War Baby (38 page)

Charlie hated it when they were stopped or when he wasn't tottering alongside the pushchair or off on his own improving his walking. If he had to be in his pushchair, he had to keep moving. Gradually, with snuffles, snorts and a curled up lip, he began to grumble his disapproval.

‘Hey little guy. How about some chocolate?'

He broke off a couple of squares holding it in front of Charlie's face. Charlie looked entranced. His chubby fist shot out and took it. Without glancing at his benefactor, Charlie proceeded to demolish the chocolate, sucking at it until it was soft enough to swallow.

‘Hey EB! Get back here. We're moving.'

The convoy of army vehicles had indeed begun to move.

‘Here. Take this,' said the golden-haired young man she now knew as EB.

He handed her the remains of the bar of chocolate.

‘Your name's EB?' she shouted as he took off, running towards the back end of the lorry.

‘Ed Bergman,' he shouted back. ‘See you around, sweetheart, and if you're ever in need of extra ingredients for your baking, you can call on me. Ed Bergman. US Army Catering Corps.'

He waved frantically as he dashed off. Even from a distance his teeth seemed to glow in his sun-burned face. And he was so tall. And broad-shouldered. And he had a dimple in his chin just like … She tried to think of the name of the actor she had in mind, but decided it didn't matter. Ed Bergman was head and shoulders above the actor whose name she had forgotten. He was handsome, big, and brave and on top of all that he'd insinuated that he could get some extra ingredients for their baking recipes. Well, they could certainly do with that. The cupboard was running pretty bare, what with trying to help local people with family celebrations, birthdays, christenings, wedding cakes and the like. If anybody was celebrating anything and needed something special, it was the Sweet girls they went to.

‘Ed Bergman,' she whispered. ‘Ed Bergman.'

Even the sound of his name made her tingle.

Like a long line of khaki-coloured beetles, the stream of American army vehicles moved forward, though not for long. Somebody shouted something from up front. Relayed from the front of the convoy all the way along the line, the shout became louder.

‘Reverse! Back! Back!'

One by one, starting from the very back of the convoy, the vehicles began moving. Instead of eyeing the middle part of the convoy, she found herself level with the very first vehicle.

A man in the passenger seat stood up and yelled over the head of the man driving.

‘Hell. Doesn't anyone here know how to navigate? Warmley, then Siston. That's where we've got to go.'

‘That way,' shouted Frances, pointing up the hill. ‘You need to go that way.'

The man who looked to be in charge doffed his cap and thanked her. He was quite plump and obviously not on rations. ‘We know that now, miss. Though really appreciate you confirming it.'

With a screech of tyres, the whole column began moving forward, the front vehicles turning into Cherry Garden Hill. The route would take them down Cowhorn Hill, through Warmley and up on to the common.

There were more catcalls and whistles from other young soldiers, but Frances couldn't get EB, Ed Bergman, out of her head.

She stood there until the very last vehicle had gone up the hill and disappeared from sight.

Even then she stood there, staring after them, her heart beating like a drum. The Americans had arrived and they were beautiful! So beautiful!

Before going home, she broke off some more of the chocolate. It was so rare to have chocolate nowadays and it tasted delicious. She closed her eyes and murmured her appreciation. On opening her eyes she looked down at Charlie. Although he'd eaten most of the chocolate he'd been given, some of it was plastered over his face.

‘Hmm,' said Frances with a grin. ‘I don't think we're going to keep this chocolate much of a secret are we?'

By the time she got back to the bakery it was lunchtime. The whole family, plus Bettina Hicks, was seated around the kitchen table and the smell of stew and dumplings lay heavy on the air. Nobody was speaking and even when they noticed Charlie's chocolate-covered face, nothing was said. Everyone seemed too quiet, too still. She presumed it was her fault and that they were just priming themselves for telling her exactly what they thought.

‘It wasn't my fault,' she said. ‘It was an American soldier. He gave us a whole bar of chocolate. Look!' She took the remains of the chocolate from her pocket and held it up.

Her uncle Stan was the first to speak. ‘You saw an American soldier?'

