An Army of Smiles

by An Army of Smiles (retail) (epub)

  ‘Glenys, who you thought was your sister, was really your mother. She was only fifteen, your father – your grandfather, I suppose he really is – was in prison and I wrote to tell him I was expecting another child. I was too old really, but he believed me and he’s always thought of you as his own, his and mine.’

  ‘How did he find out?’

  ‘Glenys always insisted that she would tell you when you were eighteen. She thought it was only right that once you reached an age when you could consider marriage, you ought to know the truth. With you and Wesley talking about an engagement she had no more time.’

  ‘She told Dad?’ Ethel whispered.

  ‘I knew he’d be angry but I thought his anger would be towards me for deceiving him. I didn’t think he’d turn on you. After all, you had done nothing wrong.’

  ‘He kept saying I’d go bad. Glenys had a child when she was unmarried and little more than a child herself, but I don’t understand why he thinks I’ll grow wicked because of my parents.’ Her heart lurched at the reminder that it had in fact happened to her too. Could a weakness towards men really be inherited, she wondered sadly. Then as her mother sat silently with tears slowly dripping down her face and on to her twisting hands, trying to pluck up the courage to tell her more, Ethel asked the question to which she half dreaded the answer. What if her father had been someone evil? That would explain her father’s worries. A criminal maybe, or someone as wild and violent as him.

  ‘Who was he?’ she asked, her voice surprisingly strong. ‘Who was my father?’

  Molly stared at her for a while. A frown crossed her face as though she wished for something better to impart. ‘Glenys would never say. Now she’s dead and we’ll never know.’

  ‘You must have had some suspicions? Tell me who she was friendly with at that time.’

  ‘It was a boy she knew from school, I expect. Someone who’s probably as ignorant as we are, unaware that he has a lovely daughter called Ethel.’

  They stayed to drink a cup of tea and Ethel promised to send news via her former employer in the café so long as her father – or grandfather, she thought with renewed shock – wasn’t told.

  Driving back to camp in the noisy little car she talked all the way, shouting above the noise of the engine, describing her emotions. When she stopped talking, Albert said something to start her off again. He knew she needed to work it out of her system, to make sense of it, ease away the shock. But their visit had resulted in more questions than those with which they had started – all without answers.

  They stopped outside a small café offering tea and scones and went inside, the car parked on the wide expanse of waste ground at the side where, they guessed, a house had recently stood, the victim of a bomb. The broken walls and piles of rubble that remained were already being covered in greenery, colonized by what in summer would be a riotous glory of wild flowers.

  When Albert had ordered, he encouraged her to continue talking about her mother’s revelation.

  ‘Remember that it doesn’t alter anything,’ he told her. ‘You’re nineteen and out in the world on your own. Your character is firmly set and you have no unpleasant traits that might have been inherited from your unknown father. They would have revealed themselves by now.’

  Again her secret guilt lurched at her. ‘Who was he? I don’t know what I’ve inherited. It’s not knowing, that’s the nightmare.’

  ‘Plenty of others have had to face that one,’ he reminded her gently. ‘Orphans abandoned by their parents and never knowing where they came from, sometimes not even knowing the town in which they were born.’

  ‘Knowing there are others in the same situation doesn’t help me cope. How could it help?’

  ‘At least you knew Glenys for the first eighteen years of your life. Can you really imagine her being attracted to someone like your father? Or any of the other personality failures you fear? I didn’t get to meet her but you knew her well, you know she wouldn’t have chosen to love an evil person or someone weak. And as for violence, surely she had enough of that without seeking out another man who couldn’t control his fists? Remember her, Ethel. Remember that you loved her and feel safe.’

  They ate the poor offerings described as ‘Devonshire’ scones, which fell apart before the margarine and thin jam could be spread. Licking the tip of a finger, Ethel picked up the crumbs and ate without enjoyment. Her mind was filled with a cavalcade of faces, one of which might be her father. She visualized all the men of her sister’s age and wondered which one had lain with Glenys and created her. There weren’t that many. The list was minimal, and as she visualized each one, hope sprang and then died as each face was abandoned.

