Orphans of War (29 page)

And so that first term passed in a flurry of typing practice, shorthand and hard slog. It was a wet dreary autumn, and Maddy found herself walking home in pea-souper fogs on November nights alongside lines of folk with hankies over their mouths fumbling towards their streets in the acrid air.

There was a basic German night class that she tried to attend, but homework and the trek back to her digs made the effort to turn round again easy to miss. No wonder she was always exhausted.

On Saturday mornings she walked down to City Station to catch the train north, back to Sowerthwaite, to Monty, Grandma and Plum, back to fresh air and fields and quiet, and Gloria’s third degree of questions.

On the train home there was time to split her world into two, town and country. She loved both in their own way but it was all so exhausting. She’d never felt so unfit, with no more lacrosse, tennis or long hacks. She’d filled out and grown breasts, much to her delight, and treated herself to a smart satin bra from Marshfields store on the Headrow.

The students at college separated naturally into little cliques. Maddy stuck mainly to Pinky and Caro. Arabella ignored them at first, but lately tagged on to them to talk horses. Under all that bravado she was quite studious and came top in bookkeeping and accounts. Bella’s father owned acres of farmland and her mother was the daughter of an earl. Her fiancé was training at Catterick Camp and they were preparing for a huge summer wedding next year.

Sometimes she persuaded Maddy to trawl the bridal stores, not that there was much on display. Everyone wanted satin with sweetheart necks, but Arabella wanted something dramatic, like the lacy patterns in the American bride magazines.

They’d been to Marshfields and Marshall and Snelgrove so many times that the assistants smiled when they arrived. Pinky came only once and sniffed at the prices and the coupons, shaking her head in disgust.

‘Why waste money on just one day in your life? I’m going to have my mother’s gown remodelled. Wedding dresses only end up in a trunk.’

‘Don’t be such a boring farmer’s wife,’ Bella hooted in her pukka aristocratic voice that filled the salon so everyone could hear. ‘Think of your picture in
Tatler
or
Yorkshire Post
or the
Field.
Mummy says, when in doubt, spend. Daddy’s footing the bill so I’m spending.’

Maddy yawned with boredom. She knew every dress on the rack.

‘Poor you, marrying that Hun chappie…God love us! What next…? I have to admit some of them look
appealing in their jackboots and peaked caps!’ Bella roared seeing their disapproval and milking it.

‘How could you!’ Pinky replied. ‘You know she’s not heard anything for weeks. Don’t joke about Nazis.’

‘You’re all so bourgeois!’ Bella stomped off.

Maddy wondered if she was ever going to see Dieter again. She had talked to her new college friends as if they were engaged, but without a single letter or contact it was becoming clear that this was just a childish dream. Plum was right. First love was all fireworks, a flash in the pan. Perhaps he’d write at Christmas.

Mrs Murray was planning to send a big food parcel to his address with socks, clothing and treats for his family. It was going to be another hard winter, especially in Europe, but not as bad as the last few, Maddy prayed.

All the changes in the last months had upset her system, tired her out, so sometimes she went to bed with a Horlicks as soon as she got to her digs, even before supper. Miss Ffrost’s suppers were on the mean side: dried-up cutlets, tired vegetables, watery soup and blancmange that turned her stomach. In fact, the tiredness was so awful she wondered if she was short of blood. Everyone said she looked peaky.

Going home at weekends enabled her to catch up on decent vegetables, bacon and egg pies. Pastry was her favourite thing and she took to buying Eccles cakes in her lunch hour to keep hunger at bay. She was always hungry. Her sweet ration was used up in great binges of eating chocolate, which then made her feel sick.

Her heart would lift as they chugged out of Keighley
station and the moors began to stretch out before her to Skipton, Scarperton…and then Sowerthwaite.

There were always familiar faces to chat to on the bus with news of all the local gossip. Gloria kept her on the dot about who was courting whom and who had left the youth club.

