Forget-Me-Not Child

by Anne Bennett

  Angela could no longer refuse, she was too choked up because she knew that Phyllis was right, they would never see each other again and she realized the sacrifice she made for a perfect stranger. It was different for Maggie’s mother because she was Phyllis’s niece and part of their family.

  It was hard for both of them to say a final goodbye because they had become close, but she had to face the truth that Phyllis was someone she had needed at a certain point in her life, but now that period was over and she had to go back to her old life and Phyllis had to do the same.

  With the ark packed away in various bags Phyllis had pressed on them, and Connie in a state of extreme excitement at being allowed to take the ark home with them, it was hard to hold back the tears as Phyllis and Angela hugged for the last time. But it had to be done and as they set off down the road, Angela wiped her eyes surreptitiously lest Connie see that she had been crying.

  ‘You all right?’ Mary asked.

  Angela nodded. ‘Have to be I suppose.’

  ‘And that’s the truth right enough,’ Mary said. ‘Mind you I am surprised you wanted to come home after living in that house for a couple of months with all mod cons.’

  ‘Home is where the heart is, you know that,’ Angela said. ‘My heart is with you and Connie and Barry in the back-to-back we all live in.’

  That night Connie played up about going to bed in the attic on her own. She had always been so good before, but now she said she was frightened. She couldn’t explain why she was frightened but Angela, catching sight of her child’s ravaged panic-stricken face, knew she was gripped by a real and genuine fear that if she went to bed her mother might disappear again. It tore at Angela’s heart strings because it was her fault. She shouldn’t have sneaked away without a word to Phyllis’s after Connie had gone to bed at night. She should have tried to explain to her.

  Realising this, she was gentle and understanding with Connie who ended up sharing her mother’s bed. ‘There was nothing else I could do,’ she said to Mary when Connie had eventually settled down for the night. ‘All this all stems from disappearing without a word and then staying away for over two months. That’s half a lifetime for a child.’

  ‘This whole business has certainly upset her,’ Mary agreed. ‘I have never known her like this.’

  ‘I’ll have to regain her trust,’ Angela said. ‘All the time I was away, though I missed Connie, I never knew what it was doing to her. All my energies were on the child I would be abandoning, because you were right, I couldn’t help myself, I did learn to love the child after the birth and of course it was even harder to leave her then, unbearably hard. But I can’t help her now and so must put any worries about her out of my mind as much as I can and concentrate on Connie, who I can do something about, and do all I can to help her recover her love and trust in me. Connie is my first priority and I owe it to her to be the best mother I can be.’

  Angela tried to do that in the next few days as she allowed herself to really recover from the birth and she spent that time with Connie. The weather wasn’t kind to them but Connie just enjoyed being with her mother. Despite what she had said to Mary, though, thoughts of the child she had left behind did creep into her mind more often than she would have liked, but she pushed them away and didn’t let them spoil her times with her young daughter.

  Those thoughts did return at night, very often invading her sleep, and left her lying awake worrying that leaving the child in the way she had done was a sin. She knew she would never be able to admit what she had done to a priest, not even in the partial anonymity of the confessional box. That meant she had done no penance of any sort nor received absolution and she shouldn’t receive communion with such a sin staining her soul, but if she didn’t go people would think it odd and might even remark on it.

  This bothered her so much at the first Sunday home that she prayed more devoutly at Mass than she had done in a long time. She said how sorry she was for what she had been forced to do and asked God to show her some sacrifice she could make in atonement for what she had done. There was no blinding flash of light, nor did God’s angry thunderous voice re-echo in her head, but she was confident that he would show her some way that she could make it up to Him without involving the priests at all.

