One Step at a Time

by Beryl Matthews

  Amy gave a yelp of delight and launched herself at him again. This was just what he needed to help him recover from Dunkirk. ‘That’s wonderful!’

  ‘Will you put my wife down?’ John watched the scene with amusement as Howard lifted her off the ground and handed her back to him.

  ‘Sorry about that, but she keeps throwing herself at me.’

  They were all talking and laughing as Mrs Dalton made a large pot of tea, and then they sat round the table to catch up with all the news. No one mentioned the war; it was just so good to have at least one of the boys home for a while. The other one was still sorely missed.

  ‘What are you going to do while you’re here?’ Ted asked.

  ‘Sleep mostly, then I thought I’d throw a few pots, just to keep my hand in.’ Howard looked round at the smiling faces. ‘Then I’d like us to have one hell of a New Year’s Eve party. I’ve promised to go to my parents the next day, but I’d like to celebrate here, and include Ben, even though we don’t know where he is.’

  ‘Excellent idea.’ Mrs Dalton patted his hand. ‘This house is full of his presence, and it’s right we should think of him at the start of a new year.’

  Amy agreed. No more information had been received about Ben’s whereabouts, and she was more than ever convinced that he was still alive, no matter what anyone else said. ‘And pray that he’ll be back for the next one.’

  Ted lifted his cup in salute. ‘Wherever you are, Benjamin Scott, your place at this table will be waiting for you.’

  ‘Hear, hear.’ Mrs Dalton smiled at Howard. ‘I don’t know where you’ve been lately, but it’s lively here now, so be prepared to spend your nights in the shelter.’

  It had been wonderful to have Howard home for a few days and to welcome in 1941 together. The time had gone far too quickly, but Amy sang to herself as she prepared breakfast. There was a feeling of snow in the air, and the people huddled in shelters or underground stations would have had a cold night. Only the firemen would have been warm as they’d fought the fierce fires.

  Frowning at the clock, she turned out the gas under the kettle. John was late this morning. It was nearly ten o’clock and he usually arrived home around nine after a night at the hospital. Ted was still out as well, and Mrs Dalton was having a well-earned rest after being up half the night with the WVS, so she wouldn’t disturb her.

  Oscar rubbed around her legs. At least the cat wanted some breakfast, so she saw to him and then stood staring out of the window at the bleak January morning. How she wished this war was over, but no one believed it was going to end for a long time yet. Her singing stopped as she began to fret. Where was he?

  At eleven o’clock there was a knock on the front door, and she hurried to open it, smiling. John must have forgotten his key.

  But her smile faded when she saw a colleague of John, Dr Hayward, standing there in a dishevelled state.

  ‘David, you look exhausted.’ She stepped aside. ‘Please come in. I’m afraid John isn’t home yet.’

  He followed her into the kitchen, not saying a word, and when she turned and looked at his face, it felt as if she had just walked into an icy river.

  ‘What’s happened?’ The words came out in a whisper as cold dread gripped her.

  ‘Sit down, Amy.’ He helped her, holding her hand tightly. ‘I’ve got some bad news…’

  ‘John!’ There was only one reason David would be here like this, and she surged to her feet. ‘Has he been hurt?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘I’m so sorry, Amy, but there’s no easy way to tell you this. John was killed last night.’

  ‘Nooo…’ Her anguished cry echoed throughout the house and had Mrs Dalton stumbling into the kitchen, struggling to put on her dressing gown. ‘No! No.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mrs Dalton demanded.

  David, cradling Amy in his arms, lifted tortured eyes. ‘John’s been killed.’

  ‘Oh, dear God!’ Mrs Dalton’s legs gave way just as she managed to grab a chair and sit beside Amy. ‘Come here, sweetheart.’ When Amy turned to her she enveloped her in her arms.

  ‘It isn’t true. It can’t be,’ Amy moaned. ‘Not my John.’ The cries of distress racked her body.

  ‘How did it happen?’ Mrs Dalton spoke quietly to David, who was looking totally helpless in the face of such overwhelming grief.

