Time to Say Goodbye (22 page)

At the hospital in Norwich he had to endure a great deal of discomfort as he and his boot parted company, but after the ankle had been realigned, dressed and plastered he was happy to get into the bed allotted to him, to have some hot soup, and go to sleep.

It proved to be a dream-haunted sleep, however, and, waking in the small hours in a sweat of fear, imagining himself pulling the ripcord and finding that the canopy remained obstinately closed, he caught the eye of a passing nurse and asked her if she could rustle up a cup of tea.

The nurse, saying that she was about to have one herself, agreed to bring him a cup and, when she did so, sat down on the end of his bed – a strictly forbidden proceeding – and asked gently: ‘Nightmares? We’ve had a great many chaps who’ve had to bale out, some who’ve got pretty badly injured doing so. They find it difficult to sleep for nightmares at first, but don’t worry, they’ll grow less and less terrible as time passes. Most of the night staff understand and will stop for a chat and a cuppa whenever possible. Do you have a girlfriend? What’s her name? Is she near enough to visit you?’

‘Yes. She’s called Jill, and she’s not too far away,’ Laurie said wearily. ‘In my dreams she keeps telling me to pull the ripcord . . .’ he grinned tiredly at the nurse, ‘only either it won’t work or I can’t find it. She shouts and shouts, but the wind carries her voice away . . .’ He turned his face into the pillow and said nothing for several moments as he fought with his emotions. Finally he turned back to the girl perched on the end of his bed. ‘It’ll come right, won’t it?’ he said huskily. ‘I’ve never suffered from bad dreams before; well, not since I was a little boy. Then it was crocodiles in the bath or lobsters in the lavatory pan.’

The nurse giggled. ‘My boyfriend’s on an armed trawler patrolling the North Sea. It’s very dangerous – just like your job – so I have my share of nightmares. What with U-boats and Nazi craft sneaking out of ports on the Continent, and the weather . . . well, I expect you can guess how it is; nightmares come easy. But I’ll tell you something which should stop your bad dreams as nothing else could.’ She jerked a thumb at the cage they had put around his foot to keep the blankets off it. ‘That’ll mean you’ll be on leave for at least a few months. Oh, they’ll maybe find you work to do, but it won’t be flying, not until you’re A1 and that foot is completely mended.’

Laurie felt a wave of relief rush over him. Weeks and weeks when he would not have to race for his Hurricane, leap into the seat and defend his country! Heaps of time to visit Jill at the Canary and Linnet whenever the air force had not found him anything else to do! He grinned at the nurse. ‘Thanks,’ he said fervently. A doubt shook him. ‘Are you sure, though? Douglas Bader lost both his legs – I’m not sure when – and he still carried out sorties.’

‘That was different. With you, we’re talking about a break which hasn’t even begun to heal. Douglas Bader lost his legs well before the war even started.’

‘Oh. Right. Understood,’ Laurie said, and smiled gratefully as the girl stood up. ‘Thanks very much, nurse. I do believe I’ll be able to sleep now.’

Laurie remained in Norfolk for the three months it took his ankle to heal, and during that time the relationship between him and Jill warmed and deepened. In fact, by the time Christmas had come and gone it was clear to everyone that the young people were in love and would marry when circumstances allowed. Clear to everyone except Imogen, that was. She was still shy in Laurie’s presence but watched him with glowing eyes whenever he came to the Linnet, laughed at his jokes, and always saw that he got his share of any treats going; generally showing, as Rita disgustedly put it, that she still had a crush on Pilot Officer Laurence Matthews.

As soon as Laurie was fit to fly Jill began to fear that he would be posted once more to some other part of England, for by now the Battle of Britain was over and won so far as fighter planes were concerned. Now the Luftwaffe were concentrating on night raids and heavy bombers. Liverpool had been targeted around Christmas and the air had fairly buzzed with telephone calls, but though the bombs had caused considerable damage none of the girls’ friends or relatives had been hurt.

When Laurie next turned up at the Linnet, he had significant news. ‘I’m being posted, but not to another fighter station,’ he told the assembled company. He caught hold of Rufus’s front paws, for the dog was welcoming him ecstatically. ‘Down, boy; I don’t want paw marks all over my number ones.’ He had arrived at supper time and Auntie was aware that all the girls were listening eagerly, spoons poised over the plums which she had bottled the previous summer.

