‘Marry the man,’ Rosie said, when Ethel had told them of Albert’s proposal.
‘I don’t love him, in fact I wonder whether I’m capable of love.’
‘Rot!’ Kate said, hands on hips in an accusing posture. ‘You love your family for a start and don’t deny it, you want to go back and make things right, even with that tyrant of a father of yours.’ Her voice softened and she added, ‘There can’t be any doubt that you loved Duggie.’
‘I’m not sure I know the difference between love and sex. If I hadn’t come to my senses, Albert and I would have “made love”, but was that loving him? Or just a need for a moment of belonging?’
‘Walking away from your family like that, it must have made a difference to how you feel about a lot of things,’ Rosie said. ‘I often wondered how my mother was feeling, knowing I was there, changing, growing up, and never seeing me. It’s different for you. Like my mother, you did the walking and only you can walk back.’
Ethel was silent for a while, then she said firmly, ‘What I feel for Albert isn’t enough to last a lifetime. Of that I am sure.’
‘Good!’ Kate said. ‘Now that’s sorted can we talk about my wedding? I want you to be my bridesmaids and—’ She was silenced by a pillow thrown by Ethel and another, accompanied by a squeal, from Rosie. In spite of groans and teasing, they couldn’t silence Kate on the subject of Vincent for long.
A few days later all three received letters. Kate excitedly read a long letter from Vincent’s mother which included photographs of all his family.
‘They like me! They really like me and welcome me into their family. I’m going to marry Vincent and become an American!’
It was on the same day that Ethel received news that Baba Morgan was safe. He had been taken prisoner and was now on his way home. In a second she knew why she couldn’t commit herself to Albert. She had been waiting for news of Baba. She still wasn’t sure about love, but the excitement the news had created in her convinced her that it was Baba who held the key to her heart.
Rosie’s letter was from her newly discovered mother, inviting her to stay with her on Rosie’s next leave.
‘Will you go?’ a jubilant Ethel asked her.
‘If we finally persuaded you into going home to talk to your family,’ Rosie said, ‘I’d decided to go with you. But now, with Baba on his way, I doubt if anything we say will convince you that your family are priority.’
‘Baba won’t be back for days, even weeks. I think you’re right. I have to go home and find out what my father knows that makes him fear for me. I have to find out before I meet Baba. You see,’ she hesitated nervously before going on, ‘you see I think I must have inherited some dread disease and he’s afraid I’ll pass it on to my children.’
Rosie and Kate stared at her.
‘Is that what you’ve been worrying about all this time?’ Kate asked. ‘You were having nightmares about something as awful as that and you didn’t tell us?’
‘Oh, Ethel. I thought we were your trusted friends. I’d have dragged you to the MO myself, you idiot,’ Rosie said, tears filling her large blue eyes.
‘At least it’s answered one question,’ Kate said thoughtfully. ‘You didn’t want to face the truth for Albert’s sake, did you? Only when Baba got in touch. You want the truth now, in case you marry Baba. Love, I’d say, wouldn’t you, Rosie?’
Hiding her still painful disappointment over the destroyed dream of Baba returning and wanting her, Rosie nodded with her usual silent enthusiasm.
Over the following days Kate and Rosie made their plans to go with Ethel to visit her parents. They both agreed they should stay with her while she got to the truth behind her father’s obsessive behaviour. There wasn’t time to dwell too long on possible explanations or what Ethel should say as they were kept very busy. Temporary buildings increased in number and these were filled with stores and other undisclosed items which were strictly guarded by armed soldiers who had permission to shoot.
More men began to arrive and were accommodated in dozens of bell tents and fed by the cookhouse and the canteen. Serving so many extra mouths became a nightmare, and judging the amount of food a constant worry. The girls secretly gave thanks they were in an army camp, as generally the soldiers were inclined to be more helpful than the airmen, helping to clear tables, stack dishes and carry them to the kitchen to be washed by the hard worked kitchen ‘slaves’. China and cutlery were washed and dried as fast as possible and returned to the counter for reuse.
Although there were more people, the entertainment fell flat. Apart from a few who tried to force others to enjoy themselves, most were withdrawn, and the atmosphere was tense. A man called Gerald continued playing the piano whenever he was free of duties but few leaned on the instrument beside him and sang the regular favourites.
