Northern Girl

by Fadette Marie Marcelle Cripps

  ‘Oh, Maman, for goodness’ sake! I’ll manage somehow. Other girls do. After all, it’s 1945, surely—’

  Madeleine jumped, almost overturning her chair, as her mother shouted, ‘DON’T! Don’t be so silly, Madeleine! Of course you can’t!’

  Madeleine stood, breathing heavily, so emotional that she couldn’t speak.

  Maman said more quietly, ‘We have no choice, and if it doesn’t work out, we’ll have to think again.’ She reached over and took hold of Madeleine’s hand, before saying hesitantly, ‘It’s too late, anyway. Dominic has already left for England, to see Tom and his family.’

  Madeleine, still speechless, pulled her hand away, and stared open-mouthed at her mother. She struggled to control the indignation she felt, and the tears that she could feel welling up at the realization that this was why she hadn’t seen Dominic lately. She burst out, ‘Oh! How could you, Maman, when it’s so obvious that Tom doesn’t want me! Did he write? Non! Did he send any message? Non! And you expect me to go to him, just like that?’ She snapped her fingers. Then, placing both hands on the table to steady herself, she leaned towards her mother, until their faces were only inches apart. Then she whispered harshly, ‘Mon Dieu, Maman, he doesn’t even know I’m pregnant!’

  ‘Well, he will soon enough,’ Maman replied. ‘Tom is a good man. He would want to know, I’m sure. And as we finally managed to obtain his address—’

  ‘We … Who is we?’ Madeleine interrupted. ‘I suppose everyone knows about this perfect little plan except me!’

  ‘We’ll discuss that when you’re in a better frame of mind, and prepared to listen,’ Maman said. Then she added, ‘What you need to know right now is that I’ve sent a letter to Tom’s parents telling them Dominic is on his way, and why.’

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly thought of everything,’ Madeleine replied sarcastically, before pressing her hand tightly over her mouth. She knew she had gone too far.

  Maman, knowing that her daughter was feeling angry at the whole world, didn’t react. She just said mildly, ‘Aren’t you even curious about Tom’s background, Madeleine? And his family? You know nothing about them. Just imagine how you’d feel, if sometime in the future, your child asked about its Papa. What then? Would it be enough to say, “Oh, he was an English soldier who fought in the war, and that’s all we know”? I think you’d be very sorry if we didn’t try to do everything we could now.’

  ‘Whatever you say makes no difference, because you’ve already made your decision.’ Madeleine wiped a tear from her cheek. Then she said, ‘And where, may I ask, does Papa come into all this? I notice he’s staying well out of the way!’

  ‘Papa knows what’s going on, and as you should know by now, if we don’t think things are right for you in England, then of course we won’t send you there.’

  Madeleine, unconvinced, thought of her brother, on his way to Tom’s home, and felt betrayed that he hadn’t discussed it with her first. She couldn’t help remembering all the confidences the two of them had shared over the years. It was hard to believe that he would have kept such a huge secret from her. Papa and Maman must have applied huge pressure, else why would he have done it?

  She sighed. ‘How about Martine,’ she asked, ‘does she know?’

  ‘About England? Yes, she does, and she agrees we have no option. You have to go.’

  Madeleine raised her eyebrows. ‘And Simone?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Maman, more hesitantly.

  Madeleine sat down. ‘Huh! Well I suppose she’s happy to get me out of the way!’

  ‘That’s enough!’ Maman was exasperated. ‘Mon Dieu, Madeleine! Can’t you see that we all just want what’s best for you?’

  ‘Are you sure it’s not what’s best for you?’ Madeleine answered, so agitated that she couldn’t keep still. Her chair clattered to the floor as she rushed upstairs to her room.

  At the sound of her door slamming Maman’s shoulders slumped in despair. Then she picked up a tea towel, covered her eyes with it, and cried as never before.

