Meet Me Under the Clock

by Annie Murray

  ‘Lie down,’ he said. ‘Now, for Christ’s sake.’

  She lay beneath his weight, her eyes tightly closed, and knew she was doing the right thing; that this was a fast-moving stream that she had to allow to carry her away.

  Thirty-Eight

  October 1941

  Sylvia carried the pail of chicken feed out into the dying light of the afternoon.

  ‘Here you are, girls!’ She scattered the feed into the run and the hens lunged at it. There had been some replacements of the five original ‘royal ladies’. Victoria had escaped one night and was never seen again – ‘A fox, I expect,’ Mom said – and Eleanor and Isabella had both taken sick and died. So Elizabeth and Lady Jane had been joined by the ‘Andrews Sisters’, LaVerne, Maxene and Patty, and by a new, noisy cockerel called The Duke.

  Sylvia stood watching them with her arms folded. After a moment she realized she was humming – ‘He’s the boogie woogie bugle boy of company B’ – and was so surprised that she stopped. I don’t feel so bad any more, she thought, with a faint smile. Although all her miserable, betrayed feelings could still surface very easily, there were cracks of light in the darkness.

  These past months had been the worst time of her life. Thoughts about what Ian and Kitty had done were so bitter and hard to cope with that at times she felt she might go mad dwelling on it. Worst of all was going out: to town, or the journey to work. She lived in dread of meeting either of them, yet at the same time she was always looking for them, as if she still needed to see them to believe that what had happened was actually true. Once she did think she saw Kitty, in the distance in New Street, and hurried to catch up, not knowing what she was going to do when she did. But the young woman with Kitty’s colouring must have turned in somewhere and Sylvia lost her. She had no idea where Kitty was working now – she could have found a job in any of the offices in the city. She had seen no sign of Ian. Between them, the two of them had punctured the simple, innocent way in which she had seen life before. They had given her a harder, more sceptical view of things, and especially of men.

  Sylvia went and picked up the pail. Jack can do the rabbits, she thought. A goods train was rumbling past, but as the sound died, she heard something else, the sound of off-key singing coming from the Goulds’ garden. She realized Paul must be out there, and she squeezed round the end of the chicken run and looked over the wall. Paul was playing with a box with wheels fixed on either side, pushing it back and forth, in his own world. From the back, with his thick, blond hair, he looked quite like Laurie.

  ‘Pauly?’ She had to call him a few times before he noticed her. He hurried over to the wall, beaming with delight at seeing her.

  ‘Is that your go-kart, Pauly?’

  He laughed and pointed. ‘It’s a car!’

  ‘It’s very nice. I bet it goes fast. Aren’t you chilly though, love?’ He only had a short-sleeved shirt on over his trousers. ‘It’s getting cold out here.’

  Paul looked down at himself for a moment, then up at Sylvia again, grinning all over his round face.

  ‘Laurie’s coming!’ he announced.

  Sylvia felt a shock of excitement go through her. Laurie had told her it would be soon, but had not been able to say exactly when. ‘Laurie – is he? When, Pauly?’

  Paul waved his arms. He didn’t know. ‘Laurie!’ he repeated happily.

  ‘Paul!’ Stanley Gould came outside and stood with his hands on his hips. ‘What’re you doing out here, lad? Come on, your mother wants you. Oh, hello, Sylvia – I didn’t see you there.’

  ‘I was admiring Paul’s go-kart,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Mr Gould said dismissively. ‘Come on, Paul – you get yourself inside.’

  Paul blundered away across the garden, making his little noises and holding his arms out. He liked pretending to be a Spitfire. He disappeared into the house.

  Mr Gould, who was a tight, tetchy man these days, was about to turn away. He obviously had things on his mind. Sylvia spoke up quickly. ‘Paul said Laurie’s on his way home, Mr Gould?’

  ‘Is that Sylvia?’ she heard Marjorie’s voice, and then saw her come hurrying out in her apron, holding half a cabbage. ‘Hello, love – yes, we had a wire from Laurie, just this afternoon. He’ll be home today or tomorrow!’

  ‘He’s been posted to Lincolnshire,’ Stanley said. He seemed to soften a fraction. Everyone loved Laurie – how could you not? ‘But they’ve given him a bit of leave.’