After the canteen closed, the routine work went on as usual, endless cleaning, filling in the books, balancing the money. And always baking cakes and pastries, making sandwiches. The ubiquitous chip appeared in unbelievable quantities, involving soldiers – usually those on ‘jankers’ – to do the boring task of peeling and cutting them. Like the girls, they sang as they worked too, but the words were parodies of favourite songs and unsuitable for the Naafi girls’ tender ears.
Sometimes they were so tired they didn’t wash properly, just gave themselves what Rosie called a cat’s lick and a promise, before flopping into bed exhausted. No matter how late and however tired she was, Kate still always rolled up her hair in dinkie curlers so she would ‘look my best for our boys’ the following day.
Besides the British divisions, soldiers of many nations filed into the camp. The American soldiers both white and black, smiling, always polite and respectful of the girls, ‘Treating us like their kid sisters’, as one of the canteen staff said.
Kate sighed as she searched the sea of faces and wished she could see Vincent. But fully aware of where the men were heading, she thought perhaps not. She hoped he was in fact far away from the south of England and Wales at that time, somewhere safe, stood down from flying.
As she prepared more sandwiches for the counter she thought of him setting off on a mission, being handed his food pack by the girls in the American PX and hoped they were generous with what they gave him. If only she could see him, reassure herself he was safe. But letters would have to be sufficient for the moment. Busy serving teas to some of the lads, she found time to offer up a quick prayer for his safety.
This was echoed in the hearts of Ethel and Rosie. If Vincent lost his life in the chaos that was surely to come, Kate would be devastated. She was deeply and irrevocably in love with Vincent. Both friends also prayed for Baba, both loving him, only one allowed to say it aloud.
Besides the stores that had built up to feed the extra men, vehicles came and were quickly camouflaged against spying enemy aircraft with their all-seeing cameras. Lorries and amphibians, tanks and armoured cars and guns as well as boxes of ammunition were piled on to the fields around them in a widened area taken over by the war machine weeks before and fenced and heavily guarded.
From an airfield close by, bombing raids on the French coast were intensified and the crews came back for a brief rest while their planes were serviced and repaired, before being sent off again – their numbers made up from reserve crew arriving with frightening regularity, to replace the injured or the dead. Kate watched them taking off and landing and guessed the rest.
Long trailers were seen on the roads, blocking traffic and occasionally causing chaos. Rumours spread that they contained sections of bridges to be used when the Second Front opened. In fact the long vehicles, which bore the nickname ‘Queen Mary’s’, held planes, built to replace those lost in the daily air battles, something Kate tried not to think about.
An air of tension gradually changed to one of anticipation as the day – the date of which was still unknown to the men – approached. The place was filled to capacity and still they came. Serving them all was a nightmare of organization; with so many staff working they were falling over each other. Still the girls smiled and joked and laughed at the teasing as though they hadn’t heard any of it before. As May moved on, the men began to relaxed a little and the pianist began to attract a more interested audience around him.
It was at the end of May 1944 that the three girls planned to go and face Ethel’s parents, but without warning the camp was sealed. No post or deliveries of any kind came in or went out and no one was allowed to leave. Letters to and from home were held in abeyance.
So sudden was the closing of the camp that one local girl who had called to collect a handbag left behind when she had been moved a few weeks before, came in, greeted a few friends and was not allowed back out. She couldn’t even tell her parents where she was.
‘Stay out all night? My father’ll think the worst and he’ll kill me,’ she wailed, but to no avail.
One evening, fresh supplies were opened and, although they were officially off duty, having worked all that day without a break, the girls were called to help to prepare portable canteen packs for the men. Exhausted, they nevertheless worked almost throughout the night with no one uttering a word of complaint. The following day the task went on. No one said anything but they all knew that this was ‘it’. Today was the day we would invade Europe.
At midnight they went to bed and lay awake, unable to shut off their minds to what was going on just a few miles away. They heard the bombers and fighters flying over, the different engine sounds, some low and powerful, others high pitched and sounding impatient to be off, performing a kind of symphony in the night air. In the darkness Kate crossed her fingers and wished Vincent luck. With so many men on the move he was certain to be one of them – bombarding the enemy to make it safer for those on the ground, the vehicles moving forward and the men who were clearing the way.
