A Strong Hand to Hold

by Anne Bennett

  ‘What about Francis?’ Jenny said.

  ‘Oh, Francis doesn’t want to come back to Birmingham either,’ Norah said. ‘Not good enough for either of them, it seems. He wants to go into partnership with another soldier and buy a boat between them.’

  ‘A boat!’

  ‘You heard – a boat. This man comes from Folkestone and he said after the war people will want to go out from Folkestone and cruise around the coast and they’ll take them. Stupid idea! It will never work, of course.’

  Jenny hoped it would. She hoped both her brothers’ lives would change for the better. They deserved it, all the servicemen deserved it and she wished them well.

  ‘And you, miss, can take that smirk off your face,’ Norah said. ‘Because I’m giving up the tenancy of this place next week and you’d better have somewhere to live by then or you’ll be out on the street, and it will give me great pleasure to see the pair of you there!’

  Afterwards Jenny was to say to her Gran, ‘It shook me up a bit and Linda too of course, because she is so much younger, but in a way my mother did us both a favour. Francesca Masters took us in without a qualm, and now I can do what Bob was always urging me to do and start looking seriously for a house. Geraldine and Mother can look after each other. The only ones I really feel sorry for are the children.’

  Linda felt for them too, especially as Norah was not as keen as she had been for Linda to take them out at weekends. She’d assumed full control of Geraldine and her children as well as the house. Linda told Jenny it was almost as though Geraldine had slipped back into childhood, letting her mother decide everything. Jenny said it had always been that way. Linda was now an unwelcome visitor. Norah had eventually got her from under her roof, and she certainly didn’t want her calling round. She said Linda had allowed the children undue licence, had let them run almost wild, and it was about time some discipline was instilled.

  The children’s sorrowful faces smote Linda and she wondered if she’d been wise to take them about with her in the first place. ‘They haven’t even got a bolt hole,’ she complained to Jenny. ‘Not like you and I did. I mean, they can’t run to Gran, and you know your mother will never let her near.’

  However, there was nothing they could do about any of it, but Linda was depressed enough about everything to eventually agree to go out one evening with Charles Haversham.

  He was delighted. ‘Where would you like to go, my dear?’ he said. ‘The theatre, the opera?’

  Linda shook her head. ‘I haven’t the proper clothes for places like that.’

  ‘I have plenty of things,’ Charles said. ‘Things of my mother’s I’ll have altered for you.’

  ‘Charles, if you want to take me out, you must take me as I am. I’ll go out in what I have, not in borrowed clothes.’

  ‘I’ve offended you.’

  ‘Not at all. I just thought we’d get things straight from the start.’

  Jenny hoped Linda knew what she was doing, going out with a much older man and one of a different social class. ‘Why worry?’ Francesca said when Jenny expressed concern. ‘Linda is a sensible girl and nearly seventeen years old, and really she’s had little enjoyment in her life so far.’

  ‘I suppose it has been a bit dull for her,’ Jenny agreed. ‘And that’s probably what’s been the matter with her these last few weeks.’

  ‘I would say that’s probably so,’ Francesca said. ‘After all, in normal times she would be able to dress as well as she could afford and be off with friends in the evening, and boyfriends would be part of it.’

  ‘There’s not so many men about now,’ Jenny commented.

  ‘That is why I say let her have her head now. Let her enjoy herself.’

  And she did enjoy herself. Charles picked her up from the door in his Rolls and presented Jenny, who opened it for him, with a big bunch of flowers. For Linda, there were chocolates on the seat. His mother’s favourites, though he didn’t tell her that.

  He could hardly believe Linda had at last agreed to come out with him, and he wanted nothing to spoil the night. And nothing did. Linda, who’d sat so rigid beside him for the first half-hour, eventually began to relax as she realized he only wanted to hold her hand. In the restaurant afterwards, she found Charles was good company and very amusing.

