Ruby's War (28 page)

‘I think we should celebrate such good news, Ruby, dear,' she said, at the end of the broadcast, and offered Ruby a liquorice toffee from a small paper bag. ‘The Germans are going to be forced to use their Junker 52s to relieve their army outside Stalingrad. The front's eighty miles away now and halfway to Rostov. Hundreds shot down. It makes one feel so humble, does it not, and so proud.'

Mrs Bland's delight at the destruction of the encircled German army made her knitting even more holey than usual and added to the blanket's irregular shape.

‘Now tell me what did you think of Tess? Did you enjoy it?'

‘I couldn't,' Ruby said, concentrating on her knitting, ‘understand why Alec d'Urberville was so unkind. He was supposed to be a gentleman and educated. How can you … How could she know? When someone is kind, and is … well … How do you know? Men … I mean, people … If someone … I mean, how can you tell? How would you ever know? Or they might be like Angel …'

‘No one ever really can look in another's heart, dear. You can sometimes watch and judge …'

‘But when you can't. When someone seems nice, or harmless and then …'

‘The important thing is that you don't lose faith in yourself. Life is hard, dear. A pretty young woman is
vulnerable. Poor Tess had so little power over her own life. We women must fight to have control. We have the vote, and one thing this awful war might do is give us more sway. In the last war, women were able to show that they could do men's jobs, and now they are doing it again. Money, financial independence, is so important. In their relationships with men … well that's more difficult. Many, most women, you could say, are economic and emotional slaves.'

‘You mean because men get all the say at home? Granddad doesn't. Though he does rent the cottage. I suppose we would all have to go, if he said so. It's not the same as a real slave. We would be free to go, if we could find somewhere. Why do you think the black people stayed in the south? Why didn't they all go to the north? Con's grandma did. Do you remember, he said she was an educated lady, but she still thought of the white family as her betters?'

On the opposite side of the weak, smoky fire, Mrs Bland sucked contentedly on her sweet and considered the question.

‘There were threats and brutality, of course, but also the slave owners knew that the most successful way to control their slaves was by encouraging loyalty.' Mrs Bland stopped knitting and peered at Ruby over her glasses. ‘Loyalty is a very powerful means of control,' she said. ‘They used slaves to help in the houses. The women wet-nursed their white owners' babies, and house slaves were brought up as part of the family. Then, even when they were freed, some were still tied emotionally to the people who'd exploited them.'

‘Like Con's grandmother?'

‘Indeed.'

‘From what Con and the others have said, where they live it's still not equal.'

‘No. Competition for jobs has always been a factor, of course, but the black people,' Mrs Bland said, wrapping the discarded knitting around her legs, ‘are treated differently, solely because of their colour. I think now there is a fear that after the war, when the black soldiers go home, they will want to change things. Here, when the men come back, they'll want their women back in the kitchen, as they did before, but many women will want to keep their freedom and financial independence; they'll be used to making decisions for themselves. Things will be different for the young. Young men like Con will want to change things for their people. Such a charming young man, don't you think? Loves reading. Now, that's always a sign of a sensitive man. He's read this one,' she said, dislodging the cat that was sitting on the book and handing it to Ruby. ‘You could too, and then you might ask him how he enjoyed it, the next time he calls to see your grandfather.'

It was almost a fortnight later before Ruby saw Con. He came to the cottage one evening just after tea to see her granddad, the collar of his overcoat pulled up over his ears.

‘I've come to pick Henry up,' he said, grinning at her. ‘We … We have a bit of business.'

Her granddad, whose chest was improving, had been nodding over his newspaper, but he was quickly on his feet and hurrying out to the kitchen.

‘I'll be with you in a minute, lad,' he called.

‘Are you on your own?'

‘Jenny's working extra shifts and Sadie's at the pictures with Bo.'

‘He said you'd hurt yourself. Are you okay?'

Ruby blushed and nodded, as an oath and the sound of a clattering came from the kitchen.

‘I'd best go and see what he's up to,' she said.

Granddad had dragged out an old mac from under the stairs and was pulling on the boots he used in the garden.

