The Married Girls

by Diney Costeloe

  Felix, startled by such a remark, stared at her. ‘Actually,’ he said, coolly, ‘I think it was because I was there to help after Billy’s accident.’

  Daphne shrugged. ‘I suppose...’ she conceded, ‘maybe.’

  The christening was a quiet affair, just the family and the godparents in a simple service. They gathered round the font, everyone aware of the space beside Charlotte where Billy should have stood. Charlotte felt the ever-present ache in her heart as the boys received their names, but she held herself rigid, determined not to break down again. Her grief, though still acute, was something she indulged only when she was alone.

  Molly had become a fixture. She arrived every morning and stayed until the children were all in bed in the evening. She’d had no idea what she wanted to do now she’d left school, but in helping Charlotte she’d discovered that she was completely happy, working with babies and young children.

  Charlotte began giving music lessons. Pupils came to her house, and with Molly there to look after the children, she could take them into the sitting room and open up Miss Edie’s piano. She was a good teacher and before long she had several regulars. Though she wasn’t actually short of money, it was another source of income which, having discussed it with her parents-in-law, allowed her to employ Molly properly. Molly was thinking of applying to train as a nursery nurse, but in the meantime she was gaining ample first-hand experience, helping with four children under six.

  Charlotte’s life settled into a routine. Johnny started school and Edie went to nursery two mornings a week. Life was not easy but at least it became manageable. Charlotte had always been a survivor and with the help of her family and friends, she was beginning to survive Billy’s death.

  Part 2

  Coronation Day, 2 June 1953

  32

  The day of the coronation dawned misty and overcast, but at least it wasn’t raining, not in Wynsdown anyway. David and Avril Swanson hurried over to the village hall where the previous day the man from Radio Rentals had installed the television. It was the vicar who’d had the bright idea of hiring a television to be set up in the hall, so that anyone who wanted to could watch the ceremony. It was only a small set with a fourteen-inch screen, but it was standing on a table on the stage so that as many people as possible could squeeze into the hall to watch. Few, if any, in Wynsdown owned a television, and it would be the first time many from the village had ever seen one, let alone watched a broadcast.

  The Wynsdown Coronation Committee had had its last meeting the previous evening, just to go over everything once more, determined that every eventuality should be covered.

  ‘I’ve asked Bert and Frank to come early tomorrow and set out the chairs,’ Felix told them. ‘But I’m not sure we’ll get everyone in. I think it’ll be standing room only.’

  ‘I think it’ll only be the adults who really want to look in,’ replied David. ‘The children won’t want to sit indoors on a day’s holiday to watch the coronation. They’ll all be outside in the sunshine.’

  ‘If there is any sunshine,’ remarked Marjorie Bellinger. ‘The weather’s been so miserable these last couple of days and the forecast I heard on the wireless today didn’t sound much better.’

  ‘Well, even so, we’ll set up tables for the party,’ said Avril Swanson, who was in charge of the food for the celebrations. ‘I doubt if a bit of rain is going to dampen the children’s enthusiasm for party tea. If it’s really wet we’ll have to move them into the hall when the programme has finished.’

  It’s like VE Day again, thought Avril as she oversaw the setting up of tables on the village green next morning. All around her people were preparing for the great day. Streams of bunting were being festooned between the trees and there was a huge bonfire, built up over the previous few weeks, standing ready at one corner. Party tea, children’s races, a bonfire, and a dance in the hall, followed by fireworks at midnight were the ways that Wynsdown had decided to celebrate, and the committee tasked with organising the day had press-ganged a great many of the locals into helping set everything up.

  Caroline Masters was helping Avril with the food, and all the sandwiches, cakes, jelly and blancmange were ready in their respective houses on the edge of the green, to be carried out to the long tables laid up for the children’s tea. The parish council had forked out the money to give every child in the village a coronation mug and these were to be presented at the tea party. A wind of excited expectation was blowing through the village.

