A Strong Hand to Hold

by Anne Bennett

  SIXTEEN

  Over the next few days, the atmosphere in the O’Leary house was more strained than ever, especially after the men left. Norah and Eileen didn’t speak to Linda at all and not much more to Jenny, and while both girls preferred this to verbal abuse, the silences were awkward. After the tea things had been washed and put away, Jenny and Linda often went down to Maureen’s. However on Tuesday evening when Jenny was on duty at the warden post, Linda didn’t dare leave the house, feeling sure the two women would take great delight in locking her out so instead she went up to her room where she lay on the bed and read Jane Eyre.

  The following day was her sixteenth birthday, and although she knew she might get a present from Jenny, the main celebration for it was going to be on Saturday at Gran O’Leary’s house, where she was going to have a little party.

  Surprisingly, however, there was a pile of cards on the mat. Norah was flabbergasted and very annoyed that both Martin and Francis had remembered Linda’s birthday, but Jenny was pleased. She was glad, too that Beattie hadn’t forgotten her, nor had Francesca Masters. Jan, Seamus’s wife, had also sent a card and so had Geraldine, and Jenny was glad she had reminded them all about it. Linda was pleased she had so many cards, for in the house her birthday might as well not have existed, except for the card and present of a wrist-watch she got from Jenny and the hug she’d given her as she said. ‘Happy Birthday, Linda, and I really do mean you to have one.’

  All the cards she’d received were taken down to Maureen’s house on the Saturday morning where they were arranged along the mantelpiece. They made a lovely splash of colour, and Linda began looking forward to her bit of a ‘do’ that evening.

  In the event, it was almost overshadowed by war news. For more than a month there had been rumours and wild speculation about things happening on the south coast. ‘There must be something in it,’ Jenny said. ‘We have a girl works in our office – got married recently because her fiancé had a week’s unexpected leave – embarkation leave. She said it’s got to be something big because the only time he had a week off before was just before he left for Dunkirk.’

  ‘Could be right. Didn’t your own brothers get unexpected leave too?’ Maureen said.

  ‘Yes,’ Jenny said thoughtfully. ‘And Bob wrote to me yesterday, saying from now, all leave has been cancelled indefinitely. You know how he was supposed to be getting off in the middle of June?’

  ‘Something’s up right enough.’

  ‘Yes, but wait till you hear,’ Jenny went on. ‘The girl that was to be married fancied a few days in Brighton for a bit of a honeymoon, but they were told the south coast was out of bounds to civilians.’

  The adults looked at one another, remembering the rumours they’d heard: whole villages commandeered, huge camps of men and women waiting about, ports blocked with troops, tanks, barges, landing craft and roads impassable with Army trucks and jeeps, troop carriers and staff cars.

  ‘This is it then, isn’t it?’ Maureen said sombrely. ‘Let’s hope it isn’t another bloody massacre.’

  ‘Well, at least we only have the Germans to beat now,’ Peggy put in.

  ‘What about the Japs?’ Jenny said.

  ‘Well, that’s not our war is it, the Japs?’ Maureen said. ‘Though I suppose I shouldn’t say that, with so many of our men dead or captured by the brutes. No, I was thinking of the Eyeties. Good job they surrendered last year.’

  ‘Mrs Masters said they never wanted to fight, but they were made to,’ Linda put in.

  ‘Aye, no stomach for fighting, Eyeties,’ Maureen said. ‘Different altogether from the Germans and the bloody awful Japs.’

  ‘I met a German last week,’ Linda told everyone. ‘He was working at the Phelps’s farm. I saw him when we called in for Sam.’

  ‘He’d be one of the prisoners-of-war from the camp in Sutton Park,’ Gerry nodded. ‘I heard they’d been loaned out to the farmers.’

  ‘Can’t say as I’d like it,’ Beattie said. ‘Could be dangerous, I’d say.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Gerry said. ‘They wouldn’t allow out any they considered dangerous, and they go back to the camp at night. They don’t sleep out.’

  ‘Even so …’ Peggy began, but Maureen burst in with, ‘What d’you mean, if they’re considered dangerous! They’re all bloody dangerous! We’ve been fighting them for five long years. In my book, that says they’re dangerous.’

