A Strong Hand to Hold

by Anne Bennett

  ‘Really, Mother?’ Peter had said. ‘You amaze me. You must be slipping.’

  ‘Don’t be so provoking,’ his mother had reproved. ‘I’m interested in people, that’s all.’

  ‘Nosy would be a better word.’

  ‘Perhaps. Call me what you like. Anyway, that’s why she took to her bed, people say.’

  ‘Who took to her bed?’

  ‘Why, Norah O’Leary, of course! People say she was always snooty anyway, but when she became disabled, it was done as a form of penance for her husband. She had him running after her for years.’

  ‘So, you’ve examined the woman and with your extensive medical knowledge, you know that she is suffering from nothing more than resentment and revenge?’ Peter had suggested sarcastically at the time. He hadn’t met Jenny then.

  His mother had flapped a dismissive hand in front of her face and said, ‘Scoff, go on, I don’t mind. But that’s what people say.’

  ‘Mother, people used to say the world was flat.’ But for all he’d scorned the gossip his mother had collected, he did remember what she’d said about the marriage between the amenable Irishman for whom everyone had a good word, and the aloof woman he’d married, who seemed to have ideas above her station. He also remembered that when the father had died, some of his own patients had shaken their heads; they reckoned that the young lass would be landed with the job of looking after her mother. There wasn’t one that hadn’t thought it wasn’t a daughter’s duty to do just that, but they’d still pitied her.

  The antagonism aroused by Linda’s presence in the house did not abate as the days passed. Eileen and Norah ignored her as much as possible. They seldom or never spoke to her by name, but leapt on Jenny for any small misdemeanor, real or imagined. Jenny soldiered on and Linda often thought the two older women needed a smack in the gob to teach them some manners, but she kept these thoughts to herself.

  Twice a week Jenny was at the warden post. She’d discussed this with Linda and offered to give it up for a while, but Linda wouldn’t hear of it. She knew it was only through Jenny being a warden that she’d been rescued at all, and she wouldn’t ask her to stay and keep her company when she could be doing some good elsewhere.

  Jenny felt the same, but although the raids had decreased through January and there was only one light raid in February and the same in March, Jenny wasn’t the only one to wonder if their ordeal was over. She was glad if it had but it did mean she often felt useless as she made tea and chatted to Stan while she did a bit of knitting. She often worried about Linda back at home and missed Gladys who’d asked for a transfer to a city-centre post. Gladys’s youngest son had been killed just after New Year. A month later, her elder son was posted as missing – and that had seemed to suck the very life out of her. Then she’d seemed to pull herself together again. ‘Those buggers took my lads,’ she said. ‘And I’m not going to let their deaths be in vain. I’ve got to be where I can be of some use.’

  Jenny sympathized with her determination and did think about going with her, but she now had a responsibility to care for Linda and, she thought, the child had suffered enough losses in her short life. ‘Anyway,’ Stan said, ‘Gladys will have as little to do nearer the town than she had here because it really does seem that Hitler’s finished with us at last.’

  Maybe, Jenny agreed.

  Just before Easter, one Wednesday night, the sirens blared out at ten o’clock in the evening. Linda had gone to bed and Jenny was in the kitchen preparing supper for her mother, grandmother and herself before she joined her. The sirens had caused her to jump and drop some of their precious tea ration on to the floor as she was spooning it out of the caddy at the time.

  Eileen and Norah looked at each other across the fireplace with no sign of panic. Jenny knew that they would only take shelter under the stairs if the planes were heard heading their way. Really it was Linda she was worried about. The youngster was terrified of air raids – in fact, any loud noises – and after her experience, it was not to be wondered at.

  Jenny got another cup down and poured out four cups of tea. Leaving two for her mother and grandmother, she took the other two up to the bedroom. There was little sleep for the girls that night, and though none of the planes came close enough to cause them to take shelter, the raid was severe. They sat at the window most of the night and watched as the city centre burned and the night sky glowed a reddy orange colour, and they held each other tight and wept.

