by Sally Wragg
That was when Maggie felt the first stirrings of excitement. She’d lived in limbo since Hughie, and he would never have wished her to live her life as something to be got through.
The moon was still out, dappling on the vast swell of water. As Maggie gazed, a feeling long dormant welled up inside, catching in her throat, bringing with it the sharp bright sting of tears. She couldn’t remember feeling this way since she’d first fallen for Hughie. She’d never felt so alive in her life.
‘Silas, is something wrong?’ Adèle was perplexed. He didn’t usually join her in her sitting-room at this time of day.
Adèle had just dressed for dinner – they had friends coming – but Silas hadn’t even changed. He was pacing up and down the room instead, still larger than life, still more than she felt quite able to cope with.
She sighed heavily and put down the paper, which was so full of news from France that she could hardly bear to read it.
He stopped at last, looking down at her, and with surprise, Adèle saw that he was anxious.
‘I called round at William’s earlier. Dashed if that granddaughter of his hasn’t gone off to nurse in France! Did you know?’
‘Of course I knew!’
Adèle would never forget Daisy Bridges’ eyes as she told her.
‘You never said,’ Silas complained testily.
‘I’ve only just found out myself dear! I dropped in at Daisy’s with presents for the children …’
She saw Silas glowering, and persevered.
‘The girl did look after John, Silas – I feel duty bound to do a little now and then.’
If only she could do more! If only she’d been able to tell Maggie exactly what she meant to her. It seemed cruel that Maggie was her own granddaughter, and yet she wasn’t even allowed to admit it, even to her husband.
‘She will be all right?’ Her voice was tight with worry. ‘Maggie was always such a lovely girl.’
‘Of course! Why shouldn’t she be?’
Adèle looked at him. He was pacing again.
‘Silas you would tell me if something was wrong?’ Concern over Maggie hardly explained his behaviour. To Silas, Maggie was just an employee, a girl grown into a woman hot-headed enough to rush off into the thick of battle. Why, she was as impetuous as Ned….
Adèle stopped her mind from straying further. It didn’t do to dwell on these things.
Silas thrust his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, looking disconcertingly, for once, the full weight of his years.
‘It’s put me in mind of John,’ he growled, faintly embarrassed. ‘He’s in France, too, and that girl’s going out to nurse the wounded. What if John turns out to be one of them?’
‘We mustn’t think that way!’ A sudden rush of affection overwhelmed Adèle. For all his bluster, there was a side to Silas no-one else but she was ever allowed to see, and that was only because he loved her.
She got up slowly and went to put her arms around him. He felt solid, and yet slightly diminished. Age came to them all, even Silas.
She clung to him tightly, felt him lean a little into her, and some of the tension left his body.
‘He’ll be fine, Silas! Don’t worry.’ She found she was praying that would be true.
‘Of course he will.’ His voice was steadier, more like himself. ‘But he should have come into the firm with me.’
‘It wasn’t what he wanted,’ Adèle said gently.
‘I’d have looked after him!’
‘Of course you would, dear. Go and dress,’ she coaxed.
It was like dealing with a wounded bear at times.
He stopped and gently kissed the top of her head.
Outside the room, he leaned against the wall and sucked air back into his lungs. He’d nearly given the game away. The shock of hearing about Maggie, he supposed – his granddaughter!
Ned had always been his favoured son, right or wrong. It had been on the tip of his tongue to tell Adèle just now. After all, what harm could it do now, after all this time? Was he right still to keep it from her?
But she’d never forgive him for keeping such a thing secret for so long, and in the meantime these blessed people were on their way. He hurried into his dressing-room and began to get ready for dinner.
It had been a shock finding out what the blessed girl was up to, and too late to do anything about it.
He stopped knotting his tie and stared into his dressing-room mirror. Despite the shock, he recognised in his eyes a quiet, sure satisfaction.
How like her father this was! Just the sort of thing Ned would have done. Never listen to a word anyone said, and rush off and do something reckless.
Well, there she was, part of his flesh and blood, a constant reminder of what might have been …
Silas nodded wisely at his own reflection. If ever there had been the slightest doubt in his mind that Maggie Bates was Ned’s daughter, this daredevil behaviour proved it beyond all reason.
*
It had been a bitterly cold winter sliding into a chill spring, but summer was at last beckoning. Maggie could smell it in the air, and gave thanks for it. Amid the distant thud of guns, the rumble of tanks, the occasional hum of a plane circling overhead, marking their bearings for the next wave of bombers, came the ordinary sense of nature awakening.
There was blossom on the tree across the road, she noticed. It was extraordinary. Deep down, she’d believed the world would somehow stop, that the seasons couldn’t possibly proceed as usual in the middle of such horror.
They’d been on the move for weeks, and like everyone else, Maggie was exhausted. They’d set up the dressing station wherever they could, in churches, farmhouses, local dwellings, never staying longer than they were needed. Sometimes they’d leave their last lodgings just before the tanks arrived, edging past civilians intent on escape.
They’d stopped travelling on main roads weeks ago – too exposed. Maggie knew the drill by now.
