Octavia's War (28 page)

But there was no time to brood on it. She sent a letter of acceptance, put the hat away on top of the wardrobe and got on with the term. In a few weeks the applications for next year's first form would be coming in and she wanted to be ready for them, especially as one of them could be young Barbara. She and David had both sat the scholarship examination that year and Edith had been watching the post with fidgeting anxiety.

‘I do so want her to pass,' she said to Octavia. ‘I know there's nothing we can do about it if she doesn't but I do so
want her to. It could be the making of her.'

It was the first time Octavia had really appreciated what a once-in-a-lifetime chance the examination was. Until then she'd simply interviewed all the applicants on the list the LCC had sent her, chosen the best and most suitable ones and thought no more about it. Now Edith was making her consider the ones who failed. There can't be very much difference between the children who pass and the ones who have to accept failure. They've all been considered bright enough to enter. When this horrible war is over I must put my mind to it.

Meantime there was work to be done and girls to be interviewed, among them Barbara Ames, to her mother's damp-eyed relief. Octavia was pleasantly surprised to see how overawed she was when she came to the school. She sat by her mother's side, round-eyed and shy, and answered every question politely, calling her ‘Miss Smith' instead of ‘Aunt', like the sensible, well-coached child she was. When Edith led her out of the room she was still solemn.

‘She'll do,' Octavia said to Maggie and she put a firm tick by Barbara's name.

Emmeline wasn't anywhere near so discreet. ‘Well?' she asked, when Octavia finally came home that afternoon. ‘What's the verdict?'

Octavia gave her the thumbs-up. ‘But don't say anything until it's official,' she warned.

‘You know me,' Emmeline said. ‘Soul of discretion, me. The tea's made.'

The next day's news brought a disappointment. Dora phoned in the evening to say that David hadn't passed. She sounded cross and irritable and when her mother tried to comfort her by saying he could always try again when he was thirteen, she snorted.

‘He can see out the year,' she said, ‘and then he can come home. It's quite safe now and he might as well be taught in the emergency school as stay down there not learning anything. I always said that school was no use.'

As Tommy and Mark had predicted, the war was taking a new turn. At the end of March when the first tentative daffodils were trembling in the flower-beds at Ridgeway, Bomber Command launched its new bombing offensive with raids on Lubeck and the mighty Krupps works at Essen. Two days later, the port of Le Havre was bombed too and Matthew Meriton phoned his father to say that his squadron had put up a jolly good show there and had shot down eight German fighters – and was called a stout feller, which was very high praise.

But as always in war, one attack led to another and another. In April the Germans decided to retaliate by bombing some of England's most beautiful cathedral cities; first Exeter, then Bath, then Norwich and York. The papers called them the Baedeker raids and printed shocking pictures of the damage they'd done. And Emmeline got the letter she'd been dreading ever since Johnnie joined up.

She knew it was bad news as soon as she saw the envelope because although it was addressed in Johnnie's familiar handwriting it was so scruffily written that her heart contracted at the sight of it. Her hands were shaking so much it took her several fumbling seconds to open the envelope and when she'd read the letter she lifted her head and howled in anguish.

‘I knew this would happen,' she wept. ‘Didn't I say so? I never wanted him to fly those horrible Spitfires in the first place. I said so at the start. I did, didn't I, Tavy. First Squirrel and then Podge and now my Johnnie.' The tears were torrenting down her cheeks, making her look haggard and distraught. ‘Oh my
poor Johnnie. My poor, dear Johnnie. I can't bear it.'

Edith had picked up the letter and was reading it, while her daughters watched her and didn't say a word. ‘It's all right,' she said to them. ‘He's not dead. Just wounded, that's all.'

‘That's all!' Emmeline cried. ‘All! What are you talking about? He's been wounded. Don't you understand? Wounded. They get terribly wounded in a war. They die of wounds. You don't know the half of it.'

Edith gave her a warning look but she was too far gone in her distress to see it and went on weeping, rocking backwards and forwards in her chair.

‘He's in hospital, Ma,' Edith said, passing the letter to Octavia. ‘Which is the best place. And we can go and visit him. I'll phone them up and find out when the visiting hours are and we'll go the minute we can. Today if it's possible. Don't cry. It'll be all right. Really. Now I've got to get these girls to school or they'll be late and that would never do, would it, girls? Not when it's the last day of term.' And she gave Octavia a look which
was
responded to and shepherded her children upstairs to the bathroom.

While she was out of the room and Emmeline was still weeping and rocking, Octavia phoned the hospital. By the time Edie came downstairs again, she had the address and the visiting hours written on the notepad and ready for her.

