Bluebirds (46 page)

‘The river changed its course. Is that what you mean?'

‘
Tak
. That is it. And after Czersk was no more very important. There is beautiful old castle high up above the town . . . one day, perhaps, I can show you . . . My home is five miles from there. Is very old place, too. Very dear to me. My family is there a long, long time – since nearly two hundred years. We have much land.'

‘It sounds frightfully grand. You're not a count, or anything like that, are you?'

He smiled. ‘No, I am not a count. But there are many
counts in Poland. Stefan, he is one. His family is very old, very proud. His mother is like a queen.'

‘I hope your mother isn't.'

‘No, no. Not at all. She is always laughing, always smiling. Very natural, you know. And very beautiful, to me.'

He was silent for a moment, smoking the cigarette. Presently he went on: ‘I must believe that she is still alive. And my father too. And my sister and brother. I
must
believe this – you understand? Most of the time I do not let myself think of them at all, but when I do I always say to myself that they are still alive and well, in spite of everything. Is the only way.'

She tried to comfort him. ‘I'm sure they are. I mean the Germans can't have any real reason to harm them.'

‘You do not understand what is like, Anne. How can you? Already they kill civilians here in England, I know, but in Poland is much, much worse. There they can do more than drop bombs. They can shoot and kill whoever they want, for no reason at all. They torture, they put in prison, in camps . . . whatever they like. In each town they choose some people to shoot against a wall so that the others will be afraid and do as they are told. My father, he is not afraid to speak, to say what he believes . . .'

He was silent again. She stroked his hair.

‘How old are your brother and sister?'

‘Helena, she is fifteen. At school – if school is still there. Antek is twenty. He is in cavalry, you know. I am most afraid for him. The Germans have forced Polish soldiers into the Wehrmacht, so maybe I shall fight against my own brother. Or maybe he is prisoner of Russians in labour camp. Or maybe he is already dead. I try to find out. I ask Red Cross but they know nothing. They will tell me perhaps one day, if they learn.'

‘Oh, Michal . . .'

‘Please, do not look sad for me. To a Pole, is not so strange. Our country has had many troubles. For so many years others try to invade us and we have learned to defend
our freedom and our faith. To love our country is part of our religion, you see. To defend her is sacred duty for us all. In Polish Air Force we have flag that says Love Demands Sacrifice. We accept this. I have lost everything, perhaps, but I still have my life to give.'

‘Don't talk like that,
please
.'

‘I am sorry, Anne. Is stupid of me. Not kind. How can you ever understand?'

She felt hopelessly inadequate, as though a huge gulf lay between them that she could never cross.

‘How old are you, Michal? I've never asked you.'

‘Twenty-five. An old, old man.'

‘How old were you when you first made love?'

‘So many questions! I was sixteen.'

‘Heavens . . . is that all?'

‘She was much older woman . . . married.' He smiled at the ceiling. ‘Was very good teacher.'

‘Was she Polish?'

‘Oh, yes. A friend of my mother. Though, of course, my mother knew nothing.'

‘Would she have been shocked?'

‘Shocked? No, not at all. She is not like this.'

‘If my parents could see me now, they'd be terribly shocked. They think I've gone to stay with another WAAF.'

‘I am sorry we deceive them.'

‘I'm not. They'd never understand.'

‘Why you are with a Pole?'

‘No . . . In England nice girls don't do this.'

‘I know. The war changes many things.'

‘I hope you'll meet them one day. Actually, they're pretty decent.'

‘I should be honoured.'

‘I love the way you say things like that. So polite and formal. Do all Poles have lovely manners, like yours?'

‘I hope we have good manners. We are taught to be so. In our Air Force Academy we are taught that every woman must be treated with same respect as a general.'

She giggled. ‘I don't know about that, but all the WAAFS love the Poles. They love the way you bow and treat us so gallantly. Like princesses, not generals. Much better than the RAF.'

‘The WAAFS are very kind to us. Some of them send postcards and pictures and things, you know, because we have no letters. Stefan, he cry. Never have I seen this before with him.'

She thought of the queenly mother. ‘Does he know what has happened to his family?'

‘
Nie
. None of us knows.'

The precious days passed too quickly. Time would not wait for them. They went for walks in the forest, shuffling through the dead leaves like children, and for drives round the countryside and over to Beaulieu and Southampton Water. Sometimes they stopped at pubs. But they spent most of the time at the cottage.

