Sisters at War

by Milly Adams

She shrugged off her meandering. ‘What’s happening your side, Uncle Thomas? We’ve heard that the military are leaving. Are there still queues for evacuation at the harbour, and–?’

  ‘Oh, don’t start, Bryony,’ he interrupted. ‘Your aunt and I are not leaving, so no need to go on. Anyway the official evacuation is over. The soldiers have all gone, but life continues as normal. After all, we’re still digging up the spuds. I know, I know,’ he said, as though she was arguing, but she understood that it was with himself. ‘Let those who want to, scarper, but most of us will stay. It’s daft to think of a whole population turning tail and leaving. We’ll stay, and plant our fields, nurse our sick, man our shops, and deal with it. Anyway, who knows what will happen? They could come straight for you lot, or stay in France stuffing themselves with pâté and wine.’ Bryony could almost see him shrugging.

  She said, ‘I suppose what I’m really asking is what’s happening with Mum and Hannah. Are they intent on staying? Can you really cope if they do? They’re my responsibility, not yours.’

  Uncle Thomas laughed, and lowered his voice. ‘Young Hannah’s her usual selfless and beguiling self and yes, I am being sarcastic. She won’t budge because young Peter is still here. His dad, Keith Andrews, is still saying, no bloody way. It’s the potato harvest, you see, and Peter’s not that selfish.’ She heard the doubt in her uncle’s voice. He continued. ‘Well if he does bugger off, we’ll all pitch in. By the way, Bee, your mum and Hannah are not your responsibility. They’re big girls now.’

  ‘Dad told Hannah before he died that I was to look after them.’

  ‘I know all that, lass. But he had no right, and that time has long gone. You need to cast them off and row your own boat.’

  She laughed quietly. ‘Turning into a sailor in your old age, Uncle Thomas?’

  Celia called from the kitchen, ‘Bee, are you going to play now? Uncle Eddie says ’e needs a bit of time to relax and recover, cos I beats him all the time.’

  ‘Have you got company?’ It was Aunt Olive now, who had taken over the receiver. Briefly Bryony explained, but said nothing about her mother and Hannah’s rejection of more evacuees. It was still something so awful in Bryony’s mind that she couldn’t process it properly.

  ‘Don’t tell—’ she began, but Aunt Olive was already talking over her. ‘An evacuee, oh how wonderful, Bee, darling.’ Bryony heard the longing in her voice, because her aunt and uncle had never been able to have children.

  She heard Hannah then. ‘She’s what? Oh, for God’s sake.’

  She’d clearly snatched the receiver from her aunt, and now Hannah said, ‘You’ve done what? For heaven’s sake, Bee, you’ll go swanning off to your ATA and we’ll have to deal with it – if we come back, that is. But that’s one good reason not to. Just make sure it doesn’t go near my room, or my stuff. Mum will be furious, she didn’t want the noise or the mess. We told—’ She stopped.

  Bryony asked, her voice steady, ‘We told who, and what? Surely you wouldn’t reject those in need?’

  ‘You’re just so thoughtless, Bee.’

  The receiver was slammed down. Into the silence Bryony said, ‘One day, madam, I will spank you so hard my hand will hurt.’

  She sighed and turned, and there was Celia, looking shocked and backing away before turning and running pell-mell into the kitchen. Bryony shut her eyes. Children were a minefield. She’d rather deal with an aircraft in a spin any day.

  The telephone rang again. It was Uncle Thomas. ‘I got through again quickly. Didn’t think I would, so the cable’s working well. Of course if they come, the first thing that will happen is that the cable will be cut, so you won’t be hearing from us until it’s over. Can’t say you’ll feel that’s a bad thing after young Hannah’s tantrum just now. I know I shouldn’t say it, Bee, but she could do with a firm hand. She plays on being the orphan, and the poor little girl who needs mothering. You know, of course, she’s man mad. Mark you, I was girl mad.’ He laughed.

  He talked on and she let him, knowing he’d had a few beers and was uncertain about the future, and was trying to find a way through in his own mind. The line was beginning to crackle, which usually meant it was about to fail. He drove on, heedless. ‘Just to say, Bee, Sammy’s let me know he has a secret cellar full of booze and he wants his boy to join up with some cash in his pocket. I’m going to buy it, and stash it below the barn, along with some of the other bottles. It’s wine, more beer, and some baccy. The Italians have been interned, and the German waiters, did I tell you? Yes, I’ll hang on to Hannah and Mary. They’re in the cottage so we have our space.’ The crackling was worse. ‘Don’t worry, Bee. We’ll be all right. Always have been, always will be. You need to look after yourselves you kn—’

  The line went dead.

