Sing as We Go (28 page)

‘Where, Kathy? How will you manage?’

‘I – I don’t know yet. But I’ve got to handle this on my own. As my father would say, I’ve made my bed so now I’ve got to lie on it.’

Morry knew he was beaten, but even yet, he couldn’t quite let go. ‘You’ll write to me, Kathy? Just to let me – us – know that you’re all right? At least do that. Please?’

‘All right. Just so long as you promise not to try to find me.’

He sighed, defeated at last. ‘All right. I promise.’

She didn’t know if she believed him, but it was all she could do.

They begged, they pleaded, they reasoned, but Kathy was adamant. She was going away. Somewhere where no one knew her. She would find some sort of work until she couldn’t work any more and then she would go into a mother and baby home until the child was born.

‘And then?’ Jemima asked bluntly. ‘What then?’

‘I – I don’t know.’

‘You mean you’ll give it up for adoption?’

Kathy’s head snapped up. ‘No. Never. I’ll never do that.’

‘But how will you manage? Society doesn’t look kindly on unmarried mothers.’

Kathy flinched at Jemima’s bluntness, but she was only speaking the truth, painful though it was to hear it.

‘I – I don’t know. But I’ll manage somehow.’

There was a long silence before Morry rose. ‘I must be getting back.’ He stood looking down at Kathy for a long moment. Then he put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. ‘I know you don’t want me to come looking for you, but promise me one thing, please, Kathy.’

She looked up at him.

‘Promise me that if ever you need a friend you will come to me.’

Slowly, Kathy nodded.

Twenty-Seven

Kathy stood on the sea front looking out across the cold grey water.

She had been living in Saltershaven for five months now. The day after Morry’s visit she had packed her suitcase, accepted the money that Jemima pressed upon her and gone to Lincoln bus station. She hadn’t even looked where the bus was heading, and after a journey that had seemed to last for ever but was in fact only about two and a half hours, she had found herself in the seaside town. As she’d stepped down from the bus, she’d allowed herself a wry smile. How different she felt this time. The day she’d spent here the previous Easter with Amy and Aunt Jemima had been filled with happiness. The only cloud in her sky then had been because Tony had not been there too. And now – only a year later – she was running away from them all.

For the first two nights, Kathy was obliged to spend some of the precious money Jemima had given her at a bed and breakfast. But when the local newspaper came out on the Wednesday, she found lodgings among the advertisements. ‘
Furnished rooms. Season or longer. Full board if required
.’ There was a box number to answer. She went into the paper’s office and left a short note. The next day she was contacted and went to view the rooms.

‘How long will you be here?’

‘I’m not sure, but it will be for at least four months. Perhaps a little longer.’

‘Mm . . .’ The woman owner of the house divided into bed-sitting rooms seemed doubtful as she looked Kathy up and down. Slyly, Kathy said, ‘I can pay you a month’s rent in advance instead of the week you’re asking for, if you like.’

That clinched it, as the woman held out her greedy hand. ‘No pets, no children and no followers,’ she said tartly.

Kathy did not answer.

From the same newspaper, Kathy listed two or three jobs from the ‘Wanted’ column and the following day tramped the streets looking for work. She found it as a waitress in one of the seafront cafés for the season.

‘You’ll probably only be needed until September, if we get any kind of a season at all with the wretched war on,’ Mr Bates, the proprietor – a doleful man in his fifties – informed her.

‘That’s fine. That’s all I want anyway.’

‘And the work’ll be quite hard. You’ll be on your feet all day.’ He too looked her up and down, just like the landlady had done. But he seemed to like what he saw, for he smiled and said, ‘But you look strong.’

Now Kathy could raise a smile. ‘Oh, I am. I worked on my father’s farm,’ she told him, but did not add about her months working in the fancy department store in the city.

The weeks and months had passed quickly and already it was September. And today, the young girl who was the kitchen maid in the café had said, ‘By heck, Kathy, I reckon you’re putting on weight but I don’t know how you’re managing it with all this rationing. Poor Mr Bates is doing ’is nut ’cos he can’t get the stuff he wants.’

Kathy had been able to conceal her condition with the loose overall she wore when working. But now the growing bulge could no longer be hidden.

She sighed as she watched the waves rolling in towards the shore and breaking on the smooth sand. It was a lovely beach and she longed to walk on it, but ugly rolls of barbed wire barred the way and danger signs forbade entry.

