Bombers' Moon (33 page)

‘We’ve moved into his mam’s home, that’s what I don’t like,’ Vi said, ‘but George is doing the house up, he hopes to sell the place and buy a house of our own.’ She brightened. ‘At least I’ve got a man I love – I’m better off than most girls – and we’ll make the move soon, I’m sure.’ But there was a glint of tears in her eyes and Hari promised herself she’d have a word with George as soon as the opportunity arose.

Seventy-Three

I’d managed to put up the black-out curtain and I lit the lamps, glad of the warm glow in the old farmhouse. Wincing with pain I lit the fire, I’d always been good at fires, and then I fetched some towels and spread them on the old, sagging sofa.

I wished Jessie was here; she’d be warm and comforting and would tell me what to do when my baby was born. I felt the pain of my contraction encircle my body and tried to squeeze the baby out, the way I’d seen the animals do but I realized my baby wasn’t ready to come yet – or my body wasn’t ready to push – so I went with the wash of pain and let the moans bubble from my lips without restraint.

The hours seemed to pass slowly and painfully and I felt a sense of relief as the waters broke, washing down like a puddle, reminding me how I’d peed my pants when I was thirteen. Here I was at seventeen about to bring a child into an uncertain stormy world where nation killed nation and Michael was dead.

I began to cry with self-pity. What had I done to God to be treated like this I demanded in a loud voice. And then the door opened.

‘Jessie?’ My voice wavered as I lifted my head but it was George who came into the room, a huge stick in his hand. I thought he’d gone mad and wanted to kill me. Right now I didn’t care, I just wanted to be out of my pain.

‘
Iesu Grist
,’ he gasped. ‘Jesus Christ, Meryl, you’re alive and you’re
here
. I thought we had burglars – do you know there’s a light showing?’ He jerked the curtain close to the window.

‘Damn the curtain, you’re obtuse as ever George, can’t you see I’m about to have a baby!’ I moaned again, ‘Can you help me?’ I asked more humbly.

George dropped the stick and washed his hands; at least his awful mother had taught him to be clean. He came to the edge of the sofa and undid my skirt. ‘Your knickers are sopping wet, you haven’t got a clue about birthing a baby have you, a cow about to calf got more sense than you.’

I felt a growl begin in my throat. ‘I think I want to push,’ I managed. The feeling of burning was almost a relief from the contractions that seemed to tear me apart. ‘George, I’m scared.’

He grinned and winked at me. ‘Think yourself to be a young healthy animal and remember I’ve delivered more beasts than you can count, so just stay calm and we’ll be alright.’

George was gentle, his capable hands guiding my baby into the world with unerring skill and assurance. ‘You’re not as easy as a cow,’ he said, ‘I’ve got to cut the cord. Why can’t you be an animal and bite it with your teeth?’

He did the job without any trouble and then put the baby on my already full breasts. ‘You’ve got a son,’ he said, ‘he’s got a big, strong you-know-what; his father, whoever he is,’ he said, under his breath, ‘would be very proud.’

I hugged my boy, who looked like an unfurled petal and felt his pleasing weight against me. I was crying again as George carried on with the business of the rest of the birth. Then he gently washed me, found me a clean blanket, wrapped me in it and took my boy out of my reluctant arms.

I watched as he washed my son with infinite care, wrapped him in a clean towel and put him back into my arms.

‘Thank you, George,’ I said gratefully.

‘Drink of brandy to wet the baby’s head and help you sleep.’ He boiled up some water, something he hadn’t done for the birth, and made me a syrup of brandy, sugar and hot water. I sipped it delicately – it was very strong on brandy.

George went upstairs. I heard him bang about a bit and then he returned with a drawer from one of the dressers. He had lined it with a pillow and some white sheets from Jessie’s cupboard. ‘The
boy bach’s
bed.’

I felt my eyelids begin to droop as George took my son and laid him carefully in the home-made crib. With George there I felt safe. I snuggled down thinking absently that this morning I was in a different country and then, weary, slept the sleep of the dead.

It was morning when I opened my eyes, alerted by the sound of the baby’s cry. I sat up remembering, frantic to go to my son but there was George bringing the boy to me, placing him in my arms.

‘Try to give the child suck,’ he said. I looked at him feeling dense.

‘Put your teat into his mouth!’ George was irritated.

‘I know what you mean, I just don’t know how to do it.’

