Telegrams and Teacakes: A heartbreaking World War Two family saga, page 7
She couldn’t help thinking about the stomach-churning story she’d heard from one of her customers whose son, held in a Nazi prisoner-of-war camp, had been forced to eat bread made of sawdust. Audrey suspected that this was likely only one of the trials their soldiers were facing, but the thought of strong men starving near to death deeply affected her. Putting a meal on the table, however humble, was what she did, so to think that Charlie might not even have anything to eat… oh, it didn’t bear thinking of.
Keep safe, Charlie, she thought, pausing in her scrubbing again for a moment as she was hit by a bolt of pain in her lower back that made her drop the scrubbing brush. It skittered across the yard. Audrey tried to sit back again but instead fell onto her side. She closed her eyes and drew her knees up to relieve the pain.
‘Oh no!’ said Mary, trying to throw her little arms round Audrey, her brown eyes full of concern. ‘Shall I call Old Reg? Or fetch the smelling salts?’
Seeing the distress on Mary’s face, Audrey gritted her teeth against the pain and forced herself to smile from her ungainly position on the floor.
‘Don’t worry anyone, Mary love, it’s Sunday,’ she breathed, trying to sit upright but failing. ‘Help me up to sitting, will you? I’ll be all right in a minute.’
‘Wait,’ said Mary, jumping up and dashing into the Anderson shelter, from where she extracted a pillow and a flour sack. She gently pushed the pillow under Audrey’s head, then laid the sack over her body, before racing upstairs to the kitchen, leaving Audrey where she had fallen, gripped by terror as she waited, desperately, to feel her baby move. Hardly daring to breathe, she held her hand over her bump, praying and begging for it to poke her with an elbow, knee or ankle. After an agonising few moments, it did. Relief coursed through Audrey’s veins.
‘I’ve got you some tea,’ said Mary, who had reappeared, walking towards her and bending down, with tea sloshing out of the cup and into the saucer that she’d so carefully carried downstairs. ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t make fresh and waste the rations. There was some left in the pot. The “dregs” as Uncle John calls it.’
Audrey smiled, knowing that the teapot had been standing for hours. But now that the pain had subsided a little, she was able to sit up and lift the cup of cold, weak tea to her lips.
‘Thank you, Mary, love, it’s delicious,’ she said, blinking in the sunlight. ‘I think I’ll be all right now. The pain has gone.’
‘You’re awfully pale,’ said Mary, inspecting Audrey’s face so closely their noses almost touched, resting her little cool hand on Audrey’s forehead. Audrey smiled and chuckled. Her heart swelled at Mary’s sweet ways, but she didn’t want the girl to be worrying. Though her own head was awash with anxiety, she knew she couldn’t let the thoughts in her head show on her face.
‘I’m right as rain now,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Mary.
‘Yes, I’m absolutely fine,’ Audrey said, taking hold of Mary’s hand and squeezing it. At that moment, Lily came into the backyard singing, carrying Joy in her arms. On seeing Audrey under a flour sack with her back against the bakery wall and the tins scattered around her feet, her face fell and she stopped singing.
‘What’s happened?’ she said, gently putting Joy down to toddle towards Mary, who held her arms outstretched. ‘Do you need a doctor?’
Audrey felt her eyes fill with tears, but tutted and rapidly blinked them away. She never cried in front of anyone else and wouldn’t start now.
‘No, I don’t! I can manage perfectly all right on my own. Besides, what would he say?’ she said, wearily. ‘The baby’s still moving, so he or she is fine. I don’t want to bother the doctor. I’ve only a matter of weeks left now, so I think it’s probably just that when the baby moves into a certain position, he or she is pressing on something. The little monkey!’
She managed to raise a smile and held her hand out so Lily could help her up to standing. Back on her feet, the bakery yard seemed to spin around as if she was on a merry-go-round. She blinked several times, focussing on the crop of leeks that burst out of the soil on top of the Anderson shelter like the few strands of hair that stuck up on Uncle John’s head. Eventually, the spinning slowed down and her vision was clear.
