Rachel's War

The train hissed and clanked, steam rising into the air like the blowing of a great humped back whale. Pale faces smiled from the open windows, broad shoulders half way out and hands waved like rippling flags. Pushed and swayed by the ever-increasing crowds my fingers almost slipped from Ralph’s but he took a firm grip and pulled me close, placing his lips on mine. His skin smelt as always of coal tar soap and his hair, sleek as a seal, of Brylcreem.

“Don’t look so worried,” he said above the ever-increasing din, the soft empty sobbing and the loud breast-beating wailing. “I’ll be back before you know it.” He chewed gum, his jaw moving rhythmically. “This war won’t last past Christmas.” He looked smart in his uniform and different, as if he was another man, somebody older and wiser, somebody I didn’t know and not Ralph Lake at all. There were so many things I wanted to say, so many things I’d planned to say but when it came to it, all I could manage was, “Take care, Ralph. Write to me, won’t you?”

“Of course, I will,” he replied, “And don’t forget, you’re my wife now, I don’t want to be receiving no Dear John’s you hear?” He increased the pressure of his fingers on my wrist until it hurt and I pulled away somewhat shocked. His mouth moved but I couldn’t hear the rest of the words as a shrill whistle rang through the air and the guard gave a wave of his arm.

I stood back as the engine kicked in and the train, clunking and screeching, began to move away, women stumbling after it, calling out the names of their loved ones, begging them not to go, begging them to stay. The stench of anxiety as they wondered if they’d ever see them again. The acrid smell of smoke hung in the air wending its way into my throat, tickling and making me cough. The crowds began to disperse, slowly melting away like snow.

I stood there for a while, gazing at the train, watching its little red lights as they receded into the distance, until a shiver ran through me and I hunched my shoulders to my ears. My wrist felt hot and pulsing from Ralph’s unkind touch. Darkness was falling, stars sparkling like chips of ice in a vast black sky and a cold breeze inched its way around my ankles. Crispy leaves skittered on the platform, virtually empty now all the women had gone.

Gone home to their warm fires and squealing children, their hot water bottles and empty beds for hadn’t all the men gone away to fight in the War? Apart from the exempt of course, the dock workers, railway workers, the miners and the farmers, even scientists and utility workers, and then there were the objectors, but I preferred not to speak of them, not in front of Ralph anyway. God knows when any of the men would be back, if at all, for no matter what Ralph said about being home for Christmas, my gut told me that wouldn’t be the case.

Things had moved quickly and I remembered the newspaper headlines plastered across the front pages, screaming terrible words and shocking us all, “Britain declares war on Germany after Hitler’s invasion of Poland!” “We are at War!!!”

“Are you alright, Miss?” asked the guard, concern etched all over his narrow face, as he peered anxiously into mine.

“Yes,” I told him, “Yes, thank you.”

“You go home, Miss,” he said, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder, “You shouldn’t be out after dark on your own.”

I hurried home through the blacked out devastated streets of London, my torch, a thin white beam wobbling unsteadily in front of me. Chinks of forbidden light showed from between badly drawn curtains. Oh dear, I thought, they’ll suffer for that if caught. I’d heard there were very heavy fines for people who didn’t follow the blackout rules. I hurried past shops, all closed up for the night, and pubs, now a tentative murmur and the tinkling of a piano behind closed doors.

Just a few weeks before Christmas and no fairy lights, no Christmas trees or trumpeting angels, not that could be seen anyway. My heels tapping on pieces of fallen masonry, I turned into Frobisher Grove. Switching off the torch, I opened the gate and walked quickly up the garden path, and let myself into the hallway. My mother-in-law, Ethel, appeared from the sitting room straight away.

“He’s gone then?” Soft music swirled out of the doorway as Ethel stood there, a large handkerchief bunched to her tear-stained face. She gave a great sniff. I nodded as I took off my good black coat and hung it on a hook on the coat stand, whilst unravelling my scarf and draping it with the coat. My hat I put on the hall table. “You better come and get a warm drink, Rachel,” she said, “You look done in.”

I swopped my shoes for slippers and followed her bulky figure. Father- in- law, Ralph Senior, was sitting in his chair, eyes closed, listening to the classical music I’d heard as I came in. He opened one eye and said, “Ah, so you’re back. Give him a good send-off, did you?”

