War Baby

by Lizzie Lane

  They ended up standing next to each other, out of earshot of the rest of them.

  ‘You can have one of these.’

  He handed her one of the rabbits he and Ralphie had trapped earlier that day.

  ‘I thought you only caught two today,’ she asked, thinking perhaps that she’d got it wrong, though she didn’t want it to be wrong. She wanted to be favoured by him. She wanted him to like her more than he liked Susan, the girl with the lisp and the pretty dresses.

  Deacon, undisputed leader of the local lads and heartthrob of every adolescent girl in school, turned a touching shade of pink.

  ‘It’s a present, seeing as you’re off to this wedding by and by. And I’m leaving school before you. Got a job an’ all.’

  Frances let the rabbit dangle from her fingers and blushed just as brightly as Deacon. ‘I will be back you know.’

  He shrugged. ‘You might. You might not. Anyway, I’m starting my job at the quarry. I might not be around when you’re over here visiting.’

  ‘I’ll find you.’

  ‘Come elvering tonight?’

  ‘Yes. I think so.’

  Ada Perkins looked at Frances searchingly when she asked about going elvering with young Deacon Fielding. She had recognised the besotted look in her young charge’s eyes. She’d seen the same in her daughter Gertrude’s eyes when she’d been in love. Seen the disappointment too when the man she loved had left her and she’d been forced to marry someone who had demanded her complete obedience. To Ada’s eternal sorrow, her daughter had buckled under his domineering ways. She had become as hard and as sanctimonious as he was. There had been no forgiveness in his religion. Gertrude tried her best, but her best had never been good enough. She’d been stripped of compassion, stripped also of the affection she should have given her daughter.

  Ada sighed. But that was Gertrude. Her daughter. This was Frances Sweet, Stan Sweet’s niece. She only hoped a dark evening in the forest didn’t lead to the same scenario. Even if Frances was a lot younger, the forest lived and breathed the ways of nature and wasn’t easily resisted.

  ‘Seeing as you’re back home on the other side of the Severn shortly, you can.’

  ‘I’ll get my coat!’

  Ada grabbed her arm as she swept by. ‘You’ll eat your supper. Then you can get ready. I’ll get my net.’

  ‘You’re coming too?’

  ‘Of course I am! I go elvering every year, don’t I?’

  As dusk fell, men, women and children trooped along the slippery paths at the side of the river, some of them lugging home-made elver scoops over their shoulders.

  Netting that might once have been hung up at a window were spread tautly over a frame, the resultant shape vaguely resembling a small bathtub. There was a handle at one end, this slung over the shoulder, the scoop hanging over behind.

  Elver fishermen not carrying a net or a parcel of sandwiches, carried torches with which to attract the young eels; others had storm lanterns and a few, notably those that worked in the forest coal mines, used the Davey lamps on their pit helmets.

  Ada kept her home-made scoop sitting on top of the shed roof. Once she had shaken the leaves out of it, she and Frances joined the others, seeking out and claiming what they considered the best pitch possible.

  ‘Just here,’ she said, pointing at a favourite spot where a natural jetty of fallen stones speared out into the dark water.

  Ada was one of those lucky enough to own a storm lantern, the little flame flickering into life once they were settled beside the river. Ada attached it to a long pole so the light fell directly on to the water.

  Ada told Frances what to do. ‘Scoop it in. Shine yer light down into it and the little critters will come swimming in.’

  Frances fixed her eyes on the spot of light, which looked as bright as the moon. Even though this was her second spring in the forest, it was the first time she’d been elvering. She felt very confident of success, Ada leaving her to it while she sat back on the wet grass, her boots in the mud, her smoking pipe clenched in the corner of her mouth.

  Intent on what she was doing, she didn’t notice Deacon and his father Joe walking along the path behind them, but Ada did. ‘Off early, Joe?’

  ‘I am that. Just been brought a message that our Roger is shipping out so got a bit of leave. Waiting fer us at home, along with Will Pegg and his daughter.’

