Bombers’ Moon

by Iris Gower

  Her hands seemed all right but when she touched her hair it was frizzled and burnt and smelled heavily of smoke and burning wood. She tried to get out of bed though every part of her body ached and once her feet touched the floor, she heard steps on the stairs, the heavy tread of a man.

  When he came into the room Kate knew it was true, she knew his scent so well; her dear, darling Eddie was alive, home, safe with her. He took her in his arms and held her gently.

  ‘How?’ she asked, her hands exploring his face. There was stubble on his chin, he hadn’t shaved in days, but what did it matter? He was in her arms, he wasn’t a dream, a figment of her imagination, he was real flesh and blood.

  ‘I was missing for a while then I was taken prisoner. Then, one day on a forced march, I took my chance and escaped. Look, none of that matters now, I’m safe, I’m home and I love you my darling little Kate, my beautiful girl.’

  She found his lips and kissed him and then, gently, he lay beside her and held her in his arms. ‘I love you so much, Kate,’ he whispered in her ear. Kate wondered for the first time why people whispered when it was love talk: was it for intimacy, privacy, or a desire to hide feelings from the rest of the world?

  Later, he helped her downstairs. Hilda silently made tea. She had baked cakes, dry, because there was not enough marge to make the cake light and there was very little fruit, but it was a gesture, a gesture of hope and welcome for the son she thought she’d lost.

  Kate was in a dream, she was back in the days when she and Eddie danced without a care in the summer fields, hugged and kissed and made love with the joy of youth.

  Hilda coughed. ‘The smoke,’ she explained, ‘it’s still in my chest. You were a brave girl, Kate, to go into the ruins and fetch poor old Maggie out.’

  Reality began to trickle into Kate’s euphoria. ‘How is Maggie?’

  ‘In hospital, but she’ll live,’ Hilda said briskly.

  ‘Eddie, are you home for good?’ Hilda said, her voice hard-edged. ‘If so there are things we have to talk about.’

  Reality came closer and Kate tried to push it away even as she listened to Eddie’s answer.

  ‘I don’t suppose I’ll go back now,’ he said. ‘As of now, I’m unfit for duty.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Hilda said. ‘So you’ll be back here living with us?’

  ‘Of course, mother,’ Eddie said, ‘where else would I live but with my family?’ He was puzzled by his mother’s attitude and Kate knew she must speak—explain—but the words stuck in her throat.

  ‘Kate?’ Hilda prompted. ‘Tell him, tell Eddie the truth.’

  But she didn’t have to. The door opened and she heard Stephen’s voice, loud and cheerful. ‘I’m home! How’s my wife and my unborn son then?’

  The silence was long and hard and edged with fear and Kate felt her happiness dwindling into a tiny sphere that at any moment would just fade away and disappear into nothingness.

  Thirty-Five

  ‘I want you to go to Bletchley Park.’ The Colonel was stooping more noticeably, now he leaned more heavily on his stick. Hari watched as he eased himself into a chair.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘The place where the clever people break codes.’

  ‘I know what Bletchley is for, sir, I just don’t really want to go away just now, and sir, what use would I be even if I went to Bletchley Park?’

  ‘I want you to have some training there, specialist stuff.’ He took out a huge hankie and blew his nose severely. He seemed to be short of breath for a moment and then he spoke again. ‘You must put personal issues aside, young lady, and do your duty.’

  Hari felt exasperated. ‘I thought I was doing my duty, Colonel Edwards. I am working at a munitions factory and one of my best friends was blinded in an accident here. We are all in danger every day, isn’t that duty enough?’

  ‘Well, in Bletchley you aren’t likely to get blown up by a shell are you?’ His eyebrows hid his eyes.

  ‘My personal safety is not an issue, sir, I’m just not clever about codes and ciphers and things.’

  ‘I’m not arguing. You have to go, at least for a few weeks or so.’

  She faced him, her hands firmly on the desk. ‘Have I displeased you?’

  ‘You are an unmarried lady.’ He was suddenly irate. ‘We work together a great deal, alone in an office. Do you see what I’m getting at?’

