Maggie's Girl

by Sally Wragg

  ‘You know your grandma!’ Maggie said, still on the question of Daisy not liking John.

  ‘But I’ve always thought there was something else.’ She paused, remembering how often over the years she and her mother had fallen out over Maggie’s connection with the Bradshaws. Did it really matter so very much now?

  ‘It is odd, Mam, all the same.’ Holly arranged the bread and butter neatly on a plate, and began to spoon strawberry jam into a dish. At least she had something to tell John – John, who couldn’t see the woman she was soon to become.

  Maggie made the tea, but Holly was still far too quiet. She poured two cups of tea, and sat down.

  ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  Holly took a deep breath and put down her cup. Mam wasn’t going to like this, but hear it she must.

  ‘This war’s changed everything, Mam.’ Trouble was written all over her young face. She’d been thinking all day, ever since the Prime Minister’s broadcast she’d heard this morning. Seeing John so unexpectedly had focused her thoughts.

  ‘Mam, at school they’re always telling us to be mature, be confident, we’re not children any more but young ladies. I’ve made my mind up about something. You’re not going to like it….’

  ‘Whatever is it, love? Say it and be done, for goodness sake.’ Maggie’s face was troubled now, too. Why was Holly watching her in quite that way, defiance all over her face?

  ‘I want to do something to help. Do my bit for the war, you know?’ Holly bit her lip and frowned. ‘I don’t know exactly what yet.’

  So that was all it was! Maggie puffed out her cheeks and began to relax, but then realised there must be more to come.

  Holly spoke firmly, clearly, so there would be absolutely no mistake.

  ‘I’m not going to university, Mam! What would be the point with things as they are? I’m not even going on to sit my School Cert. I’m leaving school as soon as I possibly can.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘A toast!’ Peter Bridges raised his glass.

  Cries of ‘To our Maggie!’ and ‘To Mam’ rippled round the table.

  Peter’s look was full of pride. Now that the family had actually recovered from the shock of Maggie going off to nurse in France, things had at last begun to settle down.

  Daisy leaned back in her chair and watched her family enjoying their Christmas dinner. It was right they should be together. If only Maggie was here to share it with them!

  The room was bright with the holly and ivy she and Harry had gone up to the woods to fetch the day before. It looked a treat. They were having such a happy time, despite the war.

  ‘She shouldn’t have gone,’ Holly muttered, putting down her cup with a clatter.

  ‘Don’t start!’ Daisy had heard too many jarring notes from her granddaughter already. Of course Holly was annoyed. She was the one who’d wanted to dedicate herself to thwarting Hitler, and at only fifteen! Maggie’s going had put paid to that idea, at least.

  ‘I wish she’d never met that Diana Metcalf,’ Holly grumbled.

  ‘Well, she did, young lady! You might as well get used to it.’

  Despite the sharpness of her tone, Daisy did have some sympathy. If Maggie had never bumped into her old friend at the hospital, none of this would have happened.

  Diana just happened to be leading a group of nurses for the Salvation Army. She hadn’t had to ask Maggie twice if she wanted to nurse in France.

  But to put herself so wantonly in danger, when Maggie had a family to care for, seemed perverse to her mother.

  ‘Where’s Maggie?’ William said to no-one in particular.

  ‘She’s in France, nursing – remember, Gramps?’ Billy spoke directly into the old man’s ear. ‘She’s gone off to France.’

  ‘That’s my girl.’ The old man nodded and smiled.

  ‘Mam’s not a girl, Gramps!’ Harry turned to Peter. ‘Granddad, will you come and fly my new kite with me this afternoon?’

  ‘You bet I will!’ Peter was pleased now that he’d sat up nights making it. He’d wanted the lad to have something nice for Christmas.

  ‘Maggie’s lucky to have got away from here,’ Mary muttered, and her mother got up.

  ‘I’ll make some fresh tea!’

  Daisy found it all too much suddenly. She’d been so tired of late, and she wasn’t getting any younger. William got frailer by the day, the children were a handful, there was work, worrying over Maggie…

  They were coping, but Daisy was beginning to wonder for how much longer.

