A Girl in Wartime (2 page)

She brought her mind back to her mother. ‘Meeting Doris and Cissie at half past,' she replied.

‘Then you'd best be off, love, or they'll be wondering where you are.'

Connie got up from the table, folding the paper with her drawing and tucking it into the pocket of her hobble skirt, already thinking of the evening ahead: the bus they'd catch, boarding it as ladylike as possible with her tight hem hampering her ankles. If any man watching dared smirk, she'd be ready to glare at him as haughtily as she could until he finally pulled a straight face again.

There were several more bits of blank paper in her Dorothy bag along with a couple of pencil stubs, for, if she got the time, she intended to quickly sketch one or two of the garments that most caught her eye. Later she'd have a go at running up something similar on Mum's sewing machine, the material bought locally and far cheaper. This was how she kept up with the fashion, to the envy of friends and workmates. To her mind the talent for dressmaking was another art, going hand in hand with that of drawing.

Giving Mum a quick kiss on the cheek and her dad a peck on the top of his slightly balding head – to which he growled, ‘Get orf!' – she was away to enjoy her evening of window shopping.

‘Let's just hope our government keeps its own nose clean and stays out of it – all this squabbling between Germany and Russia and now France. Ain't none of our business, and besides, this country can't afford to dabble in other people's wars.' Connie heard her father growl contemptuously from behind his
Daily Mail
.

Tension was beginning to mount daily, the newspaper full of this growing unease in Europe. Connie could see it in her own parents' faces as foreign governments began glaring at each other across borders.

These last few days there had been reports of Austria breaking off diplomatic ties with Serbia; Serbia mobilising its army; the Tsar warning Germany that he couldn't remain indifferent if Austria invaded Serbia.

Recent news had been of Austria declaring war on Serbia and of Russia ordering the mobilisation of a million troops, then, as July turned into August, came reports of the Kaiser warning that if they didn't cease within the next twenty-four hours, Germany too would mobilise. That deadline ignored, Germany had declared war on Russia.

Connie could see the concern on Mum's face, but all her father said was: ‘Bloody storm in a teacup!' as he turned to his beloved sports pages.

But Dad's words, meant to reassure himself as well as those around him that in no way would Britain let herself be dragged into conflict, held a note of anxiety and for once Mum didn't lightly change the subject by asking if he wanted the window opened wider on this hot evening or did he fancy another cup of tea. She merely stood looking at him, her round face blank, her mouth slack, her plump shoulders slumped, the tablecloth she was still holding, limp and only half folded.

Connie, in the process of getting ready to pop over to Cissie's house, felt the tension her father's comments had brought to them all: Bertie on the point of going outside to light a cigarette, Mum not minding pipe tobacco but hating cigarette smoke; Ronald, his younger brother, about to follow him out, their older brother George doing nothing as usual. Having finished their tea of ox tongue sandwiches, her three brothers had their minds more on going out to find girls, or whatever young men did when well away from the house of an evening.

Bertie was already courting: a pretty, fair-haired, easy-natured girl, Edith Kemp, or as he called her, Edie. He'd brought her home to meet them all earlier this year and it was recognised that come next Christmas the two of them would get engaged, both sets of parents happy for that to happen.

Young Ronnie said he'd be seeing a few mates this evening but beyond that gave no more away. George was off out to yet another of his odd chapel meetings, saying he was taking part in helping organise a fete for August. To Connie it seemed he hardly ever went anywhere else but there. In a way it touched her as being just a bit unhealthy but she said nothing and carried on getting ready to go off to Cissie's house. Their friend Doris would be over too and they'd probably play gramophone records and giggle over one thing and another.

‘Well,' Connie heard her dad burst out. ‘Didn't think we'd be foolish enough to end up being dragged into this war too.'

No one responded to the irascible remark as they all crowded around the morning paper which was spread out on the parlour table, its headline staring up at them:
Britain Declares War with Germany
.

