by Anne Bennett
They leapt each side of her as she walked across the yard to the van, like a pair of overgrown puppies themselves, Linda thought with a wry grin. Max, she was relieved to see, had stayed in the barn.
Suddenly Sally said, ‘If we win the war like everyone says we will, Max won’t be a prisoner any more, will he?’
‘I suppose not,’ Linda said.
‘Maybe he’ll stay here,’ Sally mused.
‘Oh, I don’t think so. He’ll have his own home to go to.’
‘Dad would like him to stay here,’ Charlie put in. ‘He says he’s the best bloody farmhand he’s ever had.’
‘Ah,’ said Sally. ‘You shouldn’t say bloody.’
‘Dad does.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t.
‘I can if I want.’
‘Can’t.’
‘Can.’
Linda broke in, ‘See you next Saturday because we’re going to give another concert at one of the hospitals.’ The children stopped quarrelling long enough to wave to her as she settled herself in the vehicle beside their father, then they began again, their heads bobbing at one another.
‘Look at those two, at it hammer and tongs again,’ Sam Phelps said. ‘Need their bloody heads knocked together, the pair of them.’
‘They were arguing about whether Charlie should be able to say bloody or not,’ Linda said with a laugh. ‘Apparently you do and he thinks he should too.’
‘He’s a little bugger that Charlie,’ Sam Phelps said, though Linda noticed his voice had a hint of pride in it. ‘I’ll “bloody” him when I get home.’
‘No, don’t,’ Linda said. ‘He’ll be down on me for telling tales.’
‘Well, what was it all about anyway?’
‘He was telling me you thought Max a bloody good farmhand.’
‘And I do,’ Sam said. ‘Maybe I should have expressed it a bit better, certainly in His Lordship’s hearing. I tell you, my missus will be after me if she hears him. She’s always telling me to watch my mouth around the kids.’
‘He’ll hear worse before he’s much older,’ Bill remarked.
‘Anyway,’ Sam said, ‘however it was expressed, that Max is a godsend.’
‘Funny word to use for a bloody German,’ sniffed one of the dancers.
‘He can’t help his government, no more than we can help ours,’ Sam said. ‘It’s politicians start wars, not the people, and he reckons Hitler’s mad. He had no desire to go to war any more than the rest of us did. His family had a farm to the north-west of Germany – that’s all gone now. After his brother died on the Russian Front and his father was killed in an air raid, he said his mother lost all will to live and died just before he got his call-up papers. So you see, he’s had his own share of sorrow.’
‘Don’t you be feeling sorry for him,’ the accordion player said gruffly. ‘He seems to be having a good enough life here.’
‘Well, he’s a born farmer,’ Sam said. ‘He has a feel for the land and is able to grow almost anything. The beasts seem to feel it too and he can get as much milk out of my cows as I do. I’ll tell you, I couldn’t escape from the farm as often as I do, especially these light summer days if it wasn’t for Max. He sleeps in the room above the barn now.’
‘Really?’ Linda said. ‘I thought the POWs had to return to the camp every night.’
‘He did at first,’ Sam said. ‘But I needed him there for early milking and then again in the evening, so I stood surety for him. I mean, where would he go if he did escape?’
‘Still, you’re taking a risk, man,’ said someone from the back.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I do, and I wouldn’t let my kids near him.’
‘My kids like him.’
‘I don’t care, they need protection. They’re only nippers. What do they know?’
‘You can’t tar everyone with the same brush.’
‘And you can’t expect the British people to like Germans!’ someone else said heatedly, and there was a murmur of agreement.
Poor Max, thought Linda. Nothing for him at home and only antagonism here. Really, there was little future for him anywhere. But she wasn’t going to stick up for him. He was, after all, only a German when all was said and done.
The war went on apace and the concert-party was still in great demand, mainly in hospitals. There was a new batch of American recruits taken into Whittington Barracks in the summer, and the group was asked to give a little concert for them too. They were appreciative and receptive. Linda was now the acknowledged star, who closed every concert with Flora belting out old favourites on the piano, leading the men in well-known songs and choruses.