  ‘Are you all right, Mam?’ Mary came through, her hands full of plates. ‘I’ll do the washing up. You look all in.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Daisy replied untruthfully, lifting the kettle on to the range. ‘There’ll be enough left for the pots when this is boiled. That’ll be a help. You’re a good girl, Mary.’

  Her saying that to Mary any other time than Christmas Day would have caused a chuckle or two. If Peter could hear that! Most of the time Mary was anything other than a good girl, and they both knew it.

  ‘Where did you get to last night, anyway?’ She tried to steer herself back to normality.

  ‘I went to Tony’s, to the Christmas Eve dance.’ Mary leaned back against the sink and regarded her mother critically. ‘You do look tired, you know.’

  ‘Stop trying to change the subject! You went to the dance. And?’

  There was bound to be a man in it somewhere. Daisy waited.

  ‘His name’s – er – Frank,’ Mary replied, laughing. ‘He’s in the RAF, home on leave for Christmas.’

  ‘I thought you were already seeing someone?’ Daisy hadn’t asked before. Mary didn’t usually divulge that kind of information.

  ‘Well, you’re right, there is someone else,’ her daughter answered, surprising her. ‘I don’t like to finish with him, as he’s fighting. It’s never serious, Mam. And Frank—’

  ‘Frank?’ Daisy measured three careful spoons from the caddy into the teapot, and infused the tea.

  ‘Hope that’s enough.’ She eyed it dubiously. ‘With rationing starting, we’re going to have to get used to it weaker.’

  ‘That’s not till next month, Mam. It’s Christmas! As for Frank, he’s lonely, that’s all.’ Mary held her mother’s gaze.

  ‘It’s strange, this being at war and nothing happening. I worry about when things really start.’

  ‘And you think I don’t?’ Daisy put the lid back on the pot. ‘There’s no point worrying over anything, love, that’s what I think.’

  It was how she’d felt all her life – through losing Ned Bradshaw, Peter’s accident, Maggie going to work for Adèle Bradshaw …

  ‘Don’t worry about tea for me.’ Billy poked his head round the door. He already had his cap on.

  ‘You’re never off out!’ Daisy protested. ‘But it’s Christmas Day…’

  ‘I have to be somewhere. I’ll see you later.’ The head disappeared abruptly before Daisy could ask more, and moments later, the front door slammed.

  ‘I don’t know what’s got into that lad!’ she grumbled. ‘Where’s he going?’

  ‘Leave him be.’ Mary picked up the loaded tray and carried it through.

  ‘He never tells me where he’s going,’ Daisy complained.

  ‘Me neither,’ Mary called over her shoulder, and Daisy sighed as she followed her through.

  This family was falling to pieces. Maggie away, Billy off out all the time, and Mary up to goodness alone knew what. There was nothing she could do about it! Was she getting old?

  Peter and Harry, wrapped up against the cold, disappeared down to the meadows to fly the kite. The day was a bitterly cold one. A thin rime lay over everything.

  William dozed in his chair, and while Mary went upstairs to change, Holly sat on at the table, poring over the letter she’d received from John Bertram a few days since.

  Daisy knew it was from John, because she’d been the one to pick up the post that particular day.

  She
’d had half a mind to shove it into her apron pocket and not tell Holly, but Holly herself came downstairs at that precise moment, her face a picture of delight at the sight of his handwriting.

  ‘I should think you’ve read the ink off that thing!’ Daisy complained now. ‘Haven’t you anything better to do?’

  ‘He only wants to know what’s going off, Gran.’ She lifted her head, sensing Daisy’s antagonism, even if she didn’t understand it.

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Leave the lass be!’ William’s doting gaze fell on Holly and her precious letter. ‘She’s never reading that thing again?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I, Gramps?’

  ‘You’re sweet on him,’ William teased.

  ‘I am not!’ Holly retorted hotly. ‘John only writes to me because – because the girl he is sweet on never has time to write! Someone has to tell him what’s happening at home.’

  ‘You’re soft on him,’ William accused, chuckling at his own wit.

  ‘She’d better not be!’ Daisy spoke more sharply than she’d intended. She ought to have more sympathy – John Bertram was a pilot, after all, backing up the BEF in France.

