A Family's Duty (21 page)

Pam Yeomans looked worried as she took this in. ‘Look here, you can’t just walk out on me like this, Mary! Billy’s willing for you to stay here, free bed and board – Sidney’s death won’t make any difference, and it wouldn’t be fair of you just to walk out. We
do
appreciate you, Mary, really we do—’

Billy frowned at her. ‘All right, all right, Pam, no need to grovel. We can manage just as well without them. She’ll be back soon, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Oh, no, she won’t,’ said Dora, coming into the kitchen with Mary’s coat, hat, gloves and handbag. ‘Here you are, Mum, let’s be on our way.’

With her father on one side and her daughter on the other, Mary Goddard left by the kitchen door of the house she had lived in for the last quarter of a century. Billy and Pam Yeomans stood watching them go, and neither said a word. It was slowly dawning on them that they were going to feel a cold east wind blowing through Yeomans’ farm and farmhouse without the Goddards.

The news of Sidney’s death spread quickly around North Camp, followed by the dramatic aftermath. People sympathised with Mary, though at the same time they silently applauded her ‘great escape’, as the Nevilles of Hassett Manor called her move from Yeomans’ Farm to her childhood home, to live with her twice-widowed father.

‘Can’t remember when I last felt so good,’ Eddie told Tom Munday and everybody else in the public bar of the Tradesmen’s Arms. ‘Since my poor Annie died and our boy moved away up north, I’ve kept the house on, though people asked me why I didn’t move to a nice little bungalow. I kept putting it off, and now I know why! I’ve watched my Mary being treated like a skivvy all those years at that farm, but now that she’s got away, I can keep my eye on her, and she can have a good rest.’

‘How did Billy and his missus take it?’ they all wanted to know. Eddie grinned.

‘Hah! I’ll tell you! When I went round there with Rob Nuttall’s van to pick up Mary’s stuff, and there was a lot of it, blow me down if that slave-driver didn’t come crawling to me, slippery as a snake, to say that Mary had been a treasure and they’d never wanted her to go – the oily blighter even said they were missing her, and if she’d please come back, he’d pay her decent wages – and get a charwoman in daily to do the rough housework and the washing!’

‘So what did you say to that, Eddie?’ they wanted to know.

‘I told him it had taken him twenty years to appreciate Mary, which was twenty years too late. He’d killed Sidney with overwork, and he wasn’t going to do the same with my girl. Sent him away with a flea in his ear!’

Tom Munday joined in the general laughter that greeted this, but his own situation was far from amusing. There was no news from the Mother and Baby Home, though Doreen had gone past her estimated date of delivery. Grace continued to walk around in a daze of phenobarbitone, but Joan Kennard had visited Doreen, leaving the children in Miss Temple’s care. She reported that Doreen looked pale and subdued, but that her general health was satisfactory, and she’d twice repeated to Mrs Kennard that the baby was to be adopted. There were several other girls in the same predicament in the Home, and almost all were there due to servicemen who had gone to the war, British and Canadian as well as the GIs.

It was arranged that Dora would return to her London base, and would be granted forty-eight hours’ compassionate leave to attend the funeral at St Peter’s.

‘I haven’t been in a church for ages,’ Dora confessed to her mother. ‘I suppose that gloomy rector and his wife are still there?’

Mary looked grave. ‘I haven’t been to church either, but I’ve heard that the Allinghams have been crushed by the death of their son, especially Mrs Allingham. She says she’ll never set foot in—’

‘
What?
Lost a son? Oh, my God, Mum, which one?’ Dora broke in, putting a hand to her face and holding her breath.

‘Howard, the elder one,’ said Mary, alarmed at this reaction.

‘
Howard?
But Mum, why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You didn’t seem interested when I wrote that he was back from Dunkirk,’ said Mary in some bewilderment. ‘You’ve
never said a word about Howard Allingham before. Why, Dora, what’s the matter?’

For Dora had covered her face and was shaking with sobs.

‘Oh, Howard, poor Howard, I was so cruel to him, so horrible!’ she cried. ‘I wouldn’t kiss him, not even when he was going to the Front. He didn’t want to go, and if he’d only had a kind word from me – but I thought I’d better not raise his hopes – oh, if
only
I’d kissed him and made him happy before he went! If only I could have another chance – but I was a bitch, a cold-hearted
bitch
!’

