A Family's Duty

by Maggie Bennett

  ‘Haven’t you had the wireless on? Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the news! Italy has surrendered to the Allies, and Mussolini’s been executed by his own countrymen!’

  ‘Thanks be to God!’ cried Isabel, getting up to exchange a kiss with him. ‘We shall have a full church tomorrow, then, to give thanks!’

  ‘Shall we celebrate with a bottle of Beaujolais?’ he asked, beaming. ‘I’ll fetch one up from the cellar!’

  But Rebecca had stood up, clasping her hands together. ‘Stefano – I must go to him. This changes everything. I must go to him now!’

  ‘Not at this hour, Becky, it’s gone six, and they’ll be at supper—’ Isabel began, but Rebecca had speedily left the manor and was on her way to Yeomans’ Farm; skirting the farmhouse, she took the lane that ran beside the field where the POW’s hut stood, and climbed over the familiar stile to get to it. No one was in sight, and as she approached the hut she heard a low murmuring of men’s voices in unison. Of course! It was Saturday evening, and Father Orlando would be celebrating Mass with them. She waited in silence until the Mass was ended, and the priest left, accompanied by Paolo to his car. As soon as Paolo caught sight of her, he called to Stefano, who hurried towards her, holding out his hand and silently beckoning her to a sheltered corner in an adjoining barley field, protected by a thick hawthorn hedge, where they had sometimes met to talk. Stefano had been much teased about this, but today the others agreed to look away, and as soon as they were out of sight, she threw her arms around his neck.

  ‘Stefano! Have you not heard? We’re not enemies any more – that’s official!’

  He gently drew back from her a little, and she saw that there were tears in his dark eyes. She slowly withdrew her arms, and stared into his face.

  ‘What’s the matter, Stefano? This changes everything, don’t you see?’

  ‘Yes, and this changes for us, cara mia, when I and these friends of mine will return to Italy when a troopship is available,’ he said almost sorrowfully. ‘We must soon part, and I cannot offer you anything, nor can I ask you to make a promise. It would not be right.’

  ‘But Stefano, I love you – don’t you love me, too?’ she asked in dismay. ‘And now you’re free, so we don’t need to hide it any more. Why does that make you sad?’

  ‘We must wait, Rebecca. The war with Germany is not yet over, and all Europe is in turmoil. We must keep – we must hold our wishes until the time is right, and until that day comes I must say nothing.’

  ‘But you do love me, don’t you, Stefano?’ she persisted, suddenly afraid that his interest in her had been just a game on his part, to relieve the boredom and helplessness of being a prisoner of war. ‘Tell me the truth, for God’s sake!’

  ‘This is not a time to make promises, we must wait and see what happens when Germany yields, cara mia. Now is too early, we must wait and see,’ he repeated. ‘Do not make it difficult for me, I beg of you. You must go now.’

  Silent and bewildered, she let him take her arm and lead her back to the stile, helping her to climb over it. He kissed her cheek, and whispered, ‘Addio, Rebecca mia’, then stood watching her as she walked away, her eyes bright with unshed tears and unaware of the conflict raging within his heart.

  Ten days later Germany capitulated, and surrendered to the Allies unconditionally. This was no Armistice as in 1918: this was victory – the end of the Second World War in Europe, and Hitler was reported to have committed suicide. Tuesday the eighth of May was announced as VE-Day, and great were the thanksgiving and celebrations. The war was truly over! In London the King and Queen with the two princesses appeared on the balcony of Buckingham Palace with Winston Churchill, and people roared themselves hoarse with cheering. There was dancing in the streets, and in Everham free beer flowed from two barrels in public houses competing with each other, which proved not to be a good idea.

  Only at the offices of Munday and Pascoe, chartered accountants of Everham, was there silence.

  ‘Victory in Europe is only half a victory,’ Devora Munday told the children. ‘We’ll have our party when both David and Jonny are home.’

  At the home of the Nuttalls in Rectory Road a visitor knocked on the door at mid-morning, and Doreen came to answer. Standing on the doorstep was Rebecca Neville, tall and graceful in a summery dress. Doreen stared in surprise; her cousin had not visited this house for as long as she could remember. She smiled and drew back the door to let Rebecca in.