  ‘John went in an ambulance to help at a bomb site, and when they were getting the injured on to stretchers a gas main blew…’ He dipped his head and shook it in disbelief. ‘They were all killed. I was no more than twenty yards away and wasn’t even scratched.’

  Suddenly Amy sat up. ‘Where is he? I want to see him.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea—’ David’s protest stopped when he saw her expression.

  ‘Where is he?’ She struggled to her feet and spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s in the hospital mortuary.’

  ‘Wait!’ Mrs Dalton caught hold of Amy’s arm as she made to move. ‘Let me get dressed and I’ll come with you.’

  Amy sat down again.

  Within ten minutes they were in David’s car. None of them spoke, but Mrs Dalton sat in the back with Amy, holding her trembling hands.

  Once at the hospital, Amy was oblivious to her surroundings, holding on tightly to David and Mrs Dalton for support. It didn’t feel as if her legs belonged to her, and every step was torture, but she had to do this. She would never be able to believe it if she didn’t see him for herself. It couldn’t be John. They must have made a mistake…

  They stopped outside a door and David left her for a moment. The sound of raised voices could be heard through the door, and then he returned.

  ‘Sit down, Amy.’ David was beside her again. ‘You’ll be able to see him in a few minutes, but…’ He stooped down in front of her. ‘He was badly injured. Are you sure you want to do this?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her eyes were wide with pain. ‘I must see him.’

  A man opened the door. ‘All right, you can come in now. You’ve explained, doctor?’

  ‘She knows.’

  Amy was led into a large room crowded with trolleys covered with sheets, so many dead. It wasn’t going to be him. It wasn’t!

  The man stopped at one trolley and turned down the sheet to expose the face, and she could deny it no longer. John’s face was cut and bloodied, but there was no doubt it was him. No matter how injured, she would know that precious face. With a deep moan of utter despair she reached out to touch, but the man pulled up the sheet quickly.

  ‘Come on, my dear.’ Mrs Dalton was shaking. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  But Amy couldn’t move; all she could do was stare at the trolley as her mind tried to grasp that this was the last time she was ever going to see him; never again would she sleep in his arms after making love. He had been so vibrant, so alive, so loved… and now he was gone.

  She was swept off her feet and carried out.

  ‘His parents,’ she managed to gasp.

  ‘They are being told now.’ David sat her on a chair in the corridor and barked out an order to a passing nurse. ‘Get us some hot, sweet tea.’

  It appeared very quickly but Mrs Dalton had to hold the cup to her lips as she was incapable of doing anything, or thinking, or knowing where she was.

  The next thing she was aware of was being tucked up in her own bed at home.

  ‘Try to sleep.’ Mrs Dalton kissed her cheek, and allowed Oscar to slink on to the end of the bed before she left the room.

  Alone at last the dam broke and she sobbed her heart out, grabbing John’s pillow to her. What was she going to do without him? It was too cruel to lose both the men she loved.

  ‘Oh, darling John,’ she cried out. ‘I loved you so much. How do I live without you?’

  30

  The wind was cold enough to cut a man in half, but Ben shoved his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders, and stared before him. There was a strip of wire at his feet, then a gap of
about three yards, and then a tall fence; beyond that was open country for some twenty yards, leading to a wooded area. His thoughts soared over the trees, across the sea and back to Chelsea. The pain was almost physical as he remembered his studio. How he missed the smell of paint, and seeing Howard covered in dust as he chipped away at a piece of stone.

  His head bowed in worry. Did his parents believe he was dead, and had Howard made it back? If so, what was he doing now? Was he still alive? And what about Amy, John, Ted and Mrs Dalton? The POWs knew that London was being bombed because they had a small radio hidden in the roof of one of the huts, and the guards took great delight in passing on such news. Was Amy still in London, or had John made her leave for somewhere less dangerous? He hoped all those he loved were safe.

  At Dunkirk they had managed to hold out until most of the troops were off the beaches, then they had been overrun and taken prisoner. He was now somewhere in Germany, but he wasn’t quite sure where.

