The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  She would apply for leave. She was sure that Philip, understanding and kind, and now knowing the full circumstances, would grant her compassionate leave to go home . . .

  ‘Get down, Grandad, get down! Do you want to be killed?’

  The old man was dancing up and down in front of the window, waving his arms, his bare legs, thin and white, sticking out from under the flapping tails of his night-shirt. ‘You dirty swine! You . . .’ But his expletives were drowned by the roaring of engines as another enemy plane, its swastika plainly visible, swooped by, low and vicious, strafing the front of the farmhouse with a shower of bullets. Kate threw herself at the old man, pushing him to the floor and landing on top of him, knocking the breath out of him. He lay there gasping, but still found the strength to swear volubly. As the plane roared past, there was a rat-a-tat-tat of bullets against the brickwork. Just above them the glass of the window shattered and bullets whistled over their heads to embed themselves in the far wall of the room.

  ‘There, are you satisfied now?’ she panted. ‘You nearly got us both killed . . .’ Her words were drowned by a loud ‘crump’ which rattled the very foundations of the farmhouse. Every door and window rattled and more glass shattered. Soot billowed from the chimney stack like a black shroud, enveloping them both.

  ‘Oh my God! That’s a bomb and it’s bloody close.’ Now she was scrambling up, oblivious to further danger.

  ‘Kate, don’t . . .’ he wheezed, struggling to his feet, but she was out of his room and running through the house. There was glass everywhere. It looked as if every window was shattered. As she passed through the living room, soot covered everything. In the kitchen, pots lay smashed on the floor where they’d been vibrated from the shelf and the door stood drunkenly, half off its hinges.

  Kate rushed out into the yard. ‘Mam! Mam!’ She looked wildly about her. Hens were rushing to and fro squawking loudly and flapping their wings in the pretence of flight. From the stable came the whinnying of the frightened horses and hooves struck repeatedly at the door.

  ‘Mam – Dad! Where are you?’ she yelled. Now there was silence – a deathly silence. The planes, having wrought their havoc, had gone, streaking away across the North Sea to safety.

  She ran to the gate and looked up and down the lane. To her right, beyond the Hump, rose a cloud of dust and smoke.

  ‘Oh no!’ she cried. ‘Not the cottages – please, not the cottages.’

  Then she was running, running like the wind, her heart pounding, desperately afraid of what she would find.

  She had arrived at Brumbys’ Farm only half an hour before and hadn’t even seen her mother and stepfather. Only her grandfather had been at home, sitting in the chair by the window in his room, still in his night-shirt.

  ‘Ya mam wants me to stay in bed. Me chest is bad, but I ’ate lying in bed. Me elbows get sore. ‘Sides, I like to see out the window, across the fields . . .’ His old eyes had watered and she knew he must miss being out in the open air when illness confined him to his room. Then he was smiling at her, but the old eyes were still regarding her shrewdly. ‘This is a surprise. Couldn’t make it for the wedding, I s’pose?’

  Kate returned his gaze steadily. Then, finding she was holding her breath, she let it out in a deep sigh. There was no point in even trying to deceive Will Benson. ‘I – I couldn’t face it, Grandad, but I’ve been feeling bad about it ever since.’

  ‘Aye, well, lass. I can understand, but I can’t excuse ya, ’cos it upset poor Rosie. And Danny.’

  ‘I – just need a bit of time, Grandad. It was such a shock when he – he came to the camp to tell me. I thought I was over it – beginning to lead my own life, but then when Danny came and said he – he was getting married and – and to Rosie . . .’

  The gnarled old hand reached out and covered hers, twisting in her lap. ‘I know, lass, I know,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘I – I came home to see his mam and Enid . . .’

  It was then they had heard the drone of the aircraft coming nearer and nearer . . .

  Kate arrived at the top of the Hump and stopped. Before her was a scene of devastation. It was not the cottages, although they had suffered damage. It was the Seagull, which had taken a direct hit. A small incendiary bomb had fallen on one end of the building, slicing rooms in half so that Kate could see the interior, like her own dolls’ house when the whole of the front was opened. She could even see the wallpaper on the remaining inner wall of the bedroom. A bed hung precariously half-on, half-off the portion of floor left, teetering on the edge. The bomb had buried itself in the soft earth, making a crater the size of the pond at Brumbys’ Farm, and now flames licked at the already half-destroyed building.

