A Family's Duty (14 page)

As he lay there in the silence broken by snores and mutterings of the other men, he gave a long-drawn-out groan which turned into a stream of obscenities.

‘Bloody hell, fucking hell, bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger …’

The next thing he heard was a man’s voice close by the bedside. ‘Saying a little prayer for us, mate?’

Jack recognised the familiar tones of Smithy, an ex-patient of Ward Three, an early example of Archibald McIndoe’s plastic surgery before the war. His nose and four fingers had been frost-bitten from climbing in the Alps, and although he had to lose his fingers, two from each hand, his nose had been reconstructed over a period of five operations. He now worked in the administration offices of the Queen Victoria Hospital, and as a voluntary visitor to Ward Three, where he would turn up unannounced at any hour of the day or night.

‘Want a fag?’ He lit a cigarette, took a draw of it, then put it in Jack’s mouth through the space in his facial dressings for breathing and feeding. And then he took a chair and began to talk about his own experiences and those of others treated by McIndoe – the Boss, as he was referred to.

‘You know, this is the right place to be, lad, because although it may take a long time and several operations, the Boss is a genius with his knife and tweezers. He’ll do that graft again, and
again
if need be – you’ve got plenty of spare skin on your bum and thighs – and count yourself lucky you’ve still got your crown jewels intact – there’s many a bloke who’s had ’em fried. I tell you, Jack old son, in this place you can always find somebody worse off than yourself.’ He gently removed the cigarette to shake off the ash, and replace it between Jack’s lips, before going on talking, easily and unsentimentally.

And that was how Jack Nuttall started to return to the land of the living. It would be a long, hard journey, but in that dark hour he discovered new hope.

The bombing of Britain’s towns and cities continued relentlessly, and the whole nation grieved for those killed,
injured and made homeless. That Christmas, the second of the war, was shadowed by deepening austerities and worsening dangers facing the country at home and abroad. Listeners heard about the terrible night of the twenty-ninth of December, when incendiary bombs had rained down on London, creating an inferno that lit up the sky with fiery light that could be seen thirty miles away; people in North Camp stood on their doorsteps and watched in awe; it was being called by newsreaders the Second Great Fire of London, three hundred years after the first.

Abroad, trouble was brewing in North Africa, where British and Commonwealth troops were guarding Egypt and the Sudan from imminent invasion from the Italian army, which greatly outnumbered them. Paul Storey wrote to report that the food parcels from home had arrived, and Valerie Pearson received a postcard from John Richardson with a photograph of the Great Sphinx, telling her of the discomforts of life in the Western Desert, all itchy heat and flies. She sighed over it, reminding herself that he was thousands of miles away, not knowing when he would return, if ever. She also remembered her embarrassment when he’d taken her to see
Gone with the Wind
, and what had followed. Gone were the illusions she’d cherished that one day he would truly return her love, and sweetly enfold her in his arms, whispering of marriage and sharing a home together. Going with two friends from The Limes to see the film of
Rebecca
had been far more enjoyable – here again was Laurence Olivier with looks to dream about – imagining tender love-scenes, safely remote from overheated, heavily breathing intimacy.

Daffodils were fluttering in the cold, blustery wind of an early April day, and Rebecca Neville, county representative of the Women’s Land Army, thanked heaven that spring had come round again. The winter had seemed interminable, miserably cold indoors as well as out, food was becoming scarcer, and there was the constant worry about the men in the armed services, now being shipped abroad to North Africa in larger numbers; every day brought the fear of a telegram with the worst news. Seated at her desk at the Everham office, Rebecca had five applicants to interview; their numbers had been increasing since the recent compulsory registration of women over the age of twenty. She had to be careful to give them fair warning of the hardships as well as the good points of life on the land, especially in winter, and to help them consider the other auxiliary forces: the ATS in which Dora Goddard had discovered a new and exciting life, or
the WAAFS who supported the men who were defending the country from invasion from the air, and increasingly going on raids over Berlin and Hamburg, giving the Germans a taste of the bombing; or the WRNS, the women who supported the navy, beset by the dreaded U-boats, the German submarines which sank so many ships of the merchant navy carrying food supplies, and their Royal Navy escorts.

