Bombers’ Moon

by Iris Gower

  ‘Shame poor mite will be called a bastard,’ she almost whispered, ‘and you a good Catholic girl.’

  ‘No!’ Kate said, ‘it will not be a bastard! Fetch Stephen, fetch the priest, we will have a father for my child even though it won’t be the man I truly love. The baby will be made legitimate even if it only be minutes before it’s born.’

  Kate hardly knew what was happening after that. In a swirl of pain she told Stephen the truth. ‘Are you willing to have me now?’

  He took off his signet ring. ‘This will do for now, darling,’ he said.

  The priest was old and wise and swept through the ceremony with as much dignity and speed as he could muster.

  ‘Another push now, good girl.’ The midwife had miraculously appeared. ‘The head is coming, bear down, Kate, like the good Irish girl you are.’

  Feeling as if she was going to explode, Kate put all her strength into pushing the child out of her straining body.

  The midwife looked anxiously at the deep scars on Kate’s belly. ‘Pray to God they hold,’ she said, ‘it’s a miracle a babe survived all that but then I’ve learned by now mother nature will do anything to preserve humankind. Now one strong push, Kate, one more strong push and it will all be over.’

  Kate pushed her chin into her chest, there was a burning sensation between her legs and then she felt the head emerge and the slide of the little body and her belly relaxed.

  ‘It’s a big healthy boy!’ Hilda said joyfully, ‘my Eddie’s got a son.’

  The baby was put against Kate’s chest. He wriggled and cried, and a great wash of tenderness swept over her. She managed to grasp a flailing arm, felt for the fingers and they curled around hers as though her son recognized her as his mother. And it was then that Kate began to cry. Great tears rolled down her face as she held her squirming baby close to her and prayed to God that he would never have to go to war.

  Stephen took her hand and she clutched at him gratefully, realizing she had become a wife just an hour before she became a mother.

  Twenty-Three

  Hari looked at Michael across the tea-stained tablecloth in the cheap café across the road from Swansea beach. The bay was rimed in frost on this early February day. He’d come for Meryl.

  Meryl had been home for yet another visit to Father; it was good to see him and his daughter growing close, but now it was time for Meryl to go back to the farm and her schooling. Hari forced herself to break the silence that had come between her and Michael.

  ‘Why did you want to see me alone, Michael?’

  He shrugged, ‘I borrowed a little car and managed to get some petrol. This visit I thought I’d save you the bother of driving to Carmarthen.’

  ‘But you asked to meet me first, why?’ She took a deep breath, she knew they were attracted to each other, she felt drawn to Michael more and more each time she saw him. Now that Meryl came regularly to see Father Hari had spent a great deal of time with Michael. She knew she cared for him and knew it would never work.

  ‘I could never live in the country. I love my job in Bridgend so much I couldn’t leave it.’ Today she had learned that Germany had suffered its first defeat of the war, Stalingrad having at last fallen after months of fighting; the Germans were in retreat. It was good news but news she felt unable to share with Michael.

  ‘My little sister has enjoyed her visit to Swansea,’ she said awkwardly. It was true: Meryl visited the munitions as often as she was in Swansea; she loved the business of the office, the radio signals, the codes, loved it all.

  She had picked up the codes with remarkable swiftness, her young mind making mincemeat of what Hari had struggled so hard to learn.

  ‘And yet Meryl thinks of the farm as her home. I’m a town girl to the soles of my feet,’ Hari said casually, hoping to deflect what he was about to say but realizing he was going to speak his mind anyway.

  ‘I’m falling in love with you, Hari.’ He rested his hand on hers across the table and she looked down into her cold cup of tea without seeing it.

  ‘It’s no good,’ she said, ‘there’s so much wrong, the timing is all wrong. There’s the war, my father, my job and, not the least, Meryl.’

  ‘She’s only a child.’

  ‘Wake up Michael, she’s sixteen, she’s grown into a woman. Haven’t you noticed?’

  ‘Physically she might have changed but she’s still a girl, she’ll fall in love many times before she settles down.’

