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Kathy flushed. The very thought of putting one of those strange contraptions on her children terrified her. But then she remembered what had happened to her father, his lungs permanently damaged with the mustard gas he’d inhaled in the Great War. She knew she’d have to overcome her fear if there was gas about – to protect her children, at least. ‘In this downpour?’ she said indignantly to cover her unease, and added, ‘I’ll go up tomorrow.’
‘See you do,’ Barry said. ‘It’s as well to be prepared.’
It seemed everyone was getting prepared, for on the news the next day they heard that Paris had begun evacuating people, children first, and the Poles had issued a call-up to all men under forty. At home, the government issued guidelines on what to do in an air raid, black-out restrictions were about to come into force and Kathy and her neighbours were kept busy making shutters and curtains for their windows.
By Thursday, the navy had been mobilised, and working on the assumption that fire could cause as much damage as bombs, people were urged to clear their lofts and attics of junk and keep a bucket of sand or dirt on every landing.
On Friday the children who were being evacuated left from the school. Lizzie went with her mother and Danny to watch them marching out of the playground. In the event there were not many of them, twenty or twenty-five or so, Kathy thought, together with two teachers. The children had haversacks on their backs, or suitcases or carriers in their hands, gas masks in cardboard boxes slung around their necks and labels pinned to their coats. They were singing ‘Run, Rabbit, Run’ and waving and shouting like mad as they got into the waiting buses to take them to Moor Street Station. It all looked tremendous fun. Lizzie wished, just for a moment, that she was going too. But she knew her mammy needed her.
On the news that night, they learnt that German tanks had invaded Poland. The towns of Krakow, Teschan and Katowice were bombed before dawn, and Warsaw suffered a heavy bombardment and had many, many casualties. Chamberlain issued an ultimatum to Hitler to pull out of Poland or face the consequences, but Hitler had not replied.
‘This is it,’ Barry said, and indeed it was. The call-up of men under forty-one would begin immediately and the black-out became law.
‘Bloody right,’ Pat said. ‘They can’t back down now.’
‘Well, why don’t they declare war and be done with it?’ Sean said. ‘Rather than all this pussy-footing around, we should have taken Hitler out long ago.’
‘Oh, listen to the big boys,’ Bridie sneered. ‘Jesus, when they have you all in uniform, you can go over there and show the others how it’s done.’
‘Be quiet, Bridie,’ Pat said quietly.
Bridie bristled. ‘Oh well, if I can’t express an opinion, I’ll be away home.’
‘Ah, stay a while,’ Kathy said. Really she wished Bridie far enough away, but fearing Pat would get the rough edge of her tongue later, she said, ‘Have a drop of tea before you go.’
‘No,’ Bridie said. ‘I’ve got Sadie next door giving an ear to the weans and she likes me to pop in with the news, so I’ll be off now.’ She looked across at Pat and said sharply, ‘And you be in at a reasonable hour.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Pat in a fake American accent, and gave her a salute.
Bridie glared at him and slammed the entry door, and Pat remarked to no one in particular, ‘Should have her in the bloody army, if you ask me. She’d make a good general.’
Kathy spluttered over her tea, but she said nothing. She had wondered if Pat ever got fed up of his wife’s constant carping, but he’d never said anything about her before. Pat met his sister’s eyes over the wireless and smiled at her as he reached for his coat.
‘Are you away?’ Barry asked.
‘Aye, but not home,’ Pat said. ‘Bridie can order all she likes, but I’ll go home when I’m ready. I’m away to The Bell.’
‘Wait,’ Barry said. ‘I’ll come along with you.’ He glanced over at Kathy and said, ‘OK?’
‘Fine, but I’ll likely be in bed when you get in,’ Kathy said. ‘I’m beat.’
‘You on, Sean?’
‘You bet, lead the way.’
When they’d left, Kathy sat thinking. She wasn’t tired really, but she was depressed. She faced the fact that in a day, two days, bombs could be raining down on England’s cities, killing, destroying and maiming. Her husband and brothers would be there in the thick of it, and she began to shake with a fear deeper than any she’d experienced so far.
Saturday’s news bulletin depressed Kathy further. Poland was fighting for its life. Many towns and cities had been attacked, with heavy civilian casualties, and even an evacuation train carrying women and children had been blown up. It seemed no one could stop the German monster sweeping Europe, and Kathy wondered if Britain would be strong enough. The only cheering news was that the Empire was on their side: Australian troops had arrived in Britain, New Zealand had promised support and Canadian forces were being mobilised. A report from the prime minister was promised in the morning.
