by Anne Bennett
Tom grinned at his brother, and climbed up beside him and they were on their way.
‘Leaving here seems strange,’ Tom said a little later, as the cart rattled down the road. ‘Being away from the farm for one whole day seems completely alien.’
‘I think that was one of the things I didn’t like about farming,’ Joe said. ‘You are tied to it and can seldom have a day off, one whole day to go someplace else.’
‘No, you can’t,’ Tom agreed. ‘And that has never bothered me until now. Now that Molly is obviously settling in Birmingham I would like to see her sometimes. Between you and me, that wee girl stole away a piece of my heart.’
Joe laughed. ‘Do you think you are telling me news? What you feel for Molly is written all over you, as plain as the nose on your face. But now that Mammy has gone, what’s to stop Molly coming over here a time or two? When this war eventually draws to a close, it will be easier.’
‘Aye, I suppose you’re right,’ Tom said. ‘Worrying is part of my nature. I see problems where there are none.’
‘That is living with Mammy for so long,’ Joe said emphatically. ‘She would have turned a lesser man than you completely bonkers, I think. So, all in all, you got away lightly.’
The station was ahead of them on the road then, and Tom felt his heart plummet. Joe saw the trepidation flooding his brother’s face and said encouragingly, ‘Come on, man. You’ll be grand.’
‘Course I will,’ Tom said stoutly, but he knew if it wasn’t for Molly waiting for him at the other end, he would have turned the horse round and headed back to the farm without hesitation.
Nothing more was said, and a few minutes later the horse clattered into the station yard and Joe secured it while Tom unloaded his bags. The train was in and panting like a wild beast that might take off again at any moment, and the two men hurried across the platform.
All the carriages had people in them and Joe helped Tom stow his stuff away on the racks above with everyone else’s. Then he returned to the platform and Tom stood inside the train talking to him through the open window.
‘Will you write when you have news?’ he asked as the guards began slamming the doors.
‘If you like,’ Tom said, ‘though there will hardly be time. I don’t intend to stay away too long.’
‘Stay as long as you need to,’ Joe said. ‘We’ll keep things ticking over this end, don’t worry.’
There wasn’t time to say anything more, for there was a sudden sharp whistle and the train jerked forward. Tom waved to his brother as the train pulled out of the station. He was on his way.
Belfast docks couldn’t be used by civilians any more. Not only had there been extensive damage from bombing raids in 1941 but also they were now a military base. From Derry, at that time, the train travelled down the country to the docks at Dun Laoghaire, just outside Dublin, and linked on the other side to the Welsh port of Holyhead.
It was a much longer journey than Derry to Belfast, and by the time Tom had gone a relatively short distance he decided that he liked trains. He had got over his initial anxiety that they were going far too fast and any moment the carriages would be flung off the rails, because none of his fellow passengers seemed the least bit concerned and he could bet they were more seasoned travellers than he.
In fact, he found them a very friendly bunch and he got on particularly well with two other fellows, brothers called Pat and Mick. They’d been born and raised in Donegal like himself, but they now both lived in Birmingham. Tom mentioned to them the niece who hailed from Birmingham.
‘Where’s she living?’
‘Castle Bromwich. She works in the Naafi on the airfield and rents a house nearby from one of the airmen.’
‘Fell on her feet then?’
‘I hope so.’
‘So, is this your first trip over?’
‘It’s really the first time I have ever left my home town. Everything is strange to me.’
‘We were the same once,’ Pat said. ‘Stick with us and we’ll see you right.’
Tom was glad of their help and advice, and the things they told him of the city and the wartime restrictions in place. It seemed in no time at all they were pulling into the docks at Dun Laoghaire.
The only boats Tom was familiar with were fishing boats. He had seen the ocean liner in Lough Foyle the time Joe had gone to the States, but that had been in the distance, and when he saw the mail boat looming up large in the water, he thought it the most amazing thing he had ever seen.
