A Wartime Christmas (41 page)

‘Alan wrote in that letter he wanted me and Alfie to go to Len and Doris’s. But I can’t see meself doing that. Poor Doris was upset enough before when we took Alfie
away.’

‘So you’ll go to your mum and dad’s?’

‘Like you, I don’t have much choice, Babs.’

Babs gave a sudden chuckle. ‘Your mum will say she told you so. That the East End was too dangerous to live in.’

Kay smiled. ‘We gave Hitler a run for his money, though.’

Babs leaned her elbows on her knees. ‘You know, I never realized there were so many kinds of farting. Little ones and whistly ones and whopping great bangers. Trying to sleep here tonight
has been an education.’

At this, they burst into soft laughter. Kay knew it was laughter that could have easily been tears. But for her and Babs, their sense of cockney humour was a release and they welcomed it. They
sat together, talking of the old days, of Eddie and Alan and their lives with their neighbours and close friends in Slater Street; a time they knew had now drawn to a close. They’d shared
many ups and probably more downs together, but they’d always been there for each other. Now even that was set to change.

‘Whatever happens, we’ll write, won’t we?’ Babs insisted. ‘We’ll keep in touch.’

‘Course we will.’

Later, as Babs lay asleep, Kay found herself wide awake. What would have happened if Alan had been here today? She knew he would have moved heaven and earth to see that she and Alfie were safe.
He would have scooped them up and protected them and, in that very special way of his, taken all their worries away. She felt the loss of him deeply and she knew Babs missed Eddie too. And that
part of her would always remember Paul. Although their life in the East End had ended, they had been blessed with survival. As she drifted into sleep, she thought she could hear Alan’s voice
softly whispering in her ear. His words always gave her courage. ‘Chin up, lovely, tomorrow’s a new day.’

And it was.

Nine months later

‘At 2.41 this morning, 7 May 1945, peace came to a battered Europe,’ the commentator intoned, his voice sombre as it came through the kitchen wireless, causing Kay,
who was seated on the bench outside the back door, to jump to her feet and wave fiercely at Pops in the garden.

‘Pops! Pops! Come quickly, it’s over!’

Wearing her boots and leaning heavily on her stick, Pops’s journey down the path was slow. ‘You mean it?’ she asked breathlessly as she neared. ‘Is the war really
over?’

‘As good as. Come on, we’ll just catch the last of the news.’

Kay and Pops eagerly pulled up their chairs to listen to the rest of the broadcast. But as they sat there, the joy of the unconditional surrender by a devastated German army to the Allies was
tempered with sadness. So much devastation was left in the wake of this second world war that had come only twenty years after the first, Kay reflected. London had been pulverized by an even more
lethal weapon: the new killing machines, the V2s. These had caused even greater destruction than their predecessors. Londoners had been blasted out of their homes once again and Kay had thanked God
for the safety of Monkton. But even here, they hadn’t been shielded from the terrible atrocities that were printed every day in the newspapers. Unimagined horrors had been discovered in the
Nazi death camps. For millions of Jews, Poles and other victims, the victory had come too late. There had been disbelief at the report that on 30 April 1945, Hitler and his wife Eva Braun had
committed suicide in Berlin.

‘Well, at last the world’s come to its senses,’ said Pops, mirroring Kay’s thoughts as she tipped the cloth cap back from her wrinkled brown forehead. ‘Perhaps now
we’ll have that long-awaited peace.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Kay, smiling. ‘Though it’s hard to believe.’

‘The news will take a while to sink in,’ Pops said. ‘But as soon as Winnie gives the people the go-ahead, there’ll be no stopping the celebrations.’

Kay nodded. ‘Mum and Dad took Alfie up to the church hall this morning. Her whist club is planning a party.’

‘Didn’t you want to go too, love?’ Aunty Pops’s eyes twinkled. ‘There’s no Yanks about now. You’d be safe.’

Kay laughed as Aunty Pops teased her. ‘I wonder where Gene is now and if he survived the war?’

‘Let’s hope so. He was a nice young man.’

‘I thought I’d write to Babs,’ Kay said as she turned off the wireless. ‘In her last letter she said she’d heard from Eddie. He’s waiting to be demobbed and
wanted to know if he could see the kids.’

