Bombers’ Moon

by Iris Gower

  ‘My dog, I got a dog to keep me company and now I can’t find him. He’s black and white, small, not very strong. Vet said he wouldn’t last very long but I’ll keep him going, it’s love he wants, see, that’s all we all want, isn’t it?’

  Hari thought briefly of Michael, the way he leaned into her when he talked, the way he smelt of grass and the outdoors. Her heart lifted. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Evans, your dog will come back when he’s hungry. What’s his name?’

  Mr Evans smiled. ‘It’s a her, I’ve called her after my wife Maud, I know she wouldn’t mind.’

  Hari had the hysterical desire to laugh and ask who wouldn’t mind, Mrs Evans or the dog. ‘I must go inside, Mr Evans, I’ve got work to do. See you later.’

  As she was putting her things into her bag the air-raid warning sounded wailing through the air like the knell of doom. Hari hesitated, should she wait for the all-clear or should she head out of Swansea and away from the bombers?

  The crash and scream of tangled masonry convinced her she should wait. She went downstairs and made a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table drinking it. Her house shook and she prayed it wouldn’t get bombed, she’d hardly begun paying for it yet. It was her place and Meryl’s, their home when all the madness of war was over.

  Dust rose from under the door, there must have been a direct hit in the street. Hari waited until the all-clear rang out and the sounds of crashing buildings stilled. She opened the door gingerly and gave a gasp of horror. Her jeep was a burned-out wreck, she wouldn’t be going anywhere in that.

  For a moment she felt rage against the foreign bombers. The jeep was like her friend, she’d grown used to it, it gave her freedom of movement. But now it smouldered and the stink of petrol was all-pervading.

  And then she noticed the figure on the floor outside her house. He was crouched up against her wall. His old face was blackened by smoke, the creases outlined as though with a black pencil, but she recognized him: it was Mr Evans. In his arms was clutched the tiny black and white dog. Both of them were dead.

  Eighteen

  Kate woke suddenly, the inside of her belly seemed to be moving as if something lived in there, but that was absurd, impossible, her baby, hers and Eddie’s, had gone in the blast from the shells that had devastated her life and killed her friends. And, she thought bitterly, as darkness met her unseeing eyes, stolen her sight.

  When she went down to breakfast, feeling her way along the banister and down the stairs to the kitchen, she heard Hilda moving about, heard the flow of tea into a cup, the chink of china. She felt for her chair and sat down.

  ‘I’d swear I felt life inside me this morning when I woke up.’ The words sounded foolish and Kate felt Hilda’s hand on her arm.

  ‘Just your innards settling back into place I expect. Don’t worry about it, have your cup of tea.’ Hilda took her hand and placed it so that it touched the china saucer. ‘Be careful, it’s just freshly brewed.’

  The tea was hot and fragrant and yet it tasted strange. Anyone would think she was pregnant. If only. But she had been once, she must hang on to that thought; if it wasn’t for the war… well, that line of thought would get her nowhere.

  ‘I expect I picked up some sort of chill,’ she said. Probably caught on her visit to the farm out in the wilds of Wales where the wind seemed continually cold.

  Kate had sensed the tension between her friend Hari and Michael, the farmhand. She’d also sensed resentment coming from Meryl in waves. The girl, young, fanciful, thought herself in love with this Michael; he must be very handsome.

  Kate felt tears come to her eyes. Her Eddie hadn’t been handsome; he had a kind but ordinary face, but oh how she loved him. And the magic of it all was that he loved her in spite of her bad reputation. Why, she wondered now, hadn’t she kept herself pure for a man she really cared for? And yet she thought of the men, going to war, some of them, like her Eddie, never to return, and she knew she had done her best for them, given them comfort in the only way she could.

  The sirens shrieked out, shattering the peace of the morning. Hilda helped Kate into her coat and hustled her towards the door. ‘Come on, we’ll be better off in the shelter.’

  Hilda didn’t have an Anderson shelter in her garden as most folks did; the pieces of steel, curled like snow sleds lay uselessly on the garden with no one to put them together. Kate felt Hilda’s arm around her, taking her along the street to the communal shelter.

