War Babies (36 page)

‘But . . .’ Peggy seemed abashed by this outburst, but also confused. ‘I can see, Rachel. I’m not blind. We’ve noticed there’s something amiss with him
compared to a normal baby. It’s going to make your life very difficult, I can see that. So what are you going to
do
?’

Rachel felt the rage swelling large in her again but she pressed it down. She was afraid of what she might do if she let it all come boiling out. In an icy voice she said, ‘Do? What
d’you mean,
do
?’

‘Well – you know. There must be something they can do. Treatments and things.’

Rachel was shaking her head. ‘No. Not much. They’ve said – the doctor and the health visitor. You can’t cure it. It’s just how he is.’

‘I suppose you’ll have to put him in a home then, eventually,’ Peggy said.

It was not so much that Peggy had said this but her casual tone which made Rachel feel as if she was turning to stone. She simply could not speak. Melanie could not understand exactly what was
being said, but she read something of the tone of it and a fierce expression of dismay came over her face. She leaned forward and made a loud noise at her grandmother, a loud snarl, as if
protecting Tommy from her.

Rachel thought she had never loved her little girl so much as at that moment. Tears filled her eyes and she looked down, swallowing, her rage redirected into a fierce pride in her children.

‘If you don’t want to see him,’ she said bitterly to Peggy, ‘I shan’t bring him. But you won’t see Melly either.’

‘Oh, don’t talk so silly,’ Peggy said, laughing. ‘I was only asking. I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up about. You always did get in too much of a
state about things. I’m only worried for you, that’s all, having to bring up a cripple.’

Sitting here now, on this day of celebration, she felt tired to her very core. Even the thought of her mother made her feel drained. Peggy had said that of course she could bring the children
over, when she could. After all, it didn’t involve her in any effort and they were company for Cissy. But it was becoming more and more tiring. She would have to keep trying though, at least
for Melly and Cissy’s sakes.

Melly was out running about with little Shirley Sutton. Rita was at school but Shirley was, as usual, having to watch baby Evie. Irene let Evie crawl around in the dirt – anything so long
as she didn’t have to bother with her. Several times she had toddled right out of the yard and been found sitting in the road. Dolly brought her back once from the bottom of the street. But
Irene didn’t seem to care what anyone said. Rachel thought bitterly about blonde, big-eyed little Evie. At least she
could
get about, not like Tommy.

She poured a cup of tea and slumped in the chair, hearing the music drifting in from outside and the sounds of the women’s laughter. I’m not even twenty yet, she thought, and I feel
like an old lady. It was as if all her energy had burned itself out in her fierce protectiveness towards Tommy. She wanted to be young, full of joy and energy. She wanted to long for Danny, to miss
him. It felt like a hundred years since she had seen him. In fact she wanted just to feel anything at all. For now, she was numb and worn out.

Like everyone, she could hardly begin to take in that the war had really ended for them. The blackout was gone already, from last autumn. Mo had been stood down with the rest of the Home Guard.
They had seen all the changes, the progress, but even so, after nearly six years, how could they really believe it was over . . .?

All through the early part of last year there had been talk of the Second Front. Everyone knew there was a buildup to something – all those Americans and Canadians over
here, as well as Poles and Czechs. And in April, Mr Jackman was called down south along with hundreds of other firemen, to guard ammunition dumps. Once the invasion in early June – D-Day as
it became known – was over, Mr Jackman had returned, saying that the south had been one ‘blooming great army camp’ in the build-up before 6 June. He came home via London and had
heard one of the flying bombs come down.

‘Terrifying,’ he said. ‘Like a cowing motorbike going across the sky, and then they cut out – and God alone knows where it’s going to come down. I don’t envy
those buggers down London one bit being under that lot.’

The atmosphere changed. There was a lightness: hope, after all the bad news. The Italian campaign was pushing the Germans north. The invasion of France had begun. She had little news of Danny
except, now and then, to say that he was alive and that where he was stationed was still a dump and that he loved her and hoped she and the children were all right. He wasn’t allowed to say
anything much about where he was or what he was doing. He had stopped sending his little drawings and she wondered if he was doing them in his notebook. Sometimes she wondered if he still really
existed. It was as if she had dreamt him, her blue-eyed husband. She wondered if she felt real to Danny. She had written to him and told him about Tommy, but she realized he had probably not really
taken in what she said. How could he? He was thousands of miles away, in a place she could barely even imagine.