Yet as they read, Connie felt she detected more a sense of euphoria than dismay among her brothers at least, a feeling of pride more than fear. Germany would quail before the might of the British bulldog and, before it knew it, they would soon have Germany on the run, tail between its legs. The Government was already saying it would be over by Christmas, although Lord Kitchener was declaring vehemently that the Government was wrong, that this could prove to be a far more drawn out process than they imagined – or at least were trying to convince the country.

It was hard to credit how swiftly everything had moved on in a matter of days. Three days ago Germany had asked France, Russia's ally, to remain neutral, but France had declared that impossible, leaving Germany to demand the right to send troops through neutral Belgium so as to invade France. Yesterday Belgium had refused, while Britain warned Germany that if it did march on to Belgium soil, she would have no choice but to stand by an old treaty with Belgium and declare war on the invader. In the small hours of this morning Germany had ignored the threat and now every newspaper carried the headline in huge letters that Britain was at war.

Beyond the front-room window, even in this small side street, Connie could already see a more than usual amount of people passing, mostly men, each with a set look of fierce determination, or so it seemed. Her first instinct had been to find paper and a pencil to sketch that look she saw. But there were other things to think about. As they had finished breakfast, both her sisters had come knocking frantically on the front door in a panic. Now they sat around the table, straight-backed with fear.

‘I've had a busting row with Harry,' Elsie was saying, her face taut as she sipped agitatedly at the cup of tea Mum had handed to her. ‘As soon as we read the paper he started going on about how it was his duty to sign up as soon as he could. I ask you, where are his brains? We've got a little'un now. He can't go and leave us. What if he got killed, and me left on me own with just me and a little kiddie?'

She'd had the baby just before Christmas. They'd named him Henry after his father, for all he'd always been called Harry.

‘I told him, point blank,' she went on, her voice rising, ‘if he went out that door and signed up, he'd never see me again. I'd leave him. I would.'

Her words made Connie shudder involuntarily. If her brother-in-law did join up, how easily those words could prove true.

‘My Jim's saying the same,' Lillian put in. ‘And me having just discovered we're going to have a little'un of our own. How would
I
cope if he got killed?'

‘It won't come to that, love,' Mum said, sipping her own tea as if her life depended on it. ‘We've got our regular troops and the Government is already saying it'll all be over by Christmas.'

‘That Lord Kitchener don't think so,' Elsie put in harshly, ‘says it could go on for years. He's already talking of calling for ordinary men to volunteer. Harry says they're already opening up recruiting offices all over the place and expect thousands to enlist. But I don't want my Harry to be one of them.'

‘If I was younger, I'd be there, up front like a bloody shot,' their father said, his voice grating with harsh determination. Now that the inevitable had happened, her father had been the first to change his tune about the war.

‘Then bloody good job you aint!' her mother burst out, sharp for once, even to the extent of uttering a swear word, which she rarely did. Dad shut up and she turned to Connie's sisters.

‘You two had any breakfast? I could make some. The baby'll be fine in his pram. You can take him in the other room when he wants feeding – give you some privacy. Though your dad'll be off to work as soon as he's finished his breakfast. The boys aren't home. Bert's already off finishing his milk round, and Ron has to be in work by seven thirty. Neither of them has seen the paper yet. George was here but as soon as he read the news he was off to have a chat with that minister of his, so he said. So I don't know when he'll be coming home.'

Connie wasn't interested in her eldest brother's pursuits but her sisters' words had set her thoughts working, and deeply concerned thoughts they were. Ron and Bert would have seen the newspaper placards on the way to work or heard the news from their colleagues. Had either of them already gone to see if they could enlist? Mum had said the country already had professional soldiers: the British Expeditionary Force – the BEF – proper soldiers who'd soon have Germany on the run, and the war would indeed be over by Christmas, if not sooner. And Lillian and Elsie's husbands and the boys, all full of impetuous eagerness with no idea of what fighting could entail and what could happen to them, wouldn't be wanted. At least that's what she hoped.

She shuddered, imagining her brothers and brothers-in-law fighting in a foreign land, maybe killed. Mum and Dad – their sons gone … Hastily she turned her thoughts back to the present.