At first sight of a plane, the truck screeched to a halt and everyone threw themselves into the nearest ditch or hedgerow, under whatever cover was available. She couldn’t remember the last time any of them had managed a bath.
The girls had taken to working a shift system, four on, two off, to give everyone a few hours’ sleep – if they were lucky. They could do little, only patch up the casualties who came under their charge and move them on as quickly as possible.
The walking wounded returned to their units, if they could find them again on their return. The more seriously hurt were seen as soon as possible by the doctor, and if stabilised, taken on by ambulance.
She looked down at the stretcher case waiting for an ambulance.
This boy, this soldier, wasn’t much older than Holly – whose birthday it was today, she realised. She hadn’t even given it a thought.
Castle Maine seemed another world, inhabited by foreigners.
‘Ambulance on its way!’ Diana announced cheerily, clumping into the pretty little church. She dropped down on to her knees and ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately, receiving a weak smile for her pains.
‘Not much longer,’ she encouraged. Glancing up at Maggie, she betrayed her anxiety. He needed skills beyond their capacity to give. The doctor was long gone, on to the next casualty station – his care was spread too thinly.
‘About time, too!’ Maggie wondered for the umpteenth time how such a supposedly well-organised manoeuvre could descend so far into chaos. No one had the slightest idea what they were meant to be doing any more. They were working on instinct, living moment by moment.
It couldn’t possibly go on for much longer, Maggie knew.
There came the sudden, half expected sound of an explosion nearby. They stopped what they were doing immediately, waiting for the next. It came at too close quarters, a dull thud that shook the ground under their feet. Then they heard the plane.
‘Everyone down!’
The two women flung themselves over the boy at their feet, coverin
g him with their bodies. There was a terrible shattering explosion and a rushing, roaring sound filled Maggie’s ears.
Then there was silence.
‘Are we all right?’ Diana asked groggily, and Maggie found she seemed in one piece. People began to rise to their feet.
She sat up. Dust fell into her lap like snow falling and she coughed and gasped for air. Diana was covered in it, too.
‘Near miss, thank God.’ Diana rose to her feet.
‘Oh, girls, I didn’t know you cared.’ The soldier grinned weakly, but was overtaken by a fit of coughing.
‘You needn’t flatter yourself, young Hodges.’ Diana tried to sound severe, but grinned right back as she began to brush herself down.
It was no wonder everyone loved Diana. She always came up smiling.
‘I’ll go and hurry the driver.’ Maggie got to her feet, desperate suddenly to be outside. The lights had gone out. Rays of daylight shone through the windows, which had been blown in. Remarkably pretty stained glass, she remembered, and was sorry for it.
The house across the road was gone, a place where people had once lived their lives as sane and normal folk. She hoped no one had been inside. You got hardened to this.
There was a strong smell of burning, and flames licked out of the road where a gas main had burst. She looked up into the sky, relieved to see only cloud, with here and there a snatch of blue, even, miraculously, the odd gleam of sunshine.
God was still in His heaven. They’d survived again.
The ambulance driver and his mate vaulted over the low wall of the house next door, where they’d taken cover, and picked their way towards her.
‘That were close!’ one said, in a strong and sensible Yorkshire accent that it did her good to hear.
They went inside, lifted Private Hodges’ stretcher and manoeuvred it out again into the waiting ambulance, which seemed to be driveable. The two women followed them out and waved to the boy.
‘You’d better get yourselves out of this.’ The driver swung his door shut. ‘Jerry’s already at Boulogne. Word’s round we’re cut off, ordered back. You, too, I expect.’
‘But no one’s told us anything!’ Maggie protested.
‘Back?’ Diana echoed. ‘Where to?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ he said. ‘Dunkirk, I should think – nearest port, innit. I’m only telling you what I’ve heard.’
‘Well!’ Diana said, watching the ambulance edge back down the road. ‘At least Hodges is all right.’
From the far distance came the whine of another shell falling, followed immediately by the blast, and they stared at each other.
‘What are we going to do?’ Diana asked, and Maggie shook her head.
‘They’re all around us, Diana. Whichever way we head, they’d be able to find us. We seem to be trapped.’
Chapter Four
Castle Maine.
May, 1940.
Dr Andrew Hardaker dropped his stethoscope into his bag and bent down to help William Oakes back on with his shirt.
‘You’ve heard the news, I expect?’ The doctor nodded towards the day’s paper, spread out on the table where Daisy had been reading it before work. News of the evacuation from Dunkirk was beginning to filter through. Many of his patients had men out there; no wonder his surgery had been so full.
‘We’re worried about Maggie.’ William’s hands fluttered helplessly in his lap. ‘Daisy’s nearly out of her mind.’
Andrew frowned. He was worried about Maggie, too.
‘It’s not good for you to get upset, William. It’s the last thing Maggie would want! She’s a sensible enough head on those shoulders.’
‘We haven’t heard a thing, Doctor! We’ve no idea where she is. She’d no business leaving those bairns. She’s too headstrong!’