The planes had all gone and the sound of low-geared engines filled the night air; they listened for what seemed hours, as the lorries and the rest moved out. The hands of the clock in the dim light seemed to crawl as line after line of vehicles left the fields around. There were few voices heard. Everyone knew exactly what was needed of them and the exodus was carried out steadily, effortlessly without a delay.
The girls tried to sleep, but long before they needed to, they got out of bed where they had lain fully dressed in case they were needed, and looked out of the window. The camp and all the fields around it were completely, eerily empty.
At midnight in a place near Caen, the gliders had landed the first of the Allied forces on French soil, their task to secure important bridges. Overhead, bombers rained down their destruction on to the German defences.
At home, as soon as the ships at the southern and eastern docks were filled with men and equipment they set out for France, the Americans going to the beach they called Utah, Canadians landing on Juno and the British on sections of the coast they called Sword and Gold.
On board ship on his way towards the coast of France, Wesley was getting food to the men on the heavily laden ship, ignoring the guns and the bombs that threatened them. More and more bombers and fighters flew towards the coast of Normandy. It was overcast, the planes droned unseen above him. Vincent was just one of hundreds aiming his bombs at his targets, battering the German lines. The powerful plane had been hit several times but the crew remained determined to do what was asked of them and help the infantry and ground troops below.
Some days later, Wesley’s ship was outward bound on its seventh voyage. When the ship was hit he seemed oblivious of the danger, he just followed the men to the first aid room, usually the mess room but used by the medics when needed, and stood ready to help the dedicated men with their heartbreaking work. When the call came to abandon ship, he stood back and allowed others to go before him, uncaring of his own safety, not from a heroic stance but because he really did not care what became of him.
They were not very far from the beach where the Mulberry Harbour was already in place, having been towed out in sections and fixed so that lorries and tanks could roll off the ships and up to the beach. He swam lazily towards it, rested for a while then went on to the beach.
Bombs falling, guns firing and the bodies of the dead and wounded made the beach into a hellish scene. He stopped to help the wounded when he could and directed the busy first aid men to where the more serious cases were, before heading to where the Naafi were already set up and offering char and a wad to those near enough to reach them. Wesley offered his services and was soon making sandwiches, unpacking chocolate and biscuits, carrying food and hot drinks and offering comfort to the men.
The noise was so great, between the loud crunch of bombs falling and the heavy artillery pounding close by, that he became deaf for a while, but presumed that it must be the same for everyone, so he carried on.
Explosions fell close to him at times and once or twice knocked him off his feet. Others were doing the same as himself, offering sustenance to the fighting men, and he went to uncover one Naafi assistant who had been hidden by the huge amount of sand that had rained down on him. The man, who had so narrowly cheated death, went back to the Naafi area and complained that the cups had been filled with sand and could he have replacement teas, and quick.
So it went on, the slow continuous crawl from the beach and on through villages and towns, in the days that followed. There was little sleep for anyone; once or twice Wesley began to feel delirious and, like many others, took a tablet to help him go on. His last thought, when he finally slept, was of Ethel, wondering vaguely whether she would perhaps be proud of him at last.
Once a beach head was established the security at the army camp began to ease. The guards were still cautious about who came and went, passwords were used and passes inspected with the usual thoroughness but, to everyone’s delight, letters came, plus a parcel from Rosie’s Nan.
They were all tired after the extra hours they had worked but hearing the news from across the Channel cheered them and the three girls began to replan their next leave.
Kate wrote page after page to her beloved Vincent, shutting her mind off from the possibility that he was one of hundreds who hadn’t returned after the D Day invasions on the Normandy coast.
Rosie wrote to her mother and to Nan, telling them both that she wanted them all to meet. ‘I don’t think Nan will agree,’ she told the others. ‘After losing her son, my father, she expected my mother to stay with her to offer comfort and share the grief, but instead she ran off and left me and Nan, to live with this other man. How can I expect Nan to accept her after all these years?’
‘Reassure your Nan that you love her best and she will always come first,’ Kate said. ‘Love is the answer to most things, you know.’
Ethel laughed. ‘Since you met Vincent the world is filled with love!’