‘There it is,' she said. ‘He's in the burns unit and you can visit him this afternoon. I've written it all down. Don't worry about Joanie. She can come to Downview with me for the day. That'll be nice won't it, Joanie. You can see our garden. And I'll pick the girls up this afternoon. Don't worry. They'll be all right.'

‘Thanks,' Edie said, and the word was heartfelt. ‘There you are, Joanie. You're going to the big school. Aren't you the
lucky one. I'll be back directly, Ma. Don't worry. Aunt's got it all under control.'

‘I don't know what the world's coming to,' Emmeline wept. ‘I really don't.'

It was a difficult journey to Tonbridge Wells, because they had to take a train into London and then travel out again but they arrived at the hospital in plenty of time and found the burns unit without any trouble at all because the wards were so clearly marked. Emmeline was appalled by it. All those young men burnt until their flesh was like raw meat or bandaged up, which was even worse because she had no idea what horrors were underneath the bandages. Edith did her best to smile at them as they passed their beds and one or two smiled back but her mother passed them frozen-faced.

Johnnie was in the end bed, lying on his back with his eyes tightly shut, his face pale as putty, a cradle over his legs and both hands heavily bandaged. He opened his eyes as he heard their approach and instantly became bright and cheerful, saying, ‘Hello you two. Nice to see you.' But he didn't fool either of them.

‘Oh, Johnnie,' Emmeline mourned, ‘my poor dear boy. Look at the state of you.'

Her sympathy annoyed him. ‘I'm fine, Ma,' he said and his voice was tetchy. ‘Don't fuss. I'm doing OK.'

But Emmeline ploughed on. ‘What's up with your leg?' she said.

‘Got a bit burnt. That's all. You know how it is when you prang the old kite. How are the kids?'

Emmeline didn't want to talk about the children. They were unimportant compared to seeing him injured and not knowing exactly what was wrong with him but his face was
shut, the way it used to be when he got into trouble with his father as a boy, and he obviously wasn't going to tell her anything. So she told him about the scholarship and how Barbara had passed and he said he was glad to hear it and closed his eyes again.

‘Let him rest,' Edie whispered. ‘Stay here with him and I'll go and find Sister or a doctor or someone. Won't be long.'

She was nearly half an hour and when she came back, her face was shut too and her brother was fast asleep.

‘Well?' Emmeline asked.

‘They're very pleased with him,' Edie temporised. ‘They say he's a fighter. I'll tell you all the details when we get home.'

‘How long can we stay?'

‘Another twenty minutes,' Edie said, looking at the wall clock.

‘We'll just sit here then shall we?'

They sat until the tea trolley arrived and a nurse with a nice kind face came along to wake him up and feed him bread and butter and tea in a cup with a spout. Emmeline winced to see that he couldn't use his hands at all but to Edie's relief she didn't remark on it, and after a while the bell was sounded and they had to say goodbye and leave.

‘We'll come again soon,' Emmeline promised as she kissed him.

He was being bright again. ‘Look forward to it,' he said.

They waved all the way to the door and Emmeline didn't say anything until they were halfway along the corridor. Then she took Edie's arm and gave it an urgent shake. ‘Now tell me what they really said,' she ordered.

‘Well,' Edith said slowly. ‘His hands are burnt, as you saw. They're giving him salt baths to help them to heal and they said they were quite hopeful. He might need surgery to
repair them where they're sort of pulled into claws but they're hopeful.'

‘And his legs?'

‘They're not so good,' Edie said. ‘They were badly burnt. He was trapped in the plane you see and they burnt while they were trying to get him out.'

Emmeline was anguished beyond caution. ‘How badly burnt?'

‘They had to amputate one of them, I'm afraid. He's lost his right leg below the knee.'

‘Oh, my dear, good God!' Emmeline said. ‘My poor, poor boy. What
will
he do now?'

At that moment he'd turned his face into his pillows and was weeping like a child and the nurse with the kind face was rubbing his arm which was the only part of him she could reach to offer any comfort.

‘I'm finished,' he wept. ‘It's all over with me.'

‘No it's not,' the nurse said. ‘You're healing nicely.'

‘It is. It is. I shall never fly again.'

She countered that too, speaking gently. ‘You will if you want to.'

He lifted his head to glare at her. ‘With a tin leg?'

‘Douglas Bader flew again. And he's got two.'

That was true but he was too down to respond to it. ‘I might as well be dead. They should have left me where I was.'

‘Don't talk rubbish,' the nurse said. ‘They were good brave men and they got burnt too, I'll have you know. Two of them were treated here.'

