War Baby (41 page)

The lieutenant laughed casually. ‘Whites and blacks do not fraternise in this man's army. The whites can attend your little event one night, the blacks the next. If you really want that. If your local girls are that desperate.'

The insinuation hit Mary immediately. He was saying that white girls who ‘fraternised' with black men were little more than sluts.

‘I thought you joined the war against that kind of thing,' she said, her voice sounding distinctly shaky.

The lieutenant eyed her with a look bordering on contempt. ‘Would you go out with one of them, miss?'

‘The question doesn't arise. I'm married. My husband's a pilot.'

‘Bet he's not black.'

‘No, he's not. But there are black people in the RAF, lieutenant. There are a lot of people from all over the empire come to fight this war. Not just America.'

She was about to stalk away from him, when she suddenly realised Bettina had gone on ahead of her and that she was alone with him. Now Bettina was out of the way, he wasn't rushing to shove her out of the door.

‘Am I right in thinking that you're Jewish, Lieutenant Lehman?'

He looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, yes I am … but …'

‘My nephew's mother was Jewish. She told us something of how your people were treated in Austria. She told us the Germans view Jews as subhuman. You would be talked about in the same way as you talk about these people you call,
coloured,
Lieutenant. Just you remember that!'

Mary stalked out of the office bristling with a disgust that was almost bordering on hatred. Lieutenant Lehman's attitude had made her feel sick. She had to get out of here. She looked up and down the long corridor outside the offices separated from each other by little more than sheets of plywood. Bettina was nowhere in sight.

Then she heard a door open some way along the corridor.

On recognising whose door it was, Ira Lehman muttered something under his breath. The damned woman had gained entry into the colonel's office. His butt would be on the line for this.

Mary stopped in her tracks as Ira surged ahead. A bald-headed man in uniform appeared with Bettina at his side.

‘Lehman. Get these ladies some tea.'

Ira knew by the look on the colonel's face that his ship was sunk. He'd probably get posted to a combat unit after this, out of the comfortable office he'd always planned to stay in for the duration.

‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.'

His face was like thunder as he stormed off. Behind him Mary was invited to join the colonel and Bettina in his office.

‘Now,' he asked them politely. ‘What can I do for you?'

The colonel had also been emphatic that there was to be no fraternisation between black and white soldiers; the US government was determined that they were to be segregated, and segregated they would be.

‘You wouldn't want conflict in your peaceful little village now. Not good for Anglo–American relations.'

Although Mary and Bettina found it hard to stomach the US army's attitude, they had to concede that the colonel was obliged to obey US law. He also knew his men.

Ultimately they agreed they would hold two parties, though pointed out that catering for the event could present a problem.

‘We have limited supplies,' she pointed out.

‘We can deal with that,' said the colonel. He went on to offer his support by way of surplus supplies. ‘I'll requisition some supplies from the quartermaster's stores. Anything we can spare, you can have,' he pronounced.

The first party, for white soldiers only, was to be held in mid-April, the one for Negro soldiers, a week later.

A big welcome banner had been made and stretched across the far end of the village hall. Union Jacks and the American Stars and Stripes hung below that. The food was laid out at one end on a long trestle table along with tea, coffee, and quite a lot of locally brewed cider.

Mary had offered to look after Charlie for the evening. Bettina had protested.

‘No,' said Mary, shaking her head. ‘You organised it. You deserve to have the fun, and anyway, I've got some knitting to do.' She held up the needles and the tiny white matinee jacket that was slowly taking shape. ‘I've also got a radio broadcast to make next Tuesday. The
Kitchen Front
is doing extremely well and I'm doing a session on the best ways to bake Spam in a pie.'

‘Ah, Spam!' exclaimed Bettina. ‘Who'd have thought we'd have grown to like it! Everyone thought it would never catch on until they realised there was a thick crust of fat at the top of the tin. What a boon that is. I've even managed to scrape a bit of fat from the tin of corned beef I managed to get hold of this week.' Sounding exasperated by it all, Bettina sighed, laid her head back and closed her eyes. ‘Oh, for a return to those days of a roasted rib of good English beef on a Sunday.' She licked her lips. ‘Do you know I dream of roast beef most nights.'