Mary put her arms around her and held her while she sobbed her heart out; but there was nothing she could say that would be of comfort. It was too late.

The news spread around North Camp that Doreen Nuttall had given birth to a little girl, and would be staying in the Home for six weeks, so that she could breast-feed her baby to give her ‘a good start in life’, as was the policy at the Home, until the babies were adopted. Rob Nuttall and Tom Munday went to visit Doreen and found her cuddling the baby who was ‘the sweetest thing I ever saw,’ reported Tom. Jack Nuttall also took a day off from the air base to see his sister and niece. He wore tinted glasses, but people still stared at his face or pointedly looked away. Jack was learning to shrug off these encounters, and quite forgot about his scars when he thought about Doreen having to part with her child, her own flesh and blood, never to see her again. Talking about the visit to his grandfather, they both had serious doubts about Doreen being discharged home.

‘The poor girl’s going to need a lot of care and support,
and your mother’s in no state to give it,’ sighed Tom. ‘She wanders from room to room in this doped state, and might even be worse if Doreen came home. What we need is a suitably quiet home where Doreen could recover from all that she’s been through. I’ll go and see Isabel – she meets all sorts in the Women’s Voluntary Service, and might be able to think of somebody.’

The following day was warm and sunny, with all the beauty of May blossom and new foliage. When Tom reached Hassett Manor he found Isabel and Sally Tanner taking tea on the terrace, with the sound of a piano being played in the room behind them. Accepting a cup of tea and one of Sally’s home-baked biscuits, he came to the point of his visit, and asked if Isabel could think of anybody who could take Doreen as a lodger for a few weeks.

‘I see what you mean, Dad,’ said Isabel thoughtfully. ‘I’d willingly have my niece here at the Manor, only that Grace would accuse me of stealing another daughter from her.’

‘What about Ernest and Devora?’

‘Oh, no, Dad, they’ve got a houseful already, and Ayesha gets these asthma attacks. Doreen needs somewhere more restful.’ They sat thinking in silence, and Sally Tanner spoke.

‘What about Philip’s aunt, Miss Temple?’

‘Oh, we couldn’t burden Enid Temple,’ said Isabel. ‘She’s got Nick to look after, and people are forever asking for her help – like Joan Kennard wanting her children minded while she goes to visit a parishioner.’

‘Yes, but it would be worth asking her,’ said Tom.

Exactly,’ said Sally. ‘Don’t forget she’s one of the thousands of spinsters left over from the Great War because all the men were dead. I suppose I shouldn’t say it, but the war has been
a blessing to her. It’s changed her life – turned her into a universal aunt – and she looks younger. Try her.’

‘I’ll speak to Philip when he’s finished the piano lesson,’ said Isabel, ‘just to ask his opinion.’

Philip never turned down a chance to do Lady Isabel a favour, and said he thought it a good idea; his Aunt Enid would be glad to help the Nuttall family. Nick was a quiet boy, he said, and the upshot of this exchange was that two days later Enid Temple willingly opened her door to sad, bewildered Doreen Nuttall as a paying guest. Within days their growing household rejoiced together with the whole nation at the news of a triumphant achievement by a squadron of specially trained RAF airmen who had successfully bombed two vast dams in Germany, causing an unstoppable flood and drowning the industrial heartland of the Ruhr.

In the Tradesmen’s Arms the bombing of the dams gave rise to jubilation as the first good news since El Alamein.

‘It was done with a newly invented bomb that ricocheted across the water until it reached the wall of the dam and exploded against it,’ said the man from the dairy, exhibiting his scientific knowledge.

‘Did you hear Tommy Handley on ITMA say that ol’ ’Itler’s gone on his holidays, to paddle in the Ruhr?’ asked the barman amidst guffaws of laughter.

‘Pretty bad luck for the people, though,’ commented Tom Munday. ‘Thousands killed, houses smashed, farms all under water, cows, sheep, horses and all.’

‘Oh, I don’t shed any tears over ’em,’ said Eddie Cooper. ‘A lot of our boys on that raid got killed in it.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And judging by what’s going on in Warsaw – Jewish
families, kids and all, being rounded up to be taken God knows where – I wouldn’t show the Jerries any mercy, not if we bombed Berlin to rubble.’

His sentiments found agreement among the punters, and Tom changed the subject.

‘How’s Mary?’ he asked, and Eddie’s face softened.

