The Poppy Factory (13 page)

But we could certainly do with the money, if we are going to set up our own home.

Saturday 5th April

ALFIE IS COMING HOME!

I went with Ma and Mrs Barker for a visit today and they told us that he will be home in time for Easter, which is just a fortnight away. At first he was quite cheerful, almost like the Alfie I once knew, talking about how, as soon as he is demobbed, he’ll go back to the warehouse because apparently employers have been told they must keep soldiers’ jobs for them. I can’t imagine how he will ever again be strong enough to hump sacks about the place, but I suppose they might have some lighter work he could do. Desk work is probably off: he never was much of a one for reading and writing.

I’ve learned from reading the newspapers that he will have to be assessed for a disability pension. Because he has lost most of his leg he should get 70%, but since he was only in service for under two years it won’t amount to much. He’s got his army payments in the Post Office of course but I don’t suppose that will last long. He will definitely need a job of some kind, to get back to ‘normal’, whatever that turns out to be.

The sun was shining again and the Matron suggested we should go out into the garden to give him some practice with his artificial leg. When I asked if I could see it, he scowled and asked did I have to? But then I said, ‘It’s going to be as much a part of my life as it is of yours’, so he gave in and pointed to something hidden under a towel beside the cabinet next to his bed. Like an idiot I immediately went over and pulled off the sheet without a second thought, quite unprepared for what I was going to see.

It really is a ferocious-looking contraption made of wood (from willow trees, he said, and later we had a laugh about how he could carve it into a cricket bat if he got fed up with wearing it) with metal hinges at the knee and uncomfortable-looking straps that hold it onto his waist and around his shoulder. At the top is a leather socket where his stump fits, which was hard to look at. But the worst thing was the foot, still with a sock and shoe on it, which made the whole thing look like a real leg that had just got separated from its owner.

I was so shocked it was all I could do to keep my voice level and ask him if he’d like any help getting dressed.

He said a bit sharply that it’d be best if I let him be for twenty minutes, so I went out into the garden where Ma and Mrs B were waiting. When I got back he was completely dressed in civvy clothes, standing by his bed on his two legs, looking so pale and proud that I nearly cried, seeing him upright for the first time in over a year, looking almost like the man I married before he went away to war. I tried to hug him but it was difficult with the two walking sticks in the way, so I just took his arm and said, ‘Tell me how to help you.’

He shrugged me off and said he could manage on his own thank you very much, and we set off down the ward on a slow, painful journey, one step at a time. The stairs were even trickier but he gritted his teeth and managed them all on his own, and then, as we emerged into the sunshine, Mrs Barker and Ma rushed forward and wanted to hug him too.

My brave darling Alfie was so determined to prove that he could walk all the way but after a short distance I could see he was starting to wobble and his artificial leg was dragging on the gravel, so I said I was feeling a bit tired and could we have a rest on the next bench, which he accepted, even though we all knew it was a lie.

I am going to have to learn new ways of helping without undermining his dignity. That’ll be my biggest challenge, when he gets home.

Sunday 6th April

On the way back, Mrs Barker started on about where Alfie and me would live once he comes home. Of course she doesn’t know what Ma feels about the boys’ room so I can’t really blame her for jumping in with her size nines.

‘You are both very welcome with us,’ she said, and I thanked her quickly, hoping that she wouldn’t go on about it. But she went on anyway, saying that of course Freda’s room was the larger of the two, so perhaps she could persuade her to swap with us.

Honestly I cannot think of anything worse than starting my married life with just a thin wall between us and where my best friend is sleeping, especially since Freda would certainly be furious about having to move into a tiny box room instead. The only sensible option is for Alfie and me to have the room my brothers used to share, but would Ma ever get used to the idea? I’m certainly not going to be the first to suggest it, for fear of setting her off.

Tonight when I was getting ready for bed I heard raised voices downstairs. Ma and Pa were arguing about something. Afterwards I heard her coming upstairs and though she was tiptoeing I could tell by the squeak of the floorboards that she was going into the boys’ room. A bit later I heard her sobbing.

