War Baby

by Lizzie Lane

  Ruby sighed and looked beyond her driver to the road, the fields and the grazing cattle.

  ‘So who is he, this young man you’re going to marry?’

  Brenda’s forehead rested on her hands. Ruby passed her driver a handkerchief up between the spokes of the steering wheel. Brenda took it and blew her nose. She raised her head, brushing the crumpled-up handkerchief over each eye in turn.

  ‘He said he loved me.’

  They all do, thought Ruby and hoped her cynicism didn’t show on her face.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘He said if I loved him I would let him do it, especially seeing as he could be posted at any minute.’

  ‘So you did and now you find out that he isn’t being posted just yet and you’ve got to marry him. You’re not the first, Brenda, and you certainly won’t be the last.’

  ‘But he did get posted.’ Brenda gushed into a new flood of tears.

  The tears were getting in the way of the explanation and Ruby was getting impatient. Tomorrow was Saturday. Mary and Mike were getting married at St Anne’s and there were still a lot of things to do. She began drumming her fingers on the lid of the wicker basket.

  ‘Danny got killed,’ Brenda said at last. ‘So I can’t marry him. I have to marry Ted instead. He offered and my mum and dad said I had to accept, seeing as I was expecting.’

  ‘But you don’t love him and he’s not the father of your child.’

  ‘No,’ Brenda responded softly. The stiff curls at the nape of her neck were damp. Her neck was quite pink thanks to the stiff collar of her shirt.

  Poor girl. She must be suffering, thought Ruby. She leaned back into the car seat and folded her arms. Brenda was yet another casualty of war even though she hadn’t been injured.

  ‘You could say no,’ she said, as though being an unmarried mother was easier said than done, as though there would be no pointed fingers, no wagging tongues. It didn’t matter that her sweetheart had perished in battle; she’d had the bad luck to get pregnant outside of marriage. Her reputation was ruined.

  Brenda turned round in her seat. The handkerchief was now clenched in a tight ball in one hand. ‘I can’t say no. My mum and dad won’t hear of it. They say it’s either that or I have to move out. They don’t want no … bastard under their roof. That’s what they said.’

  ‘And this Ted. You’re sure you don’t love him?’

  ‘No.’ she dabbed her nose again. ‘I’ve known him all my life. He’s a friend. That’s all.’

  ‘He seems like a particularly good friend, one that loves you enough to take on another man’s child. It’s quite a forgiving and kind man who would do something like that.’

  Ruby scrutinised the slightly overlong face with its turned up nose and sprinkling of ginger freckles. Brenda wasn’t the prettiest girl in the world, but she had a voluptuous figure and a hearty laugh. It struck Ruby that men would find those things alone attractive.

  Brenda turned the crumpled handkerchief over and over in her hands. Her knuckles were white, her fingernails bitten to the quick. It occurred to Ruby that Brenda had been contemplating her future for some time. Suddenly what seemed like the right question came to her.

  ‘What would Danny say to you marrying this man? Would he be pleased that his child would have a father seeing as he wouldn’t be around to bring him up?’

  Brenda gulped. Ruby could see she’d just swallowed another sob.

  ‘It’s so unfair, miss.’ Brenda raised her head. Fresh tears were brimming from her eyes.

  ‘I know.’ Ruby thought about Gilda and Charlie, both dead and leaving an illegitimate child behind, though in young Charlie’s case he was lucky: he was coming into a ready-made family. It was just a question of satisfying the adoption society that all was well and getting all the papers in order, which seemed to take quite a long time. Her father was boiling with impatience.

  Brenda handed Ruby back her handkerchief.

  ‘I never thought I would end up like this,’ said Brenda shaking her head forlornly. ‘We had it all planned, or thought we did …’

  Her gaze wandered along the hedgerow to where a pheasant’s head showed above the long grass peering at them as though waiting for them to make the first move. Pheasants had a habit of running out in front of anything that moved. If he did get hit he’d make supper tonight!

  ‘But you didn’t plan for this,’ said Ruby with an air of finality.