  Well before eleven o’clock the hall was filling up as people wanted to see the Queen driving through the streets in her famous coronation coach. Several of the children were sitting cross-legged on the floor at the very front of the hall, craning their necks to see all the soldiers marching through London, a place they’d only heard of, never seen. Now here it was, London in their own village hall.

  The appearance of the Queen, smiling and waving as the carriage emerged from the forecourt of Buckingham Palace, made its way round the Victoria Memorial and turned in to The Mall, was greeted by cheers not only from the roadside crowds, but from the increasing numbers of people cramming themselves into the village hall. As they watched the gold state coach, preceded by guards, escorted by cavalry, drive slowly down The Mall, lined with wildly cheering crowds, most of whom had spent twenty-four hours or more in the open air to secure their places, many of those watching the television found themselves waving and cheering as if the Queen could see and hear them, too.

  ‘It really is amazing,’ Avril said to David as they stood at the back. ‘Being able to see it all happening... as it happens!’

  Felix and Daphne joined them by the door, Daphne squinting short-sightedly at the screen. Accompanied by Molly who had a tight grip on the toddling twins, Charlotte had brought her children down to the green. Johnny had squirmed his way to the front of the hall and was gazing up in admiration at all the soldiers marching in ranks in front of the coach. Johnny had a model of the coach, gleaming gold with its eight grey horses, but seeing the real thing was entirely different, beyond anything he’d imagined. He watched avidly as it processed at walking pace under the decorated double arches that spanned The Mall, listening to the cheers of the crowd, the sound of martial music and the clamour of bells and made his decision; one day he’d be one of those men who rode the beautiful grey horses that drew the coach. Postilions, they were called, Felix had told him. One day, he vowed, he’d be a postilion.

  Charlotte remained at the back of the hall. Felix had caught Edie up and she was now sitting proudly on his shoulders with an uninterrupted view of the television. Since becoming godfather to the twins, Felix had become increasingly involved with Charlotte’s family. Daphne held herself more aloof. She had got to know Charlotte over the years, but influenced by Jane, she had made no effort to develop a friendship. There were times when she resented Felix’s interest in the family, but at least it gave him some children to dote on and his disappointment at having none of his own was somewhat assuaged. He had been devastated when she told him she was unable to bear children, but realising that she would think he was blaming her for something that she couldn’t help, he tried to hide his disappointment. He had gradually come to terms with the knowledge that he’d never be a father, but was taking his role as godfather seriously, and all the Shepherd children had grown to love him. They had no father, but with mother, grandparents, Auntie Caro, Uncle Henry and Uncle Felix, they were growing up within a secure and loving framework. Only Johnny had any recollection of his father, reinforced by the photo of him, head thrown back, tousle-haired and laughing, which stood on the piano in the sitting room, and the wedding picture beside his mother’s bed.

  Before very long Edie was bored with watching endless marching soldiers and cheering crowds and wriggled her way down off Felix’s shoulders and went outside to find Molly and the boys.

  The children’s races, organised by Mr Hampton, the headmaster of the village school, took place on the green under grey afternoo
n skies, but the tea party that followed was warmed by the sun breaking through, giving a hint of what the temperature ought to be on a day in early June. Just before the party began, David Swanson called for quiet.

  ‘Just one more announcement to make before we let you loose on this amazing-looking tea,’ he said, smiling round at the eager faces. ‘It was announced this morning that Edmund Hillary and a Nepalese Sherpa, called Tenzing, have reached the top of Mount Everest! They’ve conquered the highest mountain in the world!’

  Everyone cheered. It was the icing on the coronation cake. The village children then ranged themselves along the outdoor tables and began tucking into the sandwiches, cakes, jellies and blancmange that were laid out before them. Few of them had seen such an array of food, even though almost all rationing was now over, and they devoured everything that was set before them.

