The Soldier's Daughter (7 page)

A large bowl of holly with shiny red berries was placed in the centre of the table and Briony glanced at it admiringly.

‘Me and Alfie got that when I went to collect him from school this afternoon,’ her dad informed her, and once again Briony’s heart ached as she thought of him going away again. Lois was thinking much the same thing as she looked fondly at her family. She was under no illusions and knew that she wasn’t always the best wife and mother. Sometimes she thought she had never been cut out to perform domestic duties but she did do her best and she loved them all dearly.

In no time at all they were enjoying the tasty meal that James had cooked, and even little Sarah did it justice tonight. Her cough finally seemed to be easing and there was a little colour back in her cheeks, but Briony had a sneaky suspicion that this was down to the fact that her dad was home. His presence had done her far more good than any of the medicine that the doctor had prescribed, and Briony just prayed that she would continue to improve even when he had gone again.

Once the meal was over, Briony helped her father to wash and dry the dishes and he told her quietly, ‘I heard on the wireless this evening that HMS
Nelson
was struck by a mine off the coast of Scotland today.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Between you and me, I think things are going to really hot up now. Rumour has it that Hitler is only waiting for the milder weather before he begins his raids. If that happens I want you to promise me that you’ll get the children away to Cornwall to your grandparents, Briony.’

‘I will, Dad,’ she said sombrely, as she didn’t relish the thought of going there one little bit.

They all settled down to a game of snakes and ladders, which Alfie cheated at abominably until it was time for the younger ones to go to bed.

‘What time are you going tomorrow, Daddy?’ Sarah asked with a catch in her voice and James kissed her forehead tenderly as he tucked the blankets beneath her chin.

‘Oh, now don’t you get worrying about that,’ he soothed. ‘You just be a good girl for your mummy and remember that I’ll be home soon.’

Briony felt a huge lump form in her throat and scuttled away to the warmth of the little sitting room. James was subdued when he came back downstairs, and sensing that her parents would value a little time alone she told them, ‘I think I might get an early night too. Night, Mum. Night, Dad.’

‘Night, pet.’ Her father hugged her soundly then tipped her chin to stare into the eyes that were so like his own. ‘You take care now,’ he said. ‘And remember that I love you and I’ll be thinking of you all, every single minute.’

Too full to speak, Briony could only nod as she hurried away up the steep narrow staircase.

A sound woke her early the next morning and she lay disorientated for a moment in the pitch darkness. Then she realised it was muffled sobbing, coming from below. Getting up and feeling her way to the door, she went downstairs. The sight of her mum crying uncontrollably met her when she opened the door leading into the little kitchen-cum-sitting room. Hurrying across, she placed an arm about her shaking shoulders and asked, ‘What’s wrong, Mum?’

Lois waved a sheet of paper at her as she rocked to and fro in the chair. ‘It’s your dad – he’s gone,’ she sobbed. ‘He says in the note that it would have been too painful and upsetting to have to say goodbye to everyone again, so he slipped away whilst we were all asleep.’

Somehow Briony was not surprised. She had sensed that her father was saying goodbye to her the night before when she retired to bed, and it was just like him to try and save them any more heartache.

‘He left a little note for you too,’ her mother told her, passing over a small envelope with her name written on the front of it.

Briony quickly tore it open and began to read;

Dear Briony
,

I’m sorry to take the coward’s way out, but I just couldn’t face seeing you all getting upset again. I know you will keep an eye out for the children and your mum for me, and if you look in the sideboard in the front room you will find I have left a little gift for each of you, to be opened on Christmas Day. Will you see that everyone gets them for me? God knows where I will be by then, but you can rest assured that I will be thinking of you all and that I will be with you in spirit. Let’s pray that this will be the one and only Christmas that we will ever have to be apart
.

Take care of yourself, my special girl, and know that I love you
.

Dad xxxxxxxxxx

Briony swallowed deeply and blinked away the tears that were trembling on her lashes; bending down, she lifted the poker and jabbed some life back into the fire, then threw some coal on before saying, ‘Well, sad as it is, I think Dad did the right thing, Mum. It would have been really hard for him to leave us all in tears again. At least this way he’ll take away the memories of how happy we all were together last night. And now the least we can do is keep things going so that he has a home to come back to, so I’m going to make us both a nice strong cup of Camp coffee and then you can help me get the children up and ready for school before we set off for work, eh?’