Rebecca considered the applications of the five girls to be interviewed today. Two of them were from rural areas in Hampshire and Berkshire, so could be sent straight to farms, if possible to places of their choice, but firstly to where the need was greatest. Three town girls with little or no knowledge of rural life might benefit from a course of instruction at one of the WLA courses like the Cannington Farm Institute in Somerset; she hoped that its Nissen huts with concrete floors, hard beds and a slow combustion boiler to heat water would not put them off.

Having dealt with the new recruits, Rebecca got down to paperwork. She had to visit and inspect every farm in her area at least once a week, and prepare reports for the regional offices. There were usually complaints from the land girls or the farmers or both. The girls protested that the farmers’ wives expected them to work indoors, especially in winter, after they had fed and cared for the livestock – the cows, sheep and pigs – while in summer they had to work up to twelve hours a day at haymaking and harvesting time. Rebecca usually found that a little give and take on both sides was needed, and in winter it was fair to give some help in the farmhouse, but that it should be limited to preparing food and washing-up, cleaning of pots and pans that had been used; there was to be no house cleaning, and certainly
no emptying of chamber pots. ‘We don’t mind
mucking-out
the cow sheds or the pig sties, but we draw the line at mucking-out the pots,’ one girl had complained. Some of them were homesick, especially those who came from stable family backgrounds, while others were only too pleased to get away from the demands of home life. Rebecca found it worthwhile to sit down and have a talk with unhappy girls, and sometimes she was able to transfer them to another farm or bring another land girl to share the placement.

Home life. Rebecca sighed, for they had their problems at Hassett Manor, which was no longer the haven of peace that it had once been. Their evacuees, a girl of seven and a boy of five, had dirty language and dirty habits. Sally Tanner had to bear the brunt of the chaos they caused, and Rebecca braced herself for another tirade of disapproval when she arrived at the Manor this afternoon. She boarded the train waiting on the North Camp spur line, and stepped into a carriage where two people were already seated.

‘Miss Neville!’ cried Philip Saville and Valerie Pearson in unison.

‘Oh, what a nice surprise,’ she said, putting on a smile, for she usually found conversation rather hard work when faced with either of these neighbours.

‘How’s life at The Limes, Valerie?’ she enquired, and was surprised at how the girl’s face lit up.

‘It’s very rewarding, Miss Neville,’ came the reply. ‘Some of the children are so sweet, so – so in need of care and attention. I shall always be grateful to your mother for digging me out of the rut I was in!’

Philip smiled. ‘Yes, Miss Pearson, Lady Neville is a remarkable, er, lady. She has visited my aunt to check on our
evacuee, Nick. He’s ten years old, very silent and solemn at first, but now he’s coming out of his shell, and we talk about what he’s learnt at school, and all sorts of things.’

Rebecca was pleased at both of these reactions. The war had brought sorrow and suffering to so many families, but had proved to be not such a bad thing for these two; they positively bloomed.

‘You’ve made a difference to Charlie and Joe Perrin, Philip,’ she said. ‘They’re excellent young pianists! What about this little boy Nick – would he like to come over and meet the Perrin twins?’

‘I’m sure he’d love to, Miss Neville,’ Philip replied with a smile and a nod. ‘I’ve given him a basic knowledge of the keyboard, but we haven’t attempted any lessons as yet. The boy’s had more than enough new impressions to take in, but yes, it’s a very good idea, and most kind. Shall I bring him over to Hassett Manor when the next lesson’s due?’

‘Certainly, Philip – but be on your guard against the two tearaways we’ve got!’

‘You mean the Perrin lads?’

‘No, no, they’re positively angelic compared to our evacuees,’ she said wryly. ‘Jimmy’s five and Lily’s seven, and so far we haven’t made much progress with them. Heaven only knows how they were brought up!’

