by Annie Clarke
Norah, the supervisor, had been walking along the rows of decoders and he could hear her stop right behind him. She leaned over, flicking his hair. ‘Good of you to spare us some of your time, Davey Bedley. Only half an hour late. See that clock over there? You should be here at eight. Good wedding, eh? Hasn’t put you off your own next month?’
‘Oh aye, and oh no, lovely Norah, not put me off my own, since you won’t have me. Sad to say, I’ll just have to make do with my Franny.’
Norah slapped his shoulder and laughed, moving on and calling, ‘If I was thirty years younger, maybe I’d consider it.’
‘Nah, you wouldn’t, Norah,’ Daniel muttered. ‘He’s a right beggar, you know. Leaves crumbs all over the breakfast table, and probably in the bed.’
Everyone laughed, but no one stopped work, for there was no time. Click-clack they all went, punching the keys, converting the code to something that supposedly made sense, but as it was in German, it was the translators in their hut who would note that and make sure the relevant people saw it. Davey’s German was good enough to work most of it out, and he had a quick eye for recognising an operator’s hand. It meant he could report troop manoeuvres simply by noting what one particular operator was transmitting.
At last, Norah called the shift for their lunch break. Davey sighed with relief. Perhaps food would help. Still, before he and Daniel hightailed it out of the hut for the canteen, Davey offered to work through the break. Norah waved him aside. ‘Eat. I recognise a hangover when I see one and I want no vomit on my watch. You’ve caught up anyway, so bugger off.’
He and Daniel walked across the gravel in front of the red-brick mansion and bet on grey mince or grey rabbit? They entered the steamy canteen and queued, Davey staring down at the mince that was slopped onto his plate by the elderly woman in the hairnet. He picked up a knife and fork from the end table, his stomach lurching. Food? Perhaps not, but someone would want it, so he followed Daniel to a table where there were a few spaces, and sat down next to him on the bench. He took a mouthful and found that in fact he was ravenous.
He began to eat, his hangover and tiredness lifting, and he told Daniel of the pheasant sandwiches, and of Stevie’s old boy who brewed the special beer and had somehow managed to get hold of yeast. ‘We were right pigs,’ Davey said, scraping up the last of the potatoes, and then drubbing his bread in the remaining gravy. He pointed at the plate. ‘Aye, you know what, I reckon it doesn’t need washing.’
From just behind them they heard Daisy say, ‘You’re disgusting.’ Davey sighed. Daisy had caused such trouble, accusing both of them of having their way with her when drunk. Though at least she hadn’t said it publicly.
It was only later that she had confessed she was pregnant. She had been looking for someone who could be tricked into believing he was the father, for it transpired that her RAF boyfriend had been killed in action, and her parents didn’t want to know. Daniel and Davey had promised to help, and so she clung to them like a limpet. Thankfully, Daniel’s father, a vicar, was trying to find a mother-and-baby home for her.
Davey thought again, as he had done a lot recently, that the old boy had better get on with it, because Daisy reckoned she was about eight months along. She also reckoned the layers of clothing and corset made her look fat, not pregnant. Was it only because he knew she was that he thought that was rubbish?
Daniel was whispering to her, and she nodded. He raised his voice just a little, so that Davey could hear as well. ‘We’ll see you off from your landlady’s and pay for the taxi to the station. Dad’s booked the trains for you. I’ve got the tickets safe. The home will look after you. Got your bags packed?’
She nodded. ‘They’re ready in the hall of my lodgings.’ Davey was so relieved at what he’d heard his headache lifted further. God bless Daniel’s father, because now she’d get sorted, and what’s more, they’d be free of her.
‘Come on,’ Daniel called past her to Davey, ‘back to work.’
Davey took his plate to the trolley, but diverted back to the table, squeezing Daisy’s shoulder. ‘Seems we’ll see you later, lass.’
Once they were outside, they dawdled, looking towards the lake where in the winter some of the Bletchley workers had skated, and Daniel explained: ‘One of Dad’s congregation heard of a place for unmarried mothers that has a vacancy. It’s attached to the parish, so he can keep an eye on her and help find somewhere for the baby at six weeks. It’s the least we can do for the pilot. He was no more than twenty, she said yesterday. She’s nineteen. It’s a bloody pig’s ear.’