  ‘Duw, it’s dark in by here,’ Hilda gasped, and Kate almost smiled, to her it was dark everywhere. They huddled on a bench against a knobbly stone wall and Kate was glad of her coat. Someone had brought a canteen of tea and Kate was given a tin cup, which was warm and comforting between her fingers.

  She shared the tea with Hilda and she was reminded of Mass when the chalice was held to her lips by the priest and his blessing said over her head. She could hear her Irish mammy saying her ‘Hail Mary’s’ and she wondered why the Holy Mother saw fit to take everything from her. Kate had nothing, no mammy or brothers and sisters, no Eddie, no sight, no baby. What had she done that was so wrong—was it all a punishment for her being so free with her body when she lay with men about to die?

  There was a crunch and then a great blast sweeping through the shelter. A child cried out, ‘Mammy my ears, they hurt so bad.’

  There was a shuffle, Kate heard the creak of a stretcher, she heard a masculine voice say, ‘poor little bugger’ and she wondered if the little child was dead.

  The cruelty of war was nothing to do with punishment, or the Virgin Mary, it was war, randomly affecting innocent and guilty alike. Wearily, Kate closed her sightless eyes, lay back against the wall and began to cry soundlessly.

  In the evening, Hari came to see her and Kate held out her arms. ‘Give me a warm cuddle, Hari, it’s been a hell of a day.’

  ‘I know, I heard there was a raid, a few killed, one of them a little girl in the same shelter as you. Oh, Kate, when will it end?’ Hari sounded downhearted and Kate hugged her harder.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Such a lot, Kate. First of all I was supposed to go to London, take a message to the prime minister himself but my jeep got burned and then—’ she caught back a sob—I found poor Mr Evans dead, his little dog in his arms.’

  ‘That’s terrible, but then war is terrible. What else is bothering you, is it Meryl?’

  ‘No, Meryl’s all right. It’s Father, he’s been injured and he’s in hospital—wounded—but not too badly.’ She hesitated. ‘Lost a foot but he’ll be home once he’s recovered.’

  ‘What do you feel about that, having him home I mean?’

  ‘Mixed feelings to be honest; I don’t really know my father all that well. He was in the army remember? Before the war started, it was his career. What he’ll be like as an invalid I don’t know. To be really honest, I’m dreading having him home again.’

  ‘You’ll still have to work,’ Kate said. ‘Chin up, your life won’t change very much at all. Your daddy will have to learn to fend for himself. I know he’s posh, an officer and all that but he’ll have to learn to cook, to handle coupons like the rest of us.’ Kate smiled into her darkness.

  ‘Good thing your Meryl is out of the way, she’s a tough one, speaks her mind without thinking. Sparks would fly if she was in the house with your dad, so be thankful for small mercies.’

  ‘Anyway, never mind all that,’ Hari said, ‘I’ve come to ask, do you want to come on a trip with me to the hospital to see Father? I’ll have a few days’ compassionate leave, I can borrow a car and just enough petrol to get us there and back and we can stay in a little boarding house down the coast.’

  For a moment Kate was frightened, how would she be away from her familiar surroundings? She was safe in Hilda’s house, she knew the layout of the furniture, knew the feel of her little bedroom. Loved the comfort of her bed, the bed that had once been her Eddie’s. She almost said she couldn’t go.

  She hesitated, she was young, she cou
ldn’t spend her life like a hermit, she needed to get out and about and to live as normal a life as she could.

  Hari sensed her hesitation. ‘Please come, Kate, I need you.’ Hari’s usually self-composed voice trembled. ‘Please, Kate, I can’t face it all alone.’

  ‘I’ll come! What an adventure, a ride to the South Coast! You bet I’ll come.’ Kate was shaking inside but her voice gave no sign of it. ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow afternoon—is that all right?’

  ‘In that case—’ Kate forced some enthusiasm into her voice—‘you’d better help me to pack some undies and things.’

  Hari laughed happily and Kate felt her friend’s arm around her waist. She stiffened, fearing pain, and Hari released her at once.

  ‘Don’t worry, Kate, I’ll look after you, always.’ It was a vow said with conviction and Kate, all at once, was comforted.

