by Maggie Ford
‘Oh my darling, it must of been dreadful.’
Her hand came up to smooth the worn cheeks, feeling the stubble, she wanted to hold him like a baby, to cuddle away the terrible sights that were invading him.
But there was little chance. As though to avoid any mawkishness, he gave a shrug mighty enough to push her away, the grin returning, albeit betraying deep weariness. He looked thinner if that was possible, and taller.
‘What matters is I’m ’ome all in one piece. An’ now all I want is ter be in me own ’ome. Come on, Bren, ’elp me up these bloody stairs. What I want is a good long sit-down. In me own chair. Wiv a real cup of real ’ome-made Rosy Lee in me mitts.’
Tears still catching in her throat, Brenda put an arm under his and led him up the stairs. Even though he looked as though he had strength enough to climb them unaided, it was her way of conveying her feelings at that moment for the ordeal he’d gone through.
Helping him out of his dirty battle blouse, she tried not to notice the dark patches, long dried, ingrained into the khaki. Settling him in his chair, she knelt and undid the stained puttees, pulled off the boots that looked as though they’d not been off his feet in weeks. She dared not recoil before the stink that arose from unwashed feet as she pulled off socks, so threadbare they more resembled rag, and she wondered how long, how many days he’d been walking in that one pair for them to get like this.
She wondered why he hadn’t found a fresh pair in his kit, but then he had probably been in too great a hurry to get home here to bother, or maybe he’d lost his other pairs, lost his whole kit, somewhere over there on his way to the coast. Surely he could have been given a change of footwear on landing in England? Allowed a brush-up? And why hadn’t he sent her a quick note that he was safe? Why hadn’t they given him rest before sending him home in this state? So many why’s – not one that could be answered – maybe would never be answered. She had a feeling it would be a long time before he would refer to what had gone on over there, if ever.
‘I’ll make that tea,’ she said, trying not to look distressed.
‘Where’s Addie?’ he asked evenly, laying his head back with a sigh.
‘Still asleep. I was going ter get her up in a few minutes when I saw you coming across the road from the bus stop.’ It sounded odd exchanging such ordinary conversation, as if he’d never been away. ‘I’ll get her up,’ she said.
‘Get me tea first, luv. All I bin dreamin’ of is a cuppa your tea, made at ’ome. Yer don’t know what a lovely cuppa yer make, Bren.’
‘And then I’ll fill a bath of hot water for yer,’ she added, filled with love at his appreciation of her. ‘I’ll boil every saucepan we’ve got in the place and yer can ’ave a lovely long soak fer as long as yer like.’
It didn’t matter that her speech, which had improved while he’d been away, had reverted to the way he always spoke. She didn’t care. All she knew was that he was home, he was unhurt, apart from his hand (and anyone could do that just building a fence) and he was alive. Beyond that she didn’t want to go.
‘And I’d better bandage that ’and of yours too. I wonder they didn’t do it when yer came off the boat. I mean, it could of got infected, all raw like that, and I bet it wasn’t clean ’alf the time, left open like that. Lord knows what germs could of got into it. Couldn’t they of bandaged it for yer? It only needed a bit of bandage. I know there must of been a lot of chaps in need of attention more than you, but they could of spared you a bit of bandage. It wouldn’t of hurt them.’ She was talking too fast, gabbling, eager to find a reason to blame and a need to blame, not even knowing why blame should be present at all.
‘I took it off,’ he said quietly. ‘The bandage was dirty anyway. As you said, there was too many ovvers worse orf. Anyway I don’t want ter talk about it.’
‘No, of course not, love,’ she said, and went off to set about dragging indoors the galvanised tin bath they kept on a bent nail in the wall on the landing and filling it with hot water.
Brenda’s first instinct had been to rush round to her parents to tell them the wonderful news, but Harry was more important than her at this moment and it was to his people that she went first.
