Gunner Girls and Fighter Boys (46 page)

‘Well, you’ve shot up, you have. Almost as tall as me.’

‘That’s what happens when you don’t come near nor by for years,’ her grandmother said tartly.

Granny Byron had obviously not welcomed the return of her prodigal husband. She had often complained to May that there was no advantage in him at all.

‘I’ve been busy,’ he said, unperturbed by his wife’s vinegary stare. ‘Serving at His Majesty’s pleasure… in the House of Lords!’ He winked at May and picked up the cup his wife had slammed on the kitchen table.

‘Yes, Lord Byron of Wormwood Scrubs, and I wish you’d piss off back there. But I’m not talking to you – I want to hear what me granddaughter’s been up to.’

She deliberately turned her back on him, flashing her hooped earrings.

‘I can’t stay long – I’m only on a forty-eight. But I wanted to give you my good news. Me and Bill are getting married!’

‘Oh, me darlin’, come here!’ Her grandmother enveloped her in a tobacco-scented hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘About time, now let me do your leaves.’

‘Oh gawd, here comes the mumbo-jumbo. I’m off to see me bank manager.’ Her grandfather pressed a ten shilling note into her hand. ‘Congratulations, love, ’ere’s a treat.’

Granny Byron didn’t look impressed. ‘I don’t ask where it comes from no more.’

Her grandmother made May swish the dregs of her cup and then she bent to examine the damp brown leaves. She looked puzzled.

‘I’m looking for the wedding.’ She tipped the cup one way and then the other. ‘Did you say you’d set a date?’

‘Well, not yet. I was worried how our Peg would take it. It’s so soon after Harry. That’s why I came home to break it to her, but she was happy for me, Nan, really happy.’

Granny Byron sniffed and turned her sharp eyes on May. ‘What have I told you about following your instincts! You shouldn’t have waited, love, you’ve got to look after your own happiness in this world. And what harm does it do Peggy if you finds happiness? None! No harm at all. Now you get back over Essex and make your wedding plans!’

Whatever Granny Byron had seen in the leaves, it had left May with a sense of bubbling urgency and she rushed to catch the bus to the station. Someone, probably a bored child, had peeled away the edge of the green netting stuck over the bus window, which was a supposed safety measure against shattered glass. Through the little porthole she watched grey skies above Bermondsey’s jagged skyline; the streets had such a battered, defeated look about them that she found herself unconsciously searching out colour. An advert for
In Which We Serve
was stuck on a hoarding erected round a flattened bomb site, and her eye was caught by the sailor giving his sweetheart a farewell kiss. Her finger scraped back a little more of the netting and, as she put her nose to the glass, she was shocked to see her grandfather standing in front of the hoarding. He was in animated conversation with George Flint. George, looking pastier than she’d ever seen him, appeared to be pinned against the poster by her grandfather’s outstretched hand. George’s trilby obscured the sailor, so that it looked as if he was the one being kissed. It was a ludicrous scene, yet her grandfather’s face was deadly serious, and for all his years, he looked by far the more powerful of the two men. May knew that George and her grandfather had been involved in various joint ventures over the years. In fact, he’d been the one who’d introduced Peggy to George. But whether the conversation involved business or family, it was obvious George was frightened out of his wits. May sat back and sighed. Sometimes she thought Bermondsey was just too small. There was no escaping any connection and since her own exposure to the wider world, she’d come to understand that for all her love of the place there might be advantages in living somewhere else.

At London Bridge she was just in time to jump up on to the back of an army transport going to Liverpool Street, and she was back in Barkingside for teatime. In the NAAFI she found her friends eating bread pudding.

‘We’re playing hunt the raisin!’ said Ruby. ‘Here, we saved you this.’

She passed May a pale imitation of the dark, spicy bread pudding she was used to her mother making.

‘Oh, May, Bill come over earlier. He told me to give you this.’ Emmy handed her a bulky little envelope.

May took it and quickly tucked it into her tunic pocket.

‘Ain’t you opening it?’ Emmy asked and May grinned.

‘Nosey parker! I’m saving it.’

