Come the Hour (20 page)

In May the RAF sent hundreds of Lancaster bombers to bomb Cologne.

‘I’m not sure I agree with this,’ Dan said, ‘bombing civilians. We don’t have to do it, just because they do.’

‘Yes we do,’ Nora said. ‘Serve them right. Give them a taste of their own medicine. They started it. They should suffer it, like we have.’

Dan smiled, a wry smile. ‘It’s true what they say, Nora. The female of the species is more deadly than the male.’

Then the Germans began to bomb British cities known only for their history and beauty: Canterbury, Exeter, Bath and York. ‘Sheer wickedness,’ Dan said. ‘Those lovely towns have no strategic importance. If they think that’s going to make us give up they’ve another think coming.’

‘What did I tell you?’ Nora said.

‘If I’d known they were going to put clothes on ration last year,’ Tessa said, ‘I’d have bought a few more things. I’m running out of coupons. My underclothes are falling apart – the lace is coming off everything, and I need a new coat.’

‘Lace curtains,’ Nora said.

‘What?’

‘Old lace curtains,’ Nora said, ‘if your mother’s got any. I could take a bit off and use it for lace.’

‘Can you?’ Tessa said. ‘Where did you get that idea?’

‘The Ministry of Information booklet,
Make Do and Mend
, featuring Mrs Sew and Sew. All sorts of tips. I’ve made Sara a dress out of one of mine. She’s nearly as tall as me anyway, but she’s a lot thinner.’

‘Can you sew?’ Amy asked.

‘Oh yes.’ Nora was making dried egg omelettes for lunch. ‘You have to be able to do everything where I come from. I’ve got a nice Singer sewing-machine.’ She paused and her voice trembled. ‘Jim bought it for me.’ She dished up the omelettes. ‘Some of those sheets need turning. Charlie put his foot through one of them last time he slept here. We’ll never get new ones. We should turn the edges to the middle.’

‘Nora,’ Amy said, ’you are amazing. Is there anything you can’t do?’

Nora grinned. ‘Not much. I’ll do the sheets for you if you like.’

‘Would you?’ Amy said. ‘If you have time. I’ll pay you to do some sewing – only if you have time.’

‘I’ll have time. I’ve got the evenings. The sheets won’t take long.’

‘I don’t suppose you can magic a new coat,’ Tessa laughed, ‘out of old net curtains.’

‘No,’ Nora said, quite seriously, ‘but I could make you one out of that nice grey blanket in the airing cupboard. Nobody seems to use it.’

‘Could you really?’ Tessa looked amazed. ‘That’s fantastic.’

‘You go and buy a paper pattern,’ Nora said, ‘and I’ll make it.’

‘Fantastic,’ Tessa said again. ‘Thank you so much, Nora.’ She got up. ‘I’ll have to get back to the flat now, Mum. I’m going out tonight.’

‘Tim?’

‘Of course.’

‘Anywhere nice?’

‘We’ll try to find a nice quiet place to have dinner on our own. It’s getting quite difficult. The West End’s a madhouse – soldiers from everywhere looking for fun. And hundreds of American GIs.’ She laughed. ‘The war’s certainly cheered everything up. I just wish I could have some new clothes.’ She kissed her mother’s cheek and bounced out of the house.

Amy sighed. ‘Isn’t it awful,’ she said. ‘All this scrimping and saving. In some ways it’s harder to bear than the Blitz. Our girls should be able to have a few pretty things. It’s part of being young. They can’t even get silk stockings. They have to paint their legs with something or other and draw a line down the back.’

‘I can remember my first dance dress,’ Nora said. ‘I made it myself. It was blue with a sweetheart neckline. Times were bad then. I made it out of a bedspread. I thought it was wonderful.’

Amy smiled. ‘I expect it was.’ She paused. ‘It must have been bad, Nora, in the slump.’

‘It was. Very bad. In some ways we’re better off now. At least everybody’s got a job.’