  That same evening, Francesca Masters, Bob’s mother, had decided to come home. She’d mouldered long enough in Devon, she decided. Anyway, she was intrigued about the young girl Bob had written to her about and who, he claimed, sang like an angel. Francesca would have imagined a romantic attachment, had it not been for the fact that the girl was only twelve years old. But something had caused him to wax lyrical about the young girl’s talents and abilities, because neither he nor his sister, Juliana, had the slightest interest in music, to her great disappointment.

  Long before they reached New Street Station they were stopped. In the black night they could see bombers pounding the heart out of the city and Francesca felt cross that she’d been sent away like some fragile hot-house plant, while others had stayed and lived and worked with danger at their shoulder all the time.

  Eventually, the train was shunted into a siding to await instructions before continuing. There was no food or water and only basic amenities, but none of the passengers grumbled. They’d all seen what was happening just a few miles away and it seemed very unpatriotic to make a fuss. Most, including Francesca, settled down for a long, uncomfortable night and she reflected long and hard on what she had actually been protected from, and why.

  It was Easter Saturday before Jenny heard that Gladys was one of the casualties of that bombing raid. ‘Fellow came round to tell me,’ Stan Walker said. ‘Decent of him really. He said he knew she’d once worked here along with me, and he found my address in her diary in her bag.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She was rescuing folk when the building caved in,’ Stan said. ‘Never stood a chance.’

  The news of Gladys’s death really upset Jenny. She couldn’t seem to lift the depression. She tried, for Linda’s sake, but the girl wasn’t fooled. What was really affecting Jenny was the fact that she had nearly put in for a transfer like Gladys, and now she was dead, and if Jenny had been there, she might have died too. Many did, including the sick and doctors and nurses at the General Hospital when it was damaged so badly that Lewis’s department store had to open their basement to the wounded.

  She knew the city centre would never be the same. High Street and New Street were virtually gone and now they heard on the wireless that the Midland Arcade was no more and Broad Street was laid waste, with all its theatres reduced to blackened shells. Clusters of bombs had hit Digbeth and Deritend and the jewellery quarter had another pounding. St Chad’s hadn’t escaped this time nor Queen Elizabeth’s Hospital, and St Martin’s in the Bull ring was also intensively damaged.

  The fires had been so fierce, it had been eight o’clock the next morning before they’d been brought under control. As well as this many many residential areas had been pounded by 200 planes for hours and hours. Again there were streets and streets of houses destroyed, crushed and left burning, and many dead or maimed. Jenny was affected with a deep and severe depression and Linda, remembering her mother’s similar complaint, wondered if there was any way she could lift her out of it. In the end it was Maureen who thought of something to help Jenny.

  Jenny’s twenty-first birthday was on 27 April, and Maureen had been considering having a party for her the day before, which was a Saturday. She was determined on this when she saw how low and dispirited her granddaughter was after the raid that had killed her friend Gladys. ‘It’s honestly not to be wondered at though, is it?’ Peggy said, one evening when Maureen expressed concern. ‘But sure, Gladys wasn’t the only one killed that night. I think a party would be the right thing.’


  And so the preparations for it went on. Peggy asked their workmates and Maureen the neighbours, and Linda wrote to Bob after copying his address from the book in Jenny’s handbag.

  ‘He won’t be able to come, you know,’ Maureen warned. ‘He’d never get leave.’

  ‘Aye, I believe he near had to stand on his head to get the weekend off for my wedding, Jenny told me afterwards,’ Peggy put in. ‘But still, you’re right to tell him, for knowing Jenny, she’ll not have said a word.’

  Linda was very excited about it.

  ‘What a pity you won’t be able to dance at it though,’ Linda’s friend Carole said sadly one day at school, looking at the heavy calliper still encasing one of Linda’s legs. Carole was fanatical about dancing and the Duke Ellington sound, and the jitterbugging craze coming over from America.

  ‘I’d rather be able to walk than dance,’ Linda said. ‘Anyway, I don’t mind. This is Jenny’s twenty-first. Don’t you worry – I’ll be able to dance fine at my own.’

