The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  The words blurred now for tears were coursing down her cheeks. How kind they were, even making it sound as if she, Kate, would be doing them a favour.

  Mavis came thundering down the hut. ‘Kate – what’s up? Is it bad news . . .?’ The wooden slats creaked as she dropped her weight on to the bed at the side of Kate.

  Kate shook her head. ‘No – no,’ she sobbed. ‘Just the opposite.’

  Then she told Mavis what had happened when she had gone home and then about the letter she had just received.

  ‘Well, that’s all right, then,’ Mavis said in her matter-of-fact manner. ‘I thought there was something wrong – all that blubbering.’

  Kate smiled and wiped away her tears. Dear friend though Mavis was, she could not be expected to understand the relief that Jonathan’s letter had brought to her. Her mother’s initial reaction had been expected, but Kate had not believed that Esther Godfrey would turn her face away from her own daughter quite so heartlessly and so completely. Kate had suddenly felt very alone; the only people who were on her side were powerless to help her – her grandad, old and increasingly infirm and dependent upon Esther, Beth Eland and Rosie and even, she had thought, her stepfather. But Jonathan Godfrey was nothing if not resourceful, and for once he had acted without reference to Esther.

  Whether her mother approved or disapproved, she had no way of knowing for neither Jonathan nor Peggy mentioned Esther in their letters.

  Two days later, Kate was able to hitch a lift into Lincoln and go to see Peggy and Mrs Godfrey.

  ‘It really is so kind of you,’ she began hesitantly, after the first flurries of welcome were over and she had been seated near the fire opposite Mrs Godfrey, a cup of tea balanced on her lap. ‘Are you sure you really don’t mind? I mean, the neighbours . . .’

  Mrs Godfrey laughed. ‘There’s a lot worse goes on down this street behind the lace curtains than you bringing a baby into the world, my dear. But if it troubles you, you can always wear a wedding ring and call yourself Mrs Hilton. There’s lots of women on their own now with this war on, and no one bothers to ask questions any more. But we’re not worried one way or the other, are we, Peggy love?’

  Peggy was standing beside Kate, looking down at her thoughtfully. ‘No, Mother, we’re not,’ she said absently.

  Suddenly she sat down beside Kate and looked her full in the face. ‘Kate, you’re obviously still troubled as to what we think of you and how it will reflect upon us, aren’t you?’

  Kate glanced down at the liquid in her cup. ‘Well, yes, you see, me mam . . .’

  ‘We know about your mother – Jonathan told us just enough to enable us to put two and two together . . .’

  ‘ . . . And make five,’ put in Mrs Godfrey.

  Kate smiled wanly. ‘She – she was so upset. It’s always been so important to her, you see. In her eyes, I’ve done just about the worst thing I could have done.’

  For a moment there was silence in the room. Peggy was still watching Kate then she took a deep breath and seemed to come to a decision. Kate saw her glance at her mother and raise her eyebrows as if seeking approval for something she was about to do.

  ‘It’s up to you, love,’ the older woman said quietly, obviously understanding her daughter’s meaning.

  Peggy turned back to Kate and smiled gently. ‘You won’t remember much about the last war, you’d only be little. I was a young girl of eighteen when I met Michael. He worked with Jonathan and they volunteered together. We – fell very much in love, and we knew that any day he might be sent to France. So, we were going to get married – with the blessing of both our parents, even though we’d only known each other three months. The date was set and everything arranged and then his unit was posted overseas at short notice and all leave cancelled. He begged and pleaded with the authorities to allow him just a few days to get back here so that we could get married by special licence before he went. But he couldn’t get leave. He had to – to go without even seeing me again.’ Peggy’s hands were twisting in her lap now, but her voice remained strong and there was a tender smile on her lips as though her story brought back happy memories as well as the sad times. ‘A few weeks after he’d gone, I – I found I was carrying his child.’

  Kate gasped. ‘Oh Peggy . . .’

  ‘I got three letters from him before he was killed on the Somme and I never got the chance to tell him he was to be a father. Maybe it was for the best in a way, because I was dreadfully ill after we’d heard he’d been killed and I – I lost the baby.’ There was a haunted look in her eyes now.