‘You're not going to the pub dressed like that.'

‘Pub? Ah, well, no. Well, if Jenny asks.'

‘It's cold out.'

‘I'm wrapped up. This old mac's really warm. Now, we don't want Jenny to worry, and I'll probably be back before she is.'

‘But where—?'

‘Never mind about that.'

‘It's not fire-watching …'

‘Fire-watching? That's right. I've not been since before Christmas. I thought I'd see how they was—'

‘Then why is Con—?'

‘Now, don't you worry, Ruby, love,' he said, hurrying back into the living room and pulling his cap from the peg near the door. ‘I'll be back in no time. Come on, young Con.'

In the living room, Con stamped his feet, warmed his hands on the fire and listened to the conversation in the kitchen with interest. He wasn't very clear about Henry's plans. He'd agreed to come along because recently, without a late pass to go into town, he'd found the local pubs fairly dull. The dances in the villages were fine, but not half as
lively as the ones in town, and the cinema close to the camp was real small and got so full that sometimes the audience's cigarette smoke almost blotted out the screen.

He'd bumped into the two old guys a couple of days before on his way back to camp and joined them for a drink and a game of darts. In the afternoon the pub was empty, and Con had been pleased at the thought that he was away from camp without permission. The old guys always told lots of stories, and he didn't mind listening and going along with the tales.

When Henry was ready, they left the cottage. Con followed his directions to a white farmhouse standing in the middle of low-lying fields and parked up on an old farm track under a clump of poplar trees. Inside the cab, the old man's chest and the borrowed truck's cooling engine murmured.

‘You okay, Henry?' he asked.

‘Aye, lad, just gettin' me breath. Johnny will be here in a minute. Told him to meet us here. He'll have been out with his gun shooting rabbits, or trapping vermin for local farmers, or the odd bit of poaching. Can turn his hand to anything.'

‘Do you want a drink?'

‘Oh, good lad. That'll help no end,' he said taking the bottle of whisky. ‘Eee that's good. Gets right down the tubes, that does.'

A few days earlier, when he'd been sitting in the pub listening to their stories, Johnny had told him about the sugar smuggling. At first Con hadn't taken much notice, but then they'd told him how one of the men behind the smuggling was this guy Prendergast, the same guy who'd
wanted the old priest to ban the black GIs from the Christmas dances, the guy whose wife was planning how she and some of the other rich folk could turn local people against them. In the warm pub, the plan hadn't sounded so crazy and he'd promised he'd help.

In the moonlight, he could see the large black-and-white house across the field. It had been Johnny who'd discovered the smuggling on one of his shooting trips. The way he told it, he'd seen an unfamiliar van taking a corner too quickly, and when the van turned into the drive and speeded in the direction of the farm, it had whetted his interest. He'd followed and watched from behind a hedge, as the sacks were carried from the van to the old stables. Johnny knew it couldn't be feed, because they didn't have any horses. When the van drove away, he'd crept into the yard and found the stack of sugar under a tarpaulin in one of the old stalls.

Con shivered and took the whisky bottle back from Henry. Clouds slipped over the moon, leaving only a hint of silver in the sky. The field and the white house had gone. Near the cab, just outside in the blackness, he heard an unearthly cry and thought of Johnny and the animal traps. Then Henry's door was thrown open, and Johnny Fin climbed up beside him.

‘We could drive in closer,' Johnny said. ‘They're out at some big meeting. Him and his missus both go. Top dog round here, and he's makin' money hand over fist sellin' black-market sugar.'

Con drove the truck out on to the road and then down a pitted track that led to the house. As Johnny had said, it was in darkness.

‘How can you be sure there's nobody home?'

‘No car, and there's a meeting tonight. They're both on the committee, him and her. There's no help in the house. Only Derek Foley's missus and she only does the odd morning.'

‘You got a spade?' Johnny asked, as he jumped down from the truck. ‘They might have put the stuff under a pile of muck to hide it.'

‘You didn't say about any muck,' Con said.

