Joan’s own school work was slipping badly. The only As she got were for art. She found it hard to concentrate on the other subjects when there was so much anxiety about Lukasz, who was still on remand and awaiting trial for desertion. They all knew that things would go badly for him if he were convicted and sent to a military prison.
Joan tried to make Christmas cards, but it was difficult to conjure up a festive image. Judy was the only person in the family who was entering wholeheartedly into the Yuletide spirit, making endless lists of all the things she wanted.
“Poor Judy,” said Mum sadly. “I can’t bear to think how terribly disappointed she is going to be. I can’t possibly manage to get her any of these things – even if they were on sale in the shops.”
Even salvage was in short supply. Joan, Ross and Derek continued to do their rounds with the handcart, but people had very little to give. Everyone was burning any combustible rubbish they had to keep warm. Things had also been very quiet at the Royal Hotel since Lukasz’s arrest. Some parents had even come to take their evacuated children back to Liverpool, in spite of the Blitz.
Ross and Derek were planning another night sortie.
“You’ll freeze to death in this weather,” Joan told them.
“Don’t care about that,” said Ross. “You get warm pedalling, and it’s better than being in the shelter.”
When Joan ran into them a few days later, they were in a state of high excitement. She was on her way to check up on Ania, but stopped to talk. They had been out to the old mill and, more daringly than Joan and Brian, had somehow managed to prise open a gap in the barbed-wire fence.
“We had a good nose around,” said Derek. “It was dark, but we had our torches. The mill’s empty, except for the rats. But guess what? We broke into one of the old outbuildings – the main doors all have brand-new padlocks, but we found a loose door at the back – and there was loads of stuff in there!”
“What kind of stuff?” Joan wanted to know.
“Food. Boxes and boxes of it – coffee, sugar, tea, endless tinned stuff. Lots of it with American labels – Spam and that. We didn’t dare help ourselves, of course – though my mum would have been thrilled if we had.”
“You think it’s an army supply warehouse?” asked Joan, although it seemed odd.
“No. We were still in there when a van arrived,” said Ross. “No headlights. Came up very slow and quiet. Boy, were we scared! It definitely wasn’t any army vehicle.”
“Did you see who was driving?”
“Not likely! Lucky for us they didn’t spot our bicycles. We dodged off around the back while they were unlocking the main doors and beat it as quick as we could. We reckon it’s black market stuff.”
Joan felt a stab of icy panic in the pit of her stomach. She knew all about the black market, how it had sprung up as a response to food rationing. It was illegal and unpatriotic to buy and sell goods in this way, but people still did it.
“You shouldn’t go up there again,” she said. “It’s dangerous, whatever it is. Brian and I nearly got run over when we were collecting firewood. You ought to tell someone what you found. A very responsible grown-up. Someone who’ll go to the police.”
“Maybe,” said Derek. “But not just yet. We like a bit of a mystery, Ross and me. We’re not wimps, so we’ll keep going up there.”
As Christmas approached, anxiety about Lukasz intensified. He was to remain in custody until he came up for trial in the New Year. Ania was white-faced and silent at school.
“Try not to worry too much,” was all Joan could say by way of reassurance. “Doreen’s dad is working really hard to build up the evidence for his defence.”
A week later, the pre-Christmas gloom that had descended on the family was suddenly lifted when Doreen appeared on their doorstep early one morning. She was bursting with excitement to break the good news.
“Guess what! Lukasz’s court martial has been deferred – probably cancelled altogether. They’re releasing him on compassionate grounds. He’ll be able to join his old unit.”
“Doreen! What wonderful news!” Mum said. “How on earth…?”
“It was my dad who fixed it,” Doreen told them proudly. “He pulled a lot of strings. Talked to high-up
military people he knows about Lukasz’s background – what a terrible time he and Ania have had – and he convinced them that he’s no traitor. That he deserted out of desperation, then tried to make contact with Ania secretly for fear of getting caught.”
“So there won’t be any black marks against him?” Mum asked.
