by Fern Britton
Fiona found an American flyer who was charming and handsome and could jitterbug like a pro. I found a British lieutenant who recited reams of Rupert Brooke until I kissed him just to shut him up. The four of us sang and laughed as we made our way down to the Thames Embankment and watched as dawn broke over Waterloo Bridge.
On that night, for the first time, I felt I properly existed. No longer a daughter or sister or soldier, but a free and independent woman with my life ahead of me. My own rules. No boundaries drawn by others. I could do as I pleased. Be true to myself. I was equal to any man and would live my life in nobody’s shadow.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hannah, Trevay
1945–1948
At last I could return to Trevay. I couldn’t wait to see Mum and David and take a walk on the harbour beach. The fishing village had escaped the worst of the bombing, although St Peter’s Church spire had been damaged by machine-gun fire from a burning enemy plane as it flew over and into the sea. The pilot had been rescued by a gang of fishermen and given a couple of pints in the pub before being taken prisoner of war.
My first few days at home, I moved from bed to sofa to bed again, with the occasional meal or bath. I was so happy to be home and Mum spoiled me rotten, filling me in on all the gossip.
One evening, about a week after I got home, I decided to take a walk on the beach. It had been a beautiful June day and the beach still had a couple of families playing cricket and maybe five or six people swimming in the millpond sea.
I was walking along the beach, following the estuary out to sea, when I saw something almost totally submerged but showing red in the sunset. I stopped and, shading my eyes, used the same powers of concentration and focus as I had when I was on ack-ack. It wasn’t quite clear enough to see until a small wave made it bob up just enough above the surface for me to be sure. It was a mine, and a big one. These floating mines had been thrown off warships since early in the war. They were, in essence, floating bombs. Large metal globes, filled with explosives and covered in spikes which, when hit by a boat would blow it to smithereens. I looked up the estuary to see if any of the Trevay fishing fleet was coming in on the evening tide. There were three boats, still about a quarter of a mile out.
I shouted to one of the swimmers who was closest to the beach, ‘Mine! There’s a mine.’ And pointed to where it was travelling gently towards the harbour. ‘Tell everyone to get out of the water,’ I yelled.
Then I ran to the family playing cricket, explaining that if one of them could run to the harbourmaster and let him know, I would signal to the three fishing boats to keep clear as they came in. A few people had heard what was going on and had begun to gather on the harbour wall or come down to the beach.
‘Get the children away!’ I ordered in my best Sergeant Bolitho voice, and then instructed any adult with a spare piece of clothing to take it off and wave it, warning the little fleet coming in. The mine had lifted into the middle of the estuary, running quickly on the tide and pushing ever closer to the harbour wall.
As soon as the fishing boats were in shouting distance, we all yelled and screamed and waved our jumpers, pointing at the mine’s position. The sun was dipping faster and we were losing daylight. The mine was getting less and less visible as the golden-red rays glinted off the surface.
Then, at last, I heard the engine of the harbourmaster’s boat getting closer.
I kept my eyes on the mine and signalled clearly to where it was. The harbourmaster got as close as he could to it, killing his engine, and then, with a boat hook, began gently to push the bomb to the beach. Seeing what was happening, the fishing boats, like sheepdogs, manoeuvred themselves into a horseshoe shape. I got everyone on the beach to move back onto the harbour wall some two hundred yards away, while the little boats shepherded the mine onto the sand and waited for the bomb squad to come and disarm it.
When I got back home and told David, he was furious I hadn’t come to fetch him. Mum was just cross that her supper had been spoilt. That’s what war did to us.
Singapore was liberated in August 1945 and soon we had news of Dad. The first was a letter via the Red Cross, telling us that he had been hospitalised and was receiving treatment for starvation and malaria, and then we got a letter from him, in his own hand.
Dear All,
I am home in Penang. Thank God. Not feeling too bad. I received all your letters and apologise for not being able to reply – there wasn’t too much in the way of good stationery to be had. It was all rather bloody, actually.