  Hari did. She was amazed. ‘People are talking about us?’

  ‘’Fraid so.’

  ‘But, sir.’ Hari stopped. What she had been about to say was insulting.

  He said it for her. ‘I know I’m old enough to be your grandfather. Still, there it is.’ He ran his hand round his collar; his neck was red.

  ‘Look, Hari, It will do you good to have a break from this stuffy office, to see the innovative, creative work those brain boxes at Bletchley do. If I was twenty years younger things would be different, very different.’

  Hari didn’t know if he was referring to the talk about them or working at Bletchley Park.

  ‘All right, sir.’ Her voice was meek. She thought of Michael and Meryl and her heart sank; they just wouldn’t know where to contact her even if they could. They might not be alive and, if they were, God knows what dangers they were facing. And there was Father. When she got home she would write to tell him she would be away for a while.

  That night she went to see Kate to say her goodbyes.

  Kate was alone in the house. She lifted her head when Hari walked into the kitchen and held out her arms. ‘Hari, please help me.’

  Kate’s instincts amazed Hari. ‘How the hell did you know it was me?’

  ‘I know your scent, the sound of your footsteps, oh, it’s lots of things. Pour us a drink there’s a darlin’, I’m flummoxed so I am.’ Her voice wavered. ‘I think the Virgin Mother herself must have sent you to me.’

  They sat and drank brandy and soda. Stephen, it seemed, was rich enough to get drink on the black market. Hari sipped the fiery liquid and waited for Kate to unburden herself.

  The house was silent, not even the radio played out: no dance music; no news of war; nothing. ‘What on earth are you doing sitting here alone like this?’

  ‘Oh Hari!’ Kate began to cry, hot, bitter tears. She put her hands over her face as though she was ashamed. Hari went to her and held her while Kate sobbed like a distressed child.

  ‘Is the baby sick? Hilda—is she all right?’

  Kate’s words tumbled out like a river in full flood. ‘Eddie’s alive and well—he came home and sat with me and kissed me and I thought I was in heaven. And then Stephen came in and said about the baby I’m carrying. Eddie was so hurt that I was with Stephen and didn’t wait for him. I tried to explain that this time when he was missing I thought he must have been killed. Anyway, he took little Teddy and walked out. Hilda went after him and I haven’t seen any of them since yesterday.’ She cried again, her voice rising, she was on the verge of hysteria.

  ‘And Stephen?’

  ‘Stephen packed his things and left me, they’ve all left me. Oh God, Hari, what am I going to do?’

  Hari rocked her as though she were a baby—how could she tell Kate that soon, she too would be leaving for Bletchley Park in England? ‘I’ll get us another drink,’ she said, but Kate clung to her.

  ‘Stay here, hold me Hari, tell me everything is going to be all right. I can’t bear all this unhappiness. Haven’t I put up with enough with my blindness?’

  It was the first time Hari had ever heard Kate complain about the accident. They sat together, clinging to each other until, with a sense of relief, Hari heard the latch of the door being lifted.

  Kate lifted her head. ‘Hilda!’ she breathed, ‘what’s going on, tell me or for sure I’ll go mad.’

  ‘Here.’ Hilda put Teddy in Kate’s arms. ‘You’ve got your child and you’ve got me for as long as I last in this life. As for the menfolk, your guess is as good as mine.’

  Hilda’s solution to any crisis was
to put the kettle on the gas stove. As she put out clean cups, her face was red from weeping and Hari felt a pang of pity for the woman who was worn and worried and heavy with the knowledge she had no power to make things right.

  ‘How was I to know he was alive?’ Kate’s hands were held out imploringly. ‘I needed my son, Eddie’s son, to be born in marriage. I sure didn’t want him being called a bastard, you know that Hilda—’ her hand touched Hari’s—‘and so do you my dear, dear friend.’

  ‘No one’s blaming you.’ Hari’s voice was soft.

  ‘Too right no one is blaming her,’ Hilda agreed.

  ‘Eddie is and so is Stephen come to that. How in the name of God and all the angels could I have made such a mess of my life? I had two fine men to love me and now I’ve lost both of them.’