  Kate absorbed all this in a brief second’s pause, then she was flying down the slope towards the building. It was lunch-time opening; there must have been people in the pub. Others were emerging from the cottages and hurrying towards the scene. Kate could see Grannie Harris watching through the broken window of her kitchen, her hand to her mouth. Then two of the soldiers who had been on duty through the previous night and sleeping in Dan Hanley’s cottage when the bomb fell, appeared. They were bare-chested, their trousers pulled on hastily. Enid Maine appeared in her doorway, clutching at the door post for support, staring wide-eyed.

  Then, suddenly, there was Beth Eland. She came out of her cottage, wrapped a black shawl over her head and walked slowly towards the pub. She didn’t run, didn’t even hurry. It was as if she were drawn to the scene but was reluctant to reach it.

  ‘Get some water!’ Kate shouted to the two soldiers. ‘Let’s get this fire out first. Get buckets, anything. Form a chain.’

  Without realizing it, she was taking charge. All her young life, she had seen how farmers dealt with stack fires and then she had witnessed the calm efficiency on Suddaby Station after an air-raid.

  Kate ran to the nearest cottage – Enid’s home. ‘Look sharp, our Enid, get working the pump in your kitchen filling buckets. Where’s the boys? They can help too . . .’

  Soon everyone there was helping to transport water to the base of the fire – all except Beth. She stood, a lonely, lost figure, a little way off, just staring at the ravaged building.

  Kate grasped her arm. ‘Where’s Mester Eland? We could do with his help. Is he out fishing?’

  Slowly Beth shook her head.

  ‘Where is he, then?’

  Beth’s gaze was fixed upon the building, mesmerized. Kate shook her arm, trying to bring her out of her stupor. ‘Where is he?’ she repeated.

  Beth’s voice was a strangulated whisper. ‘In – in the pub.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Kate breathed, then, grasping at straws, she added, ‘Maybe he’ll be all right. Perhaps he was in the other end of the pub that wasn’t hit. Maybe he’s just – trapped.’

  ‘He – he’d have been playing dominoes with Tom Willoughby,’ Beth whispered.

  Kate put her arm around Beth but she could think of nothing more to say now for she knew as well as Beth that the men played dominoes in the corner of the main bar; the end of the building where the bomb had fallen. Kate felt sick in the pit of her stomach. Her stepfather, Jonathan, sometimes played with them too.

  ‘I must go and help,’ she whispered. Beth nodded but remained standing where she was; a still, silent, watchful figure, her arms clasped about her body, hugging the shawl closely around her.

  I wish I hadn’t come home, Kate was thinking. I wish I was anywhere but here.

  It was like the time the station had been bombed and Edith’s lifeless body had been dragged from the rubble. But this was worse, much worse. This time there were going to be the bodies of people she had known all her life; and among them Robert Eland, the man Danny had called Father all his life.

  The fire was out and now they started to move the rubble carefully, praying – but without real hope – that they might find Tom and Robert alive. An air-raid warden and a police constable arrived from Lynthorpe.

  ‘We saw the
planes swooping over here and then the bombs.’

  ‘Bombs?’ Kate looked up sharply. ‘Was there more than this one?’

  ‘Oh aye,’ the warden said. ‘One fell into a field not far from Souters’ Farm. It’s not done much damage as the soft ground took the impact and another fell in the lane on the way to town from here – that’s why we’ve been a long time getting here. We had to come right round by the Grange.’

  ‘You – you haven’t seen my mother and father, have you?’

  ‘No, love, sorry, I ain’t. They missing?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve only just got home. I’d only just got into the house and was talking to me grandad when the planes came.’

  ‘The old man all right, is he?’

  ‘Just!’ Kate replied wryly. They stood looking at the ruins that had been the pub. The warden sighed. ‘I aren’t looking forward to this, lass.’