“No. He’ll be back with the Pioneer Corps, but in a clerical job and stationed locally. And, better still, Mum has rallied lots of local support to get Ania moved from Miss Mellor’s to a more suitable kind of family. They’ve got three kids, one about her age, so she’ll have a much better chance of improving her English.”
“That should cheer her up no end,” said Joan. “She’s been walking around at school like some sort of ghost since Lukasz was arrested.”
The only person who reacted coolly to this news was Ronnie.
“It’s awfully decent of John to go to all that trouble for Topolski,” he remarked on his next visit. “But I hope it doesn’t give a message to my men that the army is going soft on deserters. Otherwise they’ll all start thinking they can bunk off any time there’s trouble at home.”
CHAPTER 21
As Christmas approached, Ronnie called in more and more frequently. Sometimes he brought food to help with the rations, but mostly he came just to laugh and chat with Mum in the front room. Brian made himself scarce on these occasions and Joan went up to her attic studio. But it was so cold up there that she could not do much drawing. The romantic idea of freezing to death in a garret for art’s sake was, she decided, very overrated, even if the alternative was having to listen to Ronnie’s conversation.
Audrey was spending a lot of time with her friend Pat and loyally writing letters to Dai that she knew might never reach him. There had been none from him for some weeks, but that was not unusual when he was at sea. He was not a great letter writer at the best of times. When they did arrive, they came in batches, and were lovingly read by Audrey over and over again.
One evening, after tea, when the whole family was gathered together in the back room, Mum turned off the radio and faced them rather self-consciously.
“There’s something important I want to tell you. As we’re all at home and the air-raid siren hasn’t gone yet, this seems like a good time to do it. The thing is… Well, I don’t suppose it’ll come as much of a surprise…” She paused for a second and cleared her throat. “The thing is, Ronnie has asked me to marry him.”
There was a long, strained silence. On one level this was clearly not a surprise, but on another, it was a bombshell.
“It won’t be for a while yet,” said Mum, talking rather more rapidly than usual. “We want to give you plenty of time to get used to the idea, of course.”
“Will this mean he’ll be coming to live here?” said Audrey.
“Well, no. Not yet, anyway. He’s a serving officer, don’t forget, so he will still be based at the Catering Corps headquarters. So nothing will change much for the time being, though naturally he’ll want to spend as much time here as possible.”
Judy, at least, was pleased. “Oh, goody! Will you have a white dress and a veil and flowers? Will I be a bridesmaid? Where will he sleep? Will he share with Brian? P’raps he’ll drive me to school sometimes in his army car!”
The others said nothing. Audrey bent over her unfinished air letter, doodling around the edge with her pen. Joan tried to think of something to say and failed. Brian simply got up and left the room.
After the door had closed behind him, Mum said, “I know how hard it is for you to accept this all at once, and I don’t expect you to. We’ve managed here on our own for so long now, all of us, missing Dad terribly – and you’ve been brave and wonderful.
“And I kn
ow Ronnie hasn’t shown up very well in your eyes recently,” Mum went on. “He’s well aware of how upset you all were by the whole Lukasz affair – but he was only doing his duty as an officer. And that whole business has been resolved happily now, thank goodness. The thing is, he’s much more nervous of you lot, when he comes over here, than you realize. He tends to cover up the fact that he’s keen for you to like him with too much chat. But he has many good qualities you don’t know about – his generosity, for one thing—”
“If he thinks he can bribe his way into our good books by bringing us all this off-ration foodstuff, he’s on the wrong track,” Joan cut in. “I know it’s great having it. But I’m beginning to think I’d rather put up with rationing like everyone else.”
Mum got up. “I know just how all of you feel about this. I’m only too well aware of your feelings. But you’ve got to try and understand how I feel too. How tired I am. How sick of trying to keep everything going on my own. I heard someone down at the Home Office propaganda section going on about everyone trying to ‘keep calm and carry on’, or something like that. Well, I’m trying to. I do so want someone who will put me first – who loves me enough to look after me, and keep me company. I’m just asking you to give him a chance, at least. To try to—”
At that moment, her words were cut short by the familiar sound of the air-raid siren beginning its menacing nightly wail.