He pulled aside my clothes and put the baby against my nipple. ‘Let him clamp on, he won’t get much milk yet but he will have goodness and comfort.’

Clamp was the word. The baby grasped my nipple in rosy lips and immediately began to suck. I winced.

‘If the beast’s teats get sore, I put Vaseline on them between times suckling the young ’uns,’ George said. He peered over the baby’s head. ‘You’re not doing bad for a townie,’ he said.

‘Townies have babies and . . . anyway, stop looking, I’m embarrassed.’

‘I don’t need to look at you,’ George said reasonably, ‘I’ve got a lovely wife in Vi, she’s good and loyal but I know in my heart she can’t stand it in the country. She wants to go home to Swansea and I want her to wait till the war is over.’ He laughed. ‘The old horse bit her arm a few weeks ago and Vi ran away screaming. The demented horse began to gallop and Vi was convinced the creature was after her. I don’t want her to go back to Swansea, I couldn’t bear it if I lost her.’

I thought hysterically about Mrs Dixon and longed to make some insulting comparison between her and the horse. I restrained myself.

‘George,’ I said softly, ‘the war is almost over, the British and the Americans are taking control, there are rumours that Herr Hitler is dead.’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t really know what’s happening but look, perhaps it would help if Vi came to help me with the baby, stayed for a few days, perhaps that would lift her out of her gloom.’

George held my hand. ‘Thank you, Meryl. I once thought I loved you and I suppose I did in some boyish way but Violet is my blood, my bones, she’s part of me and I’m grateful to you for doing your best to help.’

‘And I’m grateful to you, more grateful than I can say. I don’t know what I’d have done without you, George.’

He turned red. ‘I’ll slip back home, bring some food and things and bring Violet, we’ll be together just like a family, at least for a while.’

When George had gone, the farmhouse seemed empty. I glanced down at my son and kissed his curly, wispy hair, red, like my sister’s. ‘You are going to be called Harry after your aunt and Michael after your daddy.’ My son opened his eyes and looked at me, and a smile, maybe wind, curled his mouth and I began to cry. Again. I began to realize that’s what babies and their mothers did: cry, a lot.

Seventy-Four

The war was over, officially, at last. Troops were still fighting in Burma but they would be home soon. The Japanese had surrendered after the huge bombs were dropped on Nagasaki and Hiroshima and I was a woman who was still a wife, not a widow as I’d believed for so long. My regret was that Herr Euler never could know his son and his grandson were alive and well.

When I visited Daddy in Swansea I learned that Michael was being held in Island Farm; he’d escaped and been recaptured and I had very little idea when he would be released. Hari and I didn’t speak.

As I trudged now across the grassland towards the prison, I hoped yet again to catch a glimpse of him. That’s all I could hope for, he was still a German prisoner of war and I’d be risking his life if I said anything different.

This time he was there. My heart leapt as I saw Michael looking at me from beyond the fence, a smile on his face.

‘Hello wife.’ He spoke in German and I understood it was his cover. If the truth was known about his background the other prisoners would lynch him. ‘How are you keeping?’ His tone was jocular, I still had no idea how he felt. I wanted to ask if he had made his choice between us, between me and my sister Hari, but we couldn’t talk intimately. Even as we stood looking at each other a British soldier came along and pointed a gun at Michael. ‘Move!’ he ordered.

‘We’re being sent back to Germany any day now.’ Michael spoke quickly. When I’m discharged I’ll come back and . . .’ He didn’t finish his sentence, the soldier jabbed him and moved him on giving me a filthy look.

I caught sight of Hari, her red hair flying in the wind, but I was too sick at heart to stop. I hurried away as if I hadn’t seen her. She was visiting my husband and I wondered if he had made her any promises.

I caught the bus to the station and sat staring sightlessly out of the window wondering if making love, even having a child by a man, was enough to hold him.

It took me forever to get home. I had settled back into the farmhouse with George of all people – no longer my enemy but my dear friend – and his devoted wife Violet, living with me while they decided if they would move to Swansea or turn one of the barns on the farm into a cottage. For the time being they would work the farm for me and George had plans for when Michael came home.

‘We’ll build this place up, Meryl, you’ll see.’ George was sitting at the kitchen table when I got in, his wellingtons full of the good earth of Carmarthen, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. ‘Vi has settled now she knows we won’t be living in Mam’s house very much longer.’