‘Oh, all right, but I’ll find out sooner or later! How was poor Peg about the wedding?’

May gave them the good news that they’d all be required to play honour guard again very soon, yet all she really wanted to do was to go somewhere quiet and read Bill’s letter. But tonight was designated for kit cleaning, so it wasn’t until her buttons were gleaming and her uniform pressed that she was able to turn to Bill’s package. Mac had heated up a bucket of water and was making their cocoa, and May took herself off to her bunk while the others stood round the stove. Inside the packet was a sheet of the familiar RAF-issue beige paper, covered in Bill’s careful handwriting. But something else was lodged in the bottom of the envelope. She shook it and a small object fell into her lap. It was a sweetheart brooch. Lots of the girls with service boyfriends had them; they had the insignia of the service and a photo of the young man in uniform. But this one was handcrafted. She held it up. It was a pair of wings, made out of clear Perspex, and inset into the middle was a heart-shaped colour photo of Bill, in RAF cap. With a half-smile on his serious face and his kind eyes, he looked nothing like a warrior. She supposed the wings must represent the RAF symbol but, on closer inspection, she saw that he had shaped them like a pair of angel’s wings. For some reason, the secret gesture brought sudden stinging tears to her eyes. On the back he had inscribed:
To my angel. All my love, always, your Bill
.

She wished he was here, but the letter would have to do for now. She began reading.
Hello, darling, I hope you like your angel’s wings! I got some ribbing from the boys about them, but you know what they mean, and that’s all that matters...
There were questions about Peggy and whether she’d been able to see his parents, but May was alarmed to see she was reaching the end of the letter and his endearments had been far too few. Even though they saw each other every week, she’d got used to receiving long letters from him. Sometimes he would begin writing to her as soon as they’d said goodnight. She tried not to run ahead of herself, rolling each sentence around in her mind before moving on to the next, but a word caught her eye and a cold hand clutched at her heart.
Overseas
– someone else, please God, let him be talking about someone else. She skimmed ahead.

I’m afraid we left it too late, my darling. Someone flagged me up as A1, fit for overseas posting, and the orders have come through. It looks like we’ll have to wait a while before we can marry, but believe me, May, I don’t regret our decision and in my mind you’re already my wife. I’m only sorry I couldn’t kiss my angel goodbye. We’re packing up today and I’ll be on the train by the time you get back to camp tomorrow. I don’t know where I’m going, May, and even if I did, couldn’t tell you, but I’ll write as soon as I can, darling.

She found it hard to breathe. She stared at the girls giggling over their cocoa and she wanted to shout at them to be quiet, they couldn’t be happy, there was no place for laughter. Bill was gone, already on a train somewhere, he couldn’t tell her where. She went back over the letter, searching for any details that would prove her wrong, searching for a mistake. How could he be already gone? They were getting married.

So, my darling May, keep your angel’s wings with my picture close to your heart all the time I am away and remember our special place and time. I’ll meet you in our fairy ring, every night, before you go to sleep. I’ll reach out and kiss you, wherever I am, however far away, I promise…

And he had signed off with a row of kisses that filled the width of the page but left her heart empty and aching. She put the thin paper to her lips and smudged the crosses with her own kiss. When the bugle sounded lights out, she got into bed and imagined herself in the quiet clearing in the forest. She felt the golden leaves falling on her cheek and then Bill’s lips on her own. She’d known he would come. ‘Goodnight, my darling,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Christmas 1942–1943

Rabbits! Here he was writing about rabbits and all she wanted were words of love. Could you bring a rabbit from Moreton-in-Marsh for my mum? he’d written. I know she’ll appreciate it as she says meat is very short at the moment. May was going to Angelcote for a few days, before bringing her mother back to Bermondsey for the rest of her Christmas leave. The visit was an experiment, which if successful, May hoped would see her family reunited in Southwark Park Road once more. Her mother had been persuaded to leave her haven in the Cotswolds because Peggy needed her and Carrie Lloyd’s fear of the bombs was paling in comparison to her fear of losing her daughter to the twilight world of grief.

