Rising Summer

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘You crook,’ said Kit. ‘I’ve brought her a few things from our PX stores.’

  ‘What a kind sergeant you are,’ I said.

  ‘I hope your conversation can improve,’ she said. ‘Well, I guess I’ll go and talk to Mary now and leave you to your good deed. See you when she serves tea.’ She disappeared again. She was a Chinese puzzle to me.

  I did the trimming, back and front and got rid of some weeds. The chickens clucked as I dumped the weeds on the compost heap. Mary called that tea was ready. We took it inside. She said there were too many wasps about to have it in the garden.

  It was a first-class Sunday tea, a chicken salad on a day when summer had risen to a peak, plus a cake that was a masterpiece considering the wartime shortages. Mary and Kit gassed, of course. Kit said angel cake was an American favourite. Mary asked what the recipe was. Oh, you don’t need a recipe, said Kit, the mixture comes in a carton that you buy at a store. Mary asked was that a dried fruit mixture and Kit said no, a cake mixture.

  ‘Fancy buying a cake mixture’, said Mary. ‘I like to mix my own.’

  Kit said ready-made cake mixtures were labour-saving.

  ‘It’s all to do with efficiency, Mary,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, fancy that,’ said Mary and asked Kit if there was food rationing in America. Kit said oh, sure, but nothing like there was in England. According to the letters she received from her parents, they were still living quite well and her father was overweight.

  ‘Too much cake mixture, I suppose,’ I said.

  Mary laughed. Kit looked sorry for me. But there it was, the conversation was all like that, she and Mary gassing and me throwing in bits and pieces.

  We left at six-thirty, at Kit’s insistence. Mary said how nice it had been and to come again. We cycled fairly companionably. Kit stopped when we reached the spot where the little wood was visible, the wood that reminded her of a Constable painting.

  ‘That’ll do,’ she said.

  ‘Do for what?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t want to rub noses here, in the road,’ she said, ‘we’ll get run down by a truck.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Wake up, old buddy, we’re making a fresh start, aren’t we?’

  ‘Is this serious?’ I asked, as we wheeled our bikes over the verge and began to descend the gentle slope.

  ‘Well, I thought you were,’ she said. ‘OK, I’ll make myself clear. On the day you dropped Cassidy off, I was in the office and one of the girls said the door handle had come loose. I said, “Oh, get Tim to fix it.” “Who’s Tim?” she asked. I came to then, in a worried way. I asked myself why the worry should be about you. Then Cassidy came in with some story about a jeep that had run out of engine power and how you and your good old mousetrap appeared and gave her a lift. I asked where you were and if you were coming in and she said she thought you were already on your way back. I couldn’t believe it. After giving you the best months of my life, you weren’t even bothering about me. That was hard to take.’

  ‘Was it?’ I asked. ‘Why?’

  ‘I wish you’d wake up,’ said Kit. We reached the little wood and the stream that ran through it. Kit led the way, trundling her bike along the path that skirted the trees. Finding a gap, she entered. I followed. I had a feeling something very unexpected was going to happen.

  She stopped and we propped the bikes against a tree. She turned to me. ‘Will this help?’ she said and she wound her arms around my neck, lifted her face and kissed me warmly on the lips. Giddy, it was. I kissed her back. Her lips were very receptive, her body warm and firm against mine. Her eyes were closed. She sighed as I released her lips to draw breath.

  ‘Is this happening?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s not happening yet,’ she murmured, ‘but you want to, don’t you, if I’m the only sergeant you’ve ever loved?’

  ‘Pardon?’ I said.

  ‘Be my lover,’ said Kit.

  I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘Here and now?’ I said. I wasn’t even sure about the exact procedures.

  ‘Honey, I’m sorry I gave you a rough deal,’ she said. ‘I was a supercilious bitch to you and the roof fell in on me when you didn’t bother to come in and see me the other day. Serve me right. But I’m glad that you love me, so be my lover.’ She pressed herself close again. It charged me with adrenalin, but I wanted the whole thing to be right.

  ‘I can wait, Kit,’ I said. ‘I can wait for a church wedding with you in virgin white.’

  She stared at me. ‘That’s a serious proposition?’ she said.

  ‘It’s a proposal, Kit,’ I said.

  ‘That’s awkward,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, honey, for one thing, I’m not a virgin.’