  Despite the fact that Maggie had said that Mr Potter would welcome her back with open arms, Angela hadn’t been convinced and wrote to him after they returned from seeing Phyllis and he wrote by return saying he was looking forward to seeing her again and suggesting her starting the following Monday.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Mr Potter was pleased to see Angela again and told her as soon as she was changed to go down to the delivery yard. Angela had thought that someone else would have taken on the driving in her absence and she would be back in the factory, but Sylvia, the woman who had covered for her, was quite willing to relinquish the role back to Angela. ‘I don’t really like driving,’ she said. ‘I learnt to drive because I thought I should, but I don’t enjoy it and some of those trucks are heavy and difficult to manoeuvre, so I’m glad you’re back. I will be better in the factory.’

  Angela was sorry Sylvia felt that way, but very glad to get her old job back. She just loved the freedom of the open road.

  However when she arrived home she found a letter had arrived from a solicitor to discuss ‘matters to her advantage’.

  ‘I wonder what it’s all about,’ Angela said. ‘I’ve never had anything to do with a solicitor. Anyway there is no way I can take time from work after just having three months away. I’ll have to write and say so.’

  Towards the second week in January the Bank Manager, Mr Higgins, called to see Angela one evening and said that in view of the vital work Angela was engaged in he would open the bank the following Saturday afternoon so that she could view her inheritance and give instructions as to what to do with it.

  ‘There must be some mistake,’ Angela said. ‘I have no inheritance.’

  ‘This is from Mr Maitland’s estate,’ Mr Higgins said. ‘He left you some jewellery that had belonged to his mother.’

  ‘Jewellery?’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ Mr Higgins said. ‘Some nice pieces amongst them. And I apologize for the delay in contacting you. These were not part of the will he left with Geoff Rogers and Co. but some private arrangement between him and Geoff Rogers. It’s all legal and above board and they were lodged in the bank for safety’s sake. Apparently he was adamant his wife should not have any knowledge of them.

  ‘I didn’t know George had died, nor that just days later Geoff Rogers heard of the death of three of his four sons, and that the surviving son was critically injured in a hospital on the South Coast, and he went to see him and completely forgot about the jewellery until he returned, which is when I contacted you.’

  Angela remembered how Mary and Matt had suffered over the death of two of their sons and could quite understand the man’s distraction. She said this to the bank manager and went on to say, ‘I didn’t know anything about this, nor was I expecting anything.’

  ‘I believe he thought a lot of you.’

  ‘I thought the world of him,’ Angela said sincerely. ‘He was a lovely and kind man, but I only helped him in the shop and never in the world would I have expected him to leave me anything. I am just so sorry he is dead.’

  ‘If you come to the bank on Saturday afternoon you can see the items for yourself,’ said Mr Higgins.

  ‘Yes I will be there,’ Angela said. ‘Thank you making special arrangements for me.’

  She went with Mary as Maggie offered to look after Connie and she was nervous and bewildered and so was Mary. Angela had never been into a bank before, the same as most working-class people in those days. Banks were not for the likes of them. If they should manage to save anything at all, a very rare occurrence with a great many, money went into a box under the bed or sometimes the Post Office.

  Knowing how awkward she was probably feeling, Mr Higgins was kindness itself to both women an
d Angela was grateful for his understanding and then was overcome with the kindness and generosity of George when she saw the array of beautiful things that now belonged to her: a pendant on a gold chain, a pearl necklace and a diamond one, an array of bracelets and brooches and a diamond ring. Angela was completely overawed and knew that never in a million years would she have an occasion to wear any of it and she said, ‘Mr Higgins, I know nothing about jewellery, but is any of this valuable?’

  ‘Oh yes, there are some lovely pieces here,’ Mr Higgins said. ‘But I couldn’t give an accurate value, not being a jeweller. That could be arranged though?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary yet,’ Angela said. ‘For now I want everything to stay in the bank where it’s safe. I don’t want to make any decisions until I can speak to my husband and I won’t see him until this blessed war is over.’

  But she already knew what she wanted to talk to Barry about and that was selling some of the pieces to fund a secondary education for Connie and the rest of the pieces would be given to her on her wedding day in place of the locket.