‘Well, it was inside under a tarpaulin, but it's been moved. There's a pile of muck against the wall. It's old stuff, but I reckon that's where they've hidden it.'

They followed Johnny along the track and into the stable yard. The moon had disappeared again. He couldn't see clearly, but followed the sound of Henry's wheezing and wondered how they would escape if anyone did arrive. The muck, partly protected from the weather by the stable's wall and overhanging roof, was heavy but dry. It didn't smell as bad as he'd feared, but he wasn't used to using a spade, and their digging disturbed a lot of creatures that skittered over his boots in the darkness. Then the full moon came out from behind the clouds and with Johnny's help, he got the hang of the digging.

‘Wait a minute lads, we've hit something,' Johnny said, exploring the hole they'd cleared in the muck. ‘Here we are,' he said, tugging out an old feed sack that had been used to cover the sugar. ‘Look at this lot. Didn't I tell you? This lot will make us a pretty penny.'

‘You're going to sell it?' Con asked, his voice sounding louder than he intended in the quiet night. ‘But that's just as bad …'

‘Not at all,' Henry said between coughs. ‘He's tellin'
folk what they should do. Makin' out he's somebody and all the time … Anyway, we'll not charge as much, and them that can't afford, will get it free.'

Con sighed; he shouldn't have come. When he'd heard what they were planning, Holt had warned him to stay out of it, but by then it was arranged, and he wasn't going to let the old guys think he was a coward.

Carrying the sugar to the truck was a problem. Henry had helped with the digging but he'd needed to stop every few minutes. By the time they'd loaded up the sacks with packets of sugar, the sound of his breathing filled up the still night. Con gazed around; there wasn't a sign of anyone at the house, but every moment he expected the door of the white house to open and someone to come running out. Henry insisted on carrying his share and got Con to lift the sacks on to his back for him. Then, bent almost in two, he made his way to the truck. Con and Johnny did two or three to each of Henry's one trip, but he refused to give in, and by the time they were finished, he was too breathless to climb into the truck without help.

‘I think we deserve a drink on tonight's work, lads,' Johnny Fin said, when they'd thrown the last sack into the back of the truck. ‘Yes, a couple of pints will go down nicely.'

The pub was quiet, and Con sat with the two older men in front of the fire. Henry looked pale and his breathing was still uneven. When he'd tried to smoke, he coughed so much he had to sit forward with his hands on his knees, gulping in the fuggy, warm air.

‘I don't know about unloading that sugar, Henry,' Johnny said, winking at Con. ‘I think I'll have to carry you
home on me shoulders, like I did in France. Did he tell you about that, young Con? Five miles it must have been, over rough ground. Though it felt like bloody twenty. Infantry, you see. Right on the front line. You're with a better lot, believe you me. Never mind Bo sayin' you lads should be fighting. There's not a soldier alive as would want his boy to be on the front line.'

‘Bo doesn't want anyone to think us cowards. None of us do. We want to fight. Well, except … I don't know if I could, for real.'

‘Ah, you'd be as good as the next man,' Henry said, recovering and taking a long drink of beer. ‘It's the training that kicks in. Everybody's terrified. You'd be a madman not to be. When you look at it, war is always the same, working men killing each other. The leaders never get it in the guts, do they? Most of the time you're killing people you can't see. Not up close, anyway. Then it's just a job you've been trained to do, but sometimes … There was this one bloke. I think he was lost in the smoke or looking for his mate. It was a reaction. Like I said, the training takes over. Then we was trapped with the counter-attack, and he was there next to me on the ground, as close as you are to me now. This Jerry, about the same age we were. He can't have suffered. Must have gone instantly. He had segs on his hands and a picture in his pocket of his wife and kiddie. His gun … well you could tell he took pride in it; looked after it, like a workman should with his tools.'

Johnny got up and went to the bar. Con was about to suggest that they had a game of darts, when he came hurrying back.

‘You'd best be makin' your way to the camp, young
Con. Bert's just heard the MPs are goin' in the pubs checkin' passes. That truck outside will attract attention. There's a rumour some of your lads and the white lads have been fighting. Big scrap's been arranged, so he heard.'