Gunner Girls and Fighter Boys

by Mary Gibson

  Foundlings

  Christmas 1941

  May couldn’t wait to get out of her uniform and into civvies. Two whole weeks of wearing whatever she liked, and she was going to make the most of it. She still took pride in the uniform, drawing jokes from her pals and praise from her officers for the knife-edge creases and spotless buttons on her uniform, but she had come to the conclusion that khaki had to be the most boring colour in the world. Not that she had many civvies to choose from. She’d saved up enough coupons to buy a new dress for this Christmas leave, a rich royal blue with boxy shoulders, and an A-line skirt. The trimmings were minimal, but army life had certainly improved her figure and when she looked at herself in the wardrobe mirror, wearing make-up courtesy of Atkinson’s seconds from Peggy, she was pleased with what she saw. She looked like a woman now, no longer the shy girl who had left home for the first time last year.

  But it would not be an easy Christmas for any of them. The anniversary of Jack’s death had just passed, and then there was Peggy. The family had fallen into two camps: those who would speak to Peggy, and those who would not. May and Granny Byron were the only two in the former camp. When she’d seen Peggy and Harry kissing that day at London Bridge, she’d initially condemned her sister as selfish, unkind and spoiled, her sympathies firmly with George. But Peggy’s letter, confessing her pregnancy, had been heartbreaking in its appeal to May. I know I’m burning my bridges, she’d written. I’ll be on my own and I don’t even know if Harry will still want me. But it’s a child, May. You might not know how much I’ve wanted one. How can I give up a child?

  And May had immediately decided that, whatever her parents thought, morality could have no argument against a mother and her child. She would stick by her sister. She’d arrived home from Essex on Friday and had made the mistake of asking, on Sunday morning, where Peggy was, assuming she would be coming for Sunday dinner as usual. It was frightening to May how cold her father became at the mention of her sister’s name, as if the winter chill outside had invaded his heart. May decided it was better not to speak of her sister again to her parents. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to see her.

  So that Sunday evening, May let her mother believe she was paying a visit to Emmy. Her friend was still on sick leave, but the broken collarbone had almost healed. May did plan to visit Emmy, but not until she’d made sure her sister was all right.

  *

  ‘May!’ Peggy pulled her into the passage of her little flat and squeezed her tightly. ‘I didn’t know you were home!’

  ‘Just got back on Friday. I’ve got two weeks’ leave! Can you believe it?’

  ‘It seems strange to see you in civvies. You look lovely! Lipstick as well, wonder where you got that from!’

  ‘You’ve got your uses.’

  They laughed and May thought how good it was to see her sister smiling. She’d imagined her sunk in solitary gloom. But she still had the brightness about her that May had noticed last leave.

  ‘What have you done to the flat?’ she asked, looking round. It looked so different, less sombre somehow.

  Peggy looked puzzled. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Oh yes, I did get rid of some of that heavy old furniture George’s pals nicked from Heal’s. Gave it to a young couple down the landing. They hadn’t got a stick, and there was nothing in the shops for them to buy. I didn’t need all that stuff cluttering up the place.’

  ‘But what about George, won’t he be angry with you?’

  Peggy gave a rueful little laugh. ‘What, you mean, even more angry with me than he already is for getting pregnant by another man?’

  May blushed with embarrassment at her own stupidity, but also at Peggy’s frankness. But what was the point of pussyfooting around the subject?

  ‘Have you seen George?’ May asked, taking off her coat.

  ‘Just the once, to tell him… you know.’ Peggy turned away from her. ‘Sit down, love, I’ll make us some tea. You’re frozen.’

  May waited, leaving Peggy to make tea in the kitchen, while she sat in the much-changed living room. It was sparer, certainly, but the cushion covers were brighter and an embroidered tablecloth now softened the heavy oak table. One of the sideboards and an overstuffed chair was gone, and most of George’s knocked-off items had disappeared.

  The grey afternoon light was already fading to twilight and when Peggy came back with the tea, May could see she had been crying. She turned away, pulling the blackout curtains and turning on a standard lamp, which glowed warmly in the corner.

  ‘Oh, Peg, love, come here.’ May got up and held her sister, who tried to wipe her tears away.

