Women on the Home Front

by Annie Groves

  The band was already playing as they walked in and a small glass orb glittered from the ceiling. Connie and her friends found a table and sat down. The dances were done in threes. It might be a foxtrot or a rumba or a waltz when the lights were dimmed right down. As the band struck up, the men circled the seated area looking for a partner. Jane was always popular but Connie and Sally had to wait a little while before someone asked them to dance.

  It had taken Connie a while before she’d got to know the other girls. At sixteen, Sally’s secretarial course was due to start towards the end of September. She may have been a lot younger than the rest of them, but she fitted into the group well. Jane was the joker. Having heard of Sally’s ambition to be a private secretary rather than ending up in the typing pool, Connie had asked Jane about her ambitions. Jane had looked thoughtful and then said, ‘I think I’ll marry a man with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana skin,’ and they’d all laughed.

  ‘How’s your boyfriend in the army?’ said Connie making small talk while they waited.

  Sally had just refused to dance with a tall, lanky man with buck teeth. ‘Terry? Fine,’ she nodded. She picked up her handbag and rummaged inside. ‘He’s still in Germany. He says he’ll be stuck there until he’s demobbed next year.’

  ‘What rotten luck,’ said Connie. ‘A year is a long time.’

  ‘I’ll wait for him,’ said Sally, pulling out a dog-eared photograph. ‘That’s my Terry.’ He looked about twenty and was tall with round-rimmed glasses.

  ‘He doesn’t mind you coming to dances?’

  ‘Well, he can’t expect me to live like a hermit,’ Sally retorted, ‘but I shall always be faithful to him.’

  A good looking man with slicked-down hair came up to the table and gave the girls a short bow. ‘May I?’

  ‘And what the eye doesn’t see …’ said Sally, taking his hand.

  Connie went back to the gypsy camp whenever she had a spare minute. Kez was a willing pupil even though some of her relatives teased her when they saw what she was doing. She had been right about the books. Kez had loved the Stories from the Arabian Nights and who could blame her. All those handsome, dark-eyed men fighting for the women they loved and looking at the girls in their pretty Eastern dress made enjoyable reading.

  ‘The way you two sit like that,’ Reuben remarked one day, ‘you could be sisters.’

  Connie smiled. She would have liked to have had a sister like Kez. Simeon was a nice man too. He sat close to his wife and a couple of times, as Connie traced the words with her finger on the page, she caught him mouthing the words along with her. So he was illiterate too? Connie was amazed. He had created a real work of art in wood on the outside of the trailer. He clearly had a good eye because the few times she had watched him at work, she’d noticed that he didn’t have a pattern to follow. It was all in his head. Eventually Connie plucked up enough courage to ask him about the pram.

  ‘Bring it with you next time,’ Simeon smiled, ‘and I’ll see what I can do.’

  People labelled gypsies as stupid but Kez and her family were far from that. They may have lacked formal education but their skills and knowledge in other areas were second to none. Isaac was always turning up with a river fish or a couple of rabbits, and at one time a couple of pigeons for their supper. Kez invited Connie to stay but most times she declined, preferring to be home in time to read Mandy a bedtime story.

  When Connie got back home on 24 July, her mother and Ga were glued to the radio. At the beginning of the month the whole country had been full of election fever. Most people thought it a foregone conclusion that Mr Churchill would get back into Downing Street but there was also a groundswell of opinion that the country couldn’t go back to the old ways. It was time for radical change. All the same it came as an enormous shock when the final count was declared after the overseas votes had been collected by RAF Transport Command. The Labour Party headed by a rather weedy looking man called Clement Attlee had won a landslide victory.

  ‘God help us all,’ Ga said darkly as she turned the radio off. ‘It’s going to be just like Churchill said. We beat the Gestapo in Germany and now they’ll come here, you mark my words.’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t be that bad, Ga,’ said Gwen good-naturedly.

  ‘And you can hardly blame us for wanting change,’ said Connie tartly. ‘Look what’s on offer, full employment and a free health service.’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Ga retorted. ‘Anyone with half a brain could see that’s all rhetoric and empty promises. A welfare state from the cradle to the grave? It’ll never happen in my lifetime.’