  ‘Not really … but …’ Brenda bit her lip and placed both hands back on the wheel as though she had decided to move the car forward.

  ‘Go on.’

  Ruby watched, sensing that a whole plethora of emotions were hidden behind Brenda’s freckled face.

  ‘He did say that if anything should ever happen to him, I should remarry – for my own sake and for any children we might have.’

  ‘Well, then …’ Ruby smiled.

  Brenda returned the smile, though more bashfully. ‘So I suppose we did agree on that, marrying for the sake of the children if nothing else.’

  ‘I suppose you did.’ Ruby waited until she was certain Brenda was fully recovered. ‘Are you ready to drive on now?’

  Brenda nodded. ‘Yes. Yes. I am.’

  ‘Good.’ Ruby paused. An idea had come to her. If she was going to lose this driver, perhaps her old one could be reinstated?

  ‘Brenda, could you see if I could have John Smith back as my driver? Would that be possible?’

  Brenda nodded. ‘I could ask.’

  Mike Dangerfield stared at the star-filled sky. How different it looked from the ground compared to when he was up there, the plane rattling with the sound of the engines, the flak, the explosions tearing upwards in fiery pillars.

  He didn’t like dropping bombs. He didn’t like war. The only thing that kept him going was the hope that in time the world would be at peace once the evil Nazi regime had been destroyed.

  He was still standing there when his aunt came out of the house. ‘My word! Michael! You gave me a fright. How long have you been out here?’

  ‘Only a few minutes.’ He bent and kissed her cheek.

  ‘I’ll get you some supper.’

  ‘Not yet. I’d like to see Mary first.’ As he bent down to retrieve his kit bag, a thought came to him. ‘I presume I am allowed to see the bride before the wedding.’

  ‘As long as she’s not in her bridal gown,’ Bettina replied laughingly.

  He left his kitbag inside the kitchen door.

  ‘Rabbit pie when you get back,’ pronounced Bettina.

  ‘Can’t wait,’ he said, and darted off.

  Mary was excited, and not just because of the wedding. She and Ruby had gathered up every scrap of blue material for the purpose of making romper suits for their nephew. They weren’t sure of his size and didn’t have a proper pattern, so they cut generously.

  ‘Buttons,’ said Mary. ‘We need more buttons.’ She finished snipping off the last ivory button from one of Charlie’s old shirts. Using his shirts seemed very apt seeing as the coming baby was his son.

  ‘I suppose it’ll be my shirts next,’ grumbled their father.

  Mary and Ruby exchanged smiles. Both of them knew their father was only pretending to be grouchy. He was over the moon and wouldn’t care if they used every shirt he had if it meant his grandson would be properly clothed.

  ‘Not your best shirt, Dad,’ said Mary. ‘I wouldn’t want you giving me away in church with no shirt on. I’m not sure the vicar would approve either.’

  Ruby rolled up the scraps they couldn’t use inside the old shirt. The shirt itself would be useful for patching or for dusters if nothing else. The last thing they dared do was to throw it in the bin. Rumours were rife that bins were inspected in the dead of night by people employed to snoop on their neighbours. It might not be the truth, but there had been instances of big fines being levied on those branded as squanderers.

  Mary sniffed. ‘That pig bin’s beginning to smell. I’d better empty it.’

 
The main pig bin containing food waste was kept in the brick shed that had once been the outside toilet.

  Mary tugged open the wooden door, holding her breath as she tipped what she had into the bin. It wasn’t the most pleasant job in the world, but once the door was closed she was able to breathe in fresh air.

  The scent of the garden was a mix of peaty earth, vege-tables and roses, the latter provided by the rose bush the family had bought Charlie the Christmas before he was killed.

  Mary wandered down the path to the far end of the garden to where her father had set up a wooden seat made from pieces of apple tree branches woven in together.

  She sat looking up at the stars, her hands folded in her lap. It was like looking up at the inside of an umbrella, though one spangled with stars of every size.

