Walking Back to Happiness

by Anne Bennett

  She phoned her older sister, Christine, from the telephone box down the road, before she rang the doctor, knowing that Colm was way past a doctor’s help and her sister would know what to do.

  Christine, unmarried and older than Bridie by five years, did know. It was a good job she was there to arrange a funeral for after the initial shock, Bridie had been so overwhelmed with grief she’d been under sedation ever since, unable to give any thought or concern to Hannah and her plight.

  Christine was determined, despite Bridie’s condition, that the old man at least would have the dignity of being laid to rest in a proper grave and with a full Requiem Mass. Mike’s remains were probably left on the beach, like many more.

  She was worried though about her sister. She had totally gone to pieces and she knew she couldn’t be left alone and decided to take her back to Wiltshire to live with her. She could decide what to do about the house later. Houses would, she guessed, be at a premium after the war and she wouldn’t advise her to sell it yet awhile. But she could let it out. She didn’t have to concern herself about the details of it. She’d instruct her solicitor to find a reputable agent as soon as possible. Unoccupied houses ran quickly to rack and ruin and anyway, with so many being bombed out of their homes, empty houses were in danger of being invaded by squatters.

  She came upon Mike’s letter on the mantelpiece as she began packing some of her sister’s things and read it dispassionately.

  Mike wrote that this girl, Hannah Delaney, was carrying his child. How did he know that? It could have been anyone’s bastard she was carrying, but she’d picked him to carry the can for it. Christine had heard there were plenty of girls doing that these days.

  There’d obviously been no talk of the engagement, or a wedding before the girl became pregnant, because Bridie would have written to tell her. Well, Mike was no longer able to defend himself and her sister she knew was in no fit state to look after this girl, whoever she was. She was in no state to look after anyone or anything, and she screwed up the letter into a ball and threw it into the fire.

  ‘God, Hannah, when would he have time to write?’ Tilly said sternly to her tearful friend when there had been no letters for over a week.

  By then the whole country knew that Operation Overlord, or D-Day, had begun on 6th June 1944 and was deemed a success. ‘They’re advancing in enemy-held territory,’ Tilly went on. ‘He can hardly say, “Hold on a minute,” and get the whole company to stop while he writes a note to you. Even if he managed to write, where the hell would he post it? It’s not like at the camp where there’s a handy military pillar box nearby.’

  Hannah knew all Tilly said was true and she tried to make herself believe that any day there would be a letter, maybe a clutch of them, and she’d know he was safe. She wondered if he’d ever even had time to write to his parents. She’d expected to hear from them by now too. Something would have to be decided and soon about her pregnancy, but worry about Mike seemed to loom over everything.

  There had been an absence of letters for almost three weeks when Hannah was summoned to the supervisor Miss Henderson’s office. She’d been expecting it for some time for she was five months pregnant and had had to let out her work and leisure clothes to their fullest extent and that morning she’d seen the supervisor’s eyes on her as she served breakfasts.

  The supervisor looked at her over the top of the glasses people said she just wore for effect. Hannah had had little dealings with her since the day she’d been interviewed for the job. She hadn’t liked her manner then and she didn’t like it any better now.

  Miss Henderson was thin, not just slim, stick thin, and she wore suits with fitted jackets to emphasise her shape. Everything about her was thin; her long face, her nose, her lips, even her voice had a thin snap to it.

  Beside her, Hannah felt big and ungainly. But she raised her head when Miss Henderson said disdainfully, ‘You’ve been putting on weight lately, Miss Delaney?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Henderson.’

  ‘Are you expecting a child?’

  There was no point denying it. ‘Yes, Miss Henderson.’

  ‘And how long, pray, did you intend to keep this information to yourself?’

  ‘I don’t know, Miss Henderson.’

  ‘You don’t know, I see. Who is the father of the child?’

  Hannah thought of telling Miss Henderson to mind her own business. She shrugged, what did it matter now? ‘A soldier, Miss Henderson. Name of Mike … Michael Murphy.’

  ‘Married?’ Miss Henderson snapped in a voice full of scorn.

  Hannah was shocked. ‘No, Miss Henderson.’

