The Consequences of War

by The Consequences of War (retail) (epub)

  That Christmas had been the first either of them had spent entirely free of any commitments, and they had enjoyed it.

  ‘How is Nick?’

  ‘Still in Liverpool. Hoyes staa’ted speekingk with a foony accent.’

  Eve laughed and tossed a cigarette which Georgia caught in mid-air and lit thankfully.

  ‘Craven A – you life-saver, I swear there hasn’t been a decent gasper in Markham for two years.’

  ‘They’re about again. Supplies will reach the backwaters eventually.’

  ‘Why is it other places seem to get stuff we haven’t seen since the outbreak?’

  ‘Perhaps Whitehall thinks it is enough that our houses are still standing.’

  It passed through Georgia’s mind that Eve might not know that her old home was in a neglected state. She had seen the garden herself whilst door-to-door collecting for the Spitfire Fund – a fallen tree left where it fell across the lily pond, the beautiful little palm-house sagging, dustbins scavenged by cats and foxes, tipped over and rolling around, verdigris on the door-brasses and grimed-in dirt on the windows. Nobody had answered her call, the place had the appearance of being abandoned. Now was not the time to mention it.

  ‘It’s a shame Nick can’t get a transfer back to the South.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Georgia?’ Astonished, Eve dropped her bantering tone. ‘I thought you loved the guy.’

  ‘Aah… don’t read anything into that “maybe” one way or the other. I thought there was a time when I’d die if he didn’t come, but… I don’t know… I think it’s like Mrs W. next door, she used to cry a lot when Dick became a POW, but she seems to be content enough now. I think she’s discovered that she’s Mary Wiltshire, not just Dick Wiltshire’s wife. It will be interesting to see how they get on when he’s back again and discovers that Mary can mend plumbing, do bits of wiring and use a hammer and saw. Dick’s nose will be out of joint. I just hope that she doesn’t let him push her down again. He’d never have let her bleach her hair, or get a little job. I can just hear him – “A woman’s place is in the home, Mary”… “I’ve been home ten minutes, Mary, what’s happened to the dinner?”… “I’ll have no Littlewoods Club in my house – what we can’t pay cash for, we’ll go without.”

  ‘Now look at her, the front of her hair bleached and put up in a Victory roll and she’s running a profitable little line in Mail Order stuff, to say nothing of a bit of black market. But I can’t talk, I was nearly as bad with Hugh. Girls, like me and Mary especially, are brought up to be married women.’

  ‘You’ve proved you can do a manager’s job really well: there’s bound to be a place for you somewhere.’

  ‘I can’t think where. The men will come back and women will get shooed into dolly’s houses and play-kitchens. Everyone will forget that women drove tractors and lorries, worked lathes, did welding… yes, and organized workers. They will pretend that we are helpless outside the home.’

  ‘And a lot of women will collude in the pretence. As Connie did. Do you realize that never once in the twenty-five years before she left did she say that she had learned to fly an airplane.’

  ‘Imagine, being able to do something like that, and everybody else thinking that you were only good at arranging dinner parties and dressing well.’

  ‘Seeing her as she is now has made a difference to me. I thought that I would continue nursing as a career. It’s a pity if we can’t hold on to the progress women have made as a consequence of this war.’

  ‘Equality for Women isn’t the favourite horse to back.’

  ‘I suppose you are right: men have been going off fighting since the year dot, and whilst they were gone, women did everything they weren’t supposed to be capable of doing when the men were at home, such as fending off wild animals and farming crops.’

  ‘And when the men had had enough, they came back and filled the women full of babies. It happened after 1918 as it must have after the Crusades. “Oh no, Lancelot, please not all that again,” my Lady said, “I’d much prefer a new breast-plough to a new baby.”

  ‘“Dear Lady,” said the knight, “hast lost thy senses? Breast-ploughs are for men. A lady’s place is in the home with a nice little baby and a nice little roasting spit. Keep,”’ Georgia said, giggling, ‘“within the keep.”’