  That shook me and it shook all my old-fashioned ideas as well. ‘How did that happen?’ I asked.

  Kit wrinkled her nose. ‘A sergeant instructor at my enlistment camp. A guy, not a Wac. I thought him everything a girl could ask for. It was my first affair and over before I was posted. He wasn’t everything, after all.’

  ‘Sounds like a hooligan to me,’ I said, feeling deflated. ‘I don’t know, what a war this is, it’s mucking up everything that’s decent.’

  ‘Don’t go over the top, honey,’ said Kit and wound her arms around my neck again. ‘We don’t have to talk about marrying, in any case, do we?’

  It all fell apart then, the picture I’d had of her as my little woman cooking for me and doing the ironing. It had struggled valiantly to stay in its frame. It gave up now.

  ‘Oh, well,’ I said, ‘it was worth a try. Shall we go?’

  ‘Go? Now?’ Kit looked mystified. ‘But we haven’t got anywhere yet.’

  ‘Well, there’s not much point, is there?’

  ‘That’s another serious comment?’ she said.

  I felt then that the whole thing wasn’t very important to her. It was just going to be sex. I was only going to rate as her second affair. I wasn’t going to like that. ‘Let’s get going,’ I said.

  Abruptly, she disengaged, her mouth compressed. We wheeled our bikes in silence up to the road and resumed our ride to BHQ, where she was to pick up her transport back to base.

  After a while she said, ‘What went wrong?’

  ‘I’m old-fashioned, like my Aunt May,’ I said. She knew about my Aunt May.

  ‘Oh, shoot,’ she said, riding beside me in the light of the dipping sun. The fields and farms were radiant with colour. ‘I know what’s wrong, I know what’s bugging you. Every man thinks every woman should only make love with him alone. It’s the male ego. You’ve all got it. You’re sore because the sergeant instructor beat you to it.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that,’ I said, ‘you sound like a tart.’

  ‘I think you’d better take that back,’ said Kit.

  ‘I didn’t say—’

  ‘You called me a floosie.’

  ‘I didn’t. I only said you sounded like one. I’m sure you’re not, but I just don’t get it, I don’t understand someone like you having a casual affair. I’d have thought you’d have been dead against it unless the two of you had marriage in mind.’

  ‘Oh, you’d like to write the rules for me, would you?’ she said.

  ‘I’m just telling you what I think.’

  ‘You’re a prig, Hardy, a prig first-class, with a very tiny mind. Goodbye.’ And she cycled away fast.

  I let her go, knowing there was no point in trying to catch her up. I felt her store in Boston was her first love, that it was always going to be her main interest and that in other fields she’d make do with an affair from time to time. I wondered if there had been anyone else after the sergeant instructor. She’d said he’d been her first affair. I wondered if Major Moffat had taken a turn.

  I didn’t go back to BHQ. I rode on to the village, feeling like a drink at the pub. Minnie was outside her front door, cutting gladioli blooms from the border running parallel with the path. She straightened up when she saw me. A quick smile f
lowered. I stopped.

  ‘Hello, Min.’

  ‘Tim? Oh, you comin’ in?’

  ‘Yes, why not? Your mum might come up with a pot of tea.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll make it,’ she said happily.

  ‘Atta girl, honey, you’re the cream in my coffee.’

  ‘Oh, yer cuckoo,’ said Min and she laughed.

  It was a prize pot of tea and Missus heated up some sausage rolls to have with it. I didn’t ask how she got the ingredients that had enabled her to wrap the sausage meat in flaky pastry. Min poured the tea and Missus handed round the sausage rolls.

  Jim said, ‘Yer goin’ up to foreign parts, I ’ear, Tim.’

  ‘All right, I give in,’ I said, ‘what foreign parts? The North Pole?’

  ‘Oh, no, course not the North Pole, Tim,’ said Minnie.

  ‘Exmoor, I ’eard,’ said Jim.

  ‘Exmoor’s not up to foreign parts,’ I said.

  ‘Foreign to Suffolk, Tim lovey,’ said Missus.

  ‘It’s not up, anyway, it’s west,’ I said.

  ‘Tim goin’ west?’ Minnie looked alarmed. ‘Mum, I don’t like the sound of that, not when the rotten old war’s still on. Oh, can yer read your tea leaves, just in case?’