‘You should stop working so hard,’ said Lily. ‘We’ve got Betty to help in the shop now and William and Uncle John in the bakehouse. I can do more shifts as well as my work at the library. Albert is out delivering but he could do more in the bakehouse if you needed him. Please promise me you’ll see the doctor. If you don’t promise me, I’ll see him for you.’
Disliking being told what to do and not being able to stand the thought of working less at her beloved bakery, Charlie’s family’s business, Audrey felt a ripple of irritation pass through her.
‘Stop fussing,’ she said, ‘and please do leave me alone to make my own decisions. Right now, I better sort out these tins, sweep out the shelter and bathe Mary before the day gets away from me.’
Lily looked a little hurt, but Audrey hated fuss more than anything and didn’t want her pregnancy to be viewed as a weakness. Hands on her hips, she looked around the yard at the tins on the floor, the Anderson shelter door swinging on its hinges and Joy pulling the head off a daffodil growing in a pot. She sighed, making a mental list of things that needed doing, and reached for the broom. She began to sweep the floor of the shelter, all the while aware that Lily, Mary and Joy were watching her.
‘Are you going to give me a hand then?’ Audrey quipped with a smile. ‘Or just stand there gawping?’
After they’d eaten their sandwiches, Elsie leaned back on her elbows and gazed out to sea. Under the cloudless sky, the sea looked blue and inviting and as the sun warmed her bare legs and feet, Elsie was reminded of courting William during the pre-war days. Picnics on the beach, swimming and a game of beach cricket – she could almost hear the echoes of their laughter.
‘If you close your eyes and listen to the murmur of the sea and the cry of the gulls,’ she said, squinting, ‘you can almost imagine that there are paddlers, rubber floats and swimmers in the sea, and that Bournemouth was back to normal and there had never even been a war.’
Rubbing her toes together, she waited for William to respond, aware that she’d probably said the wrong thing. How could he ever imagine there had never been a war when his body and mind were so badly injured?
‘If I close my eyes,’ said William, quietly, ‘all I can see are ghosts.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, William,’ Elsie said, tenderly. She sat upright, tucked her feet under her bottom and faced him, her eyes flickering over his scarring.
‘That was stupid of me. I didn’t mean that,’ she said. ‘I know neither you nor any of us can ever forget the war. It’s all around us, every day. It’s on our minds when we wake up and when we go to sleep. It’s become a part of us and it’ll define our lives. It’s turning us into different people.’
William sighed and turned his gaze away from Elsie. She fiddled with the tassel trim of the blanket, her heart hammering in her chest, knowing that she should ask him now, outright, to tell her about what happened in France. Staring at her wedding band, she wondered why she was so frightened to ask. What could he possibly say that would change how she felt about him? Heartened by that thought, she reached for his hand and wrapped her fingers round his.
‘William,’ she said softly. ‘The nightmares you’ve been having, will you tell me about them? Audrey mentioned that something happened while you were away. I mean, something other than the bomb that hit your truck – about a man called David?’
‘Audrey said what?’ William snapped, glaring at her and shaking his hand free of hers. ‘She’d no right to say anything! I talked to her in confidence.’
Inside, Elsie felt dejected and slightly impatient, but she swallowed her hurt and tried again. She wasn’t going to give up on this now.
‘Please,’ she said, tucking her black hair behind her ears. ‘I need to know what’s on your mind. I might be able to help, or at the very least understand you better.’
William pushed himself up to standing with the aid of his crutches and shook his head. Whenever he did that, his shirt came untucked, which she knew he hated. It was all she could do to stop herself from helping him tuck it back in.
‘I just want to help,’ she said quietly, aware that her words weren’t going down well. ‘Let me help you, for goodness’ sake. I’m your wife!’
‘But how can you help?’ he said, his expression dark. He angrily knocked over a cup with his crutch, spilling the lemonade onto the rug, and Elsie bit her lip to stop herself reacting. She picked up the cup and stared up at him, her eyes shining.
