by Anne Bennett
Violet’s daughter Carol came home too, but not for long as she was engaged to Gavin Honeyford, the young pilot she’d brought home the Christmas Lizzie had brought Georgia back. ‘Didn’t you get civilian clothes?’ Celia asked her. ‘Like the men.’
‘Can you see women all settling for wearing the same dress?’ Carol said with a laugh. ‘We get clothing coupons and a bit of cash to buy our own stuff. Not that there’s much to choose.’
Carol was only too right. ‘And don’t you just hate the word utility?’ Celia said.
‘Oh, too right I do.’
It wasn’t just clothes in short supply, but foodstuffs too, and there was little in the way of festive fare. Lizzie looked forward to the first Christmas of peacetime with little enthusiasm. Sarah McFarland sent a dress to Georgia, based on the one Shirley Temple wore in The Good Ship Lollipop. Georgia looked exquisite in it for it was basically white. The bodice was a sailorsuit design and the skirt had three petticoats of lace to make it stand out. Inside the box was a card and money for them all and a request to see a photograph of Georgia wearing the dress.
‘I don’t think it’s much to ask,’ Celia said. ‘Pity it won’t be in colour now.’
Lizzie thought so too and Scott’s mother had been very generous, and so she spent some of the dollars on taking Georgia to a proper photographer because he was able to take a coloured photograph of her. She used her Box Brownie to take photographs of family and friends, including Tressa and her children, for she wanted to show Sarah that the child was happy and settled into this life and surrounded by love.
Sarah knew as soon as she looked at the photographs what Lizzie was saying. She had secretly harboured a dream that Georgia would grow up with them one day, but now she saw and accepted that could never be. She couldn’t pluck a child from a family where she was so happy, and she could only hope that Lizzie might bring her over to see them when the world was a more settled place.
It wasn’t such a settled place in Birmingham, where too many people had lost everything belonging to them and taken shelter with friends or family. There was terrific overcrowding, while other families were camping out in deserted houses or church halls, and many servicemen came home horrified to find their families living in such conditions.
Prefabricated houses began being erected as a stopgap measure. ‘What are prefabricated houses?’ Celia asked, scanning the paper.
‘They’re built in sections and assembled on the site,’ Lizzie told her. ‘Not unlike that dolls’ house Sarah McFarland sent from America that we had to put together. They don’t need foundations. People say they’re lovely inside, and with a bit of garden for the kids. I tell you, I wouldn’t mind one myself.’
‘People say they’re for servicemen’s families first.’
‘I know,’ Lizzie said. ‘Fair enough, I suppose.’
Just then Violet popped her head around the door. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘don’t say I never give you owt,’ and from behind her back she produced something that hadn’t been on sale in the shops for six years.
‘Bananas! Oh, Violet.’
‘It weren’t me,’ Violet explained, ‘it was our Carol. Couldn’t resist them when she saw them hanging up. Wonder what the nippers will think of them?’
‘The older two might remember,’ Lizzie said. ‘Niamh, anyway.’
But Niamh didn’t and all three children regarded the bananas with suspicion. In her quest to eke out the rations and still feed her children nutritiously, Lizzie had produced many an odd concoction, and in their opinion this banana might be just one more.
‘What are they?’
‘I thought you might remember. They’re bananas.’
Niamh shook her head, and Tom asked, ‘What do they taste like?’
‘It’s difficult to explain,’ Lizzie said. ‘Anyway, you have to take the skin off first.’
‘How?’
‘I’ll show you,’ Lizzie said. The children’s faces were a study as she unzipped Georgia’s banana and cut it into pieces on the plate. They watched more intently as Georgia picked up a piece and popped it in her mouth. ‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘S’nice.’
The two older ones lost no time in removing the skin from their own bananas and devouring them, and afterwards declared bananas were the best fruit they’d ever tasted and when could they have them again.
‘They’re easy to please,’ Lizzie told Violet later. ‘They don’t see the headache I have each day to put food on the table—and now to talk about rationing bread! It’s madness.’
