Homefront

by Jill Barry

  “See you soon,” he said. “Drive back safely, my darling. I’ll write as soon as I can. This isn’t really goodbye. You and I are meant to be together.”

  He stepped on board and she saw him lift his kitbag onto the luggage rack. She’d bought him a newspaper at the kiosk and she saw him clutching it as he mouthed I love you to her before squeezing into a vacant seat at the far side of the compartment.

  Charlotte couldn’t make her feet move from the spot. The train slid slowly away, getting up steam again, leaving her biting back the tears and waving even though she knew Robert could no longer see her.

  “It’s good to be home,” said Don, pulling off his boots and wriggling his toes.

  “You won’t hear any arguments from me,” said his dad, fingers laced around a cup of tea.

  Charlotte, poured tea for herself and her brother and carried the cups to the table. “Maybe you’d like yours by the stove, Don?”

  “If no one minds. That train compartment was flippin’ freezing.”

  “Mine wasn’t too bad,” said Mr Moore. “I was worrying about your sister having to drive through fog. It looked pretty bad in some places.”

  “Well, we’re home now. Sorry I couldn’t meet you at Coynesbury, Don. Both of you arriving on the same day … typical!”

  “I was happy enough to get the bus,” said Don. “Had a quick word with Robert’s dad on my way round. He seemed to be coughing a bit.”

  “I know,” said Charlotte. “I’ve told him not to come in till it’s better. The last thing he needs is to be breathing freezing fog. I’m sure we’ll manage. Jack’s got energy enough for three people.”

  “I can take a turn on the pumps,” said her father. “It’ll be good to see my customers again.”

  “We’ve tried to look after them all,” said Charlotte. “You’re here on leave though, Dad. And Don of course.”

  Don took a swallow of tea. “I’m quite happy to give you a break, sis. What’s the plan for Christmas Day?”

  “Eleanor’s going to cook the turkey. Mr Graham got us one from his farmer friend as usual and I made a pudding back in November.”

  “No, I meant, what time do we close the garage?”

  Both her men folk gazed at Charlotte. She swallowed hard.

  “We’ve been closing at four these dark evenings. I see no reason to change it. People are used to the winter hours now.”

  “That’s my girl,” said her dad. “If I know Jack, he’ll be anxious to earn what he can so he can do the full day but we’ll let him scoot home for his dinner whatever time his mum tells him.”

  “If I do the morning,” said Charlotte, “you two can pay some calls and we’ll have a bowl of soup to keep us going till the big dinner. Is that all right?”

  “Perfect,” said Don. “I’m meeting Pearl at the base tomorrow morning.” He hesitated. “Is it all right if I use the Vauxhall? Will you need it, Dad?”

  “You take it, son. I can walk to where I want to be. Is Eleanor here tonight or staying at her place?”

  “She said she’d stay at the flat and do some catching up. She knows she’s welcome, if she changes her mind.”

  “I might stroll round later,” said Mr Moore. “Make a couple of duty calls tomorrow on the cousins and so forth.”

  “I need to call on Roberts’ parents at some point,” said Charlotte. “I’ve got gifts from us both for them. We bought them while he was home on leave.”

  “You can check up on George’s cough then, love,” said her dad. “Tell him I’ll call round to see him Boxing Day morning if that’s convenient.”

  Slipping into the various gears, so easily, thought Charlotte. Getting on with the different layers of our lives even though Dad’s sitting there in his khaki uniform as though he’s never worn anything else. The same goes for Don. A few days ago it was Robert. Now I’ve no idea when he and I’ll see one another again. Don hasn’t said where his next posting is either. It’s as though they want to keep their army life in a little box and not open it again until they have to.

  The men folks’ rumble of laughter as they talked about a game of football interrupted Charlotte’s musing. She smiled at them both. “I thought we’d cheat and have a fish and chip supper tonight,” she said. “Bags Don goes to fetch them.”

  Charlotte received a telephone call on Christmas morning. She heard the telephone ringing as she handed a customer his change. He was anxious to drive his family to visit relatives in Coynesbury and told her he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d all be kipping on the sitting room floor that night, should there be too generous a snowfall.

