Authors: Lilian Harry
‘So it’s no good fretting about then, is it,’ her mother said a little tartly. She’d heard a lot about the women’s Services, and not much of it good. Young girls, leaving home and let off the reins too early, they were bound to let it go to their heads. There’d be a good few of those nice smart uniforms suddenly not fitting any more, she thought. And it wouldn’t do a young woman like her Lizzie, only married a year and a half and missing her husband, any good to be mixing with all those men, either.
‘I just wish I could do more,’ Lizzie said. ‘There’s my
Alec out at sea, with German U-boats and torpedoes and God knows what, and I never know what might be happening to him, and I’m just stopping at home—’
‘Doing war work. Farming’s war work. It’s important to grow food.’
‘But it’s
what I’ve always done
!’ Lizzie cried, throwing down her ball of wool. ‘It doesn’t
feel
as if I’m doing something important. I want to do something
different
.’
Jane looked at her. Lizzie had always been hot-tempered and liable to fly off the handle. There wasn’t any use in getting hot under the collar yourself. She started a new row of purl stitches and let a minute or so go without speaking.
‘They’re taking men off the farms,’ Lizzie said. ‘The ordinary farmworkers aren’t reserved. Why can’t I go?’
‘Because you’re a woman,’ her mother said quietly. ‘The men are going to fight. You wouldn’t – you’d just do what another woman could do. And that would mean
another
girl coming here to take your place on the farm. It doesn’t make sense, Lizzie.’
There was another short silence. Lizzie sighed and bent to pick up her ball of wool. She turned it over and over in her hands, staring at it.
‘I’m not even knitting for my own husband. Some other woman’s man will wear this balaclava. That doesn’t make sense, either.’
‘You’ve knitted plenty of things for Alec,’ Jane pointed out. ‘He’s got more than enough. What we’re knitting for is men who
haven’t
got women of their own to knit for them.’
Lizzie pulled her lips in but nodded. She started to knit again, staring into the log fire as she did so. I split those logs myself, she thought. I dug the potatoes and pulled the carrots we had for dinner, and fed the pig whose bacon we had for breakfast. I milked the cows and fed their calves, I went out to look at the sheep in the fields, I took corn out to the hens and shut them up for the night – there’s no end to the jobs I’ve done and I’ll do them all again, or different
ones, tomorrow. And it’s what I’ve done all my life. Ever since I could walk, I’ve been chucking corn to hens and swill to pigs. In between school, in between working in the shop, I’ve been planting and sowing and weeding and harvesting ever since I can remember. I
know
it’s essential work, but it doesn’t
feel
like it. And I’m not a farmer’s wife. I’m a
sailor
’s wife, and I don’t even live by the sea!
‘If I just had a kiddy of my own,’ she burst out. ‘I feel as if my life’s standing still, Mum, that’s what it is. When me and Alec got married, I thought we’d got a future to look forward to. We were going to get a place in Southampton, so we could be nearer the ships. I knew he’d be away a lot, but it was only ever supposed to be short trips. Now I never know when he’s coming home, and when he does he has to turn round and go back after about five minutes, and I’m always afraid – I’m afraid he’ll – oh Mum, I’m so
worried
about him. Out there at sea, dodging about all over the place in those convoys, trying to keep ahead of the Germans. He could be dead
now
, for all I know. I can’t sleep at night for thinking about it all.’
Jane put down her knitting and reached out a hand. ‘Oh, Lizzie. My poor little girl.’
Lizzie stared at her. Her dark brown eyes were huge with misery. She shook her head and drew in a deep, shuddering breath.
‘That’s just it, though, isn’t it, Mum? I’m not your little girl any more. I’m a grown woman with a man of my own, and I ought to have my own home and family to look after, and it’s all been just
stopped
. And I know it’s not only me. Because of one stupid madman in another country,
everyone
’s lives have been stopped. And instead of having what I ought to have – and it isn’t much to ask for, is it, a home and family? – I’ve got to stay at home and knit balaclavas for other men.’ She looked down at the navy-blue wool in disgust. ‘I ought to be knitting
baby clothes
.’
Jane hardly knew what to say. Everything Lizzie said was
true, but the girl was doing herself no good railing against it all.
‘I thought you’d decided it was wrong to have a family with the world the way it is now,’ she began, but once again Lizzie’s anger broke out.
‘That doesn’t mean to say I wouldn’t still
like
one! It doesn’t mean I don’t wish I
could
have a baby! It doesn’t mean I don’t still feel my life’s being
wasted
!’
