Sing Them Home

Gordon was the first to be on the move. He and his fellow prisoners were sent on a forced march through Germany because rumour had it that the Russians were coming. After four months of what seemed like aimless marching, Gordon had had enough. Sleeping out in the open and only having scraps of food was no life, so while everyone was still sleeping, he grabbed the opportunity to slip away. He didn’t get far. While walking across a field, he was suddenly faced by a German officer coming towards him. His heart went into his mouth and for a split second he was tempted to make a run for it, but where could he hide in the middle of an open space? The game was definitely up. What a damned fool he’d been, and how ironic to survive all this time and then get himself shot in the middle of nowhere.

The officer lifted his gun and Gordon closed his eyes, but instead of shooting him as he expected, the officer handed him his weapon. It was only then that Gordon saw the British Army tank coming up the road behind him. There had been no finer sight since he’d been on foreign soil.

Once liberated, he and his companions were taken to a small village nearby. They were billeted in German houses, while the villagers were made to sleep in a makeshift camp in the surrounding fields. The tables were turned at last. After a week, they were taken to an airfield and flown to Belgium. Two days later, Gordon was in England, where he was given a clean uniform and sixty days’ leave. While he was waiting for the paperwork to be done, he wrote to tell Lillian he was on his way home, and his excitement mounted with each passing day.

There were other troops on board the train. The men passed the journey by showing each other photographs of their wives and families or their girlfriends. He could hear them swapping stories of times past and their hopes for the future, but he didn’t join in. He felt too emotional for conversation, so he stared through the dirty carriage window at the once-familiar countryside. The war had changed the landscape. Every now and then, the train would pass a scattering of bombed-out houses, a blackened tree or a field with a large crater in the middle of it. The women waiting by the barrier gates as the train sped on looked tired and shabby. Even the kids looked scruffy in their threadbare jackets and cut-down trousers, and a sobering thought crossed his mind. We may have won the war, but the country is broken.

A tight knot of excited people were waiting on the platform at Worthing. He watched as his travelling companions fell into the arms of those they loved. Fathers lifted their children into the air and kissed their wives. There was laughter and gaiety everywhere. He scanned the crowds, but he couldn’t see Lil or the kid. He hung around for a while, but eventually bowed to the inevitable. She wasn’t coming. He didn’t know whether he felt disappointed or angry.

‘You all right, soldier?’ The man’s voice jolted him from his melancholy. He turned to see a porter with an eyepatch and what looked like a war injury. It was only then that it occurred to him that Lillian could still be working. What time did her shift end? He hadn’t a clue, so it was perfectly possible that she could be somewhere on the station concourse.

‘I was looking for my missus,’ he said. ‘She works here. Lillian Harris.’

‘My name is Ron Knight,’ said the man, giving him a clap on the shoulder. ‘We all love your missus. Come in the cafe and have a drink.’

‘Is she around?’ Gordon asked as he was being gently propelled towards the bright lights of the cafe.

‘Lillian doesn’t work here any more,’ said Ron. ‘She left some time ago.’

‘Left?’ Gordon was stunned, but by this time, he was inside the cafe and having his hand pumped by just about everybody in sight. A cup of tea, laced with some of the stationmaster’s medicinal brandy, and an iced bun were placed before him as he sat in a chair. Some people wanted to hear his story, while others were telling him what an amazing woman Lillian was.

‘I’ve been to see nearly all her shows,’ Ron told him. ‘She’s wonderful up on that stage.’

‘But she left the railway,’ he said, feeling a bit of a fool for not knowing. Did that mean she wasn’t in Worthing any more? And if not, where was his kid?

‘She’s got a proper manager now,’ said Betty. ‘He’s made a big difference to her career. We went to see her at the Connaught last month.’

‘The Connaught?’ said Gordon, munching his bun. ‘What, the Connaught Theatre here in Worthing?’

An hour later, he left the warm welcome in the cafe, but only after he had promised several customers that he would be sure to come into the Buckingham, the Thieves’ Kitchen or the Jack Horner and have a pint with them. They finally let him go as they slapped him on the back and pumped his hand once more, congratulating him on his safe return.