  He didn’t ask any personal questions and Linda was glad. She had no desire to open her heart to Charles Haversham. Charles didn’t care about Linda’s past or even about her background; he wanted her on his terms and that was that. He was used to always getting his own way, but in pursuit of it, he could be charming, generous and very attentive. When he delivered Linda back to the door that night and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips, she realized she hadn’t enjoyed herself so much for a long time, and readily agreed to go out with him again.

  She wasn’t ashamed of Charles and yet she didn’t mention him to Maureen; it was Jenny who did so after Linda had been out with him for the third time. When Linda went down to Maureen’s the following weekend, they were all waiting for her, even Beattie who had popped along for a chat. ‘Well, girl?’ Maureen said.

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘Get away out of that,’ Maureen scoffed. ‘We’ve all heard about the new man in your life.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Beattie said, for she’d not heard the news.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Linda said. She tried to be nonchalant though her face burned crimson. ‘It’s just someone I’ve gone out with a couple of times.’

  ‘From that fancy place where she sings in the evening,’ Peggy put in and added with a smile, ‘And not a waiter or barman you understand, but a customer.’

  ‘I thought it was a toffs’ place.’

  ‘And so it is,’ Linda said.

  ‘Oh Gawd girl, you’ll be joining the snobs’ club next.’

  ‘No I won’t.’

  ‘And voting bloody Conservative,’ Beattie chuckled. ‘And talking all lah-di-dah.’

  ‘Beattie, I’ve only been out with him a few times,’ Linda cried in exasperation.

  ‘Come on and tell us all about him then,’ Peggy urged.

  ‘Not if you’re going to poke fun,’ Linda said mutinously and they promised they wouldn’t, though Beattie hooted a bit when Linda said he owned a factory in Aston and a large house in Four Oaks, Sutton Coldfield. She didn’t say that she’d been introduced to Bessie the cook, or Amy Sallenger who was a sort of housekeeper. For one thing, she knew they’d all find that hard to take and for another she’d been uncomfortable herself. She knew her nervousness showed and not only that, neither woman had taken to her, she could tell. Amy in particular had proprietorial air towards Charles, treating him almost as a mother might. She had cast Linda a scornful look and gave an expressive sniff of disapproval when the girl was introduced to her.

  Linda’s face had flushed, but it was with anger not embarrassment. She’d lifted her head high and extended her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said.

  Too late, she remembered Jenny’s warning: ‘Always say “How do you do”,’ she’d cautioned. ‘Never “Pleased to meet you”.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘That’s just the way it is.’

  ‘You mean “Pleased to meet you” is common?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  Ah well, Linda thought, now at least we know where we stand, but I’m just dating Charles not marrying him. She didn’t really know why she’d been taken to his house and introduced to the two women; he wasn’t the sort to show off. But now she had met them she didn’t much care for them, and was glad she would see so little of them in the future.

  But she couldn’t say any of this to her friends and so she missed out that part of it and Beattie’s only comment when she’d finished was, ‘Fancy our Linda going out with a bleeding toff.’ She glanced over at Linda and said, ‘Hope you know what you’re a-doing of, girl?’

  ‘Course I do,’ Linda said irritably. ‘I ain’t stupid.’

  She could have gone on to say ‘like your
Vera’s Vicky,’ for the girl, only a year older than Linda, was seven months pregnant and the American father, unaware of his responsibilities, was busy liberating Europe. What Beattie had prophesied had indeed happened, and though Vicky knew the child’s father was American, she’d tearfully confessed to her parents, when her condition could be hidden no longer, that she wasn’t sure which one of the many she’d slept with was responsible.

  ‘Well, I’m just saying, lass,’ Beattie said gently.

  ‘I know, but there’s no need.’

  Jenny had already had a talk to Linda, knowing how easily feelings can overwhelm a couple. Linda could have laughed. She knew only too well. She was no longer a virgin and had given herself freely to a German prisoner in a field, but Jenny didn’t know that and must never know, so she listened politely and said she needn’t worry. Charles was a perfect gentleman.