  It had taken a bit longer than they’d thought but Clifford came home with the minimum of fuss. Connie and her mother were anxious about him because they had no idea what kind of state he might be in. Immediately after the war, the newsreels at the pictures showed some harrowing sights coming out of Germany. Whole cities flattened by Allied bombing, women and children picking their way through the ruins and of course the opening up of those terrible concentration camps. It was a lot to take in and it must have been even worse for those who saw it at first hand. Joan Hill from the village found a wreck of a man waiting on the platform when her Charlie came home and he still wasn’t right in the head.

  Clifford was due to come back on a Saturday and so Connie took Mandy out for the day in order to give her mother a little space. They went to Arundel on the bus and on to Swanbourne Lake. Pip invited himself too and had been as good as gold on the bus, lying by their feet until it was time to get out. Mandy fed the ducks with some crusts of bread and then they walked right around the lake. Pip loved it. He didn’t chase a single duck but enjoyed his freedom to scent and smell as he pleased. They stayed until late afternoon and Connie treated them to tea in a little tea rooms while Pip lay on the pavement outside and waited for them.

  As it turned out, Clifford had come through his experiences with little evidence of trauma. A clean shaven man with a strong jawline and firm resolve, he looked a little too small for his demob suit but he was still good looking enough to cut a dash. His Brylcreemed brown hair had retained its colour although there were a few grey hairs at either side of his ears. When he spotted Connie and Mandy walking up the road, he ran to meet them, and catching Mandy into the air he swung her up. Pip barked and jumped at his legs and Connie laughed. Clifford’s daughter was a little more reserved in her greeting and wriggling out of his arms, as soon as he put her down she ran and hid behind Connie’s skirts.

  ‘She’ll be all right,’ Connie whispered when she saw the look of disappointment on his face. ‘Just give her time.’

  Clifford put his hand lightly on her shoulder and kissed Connie on the cheek. ‘Is it good to be back?’ she asked.

  Her mother was standing by the front door, looking on. ‘I’ll say,’ he smiled, adding out of the corner of his mouth, ‘although your mother looks a bit pasty.’

  ‘I’ve tried to persuade her to go to Dr Andrews,’ Connie whispered as she smiled brightly, ‘but she won’t go.’

  ‘I’ll get her to make an appointment as soon as I can,’ he said as they turned to walk back to the nurseries.

  ‘She probably won’t tell you,’ Connie said while they were still far enough away from the door to be out of earshot, ‘but I’ve offered to look after Mandy if you want to go away for a holiday.’

  ‘Can I go on holiday too?’ Mandy piped up.

  ‘Oh my, what big ears you have,’ laughed Connie and Clifford ruffled Mandy’s hair.

  ‘Was Ga all right with you?’ Connie asked as her sister skipped up the garden path.

  ‘Same as usual,’ said Clifford grimly. ‘I swear that woman looks more miserable than Queen Victoria with every passing year.’

  Connie put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

  The rest of the weekend was good because everyone was on their best behaviour. Clifford insisted her mother go to the doctor on Monday. A touch of anaemia, that’s all it was, and sh
e was prescribed a tonic. ‘Take a rest if you can,’ he advised and so Clifford went ahead with his plans for them to go to Eastbourne for a few days.

  A week went by and slowly the family readjusted itself back into some sort of normality. Aunt Aggie turned up as usual and although she probed Clifford with questions, thankfully she wasn’t too intrusive. It was obvious that he didn’t want to talk about his experiences. He’d lost too many friends and three years of his life. Ga continued making her barbed remarks, the worst being one day when the four of them were in the shop.

  ‘It’ll be hard for you to settle down,’ Ga told Clifford. She was smiling but her eyes were bright with insincerity. ‘No pretty girls throwing themselves at the liberators here.’

  ‘Ga!’ said Connie, shocked.

  ‘Don’t tell me he didn’t enjoy the attention,’ Ga went on. ‘Sailors have a girl in every port so I don’t suppose the army is much different?’

  ‘Not everybody is sex mad, Miss Dixon.’