  ‘As you wish,’ Higgins said. ‘It is no problem to us to store them for you.’

  And so life continued as it always had. Connie got over her fear that her mother might disappear again and returned to the nursery, but not for much longer because she would be starting at St Catherine’s School after Easter and Angela was glad because Connie was outgrowing the nursery. Barry wrote that he could scarce believe that the toddler he left behind would soon be at school and it brought it home to him more forcibly how much of her childhood he was missing.

  However, just before Easter the Germans launched a Spring Offensive. Angela couldn’t believe it. After an icy, blustery winter, she had been looking forward to spring, when the sun might warm her body and heal her soul because she still felt a little battered and bruised. Added to that she was war weary, everyone was war weary and looking forward to a lessening of hostilities and now the Germans seemed to be starting again. So many had already died and the fields of France ran with blood. But the soldiers were tired, both Stan and Barry had mentioned it, and now they must raise their game to counter the German advance. Angela prayed, imploring God to keep her husband safe a little longer.

  The German assault began on 21st March and it was called St Michael’s Offensive. ‘Funny nation the Germans,’ Angela remarked when she read this in the papers they scrutinized every evening. ‘Fancy calling an Offensive after a Saint.’

  ‘Does seem odd,’ Mary said. ‘And yet a woman I met shopping was telling me that it’s a very Catholic country.’

  ‘Germany is?’

  ‘That’s what she said.’

  ‘I never thought that of Germany,’ Angela said. ‘France certainly, but not Germany.’

  ‘No I have to admit I don’t know much about these people our boys are fighting. But this woman seemed to know a lot and she says that the Kaiser is pinning great hope on this new offensive. He’s looking for a speedy end to the war, with Germany the victors.’

  ‘Surely she shouldn’t be talking that way?’

  ‘Maybe not, but there was only the two of us in the shop,’ Mary said, ‘and she didn’t say that’s what she wanted. She had two sons and both enlisted. The eldest was killed last year and she worries greatly for the other one.’

  ‘Oh I bet,’ Angela said. ‘I worry about Barry as soon as I open my eyes in the morning and when I sleep I dream about him.’

  ‘I know,’ Mary said, ‘and yet there’s no saying Barry is even involved in this.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Angela said. ‘But he must be involved in something for no letters have come this week, nor from Stan either.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mary said. ‘But that has happened before.’

  It had and the first time there had been no letters Angela had been a nervous wreck and then, three weeks later, a bunch of letters came together. She accepted the fact that if Barry was actually fighting, he would have little time and less inclination to write her an epistle. And even letters written might be difficult to post, but letters were literally her lifeline, letting her know her beloved Barry was alive and well.

  ‘And,’ said Angela, ‘if that woman you met shopping is even a bit right they may need every man jack over there deployed to fight this Offensive for it’s inconceivable that Germany might win. Too many of our boys’ bodies litter the fields of France, or arrive home maimed and damaged, to let the Germans win now, or they will have given their lives in vain. If this is the final push they need to give it all we have to repel the German Army. And I am saying that knowing that Barry and Stan may be in the thick of it.’

  And they were in the thick of it. They had been told very little but veterans like Barry knew the German surge had to be overcome at all costs and the Germans beaten back, that the outcome of the war might depend on it. The fighting was as fierce as ever, but Barry was an experienced soldier now.

  He had often worried for Stan but Angela always assured him that she was still receiving letters from him so he was bound to be all right. But Barry often wondered if she would tell him if anything had happened to Stan for the women were told not to worry the men at the Front. He had never caught sight of him before now, but he saw him that day because Stan had come looking for him.

  He knew the next day Barry was preparing to go into the front trench to lead the second attack and Stan, who’d seen neither hide nor hair of Barry through all the years of war, decided to seek him out and wish him luck. The day was a cold one and Stan squelched through the muddy ground, the smell of cordite hung in the mist of the early morning and the sounds of fierce fighting could be heard, the crack of rifles, the thumping boom of the big guns, the incessant clatter of machine guns and the whistle and whine of shells.