Jane sighed. ‘Well, it’s the same for us all, Lizzie. Even people like me.
You
might think my life’s over, with my children more or less grown up and off my hands – even though you are still living at home for the time being – but it doesn’t feel like it to me. My life’s been stopped as well.’
‘I don’t see how,’ Lizzie muttered. ‘The war doesn’t seem to be making much difference to you. You’d still be here, running the house and looking after Dad and going round the village, whatever happened. I don’t see that it’s changed anything for you.’
‘Well, I haven’t got any grandchildren for a start!’ Jane flashed and then caught herself up. ‘I’m sorry, Liz, I didn’t mean to say that. But it
is
different, that’s all. There’s all the worry – and remembering last time – and all the evacuees round the village, making everything different. And wondering what’s going to happen next and if he will invade. And worrying about Ben and if he’ll get called up. He’s got his exams next summer and he could be going on to college, but he’ll be eighteen in July. I know they’re not taking boys that age yet, but they’re bound to if the fighting gets really bad.’
‘I still wish we could have an evacuee,’ Lizzie said. ‘If we had just one more room … I’ll walk down and see Auntie Ruth tomorrow, see how she’s getting on with hers. He’s been there a few days now so he should have settled in. Perhaps I’ll bring him back here to tea.’
‘That’s good idea,’ Jane said, relieved that Lizzie had
found something else to think about. ‘You do that. It’ll be something, if we can just give Ruth a hand.’
Lizzie went down to her aunt’s cottage the next afternoon. Ruth had decided to ask for a few days’ leave from the hospital, just while Sammy was settling in, and she was pleased to see her. More snow had fallen during the night and the cottage was warm and cosy inside.
‘Tell your dad I was really pleased to find a new load of logs stacked outside when I looked out this morning,’ Ruth said, leading her niece into the living room. ‘He must have come down first thing. It’s meant I can have a nice fire for Sammy here, when it’s so cold outside.’
Lizzie looked at the little boy sitting on the rug in front of the fire and her heart went out to him. He looked like a picture from an old book, she thought, with his fair curls and his big blue eyes. He was wearing an assortment of clothes that were too big for him, like a waif out of a Dickens story, and he looked up at her as anxiously as if he expected to be smacked just for being there. He was sucking his thumb.
‘Why, you dear little thing!’ she exclaimed, dropping down beside him. ‘So you’re Sammy! My name’s Elizabeth, like the Queen, but everyone calls me Lizzie.’
‘You could call her Auntie Lizzie,’ said Ruth, who didn’t approve of children calling grown-ups by their first names, but Lizzie shook her head.
‘Lizzie’ll do, unless you want a new auntie. I expect you’ve got some real ones at home, haven’t you?’
Sammy gazed at her. He still hadn’t come to terms with all that had happened to him in the past few months and to him Lizzie was just another of the string of strange women who had passed through his life, taking him away from all he knew. He said nothing.
‘Have you?’ Lizzie persisted. ‘Got any real aunties at home, I mean?’
He took his thumb from his mouth. ‘I did have one. She was called Auntie Betty.’
Lizzie smiled. ‘What a deep voice you’ve got. And where does Auntie Betty live?’
He shook his head. ‘I dunno. I didn’t see her again, not after we was put out of the pub.’
‘Oh.’ Lizzie glanced at her own aunt for clarification of this remark, but Ruth shrugged and shook her head. ‘And what about your mum and dad? Are they still in Portsmouth?’
To her consternation the blue eyes filled with tears. She glanced at Ruth again and Ruth clucked with annoyance and beckoned Lizzie out into the kitchen. They stood in the cramped little space, whispering.
‘There! I should have warned you – there’s something about his mother that upsets him. I wanted to ask the billeting lady, but she’s never been back yet. Not that she can be much of a mother anyway, the child was half starved when he arrived. Thin as a rake, all skin and bone, and didn’t look as if he’d had a wash for months. I don’t think he’d ever had a proper bath at home, though he did say they’d been to the “municipal” once, but his father said it was pouring money down the drain. To tell you the truth, I can’t understand it, the other children from the Copnor area seem decent enough, though there’s one or two obviously not so well looked after as the others. But it’s not a really poor area, not from what I can make out.’
‘It’s a pity Mrs Budd isn’t still here,’ Lizzie said. ‘She seemed to know most of the families around there. She might have been able to tell you a bit. Perhaps we could ask Tim and Keith.’