Linda had wondered where the new American recruits were heading for, and she found out when she read later of the second D-Day, led by the Americans and French on 15 August. They landed in the south of France around Marseilles and, scattering German Resistance, they went racing up the Rhine valley to meet up with General Patton’s troops in Central France.
Linda just hoped the second invasion had been achieved with as little loss of life as possible. She remembered the soldiers, some just young lads not much older than she was, to whom she’d sung only days before. She was used to servicemen clustering around her after concerts, and used to declining any dates, and she seldom had to call on the services of Bill or Sam to help her out. Of all servicemen, she found the Americans to be the most persistent; they just couldn’t seem to understand why she didn’t find them irresistible. Certain ones stuck in her mind, which was only natural, but she wished them all well when she read of their exploits in France later.
She remembered particularly Lieutenant Bradshaw, who’d visited her as she was changing in one of the little rooms at the back of the hall. His knock startled her, but she presumed it to be one of the cast and she slipped her dress over her petticoat and shouted, ‘Come in.’ In he came, twisting his hat between his hands and wetting his lips nervously.
No member of the audience had ever come backstage before, and Linda was annoyed at the intrusion, but not in any way alarmed because she knew she’d only have to yell and folk would come running. Also, the man before her didn’t look dangerous.
‘I’m sure sorry to bother you, ma’am,’ he’d said politely.
‘That’s all right,’ Linda said a bit sharply. ‘What is it you want?’
‘I don’t want anything, ma’am,’ the GI said. ‘Except to say what a beautiful voice you have. It’s how I’d imagine an angel would sing, and that’s the truth.’
‘Well, thank you very much, Mr … Lieutenant …?’
‘Bradshaw, ma’am. Louis Bradshaw. Point is, ma’am, before I was called up, I was in broadcasting.’
Linda smiled. ‘I thought I’d heard every chat-up line in the book, Lieutenant Bradshaw,’ she said, ‘but I must say this one takes the biscuit. Thank you anyway.’
‘This ain’t no chat-up line, ma’am. No sir, I really think your voice is something else.’
‘Thank you.’
‘No, listen ma’am, God, if they could only hear you in Hollywood. Your voice could take you places. I’ve never heard anything like it.’
Linda had been praised before, but it always made her feel uncomfortable and embarrassed, and she was glad when she heard Bill’s shouts asking her if she was ready. ‘Thank you once again, Lieutenant,’ she said in dismissal. ‘Now, if you’d excuse me?’
‘Of course,’ Louis Bradshaw said. He passed her a piece of paper. ‘This is my address and phone number back home in the States,’ he said. ‘And that of the company where I have some influence. When this blessed war is eventually finished for good, I intend to try and make a break into films. Maybe you could give me a call and we could talk some more about your career? No commitment, no sweat, honest,’ and he held up his hands. ‘This is straight up.’
Linda took the paper and though she put it in her handbag she didn’t look at it, and when she heard of the second invasion she hoped Louis Bradshaw was safe. Not bec
ause she had any intention of phoning him, but because she sensed he was a straight and honest man who’d barely begun his life.
Jenny was finding the finishing of the war a tedious business. Everyone knew they were winning, but it seemed to take an age. When Bob came home on a forty-eight-hour pass at the end of August, she clung to him. Letters were all very well, but there was no substitute for holding a real live man in your arms. She pushed her concerns for the future to the back of her mind and held Bob tight.
At that moment she cared about no one, certainly not her mother and grandmother; even Linda ceased to take priority. ‘Things are going well, Jen,’ Bob told her. ‘Better than anyone imagined. The Allies have nearly reached the western borders of Germany, and Stalin is only a few miles from Warsaw. It’s run like clockwork, pet, but Hitler took time to conquer Europe so we can’t liberate it in three months. Mind, we’re having a damn good try.’
Jenny held him close. ‘Let’s not talk war any more,’ she murmured. ‘Let’s try and forget it, for a while at least.’
