The Forgotten Daughter

A week had passed since Christmas. With each day Flora’s heart had sunk further, as the promise in the last letter she received from Cyrus hadn’t materialized. Now, the birth of their child was on her, and agonizing pains wracked her body.

‘Flora, lass, one more try, come on, you can do it. That’s reet, lass, push, Flora, push.’

A scream came from deep within Flora as the pain gripped her. Sweat ran off her face, her teeth clenched and her neck strained. Oh God, let it be over soon, I can’t bear any more.

With this thought dying in her, her next was a curse as she felt as though she would split in two, but then a cry filled the room and her heart swelled.

‘Let it all out, me lass. You’ve sommat to cry over, but sommat to rejoice over an’ all. There, you have a lovely little lass. She’s reet bonny. Eeh, you’re a clever lass.’

Flora looked down into the blood-covered face and felt a love fill her that warmed her whole body. ‘Oh, she’s beautiful. Beautiful!’

‘She will be, when I’ve cleaned her up and put her in her layette that I’ve all ready for her. Oooh, come here, me bonny wee one. I’m your Aunty Pru, and I love the bones of you.’

‘You’re not just her aunt – you’re her namesake, as she is to be called Prudence Alice, only we will use her second name, to avoid confusion. Alice is after Aliz, a girl I met in Belgium who I want to remember.’

‘Aw, that’s lovely. Reet, me little Alice, a bath for you and a nice cuppa for your ma. Then I’ll clean you up, lass. Eeh, I’m going to have me hands full, with the pair of you.’

Flora smiled, a weak, tired smile. Her body reacted to the hours of labour and trembled with exhaustion. She lay back. An awareness of what she held in her hand came to her and she opened it, gasping in horror as she saw how she’d crumpled Cyrus’s photo. He’d sent it to her a few weeks back, in a letter that was full of hope:

We had a great victory today, darling. We secured a ridge that is a strategic advantage. Not only that, but defeating the Germans meant so much to the men. Though, sadly, our casualties are still high and we are not getting the replacements we need.

This means that those still fighting are very tired. Maybe now, with this victory, we can rest for a few days. There’s always a lull when a battle is won, while our enemy regroups and we begin to see their next move.

I’m enclosing a photo taken when a fellow officer and I snatched a few hours and went into Artois; we had a good time, and got a little drunk. A French lady took the picture, and in no time returned to the bar with it developed. She studied photography and tries to earn a living taking shots of the war and of soldiers, and selling them to newspapers. How resilient people are.

I made sure I bought this one for you.

Your last letter took me to heaven with your wonderful news. A baby – we made a baby: how amazing is that? Oh, my darling, I wish you didn’t have to cope alone and I could fuss over you, and do all the things a normal expectant father would do. But these are not normal times, and won’t be for a long time.

Though I do have some news that cheers me, and I hope gives you something to look forward to. I may be home for Christmas! To our home, our very own. Clever girl, you, finding a home and sorting everything out. I cannot wait.

You say you are due early January? Just maybe, our little one will be born while I am there! Wouldn’t that be wonderful? I cannot wait to meet him, or her. I have no preference, by the way. I just want you and our baby to be well.

I love you beyond loving, my darling. You are never far away, because you are me.

Your loving and devoted, Cyrus x

Every word was etched on Flora’s heart, increasing her pain as Cyrus hadn’t made it home, and she didn’t know why. The photo, which showed Cyrus’s wonderful eyes glittering a little too much with the effect of the alcohol, had made her smile, remembering the night they reached Brighton and had drunk too much champagne and Cyrus was all silly and giggly. Oh, how her heart longed for him. And now she’d crumpled the bottom half of his photo.

A wail came from her, shocking her and bringing Aunt Pru running up the stairs. After she placed the baby in the cot at the foot of the bed, the mattress sank as she plonked herself next to Flora. ‘What’s to do, lass? Eeh, me little love.’

‘Well, you’ve made a mess of that, but it’s a nice mess. Cyrus’s lovely face is still intact, but it’s as if he has been holding your hand throughout all the pain and helping you through it. I could iron it, to make it a bit better, but I’d treasure it as it is, lass. Show him that he was with you when he most needed to be.’

This calmed Flora. Aunt Pru was right. Holding the photo had helped, and the damage to it would be a reminder of that – and something to show Cyrus. He would love that.