‘Yes, all right,’ Lois sniffed, almost as if she were the child and Briony were the adult. James was gone and there wasn’t a lot she could do about it now except to try to go on.

As Christmas raced towards them, the food in the shops became sparser. ‘There’s hardly anything to be had and the rationin’ ain’t even started yet. Gawd knows what we’ll do for Christmas dinner,’ Mrs Brindley grumbled when she popped round one evening. Briony had already invited the woman to spend Christmas Day with them rather than be on her own, and her offer had been gratefully accepted.

‘Don’t you worry about that – I have everything in hand,’ Briony winked, and when their neighbour raised a questioning eyebrow she told her, ‘I’ve ordered a nice plump cockerel off Charlie Mannering – you know, the man that has the large allotments off Church Road? He’s been fattening the birds up for months and I got my order in early, guessing that everyone would be after them. He has some pigs as well so we’re going to have a small joint of fresh pork too.’

Mrs Brindley’s mouth watered at the thought of it and she grinned. In actual fact, she knew Charlie very well. They had been childhood sweethearts and whenever they bumped into each other she got the feeling that he still had a bit of a soft spot for her. Bless him, he had lost his wife, Maggie, only the year before and had taken her loss badly.

‘There ain’t no flies on you, are there, love?’ she said approvingly. ‘Yer mam should be proud o’ you. I know I would be if you were my daughter. An’ fer my contribution I shall be supplyin’ the Christmas puddin’. I made it a few weeks ago an’ it’s got a sixpence and a threepenny bit in it.’

Martha Brindley’s heart ached for this girl who seemed to be keeping the family going in her father’s absence. Lois had gone completely to pieces again without James around. Just that very afternoon, she had watched Lois coming home after collecting Alfie from school and she could have sworn the woman had a sway on. But then she had told herself she must be mistaken. You’d have to be in a pretty bad way to drink during the day, surely? Although she’d had her suspicions for a while now that Lois might be hitting the bottle. There was no sign of her at present. Briony had informed her when asked that her mum had gone upstairs to have a lie-down because she had a headache, and now the poor kid was up to her neck in ironing the kids’ clothes. It was all wrong to Mrs Brindley’s mind, but then she knew better than to put her two penn’orth in.

Could she have known it, Briony too was concerned about her mother’s drinking. Lois had taken to splashing a bit of whisky in her tea from very early in the day, and usually by eight o’clock at night she would be snoring in the chair whilst Briony got the children to bed. The girl had found bottles of spirits hidden all over the place, and each time she did she would discreetly tip them away down the sink and dispose of the bottle in the tin dustbin, but Lois never commented on the fact.

Briony had taken to reading the newspapers religiously and listening to the wireless whenever she could, which was something she had never done before. She had been terrified to read of the new magnetic mines that were taking their toll in the North Sea. The Admiralty had reported that submarines were finding it difficult to surface to mount attacks on the enemy, and several British ships had been lost as the sea war escalated. Briony wondered how long it would be before the fighting spilled over onto the land, and trembled inside at the thought of it.

If anything, the weather deteriorated further in the build-up to Christmas and the wireless reported that it was the coldest winter since 1888. Even so, the atmosphere was joyful on Christmas morning as the children excitedly opened their presents. They were especially thrilled with the gifts that their father had left for them. There was a skipping rope with wooden handles for Sarah and a small wind-up train engine for Alfie, which had him cooing with delight. For Lois he had left a bottle of Evening in Paris perfume and a bright red lipstick with matching nail varnish, and for Briony a lovely blue scarf with matching gloves that would be very welcome on her cold journeys into work. He had even remembered Mrs Brindley, and when she opened the large tub of Pond’s cold cream her eyes welled with tears.

‘Why, God bless ’im. You’ve got a good ’un there,’ she told Lois, who nodded tearfully in agreement, missing him more than words could say. Even so, she made an extra effort to help Briony with the dinner and tried her best to make the day special for the children. She even did the drying-up when the meal was over, although she refused to wash up because of her manicure, much to Mrs Brindley’s disgust.