As the freezing winter passed and 1945 arrived, there was still terrible fighting across Europe. And there were further shocks for which they had been unprepared. Only last month, Gladys had
been out for one of her trips to the pictures, but she had come home early. Rachel, settled by the fire once she had got the children to sleep, looked up in surprise as she appeared through the
door on a gust of icy air.

‘What’re you doing here?’ she said, yawning.

‘I didn’t stay in the end.’ Silently, Gladys took off her coat and hat. She seemed preoccupied and heavy in herself. As she sat down at the table she clasped her hands together
and just sat, a haunted expression on her face.

‘D’you want a cup of tea, Auntie?’ Rachel asked.

‘If we’ve got nothing stronger, that’ll have to do,’ Gladys said.

Rachel filled the kettle from their pan of water, set it to boil and came back to the table. Carefully, she said, ‘What’s happened?’

Gladys shook her head, her eyes wide. ‘I couldn’t face it – not after the news . . . Those German camps they’ve found. I’ve never seen anything like it . .
.’

‘What d’you mean?’ Rachel sat down. She had never seen Gladys look like this before.

Gladys glanced at Melly, but she was on the mat by the fire, humming to herself – a habit she had caught from her aunt – and in a world of her own.

‘They’ve had all these people kept in great big camps . . .’

‘POWs?’

‘Yes – but not soldiers. Just all these people, Jews and others – thousands, by the look of it. It was called Booken . . . something. My God . . .’ She could not seem to
meet Rachel’s eye as she spoke, and when she did look up, she seemed somehow shamed. ‘I knew there were bombs and guns – that’s the war. All sorts of terrible things. But
this was different. It was . . .’ She trailed off again, looking for words. ‘I mean, that wasn’t war – it was summat else . . .’

There was more to come. As well as Buchenwald, camp after camp was liberated as the Allies pushed across Europe. The even darker horrors that had gone on under the black cover of war were
brought to light. Piles of shoes, spectacles, corpses. Rachel never did see the images for herself – hearing them described was bad enough to make them hover in the mind.

The war was ending. With it came enormous relief and jubilation, along with grief, loss and a deep human disgust. It was over.

But for the next two days they were celebrating! Amid all the dancing and drinking of VE Day, the bonfires and parties, the pianos wheeled into the street, mouth organs and
songs and flags, there was one other cause for celebration.

The next morning they heard the familiar roar of an engine in the yard and Mo Morrison shot in along the entry on a Norton, a huge grin on his face. The noise of it bounced off the brickwork,
immensely loud until he cut the engine. He was immediately surrounded by children.

‘I’ve got a sidecar out there!’ He pointed back down the entry. ‘Who’s coming for a victory lap?’

The younger Morrisons and Shirley and Melanie were all yelling for a turn.

‘Can I go, Mom?’ Melly ran to Rachel as she came outside. ‘Can I have a go?’

‘Oh, I expect so,’ Rachel said.

‘Can Tommy?’

‘Tommy’s a bit small – you go, and Shirley.’

‘What’re you up to, Mo?’ Gladys called to him. Rachel found a smile spreading across her face at the sight of Mo’s exuberance.

‘You lot go and wait out there,’ he ordered the excited children. ‘Make sure no one goes off with it.’ They all dashed to the entry to be the first in the sidecar.

Mo was pulling a newspaper out from under his jacket and looking mighty pleased with himself. ‘Now I’ve got shot of the kids – the moment we’ve all been waiting
for!’

‘Mo?’ Dolly advanced towards him. ‘What’re you on about?’ The other women were gathering round.

‘Well – I don’t know if I should say,’ he teased, his pink face fit to erupt with laughter. ‘Not among all you womenfolk.’

There was an outcry. ‘Come on, Mo – stop teasing us!’ Lil called to him. Rachel wandered over out of curiosity.

Mo held up the paper and proclaimed, ‘That wench’s done it at last!’

Over Lil Gittins’s shoulder, Rachel peered at Mo’s copy of the
Daily Mirror
. Within three frames, their cartoon character Jane had been comprehensively demobbed out of her
uniform and into her birthday suit, her modesty preserved only by a strip of Union Jack.

‘Ooh – look at her, the cheeky strumpet!’ Lil cackled.

Rachel giggled at the sight of it.