  ‘I’m getting so emotional. They say it happens, when you’re expecting.’

  ‘Peggy, you don’t have to pretend with me. If Mum and Dad was treating me like they are you, I’d be crying too, pregnant or not!’

  ‘Thank God I’ve got you and Nan,’ Peggy said, blowing her nose.

  ‘Have you told Harry?’

  ‘Harry?’ A smile broke through Peggy’s tears. ‘He was the only one that was happy about it. Everyone else got so upset and angry, but I just wanted someone to be pleased.’ She held May’s gaze, as if gauging her reaction. ‘I must seem so selfish.’

  ‘I was upset with you at first. But… well, life’s short, you learn that in the army. A few weeks ago I nearly got blown up, and I had your letter in my pocket. Peg, I might never have read it, could have been like the other poor buggers that didn’t make it that night. So when I read it next day, there was blood on your letter…’

  Peggy gasped and May hurried to reassure her. ‘Not mine! Some poor corporal. It made me see things differently.’ She shook her head sadly, and repeated, ‘Life’s short. It’s too precious to waste living a lie.’

  Her sister was looking at her with admiration. ‘You’ve grown up, May.’

  May shrugged. ‘I suppose I have.’

  ‘Well, there’s something else I’ve been waiting to tell you.’

  ‘What now!’ May almost didn’t want to hear. She wasn’t sure if she could cope with any more surprises from her sister.

  ‘It’s nothing bad, not really. It’s just that Harry hadn’t told me everything about himself. There I was, feeling like I’d known him all my life, but I didn’t know the most important thing about him.’

  ‘Don’t tell me – he’s married!’

  May couldn’t believe her sister had been so naïve. Peggy was meant to be the experienced one.

  ‘No, that’s not it. He was married, but she died. The thing he didn’t tell me was that he’s already got a child!’

  ‘He’s got a kid, and he never told you! But why keep it to himself?’ May felt immediately suspicious.

  ‘I’m not sure, love. He said he never found the right opportunity, and then he just left it too long. I think he was frightened I’d pack him in if there was a kid involved.’

  ‘It’s sad, about losing his wife. But where’s the child?’

  ‘Well, this is the strange thing, May.’ Her sister leaned forward eagerly. ‘His wife died in the bombing, early in the war while poor Harry was posted away. So he was going to put the baby in an orphanage. But then he met this lovely Bermondsey couple, who offered to take the little boy on, look after him for the duration.’

  May felt a moment of relief, for her sister’s sake. ‘Good, that’s good. I don’t think you’d be able to manage two kids on your own!’

  ‘No, he doesn’t expect that of me. Well, not right now… But, May, this is what I’ve been waiting to tell you…’ Peggy’s face lit with excitement. ‘The name of the couple, it’s Gilbie… it’s only Bill Gilbie’s mum and dad!’

  ‘Bill’s? How can you be sure? There could be other Gilbies in Bermondsey.’

  ‘I can be sure because Harry knows Bill.’

  ‘Really! How?’

  ‘May, can’t you guess?’ Peggy was beaming.

  Now that Peggy had mentioned Bill, May’s interest was even more piqued. ‘No, I can’t guess
. Will you just spit it out.’

  ‘Harry’s wife died when their house was bombed. The police told him the only reason his child had survived was because a young man and a girl had rescued him from the ruins. They gave Harry the man’s address...’

  May shivered, as a tingling snaked up her spine. ‘It was Harry’s baby we saved? And the mother… Harry’s wife? Oh, Peg, that poor man, if you’d seen her… cradling her baby. I always wondered about the baby’s dad…’ her voice was hushed, as though in a church, ‘and how he would feel, that only one of them had been saved…’

  May was aware of the clock ticking and of her own beating heart, noises that only emphasized the palpable stillness surrounding them.

  ‘And what did he say, when you told him it was me found the baby?’

  ‘Do you know, love, he didn’t seem as surprised as you’d think. He just said, “It’s the war, it brings people together.”’

  May shook her head in wonderment. ‘Strange, but I think he’s right, Peg. On that day, I just felt something was leading me to that very spot, and when Bill said it was a cat, I said no, and made him go in. I just knew…’

  Her voice was trembling, as was Peggy’s hand when she took it. They held on tight to each other, as though they were making a pact.