  ‘Thank you, Doreen. Can you take me to your mother?’

  ‘Oh, yes, er, Rebecca, she’s in the kitchen. Just come this way.’

  When Grace Nuttall looked up from the kitchen sink where she was peeling potatoes, her face drained of all colour. She opened her mouth but no words would come. It was left to Rebecca to say the greeting.

  ‘The war’s over, Aunt Grace.’ She held out her hand, and Grace seized it and kissed it.

  ‘Oh, Rebecca, my – my dear, you’ve come after all.’ She began to tremble like a leaf. ‘Forgive me, please forgive me for everything.’

  ‘I forgive you, Aunt Grace, and so does my mother,’ said Rebecca, gathering the woman into her arms, for she looked likely to faint. ‘The war’s over, and – and we must be at peace, too.’

  When Tom and Rob came into the kitchen in answer to Doreen’s excited call, they shared in the reconciliation. Tom Munday, wiping away a tear, said that this was what he had hoped and prayed for, and there were smiles, tears and kisses all round.

  ‘And where’s Isabel?’ asked Tom. ‘Why hasn’t she come too?’

  ‘Mother doesn’t know I’ve come here,’ Rebecca confessed. ‘It was something I had to do on my own – but she’ll be so happy when I tell her – and then we must all celebrate VE-Day together!’

  That evening the celebrations in Everham drew crowds of people from surrounding villages, and John Richardson called on Valerie Pearson to invite her to join him there.

  ‘Come on, darling, we can’t get to London, but there’ll be a rare knees-up in Everham,’ he’d told her. ‘Get your glad-rags on, and we’ll go and paint the town red, white and blue!’

  Mrs Pearson was at first dubious, but Richardson persuaded her that this was a very special occasion, and that it was positively Valerie’s duty to celebrate it with him. He then kissed the old lady respectfully on her cheek, and whispered, ‘You can’t deny your future son-in-law – Mother,’ at which she smiled and told him not to keep Valerie out too late.

  At six o’clock that evening the pair got on a noisy, crowded train to Everham, where the market place was thronging with revellers, singing, dancing and indulging in kisses as free as the beer. John eagerly downed a pint of it, and handed her one which she drank, grimacing at the bitterness – but she was determined to be part of this historic occasion, so when John handed her a large glass of port wine, she smiled and drank it all, thinking how delicious it was, and what a wonderful place this was to be on such a great day.

  ‘All right, darling?’ John asked, and she nodded.

  ‘We’ll remember Victory Night, won’t we, John?’

  ‘We most certainly will, darling – my little sweetheart.’ He downed another glass, and leant against her, kissing her on the mouth. She felt his hand slide down her back to rest on her bottom, which he squeezed.

  ‘My little Valerie – thought about you all the time I was over there – every moment I was dreaming of being this close.’ She could feel his hard erection through their clothes, which she disliked and tried to discourage.

  ‘You mustn’t – you must let go of me, John!’

  ‘Know what I want to do, darling, up against a wall!’ he said thickly, and she felt herself being pushed back hard against the bricked entrance to a wood yard, now locked.

  Her head was spinning, and she tried to struggle. ‘Let me go, John – now!’

  But his hand was up the skirt of her dress, pushing her thighs apart, trying to pull at her knickers and thrusting his exposed and swollen member against her flesh.<
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  ‘No! Y-you let me go, g-get me go!’ The beer and wine she had drunk was blurring her speech, and she was powerless to help herself.

  ‘C’mon, li’l darling, they’re all doing it, up against a wall!’ he panted, and then groaned aloud: she felt a warm stickiness running down her right leg. The market square seemed to be reeling around her, and she made an ineffectual effort to push him away.

  ‘Good – that was good,’ he said, grinning stupidly, and hiccuped. ‘Look at ’em, they’re all up against a wall!’

  To her utter dismay, she saw a circle of cheering spectators gathered around them.