That night in bed, Barry said, ‘This is it, old girl, you know. After tomorrow, life will never be the same again.’
‘I know.’
‘I knew it was coming, but I wish to God I’d been wrong.’
‘I know that too.’ Kathy gave a sniff.
‘You’re not crying, are you?’
‘A bit,’ Kathy answered with another sniff. ‘Isn’t a war worth crying over?’
Barry gave a laugh. ‘I’m damned if you ain’t right,’ he said. ‘But for now, what are you going to give your husband to make up for the fact he’ll not be sharing your bed for much longer?’
Kathy smiled and said, ‘I’m sure I’ll think of something.’
THREE
After all the storms, Sunday 3 September 1939 dawned sunny and warm, a perfect late summer’s day. Kathy was up early and got breakfast just for Danny, as everyone else would be taking communion. ‘The broadcast is at eleven, isn’t it?’ she asked Barry.
‘Aye, and you can bet every person in this land will be listening in, and we’ll be no exception.’
The church was fuller than usual and Kathy wondered if they were all praying as fervently as she was. Peace was out of the window now, and Kathy sat head in hands, almost overcome with sadness at it all. There was little chattering in the porch that day, everyone wanted to be away home to get the dinner on so they could listen to the broadcast.
Just before it began, Kathy was startled by how still it had become outside. She glanced out of the window. The streets were deserted, no baby cried, no toddler shrieked or chuckled, and no dog barked. Even the children seemed to know what an historic moment it was, for they’d picked up the atmosphere from the seriousness of the adults. So many people were crowded into the O’Malleys’ house that Lizzie and Danny, as usual, had crawled under the table, but even amongst such a mass of people there was an uneasy silence, and Kathy realised she could hear no tram rattling along Bristol Street, nor the drone of the occasional car or the clop of horses’ hooves. It was as if the world was holding its breath, waiting, and then they heard the dreaded words.
‘I am speaking to you from the cabinet room of Ten Downing Street. This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now, no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently, this country is at war with Germany.’
For a moment there was silence, and then everyone began speaking at once, saying that it was only to be expected and that the Jerries needed teaching a lesson. Underneath the table, Lizzie told Danny, ‘We’re at war.’
‘What’s that?’
Lizzie wasn’t sure, but no way was she going to admit it. ‘Oh, it means there are lots of soldiers about,’ she said. ‘And guns and bombs and things, and Daddy might have to go away and fight bad people.’
‘Oh,’ said Danny, mightily impressed.
People were dispersing back to their own homes, Lizzie noticed, peeping out from between the chair legs, until there was just Auntie Bridie and Uncle Pat with Sheelagh and Matt between them.
‘Well,’ Pat said, looking across at Barry, ‘I’m away for a pint.’
They exchanged a look that Kathy didn’t really understand then, and Bridie snapped scornfully, ‘Away for a pint? Any excuse for a drink, you. It’s nothing to bloody well celebrate.’
‘Oh, let them go,’ Kathy said despondently. ‘I’m away to Mammy’s anyway. She’ll feel it badly, and Daddy too, with them both remembering the Great War so well. Are you coming?’
Bridie shrugged. ‘Might as well. We won’t see the pair of them till closing time.’
We might, Kathy thought, if you moaned less about it, but she said nothing.
Rose was already at the Sullivans’ house when Kathy arrived with Bridie and the children, Sean having gone with the other men. ‘They called for Michael,’ Mary said. ‘And that bloody Maggie’s slipped out somewhere.’
Only Carmel was left, and she suddenly looked very young and vulnerable. ‘All right?’ Kathy said.
‘I suppose,’ Carmel said uncertainly, with a slight shrug, and then she asked, ‘What’s it all mean, Kathy, will there be bombs and things?’
‘Maybe,’ Kathy said. ‘But don’t worry, you’ve got a stout cellar like ours. We’ll be fine.’
How easy it was, thought Kathy, to reassure children. Not so easy to reassure adults, and she noticed for the first time that her mother’s jet-black hair that she’d passed on to her three daughters and her youngest son was liberally streaked with grey, and deep lines scored her face.
There were tears in Mary’s eyes and Kathy was shocked, for she’d never seen her mother cry before. ‘Ah, Mammy, don’t upset yourself.’