  ‘Maybe you’ve got more of Nan’s gypsy blood in you than you thought. She’d say it was the sight. But listen, May, Harry gave me this.’ And Peggy went to the mantlepiece, where from behind the old clock she pulled out a piece of paper.

  ‘Here. It’s the Gilbies’ new address.’

  May knew that this would be the measure of how grown-up she’d become. Once before she’d gone looking for Bill, and she had given up. Now the lines of their lives had intersected once again, caught like two planes in searchlight beams, criss-crossing the night sky. She knew there would only be a small window, a very short time, before the lights moved on in search of other targets, and she and Bill would be back in the dark. If it had been a question of height and range and bearing, she could have turned a dial and fixed their positions, all efficiency, but now she wavered.

  ‘Well, are you going round there?’ her sister asked, just as the air-raid siren sounded. It was probably a false alarm, but she needed time to think.

  ‘The only place I’m going tonight is down the shelter. Come on!’

  May told no one but kept the paper with Bill’s address in her bag, getting it out over the next few days, and several times almost making the journey to St James’s Road, where his family now lived. One day, about a week later, her mother asked her to go to the fishmonger’s in the Blue, as she’d heard there was mackerel to be had. May queued all morning, and then, when she got to the front, the fish had run out. She began walking back home, past boarded-up plate-glass windows and sandbagged shops. As she came to the corner of St James’s Road, she found herself turning into it, but at St James’s Tavern she stopped. She was within a few doors of Bill’s house, yet her courage failed her and she turned away, hurrying into St James’s churchyard, where the covered slide, normally echoing to the excited shouts of children, was all but deserted. It was a day of freezing fog, and only one hardy child was making the ascent, struggling with a coconut mat almost bigger than himself. His mother looked on as she bounced a baby gently in its pram.

  ‘Teddy, you be careful on them stairs, they’re slippery!’ she called and then, catching May’s eye, she said, ‘He’s a handful!’

  May smiled and walked on, wondering if Harry’s son were a handful, wondering if Bill’s mum and dad regretted taking on a child at their age. Even now, May could remember the feel of that baby in her arms, as its little lungs expanded to let out those attention-grabbing screams, and even now, like some invisible magnet, he was drawing her.

  Finally she gave up the struggle and abruptly turned round, walking back in the direction she’d come. The mother at the slide gave her a puzzled look.

  ‘Forgot something!’ May laughed.

  The Gilbies’ house was directly opposite the back entrance to the churchyard, and May dashed across the road before she could lose her courage. She descended stone steps, slick with foggy moisture, to the basement. It was a three-storey house, but Peggy had told her Bill’s family lived on the lower two floors, with their front door in the airey. The tidy front door was painted green and a deep floodboard was fixed in front of it. Sandbags lined the airey and the windows were criss-crossed with tape. Her knock was answered by a fresh- faced woman in her forties.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. Is it Mrs Gilbie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m May Lloyd. I used to work with Bill… We lost touch…’

  Mrs Gilbie’s face brightened with recognition. ‘Oh, May!’ The woman smiled as if she knew her, as if she was genuinely pleased to see her. ‘My Bill’s told me so much about you! Come in, love, come in.’

  She followed Mrs Gilbie through a tidy front parlour. There was a polished round oak table and a piano, ranged along the top of which were photos of Bill, in air-force uniform, and two other young men, one a sailor, the other a soldier. Mrs Gilbie noticed her looking and stopped.

  ‘My three boys, one in each service,’ she said proudly, ‘and I’m worried sick about all of ’em.’ She took a deep breath and shook her head, as if to banish the thoughts from her mind.

  ‘Let’s go through to the kitchen. I’ve got a fire going.’

  She showed May to a chair by the fire. ‘Let me get you a cup of tea,’ she said.

  Soon she came back with a tray and began pouring tea. ‘You know, my Bill was ever so upset when he didn’t hear from you.’

  Was that a hint of steel she heard hidden behind those warm tones? But May thought it was more like protectiveness.

