War Baby

by Lizzie Lane

  Ruby pulled a face and although she attempted a smile, it didn’t quite happen. ‘He was a bit short with me – odd for him.’

  ‘Odd indeed.’

  Stan Sweet gave up on reading the newspaper and eating the cake, holding the plate so Charlie could dab his finger on the last of the crumbs. He’d eaten the rest.

  When they both fell to silence, each knew that the other was straining to hear Mary’s voice. If they couldn’t catch the exact words, they could at least get some idea of the conversation by the tone of her voice.

  The call lasted for only a few minutes, so what with the shortness of the call and the closed door, they’d learned nothing from listening and made every effort not to look inquisitive once Mary opened the door and came into the room. ‘That was Mike. He sends his love.’

  She said it abruptly. Both Ruby and her father were in no doubt that a lot of other things had been said. It was up to Mary if she wanted to divulge them.

  ‘Was there any post?’ she asked Ruby. ‘Have you heard from John?’

  Ruby shook her head. ‘The only news I have is from the papers and the wireless.’ She paused, her head bent. Many people had been killed. The newspapers were cagey about how many, but it was hinted that a lot of civilians had died. ‘The best we can hope for is that he’s a prisoner of war. Let’s hope he’s treated well.’ She wasn’t sure he would be, but she had to believe it.

  Mary noticed a concerned look on her father’s face and knew immediately what he was thinking. She’d read of the terrible atrocities inflicted by the Japanese on the Chinese people when they’d invaded China. Thousands were massacred, including anyone who wore a uniform. Hopefully the soldiers of the British army would be treated fairly and John would survive. Her father, always an avid follower of world news, met her own worried gaze. The only way she could describe the look in his eyes was fear. Suddenly she needed a breath of fresh air.

  ‘Seeing as Frances is looking after the shop and I’m finished cleaning and tidying the house, I thought I might go over and see how Bettina is. She still hasn’t got over that bad cold she had.’ It all came out in a rush.

  She said it brightly in an effort to glaze over her conversation with Mike, to make it seem as though everything was sweetness and light. To some extent it was, and in time they would be party to her news, but first she had to see Bettina.

  Pulling on her thick boots and putting on her coat also helped hide the inner turmoil she was desperate not to disclose. He was still badgering her to move up to Lincolnshire. The exchange of words still rang in her mind.

  ‘So! When are you coming up?’

  ‘Mike, I can’t.’

  ‘Can’t? Why not, you silly goose?’

  ‘Because!’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ His loving tone had changed when she appeared immovable to his request.

  ‘Because I have responsibilities. I have Dad. I have Charlie to think about and I also have my job with the Ministry of Food. Ruby and I work at this together. We have a duty—’

  ‘Duty! Women on duty! Given half a chance you’d both be in uniform I suppose.’ He sounded totally exasperated.

  ‘And why not?’ Her tone had turned as indignant as his.

  When she heard his heartfelt sigh, she was half inclined to give in and wished desperately she could touch him, run her fingers over his furrowed brow and assure him that soon, very soon they would be together. It was just a case of waiting until this war was finally won or at least until she felt her father could cope without her. Deep down she knew Mike wouldn’t accept that, so she had to give him something to hope for. She had just the thing to placate him. She took a deep breath. ‘Mike. If you could just wait until the baby comes. I think that would be wise. Don’t you?’

  She heard his intake of breath. ‘Baby? Are you telling me …?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She imagined his face and felt her own eyes brimming with tears of happiness. She hadn’t meant to tell him yet, not until she’d been to see the doctor and got it confirmed.

  ‘September,’ she said. ‘If you count from Christmas …’

  ‘September!’ The excitement in his voice was palpable, so full of joy that she had to swipe the wetness that had gathered at the corner of her eyes. Finally his voice was there again, crackling with happiness.

  ‘I can’t believe it. Does anyone else know yet?’

  ‘No. You’re the first.’

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. She guessed that he was too emotional to speak, too occupied in digesting the news she’d just given him.

