A Soldier's Girl

by Maggie Ford

  Now, although at first sight she found herself warming to a likeable young man, she could see the pitfalls and the heartaches that could lie ahead – for Vera and for her, those two little boys she’d never see again. Tears crushed her heart even as she stepped back for Hank Cameron to come in, having to force her husband aside to allow entry.

  He’d said nothing but she knew he was feeling exactly as she did. He would have his say later, when he and this Hank were in serious discussion together out of the hearing of women. He might not even tell her what was said, but she would know.

  Whatever was said and whether it was objected to or not, who could prevent a woman with two little children doing what she wanted? It was up to Vera, who would have to bear the brunt of her own decision. Having made her bed she’d have to lie in it whether she liked it or not. It was out of her parents’ hands. But it didn’t stop the tears filling Annie’s breast yet still managing to leave this vacuum stemming from a premature, already aching, sense of loss.

  It took three days for all the paperwork to come through. By then Hank’s leave was half over.

  ‘I always ’oped yer’d ’ave a white weddin’,’ whispered her mother as, in a pink plaid skirt and jacket on which Vera had squandered most of her clothing coupons and some of Mum’s, she went to meet Hank at the register office, followed by the family, none of whom appeared to feel in a celebrating mood. Mum stayed well back, holding one of the twin boys. Brenda held the other, Adele at her side.

  Vera looked radiant, he too looked fetching in his sleek American uniform and his American corporal’s stripes; the pair brought oohs and aahs from onlookers while a bunch of his buddies who’d come over with him on leave formed a guard of honour for the wedded couple. The ring he had bought in France was a splendid one, the thick heavy gold set with diamonds which Vera proudly showed off to family and friends. That was as far as her joy went with just two nights together in a hotel comprising their honeymoon. Hank had to go back to his unit in France, crooning tenderly, ‘I dunno when I’ll see yah again, Vera, but come hell and high water I’m gonna make damned sure it’s soon,’ lovingly calling her Mrs Cameron which made her cry even more.

  With Vera drooping on his arm he said his farewells to her parents and thanked them for their hospitality. ‘It’s been a real pleasure knowin’ yah, Mr and Mrs Wilson, and I’m lookin’ forward to meetin’ yah again.’

  But he didn’t meet them again. Letters passing between him and Vera written at least twice weekly numbered just six before he was sent home to the USA.

  He wrote from the ship: ‘Soon as I get back home, I’ll start to get things moving.’ His home was Springfield, Illinois. ‘I’ll get you over here the first chance. My people can’t wait to meet you. They must be sick at hearing me talk about you, but they’re looking forward to seeing their grandsons. I’m real proud of you, darling, for producing our two sons, and I miss them already.’

  Their honeymoon days had been largely spent at her parents’ so that he could see as much of his two boys as possible. Hurried arrangements had been made that Mum would have them there rather than at Brenda’s, so that she could make the most of their presence. At the back of her mind lurked the knowledge that Vera would one day take them far away, and then when would she ever see them again?

  ‘There’ll be a lot of paperwork to go through,’ Hank wrote, ‘before you and the boys can be brought to the States. There’ll be a lot of forms for you to fill. And you’ll need a passport and to get yourself inoculated against smallpox. Then before we know it, we’ll be together again. I can’t wait for it. I love you so very much, darling and I can’t wait to have you here.’

  Vera read it all out to Brenda through a welter of tears. ‘I’m looking forward so much to going over there. He says he misses me. Well, I miss ’im. I really do. Trouble is, it’s goin’ ter be a terrible wrench leaving all of you. But I do miss ’im and I want ter be with ’im. It’s only natural ain’t it?’

  ‘Well, you won’t have too long to wait,’ said Brenda, sad that she was soon to lose her sister to those thousands of miles, but wondering more as to when on earth she would get to see Harry again.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  There was to be a celebration party.

  Harry’s homecoming more or less coinciding with Bob’s discharge from hospital at last, their mother had organised a do. It would be on Saturday the twenty-fifth of August. Bob was due home on Tuesday and Harry had said to expect him on Thursday.