They headed towards the hut, their scarves blowing in the wind. ‘Aye, for the babe an’ all,’ Davey muttered. ‘Won’t she try her parents again? Then she could keep it, perhaps?’
‘I tried to persuade her when I got Dad’s telegram yesterday,’ Daniel said. ‘She was still adamant. She knows her father wouldn’t countenance it. Whether she’ll come back here, who knows? I know it’s unchristian, but I hope not – we know how tricky she can be.’
They stopped and stared back at the lake. It seemed so calm against the turmoil of Daisy’s life. Daniel said, ‘All that nonsense about sleeping with her. Mark you, lad, here I am, a nice, God-fearing lad, and there you are an unreformed pitman, and she went for you first. Still trying to get my head round that.’ He slapped Davey on the back.
They watched a flight of geese take off from the water, honking and circling overhead. Both men watched until they disappeared and by then Norah was heading towards them, her long woollen cardigan flapping, the scarf she always wore following suit. The wind snatched the smoke from the cigarette in the corner of her mouth. She tapped her watch. ‘Five minutes, lads. If you want a quick Woodbine, get on with it.’
Davey called after her, ‘Is that an offer, Norah?’
‘Now would I break the habit of a lifetime? Buy your own, lad. I’m just a poor old woman.’
Daniel was pulling out his Player’s. ‘Have one, Davey. Keep yourself calm for your wedding day.’
Davey produced the matches. Daniel laughed. ‘Your contribution, eh? Yes, that just about sums us up?’
‘Howay, stop your mithering. You know right well we take turns.’
‘Ah, but it’s good to spark you up from time to time.’ Daniel paused. ‘How old do you think our Norah is?’
They set off towards the hut as they tried to find a number, and ended up at fifty-six. There was no reason, Davey thought; it was just that she looked it.
The afternoon passed as it always did, hectically, with new intercepts arriving just when they’d cleared a pile. Finally, it was the end of the shift, and Davey’s headache was worse again, but it would be, poring over the machine, listening to the click-clacking, thinking of Fran. Darling Fran, soon to be his wife. What would she wear? Did it matter? She’d look utterly wonderful in rags. He picked up the last intercept, decoded it and handed the pile to the Wren who stood behind him and was already beginning to reach over his shoulder.
‘Thanks,’ she said. A posh voice, but then many were, just as most decoders were graduates, not pitmen; but could they set cryptic crosswords, as he could, and get them placed in a magazine? It was this expertise that had brought him to Professor Smythe’s notice, via Stan and a contact of the old boy’s, and to a position here. As Davey straightened, easing his shoulders, he cringed inwardly as he thought of bounding up to Smythe at Sarah’s reception and yacking about his son. Thank God for Fran saying the right thing. But whether she said the right thing or not, thank God for her, full stop.
Daniel stretched. ‘I recognise that soppy smile. Fran on your mind, eh?’
Davey was about to reply when Norah clapped her hands. ‘Off you go, fore shift. Leave those nice warm seats for the aft shift. No need for overtime today, you’ll be pleased to hear, especially Davey hungover Bedley. And you’d better hope it’s a steady day here when it’s your turn to wait by the altar. We can’t let you go if there’s a rush on, lad.’
Davey, who was rising
, sat down again with a thump, his mouth dry. ‘But … but …’
‘There speaks a woman with no heart,’ groaned Daniel. ‘Don’t believe her, lad. She knows very well Marigold on the aft shift’s got a few friends on call to cover for you and me if this lot can’t handle the traffic.’
Davey rose and pulled a face at Norah, who shook her head. He grabbed his mac off the back of his chair.
‘Sorry, lad,’ she called, ‘it weren’t a nice thing to do, but I wanted you to know just how others are putting themselves out for you. But it’s fair because you’ve done your share of taking the load for them. So, everyone, this is my way of saying you’ve grown into a team, and I’m proud of you. Teamwork is what will get us through. Off to the bus now, if you can get your big heads through the door.’