  ‘Oh yes, “A lady’s place is within the keep.” “But, my Lord, ” said she, “I have been running the castle and the farm and the dairy, as well as bringing up the kids for ten years. I’ve made a very good job of it, no labour trouble at all, and it’s all been so much more interesting and worthwhile than embroidering samplers.’” Eve knelt with exaggerated humility. ‘“And my Lord, this be not fair.”’

  ‘“Blame your mother, honey. When you came out female and no rod of authority – you drew the short straw.”’

  Caught up in their silly mood, they fell about laughing. ‘Oh, Eve, you don’t know how good it is to have somebody to talk to and let down my hair with. I have to be so formal and capable in my job, and all the voluntary things I get involved with. I’ve gained the reputation for being good with ideas and organizing, so I get roped in to do absolutely every voluntary thing.’

  ‘Seriously – what will you do? The training I am to undergo is to do with the situation when the war ends – it will be over now within a year at the most I should think – but this is just the beginning of a career for me.’

  ‘I’m not going back into the dolly’s house. I must earn my living. Women have had a little taste of freedom and found it addictive. I seem to have got used to living for myself. I don’t know that I want to share.’

  ‘One does get used to the idea of being on one’s own. Then one begins to resent intrusion. I have to admit that I wasn’t entirely delighted when I heard that I was being shipped back to Markham. I’ve grown to like not being answerable to anyone but myself.’

  ‘I think that is what Nick can’t understand. He thinks it is to do with him – but it is to do with me.’

  ‘D’you know, at first, when Davey went missing, I had such terribly vivid dreams of him, erotic and terrifying at the same time – awfully mixed up. Then I went through a phase – it was when I first started work at the hospital – a phase of thinking I heard his voice everywhere, and believing that every time I turned back the blanket on a stretcher, it would be David lying there. Pretty soon after that phase, I knew that he wasn’t coming back.’ She stubbed out her cigarette and immediately lit another. ‘Oh Georgia, I have to tell somebody or I’ll burst. It has to be you, I could never talk to Connie… in any case, she lives in her own world. I have been going nuts since I left Markham. Connie said something… it seemed to bring me to my senses – “as dissolute as your father,” she said. I just let fly at her. Since I’ve been in London I’ve been with dozens of different men – the hospital bike, give anybody a ride.’

  ‘Eve! Don’t!’

  ‘It’s true. I did it with great purpose.’ She shook her head in apparent amazement at herself. ‘Honestly, I didn’t care much what they looked like, they only had to be the right shape and size.’

  Georgia’s brows puckered as she observed the changes in Eve Hardy. She had lost the plumpness that had made her look so girlish when they had first met five years ago. Now, as she sucked deeply on her cigarette, drawing in her cheeks, the fine bones of her face showed clearly. Her skirt, utilitarian to the point of extreme skimpiness, had wriggled up to her thighs, but she made no attempt, as she once would have done, at modestly covering her liquid-stockinged legs. And whereas at one time she would have sat with still hands and followed the conversational trends of others, she now frequently gestured and moved her body as she talked. She had picked up some of Connie Hardy’s mannerisms.

  ‘God, if anyone else should hear this, but I’ve got to get it off my chest, Georgia, there’s nobody I’d tell except you. Talk about a Denise Robins romance! But just hear me out. There has always been this great moment of utter passion with David that I
wanted to relive, it became a kind of obsession. The first time we went to bed was more wonderful than I had imagined it could be. Our affair was enchanting – our families were the Montagues and Capulets – Davey was an heroic Romeo with his medal on the dressing-table and he made my transition from virgin to woman total ecstasy.’ She smiled. ‘In Probationer language… the first time we did it, we hit the high spot and I’ve been hot for it ever since.’ She inhaled tobacco deep into her lungs. ‘But he fucking well went away and didn’t fucking come back.’

  ‘Not Denise Robins, honey – unexpurgated Lawrence.’

  ‘You can mock, but he was wonderful – it’s only now that I’ve had all these other men that I realize just how wonderful. I have come to the conclusion that a man who thinks of the sex thing as involving two people is very rare, and a good many of them don’t really know what a woman is for. And it is not only the English – believe me… I’ve had League of Nations experience.’

  ‘And so you took to your bed with all these men, looking for another bout of total ecstasy?’