If only we could have their bodies back, she might be able to accept it and move on.

Monday 7th April

It is Ray’s birthday. He would have turned twenty-one today. Everyone is very sombre.

Tuesday 8th April

I’ve been in a strange mood all day, probably not helped by the events of the weekend and the realisation that, at last, my darling Alfie will be coming home. Instead of feeling excited, as a wife should be, I find myself apprehensive, even a bit tearful, about it all.

It’s not so much the practical things, such as the business of where we are going to live or what we will live on. We can go together to see the housing people and the pension office and that will all get resolved, one way or another, before long. And with our two families with their own houses and living so close by, we will never be actually homeless, as some poor folk are these days.

It’s not even anything to do with his leg, or rather lack of one. Seeing his wooden leg for the first time certainly gave me a shock, but I am sure I’ll get used to it. And when Freda asked whether the idea of his stump was a bit off-putting I replied, quite honestly, that I am not the least bit squeamish about it and while it might be strange at first, and a bit embarrassing for both him and me, after a while I would probably just come to see it as a normal part of Alfie, my beautiful boy.

No, I think my mood is to do with something deeper. After mulling it over this evening I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s because, since Alfie and I got engaged and married, I’ve changed. After the worry of the past couple of years it’s hardly surprising: losing two brothers, becoming an only child, working at the factory, doing a good job and earning my own money, gaining respect from the boss and enjoying the company of the other girls. I was always of an independent mind – too much so, Ma would say – but now I’ve grown up, become more self-reliant, tougher and less sentimental. I was just a girl, and now I feel much more like a woman, capable of making my own decisions, determining my own future.

Not that I think it will trouble Alfie, in fact he might even like the new version of me. And it doesn’t make me love him any less, not in the slightest.

Perhaps what’s worrying me most is that he will have changed, too. He’s lost a limb, for start, and has to get used to using an artificial leg, with all the difficulties that will bring. But what of the effect the past two years will have had on him? He was eighteen and just a fresh-faced boy when he joined up. Okay, he’d been in work at the warehouse for a while but he was still carefree and a bit crazy. Then, as soon as he turned nineteen, he was out on the front line and although he’s never said anything about it, I’m sure he’s seen things that no man should have to experience, endured conditions that would be cruel for animals, been utterly terrified for his life much of the time, and suffered the excruciating pain of his injury not to mention seeing his friends blown to bits. That sort of thing is bound to change a man. Will he be the Alfie I fell in love with, I wonder?

Oh, it’s no good worrying like this. We are married now, and will have to make a new life for ourselves, come what may.

Monday 14th April

Spent all weekend making pies! Pork pies and game pies, large and small ones! I decorated the game pies with pastry rabbits, just as Bert asked, and then took them to The Nelson where he’s going to store them ready for Easter.

He was pleased as punch, and gave me 24/- less 3/- for the flour and eggs he’d got hold of for me. A whole guinea profit, so long as Pa doesn’t ask me to pay for the meat and Ma doesn’t ask for a contribution to the coal! It’s set me wondering all over again whether I should go into business with Pa. When rationing is lifted and he can afford to take Alfie on as an apprentice, we could have a husband-and-wife partnership. But I’m letting my imagination run away with me!

Easter Sunday 20 April

Alfie’s homecoming has been such a disaster, I barely know where to begin.

It is well past midnight and I have been sitting here on the sofa crying for the past half hour. I think my marriage might be over.

Although he was set against it, I insisted on going to collect him on Maundy Thursday, and the journey home was very tough. Not that he complained at all, but I could see in his face that he was gritting his teeth with pain much of the time. Just getting onto the platform at the back of the bus was hard enough let alone the walking at either end, and he wouldn’t accept any help at all, of course. People could see he was disabled and a few came up to shake his hand and say ‘Good on yer, laddie,’ and that sort of thing, but he just kept his face down and didn’t want to talk.

