Rising Summer

by Mary Jane Staples

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I HARDLY SLEPT that night. I kept thinking of the night in question, racking my memory in a mental search for something that would give me a clue to exactly what had happened. I told myself I’d have known if I’d had Minnie. I’ve never had any girl, so if I’d gone over the top with Minnie, surely not even the cider would have blanked it out. But might she be prepared to say I had, even if I hadn’t? The gnawing uncertainty kept me awake most of the night.

  In the orderly room the next morning, I felt haggard. Deborah Watts asked about my health. I said it was feeble. I left most of my midday dinner uneaten and wandered around a bit, thinking about how Aunt May would react if I told her.

  ‘Hi, Tim, old boy.’ It was Kit. The sun was shining on her as she came out of the ATS quarters.

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  ‘You’re looking sick,’ she said.

  ‘Large headache,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, jolly bad luck,’ said Kit, trying out an English accent.

  ‘Fancy an alcoholic time at the pub this evening?’

  ‘Love to,’ said Kit, ‘but I’ll be busy.’

  ‘Overtime? That’s for civilians. Ask anyone. Even ask Major Moffat.’

  ‘It’s Major Moffat I’ll be busy with.’

  That’s against the regulations,’ I said, although I was past caring, of course.

  ‘How did the ailing chick make out?’ she asked, as we walked a path together.

  ‘It’s pregnant,’ I said in a mad moment.

  ‘A chick?’ Kit laughed. ‘Who’s responsible?’

  ‘Some old rooster, I suppose.’

  ‘You kill me,’ she said. ‘Have a ball at the pub, but don’t fall about, it’ll hold up your promotion.’ She disappeared at a brisk pace into the house.

  Cassidy and Cecily caught me up. Cecily gave me a smile as she followed Kit. Cassidy stayed for a friendly word. ‘Getting nowhere fast, Tim?’ she said.

  ‘I think I’m still stuck on the starting line,’ I said. It hardly mattered now.

  ‘I guess you picked a tough one,’ smiled Cassidy. ‘Try being a forceful guy.’

  ‘How forceful?’

  ‘Take a turn at being boss,’ said Cassidy, ‘answer her back. Have fun, old buddy. See you.’ Off she went.

  Duty Sergeant Harrison took her place, plonking himself in front of me. He had a roster book in his hand. ‘Gunner Hardy, I presume?’

  ‘I think so, sarge, but in several ways I wish I wasn’t.’

  ‘I feel the same,’ said Sergeant Harrison. ‘Right, then, where was I? I know, Gunner Poole’s gone sick. You’re next on the roster. Guard duty tonight.’

  ‘Gunner Poole, you said? No, look, sarge, that twit is always going sick. It’s about time he passed permanently on and saved the rest of us all the inconvenience he causes.’

  ‘I’m not inconvenienced,’ said Sergeant Harrison.

  ‘No, well, you’re not next on guard duty roster, are you?’

  ‘Tck, tck, cross, are we?’ he said. I hardly cared. ‘Well, save it for Adolf. Get yourself blancoed for guard duty. All over.’

  There were millions of Germans and Russians making mincemeat of each other around some place in Russia called Byelgorod and thousands of Allies and Germans at each other’s throats in Sicily and I was on quiet guard duty in rural Suffolk. All done up in full kit, my webbing thick with Khaki Green Blanco No. 3. I supposed I ought to be feeling fortunate. But I didn’t feel like that at all. I had Minnie’s condition on my mind and also the possibility that I might be definitely responsible.

  Guard was mounted at eighteen-hundred. Four of us each had to do a spell of three hours. I drew from twenty-one-hundred to midnight. After that, I might get six hours kip in the guardroom as long as Bombardier Weekes, the guard commander, didn’t keep walking about and treading on me.

  Nothing much happened for my first two hours, except personnel coming in after an evening out. I was supposed to poke my best friend at them and ask them to declare themselves and show their passes. I didn’t bother very much, unless they had stripes. I wasn’t in the mood to bother. Then Jim stole up on me. How he knew I was on guard was a mystery, until he told me he’d got the information from Frisby in the pub.

  ‘Thought I’d come an’ cheer yer up, son,’ he whispered to me outside the gates. ‘Missus, of course, is dependin’ on yer to do right by Min. Well, Missus ’as got principles, like.’

  ‘Oh, you reckon, do you?’