  ‘This one seemed all right, Gran,’ said Linda. ‘And he spoke good English.’

  ‘D’you mean to say you spoke to him?’

  ‘Well, yes … sort of. Sam’s children introduced me.’

  ‘What sort of a fool is this man Phelps to let his children near brutes like that anyway?’ Maureen said.

  ‘Gran, I’m sure he’s all right.’

  ‘’Course he isn’t all right, girl,’ Maureen burst out. ‘They are sly conniving bastards, the Germans. Started two bloody world wars, no less. And you don’t have to talk polite to no German, he don’t deserve it.’

  ‘Oh come on, Mammy, don’t be giving out to the girl and on her birthday too,’ Gerry complained.

  ‘Sure, and it’s for her own good I’m talking,’ Maureen said hotly.

  Linda understood a little of how Maureen felt, because before she’d met Max Schulz, she had an image in her mind of Germans being murdering butchers, incapable of normal feelings. Yet the farmhand had seemed so normal and so very, very young. She wondered how she could ever reconcile what she knew the Germans to be capable of, with the polite young man working on the Phelps’s farm.

  Little Dermot toddled past Linda at this point and Linda picked him up and held him close, comforting herself rather than the child as Maureen pronounced, ‘The only good German is a dead one. Mark my words, Linda, and take heed.’

  In the early evening of 5 June, two days after the party, they heard the planes going overhead, so many of them that Linda and Jenny went out into the garden to watch. Many of the neighbours had done the same, she noticed. ‘We’re for it now all right,’ one commented. ‘Make or break, this is.’

  Jenny and Linda knew he was right, as wave after wave of planes flew above them heading south. It went on all evening, and even when the girls went to bed they heard them in the distance. It was as if every aerodrome in the whole of the country was emptying, as indeed they probably were. ‘Stands to reason Jenny,’ Mr Patterson had said. ‘If an invasion is on the cards, the bombers will be needed to smash the German defences and the fighters to protect our blokes. Then there’ll be the giant transport planes dropping paratroopers behind the lines. Mark my words, summat big’s happening.’

  The next morning, 6 June 1944, there was a feeling of expectancy in the air. At work, despite the posters urging people to Keep Mum, and others explaining that Careless Talk Costs Lives, all the conversation in Jenny’s and Peggy’s offices were about the strange happenings. In Linda’s place of work, talking was discouraged, but nothing in the world would have stopped them that day.

  Then, that evening, clustered around the wireless, people heard the news from the Reuters News Agency.

  ‘An Official Communiqué States – Under the Command of General Eisenhower, Allied Naval Forces, supported by strong Air Forces began landing Allied Armies this morning on the Northern Coast of France.’

  It was the culmination of people’s hopes and fears. The hopes that it would bring a speedy end to the war that had dragged on and claimed so many lives; the fear of failure and the fear of the human cost of it all, for it was hardly likely the Germans would stand on the French beaches and welcome the invaders with open arms.

  Later, the gigantic scale of the whole operation became known. D-Day, or Operation Overlord, used 487 squadrons of the International Air Force, marshalling 11,500 planes. Mr Patterson had been right. A third of the planes had been from Bomber Command and a sizeable number were Hercules Transporters, to drop paratroopers behind the lines. The rest were fighters to keep the Luftwaffe at bay while the vast
ranks of servicemen scrambled off the 4,000 barges and landing craft in order to secure the Cherbourg-Le Havre area. In one of those fighter planes was Bob Masters. Jenny knew it and Linda knew it – and both were frightened to death for him.

  It was about this time, a few days after D-Day, that Jenny first noticed that her grandmother Eileen’s appetite had diminished. She took little notice at the time, for she was desperately worried about Bob; she hadn’t heard from him for some time, although letters had been received from all the others. Jenny did wonder if her grandmother was playing up to get attention, or to make her and Linda feel guilty. And that she refused to do. Living at home had become like living in a battlefield, where shots had been fired, but where now an uneasy truce prevailed. But daily she awaited the snipers’ bullets and for battle to recommence. Her nerves, already drawn taut, had become even more frayed and she knew Linda was suffering almost as much as she was.