‘Better than dragging hatred on and on and prolonging the misery.’
Rosie sucked the end of her pencil thoughtfully. ‘I think I’ll use that, it sound’s good. Prolonging the misery, eh?’
Ethel wrote to Baba, long letters telling him about Rosie’s mother’s unexpected return and about Kate and her love for Vincent. She said little about herself, it had been too long for catching up with how she felt, and besides, she didn’t know what he wanted to hear. No point making a fool of herself by telling him how much she had missed him if he hadn’t felt more than casual friendship. ‘The trouble with war,’ she said to Kate and Rosie, ‘is that everything gets too intense.’
‘What are you talking about now?’ Kate asked, but Ethel didn’t try to explain.
As the battle for the liberation of France continued, their weekend passes finally came through. Ethel was still undecided about whether she would go home. Hoping Kate and Rosie would agree, she suggested delaying it, insisting she wanted to stay in camp in case Baba arrived, but the others wouldn’t hear of it.
‘I can’t see Vincent, he isn’t free,’ Kate said. ‘So, I’m coming home with you. You have to sort this thing out with your father some time and better you do it before you see Baba, don’t you agree?’
‘I’ll come too,’ Rosie said. She sighed. ‘I can’t decide whether to go to Nan’s or meet my mother again. So, I’ll do neither.’ She sighed again. ‘If only Nan would agree to Mam coming there, we might have a chance of getting somewhere but Nan refuses to open the door to Mam, and Mam won’t go there without an invitation from Nan. So where does that get me?’
‘Come to stay with me,’ Kate said. ‘Invite your Nan and your mother and let them meet on neutral ground. Mam and Dad wouldn’t mind. It’ll be a bit of a crush though. I’ll ask them, shall I?’
‘Thanks, Kate. I might try that. But Nan’s house is big enough for Mam to stay there and keep out of Nan’s way if she wanted to.’ She smiled and said, ‘I can just imagine it, every five minutes one or the other would flounce off and shut herself away like an aged primadonna.’
‘Right. Next time we’re all off together, that’s what we’ll do, get them together somewhere and make them talk. Agreed?’ Kate said. ‘But this weekend is for Ethel and the mad dad. All right?’
Ethel didn’t tell her mother she was coming. Instead the three girls found inexpensive lodgings in the town and the following day, a Saturday, they went by bus and on foot to her home. Ethel didn’t walk straight in, too much had happened for her to feel able to do that. Besides, there was also the atavistic need to be outside, in the open, where she could run and make her escape! ‘If he starts,’ she warned her friends, ‘then I’m off and it’s every man for himself.’ She knocked and stood back with her friends and waited until the door opened.
‘Ethel!’ her brother Sid shouted, running forward to hug her. ‘Ethel, thank goodness you’ve come. Are you all right? Have you heard about Dad? Are you home for good?’ The questions shot from him, then he calmed down and invited them in.
The introductions were lost in the confusion of his welcome and Ethel left them and went into the small, overfilled living room. There, standing near the fire, shaking with emotion, stood her mother. Silently they held each other, tears flowing, while Sid beckoned to Kate and Rosie to follow him into the kitchen, where he began to prepare a tray of tea and toast with illegally obtained, delicious farm butter.
‘Sorry, Mam, but I couldn’t come before now. Today was hard enough. I couldn’t have managed without Kate and Rosie.’ Ethel struggled to hold back sobs as her mother held her at arm’s length to examine her and see how well she looked. ‘Sorry I ran away and left you to deal with it,’ she added as she slipped again into her mother’s arms.
‘Don’t apologize, love. The fault is with me. I should have done something to stop your father years before.’
‘Is he… is he here?’
‘Up in his bed and there he’ll stay until he dies.’ There was harshness in Molly’s voice for the first time, and the tears left unshed glistened in her eyes.
Sid came in followed by Kate and Rosie, and as the tea was poured and toast handed around, Ethel said, ‘I think I want to see Dad before I eat this.’
Sid followed her and she went up the familiar stairs and into the bedroom where her parents had slept all their married life. The big bed was empty, the room neat and orderly.
‘He’s in the box room,’ Sid said, and there was a hint of sadness in his blue eyes.