‘It shouldn’t have to take a war. We’ll have to make a better world, afterwards.’

‘That’s what they said last time, so I won’t hold my breath.’ Nora picked up a pan. ‘We need a new saucepan. This one’s got a hole in it.’

‘I’ve no idea where we’re going to get one,’ Amy said. ‘I wish we hadn’t given those others to make Spitfires. It seemed the right thing to do at the time. We didn’t know how bad it was going to get.’

‘I expect it was,’ Nora said. ‘We wouldn’t want Charlie to be flying some old crock, would we?’

Amy laughed. ‘Dear me, no.’ She looked at Nora, whose head was bent over the saucepan. ‘Are you all right, Nora?’

Nora bit her lip. ‘Most of the time. I just wish Jim was going to be here to see Sara grow up. It’s not right. It’s cruel.’

Amy put her arm around her shoulders. ‘I know. I know.’

In November the news came that General Montgomery and the Eighth Army had defeated the Germans at El Alamein. They were in full retreat.

‘Where’s that?’ Sara asked. She and Nora looked it up on an atlas at Amy’s house.

‘North Africa.’ Nora said. ‘Very close to the Suez Canal. We need the Suez Canal. We get a lot of our supplies through there. Anyway, it’s the first time we’ve given them what for.’

There was a new feeling in the air. ‘It feels as if we’ve turned a corner,’ Dan said, ‘and the Americans got the Japs at Midway. It’s beginning to happen, Amy.’

In December 1942 Dan came home one day from work. He knocked the snow from his shoes at the door. ‘I’ve got one,’ he said.’ He handed the booklet to Amy. ‘The Beveridge Report. I had a struggle to get one, there was a queue.’

She laughed. ‘Isn’t there always?’

They read it together. ‘It’s fantastic, Dan.’ She put the heavy booklet down. ‘A new deal for everybody. I like the way he’s described the five social giant evils: Want, Disease, Ignorance, Squalor and Idleness. It’s the children who are mainly affected – the state some of those evacuees were in, like that little girl Mrs Parks got, half-starved, filthy, head fill of nits. Some of them didn’t know how to use a lavatory. It’s a national disgrace.’

‘It seems to cover everything,’ Dan said, ‘and what do you think of the best thing?’

They both smiled. ‘A National Health Service,’ Amy said, ‘free to everyone. When you think of the things we see that people struggle on with because they can’t afford the treatment….’

‘I know,’ Dan said. ‘I’ll probably spend the rest of my life doing hernias and all the truss companies will go out of business.’

Amy laughed. ‘Nothing wrong with that.’

‘I don’t think it can possibly happen until after the war,’ Dan said, ‘but what a world to look forward to. It’ll put new life into everybody. Now I know we’ll win.’

The squadron took off to new battles; now the RAF flew to France to attack and harass the enemy on their own ground. They attacked airfields or trains or barges, anything that looked useful, or tempted the enemy fighters up to waste themselves in useless fights. ‘rhubarbs’, they called those raids. Or they flew on ‘circuses’, escorting bombers on raids to French targets. None of the pilots liked these much, having to fly at the slower speeds of the bombers.

As they approached the French coast Charlie felt more apprehensive than usual. If he was shot down over England and baled out he could look forward to a cup of tea or a whisky and a lift back to the airfield. If he was shot down over France it was a prison camp, if he wasn’t just shot out of hand. They flew on, expecting trouble. It came, of course. The Me109s appeared above them and once again he found himself in a whirling nightmare of wings and tracer bullets.

He began to feel as if he wasn’t in an aircraft at all, as if he were flying free, surviving, watching the fight from the outside. He shook himself. This dreamlike state was the quickest way to dusty death. He watched a bomber go down, the parachutes blossoming. Then he saw a Spitfire, trailing smoke, spinning and spinning. He was struck with shock. He knew the aircraft. ‘Get out, Tim,’ he shouted, knowing it was useless. ‘Get out,’ but the Spitfire spun and spun and then came out of the spin and flew into a hillock.