It had numerous decks and two funnels. RMS Cambria was printed on the side, and it was attached to the dock side with ropes as thick as a man’s forearm, wrapped round concrete bollards. Tom felt ridiculously excited to be walking up the wooden gangplank, which listed slightly from side to side.
Mick, who had watched him with tolerant amusement, said, ‘Let’s hope you like it as well when we are out in the open sea.’
Tom was soon to find out.
The wind was fierce that day, and had whipped the waves into white-fringed rollers. The turbulence was hardly felt until the mail boat had moved out between the two piers, and then the waves broke against the sides of the boat in cascades of foam, the boat rolled slightly in the swell and Tom’s stomach began to churn.
He wasn’t actually sick, but he felt dreadful. ‘A pint of Guinness is just the job for a bit of seasickness,’ said Pat.
‘Oh, I hardly think…’
‘Well-known for settling stomachs,’ Mick assured him.
The saloon bar stank to high heaven, the musty air filled with the smell of Guinness, cigarette smoke, body odour and vomit. Surprisingly the Guinness did make Tom feel a little better when he got it down him. Other men had drifted over to join them and Tom, who’d often found himself tongue-tied with strangers, meeting so few of them, found the beer had loosened his tongue sufficiently to join in with the rest. He forgot all about his sickness, and by the third pint began thoroughly to enjoy himself as he couldn’t remember doing for a long time. He was quite sorry when the shores of Wales could be seen.
Pat and Mick took good care of Tom as the mail boat docked and the passengers disembarked, and he was grateful, for the beer had made him feel quite light-headed. Mick and Pat bundled him into one of the carriages on the waiting train.
Tom sat down with a sigh. ‘Too many Guinnesses, maybe,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
‘What are you sorry for?’ Mick said. ‘You did no harm, and surely it was better than suffering seasickness?’
‘It certainly was,’ Tom said. ‘I have seldom had such a good time.’
He remembered little of the journey after that though because he fell into a deep sleep and had to be shaken awake as the train approached New Street Station.
He was confused and disorientated at first. As he stepped onto the platform amongst the throngs of people, he noted the air was stale and smelled smoky. All around him people were chattering, laughing or shouting, porters with laden trolleys were warning people to ‘Mind your backs’ and the news vendors’ shrill voices rose above it all. There was also the constant tramp of feet and the clatter of trains hurtling into the station, more noise than Tom had heard in his life. ‘How do you stand it?’ he asked Pat and Mick.
They were both mystified. ‘Stand what?’
‘This,’ Tom said, spreading his hands expansively. ‘The noise? Well, not just the noise, just about everything.’
Pat clapped Tom on the shoulder. ‘Didn’t we feel the very same when we first came over,’ he said. ‘You get used to it.’
‘Where are they all going to, at all,’ Tom said, ‘all these hordes of people walking so determinedly with set and serious faces?’
Mick shrugged. ‘Who knows or cares, Tom? See, that’s the thing in a city: everyone minds their own business. Now let’s get you sorted out. If you’re making straight for the airfield at Castle Bromwich, and you haven’t lodgings booked, it might be worth leaving your case in Left Luggage until you have a place to stay. You w
on’t want to lug it around.’
‘No, I won’t,’ Tom said. ‘Where’s that?
‘We’ll show you,’ Pat said. ‘And then show you where you can pick up a taxi.’
Outside, with the case safely deposited, Tom found things were worse. There was no clean air in Birmingham, he decided, for now he smelled petrol fumes and something sour, almost acrid, that hit the back of his throat. He could even taste it on his tongue. The streets were teeming with people of all shapes and sizes. The serious look on their faces and determined strides of them made it seem as though they had to get somewhere in a hurry.
But, added to the press of people on the pavements, was the traffic on the roads. Cars, buses, lorries and vans jostled with the carts and wagons pulled by huge horses with shaggy feet. And then, as they made their way to the taxi rank, a clanking swaying monster came careering towards them, to turn the corner. Tom saw with surprise it ran on rails set into the ground.
