Lost Angel

‘Thanks for this. Thanks for taking us in.’

‘It’s nothing and I’m sorry it took so long to answer your letters. I don’t get post delivered, and rarely go to the village. It was quite a surprise to find two waiting for me, but awful to hear about your parents. I should have kept in touch with your mother, but when it all came out I wasn’t sure she’d want anything to do with me.’

‘She was shocked, but you know my mum, she never had a bad word to say about anyone. Oh, Gertie, I still can’t believe she’s gone, that they’re both gone.’

‘I’m so sorry, Hilda, so very sorry.’

Ellen leaned against her mother, shivering, her teeth beginning to chatter. ‘Mum … I … I’m cold.’

‘Here,’ Gertie said as a tarpaulin-like cover was thrown over them. ‘Tuck that around you and it’ll keep you both warm.’

‘How far is it to your place?’ Hilda asked.

‘It’s a fair trot, and don’t expect too much. By the time we get there you’ll find yourself in the middle of nowhere, and as for those daft shoes, forget it. Like me, you’ll need boots and the same goes for Ellen.’

‘Gertie, I can’t believe how different you look. In London you always looked so smart, if a bit severe, and I never thought I’d see the day when you’d wear trousers and wellies.’

‘Needs must,’ Gertie said dismissively, ‘and anyway, I prefer them.’

‘You said in your letters that you’re fine, but it’s been years since Susan left. Have you found anyone else?’

‘No, and I don’t want to.’

‘Aren’t you lonely?’

‘Not really. I have my animals, and – unlike people – they don’t let you down.’

‘You sound so bitter, Gertie.’

‘What do you expect?’ she replied, eyes flashing. ‘I lost everything for Susan, my reputation, my career, then after moving here she left me.’

‘You could have returned to London.’

‘At first I wanted to lick my wounds in private, then, as time passed, I became used to the seclusion. I love it now. I’m self-sufficient and I doubt I’ll ever leave.’

‘At the moment you’re better off here. London is hell. Since September we’ve had bombing raids day and night, but mostly at night now.’

‘You’ll be safe here.’

‘Have you heard from your father?’ Hilda asked. ‘Is he still in London?’

‘I expect so, but I haven’t heard from him and doubt I ever will. You know what happened when he found out. He almost had an apoplectic fit and said I’d disgraced the family name. He’ll never forgive me.’

Ellen was at a loss to understand this strange conversation. Forgive Gertie for what? She spoke of licking wounds, and what on earth was an apothingy fit? Ellen wanted to ask, but knew better than to interrupt her mother when she was talking. She’d learned that if she kept quiet, sometimes adults would forget she was there, but one sound, one word, and they’d either stop speaking or chase her out.

They had left the town behind; the countryside they were passing through wintry and bleak. It was so quiet, so peaceful and warm beneath the cover that Ellen closed her eyes. She felt the sway of the cart and found the voices drifting, growing distant.

Hilda saw that Ellen had fallen asleep again and held her close. She sighed heavily, the tension in her neck easing. Gertie had welcomed them and at last they were away from the bombings. Surely in the peace of the countryside Ellen’s nerves would heal?

‘It’s lovely to have you here, Hilda, and yonks since I’ve seen you. Just how long have we been friends?’

‘I’ll have a go at working it out. I was about eight years old when my mum started work as a domestic in your father’s house and you were the same age. I think we saw each other occasionally, though at that time I’d hardly call us friends.’

Gertie chuckled. ‘Yes, I remember now, and my goodness I was such a stuck-up little bitch.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ Hilda said ruefully.

‘When my mother died and I was sent to boarding school, it was a rude awakening. I missed her so much and hated it, yet it was worse when I came home during school holidays. My father had changed so much and, other than religious instruction, he ignored me. If it hadn’t been for your mother’s kindness, my life would have been very bleak.’

‘Mum was a good woman, but even then you and I rarely saw each other. I think it all changed when you were expelled and by then we must have been close to twelve years old.’

‘I wasn’t sorry to be expelled; in fact, I think I pushed for it by behaving so badly, yet I came unstuck. It was worse being tutored at home and I was so bloody lonely. My father was wrapped up in his work, the church, and was hardly ever home. After lessons I just rattled around in that huge house, with only your mother and the cook for company.’

‘That was when Mum started dragging me to your house every weekend and during school holidays.’