‘I don’t know. It seems like asking them to tell tales.’ Ruth turned away to fill the kettle. ‘I do think it’s a bit much, leaving the kiddy here with me not knowing a thing about him, but that Mrs Tupper seemed in such a rush when she came. I suppose she’s got a lot of other little ones
to think about too … You go in with him now, Lizzie, while I make a cup of tea.’
Lizzie returned to the living room and sat down again beside Sammy. They looked into the fire together without speaking for a while, listening to the hiss of the flames and the companionable sound of Silver scratching in his bowl of sunflower seeds.
‘How do you like living with a parrot?’ Lizzie asked after a few minutes. ‘Have you taught him any new words yet?’
Sammy looked at her, startled. ‘He knows all his words.’
‘He can still learn new ones. All you have to do is say something a few times and if it’s a sound he likes, he picks it up. He likes rhymes best.’ And swear words, she added silently. But if Sammy came from a poor area, he probably knew a good many already.
As if reading her thoughts, Silver cackled wickedly from his stand behind them and squawked, ‘Splice the main-brace, it’s a bleedin’ eagle! It’s a bleedin’ eagle!’
Lizzie turned to stare at him and then looked at Sammy. He was gazing at her, his blue eyes huge, and she burst out laughing. ‘You see! You’ve taught him something already! And you can’t pretend you didn’t, because he’s copied your voice too.’
‘That’s not
my
voice,’ Sammy said indignantly, but Lizzie laughed again.
‘None of us thinks it’s our voice when he copies us, but everyone else always says it is. That’s you all right, Sammy. You’ll have to be careful what you say to him in future.’
‘We’re all careful what we say round here,’ Ruth said, coming into the room with a tray. ‘The only one who isn’t careful is Silver himself. Here you are, Lizzie, here’s your tea, and here’s a cup of cocoa for you, Sammy. He learnt that the minute the child arrived,’ she went on, nodding towards the parrot. ‘Only said it once, but that blessed bird caught on to it in no time. It’s always the same when it’s something you don’t want repeated. I know people say he
doesn’t understand what he’s saying, but I reckon he does. He does it for devilment.’
‘Still, you get a lot of fun out of him. We all do.’ Lizzie sipped her tea. ‘I remember when Dad told us not to repeat anything that bird said in case it was something bad, and we all thought “sippers and gulpers” and “splice the main-brace” must be really wicked words – and said them whenever we thought Dad wouldn’t hear us! We told our friends too. Half the school was using parrot-swear at one time.’
‘Sammy’ll be going to the village school after Christmas,’ Ruth said. ‘I’m going to see the headmaster soon. Of course, he might say Sammy should start straight away, even though there’s only a week or so to go before they break up.’ She looked at him anxiously. ‘I just hope he’ll be all right with the other children,’ she added in a lower voice. ‘He seems so timid. I don’t know what sort of a home he came from, I’m sure.’
‘Well, he’ll be all right here with you,’ Lizzie said. ‘Won’t you, Sammy? And Christmas is coming. You’ll enjoy that.’
Sammy looked up at her. He remembered last Christmas and the ball his mother had given him. He thought of the Christmas dinner she’d struggled to cook, the gloves and socks she’d bought them with her savings, carefully gleaned from the housekeeping money, and the Mars bar his father had given him. That reminded him of the chocolate he’d meant to give his mother, that Gordon had found in his drawer and eaten, and of Micky Baxter’s boast about gold necklaces. Perhaps if they hadn’t gone out that afternoon and met him in the street, Gordon would never have gone off thieving with him and got caught and sent away. Perhaps Mum wouldn’t have got even more ill and died.
It had all started at Christmas, he thought. It had all gone wrong then.
He thought of his cat Tibby, who – his dad had told him
– had got run over only a day or two before he’d come away to the country. Mum wouldn’t have let that happen. He thought of his mother, thin and weak and tired, yet always ready to give him a smile and a cuddle, calling him her sweetheart, her angel. He shut his eyes and tried to imagine her arms about him once more, and suddenly Nora was there beside him, almost touching him, and he felt a rush of grief so strong that his mouth turned down at the corners and his eyes filled with tears. He struggled for a moment but it was no use; he couldn’t stop the huge sobs forcing their way up from his chest, into his throat, and out through his trembling lips. As the two women watched in horror, he sank down in a heap on the rag rug and began to weep as if his heart would break.