How are you? Cornwall sitting pretty in the sunshine? I shall be thinking of you eating pasties on the beach while I get the plantation back on its feet.
I had really hoped that Father might have enjoyed coming over and seeing it before it was too late. Thank you, Clara, for caring for him and for looking after the children.
Edward, I am very proud of your endeavours as a pilot. Congratulations on the DFM. Assuming you have shelved any ideas of medical school, you must, in my absence, become the head of the family and stay in Trevay to help your mother with the business.
Hannah, if you don’t already have a legion of young Lochinvars sighing over you, I am certain it won’t be long until you are married with a family of your own.
And, David, if you still remember your old papa, I expect you to present yourself in due course to my old alma mater, for your degree. Dublin is a grand city and Trinity an excellent college. I am sure I can put in a good word for you.
As soon as things here are back on track and I am back to my old self, in around three to five years, I will come to the UK for a long-overdue visit.
With all the best,
Pip pip,
Ernest
Edward, who had read the letter aloud to us, folded the notepaper and we sat in stunned silence.
Mum reached for her ever-present packet of cigarettes and lit one, allowing a curl of smoke to leave her mouth and head to the ceiling before saying, ‘He’s OK then.’
‘He’s not coming home?’ David asked.
‘The plantation,’ Mum said. ‘He has to make sure that it’s OK.’
‘But what about us?’ David was confused. ‘Why doesn’t he make sure we are OK?’
Edward slipped the letter back into its envelope. ‘He’ll come when he can. Won’t he, Mum?’
Mum lit another cigarette from the butt of her dying one. ‘Of course he will. But he has a lot to see to in Penang and we are all OK, which is the main thing. Hannah?’ She turned to me. ‘Would you look after the shop today? I have rather a headache.’
The shop was quiet when Edward brought me a cup of tea and we settled on the two short stools Mum kept behind the counter for lulls such as this.
‘At least Dad’s all right,’ he said. ‘That’s something to be grateful for.’
I wrapped my hands around my cup and blew gently to cool the tea down. ‘We haven’t seen him for sixteen years. I thought he was dead. He hasn’t a clue how that feels.’
‘He has had it pretty bad, Toots.’
‘And we haven’t? How dare he tell you to “shelve” your plans for medical school, to get me married off, to encourage David to go to Dublin. No wonder Mum left him.’
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
‘It was the war parted us,’ Edward said, not understanding what I was saying.
The letter had sparked a flash of anger in me which was slowly growing.
‘It wasn’t the war. It was him. Long before the war, Mum was unhappy with Dad. When we were still in Penang.’
Edward watched my face, trying to understand me.
‘Why did she go back then? After she left us with Grandfather?’
‘It was more than that. Dad was … well, he was angry, maybe the first war did that to him, and David was frightened of him and … I think he hit Mum.’
He looked at me in disbelief. ‘Really? She told you this, did she?’
‘No, not exactly.’ I hesitated.
>
‘You’re making it up.’ He drained his tea cup.
‘I’m not.’
‘So how do you know?’
‘It was in the vicarage, when Mum first came back with David. I listened in at the door of Grandfather’s study and heard her telling him. She was crying. She said she had left him for good. We would never go back to Penang.’
‘Listening at keyholes?’ He looked at me with disgust. ‘So why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I don’t know. It just felt too awful and I didn’t want to think about it. And …’ I hesitated.
‘Well, come on? What?’
‘The reason she didn’t tell us about David was because he had been very ill as a baby and she was worried he might die, so she thought it was better for us not to know we had a brother in case he did die and we never got to see him.’ I could feel the tears constricting my throat. ‘And she must have been so scared and unhappy, and she was missing us and …’ Thinking of how lonely Mum must have been, remembering how lonely Edward and I had been, my voice began to crack. ‘It must have been horrible for her because I know how horrible it was for us.’
Edward’s eyes searched mine. ‘Is this a lie? Tell me now.’