  ‘Which one do you really want, that’s the question,’ Hilda said sharply.

  ‘I want my Eddie,’ Kate said simply.

  A voice from the doorway was full of love and gladness. ‘It’s me, Kate, Eddie. I’ve come back home and what you’ve just said, that’s exactly what I needed to know.’

  They clung together, weeping, and Hari left them and walked the empty, silent streets towards her home.

  Thirty-Six

  I looked at the strange land of Germany and felt alien and frightened. I had to remind myself that Michael was born here, lived here until he was ten before Jessie took him home to Wales.

  The German officer had managed to contact Herr Euler and eventually believed our story and let us go once we reached the coast of Saint-Nazaire. We had been dropped ashore and we needed to head through Germany, making for the farmlands North of Hamburg. There, his father would no doubt arrange for papers for us both; our excuse for not identifying ourselves was good—all our possessions had been lost at sea.

  I grew up then, all at once. I looked at Michael and knew without doubt he could never love me; it was a dream of mine, a hopeless, helpless dream. He talked incessantly about my sister; he talked about Hari’s amazing hair, her beauty, her warmth of spirit. The trouble was I agreed with him; Hari was all those things. I loved her and I hated her.

  An army lorry drove by us filled with uniformed soldiers. They stopped with a screech of brakes and sharp words, most of which I understood, shot like bullets at Michael. He replied quickly, explained our situation, mentioned the submarine commander and his father and then, magically, we were gestured to board over the back and into the well of the truck.

  Michael talked about his father and one of the officers frowned. ‘Euler?’ he said, and Michael nodded. After that, the men became respectful but distant. I had the impression they knew of Michael’s father and feared him. I must have fallen asleep against Michael’s shoulder then because when I opened my eyes we were in farmland, flat with not a hill or a mountain in sight, not at all like Jessie’s place in Carmarthen.

  I heard the familiar, mournful sounds of the herds and the fussy, gossipy cluck of hens as they scratched with sharp claws at the ground. If I closed my eyes again, I could be back in Carmarthen. I wished I was.

  Michael helped me down on to the road and thanked the driver of the truck. ‘You don’t talk much,’ the man said to me in English. I looked at him blankly. He wasn’t going to catch me that easily.

  Michael took my arm and set off across a field, straddling the rows of green weed things that showed the crop was potato, perhaps turnips. I never did learn a lot about the land.

  Back home with Jessie I knew less about plucking a chicken and cooking it, so how we were to survive on the German farm was a mystery. I’d spent my nights at home learning German with Michael. Lovely times, they were, sitting at the fireside listening to the radio or to the coals shifting in the fireplace.

  The farmhouse came into sight. ‘Home.’ Michael spoke in German and I looked at him sharply. ‘This isn’t home,’ I said, ‘are you forgetting Jessie and Carmarthen already? Are you turning into a German!’

  He was silent. I never ever knew what Michael was really thinking.

  The house was built of stone, mellow and yellow in the fading light and criss-crossed with wood, something like the old Elizabethan houses at home. The windows appeared blank like eyes that couldn’t see and I found I was shivering.

  Herr Euler was waiting for us. He was a tall man with a moustache, a soldier in uniform. There was a familiarity about him, and then I realized there was a strong resemblance between father and son.

  ‘Michael?’ His tone was questioning, he peered closer. ‘Mein Gott! Come inside, boy.’ His strong guttural German was hard to understand. He hardly looked at me, miserable old sod.

  ‘I’m Meryl,’ I said in German. He looked down at me from his great height. He didn’t reply.

  ‘Michael, what are you doing here in Germany, come to fight a just cause at last have you, boy?’

  The room had no lights. Michael ushered me towards the fire and the flames from the logs threw shadows of us into corners and on to floors and walls—everything was strangely unreal.

  I must have dozed while Michael told his father the story of what we’d been through but I was awake enough to know it was carefully edited.

  ‘And who is this woman?’ Herr Euler’s tone was hostile as though I was a camp follower or something.

  ‘I’m Michael’s future wife,’ I said quickly. I had the feeling that if Herr Euler thought any different I would be tossed out on my ear. ‘We lost everything in the shipwreck, we’ve no papers or anything.’

