Sated by their love making and entranced by the magical glow of the flickering firelight they talked as never before, drawing ever closer as they revealed secret hopes and desires, exchanged confidences, dreamed dreams, till finally Lou found the courage to voice her greatest fears. ‘You aren’t going overseas are you, love?’
There was a short pause before he answered. ‘I don’t know. There’s been no hint of it. Not yet. But things are happening, they must be.’
‘Why must they?’ She wanted to deny the very existence of war, to hold him safely here in her arms for ever.
‘Because there always is. Simple as that. The Germans are in Stalingrad, which I don’t suppose is good. And since we lost Tobruk and the Eighth Army withdrew, there’s been rumours that Monty will do something by way of retaliation. He’s the new British Commander, Field Marshal Montgomery, in case you’re wondering.’
Lou was nodding, listening intently to every word. ‘Are you saying you might be involved?’
‘I think I’m saying that there could be a knock-on effect. Pulling all the plugs out, as it were. The big push. And yes, I dare say I’d be off then.’
She looked stricken. ‘I thought, as an engineer, your job was more shore based; that you’d stop on at the dockyard.’
He smiled softly at her, brown eyes gentle with not a spark of their usual mischief as they cruised over her face, seemingly eager to memorise every small part of it. ‘It’s just a bit of maintenance work while we’re in port, love. If it was a major refit, they’d transfer me to another ship. At sea I work in the engine rooms. That’s my job, second engineer, so they can’t go without me, now can they? But let’s not worry about all of that now. What matters is that we’re together, and you drive me crazy. Come here.’
Melting into his arms once more, Lou strove to push these concerns from her mind, as Gordon was trying to do, but it seemed strange that some unknown man, commander or not, could hold the power of life or death over her lovely husband.
He was kissing her lips, her eyes, the soft curve of her breast and if Lou had any another question ready, she quite forgot what it could have been. Afterwards, they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Gordon had admitted to being tired after a hard week on maintenance. Lou most certainly was, after the day she’d had, and tomorrow would be another long, tiring day in the woods. It always was, particularly since she’d mastered the art of felling, though admittedly nothing very large. As she drifted into sleep, she recalled the joy of bringing down her first tree, of calling out ‘
Timberrrrrr
!’ to let everyone know they must clear out of the way.
‘What’s that, a matchstick?’ Tom-Tom had chuckled but his teasing hadn’t in any way dented her sense of triumph. She’d been pleased with herself. It was a long way from worrying about the warp and weft of parachute silk in a Rochdale factory.
Something woke her and with dawning horror Lou realised it was the stable clock. For a moment she panicked as she counted the strokes, but it stopped at nine so she woke Gordon gently with a kiss and he escorted her back to camp safely within their time limit.
‘How will you get back? Or found your way here in the first place, come to that?’ It suddenly occurred to her to ask.
He waggled his thumb. ‘I’ll hitch a lift back. Don’t worry about me.’ They made arrangements for him to come again the following week, and then he was gone, vanishing into the darkness as he always seemed prone to do, so that it almost felt as if he weren’t real, not a proper husband at all, just a ghost who flitted in and out of her dreams. Lou shivered, as her mam would say, just as if a goose had stepped over her grave. Then she crept to her bed and buried her head under her pillow, so that Gracie wouldn’t hear her gasping sobs.
Even a day without word was an agony. Lou would ring him on the camp telephone, write every day while Gordon would barter leave with his mates in return for cigarettes or rum, begging his chief to let him pop over for an evening or a couple of hours in the afternoon, anything he could think of to get to see ‘my missus’, as he called her. But there were occasions when he failed to turn up, despite his promises, and Lou would weep with anguish and fear till he rang, or a note came through the post.
She wasn’t the only one to suffer this particular sort of pain. Stifled sobs could often be heard late into the night. Sometimes a girl would simply not be there in the morning. She would have packed her bags and gone home, perhaps out of homesickness or a need to be with loved ones when bad news came. Others decided they couldn’t take the outdoor life, the tough routine, endure the uncertain weather or acquire the necessary skills. The squad rather expected Lena to go off one day in a similar fashion but, in spite of her continued grumps and groans, she was still present and correct every morning.
