Wartime Sweethearts (32 page)

‘Britain won’t surrender – will it?’

He looked up to respond to Gilda’s question. She was standing with the hot teapot hugged tightly to her chest. Her dark eyes were like liquid pools.

For a moment Charlie’s eyes fixed on her, flashing as though taking in her details and saving them to memory. Regardless of her marital status, he couldn’t help the sudden attraction.

‘Not as long as we don’t starve, and as long as me and my pals are willing to go out there and get those supplies, we’ll stand firm. I’m sure of it.’

Stan Sweet was only half listening, still mulling on what his son had said regarding the German captain. Had he heard right? Was his son defending the man?

‘As for the captain merely wanting to kill us,’ said Charlie, Frances smiling as he tapped her on the nose, ‘Captain Lansdorff wasn’t that kind of man. He was a decent man, obeying orders he didn’t necessarily approve of.’

‘You sound impressed,’ said Michael Dangerfield, his eyes narrowed and for once fixed on Charlie rather than on his sister, Mary.

‘He was a decent man,’ Charlie reiterated. ‘I would probably have taken the same view as you if there hadn’t been a mix-up when the boat went down. All the ordinary seamen were put into boats by the Germans and told to row towards the African coast. It was only the officers who were taken prisoner.

‘I was out cold and the medical officer was looking after me, so I ended up with the officers by mistake. No. I can’t say he was a bad man,’ said Charlie shaking his head. ‘It’s just the war. Just the bloody war!’

Mary started to protest about the deaths by drowning when the ship went down. Her father raised his hand from Charlie’s shoulder, a signal for her to be quiet.

‘Let Charlie have his say,’ he said steadily, his eyes on his son. ‘Go on, my son. Tell us all about it.’

Charlie nodded. Everyone stayed silent as he began his tale, recounting how his ship had been sunk by the
Graf Spee
off the Cape of Good Hope. He’d been one of the lucky ones, picked up by one of the
Graf Spee
’s support ships, eventually transferred on to the battleship herself.

Despite being well treated, Charlie and his pals had not liked the thought of being interned for the rest of the war.

The big turning point came on the 15th of December when the battleship was attacked by the Royal Navy. Having sustained damage, the
Graf Spee
steamed her way from the mouth of the River Plate where the battle had taken place and into Montevideo, Uruguay.

Charlie’s face lit up at the memory. ‘A neutral port. Under international law the captain had no option but to release us.’

‘I bet he hated doing that,’ spat Ruby who was sat next to the cake she had baked, her fingers clenched around the carving knife.

‘I’m not so sure,’ Charlie responded. ‘Not if what happened next is anything to go by. You see, he scuttled his ship rather than face the Royal Navy. All the prisoners were taken off and released, and all the crew except for a skeleton crew in charge of destroying the ship. I like to think he didn’t want more men to die – his or ours!’

Before calling an end to Boxing Day, the three men went out into the garden, two with cigarettes and one with his pipe.

They stood contemplatively, blowing smoke into the darkness and exchanging opinions about the likely progress of the war, whether the Yanks would get involved, whether the force sent into France would be strong enough to repel the enemy army.

‘No trenches this time,’ remarked Stan Sweet. ‘Certainly not on the Germans’ part anyway, judging by the way they invaded Poland and the like.’

Charlie remarked that he was glad he’d chosen to go to sea. ‘Despite losing my first ship.’

With a loud guffaw of laughter his father pointed out that it was the captain’s responsibility if a ship was lost.

‘Here’s hoping it won’t happen again,’ said Charlie.

Michael listened quietly, but said nothing as he thoughtfully sucked the smoke into his mouth before expelling it into the frosty night where it mingled with the steam of his breath.

He was thinking of Mary. He’d been stunned that morning. Seeing her again had only reaffirmed how he felt about her. He wanted to throw his arms around her; he wanted to kiss her, and much, much more. On the one hand it was early days in their relationship, but on the other these were desperate times. It was downright crazy asking her to marry him, but the idea had struck him without warning, and now it had struck, he couldn’t let it go. How crazy was that?

Suddenly he realised that Charlie was addressing him. ‘Fancy going to the pictures tomorrow – you know – the cinema? They’re reopened them and the girls might like the break.’