‘What’s the use of crying over it at all?’ Eamonn said, almost roughly. ‘Wasn’t the last one supposed to be the war to end all wars, and what did I get out of it but buggered-up lungs and a partitioned Ireland?’
Kathy felt a lump in her throat. She’d heard this before, but it had never seemed to mean that much. All men of her father’s time would probably feel betrayed, she thought, all those who had fought through the carnage, the blood and the mud of the trenches to make a land fit for heroes. As for the Irish, who had fought in order to obtain home rule for their country, it was even worse, because at the end of it all they’d only gained control of twenty-six of the thirty-two counties.
Disillusioned, and with no wish to return to his native soil, for his home in Beleek, Fermanagh, was still under British rule, Eamonn Sullivan and his wife Mary had settled with their two sons and one daughter in Edgbaston, Birmingham. His chest had a constant wheeze and rattle and he could do little without getting breathless. Kathy had never worried much about it; it had been like that all the years of her growing up. Once she’d asked her mother what was wrong with her daddy and had been told that the unit he was in had been gassed in the war, and that it had wrecked his lungs.
Mary knew that Eamonn, fit only for light duties, would have found it hard getting a job in that bleak time if it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d saved an officer’s life in France in 1915 by dragging him across the sludge of Flanders to the relative safety of a dugout. The injured officer had proved to be the son of the owner of a small button factory, based in Duddeston, a Mr Charles Sallenger.
Sallenger had sent five sons to the front, and one by one they’d all died, except for the youngest, Henry, saved by the young Irishman. The man’s gratitude was sincere and touching, and when Henry explained about Eamonn’s lungs, eaten away with gas, he was given a light job and knew he was set for life, and all because he’d been in the right place at the right time.
Now, however, Eamonn felt old and tired, and he looked it. Kathy was quite worried about him. Like Mary, his hair – or at least the bits he still had at the sides – was grey; the only trouble was, his face was the same colour, and he had deep pouches under his eyes, while the skin on his cheeks and around his mouth had begun to sag.
‘Didn’t you fancy a pint, Daddy?’ she asked softly.
‘No, child, I’d be no company for anyone this day,’ Eamonn said sadly. ‘I let the young ones go.’
‘Don’t need much of an excuse, do they?’ Bridie said with a nod at Kathy. ‘Any excuse for a drink.’
‘They’ll be talking over the declaration from this morning,’ Kathy said. ‘It’s what they always do, you know that.’
‘Talking, my arse. Tipping it down their necks, more like.’
‘Oh, Bridie, give over,’ Kathy said. ‘We’ve a lot to be thankful for in our husbands.’
‘Speak for your bloody self.’
Stung at the implied criticism of her favourite brother, Kathy snapped, ‘Pat’s a good man and a good provider. I don’t know why you’re always on at him.’
‘Oh, of course, you won’t hear a bloody word against him, will you?’ Bridie said. ‘Bloody saint, your Pat.’
‘That will do!’ Eamonn said. ‘Haven’t we enough troubles facing us without turning on one another?’
‘I’ll make a drop of tea,’ Mary said. ‘Sure, the news is enough to make anyone a bit edgy.’
Kathy glared at her sister-in-law, but didn’t reply. She wished Maggie was in, and wondered where she’d gone, for between them they could have lightened the atmosphere that grew stiffer and stiffer as they sat together, almost in silence. Carmel was too young and her father too saddened by the news.
None of the children had spoken, and Lizzie had sidled up to Carmel. She liked to have someone at her back when Sheelagh was in the room, or in fact anywhere near her at all. Sheelagh put out her tongue as she passed and Lizzie elected not to see it, though her hands tightened into fists. If she ever hit Sheelagh again, she thought, she’d make a better job of it and really hurt her, and she reckoned it would be worth having the legs smacked off her afterwards.
Mary had just come up the cellar steps with the tray when the front door opened and the men almost fell into the room. At first Kathy thought they were drunk, but there was no smell of alcohol and she realised it was a forced gaiety, and yet she could also feel the exhilaration flowing through them all. Suddenly she knew what they’d done and understood the look that had passed between Barry and Pat earlier that day. Yet still she asked, ‘What is it?’
‘We’ve enlisted.’
‘You have, begod!’ The exclamation was torn from Eamonn. Mary stood with the tray in her hands, staring at them.
‘We wanted to be together,’ Barry exclaimed, and crossed to Kathy. ‘I’m sorry, love, we agreed between ourselves to say nothing till it was done.’