‘That’s reet; smiles are better than tears, and better for the little one, too. A happy mam makes for a happy babby.’

Sitting up a few hours later, with Alice feeding from her breast for the second time, Flora was overcome with a sense of complete fulfilment. Her hand stroked the soft down of her baby’s brown hair. How complete her life would be if Cyrus were here. With her and his daughter, in their own home.

Home . . . how thrilled he’d sounded that they had their own home. She hoped his expectations weren’t too high, because with finding herself pregnant and having to give up work, she hadn’t been able to save Cyrus’s money, but found she’d had to live on it. That had meant she had had to greatly lower her budget to buy this house.

A one-up, one-down in a much less desirable part of Brixton than Aunt Pru lived in was all Flora could afford, though she had managed to get permission to build a bathroom on the back of the house, which led off from the kitchen. This was essential to her, as the thought of a shared lav at the bottom of the garden filled her with disgust. She’d had a high fence erected to hide the lav, and had the now-enclosed yard paved. Pot plants broke its starkness and gave them a haven all their own, although, with a layer of snow covering it at the moment, it wasn’t a place to linger.

At least with only two rooms – a kitchen-cum-living-room and a bedroom – she hadn’t needed a lot of furniture and, scouring the second-hand shops, she had managed to find some elegant pieces that gave the house a richness and made her feel it was her home.

The voice made her jump. I’ll never get used to how the women around here just walk into each other’s homes. She called out to Mrs Larch that, yes, she could, and then found the woman in the doorway at the top of the stairs before she even had the last word out!

‘I heard. A little girl then? Congratulations, love. I brought you a casserole. I stuck it in the oven before I called out. It’ll be ready for your supper, and will give you the goodness you need back in your body. Now let me look, then I’ll make you a nice Rosy Lee.’

Flora smiled. Mrs Larch was the kind of woman you would describe as the salt of the earth. ‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you. I’d love a cup of tea.’ Not really the truth, as Aunt Pru had served her a total of four cups, before leaving to make sure Freddy was home from school – ‘restless Freddy’, she called him, and she lived in fear of him having joined up and announcing that he’d done so, leaving Aunt Pru with nothing she could do about it.

‘You’re welcome, love. Now, let me look. Ooh, she’s a bundle of joy at a time like this. Poor Mrs Randall at the top of the street had one of them brown envelopes. Her Tommy copped it. Poor woman. She’s demented with grief. To lose a lad, just eighteen years old. I could kill that Kaiser bloke. They should let him loose in our street, then he’d know it.’

This news devastated Flora. The tears that had found a permanent home between her throat and eyes, causing her to swallow hard to keep them from flowing, now won the battle once more and streamed down her face.

‘There, there, you let your heart rule – it does no harm. We’ve all cried for the lad. But the whole street’s rejoicing that a baby has been brought to us. That northern woman told us. We were all having a natter and comforting each other, when she came out and, with a little skip and jump, told us you’d delivered. We told her that we’d all watch out for you, when she couldn’t be here. I’ve made enough of me casserole for her and her lad, as she said she’d be back with him later.’

Through her sobs, Flora thanked Mrs Larch. The kindness of the woman, and the way she and all her neighbours had accepted her into their fold, had been something she couldn’t comprehend and yet welcomed.

With Alice taken from her and settled back in her cot, Flora sipped the hot tea, knowing she’d be glad when Mrs Larch left, so that she could use the pot behind the screen. Going downstairs was not allowed, on the strict instructions of Aunt Pru, but oh dear, all the tea had made her nearly fill the pot!

‘Please give my condolences to Mrs Randall. Tell her she’s welcome to come and see little Alice any time.’

‘She’s in no fit state, love, but I know she’ll be comforted by you having said it. You’re different to us – you talk posh, and you, and your inside lav, is something we were all shocked at having amongst us, love. But for all that, we’re your neighbours, and neighbours should stick together and look out for one another. That’s our way.’

‘I’m glad of it. I know I seem different, but my Aunt Pru brought me up in a neighbourhood like this one. So I’m not so different in my outlook, and I want to be a part of the community.’

‘Your Aunt Pru told us all about you. She likes a natter, that one. Though she talks funny, she’s a good girl.’

Flora knew from experience that you had to be in your fifties, or thereabouts, for these cockney women to call you a woman. Pru, at just thirty-seven, was still classed as a girl.

