The Silent War (19 page)

As there was currently a great shortage of both salt and grit, the roads in and around the farm had been cleared by GIs from the base, who had used their own powerful tractors to keep their road transport vehicles on the move. Later, Sunday learnt that they had also been a great help to the surrounding villages by delivering essential food supplies such as bread, milk, and fresh meat.

Like every other farm in the district, Cloy’s was also under several inches of snow, and when Sunday finally reached the barn on foot she found Jinx and the other girls feverishly digging themselves out.

‘When the war’s over, I can always get a job as a navvy!’ yelled Jinx when she saw Sunday approaching. Then, with a nod towards the farmhouse, she added, ‘At least I’d get more than in this crummy dump!’

Sunday laughed with the other girls, even though she didn’t take in exactly what Jinx was saying. A few minutes later, she had changed into her wellington boots, and was outside joining in. To her it was a novelty
scraping
snow away to clear a path. Living all her life in ‘the Buildings’, it was something she had never been called on to do. Although she couldn’t hear the banter and laughter going on between the girls, she thoroughly enjoyed the exhilarating feeling of release that was so lacking during her short, inhibiting trip home.

That evening, Sunday had her first taste of rabbit and vegetable pie. She wasn’t exactly mad on it, but at least it was a hot and warming dish after her long journey from London in the cold. What she hadn’t liked, however, was to watch Jinx preparing the poor creature for the pot, for she had to skin and gut it, and then remove its head. Although, like Sunday, Jinx was a town girl, she had soon got used to country ways, especially as rabbit was readily available food. This one had only been shot by Farmer Cloy that very morning. ‘Rather ’im than me!’ laughed Jinx, as she popped the rabbit’s head and entrails into a waste bin.

During the few weeks since Sunday had been working at the farm, she had got to like and trust Jinx. In Sunday’s mind, there was something about the Welsh girl that appealed to her, whether it was her spirit of total independence, or her firmly held idea that life was for living. Whatever it was, more than once she had wished she could be like her. But the more she got to know Jinx, the more she realised that there was, like with most people, another side to her. Her outward face was obvious: big, brash, a laugh a minute, but as tough as old nails. This part of her nature was a throwback to her childhood, learning to fend for herself in the slums and poverty of the Swansea dockyards. Inside, however, it was quite a different story. Contrary to popular belief, Jinx did care what people thought of her, and most of all, she could never cope with the idea of being rejected. Therefore, it came as no surprise to Sunday when, after she and the girls had polished off the last of the rabbit pie, Jinx told them all that she had an important announcement to make.

‘You’re all goin’ to be aunties!’ she proclaimed proudly, making quite sure that she was turned towards Sunday and Maureen so that they could both read her lips.

Jinx’s smile became fixed when she suddenly realised that her news had been greeted by the girls with shocked silence.

‘Well, don’t all rush to congratulate me!’ she quipped.

Sunday was the first to get up from the table, and go to her. ‘It’s wonderful, Jinx,’ she said, kissing her tenderly on the cheek. ‘How far gone are you?’

‘About a month. I’ve known for a couple of days.’

‘But you’re not even married.’ This piercing remark came inevitably from Sue.

‘What difference does that make, boyo?’ snapped Jinx, trying to make light of it all. ‘I’ll find someone eventually.’

‘You mean – you don’t know who the father is?’ asked Ruthie, more out of concern than shock.

Jinx let rip with one of her chesty laughs. ‘Don’t be daft, Ruthie!’ she roared. ‘Of course I know. I been walkin’ out with ’im for the last year, ’aven’t I?’

‘So it
is
him,’ sniffed Sue haughtily. ‘That bombardier.’

‘Don’t you talk about my Erin like that, Sue Partin’ton! ’E’s a lovely darlin’, an’ I won’t ’ave a word said against ’im.’

The news was too much for Sheil to take in, so she quietly got up from the table and went across to join Algie on her bed.

‘What does Erin say about it?’ asked Sunday.

‘’Aven’t told ’im,’ she replied quite casually. ‘’E’s got enough on ’is mind, poor sod. I don’t want to lumber him with a kid when ’e’s out on dangerous missions all the time.’

Ruthie was now very concerned. ‘Jinx,’ she said, leaning across the table to her. ‘You
must
tell Erin. After all, he’s responsible. It’s his child as much as yours.’

‘What do Yanks care about kids?’ added Sue, sarcastically. ‘All they care about is a quick night’s bash, and home again where nobody can find them.’