‘It’s a tram,’ Mick said, seeing Tom’s preoccupation with it. ‘Best way to get about.’
‘I don’t know that I wouldn’t be too feared to get into one of those.’
Pat laughed. ‘That’s another thing to get used to if you are here any length of time,’ he said. ‘Trams are much quicker than buses because they don’t get snarled up in the traffic.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ Tom said.
‘Anyway, here are the taxis now,’ Mick said. ‘You tell the driver you want Castle Bromwich Aerodrome and he will get you there in no time.’
Tom, with real regret, shook hands with the two men who had been so helpful to him and climbed into the taxi. He had never ever ridden in any sort of motor vehicle, and he enjoyed his first ride. It was made all the more pleasant by realising that every minute brought him closer to the time when he would see Molly again.
Tom wasn’t allowed in the camp but the guard offered to fetch Molly when he said who he was. A few moments later, he saw her running towards the gate, holding hands with a pilot, and his heart nearly stopped for she looked so beautiful. Radiant, in fact.
‘Uncle Tom,’ she cried, and her smile lit up her entire face as she waited impatiently for the guard to open the gate. When she dropped the young man’s hand and put her arms around Tom’s neck and held him tight, his happiness was complete.
Then she introduced Mark Baxter. Tom appraised the man as he shook him warmly by the hand and said he was delighted to meet him. He was still in full flying gear and his eyes were glazed with fatigue, and Molly explained that he had had to land his plane in Cannock Chase and walk from there.
‘It is a fair hike from here,’ she said. ‘I was told Mark had been shot down. Until a few minutes ago, I thought he was dead.’ She gave a shudder as she remembered, and Mark put his arm around her and she leaned against him with a sigh. Tom knew that Molly had met her soul mate and his heart nearly burst with relief and joy.
When he eventually took his leave of Molly, he did something he had promised himself he would do as soon as he got to Birmingham, and that was to seek out Paul Simmons and beg his forgiveness. He had the address of his office from the letter Paul had sent him, but knowing he would never find it by himself he took one of those frightening trams that Molly had told him went straight into the city centre, and then showed the address to one of the taxi drivers grouped around New Street Station.
‘Know where that is, all right, governor,’ the taxi driver said, leaping out from the cab and opening the door for Tom. ‘Hop in and I will get you there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’
Less than half an hour later, Tom was standing in front of Paul Simmons and apologising for not looking after Molly properly.
‘Sit down, please,’ Paul said to the nervous man before him, and Tom sat on the chair one side of the desk and Paul faced him on the other side. He said straight out, ‘I was far too hasty when I wrote that letter. Molly told me straight that you couldn’t have stopped her if you had tried. She said there was no course open to her other than the one she took. And then for those dreadful things to happen to her … She was innocent of blame, a young and naïve girl, unaware that the people she met on the station that night that appeared so kind and friendly were so corrupt. She had no experience to draw on. It made me so angry that she had been abused in such a way.’
‘Me too of course,’ Tom said. ‘We had no idea. Let’s hope life will run a little smoother for Molly now. She seems very keen on Mark Baxter. Have you met him?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Paul said. ‘Another fine man, and a brave one too. They are very much in love. You only have to see them together to realise that.’
‘You think they will marry?’
‘Almost certainly,’ Paul said. ‘And that is where I come in again.’
‘Oh?’
‘Ted would have paid for his daughter’s wedding and would be proud to do so. I would like to do this for this young couple in his stead. Would they mind that, do you think?’
‘I shouldn’t think so, and certainly not if it is put to them like that,’ Tom said. ‘I am going over to see them both this evening. I will broach it, if you like.’
‘I would be very grateful,’ Paul said. ‘And can I say something to you now?’
‘Of course.’