‘Better than I’ve seen her for years. She was holed up in that bloody farmhouse, and after Dora left she got more depressed, and never went out anywhere. Sidney was a good bloke, but he could never stand up to Billy the bully. Now Mary’s going to the Ladies’ Circle at the Rectory, and knitting for the children of the forces. She’s got the time now, you see!’

Tom said nothing. The mention of children reminded him of the little great-granddaughter he would never see, and the anxiety about Grace’s state of mind. Dr Stringer had again hinted that she was suffering from a mental illness, and ought really to be in hospital.

As if reading his thoughts, the barman asked how Doreen was getting on with Miss Temple.

‘Very well, thank God,’ answered Tom. ‘Miss Temple’s such a good sort. She takes Doreen to the Ladies’ Circle, and they’re nice to the poor kid – no raised eyebrows about the baby. Like Eddie’s girl Mary, she’s much better off where she is.’

There was a murmur of approbation, but nobody asked about Grace, or enquired about Tom and Rob’s life at 47 Rectory Road.

Captain Storey and Sergeant Richardson had returned to the army, and their destination was a closely guarded secret. Isabel
Neville hoped and prayed that Paul would not be sent to the Far East where the Japs had surprised the Americans with their cold efficiency, and had taken a number of prisoners. Heaven forbid that Paul would fall into their hands.

Scarcely two months after the bombing of the dams, there came important news from the Mediterranean.

‘Have you heard? Eisenhower’s invaded Italy!’

First the wireless and then the newspaper headlines announced the landing of American troops in Sicily, from the sea, and in a rapid advance had taken the capital, Palermo; by August Sicily was in Allied hands. A brief message came from Paul, saying that he was with the British and Canadian forces supporting the US invasion. The Allies’ continued advance into the ‘toe’ of Italy was eagerly followed, and within days the seaport town of Messina was wrested from the German occupation; the fighting had been fierce, and the town was said to be in ruins. The general consensus of opinion was that the end of the war was getting nearer, though at Hassett Manor there were certain reservations. A telephone call from Father Flanagan informed Rebecca of the very low morale in the POW’s camp where the men were desperately anxious for their families and friends, and she took an early opportunity to visit them, avoiding the Yeomans’ farmhouse. Paolo and Stefano came to greet her, and the others waited around to hear what she had to say.

‘The invasion is good news for your people at home,’ she told Paolo, whose English was very much improved. ‘They’ll be freed from the enemy occupation of your country.’

‘But they are caught in the crossfire between two armies,’ he replied on behalf of the whole camp. ‘We have a man
here whose mother and father live in Messina, and his fear for them is so bad that he cannot eat or sleep. How can we comfort him, when we are all afraid for our loved ones?’

‘Then you are all in it together, so you must comfort one another,’ she said, but Paolo had other trouble to report.

‘People stop being friends with us – they shout “bloody wops!” when they see us in the field, and Signor Yeomans call us lazy bastards and say we must not go to the kitchen door again. The kind Signora who gave us food, she not there, and the young Signora tell us to go away or she will call the Signor. We may not play more with the children – oh, Signorina, we have become your enemy!’

‘You are no enemy of mine,’ she replied firmly, ‘and I’m sorry to hear how some North Camp people treat you. You are still welcome to share our table at Hassett Manor, and if you two’ – she indicated Paolo and Stefano – ‘walk back to the Manor with me, we’ll ask Mrs Tanner what she can find in the pantry.’

There were eggs from the hen-house, and cold pork with bread and home-made pickle to make sandwiches; they thanked Sally warmly, and said they would carve a wooden love-spoon, just for her. To Rebecca Stefano whispered that, ‘I make for you a Cross with the Body of Christ upon it, forgiving his enemies.’

By early September Italy was in desperate straits. The country had been largely overrun by the Allies, and there remained only Monte Cassino, on which an ancient Benedictine monastery stood. The monks had been turned out, and German soldiers now occupied it, a seemingly impregnable fortress that defied all attempts to storm it. Anybody or company approaching it from any direction would be seen and shot at.

‘For heaven’s sake, Becky, don’t let the men see this newspaper,’ warned Isabel, showing her the front page photograph of weeping Italian women, some with children, thin and listless from all the horror they had seen. ‘Destroy it when you’ve read it.’

But there were others in North Camp who were not as kind to the ‘Eye-ties’. The men were thrown copies of the newspaper and
Picture Post
weekly magazine which had the same photograph enlarged on the cover.