  Her thoughts were confused. She didn’t feel as though she were about to get married, but then, what should she feel like? Everyone said she was lucky to be marrying Michael. He was handsome and he loved her. But did she love him? She thought she did, but what was love anyway? Her father had once said to her that love was a tickle under the heart that couldn’t be scratched. She wasn’t sure she knew what that meant.

  A warm breeze ruffled her hair and she sighed. ‘Whoever they are and wherever they may be, please God, keep all the young men safe.’

  The sound of the side gate creaking open attracted her attention. Even though there was only starlight to see him by, she knew it was Michael.

  She got to her feet, wanting to shout out to him but too overcome with emotion.

  He paused where he was and then began walking down the garden path to where she was standing. Halfway down he turned and looked up at the house. She heard him sigh. ‘Thank you, God, for bringing me home when so many will never be coming back again. Thank you for giving me Mary.’

  Her heart lurched. ‘Michael!’ She ran into his arms.

  ‘Mary!’

  He hugged her close as if afraid to let go. They clung desperately together.

  ‘I’m home,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I’m home.’

  His cheek was damp against hers. His shoulders heaved in a sob.

  ‘Yes. You’re home, Michael. You’re home.’

  ‘Are you still going to marry me?’

  She laughed up into his face. ‘Of course I am.’

  Their lips met for a long kiss that seemed almost as endless as the star-studded sky above them.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m here. For a while, I didn’t think I would make it, and then …’ He sighed that deep sigh again.

  Mary laid her head against his shoulder, breathing in his unique scent that was made up of the smell of his uniform, his cigarettes, him. He’d been through so much. Of course she would marry him and together they would learn what love really meant.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mary’s Wedding Day

  ‘ARE YOU READY?’

  Mary nodded, her eyes sparkling so much that her father could see them luminous behind the veil of white tulle hanging over her face. A smiling Stan Sweet squeezed his daughter’s hand before slipping his arm through hers. ‘Then let’s make the grand entrance!’

  He nodded over his shoulder at Ruby and Frances who were wearing the blue dresses Ruby had made. The tear in Frances’s dress had been mended and hidden beneath an appliquéd pink rose. Ruby was wearing the blue dress that Mary had been going to wear.

  Stan was feeling happier than he’d felt in a long time. Ideally he would have preferred to have collected his grandson from the adoption society by now, but as always with such institutions there were formalities to be dealt with. He was becoming increasingly impatient with all the red tape.

  Ruby had calmed him down. ‘Let’s get the wedding over first, Dad. At least you can smile on the day, especially when you think of what’s to come.’

  The wedding march struck up as Mary and her father stepped into the church. All heads turned round to smile at the bride. Expressions of admiration were whispered from one guest to another as she swept past. The lace trimming around the neckline showed up her creamy complexion. Beneath the veil her hair was glossy and woven into a soft white hairnet studded with seed pearls. The tulle overdress floated like gossamer over the satin underdress, small seed pearls shimmering as Mary made her way down the aisle to where Pilot Officer Mike Dangerfield was waiting for her.

  Standing in front of the altar, Mike looked over his shoulder and smiled. He and his best man, the legendary Guy, plus other pals from Scampton, were wearing their distinctive blue air force uniforms.

  Stan Sweet whispered in his daughter’s ear. ‘That lot are going to set hearts racing. No girl can resist a man in uniform.’

  ‘Are you remarking on this from experience, Dad?’ Mary whispered back. Her father had served in the Great War back in 1914 to 1918, but in the army not the air force.

  Her father grinned and patted her hand as he passed her over to the man she was about to marry. The vicar smiled, his pale eyes looking at them over a pair of glasses that resolutely clung halfway down his deeply pink nose.

  ‘Dearly beloved …’

  Decked with ribbons and bows made from off-cuts of Mary’s wedding dress, the car provided by the Ministry of Food took Stan, Ruby and Frances to the village hall for the reception. Corporal John Smith drove them.

  ‘You look lovely in blue,’ he whispered as he helped Ruby from the car.

  ‘You look pretty good yourself,’ she whispered back, her eyes sweeping over the double-breasted grey suit, the crisp white shirt and burgundy tie.