  ‘Here, I thought you told me you had sense, Minnie,’ I said.

  ‘Well, it’s good sense, it is, for Mum to read teacups,’ declared Minnie.

  ‘Yes, soon as I’ve finished this cup, I’ll do some readin’,’ said Missus. ‘Minnie’s right, Tim, goin’ west has sometimes got unfortunate meanings.’

  ‘Barmy,’ I said.

  ‘What’s that you said?’ asked Missus.

  ‘I was talking to Jim,’ I said. Jim winked.

  Missus finished her cup of tea, carefully drained the residue into the slop basin, placed the cup back in its saucer and studied the pattern of the tea leaves.

  ‘Oh, you’re goin’ west all right, Tim,’ she said.

  ‘Isn’t it my tea leaves you should be reading?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I’ve got it all in me own cup, lovey. It’s only the west country, Minnie. Well, look at that, you’re goin’ to distinctive yourself, Tim.’

  ‘Distinguish?’ I suggested.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Missus. ‘It don’t say how, but it looks like a medal all right.’

  ‘I’ll win a medal on Exmoor? Missus, those tea leaves of yours are upside-down. Anyway so we’re off to Exmoor. So that’s why leave’s been stopped. Ruddy hell—’

  ‘Language, Tim,’ said Missus in soft reproof. ‘Jim don’t like language at fam’ly gatherings, not since we come up from Camberwell.’

  ‘Well, dear oh dear,’ I said. Minnie giggled. ‘All I’m asking is how the ruddy hell do you lot get to know these things?’

  ‘Don’t get in a temper, love,’ said Missus.

  Minnie flashed a laughing look. ‘Would you like the last sausage roll, Tim?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d like an answer,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I do a bit of business with yer adjutant,’ said Jim.

  ‘Captain Barclay?’

  ‘Just a bit ’ere an’ there,’ said Jim. He lit his pipe and the aroma of fresh tobacco drifted around the parlour. Colourful gladioli blooms stood in a bright vase on a table by the window. ‘Well, yer adjutant’s got a large fam’ly down up to Epsom, yer know.’

  ‘Down up to Epsom?’ I said. ‘You daft old coot, what’s that mean?’

  ‘Well, I never did,’ said Missus. ‘That’s not ’ardly nice, Tim.’

  ‘Down up to Epsom my foot,’ I said.

  ‘Five kids yer adjutant’s got,’ said Jim, ‘so I get ’im a few things ’ere an’ there, round and about, like. Then there’s yer sergeant-major.’

  ‘All right, I see it all now,’ I said. ‘So we’re going on manoeuvres up to Exmoor and I’m going to distinguish myself. Do any of you know if I’ll break a leg?’

  Minnie yelled with laughter. ‘Dad, ain’t our Tim funny?’ she said.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE FOLLOWING DAY we were given twenty-four hours’ notice to prepare ourselves for field exercises. It was going to be a short twenty-four hours considering reveille tomorrow would be at five in the morning.

  That night, Frisby sat on his bed writing a long letter of farewell to Cecily. He was convinced we were going straight from field exercises to some fatal battlefield. Italy, no doubt. The Allies had landed there. He said something about leaving his Post Office savings to Cecily so that she could buy some helpful books written by qualified mind doctors.

  ‘Waste of money, you twit,’ I said. ‘Cecily doesn’t need mind doctors, just an armistice.’

  ‘Can I help it if I worry about her?’

  ‘Glad you do. Cecily’s a love.’

  I thought of Kit just before I dropped off. I could have had the ultimate experience with her. What a chump. I’d passed it by. On the other hand, Mary was right. People worry about it too much, that was what she felt. There was a lot of living to do outside of something that hardly took up any time at all, she said. Good old Mary.

  The weather turned grey and sour over Exmoor. There were moors, certainly, but there were also dark little hills, knobbly peaks and boggy lowlands. We were instructed not to muck the place about and spoil it for citizens who liked to ramble over it at weekends. We couldn’t think who’d want to ramble over it at the moment, it looked damp, soggy and uninviting. Chuck in a rainforest said Frisby and it would be easy to imagine it was Burma waiting for a monsoon to happen.

