Bombers’ Moon

by Iris Gower

  ‘You wicked child, what have you done?’ One of the men pushed me roughly aside and ran after Michael. Slowly I went back inside.

  ‘I warned you not to make Michael come to Swansea!’ I was aware of the accusation in my voice and my sister just stood there, white-faced, silent, in stunned disbelief. And then Hari crumpled, she sank into a chair and began to cry.

  I picked up my coat.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Hari pulled herself together and I took a deep breath.

  ‘I’m going back to the farm, see if I can do anything to help.’

  ‘I’ll drive you,’ Hari said desperately.

  ‘No, we might be followed. I’ll get there on my own. I’ll take the bike.’

  ‘It will take you all night to get there.’

  ‘So?’

  I had no patience with Hari at that moment. I tied a scarf around my head and kissed my bewildered father. In the street, there was no car, no lurking men. I took the bicycle from the side path. The tyres were good—no punctures—it would get me to the farm if I had to push it by sheer force of will. I swung on to the road and began to pedal my way out of town and on to the road leading to Carmarthen.

  The dawn was streaking the sky with light, trees were turning from lavender and grey into green by the time I reached the farm. I’d done a lot of thinking on the way down and had worked out some sort of plan in my head, a plan to get Michael out of the country, perhaps to France or neutral Ireland. Aunt Jessie was in bed but wide awake, worrying.

  ‘There’s a message from him.’ She handed the crumpled pencilled note to me and my heart was beating fast as I read it. He wanted me to meet him at the barn, the barn we’d slept in like lovers. I felt warm. He knew I would come to his aid, he trusted me, relied on me, not Hari.

  ‘He wants food and money, all the money we can get together,’ I said. Jessie nodded. ‘You have one of those perm things here?’

  Jessie frowned, ‘yes, but…’

  ‘Cut my hair and perm it, Jessie. I’ll wear lipstick, no one will recognize me.’

  ‘Who’s to recognize you anyway? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Those men who came to the house, they saw me as a kid with plaits, they might be outside, watching. Come on, Jessie, the sooner we start the sooner I’ll be ready.’

  Some time later, I made my way from the farmhouse and mounted the bike. My backside was raw from the cut of the saddle but nothing would stop me getting to Michael. I could feel that my funny short curls were still damp, my hair had lightened by some chemical reaction to the perm and, with a coating of lipstick and the stolen clothes of a land girl, I knew I looked entirely different to the girl who had left Swansea hours ago.

  Over my shoulder was a bag, in it a canteen of tea and some bread and ham; wrapped around my waist, snug and secure was a purse of money, all I and Jessie could find in the house.

  There was a soldier guarding the gateway to the road and he waved me down. I stopped cycling and put my booted foot on the dew-wet ground. ‘Lo there, soldier.’ I did my best to imitate the London accent of one of the land girls and smiled up at the uniformed man. He blinked.

  ‘Any identification, miss?’

  I rooted around in my pockets and shook my head. ‘But then I don’t need anything to identify me to the stupid cows. They don’t bleedin’ care who I am so long as I ease their poor udders. I got a dog tag round my neck if that’s any good?’

  After a moment the soldier shook his head. ‘I’d be eager to fish for them but I’m a happily married man. Go on then, milk them beasts, rather you than me, lady.’

  As I rode away, I was jubilant. The soldier would have been given a description of me, perhaps even a photograph to look at, and he hadn’t recognized me. My disguise had worked. That was one hurdle over.

  Michael was nowhere in sight. I took a deep breath and stood waiting in the silent dawn light of the barn knowing he would come. A few minutes later, a plank of wood moved at the back of the building. He was there and I ran to him and threw myself into his arms.

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down,’ he said thickly. I sat with him on the straw-covered floor and Michael stared at me. ‘God, you look different!’

  ‘That’s the whole point.’ I gave him the food and the tea and watched him eat hungrily.

  He winked at me. ‘The look has improved you no end.’

  I hit him across the arm. ‘Don’t be facetious—you could have been captured, shot even. You were reported, obviously.’

  ‘Mrs Dixon?’ he said.