‘She dragged you! Was it that bad?’

‘Gertie, I hate to say it, but it was at first. I hardly knew you, and, let’s face it, you were a lot different from my usual friends. To me you sounded posh, upper class, and in fact, you still do.’

‘It certainly didn’t rub off on you though,’ Gertie said, but the sting was taken out of her words by her warm smile. ‘You’ve never mentioned it, but you must have resented having to come to Kensington, especially when my father would only allow you to play with me if you joined us in religious instruction.’

‘I must admit I didn’t like all that stuff from the Old Testament.’

‘Oh, yes, he loved to talk about God’s wrath, of fire and brimstone.’

‘It frightened the life out of me, but Mum still made me join you. It was years later before I found out why. She thought a lot of you, Gertie, and knew that I’d have to keep it up or be banned from the house. I think in some ways she came to see you as her second daughter.’

‘Did she? I thought your mother was being kind because she felt sorry for me. In fact, I envied you your family – the closeness you shared.’

‘I don’t know why. Compared to mine, your home was like a palace.’

‘My life was so restricted that it was more like a prison. Thank goodness you came along and we became more than just friends. I wish I’d known that your mother saw me as a daughter, because to me you were like a sister, one who stood by me through thick and thin.’

‘Now don’t exaggerate,’ Hilda protested. ‘As adults we went our separate ways. You for teacher training, and me, well, until I met Doug, I only worked in a local shop.’

‘Yes, but we always stayed in touch, and unlike everyone else you didn’t judge me, or ostracise me.’

‘Why should I? You’re still the same person and a good one at that. Take now for instance. If it wasn’t for you I’d have been forced to have Ellen evacuated to strangers.’

‘When I read your first letter, asking if Ellen could come to stay with me, I can’t tell you how much it meant to me. When the school found out, they couldn’t get rid of me quickly enough. I was treated like a monster, a bad influence and unsafe to be around children. My father was the worst, saying I was an abomination in God’s eyes.’

‘That’s rubbish. There’s nobody I’d trust more with Ellen.’

‘Thanks, and it’s nice you’ve arrived just before Christmas. Mind you, I’ve had enough religion stuffed down my throat to last me a lifetime, but as it was once a pagan festival I won’t feel like a hypocrite if we have a bit of a celebration.’

Hilda’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to think about Christmas – her first one without her parents – yet for Ellen’s sake, she’d have to make some kind of effort.

Ellen stirred, sitting up to look around her. ‘Are … are we there yet?’

It was Gertie who answered. ‘Sorry, but we’ve still got a way to go. Are you hungry?’

Ellen nodded. ‘Ye … yes.’

‘I’ve left a beef casserole braising in the range and it’ll be ready when we arrive.’

‘Cor,’ Ellen said, fully awake now.

‘I’m not much of a cook, but hopefully it’ll be all right.’

‘How do you get on with rationing?’ Hilda asked.

‘So far it isn’t a problem, and the butcher doesn’t even ask for a coupon.’

‘You’re lucky. In London we only get our rationed amounts and there’s talk of it getting worse.’

Soon a tiny village loomed in front of them, but Gertie just drove through it and out the other side. On and on they went, the light dimming and no sign of any other habitations, until at last Gertie eased the horse and cart left into a narrow lane. At the end she finally pulled on the reins, saying as the horse drew to a halt and she hopped down, ‘I’ll just open the gates.’

Ellen could see little as her eyes tried to pierce the gloom. Gertie didn’t get onto the cart again; instead she gripped the bridle to lead the horse through. Ellen could now see a small cottage, and as Gertie tethered the animal she watched her mother climb down from the cart, her feet sinking into thick, heavy mud.

‘Yeah, I can see what you mean about boots,’ her mum complained then held up her arms. ‘Come on, Ellen.’

Ellen felt the ooze as her feet touched the ground, then the sucking sensation as she lifted one foot.

‘Come on, this way,’ Gertie said as she grabbed their cases, ‘but watch your step.’

Tentatively they squelched to the front door, both taking off their mud-caked shoes before stepping inside. It was dark, but they felt a welcome blast of warm air, along with a low growl.

‘Oh Gawd, what’s that?’ Hilda gasped.

‘It’s only Bertie,’ said Gertie as she lit an oil lamp.

‘Bertie?’ she yelped as the growls turned to sharp yaps.

