Sophie Daniels shrugged on her WAAF overcoat and reached down for her small case. ‘It doesn’t seem much to be taking home for the weekend of your wedding,’ she said to her friend. Daphne reached for her own bag, which was even smaller.
‘I just hope your mother has the dresses ready, or we’re going to be in church, smiling at the vicar in our airforce blue.’
‘I did think of marrying in uniform, but Geoffrey didn’t like the idea. After all, the war is almost over, isn’t it?’
‘Never over until the last battle is won and we’re still fighting, and dying, remember.’
‘But we’ve got the Germans on the run, haven’t we, the Siegfried Line is broken and the town of Nancy is freed. And the rumours about a new rocket attack on London might be just that, a rumour.’
‘They’re calling it a V2, and although the government have tried to hush it up they can no longer pretend it’s gas mains exploding.’
‘Come on, Daphne, why would they lie?’
‘So the enemy won’t know where the weapons are going to land and change their direction, of course.’
‘I know, of course I know, it’s just that my whole family live in the east end of London so I prefer to pretend it isn’t happening.’ Sophie stared at her friend. ‘They’ve survived this far and I can’t bear to think of losing one of them now.’
They had a lift to the station in one of the lorries taking some airmen on leave, and they managed to get seats next to each other on the train to London. Daphne wore her dark hair tucked tightly underneath her cap and was looking forward to allowing it to fall freely when dressing for her friend’s wedding. With her large features and being above average in height and strongly built, and with her uniform adding to her imposing stature, she was aware of appearing ‘mannish’ and longed for the opportunity to remind people that she was truly feminine, despite her impressive measurements.
Thank goodness the strong-willed Sophie wasn’t going to have her way about marrying in uniform. There were few chances to dress up in these austere days; even dances were scarce and usually last-minute affairs, forcing them to go in uniform or not at all. Wearing a dress, letting hair escape from the dreaded hat: a wedding was too good an opportunity to waste!
Sophie was much smaller than Daphne and, being extremely fair, seemed fragile beside her friend. They had met on their first posting, at an airfield in Lincolnshire, and had been friends ever since. Their various moves had separated them, but the most recent, to an airfield in the south-east corner of England, had reunited them. Now Daphne was to be Sophie’s bridesmaid at a small wedding in the east of London.
Her lilting Welsh seemed incongruous given their destination. Sophie’s father had been sent to a factory in London to be the ‘chaser’, making sure the workers on the benches were kept supplied with the materials they needed. With no sign of the war ending in the near future, the family, including his wife’s parents, had moved with him, and had been welcomed into the East London community with warmth and friendship.
When they reached London, they stopped for a cup of tea and a ‘wad’ – a cake – at the Naafi canteen on the station, then struggled through the crowds to the underground. Reaching daylight from the underground station, Daphne was shocked at the scene that met them. Living in a small town in mid-Wales she was not prepared for the result of the bombing, even though the newsreels at the cinema had shown it many times. Whole streets had vanished, rubble piled up where houses had once contained families.
‘I’d no idea it was this bad,’ she gasped. ‘You see pictures in papers and magazines, but some how it doesn’t seem real.’
‘Mam and Dad refuse to leave and they wouldn’t let my young brother and sister go into the country as evacuees. We were among the lucky ones – our house hasn’t even been damaged.’
Daphne stared around her at the destroyed streets and the people busily picking their way through what was left. The population seemed to be going about their tasks calmly, waving to friends, stopping for a brief chat, carrying on as though life hadn’t changed. A partially boarded-up newsagents was open for business according to the sign outside the tunnel-like entrance. She heard someone shout, ‘They got some fags in,’ and all within hearing ran to get a share, pushing their way in good humouredly, taking out their purses and counting what they had left.
‘Aren’t you afraid for them?’ Daphne whispered.
‘Of course, but Hitler isn’t going to kill everyone, is he? There’ll still be Londoners and houses for them to live in.’ She spoke cheerfully, confident that her family would be safe. ‘After all, they’ve survived so far and the flying bombs no longer fly across. Our airforce and gunners put a stop to that threat, and it’s only a matter of time now before this new menace is dealt with.’ She laughed, encouraging Daphne to laugh with her.
Daphne walked along beside her, a feeling of dread in her heart. Surely it was tempting fate to be so confident?
‘Is it much further?’ she asked. ‘I’m desperate for another cup of tea.’ She slowed down, still filled with dread, looking around at the ruined houses, the broken walls piled up, the dangers removed with any remnants of what had once been loved homes. The roads and pavements had been cleared, the rubble pushed back to allow the continuation of everyday life. She was afraid of their arriving to find Sophie’s home gone, like so many others. How could anything survive in this?