  ‘You don’t know her like I do.’

  ‘Hari, this isn’t about Meryl, it’s about you and me.’

  She felt his hand press on hers and she turned her fingers to clasp his. ‘Just leave it for now, Michael, please, I’ve enough to worry about with my father and work and Kate and… well, I can’t handle any more.’ She stood up. ‘I’m going home to get Meryl ready for the trip, give us an hour and then come for her and for heaven’s sake don’t mention—’ she waved her arm—‘any of this.’

  She walked away quickly before she gave in to his pleading eyes. Her heart was pounding, she felt more than attracted to Michael and she was enchanted by his hardly discernible lisp on certain words. She knew he shouldn’t draw attention to himself, he was half German and shouldn’t be in this country at all. He had risked a great deal to come to talk to her in Swansea.

  Meryl had already packed her small case. Hari smiled as she saw them sitting together, father and daughter, Meryl’s head bent over the newspaper as she read out the daily news.

  ‘Father! Some more American soldiers and airmen are to be stationed just outside Swansea.’

  ‘Aren’t there enough of them here already?’ Father’s voice was laconic. He glanced at Hari in the doorway and winked. ‘You know what they say, girl, don’t you? The Americans are overpaid over here and over…’

  ‘Father!’ Hari tried not to laugh, her father was used to the soldier’s life but rough talk that was normal in the trenches wouldn’t do in a respectable house of girls. She glanced at her watch.

  ‘Do you mind if I go to see Kate and the baby, Meryl?’

  Her sister looked up at her with a bright face. ‘Go on you, Michael is coming for me soon.’

  Hari forced a smile. ‘I might not be back so say hello for me.’

  ‘I will.’ Meryl’s smile widened.

  Hari kissed them both and left the house because she didn’t think she could bear to see Michael and not throw herself into his arms and promise to go anywhere on earth with him. She felt tears in her eyes and it had started to rain, cold sleety rain that stung her face, and the rain mingled with her tears and ran coldly down her cheeks.

  Twenty-Four

  I couldn’t take my eyes from Michael as he drove us away from town and headed out towards the country roads. His jaw, thin and lean and weathered, was tinged with a bright growth of beard. He looked different, older, there were furrows on his forehead I hadn’t noticed before.

  ‘Everything all right at home, Aunt Jessie well is she?’ I was anxious but he nodded and flashed me a grin.

  ‘Jessie’s fit as ever, ruling the roost with a hand of iron as usual.’ He frowned again, ‘Your father is looking well.’ He paused. ‘How is Hari?’

  My heart sank—so this was about Hari. Suspicion flared in me so I took a chance. ‘You ought to know, you’ve seen her, haven’t you?’

  ‘She told you?’

  My suspicion was confirmed; men could be such fools, so gullible. I’d noticed that with my father, who took everything I said on face value—come to that so did Georgie Porgy. I thought Michael had more sense.

  ‘Of course she told me, I’m her sister aren’t I?’

  ‘Well, she…’ He hesitated. ‘It was only a cup of tea and a chat, Meryl, nothing improper took place—we were in public all the time.’

  ‘I should think so too!’ How I kept my voice steady I didn’t know. So they were meeting secretly behind my back. The betrayal was too much to bear. I stared out of the car window looking at the green fields and the a
nimals browsing, but the sense of peace the countryside had given me of late was gone. Jealousy, hot and hateful, poured like bile into my mouth, my heart felt as if it would break.

  ‘How long has this been going on, you two meeting secretly?’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘You sound like a nagging wife. It’s nothing to worry about.’ His voice hardened. ‘In any case, Meryl, it’s none of your business.’

  I felt fury rise up and drench me with bitterness and pain. ‘You, you German!’

  His mouth set in a straight line and for the rest of the journey he ignored me. I sagged in my seat, all the spirit drained from me. I thought Michael would be mine one day when he realized I was a grown-up but no, he’d fallen for my beautiful sister. How could he after holding me against his heart all night in the barn, after being my hero, finding me twice when I ran away from the Dixons? I loved him, why couldn’t he love me back?