  ‘Now, now, Tim, it ain’t ’er fault she dotes on Min, Min bein’ our one and only. Women is made to be dotin’, specially if there’s a one and only. Me, I’m wonderin’ about the real whacker, the geezer that really put Min in the fam’ly way.’

  ‘Wait a bit, is that definite now, that she’s pregnant?’

  ‘Well, Min still ain’t sayin’ and still won’t go to no doctor’s, but Missus knows all right, ’er bein’ a woman, like I said before. Keen to ’ave you in the fam’ly, yer know.’

  ‘Nice of her,’ I said, ‘but isn’t there any good news?’

  ‘Nothing good about this mess, Tim lad, only that you’re me friend and a man don’t ask ’is friends to be what they ain’t. I ain’t askin’ you to be a husband to Min if you ain’t acted like one. That ain’t friendship. One thing I will say, though, which is that Suffolk’ll suit you, like it’s suited us. Come yer do wed Minnie, she won’t say no to livin’ ’ere.’

  ‘Stop pushing me,’ I said.

  The dark night sighed. In the Pacific, the high and most honourable Japanese sea lords were engaged in titanic ocean battles with the American fleets, but I still wasn’t having a very good time.

  ‘Ain’t goin’ to push yer, Tim. Goin’ to look for some Yank. I’ll lay it was some Yank that got to Minnie some’ow. No wonder she ain’t ’appy. That’s it, yer see. If it ’ud been you, she’d be proud and ’appy. But it wasn’t you, so she don’t even want to admit it.’

  ‘Poor old Min,’ I said.

  ‘You leave the geezer to me, son, I’ll find ’im. ’Ere, Missus sent you some eggs.’ Jim slipped a cardboard box into my hand. ‘Wants you to know she don’t blame you all that much. Car’s comin’, lad, I best be off.’

  He vanished and I put the eggs in a safe place. I heard the sound of an approaching car. I could have been caught napping with so much on my mind, but Jim’s warning had alerted me. I planted myself in the path of the vehicle as it reached the open gates. Its masked headlights were reduced to narrow wartime slits. But I knew it. It was Major Moffat’s Hillman. He’d have me shot if I didn’t challenge him.

  ‘Halt!’ I ordered loudly. The car stopped with my rifle nosing its radiator. I went round to the driver’s window which was open and asked for identification.

  ‘Major Moffat and Sergeant Masters,’ said the Major. So her overtime had been conducted in the Hillman, had it? I went prickly.

  ‘Recognize you, sir. Can’t recognize your passenger, sir. Can’t see her.’

  I saw the gleam of his teeth. ‘Too bloody dark for your failing eyesight, is it?’ he hissed.

  ‘Sorry, sir, but must ask your passenger to present herself.’

  ‘Try going round and taking a look.’

  I went round and pointed my rifle at the window of the passenger door. ‘Alight and be recognized!’ I hollered.

  The window wound down and a face appeared beneath an American Wac cap. I switched on my torch. Kit looked up at me.

  ‘Yes, it’s me,’ she said. Then, in a whisper, ‘You big ape, you’re showing off.’

  I glimpsed movement in the back of the car. ‘Sir,’ I called, ‘there’s another passenger.’

  ‘It’s Jupiter,’ said Kit. ‘Don’t shout at him or he’ll make a late night hamburger of you.’

  The great retarded canine lump dribbled and growled.

  ‘Pass, friends and a dog,’ I said, getting out of the way and I thought the Major was actually grinning as he drove in. It did nothing for my depression. Life was giving me
a hiding at the moment. On top of everything else, the female sergeant I fancied was getting thick with Major Moffat, who was making his own rules. He was ignoring the fact that it was seriously verboten for officers to socialize with other ranks, including sergeants. I ought to write an anonymous letter to Brigade Headquarters about him.

  But did it matter?

  Yes, it did. I’d got to stand up and fight.

  It occurred to me then that I needed to talk to young Wally Ricketts.

  The following afternoon, one rumour turned into fact with the official news that our American mates were definitely leaving us. On Saturday. At the end of my day’s work I went out of bounds by slipping into Kit’s office. I didn’t knock. Anything like the sound of a knock on an out-of-bounds door could alert all the wrong kind of people.

  Only Kit was present. She was standing on a chair and unloading files from shelves. Her legs looked first-class. She glanced down at me.

  ‘You’re out of bounds,’ she said, ‘so at least close the door.’