  ‘So a party on Saturday’ll be perfect,’ she told her husband. ‘That’ll give yer time ter scout round for enough beer and stuff fer all the family an’ friends an’ neighbours. Me an’ Daphne an’ Brenda, we’ll do the food in. And yer’ll ’ave ter make a Welcome Home sign ter go over the front door and get them fairy lights up over the windows and ’ang up that buntin’ again what we ’ad fer VE Day.’

  ‘It don’t seem to occur to ’er Bob mightn’t fancy a big party,’ Daphne said to Brenda. ‘It’s taken all this time ter get used ter walking on that new leg of ’is without coming out of ’ospital to a bloomin’ big party.’

  Most of his time there had been fraught with despair as he tried to regain a sense of the man he’d once been. Daphne chivvied him on, helping him combat his flagging spirits. She had grown surprisingly strong and resolute. No longer the wilting lily Brenda had first known, she hardly seemed the same girl.

  ‘It took something like that to get her moving,’ Brenda told Mum in awe when she popped round to see her two days before Bob was due to come home. ‘What a difference to what she used ter be, too scared to say boo to a goose. I tell you it’s certainly put Bob’s mum in her place. Funny how people can be such bullies until the worm starts ter turn. Daphne just runs rings round her now.’

  ‘And ’bout time too,’ said Mum, getting up to feed the meter with yet another shilling as the gas jet under the kettle for a cup of tea began to die. ‘I seem ter do nothink but put money in that blessed thing – I’m sure they’ve cut down the power rather than put up the cost. Yer wouldn’t think the war was over, all this rationing still on an’ Attlee tellin’ us we’ve all got ter tighten our belts. Fine prime minister ’e’s turned out ter be. Should of ’ad Churchill back – ’e’d of got things right like ’e did in the war. Shame, votin’ ’im out like that, after all ’e done. Gas don’t seem ter last no time these days.’

  ‘I expect Vera being here don’t help.’ Vera had stayed on at Mum’s after her marriage, Mum needing to see all she could of her two grandsons before they were whisked away forever. And besides, Brenda didn’t want the flat cluttered by mothers and children when Harry came home. It had all worked out quite well really.

  ‘Daphne being like that makes me feel I’m the one being told what to do,’ Brenda went on. ‘I’d give anything ter say to Mrs Hutton that me and Harry don’t want no big do. Trouble is she got carried away organising that street party on VJ Day. Made up for not getting a look in on VE Day, I suppose. So now she wants to ’ave another go, doing a party for her sons. I mean Harry’s not even out of uniform yet. All they’ve done is send him back home. Could be December before he’s demobbed.’

  The day following Bob’s homecoming, he and Daphne were installed in their own house. Daphne told his mother she would manage him well enough on her own without need of help in a manner that must have sounded very pointed. On that same day Harry got off the bus in Mile End Road.

  His telegram had considerably heartened Brenda, feeling they were all sharing a small conspiracy against his mother. All those words must have cost him a packet: HOME TOMORROW NOT THURSDAY – DAY TOGETHER BEFORE MUM GETS LOOK IN – CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU.

  The telegram just about gave her time to alert her customers that she’d be closing that day. None of them raised any objection seeing it was only a Tuesday and not as important as a weekend appointment might have been.

  CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU. The words had sent a thrill through her where earlier she’d been having co
llywobbles wondering what they would find to say to each other, whether each would find the other so changed that they would feel awkward. Now, her heart bubbling with eagerness as she waited for that first glimpse of him getting off the bus, she stood at the window where she had been half the morning while Addie played on her own. Finally she saw him step off the rear platform of the No. 25, very agile for someone toting full kit.

  She stood just a second longer to see him swing the heavy kitbag over his shoulder as he strode across the road in the brilliant late August sunshine, sidestepping first a chugging motor car then a cyclist. Then gathering her wits, Brenda swept a startled Addie up from where she’d been playing with a home-made stuffed toy dog. ‘Daddy’s home! Oh Addie, yer daddy’s home!’

  Giving her no time to protest, Brenda was through the kitchen and out on the iron landing as he came in by the side gate. Seeing her there, he yelled in alarm that she could trip trying to rush down with Addie in her arms, and dropped the kitbag to bound up the stairs two at a time and embrace her.

