Rising Summer

by Mary Jane Staples

  In her reply, Aunt May poured forth her regrets for telling me her story. She felt it couldn’t possibly have made me happy. It was a selfish thing to do. Yes, she had thought her illness was going to kill her and she didn’t want to go to her death without giving herself the natural pleasure of letting me know she was my mother. So many times she’d wanted me to know that, especially as our life together had been of a kind to make her proud of me and in the end she had given in to selfishness and told me. She hoped I’d forgive her and yes, she agreed it would be our own secret. But she asked if I thought she could marry Bill with a clear conscience.

  I wrote her another long letter and put her mind at rest. I might have said I knew now why she had been sympathetic about poor Edie Hawkins, but I didn’t.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  COLONEL CARPENTER WAS PROMOTED in September, when we were moving up with 30 Corps and he disappeared into Brigade HQ. Major Moffat was given command of the regiment and elevated to the rank of colonel. Sergeant-Major Baldwin became the Regimental Sergeant-Major.

  Colonel Moffat immediately reorganized RHQ. He arrived at our battery bivouac one morning and was out of the Bren carrier almost before it stopped.

  ‘You, that man there!’ he shouted.

  That was me, in my shirt sleeves. ‘Sir?’ I said, arriving in his presence and saluting him.

  ‘Get your kit,’ he said. ‘And where’s God’s gift to mixed-up American females?’ Frisby’s caring attachment to Cecily and her problems had never been a secret.

  ‘He’s writing a letter to one of them, sir. It’s the first chance he’s had for a week. I’ll fetch him.’

  ‘Stay where you are. Just fetch your kit. You’re moving to RHQ, where I can keep an eye on you before you start flogging the regiment’s rocket launchers to Stalin. That goes for Romeo Whatsisname as well, your hitman. You’re both promoted to sergeant, God help me.’

  So Frisby and I moved to RHQ, where things should have been more comfortable, but weren’t. Colonel Moffat didn’t like anyone looking comfortable, not when there was still a war to fight. He was quite prepared to win it on his own, never mind that Monty had the same idea. Frisby and I, grateful for our promotion, went along with the necessity of being mucked about. In any case, we didn’t have to suffer the hazards of the infantry and the tank crews.

  Mail deliveries became fairly regular and letters from home kept coming through. Aunt May was going to marry Bill. Was it possible I could get leave so that I could give her away? If so, she and Bill would arrange a date to coincide. Oh, and she’d finally met my American love, Kit. An officer, for goodness sake, but a lovely young lady and so friendly and talkative. You didn’t tell me she was an officer, Tim, you said sergeant. Still, I could see what you mean about her being efficient, you can tell she is. And so on.

  In one letter, Kit asked if I still had a good supply of chits. If so, she hoped I was using them to help the Allies win the war. But I wasn’t, she said, to use them to ingratiate myself with Frenchwomen. Some hopes.

  When 30 Corps advanced in Belgium, the welcome was rapturous. Subsequently, Monty’s advance took us over the border into Holland. In Eindhoven, the people showered us with flowers. Colonel Moffat, every inch a conqueror, received more than flowers. Trapped by a score of delighted Dutch ladies, he was smothered with kisses and bosoms. He was rescued by a charming Dutch war widow with smooth blonde hair. When we halted for the night just outside the town, he was prevailed upon by the lady to billet himself in her house. He put a smart military face on the arrangement by making the house his temporary headquarters. At ten o’clock that night, he disappeared from sight. He reappeared at eight in the morning. By arrangement, I was outside the house, having arrived in a Bren carrier to pick him up. I watched the widow saying goodbye to him, her smooth hair a morning-gold, her smile soft. She really was charming.

  Colonel Moffat heaved himself in beside me. ‘Get going,’ he said.

  ‘Had a good night, sir?’ I enquired. The widow was looking on, her smile a little wistful now.

  ‘Is that your imagination getting to work, sergeant? Just get going.’

  Still, he did salute her as we moved off.

  I’d written to Aunt May to tell her to go ahead and get married. There was no home leave coming up. I received her reply, saying she and Bill would wait. Another few months wouldn’t matter and they both wanted me to be there.