‘Come on, Daph, stop staring at the disasters and come and meet my family,’ Sophie said more soberly. ‘They’ll make us forget the hell of it all, for a few days at least.’
The house in which the Daniels family lived was in a small road miraculously untouched by the bombing. On the corner was a lock-up grocery shop owned by her grandparents, which they had taken over soon after leaving South Wales. They lived on the other side of a small park close by, where trees were wearing their autumn colours and shrubs still displayed a few flowers.
The front door of Sophie’s home was open and voices rose and fell from within, punctuated with bursts of laughter. Sophie strode inside with Daphne following, pushing through the chattering neighbours, the women mostly dressed in aprons and wearing ancient slippers, the men in trousers and waistcoats over shirts with sleeves rolled up.
‘Whatcha, Soph.’
‘She’s back.’
‘She’s here!’
‘Here comes the bride.’
‘Thank Gawd fer that.’ All around them welcoming voices called, until a laughing Sophie reached the kitchen, where her mother and her Auntie Maggie stood near the cooker, pouring teas.
‘What’s this, a celebration?’ she joked.
‘Yeh, ain’t you heard? ’Itler’s dead. Or darn well soon will be.’ Surrounded by joking and teasing, being welcomed by the family, friends and neighbours, the shouts were interspersed by a confusion of introductions, including Sophie’s younger brother and sister, Carrie and Frank, and the rest of her family.
Daphne sank into a chair. Sophie was in high spirits, returning slick responses to the chorus of saucy innuendo, and Daphne sat nursing her tea, taking in the excitement and everyone’s determination to make Sophie’s wedding a good time for all.
‘When’s your bloke arriving?’ someone asked.
‘Soon.’
‘Where’s ’e stayin’?’
‘I phoned from the station. He’s staying with a friend near the place where we’re to go on honeymoon. He won’t tell me exactly where.’
‘Well, it won’t be Paris, that’s for sure,’ Auntie Maggie said, adding lugubriously, ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.’
‘He’s travelling up tomorrow but we won’t meet until we get to the church,’ Sophie replied. ‘Unlucky to meet before the wedding or something, isn’t it?’
‘Luck? You’ve got plenty of that, me duck. A happy life, that’s what’s ahead of you and that feller of yours,’ one of the neighbours called out.
‘How many of Geoffrey’s family are coming?’ her grandmother asked, and Daphne glanced at her friend with some anxiety.
‘Oh, none. They’re all tied up with war work, you know how it is. Lincolnshire they’re from. I’ll be meeting them on our next leave.’
‘You mean you haven’t met them? None of them?’
Daphne jumped up and put an arm across Sophie’s shoulders. ‘She’s marrying Geoffrey, not his family!’ She tried to make it into a joke but only a few were amused.
Sophie agreed with her. ‘This is wartime, even though we’ve got Hitler on the run. Nothing is straightforward, is it? Travel difficulties for a start, and you can’t just take a holiday from work when you want one.’
‘But you ought to see where he’s from, dear,’ Auntie Maggie said with a frown. ‘I though you went there a few weeks ago?’
‘No, it was cancelled at the last minute. As I said, everyone is so busy.’
Sophie and Daphne shared a bed in what had been Sophie’s room, and when the light went out, Daphne asked, ‘You are sure, aren’t you? I mean, I know everything’s arranged but it isn’t too late to, um, delay it for a while.’
‘I know what I’m doing, Daph. I didn’t force Geoffrey into proposing or arranging for such a quick wedding.’
‘But not meeting his family, don’t you think it’s rather odd? After all, you planned to visit on three weekends, and each time it was cancelled without much of an explanation.’
‘Tell the truth, I think he might be a bit embarrassed by them. He’s met my family and, although he hasn’t exactly said it, I think he comes from a different kind of background and, well, he might be afraid I’d change my mind if I saw where they live. Don’t worry, Daph, we love each other and we’ll be blissfully happy, I just know we will.’
‘As long as you’re sure.’ Daphne had her doubts. Sophie was enthusiastic about everything she did, pushing her way through objections and doubts, absolutely confident she was right, and she wondered if her enthusiasm really was matched by Geoffrey Roberts. It was odd that she hadn’t met his family. Surely he’d have been proud, and would want to show his family his lovely bride-to-be?
‘I’m certain, certain, sure,’ Sophie breathed, as she relaxed into sleep.
The next day there were errands to do, making sure everything was in place for the ceremony on the following day, but Sophie’s mother had organized everything so well, they felt superfluous.