  ‘Or Georgie Porgy,’ I said dryly.

  ‘Look outside.’ He brushed crumbs from his mouth and I longed to kiss that very same sensitive mouth. I went to the barn door and strode outside, I was a land girl wasn’t I? I looked well on the land.

  ‘All clear,’ I said, not even a cow or a sheep in sight.’

  ‘I’d better go then.’ He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on my head.

  I stayed for a moment in his embrace then shifted myself. I shrugged out of the overalls and an old skirt of Jessie’s came tumbling out. I straightened it and stuffed the haversack up inside the skirt and tied it around my waist. Then I hid the remains of the meal and lastly I took the ring Jessie had given me and pushed it on my finger.

  ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ Michael said.

  ‘Don’t look so gormless. Jessie and I made a plan. I’m your pregnant wife—at least as far as the coast—that way you won’t stand out like a sore thumb.’

  ‘But…’ Michael waved his arms.

  ‘But nothing,’ I said fiercely, ‘I’m coming with you and that’s all there is to it.’ He stared at me dumbly and then shrugged in resignation and we left the barn together.

  Twenty-Nine

  Hari was still in tears the next morning. She was all sorts of a fool for asking Michael to tea, showing off really to Meryl by bringing him to Swansea yet again. Her father held her while she cried and then begged her to tell him what was wrong. ‘Is it Meryl?’ His voice was anxious. ‘She vanished so suddenly after those men came to the house.’

  Hari shook her head. ‘No, well… yes.’

  ‘Where is she now?’ His voice was fearful and Hari knew he was anxious about his youngest daughter; she was afraid for Meryl too.

  ‘She’s gone, she’s probably in Carmarthen now or captured by the military police.’ Hari felt the tears well up again. ‘It’s my fault, I wanted Michael to come to Swansea. Meryl warned me of the danger but selfishly, I just wanted to see him.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself, Angharad—’ her father put his arm around her shoulder—‘you and the boy are in love, it’s only natural you wanted to be together.’

  Hari hadn’t credited her father with so much understanding and, impulsively, she hugged him. ‘But about Meryl,’ she began. He shook his head.

  ‘We mustn’t worry about her,’ he said, ‘our Meryl has a core of steel, she can look after herself.’ And yet his voice shook even as he spoke.

  Hari was working nights and before she left the house she made her father corned-beef hash and opened a tin of peas to go with it. She had some dripping in the pan from last week’s pathetically small roast and she used it to mix with flour and potato water to make the gravy. She ate very little and hoped her father wouldn’t notice. Of course, he did.

  ‘Starving yourself will do no one any good.’ His voice was stern. ‘Come on, girl, eat up. Have some bread to dip in the gravy, it really is very tasty.’

  Hari longed to be alone so that she could worry in peace about Michael. Where was he? Had he been caught? She longed to drive down to the farm but knew it would be foolish to take the risk as she might be followed.

  It was with relief that she kissed her father’s cheek and climbed into her car and drove away. Although she loved her father dearly, she was becoming tired of sharing her life with him. She was used to being alone, dealing with her problems on her own.

  All night, Hari took message
s, insignificant messages, and then, when she was almost asleep, the news came through that Italy had surrendered and for a moment hope filled her heart—was the war almost over? Listening hard, Hari heard that Germany had taken over where the Italians had left off and once again her heart was plunged into fear and despair. Would the war, the danger, never end?

  Thirty

  Eddie’s son grew more like him every day. Kate listened to Hilda’s description of the baby’s dear face. Both of them doted on the child and Hilda told Kate how well he was learning to walk. Kate heard him talk in an endearing, stuttering way, his soft hands clinging to Kate’s skirts.

  Hilda, although getting older and more careworn by the day, loved to hold the boy in her arms, gather him against her thin breast, kissing his downy head with tears in her eyes.

  On the weekend, Stephen came home from his business trip and, to Kate’s relief, Hilda treated him like the man of the house he was. She generously made a large supper for Stephen and when he came into the little kitchen, dropping his bag on the floor, he took a deep appreciative smell of the roasting lamb.