  ‘That’s nice for you,’ Sylvia said, her heart beating harder.

  ‘Ooh, yes – we can’t wait,’ Marjorie said. She came over to Sylvia. ‘And I know you’ve been writing to each other, love.’ Her voice was warm with approval. ‘He’s looking forward to seeing you.’

  Sylvia felt herself blush and was glad it was so dark.

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Gould,’ she said, touched.

  ‘Must get the tea,’ Marjorie said. ‘I’m sure Laurie’ll be round, soon as he can!’

  Stanley Gould stood for a moment as if lost in thought.

  ‘That’s nice news,’ Sylvia said.

  ‘Oh, ar,’ he said. ‘It is. Marjorie’s very pleased, that she is. Must get on,’ he added, turning purposefully towards the house.

  Sylvia watched him walk away. Marjorie’s pleased, Marjorie’s upset. These were the only ways Mr Gould ever let you in on what he was feeling.

  She hugged herself with excitement. Laurie was back in England!

  Up in her room Sylvia took out her bundle of Laurie’s letters from her chest of drawers. She smiled at the sight of his messy, left-handed boy’s handwriting. She remembered him hunched over the table for the ordeal of forming his letters, his brow pulled into a frown and the tip of his tongue curled out to touch his nose. Sylvia still imagined him writing like that now, the letters looked so tortured.

  Laurie had written to her regularly from Canada and she had found his letters the brightest light by far in a dark time. As the weeks went by he seemed to become more, rather than less, homesick. And he confided in her his worries about his parents. Having lost Raymond and with him away, he knew things must be difficult. When Sylvia wrote back she tried to paint things as optimistically as she could.

  Sitting on the bed, she pulled out one of the letters and leaned back against the wall to read it:

  It’s good to hear from home, Sylv – and I like hearing about the yard! Your muscles must be hard as iron by now. It makes me think of the trains going by at home. It’s things like that you really miss: noises and smells. I find myself getting all sentimental about odd things that over there you barely notice. I miss listening to the wireless and the smell of everything – the grass and winter mornings – and even the smoky, foggy stink of dear old Brum!

  I found myself thinking about Snow Hill the other day. It was about the most exciting place in the world when we were nippers, because if we went to Snow Hill station it meant we were going away on holiday. We never went there at any other time. Dad used to take us to Devon, some years – d’you remember us going off? We all wished you could all have come as well. But the best bit was going to Snow Hill, everyone crowding onto the platform and cheering when the train pulled in. Dad lifted me up, so I could see the loco with the smoke pouring out. And he’d say: Look, that’s a King, or a Castle, or whatever it was (I never remembered details the way Raymond did). And there was that enormous clock on platform seven, and the one in the ticket office where everyone used to meet. Right now, I can’t think of anything better than pulling into Snow Hill and knowing that someone would be waiting there for me under the clock – and especially if I knew that someone would be you, Sylvia.

  Smiling, she pressed the letter against her body and lay back for a moment. So Laurie was almost home. A strange, apprehensive tingle went through her. Laurie had been writing to her all this time because he was homesick, and she was part of home. And she had gladly written back. His kind, affectionate letters had been the thing that had brought her through these awful, painful mon
ths. But how would it be when he came home and they were really together, face-to-face?

  When he came at last, two days later, she was upstairs changing out of her work clothes after an early shift. There was a tap at the front door, followed by a burst of male voices and laughter. Jack had just got home and he and Laurie were in the hall, clowning about and play-fighting. She rolled her eyes fondly. Thumping each other seemed to be the boys’ best way of showing how pleased they were to see each other.

  ‘Hello, love,’ her mother’s voice floated up from the hall. ‘Jack, pack that in – poor Laurie’s hardly over the step. Ooh, lad, haven’t you grown? I can’t get over it! Sylvia’s here – I’ll call her . . .’

  Sylvia went down the stairs, her heart thumping like a little piston and feeling self-conscious as the eyes of not just Laurie, but her mother and Jack, followed her every move. She saw Laurie’s eager face turned up to hers and immediately she knew her feelings had not been a mistake. She was filled with excitement and a shy tenderness. Laurie had changed out of his uniform by now, into his old brown trousers and a navy sweater, so that he looked like the old Laurie, only more grown-up, his blond wavy hair shorn close to his head.