Kathy felt the tears in her eyes, but held them back. She knew they didn’t have to join up at all, being Irish citizens, but all she said was, ‘It’s probably better this way.’
‘Not Michael,’ Mary said, and she turned to her youngest son. ‘Not you?’
‘Aye, me and all, Ma.’
‘But you’re not eighteen yet, you’re too young.’ Mary’s complaint was almost a moan.
‘I’ll be eighteen in January, Ma,’ Michael said. ‘Ah, don’t cry, I had to do it.’ He crossed to his mother, took the tray from her and placed it on a table, then put his arm around her shaking shoulders.
‘We’ll look after him, Ma,’ Pat promised. ‘We’re all in the Royal Warwickshire Fusiliers and we can look out for one another.’
‘You knew what they’d do,’ Eamonn said. ‘They made no secret of it.’
‘Course they didn’t,’ Bridie snapped. ‘They couldn’t wait to get into uniform and be given guns to play with.’
‘Shut your mouth,’ Eamonn snapped, and the family was shocked into silence, but it was to Bridie he spoke. ‘You know nothing about it,’ he said, ‘and I hope you never will, but there’s no playing in war.’
Bridie said nothing. Eamonn had never spoken to her like that before and she was shaken. Perhaps she might have retaliated, but before she had a chance Pat said, ‘Someone else enlisted with us today too. He’s waiting outside.’ He opened the door and Maggie came in, leading Con Murray by the hand.
‘He enlisted, Daddy, like he said he would,’ Maggie cried. ‘Like he would have got a decent job if there had been any to be had. Now will you let us bloody well get married?’
Eamonn looked at the man before him whom he’d previously dismissed and refused even to talk to, and liked what he saw. Con’s face wasn’t exactly a handsome one, but it was open and, for all his shady dealings, looked trustworthy and honest. His eyes were clear blue and his hair was almost blond, he had a wide mouth and a determined set to his jaw, and one hand was holding Maggie’s as if it belonged there. Certainly, Eamonn thought, the fact that the lad had enlisted put a different complexion on matters. ‘Well, young man?’ he said.
Con stepped forward and grasped Eamonn’s hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, sir, and I hope you will allow Maggie to become my wife.’
Mary had tears in her eyes again, and the room was so blurred she couldn’t see, but she knew from Eamonn’s voice that he was moved, as he said gruffly, ‘Well now, I see no reason why not, but it will have to be done speedily. We must remember that your time is not your own any more, so we’ll have to see about it without delay.’
Con swept Maggie into his arms and a cheer went up from the men. ‘Stupid bloody sod,’ Bridie said, but only Kathy heard; everyone else was too busy congratulating the young couple and welcoming Con to the family, while Maggie was kissing her parents and expressing her thanks.
Eventually Eamonn said, ‘I have a bottle of ten-year-old malt put away for just such an occasion, and we’ll drink a toast to the young couple and a speedy outcome to the God-awful mess the world is in.’
‘I have tea,’ Mary said.
‘Ach, tea, what good’s that, woman?’ Eamonn said. ‘Sure, this is a celebration.’
As the glasses were raised a little later, Kathy’s silent prayer was, ‘Keep them safe, God, please, bring them all home safe,’ and she caught her mother’s eye and knew her sentiments would be exactly the same.
Lizzie missed her father greatly, and the man who came home on a week’s leave in October didn’t seem like her daddy at all. He was dressed all in khaki that was rough against her legs when he pulled her against him. ‘How’s my little girl then?’ he said, and she wanted to put her arms around his neck and sob into his shoulder because she was scared that everything had changed in her young life, and yet she said nothing, knowing without being told that she shouldn’t spoil her daddy’s leave with a list of complaints.
The second day of the leave was Con and Maggie’s wedding day, which both were anxious to have finalised before Con went overseas. Lizzie was quite disappointed in the sober cream suit Maggie wore, though she had to admit it looked good on her as she walked down the aisle of St Catherine’s Church on Eamonn’s arm. She’d expected a long, flowing white dress, but her mother said there wasn’t time to go to so much trouble and anyway it wasn’t right in wartime.
It seemed the war affected everything. The local pub, The Bell, put on a spread for the few friends and family who called to wish the couple well, and the landlord Johnny McEvoy said it was the least he could do.