‘You’ve got no idea about anything, Elsie,’ he continued. ‘You think you’re helping with the war effort, punching tickets on that bus of yours, but you’ve never dodged death by running into foxholes like a terrified animal, you’ve never watched men get blown up into bits all around you, your friends decimated before your very eyes! You’ve never collected up their body parts with shaking, blood-soaked hands, just so there was something to bury! You’ve never, you’ve never…’
Elsie’s throat thickened and she swallowed hard, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks. Instructing herself to be strong enough to shoulder his blame and anger, despite it being misplaced, she stood to face him, a gentle breeze lifting her skirt to her knees.
‘I’ve never what?’ she said firmly. ‘Tell me, William.’
With his good leg, he kicked at a stone on the floor.
‘You’ve never made a dreadful decision and been responsible for your friend’s death!’ he roared, now throwing one of his crutches onto the floor and collapsing back down onto the picnic blanket, covering his face with his hands. ‘You’ve never been a yellow-belly coward! It’s worse than being a dead man! I would rather be a dead man!’
Crouching beside him as his body shuddered with angry sobs, Elsie rested her palm on his back and, lost for words, tried to communicate through the heat of her hand. When he looked up again, his eyes were bright red and haunted with images of violence. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and glared at Elsie, but his eyes were unfocussed, as if he were looking at something else. Elsie was taken aback by how pitiful, how pathetic, he looked.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said quietly.
‘I made a terrible mistake,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘I came face-to-face with a young German soldier. I was inches from him. I didn’t shoot him, I let him go. He looked so young. Moments later, he turned back and shot my friend, David, in the stomach and chest. I watched David die in agony. He was so young. His mother’s only son. It was my fault that he died, Elsie. I’m a coward. You married a coward.’
‘No,’ she said, her voice breaking as tears spilled from her eyes. ‘I married a good man. That… that was a moment, a split-second decision. You chose to be compassionate and it wasn’t reciprocated.’
Elsie swiped at her tears, not wanting him to see how his story had affected her. Her head ached, and her thoughts were foggy. She tried to put herself in his shoes; she could completely understand his guilt. She would feel the same, she knew that. Was there any escape?
‘I’ve been trying to put it behind me,’ he said, staring at the horizon. ‘I feel cruel, telling you all of this. I’ve been trying to be a man and not lay this dreadful story at your feet, but his image haunts me. The sound of David’s cry as he lay dying rings in my head like the toll of a church bell. I keep telling myself to keep a stiff upper lip and get on with it, like the older generation who fought in the Great War do, but the truth is I feel wretched. I can’t stop myself returning to that dark place, to try to make sense of it. Of course, I never can.’
‘Perhaps it’s braver to let yourself go to that dark place and experience those dark feelings,’ said Elsie. ‘You don’t have to hold it all in. Let yourself grieve.’
William shook his head. Elsie knew her words were falling on deaf ears.
‘It’s his mother,’ William said. ‘She doesn’t know that just before he died he was talking to me about his home and how he’d always be grateful to his mother for giving him a happy childhood. I keep thinking that I should visit her to tell her, but I expect it’s a terrible idea. Perhaps she’s better off for not knowing the truth. She would despise me, at the very least.’
Elsie thought about it for a few moments before reaching for his hand.
‘I’ll come with you if you decide to go,’ she said. ‘I think a mother would want to know the facts, no matter how painful for you and her.’
William’s face paled. He stared down at the picnic blanket.
‘What you said earlier, about the war changing us,’ he said, ‘you were right. I have changed. The war has near ripped out my heart and replaced it with stone.’
Elsie felt the weight of William’s misery bearing down on her like lead as she folded up the picnic blanket and tucked it under her arm. Delving deep into her own reserves of strength, she found a reassuring smile for him.
‘We’ll find a way,’ she said. ‘We’re in this together. You’re not alone.’
William’s nostrils flared. He was obviously stopping himself from getting emotional and, eventually, he managed a small smile, a dim light flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but clearly couldn’t find the words.
‘Let’s walk back to the bakery,’ Elsie suggested, ‘and make a plan.’