  Madeleine’s heart pounded wildly as she stood with her back against the bedroom door. Hearing a faint sound from downstairs, she pressed her ear to the wood, holding her breath to listen. Realizing that she could hear her mother sobbing, she crouched down, held her hands tightly over her ears to block out the sound, and whispered, ‘I’m so sorry, Maman … So sorry, Papa!’ She was tired … tired of crying … tired of worrying … and too weary to fight any more. She would just have to accept that she had no choice over what happened next. What was the point of feeling sorry for herself when her fate was sealed? Her family would be humiliated if she stayed – so she had to go to England. That is, if Tom would have her.

  Chapter 3

  Calais, France

  Saturday, 1 December 1945

  The cross-channel ferry loomed above the docks. Swept along by the bustling crowds in its shadow, Dominic thought he’d never seen Calais so busy. As he was buffeted towards the gates, he tried to stop and feel in his pockets for his ticket, and almost knocked over a screaming child. A few minutes earlier, when the queue had been stationary, the same child had been poking his tongue out at anyone who looked his way, and when Dominic had responded with equal rudeness, adding a vicious snarl for good measure, the boy had wailed, hoping to get sympathy from his harassed mother.

  For some reason, Dominic had been infuriated by this spoiled little brat; even more so when his mother gave in to him. So when the boy’s father appeared and took the situation in hand – giving him a resounding slap across the backside – and peace was restored, Dominic allowed himself a satisfied smile. And made a mental note to keep well out of the boy’s way during the crossing.

  Finding the ticket, he allowed himself to be jostled up the gangway. But all he could think about was Madeleine, and how she would feel when she discovered what he’d done behind her back. He knew how upset she’d be when Maman told her he was on his way to England, and he had no doubt she would have been told by now. He was the one person she really trusted and relied on, and his betrayal would hurt. But he’d felt he had to do it: his parents were so desperate.

  He had been devastated, too, by what had happened to his little sister. And then the family had brought up the idea of a trip to England. After he’d got over his initial shock, he’d realized the alternative was worse. If Madeleine stayed in France, his parents would have to send her away. That was even more worrying. It was horrible to think of her going to a convent for unmarried mothers; he knew the sort of women she’d end up with. He’d seen a group of them being taken into a forbidding stone building with bars on its windows on the outskirts of Calais. Some had walked in, dazed by misery, resigned to the fact that this was to be their life now, while others had had to be dragged there, viciously kicking and screaming. Tom, and his family in England, had to be better than that. And that was why he was at the docks now.

  The hardest part, and the bit that had disgusted him most, had been keeping it all from Madeleine. But he’d known, like the rest of his family, that she would never ever agree to it, because it would be so humiliating to have to ask for help from someone who had broken her heart. In fact, she would probably prefer to be sent to a convent, and they all knew it. And, because Dominic had come so close to telling her about the trip to England, he’d made himself scarce, terrified that otherwise his love for her would force him to confess. Martine and Simone had done the same, and he was sure that Madeleine must have been upset by this, too. It had been cruel of them, he knew. But what else could they have done, when Papa and Maman were so insistent that Tom had to be told?

  Dominic knew his parents loved Madeleine, but they also felt the dishonour keenly. He’d been infuriated, that night in the kitchen a week ago, when Maman had said, ‘Papa’s business will be affected.’

  ‘How the hell’s that going to happen?’ he’d shouted. ‘I know carpentry isn’t the best-paid work in the world, and, yes, I’m impressed by how Papa managed during the war, wh
en so many didn’t. But surely his clients, who are all friends, won’t turn against him! After all, I know at least a couple of them have daughters who took money from the Germans during the occupation – and that’s putting it politely. But they weren’t the ones who got caught out, oh no! Not like poor Madeleine, who made one, only one mistake.’ (He had no reason to doubt her story.) ‘Where else would Papa’s clients go, anyway? Why, there isn’t another decent carpenter for miles!’

  ‘Not everyone’s like you,’ Maman had said. ‘When something like this happens, it doesn’t matter how respected the family is. People are narrow-minded and fickle. The family won’t be seen in the same light. I know it’ll ruin Papa’s business. Then where will we be?’