  But he was also Silas Bradshaw’s grandson, and the very idea of one of her own having anything to do with one of them …

  Daisy fought down the impulse to snatch the letter out of Holly’s hands and put it to the back of the fire. Dad was right; the girl was soft.

  ‘I’d have thought you’d have something better to do,’ she persisted.

  ‘Give over, woman!’ William grumbled testily, at once on Holly’s side. ‘John’s a right enough lad, and if he happens to like our Holly—’

  ‘You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said!’ Holly protested hotly. She put the letter into her pocket out of harm’s way.

  ‘It’s about time you put that business with the Bradshaws behind you,’ William said testily to Daisy. ‘Why can’t you just let it be?’

  ‘Give over, Dad!’ Daisy stiffened. He mustn’t bring all that up again, especially in front of Holly.

  William subsided back into his chair, his mind abruptly miles away. What was he thinking about now? Daisy was irritated all over again.

  ‘I should think you’d have given over fretting, and the country at war,’ William mumbled, almost to himself. ‘John Bertram’s in the thick of it, and if he takes a bit of comfort writing to our Holly – well, family is family, after all.’

  ‘Dad!’ Daisy warned sharply, glaring at Holly, daring her to say anything. It didn’t work.

  ‘What do you mean, Gramps?’ Holly asked curiously. ‘John Bertram’s not family.’

  ‘Of course he’s not!’ Daisy hid her flaming face while tucking William’s blanket back over his knees, blocking the old man from Holly’s sight.

  ‘Goodness, your mind does wander, Dad! Go and put the kettle on, Holly, there’s a good girl, and fetch the Christmas cake from the pantry. We’ll have a bit of cake, cheer ourselves up, shall we, Dad?’

  Had she managed to smooth things over? William had said too much, and Holly was sharp enough to cut herself sometimes.

  Maggie and the other nurses sent out by the Salvation Army had crossed into France from Southampton.

  It was late afternoon; dirty grey light was dying slowly over Southampton Water, making Maggie shiver. The dockside was thronging with soldiers waiting to embark.

  These were the men they were going to care for, but the sight of so many left her momentarily unsure.

  She squared her shoulders. Well, Diana and the rest of the group must be here somewhere. She blessed her nurse’s cloak as she began to push her way through the mass of bodies, receiving a deal of good-natured banter.

  ‘You can come and berth with me any time, love, I always did love a nurse! It’s the uniform.’

  ‘Nurse, come and kiss this better!’

  Suddenly, there was Diana’s calm, good-natured face.

  ‘I was beginning to wonder if you’d make it!’ Diana smiled as Maggie clutched her arm.

  ‘Me, too!’

  Diana introduced her to the rest of the group, four more nurses. She and Diana were the oldest by some years.

  Some of the tension that had been steadily building up since Maggie had left Castle Maine that November morning began to evaporate. There was no point wondering now if she ought to change her mind – going home was no longer an option.

  ‘Why do I suddenly feel my age?’ She laughed, and the others joined in. They seemed a nice group, easy enough to get on with.

  ‘Looks like we’re off!’ Diana warned.

  A line of soldiers was filing up the gang-plank into the ship, which was rusty and in need of painting. The girls were moving, too, on deck at last, feeling the ship rock beneath their feet.

  Once on board, things began to improve. They were escorted with great courtesy towards the front, where it was less crowded, and made as comfortable as they could be sitting on their bags on deck. It seemed the men were pleased to have them along.

  All at once, this had begun to feel like an adventure – one Maggie had never thought to undertake in her life.

  Rations were issued; tea was brought round in Army mugs.

  The banter and jokes amongst the men had disappeared, replaced by a curious silence, full of expectation, excitement and fear. Maggie recognised that in herself.

  They were sailing off into darkness. How many would make the return journey?

  ‘We’ll be all right,’ Diana said, sensing her nervousness.

  Out of the harbour, the ship lurched and pitched, so that it was hard to stand. Maggie stumbled over to the railings and caught hold, fighting a sudden return of panic.

