by Clare Flynn
‘Aren’t we going over there, Sarge?’ One of the soldiers jerked his head towards the horizon, where the dark grey sea met a paler grey sky, striated with drifting smoke. They could hear the distant sound of battle coming across the water from the French coast some sixty-five miles away. ‘Aren’t we part of the second front?’
‘There is no second front. Just a commando raid this morning on the town of Dieppe. All over now.’
As he spoke, a landing craft disembarked its load of passengers – a ragtag band of weary men who looked shell-shocked, their faces blackened and bloodied and their eyes vacant. Another craft disgorged more of the same, along with a small band of German prisoners with their hands up. But this was all a prelude – what followed was boat after boat of casualties, the overwhelming majority in the uniform of the Canadian army. Jim looked out to sea where there was a queue of vessels, large and small, waiting to dock and discharge their human cargo.
Jim and his comrades moved forward to meet them. The arriving men were filthy, uniforms torn, faces bloody. Some had limbs missing. Eyes were vacant or closed, shutting out the memory of the horror they had witnessed.
One of the walking wounded was a man Jim knew from Aldershot. He stumbled towards Jim, grabbing his battledress as he said, ‘We were massacred, Armstrong. They were expecting us. Sons of bitches knew we were coming. We were mown down like skittles.’ His voice was shaking and his eyes were wild. ‘A disaster. A goddam disaster. They sent us in like lambs to the slaughter.’
What to say? Words were inadequate. Jim nodded and wrote the soldier’s name on his clipboard, then watched the man stagger over to the Red Cross lorries. He turned around to identify the next man.
The stream of dead, wounded and dying continued all day. Man after man, grateful to have survived, but harrowed by what they had witnessed. The realisation that this was not just a routine battle but a complete routing of Canadian infantry by the enemy descended on the men as the day progressed. Jim’s disappointment that morning at missing out, gave way to relief. Anger too. At what the enemy had done, but most of all that so many men had been sent on a raid that was clearly ill-prepared and miscalculated.
Jim was exhausted but his tiredness was nothing in comparison to what these troops had been through. As the evening descended, the queue of ships diminished. Jim moved forward as the last craft moored. This vessel carried a payload made up almost entirely of dead men. He worked side-by-side with Mitch, lifting the bodies onto stretchers, placing them in line on the dockside, to be carried away on trucks after they had checked their dog tags and listed them on their clipboards. He recognised several faces. Men he had last seen playing darts in an Aldershot pub, crawling through undergrowth in camouflage, or joining in a singalong in The Ship.
He didn’t recognise Walt at first. His brother’s face had been partly blown away by shellfire, but his body was intact and the name on his tag left no doubt. Disbelieving, Jim stood beside the body, staring at Walt’s broken features, trying to recognise the brother he had grown up with, loved, and recently done all he could to avoid. He’d told himself many times he hated the sight of Walt. He’d even wished him dead. As he looked at him now all he could feel was a terrible sadness, an emptiness and utter disbelief.
His emotions ricocheted back and forth between anger that Walt had got them both into this war in the first place and had now turned Alice into a grieving widow with a fatherless child, and sorrow that their brotherly love had been destroyed and even in death could not be resurrected. Intertwined with this was guilt. If Jim hadn’t joined up, Walt wouldn't have done. It should have been he who had been slaughtered on that French beach. He closed his eyes, trying to invoke the memory of the little brother he had loved. The boy he’d fished with in the creek, the grinning, happy-go-lucky youth he had once been. But all he could see was the horror of Walt’s damaged face.
In the lorry back to Eastbourne that night, he thought of his mother and father. Helga would be distraught, but she had an inner steel that would see her through this. He was less sure about his father. Donald Armstrong had been resolutely opposed to either of his sons going to war, fearful that what had happened to so many of his friends in the Great War would happen to them. Jim knew he had to write to his parents but could think of no way to lessen their pain.
He didn’t want to think about Alice – how she would be getting a telegram to break the news that the child she was carrying would never know its father.