‘Do you reckon they’ll patch up their differences?’

‘They’re both changed people now, Aunty Pops. The war saw to that. But they love their kids. And perhaps there’s a chance for them as a family.’

Aunty Pops got stiffly up from her seat. ‘Any more news from Vi?’

‘No, I’ve heard nothing since January. She wrote then that she’d been transferred from the convalescence home to somewhere in Woking. Her writing was none too clear but she
said she was trying to get used to walking with a stick.’

‘It’s not twelve months yet, love, since her stroke,’ Aunty Pops reminded Kay. ‘It took me a good couple of years to get used to this.’ She waved her stick in the
air. ‘I didn’t lose me speech like Vi did, but me legs went for a burton. So I know what she’s going through. When you write next, tell her from me that it just takes time and
patience. Though, of course, I must admit I can’t do the things I did when my Tommy was alive.’

‘Do you still miss him, Aunty Pops?’

‘As much as I did on the day he died, ducks. Just as you do your Alan. But my Tommy went of natural causes, whilst the war took Alan, and that seems cruel. ’specially with the nipper
so young.’

Kay felt the sting of carefully suppressed tears. Since leaving the East End she had forced them away daily and it was just as difficult now as it had been nine months ago to accept that Alan
must be dead.

‘You’re not alone, love,’ Aunty Pops said tenderly. ‘There’s many bereaved young women like you – not that that’s much consolation. Now, if it’s
the future you’re worrying about, you needn’t. You’re welcome to stay here. There’s plenty of room in this big house as you well know.’

‘Thanks, Aunty Pops.’ Kay didn’t like to say that although she had grown used to Monkton, and had even come to like it, her heart was still aching for Slater Street. Even in
the ruined state it must be in, the island was in her blood and it would take a long while before that fact changed. The docks, the dirt, the tarry, salty smells, the markets, the smoke-covered
houses and busy factories, long rows of whitewashed front steps, the constant noise and the faces of her friends and neighbours. But what was the use of pining for a place she couldn’t have?
The cockney community she knew and loved had all but disappeared. It was reported in the newspapers that even the air that East Enders breathed was still tainted with the sulphurous gases of war.
How could she think of returning?

Aunty Pops patted her hand. ‘The offer’s there if you want it. Just thought I’d say. Now, I’m going out to dig up a few more dandelions before they take over the
paths.’

Kay watched her aunt shuffle her way out of the house and bend, with the help of her stick, to take up her small trowel and poke at the weeds. Her dad was still not the best at gardening, and
like Uncle Tommy turned a blind eye to nature’s rampage, as her mum called it. He now disappeared daily with Alfie, taking him to school in the town centre and collecting him again at four.
Kay smiled. Between her dad and Aunty Pops, Alfie was well and truly spoiled and had even made new friends. But, like Kay, he still missed his old home. He remembered everything clearly, as she
did. He never tired of talking about Gill and Tim and, to her amazement, still spoke of Sean. Kay had kept in touch with Jean Pearson explaining that, although she couldn’t visit Sean, she
had written to him, and she knew from Jean’s reply that Sean was finally on the road to recovery.

Kay got up from the table. She had long ago learned to do as Alan advised her: turn off her imagination when it came to matters she could do nothing to resolve. Instead she would write to Babs
about the end of the conflict and her hopes that Eddie would soon be demobbed. The letter would take some while to arrive in Essex. Perhaps as it did, Eddie would be making his way home to the
family he missed so much.

Kay wandered round the kitchen and into the front room. Sunshine streamed through the clear glass of the windows, now free of tape. The scent of the fields and the cattle grazing in the
pastures, the fragrance of the roses that Aunty Pops had planted outside the front door told her it was too beautiful a day to stay inside.

Ten minutes later, she had put on her floppy sun hat and was making her way towards town. A soft breeze lifted her long coppery waves from her shoulders and cooled her hot skin. Now that the
conflict was over, what was she to do? Aunty Pops’s offer was generous and very kind. But Kay missed having her own home. She couldn’t have Slater Street but what if, like Babs who had
put her name down on a list with the council in Essex, she decided to stay in Berkshire?