‘Oh, how awful for poor Lady Neville!’ said Philip in real dismay. ‘She leads such a busy life with her voluntary service work – not to mention the anxiety over Paul—’

‘Not to mention it,’ said Rebecca firmly, as if to stop further talk on the subject.

There was a short silence, broken by Valerie. ‘Is anybody going to see this film
Pinocchio
on at the Embassy all next
week?’ she asked. ‘It’s a full-length cartoon film, like
Snow White
, just right for children.’

The silence continued while Rebecca and Philip took this in, and then they both spoke at once.

‘I could take Nick and the Perrin boys,’ said Philip, just as Rebecca said, ‘I could take Lily and Jimmy – we could go to a matinee on the Saturday.’

‘Or on the Wednesday, when the children are off school,’ said Philip. But Rebecca reminded him of the Ladies’ Circle.

‘Make it the Saturday, then,’ she said, ‘and what a very nice thought, Valerie! Would you like to come with us? We’ll need your skills at child management, as you’ll see when you meet Lily and Jimmy!’

And so it was settled – an outing to the cinema as a treat for the evacuees.

On her arrival home, Rebecca was faced with a highly indignant Sally Tanner, both her parents being out. Sally’s biggest complaint was of the thieving from the kitchen as soon as her back was turned, and utter disregard for the trouble they caused.

‘It’s very difficult for you, I know, Sally – you get the worst of them, with my parents so often out,’ Rebecca said placatingly. ‘They’ve been brought up in a rough area, and don’t know any better.’

‘Rough area be blowed, they’re just pig-ignorant!’ stormed Sally. ‘Them two, they do their business in corners of rooms, so no wonder the whole house smells to heaven. And their talk is so disgusting, I don’t care to repeat it to you. They don’t show any respect, they went upstairs into my bedroom, opened drawers, took out my underwear and
wee’d
on it, then put it back. They’re always shouting and hollering – they’re no better than animals, dirty little tykes!’

‘Oh, that’s awful, and I shall have to speak to them very firmly,’ said Rebecca in dismay. ‘Try not to upset yourself, Sally—’

But Sally was not to be soothed. ‘I tell you what, Becky, if it wasn’t for your poor mother, I wouldn’t stand for it – I’d sling me hook and go back to Bethnal Green, bombs or no bombs!’

Seeing angry tears in Sally’s eyes, Rebecca shook her head helplessly. Her mother had worries enough with Paul out in North Africa, and spent most of her time with the Women’s Voluntary Service; Sir Cedric was also taken up with the training of the Territorials, in addition to his position as a Justice of the Peace and running the Manor Hassett estate with a depleted staff. Even so, Sally deserved to be treated better than this, and something would have to be done. Rebecca decided to have a serious talk with her mother.

While many families waited in dread for news from abroad, the atmosphere at 47 Rectory Road had lightened, for which Tom Munday was thankful, for it made Grace easier to live with. Her weekly visits with Rob to the Queen Victoria Hospital had raised her spirits, seeing Jack’s slow but steady improvement, the success of the second attempt at a skin graft to his face, and the new eyelids which did not quite close, but allowed him at least to see a blurred vision of his surroundings. His face was recognisable to his mother and father, and he was able to acknowledge them. McIndoe had removed two blackened, stiffened fingers from his right hand, and he still had his thumbs, so was able to grip objects, to
hold a knife and fork, a pencil, a cigarette – and to talk, not only to Rob and Grace, but to McIndoe and his surgical team, the nurses and the other patients in Ward Three, to whom he introduced his parents, quoting Smithy’s words that there was always somebody worse off. He made an effort to cooperate with McIndoe as the reconstruction of his face and hands proceeded. Rob Nuttall was immensely proud of his son, and both he and Grace looked forward to the day when Jack would be able to come home, and Grace would be able to devote all her time to his comfort. And she need never again dread news of planes shot down or reported missing.

