by Carol Rivers
Vi shook her head quickly. She had no idea what the telegram truly meant. But she was going to cling to the hope that it meant that Alan was still alive. ‘No, Kay. The major ain’t saying Alan’s dead. He’s writing what he knows and that ain’t much. Missing in action is what he says. The word “dead” don’t come into it.’
Kay’s eyes were wide with fear. ‘I can’t think straight.’
‘Then I’ll do the thinking for you,’ Vi said firmly, hiding the deep fear inside her. ‘Alan’s missing, right? Just missing. Could be anywhere, couldn’t he? Think about it, Kay. He could be hiding from the enemy. There’s lots of blokes who’ve done that, like the accounts you read about in the papers. The fact is, they ain’t got a body. Sorry to say that, love, but Alan would want you look at it that way.’
‘But missing in action!’ insisted Kay, not listening as she choked back her tears. ‘I don’t know where my husband is! He could be dying in a foreign land or he could be—’
‘Kay!’ Vi shook her again. ‘You must stop this. You’re not a widow yet.’
‘Ain’t this as good as?’
‘No, it isn’t! What good is it you cracking up? You know what Alan would say if he heard you right this moment. He’d be a bloody wreck, that’s what. After all, he was always telling you not to let your imagination run riot. And now that’s just what you’re doing.’
Kay turned her head slowly. ‘Vi, I can’t help it.’
‘Yes, you can. You’ve got Alfie to think of.’
Kay nodded, her expression still terrified. ‘Yes, but I – I just—’
‘Turn your mind to all them rescues Alan did,’ Vi urged as she saw Kay swallow back her breath. ‘Look at how many people he saved in the Blitz. If anyone can look after himself, it’s Alan.’
‘Oh, God, I hope so.’
‘That’s it. Keep hoping. And praying. And you’ll see him again.’
Kay lowered her chin, her lips trembling.
Just then, the back door slammed and they jumped. Babs hurried into the room, dressed in her coat and scarf. She stared at the telegram. ‘Oh Kay!’
‘Alan’s missing in action,’ Vi said quickly.
‘I’m so sorry.’
Vi looked at the two young women who had had their fair share of problems – yet had overcome so many of them. But how was Kay going to get through this?
‘Kay,’ whispered Babs softly as she sat by her, ‘I’ll remind you what you said to me after Eddie had gone. Be strong for the kids’ sake, you said. Alfie can’t see you go to pieces.’
‘I know.’
‘Alan would say chin-up, wouldn’t he?’
Kay silently pressed the hanky that Babs gave her over her damp eyes.
‘That’s the stuff, Babs,’ agreed Vi, trying to ignore the pain in her chest that was becoming a regular visitor lately. This news had done nothing to help it. ‘Your Eddie will make it. So will Alan. Them two boys have got too much to live for to let Jerry take it away.’ She picked up the telegram that had fallen on the floor and folded it into her apron pocket. ‘I’m going to make a cuppa and when I come back I want to see a smile on your faces. Let’s have no more tears now.’
Vi rushed out to the kitchen and leaned against the table. She wiped the sweat from her brow and waited for the pain to pass. The telegram had scared the life out of her. That Major Whatshisname could’ve said more, couldn’t he? That was the army for you. No bedside manner, not even in death, the sods.
Vi winced as the pain tightened. What was she thinking! Alan wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be! If there was a favour in life she owed to anyone it was Alan Lewis. He’d always been like a son to her. Doing all her odd jobs and looking out for her. He’d taken her in when her house was bombed and given her a home. He’d always been there, ready to make her life easier. Someone like him couldn’t be dead. Not Alan.
December had rushed up like a steam train, Kay thought, as she and Babs shopped in the market for small presents for the children. Neither of them was going to have a tree this year; they couldn’t justify the expense. Though Kay still had the money in the Post Office account, she was determined not to spend it. The answer to its origin would have to come from Alan himself. As she had done every day since that telegram, she sent out her love to him and a quick prayer. It was the way she coped now, reminding herself daily, as Vi had insisted, that while there was no news it was good news.
