Next to Churchill there was only one man whom Mrs Robson apparently favoured, and that was Sir Arthur Harris, because wasn’t he sending bombers over by the thousand to knock hell out of them over there? Giving them a taste of the Battle of Britain, hitting their churches and cathedrals, just as the Jerries had done here.
Dealing with wireless every day, Joe rarely listened when off duty to accounts of small successes put over in the announcer’s authoritative tone and the defeats intoned as if reporting a death: which it was, though not a single death, such as when Tobruk had fallen in June and Mussolini went into Libya. Names like Rommel, Auchinleck, El Alamein sounded as common to the ear as Smith, Jones and Robinson; yet Joe had the feeling that he was being forced to stand on the sidelines and watch a game in which he had not the slightest interest. Yet he knew, at least in this he wasn’t alone: the feeling, if it didn’t pervade the camp, certainly pervaded his section.
This part of the country didn’t seem to be in the war. The munitions factory in Hereford seemed to be the only concession to it. The people went about their daily work in an ordinary fashion: there were no air raids, no scurrying to shelters, no fire engines tearing through the countryside. Naturally, most of the staff in the camp considered themselves lucky to have been posted here and dreaded the idea of a move, which created the feeling of being on the sidelines.
For himself, he wouldn’t have minded a posting; in fact, he would have welcomed it, because there was another complication entering his life: vague, but nevertheless there.
Since that day in August when he had first visited the house up the valley, he had, during the past ten weeks, made a dozen return visits. But only once had he ridden back with Maggie. And then it was dark and their entry into camp had gone unnoticed. But it wasn’t the camp reactions he was troubled about at the moment, it was Mrs Robson’s. He liked Mrs Robson, he had become very fond of her: she was down to earth, and she seemed to bring him out of himself, but she seemed to be harbouring serious ideas about Maggie and him. And that was ridiculous.
Maggie herself, he knew, understood the situation well enough: there was no-one more sensible than Maggie; but her auntie, who seemed to have taken the place of her mother and, like a mother, had her future interests at heart, was always bringing her qualities to the fore for him to admire.
He was well aware of Maggie’s qualities. She was an extraordinary human being, and it was a damn shame that her personality and talents should have been encased in that little dumpy body of hers.
Last week, after a concert, he had listened to a small group of airmen, seated at a table next to his, discussing her. One had said, ‘Her height doesn’t matter. I tell you, if she was out in Hollywood they would send her to one of those beauty farms, where they starve them and batter them about and knock them into shape; then they would give her a plastic nose, or make the one she’s got more pointed, put false eyelashes on her, give her hair an expert cut, and walla! She’d be a sensation. They would call her the Little Nightingale.’
There had been laughter and one of the men had said, ‘But you’re not far wrong.’
‘No,’ the former speaker had replied, ‘I know I’m not, because you don’t hear a voice like hers every day. And she’s got it up top, an’ all. There’s nobody readier with her tongue than our Lemon.’
Another voice had said, ‘Then why don’t you have a go?’ and the answer had been a bit of a scuffle and more laughter.
And now here, this very minute, her aunt was saying almost in as many words to him, Why don’t you have a go?
‘Marriage is a funny thing, Joe. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve had three goes at it, and I can tell you that looks are the last thing to be considered; it’s what’s underneath that matters in the long run. I married me first for looks, and my God, didn’t I pay for it! If he hadn’t had the business I would have left him within a month. Oh, I’m being honest.’ She nodded her head at him from where she sat to the side of the fireplace in the sitting room. ‘Anyway, I thought I was entitled to my share of what he had, for from the time I’d gone there five years before, I’d pulled the business up out of nothing. He hadn’t as much in his head, that one, as an addled egg. His dad had died long before his time, and that’s how he came into it…the business. And you know another thing, Joe? Marriage is a business, and after the bed business is over you’ve often got twenty-three hours in the day to live with your partner; especially, that is, if you’re working together like I was with him. Me second one wasn’t bad; he had a business head on him. It was when I married him that we bought this house here, just to escape to at the weekends, you know. But me third was the best of the bunch. He had a face on him like a battered pluck; he was gangly, you know’—she shook her arm—‘loose-limbed; but he was the kindest, most considerate man you could ever wish to meet. But life plays you dirty tricks. I’d spent most of it with the other two, one bad and the other indifferent, now I’d come across a good one and fate gave us four years together, that’s all. But looking back I think of them as compensation for the rest of me life before, and what’s to come…Maggie’s a fine girl, Joe; she’s one in a thousand.’
‘I know that, Mrs Robson, but we understand each other.’
‘Aye—’ she rose from the chair, went to a basket at the side of the hearth and, taking up a log, she almost flung it on the fire, and as she dusted her hands she ended, ‘that’s what she tells me. Anyway, you’ll say it’s none of my business, but I can tell you, you’ll go further and fare a lot worse. Aye, by God you will, Joe.’