‘Has someone pinched my blouse? And who the heck was snoring all night? How can I possibly sleep through that racket. Look at the tide mark you lot leave around the basin. What Mummy would say, I shudder to think.’
Hoots of laughter. ‘Good old Lena. What would we do without your cheery chatter every morning?’
On other days she would be ‘dying of exhaustion’ but the least hint of a dance or a trip to the picture house in nearby Fowey and she’d be the first to the wash basins, eager to freshen up and be off. It was hard to make her out at times but Lena was nothing if not an endless source of amusement.
There were feuds of course. Tempers would grow short and an over tired girl might flare up and object to an untidy bunk mate, or the way she cut her toe nails. There’d be tearing rows, name-calling, even the occasional scrap, but generally the mood of the camp was good.
Sometimes, friends though they were, Lou and Gracie might feel ‘a bit scratchy’ if things got on top of them. Lou might have received word that Gordon wasn’t coming to see after all, or Gracie might have received a letter from home, forwarded from Timber Corps head office, either of which could put one or other of them in a foul mood for the day. At other times it might be Tess having trouble with the lorry, or Jeannie grousing because she’d run out o f fags.
‘I’ll swear someone’s smoking the darned things behind me back.’
Gracie was usually the one to give in and go and buy her more, knowing the irascible Scot would be on an ever shorter fuse until she’d got her smokes. But in the main there was very little friction.
Lou and Gracie thrived on the outdoor life, loved the work, and discovered that felling was as much an art as sheer brawn, a matter of good skill and judgement rather than brute strength. Although there was a limit, of course, to the size of tree they could tackle. It was important to first of all decide which way it was best for it to fall, without damaging other standing trees, or itself, as it came down, and then to clear the way for it. The preliminary axe work must cut a mouth in the tree on the side which it must fall. They took great pride in leaving no waste, in cutting so low the stumps could scarcely be spotted, even by the eagle-eyed Tom-Tom.
‘You don’t cut as much as ‘ee should, but it’s worth having when ‘ee gets it,’ he told them one day, in his soft Cornish burr, which they took as a compliment, since it apparently meant that what they lacked in quantity, they made up for in quality.
‘What a lark,’ Gracie would say. ‘Who’d think there was a war on.
On Gordon’s next visit, Lou decided that it would do them all good if the entire squad took a day out in Fowey. They all cheered, Jeannie heartily agreeing that a bit of fun would be most welcome, as well as giving them the opportunity to doll themselves up. ‘Wearing the auld breeks is fine, but putting on a dab of powder and rouge will remind me I’m still a lassie.’
Tess drove Buttercup, her favourite old truck. They parked it close to Readymoney beach which, fortunately, had not been mined against possible invasion or sealed off with barbed wire since it was a well protected cove within the bounds of the River Fowey. Gathering up their swimming togs, they ran giggling down the wooded track, past Point Neptune, quickly changed and plunged into the sea. Lou gasped as she sank beneath the waves. ‘Lordy, it’s cold,’ but Gordon was soon beside her and they wasted no time in swimming a little way out, though still safely within the bay, where they could be alone to kiss and canoodle in the water.
It was a beautiful, peaceful spot, the sun sparkling on the gentle waves that lapped the curve of the shore; the small patch of golden sand fringed with rocks on either side; a row of fisherman’s cottages edging the shore. Way above their heads, looking out to sea, were the ruins of St Catherine’s Castle set on the point of the headland to guard the mouth of the river as it had done for centuries against likely invaders. It didn’t seem possible that any foreign force could ever defeat the brave men of Fowey. The ‘Fowey Gallants’, as they were once called, had sailed the seas for centuries, and were considered invincible. Certainly the Spanish had become convinced of that fact. So far as Lou and her friends were concerned, the town was still capable of seeing off any modern invaders with equal ferocity.