  ‘So he can marry you?’

  ‘We were to be married, Miss Henderson. Everything was booked. But then he got shipped south and then overseas.’

  ‘So now what will you do, for you realise you can’t stay here?’ Miss Henderson said. ‘You’ll upset and embarrass our guests, so when I tell you to pack your things, where will you go?’

  Hannah chewed on her bottom lip. There was only one place. ‘To Michael’s parents,’ she said. ‘Mike told me to go to them and wait there for him. On his first leave we are going to be married.’

  ‘I’m glad someone is prepared to offer you a place to stay,’ Miss Henderson said. ‘I suggest you go straight up and pack. We will have the cards and any wages due ready for you in one hour. I want you away from here by noon at the latest.’

  The news flew around the kitchen and Tilly went pounding up the back stairs into the room to see Hannah stuffing her case with things she was taking from the wardrobes and small chest. She was crying. She’d done a lot of that lately and Tilly put her arms around her. ‘The old cow. It’s true then?’

  Dumbly Hannah nodded.

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘What can I do?’ Hannah said through her tears. ‘I’ll go to Mike’s parents. At least there I might get some news of Mike. They’ll be informed officially if anything has happened, you know, if … If he was injured or something.’

  ‘He won’t be injured,’ Tilly said confidently. ‘Didn’t they say D-Day was all a big success?’

  ‘Aye, they did, but the Germans hardly held a welcoming committee on the French beaches.’

  Tilly didn’t want to go down that road, so she said, ‘D’you think they’ll take you in?’

  ‘I think so,’ Hannah said, with more confidence than she was actually feeling. ‘I’m carrying Mike’s child, their grandchild. They’ll not turn me away.’

  ‘Keep in touch. Let me know where you are,’ Tilly said.

  ‘That’s where I’ll be, with Mike’s parents,’ Hannah said firmly, ‘and you have that address.’

  Hannah clearly remembered the despair and panic she went through when she alighted from the taxi she’d taken from the railway station and stood on the pavement with her case and holdall beside her. The house was boarded up, the garden overgrown and neglected, and a ‘To Let’ board was stuck in the garden and creaked as it moved slowly in the wind. She was so horror-struck, she was almost rooted to the ground, and the taxi driver had to remind her of his fare.

  She knew then that Mike was dead. Nothing but a disaster of that magnitude would cause Mike’s parents to leave the house they’d loved.

  This was confirmed by a neighbour. ‘Don’t know where the old girl’s gone,’ she said in answer to Hannah’s question. ‘Heard she weren’t right in the head either. Not to be wondered at. I mean it weren’t only the son …’

  ‘The son?’

  ‘Mike. The son. The old man got the telegram saying that he’d been killed and he dropped dead too. Just like that. In the hall, I heard. Bridie’s sister came and took over. Never liked her much myself, but someone had to see to things and she wasn’t capable. Bridie, I mean. She was out of it most of the time.’

  ‘She left no message for me?’ Hannah asked desperately.

  The woman regarded the swell of her stomach and said gently, ‘No, love, she didn’t. But ask at the estate agent�
��s who’s trying to let the house out. His address is on the board. She might have left some word with him.’

  But no one had left a message for her and the estate agent knew nothing of Bridie Murphy’s whereabouts. Everything was handled through a solicitor, he said, and he wasn’t at liberty to disclose which one it was.

  Hannah dragged her case and holdall to a nearby park and sat on the bench and tried to think what to do. Mike was dead and later she would grieve for him and cry for the future denied them, but for now worry filled her mind. Her one possible bolt hole had been irrevocably closed with Mike’s father dead, his mother disappeared. What the hell was she to do?

  The day was hot and trickles of sweat ran down the sides of Hannah’s cheeks and she felt it dribbling down her back and between her swollen breasts. She took off the coat that wouldn’t fit in either the case or holdall, but still she sat and thought of what she must do.

  Eventually, she got to her feet. She’d make her way to her parish church, she decided, and pray for guidance. She could think of nothing else. But she could afford no more taxis or trams and the rattly uncomfortable bus seemed to take ages and when she alighted from it, there was still a hefty walk before her. When she arrived at the church, she was hotter than ever and very tired and light-headed with hunger.