‘I know Molly had a rough time in Ireland,’ Paul said. ‘Not that she has given me a list of complaints or anything, but if she does say anything at all there is a sort of sadness lurking behind her eyes. Then there was that ridiculous subterfuge in sending her letters. But she has always spoken highly of you – more than highly – for it is obvious that she loves you very much and now that I have met you too, I can understand that.’
Tom’s face was crimson and he got to his feet as he said gruffly, ‘Ah, give over, man. You are embarrassing the life out of me. And now I will take up no more of your valuable time. I must in any case find lodgings for the next few days for it would not be seemly to stay with Molly.’
‘Till we meet again, then,’ Paul said, extending his hand. ‘Let us hope it is sooner rather than later.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
Tom stayed in Birmingham almost a week and in that time, he had met everyone connected to Molly’s life, from her old neighbour, Hilda, to her future in-laws the Baxters, especially Mark. Tom thought Kevin a grand fellow altogether and the two were soon the best of friends. Kevin wanted to know all about his new uncle, Joe, Aunt Gloria and his cousin, Ben, who was four years younger than he.
Tom had also met Will Baker, who had helped Molly escape her captors at great risk to himself and his family, and in doing so had saved her life. He had even been introduced to Terry, who owned the house that Molly was renting, who said that he was grateful to Molly for taking it on, preventing it from being requisitioned. ‘Molly has looked after the house so well,’ he told Tom, ‘and Kevin has kept the garden in tiptop condition. Really, I can’t thank them enough.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Molly said when she heard this. ‘It is you who have done us the favour. Having this house and the job in the Naafi meant I could have Kevin living with me, which we both wanted.’
‘I’ll say,’ Kevin said with feeling. ‘All that time in the orphanage – I mean, they were all right and that, but all I wanted was for Molly to come and get me out.’
The words, spoken so wistfully, caused tears to sparkle behind Tom’s eyes. He blinked them away rapidly. The time for tears was over now. Molly and Kevin were looking forward to a happy future and so must he.
‘It relieves me greatly that you can count such wonderful people as these I have met as your friends,’ he said that evening as he called to say goodbye. ‘I can now rest easy that, with God’s help, your life now will be on an even keel at long last.’
‘I hope so, Uncle Tom,’ Molly said. ‘It will not be before time.’
‘No, indeed it will not.’
‘I’ll miss you,’ Molly said. ‘It has been lovely seeing you every day.’
‘I’ll be back before you know it,’
Tom said. ‘Isn’t the wedding planned for June? That being the case, you will be so busy arranging it, you won’t have time to even notice I am not around.’
‘But your train won’t leave for hours yet,’ Molly said. ‘What will you do with yourself till then?’
‘What I have been doing while you have been at work,’ Tom said. ‘Look around the place. Explore.’
Tom had indeed spent a lot of the time when Molly was tied up, exploring the city she had come from. He had been appalled by the bomb damage the city had suffered. Derry had got away lightly as only two parachute mines had landed there, killing thirteen people and demolishing five houses, but here, whole areas were laid waste. In the city centre there were huge gaps where shops had once stood, but even the residential areas around the city centre had taken a pounding.
The first time he had turned a corner to see a whole sea of rubble, he had stood and stared. He knew that the rubble represented streets and streets of houses, for the homes in that industrial city were pressed one against another. What had happened to the people? Where did they go to hide from such bombardment and how did they cope without their houses and possessions? They did as Gloria had, he imagined: camped out in church halls or other suitable places. Little wonder that Molly and Kevin’s grandfather had died. Tom thought it was far more of a surprise that anyone was left alive at all.
In his sojourn around the city centre, he had found a pub on the outskirts that did delicious steak pies. Knowing of the rationing situation, he would eat little at Molly’s and the pie slid down the throat beautifully, especially when accompanied by a pint of Guinness. He didn’t ask at the pub either what animal the steak was from. Sometimes it was better not to know, though he guessed it was horse meat, which he had heard had been eaten in France for years.