She peered around the door of the mean little room and stared at her father. She dreaded seeing those eyes glaring at her, so like Sid’s, but which frightened her as no others could.
His red hair had faded to grey, the skin had lost its angry redness. He looked smaller and his face had collapsed into softness, paler and thinner than she remembered. ‘Hello, Dad,’ she said, gripping her forearms to stop their shaking.
Sounds came from the man who no longer looked like her father. He didn’t look at her, presuming perhaps that the other figure standing beside his son was that of his wife. He pointed to a cup on the side table, tea that had gone cold. Sid went over to hand it to his father and help him to drink.
‘Mam does that,’ Sid told her sadly. ‘She’s still getting her own back on him for the years he misused her. Putting things just out of reach, deliberately misunderstanding him when he wants something.
‘She shouldn’t,’ Ethel said in a shocked whisper.
Her voice suddenly penetrated the man’s confused brain and he turned his head slowly and stared at her. The eyes were the same bright, angry blue. But behind them the man whom she had feared to face was no longer there. A stranger sat there, propped up by pillows and helplessly accepting the drink Sid was holding for him.
He moved his face away from the cup and stared, then realization showed in his expression. The one arm capable of movement waved in the air and his voice called out, unintelligable babble which Sid seemed to understand.
‘He’s telling you to go, to keep away from me.’
‘Why? Surely he doesn’t include you in his warnings about men?’ She laughed nervously.
Dai gestured pitifully towards a photograph of the family and painstakingly pointed to her sister. When she tried to make sympathetic remarks he silenced her with more wild sounds and pointed to Sid. Even Ethel recognized the word ‘evil’.
‘What does he mean?’ she asked, moving closer to her brother. This seemed to anger the sick man further, and again he pointed to the picture of Glenys then at Sid. Then, with a roar of rage, at her. Tears weakened the anger in his eyes and with an effort he pointed to them again. Glenys, Sid and then herself.
‘My God. He thinks you and Glenys… that you’re—’
‘He knows Glenys was your mother and believes I am your father,’ Sid said sadly. ‘Please believe me when I swear to you that it isn’t true.’
‘But why would he think such a thing?’
‘Let’s go downstairs, shall we?’
Leaving the distressed man alone in his comfortless and sparely furnished room they went down to join the others. Kate and Rosie were quickly included in the latest twist to Ethel’s story but they remained silent, not adding a word that would distract from the situation between Ethel and Sid and Molly Twomey.
‘You know about this?’ Ethel asked her mother. ‘That Dad blamed Sid?’
‘I do now. Sid and I discussed it and we decided that it was because, at the time of Glenys’s death, Sid said he was to blame for her having a child when she was so young. He meant he should have taken more care of her. Your father misunderstood. He was always one to think the worst of anyone, specially his family,’ she added bitterly.
‘Nothing any of us said made any difference. He wouldn’t listen to explanations or be persuaded to change his mind about what he believed was the truth. He preferred to blame me, you see,’ Sid explained. ‘He loved Glenys and coped better by convincing himself that I was the one responsible, that she was the innocent and unfortunate victim.’
‘I meant I used to see her kissing the boy and did nothing to warn her. I should have made sure she kept away from him.’
A feeling of dread enveloped Ethel and she was convinced she was going to be sick.
‘The boy’, the mysterious ‘him’ – Sid had said, ‘I should have made sure she kept away from him.’ She had to ask just one more question and she would know the true identity of her father, but dare she do it? Dare she say the words that could ruin her happiness? A fraction of a second and she would know whether he was a fool or a genius, a strong man or a weakling. Whether she carried some dread disease that would make marriage to Baba impossible and make her glad Duggie’s child had died. Did she have a father to be proud of, or someone whose name would make her keep the secret until she died?
‘Who was he, who is my true father?’ To her surprise the words came out strong and confident. She looked from Sid to the woman she had always called Mam. ‘Tell me!’
‘I don’t know, Glenys wouldn’t tell me,’ Mrs Twomey said.
‘You must have an idea,’ Ethel pleaded. ‘Please, I have to know.’ She looked at her brother.
‘It was Colin Bailey from the farm,’ Sid told her softly.