A bright red fire jostled in the grate above which the mantelpiece was cluttered with ornaments, all cheap trinkets from one seaside place or another, and even a little clay pot Ralph had made as a child. They doted on him. There was an older sister, Deidre, married with children, a boy and a girl, yet even they didn’t seem to hold as much charm as their boy, Ralph. A Christmas tree stood in a corner deep and shrouded in mystery without its cheery blaze of lights.

I nodded as I thought of Ethel and Ralph Senior’s unexpected kindness in declining our invitation to see him off, giving us the time alone. Precious time alone I’d thought. I’d wanted to unburden myself but the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t spout words of disappointment in our life together, not just as he was going off to war. I accepted a cup of tea, added a sugar cube and took a sip. It was unmercifully hot and burnt my lip. “He says he’ll be back by Christmas,” I told them.

“Ha,” said Ralph Senior, sitting up straight, interested now, and taking a cup and saucer from his wife, “I very much doubt it.” He shook his head, “That’s what we thought about the Great War! Oh, if only I was a younger man, I’d be gone now with our Ralph, sitting on the train right beside him, sharing jokes, drinking a beer.” He took a sip of tea and grimaced, “Ugh, have we no sugar?”

“Here,” said Ethel, dropping a cube into his cup, and then saying, “You did your bit in the last war, and you’ve never been the same.” She shook her head briskly, “No, never been the same, and, anyway, you’re too old this time.”

“I’m alright,” Ralph Senior assured her harshly, as he stirred his tea, “It’s not age, now if this eye,” He pointed to the left one, “Was in full working order I’d …”

Inwardly smiling, this was a topic that did the rounds every day, I cut myself off from the two of them, thinking and wondering, now that Ralph was gone, what exactly I was going to do. I couldn’t stay here, living with the in-laws. I needed to branch out so to speak, get a place of my own.

I knew I could do it; I had a good job and could support myself. Didn’t I go every day on the bus to Piccadilly, dressed to the nines in heels and stockings, to an office where I typed and filed and answered the phone in a very high-class voice? All that hard work to better myself had paid off and oh wasn’t I glad that at the young age of 20 I was well set up for life so far. Ralph had suggested I hand in my notice many times, saying he could provide for both of us but I was hesitant, liking my independence too much to give it up.

Despite myself, a surge of excitement shot through me at a life, however temporary, without Ralph. Two months of a very hastily arranged marriage because of the threat of war, had shown me a lot of things about my other half, and not all good by any means. I’d moved into his parent’s house after our marriage and noticed even more the strange, what I thought over the top attachment to his mother, and the appeal of his boyish good looks was diminishing daily, despite the initial attraction having been instantaneous. I’d always had a thing about dark haired men and Ralph had hair almost as black as mine, although his eyes were a deep brown and mine were blue.

Nevertheless, I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that I’d made a big mistake but what could I do? The saying, “You’ve made your bed, now you’ll have to lie in it?” kept flashing through my mind, but how tired I was of Ralph saying, “We just need to save a bit more, Rachel. As soon as we’ve enough for a deposit, we’ll get a place of our own.”

“Huh, “I’d thought, “And he said he could provide for us both.” Well, unknown to him, I had enough for a place of my own, thanks to an inheritance from my parents and money I’d saved, secretly squirreled away from Ralph’s prying eyes. A pound here, a shilling there, a few pennies, it all added up. But it was money, even if I offered it, that Ralph would never accept, oh no, not money saved by me, the little woman.

The only thing holding me back now was them, the in-laws. I eyed them from beneath my lashes, Ethel, a large woman, her usual attire a flowered wrap around pinny, now clutching a handkerchief and sniffing in between hurried bouts of tea sipping, and Ralph senior, a small dapper man, a slim moustache hiding his weak upper lip, his eyes closed again now as he listened to the music. An unlikely pairing reminding me of the ever-popular seaside postcards where, for a chuckle, a big woman was always portrayed dominating a little man, much like their relationship I’d no doubt.

Ethel’s voice cut into my thoughts, waking me as if from a dream, “Rachel, do you want to eat yet? Ralph and I have had ours seeing as we weren’t sure how long you’d be. Yours is keeping hot, a nice liver and onion stew.”