Jill spoke first. ‘Oh, Laurie, does that mean you won’t be flying?’ she asked eagerly. ‘I know your ankle is fine now, but perhaps the MO put in a report to say that it needed more time . . . that would be wonderful.’ She was smiling hopefully, but her face fell as Laurie shook his head. ‘No, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. To be honest, old girl, the last thing I would want is to be grounded. As the air force is always telling us, it costs a great deal of money to train a bloke to fly successfully, and now what they’re wanting are pilots for the heavy bombers which will teach Germany, eventually, what it’s like to be a target. I’m to go to Church Broughton where I’ll be trained to fly Wellingtons – Wimpeys, the fellers call them. I’ve no definite date yet, won’t have one till our rail passes come through – Dave’s coming to Church Broughton as well – so I’ve put in for a spot of leave.’

Jill’s face, which had fallen almost comically, brightened. ‘Oh, Laurie, remember we’ve talked about Eve, who was my best friend throughout our schooldays?’ she said eagerly. ‘She’s in the Land Army now but she still lives at home. She’s engaged to an armourer in the air force so she spends all her spare time with him, which means we’ve not met for ages, but of course I’ve told her all about you in my letters. Dear Laurie, if Auntie can manage without me for two or three days I’d love to take you to visit Eve and her mother. Her brother’s in the army and her father works for the Min of Ag in London, so they’ve plenty of spare bedrooms. They’d make us welcome, I know it.’ She turned to Auntie. ‘Could you manage without me for two or three days? Oh, please say you can!’

Auntie pretended to consider, head on one side, then nodded slowly. ‘Of course the girls can’t help in the pub, but I’m sure Jacky will be pleased to earn a few bob extra,’ she said. She smiled benignly at her niece. ‘You’d best go into the village as soon as you finish your supper and give young Eve a ring.’

Jill ran round the table and gave Auntie an impulsive hug. ‘Oh, Auntie, you’re the kindest woman in the world,’ she said. ‘And I’ll work twice as hard when I get back to make up for being away. But I’ll go and ring Eve and okay it with her mother.’ She ran over to the back door and began to put on her outdoor clothing, kicking off her slippers and thrusting her feet into rubber boots. ‘What’s Church Broughton like?’ she asked as Laurie opened the door and began to usher her into the yard. ‘Is it far—’

The slamming of the back door cut the sentence in half. Auntie pulled the jug of custard towards her and raised her eyebrows. ‘Any more custard, anyone?’ she asked.

Imogen watched enviously as the days passed and Jill prepared for her holiday. She just wished that Laurie had shown an interest in her own family, but the sensible part of her mind knew that this was very unlikely to happen. After all, he had shown no interest in Jill’s best friend – it had been she who had made the suggestion that they should spend his leave with someone called Eve, a name which Imogen had never heard Jill utter before. But it was no use wishing, so when Jill left, in a flutter of excitement and wearing her very best dress, she had waved her off as though Laurie meant nothing to her, and had promised Jill that she would help Auntie in every way she could.

The three days of Laurie’s leave were icy cold, and passed, for Imogen at any rate, on leaden feet, and of course when Jill came back and Laurie went off to Church Broughton Imogen had to face the fact that she might not see him again, perhaps until the war was over. She knew he wrote to Jill, but visits over such a distance were impossible, and as spring arrived life at the Canary and Linnet became so interesting that she only thought of Laurie a couple of times a week instead of many times a day.

May dawned brilliantly and with it came the worst raids on Liverpool so far. For eight days the Luftwaffe concentrated on smashing the city, the docks and the rest of Merseyside. During this time Imogen thought of Laurie not at all but spent sleepless nights worrying over what was happening to her mother and other relatives still living in the port. She begged Auntie to let her return to the city, promising faithfully to arrive in daylight and leave before the nightly raid began, but both Auntie and Jill were adamant. Rita and Debby had joined Imogen in her pleas for a return to the city, but though Auntie and Jill were sympathetic Auntie was adamant that whilst the girls might invite their relatives to visit the Canary and Linnet – she would put them up for as many days as they cared to stay – she would not allow a return to a city under fire.

‘What good would it do the war effort if you three were killed?’ Jill had asked. ‘Well, it would be four, because naturally I would go with you. So I’m afraid for the time being you’ll have to make do with telephone calls and letters. Comfort yourselves with the thought that when I spoke to Laurie the other night he said one of his pals speaks good German and listens in to their radio transmissions. The Nazis call an all-out attack on one city a blitzkreig – blitz for short – and he says the attack, though ferocious, never seems to last above a week.’