  Aunt Jessie saw at once there was something wrong between us. ‘Been quarrelling?’ Blunt as ever.

  ‘Not really.’ Michael answered for me. ‘Just a funny mood of Meryl’s. She’s trying to tell me how to run my life and I’m not having it.’

  Aunt Jessie stared at him. ‘You can be very blunt at times, Michael.’

  If I hadn’t felt so low I would have laughed, talk about the pot calling the kettle black. ‘It really doesn’t matter, Aunt Jessie,’ I said, ‘I just think Michael is silly meeting Hari in Swansea like he does.’

  She put down the tea towel she was holding and shook her head. ‘You foolish boy! Do you want to be transported out of the country, perhaps arrested as a spy? Think, boy, how would I manage on the farm if you were taken away from me?’

  ‘I’m only half German remember.’ Michael glanced at me, the reproach in his eyes intended for me.

  I wanted to speak but then Aunt Jessie was fighting the battle for me very well on her own.

  ‘You fool! Do you think that will matter? Those poor Jewish people were turned out of their shop in the town just because they were foreign. They are not even the enemy. The Germans are bombing our towns into dust. I know you can’t help it all happening but at least promise me you won’t visit Swansea again until all this war thing is over.’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t and won’t promise that. Face it, Jessie, I’m a man. If it wasn’t for you and the farm I’d be fighting the war out there on the front line.’

  ‘Good thing for the farm then.’ Aunt Jessie’s voice was acid. ‘Because I’m not too sure at all on which side you would be fighting.’ She threw down the tea cloth. ‘Cook your own damn food.’

  As she went out I knew she was crying. I looked at Michael and made a move to go after her but he shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said flatly, ‘I think you’ve caused enough damage for one day, don’t you?’

  After that everything was different, Michael went off some days and I knew he was going to Swansea to see Hari. Aunt Jessie was tired and dispirited and sometimes when Michael was out we’d sit close together, listen to the wireless and try not to think too much about the man we both loved facing danger in Swansea’s busy streets.

  On the way to school one day George stopped me as I was struggling with my books. ‘Can I carry some for you, Meryl?’ His tone was humble and the books were heavy so I nodded. He looked happy and took my bag.

  ‘I wanted to ask you a favour,’ he said hesitantly. I glared at him.

  ‘If it’s to go out with you, forget it.’

  ‘No, I wondered if you’d help me with my English, I can’t seem to grasp the book we’re reading—the one about the stupid couple who fall in love and then kill themselves.’

  I tried not to laugh. I knew he meant Romeo and Juliet but I teased him. ‘Was that the one where the daft girl stood on the balcony calling this lovesick twerp’s name.’

  George had the sense to look uneasy, he sensed a snub coming a mile off. I changed my mind. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’ll help.’

  He looked startled, half afraid to trust me but I smiled encouragingly and sat down on one of the grassy banks at the side of the winding road—there were plenty of them, winding roads and banks, this was the country. ‘Get the book out then.’

  So I sat with George, explained the story to him. ‘Their families hated each other,’ I said. ‘The Montagues and the Capulets were enemies, they didn’t want their children ending the feud so they opposed the relationship.’

  George sighed. ‘My mum hates you,’ he said. I stared at him with narrowed eyes.

  ‘The feeling is mutual.’

  ‘I know we’re like the families in the book so no one would want us to get together.’

  ‘George—’ my voice was acid—‘there is no chance of you and me getting together ever.’

  ‘Aw, come on, you don’t know.’ He made a sudden grab for me and pushed me over backwards. His mouth was soft and wet on mine and I gagged.

  ‘Get off me you fool!’ I pushed him but he was heavy and he weighed me down against the grass. ‘I just want to kiss you that’s all,’ he said, but his hand was pushing my school skirt above my knees. I knew my knees were prettier now, not so bony as they used to be, but I didn’t want George seeing them and I slapped him hard. He didn’t waver.