‘I'd better be off to work too,' she said. ‘They'll be wondering where I am, and be upset with me if I'm late.'

She made to leap up from the table but her mother countered, ‘I don't expect many people will get to work on time on a morning like this, love. It ain't exactly a normal day, is it? Same with your dad, I think.'

Glancing up from the newspaper he was still reading, he looked as if struck by lightning. ‘Good Gawd, I forgot all about work!'

He glanced at the ornate mantel clock over the fireplace as though it might bite him. ‘Look at the bloody time! I should've been on my rounds an hour ago. War or no war, housewives expect their coal to be delivered.'

‘I don't suppose anyone'll be fretting over late coal deliveries on a day like today,' his wife said, murmuring somewhat absently, turning her attention to her eldest girl. ‘Look, love, I'm sure if you go home and have a quiet talk to your Harry, without getting all riled up and starting another row, I'm sure he'll see sense and not go galloping off like a wild bull.' She looked at Lillian. ‘You too, love. Go off and have a proper talk with your Jim. At the moment everyone's running about like headless chickens, doing things they might regret. If we give ourselves time to calm down, we'll all be better off.'

Anxious about what her employers would say to her for being late, Connie rushed out of the house even before her sisters left.

From the short street where she lived, she turned on to Bethnal Green Road only to find herself caught up in a hurrying mass of people, most of them heading in one direction – westward. Some were on foot, others on bicycles – loads of bicycles – the buses that passed her crammed full. They usually were, but today everyone looked obviously bent on joining those already gathered in front of Buckingham Palace or Downing Street. There they would be cheering themselves hoarse, she imagined.

Resisting the urge to join them, she crossed the road as best she could towards Dover Street, where her firm was situated. Inside she was met by almost complete silence, hardly a soul to be seen except the foreman she saw striding towards her – a heavy-set, stern but fair man in his forties. One hand was raised as if waving her away.

‘I'm so sorry I'm late,' Connie began automatically, half expecting to be handed her cards.

‘You're not late. You're one of the few who's bothered to come in and you probably won't be working at all today. Everyone's too riled up. Bet they're all cheering like mad up the West End, I shouldn't wonder. You might as well go back home or go and join them. Tomorrow it will all calm down and when you come in, see that you're on time. The company can't put up with any more of this.'

His tone had sounded agitated, but she guessed it was more from a sense of excitement that had caught the whole country, it seemed. Sighing, thanking the war itself for giving her a day off, even if it would be unpaid, Connie turned and left, remembering to say a polite thank you as she went.

What to do now? Back in Bethnal Green Road, she decided at first to resist following the crowds, but moments later found herself joining them. In her jacket pocket were some scraps of blank paper and the stub of pencil she always kept handy, together with a piece of India rubber. She would spend time drawing the expressions on people's faces, maybe a crowd scene, maybe Buckingham Palace itself. And if Their Majesties came out on the balcony to show themselves to the cheering crowds, she would sketch them too, as best she could from where she guessed she would end up, standing at the back of the vast throng.

Excitement at the prospect caught at her. Those drawings would be something to add to her scrapbook. As she walked with the crowd she silently thanked her school teacher who'd taken her under her wing when she'd been twelve, recognising her talents, and had given her art lessons when she should have been outside at playtimes and lunchtimes.

‘You've a rare gift,' Miss Eaves had said. ‘When you leave school you must protect that talent, nurture it, practise it at every moment you can spare. Then one day you will become a good artist and even make money from it. And please, don't let it drop once you leave school, thinking it all a waste of time. Make quite sure to do as I say, won't you, my dear?'

Overawed by such dedication and earnestness, she had nodded and, to this day, that tutor's words still rang in her head. But how did a factory girl like her go about becoming a real artist? She didn't know. Yet she was sure that one day it would come about. Until then all she needed was faith and dedication. Dad and her family – except Mum, of course, who showed such pride in her – could say what they liked, make fun of her if they wanted. At this moment her heart was filled to the brim with determination.