The idea of bread-rationing had caused a national outcry, for as many mothers said, you can fill the family up with bread, especially as butter, margarine and cooking fat were cut to wartime levels, and all meat, including poultry and even eggs, were to be considered luxury items. ‘Make-do meals’, were reissued in papers and magazines and read out on the wireless.
The only bright light on the horizon was the introduction of family allowances for every child after the firstborn, five shillings for each one, and paid to mothers in an order book that was due to come in to force in August. There was also talk of a National Health Service where visits and treatments from doctors, dentists and opticians were going to be free.
‘Be bloody marvellous if it does come off,’ Violet said.
‘Aye,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘And rationing can’t last forever. Tell you the truth, I’m thinking of getting a job in September when Georgia starts school.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Violet said. ‘When our Carol gets married next month and moves down to bloody London, I’ll not know what to do with myself.
‘No sign of a man on the horizon for Celia yet?’ she added.
Lizzie shook her head. ‘She still goes dancing and to the pictures, but she says most men she knows or she’s heard about have been untrustworthy.’
‘God, girl, she couldn’t have had that much experience,’ Violet remarked. ‘She was only a bit of a kid when she was put in that bloody convent.’
‘I know, and that’s the problem,’ Lizzie said. ‘Some of the tales the girls told us, well, you wouldn’t credit it and it’s put her off all men.’
‘Yeah. Seems to have affected you as well. Never go anyroad but out with me a time or two.’
‘I’ve got the children, Violet.’
‘Oh that’s it, is it? I’ve got kids and my life’s over?’
Lizzie grinned at her. ‘Shut up, you. Stop nagging me. I’m not interested in any man and I can’t see the situation changing, so don’t hold your breath for me to go floating up the aisle.’
In early September 1946, Georgia started school as she would be five in November. It would be her first real foray out of the streets and courts where she was known and accepted. Now she had to stand alone against people who might pick on her because she was different.
There was no way Lizzie could prepare her for this, but she needn’t have worried. Both Tom from the junior playground and Niamh from the seniors kept a weather eye on their little half-sister. Niamh ripped verbally into any she saw tormenting Georgia, while Tom was more physical. When he saw three bigger boys picking on her one day when she’d been at school less than a week, calling her names, pushing her over and laughing at her tears, his blood boiled and he let fly at them. Before the chant of ‘Fight, fight, fight,’ had alerted the teachers, one boy had a black eye and another a bloodied nose. It was worth three strokes of the cane on each hand, Tom thought, but he was no sneak and wouldn’t say why he’d attacked the boys. However, there were plenty who would, and Mr Steele thought he should nip racist attacks in the bud and the three tormentors were given the same punishment as Tom.
‘I’ll get you for this, Gillespie,’ one of the boys said, leaving the headmaster’s office holding his burning hands under his armpits.
‘Oh yeah? You and whose army?’
‘I’ll get my big brother on you.’
‘Well get him,’ said Tom. ‘He’ll think you’re terrific, won’t he, when I say you was pi
cking on a little girl half your size. You just leave our Georgia alone or you’ll get more of the same.’
After that Georgia had no further trouble, and Lizzie guessed much by the grazes on Tom’s face and cane marks on his hands. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ she asked.
‘No,’ Tom said. ‘Not really. Something had to be sorted out. Now, it is.’
Lizzie asked no further questions and was just glad Georgia had such great protectors in her two older children, who loved her so much.
By early October, Lizzie was alone in the house, and so far her and Violet had done nothing about looking for a job. This might be a good day to start, she thought, for it was fine and quite warm, with shafts of autumn sunlight lighting up the yard. ‘I’m sure if I’m busier, with less time on my hands, I’ll feel better,’ she told herself.
There was a knock on the door at just that moment.
Lizzie sighed, wondering if it was the priest, virtually the only one who knocked on doors, and she held herself straighter and told herself she wouldn’t be intimidated or browbeaten by the man.