  Nineteen

  I clung to Michael’s hands. ‘I don’t want to go back to Swansea, I’m happy here with you. And with Aunt Jessie as well.’

  ‘It’s only a visit, you’re going to see your father that’s all. In any case it’s not until a few weeks’ time. Why worry about it now?’

  He didn’t understand, he was my life, I loved him and not any longer as a child hero-worships an older man. I loved his cow’s lick of hair, his broadness, his big hands, his clever, ice-blue eyes. I loved his easy affection for me even as I wanted more.

  I wanted him to see me as a woman. Couldn’t he tell the changes in me, my blossoming breasts, my tallness, the womanly curves of my hips?

  ‘Your Hari’s gone down to the coast to see your father in the military hospital, when she comes back she’ll tell you all the news, it will be all right, you’ll see.’

  ‘I don’t want to go back to live in Swansea and look after him.’ I knew I sounded like a sulky little girl then.

  ‘Don’t be silly, you won’t have to, you’re still at school. In any case Swansea’s still being heavily bombed, the dreaded “authorities” won’t want children going back to all that danger, where’s your common sense, Meryl?’

  I was comforted, his words had the ring of truth. Of course I still had to go to school and I loved the little school outside the village; our history teacher was a grumpy old man but he knew how to inspire, how to make even dull history exciting.

  Mr Funnel drew pictures on the board, showed us maps of where the Germans were. He had been in the other war, the big bad first World War against Germany and he hated the enemy savagely. I sometimes wished he could know Michael, who had a German father but who was good and kind and wouldn’t hurt any living creature, but that was a secret I would carry with me to the grave if I had to.

  Michael was taking me for an evening walk just as the sun was dying over the fields of ripe corn. The cows, milked and content, stood patiently in the grass, bending now and then to graze, not hungry but wanting the cud in soft mouths to chew and ruminate and be at peace with themselves. The bovine life was all gentleness and if I was gifted with words I would have written poems to the animals, poems about stoicism and yielding sweet milk for the needs of others.

  ‘Come on, little monster, let’s head back.’ Michael spun me around and held me facing him. I leaned forward and planted a kiss on his mouth and lingered. And then he pushed me away and laughed.

  ‘Hey, miss! Don’t act like that in Swansea or you’re likely to be taken advantage of.’

  If only he would take advantage of me, hug me close, kiss me deeply, caress my shoulders, touch my hair with loving hands, look at me with loving eyes. But Michael was striding away.

  ‘Come on, keep up, your legs are nearly as long as mine.’ So Michael had noticed my legs. All at once I was warm. There was hope for us yet.

  Aunt Jessie looked us over carefully when we went into the kitchen. ‘You two are like hobos,’ she said, ‘go and get washed up the pair of you, you stink of animals and the fields.’

  ‘Come on, squirt.’ Michael caught me around the neck with his big hand. I’ll get the hot water for you.’

  He prepared the big tin bath, laid towels out for me, presented me with a new bar of soap as if it was a wonderful gift. Of course, these days, it was. I could hear Aunt Jessie calling him.

  ‘Don’t stay in too long,’ was his parting shot, ‘I’ve got to get in there after you.’ Then with a mischievous look on his face, ‘And no doing, you know what, in the water.’

  I blushed furiously. As if I would. I could hear the rumble of voices from the kitchen but couldn’t distinguish the words. But then Aunt Jessie raised her voice.

  ‘She’s not a child any more, open your eyes Michael, she’s a very beautiful young lady and I’ve seen that George Dixon hanging about, carrying her books, all that sort of thing.’

  I stifled a laugh. Georgie Porgy had no chance of going out with me. I wanted to hear what Michael would reply but his voice was low.

  Aunt Jessie again. ‘Sometimes you men won’t see what’s under your nose.’ I think she meant me. Did Michael want to find other girlfriends then? Did he already have someone in the village? He didn’t go out of an evening much it was true but then there were farmers’ markets, meetings to talk about boring things like cattle fodder and, even worse, manure for the land, or lime, or the latest milking machine. How did I really know what Michael’s life was all about? And then of course there was my sister Hari.