‘Not just one soldier. Lots of them. They were in lorries – I think they were lorries – and they were going along the road at the bottom of Cherry Garden Hill. Then they stopped and reversed and went up Cherry Garden Hill.'

Although his face was sombre as though not quite engaged in what she was saying Stan Sweet nodded in that knowing way of his. ‘I heard them go past. The whole building shook. They're being billeted at Siston. No doubt we'll be seeing a lot more of them.'

He didn't seem much impressed; in fact he looked very concerned.

Frances began breaking off pieces of chocolate. ‘Does anybody want some of this?'

Mary got up and fetched a flannel from the kitchen sink. ‘Let's get you tidied up young man.' She turned to Frances. ‘You shouldn't have given it to him. It'll spoil his dinner.' Her tone was unusually clipped.

‘I didn't give it to him,' Frances protested. ‘Ed Bergman gave it to him.'

‘Ed Bergman?' Mary stopped wiping Charlie's face. She glared at Frances. Her cousin's expression was somewhere between a smirk and a blush.

The words tumbled out of Frances's mouth. ‘They called him EB, but that's just his initials. His name's Ed Bergman. He's the American soldier I met. It was him who gave Charlie the chocolate and then he gave some to me. When I told him we baked bread and did baking demonstrations for the Ministry of Food, he said that if we needed any extra ingredients he would get them for us. He's with the catering corps you see. A cook, I suppose.'

She looked at all three of them. Nobody was smiling. Surely giving Charlie chocolate wasn't that serious. Was she in for that serious a telling off?

‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spoil Charlie's dinner.' Her voice was timid, not something she often sounded or felt.

Stan Sweet lowered his eyes and Mary looked as though she were about to burst into tears. Ruby seemed distracted, a faraway look on her face before she buried her face in her hands.

‘It's not you, love,' said her uncle. ‘There's been news. We heard it on the radio. The Japanese have taken Singapore. It's a disaster. A total disaster.'

Frances's excitement at being the first in the family and possibly in the whole village to meet the Americans vanished. Young as she was, she could only guess at the gravity of the situation, but she could hear it in her uncle's voice, see it in her cousins' faces.

‘Oh.'

She couldn't bear to say anything else. Like the rest of them her spirits plummeted. She remembered Ruby saying that John Smith was in Singapore. She didn't like to ask if her cousin had news of him, good or bad. It was something they'd likely face in the days to come.

‘Go and wash your hands,' Mary said to her.

Frances obeyed.

Once she was gone to the bathroom, Stan Sweet regarded his daughters and Bettina Hicks. His mouth was dry. His heart was heavy.

Mary began to cry. Ruby sat as though she had turned to ice.

Stan Sweet exchanged a look with Bettina Hicks before stating what was on his mind.

‘That's all we tell her,' he said quietly. ‘Say nothing of the atrocities likely to have been perpetrated in Singapore to that young lady. Nothing at all.'

‘Do you think it might be as bad as Nanking?' Bettina asked quietly.

Stan nodded. Bettina noticed he was clasping his hands so tightly together, his knuckles were turning white.

Bettina said nothing. The Japanese had slaughtered over one hundred thousand non-combatants plus soldiers back in 1937 – a year of horror it had been called. It was hard to suppress the shiver that ran down her spine. She feared for all those caught up in the surrender of the Far Eastern fortress.

 

 

ALTHOUGH THEY HAD
a telephone at the bakery, it wasn't often it rang and when it did, Stan Sweet fully admitted to the darn thing scaring the life out of him.

Resigned to being the bakery telephonist, Ruby breezed through, a pile of pillowcases over her arm that she'd just made from some old sheets that were beyond repair. Buying new was out of the question. ‘I'll get it, Dad.'

‘Thank God for that,' he grumbled, settling back down in his favourite chair, tea and a slice of cinnamon cake balanced on his knees. The tea leaves were being used for a second scalding; the thin sliver of cake was left over from a recent demonstration Mary had given in a church hall in St George, a suburb of Bristol. There was just enough sugar in the tea to make it palatable. It went some way to making up for the weakness of the brew.