As they left, the next shift hurried to take their places, while Davey nodded to himself. Aye, they were a team, though not quite like Auld Hilda, where their lives depended on their marrers.
Once outside, Daniel slung an arm over Davey’s shoulders. ‘Come on, Mrs Siddely might have some sugarless scones for tea, she said, if we’re on time. If not, the gannets will have them, which I believe means the children, though Colin and Martin aren’t backward in coming forward.’
They crunched down the gravel and on to the concrete, heading for the entrance. The trees overhanging the drive were ahead of those in the North; the buds were burgeoning, and there was a magnolia just this side of the guardhouse that threatened to have a wonderful display. They showed their passes, waiting for the pole to lift, and then loitered with the others waiting for the bus.
Colin and Martin, who months back had taken Morris’s place, were already there, Colin with his face in a book as usual, and Martin whistling. A few of the girls were smoking and chatting. As Davey and Daniel drew nearer, they heard one of the girls say, ‘I think she’s pregnant. Take a good look at her when she comes for the bus, because if that’s fat, I’m the Queen of Sheba. So good riddance. It’s not right. I mean, where’s her sense of decency and respectability, is what I’d like to know.’
‘Whose by-blow is it, more to the point?’ a mousy girl in a WRNS uniform almost spat. She saw Davey and Daniel watching.
‘Our Daisy’s going not a moment too soon,’ Daniel whispered to Davey. ‘The trouble is, she hasn’t made many friends.’
Colin looked up from his Ngaio Marsh novel and muttered, ‘Change that to any friends. She’s been too silly, too damaging. She was bad enough accusing you two lads, though we kept that between ourselves, as far as we know, but I hate to guess how many others have had the same thing thrown at them?’
Martin interrupted his whistling. ‘Though to be fair, she seems all right now. She was in the midst of grief, remember.’
‘Worthy of a writer, that was,’ Daniel whispered. ‘“In the midst of grief”, indeed, and the thing is, you’re probably right. But as you know, it’s sorted. However, in all honesty, and Dad would clip my ear to hear me say this, I feel for the mother-and-baby home. She’s a bag of tricks, is our Daisy.’ Davey saw the Wren whispering to the others, nodding towards the four of them, and then raising her eyebrows knowingly.
Daniel had seen her too. ‘You do realise, Davey, when you and I get off at Daisy’s stop and walk with her to her landlady’s to wait for a taxi, fingers will be pointed.’
Martin looked enquiringly at Colin, who nodded. ‘Well, let’s make that the four of us, eh? Then they can each point a finger at whichever one of us they choose. They should have more to think about, don’t they know there’s a bliddy war on. Damnable little cows.’
Before he could stop himself, Davey wagged his finger at him. ‘Language, our Colin.’
Their laughter carried across to the girls, whose looks said, There you are, choose which one is the father, for they’re all alike. The men just shrugged; and they didn’t care a jot.
As the bus drew up, Daisy came waddling down the drive as fast as she could, and the lads made a point of meeting her, waiting as the bar was lifted for her. All five of them pitched up at the bus, arm in arm, with Colin helping her on. They followed her up the aisle, staring fixedly at the four girls, who blushed and turned to stare out of the window.
When Daisy’s stop was called, the men helped her off the bus and again linked arms on the pavement before setting off. Colin chatted, as only he could, about absolutely nothing as they sauntered along past the 1930s houses with their hedged gardens until they reached The Haven. They stood back while Daisy knocked on the door. She turned and looked at them, her face expressionless, her small eyes set deep and her thin lips turned downwards as usual.
Daisy’s landlady opened the door, gesturing to two cases without saying a word. Davey reached in and picked them up before retreating to the pavement as the landlady slammed the door, saying, ‘Can’t say it’s been a pleasure.’
The five of them waited as the wind grew chilly and Daniel checked his watch. ‘I said five thirty, so any minute …’ And sure enough, a taxi drew up. Colin opened the boot, shoving in the two cases.
Martin spoke to the cab driver. ‘Help her out with them at the station, there’s a good bloke. Here, I’ll pay you for it.’
The driver waved the money away, saying, ‘No need. She’s about to drop any minute, so best we get there quick, eh?’