Until that moment he hadn't thought of his rescuers. ‘Badly burnt?'

‘Hands mostly. We looked after them.' And as he seemed to be recovering, ‘Now then, what do you want for supper?'

‘Sorry to belly-ache,' he said.

She smiled at that. ‘It's all right.'

‘No,' he told her seriously. ‘It's not. I shouldn't burden other people with my troubles. You've probably got enough of your own.'

‘Burden all you like,' she said. ‘That's what we're here for.'

He was looking at her, still with that serious expression on his face. ‘I know you're Nurse Jones,' he said, ‘but what's your Christian name? If you don't mind telling me, that is.'

‘Gwyneth,' she said. ‘And before you ask how I came by it, I'm from Glamorgan.'

‘Gwyneth,' he said and smiled at her. ‘That's a beautiful name.'

‘So what are you having for supper? Rissoles, or fish pie?'

For the next six days Edith and Dora and Emmeline took it in turns to visit. It was the Easter holiday and Octavia was around to look after the children, although as she pointed out, she would be away herself on Saturday, attending Mark Meriton's wedding. Whatever else, Johnnie's injuries had put that event into perspective. She knew now that it really didn't matter whether his family approved of her presence there or not. It was a wedding and a chance to celebrate and be happy and she was glad to take it.

Mark Meriton's wedding was a study in Air Force blue. It was a delicate April day, the sun shone tentatively, there was lilac blooming in the neighbouring gardens and yet the little church in St Albans was sober with uniforms. For a bemused second Octavia wondered whether they'd come to the right place. Then she saw Mark and Matthew standing together at the altar rail and realised that the church was full of their RAF friends and, while she was looking round to see if there was anyone there she recognised, a young boy in a very white shirt came up to ask Tommy if they were ‘bride or groom'.

‘Father of the groom,' he said, beaming.

‘Yes, sir,' the boy said. ‘Major Meriton, isn't it? If you'll come this way, sir.' And he escorted them to the front pew where they found Lizzie in a very pretty dress and a blue straw hat, and beside her a familiar face who turned out to be Tommy's younger brother James, there with his wife Laura and their two dumpy daughters. There was a difficult moment when Tommy introduced Octavia to Laura as ‘an old family friend' and she was given a look of such sneering animosity that she felt quite upset, but then the organist began to play the wedding march and she was rescued by the arrival of the bride and the congregation settled down to follow the service.

When it was over, she and Lizzie left the church together.

‘They're just horrible inverted snobs,' Lizzie said, glaring at her cousins who were following their mother in the opposite direction. ‘They were picking on me all the way here. Why didn't I have my hair permed? And didn't I find high heels uncomfortable? I mean, I wouldn't wear them if I did. And was a straw hat suitable for my brother's wedding? On and on. And do you know what they said when I told them I was going to St Hilda's? You'll never believe this. They said it was a waste of time because I'd only get married.
Only!
That's all they know.'

Octavia took her by the arm and steered her out of earshot. ‘No Ben?' she asked.

‘He's on manoeuvres,' Lizzie said. ‘Mark said it would be all right to bring him but the army had other ideas.' She was still glaring at the departing backs of her aunt and cousins. ‘I don't know which of them I like least,' she said. ‘Aunt Laura's always sneering at someone or other. Nobody's ever right. Except her. I mean fancy saying it's a waste of time to go to Oxford? I bet they wouldn't say it if it was them.'

‘Exactly so,' Octavia said.

‘Uncle Jim's all right,' Lizzie said, smiling at him as he passed. ‘He went out of his way to pick me up at Downview. When Pa said he was driving up from Wimbledon,
he
said I couldn't travel by train and he didn't mind coming to get me in the least. I thought that was really nice of him. But the others! Words fail me.'

‘Your father can drive you to the reception,' Octavia said, as Tommy strolled up to join them. ‘Can't you, Tommy?'

‘Can't I what, old thing?' Tommy said.

‘Drive Lizzie to the reception.'

‘Naturally. Pretty wedding, I thought. Like the hat, Lizzie.

Nice to see old James again.'

The photographer was calling for the ‘immediate family'.

‘That's us,' Tommy said. ‘Come on, you two.'