Chapter Ten
Pat’s face was partly obscured by the precarious tower of twenty books she carried into the foyer of the Metropole Hotel. With her heart in her mouth, Betty followed her closely, arms outstretched and ready to catch any flying novels. Stepping into the hotel entrance, where pungent lilies in an enormous blue and white vase drooped in the heat, Betty tucked her hair behind her ears, discreetly pinched her cheeks and swept her eyes over the reception area and the drawing room, in case Sam was there.
‘Make a space, Betty!’ Pat commanded, as they approached a table where a small collection of books had already been deposited. Betty quickly cleared a space and began to lift down the donated books a few at a time from Pat’s tower and display them on the table.
‘Why are your hands shaking, lovey?’ Pat asked. Betty just shrugged and rubbed them together.
‘They’re cold,’ she mumbled.
‘Cold?’ shrieked Pat. ‘It’s warm as toast in here. Anyway, get on with it, we don’t have all night.’
Betty let out a small exasperated sigh and continued with the job. As she did so, a small crowd of Canadian soldiers and airmen gathered, dressed in their perfectly pressed, smart blue uniforms, stopping to read the descriptions on the backs of the books or flick through a few pages. Though she tried not to, Betty blushed at the sight of the men and once more scanned the room for Sam, but he was still nowhere in sight.
Relief and disappointment coursed through her. After the incident the other evening, when she’d been so rude to Sam on his birthday, she thought it best that she avoided him altogether. When Pat had announced they were delivering books to the hotel after her shift at the bakery had ended, her stomach had turned in on itself, but she had convinced herself that he had most likely forgotten all about her and was probably out with a pretty young woman who he’d met at the dance. Or perhaps he’d already been posted on operational service. These men were only in Bournemouth for a short period of retraining and orienteering before joining a squadron. Chances were that she’d never see him again – ships passing in the night and all that.
‘Betty,’ said a familiar male voice, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I’m beginning to suspect you’re following me. We really should make this official and go on a date…’
Gaping at Sam, Betty dropped the books she was holding and blushed madly, hit, not for the first time, by how handsome he was, with his blond hair, dark brown eyes, cheekbones sharp as knives and strong jawline. He towered above the other soldiers. Betty smiled up at him, her cheeks firing red, as he picked up the books she’d dropped and pretended to read from one of them.
‘Once upon a time a young girl named Betty met a handsome fellow named Sam,’ he started, giving her a winning smile. ‘Sam was the envy of all the boys in the Canadian Air Force because he was the finest pilot they’d ever known. One evening, this heroic pilot asked Betty out, but Betty wasn’t interested. He wanted to show her what he could do on the dancefloor…’
Sam threw a few dance moves, nearly knocking over the vase of lilies, and Betty put her hands to her mouth to suppress a hoot of laughter, but before she could stop giggling, Pat waded over in her sturdy brogues.
‘And who, may I ask, are you, young man?’ Pat said, positioning herself in between Sam and Betty, with her right hand raised in order to shake Sam’s hand. Placing the book back down on the table with an amused expression on his face, he took a bow, shook Pat’s hand and grinned.
‘I’m Sam, and I arrived in this wonderful town with the Royal Canadian Air Force three weeks back,’ he said. ‘Betty and I have become acquainted since she’s staying in the hotel next door. I was hoping, ma’am, that before I’m sent on an operation, Betty might accompany me for an evening out. Am I right in thinking that you’re her sister? It can get a little dreary with all these fellas, what with our lectures on flying and all. A man needs to have a little fun.’
Pat tutted, put her arms behind her back and rocked on the balls of her feet.
‘Of course I’m not her sister! You should keep your eye on the job, young man,’ she said. ‘Have you seen what Jerry has done to this country? We need men like you to help, not get distracted by a pretty young face like Betty here.’
Betty blushed, hoping that Sam wouldn’t take offence at Pat’s comments. She hadn’t known the woman long, but already knew that she couldn’t help but wade in and stick her nose in, whether it was wanted or not.