  ‘Did – did me dad know?’

  ‘Not at the time,’ Mrs Godfrey put in. ‘When Jonathan came home wounded, Peg was over the worst, except that she was thin and dreadfully unhappy. He was worried enough about her, as it was. But after the war, when he was home for good, well, we told him then.’

  ‘So you see, Kate,’ Peggy said softly, ‘we do understand. I would have given anything – anything – if I could have kept that baby and brought it up – wedding ring or no wedding ring. I would have had something left of Michael.’

  Kate eyes went to Mrs Godfrey. As if reading her unspoken question, the woman nodded. ‘Yes, her father and I stood by her,’ she said softly. ‘We’d have brought the little one up, if it had lived.’

  The lump in Kate’s throat was so large, she found it impossible to speak.

  ‘So,’ Peggy said gently, ‘we feel – Mother and me – that it’s as if we’ve been given a second chance. Do you see?’

  Kate nodded. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘And I’m so very grateful.’

  Mrs Godfrey suddenly slapped her hand on to her lap, rattling the cup in the saucer.

  ‘Careful, Mother, you’ll spill that.’ Peggy jumped up to rescue the wobbling cup.

  ‘I’ve just had a wonderful idea.’ Mrs Godfrey beamed at the other two. ‘When you leave the WAAFs, Kate, why don’t you start dressmaking again?’

  ‘Oh, but I couldn’t expect you to look after the baby all day while I go out to work . . .’

  ‘I don’t mean that. I mean here, in the front room, just like I used to do. There’s folks crying out for it now, wanting their old clothes made over because of the rationing. They still knock on my door even now, at my age, asking if I “couldn’t just sew this seam up, Mrs Godfrey . . .” You know they do, Peg.’

  ‘Well, it’s whether Kate wants to . . .’

  As Peggy turned back to look at her, Kate knew the answer was plainly written in her shining eyes and her wide smile. ‘Want to! Oh, I’d love it. It was the sight of your room when I visited from school that made me take up sewing and dressmaking in the first place.’

  ‘Was it really?’ Mrs Godfrey laughed aloud. ‘Well, who would have thought it, all my clutter inspiring you like that!’

  Peggy was smiling too. ‘Well, that’s settled then.’

  Indeed, everything seemed to be settled very satisfactorily, Kate thought as she waited for the transport back to camp. For the first time in months, she dared to feel a tinge of hope. Suddenly, she felt a flutter beneath her ribs and, smiling, she put her hand over the place. Her child had moved for the first time.

  She would see Ma’am first thing in the morning, she decided.

  ‘Well, you’re not the first and I don’t expect you’ll be the last!’ Ma’am was tight-lipped and disapproving, but had become resigned to the fact that in her position in charge of a clutch of women, this kind of interview was bound to happen. ‘But I must say, I am surprised at you, Hilton. You had a wonderful job as personal driver to the CO, one which you’ve kept despite a change at the top.’ The shrewd eyes were regarding her keenly.

  Kate made no comment but kept rigidly to attention, her gaze unflinchingly on the top button on Ma’am’s jacket.

  The officer sighed. ‘Very well, dismissed.’

  Outside, the air cooling her hot cheeks, Kate let out a sigh. Now the only thing she had to face was the gossip spreading round the camp . . .

 
; ‘Think you can run the gauntlet of the pub tonight, Kate?’ Mavis asked cheerily. ‘Me and Isobel have actually got a night off together. Thought we’d take you out for a farewell drink . . .’ She grinned. ‘Well, in your case, orange juice.’

  Kate threw her shoe at Mavis, who ducked smartly. The shoe sailed across two beds, landed on the floor and skidded under the third. Kate padded across the floor after it and, panting against her tight waistband, bent to retrieve the shoe. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Does everyone know now?’

  Mavis shrugged. ‘Shouldn’t let it worry you – ‘sides, me and Isobel will be there.’

  ‘Oh well, then. I’ll have no trouble,’ Kate laughed.

  She needn’t have worried; everyone was far more wrapped up in their own worries or bent on having a good time before tomorrow’s op than worrying if a silly little WAAF was pregnant.