‘She told us all what happened to her, as well. Poor girl. We all reckon as she could do with finding a good man to take care of her. Now, I’m off. Mrs Harper will pop in, in an hour, if we don’t see your Aunt Pru is back by then.’

This was something Flora had to get used to. She hoped that Cyrus would, too. For although she’d said that she was used to the ways of streets like this, she wasn’t really. The times she had been with Aunt Pru, the neighbours had mainly been from foreign lands and didn’t have this London way of going on – except for Rowena, of course.

When the next visit happened, it was Mrs Larch again, only this time her voice had a different note. ‘I’m coming up, love.’

Flora couldn’t say why, but the tone this was said in sent a chill through her and told her there was much to fear, as Mrs Larch appeared in the doorway.

‘Oh, love, it’s come. The one we all dread. I took it off the delivery boy and brought it to you meself.’

A big, fleshy arm gathered her into a huge, soft bosom. A hand stroked her hair. ‘Read it first, love; it may not be all bad. Some are just missing or injured. It may not be what you think.’

Flora tore open the brown envelope. Her life had come to a halt, and all sound, all movement and all feeling were locked in her world of pain and silenced:

Though it was not what she wanted to read, Flora breathed once more, releasing the relief that she felt at the news not signalling the complete end of her world. She read on:

‘There, he’ll be all right, love. Think of it as him being safe. Especially with him being an officer. That Mrs Harper, she can read, you know, and she has a paper delivered. We all go for a cuppa Rosy Lee in the afternoon and listen as she reads snippets out to us. There was an article on prisoners-of-war. It said officers had beds, and the lower ranks to take care of them. That they were fed well, and the conditions were good. There was reports that their only suffering was boredom, and that they played sport to help them with that.’

‘Really? Oh, I hope so, Mrs Larch. I didn’t know, as I have avoided reading too much about the war. I’ve tried not to think of it.’

‘Well, you know first-hand. We all know how you went out as a Red Cross nurse to Belgium, and we all think you’re a brave girl. You’re going to need to be, for your baby, love. We’ll all be ’ere for you, but in the end you’ve to call on the strength that took you to ’elp the Allies that were wounded. We’re all proud to have you amongst us.’

Aunt Pru has been gossiping – is there anything about me that my neighbours don’t know? But them knowing about her, and how different she was from them, and yet still accepting her, brought Flora comfort. And the strength Mrs Larch spoke of did enter her, and made her determined to get through this, as Cyrus had to. And at that moment an idea occurred to her of how she could fill some of her spare time and give something back to her community.

‘When I’ve recovered from the birth and this shock, I’d like to help you to learn to read, if you would like that?’

To Flora’s surprise, tears sparkled in Mrs Larch’s eyes. ‘Oh, love, I would. Mrs Harper ’as never offered. We all think she likes the status it gives her – her being the only one who can read. But to be able to lose meself in one of them People’s Friend magazines, which she reads us a serial from, would be lovely. I could curl up on me own sofa whenever I ’ad a mo, instead of waiting for her to have the time to read the lovely stories to us. She considers the news is much more beneficial to us. Well, I’d like to consider what I want to enjoy, and it ain’t always what is sad about the world. Ooh, love, I’ll tell the others, and you’ll have a class of us to deal with in no time. Perhaps we could use the church hall, eh?’

Taken aback by Mrs Larch’s enthusiasm, Flora laughed, despite the ache in her heart. ‘Yes, we can arrange that, and Aunt Pru is a teacher, so she will help.’

Poor Aunt Pru; she’d found it impossible to get a position teaching in a school, and had taken three jobs to help her cope. Mornings were given over to two cleaning jobs, and her afternoons to working in the tearoom at the corner of Flora’s street. Though whether she’d still have that, after taking this afternoon off, Flora didn’t know. But she’d been glad that Aunt Pru had taken to calling in to see her every day before going to the cafe, especially today.

Left alone once more, Flora was assailed by mixed emotions. Yes, it might be years before she saw Cyrus again, but if what Mrs Larch said was true, he would be safe. The constant worry of wondering if he was dead or alive would leave her. And that would be a blessing. But a huge part of her wished there had never been a war, and for her Cyrus to have never left her side. Oh, Cyrus, my love, my love . . .