  ‘Invent him,’ Albert smiled, as though he had guessed what was passing through her mind. ‘Invent the kind of man you’d like to have for a father and he’s yours to imagine.’

  ‘Clark Gable?’

  ‘If you wish. Didn’t I hear somewhere that he stayed in your village one summer?’ He smiled again, egging her on, encouraging her to laugh.

  ‘James Cagney?’

  ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘James Stewart?’

  ‘A possible.’

  ‘Arthur Askey? Tommy Handley? Donald Duck?’ She laughed, but Albert knew the laughter was on the edge of hysteria and tears were not far away.

  He took both of her hands in his, raised them to his lips and said softly, ‘Whoever he was he’d be very proud of the daughter he gave life to, any man would.’

  Ethel stared at him as she fought to gain control, tears glistening in her eyes. ‘If I could choose a man to call father it would be someone like you, Albert. You’d make a perfect father.’

  He felt the shock stiffen on his face. So she saw him as a father-figure, not someone whom she could love. He released the hold on her hands and suggested they left.

  Then she pulled him around to face her and added, ‘Fortunately for me, you’re young enough to be something more than a father. Thank you, Albert, for being such a friend. I don’t know how I’d cope with any of this without having you in my life.’

  He stared at her strangely and said, ‘I’ll be in your life for as long as you want me there.’

  ‘For always,’ she smiled. But she wasn’t looking at him in a way that gave the words any meaning.

  As they waited for the bill, Ethel saw a policeman stop near the MG, dismount from his bicycle, write something in his book, then enter the café. He looked around at the empty tables and walked across to them. ‘Is that vehicle outside belonging to you, sir?’ he asked. Ethel reached for Albert’s hand and held it.

  ‘Spot checks on cars, sir, nothing to worry about. We have to do what we’re told. I want to check on the petrol, is that all right with you, sir?’

  ‘What car?’ Ethel said before Albert could speak. ‘We don’t have a car, we’re waiting for the bus, aren’t we, Albert love?’

  ‘What are those goggles in your hand then?’

  ‘Oh, these? I found them on the chair as I sat down. I was going to throw them into the driver’s seat as we left.’

  Unable to know whether he was in the Royal Airforce or not as he was wearing a uniform he did not recognize, but making an assumption from the sports car outside, the policeman asked, ‘Some sort of flyer, are you, sir? On a bit of a day out?’

  Albert smiled but said nothing, half expecting Ethel to again answer for him.

  The policeman smiled and snapped his notebook closed. ‘I’ve got great admiration for our flyers myself. Whatever uniform you wear. Some sort of special service, are you?’

  Again Albert didn’t reply. He just gave what he hoped was a hesitant smile.

  ‘Too smart for your own good, officer,’ Ethel said in a low voice.

  ‘Just get home as quick as you can, sir, there’s a bit of an inspection going on today and tomorrow. I’d take the quieter roads if I were you.’

  They thanked him politely and left. A quick glance at the map and they headed for the camp by th
e most tortuous, most little-used route. At the second corner they passed the policeman on his bicycle and he waved cheerily.

  * * *

  ‘Thank you,’ Ethel said, as they jumped out of the car back in camp. She stretched over and kissed him, intending to touch his cheek with her lips, but he turned and their lips touched, embarrassing them both. He because he had gone too far too soon and she because she was afraid she had unintentionally encouraged him.

  Rosie and Kate were curious to hear the result of Ethel’s visit home, but apart from explaining about her true mother being her sister, she expanded on it very little.

  ‘I’m tired,’ she excused, but Kate guessed that the brightness of her eyes and the glow on her cheeks meant Ethel had another story to tell. Kate mouthed the word ‘interesting’, with a wink at Rosie. She was amused at the thought of the serious Albert involved in a loving embrace. Rosie wondered whether Baba would be upset and whether he would need comforting.