I couldn’t bear the thought of food yet, especially liver that I loathed, so said, “Would you mind if I skipped it for now and went to my room? I’m really tired.”

Ralph shook his head sadly, “You young women today, you don’t eat, too thin that’s what you are. In my day, women were buxom, good hips and chest …” He made curved motions in the air with his hands.

“Ralph,” said Ethel scandalised, her mouth agape, cheeks burning, “Rachel’s had a shock. Her beloved husband’s gone to war.” And then to me, “Go on you go up. I’ll bring it to you later.”

I escaped the room, a smile curving my lips at Ralph Senior’s words. Buxom indeed. I was model thin and proud of it and could still eat like a horse. And Ethel’s words too, “beloved husband,” if only she knew! I hurried up the stairs, padding on the faded striped carpet, held at each side by a thin wooden runner, and went into our bedroom. The double bed looked larger than ever now, dominating the room, covered in a thick floral eiderdown and flanked by dark wood bedside cabinets, a matching wardrobe stood flush against the wall.

Furtively locking the door, I padded across the room and, dropping to my knees by one of the cabinets, carefully pulled the drawer out and, putting my hand into the gap, retrieved a plastic wrapped bundle. Opening it, I spread the bank notes all over the bed, luxuriating in the amount of money I had, counting it again and again just to make sure. There was plenty for a down payment on a small flat and, I thought harshly, when Ralph returned to find I lived somewhere else, he could like it or lump it! Join me or stay with his parents. I felt brave now, daring, now that Ralph wasn’t here, now that Ralph was gone.

Carefully, I returned the money to its hiding place and, taking a packet of cigarettes carefully concealed beneath a book in the top drawer, moved restlessly to the window where I peered out carefully from between the curtains at the still night shrouded in darkness. A large bright moon surrounded by a smattering of stars lit up the garden, so I could see the black bones of trees etched against the sky and bushes resembling woolly blobs like people with thick curly hair.

Putting a cigarette between my lips, I lit a match and inhaled deeply, as I opened the window a crack and blew out a long thin stream of smoke. I breathed in the scent of the night, earthy and cold, wondering where Ralph was now and what he was doing. Would he be fighting straight away or was there an introductory period, some sort of training, like starting a new job? All sorts of thoughts jostled through my mind, one of the main ones being, would he ever come home and, if he did, would he have escaped the ravages of war.

I remembered the stories told about my grandad after the First World War, the shell of a man that had returned, as if the outside was the same, but the inside was gone or replaced by something else, something angry, afraid, and something that my grandma couldn’t understand anymore. If my life with Ralph wasn’t to my liking now, how would I cope if he did come back but as somebody else, somebody who needed help, somebody I couldn’t understand? A sudden sharp dread pierced my stomach like knives and I took several deep breaths to calm the frantic beating of my heart.

A letter from Ralph arrived just before Christmas, the envelope ragged and dirty as if it had been through hell … “Dear Rachel, oh my and I thought I’d be coming home by now seeing as Christmas is just around the corner. Chugging along on a train, feet up on the seat in front of me. Happy days, eh? Another couple of months should do it though. I’m okay and with a great bunch here. You’d never guess, there’s a bloke, Billy, comes from Pimlico and would you believe it, there’s Jack from Islington. You never know who your neighbours are do you? Oh yeah, we’re a jolly bunch of cockneys to be sure and if nothing else kills the enemy, it’ll be that! Hope you’re keeping well, Rachel, and looking after mum and dad. It comforts me that you’re with them, and not flitting off somewhere to a place of your own. Families need to stick together at times like this. Keep your head down, girl, do your job and then get home.

It’s cold out here though and if you’d find it in your good heart, some fleecy gloves wouldn’t go amiss. Didn’t I always say that cold hands make for a warm heart? I’ve got fond memories of your warm hands, Rachel. But oh, does that mean you’ve got a cold heart? Oh, and a bottle of whisky would go down a treat too, warm me cockles no end. And not forgetting our dirty habit, cigarettes, eh? Write back, love, I need some kind words I can tell you that now. Think of me here amidst the banging and the crashing, like a regular firework display it is.