  Laughing and crying both at the same time with Addie now loudly protesting at this unaccustomed rough treatment, Brenda felt her breath hugged out of her as she returned Harry’s embrace with her one free arm. ‘Oh, darling! Thank you, God, thank you . . .’ was all she could say as Harry twisted her round and round in his joy at being reunited with her.

  How beautiful it was. Adele had been put to bed, no one else was in the flat but herself and Harry. It was as though they were enjoying a honeymoon all over again.

  ‘I wish yer didn’t have to go back after the party,’ she whispered as they lay side by side, fulfilled. ‘Why can’t you be demobbed straight away? There ain’t any reason now not to be, surely.’

  She felt his arm, still lying beneath her neck, tighten comfortingly. ‘I’m only in Essex. I might even get a sleeping-out pass – just like I was an ordinary civvy. It won’t be long, Bren, before I’m out altergevver.’ And with that he leaned over her and gave her another lingering kiss.

  ‘Goodnight,’ he murmured. ‘It’s good ter be ’ome.’ He turned over, wearied by lovemaking, and went to sleep.

  Brenda had expected to lie awake for ages thinking of today’s excitement, of how to approach the matter of her work, but remembered nothing.

  ‘I’m so fed up of waiting,’ Vera told Brenda in December, at the same time eyeing Harry, home on yet another weekend sleeping-out pass, and soon to be demobbed.

  They had gone round to Brenda’s mother for a couple of hours this Sunday before he was due to return. Stationed in Essex, he was home every weekend now and Brenda supposed that her sister felt it keenly with her American husband so far away after only a few days of wedded bliss and no sign as yet of her going over to the USA to be united with him.

  ‘People are so rotten,’ Vera complained. ‘I’m fed up of people saying the same thing. “Ain’t ’e sent for yer yet?”’ In an effort to mimic them she put on a high smirking tone, then let her voice drop in bitterness. ‘They make it sound as if he’s deliberately forgotten me. I’m sick of it! And don’t you look at me like that, Mum, as if you believe it too.’

  This was spat out in response to her mother’s glance of sympathy.

  Brenda always felt so guilty when she and Harry came round, but she needed to come. She in her turn had got fed up with his mother always demanding he pay her a visit every single weekend he was home.

  ‘It’s not as if yer going ter be sent off somewhere these days,’ Brenda would complain. ‘I need you as much as she does.’

  She stopped short of adding anything about having more right or even as much right. Mrs Hutton was his mother after all. But she was his wife. Yet going round to see her own parents had become every bit as much of a trial with Vera there, always going on about her own absent husband and looking at Harry as though it were his fault.

  Sometimes she too wished that Vera would hear from the American authorities. It wasn’t Vera’s fault. She’d have been much more patient if it were not for other people’s comments, probably innocently voiced, though she never saw it that way.

  ‘He writes to me every week regular,’ she proclaimed. ‘But it don’t make no difference to some people, everyone’s too ready ter be convinced I’m making it up about ’is letters. I can show yer ’em if yer don’t believe me.’

  ‘I do believe you,’ said Brenda at this attitude of defiance, while Harry nodded affirmation of his belief in them too, coupled with sympathetic looks because of her frustration. The war should have taught everyone how it was to wait for some word, some hope that never seemed to arrive.

  ‘Jus’ be patient, Ver,’ he advised kindly, ‘It’ll all come round in time.’

  Everything comes round in time, thought Brenda, wondering if he would be as understanding about her business as he was with Vera’s ever-present and exasperating fretting. She just prayed he would be, though sometimes she was far from sure about it.

  So far he hadn’t said too much about it because by the time he arrived home on Friday night the salon was closed anyway so he saw very little of it or any interruption it might cause in his life. Saturdays she was able to leave in the capable hands of Joan, now almost a fully fledged hairstylist and very adult for her seventeen years; those clients wanting perms, which Joan wasn’t yet able to handle, had been persuaded to have them done during the week so as to settle down and look more natural by the weekend. So it only needed her to pop down for a moment or two on a Saturday to see all was well. It always was. Joan now had an assistant of her own, the girl who’d once done all the clearing up promoted to washing hair, taking out rollers and combing out, with another young girl to do the menial tasks of sweeping and cleaning of sinks and making tea.