Stan sighed. No point in moaning. There are worse things going on in the world, he thought to himself, especially with regard to Singapore and the Malay Peninsula.

The paper he was reading reported that things in the Far East had been a complete and utter disaster. Although they did try to hide the truth, it was pretty obvious that too little had been done too late. The huge guns installed in Singapore only a short time before faced seawards where it was thought the Japanese attack would come. As it turned out the Japanese army had attacked from the north, pushing through thick jungle with their bicycles. Bicycles, for God's sake! Stan swore under his breath. Some of the old duffers in charge would still be using mounted cavalry given half the chance.

The paper cracked as he shook it fully open, with indignation rather than anything else. He heard Ruby calling Mary and guessed it was Mike on the phone.

‘Give him my regards,' he shouted through.

Ruby came back into the room with Charlie hanging on to her skirt. He heard Mary say hello before the door closed between the living room and the hallway.

‘Cake,' exclaimed Charlie, let go of Ruby's skirt and headed for his granddad's plate.

Stan's eyes flickered between his paper and his grandson who was picking the edges of the cake he'd been about to enjoy.

‘How's Mike?'

‘Fine, as far as I can tell. You know Mike. Everything is fine, except …'

‘What?'

Stan left his paper and managed to claw back half his slice of cake, not that he was likely to get to eat it himself, but it would prevent Charlie from stuffing the whole slice into his mouth. He couldn't possibly eat it all at once and there would be crumbs everywhere. The girls had enough to do without extra mess.

Ruby pulled a face and although she attempted a smile, it didn't quite happen. ‘He was a bit short with me – odd for him.'

‘Odd indeed.'

Stan Sweet gave up on reading the newspaper and eating the cake, holding the plate so Charlie could dab his finger on the last of the crumbs. He'd eaten the rest.

When they both fell to silence, each knew that the other was straining to hear Mary's voice. If they couldn't catch the exact words, they could at least get some idea of the conversation by the tone of her voice.

The call lasted for only a few minutes, so what with the shortness of the call and the closed door, they'd learned nothing from listening and made every effort not to look inquisitive once Mary opened the door and came into the room. ‘That was Mike. He sends his love.'

She said it abruptly. Both Ruby and her father were in no doubt that a lot of other things had been said. It was up to Mary if she wanted to divulge them.

‘Was there any post?' she asked Ruby. ‘Have you heard from John?'

Ruby shook her head. ‘The only news I have is from the papers and the wireless.' She paused, her head bent. Many people had been killed. The newspapers were cagey about how many, but it was hinted that a lot of civilians had died. ‘The best we can hope for is that he's a prisoner of war. Let's hope he's treated well.' She wasn't sure he would be, but she had to believe it.

Mary noticed a concerned look on her father's face and knew immediately what he was thinking. She'd read of the terrible atrocities inflicted by the Japanese on the Chinese people when they'd invaded China. Thousands were massacred, including anyone who wore a uniform. Hopefully the soldiers of the British army would be treated fairly and John would survive. Her father, always an avid follower of world news, met her own worried gaze. The only way she could describe the look in his eyes was fear. Suddenly she needed a breath of fresh air.

‘Seeing as Frances is looking after the shop and I'm finished cleaning and tidying the house, I thought I might go over and see how Bettina is. She still hasn't got over that bad cold she had.' It all came out in a rush.

She said it brightly in an effort to glaze over her conversation with Mike, to make it seem as though everything was sweetness and light. To some extent it was, and in time they would be party to her news, but first she had to see Bettina.

Pulling on her thick boots and putting on her coat also helped hide the inner turmoil she was desperate not to disclose. He was still badgering her to move up to Lincolnshire. The exchange of words still rang in her mind.

‘So! When are you coming up?'

‘Mike, I can't.'

‘Can't? Why not, you silly goose?'

‘Because!'

‘What's that supposed to mean?' His loving tone had changed when she appeared immovable to his request.

‘Because I have responsibilities. I have Dad. I have Charlie to think about and I also have my job with the Ministry of Food. Ruby and I work at this together. We have a duty—'