‘Oh, Mo!’ Dolly grabbed the paper and started hitting him about the head with it. Everyone else was laughing.

‘Get off me, woman!’ He grabbed the paper from Dolly, fending her off with one hand and rubbing his chest contentedly with the other. ‘Now that’s what I call good
news.’

‘I hope you’re not expecting me to do the same, Mo Morrison!’ Dolly called, going off to the house again in a pretend huff.

Mo gave a mock-desperate sigh. ‘A man can dream, can’t ’e?’ he said, winking at Rachel. ‘Now – them kids.’ Kindly, he said to her, ‘How’s
the lad?’ He was always very nice to her and to Tommy.

‘He’s all right,’ she said, ‘Ta.’

‘Course ’e is.’ He patted her on the back. ‘He’s got a fine mother. Now – I’d better go and give that lot out there a ride. There’ll be no peace
in our time ’til I do!’

Fondly, Rachel watched his stocky figure take off across the yard in his baggy trousers, his voice booming, ‘Right – a few laps for victory round the block. And then who’s
coming down to the old Salutation with me to get cracking?’

August 1945

‘Come in and have a cuppa with us, will you, if your mom’s not in a hurry for them?’ Rachel said, nodding at the bag of vegetables dangling from
Netta’s arm. It was a Saturday afternoon and she had run into Netta on the way back from the shops.

Netta was carrying little Patrick on her hip and looked on the point of dropping him. Her cheeks were pink from the exertion of lugging both him and her shopping about on this warm day. But she
also looked quite a different young woman from the sad, frightened person Rachel had first met. She looked healthy and much brighter, a ribbon in her hair and laughter coming easily to her. Having
little Patsy as they called him, had been the making of her.

‘Oh, there’s no rush – I’d love a cuppa,’ Netta panted. ‘His Majesty here decided he couldn’t be walking any further. Didn’t you?’ She
looked adoringly at the little lad, then at Rachel again. ‘But no – that’s silly. We’re nearer to mine. You come and have a cuppa with me and Mom – she loves a house
full of babbies!’

As usual, Mrs O’Shaughnessy gave them a warm welcome and made a fuss of Melanie and Tommy. Rachel ached with wishing her own mother was a tenth as kind as Netta’s mom.

‘Bring the pram inside,’ Mrs O’Shaughnessy said. ‘He’ll not want to be left outside and we can squeeze it in. Will you be getting him out?’

‘No – he’s all right,’ Rachel said. ‘I’ve got him fixed in there with the shopping and he likes watching the others.’

She could see Mrs O’Shaughnessy thinking,
What a shame
as she looked at Tommy, the way so many people looked. But she did not say it. Rachel was very grateful to Netta and her
mother. Ever since their sons were born the two girls had grown closer and been company for each other.

Melly settled down and played with Patsy, making him chuckle. This made Tommy laugh as well. Melly liked being the older sister and looking after the little ones. The women settled at the table
and Mrs O’Shaughnessy moved back and forth to the little stove like a sparrow in her old brown dress, her faded hair twisted into a little bun, making ‘tay’ as she called it in
her Limerick accent. They laughed at the children’s laughter.

‘He loves other kids,’ Rachel said, smiling at the sound of Tommy’s gurgles. She felt a strong twinge of love for her sweet-natured little boy.

As usual they discussed the children. Netta was full of Patsy’s doings. He was the very centre of her life, so much so that Rachel could not help wondering quite what was going to happen
when Francis came back. Netta slept with Patsy in her bed every night and lived and breathed nothing else.

‘Is your auntie at the market today?’ Netta asked.

‘Yes,’ Rachel said. ‘Dolly’s gone with her – Mo said he’d take the lads fishing. Heaven help him, with all that lot!’

‘They’ll scare away every fish within miles,’ Netta laughed. ‘Oh, I do like Mr Morrison though – he’s a kind man, he is.’

‘Oh – I forgot!’ Rachel sat up straighter, laughing at the thought of her news. ‘You’ll never guess what’s happened?’ Netta and her mother looked eager.
‘The other night Mo and Dolly suddenly started off, at it hammer and tongs . . .’

‘He’d never raise a hand to her?’ Netta said, shocked.

‘Oh no – just Dolly really, having a right old go. We could all hear it. She’s expecting and she’s only just realized. Well, you can imagine – Mo was really for
it!’