No one could deny Maggie’s happiness, Kathy thought; it shone out of her and affected everyone, even Mary and Eamonn, who’d have liked their girl to have had a better send-off. Con went round with a proud smile on his face and his eyes followed Maggie’s every move.
There was no time or money for a honeymoon, but the newly-weds had one night together in a hotel. After that, it was back to Mary and Eamonn’s, for all had agreed there was no point in Maggie looking for her own place until the war should be over and Con discharged. However, for the duration of the rest of his leave, Michael and Carmel lodged with Kathy so that Con and Maggie could have the attic bedroom to themselves.
Lizzie loved having Carmel share her room and wished she could do it all the time; it was like having an older sister. Carmel was thirteen now and anxious to be leaving school in the spring. ‘What will you do?’ Lizzie asked, and Carmel shrugged.
‘I’m not sure, but anything has got to be better than school, hasn’t it?’
Lizzie liked school, but answered, ‘Oh, yes.’
‘Since the war’s been declared there’s more choice,’ Carmel said.
‘Is there?’ That was the first Lizzie had heard of the war being good news for anyone.
‘You bet,’ Carmel said emphatically. ‘My friend’s sister is making munitions, that’s where the money is. She’s making a packet.’
‘Gosh.’
‘Shame you’re so young, really,’ Carmel said a little disparagingly. ‘The war will be over before you grow up.’
Lizzie remembered all the men going off to fight and thought she hoped it would, but said nothing. ‘March next year I’m off,’ Carmel went on. ‘I’ll be fourteen then.’ She sat up in the bed she was sharing with her niece and squeezed her knees tight in excitement as she said, ‘Just over four months. Ooh, I can hardly wait.’
They heard the footsteps on the stairs and quickly lay down in the bed again, thinking it was Kathy or Barry come to scold, but it was only Michael, who was also sharing the bedroom. ‘You two still awake?’ he said quietly, to avoid waking the sleeping Danny.
The two girls kept their eyes closed and pretended to be asleep, and Michael chuckled. ‘Don’t be codding on,’ he said. ‘We could hear you talking and giggling downstairs. Kathy was for coming up, she thought you’d wake Danny.’
Lizzie opened her eyes and looked at her uncle. ‘Danny never wakes,’ she said. ‘He’d sleep through an earthquake; he’s boring.’
‘Maybe he thinks bed’s the place for sleeping,’ Michael said, his voice muffled by the curtain Barry had set up for him to change behind.
‘That’s what I mean, he’s boring,’ Lizzie said.
Carmel put in, ‘You can’t expect our Michael to understand that, he’s just a man,’ and Michael’s throaty chuckle was the last thing Lizzie remembered about Maggie’s wedding day.
The five-day leave was almost over before Barry talked to Kathy about the war, not wanting to spoil their time together before. They were by themselves for once. Carmel had returned home; Sean and Pat were with their own wives and children; Con, Maggie and Michael were about their own concerns, and Barry was grateful for it. ‘I think it’s the big push for us when we go back,’ he said.
‘You mean overseas? France?’
‘I can’t be sure, but it’s odd to have a week’s leave like this, and rumours are flying about everywhere,’ Barry said.
‘It’s so soon,’ Kathy said.
‘Hitler’s hardly likely to wait around while we go through a six-month training period.’
‘I know that.’
‘And they’ve been putting us through it, I can tell you,’ Barry said.
‘You’re looking forward to it,’ Kathy said accusingly, looking at Barry’s excited face.
‘Partly,’ Barry admitted. ‘After all, it’s what I joined up for, and it’s nice we’ll be going together, wherever we end up.’
‘Pat seems a bit quiet,’ Kathy said. ‘Is he all right?’
‘That’s Bridie, I think,’ Barry said. ‘Putting him down all the time. He’s different at the barracks, life and soul. Very popular bloke.’
Something in Barry’s tone alarmed Kathy, and she asked, ‘He isn’t…you know…like, cheating on her or anything?’
Barry didn’t answer. Instead he dropped his eyes from Kathy’s and said, ‘She hasn’t let him near her for years, you know, not since she had Matt. Many a man would have insisted, a bloke can be too easy-going. Well now, if he is seeking comfort elsewhere, Bridie only has herself to blame. He’s flesh and blood same as the rest of us. Mind,’ he went on, ‘I don’t know that he is, not for certain, and I don’t ask, but there’s plenty of girls who would be only too happy to…well, you know. Like I said, he’s popular. You’d have to go a long way to find another like Pat.’