Daisy stood by the rear door, which Daniel held open. She reached out. ‘I have your home address to write and thank your father, Daniel, and your lodgings here. And I will, and Davey too.’ They shook hands. She turned to Colin and Martin, shaking their hands too. She drew out a pad and pencil, asking Davey to write down Fran’s so she could apologise to her for the trouble she’d caused.
‘There’s no need.’
‘But there is.’ Daisy’s eyes filled. ‘It must have been horrid to think the man she loved had been with someone else.’
He scribbled 14 Leadenhall Terrace, Massingham, Northumberland, and handed it to her.
She looked at them all. ‘You’ve been so kind to me, and I was ridiculous, quite lost my head. Forgive me. Peter would have been ashamed of me.’
She eased onto the back seat and Daniel shut the door. The taxi drew away, and all four of them sighed with relief. ‘I shouldn’t say it,’ murmured Daniel, ‘but I’m glad that’s the last we’ll see of her.’
It was what Davey, and probably the other two, were thinking as they set off to walk back to Mrs Siddely’s, but then Davey muttered, ‘How would anyone behave in Daisy’s situation? If I died, would Fran cause so much harm and upset?’ No one replied, and he shook his head, knowing she would not, because there would be the family, and Massingham, to keep her straight. That sort of a family was something Daisy seemed not to have. Oh, bliddy shut up, he told himself, it’s not our problem any more.
At the main road they waited for a truck to pass and Colin said, ‘Hearing his name, Peter, makes it much sadder. But I agree, I’m glad she’s gone. Not sure how she’ll pan out after the baby, though? If she was bad as this with her boy in blue being shot out of the sky, what will she be like if she has to give up the baby?’
‘Trust you to make us uneasy all over again, you beggar,’ said Martin.
They crossed. It would take them almost an hour by Shanks’s pony, but as Colin said, ‘There might, in spite of the lateness of the hour, be some scones left, and suddenly I’m hungry again.’
Davey handed round his Woodbines, concentrating on the thought of scones, and as they walked their moods lightened. It was Daniel who said, ‘I don’t think I’ll open her letter if she does write. Dad will deal with everything, it’s what he does, and what the home does. We’ve helped when we had every right to turn away. Let’s just wish her well, and the bairn, and forget it ever happened. And will someone give us a light? My cigarette’s waiting to reach my mouth, and my fingers are sick of holding it.’
They laughed, and Colin lit their cigarettes as they huddled round him, shielding the flame. Davey inhaled and they set off again, chatting, and he
realised Norah was right, the hut was a team, and the four of them were marrers. Though they might not save one another’s lives, they had joined together to support someone else. And if that wasn’t what marrers did, he was a bliddy Dutchman.
CHAPTER SEVEN
That evening, Davey called Fran at their usual time. The phone rang and rang and he was about to give up when she answered, sounding … Well, not right.
‘Fran?’
‘It’s been a beggar of a day, Davey,’ she said. ‘For a start there’s a pig called Gaines here to sort us all out.’
‘Gaines?’ he queried.
Fran rushed on. ‘Aye, the investigating security officer, or some such, determined to find things wrong. Cyn and Mr Swinton are on a warning.’ She was crying.
The world stopped for Davey. Franny crying? He looked down the road, the scones lying heavy in his stomach now. ‘Fran? Franny?’
She told him the rest now, ending with the message from the Massinghams. Ralph was in a coma, with a head injury, a gashed leg and bruised ribs, but alive.
It mattered – Ralph mattered to him, he realised with surprise. ‘Bliddy hell. Oh Franny … But you, how are you?’
‘I ache. I’ll have black eyes, but my arm’s no worse, nor my shoulder, and I don’t need stitches in my bonce, Dr Dunster says.’
He stared out at the queue forming in the main street of the village, at the houses that edged the road, just dark shadows in the unlit street, and could have kicked the phone box to bits. He breathed deeply. ‘You’ll take the day off.’
She just laughed. He repeated, ‘You’ll take the day off. Let Gaines sweat. You’ve to take care of yourself, let the bliddy war take a back seat.’