Ethel felt the shock of it invade every part of her; then she allowed her mind to wander over the thoughts and fears she had suffered since Glenys’s tragic death. Colin Bailey was a kind, gentle man who had always been a friend but had never interfered in her life. The truth was far kinder than any of her imaginings. ‘I wish Glenys had told me,’ she said at last, ‘then she needn’t have died.’ With Kate and Rosie holding her and soothing her, Sid comforting her mother, she cried, while upstairs the man she had always called Dad cried too.
They didn’t stay long but before they went for their bus Kate and Rosie went for a walk while Ethel went to see Colin.
‘I’m glad you know,’ he said smiling. ‘My only regret is that I didn’t know in time or we’d have married, young as we were. Your mother had taken the child, given you her name before I knew and Glenys begged me to keep it a secret. I’ve watched you grow and taken pleasure in the way you have developed into a lovely, capable young woman. I was on hand if you needed me but content to watch from a distance and marvel at the wonderful person your sister and I gave life to. I’m still here and always will be. But nothing will change unless you want it to.’
The three girls turned back and waved from the bus as Colin, Sid and the woman she still called mother stood watching them leave. Ethel wasn’t able to discuss what had happened and Kate and Rosie understood. Rosie asked just one question. ‘Are you glad we made you go?’
A still tearful Ethel simply nodded. As Rosie well knew, sometimes a nod was sufficient.
The war continued to rage in Italy, Russia and the Far East as well as nearer to home, in Europe. Caen had been taken by the Allies and London was again being attacked from the air, this time with pilotless planes, V1s that quickly earned the nickname doodlebugs or buzz bombs.
City dwellers became aware and quickly learned to recognize the sound of this new terror. They would watch nervously, knowing that when the engine stopped, the flying bomb would fall to the ground at terrific speed bringing death and terror. After the engine fell silent, they would count to seven and wait for the devastating blast that followed. Life or death was decided in those seven seconds.
When Ethel, Kate and Rosie returned to camp it was to learn to their horror that gunners on the ground were told to fire at these planes and try to shoot them down.
‘Shoot them down? But we’re underneath them!’ Kate gasped. ‘And with stores filled with petrol and ammunition all around us? Are you mad? You mean we’re standing here while you lot are trying to bring the bombs down on ourselves?’
‘You’ll be safe enough in the slit trenches,’ they were told laconically by one of the gunners.
‘You make sure you aim to miss till I’ve got my hat on!’ Kate warned.
‘You should have let me keep my best hat instead of throwing it under that train,’ Rosie grinned. ‘That would have stopped them!’
One day when several raids had disrupted the whole day, preventing Ethel from completing her tasks; when the cakes were over-cooked and the potatoes ran out before they had finished serving lunch and a dozen other small incidents had annoyed her, Albert came in and looked around as though hoping to see someone else he could approach. He eventually asked if the books and money had been made up for him to check.
‘No they haven’t, and I won’t get them done until tomorrow because I’m going out!’ she snapped, irritated by his juvenile behaviour.
‘You know they have to be completed each day,’ he said stiffly. ‘It’s the only way to ensure accuracy. No one can rely on their memory being precise if there’s a query.’
‘And talking about queries,’ she said angrily, ‘what upset you last time we went out? Was it because I said a few swears? Or offended your inhibited, pompous heart by some other such dreadful misdemeanour?’ Her day had been so frustrating she spoke more fiercely than she normally would, her patience had all been used up. ‘Or was it your stupidity in proposing, so you could seduce me into bed?’
‘I wouldn’t have been the first to do that, would I?’
‘What d’you mean?’ she demanded. ‘Who’s been lying to you?’
‘Lying? Walter was very convincing when he told me that you and he… that I wouldn’t be the first.’
Anger left her like air out of a burst balloon and laughter took its place. ‘Walter? You believed him? Walter Phillips? He’d be so lucky!’
‘He told me that—’
‘Forget it, Albert. I’m laughing at you, not pathetic Walter who has to lie, to pretend, because no one will give him a moment of their time. Me and Walter? What a laugh, wait till I tell Rosie and Kate!’
‘I’m sorry. I—’
‘Don’t be sorry. I’m not. It’s shown me just what a fool I’ve been to think you could even be a friend, let alone something more. Friends trust each other. Walter! You amaze me! You believed that of me? And without even allowing me to answer? Goodbye, Albert.’ She was still laughing when she went to find the others.
