by Kitty Neale
Chapter 18
Ellen turned over in bed and burrowed under the blankets, unwilling to get up and face the cold. Christmas was over, and Ellen wasn’t happy. Her mum had put up a few decorations, but now that she’d learned the meaning of the celebrations, Ellen thought they should have done more. Her mum refused to pray before dinner too, and despite Dora telling her not to give up – that she should go on talking to her mother about the church and Jesus – Ellen felt that no matter how hard she tried, her mum was never going to listen.
She had asked the pastor why her mum’s prayer to save the baby hadn’t been answered. He’d said it was to do with faith, that you had to believe in the Lord, trust in him to answer your prayers and he would. The pastor had then gone on to say that we don’t always get what we ask for, and if that happens we have to accept God’s will, leaving Ellen more confused than ever.
Ellen burrowed down further. She had faith, she believed in Jesus, but he still didn’t answer her prayers. She had begged Jesus to bring her dad home for Christmas, but it hadn’t worked. Maybe it was because she still hadn’t felt that strange born-again thing they talked about in church? She would have to try harder, and, clutching the crucifix, Ellen closed her eyes, praying and hoping Jesus was listening.
Hilda looked at the scant Christmas decorations and decided to take them down. They were only just into the New Year, yet she wasn’t superstitious, and what a New Year it had been. Mabel had somehow got hold of a bottle of gin, probably from Harry, and when the kids were in bed they had seen 1944 in together, both getting tipsy and both sorry for it the next morning. Still, it had been a laugh and Hilda was a little happier now, the loss of her baby growing easier with the passing of time.
Queues for food were growing ever longer, and these days if Hilda saw one she just joined it without even knowing what the shop had just got in until word passed down the line. She longed to see Doug. He had been upset to hear that she’d lost the baby, but more concerned about her recovery, and though his letters were sometimes infrequent, at least he was alive. With so many women losing their husbands and sons, at least Hilda knew she had that to be thankful for. It was early on a Saturday morning and, as Ellen was still in bed, Hilda dragged a chair forward, deciding to get on with it. She had almost finished and was reaching for the last chain when Ellen appeared.
‘Mum, what are you doing?’
‘Ain’t it obvious?’
‘Be careful,’ Ellen cautioned, running forward to grab the back of the chair as it wobbled.
‘There, done it,’ Hilda said as the last chain floated down and she stepped cautiously onto the floor.
There was a knock on the door now and Ellen said, ‘I’ll get it.’
‘No, you’re still in your pyjamas,’ Hilda protested. She crossed the hall to open it, her knees almost caving when she saw the young man standing on the step.
‘Sorry, missus,’ he said, thrusting the envelope forward and then turning to hurry back to his bicycle.
‘Oh, no…no!’ Hilda cried as she stared at the envelope.
‘Mum, what is it? What’s wrong?’
‘I…I can’t. I can’t open it,’ she sobbed, staggering back to the living room and collapsing onto a chair.
Ellen had never seen her mother like this, her whole body shaking, something falling from her hand and fluttering to the floor. Ellen ran to pick it up, her stomach turning a somersault. A telegram! Her eyes flew to her mother again, frightened by what she saw.
‘Mum, are you all right? You look like you’re going to faint.’
‘Get…get Mabel.’
Heart racing, Ellen pounded up the back stairs, bursting into Mabel’s kitchen, Percy the first person she saw.
‘My…my mum…telegram…Mabel.’
‘Oh shit,’ he said. ‘Mum! Mum!’
‘Blimey, what’s all the fuss about?’
‘It’s Ellen. She said they’ve got a telegram.’
In her haste, Mabel shoved Percy aside to hurry after Ellen, saying, ‘What did the telegram say?’
‘I…I don’t know,’ but as they rushed into the living room, Ellen saw that her mother had it clutched in her hand again – but this time it was open.
‘Mabel…Oh Mabel,’ she cried. ‘It’s Doug. His ship’s been sunk.’
‘Don’t give up, love. He may have been rescued.’
With a glimmer of hope, Ellen looked at her mother, only for it to die when she sobbed, ‘The…the telegram said his ship went down with all hands lost.’