  Eve shook her head, smiling to herself. ‘No – it sounds quite awful really, and I don’t expect you to understand.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘It was that for a few seconds… each time I… you know… reached the top, it was Davey with me. Not raising his ghost or anything as potty as that, but it was the only way that I could bring him back and I wanted him so desperately. You see, I could not remember what he looked like the rest of the time, but each time I made love… for those few moments I have him back… remember him clearly.’

  Georgia did not try to meet Eve Hardy’s eyes but said quietly, ‘You aren’t the only one who fantasizes or forgets faces. Strange thing, I can remember every detail of Hugh, but Nick is a blur.’

  ‘So, each time you see Nick afresh, you can fall for him all over again.’

  ‘I suppose that it is a bit like that. The trouble is there are so many other real faces in between – and they’re fun to be with and they don’t expect commitment, aren’t looking for much more than a free meal and a roll in the hay – not that they get that. If I really loved Nick, wouldn’t his face blot out the rest?’

  ‘If that’s true, then I don’t love David. I have only one photograph, taken when he joined the navy, and now… he looks such a boy in it. Strange isn’t it, but wherever he is, he’s on the sunny side of thirty and is probably totally different from the boy who deflowered me so beautifully.’

  Georgia smiled and blew a long, slow stream of thoughtful smoke at the ceiling. ‘Aren’t you seeing anybody at all that you like?’

  ‘Only you, honey, and blondes aren’t really my type – I like ward sisters with large starched pygidiums.’

  ‘Eve Hardy, you’re terrible! I don’t know what a pie… whatever is, but it sounds vulgar.’

  ‘Turtle’s arse. We’re a pretty coarse bunch – Probationers and Improvers and nurses generally.’

  ‘You’ve changed.’

  ‘Or my true nature is surfacing – as decadent as my father.’

  ‘Rubbish! You’ll calm down again once you’re back in Markham. So many people are flying off in all directions, it’s no wonder we’re all becoming strange.’

  ‘Are we?’

  ‘Well aren’t we?’

  ‘My family has gone to pot, that is true.’

  ‘Hugh and Hugh’s Floozie have a son.’

  ‘Oh Georgia…’

  ‘He wants a divorce. I’ve started it going. I’m refusing to apply for maintenance.’

  ‘It’s the sensible thing to do. Connie should do the same. Clean break.’

  ‘No roof over our heads though.’

  ‘Is that right?’ it’s a man’s world.’

  ‘God! Connie’s flying sorties over the Channel or somewhere, whilst my disgusting daddy is holed up in the country with his Floozie. Bloody hell, Georgia, it’s not fair is it?’

  ‘If you’re after fairness, be sure you get born with the necessary appendages.’

  ‘What news of Nick?’

  Georgia shrugged her shoulders. ‘He hasn’t been here for weeks, and what can you say on the phone in three minutes? Every time he rings he says, “Marry me”, but it’s grown into a bit of a joke. I sometimes wonder what he’d say if I said yes.’

  ‘He’d jump on the next train of course.’

  ‘Then why doesn’t he jump on now?’

  ‘Because you go hot and cold on him and he can’t stand keep having his heart broken?’

  ‘What did I say… the strain of five years of war is sending us all round the bend.’ She jumped up from the armchair and changed her expression and tone. ‘That’s enough of all that. Let’s eat! Listen, have you got a bike?’

  ‘Round at Mr Iremonger’s.’

  ‘Then let us picnic tomorrow and have an old-fashioned day of normality and self-indulgence. I promised I’d take Leonora up to Farley Mount on the new bike her mother got from her Littlewoods Club. Mary won’t let her go on her own.’

  ‘You can’t blame her, with all the army camps around here. I’d love a picnic. I’ll be going to Mr Iremonger’s this afternoon: do you mind if he comes too? I did say I’d spend a day with him before I disappear into Oaklands. He’s super about the countryside.’

  ‘Oh do, and bring the dog. Bring anybody.’

  * * *

  Leonora was thrilled to bits to be going out with Mrs Kennedy and her friend.