‘Charlie!’ Amy threw her arms around him. ‘How lovely. What a surprise.’ She led him into the sitting room. For a few moments she didn’t notice his silence, the pain in his face. She realized suddenly that he was staring at her, his face twisted and agonized. ‘Darling,’ she said. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

‘Where’s Tessa?’ he said.

Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. He’s not dead?’ She sat down on the sofa, searching his face. He sat down beside her and took her hand. His eyes filled. ‘When?’ she said.

‘Early this morning. We were attacking targets in France. We were set on by 109s – too many. We lost two pilots. The rest of us were lucky to get away.’

‘Are you sure?’ Amy said. ‘Couldn’t he have baled out? Couldn’t he be alive, taken prisoner?’

He shook his head. ‘I saw him go down. He didn’t get out.’ Amy began to cry. ‘I don’t know how to tell her,’ he said.

‘I’ll tell her,’ Amy said. ‘It’s better if I do it. She’s shopping. She stayed here last night. She’s coming back soon.’

Charlie stood up and stared out of the window. I’m glad I haven’t got a girl, he thought. He couldn’t imagine how Tessa was going to bear this. He wasn’t sure how he was going to bear it. Tim had been his best friend.

He heard the front door open and Tessa’s eager voice, ‘Hello, anyone about?’ His mother left the room. He heard her voice, ‘Come here, darling, into the kitchen.’ Then silence.

Tessa sat beside her mother at the kitchen table, utterly stricken, her face white as parchment, too horrified to cry. ‘I don’t want him to be dead,’ she said. ‘We were going to be married.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘I might just as well be dead too.’

‘Don’t, darling,’ Amy said. ‘Tim wouldn’t want you to feel this way. He’d want you to go on with your life. He’d want you to be brave and remember him with joy and love.’

‘We were going to be married,’ she said again.

‘Listen,’ Amy said, ‘while I tell you something. In the last war I fell in love too, with a pilot in the Flying Corps. He was killed, Tessa, shot down by a German.’

Tessa raised her head and looked at her. ‘You never said.’

‘I didn’t know how to go on,’ Amy said, ‘but I had a job to do, to help the others as much as I could, to keep going, not to break. That’s what they want, darling, to wear us down, to break us.’

‘Dad?’ Tessa said.

‘I fell in love with Dad later, and I love him just as much. He knew about Johnny, my pilot. I’ll never forget him, but life goes on, darling. And time heals. I know you don’t believe it now, but it does. It does.’

Tessa began to cry. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You’re doing your clinical training,’ Amy said. ‘You’re going to meet pain and loss and you’re going to have to help your patients through it. Love is never wasted, darling. My father said that to me at the time, and he was right. This pain now will help you to understand.’

‘I’ll never understand,’ Tessa said. ‘Why? Why do people do this to each other? What’s it all for?’

‘I don’t know the answer.’ Amy took her daughter in her arms, their tears mingling. ‘We’re all here to love you and look after you. You’ll never be alone, darling.’

A
my looked across at Dan, reading by the fire. He looked older, she thought. So do I. I feel about a hundred. Life now seemed like walking down a long dreary tunnel. Her patients were tired and stressed, apart from the children who seemed, magically, just to accept everything. She put down her book and sighed. Dan looked at her over his reading-glasses.

‘What is it, darling?’

‘Oh, everything. Everything is so grey, Dan. Grey and dreary. Everything you look at, everywhere you go, everything you eat. There’s no colour. We’ve been at it for over three years and there’s no sign of the end of it.’

He put down his book and came to sit beside her and took her hand. ‘I know, darling. It won’t go on for ever.’

‘It feels as if it might, as if the day will never come. Nora and Tessa are being so brave but Tessa looks like a ghost. And Charlie – on and on. He just sleeps all the time when he manages to get home. And such dreadful things are happening. I can’t bear to think of that primary school in Catford, bombed, all those little children dead.’