Yours til the end

Ralph x

PS I’ve written to mum and dad separately

I peered furtively over the top of the well-thumbed pages of the letter at Ethel who was avidly reading her own, holding on tightly with floury hands. The kitchen smelt pungent and sharp of the mince pies and apple crumble she was baking, and even though I wasn’t really hungry, my stomach gurgled alarmingly. The window ran with condensation and outside the trees shook and a strong wind howled mournfully all around the four corners of the house.

“Hmm,” she said, pointing to her letter, “Father was right, they won’t be home for Christmas.”

“No,” I agreed, waving the pages, “But Ralph says here that a couple more months should do it. Oh, and maybe we could send fleecy gloves.”

“Oh, the poor dear,” she replied, “His hands always did get cold, even when a baby. Like ice they were.” She laughed and said, “Little Deirdre used to cringe every time he touched her.”

I re-read parts of the letter, especially the words about looking after mum and dad and the reference to flitting off to a place of my own. Could Ralph read my mind? It certainly seemed like it. Not an ardent letter by any means, well, only perhaps the references to warm hands and kind words, but overall, more like a warning. Ethel’s voice broke into my thoughts, “Well, it looks like just the three of us for Christmas then, Rachel. Ralph won’t get leave any time soon.”

I nodded, as she folded the letter and put it safely in the pocket of her apron, even patted it for good measure, and said, “I suppose you must miss your mum and dad at Christmas then?”

“Yes,” I replied, looking up at her quickly, shocked at such a personal question, something she’d never touched on before, “But it’s been a long time now, 7 years. I was only 13 when mum passed away.”

“Within a year of each other, eh?”

I nodded again, not knowing what else to say.

“Adopted parents though, weren’t they?”

“Ralph had no right to tell you that,” I said beginning to rise from my chair, my stomach churning.

Taken aback she flushed red and said, “Ralph said you wouldn’t mind us knowing.”

“There’s no need for you to know. They were my parents,” I told her forcefully, “The only people I ever knew growing up. The only people who took good care of me.”

“Ralph said you …”

“It doesn’t matter what Ralph said,” I interrupted. “Whether I was adopted or not, they were my parents, and now they’re gone.” I brought the conversation to an end, a very clear end, because all I wanted to do now was escape to my room, light up one of those “infernal” cigarettes as Ralph Senior called them, stick my head out of the window into the cold night air and inhale the acrid smoke until it buzzed through my veins.

The opportunity to do so seemed very far away as Ethel opened her mouth yet again, I thought at first to question me about my parentage, but said instead, confrontationally, hands on her hips, “When Ralph first told us he wanted you for his wife, I had grave misgivings. I expected him to choose one of the girls from the factory where he worked, you know, somebody more like him.”

Looking her square in the eye, trying to conceal how shocked I was at her words, I arched a brow and said, “Maybe you should have persuaded him against it then. After all he seems to listen to every little word you say.”

She smiled brightly as if I’d never spoken at all, “And father did too. A bit too la di da we thought, office worker you know, always dressed to the nines. Not like us, and I worried you wouldn’t fit in.” She paused for breath, “But he was hell bent on you.” Another pause, “Nevertheless, you seem to be shaping up nicely. I’m sure we can rub along quite well until he gets back.”

She got up then and went to the sink, washed her hands under the running water, turning them this way and that. She dried them quickly on a tea towel and then peered into the oven to check on the pies. Heat rushed out bringing a smell so unbearably sweet, it pierced my heart. Picking up the kettle, she filled it with water and, lighting the gas with a blue pop, put it on to boil, whilst glancing over her shoulder and saying, “Fancy a cuppa?”

Momentarily stunned I simply nodded as my mind whirled with thoughts, the prominent one being that if I could stick it out here for Christmas, play the good daughter-in-law like a pro, I could put my plans into action in the New Year, because oh yes, I as more determined than ever to move out now Ethel had opened her mouth and told me how she and father (as she so liked to call him) really felt. They’d treated me as one of the family whilst Ralph was here but now that he was gone, it looked as if the bricks were down. 1940 could prove to be an interesting year and it wasn’t only the war I was talking about. If my hunch proved me correct, once the floodgates opened, whether Ralph was here or not, I had a feeling I’d soon be fighting my own private war.