A few days later, sitting in the Tivoli picture house, Jim watched the newsreel report on the Dieppe raid. The casualties had been devastating – around nine hundred Canadians killed and two thousand taken prisoner. Yet the news report was upbeat. The raid was portrayed as a kind of victory, with the emphasis on the courage and fortitude of Britain’s plucky Canadian allies. What would prove to have been the bloodiest day in Canadian military history was described as a successful dress rehearsal for future action against Nazi Germany. Jim bristled with anger. Nine hundred men and his brother had staggered up that beach to be butchered in a barrage of artillery fire on what could more truthfully be described as a suicide mission.
Jim was sitting on the garden wall, above the terrace. Today it was deserted, as Pauline had taken her children to visit her grandmother and he presumed Gwen was at her work in the military headquarters. He was so deep in thought that he didn’t hear Gwen come up behind him. She laid her hand on the small of his back.
‘I heard from Pauline about your brother, Jim. I’m sorry.’
He turned to look at her, then looked away again.
‘We quarrelled.’
‘Yes. You told me, about Alice.’
‘Not just over Alice. We fell out about his wanting to go back to Canada. He asked me to help him make the case but I wouldn’t help. The last time we spoke I told him to get lost.’
She placed a hand over his. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. They would never have allowed him to go home when he’d signed for the duration.’
‘Maybe not, but I could have tried to help him figure out a way to get discharged.’
‘You’re too hard on yourself, Jim. You couldn’t be expected to live your brother’s life for him. And you need to stop beating yourself up. It’s not your fault he’s dead.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t have to.’
He turned towards her and saw that her eyes were wet. He moved closer, his heart thumping. They stared into each other’s eyes and he knew he was going to kiss her and that she wanted him to.
Then the kitchen door burst open and Sally Simmonds ran onto the terrace. ‘I’ve got a lollypop!’ she cried. ‘But Mummy says I can’t have it ’til after tea. I don’t think I can wait. Come and tell her I can have it now, Aunty Gwen.’
Gwen, her face flushed, moved towards the little girl and bent over her, stroking her cheek. ‘But Aunty Gwen agrees with Mummy,’ she said. ‘Lollipops always taste better after tea.’
Sally looked dubious but went back into the house. ‘Can I have my tea now, Mummy,’ she called as went inside.
The spell broken, Gwen followed her, turning to give Jim a sad smile as she went indoors.
Together
Eastbourne
Jim was alone, reading a book, when Gwen came into the drawing room. Pauline had gone to spend the night at her grandmother’s bedside, as the old lady was seriously ill, possibly close to death. The other Canadians were drinking in The Ship. Jim had said he'd follow them down there but was showing little inclination to do so.
‘Fast asleep. Both of them,’ said Gwen and sat down at the opposite end of the sofa. ‘They are such good children. I love having them here in the house.’
‘They’re cute kids.’ Jim put down his book.
There was a silence for a few minutes, then Jim said, ‘Did you never want children yourself?’ Then when Gwen turned her face away, he realised he had wandered into dangerous territory. ‘I’m sorry. I’m always putting my big feet
in it.’
Gwen sighed, then said, ‘I tried for years to have a child. Month after miserable month, waiting and hoping and praying, but deep inside believing it would never happen. Can you imagine what that does to you?’
He held her eyes.
Gwen looked away, staring into the middle distance. ‘Other people having babies with no effort. One after another.’ She pulled the sleeves of her cardigan down over her hands. ‘You start to believe it’s your own fault. That you must have done something bad. That it’s a punishment. I’d been responsible for my brother’s death so how could I be trusted to bring another child into the world?’
Jim remained silent, still watching her face. Her mouth straightened and she pinched her lips in, then her hand moved to smooth down her skirt. She took a deep breath and turned to look at him again. ‘I even thought it was my own body rejecting, refusing, blocking the possibility of a baby.’