‘He won’t hurt you,’ Gertie assured and, as light pierced the gloom, a small white dog with a blaze of black on his face came into view.

The dog ran up to Ellen, yapping and jumping around her with excitement. She smiled, crouching down to stroke him. ‘He … he’s so sweet.’

‘He’s a Jack Russell terrier and perfect for ratting.’

‘Rats,’ her mother squeaked. ‘Oh, blimey.’

‘There are rats in London – in fact, probably more than around here. Now take your things off and make yourself at home while I see to the horse. I expect you’re dying for a cup of tea so you can put the kettle on the range to boil.’

‘Why the oil lamps? Ain’t you got electricity?’

‘No, but at least I’ve got running water.’

The journey had seemed to go on for ever, and now unable to hold it any longer, Ellen said, ‘I … I need the toilet.’

‘Go through the scullery and you’ll find it outside the back door,’ Gertie told her.

Ellen barely took in the deep sink and draining board as she passed through the scullery. The wooden door to the outside toilet squeaked, but there was no light so she left it open, managing in the gloom as she perched on such a funny seat.

It was strange here, so quiet, but sort of nice too, and Ellen thought she might like living in the country.

When Gertie marched outside again, the dog at her heels, Hilda took a look around the room. The ceiling was low, crossed with heavy, dark beams, the room dominated by a huge, black cooking range. A small, scruffy wooden table stood in the centre, and on each side of the range she saw wing-back chairs, one with horsehair stuffing poking through the upholstery. Other than that there was a dresser, the shelves packed with a mishmash of china.

Gertie was right, this place wasn’t much, but nevertheless Hilda was charmed by the cosy atmosphere. Gertie had done her best, the tiny, deep-set, lead-paned window dressed with chintz curtains, the wide sill sporting a jug of dried flowers. Hilda found herself sniffing the air, her mouth salivating at the rich aroma of beef casserole.

‘It … it’s a funny toilet,’ Ellen said as she came back inside. ‘There isn’t a … a proper seat, just a long wooden bench with … with a hole in it.’

‘I never thought I’d see the day when I thought our little house was luxurious, but compared to this …’ Hilda had to pause, a lump in her throat. There was no house now, her home just a pile of rubble. Hilda managed to swallow her emotions. They were here now, safe, and that was the most important thing. ‘We’ll be eating soon, but in the meantime I’ll make us all a drink.’

‘Why … why does Gertie wear men’s clothes?’

Hilda paused as she wondered how to answer her daughter’s question. Ellen was too young to understand so, grasping, she said, ‘I expect it’s because it’s sensible to wear trousers when you’re working outdoors, and warmer too.’

‘Can … can I wear trousers?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so, but I don’t know how we’ll get hold of any.’

‘Get hold of what?’ Gertie asked, catching the tail end of the conversation as she stepped inside.

‘Like you, Ellen wants to wear trousers.’

‘That won’t be a problem. I’ve got an old sewing machine and we can soon knock her up a couple of pairs. You’ll need some too, Hilda.’

‘Me! No, I don’t think so.’

‘We’ll see. Now then, have you put the kettle on the range?’ she asked brusquely.

‘I was just about to do it.’

‘Get a move on, and you, Ellen, can lay the table for dinner.’

‘Gertie, you haven’t changed and sound as bossy as ever,’ Hilda said, giggling as she added, ‘Talk about a school mistress. What next? If we don’t behave, will you give us the cane?’

Gertie at first looked shocked, but then she too began to laugh. ‘Oh, Hilda, I really am glad you’re here.’

‘Can … can we have our dinner now?’ a small voice said.

‘Yes, all right,’ Gertie agreed, ‘and tomorrow I’ll show you how to collect eggs for our breakfast.’ ‘Where’s your dog?’

‘He’s been cooped up in here while I went to fetch you, but once we’ve eaten you can call him in again. I’ve a cat too, but Wilfred’s a tom and is mostly off roaming.’

‘Wh … what else have you got?’ Ellen asked eagerly.

‘Two pigs and a goat.’

Hilda saw her daughter’s delight and smiled. It was going to be all right, and she was sure that bringing Ellen here had been the right decision. Ellen would recover and enjoy exploring the countryside. And I’ll be fine too, Hilda decided, yet there was no way that Gertie was going to get her into trousers.