  She wished him luck and dashed towards the office, narrowly avoiding a fall as her foot skidded on an icy patch. “Jack, get some salt down here, please!” Charlotte yelled the instruction and grabbed the telephone receiver, waiting impatiently while the operator went through her procedures.

  “Hello?” Charlotte’s voice was impatient. She hoped one of the regular customers hadn’t run out of petrol and needed her assistance. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “It’s me,” said the voice.

  “Robert! How marvellous to hear you. I bet there’s a queue behind you.”

  “Never mind that. How are you?”

  “We’re all fine. Hoping we don’t get more snow.”

  “Listen, Charlotte, I rang to wish you a Merry Christmas. I’m being sent to my next posting tomorrow. You may not hear anything for a while but I don’t want you to worry. Promise?”

  “That’s easy to say, not so easy to do.”

  “I got your letter and the photo. It’s in my breast pocket. Enjoy your day, darling. I’ll write when I can. Remember what I said.”

  “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. I love you.” Suddenly the line went dead and Charlotte was left staring at the receiver. Moments earlier the voice she wanted to hear most in the world had drifted from the mouthpiece. Had he even heard her last words? The brief greeting had been like a tempting plate of food, whipped away after one or two delicious mouthfuls.

  “No point in grumbling,” she whispered to herself.

  Jack, scattering salt scraped from a big chunk purchased as soon as the hard frosts set in, whistled a Christmas carol as he worked.

  “Happy Christmas, darling Robert,” Charlotte called out loud. Then she began to sing in tune with Jack’s whistling. God Rest ye Merry Gentleman, let nothing ye dismay …

  Her father appeared, carrying a bulging shopping bag and walking gingerly along the cleared pathway down the pavement, Eleanor, wearing a fur coat and clinging to his arm. Picking up the sound of the carol, they began singing too, Raymond’s mellow baritone and Eleanor’s clear soprano tones mingling with Charlotte’s husky voice and Jack’s crystal clear piping. The four of them stood, paying homage to the spirit of Christmas, their breath rising like smoke on the frosty air.

  “…tidings of comfort and joy…” Probably not yet awhile, thought Charlotte. Meanwhile she had almost all her loved ones around her at this festive time. That was much more than many people could say.

  “I’ll come and relieve you as soon as I’ve had a hot drink and changed into my overalls,” said her dad. “I’ll fetch you a cuppa and a warm mince pie, Jack.”

  When Charlotte left the garage forecourt, her dad, buttoned into his long foreman’s coat and wearing a woolly balaclava, already had his head under someone’s bonnet. She smiled to herself at the sight. It seemed an odd way to spend his precious leave but he looked happy enough. His business was literally his second home.

  In the kitchen, Eleanor was putting the turkey into the oven. She wore a smart chocolate brown wool dress under a frilled, floral pinafore.

  Charlotte stamped her boots on the mat inside the door. “I had a phone call from Robert.” She struggled out of her big jacket. “All these layers …lovely and warm in here though.”

  “The bird’s in the cooker and the old stove’s nice and hot. I’ve put the pudding in the bottom oven, standing in a dish of hot water.”


  “We shall have a feast,” said Charlotte. She ran to give Eleanor a hug. ‘Guess who rang?’

  “So how is your young man? What news?”

  “They’re moving him on tomorrow. He didn’t say where and it may be a while before I hear from him.”

  “He’s marking your card. Making sure you know he won’t be able to keep in touch, as he wants to. He’s looking out for you, love.”

  Charlotte sighed. “I know but I hate the thought of not knowing where he is. He’ll be overseas, destination unknown.”

  “Charlotte, let me give you a piece of advice.” Eleanor hung the tea towel on the rail of the stove and sat down. “You’ve got a good man there. He doesn’t want to be away from you but he’s got no choice in the matter. It won’t help either of you, if you mope.” She raised her hand. “I’m sorry if I sound harsh but you know I’m right. And your dad and your brother, not to mention me, will worry about you if you go around like a month of Sundays.” She looked heavenwards. “Not that there’s anything wrong with a Sunday.”