‘Race you to the rocks,’ Gordon cried and struck out strongly, Lou squealing in dismay that he’d cheated by setting off before her.
Lena paddled about in the shallows with more caution, proclaiming she was no water baby, until Gracie began to spray and splash her, making her yell with delighted fear and get even more wet in her efforts to escape. For once she didn’t object to the rough treatment, being far too thrilled to have been included on this jolly outing, despite her reputation as a misery-boots.
Gracie said, ‘It’s good to see you enjoying yourself, Lena,’ her own face shining with happiness, blonde hair flowing in the gentle breeze.
‘I think I’ve been stung by a jellyfish,' Lena groaned and couldn’t quite understand why everybody burst out laughing and began pelting her with more water.
They soon became happily engrossed building a sand castle, nobly defended by a deep moat, just as if they were schoolgirls. ‘Wish we’d got a flag to stick on top,’ Tess mourned.
‘Use my sock,’ Enid offered, attaching a multi-holed, soggy, green object to the end of a long twig and sticking it in the sand. It looked so funny that they all fell about laughing. Jeannie lit up a dog end and wandered off to sit on a rock for a quiet smoke, her thoughts seemingly miles away, as if wishing life could always be this sweet.
After a session drying off in the warm September sunshine they strolled along the Esplanade, strung out in a line arm in arm, into the tiny town; Lou and Gordon dawdling behind with their arms wrapped about each other. They enjoyed a cream tea in the Ship Inn, explored the length and breadth of Fore Street, popping in and out of all the quaint shops and finally took the tiny ferry boat across to Polruan where they climbed the steep hill over the headland to Lantic Bay.
With the sun warming their faces and the tang of a salt breeze in the air, they were tempted to walk all the way to Polperro but common sense prevailed and they returned within the hour, again by ferry to the Town Quay, and made their way back to dear old Buttercup. It had been a marvellous day, one filled with peace and happiness, golden with sunshine. Apart from the usual gun batteries and the boom defences that protected the harbours, there might not even be a war on, or so they fooled themselves, for a little while at least.
‘Long may it last,’ Lou said, gazing deeply into Gordon’s eyes. ‘I want you to always come home safe to me.’
‘I will, don’t worry. You won’t get rid of me that easy.’ Brave words, full of love, hope and the arrogance of youth, which was all they had to sustain them.
To bring them back to reality, they were given some practise acting as air-raid wardens. Groups of them were sent into Bodmin, Plymouth, Truro and other surrounding towns to train with the genuine wardens who had responsibility for those who hadn’t escaped the cities for the countryside each night but were weathering the air raids in shelters. It was a sobering experience to see women disguising their own fear while they comforted their children with smiles and happy bedtime stories.
They gathered in the shelters, rich and poor, old and young, huddled together for warmth, playing games together and singing songs in an effort to pass the time. It was cramped and uncomfortable, stank of human sweat and urine, often filled with the sound of babies crying or some domestic dispute, but the sharing and camaraderie somehow diluted the terror when the drone of enemy aircraft passed overhead.
Gracie was thankful that for her, at least, this was not a long term responsibility. There seemed so much to remember, checking that everyone had their gas masks and their admission cards, that they followed the rules and didn’t cause a nuisance to others. Despite the unsavoury nature of her surroundings, she enjoyed making sure that everyone was comfortable. Organising the tea making was one priority, chatting with the young mothers about their baby’s needs was another. Then she had to make sure everyone had brought their own clean bedding and knew to remove it afterwards, and that the old people who couldn’t carry much with them were warm and comfortable. She found a cushion and a blanket for one old lady, who was clearly cold and shivering.
‘Are you sure you’re all right here by the door? Wouldn’t you be warmer further in?’
‘Bless you. Call me Maggie, dear. But no, I’ll stay here thank you, so I can watch for my Percy when he comes, as I’m sure he will. He knows where to find me. And I’m not so mobile these days, so I can’t walk far.’