  Inside it was dim and cool and she was glad of it. She genuflected in front of the altar and went into a pew, intending to pray for guidance. When she knelt down, she was suddenly overwhelmed by all that had happened and wept.

  She’d thought herself alone, but Father Benedict was in the sacristy and came out when he heard her. He knew Hannah by sight, knew her to be a good Catholic who seldom missed Mass and went to Communion often, and he wondered what had distressed her so much.

  Going closer, he took in other things, the luggage she had with her and the fact that with her coat removed it was obvious the girl was pregnant, and his heart sank. She’d been dismissed from her job, that much he was certain of, and if she was here, then she’d been let down in some way by the father of the child she carried.

  She would be another candidate for the unmarried mothers’ home in Leeds, run by the Sisters of Charity. Mind, Father Benedict thought, that name didn’t suit them at all. ‘Judgemental Sisters of Bullying and Intimidation’ would be better.

  He knew the girls had sinned, but he thought it wasn’t helpful to ram that fact down their throats every mortal minute. Still, if the home hadn’t been there, what would happen to the unfortunate girls? Society hadn’t made much provision for them and not all of them had families, or at any rate, families that would accept them and bear the shame.

  He put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder and she turned a tear-stained face to look up in alarm at the priest. ‘Come, come, my dear,’ he said gently. ‘Don’t upset yourself like this. Come and sit up on the pew and tell me all about it.’

  In the ensuing miserable months afterwards, Hannah remembered the priest’s kindness as she told him her tale, explaining her panic and shame, and his concern for her when she admitted she had nowhere to go and she didn’t know which way to turn. He took her arm gently and when she stumbled leaving the pew, he prevented her from falling and then sat her down again. ‘When did you last eat, my dear?’ he asked.

  ‘Breakfast,’ Hannah muttered and she saw the priest consult his watch. ‘And now it is after five,’ he said. ‘My housekeeper will have my evening meal ready for me shortly. I suggest you come home with me and share it.’

  Hannah felt far too weak to argue with the priest, but just as if she had, he went on, ‘You need a meal inside you and a good night’s sleep,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow, I will take you to a place I know that cares for girls in trouble.’

  ‘Oh Father,’ Hannah cried. ‘Are there such places?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes indeed there are, my dear,’ the priest told her reassuringly. ‘But if we don’t go home this instant and eat the marvellous meal that my housekeeper has undoubtedly prepared, neither of us will reach it, for she’ll lash the pair of us to death with her tongue.’

  Hannah smiled at him because he was being so kind, but it was a watery smile, and she made no attempt to speak for she knew the tears would have begun again. The priest, however, seemed to understand and he helped her to her feet and led her from the church.

  Chapter Eight

  By June 1947, three years on from that fear-ridden first pregnancy, Hannah was four months pregnant. The nausea she’d suffered was quite gone and she felt well. Doctor Humphries, to whom she’d gone to have her pregnancy confirmed, was quite young, despite the beard he was sporting, and Hannah was glad he was, because she felt she had to tell him that this wasn’t her first pregnancy. He wasn’t at all shocked. He said such things happened, especially in wartime, and she wasn’t to worry about it.

  His voice was gentle and reassuring and his kind brown eyes full of understanding. ‘You’re not an old woman, you’re young and healthy,’ he told her. ‘And you have signs of having an easy labour and birth. Was your other one trouble free?’

  Immediately, there was a flashback in Hannah’s mind to the birth of her first baby, a little boy, in the stark room in the home. You were not allowed to have problems there. Those that did and necessitated a doctor’s attention were considered worse than nuisances. They were treated as if they’d done it on purpose.

  There had been no attempt at pain relief and no sympathy for those suffering. Hannah had heard one of them tell one girl, who screamed out in pain and fear as she writhed on the bed, that pain would help purge her soul, while another told her sternly to stop making such a fuss.