  I closed it. She continued pulling out files and dropping them into a large tea chest. Each time she reached her military stocking seams lengthened.

  ‘I’d offer to help,’ I said, ‘but I’d just as soon watch.’

  ‘Don’t overdo things, honey,’ she said.

  ‘Can I help it if I like your Wac stockings?’

  More files dropped into the chest. ‘Be my guest,’ said Kit, ‘but don’t stand on your head to improve your view, it’s not decent, old buddy.’

  ‘You’re missing out on being human,’ I said.

  ‘Take that,’ said Kit and hit me over the head with a file.

  ‘Thanks. Where are Cecily and Cass?’

  ‘Cecily’s having a breakdown because we’re leaving tomorrow and Cassidy’s gone to ask Claud to do something about it. I’m tidying up.’

  ‘Well, you’re good at that. Did you enjoy yourself with Major Moffat last night?’

  ‘Yes, I met a Suffolk squire and his wife. We had dinner with them.’

  ‘Cute, was it?’ I asked.

  ‘Entertaining,’ said Kit and came down from the chair.

  ‘Exactly where are you moving to?’

  ‘To the new base at Chackford,’ she said.

  ‘That’s not far, about seventeen miles. All the same, it’s a blow.’

  ‘I guess it is, Tim.’ Kit smiled. ‘It’s been fun. I’ll miss our bike rides to Mary’s. Give her my love next time you see her. Tell her I’ll write. She’s a sweetie.’

  ‘Will I be getting a letter or two?’ I asked.

  Kit regarded me quite affectionately. ‘Tim, you’re not trying to say you’re getting serious about me, are you?’

  ‘Well, I happen to be human. You don’t mind that, do you?’

  ‘I’m flattered,’ said Kit. ‘It really has been fun knowing you, but don’t get serious, honey. I honestly don’t think we’re made for each other.’

  ‘We could give it a bit of a go,’ I said.

  ‘Let’s just be good friends, mmm?’ said Kit.

  ‘That’s death,’ I said.

  ‘Buck up, old buddy. You should have taken a shine to Cassidy. She’s a real sweetie and she likes you.’

  ‘Oh, well, san fairy, too late now,’ I said.

  ‘Look, it has been special to me, the fun we’ve had, Tim. Don’t think I don’t appreciate that.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said. ‘Just good friends, then.’

  ‘See you,’ smiled Kit. ‘Anytime you’re near Chackford. And look me up in Boston when the war’s over.’

  ‘I’ll come for a weekend,’ I said.

  Perhaps it was as well she hadn’t fallen into my arms. If I’d proposed and she’d said yes, what on earth could I have said to her if we’d found Minnie on the church steps with a baby in her arms?

  *

  There was a farewell party for the three Wacs in the pub that evening. On my way there, I knocked on the door of Mrs Lottie Ford’s cottage. She gave me a very nice smile.

  ‘Well, fancy you, Tim, I were just thinkin’ about where you might have got to just lately.’

  ‘Yes, nice bit of thinking, Lottie,’ I said. Lottie fussed with her hair. ‘Is young Wally around?’

  A yell from the interior answered my question. A little girl’s yell.

  ‘That boy,’ said Lottie, shaking her head, ‘always treatin’ my Clara like she were a football.’

  ‘You could drown him I suppose and get a friend to say it was an accident. I’m a friend. I’ll stand by you.’ I raised my voice. ‘Wally! Come here!’

  Out he came, his jersey rumpled, his hair all over the place, a grin on his face. ‘’Ello, Tim,’ he said. ‘Tim’s me mate,’ he said to Lottie.

  ‘Come here, mate,’ I said and took him down the street. ‘Now listen, monkey, you said you saw me with Minnie Beavers on rising summer night. Right?’

  ‘’Ere, I wasn’t lookin’ on purpose, yer know,’ he said. ‘I just seen yer, like.’

  ‘Yes, and exactly what did you see?’

  ‘Kissin’. Cor, ain’t yer well orf, Tim, kissin’ Minnie? Ain’t she pretty? I wouldn’t mind givin’ ’er some smackers meself.’

  ‘I bet you wouldn’t. Come on, what else did you see besides kissing? Own up, or I’ll slice you in half.’

  ‘Could yer let go me ear, Tim?’

  ‘Not yet. Let’s hear everything first.’

  ‘What d’yer mean, everything?’ he asked. ‘I just seen yer kissin’, then yer did a slide, then some Yank give me ’is boot.’