‘Don't blame yourself. There are millions of couples who can’t have babies. And you were a child when your brother died. It was an accident.’
‘You think it’s self-pity, don’t you?’ She looked at him, her eyes sad.
‘I never said that. Quite the opposite. You need to cut yourself some slack, Gwen.’
She took a deep breath and told him about the baby she lost when Roger was in Geneva. Jim listened intently, then said, ‘Why did you never talk to him about what happened and how you felt? Didn’t he have a right to know?’
‘Of course he did,’ she snapped. ‘But what could he have done?’
‘Understood what you were going through for a start. Did he never even mention the subject of you having children?’
Gwen sighed and said, ‘Yes. Early on when we thought it would be easy. Then when it didn’t happen Roger wanted us to go together to the doctor, but I would have hated that. Too embarrassing. I was brought up to keep things private, to take what life dealt and get on with it without complaining. And it seemed easier not to talk about it.’
She got up and moved over to the window, resting her hands palm-down on the ledge. ‘It was always there though. A dark shadow between us. I think he was as scared as I was to bring it up. He didn’t want to seem as though he was disappointed; he didn’t want to upset me. When there’s something like that – a blockage – it becomes impossible to break through it. Unmentionable, but always there between us.’
Gwen looked so alone and so vulnerable standing there by the window. Jim got up and went to stand beside her.
‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Maybe you should be a priest. I feel like I’ve been to confession.’ Her smile was rueful.
‘I don’t feel like a priest,’ he said, struggling with the desire to take her in his arms.
As though sensing what he was thinking, she moved away and sat down again on the sofa. ‘I used to think I was cursed. If I let anyone get close to me something would happen to them. I used to sit here in this room, when Roger was at work, thinking about how to kill myself. Everything seemed so pointless. I didn’t want to go on. I was looking for the right time but the right time didn’t come. Then, since the war, I’ve realised that death is close to everyone. It’s everywhere. It’s indiscriminate. Now that it feels much harder to hold onto life, I want to go on living. Does that sound mad?’
Jim shook his head. ‘I know what you mean. When I left Canada I wanted to go to war and never come back. The idea of dying as a hero appealed to me. I thought everyone would be sorry and that it would be some kind of vindication of what had happened to me. But I’ve not been near the enemy and wonder if I ever will. And the longer it is, the harder it’s going to be if I do get my chance. I even wonder if I’m up to it. It’s one thing to run over the Downs with a heavy pack on your back and another when it’s real.’ He leaned back against the windowsill, his eyes fixed on her. ‘When my brother died in the Dieppe raid it made me question what I was doing. As well as Walt there were men I’d known at school who lost their lives in that operation. They probably started out full of hope and idealism. I never had either. Just a need to escape and find oblivion.’
‘You don’t feel that way now?’
‘No. Like you, I don’t want to die any more.’
Gwen got up and walked over to the sideboard and poured them each a whisky.
‘This is getting to be a habit,’ she said, as she chinked glasses with him. ‘How was your trip to Aldershot the other week? I was surprised you wanted to go back there. All you Canadians seem to hate the place.’ She narrowed her eyes and smiled at him. ‘Did you have an ulterior motive for going?’ She leant against the mantelpiece, sipping her scotch.
‘Am I that transparent?’ he said. ‘If I had a motive it was a misguided one. I was on a fool’s mission.’
She nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘There was this woman.’
Gwen smiled. ‘There’s always a woman.’
‘It wasn’t like that. At least not really. She was the cousin of my pal’s girl. Grass, Greg I mean – Grass was his nickname – used to drag me along to keep the cousin occupied while he and his girl, Ethel, were dating. Then Grass died. Brain haemorrhage. Anyway, Joan was engaged to another fellow who was off with the Eighth army in North Africa.’
‘What’s she like, this girl you were babysitting?’
‘A real puzzle. I never knew where I was with her. And anyway she isn’t my type.’
‘What is your type? – no don’t tell me – beautiful, warm, calm, blonde and preferably called Alice.’ She smiled.