  But there was the moon, appearing from behind cloud, shining with sudden startling brilliance on the eddying waves, eerily lighting a path towards France.

  It felt almost as if she’d wake up shortly and find herself safely tucked up in bed in Castle Maine, with William snoring across the way and Holly reading by torchlight next door.

  She stared down into the ink-black water, wondering not for the first time exactly what she was doing, abandoning her family, and Tony, and everything that made her feel secure in life. But she couldn’t quietly sit at home and never lift a finger.

  ‘You managed to get round your mother, then?’ Diana staggered towards her, laughing as if this was fun.

  ‘Eventually.’

  Maggie remembered abruptly the expression on her mother’s face when she’d told her what she planned.

  ‘Have you gone mad, Maggie Bates?’ The words echoed in her ears.

  Sister Aspen, at the hospital, had told her the same thing. If it hadn’t been for Dr Hardaker stepping in and telling Sister Aspen it was a courageous thing Maggie was doing, and they ought to be proud of her, she’d have left the hospital under a cloud, too. There hadn’t even been the time to work her notice.

  ‘What about the children?’ Daisy had demanded, as if she’d suddenly realised exactly what Maggie was asking of her.

  ‘I was hoping you’d keep an eye on them. It wouldn’t be so very much more than you’re doing now.’

  ‘You’ve never stopped to think things through! I can’t believe you’ve even come up with such a hare-brained scheme … And what about Holly? Wait until you tell her what you’re doing!’

  Daisy knew perfectly well the problems Maggie was having with her daughter. Holly had protested long and volubly to Daisy about Maggie’s refusal to let her leave school.

  ‘She’ll have to shoulder responsibility for Harry,’ Maggie said, ‘and do as she’s told for once. She’s not old enough to leave school yet.’

  ‘When has our Holly ever done a thing she was told?’

  That Holly had far too much of her mother in her was pointedly left unsaid.

  ‘Make sure you come back,’ had been Daisy’s final word, with a hug so fierce that Maggie had gasped.

  ‘No-one wanted me to come, not even Tony,’ she confessed, staring out to sea, findi
ng it a relief to tell Diana.

  ‘It seems as if I’ve had to fight everyone I love to get myself here. I did think Tony might understand.’

  ‘It’s your life. You have every right to do what you think best,’ Diana answered softly. ‘Give him time – he’ll come round.’

  If only there had been the time to talk things through properly before she’d gone!

  ‘I won’t let you go! You can’t put yourself in so much danger!’ he’d protested.

  He paced up and down in the back room at Tony’s Place, while she stuck doggedly to her guns.

  ‘You can’t stop me. This is something I’ve got to do!’

  He wouldn’t understand, no matter what she said. Perhaps he didn’t want to.

  Everyone in Castle Maine knew how she’d lost Hughie. How could Maggie bear to think of other families losing someone as dear as he’d been to her, and not try to do something to help? If she saved one life, it would surely make it worthwhile.

  Maggie hadn’t really expected to see Tony again before she left, so she’d been amazed when he’d turned up at the station. But there was his large frame ambling down the platform towards her, pain written all over his face. Her heart sank.

  ‘It’s no good trying to dissuade you?’ He searched her face anxiously, reading his answer there. ‘Well, go then, if you must!’

  He gathered her up into his arms, sweeping her off her feet. The buttons of his coat pressed into her. He smelled of sandalwood, and cigars, and the stuff he used on his hair, and there was a faint odour of the jazz club. She clung to him, unable to speak for tears.

  ‘I love you, and don’t forget it!’ Reluctantly, he let her go. ‘I don’t agree with you going. But if you must—’

  It was the closest she’d got to sympathy; it must have taken a lot for him to say it. She wanted to assure him she loved him, but how could she say any such thing?

  Tony made her feel safe. He was good and kind and he wasn’t afraid to show his feelings. She liked him a lot, that was all.

  She shivered as the wind gusted and turned towards Diana.

  ‘You’re doing the right thing,’ Diana said, and they went on staring out over the rail. This eerie silence made everything feel like a dream. All they could hear was the engine as the ship thrust forward. Who knew where they’d spend tomorrow night?