Gordon’s boots rang out in the empty streets as he marched along Railway Approach towards North Street, past the Rivoli Cinema and on to Lyndhurst Road. Everywhere looked much the same until he reached St George’s School, where the jagged gap in the row of houses opposite was a stark reminder of the hostilities now past. Mr Stevens’s newsagent and sweetshop was gone, blown to kingdom come by some Jerry aiming for the gas works across the road no doubt. All that remained was a pile of rubble. He remembered the four chews for a penny and the gobstoppers he’d bought in that shop as a kid. He thought about Mr Stevens, tall, gaunt and a little bit scary in his rimless glasses. He used to peer over the counter at any young boy in his shop, making sure they weren’t tempted to nick something. Whatever happened to him? he wondered.

The brandy and the tea had warmed him, but he still felt ill at ease. The folks at the station had been friendly enough. He’d been aware that Lillian was on stage, but he’d had no idea that she was so well known. It would be hard for her to give it all up now that the war was over, but he wanted them to settle down and get a place of their own. He’d been forced to marry and he’d resented it at the time. Five years as a POW had changed his outlook on life. Now he was keen to take up his responsibilities towards his kid and make a go of his marriage.

Gordon was shocked to see more war damage on Reydon, the house on the corner of Lyndhurst and Homefield Road. Half of it was just a pile of rubble. Lillian had mentioned it in one of her letters, but he’d been more interested in the news that little Flora had been burned. For the first time in his life, it created a surge of paternal affection. He’d been angry and upset that his little girl, his baby, had been hurt. He’d wanted to punch somebody, anybody, but preferably a bloody Nazi. How was Flora now, poor little lamb?

When he knocked on the door, his mother-in-law opened it. They stared at each other in disbelief, until Dorcas finally regained her senses and said, ‘Come in, come in.’

Dumping his kitbag in the hallway, Gordon walked into the sitting room. It was so normal, so comfortable-looking that it almost reduced him to tears there and then. A little girl with a red ribbon in her blonde hair sat at the table drawing. She only glanced up at him for a second before carrying on with her work.

She nodded and went over to the child. ‘Flora,’ she said gently, ‘this man is your daddy.’

Flora looked up, but she didn’t move. She looked so grown-up. She’d only been a babe in arms when he’d last seen her.

‘She’s away,’ said Dorcas. ‘She’s got a week in Croydon in a variety show.’

‘We hadn’t a clue that you were coming,’ said Dorcas helplessly. ‘Nobody said.’

‘Is that from you?’ she cried. ‘Oh, Gordon, I had no idea. It came the day she left.’

Gordon looked down. Flora was watching him, but as soon as their eyes met, she hid again. Gordon pulled a small dolly from inside his jacket and held it out to her. ‘Aren’t you going to give your daddy a kiss?’ he said, bending down to her. But she’d already started to cry.

He was close to tears himself and bitterly disappointed. All these months he’d been dreaming of his homecoming and what it would be like. It sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be like this. He hadn’t expected bunting and a big party, but he had thought at the very least that his wife would be here to meet him. He hadn’t seen Lillian for nearly five years. He knew she was a popular singer, but he hadn’t expected her to be away from home. Bloody Croydon? She wouldn’t be home tonight, that was for sure. Tossing the dolly onto the table, Gordon turned on his heel.

Pip’s father had sent her a letter. She’d read it at least six times, and every time it made her cry.

My darling Pip,

I am so thrilled to have found you, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life getting to know you and my beautiful grandchildren. I couldn’t be more proud of all of you. Pip, you have done an amazing job in bringing them up on your own, and I’m sure that when Peter gets home, he will be delighted. They are both lovely children.

I know what I am about to do will, I am sure, raise a protest from you, but I will not hear ‘no’ for an answer. We finally met up through Peak, Hall & Ellis, and I understand that under the terms of her will, my mother wanted you and Marion to have an inheritance. She knew how difficult things had been for you throughout your childhood and she was desperate for you and Marion to be friends, but I know that this has proved to be impossible. However, in these difficult times, I don’t want you to lose out. For this reason, the enclosed cheque is from Granny. I shall send an equal amount to Marion, without condition. I have no idea where she is, of course, but Mr Ellis promised to post it on. As for your share, do with it what you will. You are under no obligation to anyone.