But of course it was on everyone’s mind. Jenny was glad to visit Bob’s mother and chat about other matters. Francesca was always so interested in people; she always asked Jenny about her job and her family, remembering people’s names and events from weeks before. Linda still visited her from time to time, though not every week, and kept her up-to-date with the doings of the O’Learys. Despite that, Jenny was a little taken aback when Francesca suddenly said, ‘Linda told me your grandmother hasn’t been well lately?’
‘That’s right,’ Jenny said, surprised Linda had been bothered enough to mention it to anyone. ‘She’s been off her food for weeks and has lost weight. Her clothes hang on her and she’s tired all the time.’
‘What does the doctor say?’
‘She won’t see the doctor.’
‘How ridiculous! Why ever not?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. She just won’t.’
‘Why don’t you ask your friend to look at her?’ Francesca suggested. ‘You know, the doctor who seems to take such an interest in you all. Peter something, Linda talks about him sometimes.’
Jenny didn’t see much of Peter now, and he didn’t ever call – why should he? But she knew where his surgery was. He was popular on the Estate, not least because he didn’t press for payment when families were in distress.
Maybe he was the one man who could overcome Norah and Eileen’s dislike of doctors. After all, they had met him once or twice and seemed to have taken to him.
Later, Bob and Jenny went for a walk, and although the evening was still pleasantly warm, summer was nearly over, and autumn on its way. Jenny wondered if it would be the last summer of wartime and hoped so. She snuggled close to Bob and he put his arm around her.
There was no doubt in her mind now that she loved Bob. She ached for him, and in their stolen moments together, she wanted more than mere kisses. But always, as their passion rose, the disapproving faces of her mother and grandmother would rise before her, and she would push Bob away, as she did that evening. The thought of possibly having to admit to them that she was pregnant was nearly enough to put her off sex altogether. ‘But you wouldn’t be,’ Bob assured her the first time it happened. ‘I’d make sure you’d be all right.’
She didn’t ask him how. Really, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She only knew other girls had been given the same assurances, but still the unthinkable happened. One had married, but the other was on her own after her boy had been killed in action before he had known he was about to become a father.
Bob didn’t press her, because though he wanted her badly, he understood her fears. Never mind, he consoled himself, it couldn’t be long now. By December, they’d be engaged. Jenny had agreed to that at last and as soon as this damn war was over he was marrying her. He was sure they’d be able to sort something out for her mother and grandmother, even if it was only some sort of rota between her and her sister seeing to them both. Jenny deserved some life of her own, and she belonged with him, because he loved her so dearly.
But he wouldn’t spoil his short leave by talking about it. Talking about their future always upset Jenny as she saw it beset by problems. As for the other, well, he wouldn’t argue about that either. He could put a rein on his feelings; he wasn’t a bloody animal.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jenny said. ‘I just can’t. You see …’
‘It’s all right,’ Bob said. ‘I admire you for it.’
Jenny leaned against him contentedly. She felt relieved, for many girls were pressured into saying yes when they didn’t really want to. ‘I love you, Bob,’ she said.
‘And I love you. Stop looking so worried,’ Bob said, and he took her in his arms and kissed her and she responded with all her being, secure in the knowledge that he would ask for little more than that.
SEVENTEEN
By the end of August the Germans had lost 450,000 men. People were jubilant, although they considered the cost high as nearly 40,000 Allies also lost their lives.
British morale was lifted further when the blackout was officially over by 6 September. Although the street-lights were still not allowed, now lights could be lit inside without having to put up the blackout shutters or pull the black curtains closed across the windows. Most people had hated the blackout as much as the bombing raids and for a long time Jenny had thought them unnecessary. Apart from the doodlebugs in the south, which fell indiscriminately, blackout or no blackout, there had been no raids for a couple of years.
Towards the end of September, the concert-party was asked to entertain some Londoners who’d arrived in Birmingham to escape the V-1s and the V-2s, which were pilotless like the doodlebugs, but chillingly silent. The visitors were housed in a church hall in Yardley.