Predictably, Kate was writing to Vincent. Beside her was a notepad covered with surprisingly good sketches of wedding gowns, together with small bridesmaids’ dresses coloured faintly in pink crayon.
‘Mum thinks it’s my favourite colour and I’d hate to disappoint her,’ she explained.
They were in and out of bed that night with constant air raid warnings and Hitler’s latest weapon causing havoc in the cities. The gunners were improving their technique and some were being shot from the skies before reaching their intended target. Others went off course and fell harmlessly into the sea or the fields around south-east England.
Besides the V1 rockets, there were still a few raids in which bombs were dropped, and civilians as well as camps and airfields were strafed by lone aircraft on nuisance raids. There was a brief attack one morning, and during the lull that followed, the injured were taken to the sick bay, the mess cleared, then everything continued as before.
A solitary plane turned back and came in low over the camp and fired into the groups of fitters working around the planes. The medics ran to the scene but no one was hurt. Rosie, who unlike Ethel had failed to become a proficient driver, was on her way back from taking food and hot drinks to the ground crews. It was very warm and as she was pushing the trolley towards the nearest line of lorries she was singing cheerfully, puffing her hair from her face between notes. Around the fields guns began to fire. Above, the plane was turning and coming in for another attack.
Kate watched her friend and smiled. Rosie was stretched out, leaning forward, head down, struggling over the uneven ground towards the men, some of whom were walking towards her to help push the ungainly trolley.
Kate saw, then heard the plane, realized that it was coming towards them, dropping down, increasing speed and heading for the field, and she ran, calling to Rosie to get down. The noise of the plane’s engines deafened her, and her voice was unheard by Rosie. The sound of the plane filled her head as it came closer, large and deadly, the unbelievably loud roar stopping all thought.
The line of bullets crossed Kate’s back, the blood spurting up like roses blooming on the khaki cloth. Ethel and Rosie saw what had happened and the world seemed to stop and everything fell silent. The drone of the aircraft faded away. The sun still shone. The sky was still a clear, summer blue.
Then voices and people running and Rosie bending down staring in utter disbelief at the still form of her friend. Someone gently turned Kate over and Rosie straightened her hair, folded it neatly around the face that was so lovely in repose.
When they put Kate’s body on to a stretcher, covered her beautiful face and took her away, Rosie screamed and clung to the men, trying to stop them, and it was Ethel who helped her and soothed her until the screams died away.
‘We were so afraid she would lose Vincent,’ Rosie sobbed. ‘We didn’t once imagine it would be Kate who left us.’
After Kate’s body had been taken to her stricken parents for burial, Ethel and Rosie were given permission to attend the funeral.
The funeral was a large one as Kate’s parents were business people and well known in the town. Ethel and Rosie stood beside other friends of Kate and representatives of the Navy, Army and Air Force. Others too, those serving the war effort in munition factories and on the land, or in the manufacture of the hundreds of items needed by men and women in every branch of the services. Vincent stood beside Mr and Mrs Banner, sharing their grief, helping them with his love and strength.
There were many there who had lost members of their own families, and others who had been bombed out of their homes, but today their thoughts were for the newly bereaved parents of Kate Banner and their quiet sympathy was touching. Crying could be heard, muffled by handkerchiefs, and the flowing of tears was part of the healing that would surely come one day.
They were both staying with Rosie’s Nan and she went to church with them to listen to the vicar trying to explain why and how a caring God could allow such a cruel thing to happen. As they left the church, leaving the men to go with the cortege to the burial, they saw that Rosie’s mother had come too.
It was all so unreal, unbelievable. Ethel and Rosie stared at each other at times as though begging for the joke to end and for Kate, their lovely, happy friend, to walk in and laugh and hug them. They watched Vincent sitting with Kate’s parents and wondered how he was coping, after seeing so much death and now sitting beside the coffin of his darling Kate – the one death he did not expect.
‘When we get back, how d’you feel about applying for overseas again?’ Ethel asked as they walked away from the grieving house. ‘I don’t think I can cope with staying on and expecting Kate to be there.’
‘The news is good. If we’re to go we might as well go now before we miss all the excitement. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be in Germany when the war ends?’