  The relief she felt when Bob’s letter eventually fell on the mat was immense. He told her none of the dangers he’d been in, though she could have a good guess as he described the massive onslaught on the French beaches and the tremendous number of men, machines and equipment and supplies that had to be off-loaded. He described the Mulberrys which were, he said, a staggering invention.

  Think of it Jen, four miles of piers and six of roadways towed in sections and assembled for fifteen pier heads. From the air the sight was tremendous and I’ll never forget it.

  He didn’t tell her of the beaches he’d seen littered with bodies, young men in their prime massacred, but he didn’t have to say – everyone knew.

  Just the next day after Bob’s letter on 13 June, a pilotless rocket landed in Kent. It did little damage and most people didn’t realize at first how dangerous it was. It was Hitler’s revenge weapon. V-1 rockets were 25 foot long, carried one ton of explosive in the nose, and were capable of flying 155 miles. Most of them reached London, which was just recovering from the Blitz. The V-1s had a distinctive high-pitched buzzing noise – and hearing it stop and waiting for the inevitable crash played havoc with people’s nerves. They were an instrument of terror. Very soon the people of the capital had christened the bombs ‘doodlebugs’ and many were leaving the city in droves to get away from them.

  The Allies continued to go further into France and people began plotting their course according to the news reports. Maps of Europe began appearing in offices, schools and people’s homes. For almost the first time, the British nation was feeling hopeful about the future and wanted to join the Allies’ successes.

  It was July before Jenny realized that her grandmother might really be ill. She still wasn’t eating much at all and Jenny had to recognize that it wasn’t being done to get attention or to punish her and Linda. The skin on her face had become saggy and putty-coloured and the whites of her eyes had a yellowish tinge to them.

  Finally, Jenny thought she had to ask her and at tea one day she said, ‘Are you feeling all right, Grandmother?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘You don’t seem to be eating much.’

  ‘One doesn’t as one gets older.’

  ‘Even so, maybe you should see the doctor.’

  ‘Doctors? What good are they?’ Norah scoffed. ‘Don’t pretend you have any consideration for your grandmother now, my girl. It’s a bit late in the day for that.’

  Jenny knew her mother had no time for most doctors. That was one of the reasons she’d been so surprised by her attitude to Peter Sanders, because before his arrival, she hadn’t let a doctor near her or her children for years. It’s a good job we were such a healthy bunch, Jenny often thought, for any doctoring they had was done over the chemist’s counter. And if her father’s collapse hadn’t been severe enough to need hospital attention, he would probably have received none at all. Norah would more than likely have assumed he’d a bad attack of indigestion and that he’d feel better after a night’s rest.

  Linda couldn’t understand why Jenny should concern herself so much about the old lady. She did look ill, but then why wouldn’t she, with all the badness inside of her? Linda’s mother had always told her, you could look as pretty as you liked, but if all you had in your head was bad thoughts, they would come out in the end and make you look as ugly as sin. Well, the old lady looked ugly and unwell, and Linda didn’t care, and she hoped Jenny didn’t expect her to. She wasn’t going to be a hypocrite because she knew if both she and Jenny were on fire in the gutter, neither of the two old misery-guts would have spat on them.

  Jenny saw Linda’s set face and guessed at the thoughts tumbling around in her head. She knew Linda was a little out of sorts anyway, because following the last concert, they’d had no further work. She knew why. Most of the Forces had been ferried down to the south coast to take part in D-Day – but that was no help to her, and Jenny knew she missed singing.

  By the middle of July however, Linda was back in business again, for some of the lads had got their Blightys – their injury passes home – and Linda and her concert-party were asked to provide evenings of entertainment in the hospitals around the city. They all got together and worked out a program.

  When Bill Fletcher’s old van pulled into Phelps’s farm on Saturday 22 July for their concert in Selly Oak Hospital, Linda automatically looked for Max, but there were only the children waiting for her in the yard. ‘Come and see, Linda,’ Charlie urged. ‘Daddy said we can have one of the puppies for our own. Come and help us choose.’

  ‘We haven’t time, Charlie,’ Linda said. After Maureen O’Leary’s warnings, she had no desire to get out of the car and come face to face with the German again.