What could he say? He sat, his head bent, his fingers clasped together, each one twitching; and then she was standing in front of him, apologetic, saying, ‘I’ve gone past meself, Joe, I’m sorry, but I’m concerned for her. She’s like a daughter, the daughter I never had, and I lie awake at nights thinking what’s going to happen to her when I’m gone, because men being what they are, they’ll take her on because of the money. And she’ll get all I have, which isn’t to be sneezed at.’
He looked up at her now and said quietly, ‘I…I don’t think you need worry about her being hoodwinked by anyone; she can see through most people.’
‘Aye, Joe, I know that. There’s nobody more sensible, but underneath all the sense there’s the woman, and her needs, and the feeling that she’s going to go down through the years alone. It’s a comfort, you know’—she smiled now—‘to think that there’s somebody opposite you for the first meal of the day, even if it’s to have a row with.’
‘Mrs Robson.’
‘Yes, lad?’ She now moved a few steps backwards and sat down again, straightening out one leg and rubbing it as she did so. And he paused a moment until he imagined that the pain of her rheumatics had eased, and then he said, slowly but firmly, ‘I don’t think I’ll ever marry; in fact, I’m sure I won’t.’
Her head jerked up, her eyes narrowed.
‘Why?’
‘There’s a reason.’
‘Physical?’
‘Oh no!’ The words came out on a shaky laugh. ‘Oh no, nothing like that.’
‘That’s something to be thankful for, anyway. Well, what else is so serious that it’ll stop you from marrying?’
‘It’s…it’s a family matter.’
‘Some sort of disease?’
Had his mother some sort of disease? Yes, in a way she was mad. And so he answered, ‘Yes, in a way.’
‘Physical? Mental? Or what?’
She was clever in the way she whittled things down. He swallowed deeply, then said, ‘Mental.’
‘Oh.’ They stared at each other in the lamplight, then she sighed and said, ‘Well, it isn’t always hereditary; it misses generations, so I understand.’
When he didn’t answer she said, ‘I’m sorry, lad.’
‘So am I. So am I.’
‘It explains a lot. Thank you for telling me. But I can’t see in the long run that it would make any difference to what we’ve been talking about, seeing who Maggie
is. But I can understand you more now, ’cos I never thought you were the kind of fellow to lead anybody up the garden, then jump the railings. Again, lad, thank you for confiding in me. Well, now that’s out of the road I’ll get you something to eat before you’re on your way.’
‘No, no’—he was on his feet—‘you’ll get me no more to eat today; I’ve had two marvellous meals. You sit still there; I’ll make us a drink, and then I’ll be off.’
As he made for the door she said, ‘You won’t forget to take that bottle in for her, will you? That cough of hers worries me; she’s had it for weeks. Should be showing some signs of ease now.’
In the kitchen, which had now become familiar to him, Joe set about making the two cups of cocoa. He had let out a number of slow deep breaths as if he had got out of a tight corner, but no sooner had he entered the room again than Lizzie said, ‘Does Maggie know of this?’ And when he shook his head saying, ‘No,’ she came back to him: ‘Mind if I tell her?’ There was no pause before his answer came, saying, ‘No, no, not at all.’
When he handed her the cocoa she looked up at him and said, ‘Only three weeks to Christmas. Will you be off on Christmas Day?’
‘I won’t know until the rota’s up.’
‘If you are, will you have dinner up here?’
‘I would like nothing better.’
‘Good! Good! Well’—she lifted her cup of cocoa towards him—‘here’s to a happy Christmas.’ And he, touching her cup with his, smiled as he said, ‘To a happy Christmas.’
Four
‘I would see to that cough if I were you, Maggie: it’s been troubling you on and off for weeks. Why don’t you report sick?’
‘What! And stand in a queue in the rain and get pneumonia?’
‘Well, it’s affecting your voice, and when Old Starch Drawers notices it’s bad she’ll get you a private session, if you ask her.’
‘She’d get me on the carpet too, if I asked her.’
‘Oh, she’s not so bad.’
‘Who said she was? She’s like a mother superior compared to some of those WAAF brass.’
‘You goin’ up to your aunt’s today?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s pouring.’
‘I’ve noticed that.’
‘She won’t expect you a day like this.’
‘She always expects me. Where are you going?’
‘I’ve got a date.’
‘That Temple fellow?’
‘Yes, that Temple fellow.’
‘What good’s going to come of that?’
‘Just a little relief from boredom for a few hours.’
‘His wife could be bored too, not having him home this weekend.’
‘Aw, Maggie’—Peggy Ryan shook her head with impatience—‘you don’t understand.’
Maggie turned her body slowly around and stared at her, and after a moment she said, ‘I don’t feel things like other people because I haven’t got what it takes: that’s it, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, the way you put things, Maggie! I just mean…well, you don’t seem to need anybody. We all…’
‘What do you say?’
‘Aw, I’m sorry, Maggie. Yes, I know, it’s stupid; you’re bound to need somebody. But…well, you seem able to cope. But me, I get all burned up inside, feel I’m going to explode. I need a bit of fun.’
‘I agree with you. Oh, I agree with you.’