  Charlotte chuckled. “I’m sorry if I behaved like a spoilt brat.”

  “You didn’t. You’re behaving like a woman in love.” She covered her goddaughter’s hand with her own. “Keep your pecker up. Keep your man in your head and in your heart. Now, let’s switch on the wireless and prepare the vegetables.”

  “Remembering my brother will put away twice as many as you and me together,” said Charlotte. But she managed a smile.

  The afternoon was spent companionably. After the garage closed they nibbled at warm mince pies and opened their festive gifts, Charlotte playing Postman as usual. Eleanor had crocheted her a beautiful shawl in a rich shade of crimson wool spun fine as a cobweb.

  “You suit bright colours,” her godmother said.

  “It’s absolutely beautiful. I think I shall make it part of my trousseau.”

  “I should wear it and enjoy it, love,” said her dad. “If I know El, she’ll have something else up her sleeve for your trousseau.”

  They oohed and aahed over their gifts, simple but welcome tokens of affection. At last the cooks shooed the men away, instructing them to light the gas fire in the living room and to lay the table, not forgetting to spread the dark green chenille cloth kept specially for festive occasions. One of Eleanor’s clients had given her a box of luxury crackers, frothy white crepe paper trimmed with silver and gold lace, perfect against the fir tree green background.

  Don lit the scarlet candle in the gleaming brass holder his sister had put ready with its own miniature holly wreath, just as she entered the room, carrying a small dish of homemade redcurrant jelly and the Sunday best silver condiment holder.

  “You’ve done a good job,” she said. “Mum would be pleased with us.”

  “Reckon she would,” said her brother. He hugged her to him. “I haven’t told you properly how pleased I am about you and Robert.”

  She held out her ring for him to admire. “Pearl told me you’d be pleased when we bumped into her at Randalls last Saturday.”

  She could have bitten her tongue off.

  But Don only nodded. “She mentioned she’d gone there with Phil.” He hesitated. “Pearl also said you were edgy about her being there with him. Well, I know he’s a bit of a bar fly but I don’t think there’s any malice in the fellow. He knows how things are between Pearl and me. I trust him is what I’m trying to say.”

  “I’m glad,” said Charlotte. “He’s good fun. I suppose I jumped to conclusions. I do miss Pearl’s company but our social lives have gone out of the window.”

  “She misses you too. Maybe you could get to the pictures together some time. Keep an eye on each other.”

  “You cheeky monkey.” Charlotte mock-punched her brother. “As if we needed such a thing.”

  “Come on you two,” called Eleanor. “Your dad’s carving. This is the big moment.”

  Charlotte screamed as Don scooped her up and carried her into the kitchen, plonking her down beside the table.

  “You’ve lost weight,” he said. “It must be love.”

  And so it continued, chatter and laughter ebbing and flowing as they dished up and carried the hot food through to the other room. The only silent moments were caused by the hearty appetites of the four, not by lack of conversational topics.

  “That was a tip top meal,” said Raymond at last, sitting back in his chair. “Compliments to the cooks.”

  “A good joint effort,” said Eleanor. “Just like the rest of the day. You men split the garage duties with Charlotte and she and I handled the dinner.” She smiled at her goddaughter. “Even remembered to switch on for King George’s speech.”

  “He did a good job,” said Don. “He’s an example to us all.”

  “He’s another one having to do his duty and not what he really wants to do,” said Mr Moore.

  “I wonder if the war will still be on by the time next Christmas comes around,” said Charlotte.

  Eleanor shot her a warning glance.

  “It’s all right, everyone. You don’t have to answer that,” Charlotte said hastily.

  “I couldn’t if I tried, love,” said her father. “Why don’t we finish with a little drop of Port?”

  Don rose to fetch the bottle from the living room sideboard. “I promised to walk round to Pearl’s later, if that’s in order,” he said.

  “Don’t mind us,” said his sister. “You could do with a pair of snow shoes. Why not take a short cut over the field? It’s probably easier walking.”