‘I’m not lying. Dad and Mum aren’t going to live together again and that’s the real reason he’s not coming home. Please, never tell Mum or David I told you?’
The announcement of Edward’s engagement to Shirley, a month later, came as a surprise to all of us. Mum and I thought things had cooled between them over the last year or so, but now that Shirley was back in Cornwall, and she lived about four miles away in a pretty hamlet called Pendruggan, things had obviously warmed up.
The news was announced during a Sunday lunch that Shirley had been invited to. Mum was a bit shocked but naturally congratulated them. David thought it all very soppy and found an excuse to go upstairs. Shirley was giddy with joy and clinging to Edward’s arm like an irritating clump of ivy. I was furious that he hadn’t told me and said so while he and I washed up, leaving Shirley and Mum chatting around the dining table.
‘Nice of you to tell me,’ I whispered sarcastically, handing him a soapy plate to dry.
‘I didn’t realise I had to have your permission,’ he replied with quiet anger.
‘Oh, come off it.’ I picked up the greasy pork roasting tin and began to scrub at it. ‘Why now? Have you got her in the family way?’
‘Nice one, Toots. Firmly below the belt. And no, I haven’t. Is it beyond your foetid thoughts that we might actually be in love?’
‘Oh please!’ I snorted. ‘Love?’
I took my hands out of the sink and faced him. ‘How about all those other girls you have dangling on a string? How did Shirley suddenly come out on top? You’ve barely mentioned her since we’ve been home. Shirley is a good friend of mine. She doesn’t deserve to end up with a mess like you.’
He threw down his tea towel and rolled his eyes, lifting his hands above his head. ‘Well, I am very sorry if I am slightly messed up after flying bombers over Germany and killing God knows how many people while trying to protect my flight crew, my family and my country.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ I spat. ‘You know what I’m talking about. The only thing you are in love with is a bottle of Scotch.’
‘Can’t a man have a drink now and then?’
‘It’s more than that though, isn’t it? I have seen the bottles under your bed.’
‘Snooping on me now, are you?’ His face grew redder and he lunged at me.
‘Don’t you hit me!’ I buried my face in my arms.
‘Stop it!’ Mum had pulled the curtain that separated the kitchen from the sitting room. I saw Shirley sitting, looking horrified, behind her.
‘Edward,’ Mum’s voice was now controlled and low. ‘Apologise to Shirley.’
He straightened his spine. ‘I am so sorry, Shirley. My sister and I were just having a little argument over nothing. You know how it is.’
Shirley’s eyes rested on mine. ‘Are you OK, Hannah?’
I had picked up the discarded tea towel and was drying my hands. ‘Yes, yes, all fine, we can be terrors when we get going. Nothing to worry about. Sorry to have worried you.’ I laughed, trying to make light of the obvious tension and anger between Edward and me. ‘On today of all days! I’ll make a pot of tea, shall I?’
Shirley reached for her coat which was draped over Mum’s armchair. ‘Not for me. I told my mum I’d not be late and the bus is due in about ten minutes.’ She kissed Mum’s cheek. ‘Thank you so much for a lovely lunch, Mrs Bolitho.’
‘I’ll walk you to the harbour stop,’ Edward tried.
She squeezed past him, reaching the back door, without touching him. ‘No. You’re all right. See you in the week.’ She flicked her eyes quickly to Edward and left.
‘What was that all about?’ demanded Mum.
Edward pointed at me. ‘Ask her.’
Mum turned her face to me. ‘Well?’
I couldn’t lie, so I took a deep breath and explained how worried I was about Edward’s drinking and his sudden betrothal to Shirley, adding: ‘Mum, you must have seen the bottles under his bed?’
‘Edward is a grown man, Hannah. He can do as he pleases.’
‘But Mum,’ I began pleading, ‘he’s drinking so much. Too much. You know how often he goes to the pub. You know how he buries himself in his room after supper.’
She looked at Edward. ‘Shall we go and look under your bed?’
