The Girl from Simon's Bay

by Barbara Mutch

  I stared at him, the hair noticeably more silver than when we last met.

  ‘Will you take a risk?’ His eyes searched mine. ‘Will you marry me once I’m free?’

  ‘But I’m mixed-race, and from a poor background, no one will want me there—’

  And his family will think that people like me have no shame in seducing a husband away from his wife. They will treat me like the sinner that I am.

  ‘I love you for everything that you are,’ he said firmly. ‘And we’ll decide together about Corbey, and the navy. And where you can work. We’ll be a team, my darling.’

  I won’t marry anyone unless we can be partners, and love each other equally, I’d declared to Pa.

  I felt my heart race with the now-familiar elation.

  We’d face the world together. Any joy or punishment would be shared.

  ‘Yes,’ I breathed. And if our secret escaped before the end of the war, I’d defend it with every truth or lie I could muster. There was no going back.

  ‘It will be our journey,’ he cupped my face, ‘side by side.’

  I heard footsteps outside, then Pa’s key in the lock.

  ‘Yes,’ I repeated, clasping my hands around his, ‘I’ll marry you, David.’

  In that moment, we both believed that anything was possible.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  But possibilities had to wait.

  The war ground on. Two years passed. Two years from the rainy night in Simon’s Town when we last saw each other, last lay together, last made love. I’ve waited a lot in my life: to be a nurse, to find true love. And very often, when I’m on the edge of it, there’s a lull, a postponement. Or a barrier. Sometimes it’s because I’ve pushed too far, other times it’s because the world has other matters to resolve before my turn can come around again.

  It was hard.

  I never believed love could hurt so much, that the pain of separation could be such a constant companion. David wrote often, and his letters were a partial salve, a slice of London and a war that now seemed a long way from Simon’s Town. I worried he might have second thoughts, especially if he was able to spend more time at home. I knew his guilt about Elizabeth. And I would always be coloured, an outsider in his world.

  My darling Louise,

  How are you, my love? I think of you constantly. I imagine you at Seaforth looking for shells, watching the waves and wondering, as I do, when we’ll see each other again.

  I’m desperate to get to South Africa but I find myself chained to a desk job for the foreseeable future. You’ll have heard about our successes in France. It’s a start, but there’s still a long way to go. I am hopeful of a return to sea if the focus shifts towards the Far East. You’ll know what I mean. In the interim, our lives are spooling out and there is little we can do but keep faith.

  My father has passed away. He’d been poorly for some time, as you know, and he died in his sleep last week. I’ve just returned from the funeral. Father and I had an up-and-down relationship – we never shared the kind of warmth you have with your parents – but lately we’d found a tentative understanding. I suspect he knew I had ideas for Corbey of which he wouldn’t approve, but we tacitly avoided the subject. I was loath to initiate anything while he was still alive but now is the time to plan for their implementation once the war ends. I’d like Corbey to be self-managing as far as possible, to free me up either for the navy or for a position where we can best be together. I will also be seeing my solicitor shortly to discuss a divorce, and how to protect Elizabeth and ensure her financial future. Only once I have this clear in my mind, will I speak. It will be a hard blow for her.

  But I can no more imagine life after the war with her than I could ever imagine giving you up. Or forgetting the souls of Tompkins, Owen, the men on Hood, Dorsetshire—

  When one finds love – however unexpectedly – one should cherish it …

  Please keep writing to me, my darling, this is a difficult time. I hate continuing to deceive Elizabeth but there seems no alternative. She’s running Corbey on my behalf, and I cannot pull it from under her feet while this war is raging and I’m posted in London or elsewhere.

  Thank you for your patience and your courage

  All my love,

  David

  I folded the letter and put it into my pocket. It was dangerous to bring it to work, but I felt stronger when his words were nearby, tight against my skin. And he was right about Seaforth. I went there often. Not necessarily to swim or discern some kind of divine direction – I fear God and Allah have probably given up on me – but to feel David’s presence. The sea was the element that connected us. Even though he was in a shore job, he liked to walk down to the Thames to trace the ebb of water into an ocean that I imagined circling the globe and eventually finding its way to False Bay.