  Later that evening, Hannah and Peter sat with their arms around their knees on Col de la Rocque. They watched the whitecaps in the distance. It was Hannah’s favourite place, and she loved to be here with him, and adored his strength, his kisses, his humour, his talk of the farm and what he’d do with it when his father and mother retired and it finally became his. Did he mean ‘ours’? She thought he did.

  He picked and flicked grass. ‘I’ll turn the main crop into tourists, let them have their own units and look after themselves. I’ll keep some goats, chickens, and a donkey for the children. I’ll rent out the fields so someone else can look after the ruddy spuds, and the house will be free of boarding tourists, wanting their beds made and their breakfast on time.’

  He swung round and kissed her, gripping her tightly. His mouth opened. She broke away as she remembered Bryony. ‘Talking of bed and breakfast, guess what Bee’s gone and done. I thought we’d scared off Mrs Sanderson, but no, Miss Goody Two-Shoes has opened the door and let in an evacuee. Others will come without a by your leave, you just wait. I should have been consulted. It’s as though I never existed. I bet the little brat’s got my room by now, and my stuff.’

  She threw herself back on the grass. It smelt of the hay in Uncle Thomas’s barn. Peter lay down beside her. ‘Oh well,’ she said, ‘I’m happy here, with you, and nothing else matters.’ But she wanted to cry, because Bee had sounded so cold and cross.

  She felt Peter ease himself to one side. He said nothing for a while, just chewed a piece of grass. Finally he muttered, as a gull chased another high above them, ‘I suppose she thinks she has to do her bit because she’s not been called up to the ATA yet. Or do you get called up to a civilian organisation?’

  She rose on her elbow, tore the grass from his mouth, and kissed him hard, saying against his mouth, ‘Who cares, we’re here, just the two of us, and there’s a party tonight at Cheryl’s.’ She kissed his lips, then his cheek. ‘I have a bottle of wine from Uncle Thomas’s hoard. He thinks I don’t know about it, but he wants help to move the wine he’s buying from Sammy into the barn later today. So that’s payment in advance.’

  ‘Don’t be mean, Hannah. Leave him his wine. I have some and that’ll do. He’s looking after you and your mum, for heaven’s sake.’

  He stroked back her hair, blinking against the brightness of the day. She said, ‘It’s partly Mum’s farm, so it’s not being unfair. She inherited it along with Aunt Olive, and though he sends her a share of the profits, it’s not half a share.’

  Now he was sitting up, shaking himself free of grass, not looking at her for a while, as though deep in thought. At last he stroked her cheek. ‘Well, your uncle does do all the work, but hang it all, don’t let’s argue. It’s so hot, so beautiful, and so are you.’ He was dragging her to her feet. ‘Race you to the bikes, and I bet I get to the pub before you. Let’s make this a day to remember.’

  His laugh was infectious, and Hannah kissed him again, holding his face in her hands. ‘I love you,’ she said.

  He turned, and started to run. ‘Come on, fancy pants, or you’re buying the drinks.’ As they ran a German aircraft flew over, low, its shadow chasing them, its engines roaring. They threw themselves to the groun
d. Sometimes the Luftwaffe did this, but they were only playing games, surely; still, the sound made her mouth go dry, and she buried her face in the grass. Peter raised himself up and bellowed. ‘Just you wait, you bugger. Just you damned well wait.’

  The following morning, 27 June, Hannah and Rosie were squashed together in the passenger seat of her uncle’s lorry as he drove with a load of potatoes to the harbour at St Helier. While he unloaded she took Rosie for a walk, through the milling relatives and friends who were here to see people off. Next stop, Britain.

  She had a headache from too much wine, so she walked carefully, turning her head, looking for Peter. He had said to be here. There were plenty of merchant boats being loaded with produce, and another boat was drawing away from the quay with passengers heading for Britain. People seeking mainland sanctuary? Returning holidaymakers? Both, probably. She stroked Rosie and people stopped to do the same because there were far fewer dogs and cats on the island, as so many had been been put down in the war panic.

  A man passed, and she asked, ‘Have you seen Peter Andrews?’

  His eyes were red, his cheeks wet. He replied, ‘Peter, you said? I thought I saw him with his parents half an hour ago.’ His voice broke. ‘Sorry, just seen off my wife and children. They missed the main evacuation, and we’ve only just decided it might be for the best after all.’ He moved on.

  Suddenly Rosie started barking and straining at the lead. Hannah could hardly hold her, even using both hands. She shouted at her to behave. It seemed to calm her, and she let herself be dragged back to Hannah’s side. ‘Sit,’ Hannah ordered and yanked on the lead.

  Far over, there were people queuing for a boat. Whenever she saw this scene it made her panic a little but then her uncle, who was chatting to the other farmers, a cigarette at the corner of his mouth and scratching his head beneath his cap, made her calm. He was like a rock, so solid, his feet stuck in the soil from which, he declared, it would take more than a load of bloody Nazis to move him. She nodded. What would the Germans want with their little island anyway, when the plum would be mainland Britain?

  She looked behind her and around her. Above her the gulls called. Were they the same ones who’d finished the crusts yesterday? They would follow the boats out of the harbour, just as some were following the passenger boat already out at sea. She looked around for Peter, then walked on, watching as The Susan Gill cast off.

  People were waving to those already on board. She saw Peter’s parents on the quayside. Mrs Andrews was flapping a handkerchief. But where on earth was Peter? He had walked her home last night, hugged her as though he’d never let her go, and ducked away into the farmhouse. The chickens had been fussing, the dogs had slunk out to see him, and then returned to their kennels as he entered the house. He hadn’t turned round, just called. ‘You take care, lovely girl.’

  It was what he always said. She shaded her eyes, searching the quay. She checked behind her again. Her uncle was still chatting, but the cigarette had gone. She looked again at Peter’s parents, but he was definitely not with them. Mrs Andrews was standing on tiptoes, waving, and now it was Hannah who was on her toes following the older woman’s sight line. As she did so, a heaviness took over, her heartbeat seemed to slow, and her body grew cold, though the sun was hot. Somehow she knew what she would see. There on The Susan Gill was Peter, a huge rucksack on his back, waving his hat at his mother. They were easing away from the quay, heading out to choppy waters.

  ‘Peter!’ she shrieked. ‘Peter!’

  Rosie looked at her, and yelped, then lay down, whining. Mr and Mrs Andrews turned at the shout, along with many others. Mrs Andrews forced her way between those bidding farewell. ‘Hannah, he left you a letter.’ The woman was crying as she handed her an envelope. ‘He couldn’t bear to tell you, but wanted to know you were here.’

  Hannah stared at the envelope, but ignored it, and instead dragged Rosie to where she could see the boat more clearly. ‘Come back,’ she called. ‘Just you come back here. How could you?’ But The Susan Gill was well under way, chugging out into the choppy sea. Mrs Andrews had followed and stood beside her. ‘Hannah, he should have told you, but he couldn’t.’ She held out the envelope.

  Hannah just looked at it, and then at the weeping woman. ‘But you knew.’

  She slapped the envelope to the ground, hitting Mrs Andrews’s hand but not caring, though the shock of the slap jolted right up to her own elbow. Then she stamped on the letter. Mrs Andrews recoiled. ‘How could he?’ Hannah raged. ‘Why didn’t he tell me yesterday?’

  Mrs Andrews just stared at her, her hand reddening, and then said quietly, ‘I told you why, and now I can understand. He probably knew you’d behave just as you have done. Listen to me, Hannah Miller, my son is leaving, and you are having a tantrum. Shame on you. It’s high time you grew up.’

  ‘Bitch,’ Hannah shouted, yanking Rosie to her feet. ‘And your son’s a coward and a bastard.’

  She dragged Rosie through the crowds, not caring that many had heard and were watching, appalled.

  Bryony was doing the airline accounts when the telephone rang. She checked her watch. It was three o’clock in the afternoon, Thursday 27 June. She wasn’t expecting anyone and for a moment she paused. Eddie? Late last evening he had heard that his close friend had flown into a mountain in bad weather and he had been recalled. He was at the station first thing this morning. Before he left he had hugged her. ‘He knew the risks,’ he said, ‘and survived the First World War, so has had twenty years many didn’t. You, my girl, will not fly into any hills when you join us do you hear me? Because, never fear, you will be needed. And if Hannah changes her mind, yet again, you wait for the Sunflower. You promised, remember.’