Kay glanced at the stalls in the market; there was plenty to tempt her, but she was determined to be thrifty. Now that Alfie was settled at school she would get through Christmas and find a job in the new year. Vi wouldn’t have the responsibility of looking after him then, and the problem of money would be solved.
‘What do you think of this?’ Babs’s question brought her out of her thoughts, as Babs turned over the tattered pages of a book. ‘Tim would like this annual but the front page is missing. Still, it’s not in bad condition for sixpence.’
‘Yes, it looks all right,’ agreed Kay. She sometimes found her mind wandering, her resolution to stay strong about Alan weakening. And it was Christmas. A special time of the year that she and Alan had loved. Thinking about presents and festivities didn’t hold any appeal.
Babs paid for the book and slipped it into her shopping bag. Glancing at Kay, she frowned. ‘We don’t seem to be in the mood for shopping. Let’s have a coffee at Lenny’s to warm us up.’
Kay nodded, barely noticing the decorations that were strung around the stalls. There were not very many but the traders had done their best in what were increasingly tough times. The greengrocery stalls were busy with shoppers, though the supplies of fruit were limited. No one had seen a banana in years.
In the late morning, the handmade red, yellow and blue paper chains around Lenny’s stall fluttered in the breeze. Kay and Babs drank their coffees in a subdued mood. ‘Do you and Vi and Alfie want to eat with us on Christmas Day?’ Babs asked. ‘We could share the expense like we did last Christmas.’
‘That’d be nice,’ Kay said. ‘On Christmas Day we could have something different for a change. Bubble and squeak always goes down well with thick slices of bread.’
‘Then, after, instead of being stuck indoors, if it’s not raining we could walk down to the river,’ Babs agreed excitedly.
‘You know, Babs, I can’t believe it’s the end of 1943 and almost a new year. So much has happened since war was announced in 1939.’
‘Yes, our lives have certainly changed in four years,’ said Babs, nodding. ‘Have you heard from Jean Pearson recently?’
Kay shook her head. ‘I know she’s very busy with lots of other cases to see to. Perhaps she’s given up hope of ever finding Sean.’
‘Dare I ask – have you?’
Kay shrugged. ‘Sometimes I want to return to that house in Stock’s Lane. Just to satisfy myself he’s not there.’
‘You wouldn’t go on your own?’
‘No, I’d ask you to come with me.’
Babs smiled. ‘So you have been thinking about him?’
‘He’s always in me thoughts.’ As they were talking, an elderly man with a walking stick approached.
‘My God, it’s Neville Butt, Paul’s dad,’ gasped Babs. ‘I haven’t seen him in months. Since before Eddie came home and me and Paul—’ Babs stopped, her face clouding. ‘He’s coming over to talk to us.’
Kay saw that Neville’s appearance had changed dramatically. He was bent over and shivering in the cold, despite his warm coat, hat and scarf, all of which seemed to swamp his frail figure.
‘How are you, Neville?’ Babs asked.
‘Missing me boy.’
‘Paul?’ said Babs in surprise.
‘Yes, didn’t you know? He enlisted.’
Babs put down her coffee. ‘He’s left his job?’ she asked in a shocked voice.
‘He chucked it in, saying there was no pleasure in it. I told him he was daft, but he wouldn’t listen. If it wasn’t for you, Paul would still be safe at home.’
&n
bsp; ‘Wh . . . what do you mean?’ Babs stammered.
‘He couldn’t forget you. Had to go away. You should have put a stop to it long ago. You had a good husband in Eddie.’
‘I don’t think you should say that,’ said Kay. She saw that Babs had turned white.
‘Somebody has to,’ Neville muttered. ‘It’s the truth. Not that the women round here will admit it openly. They just talk about it behind yer back.’
Kay stood up. ‘Neville, that’s an unkind thing to say.’
‘No, it’s not. It’s the truth.’ Without looking at them again, he turned away, slowly disappearing in the crowd.
Babs gave out a shaky sigh. ‘Oh Kay, I didn’t think I could feel much more guilty. But now I do. I haven’t said anything to you but Neville’s right. Jenny and Alice go out of their way to avoid me now. I saw Jenny’s daughter, Emily, at the corner shop last week and she seemed embarrassed about saying hello.’