‘No,’ he said, trying to block her way to the stairs. ‘Hannah’s making trouble because she’s jealous that I’m getting married.’
‘No, I am not!’ I said.
Edward was standing in front of us now, his arms on either side of the walls to the stairs. ‘She’s made it all up.’
I had dealt with enough drunken and bolshie men in my barracks not to be scared of him. ‘You are being an idiot, Edward. We are doing this for your own good.’ I got his arm and twisted it behind his back.
‘Let me past.’ Mum’s voice was low and unignorable.
Edward relented.
She pulled out four empty whisky bottles and a half-full one. Taking them out in turn, she held them up and counted them.
Faced with the evidence, she didn’t need to ask Edward to explain. He had broken down and lay on his floor sobbing.
He was still there when Dr Cunningham arrived and went to examine poor Edward.
We waited anxiously until he came down, alone, and explained what he thought was going on.
‘Edward is experiencing what used to be called “battle fatigue” but what we are now calling “war neurosis”. I have seen rather too many young men, and some women, who are suffering the same thing. You can’t expect to pull an ordinary person out of their lives and turn them into successful servicemen, with all the grisly experiences that job entails, without damaging their minds.’
Mum reached to grab my hand and I held it tightly. ‘Will he recover?’ she asked.
‘It will take time. You may have noticed some changed behaviour before today’s episode. Mood swings. Anger. A need to be alone. Perhaps drinking too much.’
Mum nodded. ‘Yes. All of that. I had hoped it was a phase.’ She took her hand from mine and fiddled for her hanky up her sleeve. ‘What can we do to help him?’
‘I suggest a little break away. There is a very good place for ex-servicemen to convalesce in Exeter. I can see if they have room for him.’
‘How long will he be away for?’ I asked.
‘Hard to say at this point, but a few weeks certainly.’
Mum blotted her eyes. ‘He’s getting married.’
The doctor smiled. ‘Good. Something for you all to look forward to.’ He stood up, ‘I will be in touch as soon as I hear about a place for him.’ He shook Mum’s hand. ‘He will get better. It just takes a little time.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hannah, Trevay
1947
Edward came back to us after six
teen weeks of treatment but it took almost twice that before the Edward of old resurfaced. He struggled between bouts of anger or withdrawal and tears.
During this time, Shirley devoted herself to him. She worked four days a week in our local bank, as a teller, but every other waking hour was given over to him.
She became part of us; family, in a way that is rare with outsiders. Together we poured love and security into him until his mood swings grew less evident and stormy, to the point where he decided he could face making a date for his wedding: 16 June 1947.
Mum immediately started making plans for the wedding dress. Shirley and Shirley’s mother had no say in it.
‘I have been saving some cream satin for Hannah’s wedding dress,’ Mum announced, ‘but it will do for you, Shirley.’
I choked on the celebratory tea I was drinking. ‘What about me?’
‘What about you?’ Mum said airily.
Shirley was mortified, ‘I can’t have Hannah’s satin.’
Mum looked at us both, sizing us up. ‘Well, you are both very skinny, I might have enough to make your dress, Shirley, and a bridesmaid’s dress for Hannah. Then Hannah,’ she looked over her tea cup at me, ‘you can use it at your own wedding when the time comes.’
‘Second-hand Rose? Charming,’ I said. ‘And anyway, Shirley might not want me to be her bridesmaid.’
Mum smiled at her daughter-in-law-to-be. ‘Of course you want Hannah as your bridesmaid. You are best friends.’
‘Oh yes,’ Shirley had to say. ‘I was going to ask you, Hannah.’
‘Were you? Really?’ I asked with raised eyebrows. ‘Mum is very good at making people do what she wants. Aren’t you, Mother dear?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Mum was all innocence.
Shirley laughed. ‘I wouldn’t let your mother steamroller me even if she wanted to.’
So began many nights cutting, tacking, and shooing the groom from the parlour, as the dresses began to take shape. They were very similar except for the necklines. Mine was square-cut and Shirley’s sweetheart.