  ‘Sister!’

  ‘Sister Ahrendts!’

  It had taken the same two years of separation from David to complete my qualification. I looked about. I wasn’t used to my new title.

  Matron bustled up. ‘Sister, would you kindly join the ward round this morning? There are no operations planned, and Sister Graham is not well.’

  Matron kept me involved in ward nursing when my theatre duties allowed. I think she knew I enjoyed being with my patients when they were awake.

  ‘Of course, Matron.’

  While my role expanded at the RNH, two years saw the war diminish Simon’s Town. Pa and his fellow workers were permanently hollow-eyed from the long hours, and his ships suffered the demands of a conflict that gave no respite. Rust spread, and hurried repairs were unavoidable. Those of us on land noticed, too. Our formerly smooth tarmac roads had to bear their cracks for ‘the duration’. The flags at Admiralty House, once regularly replaced, flew until they disintegrated in the southeaster. And despite Pa’s entreaties, there were no plans or resources to stabilise the mountain behind the Terrace. Each winter, more soil compacted behind our row of cottages.

  ‘We mustn’t complain, we’re winning the war,’ Pa said with guarded satisfaction at the kitchen table. ‘Hitler’s on his way out, it’s just the Japs now.’

  ‘The Americans are winning, aren’t they?’ asked Ma.

  Pa sniffed. ‘Not quickly enough.’

  We never talked about David Horrocks. But he was there, a silent presence at our table.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Lou,’ was all Ma said as the door closed behind David that night. ‘This won’t end well.’

  Dearest Ma has never understood why I do what I do. To her credit, she’s warned me of the dangers – and been proved right, sometimes – but she’s never forbidden me from following my own course. Or threatened to cast me out when I didn’t take her advice. Even over David.

  ‘We must wait until the war’s over,’ I replied. It’s what I said to Vera, too, when she asked what I was going to do about the married white man who still wrote to me.

  I fingered his letter in my pocket.

  The silence between Ma, Pa and myself served another purpose.

  There was still a secret to keep.

  I’d entertained a white man in our family cottage and although the law did not explicitly ban sex between whites and coloureds at the time, the price was high. Morals were defined by colour. If my secret got out, Matron would have no choice but to dismiss me for improper conduct. The disgrace would reach further. Just as I’d suffered by my association with Piet, so Ma and Pa would be condemned because of me. Pa might be hurried into retirement, Ma would be quietly let go. We could lose our cottage. We’d almost certainly lose our position in the community and Pa would shrivel without the standing he’d worked so hard to achieve. If I was to ride this out, we three were bound together by the necessity to keep my recklessness quiet.

  Chapter Forty

  Piet was hauled before the lieutenant who was the quartermaster’s boss, a young squirt with a smooth chin and a chest full of ribbons. He looked at Piet across his desk with distaste.


  ‘We know what you’ve been up to, Mr Philander.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,’ Piet said heartily, folding his arms and stretching out his legs beneath the officer’s table. ‘I fish for you like I always have, and I deliver my crates to Cape Town like you want.’

  ‘You’ve been selling fish on the side.’

  Piet grinned. ‘I’ve been giving a few fish away. That’s a different thing.’

  The officer pursed his lips. ‘Giving away the odd fish and selling entire crates on the black market are two separate matters.’

  ‘Crates?’ Piet frowned. ‘How could I sell crates? Your guards, sir, they count the crates in and out. Maybe they made a mistake. I’m an honest man, sir. I fish for the war effort.’

  ‘You’ve been seen handing over a crate.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Piet, ‘now it’s only one crate, sir?’

  The lieutenant gave him a sharp look and shuffled paper on his desk. Piet strained to read upside down but he was pretty sure that the train manifests had long been filed somewhere obscure or discarded completely once the transaction was complete.