But rabbits, how could he? It was hard, having to learn about the more annoying aspects of the man you loved through letters alone. You couldn’t have a spat, pout and then make up deliciously afterwards. Bill’s reserve on paper was infuriating. But she smiled to herself as she realized they had never yet had a proper argument. Like so many other things, that would have to be postponed till he came home again. But for now, she was content to be mildly annoyed at him. She turned back to his letter: four sheets of paper covered in his blue looping handwriting. She tried not to, but was unable to resist skipping to the end.
All my love always, your own Bill
, followed by a satisfying row of crosses, covering the width of the page. It was something.

At least now she had his address and could write back to let him know how unsatisfying his letters were and what was required of him in future. He was in Morecombe, in civvie billets with a crowd of other unfortunates, all waiting for their overseas posting. And his days were spent killing time in the chilly, grey-skied seaside town. Since he’d been there he’d wandered the length of the prom countless times, roamed the town and found not much to delight him. He made light of it and she wondered how he could talk so normally, when all she could think of, day and night, was what hellhole of a foreign battlefield he was destined for. He’d never been to the flicks so often, he said, four times in as many days, and always the cheap seats of course, ha ha, and nothing like Leicester Square… But the NAAFI was good and the civvie billets even had sheets and…
Oh, Bill
, she thought,
why won’t you tell me you love me? Are you too embarrassed by the censor?

And it hurt to hear he was eager to be gone. The waiting was too hard, he said. If they had to go, best it was soon. But she thought the opposite, best if he stayed in Morecombe, best he be bored witless by the endless grey waves rippling towards the prom and the old flicks repeating in the Odeon. So when she replied, she told him that he must forget the censor, and speak to her as if it were just the two of them, in their special place, and though she loved to hear what he’d had for his dinner, he must tell her he loved her and say something sweet for every mention of rabbits for his mum.

Since Bill’s departure life on the gun park had been frenetic. As corporal she’d been required to familiarize herself with the new radar system which they were putting into action on the heavy guns. It was a miracle of night-time tracking which, although it would make her job on the predictor much easier, kept them even busier on the gun emplacements through the deepening frosty nights. But at least the ceaseless activity helped to alleviate the worry of those sleet-filled days when she was getting used to being without Bill.

A letter a day, sometimes two, came with reassuring regularity and, with each one, she could feel Bill’s deepening sense of loneliness matching her own. If she’d known he’d be kicking his heels in Morecombe all this time she could have asked for a day out of her upcoming Christmas leave and gone to him. Even if it were only for an hour, at least they would have the chance of a proper goodbye. After a week of his absence she was thinking of doing just that, when a letter arrived with a different address on it. He was still in Morecombe, but not for long, he said, and any future letters must be sent to this new address. She looked at it blankly. It wasn’t a place; it was a series of numbers and letters, denoting nowhere:

1429071 Ac/ GILBIE. W.

B.P.O.

ROYAL AIR FORCE

c/o A.P.O. 8250

Where was he? There was nowhere on earth or sea that she could place him and panic took her breath away, she breathed deeply and slowly, imagining the fairy ring beneath the tree, and his arms round her. She looked back to the letter and felt ashamed.

I know it’s hard for you, my darling, but you must be a brave kid and know that all day, every day, my thoughts are with you. And I promise, wherever I am in the world, if it’s at all possible I will write every day, until I am back home, God willing, in your arms again. All my love, always,

Your Bill xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day she woke to a leaden feeling around her heart. As corporal it was her duty this morning to muster the early parade and she couldn’t get out of bed. Emmy came to her bedside. ‘Rise and shine, Corp!’ She pulled back the scratchy blanket that was covering May’s head. ‘Oh, love! What are you crying for?’

‘I can’t do it, Em, I can’t be a bloody soldier today… Bill’s on the ship, he’s gone...’ And she gulped back a sob.

She knew he’d be disappointed in her. He’d told her to be brave, and there were hundreds of women in the camp in worse situations. But today was her twenty-first birthday and she felt as old as Granny Byron this morning.

Emmy gave her a hug. ‘Listen, don’t come to parade. You stay there and I’ll tell Sarge you’ve got your monthlies. All right?’