‘Come off it, Sue,’ said Jinx wickedly. ‘Given ’alf a chance, you wouldn’t mind a quick night’s bash with any of ’em yerself!’

Everyone laughed except Sue, who sat back in her chair and decided not to contribute anything more to the discussion.

Jinx got up from the table, and started to collect the dirty supper plates. ‘Anyway, it makes no difference,’ she said. ‘As soon as I get the chance, I’m goin’ to get rid of it.’

Ruthie clasped her hand to her mouth in horror.

Sunday immediately picked up Ruthie’s shocked reaction. ‘What did you say?’ she asked Jinx. But when Jinx didn’t reply, she turned back to Ruthie and asked her, ‘What did she say?’

‘She’s going to get rid of it.’

Now Sunday was shocked. She had heard of this sort of thing happening all the time to girls back home, but she was distressed by the thought that Jinx was going to do the same thing.

Ruthie got up from the table and started to help Sunday and Maureen to clear it. She couldn’t believe how calmly Jinx was handling such a crisis. ‘Are you doing this – because of what your family back home might say?’

‘Not at all!’ insisted Jinx. ‘Me mam an’ dad couldn’t care less what I get up to. Especially me mam. We’re very broadminded down in Wales, y’know.’ Without another word, she picked up her pile of supper plates, and swiftly disappeared off into the kitchen.

Sunday watched her go, then exchanged an anxious glance with Ruthie.

During the night, Sunday was woken by someone gently shaking her shoulder. It was pitch-dark in the barn, so she had to reach for her torch on her bedside cabinet.
When
she turned it on, Maureen’s face was staring down at her in the beam. She was clearly very disturbed, for she was using her lips and hands in an attempt to get Sunday out of bed.

‘What is it?’ whispered Sunday, knowing only too well that in the dark, Maureen was unable to lip-read.

When she reluctantly got up, her feet were freezing-cold as they touched the bare floorboards. But Maureen had grabbed hold of her hand, and practically dragged her across to the next bed, which was where Jinx slept, but was now deserted.

‘Where is she?’ asked Sunday, pointing the torch at her own face so that Maureen could read what she was saying. Then she immediately turned the beam back on to Maureen, who was shrugging her shoulders.

Hoping that there was some logical explanation, Sunday quickly slid into her bedside slippers, and, taking care not to wake any of the other girls, went out to look for Jinx, first in the kitchen, then the bathroom, and finally the outside lavatory. There was no sign of Jinx anywhere.

Sunday was now just as anxious as Maureen, so she got dressed quickly, putting on her green uniform pullover and beige breeches, a heavy woollen scarf tied over her head, and her WLA duffle coat. Try as she may, she couldn’t do all this without waking the others, so after she had told them what was going on, she took her torch and went outside to search for Jinx.

The weather was atrocious, and the path that the girls had only cleared during the early afternoon, was already covered in another layer of thick, wet snow. Sunday didn’t know in which direction to go, so she used the beam from her torch to pick out everything from the farmhouse to the outside buildings. She wanted to call out, but even if she were able to hear a reply, it would be too risky, for if she woke Farmer Cloy all hell would be let loose.

To make matters worse, a blustering wind was twisting around her entire body as she made a supreme effort to keep on the move, and snowflakes were fluttering
straight
into her torch beam, to end up covering her face, headscarf and coat. She felt as though she was trudging across the North Pole.

After checking the various outbuildings which flanked the farmhouse stable-yard, Sunday eventually found herself inside the cowshed. An all-night oil lamp was hanging from one of the overhead beams, and the light was casting huge eerie shadows across the sleeping cattle who were all huddled together trying to keep warm. Sunday was a little nervous being in the shed on her own in the middle of the night, and after her torch beam had moved from one direction to another, she almost gave up hope of finding Jinx before morning. But just as she was about to make her way out into the blizzard again, she saw a girl’s figure huddled up in the corner on a pile of hay.

‘Jinx!’

Jinx raised her head, and squinted into the torch beam.

Sunday rushed across and squatted down in front of her. Only then did she realise that the girl had no topcoat on, and was shivering with the intense cold. ‘What is it, Jinx?’ she asked. ‘What are you doing out here?’

Jinx slowly lifted her head. Her eyes looked red and sore from crying. ‘I don’t want to get rid of it, Sunday,’ she said. And as she spoke, her face crumpled up in anguish. ‘I don’t want to get rid of my baby.’