  ‘Something good is cooking.’ He shrugged out of his jacket, hung it carefully on the back of the chair and sat down with a weary sigh. ‘Cup of tea, darling?’ he said to Kate.

  ‘Sure you picked a good time to come home, it’s all quiet here for once.’

  ‘His lordship is asleep I take it?’

  For a moment Kate was irritated, she wanted to say her son’s name was Edward but she thought of Stephen’s goodness to her, remembered how Hari had described his scars, and softened.

  ‘Kettle’s just boiled,’ Hilda said and Kate felt for a chair and sat down close to her husband. ‘How’s work treating you?’

  ‘I went up to Island Farm today, I had to take them some new typewriter equipment.’

  ‘Oh?’ Kate felt his hand touch hers. ‘How did the prisoners treat you?’

  ‘Well, seriously, some of them are nice blokes,’ Stephen said. ‘Some are hard bastards, begging your pardon, Hilda.’

  Without turning she poured the water into the teapot. ‘Don’t mind me! I think Germans are all bastards, they killed my Eddie didn’t they?’

  ‘Hilda,’ Kate said softly, ‘it’s wartime, we are killing Germans too. Sure as Mary was a Virgin the Germans can’t all be bad.’

  ‘Humph!’ Hilda was not convinced. ‘Rather him than me—’ she nodded in Stephen’s direction—‘rather him than me work with them sods.’

  Stephen drank his tea and said nothing more. Kate felt a pang. Eddie, she still loved him, down deep inside of her. She was happy she had a bit of him in the little one and yet respect and even love was growing for Stephen, who was a good husband and a good stepfather to her son.

  He worked hard and brought enough money home to keep them all in reasonable comfort. If it wasn’t for Stephen they would be poor as church mice.

  ‘Hungry, Stephen?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll be dishing up for the lad in a minute, don’t worry.’ Hilda had softened, she seemed to have picked up on Kate’s thoughts. ‘After all, Stephen is master of the household now. We are beholden to you, Stephen, and grateful.’

  Kate examined Hilda’s words for sign of sarcasm but found none. Hilda was truly grateful to him. Stephen was embarrassed.

  ‘No need to be grateful, it’s me should be grateful, I’ve got a home and a family now and me with my ugly mug all scarred and burned—I’m one lucky blighter.’

  Kate felt tears well in her sightless eyes and her fingers curled in his.

  ‘To me you will always be the handsome boy I first knew back in those days in the Glyn Hall,’ she said softly.

  She heard Hilda move sharply from her chair and leave the room. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to her husband, ‘she’s still grieving over Eddie and,’ she sighed, ‘so am I sure enough but you are very dear to me Stephen, never forget that.’

  ‘And you are the most beautiful girl in the world, my Kate. I never knew I could love anyone as much as I love you.’

  In the next few days Kate’s suspicion became a certainty: she was expecting Stephen’s child. She was excited, thrilled and fearful. There were doubts in her mind, worries more like. Would her scars hold, would Stephen be pleased even though it meant another mouth to be fed—and what would Hilda think?

  She waited till nightfall and then went to see Hari. Darkness was no threat to Kate, for her it was always dark. In any case, she knew the streets of Swansea well enough. To her delight, Hari was home from work.

  ‘Kate! My lovely girl, what are you doing out alone when there could be an air raid any time? Come in, come in. There, sit by the fire while I pour you a drink of sherry.’

  Kate felt for the chair and sat down. It wasn’t cold outside and yet the heat from the fire was comforting. When the drink was poured, Hari guided her hand to the glass. ‘I’m so glad you came,’ Hari said, ‘I’m so worried.’

  Kate’s spirits lightened, she wasn’t the only one with problems, her dear friend Hari had some too by the sound of it.

  ‘What’s wrong, Hari, is it Meryl again?’

  ‘Partly.’ Kate listened while Hari told her of the night the military police had come looking for Michael. ‘Since then they’ve both disappeared into thin air.’ Hari’s voice was breaking. ‘I’ve been to the farm and no one’s there. Jessie’s gone away and the farmer next door is looking after the stock.’

  ‘Michael will get in touch with you, Hari, to be sure he will.’