‘You never said,’ Kay said.
‘You have your own problems.’
‘But we’re best mates. I’ll speak to Jenny and Alice when I see them.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t, Kay.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘They’ve got a right to be the way they are. I was carrying on with Paul behind Eddie’s back.’
‘That’s nobody’s business but yours.’
‘I found out Gill had been insulted at school. And Tim was in fights because of the names he was called.’
‘Is that what made you decide to end it with Paul?’
Babs nodded. ‘I saw what I was doing to the kids and Eddie. Neville’s right, I should have been stronger. If I had been serious about stopping it, I could’ve prevented Paul from getting in so deeply.’ She brushed the hair from her face. ‘He wouldn’t be at war now, Eddie would be none the wiser and the kids wouldn’t have had to see their dad put a knife to me throat.’ She stared at Kay. ‘I didn’t know that loving someone could hurt so many people.’
Kay saw the grief on her friend’s face that had aged her so much over the past few months. Babs was paying dearly for the happiness she had tried so hard to grasp with Paul.
Christmas Eve was spent at Babs’s house. There were wafer-thin slices of chicken to celebrate and baked potatoes and vegetables to smother the plates. The children performed their play once again and Kay was amused to see how Alfie’s confidence had grown since he had started at school. Gill gave him the parts of all three wise men to play, while Gill was Mary and Tim was Joseph and the shepherds. But the tableau soon erupted into laughter when the baby’s head fell off. The doll was returned to Gill’s bedroom and the evening spent playing charades.
On Christmas Day, after opening their few presents and enjoying a fry-up, Kay and Babs took the children to the river and then the park.
‘Any news from the War Office?’ Babs asked, hugging herself in her heavy winter coat, well-darned at the collar and cuffs.
‘No,’ replied Kay, equally muffled by the thick wool collar attached to her herringbone coat. ‘I don’t turn on the wireless these days as it’s all bad news, although Vi listens to the BBC reports as she sits in her chair.’
‘Berlin was bombed by the RAF and thousands perished. Dreadful,’ said Babs, her warmth breath filling the air as they took their places on the bench, while the children ran wildly on the green. ‘They’re German families and are only the same as us. It’s the madmen who run their country that should take the punishment.’
‘Don’t let’s think about war,’ said Kay, listening to the joyful laughter of the children as they ran on the frosty grass.
‘There’s been good things that’s happened,’ said Babs nodding. ‘Like your Alfie going to school. And Vi getting better. Any regrets about leaving Drovers?’
Kay threaded her hand through the crook of her friend’s arm and grinned. ‘No, but being a lady of leisure is hard work.’
Soon they could hardly speak for laughter, causing the children to hurry over and stare at them.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Gill in concern.
‘Nothing, but laughter is the best medicine,’ Babs spluttered. ‘And it’s free.’
Tim and Alfie had crimson cheeks and drips on their noses. Kay handed them a hanky, giggles erupting once more as she and Babs saw the funny side of nothing in particular; a brighter end, she decided, to the long and lonely year without Alan.
Chapter Forty-Three
Kay had known that the early months of 1944 would be cold and lean, but keeping the house warm was almost impossible. Added to the work of chopping up the fire-wood and eking out the coal, the Luftwaffe flew over again in January.
‘Thought that would happen,’ said Vi one bitterly cold day as the British planes droned overhead, chasing off the enemy. ‘Wasn’t going to let us get off scot-free.’ Kay was busy making up the fire as Vi’s poor circulation made her legs swell and she was often unable to do much other than sit with her feet up listening to the radio. They were both dressed in coats, scarves and boots. Even the bombs that dropped on London were not as important as survival in the cold.
‘Well, it’s nothing like as bad as the Blitz. But all the same, it’s frightening when they fly over this way.’
‘Did you hear on the wireless that Jerry is supposed to have dropped two hundred and sixty-eight tons of high explosives and thousands of incendiaries on southeast England? It’s a wonder we ain’t been blown sky-high,’ Vi pronounced from her chair. Kay knew the constant reports from the BBC only added to Vi’s irritability.