He put his arm around her. ‘Let’s think of some good things. The Russians are beating back the Germans, we’re doing well in North Africa and the Americans are sorting out the Japanese. And penicillin, Amy. How wonderful is that? Florey is using it to treat the troops in Africa and apparently it’s miraculous. And look at the advances in plastic surgery. Archie MacIndoe is doing wonders.’

She leant against him ‘I suppose so. Why does it take wars, though? Why do we have to start killing each other before all these things happen?’

‘It just seems like that,’ he said. ‘But we’ve turned a corner with penicillin. A real tool, Amy, a fantastic, amazing tool. Something we’ve longed for, for centuries.’ He gave her a squeeze. ‘It’s Wings For Victory week. Why don’t we go out in the morning and see the Lancaster bomber they’ve got in Trafalgar Square. You can go inside.’

They went on the tube. The bomber seemed enormous from the outside, but inside she felt the beginning of claustrophobia. The
rear-gunner
’s station seemed far too small for anyone. Imagine setting off in this, she thought, knowing that you might be blown to bits at any moment. How do they do it, over and over again? How do we all do it, in this grey, grey world?

They stepped back into the square. ’We could go to a matinée and see that film, Mrs Miniver,’ she said.

‘I don’t think I will,’ Dan said. ‘It’s a good film apparently, but it doesn’t really describe it, does it?’

He’s right, Amy thought. It does all the excitement and the danger and the stiff upper lip but it doesn’t show the greyness, the day-to-day grind of keeping going, the loss of everything that enchants, the loss of beauty. Beautiful works of art had to be stored way, beautiful old buildings were being destroyed.

A few days later she put down the morning paper and stared out of the kitchen window. Her father and Mr Hodge were digging over a bed, ready for planting the onion sets. She was filled with a dark emptiness that was slowly giving way to red rage. Who were these people, these Nazis? Were they human at all? The paper reported their latest atrocity. At Katyn, the Russians had discovered a mass grave of 4,000 Polish officers, shot and murdered out of hand. How could they line up 4,000 men and shoot them in cold blood? There were dreadful rumours coming out of Germany. What horror could drive all those Jewish parents to say goodbye to their children, probably for ever, and send them to England? They’ll murder anyone, she thought. They’ve murdered the twentieth century.

In April, when the danger of invasion had definitely gone, one ban was lifted. The church bells, so peaceful and so English a sound, rang out for the first time on Sunday morning. Amy sat up in her bed and cried.

‘Are you all right?’ Nora said. ‘Not nervous or anything?’

‘No.’ Sara, for once, was going to school without a load of books. She was setting out half an hour early in case there was a long queue at the bus stop. She couldn’t risk being late.

‘Got your fountain pen?’ Nora asked.

‘Yes. Don’t worry, Mum.’

‘What is it today?’

‘French this morning and Latin this afternoon. Physics and chemistry tomorrow.’

Nora kissed her cheek. ‘Best of luck. Not that you’ll need it. You’ve worked hard enough.’

Sara set off for school as ready as she’d ever be for the exams. School Certificate was the first big step along the way. She knew absolutely that it all depended on whether she did well and got into the sixth form. If not she’d be out, and working in a factory making munitions, or in the Land Army. She thought she’d choose the Land Army if she had to, be out in the open air. She tried not to think about failing; it was making her nervous.

She got on to the bus and climbed up the stairs to the top deck. It was rather smoky; almost everyone had a cigarette on. She looked out of the window. They passed several bombed-out buildings, some of them already scattered with flourishing weeds. In one pile of rubble the weeds had opened bright-pink flowers. For some reason she found that very cheering. It didn’t take long for nature to take over, to rescue, to transform. It seemed like a good omen.