‘Do you realize, Michal, that we must have spent far more hours in bed than out of it, while we've been here?'

‘Naturally.'

‘And yesterday we hardly got up at all.'

‘I remember very well.'

‘I'll never forget these days . . . or this place.'

‘Me, also. I never forget. Never.'

She cried in the car when they drove back to Colston. It was worse than going back to boarding school. Far, far worse. The rain poured down. The windscreen wiper swished relentlessly to and fro. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

‘I don't want to go back, Michal. I can't bear it.'

He passed her his handkerchief. ‘We must go back,
kochana.
There is a war waiting for us. We have to fight. To win.'

She blew her nose and wiped her cheeks. ‘Bloody war! I hate it! Bloody,
bloody
war!'

‘But we have met because of it. Is one good thing. You must remember this always.'

She was silent. The war had brought him to her. But the war could also take him away.

‘I've come to say goodbye.'

Taffy stared at Winnie. ‘Goodbye? What do you mean?'

‘They're postin' me. I put in for it.'

‘Why? You never said. Why did you have to go and do that?'

‘I didn't tell you but Ken's very ill. I found out when I was home on leave. The doctor there says he's got a bad heart and he'll die, so I'm goin' to marry him.'

He drew in a long breath. ‘Look you, we can't talk here . . .'

He took hold of her arm and steered her firmly round to the back of the station building, away from curious eyes and ears and out of the raw November wind.

‘Winnie, why in God's name are you doing this?'

She stared down at her shoes. ‘Ken's goin' to die. I told you.'

‘But why go and marry him? You were going to wait 'til after the war was over, weren't you? Marrying him won't change him being ill. It won't help.'

‘Yes it will. It'll make him happy. It's what he always wanted. He never wanted me to join up. He wanted us to get married when the war started.'

‘And you had the sense to say “No”, girl. To wait. See a bit of life first. It's selfish of him to want you to marry him now, just to become a widow.'

She raised her head. ‘It's not like that! He doesn't even
know.
I was goin' to ask to leave the WAAF as well as marry him, at first, but he didn't want me to do that. He wouldn't hear of it . . . Don't you
ever
say he's selfish!'

He had never seen her angry before. He saw he had said quite the wrong thing. ‘I'm sorry, Winnie. So, they're posting you to be near him?'

She nodded. ‘I went to see Section Officer Newman and told her about it. I'm going to Mantleham. It's
only five miles from home, so I'll be able to visit him all the time.'

He said quietly: ‘Don't go and marry him, Winnie. It's a daft thing to do. Even for his sake. It might make him miserable if he finds he can't cope. Might make him worse quicker. Don't you see? It's better left as it is. That way you can pretend with him that everything's all right. And so can he. He's going to guess, sooner or later, even if he doesn't know now. It's better for him, really it is.'

She flared at him again. ‘It's nothin' to do with you. You've no right to say anythin'. You don't know Ken, or care about him. You just don't want me to marry him.'

‘And
you
don't want to marry him, either. I know you don't. You never have really, only you didn't know it. You found that out when you left home, didn't you? In your heart of hearts you know that's so.'

She gave a small sob and turned away. ‘Don't say that! You don't understand anythin'. All you want . . .'

‘All I want is you, Winnie,' he said. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. An erk going by them made some grinning remark over his shoulder. Taffy ignored him. ‘I admit that. I've wanted you since the first moment I saw you. I'd do anything in the world for you – except stand by and see you go through this, without saying something. You're marrying Ken just because you feel guilty and because you pity him. That's all wrong. Believe me, girl, it's all wrong.'

She said stubbornly: ‘It isn't. It's the right thing to do. I couldn't live with myself otherwise.'

He looked at her pale, set face and dropped his hands, recognizing defeat. He said fiercely:

‘All right, Winnie. Have it your own way, then. But I'll wait for you. I won't let you go, see. And I'll come after you and find you wherever you are.'

WINNIE AND KEN
were married at St Mary's church, Elmbury, in early December. Ken wore his best and only suit and Winnie's mother had altered her own wedding dress to fit Winnie and made bridesmaids' frocks for Ruth and Laura. The church was full of villagers and Ken made his vows without coughing once, while Winnie spoke hers in a quiet but sure voice. Afterwards there was tea at the village hall, with sandwiches and bridge rolls and a two-tier wedding cake with a cardboard base because of the shortages. Gran stayed at home by the range.