  The following evening Rosie had a date with the handsome Scottish flyer Connor, and she wished she could cancel it. Connor was a pilot and it was a point of honour never to let them down by not turning up for a date. Pilots needed all their wits about them when they went up to face the enemy. Girlfriend troubles had to be left on the ground. Their job was fearful enough and the girls had to do their best to make sure they were free of other worries and able to concentrate on the job of flying. It was an unwritten law that once a date was arranged, no one would let them down.

  Rosie was no longer looking forward to meeting Connor for a visit to the cinema but Kate insisted on her dressing as smartly as she could, lending her a dress she had brought with her and using her make-up to ‘enhance your lovely blue eyes’.

  Protesting all the way, Rosie set off to meet the young pilot feeling self-conscious with eye-shadow on her lids, eyebrows pencilled to a darker shade, and a soft lipstick touched with a faint smear of vaseline to add a shine.

  ‘If my Nan could see me now she’d disown me,’ she said as Kate walked with her towards the guard post.

  Kate had a date with the son of a wealthy furniture shop proprietor called Rowan Fotheringay, a man who had promised her what he called a good night out. There was a nightclub in the place where he was taking her and as the car he owned spun out along the evening street, through town after town, she began to wonder how far away this nightclub was. She had never been to one before and like Rosie was a little apprehensive. They had been on the road for more than an hour and a half before she realized she was going to London. She began to panic. Unwritten law or not, she wanted to cancel this date and go back to camp.

  Walking home from a date after having to run from a man too passionate was a joke they all enjoyed and she thought that tonight with the worldly Rowan Fotheringay would be the night she lived the joke and found it not funny at all.

  The nightclub was in a cellar in an isolated area where few buildings had been left standing. As the car slowed to a stop she looked around the area and saw streets of destroyed houses that had resulted from the Blitz of previous months.

  ‘I don’t think I want to go down there,’ she said, trying to sound unafraid as they approached the half-hidden doorway below the level of the pavement.

  ‘Come on, gorgeous, you’ll love it. Music and drink and friends having fun, what more can you ask of a night out, eh?’

  The steps were in complete darkness and she was glad of Rowan’s arm around her shoulders. Then as they approached the zig-zag blackout barriers and the heavy velvet curtains, he held her to him, pressing his body against hers in a way that frightened her. She pushed him away as much as the limited space allowed and told him angrily to behave.

  ‘Behave?’ he laughed. ‘Surely you don’t think I’ve brought you all this way to behave?’

  Stumbling back through the passage and up the steps she reached the pavement as he caught up with her.

  ‘Take me back at once!’ she demanded.

  ‘You are joking, you tart! Leading me on then playing the modest virgin isn’t funny, you know. And I’m not the sort to be treated like a fool!’

  ‘I’m the one who’s a fool, thinking you were a man to be trusted. What sort of a girl d’you think I am? Now take me back or I’ll call a policeman.’

  The whole area was already dark and if there had been a policeman standing within six feet of them she wouldn’t have been able to see him.

  Turning away from him, convinced that he’d follow, she walked a few steps then was horrified to hear his footsteps receding back down the steps to the nightclub. In the strange landscape of the ruined buildings, with no light available, she felt in her handbag for a torch. She had to get to where she could find a bus stop. There had to be a railway station near. Somehow she had to get herself back to camp.

  * * *

  For Rosie the evening had started pleasantly enough. Connor was a quiet unassuming man, who did everything to make her feel important, ushering her into the seat on the bus, making sure she was comfortable and paying her fare. When they had queued for fifty minutes and knew they would have to miss the end of the main film, they hesitated about going in, but Connor insisted. ‘We can always find a taxi,’ he said airily. ‘I’ve just had some money from my parents. They know how miserable life is if I can’t go out occasionally and have fun.’

  ‘We could have some fish and chips instead,’ the ever-hungry Rosie suggested but Connor said no. He stood behind her and with an arm around her squeezed her shoulders, pressing her against him, kissing the top of her blonde head. Then he handed her a small box of chocolates and she gasped in delight, wondering how soon she could open it.