  The winter held up the Allied advance. So did the Germans. In December, the Ardennes offensive by the Nazi hordes took the Americans by surprise and their touchy generals had cross words to say when Eisenhower put cocky Monty in charge of the battle. But Monty did his stuff and the line was straightened out eventually. Our feet were freezing. After Ardennes, 30 Corps broke through, liberating Holland completely and went for the Rhine. By this time, Hitler was aiming flying bombs at England, but Churchill had the bit between his teeth now and so did the UK.

  The advance went on, 30 Corps crossed the Rhine, the Ems and the Weser to complete the longest sustained advance in military history when Bremen was reached.

  VE Day arrived. Our regiment’s officers celebrated in a commandeered mansion. During the evening, Colonel Moffat, pickled but still upright, met me on the stairs when I had four bottles of wine clasped to my chest. I had just acquired them from the wine stocks reserved for the officers.

  ‘Got you at last, Hardy, you pilfering haybag,’ he said.

  ‘It’s fair cop, sir, but it’s VE Day as well and the NCOs are running a bit short.’

  ‘Damned inefficient organization, then. Not like you, is it, to under-equip the sergeants’ mess with perks? Losing your touch, are you, Sergeant Hardy?’

  ‘I’ve always been a loyal—’

  ‘Don’t make me fall about,’ said Colonel Moffat. ‘Tomorrow you’ll get a chit making you responsible for the cost of that grape juice you’ve just nicked. By the way, next stop Tokyo.’ We were spared a voyage to the Pacific, however. The Japs were atom-bombed out of the war in August and Frisby looked forward to carrying himself back to Cecily all in one piece and with nothing injured.

  Demobilization came up for some of us in October and I’d been able to advise Kit and Aunt May of my approximate day of arrival. With Frisby and several others, I packed for the journey home. I said goodbye to Colonel Moffat.

  ‘I’m off now, sir.’

  ‘Best piece of news I’ve had in years,’ he said, looking up at me from his desk. ‘By the way, stop off when the truck reaches Eindhoven and deliver that parcel for me.’ I looked at it, a large, square, well-wrapped parcel on the floor beside his desk. It was addressed to Mrs Marta van Hoyk. I guessed what was in it. A consignment of goodies. Things were tough for the people of the Low Countries and just as much for a charming Dutch war widow as anyone else.

  ‘I’ll do that, sir. I know the address.’

  ‘I know you know.’

  ‘I’ll buy her a large bunch of Dutch gladioli to go with it. On your behalf, sir.’

  He eyed me with the faintest glimmer of a smile. ‘Kind of you, Sergeant Hardy,’ he said. ‘I wonder, before you go would you mind telling me if it was your skullduggery that shot to pieces my inquiry into flogged WD juice two years ago?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll answer that, sir, not while I’m still in uniform.’

  ‘All right, push off,’ he said.

  ‘Goodbye, sir, good luck.’ I saluted him for the last time.

  He came to his feet. He smiled. ‘Good luck, Tim,’ he said and shook my hand.

  I didn’t mind the errand. The war was over and I was on my way home on a fine autumnal day. Aunt May – I knew I’d always call her that – was going to get married and Kit was waiting for me to marry her.

  Europe was war-torn and ugly, but its people were already pulling themselves together after years of being under the Nazi jackboot. The widow lady of Eindhoven was so overwhelmed to receive the parcel and the flowers that moisture turned her eyes a liquid brown. I thought she mig
ht as well have Colonel Moffat’s telephone number in Bremen and the address of his billet. He was a bachelor and as the war was over for him, too, he ought to have something else to think about. Besides, it was obviously love at first sight as far as the lady was concerned. A good idea, I thought, to give her first crack at him. The Dutch had been good to the British Paras at the time of Arnheim.

  ‘Ah, so kind you are,’ she said, accepting the phone number and address. ‘Now I can thank your colonel, yes?’

  Seeing she spoke good English, I said, ‘Do you have children?’

  ‘Little ones? No. Married I was only for a month.’

  ‘Well, you can have some chits instead,’ I said.

  ‘Cheets?’

  ‘That’s right, chits. I’ll make them out and sign them. I’ve got some blank ones with the Regimental stamp on them. They’ll entitle you to travel up to Bremen and claim back the expenses.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ There was a little smile in her eyes.

  ‘Just present the chits to Colonel Moffat when you arrive. Let him know you’ve come to thank him in person. Pack some clothes, of course. Enough for a long weekend.’