  Mention of Will Pegg’s daughter was uttered with apprehension.

  ‘I won’t ask what that’s about,’ Ada muttered, shifting her pipe from one side of her mouth to the other.

  ‘You don’t need to,’ grumbled Joe.

  Deacon’s eyes met those of Frances before he followed soundlessly behind his father, the elver scoop bouncing over his back.

  Will Pegg’s daughter was named Della. Frances hadn’t had anything much to do with her. She merely knew her as one of the older girls, though she had noticed she had a winning smile and an ample bosom. She’d overheard Deacon and the other boys remarking about those breasts using their hands to describe the size of them. Once when Roger Peters had been home on leave, they’d almost tripped over him and Della in the forest. Della’s dress had been up around her waist and Roger had been lying on top of her.

  They’d hidden in the undergrowth, watching in silent fascination until the pair had finished and stood up, rearranging their clothes.

  They didn’t speak much, mostly just kissed and fondled each other. The only thing Frances remembered Della saying was that she hoped Roger hadn’t got her in the family way.

  ‘I suppose Della Pegg’s in the family way,’ Frances said to Ada.

  Ada opened one eye; she had been dozing. A whorl of smoke rose from her pipe. ‘Aye. I suppose she is.’

  ‘Roger Peters’s for it,’ she heard somebody say.

  ‘Before he goes off to war by the sound of it,’ shouted somebody else.

  Another voice rang through the forest, high as the sound of metal ringing against metal. ‘Won’t be the first.’

  ‘Won’t be the last either,’ muttered Ada.

  It wasn’t a bad haul of elvers, and although Frances was delighted, she still couldn’t bring herself to eat them. They’d cooked some up in the forest once, she and the other kids. Ralphie had brought them along, a mass of wriggling in a tin can. He’d told her he’d got them from the river and that they were quite fresh. One look had been enough to turn her stomach.

  She half turned, hands still holding the net, as she informed Ada that she wouldn’t be eating the elvers.

  In the glow of the storm lantern that Ada had hung from a low hanging branch, Frances saw her eyes narrow. ‘No need to. We can sell them to people who do like eating them.’

  Just a few days later Frances was standing at the door of the little house in the forest that she’d stayed in ever since she was evacuated. There were logs piled up outside the smoke house where Ada smoked salmon poached fresh from the river. There was also a leg of ham, courtesy of a wild boar that everyone said didn’t exist in the forest. They did. It was just that you had to know where to look.

  Ada noticed her reluctance. ‘My door’s always open.’ The pipe in the corner of her mouth jiggled as she spoke.

  Frances nodded. A thought came to her. ‘Will you be coming over to visit Mrs Powell and Miriam?’

  Sadness clouded the old lady’s eyes but was swiftly hidden. ‘I visit there when I think there’s a need – like there was with you. You needed me to be there.’

  It seemed a strange answer, but then, Frances thought to herself, Ada Perkins was a strange woman, but likeable, very likeable.

  Frances grimaced. ‘I’ve never liked wearing dresses, but I suppose I have to get used to it.’

  There was a wise look on Ada’s face as she regarded her charge – not without some affection. ‘You don’t have to, but you will. You’re still a child,’ she said, patting Frances’s shoulder. ‘That’s what you are this week. But next?’

  Frances frowned. Ada sometimes talk
ed in riddles. ‘Don’t be silly, Ada. I’ll still be thirteen.’

  ‘And then you’ll be fourteen, and one year is going to make all the difference in your life – whether you like to wear fancy dresses or not!’

  ‘Why doesn’t Miriam ever wear pretty dresses?’

  Ada’s eyes darkened, as though her thoughts were going somewhere she herself had no wish to go to.

  ‘Her mother doesn’t believe in pretty dresses, so she doesn’t. She might have one, though, hidden away somewhere.’

  ‘She just wears that old coat all the time.’ Frances wrinkled her nose. ‘It smells of mothballs and is much too big for her – or was,’ she added as a thought came to her. ‘It’s a bit tighter now. She must be getting fatter.’