  ‘No.’ Kate glanced back over her shoulder and saw that Beth was still standing in the same place, her arms wrapped around herself, just waiting.

  At that moment, a figure appeared at the top of the Hump and came plunging down the slope towards them, her hair dishevelled and flying free, her eyes wide with fear, her hand outstretched.

  ‘Oh, Mam!’ Kate breathed, and ran to meet her.

  Esther gripped her arms, not pausing to express surprise at Kate being there; there was only one thought on her mind.

  ‘Where is he? Where’s ya dad? Where’s Jonathan?’

  Thirty

  ‘Isn’t he with you?’ Kate realized it was a stupid question immediately she’d spoken.

  Her mother shook her head wildly. ‘No – no. I’ve been into town – in the trap. I saw the bombs. I – I thought it was the farm . . .’ She gulped painfully. ‘I came tearing home – a bomb had landed in the lane – I had to go right round by the Grange to get back.’

  ‘Where is me dad, then?’

  Esther was staring with terrified eyes at the ruins of the pub and clinging to Kate, her grip so intense that her fingers dug into Kate’s arms. ‘He – he said he would tek the cows up to North Marsh Field and then when he came back he – he might walk down the road and have a – game of dominoes at the pub.’

  ‘Esther.’ Beth’s voice came gently, flat and unemotional. Kate turned and saw her standing just behind them. ‘Leave her to me, Katie love. You go and – help.’

  Kate eased herself from her mother’s grasp and Beth took her place, putting her arm about Esther and holding her close. Never taking her gaze from the heap of rubble, Esther clung to Beth and the two women stood together in silence watching and waiting . . .

  They found the landlord first. He had been standing behind the bar when the bomb had come whistling down. With seconds to spare, he had dived under the counter of the bar and, though cut and bruised, he was still alive when the rescuers dug their way to him. The workers continued and more helpers arrived from town. Gently they removed the rubble brick by brick.

  ‘There’s someone here. Oh, no . . .’

  Kate glanced back towards her mother and Beth. She saw Esther start forward, saw Beth hold her back. Kate saw Beth’s lips moving and knew she was talking softly, soothingly to Esther. ‘Wait, just wait, Esther. They’ll – tell us.’

  They had found Tom Willoughby – and Robert Eland.

  ‘They wouldn’t have known much about it.’ The doctor, who had been one of those to arrive from town, tried to comfort them. ‘It would have been very – quick.’

  Esther had her arms about Beth, who stood looking down at the lifeless form of her husband. ‘Poor Robert,’ Beth murmured. ‘He didn’t deserve that.’

  ‘No – no, he didn’t. He was a good man.’ Esther patted her arm. Now it was she who must comfort Beth.

  The search was continuing and Esther was leading Beth away to her own cottage, while still glancing back anxiously over her shoulder at the devastated building.

  Something made Kate glance towards the Hump. ‘Mam!’ she shouted, and pointed.

  Jonathan was standing on the Hump gazing at the horror before him. Esther gave a sob and ran towards him, her arms outstretched. She flew into his arms and clung to him, babbling her relief.

  Then, as she told him what had happened, Kate saw her stepfather and her mother go back towards Beth. Jonathan put his arm about Beth and kissed her cheek. Together he and Esther took her to her home.

  Kate found that tears were running down her cheeks. ‘Here, love, you tek a rest – now ya dad’s okay, I shouldn’t think there’s anyone else in here, is there?’

  Kate shook her head. Everyone was accounted for now. The police constable mounted his bicycle. He had the unenviable task of going to Rookery Farm to inform Tom’s sister-in-law, Flo Jenkins, of his death.

  And Danny, Kate thought. How would they tell Danny? No one knew where he and Rosie had gone on their brief honeymoon. What a dreadful homecoming! Then another thought struck her; a thought that left her sweating with fear for what might have happened.

  If Danny had not been on honeymoon with Rosie, he might well have been sitting in the corner of the pub playing dominoes with his stepfather and Tom Willoughby.

  ‘You must come to the funerals, Kate, if you can get leave,’ her stepfather said firmly.