Chapter Four

During the next five months Hilda saw a huge change in her daughter. Ellen’s stammer disappeared, and, though they were both still grieving, the horrors of living in London during the Blitz soon seemed far away. Instead of an air raid siren, they now woke up to the sound of birdsong and Gertie’s cockerel.

The only school was on the other side of the village and, as it was a long way to go, Gertie was tutoring Ellen at home. At first she had missed the company of other children, but once spring had arrived and the skeletal trees burst into new growth, Ellen had become totally enamoured with the countryside. When not having lessons or helping out on the smallholding, she spent hours roaming the woods, bringing home all sorts of things – bugs, bluebells and other wildflowers – all of which Gertie would identify for her. Gertie also showed her how to press the flowers and leaves before carefully placing them in albums, and, for Ellen, a love of nature was born. Hilda’s smile was wry when she thought about her daughter’s new passion. She couldn’t feel the same. Yes, it was safe here, but she hated living in such total isolation. Gertie didn’t have a wireless, so the only news they got was when they made the hour-long trip to the village. She kept in touch by letter with Mabel and had received shocking news. Mabel’s house had been structurally damaged during a bombing raid, but thankfully she hadn’t been hurt. Mabel had then had a stroke of luck when, through the grapevine, she’d found a private landlord who offered her a flat in Clapham. It seemed that Mabel loved it there, and, not only that, it was an area that so far had been barely touched by bombs.

It made Hilda realise how lucky they were to have left Battersea, though she still wasn’t keen on working outdoors. Thankfully Gertie always mucked out the pigs, though that still left the back-breaking work of digging for spring planting. If she had news of Doug it would be something, but though she’d sent him a letter with her new address, so far there had been no reply. God, she missed him so much, prayed he was safe, and for a moment tears stung her eyes. Britain had lost so many vessels, so many seamen, and Hilda lived in constant fear of hearing that his ship had been sunk. Inadvertently her hand rose to clutch the crucifix.

‘Hilda, I know you only wear that thing because it belonged to your mother, but when you’re miles away you always seem to hold it,’ commented Gertie. ‘I thought that, like me, you’d had enough religion rammed down your throat.’

‘I have, especially after the way your father turned on you. What happened to all that stuff he used to spout about not judging others lest you be judged?’

‘Try telling him that.’

Hilda shuddered, remembering her childhood fear and awe of Gertie’s father. The man had been almost maniacal in his preaching, and it had been enough to turn her off going to church for life.

‘Gertie, can we go to the village today?’

‘There’s no need to go every week and I’d rather get the rest of the potatoes in, along with cabbage and carrots. There’s the salad crop too and tomatoes to bring on in the greenhouse.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Gertie, give it a break. I’m worried about Doug and there might be a letter.’

‘This is a busy time of year and if I don’t plant, I don’t eat. I know I’ve preserved fruit from last year, made jam and pickles, but I need to sell produce to buy flour, meat, and anything else I can’t grow.’

‘It still seems strange to think of you making jam.’

‘I hate it, hate any kind of cooking, but needs must.’

‘Before we came I had no idea how much land you had. How on earth have you managed on your own?’

‘I had a lad of fourteen working for me, but once conscription started labour became short. He found a job earning more than I could possibly pay him, and since then it’s been impossible to find hired help. I had to cut down on planting, but now you’ve arrived we’ve managed to start a lot more off.’

‘Yeah, and I’ve done my best to muck in, but I’m really worried about Doug. I haven’t heard from him yet, and if you take me to the village I promise I’ll really get stuck in again when we get back.’

‘If you’d only learn to handle Ned you could go on your own.’

‘He hates me.’

‘Hilda, he’s a horse and just needs firm hands on the reins.’

‘I was firm, but the sod wouldn’t move.’

Gertie shook her head with obvious disgust, but Hilda tried a winning smile. It was all right for Gertie. She was happy living like a virtual recluse, but for Hilda it was becoming more and more difficult. She missed her friends, the bustle of London, and if only the Luftwaffe would stop dropping bombs she’d go back like a shot.

‘Please, Gertie.’

‘Oh, all right. I need to see the butcher so might as well do that, but I’m not hanging about while you waste time gossiping with the locals again.’

Hilda smiled with delight as she went to the bottom of the stairs to call Ellen. They shared a bedroom under the eaves, snuggled up in a huge, lumpy, iron-framed bed.

‘Ellen, Ellen, come on, get up.’