Having woken Adele, she let Harry play with her while setting about filling up every saucepan she could find, putting them on the gas to boil. Adele could be washed, dressed and fed while he had his bath. She could hear him in their living room, the child giggling as he tickled her, then his deep voice calling towards the kitchen that she had grown like a mushroom even in the short while he’d been away and that one day she’d be a real stunner and break all the boys’ hearts. Brenda called back in as even a voice as she could muster that you only had to take your eyes off kids that age for two seconds for them to shoot up an inch or so, and to herself repeated and repeated prayers of thanks for his safe return, still hardly able to believe he was here, and safe, after all her anguish.
With him luxuriating in steaming hot water enjoying the bar of Lux toilet soap she’d put aside for herself some time ago, the door of the kitchen wide open to let the warm summer sunshine play on his bare back, she was hard put to tear her gaze from that spare, tight-muscled body to concentrate on getting Adele dressed in order to hurry off to his parents.
‘I’ll see you later then,’ was her casual parting shot, and he grinned.
‘Don’t start bringing ’em back wiv yer, will yer? I need a bit of time ter meself.’
‘And I want a bit of time with you,’ she called back happily as she carried Adele down the stairs to where she kept the pram.
Mr Stebbings came out and expressed his gladness that she had her husband back home.
‘I saw him as he came into the backyard,’ he said, ‘but I thought it best to make myself scarce. I’m so very glad for you, Mrs Hutton.’
Did he see too her demonstration of utter joy and relief? She thanked him and hurried out, turning the pram in the direction of Grove Road where his parents lived in Frederick Place, just a short walk away.
She hoped Harry would be out of his bath and dressed in civvies by the time his mum rushed back here with her. She would, despite Harry’s warning not to let her. Only natural she should, with her youngest son home from the war. But Brenda so wanted to have these first hours alone with him. And she knew too that all he wanted to do was to spend them with her and no one else.
‘I’m too bloody worn out,’ he had said, ‘ter go traipsin’ round there. I just want ter relax – ’ave a bit of a rest before I go back ter me unit.’
The implication that the leave he’d been given to recuperate would tick by quickly enough had upset her but she had put it aside.
His parents could come to them, and so could hers. And she could have bet her last farthing that it was just what his parents would do no sooner had she broken the news to them. So long as it was just his mum and dad and the rest of the family didn’t come in hordes.
‘Come round a bit later,’ she managed to stall his mother. ‘I left him having a bath and I expect he’ll still be in it by the time I get back. He don’t look as if he’s ’ad one fer weeks.’
After a second of stunned silence when Mrs Hutton opened the door to hear her announce, ‘I’ve just come to tell yer, Harry’s ’ome and he’s all right,’ she’d grabbed at Brenda to embrace her in a show of abandonment quite out of character.
‘Oh, thank Gawd!’ had come the cry. Dragging Brenda indoors she’d given way to a tear or two of relief before controlling herself. ‘Sid’s at work. I’ll ’ave ter let ’im know. We can stop at a phone box and phone his work.’
The word ‘we’, spoken through tears, conveyed the assumption that she would be accompanying Brenda back to her place. But before she could protest she found herself and Adele ushered down the passage and into the kitchen, there to be bombarded with questions. What time had Harry arrived? How did he look? Was he wounded in any way?
To all of them Brenda offered the briefest of information. Having done her errand all she wanted was to g
et back and be with Harry; to parry his mother, who was already making for her hat and coat, she said that he’d still be in his bath and no clothes on.
His mother stayed her hand in surprise. ‘Good Gawd, I’ve seen ’im in ’is birthday suit more times than you ’ave, love. I don’t take no notice of anything like that.’
‘But he might, Mum,’ Brenda said. ‘He’s a married man now. It’s different.’
‘We’ll call up the stairs and he can put a towel round ’imself.’
‘Why not wait till Dad gets ’ome at dinnertime?’ Brenda put in desperately. ‘And yer can come round together. Dad’ll be upset, won’t he, you not waiting for ’im? Dad can eat his sandwich at our place and I can make ’im a cuppa tea. Then he can get back to work from our place.’
‘And I can stay on for the afternoon,’ Mrs Hutton added, temporarily laying aside the need to get her hat and coat. But interpreting the look on her daughter-in-law’s face, she gnawed her lower lip and her voice took on a less enthusiastic tone, tinged by disappointment and faint pique. ‘Yes, well, I expect Harry could be a bit tired after his ordeal. We’ll come round after his dad’s finished work. We won’t stay long, but we do need to see ’im.’