Plum heard from Greg that he was soon going to be demobbed. Good for him, Maddy sighed. If only things were brighter at the Brooklyn. Uncle Gerry was home for good now and the atmosphere was frosty between them all. Sometimes Maddy felt it was better to keep to her room out of the way, or nip down to the hostel to spend the day with Gloria, Beryl and their new friend, Cynthia. All they talked about were boys she didn’t know and other girls she didn’t care about, and who was on at the Picture House. That was when she longed to be back in Leeds with her college friends.

‘No word from loverboy, then?’ Gloria asked.

‘I do wish you’d stop asking. If I’d anything to tell—’

‘Hold your hat on! I was only asking.’

‘Sorry, but it’s been three months and not a letter.’

‘That’s lads for you: love you and leave you. Thank goodness you didn’t end up like Enid Cartwright. You know, the one who went off with that soldier when we were kids? She’s ended up in a home…for girls in trouble somewhere in Manchester. Poor cow,’ Gloria whispered, enjoying the scandal.

‘Can’t she stay at home?’ Maddy asked, knowing Eunice Billingham had married her boyfriend in the
town. They were a nine-day wonder, but nobody bothered about them now.

‘Where’ve you been lately? Her mother threw her out on the street so she came back here to see Mrs Plum and Mrs Battersby. I heard Mrs Gunn saying the doctor fixed her up out of the way so no one will know her disgrace.’

‘That’s what comes of giving your all,’ sniffed Beryl, with a smug grin on her pudgy face. ‘You won’t catch me delivering the goods until I have a ring on my finger and the church booked.’

That’ll be a long time off, thought Maddy, feeling mean at them all. They knew nothing about being in love. ‘When you’re in love, girls get carried away,’ Maddy offered. ‘Like in
Romeo and Juliet’

‘Hark at her, the dimwit. There’s ways and means, French letters, rubber caps…’ Gloria winked. ‘You don’t have to get in trouble, not if you’re careful. Mrs Gunn gave me a lecture. I shall plan my family–a boy for him and a girl for me,’ she announced as if it was already in the bag.

‘Like your mother, then?’ Maddy snapped back, tired of all this sex talk.

‘You leave my mam out of it. She knows what men are like–one thing only on their minds, and up and away. Dieter’s just like the rest, as I said.’

‘No, he’s not, he’s…oh, I don’t know. I know he would write if he could and he will write soon. I feel it here,’ Maddy sighed, pressing her hand to her heart in a dramatic gesture.

‘Then you’ve nothing to worry about, have you?
Don’t look so po-faced. Let’s go and listen to the wireless. It’s
Variety Bandbox.
There’s that singer on. “Bless You for Being an Angel”’,’ Gloria crooned.

Maddy smiled and waved them on. ‘I’ll just sit a bit longer and get some air in my lungs.’

‘Up the Victory Tree? How’s that going to help you?’

‘Don’t know, but I like it up there. Remember when we used to post notes down the nooks, in our secret pillar box?’

‘When are you going to grow up? We’re too old for climbing trees and passing on notes,’ Gloria laughed, her eyes crinkling. ‘You’re such a card!’

‘I know, but I still want to do it,’ Maddy insisted. Gloria and Beryl went off arm in arm, sniggering. Maddy climbed up to her perch and hugged her knees. Nothing was turning out as she had hoped and there was something else on her mind, something she’d not even considered until now.

In the branches of the old tree, she could be a child again or roll back the clock to the night when Dieter had made those tender promises. Why hadn’t he written? Was it all over between them?

Yet another Christmas with rations and restrictions. Will these shortages ever end? thought Plum as she looked at her lists one more time. She’d met Maddy for lunch in town at Marshfields, having procured a beautiful calfskin leather briefcase for all her niece’s notepads and files. A shopping bag was not quite the image for the Yorkshire Ladies’.

It was good to see her niece blossoming at the
college, her cheeks filled out, flushed with excitement. They were holding some posh frock evening at a hotel just outside Leeds and she was going to invest in a proper gown for the occasion.

If only Maddy wasn’t so tall. The short ballerina-cut length just looked silly on her. They were on the last lap of the shopping trawl, hoping there’d be something affordable in the evening department. It was too late to have anything made up for her.