  Dominic had always thought Madeleine’s upbringing had been too sheltered, and he probably hadn’t helped by always rushing to protect her whenever he felt she was in danger. In fact, it was amazing that she’d turned out so kind and thoughtful. She could easily have taken advantage of the situation and been spoilt. The whole family had idolized her; and now that this had happened, she couldn’t forgive herself for letting them all down.

  ‘I’ve spoken with Papa,’ Maman had said, ‘and we both agree that Madeleine must get in touch with Tom. Let’s hope that he still cares enough to marry her!’ Then she’d added sadly, ‘After all, she does love him, doesn’t she?’

  Dominic had said, ‘You do know what you’re suggesting, Maman? You do realize that Madeleine would have to live in England permanently? Because Tom wouldn’t get work in France, that’s for sure. He hardly speaks any French.’ He’d looked pleadingly at his mother. ‘Don’t do this, Maman!’ he’d said. ‘Can’t we just hide her away here somewhere?’ Then, as if suddenly inspired, he’d cried, ‘Tante Lucy! What about Tante Lucy? Madeleine could stay with her!’

  He could tell by the set look on Maman’s face that that wasn’t an option. Her mind was made up.

  He’d shouted petulantly, ‘I don’t believe this!’

  She’d paused before saying, ‘Papa and I want you to organize a passport – or a visitor’s card if you can’t get a passport quickly – and go to England at once to find Tom. You always got on so well.’

  So angry he couldn’t trust himself to speak, Dominic had rushed out of the back door, pushing past his father, who was coming in. He’d almost fallen into the garden, he was so desperate to avoid being press-ganged into going to England. And he knew he ought to discuss it with Madeleine first. Hands shaking, he’d rummaged in his pocket for a cigarette, and fumbled as he tried to light it. When the match had finally flared he’d inhaled deeply, and for a moment been aware of nothing but the smoke curling into the air.

  Eventually, he’d turned to look through the kitchen window, where he’d seen his exhausted father walk across the room to his mother, and take her in his arms. Dominic couldn’t hear what they said to each other, but he saw her press her head against Papa’s chest and sob into his shirt. He’d realized then that he was going to have to go to England.

  The crossing was rough. The ship lurched and tilted on the waves, spray hurled itself against the windows, and the decks and passageways were full of passengers being sick. Dominic sat in the almost-deserted café, clutching a cup of coffee, an overflowing ashtray sliding around the table in front of him. He was wondering, yet again, what he was going to say to Tom, when he heard voices singing, ‘We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when.’ Two bright-faced crewmen were bawling out the Vera Lynn song as they wove through the knots of queasy passengers, handing out brown paper bags.

  They offered him one, but he waved them away. The song, though, struck him as pretty appropriate. He could still remember Tom’s last words, as he’d gripped Dominic’s hand feverishly.

  ‘I’ll see you again, mate. Not sure where or when, but I’ll be in touch.’

  They’d patted each other affectionately on the back, and Dominic was sure the same thought had crossed both their minds: even though they’d become so close, it was unlikely they’d ever see each other again.

  Almost word for word that song is, thought Dominic, and I’ll bet Tom would never have imagined in a million years that it would be me getting in touch with him, and so soon.

  ‘But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day.’ The two sailors swayed off to the next passenger, an Englishman, who showed his appreciation for his sick bag by immediately vomiting into it. Dominic, who’d been only vaguely aware of what was going on around him, was jolted back to the present by the Englishman saying, ‘Thank God! Dover’s in sight, mate, we’ll be docking soon … half an hour at most, I reckon!’ The poor man could barely contain his excitement at the thought of getting his feet on dry land.

  Dominic smiled politely, but he had different feelings about stepping on to English soil. Mon Dieu! he thought. I just hope that Maman’s letter has arrived. He wondered what kind of reception he’d get if it hadn’t. Tom had probably already settled back happily into his old life. And here he was, about to arrive at his home and disrupt everything.

  Dominic had learned a lot from Tom during the months that he’d been calling on Madeleine back at home in Marck, and the two of them had had some really good discussions, especially on the nights Tom and Madeleine went to dances at the town hall in Calais.

