Leah Fleming - The War Widows

It was a night of a thousand stars. They had danced and she had worn her best silk skirt with a blouse the colour of orchid pink. They had walked back slowly to the veranda where Auntie Betty would be waiting, Susan’s heart aching, for it was Freddie’s last night of leave.

‘You go and forget your Susan,’ she whined.

‘Never, it will be just like the song, ” We’ll Meet Again”’.

‘Have you told your mother about me?’

‘I’ve told my friends…Don’t look so sad.’

‘Why will they not let us marry?’ she pleaded.

‘It’s rules, army rules. We’ll be together soon though, and now you’ve got those earrings…’

‘They’re beautiful. I love you so much. Come close. I’ll let down my hair so you can see how long it grows.’ She swished a coil across his nose. ‘It smells of fragrant oil?’

‘Come here and let me kiss you one more time,’ he sighed, pulling her close.

‘Now I will give you a special gift in return. I am not a bar girl or quick-and-easy girl. I give my loving so you will remember me.’ She flung herself in his arms and led him down the path to the little wadi, burying her face in his shoulder while he covered her eyelids with kisses. She felt his lashes like butterfly wings on her cheek.

‘You think Susan is wicked to love you? Am I bad?’ She unwrapped her skirt and they lay on it, making love under the shrubs to the music of the night.

She breathed in his kisses; he smelled of the barracks’ tobacco, a soldier’s scent. He kissed her tiny breasts and fingered them lovingly, whispering her name like a cool fan. She melted under him, opening up to him with such joy and eagerness. As he entered there was pain and wonder. Then it was over and she longed for something more.

In the dim light it was hard to see where she ended and he began but the lemony dawn light rose in the sky all too soon. Their limbs were coiled around each other. She could hear his heart beating. They had become as one.

‘You’re so beautiful. How can I leave you now?’

‘You will write?’

‘I will write but if danger comes I might not be able to. When the war is over but there are still pockets of resistance in the hills. Stay with Auntie Betty and I will come for you.’

‘Promise?’ she pleaded.

‘Promise. Here’s my address in England just in case.’

But you didn’t come. You left me for her…You forgot your Susan.

One day soon she and Walt would stand before the congregation for their wedding ceremony, Lily mused. Here was where Freddie sucked gobstoppers under the pew and kicked the back panels, squirming until the clock got round to twelve, when Polly would be dishing out the Sunday roast. Here was where they brought Dad before his burial.

The church was full of memories-celebrations and sadness. It was right they should see off their brother with due honour. What a turnout! Looking up at the congregation spilling out into the balcony above, she felt comforted by the sea of familiar faces. There was all the Grimbleton football team staring down at her. What an honour that they should come and pay tribute to an old school pal. What a show for her kid brother! Tears bubbled to the surface-tears of sadness, not only for herself but for those happy childhood memories, the longing to live happier times again, knowing she’d never see him or Dad again. Then there were the two young girls who sat like statues, lost in their own thoughts, salty tears of disappointment running down their faces. No going back for any of them now. A Brown Owl knew her duty and responsibility. How could she think of abandoning them in a strange country?

Don’t you worry, Freddie, I’ll be their champion, come what may, she vowed. I shan’t let you down whatever the cost, she thought, twisting Walter’s engagement ring round her wedding finger for comfort. It had been chosen from a tray of second-hand rings: a tiny hoop of sapphire chippings, modest but so precious, the best of the bunch within his budget and post-war shortages. Walter insisted she chose it herself and he’d pay on the drip. Now it was loose. With all the worry of the past week there was no time to eat. She hoped they’d done Freddie proud.

He’d never been religious but she knew he would have liked the hymns they’d chosen.

Susan was sitting in the front and she was obviously used to English worship. The ruby and gold earrings shimmered in a shaft of light from the side window. Ana sat hunched over, not understanding much, trying to be invisible, clutching her restless baby. What a contrast these strangers were: a copper knob with her golden-haired girl, and the little dark one with her plump toddler whose fingers were into everything.

The organist attempted Freddie’s regimental march and they shuffled out, trying to look dignified, spilling out into the street like a flow of black lava. The sky was threatening more fog and ice. The pavements were piled high with dirty leaves from front gardens, the cart horses left pools of frozen dung staining the cobbles brown and yellow. There was no disguising the ugliness of this damp afternoon but hands must be shaken and condolences received before they made for Waverley House and the funeral tea.

Everyone had chipped in to make food for the guests. Crompton’s Biscuits even provided traditional spice biscuits. The Chapel Ladies’ Bright Hour were organising sandwiches, rolls and tray bakes for the usual suspects, who liked to have a nosy round and scoff anything going. Not that Lily begrudged giving hospitality, but she sensed most of them were here because of the new arrivals.

Ivy was showing off little Neville in his velvet trousers and knitted jumper. The other toddlers were whipped out of sight for their nap and Esme was giving orders from her seat in the parlour: ‘Concertina needs a nappy change…’ She had that pained look etched into her jaw when her corsets were digging in too tightly but her eyes were dull with grief and shock.

Ana whipped up the child with a scowl. ‘We say in Greece, husband’s mother is cross all wife must bear,’ Ana whispered to Susan. ‘My Dina is not called Concertina.’

Lily pretended she had not heard as Walt made a beeline for Susan.

‘Well, I never! This is the new Mrs Winstanley then? He beat us to the altar, Lil,’ he winked as Susan lifted her finger so everyone could see.

‘No, this is Cousin Cedric’s widow from London,’ Lily announced loudly.

‘I never knew you had a cousin,’ Walt continued. ‘So that one over there’s the bride,’ he said, pointing his sausage roll at Ana. ‘Blimey! I never thought Fred’d settle down with a copper knob, a ginger biscuit. Who’d a thowt it!’ He burst out laughing but Lily wasn’t amused. He plonked himself down in the softest chair by the fireside and got out his cigarettes. That would be him settled for the afternoon now.

Ivy was on the warpath, passing tongue sandwiches along a line of guests with that pained expression of hers, no doubt wishing she was a thousand miles away. Susan stood in the shadows looking awkward. This long-lost relative, dressed in her one decent silk blouse and thin skirt, was wearing Lily’s borrowed cardigan, which smelled of mothballs. Ivy edged herself round the sides of the room as no one was bothering to talk to her. Esme was receiving condolences from the neighbours. Better then to make those girls useful clearing up plates to take to Polly in the kitchen. They were banging down the cups and saucers onto trays until Esme caught their eye.

‘That’s my best china you’re cracking,’ she muttered, turning to Lily. ‘If you want any left over for your cabinet one day, I suggest you leave Polly to clear away. Take them upstairs, and what’s all this I hear about you and Walt naming the big day?’