  Hannah, stunned by the nuns’ attitude, prayed devoutly that the birth of her child would go smoothly. Her prayers were answered and she had bitten her lip to prevent any cry escaping from her. No doctor had had to attend her, she was left to the ministrations of Sister Celia who’d learnt a smattering of nursing and did duty as a midwife and had sewn the large tear that the baby’s birth had caused, crudely and unfeelingly.

  ‘Yes,’ Hannah told the doctor. ‘The birth was fine.’

  ‘Excellent!’ the doctor smiled at her. ‘I know it’s early days yet, but have you decided where you will have the child?’ He checked her medical notes. ‘You have a fine house of your own, I believe?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I have, but my husband insists on a proper nursing home,’ Hannah said. ‘He’s keen on Oaklands in Sutton Coldfield.’

  ‘My, my, what a fortunate young woman you are. I wish all my pregnant ladies had such consideration and care,’ Doctor Humphries said. ‘Oaklands has a good reputation, I believe. Well, Mrs Bradley, there is little more to be said. Come and see me next month.’

  As Hannah made her way home, she thought about Arthur’s changed attitude towards her. She knew he still considered her as soiled goods that he’d been inveigled into marrying, spoke to her as little as possible and often looked at her as if she’d crawled out from under a stone, but just lately she’d sensed a softening in him. The previous evening, he’d passed her a bundle of notes. ‘Get yourself some decent clothes to cover you up,’ he’d said. ‘I won’t have the neighbours say I keep you in rags.’

  Though the gesture was done for the neighbours’ sake rather than Hannah’s, Hannah was pleased. She now had trouble finding things she could wear every day, for the slight increase in her girth had caused her to fasten her skirts, which she could no longer zip, with a safety pin.

  ‘Why thank you, Arthur,’ she said. ‘That is very generous of you.’

  Arthur made no comment on that. Instead, he said, ‘I’m increasing your housekeeping as well. I want you to eat as much fruit and vegetables as you can get and drink plenty of milk.’

  Hannah was surprised that Arthur seemed to know so much about the needs of a growing baby, but Arthur had read up on it. This baby, the only one he’d ever have, was going to be his and his alone and he wanted a healthy child. To ensure this, the mother had to be cared for while she was carrying the child, but he did
n’t tell Hannah any of this.

  He’d also insisted she give up the job at Gloria’s in July and though Hannah was disappointed, she complied, as keen as Arthur was to produce a healthy infant.

  She did balk a bit, though, when he said that in future the groceries were to be delivered. ‘Arthur, we’re only a step away from the village.’

  ‘I know that, but I’ll not have you carrying heavy bags,’ Arthur said firmly. ‘And get Josie to help you more. She can fill the coal scuttles in the morning and help you with the washing and any heavy work.’

  ‘She has school, Arthur.’

  ‘She could do more than she does,’ Arthur snapped. ‘She should do something to earn her keep.’

  ‘Oh, Arthur, you know her brother and sister send money every month.’

  ‘Oh yes, I know they do,’ Arthur said. ‘But they tied up her share of the farm effectively, didn’t they? No one can touch it until Josie is twenty-one. By rights, that money should have come to me.’

  ‘I don’t agree, Arthur,’ Hannah said wearily, for this was a recurring theme that Arthur constantly harked back to. ‘That money is to secure Josie’s future,’ she went on. ‘She’ll probably marry one day. She wouldn’t expect you to foot the bill then.’

  ‘No indeed!’ Arthur said heatedly. ‘I should hope not. After all, I will have my own child to see to by then and I shall see my child will lack for nothing.’

  Arthur said a similar thing to Mr and Mrs Banks who’d invited Arthur and Hannah to dinner the following month. ‘Oh my dear, how exciting for you,’ Elizabeth said, giving Hannah’s arm a squeeze.

  She sincerely hoped the baby would take away the inner sadness that still lingered in Hannah’s eyes that she thought was because Hannah still grieved for the young soldier who’d died. She was convinced a child would help her get over it. ‘There’s nothing to beat holding your own child in your arms,’ she said confidently and was surprised at the look that came over Hannah’s face at her words. It spoke of deep sorrow. ‘She looked bereft,’ Elizabeth was to say later to Reg.