‘Thank goodness for that!’ My words were heartfelt.

‘We’ll restock the animals and grow potatoes and root veg and soon we’ll all earn a good living from Jessie’s farm.’

The door was pushed open. ‘It’s only me, Mrs Jones.’ The girl from the village who cleaned for me came into the kitchen and eyed me with suspicion as she always did, especially when I forgot myself and spoke in German. She refused to use my married name, Frau Euler, and insisted calling me by my Welsh maiden name.

‘Morning, Glenys, how’s the goat?’ This was our one line of conversation: Glenys’s goat Smuttie. He was so wild I thought he should be called ‘Paddy Murphy’s Goat’, but the two loved each other like lovers.

‘Eatin’ my home up as usual, Mrs Jones.’ She tickled the baby’s cheek briefly and the baby grinned toothlessly. This courtesy over, Glenys rummaged under the sink for her cleaning things.

‘The bedrooms today, is it?’

‘That will be lovely, Glenys, thank you.’

‘I saw him today: Michael,’ I said to George, ‘they’re sending him back to Germany soon.’

‘That’s good,’ George said.

‘How can it be good?’

‘Well, he’ll be discharged and then he’ll come back to Wales. The Jerries have got nothing against Michael, mind, he served his country, so as far as they know he’s been a good German, crashed in “enemy” land, held in a prison camp till the end of the war. I wouldn’t mind betting he’ll get a medal.’

I brightened up. ‘You’re not as daft as you look.’

‘I’ve told you to stop saying sweet words to me, my wife will be getting jealous.’ George grinned as Violet came into the room with a tray of cocoa and some biscuits.

‘You two arguing again?’ She smiled lovingly at George.

I shook my head. ‘George is talking a lot of sense,’ I said, ‘he’s made me feel better now.’

Violet kissed George fondly on the brow. ‘You’re a good man, George,
my
man.’ She hugged him round the neck and he blushed like a schoolboy.

I got up quietly, picked up my son and went to help Glenys with the bed linen.

Seventy-Five

Hari stood in the grass outside the prison camp looking out at nothing at all. Then she glimpsed her sister again; she seemed to be here almost every day. Meryl was still tiny, her slim figure showing no signs she’d had a child. Hari watched as Meryl walked towards the barbed wire fence. She saw Michael come towards the other side of the wire and her heart leapt with love for him.

And then anger like a black angel beat in her temples as she saw him, unaware of her, standing there in the shadows. He was talking with Meryl so sweetly, looking down at her from his great height with such love and tenderness that Hari gave an involuntary sob and then a guard came and shouted at Michael to go back inside. Since the escape the guards had to be more vigilant.

Meryl, her face white, saw her and, after a moment, came towards her, her baby wrapped in a Welsh shawl.

‘Hari –’ Meryl spoke tentatively – ‘Hari, I love him.’

‘So do I.’ Hari heard the hard edge to her voice. ‘You have him and I don’t. You have his son, you’ve lived with Michael, married him, had the approval of his mother and his father, what more could you ask?’

‘I want your approval, Hari, I want your love. We’re sisters; blood of blood, just as the baby is blood of your blood. Look at him, Hari, please.’

Hari felt a red-hot anger sear through her head. She wanted to lash out and beat her sister senseless, obliterate any barrier to her love for Michael. She deliberately ignored the child.

‘Well, if Michael wants you he can have you and good luck to him, but remember this, little sister –’ Hari was appalled at her own bitterness – ‘I had him first.’

‘You may still have him,’ Meryl said humbly. ‘I don’t know who he wants, I never did. Herr Euler said we should marry, for safety’s sake, so we got married.’

‘And then you slept together, obviously,’ Hari said, ‘so there was no immaculate conception was there?’

‘Of course not.’ Meryl’s cheeks were red. ‘We grew close; we loved together; it’s difficult not to when you lie in the same bed, but I never did know if I had his love, really had his love, or if he still pined after you.’

A tear slipped down her cheeks. ‘Even now he remarked about your lovely red hair and how the baby was so like you.’ She hung her head. ‘I can’t fight you, Hari. I’ve fought for my country, I’ve fooled the Germans and fought like a cat for my freedom and for my son, but I can’t fight you.’

Hari bit her lip. This was her little sister and all she said was true; she had been brave beyond the call of any young woman. Suddenly, she drew Meryl into her arms.