Lizzie went off happily holding his arm but Octavia contrived to slip away and hide herself among a group of very tall and very friendly airmen. After what she'd just heard about James's wife and daughters, she felt her presence in such a public family photograph would be a provocation and she had no intention of provoking anybody if she could help it. But she rejoined them at the reception because it wasn't a
sit-down
meal so she could eat sausage rolls and cheese straws and pretend to sip a rather revolting cordial and wander about the room, talking to as many people as she liked and keeping out of Laura's way, which was far more satisfactory. Now and then she and Lizzie passed one another in the crowd, and once Tommy came to find her because he wanted to introduce her to a man he called the Wing Co, and once brother James appeared at her elbow to tell her he did so admire what she was doing ‘at that school of yours'. So the afternoon passed pleasantly. Mark made a charming speech, the bride blushed, toasts were drunk, everything went according to the old established pattern.

But when the guests were gathered outside the hall to wave their newly-weds goodbye, Tommy made a serious mistake. The bride had thrown her bouquet at the crowd in the traditional way and had clapped with the rest when it was caught by one of the WAAFS and James had turned to his brother and said, ‘One thing leads to another, eh, Tommy?' with quite a roguish gleam in his eye.

‘Could well be,' Tommy said. ‘How would you fancy another wedding in the family?'

James nodded his head. ‘Young Matt, is it?'

‘Well actually…' Tommy began. But he was pre-empted by his daughter, who held out her hand to her uncle so that he could see her ring.

‘No, Uncle James,' she said. ‘It's not Matthew, it's me.'

‘Well, congratulations, my dear,' James said. ‘Is your young man here?'

‘I'm afraid not,' Lizzie told him. ‘He's on Salisbury Plain on manoeuvres, otherwise he would be. He's in the tank corps.'

‘Ah,' James said. ‘That accounts. So when is this wedding to be?'

This time it was Lizzie who was forestalled. ‘Not for years yet,' Tommy said. ‘She's got to get her degree first, haven't you, Lizzie. It's not something to rush. Only fools rush in, eh, Lizzie?'

‘Well actually…' Lizzie said, but her father was turning his brother aside.

‘Have you met the Wing Co, James? No! Oh, you must.' He moved them both into the crowd, talking as he went. ‘Stout feller. Thinks the world of young Mark.'

It was more than Lizzie could bear. To be cut by your own father, at your brother's wedding, where she couldn't contradict him or even answer him was so painful it was as if he'd punched her. ‘How can he do this to me?' she said to Octavia. ‘I thought he was supposed to love me.' And then she caught the sneering expression on her aunt's face and the tears began to flow. She put her hands to her mouth, turned and ran away from them.

‘Excuse me,' Octavia said, and followed after her, walking as quickly as she could without actually running. She found her behind the hall, leaning against the wooden wall and sobbing like a child.

‘How could he do this to me?' she wept. ‘How could he?'

It was time to take action. Talk could come later. ‘Stay there,' Octavia commanded. ‘Don't move. I'll just go and make my farewells and then we'll go home.'

‘Home?'

‘To Downview.'

‘How can we do that?' Lizzie wept. ‘I'm not going in his car. Or Uncle James's. I couldn't bear it. Not after this.'

‘Of course not,' Octavia said. ‘We'll go by train. Stay there. I'll be as quick as I can.'

As she was. Lizzie had only just dried her eyes when she brisked round the corner, with her handbag over her arm and the most determined expression on her face. ‘Come along,' she said.

It was a long journey and a very tiring one, for they missed their connection at Waterloo and both the London termini were suffocatingly crowded. It wasn't until they were alone in an empty carriage on the Woking train and heading out of the city that Lizzie had a chance to talk and then what she had to say was urgent and alarming.

‘The thing is, Miss Smith,' she said, ‘Ben's going to be sent to Africa. They're waiting for their embarkation leave. That's why he couldn't get away for the wedding. He says they'll hear any day. Only the thing is, he wants us to get married before he goes. I was going to soften Pa up at this wedding and ask him to arrange it but he won't, will he? Even if he hadn't lost his temper. The fact is, he doesn't want me to get married and he won't give his consent and if he won't give his consent I can't get married. My poor Ben's been planning our honeymoon and everything and now what am I going to tell him? I don't know why Pa has to be so hateful. Anyway, I can't ask him. Not now. Not after cutting me like that. I'd only get my head bitten off. So I'm stuck, aren't I?'

‘Not necessarily,' Octavia said, thinking hard. ‘Let's see if we can get this into some sort of perspective. Presumably you'd marry Ben if you could. That goes without saying.'

‘Yes. I would.'

‘But you
do
want to go to Oxford? Or you would if everything else was equal?'

‘Yes. I suppose so. I haven't really thought.'

‘Then think now.'

‘Well then, yes, I would. It's a wonderful place. But it isn't possible to have everything you want, is it?'