  ‘Hello, Laurie,’ she said.

  He smiled broadly. ‘Hello, Sylv.’

  ‘Come on – kettle’s on. I might even be able to rustle up a few biscuits, if you speak to me nicely,’ Mom said.

  Pauline and Jack went into the kitchen. For a few seconds Sylvia found herself alone with Laurie. After all these years when she had noticed him hardly more than the chairs and tables, now she was acutely conscious of him. He had filled out and grown into a strong, impressive-looking man, despite his still-youthful face.

  Laurie was smiling at her, his eyes full of delight. For just a second before they followed the others, he took her hand and squeezed it, looking questioningly at her. She smiled, feeling a blush spread up her cheeks, and squeezed his hand back like a promise.

  A few minutes later Marjorie and Paul also came round, Marjorie bringing half a cake, which they added to the tea and biscuits, all sitting around in the back room. It felt like a celebration and Sylvia could see Marjorie’s relief and happiness. Her eyes were brighter than they had been in weeks and she laughed and smiled. Everyone hung on Laurie’s words.

  ‘Your father’ll want to hear all this again when he gets home,’ Marjorie said. ‘But you tell us anyhow.’

  Laurie talked about Canada and the training and his pal, Victor, who had also gone out to train there, determined that the only thing in life worth doing was being a pilot.

  ‘Trouble was, he just couldn’t do it,’ Laurie said. ‘He had an almighty job getting the thing off the ground, and an even worse time landing. He couldn’t seem to judge heights or distances – he crashed two kites, trying to land!’

  ‘Kites?’ Jack asked, drinking all this in.

  ‘That’s what we call the planes.’ Laurie was awash with RAF terms.

  ‘Oh, my word!’ his mother said. ‘He can’t have been very popular.’

  ‘He wasn’t. They knew it wasn’t really his fault, but obviously you can’t have that. So they sent him over to train with us as a navigator. He thought the world had ended to begin with, because he’d failed as a pilot, but he got stuck in, in the end.’

  ‘It must be the most important job, what you’re doing,’ Sylvia said. ‘I mean, if you got lost . . .’

  ‘We’re a team,’ Laurie said. ‘No one’s more important than anyone else. From bomb-aimer to—’

  ‘Oh!’ Pauline gasped, a hand going to her chest. ‘Bomb-aimer!’

  ‘We’re going into Bomber Command,’ Laurie said. He looked down at the table for a moment. Pauline and Marjorie exchanged looks.

  ‘I know, love,’ Pauline said quietly.

  Sylvia felt a chill come over her. She didn’t really know what being in Bomber Command involved, but they had been on the receiving end of bombing here all right. But no one wanted to spoil the party. They got Laurie to tell them about the pranks and other fun he’d got up to in Canada. Sylvia watched him, impressed by how much he had changed. Laurie had been a shy boy who had difficulty making conversation or looking you in the eye. But now he had grown used to talking with strangers and had developed a direct, lively gaze. As she watched him, feelings grew in her – warm, loving feelings. She just enjoyed being in the same room, watching his quick smile, hearing his familiar voice. His presence was so much lighter and younger than Ian’s. It felt like coming home. There was such a feeling of rightness that she had to stop herself sitting there wearing a permanent soppy grin. In fact she saw Jack looking at her in an amused sort of way once or twice.

  Once tea was over, Jack insisted that Laurie come and help him feed the rabbits and hens. As he got up to go out with Jack, Laurie leaned over to Sylvia. ‘Can I see you a bit later?’

  She looked up and smiled yes.

  ‘It’s always difficult to find anywhere to be on your own in this house,’ Sylvia said when he came back in. Ted had come home by now and greeted Laurie warmly. But even Jack got the hint and the rest of the family melted away and left them alone in the back room.

  ‘Let’s sit at the table, shall we?’ Laurie said. He looked around fondly. ‘I’ve got so many good memories of sitting here – and this afternoon’s been another one. It’s the cosiest place I know.’

  They sat down by the table and chatted for a bit. Laurie asked after Audrey.