  I felt uncertain and got up from the bath and stood there blindly thinking about Michael in another woman’s arms. It was awful. The door opened abruptly and Michael stared at me. I stood there naked, seeing a sudden light in his eyes and I felt nothing but joy that he was really seeing me for the first time in his life as the growing woman I was.

  He shut the door as abruptly as he’d opened it but I smiled a womanly, somehow triumphant, smile before I reached for the towel and began to dry myself.

  I would like to think that everything changed from that moment, but it didn’t. Michael was the same to me as he’d ever been, casually affectionate, and in my heart I knew he’d seen not me but an older woman, a real woman, not the child he’d rescued from the cold fields. He was seeing my sister Hari.

  Twenty

  Hari knew Kate was nervous. She clung to the door handle of the car, her knees were tense, and when the car swayed around a bend Kate winced as though something pained her.

  ‘All right, Kate, if you want to stop for a bit there’s a little café up ahead. Shall we have a cup of tea?’

  ‘Please, Hari,’ Kate said softly.

  Hari was worried about Kate; it was as if all the life had gone out of her. She was cowed and frightened and the fun, the spirit, had left her. Kate was diminished, shrunk into a dark world of pain, changed forever by the tragic events of her life.

  They drank their tea, which was stewed and the café was cold. Soon, Kate pushed back her chair. ‘Let’s get on,’ she said, ‘it’s freezin’ here so it is.’

  The hospital smelled of disinfectant and the walls were a dowdy brown and cream; along the corridors the nurses bustled with wings of pristine hats flying.

  ‘Hari, my dear girl.’ Her father looked well, his cheeks a little flushed as it was warm in the hospital with the heating going full blast. He was sitting outside the bedclothes, his brightly coloured paisley dressing gown tied around his waist so that his thinness was betrayed by the drape of the cloth.

  Hari kissed his cheek. ‘Father, here’s Kate who’s come with me to see you.’ She gestured to him that Kate couldn’t see him and he nodded and took Kate’s hand.

  ‘Hello, Kate, how are your folks keeping?’

  ‘All dead,’ she said flatly. Hari saw her father frown. ‘I’m sorry, Kate, really sorry.’

  Hari shook her head. ‘Anyway, Father, tell us what happened to you?’

  He was eager to talk. ‘Well, Hari, we were ordered to advance. There was a nest of Germans in a hut and, as the officer, I naturally had to go ahead and throw a grenade into the viper’s bed. I got shot.’ He
looked sheepish and Hari suppressed a smile.

  ‘What injuries, Father?’

  ‘A leg wound, not bad really, but my foot got infected. In the end it had to be amputated, same as some of these other boys here.’ He gestured round at the young men in the beds near him.

  One of the men looked up and Hari recognized him. She had met him once at a dance; he’d given Kate stockings and Kate, well, Kate had given him comfort. All his limbs seemed to be intact but his face was badly scarred.

  ‘Hari!’ Stephen had spotted her. ‘And Kate! It’s me, Stephen. Come and give me a little bit of your time, there’s a love. I haven’t had a visitor since I’ve been here.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Kate held out her hand and Hari, with an apologetic smile at her father, led Kate to the other bed.

  Stephen took Kate’s hand. ‘It’s me, the brash airman who once was so young and arrogant. What’s happened to you then, Kate?’ He pulled her until she was sitting on the bed beside him.

  ‘The war happened, Stephen,’ she said, ‘I got blown up in the munitions factory, lucky to be alive, so they tell me. I can’t see any more, you’ll have to tell me what happened to you.’

  ‘Shot down, what else?’ he said. ‘I’m scarred, my face… Not too bad though compared to my friends who were burned to toast where they sat in the pilot seat. I still hear their screams. Sometimes I’m afraid to go to sleep.’

  Kate touched his face with her fingertips. ‘As you say, not too bad, Stephen.’ She smiled for the first time that day, Hari noticed.

  ‘Anyway, weren’t you always too good-looking for your own good?’

  ‘Kate, I’m sorry—’ his voice was soft—‘not for loving you but for taking advantage. I did care about you, you know, and then I went away and when I came back I heard about the other pilots and I didn’t feel special any more.’