  Barry was standing talking to some of the men that he would be sending over first the following day and Michael Malone was amongst them and he was ridiculously pleased to see Stan in the distance. He had lost many friends and comrades and for Stan to have got through so far virtually unscathed was amazing. Barry’s face split into a huge grin and he gave Stan a wave. It was as he started to walk towards him that he saw the arc of a shell in the air, but Stan had his back to it. Barry started to run, shouting a warning, but Stan couldn’t hear, so Barry launched himself in the air and threw himself on top of Stan as the shell hit the ground and exploded, killing Barry outright and the two soldiers beside Michael and blowing Michael’s left leg clean off.

  When there had been no letters for five weeks, Angela was frantic. Each day she woke with a dead feeling inside her and was glad of the job that gave her no time to think and worried about Mary spending hours alone in the house. ‘It must be awful not knowing anything,’ Maggie said to Angela one morning. Michael’s mother had been to see Maggie and told her of Michael’s injuries and she had been shocked and saddened and yet glad to know he was alive, but for Angela there was just silence.There was no way of finding out what had happened to him.

  ‘It is awful,’ Angela said. ‘See, this has happened before, this lack of letters and then two or three come together. But it’s never gone on this long and for Stan’s letters to stop as well …’ Her voice trailed away and her eyes looked very bleak as she said, ‘I hope to God nothing has happened to him Maggie. I don’t think I could bear it.’

  Maggie was very much afraid the unthinkable had happened and Barry was already dead, but if she was right she didn’t want her friend to go under and so she spoke quite briskly, ‘’Course you’ll be able to bear it. You’ll have to cope because you have a child to see to and she is part of Barry and you owe it to him to bring her up the best way you know.’

  ‘You are right, Maggie, so right,’ Angela said. ‘And the first thing I must do is try and find out what’s happened to Barry. I won’t be in tomorrow, at least for the morning and Sylvia can do any deliveries needed.’

  ‘Well I won’t blame you,’ Maggie said. ‘And neither will anyone else, but I don’t know what Mr Potter w
ill make of it.’

  ‘Well if he doesn’t like it he’ll have to lump it,’ Angela said almost fiercely. ‘To me this is more important than making shells.’

  She didn’t say that to Mr Potter, but she did say she was fed up living with uncertainty. ‘Barry wrote to me two days before the Germans started their Spring Offensive and that’s over five weeks ago. Since then I have heard nothing, I don’t know whether he is alive or dead and I need to try and find out and I intend to have tomorrow off to do that.’

  Mr Potter realized Angela was coiled tight as a spring, her voice too betrayed just how anxious she was and he knew he was looking at a young woman at the end of her tether. So all he said was, ‘Are you going to the Barracks at Thorp Street?’

  Angela nodded. ‘I wouldn’t know anywhere else to try.’

  ‘Nor I,’ Mr Potter said. ‘Take tomorrow off and find out all you can about that young husband of yours and I really hope the news is good.’

  ‘So do I Mr Potter,’ Angela said. ‘Oh so do I.’

  Mary approved of what Angela was doing but all Connie heard was that her mother wasn’t going to work the following day and she was ecstatic because Mammy promised her that they would have breakfast together and then she would take her to school and meet her teacher Mrs Cleary.

  Connie had begun at St Catherine’s School just over a fortnight ago when it re-opened after the Easter holidays and according to Mary, possibly helped by going to nursery, she had settled to it as if she had been going all the days of her life.

  The next morning Angela woke with knots of apprehension in her stomach while Connie was still fizzing with excitement. She had no appetite, she hadn’t had any for days, but having breakfast together mattered to Connie so she forced herself to eat the bowl of porridge Mary insisted on before school and they walked hand in hand along Bristol Street and Angela remembered going the same route hand in hand with eight-year-old Barry when she was Connie’s age, for all the McCluskys had gone to St Catherine’s.