  Kate bit her lip. ‘Dad – I feel so awful now that I didn’t come to Danny and Rosie’s wedding.’

  ‘What’s done is done. But don’t make it worse by staying away again.’

  It was the worst moment in her life when she stood in the church and looked across at Danny; worse even than when they had found out the truth of their relationship, and that had been bad enough.

  She felt sick and wanted to run out, away from them all, out to the end of the Spit. But she was obliged to stand there and watch Beth’s white, strained face and see Rosie being the one to take hold of Danny’s arm; Rosie comforting Danny when it should have been her, Kate. The longing to step across the aisle and put her arms about him was so strong that she swayed for a moment and had to grip the back of the pew in front of her to stop herself moving towards him. She felt her stepfather’s anxious eyes upon her, and she bent her head in the pretence of prayer so that he should not read the expression in her eyes, for she knew her feelings must be plain for all to see.

  The congregation knelt in the final prayer and when they rose and began to move out of the church, Kate remained where she was, on her knees, her head bowed, her hands covering her face. She sensed the coffin being carried out first, and knew that the Eland family were following, Beth, Danny – and Rosie, for now she was Mrs Eland.

  She felt a light touch on her shoulder and Jonathan’s whisper, ‘We must go, Kate.’

  Slowly she stood up and turned to see Danny going out of the church, one arm around his mother, the other around Rosie.

  He did not even glance back at her, and in that moment, Kate had never felt so lonely in her life.

  ‘Will Beth want us at the graveside?’ Kate heard her mother whisper to Jonathan as they hesitated outside the porch, their glances going towards where the three figures stood near the freshly dug hole in the churchyard.

  ‘Yes,’ Jonathan said firmly and took Esther’s arm. ‘Come along. You too, Kate.’

  The coffin was lowered into the ground and Danny bent to scoop up a handful of earth and scatter it on to the lid. As he straightened up, across the grave his glance met Kate’s.

  For an instant, the years fell away and they were again two children standing beside Matthew Hilton’s grave, the man they now knew had fathered them both. Yet the man they were burying this day had been more of a father to Danny. Poor Danny, she thought, he must have so many conflicting emotions churning inside him, and she wasn’t making it any easier. This was not a day for bearing grudges.

  The interment ended, and as they began to move away, Kate saw her mother go to Beth’s side and take her arm. Together, the two women walked away down the path. Jonathan was speaking to Rosie and, taking her chance, Kate went up to Da
nny and laid her hand gently on his arm.

  He turned swiftly and gripped her hands. ‘Kate,’ was all he said, but it was enough.

  They walked together down the footpath, following the others. She heard him sigh and looked up to see his gaze upon the black-coated figures of his mother and Esther Godfrey ahead of them.

  ‘Strange, isn’t it, how those two come together in times of sorrow and yet they can’t bring themselves to speak to one another ordinarily?’

  Kate was silent. She could have said, ‘I know how they feel!’ She had made a tentative gesture of reconciliation towards Danny, but even now, Kate admitted guiltily to herself, she could not bring herself to speak to Rosie Eland.

  Back at camp it was a little easier, but letters from home renewed the pain.

  ‘Rosie’s living with Beth until after the war and when Danny comes home, the Good Lord willing, the Squire has promised him the tenancy of Rookery Farm, now that poor old Tom has gone. Miss Jenkins has moved into the town – she didn’t want to try to run the farm on her own . . .’

  So Kate was kept informed of all the gossip and news from home by her stepfather. Her mother was no letter-writer, but always sent messages via Jonathan. ‘Your mother says . . .’ littered every page and Kate would smile fondly as she read the latest instruction from home.

  She sat with the letter in her lap and stared out of the window of the hut. So Danny and Rosie would one day live at Rookery Farm, God willing, as her stepfather said, that Danny came through the war. He would work the land he had once dreamed of farming. He would live there with his wife and he would raise his children; all just as he had planned, just as they had planned together so long ago. Only now, his wife was Rosie and not Kate.

  She sighed and got up from her bed. It was time to drive one of the lorries taking the crews out to dispersal. The camp had been buzzing with anticipation all day, and Mavis and Isobel expected to be on duty through the night.