  ‘Can I ask you a special favour? Can I ask you not to tell anyone until you’ve told my aunt?’

  Mary nodded into the phone, smiling through her tears. ‘I take it you’ll write to your parents?’

  He said that he would. His parents lived in Canada.

  ‘How about the cottage? Will Guy be willing to hang on to it?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ All the tension and anger had gone from his voice. ‘He’ll be even more determined to see us living there once I give him our news.’

  He went on to ask about John Smith. ‘Terrible news about Singapore. I hear they’ve got Hong Kong too.’

  ‘Ruby wrote to John a while back when she still had a BFPO address. So far there’s been no response. The War Office has told her not to worry. The Japanese wouldn’t dare treat them badly, not if the Germans are anything to go by.’

  She half expected him to say that no news is good news, but Mike would be aware of what the Japanese had done in the past. Just because the Germans were adhering to the Geneva Convention didn’t mean the Japanese would do the same. After all, she’d read somewhere that they had not signed the Geneva Convention, but surely that didn’t mean they would treat John badly, did it?

  ‘John’s a survivor,’ he said breezily.

  ‘Yes. Of course he is.’

  Bettina showed Mary into the living room, a square cosy space furnished with chintz-covered furniture and rugs that had once been thick enough to bury your shoes in. Though a little threadbare now, their jewel colours still remained.

  Mary declined a cup of tea.

  ‘Oh. Just a short visit then.’ Bettina sounded disappointed. ‘Are you staying long enough to sit down?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mary looked down at her gloved hands, willing herself not to blush or blurt out her news in an excited rush. She had it in her heart to cherish this moment, drawing it out so time couldn’t snatch it away too quickly. She wanted to remember it for ever. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

  Despite her best intentions, the excitement was too much for her. The news came out in a rush. ‘I’m having a baby. I haven’t been to the doctor, yet but I’m sure. I thought you would like to know.’

  Having noticed Mary’s flushed face, Bettina had guessed at what she was about to say but had no problem expressing her delight, clapping her hands and breaking into excited laughter. ‘Wonderful! Your father must be over the moon. First Charlie’s son and now this.’

  ‘I haven’t told him yet.’

  Bettina looked at her in amazement.

  ‘Mike asked if I would tell you first. Before anyone else. He said that he would very much like you to be the first to know – even before his mother.’

  Slowly, Bettina lowered her raised hands on to her lap. Obviously she was very touched, but Mary sensed there was something more, something in Bettina’s eyes too difficult, too secret to be privy to.

  ‘He’s very fond of you,’ she stated.

  Bettina nodded.

  He’d told Mary that Bettina had been like a mother to him all his life, even though he’d lived so far away. Her letters had been vibrant and kind; describing life in the village and how things had been around the time he was born.

  Bettina had always struck Mary as a strong-minded capable woman. She’d never seen her with tears in her eyes and looking so emotional. Normally she took things in her stride, was pragmatic and practical.

>   ‘Are you all right?’ She reached out and touched the older woman’s hand, a strong hand, even though wrinkled and spotted with age.

  ‘He … um …’ Bettina hesitated. ‘He always was a dear boy. Such a dear boy. Just like his father.’

  ‘Your brother.’

  ‘Yes. Yes. That’s right.’

  It was odd, but to Mary’s ears it sounded as though Bettina wasn’t quite certain about what she was saying. Yet it had to be right. She had been Bettina Dangerfield before she’d married and become Bettina Hicks. Her brother was a Dangerfield.

  Suddenly she shook her head. ‘That dear boy. Despite the miles between us I’d always regarded him like a son, even though I’ve got one of my own. They were both born around the same time …’

  Her voice faded and the loose flesh hanging beneath her chin seemed to lengthen. For a moment it seemed she was locked in thought and couldn’t find the way out.

  Mary was concerned. ‘Is something wrong?’

  The flesh beneath Bettina’s jaw went from slack to firm in a matter of seconds.