  Dominic had always found it funny the way they’d rush in exactly on Madeleine’s eleven o’clock curfew. And Maman or Papa would invariably be there to make sure that Madeleine and Tom said goodnight, and that she went off to bed alone.

  Then, as soon as everyone else had gone to bed, Dominic would get the beer out and he and Tom would sit chatting in English, sometimes for hours, making Tom late getting back to his barracks. But, as he told Dominic, it wasn’t a problem: he had ways. He always winked and tapped the side of his nose when he made that comment. Dominic smiled at the memory.

  Disappointed to be too young to go to war himself, Dominic used to ask endless questions, and Tom, who didn’t want to discuss the horrors that he’d witnessed, instead did everything he could to make soldiering sound dismal and dreary, and kept reiterating that Dominic was far more useful at home, protecting his parents and Madeleine from the Nazis. To an extent, Dominic had agreed with him. In order not to be sent away to work in a factory like most of his friends, he’d allowed himself to be treated like a servant by the Germans. He’d made himself indispensable – doing their errands and being at their beck and call – and he was never sure whether they were too dim to realize why he was doing it, or whether it was just that it suited them. Either way he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t even minded if others saw him as a collaborator. All that mattered was being able to watch over his family.

  Invariably, those late-night conversations between him and Tom had ended on a light note, and they’d told each other a few jokes. Some didn’t translate well from French, but Tom always laughed anyway.

  Then, eventually, the day had come when Tom had called in to let them all know he’d been demobilized, and was going home at last. He’d talked about it for months, but once it actually happened it was obvious he was in no hurry to leave. He told Dominic he hadn’t reckoned on falling for anyone, as he’d put it. The thought of leaving Maddie tore him apart, even though he’d known in his heart, right from the start, that it couldn’t last. He’d always been aware that a relationship with a French girl could go nowhere. But, as he’d confessed to Dominic, Madeleine was so lovely she had got right under his skin. Sometimes at night, when he was lying in his bed back at the barracks, he imagined what it would be like when he had to go home. He’d decided that if he and Maddie promised to write to each other the parting would be easier. But what he hadn’t said to Dominic was that, deep down, he had a feeling that the letter-writing would be short-lived, or simply wouldn’t happen at all. Well, he couldn’t just walk away, could he? He had to tell her – and himself – that they were going to keep in touch.

  He’d also told Dominic how he’d hoped he’d get back to normal life quickly o
nce he was home, because then maybe the nightmares would stop. And Dominic felt sad to think, ‘Here I am bringing another nightmare right to his doorstep!’

  Dover, England

  Saturday, 1 December 1945

  ‘Will all foot passengers please head for stairway C on the upper deck, and prepare to disembark!’ The loudspeaker announcement made Dominic jump, and he looked up to see crowds of passengers pushing towards the stairs. He stayed where he was, marvelling at the mentality that made people fight other people to be first in line. He reached under the table for his case, and brushed the cigarette ash from the sleeve of his now-crumpled jacket. Then he stood up and glanced across to check the state of the queue. As he did so he caught the eye of an attractive dark-haired girl who seemed to be looking in his direction. He smiled, but she quickly turned away. I must have been mistaken, he decided. She wasn’t looking at me at all. This business with Madeleine is playing havoc with my head. He walked towards the end of the queue.

  Standing there, he found it impossible not to search through the bobbing heads in front of him to see if he could pick out the pretty stranger. There she was! As he stood on tiptoe, his stomach fluttered. Then she turned her head, their eyes locked again for a brief moment, and she smiled. He felt a pang of excitement. He wasn’t sure if she’d blushed, or if the colour he’d seen had just been the deep red of her coat reflecting on her cheeks. Although she turned back to face the front of the queue, he could see she was shifting nervously from foot to foot. She was aware of his eyes on her, he knew.

  Too soon, he lost sight of her. He ran his fingers through his dishevelled fair hair, allowing himself a wide smile, before addressing himself again to the job of finding Tom’s family in … where was it? He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper, on which was written, in his mother’s neat handwriting: