through the March clouds and my excitement for Dolly was only tempered by the sad fact that I couldn’t tell anyone. Certainly no one at Woman’s Friend, but my goodness, how Bunty would love to hear of such a lovely, happy ending.

  I crashed back to earth with a bang.

  Of course I couldn’t tell Bunty. How could I have even considered it? A letter from a stranger who now had everything that Bunty had lost could not have been worse. And anyway, I hadn’t even been truthful with her about continuing to secretly write letters in the first place. It was a heavy reminder that in terms of best friend behaviour, I was a pretty thin show.

  With spirits plummeting, I barely heard Mr Collins come into the room, only looking up as he took a chair from another desk, and set it down beside me.

  He didn’t say anything, but looking thoughtful, leant towards me, his hands folded between his knees. He was my boss day to day, my new boyfriend’s brother outside of work, and now a man with whom I had shared the most horrific experience. Eccentric, moody, funny, and now h
eroic Mr Collins. He was not one for shows of emotion but from the look on his face I could tell he was fighting with quite what to say. It would have been entirely inappropriate, but infinitely more comforting if I could have put my arms around his neck and been a watery lettuce all over his coat. But that would have been a world gone quite mad.

  In the end he reached over and touched my arm, which for an office situation was radical enough.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he said quietly. ‘You don’t need to be here, you know.’

  I nodded and trotted out my now standard response that I was fine. He did one of his eyebrow raises and didn’t reply. One of the things I had learnt in the last few weeks was that you couldn’t bluff him.

  ‘I’m going to resign,’ I blurted. ‘And apply to join one of the services full time.’

  Mr Collins nodded.

  ‘I see,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve been thinking all week. I want to do something more useful.’ I struggled to explain. ‘This isn’t enough. And anyway they’ll start calling up women soon. So I’m going to resign.’

  I braced myself for a You’re Being Too Hasty speech.

  ‘Right you are,’ said Mr Collins. ‘I can understand that. Is this your resignation?’

  He took Dolly’s letter that I was still holding and before I could stop him, started to read.

  ‘Goodness,’ he said, surprised. ‘Henrietta’s actually helped. Wonders will never cease.’

  ‘She does sometimes,’ I butted in quickly.

  ‘Good,’ said Mr Collins, putting the letter back. He turned in his chair and looked out of the window. ‘Pleasant day. Spring’s having a go.’

  He didn’t look at me, but continued to speak as he contemplated the view.

  ‘Nice to know that old Woman’s Friend isn’t an entire waste of time. It’s rather a shame you’re off. I had a few ideas I’d hoped you could help me with.’ He turned and smiled at me, very kindly. ‘Not to worry. I know Bunty must need you.’