  After that it did a second trip to collect the bride and groom. The rest of the guests walked from the church to the reception.

  John came in from parking the car and made straight for Ruby.

  ‘My,’ she said, looking him up and down yet again. Seeing him dressed in a suit instead of his usual uniform had come as something of a surprise. He looked so different. Even his countenance was more cheerful. Although desperate to ask him how he was getting on without her, she held off. ‘I’m seeing Corporal John Smith out of uniform! A rare privilege. Did you find a seat in the church? I didn’t see you.’

  ‘I stood at the back. It was crowded.’

  He was right. The pews on either side of the aisle had been packed with people.

  ‘Thank you for coming, and thank you for driving.’

  ‘I had a free weekend and you sent me an invitation, after all,’ he said somewhat flippantly. Realising his tone was falling back into his old brusque manner, he flashed a reassuring smile. ‘Anyway, I quite fancied coming down to see you, if only to check on how you’re gettin’ on without me. Started driving yourself around yet?’

  ‘A bit. If my sister can drive herself around, so can I.’ He didn’t seem to know that she’d asked for him to be her driver again. She presumed he’d been asked but had refused. Pride wouldn’t let her mention it.

  ‘Two Sweet girls on the road. Things are getting dangerous!’

  He gave her a cocky grin, his usual habit before telling her what a cushy number she had working for the Ministry of Food. Just for once he broke the habit. The words were gone, but the grin persisted.

  The toast to the bride and groom plus a speech from the best man and Stan Sweet came first. After that it was help-yourself time.

  ‘Pasty?’ Taking a platter of pasties from the buffet table, she held them so they were only just under his nose. Even she thought the smell was tantalising. ‘I made them.’

  ‘Of course you did.’ John frowned, and eyed her warily. ‘Pilchards?’

  She shook her head, wishing a lock of hair would escape and hide the mole. Her headdress consisted of a cream-coloured silk flower nestled into her hair on either side of her face. She fiddled with the one on the same side as the mole so that her hair fell forward slightly.

  ‘It’s corned beef.’ She’d remembered John didn’t like pilchards.

  Ruby took one for each of them, and while she held on to them, John fetched a bottle of s
tout for himself and a lemonade for her.

  They looked for a chair, but none were free, the older guests having bagged them first, some already pushing off their shoes and rubbing their aching corns.

  Ruby inclined her head in the direction of the door. ‘Follow me.’

  There was a small area outside the main door leading to a flight of stone steps descending to ground level. The parapet surmounting the top of the wall was wide enough to act as a shelf for their food and drinks. Resting their elbows on the warm stone parapet, they held their pasties with both hands while enjoying the view: Lansdown in the distance, the road leading down the hill, the green fields and trees in the distance. The smell of freshly mown grass and warm weather mixed with that of cottage gardens, resplendent with delphiniums, dusty-smelling geraniums, stock and lavender.

  Ruby was aware of the warmth of his body close to hers.

  ‘I suppose you know that Brenda’s left me without a driver.’ She eyed him sidelong looking for a reaction.

  ‘Of course I know. She’s up the duff.’

  ‘Don’t let Mary hear you refer to getting in the family way like that. She thinks it’s common.’

  ‘I am common.’

  ‘I would never have guessed,’ Ruby shot back sarcastic-ally. ‘Anyway, you don’t look so common today. That suit looks as though it cost you a packet.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I had it years. I bought it for a job I was up for only, Mr Hitler started a war and I was one of the first blokes to be called up. I’ve been sidelined for a while – resting, they call it. But not for long. I hope.’

  She knew what he was saying, that at some point he would ask to go back on active duty. He showed no sign of being injured – not physically – but then, she thought, not all injuries showed.

  Finishing off the last of the pasty Ruby took a good swallow of lemonade.

  She felt his eyes on her. ‘You sure you don’t want something stronger?’ he asked.

  She grinned. ‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’

  ‘You flatter yourself. I came here just to be sociable.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. Hang on while I get us some more pasties.’