Nora went up to Sara’s room to tidy it up for her, to save her anything to do while she was busy with exams. Sara came straight home from school now that the raids were easier. She didn’t go to Amy’s house. She said she could work better at home. Nora picked up a book and something fell out of the back. She picked it up and turned it over. It was a rather crumpled photograph of Charlie, one that Amy had thrown into the waste paper basket because it had got bent and damaged. How long has she had that, Nora wondered? Sara must have fished it out at some time. She looked at it for a few moments. There
were lines of strain around his mouth but he still looked like a boy. She smiled to herself. Sara was growing up. She put it back in the book.

The year wore slowly on. It was like one of those dreams, Amy thought, when you desperately wanted to run and your legs wouldn’t move.

‘We’re getting there,’ Dan said. ‘We’ve got North Africa and invaded Sicily. Slowly but surely we’re getting there.’

Amy smiled. ‘Yes. Charlie actually stays awake most of the time when he’s home now. I actually see him with his eyes open.’

‘Does Tessa say anything?’

‘No, but she doesn’t look quite so drained. She’s working hard. She’s got her finals next year.’

‘Tessa a doctor,’ Dan said. ‘Our little girl.’

‘And young Sara’s done well,’ Amy said. ‘She got distinctions in everything except French. So she’s going into the sixth form next term.’

Dan raised his eyebrows. ‘What then?’

‘She knows she’s got to get a scholarship,’ Amy said, ‘but we could help a bit. At least she could have Tessa’s books and white coats and things. Nora saved my father’s life, Dan.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘We’ll do whatever we can.’

In September Italy surrendered and the months of fighting the Germans through Italy began. In the east the Russians continued to advance. Tentatively, as if waking from a long nightmare, people began to think, and even to talk, about the end of the war, about the future.

‘They’ve got to bring in the Beveridge Plan,’ Amy said, ‘or something much like it. We can’t go back to the old ways, charity and handouts. People have a right to a decent life, after all this. Kids like Sara have a right to go to university. That’s what her father died for. They’re not going to come back from all this and accept being treated as they were after the last one. There’d be a revolution. If we can pay for all this horror we can pay for that.’

‘It’ll come,’ Dan said. ‘But we’ve a long way to go. We’ve got to get them out of France and the rest of Europe. They’re not finished yet.’

Christmas, 1943. ‘No turkey,’ Amy said. ‘It’ll be roast beef this year and we’re lucky to get that.’ But they’re all here, she thought, all the family. Tessa was beginning to look a little better, not so white, not so withdrawn. She must get over it, she thought. She’s young. She can’t spend her whole life grieving. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. Just love her, she thought. Just love her and wait. Charlie was permanently tired and a bit down. She could understand that. The frantic rush of the wild battles seemed to be over. Now there seemed to be the daily grind, flying over France, hit and run. He said it was like knocking at a door and running away. They were all tired. In a few days it would be 1944.

The winter was bitter. Amy made her home visits, ploughing through the snow. The children, as always, were enjoying it. Life, Amy thought. Thank God for the children, for that innocent enjoyment of the moment, of living in the day, not worrying about the future. Her old ladies were extraordinarily cheerful, despite their chilblains. After the war, Amy thought, after the war we’ll have to look after them better than this. The pigeons seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her patient’s room. She smiled. They’ve got more sense than we have.

Jenny, one of the final-year girls at the hospital, and a flatmate, met Tessa in the canteen. ‘What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?’ she asked.

‘Nothing much,’ Tessa said. ‘Just spend it with my parents probably.’

‘One of the American doctors came and asked the girls and the nurses to a dance at one of the hotels.’ Jenny looked excited. ‘You’ve got to come, Tessa. It’ll be fantastic. They’re having a buffet supper. They’ll have food like you’ve never seen. They’re sending cars for us.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Tessa said.

Jenny sat down beside her. ‘Don’t think about it, Tessa. Just come. You haven’t been anywhere this year. I do know why, but life goes on. Just come.’