  ‘How can he when they’re looking for him to arrest him for being half German. They think he’s a spy or something.’

  ‘Look,’ Kate said firmly, ‘if he’s got Meryl with him he’ll be just fine, you know what’s she’s like.’

  ‘I do.’ Hari’s voice had lightened. ‘She’s a bossy little boots but she’s strong and efficient, she’ll work it out, you’re right enough, Kate. I’m so glad you came and talked sense to me.’

  As Kate put down her glass, feeling carefully for the edge of the table, the siren shattered the silence of the little kitchen. ‘Well, you’ll have to be bossy and efficient now,’ Kate said dryly, ‘come on, take me to the nearest shelter.’

  Later, when the all-clear sounded, Hari walked Kate to her door and hugged her. ‘I’m not coming in,’ she said apologetically, ‘I’ve got to be up early in the morning. Take care and love to Stephen. You’re lucky to have him you know.’

  ‘I do know.’ Kate’s words were heartfelt.

  She waited until she and Stephen were in bed and then she put her arm around his broad chest and felt his hair tickle her skin. ‘I’ve got something to tell you so I have,’ she whispered.

  ‘I know,’ he whispered back.

  ‘How can you know?’

  ‘I’ve got eyes. Sorry! That was crass of me. Your eyes are so beautiful I sometimes forget you can’t see.’

  ‘I can’t be showing yet,’ Kate protested. She felt her belly. It wasn’t as loose and fat around the scars as it used to be but it was still not flat and hard as the body of a young woman should be.

  ‘Hilda told me,’ he said.

  ‘Hilda knows?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Well, I’ll go to the bottom of our stairs.’ Kate felt relief surge through her as she had dreaded the ordeal of telling Hilda the news and the old woman had known almost before she had.

  ‘Are you pleased?’ she whispered to Stephen.

  ‘Pleased? I’m damn well delighted,’ Stephen whispered in her ear. ‘In fact so pleased I think we should make sure just in case.’

  He took her in his arms, so gently, so tenderly, and as Kate clung to him, she felt tears of happiness begin to roll down her cheeks. If she couldn’t have her Eddie, there was no other man she’d want to be with but Stephen.

  Thirty-One

  The fishing boat chugged its way slowly down the coast towards the Irish Channel and I stared at the water fearing the depth of the sea beneath the ship even though one of the fishing
crew assured me it was as calm a day as I could ever wish to see.

  We were travelling in a weather-beaten fishing boat and had been blown off course in a storm. It had pulled into shore at Milford Haven on the coast of Wales to be repaired, which was a stroke of luck for me and Michael. It was an Irish ship flying the Irish flag to show its neutrality, so there was little chance of it being attacked by a submarine or so the sailor assured me.

  I looked at Michael. He was staring into the distance, no doubt hoping, as I was, to reach land. The sea journey to Cork would take many hours but at least I was with Michael. I had got him away, me, Meryl Jones, not my beautiful sister Hari. The thought gave me a warm feeling of triumph even as a pang of guilt shot through my chest. Though ‘my chest’ was no longer flat but was a fully grown ‘bosom’ now.

  My Irish accent, and I was always a good mimic, copied from Kate had been good enough to convince the captain that I just wanted to get home from a war-torn Britain. Still it had taken most of our money to persuade the man to take us on his boat.

  ‘You could be spies,’ he’d said. I’d patted my fake belly. ‘Do I look like a spy to you?’ And at last convinced, he decided to take us.

  It grew dark after a few hours and the sea was black and more intimidating than ever. I thought of the German submarines that lay off the coast of Ireland ready to pounce on our British ships returning from abroad, and trembled.

  Michael sensed my fear and took my hand. ‘Be calm,’ he said, ‘we’ll soon reach dry land and you can have the baby in peace.’

  If only he was my husband, if only there was his baby safe inside me, how happy I would be. One of the merchantmen smiled at me.

  ‘When’s it due? I’ve got two little ones of my own so I have.’

  I thought quickly. I looked quite big but I didn’t know quite how many months I would be to look this size. I played it safe. ‘Not long now.’ I lowered my eyes bashfully. ‘It’s a honeymoon baby.’