This last was said with such entreaty in her tone that Brenda burst out, ‘Of course yer do, Mum. And stay as long as yer want.’
‘But give ’im me love, won’t yer, Bren?’
‘Course I will,’ Brenda assured her.
‘Tell ’im, it’s not because we don’t care that we won’t be round till later.’
‘Course I will,’ Brenda assured her again.
‘Because we do. We’ve bin worried sick about ’im.’
‘I know.’
‘Gonna ’ave a cuppa?’
‘No, I’ve got ter get back. Thanks. I don’t want ter leave ’im too long.’
‘Course not. Then we’ll see yer ternight. Me and ’is dad.’
‘Yes, see you tonight.’
Making a short detour on the way home, she called in to her own mum. The rest of the family were at work too; only Mum at home. Here her reception was quite different. Mum felt relieved for her and dragged her indoors. A cup of tea got poured out before she could say no, then Mum took Adele off her so she could drink it more easily. Over the tea she recounted all that had happened.
‘I can’t stay too long, Mum,’ she warned eventually. But she wanted to stay, here where comfort was always on tap, where she did not feel ill at ease, could say what she liked. Except of course on this occasion she had to get back to Harry. ‘I don’t want to leave him on his own for long, Mum.’
‘He can look after ’imself fer ’alf an hour or so, luv. He ain’t a baby.’
‘No, but you should of seen the state of ’im.’
‘You must of gone through hell, luv. We didn’t know what ter do for yer when yer was waiting fer news. I could of bled for yer.’ She was rocking Addie as though she would have loved to do the same with her own daughter. ‘But thank Gawd he’s all right. Look love, we won’t come round until termorrer or the next day now we know you’re orright. Let you two ’ave this leave ter yerselves. ’Ope yer don’t mind.’
‘Of course not,’ she said, but in a totally different tone from that she had used towards his mother, not loaded with protest but tripping easily off the tongue.
‘I expect he’ll be out of the bath by now,’ she laughed, relieving Mum of Addie. ‘I told ’im I wouldn’t be long. He’s probably wondering where I’ve got to.’
‘You get along then. We’ll see you in a couple of days. When’s he go back? In a few days, I suppose. We’ll be round before then. And I’m so blessed relieved, for your sake, Bren, he’s orright. Go on, get along now.’
So it was that she returned to find Harry dead asleep on the unmade bed, in vest and pants, lying flat on his back as though he had fallen asleep at the exact second of throwing himself there, his arms flung wide, face turned a little to one side.
Tears filled Brenda’s eyes as she studied him. He seemed so peaceful, his eyelashes forming dark semicircles against his lean cheeks, his lips gentle and his breathing slow and regular. Yet there was an odd ghost that might be seen as tension lying across those smooth narrow features that even sleep hadn’t erased, rather an utterly worn-out look as if the very act of sleeping was draining every last ounce of energy from him.
She bent and gently kissed the lips, found them soft beneath hers, unaware of her caress. With a small sob of pain and gratitude, she covered his face with her kisses.
‘I love you, Harry. I love you with all my heart,’ she whispered against that face, but he didn’t move.
All too quickly he was back in his uniform, cleaned and pressed by her own loving hand.
His parents had come every evening, his mother constantly gazing at him, touching his hand, brushing his cheek with a motherly kiss as if to keep him etched in her memory after he was gone, which made Brenda shudder as though it were an omen.
Her parents came. They made a social event of it, treating it all as a normal visit. ‘Look after yerself,’ was their parting shot.
Vera popped in one dinnertime, asked the inevitable question that was fast becoming ubiquitous: ‘Lovely to see you home – when are you going back?’
She looked bright and happy and, of course, still very much in love with her Ron Parrish. She hardly stopped talking about him her entire dinner hour. She had grown her hair to shoulder-length and, refusing to cut it – ‘Ron likes it that way’ – wore it cradled in a snood which she crocheted herself from bright red or green silky thread, to keep the hair from getting caught up in machinery. She was doing war work now as one of the first to volunteer, at a local factory turning out something to do with smaller aeroplane parts, she said.