  ‘Are you staying for the bonfire?’ Felix asked Charlotte as she stood, mug of tea in hand, watching the children demolish the food.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It’ll be too late for mine. Johnny might last out, but the others never will. Anyway, Molly wants to be there this evening. I think she’s got a young man in tow, and I...’ she hesitated, ‘I don’t particularly want to go.’ She didn’t enjoy the village bonfire parties. They brought back memories of the last one she’d been to with Billy, when Harry had turned up out of the blue. Of course, she always took Johnny and Edie to the Guy Fawkes Night in November, they’d have been desperate if they hadn’t been allowed to go, but she still felt the loss of her Billy at occasions like that.

  ‘If Johnny wants to stay for the bonfire, I’ll look after him,’ Felix offered. ‘You know Daphne’s going to light it.’

  ‘Of course she is! I’d forgotten,’ smiled Charlotte. ‘I was going to let Johnny watch from my bedroom window.’

  ‘Not the same as being there, though?’ Felix said gently.

  ‘No,’ Charlotte agreed. She gave Felix a grateful smile. ‘Ask him then, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to bits.’

  With Felix and Johnny at her side, Daphne, the squire’s lady, edged forward and to cheers and some shouts of ‘God Save the Queen’, she tossed the flaming torch she’d been handed into the prepared bonfire. Doused with petrol, it roared into flame, crackling and shooting sparks high into the evening sky.

  Felix and Johnny stayed for a while, watching the leaping flames, but Daphne hurried back to the manor to prepare for the dance.

  Daphne hadn’t been sure about attending the dance in the village hall. She enjoyed dancing all right, but not in the company of the likes of Mavis and Bert Gurney and other such. Felix knew they should put in an appearance and had persuaded her by suggesting she buy something new to wear. ‘A coronation dress,’ he said, ‘for the squire’s lady.’ Their finances were on a firmer footing since he had taken out a loan and built three small houses at the end of the paddock, and occasionally he was able to give Daphne a little extra to spend.

  Daphne hadn’t needed to hear the suggestion twice. The next day she’d driven into Bristol and with Jane’s help, chosen a new dress for the occasion. After much searching they had found just the thing, a glamorous sheath in clear blue shantung with a matching stole, both embroidered with an intricate pattern of tiny flowers. It was far too expensive, but as soon as she’d tried it on, Daphne knew she had to have it.

  ‘Of course you must buy it,’ Jane said. ‘You look stunning, Daphne.’

  ‘It’s way over my budget,’ Daphne said. ‘I can’t afford it.’ It was the beginning of June and she hadn’t bought the postal order for her mother yet. Dare she not send one this month? What the hell. She doubted if Mum would venture down to Wynsdown for just one month’s ransom.

  ‘It’s an awful lot to pay for a dress I’ll probably wear just once,’ she said, still hesitating.

  Jane leaned towards her, her voice soft so that the hovering salesgirl wouldn’t overhear, and murmured, ‘You can always wear it for me. Just imagine me sliding it down over your shoulders, the feel of the silk brushing your skin.’

  The two women exchanged complicit smiles and Daphne turned to the waiting shop girl. ‘Wrap it up for me,’ she said. ‘I’ll take it.’

  She wrote the cheque on the housekeeping account and hoped Felix wouldn’t discover how much she’d spent on her coronation dress until he’d seen her wearing it.

  ‘Now all you need are shoes and a bag,’ grinned Jane. ‘Come on, no good spoiling the ship!’

  Daphne allowed herself to be led in and out of shops until her outfit was complete.

  ‘Now, don’t you let Felix have all the fun, will you?’ Jane said as they kissed goodbye in her flat. ‘I’ll see you at the dance, Lady of the Manor.’

  When she got home with her purchase she decided not to show Felix what she’d bought until she was dressed for the dance. He would know she’d overspent by a fair amount, but she hoped that when he saw her wearing the dress he’d understand why she’d just had to have it.

  *

  Felix dropped Johnny back to Blackdown House, but he hadn’t stopped to chat to Charlotte. Tempted as he was, he turned down her invitation to come in, and hurried back to the manor.

  When he’d changed and come downstairs, he’d found Daphne waiting in the drawing room. Seeing her there, dressed in the blue sheath that clung to every curve of her body, the colour picking up the luminous blue of her eyes, his breath caught in his throat. She was so beautiful and, he realised, it was a long time since he’d been hit afresh by that beauty; a long time since he’d felt even an echo of the love which had overwhelmed him a few short years ago.

  ‘You look stunning, Daphne,’ he said, unaware that his words exactly echoed Jane’s when Daphne had walked out of the changing cubicle in the shop. Felix could see that the dress, the stole, the new high heels with the peep-toes and the matching clutch-bag had far outstripped the money he’d reckoned on paying, but for the moment he didn’t care. She was beautiful and she was his. He held out an arm and together they walked along the lane to the village hall. When they got there the dance was already under way, but they paused to greet Caroline and Henry outside and they walked into the hall just as the music stopped. Their entrance was all that Daphne could have wished for. The envious eyes of the women, the lustful eyes of the men; she was a peacock among chickens and everyone knew it.

  Jane was there with her parents, but didn’t seem to be escorted by a partner. Daphne went across for a few words with John and Margaret Shepherd and she and Jane exchanged conspiratorial smiles; the dress was a triumph in every way.

  That night, Daphne, boosted by the clear admiration she’d seen in some eyes and the envy she’d seen in others, and cruising on a gentle wave of alcohol, submitted to Felix’s lovemaking. She undressed quickly, removing the dress herself. She felt his hands move, exploring her body, felt the heat of him as he entered her, the weight of him as he slumped on top of her, but throughout, her mind was somewhere else, somewhere else entirely.

  33

  Dieter Karhausen took a taxi from London Airport into the centre of town. Here he was in the city he’d last seen from the air over eleven years ago. It was still en-fête from the recent coronation of the Queen Elizabeth, but it also still showed the scars of the aerial bombardment it had suffered during the war, a bombardment in which Dieter had played a part. He had survived several sorties over London, only to be shot down on an abortive raid on an aircraft factory somewhere in the west of England.

  He remembered very little of what had happened to him after the German bomber in which he’d been the rear gunner had received the hit. He had vague recollections of bailing out of the spiralling plane and then being rescued from a tree in which his parachute had become entangled. The pain in his legs had been excruciating and he had passed out while he was being carried to a nearby farm for treatment. He spoke minimal English and he’d been unable to make himself understood to the men who had rescued him; enemy men, and he thought he was going to die. That he’d
survived was in part due to the doctor who’d been summoned to his aid. He did remember waking up on a sofa and feeling warm for the first time in what seemed like hours. A large man with gentle hands had given him an injection, and from then he’d drifted in and out of consciousness. There’d been a girl, a girl who spoke to him in German. At first, when she told him her name, Lieselotte, he thought he must be back in Germany, but she then explained where he was, what had happened and what was likely to happen to him now. When he was taken away from the farm as a prisoner, he was again unconscious, knocked out by the painkilling drugs the doctor had administered. He had forgotten about the girl, he’d forgotten that she’d promised to try and reach his parents through the Red Cross to tell them what had happened to him. The next time he’d woken up he’d been in a prison hospital, a prisoner of war.

  Charlotte, however, had not forgotten her promise. She had written down the name and address the young German airman had given her before he drifted back into unconsciousness and had prevailed upon Major Bellinger, commander of the local Home Guard, to pass on those details to the Red Cross.

  It was several weeks later, through the good offices of the Red Cross, that Dieter’s parents learned that he had not been killed in the plane that had gone missing during the raid over the west of England as they’d been told. Their joy was only slightly marred by hearing how badly he’d been wounded: one leg amputated, the other saved but needing several more operations. He was still in hospital, but he was alive.

  ‘Only a leg, only a leg,’ his mother Klara cried again and again as she hugged her husband tightly to her. ‘Only a leg, Hans! Dieter’s alive!’

  They were able to write to him via the Red Cross and thus learned what had happened to him. He’d been shot down near a place called Wynsdown and a German girl called Lieselotte had spoken to him and then managed to have the information sent to the Red Cross. The gaps were gradually filled in as they worked to have him sent home.