  ‘Oh, we can spare a few minutes,’ Bill said. ‘Go on. After all, Sam’s not out yet.’

  There was nothing for it, because to make a fuss would only draw attention to herself and confuse the children. Linda got out, climbed the gate and took the children’s hands, thinking she’d take a quick look at the puppies and be back in the van in no time, probably without catching even a glimpse of the man.

  But Max was already in the barn playing with the puppies when she arrived. They were now fluffy black and white bundles of fun and mischief, and Max had his hand covered with a rag which the puppies were attacking and worrying voraciously. Their mother Molly looked on contentedly, glad someone else was entertaining her brood for once, to stop them plaguing the life out of her.

  Max stood up as he heard the children approach. His eyes lit up as they alighted on Linda, and despite her resolve, she smiled back at him. ‘Ah Linda,’ he said. ‘Soon this war will be over for us all, I think.’

  Linda lifted her chin. What was she doing smiling at a German after all Maureen O’Leary had said about them? ‘Yes,’ she snapped. ‘And we’re going to win.’

  She was ashamed as soon as the words left her lips. She felt that outburst had been childish. The expression on Max’s face was sober as he said, ‘It is as you say. Then maybe I will go home again.’

  ‘Do you miss your home?’ Linda felt compelled to ask after her earlier comment.

  ‘I would miss my family more than my home,’ Max said and he shrugged and went on, ‘but now they are all dead, my parents and my brother.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘So am I, Linda, but in war people die. Many have died here too.’

  ‘Linda!’ Charlie’s aggrieved voice said. ‘You were supposed to be here to look at the puppies.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Linda said, and both she and Max bent down. The puppies were tugging the rag Max had dropped in the box, growling and snapping at it with their needle-sharp teeth and Linda and Max were as enchanted as the children.

  ‘Which one shall we keep?’ Sally asked. ‘Daddy said they’re ready to leave Molly now and he’s found homes for three already.’

  ‘What about this one?’ Linda said, picking up one of the squirming pups. It was very fluffy and mainly white, but with some black spots on its back and a patch over one eye.

  ‘I liked him
best,’ Sally declared. ‘From the beginning I liked him, but what about you, Charlie?’

  ‘S’all right, I suppose. What is it, a boy or a girl?’

  Linda was at a loss, but not so Max. He turned the puppy expertly on its back and said, ‘It is a girl dog,’ and at the scowling expression on Charlie’s face he went on, ‘It’s good. Bitches make good pets.’

  ‘I wanted a boy dog.’

  ‘Molly is a girl,’ Max reminded him.

  ‘With a girl we can have lots more puppies,’ Sally said, and Linda hid her smile. She didn’t think Sam Phelps would be too keen on ‘lots more puppies’, but that was a problem for the future and Charlie was almost won over.

  ‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘But if you’ve chosen the dog, I get to choose the name.’

  ‘Have you got one in mind?’ Linda asked.

  ‘Yeah, Patch.’

  ‘Patch is a boy’s name,’ Sally protested.

  ‘No, it ain’t.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Sally said. ‘I want Susie.’

  ‘Susie! I ain’t having no dopey name like that.’

  Linda, realizing that this argument could go on forever, stepped in. ‘Sally,’ she said, ‘Patch is rather a nice name. Look at the patch over the puppy’s eye, and it is as much a girl’s name as a boy’s.’

  Sally took the puppy from Linda and examined it critically. ‘What d’you think, Max?’ she said.

  ‘I think Patch. Ah yes, it is a lovely name,’ Max said.

  That seemed to settle it. ‘OK,’ Sally said, and she kissed the puppy’s nose. ‘Hello, Patch.’

  Again Linda’s eyes met those of Max’s over the children’s heads and they smiled. Linda felt as if her heart had done a somersault.

  She got to her feet feeling flustered, and was almost glad to hear Bill calling her. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said.

  ‘When will you be back?’ Sally asked. ‘You haven’t been for weeks.’

  ‘Well, you know why that was,’ Linda said, making her way to the door.

  She didn’t want to say any more in front of Max, but the Phelps’s children had no such constraint. ‘Yeah, ’course we do. It was ’cos of D-Day,’ Charlie said.