‘I suppose I asked for that. No, Joan is about as different from Alice as you could imagine. She’s tough. She’s unpredictable. She’s… well as I said, you never know where you are with her.’
‘So you’re drawn to her?’
Jim took a glug of whisky. ‘Hell, I don’t know. I don’t know what I feel about anything any more.’
‘So why did you go and see her?’
‘Her cousin wrote to me to say that Joan’s left the army and her fiancé has been killed. I wanted to offer her my condolences.’
Gwen raised her eyebrows.
‘What?’ he said, defensive.
Gwen ignored him. ‘Why did she leave the army?’
‘That’s what I wanted to find out.’
‘And?’
‘She wouldn’t see me. Wouldn’t even open the door more than a crack. Told me to bugger off and stay away.’
‘That’s an extreme reaction for someone who was engaged to another man and was just a casual friend. Are you sure there isn’t more to this story?’
Jim drained his glass. He looked down then raised his eyes to meet hers. ‘Something happened. It was an accident. We ended up in bed together.’
‘When you went there the other day?’
He laughed. ‘No. Months ago. Before I was stationed here.’ He told her about the trip to London and how they’d ended up sharing a room. ‘It was freezing. She got in with me to get warm. We found ourselves… you know… we were half asleep. Neither of us meant for it to happen.’ He ran his hands through his hair, embarrassed.
‘I see.’
‘It was a bit of a fumble. I don’t remember much about it. It was awkward next morning. She made it clear it wasn’t ever going to happen again. She didn’t want to cheat on the guy she was engaged to marry.’
‘And what about you? What did you want?’
Jim put his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything any more. When I was with her I thought… but then I’ve barely thought of her since.’
He sighed then said, ‘No. That’s not true. I have thought of her. But I didn’t want to. She was out of bounds. And as I said, not my type.’
‘And you never found out why she left the ATS?’
‘Joan is one of those people who spell trouble. I expect she got into some kind of disciplinary thing and they threw her out of the army. That wouldn’t surprise me. She didn’t like military life. Hated it in fact.’
They laps
ed into silence for a few moments. ‘Do you have a cigarette?’ said Gwen.
‘I don’t smoke.’
‘You must be the only soldier in the entire allied forces who doesn’t. I don’t either but I have a sudden desire for one.’
Gwen got up and walked over to a table in the corner. She turned back and looked at him, smiling. ‘Pauline smokes like a chimney and leaves packs all over the house – thanks to the generosity of your colleagues. Here we are.’
She took a cigarette and lit it, breathing the smoke out slowly. After a second puff she stubbed it into the ashtray. ‘I don’t know why I did that. I don’t like the taste. The idea was better than the reality.’
‘Like a lot of things.’ He looked at her, keeping his eyes fixed on hers.
‘Not everything,’ she said. She moved over to stand in front of him. Jim reached up and pulled her down beside him. For a long moment that felt like a slow beautiful torture they looked into each other’s eyes and then at last their mouths met.
All the anger, confusion and frustration that had characterised Jim’s recent life exploded in that moment. He was overcome with a desire for this woman that swept over him like a tidal wave. He held her tighter, drinking in the sensation of her lips on his. She sat on his lap, her arms around his neck, her mouth hungry. Surfacing from the kiss she whispered, ‘Some things are even better in reality.’
Jim loosened his collar and began to lift her blouse up.
‘Not here,’ she said. ‘Come to bed.’ She took his hand and led him from the room.
The next morning, Jim woke before Gwen and lay on his side watching her sleeping. She was so beautiful. Her face had a calm and a peace that it lacked when she was awake, when she was usually frowning and with a worried expression. Their lovemaking had been a revelation. The buttoned-up stiffness of the woman who had all her emotions under control – or who preferred to behave as though she had no emotions at all – had been replaced by an abandon that had surprised and delighted him. It was as if Jim had unleashed a genie from a bottle.