Harry’s brother and his wife came, Daphne as frail-looking as ever, and he looked admiringly at Harry, saying, ‘If this war goes on much longer I suppose we’ll all be in it.’ She gasped and said, ‘Oh, no, Bob, what would I do if they took you?’ at which he looked just a fraction irritated, saying just a little too sharply, ‘Yer’d cope like uvver wives ’ave to. Look at Brenda – she don’t go about moaning. She’s getting on wiv her job of keeping ’ome and family tergether for when ’er man comes ’ome fer good.’
To Brenda’s mind, Bob looked as though he couldn’t wait to get in it.
As they did with all their callers, they sat out on the iron landing basking in the warm sunshine of the long summer evening until it was time to go home, chairs balanced on squares of wood to prevent the legs going through the holes between the iron. Brenda had got that off to a fine art this boiling hot summer after having nearly toppled off her chair when they’d first moved in.
Sitting there with her guests, with Addie squatting at her daddy’s feet, Brenda would sometimes notice the curtains of her secretive neighbours twitch once or twice, but they had never come out and she always found it rankled, hating them unreasonably.
Joan Copeland had popped across while Mum and Dad were there, generously bringing a home-made cake which used her precious sugar ration for Harry to take back with him when he left.
‘I don’t suppose they feed yer all that well,’ she had laughed. ‘And don’t yer go sharin’ it wiv every Tom, Dick and ’Arry!’
That being his name, he’d quipped, ‘Well, that leaves me out, don’t it!’ and they’d all laughed.
Now he was due to go back.
Brenda hadn’t felt so low in all her life, not because of his going but because for her his leave had been spoiled. She had been struck down with her monthlies so all they could do was pet, she helping him out because he needed it so, while all the time she was aching for him. She had cancelled all the women whose hair she did, not because she was being underhanded but because she had needed him all to herself, but that leave had been spoiled by sodding nature! And now they were saying goodbye.
At least he was safely back in England. He’d endured his share of fighting for his country, even if
there had been no victory apart from getting nearly all the men home. He’d done enough. Now perhaps he’d have a nice cushy little number not too far away, like Doris’s husband in the RAF.
Harry deserved that after what he’d been through.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Fancy popping off to the pictures termorrow sometime?’
Doris, nibbling at a fatless scone from a batch that one of the young wives’ club members had brought in, eyed Brenda hopefully.
‘I’m dying to see that Gone With The Wind film. But they say it gets packed, standing room only. But if we was to go early enough we might be near the front of the queue and get a proper seat. I know it means standing an hour or so outside but it’s better than standing fer four hours inside.’
Brenda eyed her in return. She too wanted dearly to see Gone With The Wind, talked about in all the papers as the biggest and most colourful film ever. ‘What about Addie?’ she asked. ‘She’s too young to take. She’d play up.’
Addie was a handful now she was walking, her little fingers into everything. Brenda was constantly running after her, which was inconvenient when she was doing someone’s hair. Her clientele had been building rapidly of late especially in the evenings when girls who still clung to their longer locks wanted hair put up into nice, professional rolls. To confine Addie to her cot while she worked was sheer murder, because her calls for attention quickly escalated into shrieks of fury if ignored. And because Brenda loved her and hated seeing her distressed, she would plead, ‘Just a moment,’ to her client and leave them to sigh and sit waiting with what patience they could muster until Addie had been calmed down with a kiss and a cuddle and a bit of bread reddened with a tiny smear of jam.
She could have lost a lot of customers, but surprisingly she didn’t. She was too good at her job, doing wonders with curling tongs and pins, and her reputation was spreading. Her only fear was that it would spread to her mother-in-law.
Even so, Addie wasn’t easy for a woman on her own to look after while she tried to hold down a small business as well. And Brenda was determined to hold down her little business no matter what. As for sitting quietly on her lap when Brenda went to see her parents or Harry’s, it was nigh impossible with Addie forever wriggling to be on her feet, the novelty of going wherever she pleased still fresh.