  ‘That was a good one, mate, give ’er another!’ shouted a man’s hoarse voice, and a woman giggled. John slumped against her, and the crowd jeered, singing, ‘Up against a wall,’ swaying to the obscene, tuneless rhythm. Near to them a man was pushing a drunken girl against the wall and openly violating her. Valerie moaned and closed her eyes, falling into the blackness of a nightmare. Until from far away she heard a voice calling to her.

  ‘Miss Pearson! Miss Pearson, are you all right?’ She opened her eyes and out of the blurred sea of faces saw one that she thought she recognised. It was Nick Grant, Miss Temple’s evacuee, now a serious-faced boy looking older than his thirteen years.

  ‘Is that you, N-Nick?’ Her voice was weak. ‘I can’t get away!’

  He called over his shoulder, and there followed a shout and a scuffle, then a firm arm encircled her, and Richardson howled with pain as a punch landed on his injured shoulder.

  ‘All right, Valerie, I’m here.’ It was Philip Saville’s voice and Philip Saville’s hand quickly readjusting her dress. He took her right arm in his. ‘You take her other arm, Nick, and we’ll get her out of this lot! I suppose the Perrin boys had better pick him up. If there’s a train or a bus going, we’ll get on it, otherwise we’ll have to walk.’

  ‘Oh, no, we don’t want to go home, Mr Saville,’ protested Charlie and Joe who had come with Philip and Nick to join the Victory celebrations in Everham. Philip now realised his mistake.

  ‘This is no fit place for you boys, too much drunken behaviour,’ he said firmly. ‘What you can do is to help – er – this man come to his senses, and walk him along with us, if he’s not too heavy for you. Pretend you’re policemen!’

  The boys eagerly accepted the idea of being police constables, and hauled Richardson up between them, placing his arms over their shoulders. He gave another howl of pain.

  ‘Careful, he’s got a bad shoulder where he was shot,’ warned Philip. ‘Steady as you go – he’s going to feel sorry in the morning.’ And for more reasons than one, he added silently.

  There was no transport available, so the little party set out to walk the four miles to North Camp. Halfway along they came to a bench seat where Philip said they should rest for a few minutes. He sat Valerie down between himself and Nick, with Richardson on the other side of Nick, but the man was so helplessly drunk that he had to be supported by the boys to sit upright, much to their amusement, as well as the fact that he had copiously wet himself.

  The exercise and fresh air had cleared Valerie’s head a little, and she was beginning to realise where she was, and what had happened: it was too awful to contemplate.

  ‘Are you feeling a little better now, Valerie?’ Philip whispered.

  She gave a moan, and held up her head to answer sensibly – but all she could say was, ‘I can’t marry him, Philip, I can’t, I can’t! I can’t marry him!’ Her voice rose with each word, and when Richardson gave a loud hiccup, the boys could not help laughing. Philip gently drew her head down onto his shoulder and whispered, ‘All right, Valerie, all right, my dear, you don’t have to. Sssh, don’t cry, you’re safe now.’

  These were comforting words, but never in her life had Valerie Pearson experienced such shame and humiliation.

  Arriving at North Camp in the twilight, Saville directed the Perrin boys to the house adjoining Thomas and Gibson’s, to deliver John to his father. He and Nick led Valerie to Miss Temple’s cottage where she drank two glasses of water, went to the outdoor lavatory, and was helped to wash her face.

  ‘What on earth has happened, Philip?’ asked his aunt.

  ‘I’m sorry about this, Enid, but it wasn’t her fault. I’ll take her home now and think of a story to tell Mrs Pearson. Wish me luck!’

  His bewildered aunt stared after him as he set off with Valerie, to confront her horrified mother.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Pearson, but she was taken ill, and almost fainted – and there was no bus or train, so I’ve walked her home. She needs to go to bed straight away, and get a good night’s sleep,’ he said, trying to show sympathy while making light of the situation. As he returned to the cottage, he thought he’d better send an apology to Perrin and his wife, for taking their sons to see such a spectacle.

  And that was how Valerie Pearson and John Richardson returned from the celebrations of Victory Night at Everham.