It was a mercifully short raid for once, and afterwards the family discussion was not resumed. Mum was upstairs reading to Judy, Audrey had returned to her letter writing, and Brian was at the kitchen sink, grimly doing the washing up. It was not a task he usually did without being asked. Joan picked up the drying-up cloth, and they worked together for a while in silence.
Then Brian muttered savagely, “I just won’t be able to stand it!”
“Stand what?” said Joan, although she knew very well what he meant.
“That chap. That Ronnie actually living here. Married to Mum! How can she bear the thought of it?”
“She told us why – you just left before she could explain,” said Joan. “About how lonely she is and stuff.”
“But he’s a creep! It’s bad enough having him dropping in all the time, hogging the fire in the front room and boring everyone stiff with his awful conversation. Imagine what it’ll be like if he actually moves in!”
Joan could imagine, all too clearly.
“I know one thing,” said Brian. “If Mum goes through with this, I’m moving out. I’m going. I’m not living under the same roof as him!”
“But you can’t, Brian. Where would you go?”
“I dunno. I haven’t thought yet. But I’ll find somewhere. Perhaps if I offer to help look after refugees or evacuees, they’ll let me live in some kind of hostel or something.”
“But what about your school work? Your exams?”
“I’ll manage. Anyway, I’m going to join the Merchant Navy as soon as they’ll take me.”
Joan went on silently drying the dishes. There seemed to be nothing left to say.
CHAPTER 22
It was not much of a Christmas. Nobody expected it to be. Only Ania was transformed, radiant now with happiness. She had moved into her new billet, where she could see Lukasz whenever he was free. “They are kind and friendly. They invite Lukasz to family dinner on Christmas Day,” she told Joan. “We make plans. We talk about my father. How we might find him when the war is over.”
“I do hope so, Ania,” said Joan.
At home, no one mentioned Mum and Ronnie’s engagement. Luckily, Ronnie was on duty on Christmas Day, so they were spared his presence and spent it quietly together.
On Christmas morning, the whole family attended early service at church, where special prayers were said for servicemen and -women serving abroad and at sea. Then it was time for present-giving.
Mum had found gifts for everyone: two pairs of nylons for Audrey, a special bicycle repair kit for Brian, a beautiful doll wearing an old-fashioned crinoline dress (lovingly made by two old ladies) for Judy, and a pack of watercolour paints and two new brushes for Joan.
The children all had presents for Mum too, mostly purchased in local jumble sales. Mum was especially pleased with Joan’s gift. Joan had painted a picture for her and put it in a nice old gilt frame that she had found in the attic. It was an illustration from Cinderella, of the moment when Cinders runs from the ballroom, leaving her glass slipper behind. Mum hung it in the front room
right away.
Mum had done her best with Christmas dinner too, and they all pitched in to help with the cooking. It was difficult to resist Ronnie’s contributions when they were all so hungry. Even Joan’s resolve weakened when it came to the Christmas pudding and mince pies.
But by far the best occasion of this not-very-festive season came on New Year’s Eve, when the whole family were asked to spend the evening at the Russells’. Ronnie was not invited.
The Russells’ lounge was as warm and welcoming as always, with a good fire and holly and mistletoe everywhere. Mr Russell had opened two good bottles of wine for the grown-ups.
“It’s the last of a case I brought over from France. Just before the war,” he said. “Those were the days… What a long time ago it seems now!”
They all laughed, chatted and gossiped as Mrs Russell handed round some delicious food. Even David, who was usually rather quiet, was in tremendous form. He’s so funny, Joan thought. Meanwhile, Doreen was tactful enough not to show off all the lovely presents she had received.
One of the best things about this family, thought Joan, is that they never rub in how much better off they are than us.
When midnight came, Mr Russell proposed a toast. “To 1941,” he said. “And to peace!”