‘Let’s go for a bike ride,’ Sophie suggested, and on the bicycles belonging to her sister and brother, which were really too small, they set off to ride through the streets to call on one or two of Sophie’s friends.
Singing at the tops of their voices, they rode past many undamaged houses and Sophie waved an arm imperiously. ‘See? Lots of places untouched.’ She remained silent as they went through roofless buildings where survivors had defiantly hung union flags on what was left of their homes.
Sophie only sees and hears what she wants to see and hear, Daphne thought. But perhaps that’s her way of coping, knowing her family is in great danger, she comforts herself with her over-confidence. She was always so sure about everything, coming up with answers to everyone’s problem within seconds and never deviating from what she saw as a simple answer. Heaven help her if she ever made a serious error! Daphne’s thoughts had slowed her feet and Sophie was way in front of her.
‘Come on, slowcoach,’ Sophie called. ‘Get cracking, you’ve got the best bike.’ Daphne raced after her, her strong muscles pushing down on the pedals, swiftly leaving her friend behind. Around the next corner she stopped and waited. ‘Did someone say something about a slowcoach?’ she asked, laughing at her friend’s efforts to catch up.
That evening, with the house filled to overflowing with neighbours and friends helping to prepare the food for the following day’s celebration, Daphne saw that her friend seemed a little subdued. Sophie was always in the centre of things, her bubbling personality a magnet for anyone wanting fun. Seeing her standing in the hallway alone, staring out into the dark of the September night, she offered, ‘A penny for your thoughts.’
‘Oh, nothing really, just dreaming of tomorrow when I’ll be a married woman.’
‘And…?’ Daphne coaxed.
‘And nothing, although I did expect a letter yesterday or today. He promised to write to me and, well, I suppose something came up and he couldn’t get out to post it. He’ll explain, in –’ she glanced at her watch – ‘in just over twelve hours.’
‘Is there somewhere you can phone? I mean, you must want to talk to him, you haven’t seen him for a week.’
‘I could ring his friend where he’ll be staying, the one who will be his best man, but I won’t.’
‘Go on, you know you’re dying to hear his voice.’
They left the house and, in the telephone box on the corner, both squashed in like excited children, Sophie asked for the number, then waited while the operator connected her. Her greeting was bright but her expression, barely seen in the gloom of the late hour, suddenly changed to a frown. ‘But I don’t understand. You must know where he is. The wedding is tomorrow and he’s supposed to be there with you.’ There was a gasp, a wide-eyed stare, and the phone was replaced. She pushed out of the box and waited for Daphne to join her outside.
‘I must have got it wrong, he isn’t aware of any wedding. I – I misunderstood. Got the name wrong. Geoffrey’s best man must be another of his friends. There are so many, with people constantly moving about, coming and going. I must have misunderstood.’
‘Of course,’ Daphne soothed. ‘At least you’ll know who he’s chosen tomorrow. Just a few hours to go and you’ll be able to sort out all the mysteries.’ But she was worried. It wasn’t natural for them not be in contact so close to their wedding.
The day of the wedding was bright, with a slight crispness that hinted at the approach of autumn. Sophie was awake early and she and Daphne crept down to make a cup of tea, only to find Auntie Maggie and her father and mother already there, teapot at the ready.
‘Want a fried egg for breakfast?’ Sophie’s mum asked, and, surprised at the generosity, they both said yes. Mrs Daniels took a slice of white bread and placed it in a frying pan. She cut a circle from the middle into which she poured reconstituted dried egg mixture and proceeded to fry it. ‘A pretend egg is better than none,’ she explained airily.
‘You don’t have a pretend rasher of bacon, do you?’ Daphne asked.
‘No, but I can draw you one!’
With so many hours to fill before they had to leave for the church, Daphne suggested a walk. They wandered through the streets, where shoppers hurried around with empty baskets that they were hoping to fill. There were queues everywhere, and people joined them and only then asked what was on offer when they reached the end.
The women all looked tired but their laughter rang out as they exchanged stories of their difficult lives. ‘Imagine having to feed the two of us on what the ration books provide,’ Sophie said as they watched a grocer in Liptons weigh out the tiny allowances of fats and cheese.
‘If it were me I’d stay in the WAAFs until food is no longer rationed,’ Daphne said. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for home-making later. I wouldn’t even know how to cook fatless this and eggless that!’
There was no transport for the guests, most of whom were local – they had to walk. There were just two black cars booked, one to take Sophie and her father, and the other for Daphne and Mrs Daniels.
The church was unevenly filled, with no one from the groom’s side, so a few of the congregation moved across and filled the front pews. There was no organ music, but the choir of elderly men sang and filled the emptiness while they waited for the bride. Daphne stood in the porch waiting for the first sight of the car, and Mrs Daniels and close family stood with her.