‘Aw, don’t be so sarcastic.’ Peggy now pulled on her overcoat and, picking up her cape from the foot of the bed, said, ‘Well, I’m off, and if you have any sense you’ll stay put. See you.’
‘See you.’ …
You don’t understand. No, that was true, she didn’t understand why she should feel as she did inside. Why, in this fat, unshapely body of hers, there could be such beautiful feelings that took her into dreams at night, dreams which always began with her standing at the top of a shallow bank and looking down on a man bending over a stream. Then she was running down to him, but as she ran the bank became longer and longer, and not once did he turn his face towards her. The dream, she knew, was symbolic. Joe didn’t dislike her, but he didn’t like her enough to come into the open and claim her, even as a friend.
Anyway, what was she thinking about? What man would put even the caption of friend to an association with her, let alone Joe?
Here was a good-looking fellow who could have had his pick had he cared to make the gesture. He had got the name of being a loner, a reticent type, so the reaction in the camp to their association, were it brought into the open, could stop the war for two minutes, for it would be entirely obliterated by the laughter at little Lemon hooking a fellow. And such a fellow, he tall and slim, no waste flesh on him, and she an undersized bundle of flesh. ‘Mutt and Jeff,’ they would say. ‘The long and the fat of it.’ She could hear them. She wouldn’t be able to serve him over the counter but some quip would come flying their way.
Oh, she could understand the predicament he was in, the predicament in a way she had forced on him, the predicament she had begun to live for: counting the hours until Saturday or Sunday, her heart racing painfully as she pushed her bike into the shed and made for the door, some trite remark ready should he have already arrived, and an equally trite remark if he hadn’t. And when he hadn’t put in an appearance, as sometimes happened for a fortnight or more, the quietness would descend on her. And this would cause her Aunt Lizzie to reminisce more and more about her first two husbands in an effort to make her laugh. And she would laugh, dragging it out of the painful quietness that was filled with questions regarding the futility of self-education, for she knew nothing could come of this association, no more than the affairs that went on down in the camp. Oh, much less in fact.
He was in the house when she arrived and he helped her off with her cape, then her coat, the while Lizzie reprimanded her, saying, ‘You shouldn’t have come with a cold like that on you.’
‘What do you expect me to do? Sit on the edge of my bed or in the steaming pictures. And don’t suggest I could have gone to the NAAFI.’ She glanced up at Joe here and they exchanged a smile.
‘Get yourself in the room, and less of your backchat. And get those shoes and stockings off.’
‘What are you putting in that tea?’
‘Never you mind. Get it down you and say thank you.’
‘How do you manage to get whisky up here?’
‘You’d be surprised.’
A few minutes later she was sitting before a roaring wood fire, her bare feet resting on the rim of the brass fender, while she sipped at the whisky-laced tea and glanced at Joe sitting opposite her. In his shirtsleeves and without a tie he looked so much at home that it pained her, and when he said, ‘She’s right, you know, it was a mad thing to do to come out in this,’ she could have said to him, ‘Is that why you came, because you thought you wouldn’t find me here?’ But for answer she replied, ‘You’re not so sane yourself.’
‘That’s different.’
Yes, his purpose in coming was far different from hers: her purpose was twofold, to see him and to come home to her Aunt Lizzie, whereas his touched on neither of them; this house was merely a bolt-hole from the monotony and restrictions of the camp…Yet no, that wasn’t quite fair to him, for she knew he had become very fond of her Aunt Lizzie; in fact, he talked much more to her, she noticed, than to anyone else, herself included.
‘What kind of a week has it been for you?’ She was asking the question as if she hadn’t seen him for days; but then, when she served him in the NAAFI their exchanges would be brief; in fact, she would have less to say to him than she had to the other fellows.
‘Oh, a bit testy. We’ve got a lot of new pieces of equipment in, but we can’t use the damn things.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, well’—he moved his head—‘it’s rather complicated. It’s American stuff, radio amplifiers and transmitter receivers. They use frequency modulation instead of amplitude modulation.’
‘O
h yes?’ She nodded at him and they both laughed, and he said, ‘Well, I can’t explain it in any other way, except to say we don’t yet really understand the blinking things. They are sending a fellow over from Cranwell, somebody with brains, I understand, to explain to us dimwits how to turn a knob.’
‘Free French, Australians, Canadians, Poles, you don’t have to go abroad to meet the natives. Did you hear about the two Canadians who nearly caused a bust-up last night?’
‘No. What was that?’
‘Oh, they got on about that raid business back in August, when so many of the Canadians were killed or taken prisoner. They said they had been given no support, and they were on about Montgomery. Anyway there was a punch-up among some of them, and of course the SPs came on the scene, so there would be some fizzers flying about this morning.’
‘I never heard anything about it. Was it in our section?’
‘Half and half, I think. And some of the discip. wallahs were in it too.’
‘Oh, my heart bleeds for them.’
‘Yes, I bet it does, and I can understand why. They were on about just that at the counter one day this week, saying, when you lot are on guard, you have to go straight on to instructing the next day while guard was merely part of the discips.’ duty. I suggested they should go on strike.’
My Beloved Son Page 18