  We spent a month there, a month of being toughened. That meant escaping death and broken bones only by certain acts of cowardice. We all went in for some of that. Major Moffat was an exception, of course. He enjoyed it all.

  The climax came at the end of the month when he and the battery, in competition with the other two batteries of the regiment, were required to storm a granite peak held by the enemy, the enemy being regimental headquarters personnel under the command of Colonel Carpenter. There was a marshy bog in the way. A number of us had to scout around, looking for a way through. Major Moffat refused the temptation of going up the obvious way, from firm ground. God was kind to me that day. I found a way through and reported back to Major Moffat. He took us up not at dawn but at dusk and we caught the regimental lads eating hot stew.

  Major Moffat sent for me afterwards. ‘Gunner Hardy, did you fluke that?’

  ‘The bog, sir? I suppose you could say so.’ Still, I was fairly pleased with myself, I’d led the way through.

  ‘Some fluke,’ said Major Moffat. It was a triumph for him. We’d left the other two batteries floundering. And the whole thing had been an infantry not an artillery exercise. ‘Are you turning over a new leaf?’

  ‘Pardon, sir?’

  ‘Are you doing more soldiering than fiddling?’

  ‘Well, I’d like to help get the war over with as soon as possible, sir.’

  ‘Dismiss,’ said Major Moffat.

  Frisby came out of it all in a condition of perfect health. He could hardly wait to show himself off to Cecily. I had an idea Cecily would love the new sinewy look of his muscles. I liked Cecily. I felt there’d always been a real young woman inside her, trying to get out. She was out now and she’d got herself a guy. Frisby wasn’t a bad bloke at all. He and Cecily actually added up to a good old-fashioned romance. Ruddy good, I thought.

  Some personnel were a bit gaunt when we got back to Suffolk, but most of us were as fit as fiddles. Gunner Dunwoodie no longer looked like a sack of potatoes trying to stand upright and Bombardier Wilkins had lost the best part of his portliness. It had taken a hiding.

  Two letters from Aunt May awaited me. She never failed to write regularly. Both letters were full of homely gossip about friends and neighbours. If the chapter on Edie Hawkins was closed – she and her mother having gone to live in Peckham, as ordered by Ron – there were other happenings that made Aunt May declare people’s behaviour in wartime left an awful lot to be desired. She really did have
a thing about civilized behaviour. She often said most of our mistakes in life were the result of silly, reckless or headstrong behaviour. She would never have believed, she said in one of the letters, that respectable Walworth mums and dads could have such a trying time keeping an eye on young daughters who were going up West every night in the hope of being picked up by American soldiers. And even some housewives were doing it, young housewives whose husbands were overseas. She was sad about that and about silly girls. If only young girls would give themselves time to think, she said, they wouldn’t do the things they are doing.

  She mentioned Bill in each letter, in a kind but casual way, which didn’t make sense to me. Obviously she hadn’t given him an answer yet and it didn’t seem as if she was in any hurry either. I hoped it wasn’t because of me. It would be like her to tell herself she couldn’t get married until I was married too. I might have to do a bit of arguing with her. Bill seemed a bit of all right to me, just the kind of husband to care for her, look after her and even spoil her a bit.

  I wrote in reply, telling her I’d survived a crippling four weeks and that I was expecting her to make up her mind about Bill before she was ninety. I told her to put herself first for a change and while she was still young and pretty. If you wait till you’re ninety, I said, you’ll be old then and so will Bill. I also said yes, it was shocking about people’s behaviour, that I favoured old-fashioned values myself and what was going on up and down the country was a headache to me.

  I also wrote to Kit. I felt I owed her an apology. I felt I really had been a prig. So I wrote saying I was sorry, that her past life was her own affair. I said I realized she wasn’t the marrying type and that she probably had more to offer the world than rolling dough and ironing Monday’s washing. I wished her luck with her store after the war and hoped that my apology would make her understand I liked her and respected her preference for being independent.

  The following evening, Frisby cycled all the way to Chackford with a chit and a late pass, in the hope of seeing Cecily and letting Cecily see him. I went down to the Suffolk Punch with Simpson and Parkes.

  Jim was at his gate, waiting for me, I suppose. He’d heard I was on the way. His pipe waved and beckoned. ‘Join you blokes in a few minutes,’ I said. Simpson and Parkes went on and I walked across to Jim.