  ‘Sergeant, you are pulling my leg, you are joking with me?’ She looked as if she hoped I wasn’t.

  ‘That large parcel isn’t a joke,’ I said, ‘it means something.’

  ‘Ah? Yes? What does it mean?’

  ‘That Colonel Moffat will be delighted to see you. When will you go?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ she said with perceptible delight.

  ‘Give my regards to Colonel Moffat when you arrive.’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Thank you. Such a sweet man.’

  ‘Colonel Moffat?’

  ‘You,’ she said, so I gave her a kiss when I left.

  It wasn’t until the first reunion of the regiment in September 1946 that I was introduced to Colonel Moffat’s wife. It was her, of course. He managed to stand on my foot when I shook hands with her. It told me that in her innocence she had given him a full account of my conversation with her at her house in Eindhoven and I limped a bit for the rest of the evening.

  From Eindhoven we drove to the Hook of Holland and Frisby and I were ferried across the North Sea with a boatload of other demob squaddies right on schedule. Frisby had advised Cecily of the date our arrival was expected at Harwich and told her he’d phone her from there.

  The crossing was rough, but we disembarked with our stomachs intact and the whole detachment of soldiers was ushered through Customs without fuss, much to the relief of those whose kitbags or valises were bulging with stuff that had fallen off the back of every kind of military truck. A special London train was waiting for us. From London we were to proceed to a demob centre in Guildford.

  A few military personnel were on the platform. A long-legged girl in an olive-green uniform, with three upside-down stripes on each sleeve, detached herself and came running. She threaded her way through troops and headed for Frisby. It was Cecily, now a Wac sergeant. She had obviously wangled her way to Harwich in the hope that Frisby would arrive. She flung herself at him. Frisby, laden, didn’t know what to do with his two bulging valises, one of which was lumpily between him and Cecily’s bosom. Coming to, he dropped them. Cecily wound herself around him and kissed him with healthy abandon. Troops whistled.

  ‘Claud, don’t you look great? Oh, you honey.’ She kissed him again.

  ‘Steady, not here,’ said Frisby. ‘Oh, OK, here, then.’ And he gave her a smacker.

  ‘Help, Tim too,’ she said, ‘don’t you both look great?’ She treated me to a kiss too. ‘Hey, isn’t that great as well, that we all made sergeant? What’s next, Claud?’

  ‘A cosy compartment,’ said Frisby.

  ‘Bliss,’ said Cecily, high on adrenalin and seized one of his valises in the spirit of her forthcoming role as his little woman. There was plenty of room on the train and we found a compartment just for the three of us. It wasn’t until the train pulled out that I realized I was probably in the way. Cecily and Frisby were eating each other and Cecily was showing her legs. They uncoupled for short bursts of talk now and again and she told him she had received notice of her discharge. She was entitled to a free trip back to America, but did Claud think that was necessary? There was no-one she wanted to go back to. What she wanted was to see another English springtime, to see it with him and to be here when the first primroses appeared. Cecily had turned into an incurable romantic and Frisby didn’t need to doctor her for that.

  ‘You’re not getting shipped back to America,’ he said, ‘you might fall overboard. We’ll get married tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Meanwhile, get yourself permission to billet with me and my family in Reigate.’

  ‘Could I do that, sweetie?’ said Cecily. ‘I know where Reigate is, remember, I’ve been there to show myself to your family. Claud, it’s lovely there. Say, did you know there used to be a castle, that your town hall was built on the site of an old chapel dedicated to Thomas Becket and that Lord Howard, who commanded the English fleet against the Spanish Armada, is buried in your parish church?’

  ‘Not my parish church, ours,’ said Frisby, ‘we’ll be getting married there.’

  ‘Great,’ said Cecily, ‘but isn’t it all historical? We don’t have anything like that in the States.’

  ‘Still, you’ve got blueberries,’ I said.

  They took no notice, they snuggled up again. But Cecily did say, after a minute or so, ‘Claud, my legs, we’re embarrassing Tim.’

  ‘I’m not embarrassed,’ I said, ‘I like the picture.’

  ‘Tim’s nobody,’ said Frisby. ‘Tell you what, lover, you can share my room when we get home.’