  ‘Oh, she’s all right,’ Sylvia said. ‘Seems to love the WAAF. Duck to water.’

  Laurie smiled. ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘In fact she loves it so much we hardly hear from her. She doesn’t love us any more!’ She said it as a joke, but all the family were a bit hurt that Audrey seemed to have forgotten their existence.

  ‘Oh, I expect she’s just got caught up in it all,’ Laurie said. ‘The life’s very busy.’

  ‘Huh!’ Sylvia said. ‘I dare say she could find time, if she put her mind to it.’

  After a bit more chat they were suddenly at a loss. Despite their letters and fond words and Laurie having grown up so much, it was hard to move from being friends as children to something more adult. Laurie sat with his arms folded on the table and looked down at the blue cloth, as if searching the table top for inspiration. But once he met her eyes again he was surprisingly direct.

  ‘I’ve loved getting your letters,’ he said. ‘It’s kept me going – it really has.’

  ‘It wasn’t so bad over there, was it?’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean that. But it throws you back on yourself, not having any family or anyone familiar around. You start to think about what really matters to you. And where we’re going, Bomber Command . . .’ He trailed off and just gazed at her. She was moved by the intensely loving look in his eyes. He reached out and took her hand, asking permission with his eyes, and she opened her palm, her pulse racing.

  ‘I thought I might find you looking very pale and sad,’ he said. ‘If I’m honest, I’ve wanted to go and punch Ian’s lights out, for what he did to you.’ There was a flicker of a smile. ‘Not that it would have helped.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘But you look . . . lovely.’

  Sylvia blushed at the warmth of the compliment. ‘It was all a bit of a shock,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got over it now, though.’

  ‘Have you?’ His eyes searched her face.

  She nodded. ‘I can still get really angry sometimes. But maybe I had a lucky escape. I don’t think Ian was quite what I thought. Because he was older I just thought he was wiser than he was, I suppose. But if he could be taken in by Kitty like that, I’m well rid of him.’

  To her annoyance, tears filled her eyes. She wiped them away. ‘Sorry. Brings it back.’

  ‘Hey,’ Laurie shifted closer and held one of her hands between his in a way she found deeply touching. ‘It’s okay. I’ve realized, being away and everything . . . It’s not a lot of fun being in the services sometimes, but they do keep you busy and make you feel that ev
erything you do is for something. Being at home’s much harder. Like my mother – and yours – just having to keep everything going, when it’s all much worse than it was before.’

  ‘The railway’s a bit like the services in some ways,’ she said. ‘They make you feel it’s all for something, too – and it is. But the best thing, over these months, has been hearing from you. It’s made all the difference.’

  ‘I thought of you every day – all day. Well, maybe not quite,’ he laughed. As he spoke he gently caressed her hand. ‘I had to do a spot of navigating now and then, but it was as if . . .’ He stopped to think. ‘Being over there, I saw everything differently. I saw you differently. I know you’ve always looked on me as a kid brother, and I didn’t think you could ever feel what I feel for you now. But age doesn’t matter that much, does it?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘And you don’t seem younger – not now.’

  Suddenly there were even more silences in the conversation as they couldn’t stop staring into each other’s eyes.

  ‘You’re so lovely,’ Laurie said in wonder. His face moved closer to hers and she saw the pale down of hair on his upper lip, his scattering of freckles. ‘Sylvia, Sylvia. I’ve been dreaming of seeing you.’

  ‘It’s so strange,’ she said. ‘All this time you’ve been here, right in front of me . . .’ And as they both leaned forward to kiss each other, they both knew what she meant.

  1942

  Thirty-Nine

  January 1942

  ‘I still can’t even feel my hands and feet,’ Elsie groaned, clapping her gloved hands as she and Sylvia pushed their empty barrows across the cartage area of the shed. The Goods Yard outside was white with snow and a flurry of flakes was coming down again. Elsie’s nose was red with cold and her eyes were running. It was close to the end of the shift and she was still cold, even after toiling back and forth all day.

  ‘Never mind, we’re nearly done,’ Sylvia said. She and Elsie often worked together now. ‘You’re too skinny, that’s your trouble. You want some more flesh on your bones.’