  He had left, saying, ‘You can have your turn at being thrashed at dominoes.’

  Now she lifted the receiver. ‘Yes?’

  It was the familiar Jersey crackle. Was Uncle Thomas taking a break from harvesting the spuds?

  ‘Bee?’ It was Hannah.

  Bryony sighed, recognising the hysterical tone. What now? Celia would be home soon, her satchel banging on her back, her gas mask over her shoulder. She had made a friend, hallelujah, another evacuee, but from north London, not south.

  ‘You must come, now. Today. I need to return. I’m frightened, do you hear? People are leaving.’

  ‘Why exactly are you frightened today, Hannah, when you haven’t been before?’ She didn’t bother to keep the exasperation from her voice.

  She heard the back door open, and Celia call, ‘I’m ’ome.’

  Bryony put her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment, Cissie.’ It’s what her new friend, Agnes, called her, and Celia preferred it. She had announced she would not answer to anything else because Cissie made her feel new, and not sad, like her old name. ‘So be it,’ Bryony and April had said.

  ‘What’s the matter with you, Bee? You sound in a right old mood. Is that child getting you down? Well, you’ve only yourself to blame.’ Hannah was curt. ‘You’ve been asking me to come home, and now I say I really want to, you’re like this.’

  Bryony, who had been holding her breath, exhaled into the receiver. ‘The Dragonette is in dry dock, and Eddie has embargoed any flights – at all. I promised I wouldn’t. The Sunflower is being refitted and is not ready yet. Besides, last night Uncle Thomas said you were determined to stay, wh—’

  ‘Peter left this morning. He didn’t even say goodbye. I loved him, Bee. I was staying for him. What is there now? I might as well come back and go to art school, so bring the Tiger Moth.’

  ‘I told you, Eddie forbade it.’

  ‘Since when have you listened to people? You don’t want me back, do you, now that child’s at the Lodge?’

  ‘Of course I do. Uncle Thomas told me the evacuation was over, but why don’t you book passage on one of the boats?’

  ‘They’re all booked. Look, I could help you with the evacuee, I could help with Mum.’

  At this, Bryony w
as alert. ‘Mum wants to come home?’

  ‘Of course she does.’ Hannah paused. ‘She misses you, and she wants to see the doctor, her own doctor, not Doctor Clements. I really do want to go to art college and I can help with her, as I said, but in the college holidays.’

  Bryony stared at the musk roses on the telephone table. They had a scent that took the breath away. She was thinking. Her mother wanted to come. Did she sense her TB was on the prowl again?

  She asked. Hannah said, ‘It looks that way, and I think she needs to see her own doctor. Do I have to say everything twice?’ Then her tone changed. ‘I’m sorry, Bee, if I sound rude, I’m just worried.’

  Bee touched a rose, a petal fell to the surface of the desk. Soon she would have to cut more. It was a quick flight, after all, just an hour or so, then a rapid turnaround and back again. By the time she returned no one would be able to fuss. She thought of the German planes overflying the island, but that wouldn’t be all the time. The line was crackling. She would lose the connection, and her mother wanted to return. Hannah wanted to go to art school and get on with her life. Was everything coming together at last?

  ‘Bryony?’

  ‘Be at the landing strip, with Mum in about two hours. I’ll bring the three-seater Tiger Moth and will need someone to swing the propeller for the return. Either that, or I’ll keep the engine going, and you must get into the plane quickly.’

  She slammed down the telephone, and dug out her helmet and goggles from the cupboard under the stairs. She scribbled a note, apologising to April, who was at the Women’s Institute meeting, and saying she’d be back in no time, and that Cissie was with Anne and Catherine at the cottage. It was an emergency. Her mother needed to see the doctor, and she wasn’t to worry.

  In the kitchen, Cissie was eating the biscuits and milk Bryony had laid out for her. ‘Come along, Cissie. I know I’m rushing you, but I need you to go and spend a bit of time at the cottage.’

  Cissie slid off the seat, and followed her out of the back door, past her sheets drying on the line. She said nothing until they arrived at the cottage doorway, and Anne said they’d love to have her. Then Cissie clung to Bryony. ‘I heard you on the telephone, and you’re bad. Eddie and Adam said you mustn’t go. They said she could get a boat like everyone else. They’ll get cross, and I’m cross. They said it was dangerous.’