  ‘Gave you what?’ I asked.

  ‘Yer, so ’e did, the bleeder booted me up the bum. It didn’t ’arf ’urt. Then ’e told me to scoot, so I did. I wish I’d ’ad me ’ammer wiv me, then I’d ’ave ‘it ’im back.’

  ‘That’s the truth, Wally, is it?’

  ‘Course it is. Tim, d’yer want some more rabbits?’

  ‘Yes, in a week or so.’ I was due for leave again soon. On home service, leave came along four times a year. ‘All right, Wally, here’s a tuppence. I’ll let you know about the rabbits. Now scoot again, back home and stop chucking little Clara about.’

  ‘’Ere, she bites me ears, yer know,’ said Wally.

  ‘Glad to hear it. Buzz off now.’

  ‘Ta for the tuppence, Tim, I dunno I ever ’ad a mate good as you.’

  Off he went and I walked on to the pub, still not sure what had happened after I’d slid to the ground that night.

  The pub was packed with squaddies and GIs. The squaddies did a strong piece of work in keeping the GIs from making off with our Wacs, for the GIs were masters of social manoeuvres. Any girl was fair game to them, even if she was in the protective custody of her mum and dad. They could whip her away in record time.

  However, we all stood our ground around Kit, Cassidy and Cecily, and Bombardier Wilkins had the honour of giving each of them a present we’d all subscribed to. English pottery. They were touched. Cassidy’s eyes, always bright with friendliness, turned quite moist. Top Sergeant Dawson and the two American officers had already departed, so Cassidy was able to hand out kisses of thanks to the nearest squaddies.

  Kit was in a smiling mood, but Cecily looked a lot like I felt, as if there was no point in going on. Frisby kept dropping crumbs of comfort, but I thought that what Cecily wanted was the whole loaf. The uncertain twit was still worrying about whether or not he was the right kind of bloke for an American girl. Cecily actually liked England. Well, she liked Suffolk. She wasn’t a big-town girl. She was a natural for making Frisby a loving wife, not a bossy one. I thought that deep down she wanted a marriage of love and kindness, the opposite of what her parents had had.

  She touched my arm. She had a gin and tonic in her hand, the same one she’d had all the time and she’d only drunk half of it.

  ‘Hello, Ciss.’

  ‘Hi, Tim.’ She grimaced. ‘I feel sick.’

  ‘What kind of sick?’

  ‘Oh, you know, I guess. Tim, do the
guys like me?’

  ‘What a question. Of course they do. Look at them, can’t you see we’re all going to miss you? You’re one of us, you’re our mate, except you’re better-looking than we are.’

  ‘God, I wish I could stay,’ she said. ‘The base at Chackford is lousy with concrete and stacked to its roofs with a million uniforms.’

  ‘You’ll survive, Ciss, you’re a new woman and you’re nice as well. And Claud’11 come and see you, won’t he?’

  ‘God, he’d better,’ said Cecily.

  ‘The food will be an improvement, won’t it?’

  ‘Who’s hungry?’

  ‘You’re right, Ciss, the food here can ruin your appetite as well as your stomach. Still, you should get some good coffee and hamburgers at Chackford. That’ll lick your appetite back into shape.’

  ‘Sure, cheer me up,’ said Cecily. I put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

  Cassidy turned up. ‘Who’s getting all the buckshee hugs?’ she asked, so I gave her a comradely squeeze too. Kit was enjoying laughs with Bombardier Wilkins and some ATS girls who had arrived to swell the party. The latter were soon collared by GIs and were lost to view for the rest of the evening.

  ‘Tim’s a nice guy,’ said Cecily.

  ‘Sure, I’m rooting for him too,’ said Cass.

  Frisby pushed his way through. ‘Anyone seen Cecily?’ he asked. ‘I’ve lost her.’

  ‘This is me,’ said Cecily.

  ‘Well, d’you know, I was just thinking who’s that lovely Wac over here – good on you, Cecily, you’ll end up in Hollywood.’

  ‘Over my dead body I will,’ said Cecily.

  The drink swam about. The squaddies began to sing ‘The Long And The Short And The Tall.’ The Wacs joined in. Frisby and I were sitting down at this stage, with Cecily perched on his knee and good old friendly Cass on mine. Kit, singing, gave me an encouraging smile.

  The GIs came in next with ‘She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain.’ And so it went on.