  ‘I did write!’ May protested. ‘But the letter was returned. And I even went to Grange House, asked if anyone knew where you’d moved. I tried to find him. It was so silly of me… not to get his address...’

  She trailed off, as Mrs Gilbie raised her eyes.

  ‘Silly? My Bill’s just as bad, silly as a sack load. Clever…’ she said, tapping her head, ‘… but not much common sense.’

  Perhaps the woman saw May’s uncertain look at what felt like a scolding, for she gave another of her warm smiles.

  ‘Still, you’re both only young yet. These things never run smooth, love. Believe me, I know!’

  May was quietly astonished at how at ease she felt with the woman, at how natural it felt to be sitting in her kitchen, talking about Bill, almost as if they’d been sweethearts for the past year, instead of just passing ships.

  Suddenly Mrs Gilbie cocked her head to one side and put up a finger. ‘Ah, he’s awake!’ She disappeared through the kitchen door and May heard her running up the stairs. The woman was probably about her mother’s age, but looked a decade younger and was surprisingly swift, for in a few minutes May heard her coming back down to the kitchen.

  She was holding a little boy in her arms. He looked about a year old, with soft blond curls and tightly bunched fists, which he twisted around in his eagerness to get down. But Mrs Gilbie hoisted him up into an even tighter embrace. The little boy stopped protesting and instead fixed May with alert, bright eyes. Then he thrust out the two clenched fists, opened them and leaned forward to May.

  ‘He likes you, and it’s no wonder!’ Mrs Gilbie laughed.

  May had no choice but to take the toddler.

  ‘You do know who this is, don’t you?’

  ‘He’s the baby me and Bill saved from the ruins. But I couldn’t believe it when I found out from my sister that you were looking after him!’

  The little boy was examining her face with a prodding finger.

  ‘Hello…’ she said, then, realizing she didn’t know it, she asked his name.

  ‘It’s John… but we call him Jack.’

  An unexpected emotion caught in May’s throat. Her heart melted, as she held the trusting little boy, feeling somehow that he really did know her.

&
nbsp; ‘I had a brother called Jack,’ she said. ‘We lost him last year, in the bombing.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, love, Bill did tell me about it. It must have been terrible for you.’

  May nodded, holding back tears. But the little boy was beginning to tire of May and now wriggled to the floor, where he immediately made a grab for the fireguard. With a practised dive, Mrs Gilbie scooped him up and sat him inside a wooden playpen, which had enough building blocks and toys to amuse him.

  ‘How did you come to be looking after Jack?’ May asked.

  ‘Well, his father, Harry, he kept in touch with Bill, and he wrote to say that he’d have to put little Jack into an orphanage. An aunt of Harry’s, over in Camberwell, had taken the baby on, but she’d died, and there wasn’t anyone else to look after him. Harry was being moved back to London, so he was looking to find a nice home for the baby, where he could visit. Well, my Bill volunteered us! Not a by your leave nor nothing!’

  But May noticed that Mrs Gilbie had a way of pretending to be upset, when she was in fact quite the opposite.

  ‘So, me and my husband Sam, we thought, how can we let that little baby go in an orphanage? Here we are, nearly a year later, and he’s like one of our own. Mind you, it was a bit of a shock at the beginning, being woken up all hours! But it keeps me young.’

  And as if to prove it, Mrs Gilbie launched herself across the room to the playpen, where Jack was attempting to stick a good-sized brick down his throat. She held it up triumphantly. ‘See! He keeps me on my toes!’

  ‘I think it’s lovely Jack’s come to you, Mrs Gilbie. Do you mind if I come and visit him, when I’m on leave next?’ May got up to go.

  ‘’Course I don’t mind. You come and see him whenever you like, love – you’re his guardian angel, after all!’

  May liked the idea of that, but now came the hard part. ‘And do you think I could have Bill’s address?’ She felt herself blush, but just then there was a knocking at the front door.

  ‘Would you watch him for me while I go and answer that?’

  ‘Of course!’

  May heard Mrs Gilbie greet someone and there was a muffled short conversation, which May couldn’t make out. When Mrs Gilbie returned, she was followed by a girl about May’s age, with longish, dark hair, swept back into a roll. She had a pale face and heavy-lidded eyes.