Tessa sat for a few moments over her coffee. I wish Tim was here, she thought. I wish he knew that we’re beginning to win. I wish he knew that he’d saved the world, him and Charlie and the rest. Sometimes she felt as if he were still near her, but those times were fading. All that she had now was a memory – a loving memory. Everyone was right. Life went on. She hadn’t been out for nearly a year. She’d go to the dance.

She finished her coffee and got ready for her afternoon teaching round. She was on a surgical firm, sometimes helping in theatre, mostly with injured civilians, many of them blackout accidents. There were occasional raids and sometimes she still did firewatching. Up there that night on the roof, with the streetlights blacked out and a clear sky, the stars were overwhelming and magnificent in their brightness and number. They gave her a sense of timelessness and peace. With deep love and thankfulness for what they had had, she said goodbye to Tim.

The dance floor was crowded, an American Army band playing swing and the popular songs: ‘We’ll meet again’, and ‘Coming in on a wing and a prayer’. The girls were greeted at once by a group of GIs who swept them on to the dance floor. Several couples were jiving madly, arms and legs flying. It reminded Tessa of the dance at the Hammersmith Palais. I haven’t danced for a year, she thought. She began to enjoy herself.

The MC announced that the next dance would be a Paul Jones. There was a lot of giggling among the girls and the dancers formed two circles, the men on the outside, the girls on the inside, facing each other. Tessa joined the ring, ready to dance with whoever was facing her when the music stopped. He stood before her and smiled. He was, she thought, an officer, though she wasn’t familiar with the uniforms.

‘Hello,’ he said.

She looked up at him. ‘Hello.’ The music started again and they danced. He looked nice, she thought – youngish, not exactly handsome, but a nice face, strong, but open and friendly.

‘Are you one of the girls from the hospital?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘One of the nurses?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m a final-year medical student.’

‘Oh really?’ He looked pleased. ‘I’m a doctor – a surgeon. My name’s Pete.’

‘Tessa,’ she said.

‘When’s your final exams?’

‘In the summer.’

‘Working hard?’

‘Flogging myself to death,’ she said. ‘I haven’t been out for a year.’

‘You’re working too hard,’ he said. ‘Look, let’s get out of this. Can I get you a drink or something to eat? There’s a buffet.’

‘That sounds good,’ she said.

He took her to the next room, a dining room.

‘Good Lord,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen such food. We haven’t had anything like this for years.’ Her eyes were wide, like a child at a party.

He laughed. ‘Help yourself. I guess you guys have been having it rough over here.’

They filled their plates and found a table. He put out his hand. ‘Pete Morgan. Hail from Boston, USA.’

She shook his hand. ‘Tessa Fielding. Hail from London.’

He’s nice, she thought, as they talked and danced. Ordinary and down to earth and nice. It turned midnight, in came the New Year–1944, but he didn’t attempt to kiss her. At the end of the dance he drove her back to the flat. He stopped outside. ‘Can I see you again, Tessa? And before you ask, no, I’m not married and don’t have a girl friend at home. Been too busy, I guess. What about you?’

‘My fiancé was killed,’ she said, ‘in the RAF.’

There was a silence. ‘I’m very sorry,’ he said. ‘I guess you won’t …’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like to see you again.’

He smiled broadly. ‘Give me your number. I’ll call you.’ He drove away.

Jenny was already home. ‘Where did you get to?’ she said. ‘I didn’t see you all evening.’

‘Oh, I was there,’ Tessa said. ‘I think I was eating most of the time.’

The sirens went again, startling everyone, and the nightly raids started again, the bombing and the destruction. ‘They’re all sheltering down
the tubes again,’ Amy said. ‘I don’t care any more. I’m not spending freezing nights in that shelter in the garden.’

‘We’ll get one of those Morrison things,’ Dan said, ‘and stay in the house.’

The Morrison shelter arrived and was assembled in the dining room, a reinforced metal box. They put in a mattress and slept inside it. ‘It’s like being in a cage,’ Amy said. ‘Now I know how the animals feel at the zoo.’