Maddy knew the shop and its prices and the coupon count from her boring excursions on Bella’s bridal hunt. ‘We can get something cheaper than these,’ she whispered.

‘Darling, you’re only young once. You’ve worked hard and done well, and the Miss Meyers are pleased with your progress. Come on, let me treat you to something glamorous.’

‘I’d rather have new jodhpurs and a hacking jacket,’ Maddy said. She’d grown out of the waistband of her old pair.

‘No, you wouldn’t. Don’t spoil it for me. This gives me as much pleasure as you. I know Christmas isn’t an easy time for you. Still no word from your German pen pal?’ Plum said, with concern in her eyes.

They fingered through the hangers in silence. It was good to distract herself from the coming weeks. Gerald was going to tell his mother that they were separating for good. They couldn’t go on living a lie any more. He’d got a good post in London and was living with Daisy again. He’d never really left her. She’d heard him whispering to her over the phone, pretending it was a
business call. He’d had the decency to blush. They’d kept up this pretence for months but Pleasance would be horrified: a divorce in the family was such a disgrace!

She’d take to her bed in despair after dinner, which would be eaten in silence, punctuated by sniffs of disapproval at both of them. Although anyone could see their marriage had been in trouble for years.

‘War Hero Returns to Safety’, said the
Gazette,
with a colour picture of Gerald in uniform on the front page. He’d been back a month in theory, but he was exploring some post in London.

It was such a pity that they had nothing to say to each other any more. The war had strained the ties between them to breaking point. The gap between their separate town and country worlds was unbridgeable. He was still handsome, bronzed, but cold as ice when the bedroom door was closed, reading with his back to her, going through the motions of being pleased to see her in public but ignoring her the rest of the time.

How had she not noticed that his lips were mean, tight drawn and thin, his grey eyes like cold fish eyes on a slab when he looked at her? How different from that Hunt Ball in 1925 when he’d gathered her up into his arms and whisked her around the floor as if she was the love of his life.

Gerald wanted city life while Plum wanted to retreat back into the safe world she knew, a world of dogs and hills. She’d hiked for miles in the past few weeks agonising whether or not they were doing the right thing. She’d even talked it over with Mr Murray and
Vera, wept over them in distress. They had been kindness itself.

‘Not every marriage is made in heaven,’ Archie said to comfort her. ‘The war has a lot to answer for. It’s disrupted so many lives and changed couples from friends to strangers with nothing in common any more.’

It was a comfort to know she was not the only one but it felt as if she was alone in the world, ashamed and such a failure. Plum was not going to pretend any more.

Now was not the time to tell Maddy, though. She hardly knew her uncle. It would not mean much to her if they parted, nothing like losing her parents and family. Now that Dieter Schulte had let her down, the poor girl had her own sorrows–so why not blow all her coupons on a flashy cocktail ensemble with a pinched waist and fishtail skirt at the back, à la Paris mode?

The Dior fashions were making waves in magazines and Leeds women were eager to follow the fashions. The Jewish matrons made sure of that, with their boutiques and expert eye for fabric and design.

‘Maddy, look at this one,’ Plum said, pointing to a rich turquoise brocade with a neat bolero jacket. ‘Try this one on, it’s such a pretty colour against your dark hair.’

‘Wait,’ interrupted the vendeuse. ‘Let us model some for the young lady. Veronique!’ she called, and a tall blonde girl simpered into view. ‘She will show you our latest range.’

It was going to be a long afternoon as the girl dutifully posed in six outfits at varying lengths and prices, but it was still the turquoise one that they liked. ‘Would madam’s daughter care to come into the
cabine
?’ said the saleswoman.

For a second Plum looked at Maddy and wondering if she should put her right but Maddy smiled and carried on. How lovely they assumed she was her daughter. It had been worth the expense for just that moment of recognition. Maddy was like a true daughter. Whatever happened over the next year with Gerry, no one could say she and Maddy were not real Belfields, with ties stronger than blood.

How awfully boring her life would’ve been without Maddy and the Old Vic Hostel and the gang of misfits who’d brought it to life.