  And then, just two days before the great day, Bob was invalided home to recover from shrapnel wounds in his leg. He’d given Jenny no indication that he’d even been in the military hospital, and it was a total shock to see him arrive at the door on Thursday evening. ‘Don’t fuss,’ he said, when Jenny had recovered a little and realized he was hurt. ‘They’ve got all the muck out now and I’ve been sent home for a week or so, until I heal properly.’

  But Jenny wanted to fuss. Bob sat in the living room with her mother, grandmother and Linda, telling them about the dogfight that he’d survived – not only survived, but got the plane down in one piece though shot to blazes. Jenny listened at the door, only too well aware that he could have been just another statistic of the war, another young pilot shot down like her brother. Would she cope if that happened to Bob? It didn’t bear thinking about, but in facing up to it, she realized two things. The first was how much Bob was beginning to mean to her, and the second was that however sad she was about Gladys’s death and however guilty she felt, life had to go on.

  Later, as Bob and Jenny walked in the warm spring evening she said, ‘Is this harmful for your leg? Should you be walking like this?’

  ‘It’s good for me,’ Bob told her. ‘It’s what the doc told me to do – go for walks to stop it stiffening up, you know. He even said I’d find it more enjoyable if I found a pretty girl to walk with. I pity any other poor chaps given the same advice, because I’ve captured the prettiest girl in the British Isles.’

  ‘Bob, you are a fool,’ Jenny said, but she couldn’t resist laughing at him.

  ‘Ah, but you love me for it don’t you?’ Bob said, and was pleasantly surprised when Jenny said, ‘D’you know, I think you may be right.’

  Bob brought her to an abrupt stop and turning to face her he said, ‘Did you mean that?’

  ‘Wh … what?’ Jenny was startled, but knew full well what he was asking.

  ‘About loving me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Say it,’ he commanded.

  ‘I … I can’t.’

  ‘You can,’ Bob said. ‘It’s easy, and gets easier the more often you say it. Listen: “I love you, love you, love you”,’ he said, planting a kiss on her two eyes and her nose.

  ‘Don’t,’ Jenny said, trying to pull away. ‘We’re in the street, anyone could see us,’ and she looked around fearfully.

  ‘Don’t dodge the issue, Jenny O’Leary,’ Bob said, and in a wheedling tone continued, ‘Come on, put a chap out of his misery.’

  Jenny looked into Bob’s deep brown eyes and her legs felt as if they were made of jelly. Sweat broke out under her armpits and also on the palms of her hands which Bob was holding, and she said softly, ‘I love you, Bob.’

  After all that, how could the party be anything other than a success, especially after Bob presented her with a mizpah. Jenny had never heard of one, so Bob had to explain that one person wore one of the pendants, and you gave the other to someone you loved. The message could only be read when the two split halves were put together. The message on Bob and Jenny’s mizpah said; The Lord watch between me and thee while we are absent from one another.

  Jenny was delighted with it, and vowed she would wear it always. In a way, she thought of it as a sort of talisman. While she wore the mizpah she was calling on the Lord to keep them both safe, and surely, she thought, He would honour such a wish. That and the party, when friends and relatives came to share in Jenny’s coming of age, was like a bright light in a dark world when the war seemed to be escalating and ordinary people, as well as servicemen, were being killed in droves.

  But Jenny was determined to forget about war for this one night, her birthday, knowing that there wasn’t one person there who didn’t wish her the very best. Linda was so glad to see that Jenny seemed to have recovered her good spirits; she didn’t care whether it was the party or Bob that had worked the magic, she was just glad to see her happy and like her old self again. And Jenny was so happy, little frissons of it kept leaping up inside her when she looked at Bob, or held his hand, or danced with him. It lent a sparkle to her eyes and a glow to her face, and most of the people in the room knew that something had happened between Jenny O’Leary and the young man with the limp, who was dressed in Air Force blue.

  Much later, after most of the guests had gone, Bob and Jenny went out into the garden. Jenny was glad of the blackout, which ensured that no one could see them as Bob took her in his arms; his kiss seemed to melt her very bones. Bob didn’t want it to end there either, but he told himself to have patience. One day this woman would be his wife, of that he was determined. Until then, he would show her proper respect and not frighten her to death.