By the time it was safe to return to Liverpool both Mrs Clarke and old Mr Viner had telephoned to say that there was little point in Debby and Imogen’s returning to the city because though the damage was almost unbelievable they had been lucky. Mr Viner, though he came into the city every night to fulfil his duties as a firewatcher, was still living on the Wirral in a neat and undamaged little house, whilst Mrs Clarke had moved in with Imogen’s eldest sister and said cheerfully that they had been fortunate; bombs had fallen close, windows were glassless and boarded up, but otherwise all was much as Imogen remembered it.

Rita’s mother, however, told a different story and had peremptorily ordered that her daughter should return to her for at least a week if not more.
The worst of the raids are over, but my boarding house is my living, and I need all the help I can get to bring it back to what it were before them bleeding Huns attacked
, she said in her letter to Auntie requesting Rita’s return.

She won’t be much good I don’t suppose, being only a kid, but she’s better than nothing. Two of me boarders was killed when their factory was flattened and others have moved out – too near the docks – so I’m short-handed. There isn’t no glass in any of the windows and you wouldn’t believe the dust what’s got into everything. I’d have young Rita back for good, only folk would say I were bringing her into danger and I won’t be having that. What gets me most is the unfairness. Lavender Lodge, what’s only a few yards up the road, is owned by a Jewish couple, the Sterns, and they get all the help they need. I telled the ARP warden it weren’t fair – they’re foreigners after all – but he said as how it were their friends and relatives rallying round and nothing to do with the authorities. He said as how I ought to put the word about, but so far not one of me relatives have so much as put a nose around the door, which is why I’ll have our Reet back to help clear up.

Auntie had been reading the letter to herself, for Rita had handed it to her silently. She waited a moment, until Imogen and Debby had thundered upstairs to do their room, before she spoke. ‘Your mother needs you, poppet. But it’s only for a week or so after all, and everyone’s going to be missing school because getting the hay in is more important than two times two makes four. Do you want Jill to go with you, or one of the girls? Only I don’t know that I ought to offer their services just in case something bad was to happen . . .’

Rita broke in before Auntie could finish the sentence. The letter was bad enough since Mrs Jeffries referred to the boarding house whereas Rita had always called it the hotel, but actually to have anyone from here see the place would be unbearable. She shook her head decisively. ‘No thanks, Auntie; Mam wouldn’t like it. Strangers seeing our home, you know, when it’s not at its best.’ She had looked anxiously at the older woman. ‘She – she won’t try to keep me, will she? Of course if the war was over it would be different, but . . .’

‘Of course she won’t. My dear child, she actually says she only wants you for a week or so,’ Auntie said quickly. ‘But we’d best not linger; run upstairs and pack a few essentials – pyjamas, toothbrush, that sort of thing – and then I’ll come with you to the station and buy your ticket. A return, naturally.’

Considerably cheered by Auntie’s conviction that Mrs Jeffries would not try to keep her longer than a week, Rita did as she was told, said a rather subdued goodbye to her friends – they were already working in the hayfield – and when they reached the station clung to Auntie’s neck for a few moments in a very untypical way. ‘Just a week, Auntie; I’ll be back in just a week,’ she muttered. ‘Only it will seem like a year.’

It was the first time Rita had returned to the city since she had left it in 1939, and she was appalled by the extent of the damage the Luftwaffe had inflicted. She was also shocked at the state of the boarding house, which seemed to have shrunk in her absence, and far from being the smart hotel which she had described so often to Imogen and Debby was clearly a cheap lodging house used mainly by seamen waiting to join their ships. Mrs Jeffries was living in what had once been the kitchen, and when she had got over the shock she had felt upon seeing Bide-a-Wee Rita decided that her best hope of escaping back to the Canary and Linnet would be to take over the task of cleaning up. Mrs Jeffries seemed to have abandoned all thought of doing any work herself and agreed with everything her daughter suggested, provided it meant that she herself could spend all day gossiping and drinking tea with others in a similar position. By the end of the week Rita and her mother had organised everything and the place was looking as respectable as it was ever going to be. They had employed a young boy to do the actual clearing, found a builder who agreed to replace at least some of the glass, and Rita had reinstated the girl who had been helping her mother, telling that lady brusquely that it was no use whining; if she wanted her living back then she must delve into her Post Office savings and pay at least a small wage to anyone willing to work for her.