  And he was. He’d hold hands or link arms as if they were an old married couple and kiss Linda on the lips, but very chastely and only at the end of the evening. Linda supposed it was because he was older than her that he had such control of his feelings. Anyway, she didn’t know what she’d allow him to do if he tried anything on, so it was probably better that he had decided to act so courteously while she made up her mind what she thought of him.

  ‘And how’s Jenny’s house-hunting going?’ Maureen asked Linda.

  Linda was glad to change the conversation. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘She has a few she’s viewing this weekend, all in the Erdington area, though some of them are on the Sutton Coldfield boundary. Francesca told her there’s no rush. I think she likes having us there.’

  ‘Well, you’re company, I expect.’

  ‘Yes, she says the war’s not finished yet and Bob won’t necessarily be demobbed immediately,’ Linda said. ‘Still, Jenny is anxious to have everything ready for him.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t care. I’m glad she’s got something to do. It keeps her from fretting about Bob every minute of the day.’

  ‘Ah you can’t blame her, cutie dear,’ Maureen said. ‘For doesn’t she love that man with all her heart and soul?’

  By 11 April 1945, the Allies had reached the Buchenwald concentration camp and released over 25,000 people of all nationalities. Four days later, they opened the gates of the Belsen camp, liberating 40,000, but inside were 10,000 unburied bodies.

  The horror of that, and the tales coming out of those places, shocked the world. Newsreels showed pictures of the skeletal people who were often too weak, ill and undernourished to survive their release. Soldiers were visibly moved by the poor inmates of these torture camps, shambling around in inadequate clothing and often barefoot. They spoke of their deadened eyes and the lice-ridden stubble covering their shaved heads, of the smell of burning that hung in the air and the grey ash film that clung to everyone.

  Linda had read the newspapers and listened to the wireless and was upset and angry, but when Charles took her to the cinema and she saw the footage on Pathé News, she wept in his arms and she wasn’t the only one either. People were right, she thought, as her tears dampened Charles’s jacket. The Germans were monsters, inhuman barbaric monsters, and they were all tarred with the same brush.

  After that display of emotion where Charles had supported her, Linda’s feelings for him changed somewhat. She liked the way he looked after her, the way he held her close and made her feel cherished and precious. Now he collected Linda every Friday and Saturday evening and drove her to Packington Hall. Flora made her own way there, but Charles always took them both home. He was also waiting for Linda when she came off stage for a break, with drinks for her and Flora. And far from being annoyed at her going out with one of the customers, the owner of the restaurant was delighted. It wouldn’t do to antagonize Charles Haversham and he thought Linda a canny little girl for understanding it.

  Life for Linda and Jenny was very peaceful during that time. It was lovely to go home in the evening and know you’d be greeted pleasantly, and over the tea-table, you could talk about your day easily, without any feeling of constraint. The three women got on very well together and each day they waited for the news that Germany had surrendered.

  And then it really seemed as if it was all over at long last, for on Monday 1 May, Hitler’s body was found in a German bunker, along with that of his wife, Eva Braun. He’d been dressed in a new Nazi uniform, complete with medals, and they’d both taken poison. The Russians broke into the bunker and poured petrol over their bodies and burned them. Goebbels and his wife killed themselves and their six children the same day. Very few in the world were unhappy about Hitler’s death and most of the British were ecstatic.

  But Germany hadn’t officially surrendered and the next day, the bombers took off to attack Kiel, a seaport in Northern Germany. It was to be the last raid of the war and Bob Masters flew one of the fighters that accompanied the bombers.

  This time, Bob didn’t return. They’d met heavier opposition than they’d expected and Bob’s plane was badly hit, the fuel tank soon ablaze. Many of his squadron saw him leap from his burning plane as they crossed over France, but his parachute failed to open and they saw him plummeting to the ground.