Hands deep in the pockets of her coat, Kathy walked along the seafront as far as she could. She was trying to come to a decision. Jemima’s final words to her had been, ‘Wherever you’re going, my dear, you must see a doctor, and don’t forget to sort out your ration books.’

Kathy had handed her ration book to her landlady, who provided her meals, but she had not been able to bring herself to visit a doctor. However, she’d found out that there was a home for unmarried mothers and their babies on the outskirts of the town. And today she must visit it and seek admittance. She was putting off the moment for as long as possible, but by lunchtime she forced herself to walk along the road leading southwards out of the town towards the square house that sat in its own grounds.

She walked through the gateway, noticing that, though there were posts and hinges, the gates had been removed. For the war effort, she supposed. She crunched up the gravel driveway and pulled on the bell rope. After what seemed an age, in which she almost lost her nerve and ran back down the drive, footsteps approached and the door was pulled open.

A young girl, obviously far advanced in pregnancy, stood there. Kathy and the girl exchanged a solemn glance of mutual sympathy and understanding before the girl smiled and invited Kathy inside.

‘I . . .’ Kathy faltered, not knowing how to begin, but the girl filled the moment of awkwardness by saying, ‘My name’s Lizzie Marsh. We call each other by our Christian names but the staff here call us by our surnames.’ She grimaced and laughed wryly. ‘It’s supposed to make us feel even more degraded than we do already.’ She put her arm through Kathy’s. ‘Don’t look so terrified. It’s not so bad. If you behave yourself and do exactly as they tell you, you’ll be fine.’ She laughed again and this time there was a brief hint of a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. ‘I don’t, so I’m always in trouble.’

Kathy warmed at once to the girl. ‘I’m – I’m Kathy Burton.’ So nearly had she become Mrs Kathy Kendall. Another few minutes and she would not be having to seek sanctuary in such a place.

‘I’ll take you to see Matron.’ Lizzie leaned closer and whispered. ‘That’s what we all have to call her – “Matron”. But I won’t tell you what we call her behind her back. You’ll hear soon enough.’

The girl led the way and knocked on a door on the left-hand side of the wide hallway. In a moment, Kathy found herself standing in front of a broad desk behind which was sitting a large, sour-faced woman in a navy blue dress with a white cap perched on top of her short, straight grey hair. The bright light from the window behind the woman shone in Kathy’s eyes.

‘Thank you, Marsh,’ the matron snapped and Lizzie turned to leave. Unseen by the matron she gave Kathy a broad wink.

Once the girl had gone the matron appraised Kathy from head to toe, but she did not invite her to sit down.

‘How far gone are you?’

‘Nearly seven months.’

‘Have you seen a doctor?’

‘No.’

‘Is this your first pregnancy?’

Kathy felt the colour creep up her face. Embarrassment, shame – a tumult of emotions – swept through her. But she tilted her chin a little higher and met the woman’s cold stare. Deliberately deciding to take Lizzie’s advice – at least for the moment – she said, with feigned humility, ‘Yes, Matron.’

The woman pulled a notepad towards her and picked up her pen. ‘I’d better take some details. Name . . .’

The questions went on, endlessly it seemed to Kathy, until her feet were aching.

‘I shall need a referral from a doctor. Are you registered with anyone locally?’

Kathy shook her head.

‘I’ll see that you are put on Dr Williamson’s list. It was he who started this place and he attends the confinements of all our inmates.’

Kathy flinched at the word. It sounded like the workhouse and she was suddenly very much afraid that it would be little better.

The matron laid down her pen at last, rested her elbows on the desk and steepled her fingers. ‘This place is run on charity. Women of standing in the community raise funds and support our efforts. And the girls are expected to contribute by working. We employ no staff other than myself and two more part-time qualified nurses who come in when required. All other work – cooking, cleaning and laundry – is done by the inmates.’

That dreadful word again, Kathy thought, and now it sounds even more like a workhouse.

‘I understand, Matron.’

‘We also keep chickens, pigs and a small herd of cows. We grow our own vegetables. Even more so, since the war started.’ She glanced down at her notes. ‘I see you were brought up on a farm, so no doubt you would be most suited to the outside work.’

Kathy felt hysterical laughter bubbling up inside her. She had left home to escape a life of drudgery and now, just because she had made the mistake of falling in love with Tony Kendall, she was back at the start. It was like a game of snakes and ladders and she had just slid down a very long snake.