When we finally arrived home it was nearly teatime and everyone was there: Ma and Pa, the Barker parents, Freda and creepy Claude, all in the street and cheering, which brought the neighbours out too, and they all applauded and came up to clap him on the shoulder. Poor boy, he was nearly dead with the effort but he managed to smile and act friendly until we got inside and then he collapsed into a chair and looked around in a kind of daze at everyone crammed into our little parlour, as if he was seeing it for the first time. Of course they were all talking at once and asking him questions about the journey and the hospital, and what it had been like over there, till I had to jump in and tell them to give him a break because he was exhausted.

He scowled at me when I said this, but I knew that deep down he was grateful because after that people started chatting about other things and he was able just to listen and ease back into our lives slowly. Ma served tea and cake and then the beer began to flow and everyone started to get quite merry but after just a single pint, Alfie’s eyes began to close and his head slumped to one side. We began to whisper for fear of waking him and, when he didn’t stir, Ma shepherded everyone into the back room saying we should let the poor boy sleep. She fetched a rug and wrapped it around him, tucking it in so carefully and tenderly I could see she was cherishing him like her own son, which made me feel weepy and happy all at the same time.

Around seven o’clock, when the Barkers had gone, he woke and ate a sandwich and when I asked him if he wanted anything more, he said he just wanted to sleep. Well, I’d turned down Mrs Barker’s offer of Freda’s room, and the business of the boys’ room in our house hasn’t been sorted out yet, so I’d resigned myself to the fact that we would have to share my single bed. We did it before, so I reckoned we could probably put up with it for a few nights longer.

We went upstairs and I brought water for him to wash but when I offered to help he muttered rather grumpily that he was perfectly capable of doing it himself, thank you, and would I leave him be for the moment? By the time I went back up again, he was already asleep taking up the whole bed, and didn’t stir even when I kissed his forehead, so I decided that it was probably best to leave him be, and spent the night on the sofa.

Yesterday, Easter Saturday, we went to the Barkers’ for lunch and tea, then at six o’clock some of Alfie’s mates came round and took us off to The Nelson where everyone stood him a pint till the glasses were lined up all along the bar. It was wonderful to see him relaxing at last, laughing and joking almost like his old self, but it began to get a bit out of hand and Bert told them firmly to quieten down or take themselves off home.

One of the lads suggested they went elsewhere and Alfie seemed happy to go along but I was weary by now and thought it might be best to let him have some freedom from my watchful eyes, so said I would go home and wait for him.

About midnight I was snoozing on the sofa when there was such a racket outside I nearly jumped out of my skin. There was Alfie on the doorstep, pickled as a newt and completely unable to stand, being supported by two of his mates. ‘Sorry, Mrs Rose,’ one of them slurred, as the others sniggered. ‘Can we bring him in?’

So this time he slept on the sofa and I went to my own bed, tossing and turning and thinking bitterly what a poor start this had been to our new life as man and wife.

Tonight was supposed to be different. He apologised for his behaviour yesterday and has been the perfect gentleman all day, making polite conversation when his parents came round to ours for Easter Sunday lunch of roast spring lamb, roast potatoes, greens, gravy and mint sauce followed by apple pie and custard. He ate like a horse and even had second and third helpings!

Come this evening, though, we went up to bed together and I tried to kiss him but he turned away and told me to wait downstairs while he got into bed. It’s understandable, I told myself, that he doesn’t want me to see him wearing his artificial leg, not just yet, so I agreed, but when I went up again it felt uncomfortable and embarrassing getting undressed and into my nightdress, as he watched. On the only other nights we’ve had together, after our wedding before he went away, we’d been so passionate that we’d just torn our clothes off as we stood, and fallen into bed together. This time felt so cold and clinical, I felt like crying.

Still, I climbed in and we kissed and started to warm up, so to speak, but then I noticed that he winced every time I came too close, as if it hurt him. Any interest he’d been showing seemed to disappear, and he pulled himself away from me, turning his head to the wall.