  They turned to look at Sally who was clearing overripe fruit from the display. They’d all forgotten she was there. Sally straightened up and blushed deeply, realising at once that she had overstepped the mark and been too familiar with her employers.

  ‘And I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of other people’s conversations, Sally,’ said Ga haughtily. The girl turned back to her work and said no more.

  Clifford walked away, the door banging against the wood as he left.

  ‘Pay no attention, dear,’ said Aggie when she saw the crestfallen look on her friend’s face.

  ‘Some people just can’t take a joke,’ said Ga.

  As Connie walked with Mandy to the gypsy camp the day after her mother and Clifford had gone away, she already felt more relaxed. She might not have met anyone at the dance, but each week she’d had a bit of fun, something singularly lacking in her life up to now. It was incredible that Kez and her family had spent so long in the lane and there was always that sinking feeling that they might be gone when she turned the corner.

  ‘Susan Revel says gypsies are smelly and shouldn’t be allowed here,’ said Mandy, taking Connie’s hand as they came to the lane. Pip came bounding along to join them. ‘She said they steal people’s babies and turn them to stone.’

  ‘Does she now?’ said Connie.

  ‘And Gary Philips says they are short in the arm and thick in the head.’

  Connie suppressed a smile. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t repeat what someone else says,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll tell you what, after we’ve been there, you tell me what you think.’

  Mandy nodded gravely. ‘Can I share my sweeties with Sam?’

  So that was why Connie had seen her squirrelling away a couple of farthing chews from her sweetie box. Mandy hadn’t asked if she could have one but Connie hadn’t said anything. Why not let her have them? They were her sweets after all. She had no idea Mandy was planning to share them with Kezia’s son. ‘I’m sure he’d love that,’ said Connie, ‘but ask his mummy first.’

  Somewhere along the lane, Pip joined them again. ‘Where have you been?’ said Connie, patting his side.

  The two sisters were very close. Connie adored Mandy and it was plain to see that Mandy enjoyed being with her. Kez took to her straight away especially when Mandy began to mother little Samuel.

  The women spent the rest of the afternoon rubbing down handmade clothes pegs and putting them into bundles. On Monday, Kez and some of the other women would take them around the big houses in Goring and sell them. As they worked, Pen told them tales about the old days … ‘Little Mac took the tattooed lady’s mare then Abe gave Little Mac a piece of bread and a quart of ale but there was none for ’e so he died …’ Mandy listened spellbound and for Connie it felt just like old times. Peninnah always used the same form of words and if anyone interrupted her, she’d go back a bit and start again.

  While Connie helped Kez with the meal, Reuben let Mandy feed the horse tethered in the field. By the end of the afternoon, they’d both had a wonderful time and it was time to go home.

  ‘Where’s Isaac?’ said Connie, suddenly missing him.

  ‘He’s with Simeon and the Frenchie,’ said Kez. She was putting Blossom to the breast.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Connie frowned.

  ‘Go and see for yourself,’ said Kez mysteriously. ‘It’s on your way home.’

  Connie was curious. It was unusual for a gypsy to be working with a non-Romani. She wondered how the Frenchie got on with someone like Isaac who was so surly. They said their goodbyes and Connie and Mandy set off for home with Pip.

  ‘I like Auntie Kez and Sam,’ said Mandy as they walked towards Goring Street. ‘And Uncle Reuben.’

  ‘So what do you think about gypsies then?’ Connie asked.

  Mandy thought for a bit and then said, ‘Just because you are different, doesn’t mean you’re bad, does it?’

  Connie squeezed her hand. ‘I think you’ve got the right idea, darling.’

  ‘Can we sing my song?’ Mandy asked.

  Connie smiled. ‘I’m amazed that you still like it so much.’