‘What? Oh, yeah. Sure.’

‘It’s only a bus ride. The Regent in Kingswood. We could get the late bus back. Might even find a fish and chip shop open if we’re lucky, though it’s a bit soon after Christmas.’

‘Yeah. That would be great,’ said Michael, thinking that his one Christmas wish might yet come true. It was an opportunity to be with Mary. It was also an opportunity to make amends for his cloddish behaviour at the Victoria Rooms and perhaps to get more intimate with her – if intimate was the right word. I’m not thinking getting fresh with her, he thought to himself, not with her brother and sister in tow.

‘Great,’ said Charlie sounding dead pleased that he’d thought of the idea. ‘I’ll pop back inside and see if Gilda would like to come, too. Seems to me she needs some cheering up.’

After he’d gone, Stan Sweet stood there silently, noticing everything but saying nothing. He had no doubt that Gilda would leap at the chance of a night out. He was also certain that Bettina would offer to look after the children and possibly also invite him over for another taste of her late husband’s liquor stock. He would not refuse. For the first time in years he was actually enjoying the company of a woman. They were both getting on. Two people who’d lived a long time and loved just once in their life.

Eyes narrowed, he sucked his pipe with great satisfaction. His children were still uninjured by war and Mary and Charlie at least were seeking happiness with another human being. He’d seen the way Mary looked at Michael and the way Charlie had looked at Gilda. Shame about all that make-up, though. The girl was good-looking without all that stuff. He wondered about her experiences in Europe and the exact situation with her husband. Somehow he couldn’t help thinking the worst.

‘Sir,’ said Michael Dangerfield, suddenly interrupting his thoughts. ‘Do you mind if I court your daughter. Sir?’

Stan eyed the good-looking Canadian with a mix of admiration and sadness. He’d liked him on first sight and was convinced that his daughter liked him too, though very possibly it was much more than that, given the letter he had written. He was happy for her of course, but also saddened. It would soon be time for all his little birds to flee the nest.

Clenching the stem of his pipe in the corner of his mouth, Stan told Michael that as his daughter wasn’t far off twenty-one, he wouldn’t stand in her way.

‘Not that she’d take that much notice if I did,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘She’s like her mother in that regard: pleases herself no matter what I say.’

Content with each other’s company, they turned their gaze to the clear night sky, the full moon and the stars.

‘Lovely night. Cold but lovely,’ said Stan while thinking to himself that it would do his parsnips the world of good.

‘Yeah,’ said Michael, sounding more subdued. They called it a bomber’s moon; the crew could see the ground and the enemy, but the enemy could also see them. He hoped he wouldn’t have too many of them.

The film was
Goodbye Mr Chips
starring Robert Donat and Greer Garson.

Ruby declared at the very last minute that she wouldn’t be coming.

‘Why not?’ asked Mary.

‘Do I look like a gooseberry?’ Ruby was adamant. ‘Look, I can see you and the Canadian cook are getting lovey dovey with each other.’

‘We are not,’ Mary responded hotly, her face turning pink.

‘Then you should be,’ said Ruby. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘Will you be all right?’

Ruby pouted. ‘Of course I will. Anyway, I’m in training.’

‘For what?’

‘To be a spinster. I’ve decided it will suit me very well.’

Mary tossed her head and sighed, thinking how exasperating her sister could be at times.

‘She’s staying behind for a reason,’ whispered Charlie, giving Mary a sharp nudge in the ribs while winking at their sister. ‘I can see it all now,’ he said, his voice spooky like some actor they’d seen in a ghost story at the Regent back in the summer. ‘Once we’re out of the way, she’s going to change into something lacy, ready to meet the tall handsome man that’s gonna come knocking the minute we’re out of the house.’

‘Get on with you,’ snapped Ruby, giving him a playful slap. ‘Anyway, Dad’s here, so the tall handsome man will have to make it another night. Now go on. Enjoy yourselves. I’ll be fine.’

Frances came hurtling down the stairs. ‘Wait for me!’

Charlie had tried to dissuade their cousin from coming, and Ruby had a good notion why. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Gilda and it worried her. Gilda was married and had two children. She told herself he was just being kind, but somehow she wasn’t convinced. Still, at least having Frances tagging along would keep things in check for both Charlie and her sister and her Canadian beau.