  As the queue slowly moved towards the ticket kiosk, Rosie muttered her usual hesitations about wasting his money on her and shouldn’t they go back and try again another night, but he smiled and patted her arm and told her she was worth every penny, even if the film turned out to be rubbish.

  They were just six from the head of the queue when a young airman came out with a girl on his arm. Seeing Connor he called and came over.

  ‘Hi, Connor, how’s Fiona?’

  ‘Oh, she’s fine,’ Connor said. ‘What’s the film like, any good?’

  ‘Not bad, we enjoyed it, didn’t we?’ he asked the girl beside him.

  ‘Who’s Fiona?’ Rosie asked. ‘Your sister?’

  ‘Yes, my little sister, she’s in the Land Army. Proud of her I am. Now,’ he added taking a step forward, ‘this looks like us at last.’

  The friend who had spoken to Connor came back. Pulling something out of his pocket he handed him a photograph. ‘Next time you write to your wife send her this, it’s a photograph I took on your birthday bash. The others weren’t suitable for her to see,’ he laughed, before running back to his girl.

  ‘Your wife?’ Rosie asked, her face colouring in embarrassment. ‘Fiona? She isn’t your sister?’

  ‘No, but that shouldn’t spoil our evening out.’

  ‘Of course it will!’ Rosie was horrified.

  ‘Why? You don’t think men stay loyal when they’re away for months and may be years on end, do you? No sensible woman would expect it. Now d’you want to go upstairs or down?’

  ‘I don’t want to go anywhere with you.’ With a face as bright as the fire engine that was driving noisily past the cinema, she ran without stopping to the bus stop.

  There was a notice pasted on the temporary bus stop sign that stood against the kerb. She read with dismay that due to an unexploded bomb being discovered on one of the roads out of town the buses on that route wouldn’t be running until the following day. Did that mean she couldn’t get back to camp?

  She decided that in case she had to walk the seven miles back to camp, she’d fortify herself first with some fish and chips. It was just after she had been served that the air raid siren went. Grabbing her hot, newspaper-wrapped package she followed the crowd to the street shelter. They wouldn’t have seen the film anyway, she consoled herself.

  The
raid was long lasting and quickly followed by two others, and it was dawn before she emerged from the shelter. Her first action was to phone the camp to explain what had happened. Kate and Ethel would be worried and she hoped someone would pass the message on.

  A bus inspector walked up and down in the vicinity of the bus stop, looking important with his pencil and clip-board, his loud voice answering the questions with which he was bombarded by hopeful passengers. When she was able to get close enough she asked the way to the bus route that would take her to the camp. The route was a devious one and it was almost an hour before she was in sight of it.

  When she eventually reached the bus stop there was a long line of patient people standing looking hopefully along the road. A murmur of voices made her turn and she saw one of the familiar red double-deckers approaching. She was surprised to see Kate waiting in the queue. Her make-up was less than perfect, her hair had lost its curls and she looked terrified.

  ‘Where have you been?’ they asked in unison. Briefly, as the queue worked itself towards the bus entrance, they described their disappointing evenings out.

  ‘I thought I wouldn’t get back. I had no idea where I was,’ Kate told Rosie.

  ‘I knew exactly where I was!’ Rosie wailed. ‘In the arms of a married man! My Nan would kill me!’ The bus looked full and they sighed, certain they would have to wait for the next. Then an inspector appeared and the conductor made an announcement and everyone groaned as the passengers began to alight from the bus and the long queue reformed.

  ‘Now what’s happened?’ Kate sighed.

  ‘The roads are blocked by a collapsed building and the bus can’t run,’ the conductor told them. ‘We’re trying to arrange to take you to a point where someone will escort you to where another bus will be waiting.’

  ‘Let’s get back on then,’ someone called, and the conductor shook his head.

  ‘This bus is needed on another route. You’ll have to wait an hour at least. Come back in an hour and your guide will be waiting. I suggest you go and find yourselves a cup of tea.’