All my love,

Dad

Pip turned the cheque over in her hands once more. What an amazing gift. What an opportunity.

The DD Gang were all together for the first time in ages. The old derelict house had lost some of its appeal, mainly because of the smell. Now that the weather was warming up, it was worse than ever. They had noticed some funny-looking mushrooms growing on the walls, and the cellar was very damp. Norman had a weak chest and it made him cough a lot. Everywhere smelled musty and old.

‘We’ll be able to play on the beach soon,’ said Billy. ‘They’re clearing all the barbed wire and the mines.’

‘There ain’t no mines,’ Gideon scoffed. ‘They only put the notice up to scare off the Germans.’

‘We’d better get our stuff,’ said Georgie. ‘I don’t want to leave my tail fin and Goliath here for somebody else.’

‘I know,’ said Norman. ‘Let’s have a party to say goodbye to the old place.’

‘Good idea,’ said Gideon. ‘We could pile everything in the middle of the floor and blow it all up.’

Several boys pounced on Gideon and pulled him to the ground. The scrap was a good one, with everybody egging them on.

Billy slipped his arm around Georgie’s shoulders. ‘Oh, and what’s that?’

Lillian came back on Tuesday afternoon. Gordon had been dozing in the armchair in the sitting room. He’d been to the pub until closing time and had brought a couple of bottles home. The kid was at school, and his mother-in-law had gone to the shops.

A car door slammed and he heard voices outside in the street. He rose to peep round the curtain. Lillian was standing on the pavement beside a black Humber. She was dressed in an expensive-looking suit. A flash-looking geezer got out of the car and opened the boot. He pulled out a suitcase. ‘I’ll bring it for you.’

Lillian took a compact out of her handbag and powdered her nose. ‘Thank you, darling.’

They walked up the path and she put the key in the door. Gordon hovered by the sitting-room door.

Lillian came in and turned to her companion. ‘Pop it down there, Monty, there’s a dear.’

Monty put the case in the hallway. Then Lillian put her arms around his neck and they kissed on the lips. It was only when he saw Gordon that he pulled back. Lillian’s face paled as she turned round. ‘Gordon,’ she gasped. ‘You’re home.’

There was a pregnant silence and then she said, ‘Monty, this is my husband, back from the war.’ She walked towards him and brushed his cheek with her face, kissing the air beside it. She smelled the beer on his breath and wrinkled her nose. ‘Gordon, you haven’t met Monty. He’s my agent, Montague Rankin. He’s doing wonders for my career.’

Lillian turned to Monty. ‘I’d better let you go, Monty. This is a special occasion. I’m sure you’ll understand – my husband coming back. See you soon.’ She closed the door. ‘Really, Gordon, you could have been a little more civil,’ she said peevishly. ‘When did you get back?’

‘Saturday,’ he said, lighting a Player’s Navy Cut. ‘I thought you might be there to meet me.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she cried indignantly. ‘He’s my agent.’ She took off her coat and hung it on the hallstand. ‘Look here, Gordon, I’m pleased to see that you got home safe and sound and all that, but you’ve been away for a long time. Things have changed. We’re not the same people any more. I’ve got a life of my own now. I’m becoming famous. Monty says it won’t be long before I’m a radio star.’

Gordon took a long drag on his cigarette. She certainly looked the part. That suit didn’t come from the jumble sale, and she even smelled expensive.

‘How long have you got before you have to go back?’ she said, looking at herself in the hallstand mirror and patting her hair. ‘Or have they given you your discharge papers?’

Gordon pushed himself against the doorpost to stand up straight. ‘I’ve got two months’ leave,’ he said, moving towards her. ‘You’re looking good, Lil.’

She stepped away. ‘I’d better go upstairs and change,’ she said. ‘Where’s Mum?’

‘Shopping.’ He caught her wrist. ‘She’d only just gone,’ he said suggestively. ‘We could go upstairs together.’

Lillian tugged at her arm, but he held on. ‘Gordon, I’m tired,’ she said firmly. ‘Monty and I have been on the road for hours. Besides, Flora will be home from school soon.’

Lillian snatched her arm away from him. ‘Oh, grow up, Gordon. You’re drunk.’