The Allied advance was steadily progressing towards Germany, the Naafi was present, serving the armies as they freed village after village, town after town. Bulk stores had been set up along the route, leapfrogging ahead beyond the front line. Rest centres were set up for the men to move back and relax for a while and recover before going once again in to the fighting. These were sometimes a hall, a large house, or a café, and sometimes a hotel that had been commandeered and made comfortable for the army’s use. At times the situation was very confused, the front line moving sometimes within hours, and the men and women were determined that the comforts and necessities should always be there when needed.
‘We’ll go,’ Ethel said. ‘But first we’ll go and sort out your Nan and your mother. We don’t have to be back for two more days.’
Rosie had previously written to her Nan, telling her to invite her mother to call. With the funeral taking all of her thoughts she hadn’t mentioned this, but seeing her mother in church that day had given her hope.
To her relief, Nan had offered no argument. She too had been upset by the death of Kate and perhaps it was that which made her decide to start putting things right between her daughter-in-law and Rosie.
Having saved her meagre bacon ration for a few weeks and receiving it in a small and rather fat joint, she cooked mashed potatoes and a hard cabbage that she called ‘cannon-ball cabbage’, usually grown to feed animals. Served with a cheese sauce, the result was an insipid plateful. ‘No one can afford to be fussy any more,’ she said as an apology. ‘Edible means practically the same as eatable these days.’
There were many meatless meals served in every household and they ate the meal appreciatively, aware of her generosity with her precious ration. So many meals consisted only of vegetables and gravy, that many declared that throughout those years of shortages, it was Bisto and Oxo which fed the nation.
When the three members of the Dreen family sat down to talk, Ethel excused herself and went to the pictures. On her return, the atmosphere was relaxed and she thought that, against all the odds, Rosie had found a mother she could care for and maybe, one day, would learn to love. Lucky Rosie, she thought with a sigh.
There would never be a loving reunion for her. How could she ever return to her family and be greeted with such affection? How could she forgive her father for the years of misery? Or her mother for allowing the dangerous situation to continue when she should have taken them away? She might visit but would never again call The Dell her home.
Perhaps the kind of loyalty which made my mother stay is something special, she thought with a stab of guilt, something of which I am not capable. But from the viewpoint of the child that was me, it was not loyalty but cowardice. That oft-repeated blame placed at her mother’s feet had been comforting, a reason for her to perpetuate her refusal to consider her mother’s side, blame for her mother was a garment that sat too comfortably upon her, and it was now beginning to worry her. Growing doubts about the easy excuse for her resentment and hatred were keeping her awake.
On their return to camp, heavy-eyed with crying, Baba was there to greet them.
Rosie smiled at him, hoping her face didn’t show either her pleasure or her regrets. She politely welcomed him back then left Ethel and him to talk. Once out of sight of the guard room, Baba opened his arms to Ethel and they hugged. Their joyful reunion made Ethel think again about love and sex and she knew that her feelings for Baba were more than a need to belong. She did belong. To him.
‘I have a father now, if I want him,’ she explained to Baba later. ‘And Mr and Mrs Bailey are my grandparents. And their daughter is my aunt. What d’you think of that?’ She was laughing with happiness and crying for Kate at the same time and Baba held her and soothed her when tears overcame her, understanding how she grieved.
‘I hope you’ll still have room in your full life for my three sisters,’ Baba laughed. ‘They’ll want a share of you too, mind.’
‘And I have a brother who’s my uncle and a mother who’s my grandmother and besides all that, I know I have an extended family in Rosie and Rosie’s Nan, plus her mother, who will always be there when I need them. Oh Baba, I miss Kate dreadfully, and I always will, but another part of me has never been happier. Is that thoughtless and hard, d’you think? To be so happy at such a time?’
‘Can you imagine Kate begrudging you a moment of it?’ Baba asked and Ethel cried some more.
Loneliness need never be a fear, ever again. Her feelings for Baba were nothing to do with loneliness or an artificial pretence of belonging. Whatever happened to them, she wanted to be with him. ‘Perhaps this really is love,’ she whispered to a photograph of Kate. ‘You’d understand what I mean, wouldn’t you? You who loved everyone so much that you made people happier just by meeting you.’