  Piet adopted a wheedling tone. He had this fellow’s number.

  ‘Sir, once a week I give my best fish to the admiral. No charge. I go up to Admiralty House,’ Piet waved a hand at the window, ‘and I go round to the kitchen and I talk to the chef and he cooks it for the admiral. The admiral,’ Piet leant forward, ‘knows me. He likes my fish. No one takes the trouble to bring him top fish. Free and gratis.’

  The lieutenant shifted in his seat.

  ‘We’ll be watching you, Philander. Any more trouble, and we’ll tear up your contract.’ He stood, indicating the meeting was over. Piet slowly got to his feet.

  ‘I’ll be extra careful, sir. I’ll make sure the guards write down the correct number of crates. You can depend on me, sir.’

  The lieutenant sat down and turned back to his papers.

  Piet walked out, closing the door carefully when he really would have liked to slam it shut.

  But he must be careful. His defence had worked – this time.

  He must tell the restaurant that there’d be a break in deliveries. Just until things settled down.

  He strolled across the warehouse, chock-a-block with goods the like of which most folk hadn’t seen for years. Paint, rubber, wire— ‘Philander?’ the quartermaster beckoned to him. Piet hurried over. The man pulled him out of sight behind a stack of boxes.

  ‘I know what you’ve been up to,’ he hissed, thrusting his face into Piet’s. ‘I didn’t give the lieutenant all the papers, I’ve got them safe. But I want a cut. Otherwise I hand them over and you’re out.’

  Piet looked into the man’s greedy face and felt something snap.

  ‘Sure,’ he said loudly. ‘And when I go and give the admiral his fish I’ll be sure to tell him he only gets second-best fish – his quartermaster gets the best. And then I’ll also tell him that one of his officers has been sleeping with a coloured nurse at the RNH!’

  The quartermaster’s eyes bulged.

  Piet stormed off, pushing past a group of ratings who stopped unpacking metal pipes to stare at him.

  The sky above the Simonsberg was grey, and a thin drizzle sifted down.

  He shouldn’t have, he told himself as the wind cooled his face, he really shouldn’t have.

  Chapter Forty-One

  War log

  No particular date

  Private hostilities

  On my last leave, I asked Elizabeth to give me my freedom. I stressed it wasn’t her fault, that I’d been wrong to marry her without loving her as a husband should, and I promised her a generous settlement. She was rigid with anger and accused me of using her, while feathering a love nest at the Admiralty. I can’t blame her. She has only ever wanted Corbey and a life as my wife.

  But someone else has my heart. Must I give Louise up for the sake of convention? Duty? Must I pay for my mistake with the rest of my life?

  I’m being reassigned, thank God. Back to sea.

  I was sitting with a patient while he regained consciousness when Sister Graham marched down the ward towards me.

  ‘Sister Ahrendts,’ she addressed my rank with sarcastic emphasis, ‘Matron would like to see you. I’m sure the able seaman can wake up without your help.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  I was still careful to defer to her, although these days there was no reason to do so other than courtesy. I walked out of the ward, conscious of her eyes on my back.

  Every encounter with authority carried the risk of unmasking. Even when Matron congratulated me on making Sister, I searched her face for some hint of knowing, some edge of the castigation to come. In our letters, neither David nor I referred to our secret assignation. The chance of a censor reading and passing it along was too great a risk.

  I straightened my cap and knocked on Matron’s door.

  ‘Come in. Please sit down, Sister.’

  Matron folded her hands beneath her chin and looked at me over the top of them for several moments. My file was open in front of her.

  ‘I have cautioned you before, Sister, that your relationship with your patients should remain above board in every way, have I not?’

  Here it was.

  ‘Yes, Matron.’

  She glanced out of her window. A fat wedge of cloud hung above the bay, painting the water beneath it in tones of steel blue and grey.

