Leah Fleming - The War Widows

‘Hang on,’ Lily gasped, stepping back quickly. ‘Not so fast…It’s her I’ve come for: Susan Brown from Burma, Freddie’s intended. I don’t know anything about you. Show us that address again,’ she said, peering at it intently and then at them both.

‘But that is my address too,’ cried Susan, peering at the lettering. ‘My Stan lives at twenty-two Division Street, Grimbleton. It is written on my heart.’

The other girl folded her arms. ‘But I am Anastasia Papadaki. Sergeant Freddie Winstanley is my man and Konstandina is his child. I name her after his mother, Konstantia. It is the custom, yes?’

‘No, No! I am Susan Liat Brown. Mr Winstanley is my intended,’ screamed Susan. ‘And this is his child, Joy Liat. He is my man. I have his address. You, lady, are a big liar! I have a photo…See!’ Susan produced a tattered sepia photograph. ‘It was taken in Rangoon before he left on a ship, when I was a teacher. See…we are in a concert party.’ Her smile was triumphant.

Lily peered at it with dismay. There was no doubting that was Freddie grinning at the camera, dressed in a Pierrot costume.

‘Give me here. On the bones of Agios Vasilios… Ne! Ne! Yes! That is Freddie, my Freddie. We meet in Athens when I was nurse,’ said the Greek, refusing to give way. ‘She is liar. Susan is dead!’

‘How am I dead if I am here with little Joy?’ Susan shouted back, clinging to the toddler. ‘She is his little Joy.’

There was a deafening silence as they both stared at each other. Lily’s heart was thumping a drumbeat. It would take the judgement of Solomon to sort out this mess.

‘Oh heck,’ she said, scratching her head. What have you been up to Freddie? she sighed.

They were all looking to her for guidance. ‘What do we do now?’

‘These women go nowhere,’ ordered the officer, already pink in the face. ‘Not until the man in question comes to collect them in person. He can’t have two wives in this country, whatever he’s been up to. So one of you is going to be disappointed, I’m afraid. Sergeant Winstanley must choose his bride.’

‘That might prove difficult, sir. Can I have a word in private?’ Lily whispered to the officer.

He pointed to a corner out of earshot, both looking over at the mothers, who were each wishing that the other would disappear into thin air. How on earth was this mess going to be sorted out?

Miss Brown was standing frozen like a statue, tears rolling down her face. Anastasia was standing with her arms folded. And there were the two kiddies to consider: were they both really Freddie’s little girls? The two of them then came storming across, led by the Greek, who was all fired up.

‘Come on, missy…I no trust them. They hide words from us. We have daughters. Maybe there are two Freddie Winstanleys. One for each of us.’ Miss Ana was taking charge. ‘You and me is going to sort this out.’

The officer stood in their path. ‘There’s been a development,’ he said softly. ‘I’m sorry but under the circumstances, you must both go with Miss Winstanley and sort this out amongst yourselves, the two of you and the family. His mother is waiting to meet you. Good luck!’

He looked relieved to be shovelling this awkward problem on to the stunned woman in the tweed suit. And Lily was too shocked to do anything other than gather up their luggage and propel them towards the door like a taxi driver.

It was raining hard as they trooped towards the black van with no time for Lily to put on her mackintosh so it would hide the black armband sewn onto her sleeve. The mothers would be far too upset to note its significance or the fact that they were getting soaked.

Somehow cases and bodies and children were crammed into the back of Gertie. The gloomy ride back to Grimbleton was a blur of steamy windows accompanied by the ammonia smell of wet nappies and the sniffing of tears in the back. Gertie coughed and spluttered in protest at the extra weight but trundled them northwards. If only she was driving the bigger Rover saloon but it was still in the garage, standing on bricks, out of action for the duration.

What on earth must these two poor lasses be thinking? Lily felt her hands shaking at the wheel. Perhaps it was lucky that the windows were steamed up so they missed the worst of the soot and the grime, the gaping bomb sites around Manchester, the dark satanic mills.

Lily’s heart was thudding as the streets of Grimbleton came into view.

What on earth was she going to do with two of them? What would the family say to two women with the same address? How did they explain away two little girls, not the size of tuppence halfpenny? What would the neighbours think, and Walt too?

This would be the biggest bombshell to hit Division Street since the air raid in ’41. I’d like to give that brother of mine a piece of my mind. He’s gone too far this time, she thought.

Then she remembered he was dead and these two didn’t know. None of them would ever see him again.

The baby, Dina, was whimpering, tugging her back to reality. Freddie may have passed away but he’d sure as hell left quite a legacy behind.

Susan peered at the back of the driver’s head, at the roll of brown hair anchored with pins and at the felt hat. What was she doing in this clanking van? Had they been kidnapped? Why was she crushed in the back with strangers and the smell of stale bottoms? This was not how England should be, surely?

It should be a beautiful carriage and horses like the picture on the tin of chocolates that Stan brought as a gift to Auntie Betty, her guardian. There was a pretty house with a golden grass roof. Roses tumbling from the walls and a blue, blue sky. She had read many school books with castles and great stone palaces in them, wide parks with tall trees, but nothing like this.

Outside it was all grey and sooty, no moonlight on this wet afternoon. Gaslamps flickered like troubled spirits. For all she was brought up as a Christian girl, she believed her grandmother when it came to honouring the nyats , those guardian spirits of house and home. She whispered, ‘Kador, kador ,’ so as not to incite their anger. It was bad enough to be sharing this van with the imposter who claimed Mister Stan was the father of her child. The liar! He would not be so quick to take another woman after their tender embrace.

After all the preparations to get to British soil, home of her late father, Ronnie Brown, the hoarding of rations and planning, the obtaining of permits and passports, nothing was as she had dreamed. It was true British soldiers liked Burmese girls but never got round to marrying them, but she thought Mister Stan was different.

‘If anything happens and you need my help, beautiful flower, just write to this address,’ he promised when his leave was cancelled quickly. She had carried his words close to her heart in her tunic pocket when other Tommies asked her for a date. Was it all the lies of a cheating man?

She clutched ‘Precious Teddy’, the teddy Auntie Betty had given to Joy for comfort. It smelled of home, of spice and pickle, cigarettes and the ship. Something was wrong. But she had not walked hundreds of miles out of Burma, fleeing the Japanese through the jungle, to be stopped now.

Burmese ladies might look like delicate orchids but their will was made of iron. Sometimes in her dreams, she was back in those hills on the trek north from Rangoon in the summer of 1942. Fear stalked them all the way. There was one valley where the sun hovered over the ridge of hills above them, and when it slid away the hills seemed to crouch down and whisper, ‘You’ll never get out of here alive.’ They called it the valley of death and many succumbed to dysentery and bite infections. They were town people, not used to rough terrain. She was younger and more nimble. She walked with the children, cajoling them to keep going, singing songs to cheer them. ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ was their favourite.