One Step at a Time (37 page)

Amy carried on. ‘Your mummy has a job with writing, so I’m banking on you growing up bright like your dad. He could read the most difficult books without any trouble at all. He was ever so clever. He was a doctor.’

She had talked to Grace about John from the moment she had been born. It hurt terribly, but she was determined to do it. Her father might not be here for her, but Amy wanted to make him a part of their daughter’s life through her memories of him.

Ted chuckled. ‘Have you told her the first Americans are arriving in this country?’

‘My goodness, do you hear that, poppet, our new allies are coming to see us.’

Mrs Dalton tickled the baby under her chin. ‘You’re
not going to have any trouble learning to talk, are you? Not the way your mum tells you everything.’

There was worrying news in the following months of 1942 when Singapore surrendered to the Japanese, Britain’s shipping was being sunk in alarming numbers, and Howard was sent abroad again. They suspected that he was going out to face Rommel’s crack army in North Africa for, according to the news, the fighting was fierce out there, but of course they didn’t know for sure. Even the men didn’t know where they were going until they were on the high seas heading for their destination. Wherever he was going they all prayed earnestly for his safety. His girlfriend Chrissie had also left the country.

It was even more worrying when Tobruk fell to Rommel’s Afrika Korps in June, and thousands of British soldiers were taken prisoner. Amy, Ted and Mrs Dalton gathered around the wireless every evening, dreadfully worried about their two boys. Was Howard also a prisoner now?

Grace was one year old in September, and completely oblivious to the drama being played out around her. She was turning out to be fiercely independent, just as her father had been, according to John’s parents. She was a handful and kept Amy on the run, giving her little time for herself, but she noted each step of progress with great joy.

Then in November El Alamein was taken and Rommel was said to be in full retreat. Everyone was
ecstatic about this first real victory and Churchill ordered that all the church bells be rung in celebration. The unusual noise caused Grace some consternation, as she had never heard them before, and they frightened the life out of Oscar. He shot into the shelter for safety.

‘I thought we were going to hear them pealing out just after Dunkirk to signal an invasion by the Germans.’ Ted nodded in satisfaction. ‘That won’t happen now. We’ve been lucky.’

Six weeks later Howard walked in, tanned, thinner, but unharmed. Amy threw her arms around his neck in delight as he lifted her off the ground.

Grace was rather put out by this and crawled towards them, hitting Howard on the shin with a wooden toy brick.

‘Ouch!’ He put Amy down and scooped the little girl up in his arms, making her squeal at the top of her voice. ‘What did you hit me for?’

‘I expect she thought you were attacking me. And if you don’t put her down, you could end up with a black eye. She’s still holding the brick.’ Amy took Grace from him and set her back on the floor.

Grace gazed up at the strange man.

‘This is your Uncle Howard.’

Ted and Mrs Dalton arrived just then and made a great fuss of Howard, overjoyed to be having him back with them for a few days. He continued to spend part of his leave with them, and part with his parents, so everyone was happy.

Grace watched intently, jiggling up and down as she caught the mood of excitement. She tugged at Mrs Dalton’s skirt. ‘Tea?’

‘Good idea.’ Ted picked her up. ‘You know that when visitors arrive we always make tea, don’t you?’

Grace grinned at everyone.

Over tea, Howard told them he had been in North Africa, but was damned glad to be home again.

‘Will you be going back?’ Ted asked.

‘Don’t think so. I’ve been brought back for something else, but I don’t know what it is. I’m here until the New Year, and who knows what nineteen forty-three will bring.’

‘That’s true.’ Amy stirred her tea, her expression sad. ‘Poor Ben, he’s been a prisoner for over two years. He must be so fed up with it.’

Howard agreed. ‘And it could be another two before this lot’s over.’

Another Christmas stuck in this damned awful place. Ben stared gloomily out of the hut window. How much longer, for heaven’s sake!

‘Ah, there you are.’ Shorty joined him. ‘What’re we going to do for this year’s concert?’

‘Break out of here?’

‘Wrong time of year, and even if you get out it’s bloody impossible to make it back to England. Look at Charlie: he got out, though no one knows how, and he was caught after only two days. It’s dicey,
Ben, you could get shot, and I want to see my wife and kids again.’