  Kate was sorry to say goodbye to Mavis and Isobel, but apart from that, leaving was easy. There had been no word from Philip; in one way she was disappointed and hurt, yet in another, it was a relief. Since making her decision not to tell him about the child, she had been worried what she would do if he wrote to her. But with every day that passed without a letter, her decision not only seemed right, but also easier to carry through. And with Philip gone, she really had no reason to regret leaving the WAAFs.

  ‘You won’t get rid of us as easy as this though, will she, Iso? We’ll come and visit you.’

  ‘Even if it’s only to bring those ghastly bootees you’re trying to knit, Mave,’ Isobel drawled. ‘Poor child!’ she added, but now there was no malicious bite to Isobel’s teasing.

  Mavis laughed good-humouredly. ‘You’re right there, Iso. I’ll never win prizes for knitting and that’s a fact!’

  They walked with her to the gate and helped her into the back of the lorry which was taking her into Lincoln. Kate waved as the lorry drew away, but then her glance went beyond them, taking a last look at the station that had been her home for over eighteen months. So much had happened here and she had made so many friends, she mused, as she watched the two waving figures grow smaller and smaller. She had fallen in love with Philip and known a very different kind of love that had obliterated the unhappy childhood romance, so cruelly shattered.

  Danny . . . Her mind shied away from thinking about him. But she couldn’t – not for ever. Where was he, her beloved brother? Was he alive? He must be. Surely she’d know – she would feel it – if he wasn’t? What was it he had said all those years ago? ‘What would I do if you were no longer in the same world as me?’

  She thought of Rosie waiting in the tiny cottage at Fleethaven Point with the son Danny had never seen.

  Kate ran her hand over her stomach.

  Oh Danny, her heart cried silently. I wish you were here for me to tell you about this.

  How am I going to get through it without you?

  Kate was surprised how quickly she settled in the terraced house with Mrs Godfrey and Peggy. For appearances she wore a ring on the third finger of her left hand and when giving her name she just said Kate Hilton and left it to others to add the ‘Mrs’ themselves.

  Soon several ladies were coming to Mrs Godfrey’s front parlour with their sewing or dressmaking demands. All were Mrs Godfrey’s former clients and word soon spread that there was a very clever little dressmaker back in business at number eight. Kate enjoyed the work, even though as the months passed she found it increasingly difficult to bend over her bulge to operate the sewing machine.

  ‘You’ve done Mother a power of good,’ Peggy told her.

  ‘Have I? How?’ Kate asked, surprised.

  ‘Now she can’t get about, while I was at work she used to get so lonely before you came. Oh, she’d have a few visitors, but not like now when your clients pop through for a bit of a chat about the old days. She’s loving every minute of it.’

  Kate pulled a face. ‘She might not when there’s a squalling infant keeping her awake half the night.’

  Peggy’s expression softened. ‘You’ll see – she’ll make the world’s best doting grandmother – oh no, wait a bit, great-grandmother.’

  How kind they were to her, Kate thought, she was very lucky, but she was saddened by the thought that the coming child’s true grandmother wanted nothing to do with it.

  ‘Peggy! Peggy!’

  Kate knocked on the bedroom door. From inside she heard the squeak of bedsprings and the door opened.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Pains. I’ve got pains, Peg. Here . . .’ Kate clutched her groin and gasped, doubling over as another spasm gripped her.

  ‘How often are they coming?’

  ‘I – don’t know.’

  ‘Right – back to bed and I’ll . . .’

  At that moment the siren began to wail.

  Forty

  ‘I’ll phone for the midwife from next door. Joe’s an ARP Warden so they’ve got a telephone.’ As she spoke, Peggy was already stripping off her nightdress and struggling back into her clothes.

  ‘What about getting your mother into the shelter?’ Kate shouted above the noise.

  Peggy laughed. ‘If I were to get her in, Kate, it would be the first time. She never goes.’

  ‘Oooh—’ Kate let out a yowl and thought, now I know why Rosie was squealing so much.

  ‘Is it bad? They’re coming a bit close together for my liking.’