  To help him keep this resolve he broke off a little, though he still held Jenny close as he said, ‘Would you like to come and meet my mother tomorrow?’

  ‘I thought your mother was in Devon?’

  ‘Not any more,’ Bob said. ‘I told you she wouldn’t stay. Mind you, her timing is priceless. She decided to come home the night of that big raid in Birmingham. She said her train was held up for hours in sidings outside New Street Station. But anyway, she’d back now.’

  ‘Does she want to see me?’

  ‘Of course she does! Any mother would be curious to meet the girl who’s captured her son’s heart.’

  ‘Oh Bob, do be quiet,’ Jenny said, glad he couldn’t see her face which she knew would be flushed crimson.

  ‘It’s true!’ he protested.

  ‘I hope you didn’t say that. I’d be too embarrassed to meet her,’ Jenny said.

  Bob kissed her gently on the lips and admitted, ‘No, sweet Jenny, I didn’t. She does want to meet you though, and is more than curious about our Linda.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because, my dear, my mother is a music teacher,’ Bob said. ‘Much to her disgust, Jules and I have no musical talent of any sort, though she made us both learn piano and even that—’

  ‘Bob,’ Jenny interrupted. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Linda’s singing,’ Bob said. ‘I told her about it, and she said she would like to hear what she can do. You did say you wanted Linda to have the chance to be professionally trained.’

  ‘Why did you never say your mother was a music teacher?’ Jenny demanded.

  ‘You never asked.’

  ‘Oh Bob, you are so aggravating,’ Jenny sighed. ‘And though I’m sure your mother is very good, you must know I can’t afford to pay anyone?’

  ‘My dear Jenny, she doesn’t want paying.’

  ‘But, if she’s a teacher … I mean, it’s a business for her.’

  ‘Believe me, when she hears Linda sing, she will teach her for the joy of it,’ Bob said. ‘Anyway, I’ve already said you’d go.’

  ‘Oh, have you?’ Jenny said, still annoyed. ‘Next time, I’d like to be given the choice before you start arranging things. What time does your mother want us there?’

  ‘I suggested that I came to collect you b
oth after dinner, which will give us some time to ourselves in the afternoon, while Mother talks to Linda. Later we’ll all have tea together.’ He cocked his head on one side and said, ‘Are those arrangements to your satisfaction, madam?’

  Jenny was forced to smile. ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she said. ‘Though I don’t know what Linda will make of it.’

  ‘Well, don’t ask her now,’ Bob warned. ‘Come on and show me how much you love me.’

  And Jenny went into Bob’s embrace and returned his kisses with a passion that surprised them both. Bob held her tighter still and thanked God he’d found such a girl, and Jenny said a silent prayer to keep Bob safe and sound until the end of the war.

  In truth, Linda wasn’t all that pleased to be asked to go and sing in front of a strange lady, however good she was at music, and not pleased either that it had all been arranged without asking her. But Jenny wanted her to go, Linda knew, so she said nothing about it.

  Both girls were awed by the house which was approached by a curved driveway, hidden from the road behind high privet hedges. The house was quite square and solid-looking, built of red brick. In front of it were well-tended lawns, and there were flowerbeds in a riot of colour beneath the bay windows which lay on either side of the studded oak front door. ‘Mother is expecting us,’ Bob said, and opened the door and ushered them inside.

  Linda left her wheelchair in the porch and they both stepped into an oak-panelled hall, which seemed bathed in sunshine from the big landing windows. The parquet floor beneath their feet gleamed, Jenny guessed, from years of polishing and a large carpeted staircase went up from the centre.

  As Bob took their coats, a lady came out of one of the rooms on the ground floor with her hands outstretched, and Jenny noticed the long slender fingers bedecked with rings.

  Francesca was darker-skinned than Bob, and her hair, tied up with decorated combs, was just as black and shiny. Her eyes were oval-shaped and deep brown, her classic nose was perfect like you might see on a sculpture, and her lips were full. Even her neck, the one thing that betrayed a woman’s age, was unlined and graceful, and from her ears dangled hoop earrings.