  “Not a bad idea. I’ll try not to wake the sheep.”

  “Try not to break the black out,” said his father. “Even on Christmas Night we need to keep our wits about us.”

  “It’s all right, Dad,” said Charlotte. “Don can take the torch with the special cover. It’s seen Auntie El and I home a few times.”

  “Do you want to come round to Pearl’s with me, sis?”

  “No thanks, Don. You don’t need me hanging round. Give her my love, won’t you?”

  Despite the snowy conditions, both Don and his father travelled back to their bases by train. Jack brought his old toboggan round on the day they needed to get to Coynesbury Junction and the three piled the men’s luggage on board and trudged to Peel Bay Station, Charlotte needing to remain at the garage as George Costello was still unwell.

  Mrs Costello was concerned about her husband and the bookkeeping was falling behind though Eleanor had said she’d do her best to help, used as she was to keeping her own records for the taxman. New Year’s Eve occupied a very low profile, with the women worrying more about pipes freezing than piping in the New Year.

  One day merged into the next, the only bright spot being the knowledge that, winter solstice passed, daylight hours would eventually increase. As the savage winter days lost their bite and the weather became very cold rather than bone chillingly icy, Charlotte received a card from Robert. She turned it over quickly and scanned the brief message.

  Here I am at last to tell you we’re over the water. I’ll give you an address next time I write. Not exactly the Ritz but we make do.

  All my love, Robert xxx

  It wasn’t much to go on but at least she knew he was on French soil and as soon as he got back in touch she’d write a proper letter to him. The image on the postcard was of a large chateau, its name meaning nothing to her. Later of course, she could get out the atlas and look up the name. It wasn’t a very productive exercise but somehow she felt it would make her feel closer to Robert.

  She waved the card at Eleanor who’d abandoned opening the salon on Mondays. “Private Costello has communicated.”

  “I told you it wouldn’t be easy for him. Can you write back or is he of no fixed abode?”

  “He says he’ll let me know his address when he can. How strange it all is. Would he be sleeping in a tent?”

  Eleanor pursed her lips. “Soldiers sleep wherever they can. They might be in tents at first then as they push on towards the
enemy lines, they could end up sleeping in hen houses, barns, under hedges or even in churchyards.”

  Charlotte felt as if she was choking. “In such cold weather, that could be very dangerous. It’s just not fair on those poor soldiers!”

  “War isn’t fair, Charlie. There are countless German wives and sweethearts feeling just as you do now. A lot of their men were sent off last summer and are probably still out there. They weren’t kitted out for cold weather. At least the boys going out like Don and Robert have embarked equipped for winter.”

  Charlotte turned the card over again and traced her forefinger over Robert’s signature bold, curly letter R. “I know we all have to be patient. They’re the ones fighting for us.”

  “Meanwhile,” said her godmother, “I’ll take myself off to the high street and see what’s about. When I come back, I’ll make up a big pot of stew. There’s a bit of meat left from yesterday to give it some extra zip.” She frowned. “Have you left Jack on his own?”

  “No. I forgot to say, George is back at work. He says his chest’s much better now the extreme cold has gone.”

  “That’s a relief. Does this mean Mrs Costello will be in later?”

  “She will,” said Charlotte. “I can show her Robert’s card.”

  “Kisses and all?” Eleanor teased.

  “Kisses and all,” said Charlotte. “What you said about the Germans has really touched me. The ordinary soldiers are all just boys, most of them, aren’t they?”

  A few mornings later, a small red sports car pulled up at the pumps while Charlotte spoke on the telephone to a customer. She watched through the window as Jack approached the driver, ready to serve him. But the motorist wriggled out of his seat and as he stretched to full height, Charlotte realised it was Philip McGirr, in his RAF uniform. He headed towards the office, leaving Jack to top up the tank.

  Phil lounged in the doorway, his gaze fixed on Charlotte. She ignored him as she continued her conversation then replaced the receiver and raised her eyebrows.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” he said. “I hoped you’d be on duty.”