‘Where the ’ell’s the groom?’ Auntie Maggie whispered, and Uncle Albert hushed her urgently.
Ten minutes passed, the bride’s car had driven through the battered street three times and there was no sign of Geoffrey. Eyes followed every vehicle that went past and tried to hide their disappointment when he didn’t appear.
Finally the car carrying Sophie and her father stopped and Sophie stepped out. In a borrowed white dress and the veil falling charmingly from a pearl-studded head-dress, she looked lovely. ‘What’s happening?’ she demanded. ‘Why do we have to keep going round and round like circus ponies?’
‘I told you something was up, him not taking you to meet his family,’ Maggie said, before being hushed by her embarrassed husband.
‘He isn’t here yet,’ her mother said quietly. ‘Something must have held him up. The trains aren’t always reliable with all the repairs and everything.’
Sophie seemed unperturbed. She stood in the porch between her parents, hugging her young sister and brother, glancing along the road occasionally for the appearance of her groom. Her laughter filled the air as she made jokes about the delay, and it was another hour before they gave up expecting him and went back home.
No one knew what to do, until someone started on the food, and at once Sophie’s mother and Auntie Maggie disappeared into the kitchen to make tea while her father and Uncle Albert began pouring drinks. There was false gaiety as they all filled the embarrassed silences with reminiscences and jokes. Sophie handed out trays of food and Daphne helped serve the drinks, as though there was nothing unusual about the event. Sophie went up at some point to change out of her wedding dress, then she continued to smile and make jokes and pretend to be enjoying the pointless celebration until the last guest had gone. Then she stared at Daphne and said, ‘You tried to warn me, didn’t you?’
‘No, not warn you – I wanted you to be sure you loved each other. I didn’t wish this on you, for heaven’s sake. Wartime isn’t the best time for making decisions. Especially about something as serious as marriage. That’s all I meant.’
They went back to camp even though their leave wasn’t over. All of Sophie’s family were at the station to see them off. Her tearful parents, grandparents, Auntie Maggie, Uncle Albert, her brother and sister. The noise of the underground train pulling into the station deafened them to the final sympathetic comments, for which Sophie was grateful. They didn’t even have time to wave as the doors of the crowded carriage closed behind them.
‘At least they’re all together,’ Sophie said. ‘I can imagine them all coping with their days, taking care of each other. I persuaded Gran and Gramps to stay for a few days, just to keep Mam and Dad from grieving. They’re all so upset.’
Two weeks later a V2 hit the house, demolishing the whole street. Everyone in the house was killed. Because the house was completely destroyed, the news of the tragedy was a long time reaching her. The funerals had taken place before she was called into the office to be told.
She knew that the reason she had lost the whole family was her insistence that they stay together. If she had persuaded her parents to let Carrie and Frank leave London, allow them to be evacuated to the country, they’d have been safe. If Gran and Gramps had gone home instead of giving in to her pleading to stay with Mam and Dad, they’d be alive.
Numbed by the shock, disbelief gave way to brief moments of relief until the truth re-emerged to shock her anew. She had heard nothing from Geoffrey even though she had written to every address she could think of and asked everyone likely to know. In the midst of this tragedy, she faced the fact that she had been well and truly jilted. Everyone single person she had loved was gone.
When Sophie was given the terrible news about her family, Daphne wasn’t there either. She had been moved to another airfield. Later, before Sophie could receive news of her friend, she, too, had been moved. She was among strangers who had their own troubles to cope with, and there was no one to tell about her own. In a world filled with tragedy, there was no one to offer comfort or sympathy.
On her next leave she went to see the ugly sprawling piles of rubble where her home had once stood, but she spoke to no one. She stayed in a small bed and breakfast that had one wall shored up with huge balks of timber to replace the house that had once stood alongside it, and said nothing, asked no questions. She couldn’t face any surviving neighbours – they’d be aware of her confident insistence that the family should stay together.
Devastated and feeling she was completely to blame, her know-it-all attitude causing the death of every member of her family, with no one to share her misery, she turned away from the shell of her home and returned to camp. She missed Daphne. With so many changes in personnel she hadn’t been close to anyone else. Geoffrey had let her down, and the war had taken away her whole family and the one person who might have helped her. She said nothing to anyone.
She went about her tasks in a dream, refusing any overtures of friendship, gaining a reputation for being standoffish. When she was demobbed, she went from town to town searching for news of Geoffrey and Daphne, but there was no clue to the whereabouts of either.