  ‘It has come to my knowledge that you may have formed an attachment with a patient.’

  I breathed deeply. To lie, or tell the truth? But perhaps there was a middle way—

  ‘Sister? What do you say to that?’

  I have found, thanks to the advice of my old schoolteacher and from a lifetime of not being pale enough, that unwavering eye contact is the best weapon when under attack.

  ‘I have only ever been professional in my work, Matron. I have not encouraged familiar behaviour while I’ve been on duty.’

  ‘And off duty?’ She regarded me keenly.

  I lifted my chin. ‘I have no attachment with any patient, Matron, or any local young man. I am single, and I live with my parents.’

  She put on her glasses and picked up her pen and wrote a few sentences in my file.

  Then she took off her glasses, stood up and went to the window and looked out over the sweep of the bay. She addressed me with her back turned.

  ‘You know, of course, that if found guilty of this sort of behaviour, you would be dismissed.’

  ‘Yes, Matron.’

  She continued to speak while facing away from me.

  ‘We would be very sorry to lose you, because you’re an outstanding nurse.’

  I kept quiet.

  She turned back to me, her eyes puzzled, her voice softer. ‘Surely you must know, Sister, that any understanding between yourself and a white man, while not strictly against the law, is certainly …’ she searched for a word, ‘frowned upon?’

  Again I made no reply.

  She sat down. I continued to meet her eyes without looking away.

  ‘You know better than me the ways of this country.’ She shook her head. ‘I make no bones about the fact that I find exclusion on the basis of colour or any other trait to be abhorrent. It offends my Scottishness.’ She tapped her fingers on her desk. ‘But you are playing with fire in several directions if this report is true.’

  She looked down at the desk, then appeared to make a decision.

  ‘I don’t listen to gossip about my staff.’ She closed my file with a snap. ‘Unless I’m offered proof, I regard it as hearsay. But,’ she fixed me with a severe look, ‘I warn you this has been noted on your record. If proof is subsequently provided to me, I will have no choice but to dismiss you. You must now regard yourself as on probation.’

  I struggled to keep my expression neutral.

  ‘I understand, Matron.’

  ‘That is all.’

  ‘Thank you, Matron.’

  I stoo
d up. The sea folded into languid swells beyond the window.

  ‘It would be an immense waste to throw away everything you’ve achieved, Sister.’

  I turned and left her office, closing the door quietly behind me.

  Our secret has been discovered, I wrote.

  I don’t know how, David, it certainly wasn’t anything my parents or I revealed.

  I was warned by Matron that if she receives further proof, I’ll be dismissed. I’m therefore on probation until the end of the war. While I know my training will allow me to get another post, a dismissal from the RNH will be a stigma. I may have to leave the peninsula, and work at a lesser salary in a remoter area.

  But, dearest, the bigger issue is you and me.

  We can’t be together if you happen to visit Simon’s Town.

  And perhaps, given the situation with your wife, that may be sensible anyway.

  But how will I stay away from you?

  Chapter Forty-Two

  I stood in the doorway of our cottage and looked down on the docks with that lurch of the heart that came whenever a new ship arrived. Maybe him, maybe not. This time, it was a three-funnelled heavy cruiser that was nosing to her mooring. Pa came to stand alongside me, chewing a piece of toast. He lifted his spare hand to shade his eyes and squinted. ‘Cumberland,’ he announced. ‘Eastern Fleet.’

  ‘It’s David,’ I gasped and clutched him.

  Pa stiffened.

  I stared at him.

  ‘It’s been two years, Lou – I thought you’d given him up?’

  I shook my head. Pa sighed explosively.

  ‘Someone will find out,’ he grimaced. ‘You were lucky last time.’

  ‘They already have,’ I replied crisply. ‘Matron received information. I’ve been warned.’

  Pa looked bleakly at the toast cooling in his hand. ‘It’s my fault, I told you if you worked hard you’d go far. I put ideas into your head when you were little – and now look where it’s led?’