When she opened the door she was so surprised she had to hold on to the door frame for support. ‘So…Scott?’ It was said hesitantly and questioningly. The man was said to be dead, and this wasn’t the Scott she remembered. Scott had been a fine build of a man, strong and broad without being fat, his face open and honest and his curls jet-black. This man appeared to have shrunk, his face was heavily lined and his hair peppered with grey.
Pity flowed all through Lizzie as Scott said, ‘Aye, no wonder you are surprised. I’m not half the man I was.’
‘But it’s not only that,’ she protested, drawing him inside the house as she spoke. ‘Your mother said…I had a letter…’
‘I know,’ Scott replied. ‘But I wasn’t dead, though I might well have been when I was captured by the Japs. They didn’t bother informing anyone, probably because they didn’t think many of us would survive, and a fair few didn’t.’
‘Oh, Scott, I can hardly believe it,’ Lizzie said. She’d thought this man dead and gone, lost to her, lost to them all, and for him to be here, alive! God, it was wonderful, marvellous! She wanted to touch him all over to convince herself he was real, hold him close, even kiss those lips. She flushed with embarrassment at the thought, for whatever his mother had written about his feelings for her, he’d never shown her he thought of her that way.
He looked at Lizzie and the pain in his eyes was so evident she forgot all her reservations and put her arms around him and felt him sag against her with a sigh of contentment. ‘When did you get out?’
‘The camp was liberated last year after the atomic bombs landed,’ Scott said. ‘The guards just took off one day. Some of the guys did too, but I was too sick and was airlifted to hospital.
‘I wasn’t with it for a long time and even when they fixed my body my brain was still addled, that’s why Mom never contacted you. She didn’t know if I’d ever recover. Some days I didn’t even recognise her.’
Scott was quiet, remembering those awful, scary days when he’d hovered in a sort of foggy half-life, and Lizzie disentangled herself and, taking Scott’s hand, led him to the armchair by the fire. Then, thinking to give him a few minutes to compose himself, she gave his hand a squeeze, saying, ‘Shall I make us a nice cup of tea?’
‘No,’ Scott cried, and he clasped Lizzie’s hand tight again. ‘This is more important then tea. When I was deemed to be on the mend and I was assigned to a psychiatrist, I confessed to him as I’ve never confided in anyone before, that what made me determined to survive during the hard times was the thought of here, this room, and Georgia and you.’
‘I’m glad,’ Lizzie said, not really understanding what Scott was saying. ‘Everyone needs something to hold on to, to give you hope for the future. Johnnie coming to see me in the convent and bringing the letters did that for me.’
It wasn’t really what Scott meant, but he knew the situation was different for Lizzie. He’d held her up as the vision to come home to, but any budding feelings she might have had for him would have been snuffed out at the news of his death, for Lizzie was nothing if not practical.
So he said no more of this in case it would disturb her further, but instead went on, ‘The psychiatrist said I should come and lay the ghost. I wanted to anyway. It wasn’t hard advice to follow.’
‘Ah yes, and it’s important for Georgia to know she has other relations,’ Lizzie said. ‘Even if she never gets to see them, it’s nice for her to know. Everyone likes to know their roots.’
It wasn’t just for Georgia I wanted to come back, Scott wanted to cry, but he didn’t and went on, ‘My mom was knocked out with the photos you sent. Me too. God, I mean, in my head I knew Georgia would now be going on for five, but in my mind I carried the image of the child when I left. She was just a toddler. And your own children look fine, Lizzie. I’m glad you brought them back.’
‘Your letter made that possible.’
‘They should have believed you anyway.’
‘If they had,’ Lizzie said, ‘is there an alternative to the Magdalene Laundries? I’ve thought a lot about it since. Is there some place in Ireland girls can go when they find themselves in the position I was in, or are the laundries the only place?’ She looked at Scott and went on, ‘I told the priest all about it, you know, the priest in Ireland when I went for the children.’
‘I’m glad. Was he shocked, surprised?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Lizzie said. ‘Oh yes, he said he was, but you know, the priests, nuns and all, they close up, protect their own. The Catholic Church is a law unto itself and can get away with atrocities. Somehow, it seems to have little to do with the Jesus I pray to.’