Ellen felt dizzy, pinpricks of light dancing before her eyes.
‘No, no, not my dad!’ she squealed, before sinking into a black void.
When Hilda saw her daughter collapsing onto the floor, she did her best to stand up, but felt as though her heart had been torn in two. Doug, her handsome, lovely Doug…the thought of never seeing him again more than she could bear.
‘It’s all right, I’ll see to her,’ Mabel said, gently pushing Hilda back onto the chair.
Hilda didn’t argue. In fact, she doubted her legs would support her as her whole body continued to shake with shock. She was aware that Ellen was coming round, that Mabel was helping her up. Hilda knew why her daughter had fainted. She had done the same thing when her parents had died, but this time her own pain was so overwhelming, so consuming, that she felt unable to comfort her.
Locked in her own grief, sobs began to rack Hilda’s body. She was unaware of time passing until she realised that somehow Mabel had managed to get her to her feet, one step slowly following another as she was led into her bedroom.
‘Lie down,’ Mabel urged. ‘Don’t worry about Ellen. I’ll take her to my place, settle her with the boys and then come back.’
‘No…no…I just want to be on my own.’
‘Oh, Hilda, I’m so sorry.’
Hilda was barely aware of Mabel’s hand as she gently stroked her hair, or when she later left the room. Doug, her man, the love of her life, was dead. She would never see him again, never be held in his arms, and she didn’t know how she was going to face life without him. Why? Hilda’s mind screamed. Why me? First my parents, then my baby…and now this!
Mabel did her best to comfort Ellen, but the girl was distraught. Percy was white-faced as he stood watching them, Ellen clinging to her. Oh, it was dreadful, dreadful, and Mabel felt so helpless. Like all women with loved ones away, she dreaded getting a telegram, knowing that, like Hilda, she’d find it unbearable.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ Billy asked as, having just got out of bed, he strolled into the room.
‘There’s been a bit of bad news. Percy, take him through to the kitchen and tell him.’
‘What for?’ Billy complained.
‘Just do it,’ Mabel snapped.
Mabel heard the whispers, surprised when Billy appeared again, this time to say, ‘Ellen, I’m sorry to hear about your dad.’
Ellen’s arms tightened around Mabel, her sobs increasing again. It had been nice of Billy to say that, but his sympathy had made Ellen worse.
‘Come on, darling. You’ve got to be strong for your mum’s sake.’
Ellen burrowed even closer and Mabel cursed her ineffectual, daft words. How could a thirteen-year-old girl be strong when she’d just heard that her dad was dead? Like Hilda, Mabel wasn’t much for religion, but Ellen had recently taken to going to church so perhaps Dora could help.
‘Percy, run next door and get Dora.’
Ellen continued to cling to her, but at last Percy came back, Dora with him, the woman saying, ‘Percy told me and I’m so sorry, Ellen. I can see how upset you are, but lean on Jesus and he’ll give you comfort. He loves you as he loves us all, and your father is with him in heaven now.’
Mabel felt Ellen stiffen, her eyes red and swollen as she choked, ‘If Jesus loves me he wouldn’t have let my dad die. He…he wouldn’t have taken him away from me.’
‘It’s this war, Ellen, this war that’s taken your father away from you, not Je
sus.’
‘He should have stopped it then. The…the pastor said that Jesus can do anything, move mountains, and that if we believe in him, we can do anything too. Well, I did believe and I prayed to him but instead of bringing my dad home, he…he’s dead!’
‘Mabel, I think I’ll ask our pastor to come and talk to Ellen.’
‘No! No, I don’t want to see him,’ Ellen cried, unaware that she was mimicking the actions her mother had once made as she ripped the chain from her neck and threw it across the room. ‘This – this is supposed to be Jesus on the cross, but there is no Jesus! Religion is all a load of rubbish.’
‘Oh, Ellen, you don’t mean that.’
‘Yes, I do. Go away! Go away and leave me alone.’
‘Dora, I think it might be for the best,’ Mabel urged.
Sighing, Dora left, but not before saying, ‘Ellen, when you’re up to it, we’ll talk again.’