Linda was angry about the new menace facing Londoners and angry with the German soldiers who, defeated and almost certainly on the run, were attacking civilian populations indiscriminately. She decided, when the van drew up at the farmhouse that evening – to collect Sam for the concert for the dispossessed families – she wouldn’t get out.
She didn’t want to see or speak to Max. And to think, she said to herself, only a few weeks ago I felt sorry for him! She resolved to do it no more. The Germans had started the bloody war: they deserved everything they got.
The nights were drawing in and it was dusky when they drew up at the farm. The children, watching out for the van, were perched on top of the gate. Behind them, in the evening gloom, Max was sweeping up the yard with a large broom. Linda wondered what he was doing there. Surely with the evening milking over, he should have returned to his own quarters?
Charlie jumped off the gate and said, ‘Linda, come and see Patch.’
‘Not now, Charlie. I’m tired.’
Charlie looked at Linda, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Don’t be so bloody daft.’
‘Less of that, young man,’ Bill Fletcher said sharply. He looked over at Linda and wondered why she didn’t get out of the van as she usually did. Maybe she was tired. She looked a bit peaky; the colour had suddenly drained from her face. Still, he knew young women, having had daughters of his own, and they had ‘off’ days at times. And if it was that time of the month, the last thing she wanted was Charlie Phelps tormenting the life out of her. He turned to the young lad and said, ‘Make yourself useful. Go and tell your dad we’re sick and tired waiting for him.’
Charlie’s lip stuck out obstinately. ‘Why should I?’
‘Because if you don’t, my lad, you’ll find the toe of my boot at the seat of your pants,’ Bill said sternly. ‘Now scat, the pair of you. Leave Linda alone.’
Linda watched Charlie climb back over the gate and make for the house with Sally trailing behind him. Max pulled his arm as he passed and said something to him, then he leaned on the yard brush and let his eyes stray to the van. He fixed his gaze on Linda and she seemed to be unable to tear her eyes away from his. She felt the heat of embarrassment flow through her body; she knew he’d b
e aware she was making excuses. Well, she thought, let him. I don’t give a damn what he thinks. He’s nothing to me.
And then he smiled and it felt as if her heart had turned over. She was annoyed with herself and furious with him. What the hell has he got to smile about? She thought. His country’s on the run and thousands of his fellow Germans are being slaughtered. They’re not bloody normal. Gran’s right, however nice he appears, he’s a bloody monster like all the rest, and the sooner this war is won and he’s shipped back home, the better.
A week after the concert in Yardley, Eileen at last agreed to see Peter Sanders. She had refused to be talked into it by either of her granddaughters, or even by Norah, who’d eventually recognized that her mother was ill. In the end, it was pain that drove Eileen Gillespie to her bed, and she finally told Jenny she could ask the doctor to call. ‘And when he comes,’ she said, ‘I’ll talk to him on my own. I don’t want any of you fussing around me.’
‘Nothing wrong with her temper at any rate,’ Jenny commented to Geraldine, as they dispatched Linda for the doctor.
Geraldine smiled at her younger sister and said, ‘No. I think your Dr Sanders will have his work cut out.’
But he didn’t. Eileen received him quite cordially and shooed Geraldine, who’d shown the doctor up, out of the room.
Peter walked towards the bed, shocked by the old lady’s wizened appearance. He noticed the yellowish whites of her eyes and his heart sank. ‘Now what’s this?’ he said in his best bedside manner.
‘You can cut out all that hale and hearty chat,’ Eileen said dismissively. ‘I know what’s the matter with me, and I know how long I’ve had it. I nursed my mother through the same thing. What I want to know is, can you give me something for the pain, and some indication of how long I’ve got?’
Peter studied the woman under narrowed lids. He didn’t like her and never would, but he couldn’t help but admire her courage. However, he couldn’t answer her questions just like that. ‘I need to examine you,’ he said.