  ‘Get off!’ My scream was shrill, shattering the still air. Then George was being pulled away from me and I saw Michael, his face grim, spinning George around and then Michael drew back his arm, bunched his big fist and aimed it straight at George’s chin. George fell like a log and lay prostrate on the grass looking ridiculous in his check suit and a lump swelling on his mouth.

  Mrs Dixon must have been watching us, for she screamed like a banshee as she came pelting along the path waving her arms, her hair coming out of its roll, her apron flapping around her bony knees. Again I was reminded of the harpies from mythology, half cruel bird, half skeletal woman. She fell on the ground beside her son and keened over him until he sat up and begged her to be quiet. She got to her feet and her voice was venomous.

  ‘There’s something strange about you lot up at that farm and when I find out what it is you’ll pay dearly for what you’ve done today.’

  Suddenly, I was afraid for Michael. I clutched his arm and, as we began to make our way back home, I prayed for the first time since the bombs had come and asked God humbly if he would take care of my dear, sweet Michael who had once again come to my rescue.

  Twenty-Five

  Hari was engrossed in her work. The Colonel was off sick, his old war wounds playing him up, and Hari took on his work as well as her own. She was tuned now to both his codes and the noises on the radio; the crackling, almost intelligible sounds making sense to her. She could cope on her own but she was concerned about the old man and decided she would go to see him after work.

  She listened, the tip of her tongue touching one soft lip. She wore bright lipstick, the strong creamy red cheering her up and making her feel more confident. She was more alive these days but she was reluctant to own it was her feelings for Michael that had changed her; not her new lipstick nor even her new job, but knowing Michael loved her.

  She loved him in return, but what future was there in a romance born under bomber-filled skies with destruction all around. And then there was Meryl, those baleful eyes, those knowing eyes looking accusingly at her.

  Meryl was now full-grown. Her once bony body had evolved into the magic time when the skin of childhood fell away and the glow of womanhood broke through like the bud bursting into colourful life from the green, spiky thorns of the rose tree.

  She was young enough still to betray her feelings in every soft look, every admiring glance that she gave Michael. And yet it was more than hero worship, there were deep feelings in Meryl and that made it all the more difficult for Hari.

  She couldn’t fool herself that Meryl’s love for Michael was a passing fancy; she knew that when Meryl gave her love it was for life.

  A buzz of urgency came through the phone lines and Hari gave her work all her a
ttention. She quickly deciphered the message and her heart chilled: tonight there would be a heavy bombing raid on Swansea.

  A little while later, she spent time with the colonel in his big, elegant house. He handed her a sherry and nodded sagely when she told him of the latest news.

  ‘It had to be any time now, a big push forward; the Huns think they’ve caught us unprepared but thanks to our intelligence we are forewarned.’

  He waved her away and picked up the telephone, and Hari, knowing he had urgent work, let herself out of his house and stood in the quiet garden for a moment wondering at the peace of the day, knowing it would be shattered once darkness fell and the bombers came.

  On the way home, Hari stopped at Kate’s house.

  ‘Well, Hari, I’d know that scent anywhere. Come on, give old Kate a kiss, it’s about time you came to see me again, my darlin’.

  As Hari hugged her friend she could hear the snuffles of the young child sleeping in the wicker washing basket curled up like a cat.

  There was the clink of china from the kitchen and Hari knew Hilda was putting the kettle on the gas stove. ‘Hilda’s always in the kitchen making tea,’ she said, smiling. ‘A cup of tea, lovely, just what I need!’ she called to Hilda.

  Hari turned back to Kate and her smile widened. ‘You’re looking extremely well, Kate, especially with one of your baby’s feeding bottles hanging shamelessly out of your blouse for all to see.’

  Kate stuffed her breast carelessly away and fumbled with the buttons. ‘It’s not funny, Hari as you’ll find out one of these days. That brute of a boy pulls and sucks me with such an appetite I think he’ll drink me dry one day.’

  She tidied her collar. ‘I’ve had a letter. Stephen’s working in Cardiff for a while in some air force place but he’ll be home at the weekend. I don’t know how Hilda will take to him being around the baby.’ Her voice trailed away as the door was pushed open and Hilda came into the room with a tray.