When it was all over they were driven in a shiny hired car to Ipswich where Ken had booked a room in a hotel. A waste of money, his mother had kept saying, when they could perfectly well have come straight home, but he had insisted.

‘It's what Winn and I want, and I've made all the arrangements.'

They sat in the big hotel dining-room, uneasy in the unaccustomed surroundings, and were served by a waitress who seemed to sense this. She took their order haughtily.

Winnie whispered across the table in the hush. ‘Have you noticed how old everyone else is here, Ken? We're much the youngest.'

An old lady sitting alone at the next table was staring at them through lorgnettes.

Ken said: ‘Don't take any notice of her. You'd think there was something wrong with us.'

He touched her left hand tentatively. The new gold band gleamed on her fourth finger beside the little blue
ring. ‘You look so lovely, Winnie. I can't believe you're really my wife. I'm the luckiest man alive.'

The happiness shone from his eyes and she was never more certain than in that moment that she had done the right thing. They were married and Ken was happy. And now that she had been posted so near she would be able to see him quite often. Never mind that she missed Colston and that RAF Mantleham was a bleak place by comparison, or that she had had to start all over again with a lot of strangers. It was a small price to pay and she paid it willingly for his sake. She would have left the WAAF willingly, too, but he had refused to hear of it.

‘I won't let you do that, Winnie. It wouldn't be right. There's a war on and they need you.'

They were to live over the shop with Ken's mother, of course. No other arrangement was possible. They couldn't afford a place of their own and Ken would need to be looked after while she was away. Winnie knew she would just have to make the best of it and try to get on with Mrs Jervis.

‘Two Brown Windsors.'

The haughty waitress set down the plates before them, but for all her superior air and the grandeur of the dining-room, the soup was tepid and tinned.

Later, in their bedroom – a chill and gloomy chamber with dark, heavy furniture and wallpaper like cold porridge – they faced each other shyly.

‘Will I come back later, Winnie?'

‘No, it's quite all right, Ken.'

They undressed on each side of the double bed, their backs turned considerately to the other. Winnie put on her new flannel nightgown, shivering. The springs creaked and twanged as they got in. Ken pulled the cord to switch out the overhead light and put his arms carefully around her as though she were made of very delicate porcelain.

‘Winnie, oh Winnie . . . how I love you.'

He kissed her gently and held her close, but he could not manage to make love to her. She did her best to help
him but without knowing how. After a while he lay back, overcome with a long bout of coughing.

‘I'm so sorry, Winn . . . so sorry. I think I'm just too tired, that's the trouble. And now this wretched cough . . . I'm so sorry.'

She touched his arm, dismayed at the anguish in his voice. ‘Don't worry, Ken. I'm tired, too. It's been a long day. I'd go to sleep if I was you. It'd be the best thing.'

Gradually his breathing became slow and regular and she knew he had fallen asleep beside her. She lay wide awake in the darkness of the unfamiliar hotel room. She was not disappointed at Ken's failure; in some ways it had been a relief. She was only sorry for his sake because he had sounded so upset. The truth was – and she had faced it at last – that Taffy had been quite right when he'd said that she had never really wanted to marry Ken. Somehow it had just always been expected. Seemed natural. Ken had always been there, for as long as she could remember, and she'd never known any different until she'd gone away. She was fond of him, of course she was. Very fond, or she wouldn't be here. Couldn't have gone through with it. She cared very much about his feelings and his happiness and she felt such a terrible, deep pity for him being so ill . . . it wasn't fair when he was such a good, kind person. Taffy had been right about that too – she was so sorry for him. But she didn't love Ken – not in the way she now realized that people could love each other. Taffy had given her an inkling of that. Not that she loved Taffy either. She didn't even like him really, though she'd felt better about him lately – not so scared of him. But he'd taught her a lot more than all those things about 'planes. He'd shown her how you
could
feel about somebody . . . how it might be.
I bet he never kisses you like this
. If she'd felt the same way about Taffy that he felt about her and it was him lying here in this bed beside her, she would have remembered this night for the rest of her life.