  ‘Claud, we can’t do that,’ said Cecily faintly.

  ‘Sure we can. For an hour, say.’

  ‘Claud, we can’t, not with your family there.’

  ‘They’ve got their own rooms,’ said Frisby, giving her a pat, ‘they don’t live in mine.’

  Cecily laughed and hugged him. I got up, left the compartment and idled around in the corridor. I watched the green fields rolling by. I thought about Aunt May and Kit. I was in advance of the date I’d given them. I wanted to see them both, but it suddenly occurred to me how close I was to Suffolk. Jim and Missus. Jim was probably already up to some post-war larks.

  The train stopped at Colchester, then went on to Marks Tey, the station with a connection to Sheldham. Might be nice to drop in on Jim and Missus and go on to London and Guildford afterwards. The time was just after one. We’d left the Hook of Holland twelve hours ago.

  Approaching Marks Tey, I told Cecily and Frisby I had somewhere to go. They asked no questions, but Frisby did say I might as well come to the wedding. Cecily said it wouldn’t be the same if I didn’t. I said I’d come, but that the rest of it was just between her and Claud. Cecily laughed, and the sparkle in her eyes reminded me of Minnie the saucy schoolgirl.

  I left the train at Marks Tey. I must phone Kit, I thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I CAUGHT THE right local train quite soon. It was early afternoon when I walked past the Suffolk Punch on my way to Jim’s cottage, having left my kit in the care of old Shuttleberry at the station. Left luggage it was he said and he’d have to charge me a bob.

  The village looked russet with autumn, the day bright but cold, the thatched roofs guardians of the inner warmth of cottage dwellings. I knocked on Jim’s door. A very good-looking young lady in a Waaf uniform opened it.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I asked. ‘I thought the war was over.’

  She stared. A healthy Waaf she was, with a country look. ‘Oh,’ she said and swallowed.

  ‘Told you I’d come knocking,’ I said. ‘That is you, isn’t it, Min, under all that Waaf blue?’

  It was all of Min, a young and shapely edition of her mum. Peaches and cream and no longer a schoolgirl. And an inch or more taller. Well, of course, she was now in her nineteenth year. Her blue eyes stared uncertainly at me.

  ‘What hav
e you come for?’ she asked.

  ‘To see your mum and dad and you, to see how you all are,’ I said. ‘I’m on my way to London and thought I’d break the journey to pay a call, Min.’

  Her mouth compressed at that. ‘D’you want to come in, then?’ she asked.

  ‘What a question. Of course I want to come in. I almost used to live here. I bought my eggs from you.’

  ‘No, you didn’t, you got them for free,’ she said. But she stepped aside and I went in. She closed the door and led the way into the living-room, where a fire was crackling. It looked good, it made a warm and homely place of the room. The hearth basket was full of logs and an iron kettle, on its stand over the fire, was beginning to steam.

  ‘You’ve grown up, Min,’ I said.

  ‘I suppose you have too,’ she said, ‘I suppose you must have, seein’ you’ve got three stripes.’

  ‘Am I interrupting something?’ I asked. I’d hoped for a cheerful welcome. ‘Shall I go away and come back wearing a different face?’

  ‘I don’t know if that would matter, would it?’ said Min, edgy and distant and I thought well, here’s a disappointment, she’s still cross with me.

  ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I just thought—’

  ‘I’ll tell Mum you’re here. Dad’s out, on one of his jobs.’ She gave a little shrug. No-one had ever seemed to know exactly what any of Jim’s jobs entailed. He was probably doing some post-war spivving right now.

  Minnie went into the kitchen. I heard the murmur of voices, which went on for quite a few minutes before Missus appeared. She looked as country-ripe as ever, like a healthily mature dairymaid who had never been able to resist helping herself to the cream. Country life suited Missus and Jim too.

  ‘Why, Tim love, look at you, here you are and all, back safe and sound. I’m that pleasured to see you,’ she said and kissed me. Minnie, reappearing, sat down beside the fire and gazed at the steaming kettle.

  ‘No need to ask how you are, Missus,’ I said, ‘you’re blooming.’

  ‘Yes, bloomin’ glad the war’s over,’ said Missus, chocolate-brown eyes pensive. She glanced at her silent daughter. ‘What d’you think of our Min, don’t she look nice in her uniform?’