  ‘No,’ she declared. Her eyes shone once more with the glowing confidence that Mary was used to. ‘So when are you going to tell your father?’

  Mary smiled. She’d quite relished holding off the delicious moment, all the while imagining how he would react; how happy he would be. ‘As soon as I get back. Right after supper I think.’

  ‘And you are happy about this? Even though there is a war on?’

  ‘The baby? Oh, yes. I can’t wait …’

  Mary found herself gushing, though her voice had an edgy quality. Bettina noticed she was also avoiding eye contact. In her experience people only did that if they had something to hide – either in their thoughts – or in their heart.

  ‘Then what is it? What’s troubling you?’

  Mary clasped her hands together. She’d been quite secretive about the cottage and Mike had asked her to promise not to tell anyone – including his aunt – until they actually signed their name on the lease.

  ‘Mike wants me to move up to Lincolnshire.’

  Bettina bobbed her head. ‘He would do.’

  ‘I don’t want to go. At least, not until I’ve had the baby.’

  ‘And you don’t want to go even then. Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘I’ve never lived away from home before.’

  Bettina straightened up. Her expression was stiffer than the tight lace collar she always wore. ‘This isn’t your home, any more. You’re a married woman.’

  ‘But what about Charlie? What about my father?’

  ‘You’re a married woman with your own baby on the way. Ruby is still single and dotes on the child. She’ll be there for him. So will Frances. And your dad will look out for him.’ She leaned forward and took Mary’s hands in hers noticing how cold they were. ‘Mary. You’re not a child. You have responsibilities and Mike loves you. You have to go with him. You have to get used to living apart from your family. Far apart.’

  The way she said those last words were very telling. Mary immediately knew what she meant. Once the baby was born, she would have to go to Lincolnshire, but it wasn’t just that Bettina was really hinting at. After all, she had married a Canadian Airman, and once the war was over she would be making her home far away from her family, on the other side of the Atlantic in Canada.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE ARRIVAL OF the Americans had set a lot of female hearts racing, and not only the younger ones. Everyone wanted to do something to make them welcome.

  ‘It was the vicar’s idea,’ stated Mrs Clements, a widow who lived with a houseful of cats in West Street.

  Despite being in her fifties, Ruby had perceived a definite twinkle in Mrs Clements’ eyes when she’d come into the shop along with a number of other ladies who frequented the vicar’s tea parties. ‘We thought it would be a good idea to welcome them into the village. Not all of them of course. The village hall couldn’t possibly cope with a whole camp of young American soldiers. I’ve seen one or two and noticed they are particularly strapping young men. Some of them quite handsome.’

  Despite her age, Mrs Clements blushed and laughed nervously behind her gloved hand.

  Bettina remarked to Ruby after she’d gone that she hadn’t seen Meg Clements blush like she did since the Great War. ‘She was a bit fast was our Meg, but you can’t really hold it against her. She gave Bert Clements a bit more than a good send off before he left for the Western Front. Just as well seeing as he didn’t come back. Not that it stopped there. A few others were grateful for her affection,’ Bettina added after taking her second sip of tea.

  Ruby laughed. Bettina knew everything about everyone in the village, some of it they’d prefer her not to know.

  ‘So it’s a dance. I take it there’ll be food and drink?’

  Bettina nodded. ‘Everyone is going to bake something or make sandwiches for the dance. The cider will come from Farmer Martin, of course. If anyone wants beer, they’ll have to bring their own, though the landlord of the Three Horseshoes has offered to bring a barrel and run a cash bar.’

  Ruby was already scribbling down what ingredients she had available and what she could make from them. ‘I’ve got a lot of carrots. I think everyone in the village now has their own recipe for carrot cake.’

  ‘And parsnip cake, and how to make icing or mock marzipan from potatoes. Mary’s wedding cake had a lot to do with that. Generous of you both to share the recipe,’ said Bettina.

  ‘We help out where we can.’

  ‘So,’ said Bettina putting down her cup in line with the spout of the teapot, a sure sign that she would like a second cup. ‘What glorious goodies do you have in mind?’