  There was so far no need for Harry to get on his high horse about being neglected or even be aware how much work running a hairdresser’s entailed. Time enough for that when he returned to civvy street.

  Brenda put all those morbid thoughts behind her on the day Harry was demobbed, two weeks before Christmas. She was only too overjoyed to have him home permanently, to know they could at last pick up the threads of their life together. That was all she needed at this moment. Problems could come later and be ironed out as and when they arose. After all that’s what real marriages were about, wasn’t it?

  There was another party, this one blended in with a Christmas do and again held at his mother’s house, this time with her own people coming. Vera came too, still waiting to hear from the American authorities and threatening to put a damper on the spirits of everyone she spoke to.

  ‘I don’t think I’m ever goin’ ter ’ear,’ she complained to the hostess, a glass of sherry rapidly warming up in her rigid grasp. ‘I feel a real outcast, the lowest of the low in their eyes. But I am ’is wife, and them two, poor little sods . . .’ she eyed her sons being played with by Addie and Harry’s sister’s children. ‘They’re ’is kids too. I don’t think the American officials even care ’ow he feels. He’s always writing saying ’ow much ’e misses ’em.’

  ‘I know what it’s like to miss someone,’ agreed Mrs Hutton. ‘I missed me two sons fer years. And now I miss me muvver, fer all she was ’ard work in the end.’

  The senior Mrs Hutton, having passed away in early August, had been given a quiet funeral, which rather got lost in the throes of the homecoming party given for her two sons.

  ‘She’d got very frail, yer know. By the end I ’ad ter do everythink for her. But fer all that, I miss ’er. She was me muvver. But I’m glad she saw the end of the war out. That must of bin a comfort to ’er, knowing we was all safe again. Though I don’t think she knew much about that. She’d just lie there, yer know, not knowing nothink much. I ’ad ter feed ’er an’ wash ’er an’ do everythink for ’er and I don’t think she knew a thing of what was goin’ on. Took up all me time, it did. Should of bin in ’orspital, but most of them seemed ter be taken up by wounded soldiers. But I do miss ’er.’

  But Vera, still clutching her sherr
y as though clinging to some lifeline and with her own thunder stolen for the time being, focused more on when, if ever, she’d hear that she would finally be allowed to sail off to America to be reunited with her husband.

  The second welcome-home-cum-Christmas-party had been good but Brenda had been glad to get back to her own home and have Harry to herself again. All day he had been hugged and kissed. She’d hardly looked up once without seeing someone commandeering him. Out on the perimeter of all this enthusiasm, she’d not really had a look-in the whole day.

  Not that she wished to be the centre of attraction. She quite accepted that she wasn’t. But she did wish just to have a moment on her own with him now and then. At times it even seemed he too was ignoring her as he accepted the whisky and beer thrust on him until he was visibly swaying on his feet.

  ‘Harry, come and talk to me. Leave the others, love, and sit down beside me just for a little while.’

  ‘I can’t b’rude t’em,’ he slurred happily. ‘I’s me fam’ly. C’m on, Bren, c’m on, get up ’n ’av ’a dance wi’ me.’

  She did, having to hold him upright, but there was little pleasure in it at two in the morning.

  Everyone started nodding off; some of the men were getting the playing cards out. Harry, revived with a cup of strong Camp coffee after chucking up his Christmas dinner and tea along with the beer, could now at least stand. Brenda finally managed to haul him off through the streets, but he kept upright only by holding on to her, a sleepy, whimpering Addie clinging on her free hand. Thank God it wasn’t too far to home.

  She thought of Daphne. She too had looked as if she hadn’t been enjoying it. Sitting beside Bob all night, she’d held his hand; his face looked bleak and he said little. A blanket tucked round his legs hid the false one which he preferred not to try walking on in front of everyone and which she had told Brenda still hurt him terribly when he did try. ‘He says it rubs the stump ever so tender even through the bandages,’ she’d whispered, while he had sat looking as if he’d rather be anywhere than there.