The living accommodation above the bakery took on a strange echo once everyone had gone. The silence was interrupted by her father coming out of his bedroom. She noticed he’d changed into a clean shirt and pullover.

She did consider asking him where he was going or telling him he looked nice, but didn’t.

Purposefully he picked up a bundle of leeks wrapped in newspaper from the table. Normally they would still be muddy from the garden, but she’d noticed him washing them off beneath the cold tap in the kitchen.

He paused before leaving. ‘I’m just taking over this bunch of leeks for Mrs Hicks. Won’t be long.’

Ruby smiled to herself. She couldn’t blame him for seeking company of his own age; he’d been alone a long time, dedicating his life to bringing up his children.

The door closed behind him and once again she was aware of the echoing silence and the warmth of the ovens captured in the floor and walls.

She listened until she was quite sure she was entirely alone. Laying aside her note book where she scribbled down recipes, she headed for the cellar.

Her breath steamed into the cellar air, easily seen in the light of the torch she was forced to use, the cellar having no electricity supply.

Although chilly, the cellar was dry. First she moved the box of mushrooms, though only after checking that a new crop had come through following her cropping them two or three days ago.

Moving the box of mushrooms exposed the airtight bin. So far it had served to prevent the sugar from becoming damp.

Ruby had brought a two-pound sugar bag down with her plus a large teaspoon. Setting the lamp to one side, she prepared to fill the sugar bag.

After opening the bin she dipped in the teaspoon and gradually spooned the sugar into the bag until it was about three-quarters full. So far Mary hadn’t questioned the fact that they’d hardly taken any sugar for household purposes from the firm that supplied the bakery.

Back in the bakery she rolled out pastry then took out the jar of chutney she’d made from apples and sultanas. Before doing anything else with it, she spooned it into a bowl, added extra sugar, tasted it and decided another spoonful wouldn’t go amiss. One more taste. Lovely. It was just right.

With the swift skill of somebody who’s done it a hundred times before, she took a palette knife and spread the pastry with the sweet chutney, rolled the pastry over and over until it resembled a Swiss roll – which it was – though her own special recipe.

Once that was done, she covered it with greaseproof paper and set it beside the bread oven for baking, though not until the last batch of bread had been baked.

There were still some people who bought ready-baked pastries, though only when the price was right. She decided that at a penny a slice, anyone could afford a piece and make their own custard to pour over it.

Stan Sweet was surprised at himself. He’d never realised he’d been lonely and had never wanted to alter his situation until he’d become more neighbourly with Bettina Hicks.

They had a lot in common of course, both having lost their respective partners and both getting on in years. Mrs Hicks’s brother lived in Canada and her daughter lived in South Africa.

‘They couldn’t be more far-flung if they tried,’ she’d said ruefully to him while leaning on her stick to pour him a second glass of brandy.

Stan felt the brandy burning the back of his throat. ‘They only belong to you temporary,’ he said to her. ‘Kids that is. You sacrifice the years to take care of them, but at the end of it they fly away. I hadn’t really faced up to that until now, though I don’t mind telling you I am a bit afraid of what might happen to them. I lost a brother during the last war and another once it was over. I remember my mother and my father crying for nights on end. My father tried to pretend he didn’t cry, but he did. Still …’

He heaved a big sigh between drinking brandy and puffing on his pipe. He’d expected to feel a trifle guilty to spend time with Mrs Hicks, as though he were being unfaithful to Sarah – which he couldn’t be. Sarah was dead. Had been for years.

‘They’re gone,’ she said suddenly. ‘I don’t mean the children have gone, I meant your Sarah and my Alf. They’re gone and all we can do is make the best of it.’

Stan looked at her, noticing the warm smile, the blue eyes twinkling like stars behind her glasses. Luckily he rarely resorted to glasses except for reading. He was one of the lucky ones, but who was to say that in time he wouldn’t need to wear glasses for his day-to-day activities.

‘
Tempus fugit
,’ she said suddenly. ‘Time flies.’

He nodded. No matter his promise to his wife, the time had come to begin anew even though it seemed a bit late in the day.