Kay thought of the remaining thirty pounds in her Post Office account. The money was dwindling. She had given Aunty Pops a small amount each week to put towards hers and Alfie’s keep.
Would it be possible to place what was left with a landlord as rent on some kind of accommodation? Berkshire was a far cry from Slater Street, but it was clear her dreams of returning to the city
were to remain just dreams.

She had seen a notice in the window of the cafe in town. A part-time waitress was needed. The shifts, she had noted, would fit in with Alfie’s school and she was sure she could learn the
trade quickly.

Perhaps the radio broadcast this morning was the wake-up call she had needed.

‘I’m sorry, love, I really am.’ The elderly shopkeeper sighed. ‘I took on someone a short while ago. And I never even advertised the position. I had two
young women like yourself come in this morning, one after the other. It was the news on the wireless that did it. Really looks like the war is over.’

‘I was told the same at the cafe,’ Kay said disappointedly. ‘The lady who owns it sent me here.’

‘And I’d’ve took you on like shot, my dear, if I hadn’t been suited,’ the grocer agreed. ‘You’re young and look strong enough to help me with all the
greengrocery, which I’ve had to manage on my own since war broke out. There’s lots of young women like you who’ve done grand at filling in for the men but now that our boys are
coming home they’ll want their old jobs back again.’

‘Do you know of anywhere else I might try?’ Kay asked hopefully. She had even made enquiries at the Post Office which had a board in the window with all sorts of notices pinned on
it. Mostly there had been items for sale, but one or two were for rooms to let. She’d already tried two of them. The first, a set of rooms over a garage, had no garden and were reached by a
rather dangerous set of spiral stairs. The next had been a small terraced cottage close to the shops. The woman had refused her as the rent, she said, would be beyond the means of an unemployed
mother.

‘Can’t say as I do,’ answered the shopkeeper. ‘But you could look in the Post Office window.’

‘I already have.’

‘Well then, try the next village. Or perhaps the farms, though after having had the Land Girls for the duration, the farmers are bound to want cheap labour. Your best bet is to try the
bigger towns.’

Kay nodded. ‘Thanks, anyway.’

She stepped out into the bright sunshine, replacing her hat. All her enthusiasm had faded as it became clear that renting rooms without the security of a job was impossible. What was she going
to do?

The sight of the baker’s opposite, with a sign announcing ‘Freshly baked scones and tea’ made Kay pause. She had told Aunty Pops she was going to spend a couple of hours in
town and now she didn’t feel like going home. She wanted to sit quietly with her thoughts and, after buying a newspaper, she returned to the baker’s.

Kay sipped at the tea the assistant brought her, but with little enjoyment. It was clear the grocer was right. Ex-servicemen were, so the paper reported, returning to take up their old jobs. The
women who had filled them since the outbreak of war were also refusing to give up their positions; for the duration of the conflict they had proved to be as skilled and as hard working as the men
who had left them. Many of them wanted to keep their independence, like Kay. Finding work, whether full- or part-time was going to be difficult, especially in a small town like Monkton.

Kay placed her elbows on the table and gazed down at the open newspaper. While walking down the lane she had been planning on providing for herself and Alfie in their new home. But it was just a
pipe dream. Alfie was seven in November. He was growing up fast. Kay’s thoughts went to her son’s future. What lay ahead for him? Without Alan as part of their lives, what would they
do?

‘Is this seat taken?’

Kay lifted her head slowly, staring up at the outline of a tall man. With the sun behind him, flowing in through the bakery windows, he reminded her of someone.

The voice, the broad shoulders – she narrowed her eyes to see who it was.

Suddenly she was being swept to her feet, the breath leaving her body as Alan hugged her in his arms. She mumbled choked words. The husband she thought was dead placed his lips on hers and
kissed her, making her realize this was no dream. He was holding her tightly in his arms, as though it had only been yesterday that she’d left them.

He was dressed in civilian clothes, a pair of casual trousers and a dark jacket. Kay noticed that her husband still had his lovely, thick, dark hair, but it was cut so short
that it accentuated his prominent cheekbones which protruded from a gaunt and hollowed face. The bones of his shoulders were sharp under his jacket, causing it to hang loosely on a frame that had
visibly lost weight. Alan was the same man, she knew, but he was frighteningly unfamiliar.