‘You still pray?’ Scott said. ‘You still believe in God after the war the world is reverberating from, not counting what happened to you?’
‘What could God do about the war, Scott?’ Lizzie asked. ‘Come down with a heavy hand like some avenging parent and give the Germans and Japs a good talking-to, or maybe throw in a few curses to bring them into line?’
‘No, maybe not, but…’
‘Some of those nuns had evilness like a canker in their hearts,’ Lizzie said. ‘The same as the Japs who treated you so badly and the Germans who herded the Jews into concentration camps and then on to gas chambers so that six million of them are not alive today. D’you know, I think when Jesus looks down on the mess of it all—that human beings, given free will, can act like this, and to one another—he just might weep himself.’
Scott lifted the hand he still held and kissed Lizzie’s fingers lightly. He was so moved by her words, his voice was husky as he said, ‘You are a very special lady, Lizzie Gillespie.’
Lizzie felt a stirring of her heart, which seemed to have lain dormant for so long, and she realised and acknowledged she cared deeply for this man sitting beside her, holding her hand and looking at her in such a way. God above, he was looking at her as if he loved her.
Their faces were very close and Scott bent towards her. What might have happened was interrupted by Violet coming in, saying as she came through the door, ‘How d’you fancy taking a dander up the shops, Lizzie?’
Scott had dropped Lizzie’s hand and yet the atmosphere was still charged. Violet stared at Scott. ‘Where the bleeding hell have you sprung from?’ she said before she took in the situation properly. Me and my big foot and bigger mouth, she thought, and aloud she said, ‘Sorry, Lizzie, did I interrupt something?’
Aye, Lizzie might have said, a tender moment, a moment of awakening to feelings I didn’t know I had, a moment when I might have kissed this man for the first time. But how could she say this; her feelings were too new, too raw. Maybe she confused pity and sympathy for love. God knows, she’d had little experience of love between a man and woman, for she’d never felt this way about Steve, about anyone, so she said, ‘No, it’s all right, Violet.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’ll make us all some tea and then we can sit down and let
Scott, who’s risen from the dead, I should say, tell us of all he’s suffered since he left us.’
What Scott went on to tell the women left them stunned. His voice was the only sound in the room except for the ticking of the clock and the settling of the coal in the grate.
They listened to Scott telling them how their company had been surrounded in Java and forced to surrender. ‘We were herded into the holds of ships,’ Scott told them. ‘Packed in like sardines, till there wasn’t room to move or breathe; too low to sit up, we had to lie like that for days.
‘Those of us who survived that were then put into tin boxes, they laughingly called railway carriages and again travelled like that for days.’
‘Where were they taking you?’
‘Thailand,’ Scott said. ‘And we were set to work on the railway that people say runs from there to Burma. The work was back-breaking and on a starvation diet. People dropped like flies; buddies you’d just shared a word with sank to the ground. If they couldn’t get up they were dragged away and shot. There were plenty to take their place.’
He closed his eyes for a minute and then said, ‘It never leaves me, that time. Beatings were commonplace and could be for anything or nothing. Sometimes you felt so sick, so sore you could scarcely move, yet to stay in bed or even to linger would sign your death warrant and you would be in the yard, trying to stand straight, glad to be one of those marched off to the railway for another day of torture, because it was better than ending your life impaled on a Japanese bayonet, or shot through the head because you were too sick to be of any use.’
‘It’s diabolical to treat people like that,’ Violet cried. ‘Almighty God, I hope those people are brought to book for this eventually.’
‘I doubt they will be,’ Scott said glumly. ‘I’ll not hold my breath over it. The one thing they were frightened of was cholera, and that swept through the camp, quickly wiping out many who were too ill-nourished to fight any sort of disease. Every morning there were people who died in their bunks, or those who keeled over standing in the parade ground, or beside you working. Each day I marvelled that I was still alive.’