  The next day, the telegram was delivered to Francesca Masters’s house before Jenny had left for work. Washing the breakfast dishes in the sink, she heard an anguished cry and ran into the hall to see Francesca clutching the telegram. Oh let it be Juliana – please, please, Jenny prayed silently, but she knew, when she saw Francesca’s pain-filled eyes turn on her, that it was Bob who was dead. Her Bob, her wonderful fiancé, the man she loved above all others. ‘Oh Christ no!’ she cried in denial and fell to the floor in a dead faint.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Linda took all the holiday she was entitled to in order to support both Jenny and Francesca Masters, and even took two weeks off from her job at Packington Hall. She was pleased when Francesca’s husband, whose job was officially over now, was released early to be with his wife, while her daughter Juliana was given compassionate leave. Linda had met Juliana a couple of times, but the white-faced girl she opened the door to bore no resemblance to the lively girl she’d met when she’d been home on leave. A young naval officer she introduced as Paul had an arm protectively around her and Linda thought he looked solid and dependable and was glad they were both there. She recognized Malcolm from the photographs around the place. The man was bowed down with grief, but determined to support his wife and show a typical British stiff upper lip.

  Jenny felt as if her limbs were not connected to her at all, and her legs shook when she tried to stand. When she’d recovered from her faint, she found Peter Sanders sitting by her bed, holding her hand. The tears squeezed out of her eyes, but Peter didn’t urge her not to cry; he seemed to think it was good for her to let go and grieve like that.

  Five days after the telegram had been delivered, Linda heard the sound of street parties outside to celebrate VE Day. She went into the bedroom to see Jenny at the windows looking out at the chattering happy people, stringing bunting across the wide road. Jenny’s eyes were like pools of sadness in her white face and Linda wished she could shut out the sounds of the celebration from outside. It was like a mockery.

  Suddenly, Jenny’s hand came into contact with the mizpah Bob had given her for her twenty-first birthday. She’d worn it every day since Bob had put it around her neck and had thought it was like a talisman, a pact with God to keep him safe.

  The Lord watch between thee and me while we are absent from one another.

  Well, God had let her down, hadn’t He? He hadn’t watched over Bob at all. Some bloody good it was, making any sort of deal with Him! In despair, she yanked the mizpah with such force, the chain scored two lines in her neck before snapping in two, and she turned and flung it across the room.

  Linda didn’t say a word, but later when Jenny had left the room, she picked up the mizpah and wrapped it in a bit of tissue paper and tucked it into her underwear drawer, under the lining paper. She didn’t know why she d
id it, but she thought that Jenny might regret throwing it away one day and want it back, for it was, after all, a present from Bob.

  Malcolm Masters had made further enquiries about his son’s death, and when he was told that Bob’s mutilated remains had been buried by the French farmer who’d found him, he arranged for his son’s body to be brought home for a proper burial.

  Jenny was glad that she’d at least have a grave to visit and tend. Everyone could pay their respects then. She hadn’t been able to take the condolences of the family and friends who’d called; though she appreciated their sympathy, she was too upset to see and speak to any of them.

  Jenny didn’t know if she’d be able to make it to the church for the funeral; it was to be held at the Abbey as that was the Masters’s parish church. She was incredibly weak and her head swam when she tried to stand. The loss of Bob was like a gut-wrenching pain inside her.

  Peter said he’d drive them. ‘I’ve agreed to pick your mother up already,’ he said.

  ‘My mother!’ she cried, for despite Norah’s improvement, Jenny knew she’d seldom left the house. In fact, she believed the last time had been to visit her in hospital.

  ‘Geraldine wanted to pay her respects,’ Peter said. ‘And apparently your mother is insisting on coming with her.’ He made a face and went on, ‘I could hardly refuse.’ He’d wanted to. He knew how she felt about Jenny and hoped she wasn’t out to make mischief for her.

  Many people, it seemed, wanted to pay their respects, for the Abbey was packed. Jenny, leaning heavily on Linda’s arm, almost staggered when she saw the mahogany coffin that Malcolm Masters had ordered for his son drawn up before the altar. It had Mass cards amongst the wreaths and Jenny found it hard to come to terms with the fact that all that remained of the man she loved was in there, and would soon be put in a hole in the earth and covered up.