  ‘Why did you bring her?’ His father’s tone was abrupt.

  Michael shrugged. ‘It’s a long story. Can you help us get papers?’

  ‘First, food.’ And then he did something that I thought must be out of character for him so awkward was he: he hugged Michael and patted his back. ‘It’s good to see you back in the Fatherland, my son.’

  Michael’s eyes were misty and I felt a pang of unease. Would he be a turncoat now he was back in Germany?

  We ate chicken and potatoes and then we all went to bed. I was muddle-headed and worried but I was too tired to stay awake. I cuddled myself with my arms, used now to sleeping alongside Michael’s warmth. He had never treated me as anything other than a sister but nevertheless we’d been side by side curled together, a pair. I shivered and Michael hugged me, just for comfort. I knew that was all he had to offer me.

  Herr Euler was very clever and next morning he set the wheels in motion for acquiring papers for both Michael and me. He chose a church in the small village nearby for our marriage by a proper German clergyman, and by some miracle Michael and I really were man and wife. But, only in name, I warned myself. As soon as we got back home, if ever we did, I knew the marriage would be annulled.

  We had no wedding breakfast, just a drink of some German stuff and a slice of bread and cheese, but I had a ring on my finger and my papers would carry the name Frau Euler.

  My short-lived euphoria disappeared when Michael’s father warned us that matters were desperate and even younger boys than Michael were being called to serve their country. ‘You will have to join the forces.’ He spoke sternly and Michael glanced at me before nodding.

  A few days later, Herr Euler had a sheet of paper in his hand when I got up for breakfast. The fire was still not lit and there was no sign of food. Michael came into the room from the backyard, his hair was wet and glistening with diamond drops of water.

  ‘My leave is over,’ Herr Euler said. ‘You were lucky that you came when you did otherwise you’d have been in deep trouble.’ I didn’t catch everything he said but I got the gist of it and I was suddenly frightened. He had offered us security, got us a legitimate identity, papers we could show anyone who cared to examine our presence in the country.

  Now he was leaving us alone and though Michael was courageous, inventive and adaptable, he was unfamiliar with the working of Germany, of this Hitler who ruled everyone and stuck his arm up in the air and shouted like a buffoon.

  ‘Thanks for being so kind,’
I said, in German. Herr Euler nearly smiled.

  ‘Your German’s not bad, not bad at all,’ he said. ‘I have something for you; it was my mother’s. As Michael’s wife, it should be yours.’ He handed me a ring. ‘It’s a black opal,’ he said. ‘Very rare.’ I glanced at Michael; he looked sour but what was I to do? I took the ring and slipped it on my finger. It glimmered with colour and I was fascinated.

  We heard a car outside. Herr Euler clipped his heels together, shook hands with Michael, nodded to me and left us. The engine outside revved as the truck drew away.

  ‘What now?’ I said anxiously.

  ‘We get a message to Jessie and to Hari. Can you do it, Meryl?’

  ‘If I can find a radio I can use.’ My mouth was dry, he hadn’t forgotten about home then.

  ‘I’ll find you what I can. There should be some bits and pieces around my father’s house, he always did like to tweak the radio.’ He smiled. ‘You and he would have a lot in common.’ From the little I had learned about radios the task of making one would be much more difficult than Michael realized but I kept my own counsel about that.

  We settled down to a sort of routine; we would search for pieces of electrical stuff, anything I could use to make a signal. In the evenings when it was too dark to work, we sat near the fire and talked, really talked, and I knew Michael was more mine then than he had ever been. If only he would love me as a man loved a woman. But it might happen, I really hoped it might happen given time. A week later Michael was called up.

  Thirty-Seven

  Hari drew up at the door of the farmhouse tired and blurry-eyed; she’d driven all the way from Buckinghamshire. Jessie was waiting at the door, wiping her hands in her apron. Her face was lined and anxious. Hari felt overwhelmed with hopelessness, it was obvious Jessie had heard nothing from Michael.

  ‘Jessie?’ Hari’s last shred of hope faded as Jessie shook her head.