  Ada Perkins heard all this and fell to silence. They’d be coming over then – her daughter and her granddaughter. They’d be coming over soon.

  CHAPTER SIX

  RUBY NO LONGER regarded the hard eyes and strong faces of factory workers with apprehension. She’d learned that the way they looked at her through half-closed eyes was because they were tired. They were all working twelve-hour shifts, some more than that depending on shortages and the demand for whatever they were making.

  ‘Ladies,’ she began, ‘I’m sure you’ll agree that sandwiches are the mainstay of a worker’s lunch. Luckily for us all, bread is not on ration just yet. But let’s be fair, it isn’t easy to make that two ounces of cheese per person go far when you’ve got sandwiches to make. This especially applies when there’s more than one of you in the house working every hour in the day. So here are a few simple suggestions …’

  ‘Number one,’ she said, her voice resonant as she counted the first one on her finger. ‘Try adding chopped onion to dripping before spreading it on bread.

  ‘Number two: use a spoonful of chutney – home-made or otherwise – instead of butter.

  ‘Number three: always grate cheese and, again, add a little chopped onion for your sandwich filling. You’ll find it goes a lot further.

  ‘Number four: carrot tops can be used as you would lettuce; just chop it up and sprinkle on whatever filling you’re using.

  ‘My only warning is not to use onion in the sandwiches you make for yourself if you’ve got a date that night, eh girls? Even the most hardened army veteran draws the line at kissing a mouth that tastes of onion!’

  It pleased her to hear a smattering of laughter. She’d learned pretty quickly that it paid to be amusing.

  ‘Grated white cabbage and carrot make good sandwich fillers especially when mixed with cold meat. And mince the meat to make it go further. You’ll find it goes further still if you mince it the night before then press it between two plates and place a weight on top of it; that way it flattens, goes further and is easier to place between two slices of bread.’

  As she spoke, her gaze swept over her audience, settling for a moment on Corporal Smith. He was sitting with his arms folded, his eyes fixed on his boots, a quirky grin on his face. His expression was like that of a boy about to get up to mischief.

  ‘Now for the best part,’ she cried, loud enough to ensure that everyone was wide awake. ‘We come to the subject of pastry and cakes. We all know how difficult it is getting enough fat, sugar and basic ingredients for making a pie, a tart or a cake. But, with a little ingenuity you will find you can produce something to tickle even the most sceptical of taste buds. I use the word “sceptical” because jam isn’t always real jam, cream isn’t always real cream and the ingredients of mock duck pie have nothing to do with duck whatsoever!’

  Once a murmur of approval ran through her audience, she knew they were really listening.

  ‘As you may or may not have noticed, my name is Miss Sweet. There are two of us: I’m Ruby and then there’s my sister Mary. You may have heard her on the BBC Kitchen Front programme. You may also have noted that we both advocate that every main meal should be followed by something sweet, a little luxury to keep our spirits up. To that end we have gathered together some baking recipes you may like. Sweet-tasting recipes produced by the Sweet sisters!’

  Even to her own ears, Ruby thought again how very apt and wonderful it sounded. Sweet things produced by the Sweet sisters!

  At the end of the talk when she’d handed out recipe leaflets, the atmosphere literally buzzed with enthusiastic conversation.

  ‘Cakes and pastries courtesy of the Sweet sisters,’ declared the factory foreman. ‘Give her a hand, girls. Sweets from the Sweets!’

  Titters of laughter accompanied the clapping, and then it was all over. Another talk and baking demonstration had come to an end.

  Corporal Smith followed her out, the wicker hamper swinging from one hand. He was looking down at the ground and shaking his head. She wasn’t fooled: he was smiling to himself. Or smirking. Either way something had amused him.

  ‘So what were you grinning about?’ she said once they were in the car. The morning had been given over to the factory audience, but the day was not yet over. She was scheduled to demonstrate the best ways to save fuel at a department store in the Georgian city of Bath.

  Corporal Smith changed down a gear before sweeping around a hairpin bend. ‘You were talking about onions and going out on a date.’

  Ruby shrugged. ‘It’s called empathy, Corporal. I wouldn’t want to go out on a date with my breath smelling of onions. I reckoned they wouldn’t either. Empathy! See? Meaning we can put ourselves in the shoes of others.’

  ‘I’m not ignorant. I know what it means!’

  Ruby bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to be patronising, but she’d obviously hurt his feelings.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Are we still friends?’

  ‘Is that what we are?’

  He was being facetious, but Ruby knew he was only pretending to be vexed. John Smith was one of those people who invited conflict.

  Ruby had taken to sitting in the front passenger seat of late. When they’d first been thrown together she’d always sat in the back.

  ‘Like Lady Muck being driven around by ’er chauffeur,’ her father had said. The comment had affected her deeply. She didn’t want to be Lady Muck, and she didn’t want Corporal Smith to think of her that way. Even though he was curmudgeonly, she had grown quite fond of him.

  While he was focused on the road ahead, she eyed his profile. He had a straight nose, a high forehead and a strong chin. Despite his army haircut, tufts of curly hair sprouted from his neck. They looked soft. Touchable. She had to look away in order not to follow her inclination.

  ‘So when was the last time you went on a date?’

  His question took her by surprise.

  ‘That’s none of your business!’

  Suddenly she wasn’t so keen on touching him.

  ‘I thought you’d say that. Keep the working man at bay …’

  ‘Don’t start that again!’ There it was: her old self barging through just when she’d thought it safe to like him.

  He shrugged. ‘It strikes me that you’re a right one for giving out advice that you know nothing about.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Ruby thought she had got used to Corporal Smith and his ways. In the beginning he’d been sullen verging on downright rude. Now he was only surly – not much of an improvement but better than he had been.

  ‘A date. I asked you when was the last time you went on a date.’

  ‘And I said it was none of your business!’

  He seemed to think about her statement before shaking his head. ‘A man would have to be brave to ask you out for a date.’

  She gurgled with laughter. ‘I haven’t been eating onions if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. You’re the sort who can’t leave the job behind. You’ve always got to be in charge and people like that find it hard to relax. Laugh. Dance. Have a drink. Especially the drinking part. Bet you don’t do that too often.’

  He glanced at her before turning his eyes back to the
road ahead, a smile twitching around his mouth.

  ‘Are you saying I’m not good company when I’m relaxed?’ she asked. He had riled her, and she knew he knew it.

  ‘How can I say that? I wouldn’t know, would I?’

  ‘That’s right. You’ve never been out with me. I would point out that I don’t drink much and I never get drunk.’

  ‘Never?’

  Ruby chewed the inside of her mouth, a desperate habit that only served to make her mouth sore. ‘Only tipsy. But as I’ve already said, you wouldn’t know. You’ve never been out with me.’

  ‘Well, I can sort that here and now. How about we go to the pictures once you’ve finished with this lot in Bath?’

  For a moment she couldn’t find the right words. She liked this Corporal Smith. Over a period of time she’d got to like him more and more. But did she want to go out with him?

  She glanced at him, that curl of hair around his neck that she’d so wanted to touch. Unfortunately, she had other plans.

  ‘I can’t. Mary and Dad are expecting me for supper. Besides, I have to be up in the morning to fetch Frances from Gloucester. She’s coming back for Mary’s wedding, and I guess she’ll stay with us now for good. She’ll be fourteen next year so there doesn’t seem to be much point in her going back.’

  ‘And no longer a child. No longer an evacuee.’

  ‘That’s right. So I’m off to Gloucester first thing. It’s going to have to be on the train. Dad couldn’t get the petrol coupons.’

  ‘No need. Your sister’s got no speaking engagements tomorrow and neither have you, but I’ll still have the car. I can go with you. We’ve got some unused petrol coupons from the van we sometimes use to deliver bread, and luckily the Ministry give us a very generous allowance. We’ll have enough to get there and back. I know the way. We can take sandwiches and stop in a pub for a beer. No onions though.’