In the town Geoffrey had told her was his home she tried everywhere, but no one had heard of him. Stupidly, she had lost Daphne’s address during the last sudden transfer, and moving herself, so soon after, their letters had failed to reach their destination and contact was lost.
She wrote to the solicitor to ask about the place of burial and he replied to tell her there was a large sum of money waiting for her. She arranged to have it transferred into a building society and swore never to touch it. It was tainted with her guilt. Once the solicitor had finally discovered her whereabouts, he delivered several letters referring to the money she had inherited, and the compensation to which she was entitled. And it was then, realizing how she had gained financially from the loss of those she loved, that she finally cried.
‘It was my fault!’ she told the solicitor over the phone. ‘I told them to stay. My brother and sister would have been safe if I’d encouraged Mam to let them go. My grandparents would have been in their own home if I hadn’t persuaded them to stay. And you expect me to be rewarded with money?’ she wailed.
She was too distressed to seek company, tears falling when she saw families together, reminding her of the loss of her own. She had nowhere to go; no place to call home.
So she travelled; at first by train and bus, staying in small guest-houses, but once she discovered how many derelict buildings scattered the countryside, she left the towns, surviving on little more than the tramps that wandered the lanes and fields.
It was surprisingly easy to become accustomed to living without a base; with no place to scuttle back to like a wounded animal, she looked no further than the next night’s shelter. She covered her trail, contacting no one with the exception of the solicitor. She made a few calls to finalize her business, and left him no way of finding her again. She looked for no company except those wandering like herself, whom she met on the road. She did work occasionally, when she found a place to stay that appealed, but only as a temporary cleaner. People always wanted cleaners, she discovered.
Leaving the comfort of bed and breakfast places, she slept in abandoned houses, sometimes for a night, on occasion staying for a couple of weeks. It was easy to find shelter: there were always barns or ruined cottages, some even boasted a few pieces of furniture. She gathered what clothes she needed from second-hand shops and the occasional jumble sale and she carried very little; she simply wore all the clothing she owned.
Time passed and she began taking an interest in the flowers and hedgerows. She stayed with a group of gypsy travellers for a few months one winter, listening and learning from them how they lived mostly off the countryside. They earned a little here and there, seasonal work for farmers, selling what they made to earn a few shillings. She remembered helping her gran to make jam when she was small, and an interest was revived.
A visit to a local library added to her growing knowledge and she began to use what nature offered, making meals and preserves and drying herbs for future use. She still had money left in her post office account and she tried not to think about what she would do when it was gone. The other money would not be touched. Her family had given their lives for it, due to her stupid belief that she knew best.
She left the travellers once spring came, when they headed east, planning to work in Kent for hop-picking season. She continued her unplanned wandering, making for the coasts of South Wales, where her parents had been born and where she had lived as a child. Perhaps there she’d find some sense of belonging.
Walking up a quiet lane one March morning she saw a farmhouse and decided to knock and ask for water. As she approached, she saw that the collection of buildings, including a cottage adjoining the farmhouse, was empty. She stepped inside the cottage, which smelled of damp and mice. Then she saw an oven range with a blackened kettle on the long-dead ashes. Outside there was a tap. All around there was a generous supply of firewood, and, against the wall near the staircase, there was an old, mildewed couch. Perfect. What more could she ask of life?
In the long-abandoned garden she found sage and rosemary, mint, fennel, chives and a clump of Welsh onions. Wonderful gifts.
For a few weeks she could live here out of sight, bothering no one. She found a collection of dirty jars and even a couple of battered old saucepans in an outhouse. She could make preserves, dry herbs and perhaps sell them at the market she had passed through at Maes Hir – long field. Work should be easily found in the town just over the hill. It wasn’t far away, but having to go up a steep field and through a fairly large wood meant she could stay unnoticed for a while.
At the top of the field a young woman stood watching as Sophie explored the several buildings around the main farmhouse. She observed that Sophie walked crouched over, and wore layer after layer of clothing including shawls. She noticed the bundle of belongings placed beside the door and decided the stranger must be old and perhaps homeless. Well, she was homeless, too, and this place with its sad regrets wasn’t going to solve her problems – the dirty old tramp was welcome to it. She turned away, forgetting about the woman as she walked on into the town to try to find a couple of rooms for herself and her son.
Within an hour, Sophie had a fire burning, rather sluggishly as the chimney had been cold for many months, but the sight warmed her and the food she unpacked on to a rickety table rescued from a barn cheered her even more. She piled her clothes on to the couch, pulled it close to the fire and settled down to sleep. This place didn’t feel like home any more than any other place she had found, but for the moment it would do.