On New Year’s Eve the neighbours gathered together in each other’s houses to welcome the New Year in, painfully aware that the women now far outnumbered the men, who were away fighting for their country.

Briony was grateful for an excuse to leave early, saying that the children were tired and needed to go to bed, because by eight o’clock it was more than obvious to everyone that Lois was drunk. Her eyes were unnaturally bright and there were two high spots of colour on her cheeks. On top of that she appeared to be having trouble walking a straight line from one house to another. In each home they visited, she accepted whatever drink was on offer.

‘Right Mum, shall we be off then?’ Briony suggested tactfully in the Douglases’ home. ‘The children are tired and ready for bed.’

‘You get them home for me, there’sh a good girl,’ Lois slurred, waving her hand distractedly as she took another gulp of the strong ale that old Mr Douglas had brewed himself. It was potent stuff and Briony was mortified to see her mother getting more sozzled by the minute.

Seeing Briony’s distress, the kindly neighbour chimed in tactfully, ‘I reckon young Briony is right, duck. Little Sarah is dead on her feet. An’ look at your Alfie – he’s yawnin’ his head off, bless ’im. Come on, gel. I’ll carry him an’ you can show me what room yer want him in, eh? I reckon he’ll be fast asleep afore we even get him home.’

Seeing no way to refuse, Lois rose reluctantly as Briony flashed him a grateful smile, and soon they were heading for home with Alfie tucked up nice and cosy in Mr Douglas’s warm coat and Sarah leaning heavily into her side.

‘Thanks, Mr Douglas,’ Briony said when they reached their front door.

‘No trouble at all,’ he smiled, passing Alfie into her arms as Lois staggered through the door ahead of them. ‘Happy New Year to you.’ And Mr Douglas disappeared off into the foggy night whilst Briony carried Alfie inside, wondering what the New Year had in store for them all.

In January 1940, temperatures dropped well below zero. To even step outside was like venturing onto a skating rink on the icy pavements, and people were further depressed when food rationing came into force. Everyone was issued with a ration book and they had to register at their local grocer, baker and butcher and queue to get their allowances, which were pitifully small. Even then, many found that the food had run out before they got their turn and tempers became frayed.

‘They ain’t allowin’ us enough to keep a bird alive,’ Mrs Brindley complained bitterly. She had always prided herself on keeping a good table and was struggling to eke out her allowances. ‘God alone knows what my Clal would say if he was at home. I reckon there won’t be a blade o’ grass to be seen when the weather picks up. Everyone will be growin’ veg in their gardens, but there’s only so much yer can do wi’ vegetables an’ salad stuff. We’ll all turn into a load o’ bloody rabbits at this rate. An’ the sugar ration is laughable! Why, my Clal likes at least three good spoonfuls o’ sugar in his tea. The bit they’re allowin’ each person wouldn’t last him more’n a day! An’ then there’s the bread, o’ course – huh! It tastes more like sawdust now – an’ whoever heard o’ grey bread?’

Whilst Briony sympathised, she couldn’t help but be amused at her kindly neighbour’s outburst.

‘Well, there isn’t a lot we can do about it,’ she pointed out sensibly. ‘We’re all in the same boat and we’ve just got to get on with it.’

‘Hmph!’ Mrs Brindley pulled her cardigan closer about her and stuck her feet out towards the fire. ‘I thought I’d catch the train into Coventry the other day and see if there was any more food goin’ over there,’ she went on, ‘an’ you’ll never believe what they’re doin’ now. Why, they’re only coverin’ up all the station signs, so if yer don’t know where yer goin’ yer wouldn’t know where to get off.’

‘Things are getting a bit grim,’ Briony acknowledged, hoping to change the subject, but Mrs Brindley wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot.

‘I thought I’d get hold o’ some wool to knit my Clal a nice new cardi fer when he comes home, but it’s as rare as hen’s teeth now so I’ve ended up unpickin’ one of his old ones to reknit it. Things are bad when you’re forced to do that, ain’t they? I’ve taken to listenin’ to
The Kitchen Front
on the wireless each mornin’ an’ all after the eight o’clock news, but all the recipes they’re givin’ out are about different ways to cook vegetables. I’m tellin’ yer, I shall turn into a bloody turnip or a carrot at this rate.’