  Mandy nodded and holding her sister’s hand, they swung their arms as they sang ‘You are my sunshine …’

  The dog had run on ahead and was surprised to see them turn away from Goring Street and towards Jupp’s barn. As Connie approached Sam Haffenden’s blacksmith’s forge, she craned her neck. So where were the men? Beyond the forge and the two thatched cottages, everything melted away into farm land. It was then that she noticed a corrugated iron shed to the right of the forge. She’d never noticed that before even though it was obvious it wasn’t new. It was just off the road, and the only access was via a short lane entrance littered with old bits of wood. The potholed pathway opened out into a weed-filled yard. There was no sign of Isaac or Simeon but Connie heard the sound of raised men’s voices coming from inside the shed. She reached for her little sister’s hand and held on tight. Perhaps she should leave it for now and come back another time. She was about to turn around but Pip sped past her barking excitedly.

  Six

  The Frenchie’s workshop, cluttered, untidy and littered with bicycle parts, doubled as an artist’s studio. She and Mandy stopped singing as they went through the door. There were pencil drawings and paintings everywhere. Connie spotted a fantastic drawing of Reuben sitting on the steps of his caravan smoking his pipe. High on the wall she saw a watercolour of two local fishermen she recognised from the beach at Goring from where they sold their fresh fish from the jetty. She looked at their rugged faces and rheumy eyes and knew that whoever had painted them had caught their likeness exactly. Kenneth had been good at drawing but nowhere near as good as this. The room itself smelled of engine oil and paint.

  As she and Mandy walked in, it was obvious that the men had reached a crucial stage of their work. There were about four of them in the large open area in the middle of the building, Isaac, Simeon and two other men. Which one was the Frenchie? They were all working together using a series of pulleys and chains to lower a large wooden frame onto a chassis on wheels.

  Calling the dog to heel, Connie stood in the corner by the door and drew Mandy into a protective embrace. One man was acting as instructor and guiding their every move. ‘Steady, steady. Keep that end nice and straight. Take your time, steady … Right, that’s it.’

  Someone let go of the chains and they clattered across the roof.

  ‘Careful,’ said the man. ‘Don’t damage the bodywork.’

  Once the bulky frame was secure, Simeon began screwing it into place. It was a very solid piece of work and she could see that with the door at one end, it would be like a small house on wheels.

  ‘Well, I’d best be off,’ said an older man Connie had never seen before.

  ‘Thanks for your help, Bob,’ said the one who had been giving the orders.

  Isaac grabbed his jacket and turned with a scowl on his face. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded when he saw Connie and her s
ister. Pip growled.

  Connie jumped. ‘I-I’m sorry,’ she spluttered. ‘Kez said you and Simeon were here and I thought … Sorry.’

  ‘That’s no way to speak to a lady.’ The instructor had come out of the shadows and into the light. Connie’s heart skipped a beat. He was broad shouldered and muscular. She could tell by the bulge at the top of his rolled-up sleeves that this man was used to heavy work and yet he moved fluidly and effortlessly. This must be the Frenchie. His brown hair was curled, not with tight curls but with more of an attractive wave. His face was streaked with perspiration. He glanced at her and Mandy and smiled. The smile transformed his whole face, revealing a long dimple on his left cheek. ‘Good afternoon, Madam,’ he said, bending to stroke the dog. His voice was like deep velvet, and he spoke like a Canadian with just a hint of a French accent. Connie felt her face flush and her heart began to beat a little faster.

  ‘She ain’t no lady, Frenchie,’ said Isaac bringing Connie back to the here and now.

  Connie’s jaw dropped but Mandy interrupted before she could say something.

  ‘We came to see where Simeon works,’ she piped up.

  The Frenchie waved his arm expansively and smiled. ‘And here it is!’

  Emboldened, Mandy started asking questions. ‘What are you doing? What’s that for? Why did you put that in there? Is that a picture of Mr Light?’ He answered all her questions patiently and with good humour, explaining that they had just repaired the van and were reconstructing it onto a new chassis. ‘That’s a very solid looking thing,’ Connie remarked.

  ‘It used to be called a living van,’ he explained. ‘It was the sort of thing road menders used to use when they stayed on the job. This one dates back to the turn of the century.’ He patted the wooden sides as he looked down at Mandy. ‘Back then you would see a steam engine on the front, then the living van, followed by a cart with all the equipment and finally the water cart to top up the engine, so the old timers tell me. It was a bit like a road train.’