‘Well…' Octavia said, smiling at her. ‘It all depends on how you go about it.' The solution was obvious and entirely improper. It would infuriate Tommy if he heard about it, which of course he shouldn't and wouldn't. She would have to make sure of that. But it
was
the solution. Mischief rose in her as strong as a life force. ‘Let me tell you what I have in mind,' she said. ‘I think you should go ahead with that honeymoon he's planning and take it and enjoy it. You'll have to wear a wedding ring of course, otherwise you'll get questions, but I'm sure he'll provide that, won't he? And you'll have to take care you don't get pregnant. But if I'm any judge of your young man he'll manage that too. You'll have to be exceptionally discreet and not discuss it with anyone at all – and particularly not your father. And when Ben has been sent to Africa, you can go to St Hilda's and study there while you wait for him to come home again. It would be a waste of your talents not to do it and there's no need for anyone there to know what you are doing in your private life, providing there's no baby to give the game away. If he gets leave during term time you'll have to make some excuse to absent yourself from college for however long you've got. But I'm sure you'll be able to think of something. It won't be easy but it is all possible.'

Lizzie listened with growing admiration and amazement. That the famous Miss Smith should be sitting there, calmly advocating an affair was so extraordinary she could barely believe it. But she was right. It was the answer.

‘So what do you think?' Octavia said.

‘I'll write to him tonight,' Lizzie said. ‘As soon as I get in.'

It was late by the time Octavia got home because, when Lizzie had trailed upstairs to her room, she went to find Maggie Henry to check on how her girls had been during the day. When she finally walked into the drive at Ridgeway she saw Emmeline standing by the dining room window and knew by the set of her shoulders that she'd been watching out for her. Not a good sign for it usually meant trouble. And sure enough, when she put her key in the lock her cousin was already in the hall, waiting for her and looking ruffled.

‘Where's Tommy?' she said. ‘I thought he was bringing you home.'

‘It's a long story,' Octavia told her. ‘Is there any tea? I'm gasping for a drink.'

Emmeline sniffed. ‘Didn't they have drinks at this wedding of yours?'

Octavia registered the sniff. There
was
something up. ‘They had cordial,' she said, ‘and it was undrinkable. I poured mine in the flower-bed.'

Tea was produced. There was always tea. It was the one thing that wasn't rationed. She and Emmeline and Edith and the girls sat round the kitchen table and had tea and a slice of apple cake.

‘So what have you all been doing today?' she asked as she poured herself a second cup.

‘Mummy's got a job,' Barbara told her.

‘If you ever heard of anything so ridiculous,' Emmeline said.

So that's what's the matter, Octavia thought. ‘It doesn't sound ridiculous to me,' she said.

‘There's no need for it,' Emmeline said.

‘I have tried to explain,' Edith said to her aunt. ‘Once Joanie's at school I shall have to go to work. I shall be drafted. You know that, Ma. So I thought if I've got to go anyway, I'll find something for myself and I have.'

‘Very sensible,' Octavia approved. ‘What sort of work is it?'

‘Making parachutes,' Edith told her. ‘They were advertising last week for machinists so I wrote in. GQ Parachutes. It's in Maybury down by the infants' school. They're a jolly lot. They took me round and showed me what I'd have to do and they were ever so friendly. They make new parachutes and repair damaged ones. The place was stacked with them. It didn't look too difficult, really, Ma, and it's all treadle machines. They told me all sorts of things. There are two bosses apparently, Mr Gregory's the brains and Mr Quilter's the money, so they say. Anyway it'll be nice to be earning my living. I know you don't like the idea, Ma, but it will. I've been pinching and scraping long enough and if I've got to buy furniture, and God knows what when this lot's over, I shall need some cash put by.'

‘Very sensible,' Octavia said again but she was wondering why family life had to be so prickly and difficult. First Tommy trampling all over poor Lizzie and now Em laying down the law to Edie when she was being perfectly reasonable.

That night, when she finally got to her bedroom and was writing up her journal, she returned to her wondering.
I sometimes think it was just as well Tommy and I didn't marry when we were young,
she wrote.
We would have had children
because his heart was set on it and we would never have agreed about how to bring them up. I wonder when he will phone me. I must give him a day or two to recover.

Lizzie was writing at that moment too, sitting in her window seat with her bedside lamp to light the page, while her two companions slept. It was the letter to Ben that she'd promised Smithie she would write and it was a long one. She'd already given him a description of the wedding and her father's perfidious behaviour, and now she was telling him all about Smithie's solution.
Write soon and let me know what you think,
' she wrote.
‘I shall be worrying until I get a letter.