‘Well, there’s always the Anderson,’ commented Kay lightly, her fingers filthy and cold as she arranged the wood in the grate. ‘But it’s like a freeze-box in there, as you know.’
‘You won’t get me back in there for love nor money,’ agreed Vi with a contemptuous snort. ‘Dunno how we managed it before. No wonder Londoners call this the Little Blitz. Makes you wonder what’s coming next.’
Though Kay agreed with Vi, she tried not to let her fear get the better of her – or the cold. Vi had never really got back to her old self and in the dark days of winter her cough had returned leaving her breathless at the slightest movement.
‘Let me give you some help, flower,’ tutted Vi, trying to get up.
‘Move and I’ll clock you,’ threatened Kay with a grin.
Vi gave an unexpected chuckle. ‘You know what?’ she asked dryly.
‘What?’
‘I’m fed up listening to meself.’
Kay was on her knees and turned round slowly and giggled. Careful not to place her dirty hands on the chair or Vi’s clothes, she leaned across and plonked a kiss on Vi’s cheek.
‘What’s that for?’ asked Vi in surprise.
‘Reminding me how lonely I’d be without you moaning.’ Kay saw Vi blush, waving her hand dismissively and blowing out derisively with her lips.
Just then, another wave of bombers flew over. Kay rushed to the window. ‘Don’t panic. They’re ours, I think. P’raps the bombing won’t last long,’ she said hopefully, returning to tend to the fire.
But in February, she was proven wrong.
‘Whitehall, Horse Guards Parade, St James’s and Chelsea have all been attacked,’ Vi read from the paper one afternoon just before Kay left to collect Alfie from school. ‘Watch out as you go,’ Vi added warningly as she did every day. Kay closed the front door and before knocking on Babs’s door, glanced up at the sky. It was dull and grey still with a trace of the snow that had fallen all over the country.
Babs did the same when she emerged, swathed in a thick, woolly scarf over the collar of her coat. As they did every day, they talked about the noise of the British guns in the night, seeing-off the bombers, which kept them both awake. ‘Lucky to have such good defences, I suppose,’ said Babs as they went. ‘Glad it wasn’t us, though. Did you hear Whitehall got it again in the early hours?’
‘Yes, so Vi said.’
‘Harry Sway called by and told me to tell you in the event of the docks
being targeted, we’re to evacuate immediately to the Underground where everyone seems to be going these days.’
Kay grinned. ‘I’ll get him to tell Vi that.’
‘Legs still bad, are they?’
Kay shrugged as they turned the corner towards Quarry Street. ‘It’d be like getting the Queen to move from Buckingham Palace.’
‘No chance of that,’ said Babs, smiling.
But just a month later Kay read of the close shave that central London had taken. ‘The buggers dropped them phosphorous incendiaries followed by high explosives near the palace,’ shouted Vi angrily from the front room as Kay was cleaning the kitchen, as once again there seemed to be dust everywhere.
Kay didn’t answer, but sank down on a chair, looking out at the grey spring day. She was fed up with all the bad news, the cold and the shortages. Then a reluctant smile lifted her lips. Conditions weren’t half as bad as they could be. During the real Blitz she remembered returning to the house to discover there was dust covering even the Spam!
Chapter Forty-Four
It was a warm and sunny day when Kay looked out on the yard from the kitchen window to see Alfie and his friends playing near the Anderson. Neither she nor Babs allowed the children to venture into the street now because of the danger of Germany’s new weapons of mass destruction, the Doodlebugs, as everyone called them. Kay had taught Alfie to stay alert, listening out for the pilotless aeroplanes packed with explosives that could be heard from some distance by the menacing drone of their engines. It was when the flying bombs stopped making the terrifying sound and fell to the earth that tragedy struck.
Kay sighed heavily as she reflected on the long campaign of air raids that had once again forced Londoners to take shelter. No sooner had the Little Blitz ended in April, than the Doodlebugs began in June. Even the success of the D-Day invasion, when people assumed the war was almost won, had been forgotten in the onslaught of Hitler’s vengeful new weapons.