  There were so many questions running through his head today. Questions he had no hope of finding answers to.

  ‘Major wants to see you.’ Another one of the prisoners stood beside him and looked up. ‘Bloody freezing out here.’

  ‘Won’t be for long, Shorty. In another few weeks spring will be here. Wonder if there are bluebells under those trees?’

  The man gave him a pitying glance. ‘Couldn’t give a toss, mate. All I know is that beyond those trees is freedom.’

  Ben snorted. ‘There’s a lot of ground and water to cross before you would find that.’ They all dreamt of escaping, and there were always schemes being planned, but nothing had come of it so far. But it gave everyone something to think about, and a feeling that they were doing something. ‘What’s the Major want with me?’

  ‘No idea, but you’d better find out, and it’s warmer in his hut.’

  Well aware that their every move was watched, they began to walk towards the hut, seeming relaxed and unhurried.

  Shorty peeled off before they reached hut seven and went in a different direction.

  The Major was sitting at the table, and another prisoner by the name of Charlie was leaning against a bunk bed. He was a rather shifty-looking individual and Ben had the impression he might have been a crook before the war.

  ‘Ah, Scott.’ The officer indicated he should sit. ‘I believe you are an artist?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Give him the pass, Charlie.’

  Charlie pushed himself away from the bunks and tossed something in front of Ben.

  He whistled in surprise when he saw what it was, picked it up and examined it carefully. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘I took it out of a guard’s pocket.’ Charlie smirked. ‘I made my living as a pickpocket before this lot started.’

  Ben glanced at him. So his first impression of the man had been correct. ‘You must be good.’

  ‘He is.’ The Major gave a faint smile. ‘And proving rather useful to us in here. Now, do you think you could copy that?’

  ‘If I had the right pens and paper.’

  The officer opened a drawer and took out various pens, inks and good-quality paper. Ben almost drooled. What wouldn’t he give to have some of that to draw on?

  ‘As I’ve said, Charlie’s skills are proving to be of great value. You need to work quickly because the pass must be returned to the guard before he misses it.’

  ‘How long have I got?’ This was going to be delicate work, but Ben was sure he could do it.

  ‘An hour at the most.’ Charlie propped himself against the bunks again and examined his fingers. ‘Got to slip it back in his pocket before he goes off duty.’

  ‘I’d better get a move on then. I’ll do the best I can in the time.’ Ben set to work at once. He hadn’t done such fine work since he’d been at college, but he revelled in the challenge. It was wonderful to have something positive to do, instead of ambling around, longing for freedom and worrying about those at home.

  Only five minutes over the hour he had a passable replica, and handed it to the Major. ‘I could have done better with more time.’

  ‘That’s excellent. If it isn’t scrutinized too closely it will get someone out of the gate.’ Major Roberts smiled then. ‘You’re very good, Ben.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Ben hid a smile when the officer called him by his first name. He didn’t do that to many. ‘I’d like to try and get out with it.’

  ‘Sorry, you’re too tall, and we need your forgery skills. We’re lucky enough to have a tailor as well, and he’s making a German uniform out of an old blanket. Quite a talented lot we have in here.’ He tossed the pass back to Charlie. ‘Better return that now.’

  Charlie disappeared without making a sound.

  ‘Can you make another two passes? If it’s successful we might be able to get a couple of men out before they rumble what we did.’

  ‘Of course.’ Ben eyed the paper with longing. ‘Any chance of having a sheet of that, sir?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He put it back in the drawer. ‘It came from the commandant’s office and will be recognized in this state, but’ – he gave Ben a sympathetic glance – ‘I’ll see if we can get you something to use for yourself. Miss your art, do you?’

  Ben nodded. ‘It’s one of the hardest things for me. There is so much crying out to be recorded here, and I haven’t anything to do it with. I assume Charlie got that as well, but how the hell did he get into the office?’

  ‘I don’t ask.’ The Major shook his head. ‘Come here tomorrow morning and do the others for us.’