  Mary came in from putting Charlie down for his afternoon nap. She told them how he’d stripped off his vest and insisted she tickled his belly. It wasn’t long before he was fast asleep.

  ‘How far have we got?’ she asked, smiling while pouring a cup of tea for herself and a second one for Bettina Hicks.

  Bettina outlined what was arranged and when it would take place.

  ‘Everyone’s agreed to pull out all the stops and make it a night to remember,’ explained Bettina. ‘I presume you’ll bake one of your famous cakes? I can spare some of my rations.’

  Bettina peered over Ruby’s shoulder at the written down recipes.

  ‘We think the end of March or beginning of April would be the best time to hold the dance. I’ve already asked your father to drive me over there to deliver the invitation by hand to the commanding officer. He said he would as long as he’s got deliveries in that direction.’

  ‘Apple pies,’ said Mary.

  Her sister and Bettina noticed her rueful grin. Ruby got her meaning and laughed.

  ‘Because all Americans love apple pie!’ laughed Ruby and went on to explain. ‘That creep, Andrew Sinclair, instructed Mary to concentrate on apple pie just after Pearl Harbor in honour of our new allies.’

  They all decided that apple pies were a good idea as long as there were enough apples in storage – both fresh and dried. It shouldn’t be too much of a problem. If there was one fruit they’d always had in abundance around here, it was apples.

  ‘Americans also like doughnuts,’ said Bettina. ‘I know that because Mike likes them and he’s Canadian. Is it possible to make them too?’

  Mary confirmed that it was. ‘It is now. The young man Frances knows gave her a recipe. It seems more simple than I expected – given our rations, that is.’

  ‘In that case I’d like to try making some if you could give me a decent recipe.’

  ‘Easy.’ Mary took Ruby’s pad and stub of pencil and scribbled down a recipe. ‘Flour, mixed spice, margarine or cooking fat, dripping from the pan if you don’t have either, two ounces of sugar, dried egg, milk, plus jam. I think that should work. What about you, Ruby?’

  Ruby had been thinking things through. It would be difficult to cater for two hundred people – assuming half were village
rs and half soldiers – even one hundred would be a lot to cater for with the slim rations they had. She frowned. Dividing the workload among the village had to be the best way forward.

  ‘It makes sense to keep things simple. Let the other women in the village make the apple pies and sandwiches. You can do the doughnuts and I’ll do …’ She looked up at the ceiling as she thought about it. Mary waited, pen poised in hand. ‘Carrot cookies. I’ve heard the Americans like cookies – biscuits to you and me. We’ve agreed we have a lot of carrots, so carrot cookies will go a long way with a cup of tea – or whatever else is offered to drink.’ She grinned. These young Americans weren’t used to tea. She understood they preferred coffee. However, the local cider might just suit them and biscuits were good with anything.

  Ruby outlined the ingredients and method while Mary wrote it down.

  ‘One tablespoonful of margarine, two tablespoonfuls of sugar plus some for sprinkling on top, a few drops of vanilla essence – as much as it takes,’ she said in answer to Mary’s probing look. Her sister did like to be precise whereas she was usually a test-it-and-see person. Giving into Mary’s look, she worked out the precise details.

  ‘Four tablespoonfuls of grated raw carrot, six tablespoons of flour plus half a teaspoon of baking powder.’

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt.’

  They looked up to see their father, Stan Sweet standing in the doorway. ‘This just came by special delivery.’ He raised his hand. He was holding a small brown envelope. ‘It’s stamped “RED CROSS”.’

  All thought of recipes gone from her mind, Ruby felt sick.

  ‘It’s not a telegram,’ her father said on seeing her face. Using finger and thumb he fingered the contents. ‘It feels like some kind of card.’

  The colour returned to her cheeks, but she remained seated, her legs too weak to stand and her fingers trembling as she tore beneath the gummed seal. There was no message inside just a name and an address: Corporal John Smith, First Wiltshire Regiment. Prisoner of War. Changi Jail.