Anxiety over Maggie made William lucid for once. He’d like enough been sitting here worrying his head over it all the morning. Andrew smiled reassuringly.
‘The son of one of my patients came back aboard a paddle steamer last night. It disembarked its passengers, then turned straight around and went off again. Any boat so long as it’s sea worthy!
‘He’s only just got through to tell his mum he’s safe. They’ll get everyone back eventually, William.’
Andrew wished from the bottom of his heart he’d never encouraged Maggie to go in the first place. He admired her tremendously. She was a good nurse, one the patients responded to, and the kind of woman who coped, no matter what life happened to throw at her.
Most folk would have buckled under long since if faced with what Maggie had dealt with.
He picked up the paper and quickly scanned the front page. The evacuation was seen as a great triumph, a victory snatched from the jaws of adversity.
How could anyone believe that? A war wasn’t won by a mass evacuation! This Dunkirk business was a retreat.
‘When she gets back, you’ll wonder what you were worrying over,’ he told William, feeling again his inadequacy.
He was still pondering as he drove back for afternoon surgery. Ought he to be doing more? He was desperately needed at the hospital, where staffing levels were stretched to breaking point.
The sun was shining. Castle Maine was carrying on its normal routines, despite all that was going on across the Channel – perhaps even, stubbornly, because of it.
On impulse, Andrew pulled into Bradshaw’s factory yard where he climbed from his car and headed towards the River Gardens.
He felt guilty taking even these few moments away from work, but he needed to stretch his legs.
Passing through the gates at the pavilion end, he found himself amongst a steady stream of other folk bent on the same purpose.
There were bright flowers in the borders, the trees were out, and somehow it made him feel better.
He’d almost forgotten about spring, but here it was in spite of everything, and some of the tension of the last few days began to leave him.
He walked on, exchanging greetings.
‘Good to see you out and about, too, Doctor – the fresh air’ll do you a world of good!’
On one of the benches overlooking the river sat a young girl. She looked so self-absorbed, so withdrawn – his steps slowed, and he realised with a small slight start of surprise it was Holly Bates.
What was she doing here? She ought to be at school.
Holly was still thinking furiously about what Gramps had come out with this morning. No wonder she’d bunked off school.
The day had started quietly enough. Granddad Peter arrived as usual for breakfast, before dashing off to an LDV meeting. Since he’d retired from the mining office, he’d been desperate to do his bit, and had been first in the queue when the Local Defence Volunteers were announced in February.
It had given him a new lease of life, but this morning Gran had grumbled that he might as well have stayed home for his breakfast, for all she ever saw of him nowadays.
She’d gone upstairs to make the beds, and hearing the way she was banging about up there, Holly guessed she wasn’t happy.
‘See you later!’ Harry was like enough off to his mate’s house to crib his homework.
‘You’ll be for it if Gran finds out!’ Holly warned.
Too late – the back door slammed.
Gramps was sitting reading the paper, and getting agitated. He seemed so frail! Holly thought it must be horrible getting old.
‘Don’t worry about me mam.’ She tried to put as much conviction into her voice as possible. How could she take his mind off things?
‘Fancy our granddad joining up!’ she cried brightly. ‘He’s been longing to do something to help, even though it’s only drilling with broomsticks for rifles.’
‘He’s a good lad.’
Holly was pleased to see him fold the paper and smooth it out on his knee, his mind miles away, as it so often was nowadays.
Then quite casually, almost incidentally, he dropped his bombshell. He rocked in his chair, drank his tea and spoke quiet
ly to himself.
‘Peter couldn’t be a better father to our Maggie if he was really her dad.’
At first Holly hadn’t understood. It didn’t make sense! Gramps was always doing that nowadays, talking out loud, snatches of old memories – a lot of nonsense, most of it.
She stopped clearing the table and stared at him, her face registering her shock.
Granddad Peter not her mam’s dad? What was he talking about?
‘What was that you said, Gramps?’
‘Nothing!’ he cried irritably. The cup rattled in his saucer.
She took it from him and returned it to the table, then knelt and took his hands between her own.
What was that he’d said at Christmas about John Bertram being family? Her ears had pricked up, as they would any time John’s name was spoken.
Gran had tried to hush it up, pretending it was only his mind wandering.
‘Of course Granddad’s me mam’s dad,’ she said gently, but William smiled to himself. He was looking sort of right through Holly, past her to something far away, in a land only old people visited.
‘Daisy married Peter when our Maggie was a little ’un.’ He said slowly. He looked at Holly at last. ‘Peter’s not your real granddad, lass, even if he does love you like one.’
It was as if he was telling her about the weather!
‘What’s the matter now?’ a voice said from the foot of the stairs, and Holly jumped up, feeling guilty.
‘Nothing’s the matter Gran.’
One look at her grandmother’s face, and the question she was desperate to ask froze on her lips. She rushed upstairs instead, supposedly to grab her bag and coat for school, but in desperate need of time to think.
Why had no one ever told her this before? Could it actually be true? Unanswerable questions spun round and round in her head, and though she’d left the house, she’d ignored the bus route and come straight to the gardens.