  Because she had been in a gym display at the Grammar School to which she had won a scholarship, her mother had unpicked a pair of her Dad’s navy-blue trousers and out of them had got a pair of pleated shorts and a bolero.

  ‘You’re so clever, Mum, nobody’d ever know.’

  ‘Well I should like them to know, Lena,’ Mary Wiltshire had said primly. ‘Nothing to be ashamed of in Make-do and Mend; you should be proud.’

  To Leonora, the Make-do and Mend campaign was epitomized by such freaky things as the grey trilby hat of her Dad’s that her Mum had steamed and bent and wore decorated with lampshade braid, and by brooches made from clusters of silver-painted beech-mast or painted shells or everlasting flowers, and by hair bows made of hoarded toffee-papers and by belts woven from hundreds of bits of folded cellophane. She felt no pride in the substitutes, only embarrassment for the wearers, and a hunger for the real pre-war things that she could still remember.

  She longed for prettiness, almost pined to know how it must feel to have a second pair of shoes; to own some item of clothes that did not have a ‘Utility’ label; that would show the dirt and was not hard-wearing or sensible; to twirl, in a wide skirt with petticoats, as Judy Garland or Ann Blythe did in the pictures.

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have a Mum who could magic up things like this.’ Leonora had to admit that the outfit was really pretty smart and gave her Mum a hug.

  ‘Oh, go on with you, cupboard love. I still think I should have made the legs longer. They’re hardly decent, and you’re growing so quickly…’

  Before she went to call for Mrs Kennedy, scooping up her hair like Betty Grable in the photo she had in her film scrap-book, Leonora inspected herself this way and that in the landing mirror. I could pass for eighteen easily. Which was true. Her deep eyes, straight nose and well-modelled face gave her a serious, un-girlish look. Dropping her thick. cascading hair, she ran her hands over her stomach and hips, arching her back to maximize her bosom and then felt the contours of her thighs and neat behind. If I had high heels my legs would be as good as Betty Grable’s. Which was true also.

  ‘If there’d been a bit more material, I shouldn’t have had to cut them so short.’

  Leonora jumped and blushed, not knowing whether her mother had just arrived at the bottom of the stairs or whether she had been watching.

  ‘No, Mum, they’re just right; if they were any longer the girls would call me Baggy-britches – everybody wears them like this.’

  ‘Well just watch what you’re doing when you sit down�
� and when you get off your bike. You shouldn’t cock your leg over like a boy.’

  Oh, Mum, she longed to say, Don’t keep nagging all the time. But that would have led to a long lecture about having to be both mother and father at once and bearing the responsibility of bringing up two children, and the town full of soldiers, and women alone and nobody caring. Leonora had heard it so often that not a word of it adhered any more. Instead she said, ‘It’s the only way to stop getting oil on your socks and shoes, Mum.’

  ‘You know what I mean: economy is one thing, but that last lot of panties have got hardly any gusset to speak of and I don’t know what knicker elastic is made of these days, when you can get it at all. Now get off, Georgia will be waiting.’

  Leonora, thinking how obsessed with knicker elastic her mother had become, went next door to Georgia who wore red slacks and french knickers, and gave Leonora an occasional cigarette and treated her like a woman.

  Today Georgia had bunched her hair on top with a georgette scarf and wore white linen tennis shorts coupled with a white gypsy-neck top tucked into a yellow belt. Leonora had to wait until they were out of sight of Station Avenue before she scooped up her own hair, removed her neat bolero, opened the top three buttons of her blouse and tied its tail in a knot above her midriff.

  She understood precisely the meaning of the phrase, Feeling like a million dollars.

  * * *

  It was a fine weekend at the start of the growing and harvest season, when those who were not sticky and stinking with the sweat of hard farm labour, might believe that Eden must have been like Hampshire on that day. Clear, fresh skies, warm, soft air that carried sound for miles. Slow-moving brick-red cows arranged themselves in buttercup pastures to please the eye of a painter such as Mont Iremonger. Fidgety downland ewes nibbled white and red clover whilst their Sunday-dinner offspring, unconscious of their succulent reputation, gambolled prettily enough to illustrate the month of April on a calendar.