  ‘Right.’ Ben stood up and left, making his way back to his own hut, dipping his head to hide his amused smile. What do you think of that, Amy? I’m a forger now!

  He hoped the Major could find him paper and pencils, but if not, perhaps he could bribe Charlie to find him something. The man might like a portrait of himself.

  He had to find a way to pass the time, because he could be here for years. They were never going to let him take part in an escape plan, because his height made him too conspicuous.

  The amusement faded as he contemplated the bleak future and wondered when, or if, he would see his family and friends again.

  *

  Four weeks later two men walked out of the camp with the passes, and those left behind waited anxiously. But they were to be disappointed when after three days one of the men was caught, and the other was only free for five days. Still, it gave them all heart to know that it was possible to escape, even if the chances of reaching safety were very slim indeed. There was a scheme to dig a tunnel next.

  31

  It had been two months since John had been killed. The first daffodils were beginning to push through the ground in anticipation of spring, but Amy’s grief had been all-consuming, and the passing of time had made no impression on her. The pain had been so intense that she hardly remembered the funeral.

  She had flatly refused to leave London and stay with his parents, although they had pleaded with her to do so. The loss of their only child had devastated them. A son with so much promise had had his young life cut short, like so many in this dreadful war. Seeing their grief, Amy had wished she could comfort them, but she had nothing left to give. She was utterly bereft.

  ‘I’ve got a nice egg for your breakfast.’ Mrs Dalton came into the kitchen and searched for a pan to boil the egg.

  ‘I can’t take that. It’s your ration.’

  ‘You need it more than me. Doesn’t she, Ted?’

  He tossed his gas mask on the chair as he came in and studied Amy. ‘You have it, my dear. You’re far too thin.’

  ‘I insist!’ Mrs Dalton made her sit down. ‘I’ll get Ted something to eat as well, while I’m at it.’

  Knowing it was useless to protest further, Amy spread margarine on a slice of bread. She knew everyone was worried about her, but she just couldn’t seem to take an interest in anything. She wondered when, or if, the pain of losing John would ease to a bearable level.

&nbs
p; When the egg was put in front of her, she sliced off the top, but when she saw and smelt the runny yolk, her stomach heaved.

  She made it to the bathroom just in time and was dreadfully sick. Mrs Dalton had followed her and held her shoulders until the nausea passed, then she filled a glass with water. Amy gulped gratefully.

  ‘Now, what brought that on?’

  ‘Must have been something I ate. My stomach’s been upset for about a week, but that is the first time I’ve actually been sick.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Mrs Dalton studied her thoughtfully. ‘You’ve only had the same as us, and we’re feeling all right. You say your stomach’s felt a bit uppity for the last week. How long does it last?’

  Amy shrugged, already feeling better. ‘An hour at the most. I expect it’s delayed shock.’

  ‘Maybe. Have you missed your monthly?’

  Amy held out the empty glass, her hands shaking. ‘I don’t know, I haven’t been taking much notice of anything.’

  ‘Do you keep a note of the times?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her heart began to thud, and she rushed from the room, picked up her small pocket calendar and began to flick through the pages, once, twice, three times.

  ‘Two,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve missed two.’ Then she began to howl, tears flooding down her face.

  Ted came charging in. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘It must have been Christmas.’

  ‘What, what?’ Ted was looking worried. ‘Tell me, Amy.’

  ‘I might be pregnant!’ Since John had been killed she had just been going through the motions of living. Her loss had been so great that it had drained all the life out of her; now it surged back. Did she still have a part of John – a small living part of him? Oh, please let it be true!

  ‘We must get you to a doctor without delay.’ Mrs Dalton was smiling now. ‘And if it’s confirmed you will have to start looking after yourself.’

  Suddenly, Amy’s hope faltered. The shock of losing John might have upset the normal cycle of her body. It might be no more than that. John always took precautions, didn’t he, but had they been careless at Christmas? Oh, she wanted this so much, but mustn’t raise her hopes. ‘We’re jumping to conclusions.’