‘I…I want my mum,’ Ellen then said, pulling away from Mabel. ‘I’m going to see my mum.’
‘Ellen, no! Wait,’ Mabel called, running after her.
When Hilda heard her daughter and Mabel, she feigned sleep. She didn’t want to see them, didn’t want to see anyone. She just wanted to be alone, to lick her wounds in private, as Gertie had once said. However, unlike Gertie’s, Hilda didn’t think her wounds would ever heal. She felt as though her heart had been ripped from her body and all that remained of her was a shell. The pain of having a miscarriage had been horrendous, but it was nothing compared to the agony of losing Doug and at this moment she’d have welcomed death.
‘Come on, Ellen,’ said Mabel. ‘Your mum’s asleep and maybe it’s the best thing for her.’
‘No,’ Ellen said, and then Hilda was aware of the bed dipping, of her daughter climbing up beside her, arms wrapping around her body. She sobbed, turning to cling to Ellen, barely aware of Mabel creeping from the room.
Chapter 19
Ellen was heartbroken by her father’s death and longed for the comfort of her mum’s arms again, but her mother seemed to be locked in a world of her own. Mabel had tried, but hadn’t been successful in rousing her, only able to shake her head sadly and say that her mum was sure to get better given time. It was Mabel whom Ellen clung to, Mabel who held her so many times when she cried.
Now Ellen was back at school, but she was really worried about her mum. She hardly moved from her chair and Ellen would come home to find the housework untouched, her mum smelling, with her body and hair unwashed. She tried to look after her, managed to cook easy things, and, though Mabel was at work she often found the time to make enough stew for them all to eat, yet her mother barely touched it.
The Luftwaffe had returned, the warning siren wailing frequently these days, and it was the only sound that brought her mother to life. Though bombs rained down on London again, Clapham still remained hardly touched, yet her mum would rally enough at the sound of the siren to insist that they went to shelter in the underground station.
The bombing raids went on and on, into February, and at last Ellen could see that her mum was a little better, though she was still distant and remote. The air raid sounded once more and wearily Ellen got up, dressed quickly and picked up her gas mask, blinking with tiredness as she went into the hall.
‘I was about to call you,’ her mother said.
Ellen could see that her mum’s eyes were red and swollen, giving away the fact that she had been crying again. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’
‘Not really, but we…we’ve got to get to the shelter.’
‘Can’t we stay here? Can’t we give the underground station a miss for once?’
‘No, no!’ she cried. ‘You’re all I’ve got left and I’m not risking it.’
When they went outside there was no sign of Mabel or Dora and, though the blackout was in force, a full moon cast an eerie glow on the frost-covered pavements and rooftops. A bombers’ moon, Mabel’s son, Percy, called it, and Ellen shivered at the thought of how much damage the Luftwaffe might cause that night somewhere in or on the outskirts of London.
‘I’ve forgotten me fags,’ said her mother suddenly.
‘Do you want me to run back for them?’ Ellen offered.
‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘Mum, you know this area has hardly been hit.’
‘There’s always a first time and I can always cadge a couple off Mabel,’ she said as they turned the corner, and moments later they joined other people streaming below. The Shelter Marshal was there, the ‘SM’ painted on the front of his helmet visible as he tried to keep order. Ignoring him, Hilda found them a free bunk.
As usual, Ellen climbed onto the top one, while her mother sat below, and soon Mabel turned up with her boys, followed by Dora and Lucy. Ellen barely acknowledged Lucy, but nonetheless she came running over to climb up beside her.
‘You were quick to get down here,’ Lucy said.
‘A few minutes and then I want you settled in your own bunk,’ Dora called.
‘All right, Mum,’ Lucy agreed before turning to Ellen again. ‘Why won’t you walk with me to school now?’
With her head down, Ellen just shrugged. She still liked Lucy, but now that she wasn’t going to church, she felt awkward in her company. She didn’t want to hear about God, Jesus, or his love for his flock. Dora had tried talking to her again, saying that Jesus wasn’t there for their earthly needs; that it was man who caused war and unnecessary deaths. Jesus was there for their spiritual needs, Dora insisted, for their souls’ growth and comfort. Her words hadn’t helped. There was no comfort, there was no one there when, like her mother, Ellen cried at night.