“To peace!” they all cheered, and raised their glasses.
It was a forlorn hope. The festive atmosphere, such as it was, faded very quickly in January, when the Liverpool Blitz intensified, with devastating damage to buildings and docks, and terrible civilian casualties.
Food shortages were worse than ever and Joan felt hungry all the time. She hated running errands for Mum because of the long queues that formed outside any shop rumoured to have a consignment of fish or meat. Sausages were occasionally on offer, but were filled with some dubious substance that certainly wasn’t pork. And, although it didn’t affect Joan directly, the sight of the pubs closing early, displaying a sign saying, “Sorry, no beer”, was dispiriting to local morale.
But Mum explained that it was the Ministry of Food’s job to see that nobody starved. “Rationing’s awful, but it’s all worked out to keep us healthy, if not well fed. At least we’ve got plenty of fresh vegetables, with everybody digging for victory and all those Land Army girls working flat-out on the farms.”
All the same, the meagre sweet ration involved an agonizing choice between scoffing the lot in one go and then going without for the rest of the month, or eking it out, bit by bit. Joan usually preferred the former.
“At least you’re all growing up with good strong teeth,” said Mum.
Mum like many other self-sacrificing mothers, had long ago declared that she had never really liked chocolate, and divided her rations among the rest of the family.
The post-Christmas gloom was reinforced by headlines in the newspapers and on the radio about the iniquities of the black market. The news reports reeled at the scandal of all kinds of off-ration food being sold at extortionate prices to those who could afford it and were unpatriotic enough to buy it. The stories hinted at corruption in high places: “Not only ‘spivs’ selling illicitly on street corners, but a canker running right through our society, which must be rooted out!”
Joan’s heart sank when she read this, thinking about the old mill, and Ross and Derek’s discovery when they were nosing around there.
“You’ve just got to tell someone about it soon,” she told them when they were next out trundling the handcart. “Even if it does get you in trouble for trespassing.”
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br /> “We’re planning just one more trip out there next time there’s an air raid on,” said Ross. “Might even be able to pick up a bit of stuff.”
“You can’t do that! It’d be stealing!” Joan said.
“No one’ll miss it. It’s probably all hot, anyway,” Derek said.
“You ought to tell someone,” Joan repeated.
“Who would we tell?” said Derek. “The police? And have them coming round and asking questions and worrying my mum stiff?”
“Couldn’t you tell a grown-up? Someone you can trust?” said Ania, who had started to help them with the collections.
“Don’t know anyone,” said Ross.
Joan cast about for a suggestion. Ronnie Harper Jones came into her head, but she immediately dismissed it. Things were already complicated enough in that direction. And she would never forget the officious way he had barged into their back room on that terrible evening when he had handed Lukasz over to the Military Police. If it had not been for Mr Russell’s timely intervention, Lukasz would be in a military prison by now.
Then a thought struck her. It was so blindingly obvious that she could not think why it hadn’t come to her before. “What about Mr Russell?” she said. “Couldn’t you get Doreen or David to tell him about the old mill? He was so great about getting Lukasz’s court martial quashed. He’d know what to do.”
“OK. We might think about it,” said Ross, non-committal as ever.
But a few days later, disaster struck.
It was Ross who broke the bad news to Joan.
“Derek’s been in hospital,” he told her.
“What? Is he ill?”
“Nah. He’s got a broken collarbone. Been knocked off his bike. But he’s home again now. I’ve just been to visit him.”
“Where did it happen?”
Ross looked slightly shifty.
“Out by the old mill,” he said. “We bicycled out there again for another look around. Maybe get some stuff. But we never took anything in the end. Too risky, like you said. It was getting dark and we were on our way back, cycling along that narrow track, when a great lorry with no lights came up behind us out of nowhere! Going like hell, really fast. Drove right at us, deliberately trying to run us down. I managed to swerve into the hedge, but it knocked Derek flying and drove on. He hit the ground hard and broke his collarbone.”
Whistling in the Dark Page 9