Other parents, other families of men in the Royal Air Force continued to fear for their sons. The Luftwaffe continued to bomb London and other provincial cities: centres of industry and shipbuilding. Liverpool, Belfast and Clydebank were battered, and in the south, Portsmouth and Southampton. Mary and Sidney Goddard received a shock when Dora wrote to tell them that she had accepted a transfer to London, to play a more active part in the war. A directive from the War Office recommended that the ATS should learn how to operate the huge searchlights used to spot and track enemy aircraft in the night sky. Caught in the crossed beams of two or three searchlights, the bombers became visible to the
anti-aircraft
gunners.

‘Gwen and I are with a smashing bunch of girls,’ she wrote. ‘Every night we put on huge thick overcoats and boots, with tin hats on our heads, and we yell like fury when we catch a Jerry plane in a beam – it’s like a game, and when one’s brought down, it’s such a thrill, we enjoy every minute. Look after yourselves, Mum and Dad, and don’t let Bully Billy or Pregnant Pam get you down!’

Mary Goddard missed her daughter more than she could confide in Sidney, not wanting to worry him further, as he looked so tired, working six long days a week – seven if there was extra work to be done. Pam was expecting another baby, and Sam was crawling into every room and every kind of mischief. Sidney, did she but know it, worried in much the same way about her. Old Mrs Yeomans was unable to be of much assistance to Mary, and tried not to be a ‘nuisance’, as she put it, though her memory was failing, and she was unable to go up or downstairs without help, usually from Mary. The downstairs lavatory was outside, and in bad or wet weather Mary produced a chamber pot for the old lady, shutting the parlour door for privacy.

At least the food rationing did not affect farmers as much as the butchers who had to deal with their registered customers. The Yeomanses were not short of milk or eggs, and when Billy killed a pig he had pork enough to sell directly to favoured customers as well as to supply Seabrook’s. Being no philanthropist, he charged high prices for his off-
the-ration
meat, and resentment grew among families on limited incomes against the better off such as the Nevilles of Hassett Manor who had an extra family of evacuees to feed.

‘It isn’t as if
we
ate more than our fair share, Mother,’ said Rebecca. ‘It’s the children who help themselves from the pantry, and make Sally’s life a misery—’

‘I know, I know,’ said Isabel wearily. ‘The irony of it is that I spend quite a lot of my time helping families who have problems with evacuees. I’ve been inclined to leave ours to Sally to deal with.’

‘Yes, and it’s most unfair, Mother. We need to discipline Lily and Jimmy, Mother. I shall draw up a list of rules which
must be obeyed, mealtimes and bedtimes, no wandering around the house and getting into mischief in the bedrooms. And I’m sorry, but you and Dad will have to do your share in training them, and where necessary, punishing them.’

‘Oh, Becky, that sounds very hard!’

‘No harder than it is for Sally – I’m more concerned about her than for them. Hasn’t she
told
you about their dirty habits? No, because she doesn’t want you to be bothered, when you’re so often out on WVS work, and besides, there’s the constant worry about Paul. No, Mother, we’ve
got
to be firmer, starting today – and by the way, I’ve got a sweetener for them. Philip Saville is taking the Perrin boys and his own evacuee, Nick, to see the film of
Pinocchio
next week, the Saturday matinee. And I’ll join them with Lily and Jimmy. We’ve asked Valerie Pearson to come along with us because we’ll need an extra helper.’

‘That does sound like a very good idea!’ Isabel nodded approvingly. ‘Valerie has blossomed out remarkably since she started working at that Everham nursery.’

‘All thanks to you, Mother, and the same can be said for Philip Saville. Right, now let’s have some tea before I get down to a pile of paperwork – there’s never enough time to do it in the office. And we’ve got another big problem coming up – literally hundreds of Italian prisoners of war coming to work on the land. They’ve been taken in the Western Desert, and don’t sound to have put up much of a fight. It’ll be up to local WLA representatives to place as many as we’re given, and heaven knows how we shall communicate with them. Ah, well.’