‘Oh, hell!’ Ben watched the guards marching towards the huts. ‘They’re going to do another search. What the devil are they looking for?’ This had happened quite a lot just lately. Sometimes the searches were only brief, but enough to unsettle the prisoners. Perhaps that’s what they did it for.

‘They suspect someone’s hatching an escape plot, I expect.’

The rest of the men who lived in the hut came in. ‘Here we go again,’ one of them muttered.

The guards stormed in and they all watched as beds were stripped, mattresses tossed on the floor, and every inch of the place searched.

‘Thorough today,’ Shorty whispered.

Ben had a pile of drawings tied to the underside of one of the slats on his bed. In past searches the guards hadn’t bothered with them, seeing instantly that they were only drawings on old cigarette packets and any bits of paper Ben had been able to find. But one guard who they all knew was a nasty piece of work ripped them off and flicked through them, a sneer on his face. With great deliberation, he tore them into tiny pieces, then let them rain from his fingers to cover the floor.

It took all of Ben’s self-control to stop himself from punching the man’s face. His fists clenched and he felt Shorty grip his arm in a warning not to do anything silly. He uncurled his fingers with great
effort, thankful to the man who had become a firm friend.

When the guards left they all set about putting their hut back to rights again, then Ben picked up every piece of torn drawing as the rage bubbled inside him. Without saying a word, he walked out of the hut, knowing he had to be on his own for a while. It was silly to get in such a stew over a few rough drawings, but some of them had been good. He had captured the expressions on the men’s faces, and he knew every emotion they were experiencing. Boredom; anger; loneliness – yes, even in a camp packed with men – and the most noticeable was despair: kept hidden, but always just under the surface. Ben knew when a man was about to crack, and he recognized that danger in himself. It wouldn’t take much more for him to explode.

It was bitterly cold and trying to snow. He took in great gulps of freezing air to try and clear his head and mind. He had wanted to kill that guard…

Leaning against the hut he opened his hand and let the pieces of paper fall, watching as the wind caught them, making them fly through the air. He would do some more, and hide them so they couldn’t be found. He knew that his time here would always be etched on his mind, but he wanted a record of the men who were enduring this captivity, many with greater fortitude than he seemed to have.

Shorty walked up to him. ‘Come inside, mate. It’s bloody cold out here. And hang in there, Ben, this
war ain’t going to last for ever. The sods are beginning to take a beating. The writing’s on the wall for them.’

‘It feels as if we’ve been here for a lifetime…’ Ben stared into space. Shorty was a tough little devil and was known as the voice of reason around the camp. He seemed to be able to bolster any flagging spirit with just a few words. But Ben knew that he was suffering as much as the rest of them, because at lights out he had seen Shorty take out a tattered old photo of his wife and kids and kiss them before settling down to sleep.

‘I know, but at least we’re alive, and’ – he pushed Ben through the hut door – ‘we’ve got to decide what to do in the concert. We were a real riot last year.’

When they got back inside, Ben saw two sheets of paper and a pencil on his bunk, and could have wept in gratitude.

‘Can’t have our war artist without something to draw on,’ Charlie said.

‘Thanks.’ No one said anything else, but he suspected that they knew drawing was the only thing that kept him sane.

34

It was raining again; Grace was sitting at the kitchen table scribbling in a colouring book as Amy watched the water running down the window, lost in thought. She could hardly believe it was June 1944, and neither could the weather by the look of it. Where had the time gone? The last eighteen months had just flown by, and this September Grace would be three years old.

Turning her head she saw that her daughter had abandoned the colouring book in favour of the sheets of letters and pictures Amy’s grandmother had given her when she had been struggling to read and write. Much to Amy’s relief, Grace was bright, picked things up quickly, and did not appear to have the same problem as her mother. She was already copying the letters with no trouble at all, and Amy did all she could to encourage this. Only time would tell if her daughter would be able to read and write normally, but the signs were hopeful.

Turning her attention back to the soggy garden, she sighed, feeling anxious. Something was going on. The country was filling up with troops, tanks and military equipment of all kinds. The rumour was that the invasion of France was imminent, and if that were true, how long would it be before Ben was
home? And it was certain that Howard would take part in the attack. Her insides clenched in apprehension. Along with everyone else she wanted an end to this wretched war, but she also wanted her two special men to be safe. She had lost the love of her life in the Blitz, and the thought of anything happening to her friends filled her with dread.