‘Oh, Jinx!’ Sunday pulled her into her arms and hugged her. ‘Of course you don’t have to, if you don’t want.’ Then she faced her again. ‘We’ll sort this out for you, Jinx,’ she assured her. ‘We’ll all help you to find a way out of this.’

Jinx shook her head. ‘You don’t understand,’ she said, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘When me mam and dad find out, they’re goin’ to kill me. ’Specially me mam. She’s a regular at Chapel. She’ll never forgive me for humiliatin’ her.’ She shook her head again. ‘They’ll never let me ’ave the kid, Sunday – not in a million years.’

Sunday was astonished to think that Jinx was talking
like
this. It was such a different side to her character, the complete opposite to the rumbustious, outgoing girl she had taken her for. ‘Listen to me, Jinx,’ she said, clasping her by the shoulders and staring straight into her eyes. ‘It’s not your people back home you should be thinking about – it’s you. You’re the one that has to cope with all this, you’re the one that has to make the decisions – not them. And if you want to keep the kid, then you must keep it.’

‘’Ow can I, girl?’ asked Jinx, cupping her cheeks in her hands. ‘’Ow can I bring up a kid on my own? Where would I go? What would I do for money? I’d be an unmarried mother, an outcast in everyone’s eyes.’

Sunday could see that Jinx was shivering from top to bottom with the cold, so she took off her own duffle coat, and draped it around her shoulders. ‘You must tell Erin – as soon as possible,’ she said.

‘I can’t,’ replied Jinx, shaking her head. ‘What we did was my idea. I ’ave no right to put the blame on ’im.’

Sunday took Jinx’s hands into her own and tried to rub some warmth back into them. ‘It’s got nothing to do with blame, Jinx. He has a right to know.’

Jinx lowered her head, and pulled the duffle coat snugly around her neck.

Sunday put her hand under Jinx’s chin, raised it, and again looked straight into her eyes. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘If it’ll help, I’ll be with you when you tell him. Nobody needs to know about this – not yet – not even your mam and dad.’ She moved closer. ‘We can keep it a secret, between you, me, and the girls. OK?’

Jinx smiled weakly, and nodded.

Sunday smiled back. But as she did so, a voice boomed out from the open barn door.

‘What the hell’s going on in here!’

It was Farmer Cloy.

A few days later, the thaw set in, and although the roads
were
once again more passable, the heavy slush made both driving and walking hazardous adventures.

In May 1943, after the RAF had handed over their airbase at Ridgewell to the 381st Bomb Group of the Eighth US Air Force, some of the local villagers got together and set up a Forces’ Canteen for the visiting servicemen on the upper floor of an old Victorian redbrick Congregational chapel, which sat snugly in the middle of its own crumbling graveyard on Ridgewell’s Chapel Green. The GIs found it a quaint place to get a cup of tea and a home-made rock cake, and they were grateful that the ‘Limeys’ were prepared to show them such warm hospitality and friendship, which they fully reciprocated.

Not long after Farmer Cloy had blasted Jinx and Sunday for disturbing his cows in their shed in the middle of the night, the two girls trudged their way in the slush to the chapel canteen, where Jinx had arranged to meet up with Erin. To their surprise, the Bombardier was already there, comparing notes with his pals about the coffee, which was made with a very bitter chicory and coffee essence. The air-crew guys let forth a stream of wolf whistles and catcalls when Erin broke away from them and walked straight over to greet his ‘Brit’ girlfriend with a hug and a long, firm kiss right on the lips.

‘Hey, Sunday!’ gasped Erin when he came up for breath. ‘Got someone right here who’s waitin’ ter meet you.’ He turned around and called back to his group. ‘Gary! Get yer butt over here, man!’

Sunday hadn’t realised that Erin had been addressing her, so that when he beckoned to one of his group to join them, she looked a bit confused.

‘Sunday,’ he said, at last remembering to face her. ‘I’d like to have you meet my best buddy, Gary Mitchell. Gary, say hi ter Sunday.’

The young American serviceman in front of her held out his hand. ‘Hi, Sunday,’ he said with a warm smile,
and
speaking straight at her as though already briefed to do so. ‘Good ter know you.’

Although Sunday shook hands, also with a smile, she was a bit reticent about doing so. He was a good-looking fair-haired feller all right, in his Air Force-issue fur collar flying jacket, scarf, crush hat, and fawn-coloured trousers. But the last time they had met, when he nearly knocked her down in the pouring rain, he had a very different look on his face.