‘Please tell me,’ Lucy urged.
‘It’s because I don’t want to hear you going on and on about Jesus.’
‘I won’t any more. I thought it might help, but my mum said that you aren’t ready to listen yet.’
‘She’s right.’
‘Can’t we still be friends?’
‘Yes, but don’t ask me to come to church with you.’
‘All right, but lots of people have asked how you are and we miss you in Bible class.’
Deep down, Ellen missed church too, the friends she had made, the congregation and the feeling of belonging. Yet she couldn’t go back, not now when she no longer believed in anything she’d been taught.
Dora’s voice rang out again.
‘Lucy, come on now.’
‘I’d best go. Can we walk to school together in the morning?’
Ellen only nodded, saying nothing as Lucy jumped down from the bunk. She lay down, closing her eyes, but soon the sound of Mabel and Dora’s voices began to drift up to her as they sat with her mother on the bunk below. ‘Another broken night’s sleep,’ Mabel complained, ‘but at least Berlin’s getting it too.’
‘Hilda, how are you?’ Dora asked.
‘I still can’t believe that Doug’s gone. In Somerset I yearned to come back to London, but now I feel this place is cursed. First I lost my parents, then my baby, and now…now Doug.’
There was a pause before Mabel spoke. ‘Hilda, this has been burning a hole in my pocket. I’ve been holding on to it until I thought the time was right and now I wonder if either you or Ellen would like it back.’
‘Oh, Mabel! It’s my mother’s necklace.’
‘Yes, love.’
‘I…I think I’d like to wear it again.’
‘I’m sure Ellen won’t mind,’ Mabel said, then raising her voice, she called: ‘Ain’t that right, Ellen?’
‘Put a sock in it,’ someone yelled. ‘I’ve got work in the morning.’
‘Yeah, so have I, and my boy, but we ain’t complaining,’ Mabel shouted back.
Mabel’s loud voice echoed in the tunnel and it was followed by a few titters of laughter.
‘Yeah, well, I suppose I should get some sleep, too. Are you going to be all right, Hilda?’
Ellen didn’t hear her mother’s reply, and soon, other than the occasional cough from nearby
bunks, all became quiet. She tried to sleep, turning this way and that, but, as her mother began to cry softly, Ellen found it impossible. She was about to climb down when someone, a woman, walked over to crouch down in front of her mother. Ellen strained her ears to hear the woman’s quiet words.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ she said, ‘but I heard you crying and felt compelled to come and talk to you.’
‘I…I’m all right.’
‘No, you’re not, and though this is going to sound strange, when I heard you crying, I had a sort of vision.’
There were a few sniffs, and then Ellen thought her mother’s voice sounded stronger as she said, ‘Leave me alone. Go away.’
‘But I have to tell you about my vision. You see, I saw a man, a sailor. He was on some sort of raft, holding his back. I…I feel that it’s your husband.’
There was a pause, but then sounding forceful, more like her old self, Hilda snapped, ‘Look, lady, I don’t know what your game is, or who’s been gossiping about me, but if it’s money you’re after, you can forget it. I’m not mug enough to fall for this sort of mumbo jumbo.’
‘I don’t want money. It’s as I said – I felt compelled to talk to you.’
‘Well, feel compelled to bugger off again!’
‘I’ll go, but you see I usually see spirits, souls that have passed over. But this time it was different. I feel that your husband is still alive, that he survived and is coming home to you,’ said the woman, before turning to walk away.
Ellen sat up. Alive! The woman had said her dad was alive!
‘Mum, who was that?’ she hissed eagerly.
‘She was nobody. A nutter.’
‘But she said Dad’s coming home.’
‘She was talking a load of rubbish. Your dad’s dead. You know that, I know that. Now please, go to sleep.’
Ellen felt the sting of tears and closed her eyes against her mother’s words. If only that woman hadn’t been a nutter. If only it was true and her dad really was coming home.