‘Wretched weather.’ Mrs Dalton came and stood beside her. ‘You’d never think it was summer, would you?’

Amy sighed. ‘Is it ever going to stop raining?’

The door burst open and Ted rushed in. ‘It’s started!’

‘What, what?’

‘The invasion. I just heard. The first troops have landed and are already moving inland.’ Ted’s face was alight with excitement. ‘Looks like we’ve taken the Germans by surprise. They never expected us in this weather.’

‘Thank God!’ Mrs Dalton reached for the kettle. ‘Let’s pray this will be the end of it, and it’s over quick.’

‘Mummy?’ Grace slid off her chair and looked up questioningly.

‘The invasion has begun, sweetie, and the Allies are going into France at last.’

‘Why?’ Grace was still puzzled by the air of excitement.

Amy had always explained things to her daughter. She didn’t always understand, but she was an intelligent
child with an enquiring mind. She stooped down to Grace’s level. ‘You know there’s this man called Hitler who’s been bombing us?’

Grace nodded.

‘Well, he’s taken over lots of countries that don’t belong to him, and our soldiers are going to make him give them back.’

‘Is Uncle Howard with the soldiers?’

‘I expect so.’

‘Will he get hurt?’ Grace’s lip trembled. ‘Like my daddy did?’

‘We must pray very hard that he doesn’t, and that both your uncles come back safely.’ The fact that her father had been killed was another thing Amy had never kept from her daughter. She was going to grow up knowing what a fine man her father had been.

‘What’s my Uncle Ben like?’

Amy stood up and smiled. ‘He’s very tall, paints lovely pictures, and is fun.’

‘Will he paint my picture?’

‘I’m sure he will.’ She watched her daughter get back on the chair, satisfied that her questions had been answered, and her heart squeezed in pain. How like her father she was. Amy’s head dipped as the yearning, which wouldn’t go away, ran through her. Oh, darling, I wish you were here to see this day and watch our daughter grow into such a lovely girl. How proud of her you would be…

Turning to look at her mother, Grace said, ‘Shall we write to both of them today?’

‘Good idea; we’ll do it after tea.’

Giving a pleased nod, Grace went back to what she had been doing before Ted had burst in with the news.

The tea was made and they all sat round the table. Mrs Dalton poured them a cup each. ‘Where have they landed, Ted?’

‘Normandy.’ He stirred in some sugar. ‘And there won’t be another Dunkirk this time. France will be liberated, and then nothing will stop us going all the way to Germany. They’ve got us coming at them from one direction, and the Russians from another.’

‘It’ll be a bitter battle, though.’ Mrs Dalton gave Grace a biscuit. ‘But I expect Hitler will be kept too busy to bomb us any more. I’ll be glad to take that shelter down and have the lawn back.’

Ted nodded, his face now serious. ‘I hope Ben’s holding in there. A few more months and he could be free at last.’

‘Poor Ben.’ Amy sighed. ‘He’s been a prisoner for such a long time. He must be sick of it.’

Caught up in the excitement of the invasion, they were unprepared for the shock that came on 13 June. Hitler unleashed his secret weapons on London in the shape of flying bombs. This wasn’t like the targeted bombing they had been used to. Once the engines cut out they could drop anywhere. The noise they made frightened Grace.

‘You go to John’s parents.’ Mrs Dalton bustled
around, urging Amy into action. ‘They’ll be frantic knowing you and Grace are in the middle of this.’

At that moment there was another explosion, far too close for comfort, making Grace cling to her mother, eyes wide with terror.

‘It’s all right, my darling, we’re going to stay with Granny and Grandpa until this is over.’ Amy was furious as she threw things into a bag. ‘Doesn’t the bloody man know when he’s beaten?’

‘Evidently not. Now, get out of here, Amy, and don’t come back until these damned things have stopped coming over.’

Seeing her daughter’s fear was enough to have Amy heading for the in-laws.

They were welcomed with joy and relief, and Grace soon settled down, happy once again. But Amy worried about Ted and Mrs Dalton. She would have left Grace with her grandparents and returned to London, but she couldn’t do it. Grace had lost her father in the raids; she mustn’t lose her mother as well. That would be too cruel for the little girl, and she owed it to John to stay alive for their daughter.