‘Did Mrs Darwin-Kemp make a generous donation for the dance?' Mary asked her. Mrs Darwin-Kemp had once had servants, but now had to cope with just somebody part-time coming in. She was also the first person in the village who had come into the shop demanding her loaf of bread be sliced.

Bettina sucked in her lips at mention of her close acquaintance; she didn't always see eye to eye with her. ‘Not at first, but I managed to persuade her to find us a bit more.'

Mary stopped knitting. It was getting to the stage when she couldn't remember when she wasn't knitting baby clothes.

There was a querulous look on Bettina's face and a firm set to her chin.

‘You didn't strong arm her, did you?'

Bettina chuckled into her hand before resting it on her cheek. She could still see the scene in Mrs Darwin-Kemp's kitchen. Eleanor had been quite adamant that she was giving all she could, declaring that working-class people were used to surviving on a lot less than people of some standing in the community.

‘I mean, you can't expect us to manage without butter and a decent piece of beef, now can you? Henry's job means that I sometimes have important people to entertain. I can't give them tripe and onions.'

‘She asked if you could bake a cake for her if she found the ingredients. It's for a family gathering. I said I would ask you, though I did stress that you might be too busy what with your radio broadcasts and the fact that you were expecting your first child.'

Bettina was the most forthright and honest person Mary had ever met, but all the same, she couldn't help getting the impression that other things might have gone on or been said at Mrs Darwin-Kemp's house.

‘I don't mind doing it. Ruby's gone up there with her bread order this morning plus a plum pudding she ordered.' Her eyes met those of her husband's aunt. ‘She supplied the ingredients for that too.'

Bettina clamped her mouth shut. Should she air her suspicions or keep them to herself?

The knitting needles ceased their incessant clicking. They were both silent, each engrossed in their own thoughts. It was Mary who broke the silence. She sighed. ‘I wish Mike was here.'

Bettina nodded. ‘It's hard for a young wife when her husband goes to war.'

‘I suppose it's hard at any time. Those poor widows who …' She paused, suddenly aware of what she'd said. ‘I'm sorry.'

Mary went back to her knitting. ‘You don't need to apologise.'

‘I think I do. It just came out. Do you still miss your husband?'

The sudden question seemed to send a jolt through Bettina's body. She sat bolt upright. ‘Well,' she said, sounding as though the breath had been knocked out of her – which indeed it had. ‘Now there's a question.'

‘Do you mind me asking about him?'

The older woman shook her head smiling slightly sadly. ‘It's nice to remember.'

‘What was he like?'

‘He liked his food, his drink and he liked women. Not in a philandering kind of way as such. He was fascinated by women, strong women. He didn't much care for women who didn't have an intelligent thought in their head.'

‘Mike told me he fought in the war.'

Bettina clasped her hands rotating one thumb around the other as she considered her thoughts. ‘Yes. He fought in the last war. And he came back. So many didn't …'

Her voice seemed to melt away like ice in springtime.

‘It must have been hard for you – when he was away.'

Bettina gave a little laugh, a short laugh somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. ‘It was hard. It was hard too when he came back, not that his despair seemed that obvious at first. I'd just catch him looking at something quite ordinary, and then suddenly seeing tears roll down his cheeks. Half the time he wasn't seeing what was in front of him. He was back there. The memories of what he saw were still disturbing him.'

‘But you helped him recover.'

‘Of course. But then, I was one of the lucky ones. I had a husband. A lot of women of my generation never had a husband and were never likely to. Three-quarters of a million of our young men died in that terrible war, leaving behind too many women and not enough men. Too many women who would never have a child of their own to cuddle and love.'

Mary was silent, seemingly concentrating on her knitting. One purl, one plain …

‘I want Mike to live,' she said suddenly.