‘Another one,’ Ellen said when she finally appeared, her hands cupped around a catch.

Hilda shuddered as she backed away. That was another thing she hated, the huge spiders that regularly appeared in their bedroom and the rest of the cottage.

‘Is it one of them whoppers?’

‘Yes, a tree spider,’ Ellen said as she walked over to the back door.

‘Hurry up! Get it out of here before you drop it.’

‘Honestly, Hilda,’ said Gertie, ‘anyone would think you’ve never seen a spider before. You should be used to them by now and there are plenty of spiders in London.’

‘Yes, but not those bloody great hairy things.’

‘They won’t hurt you,’ Gertie said as she opened the back door for Ellen and the spider was dispatched.

Hilda’s cheeks puffed with relief, the insect soon forgotten as she began to boil eggs for their breakfast. She was anxious to go and as soon as they’d eaten she chivvied Ellen to get ready, while Gertie went to get the horse from the small field.

Just getting the horse and cart harnessed took ages and it drove Hilda mad but, knowing better than to complain, she just smiled gratefully at Gertie when at last they set off. It was a nice morning with hardly a cloud in the sky and just a slight nip in the air. ‘Oh, Gertie, I hope there’s a letter.’

‘Stop worrying. If anything had happened to Doug you’d have heard.’

‘I haven’t got a clue where he is, what ocean, where he’s headed. I think he tried to tell me in his last letter, but it was so heavily censored with line after line blacked out that it was unreadable.’

‘How did he end up in the navy?’

‘As soon as the war started he couldn’t wait to get to a recruitment office. He said he didn’t fancy the army with all the foot slogging, so volunteered for the navy.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He’s a stoker and I’ve been allotted most of his pay, but I don’t know why the silly bugger was so quick to enlist.’

‘Mum, you sweared,’ Ellen protested.

‘Swore,’ Gertie corrected.

Hilda smiled ruefully as she ruffled her daughter’s hair. ‘Yeah, well, this war is enough to make a saint swear – not that I want to hear you using bad language.’

Ellen leaned against her. Hilda’s mind was full of her husband. When they met she had fallen for his tall, dark good looks and twinkling blue eyes. Doug had been a milkman before the war, up at the crack of dawn, out in all weathers, but nothing had seemed to get him down and he always had a ready smile. Ellen took after him, and every time Hilda looked at her daughter she could see her husband. She longed to see him, and though Hilda knew that she and Doug looked odd together – him six foot tall and her under five – she didn’t care. She loved Doug, missed him so much and cursed this bloody war. His letters had been fairly regular until now, but then this gap had come and she was worried sick.

At last the village came into view and, pulling on the reins, Gertie said, ‘Whoa, Ned,’ as she brought the horse to a stop outside the general store-cum-post office.

Gertie had hardly tethered Ned before Hilda was hurrying inside, thankful to find she was the only customer.

‘Is there any mail for me?’ she asked eagerly.

‘No, I’m sorry, there’s nothing,’ Mrs Brandon, the elderly postmistress said.

Hilda sagged with disappointment, but as Ellen rushed into the shop she managed to hide her feelings.

‘Is there a letter, Mum?’

‘No, pet, but don’t worry. Your dad’s sure to write soon.’

‘Can I have some sweets?’

‘I suppose so and I might as well get a few things in.’

There was still no evidence of food shortages as Hilda pulled out their ration books, glad that at least she had always taken these, along with their birth certificates and marriage lines to the shelter. She asked for butter, sugar, flour, yeast, along with a newspaper, while Ellen chose a gobstopper and some barley sugar.

Mrs Brandon was totting up the bill when Gertie stepped inside. ‘Come on, Hilda, get a move on,’ she chided.

‘Morning, Miss Forbes,’ the postmistress said pointedly.

‘Good morning, Mrs Brandon,’ Gertie replied, her tone clipped.

‘I was only saying to Mrs Cook earlier that it must be nice for you having a friend to stay.’

Gertie didn’t answer the woman, only saying to Hilda as she marched out of the shop again, ‘I’ll wait for you outside.’

Mrs Brandon’s neck stretched with indignation as she puffed, ‘Well, I never.’

‘Sorry,’ Hilda said as she hurriedly paid for her goods before leaving the shop.

‘Look, I’ve got a gobstopper,’ Ellen said as she ran to Gertie’s side.

‘That’ll keep you quiet for all of five minutes.’