  ‘No – no – not that bad,’ Kate lied bravely. ‘I just squeaked because they take you by surprise a bit.’

  Peggy ran lightly downstairs while Kate staggered back to the big bedroom and heaved herself back on to the bed. She lay there propped up against the pillows, her knees drawn up, her legs apart, trying to remember all the things her mother had instructed Rosie to do.

  And all the while the siren wailed.

  By the time Peggy’s footsteps came pounding back up the stairs, Kate’s pains had increased in intensity and frequency.

  ‘About every three and a half minutes,’ Kate told her calmly.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Peggy ran her hand distractedly through her hair. ‘Kate – I can’t get through. The lines must be down and Joe’s out because of the raid . . . ‘

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Kate said. Despite the pain, a strange calm seemed to spread through her. ‘It can’t be very different to calves and piglets being born and I’ve seen enough of those.’

  ‘But I haven’t,’ Peggy wailed. ‘I don’t know what to do . . . ‘

  ‘I was there when Rosie had . . . ‘ Kate gasped as another pain clenched her abdomen, ‘her – her son. I think I can remember what me mam did.’ For a moment a feeling of intense longing swept over her; oh, how she would love it to be Esther standing beside the bed at this very moment! Dearly as she loved Peggy, she was not at this moment inspiring Kate with confidence and composure. Indeed, it was the patient who was having to calm the nurse.

  As the wave of pain subsided, trying to lighten the situation, Kate smiled and said, ‘Shouldn’t you be boiling water or something, Peg?’

  Peggy stood at the end of her bed, her eyes wild, wringing her hands. ‘Oh Kate . . .’

  ‘Peg – Peg! What’s happening?’ Mrs Godfrey’s anxious voice drifted up from the room below.

  Peggy hurried to the door and shouted down the stairs. ‘It’s coming – and I don’t know what to do, Mother . . . ‘

  Kate heard the older woman’s voice. ‘Just calm down, Peg. Rita’s here, she’s coming up . . . ‘

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs and as Rita, their next-door neighbour, came into the bedroom, Kate panted hard as a spasm of pain began and swelled, until she was gripping the mattress beneath her.

  ‘Well, you’re well on, by the look of you,’ Rita smiled down at Kate. ‘I’m just off on me bike to find our Joe. He’ll get the midwife for you.’ She turned to Peggy. ‘Don’t worry, Peg, just keep mopping her brow and try to get her to relax when the pains come. And pant hard, Kate, don’t push yet, else you might tear yourself.’

  ‘Oh, R
ita,’ Peg began again. ‘Can’t you stay? I’ll go and find Joe.’

  ‘No, Peg. I know all the places he might be better’n you.’

  ‘Do be quick, won’t you?’

  Rita laughed as she left the room and ran lightly down the stairs. ‘I’ll do me best, if Hitler’ll let me . . .’

  ‘I wish I could get you to the Maternity Home, but I don’t know anyone with any petrol.’

  ‘It’s not fair to – to ask anyone – in an air raid, Peg.’ Kate panted.

  ‘Oh, they wouldn’t mind that . . .’

  As if to refute Peggy’s statement about the generosity of their neighbours and their brave disregard for safety if called upon, they heard the whine of a bomb and then there was a terrific blast. The house shuddered and the windows rattled.

  ‘I think,’ Kate said with wry humour, ‘I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind, Peg.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ came Mrs Godfrey’s voice from below. ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘Tell her I’m fine. I think the pains are not as bad at the moment.’

  Peggy relayed the message and then came back to stand nervously at the side of the bed. ‘I am sorry I’m not being much use, Kate,’ she said. Kate reached out and clasped Peggy’s hand. ‘Of course you are, Peg . . . We – we’ll do it together. We’ll manage – bombs or no bombs.’

  For a while Kate’s labour eased. ‘I think it’s taking a rest before the final push,’ she joked, and Peggy smiled thinly.

  When the pains began again, strongly and more frequently, Peggy seemed calmer, although she kept casting anxious glances towards the open bedroom door and straining to hear the sound of footsteps above the noise of the raid going on all over the city.