Bettina looked at her. She was such a pretty girl, such an innocent she thought in some departments. ‘Of course you do.'

Mary stabbed her needle into the knitting. ‘I want him to come home in one piece. I couldn't bear if he came home crippled or changed by his experiences.'

‘Then let's hope he won't be,' murmured Bettina.

 

 

THE OLD VAN
they used to deliver bread had been stored in the rear shed once they had the use of the van supplied by the Ministry of Food.

Even so, they rarely used the ministry van for bakery business so Ruby had taken the bicycle, the old one her brother Charlie used to ride, the loaves of bread and the plum pudding filling out the wicker basket at the front.

Mrs Darwin-Kemp's house with its high gables and chunky chimneys loomed up out of the mist, the smell of springtime flowers and fresh buds on the trees leaving a crisply tangy smell in her nostrils. Ignoring the notice to pull the iron bell pull hanging above the gate, Ruby pushed open the back gate, squeezing between the box hedges and along the gravel path.

Old Tom, a geriatric gardener who lived in one of the almshouses at the bottom of Willsbridge Hill, was using his hoe between pristine rows of vegetables on the other side of a green lawn. Unlike most people, Mrs Darwin-Kemp had kept her lawn preferring to hold tea parties for her friends rather than grow cabbages. The vegetables were pushed to the sidelines.

It was a typical April day that brought a promise of things to come. Ruby couldn't help thinking about bluebells and house martins arriving to build their nests under the eaves. The trees and elegant shrubbery whispered in the wind, and apart from Tom there didn't seem to be anyone else around.

Never mind. She would do as she'd done before and leave the order on the kitchen table. With that in mind she made her way to the kitchen door and after parking the bicycle pushed it open and went inside.

The kitchen was very large, an old range at one end, the fire bed rumbling with heat. There was also a gas stove, quite a large one, in fact. There might be a war on, but Mrs Darwin-Kemp still entertained as often as she could and didn't seem to scrimp that much on fuel.

There was gossip in the village that she was holding a dinner party for American officers from the base. No doubt her husband had issued the invitation through one of his colleagues in London.

After setting out the loaves and the plum pudding on the table, Ruby looked through the single glass pane in the door dividing the kitchen from the rest of the house. She needed to tell somebody that she'd delivered the ordered goods as promised.

‘Hello?' She rapped at the door. Nobody came.

The hall on the other side seemed totally deserted. Believing that was indeed the case, she opened the door and poked her head out. The door led out on to an inner hallway which in turn led to a larger one where visitors were received and food was taken from the kitchen and into Mrs Darwin-Kemp's dining room. Ruby called out, her voice echoing over the empty walls and ornately plastered ceiling.

The wood block flooring was a picture of gleaming cleanliness, polished to within an inch of its life. The shine was achieved by the generous application of a beeswax polish, the smell of which permeated the air. Thick rugs were placed along the shiny wooden flooring. Halfway along the hall stood a long case clock, its monotonous tick the only sound.

The house was very grand and much too large for two people. At one time it had been full of servants, though not so many now.

‘Ruby.'

Her name was hissed by Gertie, the girl who had replaced Mrs Darwin-Kemp's regular parlour maid. Gertie did everything and anything around the house. She was Mrs Darwin-Kemp's Jill of All Trades. There was no such thing as a parlour maid nowadays unless you were royalty. Women, men too, earned better money working for the war effort.

‘She's having tea in the drawing room with some of the Ladies' Guild. They're planning their next plan of campaign,' she whispered, her fingers over her mouth stifling a giggle. Gertie pulled off the pale-coloured gloves she was wearing. ‘I tell you, Ruby, her ladyship is getting to be a right old slave driver. I've waited on them with their tea and cakes – thanks for those, by the way. I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't made them.'

‘Mary made them. They looked good.'

Gertie jerked her head. ‘Well, they seem to be enjoying them. Hope all these officers she's invited for this dinner party on the nineteenth appreciate them too.'