She quelled her laughter and composed her face, saying meekly, ‘Yes, Matron.’

‘Now, if you’ll sign these papers of consent, then I’ll be able to admit you.’

In a blur of misery and shame, Kathy scribbled her name at the foot of several typewritten sheets of paper, which the matron laid before her. Then she returned to her lodgings to pack her few belongings and collect her ration book. Carrying her suitcase, she gave in her notice at the café and trudged back to the isolated house that was to be her home for the next few months.

Kathy couldn’t remember ever feeling so lonely in the whole of her life.

The days passed with monotonous routine. The work was hard, though no worse than Kathy had been used to on her father’s farm. But the months of comparatively soft living in the city made feeding pigs, milking cows and cleaning out the chicken huts seem doubly hard. Kathy was lucky. She was physically strong, and after a week or so slipped back into the routine as if she had never left it. She even helped some of the girls who found it exhausting, though this earned her a reprimand from the matron.

‘They’re here to work,’ Miss Delamere reminded her.

‘To be punished, you mean,’ Kathy muttered.

‘What did you say?’

‘Yes, Matron,’ Kathy said, staring boldly into the woman’s steely eyes.

‘Get on with your work,’ she snapped, turned and marched away. Behind her back, Kathy pulled a face and one of the other girls laughed. The matron glanced back, glared at Kathy for a moment and then walked on. But Kathy knew she had made an enemy.

Despite the harsh routine and the unhappy circumstances that brought them together, friendships grew among the girls. There were one or two spats, as was inevitable amongst a group of lonely, frightened young woman forced to live day and night in each other’s company. But the others quickly resolved any arguments. From feeling desolate when she entered the house, Kathy soon felt among friends. Only the matron and nurses held themselves aloof and disapproving. Even Dr Williamson seemed to be a benign benefactor. He was middle-aged, round-faced and balding, and smiled over his steel-rimmed spectacles at Kathy when she entered his consulting room.

When he had finished his examination of her he pronounced her fit and healthy. ‘You’ll have a fine baby, my dear, that some lucky couple will be delighted to adopt.’

Kathy stared at him. ‘Adopt? What – what do you mean?’

The doctor smiled at her. ‘Well, you are not in a position to keep the baby, are you, my dear?’

Kathy gasped. ‘Not – not keep my baby?’

‘Oh no. That’s out of the question. We cannot allow it. You came in here of your own free will, didn’t you? Nobody forced you to, now did they?’

‘Well, no, but I didn’t realize—’

‘So, you thought you could come in here . . .’ Suddenly, the blue eyes behind the spectacles were no longer friendly. They were sharp and greedy. ‘Be cared for and cosseted. And then what did you expect? After the birth? That you’d be found a home and supported? I think not, my dear. I don’t know your background or your circumstances, but obviously you don’t have a family prepared to forgive you and support you, else you wouldn’t be here.’

Kathy leapt to her feet. ‘Then I won’t stay here. I had no idea that I’d be expected to allow my baby to be adopted.’

The once benign face suddenly creased into an angry frown. ‘You signed the papers when you came in.’

Kathy gasped and stared at him in horror. ‘I – I thought they were just something to do with my admittance here. I was never told that it was anything to do with – adoption.’

Dr Williamson shrugged. ‘You were told—’

‘I was not told anything of the sort,’ Kathy shouted.

‘Don’t raise your voice to me, young lady.’ All pretence at benevolence was gone. ‘You’ve signed the papers. Your child will be adopted. Look,’ he said, his tone softening. ‘Sit down and let me explain.’

Slowly, Kathy sank back down into her chair. Not so much because she wished to sit, but because she felt as if her trembling legs would no longer keep her standing upright.

‘Look, my dear . . .’ The cajoling tone was back, but now Kathy knew it was insincere. ‘If your baby is taken by a couple who are unable to have children of their own and are desperate to adopt, isn’t it going to have a much better life than with you? All its life it will bear the stigma of being a bastard.’ Kathy flinched and Dr Williamson nodded sagely. ‘Yes, you may well wince, but that, my dear girl, is exactly what your child will suffer the whole of its life. It will have that dreadful name called after it in the playground, in the street. It will never be able to hold its head up. It will be an outcast from society. It will never get a decent job, or marry well. The stigma will follow it all its days,’ he ended pompously.