  Dora Goddard and her friends were waiting to be demobbed from the ATS. As well as the euphoria at the ending of the war, there was a certain regret at the loss of the camaraderie they had shared through the adventures of those dangerous years, and they vowed to keep in touch on their return to civilian life. Her friend Gwen had married a GI, so looked forward to sharing a new life with him in the USA. Dora had heard that there might be opportunities for women with her qualifications at the British Broadcasting Corporation. It would be a first step towards saving up to travel to the USA, but for the time being she said nothing about this to her mother and grandfather.

  At Hassett Manor Rebecca’s joy at the end of the war in Europe was somewhat dampened by Stefano’s strange reaction, and on visiting the camp again, he said they were all making plans to see their families as soon as they could be repatriated; Allied troops returning home were given priority over POWs when a ship became available, and Stefano did not give her an opportunity to speak with him in private, only in the company of the other men.

  ‘I expect he’s concerned about his family in Milan, and anxious to see how they are after all this time,’ her mother said, ‘and it’s quite natural that he feels he can’t make any plans for the future.’ But Rebecca could not fail to discern her parents’ satisfaction at Ghiberti’s attitude, and decided that when the time came for the POWs to leave North Camp for Southampton and the ship that was to take them home, she would insist on speaking to him, in front of her parents if necessary, to declare her intention to join him in Milan as soon as she was demobbed from the Women’s Land Army. Meanwhile she carried out her duties towards the land girls in her region, many of whom wanted to stay where they were, having become part of the families on whose farms they worked. Farmers who had been slave drivers and treated the girls unfairly were soon left without their labour; Billy Yeomans was one such, and Rebecca had the pleasure of telling him that the Women’s Land Army was to be disbanded, and he was no longer entitled to a land girl’s assistance.

  Valerie’s hand shook as her mother handed her the envelope that had come in today’s post, addressed to her in Philip Saville’s writing. Mrs Pearson had said very little about her daughter’s early return from Everham on Victory night, in the company of Mr Saville instead of John Richardson; she only remarked that Valerie looked pale the next morning.

  ‘Mr Saville said you were taken ill,’ she said. ‘Are you feeling better after a night’s sleep?’

  Valerie, who felt dreadful, both physically and emotionally, answered that she felt fine; it was just that there had been too much drinking and bad behaviour in the town square, and Mr Saville had offered to bring her home, for which she was grateful.

  ‘And what about John?’ asked Mrs Pearson about her future son-in-law, or so he had described himself.

  ‘I think he came home, too, though I can’t be sure, there was such a crowd of people drinking and dancing and – oh, Mother, I was just so thankful when Mr Saville – he was there with Nick and the Perrin boys – when he came
and said he’d take me home,’ said Valerie, not wanting to open the letter in front of her mother. She ate no breakfast, and as soon as she could get to her room, sat down on the bed, tore the envelope open, and read it in fear.

  ‘Dear Valerie,’ he had written. ‘I hope that you are now recovered from the fainting attack on Tuesday night, and whether there is any service I could do for you or your mother. With your permission I would like to call on you as soon as you are feeling better.

  With my very best wishes,

  Philip Saville.’

  Valerie could have wept with relief. Dear Philip – he was clearly not intending to tell the truth about their encounter in Everham on that terrible night, but he sounded truly concerned about her. She told her mother of his wish to call on them, and when she went out to buy a loaf of bread, she deliberately left the letter on the table for Mrs Pearson to read. She waited two days before replying, thanking him for his kindness, and saying that she had recovered and was back at work at The Limes.

  The following day he was at the door when she returned from work. She blushed crimson and could hardly meet his eyes. Her mother invited him in, smiling.

  ‘Come in, Mr Saville. I’m pleased to have a chance to thank you for your care of Valerie when she was taken ill on Tuesday night. It sounds as if there was a lot of rowdiness – such a pity to spoil the thanksgiving for Victory.’

  ‘I agree, Mrs Pearson,’ he said seriously. ‘I’d taken Nick and the Perrin boys to join in the celebrations, but we all had to leave – the place wasn’t fit for children.’

  ‘You can guess how I felt when I saw you on the doorstep instead of John. What happened to him?’

  Philip shook his head regretfully. ‘I’m afraid he was in no fit state to look after a lady. There was just too much free alcohol.’