Girls on the Home Front

by Annie Clarke

  Davey and Fran braked to a stop and Ben leapt down grumbling, and rubbing his bum. ‘Well, Davey cycles like an old woman, so he does, which means, Sarah Bedley, it’s not much to say you’re the winner, so bliddy there.’

  Sarah and Fran looked at one another. ‘Language,’ they both yelled, as Ben took off over the beck bridge, with them tearing after him while Davey and Stan shouted, ‘Get the tyke and throw him in, cos we haven’t a tea towel to whack him with.’ The lad’s laughter drifted on the breeze as the men clattered across the bridge to join them.

  Ben stormed along the the bank and on to the lane that ran on between the fields where the Massingham sheep grazed. The girls slowed, still laughing, but panting too. ‘That’ll wear the little devil out,’ Sarah coughed.

  They walked back to where the boys were sizing up the swing rope which still hung from the branch where Stan had tied it years ago. ‘D’you reckon it will still take us?’ Davey was muttering.

  Stan hauled on it, lifting his feet off the ground, swinging slightly. The branch creaked, or was it the rope? Fran wasn’t sure. Whichever it was, nothing gave. Stan pulled again. ‘Davey, come and let’s try it with the two of us, just to be sure, eh?’

  Together the boys dangled, letting the rope take their weight while the girls watched, then eyed the beck. It was running sluggishly, but then it always seemed to because it was so deep here, having been dammed by generations of the village bairns who had left just a narrow overflow. Further on, in the shallows, it seemed to rush along.

  Davey punched Stan lightly on the shoulder. ‘Well, lad, if you’ve done nothing else of any great importance except swan about in Oxford, yer have at least strung up a rope which has lasted the test of time. As good a memorial as any, I reckon.’

  Fran and Sarah laughed, then Sarah blurted out, ‘It’d read, “Here swung Stan Hall, and here dropped Stan Hall, with the biggest splash known to man, but then he floated because of all his hot air.”’

  Fran grinned as Stan approached Sarah and chased her round and round till she begged for mercy. Davey slipped his arm round Fran’s shoulders while Ben slouched back along the lane, arriving at the beck, his boots still half laced. It was getting to be a habit and he’d trip and break his neck. But Ben was looking at Sarah, who had called ‘Pax’ and was bent over, trying to get her breath. ‘You’re right about Stan,’ he said. ‘But Davey’d be as bad or worse and float clear to the moon, no need for a balloon.’

  They were all laughing when a voice called from the bridge, ‘Your mam said you’d be here, so I thought I’d come to join the gang again?’

  It was Beth, and it was a question. Fran froze, Sarah too. They looked at one another, and then at Stan, who had stood stock still but just for a few seconds, and now he took hold of the rope and swung it out across the beck. He caught it on its return, watching it, not Beth. No one spoke, not even Ben, who was peering from one to the other, puzzled, but Davey’s arm had tightened around Fran.

  Finally Stan looked up at the bridge. ‘Well, Beth, bonny lass. Here you are right enough.’ He didn’t sound quite right, and it was Davey, letting go of Fran, who beckoned Beth over. ‘Get on down. We were just testing the rope. Did you ride from Sledgeford? By, a bit of a way when the wind’s against you.’

  Fran and Sarah walked towards Beth as she came off the bridge. Fran was struggling to feel the friendship that had been rebuilt at the Factory, while Sarah muttered, ‘She shouldn’t have come. It should have just been us, until we’d settled. It’s not her place to be here, it’s bliddy not.’

  Linking arms with her friend, Fran whispered, ‘Aye, it’s too soon, and not fair on Stan. She should have waited to be asked, so she should.’

  They stopped, feeling angry and upset but all they could do was to wait for Beth to prop her bike against the hedge this side of the beck, however as she was about to do so she called, ‘It looks a bit lonely propped here, when the rest are across the other side.’

  Sarah said, ‘Aye,’ but Fran said nothing because now she saw that Beth was wearing lippy and she wanted to wipe it off the girl. They only wore lippy at village dances these days, and only a little at that. She swallowed. Sarah said, ‘By, look at her lips. How bliddy could she?’

  Beth came along the path, waving to the lads, and linked arms with Sarah who felt the girl trembling. They turned to walk back to the oak, and Sarah could find no words, and wanted to pull away, because Stan’s face had that empty look, when a few minutes ago he had been happy. Fran said, ‘How long did it take you in this headwind?’

  There was no reply and Sarah saw that Beth only had eyes for Stan, while he now stared down at the water and Davey kicked at tufts of grass. Sarah looked up at the sky expecting clouds, for the day seemed to have darkened, but there were none. Then Ben joined Stan at the rope. ‘Don’t just mither about then, our Stan, are we going across on it, d’you think? I’ve not done it yet – you said I were too young.’

  It seemed to break whatever spell was being woven and Sarah felt Beth’s trembling cease as Stan and Davey spun into action, lifting the lad while shouting at the girls to get to the other bank and catch the hooligan, or he’d swing back across the beck and dangle over the water like a lost mayfly. Fran ran, and Sarah too, but Beth stopped by her bike, hauled it free of the hedge, and only then followed.

  Fran and Sarah spurted ahead, and over the bridge, Fran yelling, ‘Not yet, not yet, Ben.’

  At last they were in place, Fran and Sarah either side of the flight path, ready, because it didn’t matter whether or not Beth arrived in time, for they could manage just the two of them. Sarah snatched a look, but disappointment gripped her, because here the girl was, throwing her bike down on top of theirs and taking up position as the backstop. Fran and Sarah exchanged a look, but what could they say? Davey and Stan were running Ben back, having hitched his foot in the loop they’d knotted years ago. They let him go, and Ben whooped as he swung over the beck into the hands of the girls, who dug their heels in. Fran and Sarah hung on to the lad, and then changed their grip to the rope as he was dragged back and back towards the edge of the bank, but Beth let go and the other two girls were dragged out, over the water, with Ben calling, ‘I can’t get me foot out of the loop.’ Fran yelled, ‘It’ll take us to the other side, all three of us.’

  But it was no good, and Sarah felt her hands slipping on the rope, and Fran was going too, and they plunged into the deep beck while Ben finally loosened his foot and plunged in too.

  The cold of the water took Sarah’s breath away. Down she went, mouth shut, her mind frozen, then her hands started working and her legs were kicking until she rose to the surface, her boots heavy with water, her clothes dragging at her. She coughed and spluttered as she watched Ben emerge, followed by Fran and finally Beth, who must have jumped in. Why? She had let go. Sarah caught Ben’s collar, but he shouted, ‘I can swim by meself, Sarah. Stan taught me, didn’t he?’

  Sarah shook him, laughing into his face. ‘Make sure your boots don’t come off, you dafty. This’ll teach you to do ’em up proper.’

  She released him, treading water, laughing at Fran, who flicked her hair from her eyes and nodded towards Beth, grimacing. The girl was holding her head high above the water, her lippy in place, splashing and watching only Stan. The sight chilled Sarah. She watched Stan and Davey look at one another, nod, run back, then forward, towards the beck, jumping high off the bank and bombing into the water. They surfaced, Stan in front of Sarah, and Davey near Fran. The boys, including Ben, beat at the water, splashing until the girls couldn’t see. ‘Don’t you dare pull us under like you used to,’ shouted Davey.

  Sarah could recognise an invitation when she heard it, and saw him winking at Fran. The two girls ducked and dived, each pulling one of the lads way under, as they had always done.

  Beneath the water, now that Sarah was used to it, it was clear and quiet and she opened her eyes. She saw she had grabbed Stan. Suddenly awkward, she let go of him and rose until she was leve
l with his face. He reached out, gripping her arms and holding her still. Bubbles escaped his mouth as he looked at her, as if confused, and she knew then he had thought she was Beth and felt a tearing sadness. But still the leader of the gang held her steady, as he had always done, and at last she relaxed. He was back, they were all together, and whatever happened, they were still that gang.

  She smiled, holding her breath, though bubbles escaped to join his, rising, rising. He smiled back and it seemed an endless moment, here, suspended, hearing nothing, just seeing him, only him. But then there was a flurry and Ben started dragging Sarah away, while Beth pulled at Stan. They all kicked to the surface and broke into the fresh air.

  The four of them shook their heads and the splashing water caught the sunlight. Davey and Fran were turning their fire from one another onto the other four. Sarah looked for Stan, but he was diving for Ben’s legs now, and the lad was beating the water to scare him off. She knew, though, that something had happened to her in that long moment alone with Stan, but she wasn’t sure what. As the water drenched her, and Ben drew back his arm to send another surge against her, she swam as the others did, and laughed too, her skirt floating up as she slipped down, down, before surfacing and lolling about in the water, looking up at the sky.

  It was then that she understood what had happened to her, it was the realisation that the gang had its leader back, and there was a safety in that, a safety that was almost the same as it had once been. Almost, because Beth was surging towards her now, her pale blue eyes alight and her smile wide. Her auburn hair streamed behind her like a mermaid’s, though her lippy had been washed away. Sarah felt chilled again and looked back at the sky, which was now darkening into bleakness, as the clouds gathered.

  Sarah swam for the bank and began to scramble out, feeling strong hands at her waist, Stan’s hands that had gripped her and held her steady beneath the water. He pushed her up, helping her, calling to Ben, helping him towards the bank, helping them as he had always done. But why did that have to include Beth, who had hurt him? Why?

  She shivered on the bank as Stan hauled himself out. She reached down to Ben and after a split second hesitation, Beth. By the time they were all out, Davey and Stan were gathering wood for a fire, and soon it was ablaze, with Beth handing out Woodbines as they hunkered down. ‘To warm us,’ she said. It was Stan who lit them, cupping his match with his steady hands, hands that were scarred blue, and which Sarah wanted to touch. For goodness’ sake, she told herself, as Beth did just that, running her fingers along the blue lines.

  ‘Still got your scars then, Stan,’ Beth said.

  ‘Some scars never fade,’ he responded.

  For a moment no one said anything, but Sarah felt such a shaft of pain that she almost gasped. And at that moment, as she looked at Stan, at his hands being cradled in Beth’s, she finally understood that what had happened to her in the water was more than just feeling safe, it was the birth of love, one so intense that she could scarcely breathe. Still Beth held his hands, and Sarah looked away, wanting to drag the girl from Stan, wanting to take her place, wanting to heal his scars, all of them, but especially his damaged heart so he could love again.

  She drew on her cigarette, but then stubbed it out on the grass, savagely. She wished now they’d never decided to come to the beck. And that they’d never become friends again with Beth, and that her bliddy husband, Bob Jones, had never gone away.

  ‘Stoke up the fire, bonny lad,’ Fran said to Davey, who did so, squinting against the smoke of the cigarette lodged in the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, as he put the last piece on, ‘I need a wood-gathering party, and be quick about it. We’ve got to dry off – can’t have you lot shivering or sneezing at the Factory, and heaven forbid you should cough.’

  Fran nodded at Sarah and Ben and they all set off to look in the hedgerows, though the two girls dawdled behind the boys. As she stooped to gather some dry wood, Fran whispered, ‘I can’t stand it if they start up again. He was hurt enough last time.’

  Sarah looked over her shoulder to the fire, where Beth and Stan were in deep conversation. ‘She’s married, Franny, so I don’t see how she can forget all about that.’ But she was only trying to convince herself, which was daft, because in war, things happened.

  The two girls found more wood, as they explored the verges. Their hair was blowing in the breeze, which was on its way to being a wind. Fran added some pine cones to the top of the pile Sarah was clutching in both arms. They had fallen from Murphy’s pine tree, or so they had called it when they were bairns. Fran echoed Sarah’s thoughts. ‘It’s war. Things happen. Even Davey noticed the lippy. But Beth mustn’t – Stan mustn’t. Can you imagine the bus journey? The tuts, the gossip, and Beth’s ups and downs and then Bob’ll come home …’ She stopped.

  Davey came out of one of the gateways leading into empty grazing pasture. He had a load, and Ben was laden too, but they’d also picked bits of lanolin rich sheep fleece from the hedgerows, which should burn a treat.

  ‘Come on, you two girls,’ he called. ‘Let’s have some lunch.’

  Stan had moved to the edge of the bank and was staring down into the water, strangely calm, for when he’d recaptured his hands he felt there was nothing more to say to this girl he had loved once. Nothing, and the relief was almost a physical thing and why the hell had he said that about some scars not fading? Well, perhaps he hadn’t known that the one Beth had created had indeed gone, and now he was glad she had come today, otherwise how would he have ever known he was free of her.

  Beth came to stand beside him, her arm touching his. ‘Oh, wasn’t that the kingfisher, there in the willow?’ She peered along the beck. ‘I’m sure it was. Howay, Stan,’ she leaned against him. ‘It’s just the same here as it always was. Everything’s just the same – you can see that, can’t you, Stan? I were a fool. Bob were a mistake, we can go back to how it was, be together again.’

  Stan murmured, ‘Aye, in a way you’re right, lass. So much is still the same – all of this, who we all are …’

  She swung round, gripping his arm, her face alight, but he put up his hand to continue. ‘You’re right, pet, we’re the same, in a way – the gang – but we’ve grown, and aye, I like you still, course I do, but you and me? No, there’s nowt there, for you, as well as for me. It’s gone, but we’re friends. You have Bob who weren’t a mistake, lass, and I’m back into Auld Hilda with me marrers on the Monday, but with Oxford under me belt. Life’s changed us.’

  She took hold of his hand. ‘But you said not all scars fade?’

  He shrugged. ‘I know, but it were daft, cos I didn’t know mine had, yer see. Well, p’raps it were that I didn’t recognise it had until I were deep beneath the water just now, and it were quiet and calm, and I watched our Sarah’s breath rising in bubbles up to the surface, and they were small, beautiful, and since you left me I haven’t noticed the beauty of life. It was then I knew that even the memory of the pain had left, and it were the habit of it I’ve been living with. Suddenly the beck made everything that happened between us all right and now I just want Bob home, and for you to be happy.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t come back?’ she asked, panic in her voice.

  ‘He will, I know it.’

  ‘You can’t know,’ Beth snapped, turning away as the clouds darkened. No, he couldn’t know it, so of course he couldn’t know it was over, by watching a few bubbles. Bob wasn’t here, but Stan was, so …

  She looked for the kingfisher again as Stan stood strong and silent. No bird flew from the willow and no word came from Stan, but it would. She’d make sure it did, she thought, as she saw the others returning, and building up the fire again; Davey and Fran together, Ben and Sarah like brother and sister. Sarah whose escaping breath had caused Stan to realise he was free of Beth. Sarah’s breath? It should have been her he saw, Beth Jones, and then he’d have realised something quite different.

  She felt his hand grip hers, felt his strengt
h, heard the kindness in his voice. Oh God, what a fool she’d been. He said gently, ‘We’re all still here, the gang is still here and that includes you, and we’re all part of this grand community.’ He let go of her hand and waved at the slag heaps, distant pitheads, the fields, the beck and lastly the fire builders. Beth looked around too, but saw only smouldering slack, drifting smoke and emptiness.

  As though he realised, Stan said, ‘Bob’s probably on a mission, that’s what happens in war and people can’t write or phone, but once he’s back this’ll be home again too. Until then, I say again, we’re here, all of us, getting through the war together as best we can, like grown-ups.’

  Beth snatched a look at him, wanting to slap him. Was he saying she wasn’t an adult? She turned and watched the other four deep in conversation. This was where they had played as bairns before she came, but was also where she had been absorbed by them once she arrived. The heaps might be smouldering, Bob might be missing, but Stan was right, the gang was still here and though it wasn’t enough, she’d have to pretend it was for now.

  She smiled at Stan. ‘Look at those two, they are just “together”, aren’t they?’ She was nodding towards Davey and Fran, who were laughing at one another.

  Stan grinned and took her hand again. ‘Oh aye, they’ll be together, no matter what. They always have been really, two parts of a whole.’

  She looked at his hand holding hers, feeling his power. She knew him better than she knew Bob. After all, Bob hadn’t taught her to swim, it was Stan who had. She squeezed his hand. ‘Aye, we’re friends then, back to friends, and I was a right little baggage and I’m sorry for the pain.’