Iris Gower - Bombers’ Moon

Meryl’s face brightened for an instant. ‘It might he dangerous but I suppose you both know what you re doing.’ She abruptly changed the subject. ‘It will be fabulous to see Daddy again but I’ll be going back to the farm on Monday, remember.’

‘I know—’ Hari held up her hand—‘I’ve got a few days off, don’t you worry, you can return to your precious farm, no one is going to stop you.’ She heard the tone of sarcasm in her voice and took a deep breath.

‘Don’t worry,’ Meryl shot back, ‘your Michael is all yours, there’s nothing I can do to take him away from you.’ She paused. ‘I just feel at home in Carmarthen now, I like being with Jessie and, I admit it, I like being around Michael although he will never be mine.’

Silently, the girls walked out of the office along the board path that led to the sheds, past the ruined shell store that stood—a blackened ruin—alongside the other sheds, and finally out on to the road where the buses waited. Soon they would get the train home, they would make preparations for father’s weekend visit and perhaps, just perhaps, Hari’s burden of guilt would be lifted for a while.

When they arrived home their father was already there and Hari saw at once that Meryl had become her father’s favourite daughter. The way his face lit up when he saw her, the warm hug, the way he smoothed her hair and the shine in his eyes told a graphic story. She understood it: Meryl was the image of their mother; Hari’s colouring, her pale complexion, her red-gold hair, had all come from Father’s side.

Meryl had bright, impish looks and her hair, almost brown, her cheeks warmed by the country air, her smile of delight, gave her a vivaciousness Hari knew she would never have.

They were about to have tea, consisting of bread, salt butter, strawberry jam and cake all laid out on a pristine cloth. Hari had planned this for days, pulling strings, receiving favours, just to give her father a good homecoming. And of course, warm within her was the knowledge that Michael would be here any minute now.

The knock on the door brought a smile to her face and Meryl turned her head sharply, her eyes wide and accusing. ‘Michael, I presume?’

Hari forced herself to open the door slowly. There on the step were two tall military policemen. Then without her permission they were inside and had closed the door.

‘Michael Euler?’

‘Who?’ Hari said, bewildered. Suddenly, Meryl was at her side. ‘There’s no one here of that name, sir,’ she said. ‘Come in, we’re just about to have tea, you can see for yourself there’s only family here.’

The men followed into the warm kitchen and stood near the door as if on guard. ‘We understand the German is on his way here,’ the older policeman said in a harsh voice. ‘It’s a criminal offence to harbour the enemy.’

The room was silent, then a coal shifted in the grate and the kettle on the stove began to boil. Absently, Hari made the tea. She looked desperately at her father; his eyes were narrowed, his brow furrowed. He had no idea what was going on.

Meryl smiled at the police. ‘Why don’t you come back later?’ she asked innocently. Hari watched her. Her sister was cunning, bright, but even she couldn’t find a way out of this trap.

The men ignored her. Meryl sank into a chair, defeated. Hari took in a ragged breath. ‘What information do you have that there is a German coming here to my house?’

The two men remained tight-lipped. Hari saw Meryl’s eyes snap with temper; she opened her mouth and then closed it again. If she said the name of Michael’s betrayer she would confirm what the military already knew. Thank God she kept her mouth shut.

And then Hari heard them, footsteps coming towards the door, her darling Michael was walking into a trap and she could do nothing to save him.

I could not let it happen. ‘I have to go to the lavatory,’ I said briskly, and before the men could move I was out the back making my way around the side of the house. I couldn’t let Michael be hunted like a wild animal. I stood against the door like a fly stuck to paper as the two men came round the side of the house. I saw Michael in the distance and began to shout and hit at the two men and act as if I was generally gone mad. Michael caught on and disappeared into a side street.

‘You wicked child, what have you done?’ One of the men pushed me roughly aside and ran after Michael. Slowly I went back inside.

‘I warned you not to make Michael come to Swansea!’ I was aware of the accusation in my voice and my sister just stood there, white-faced, silent, in stunned disbelief. And then Hari crumpled, she sank into a chair and began to cry.

I picked up my coat.

‘Where are you going?’ Hari pulled herself together and I took a deep breath.

‘I’m going back to the farm, see if I can do anything to help.’

‘I’ll drive you,’ Hari said desperately.

‘No, we might be followed. I’ll get there on my own. I’ll take the bike.’

‘It will take you all night to get there.’

‘So?’

I had no patience with Hari at that moment. I tied a scarf around my head and kissed my bewildered father. In the street, there was no car, no lurking men. I took the bicycle from the side path. The tyres were good—no punctures—it would get me to the farm if I had to push it by sheer force of will. I swung on to the road and began to pedal my way out of town and on to the road leading to Carmarthen.

The dawn was streaking the sky with light, trees were turning from lavender and grey into green by the time I reached the farm. I’d done a lot of thinking on the way down and had worked out some sort of plan in my head, a plan to get Michael out of the country, perhaps to France or neutral Ireland. Aunt Jessie was in bed but wide awake, worrying.

‘There’s a message from him.’ She handed the crumpled pencilled note to me and my heart was beating fast as I read it. He wanted me to meet him at the barn, the barn we’d slept in like lovers. I felt warm. He knew I would come to his aid, he trusted me, relied on me, not Hari.

‘He wants food and money, all the money we can get together,’ I said. Jessie nodded. ‘You have one of those perm things here?’

Jessie frowned, ‘yes, but…’

‘Cut my hair and perm it, Jessie. I’ll wear lipstick, no one will recognize me.’

‘Who’s to recognize you anyway? I don’t understand.’

‘Those men who came to the house, they saw me as a kid with plaits, they might be outside, watching. Come on, Jessie, the sooner we start the sooner I’ll be ready.’

Some time later, I made my way from the farmhouse and mounted the bike. My backside was raw from the cut of the saddle but nothing would stop me getting to Michael. I could feel that my funny short curls were still damp, my hair had lightened by some chemical reaction to the perm and, with a coating of lipstick and the stolen clothes of a land girl, I knew I looked entirely different to the girl who had left Swansea hours ago.

Over my shoulder was a bag, in it a canteen of tea and some bread and ham; wrapped around my waist, snug and secure was a purse of money, all I and Jessie could find in the house.

There was a soldier guarding the gateway to the road and he waved me down. I stopped cycling and put my booted foot on the dew-wet ground. ‘Lo there, soldier.’ I did my best to imitate the London accent of one of the land girls and smiled up at the uniformed man. He blinked.

‘Any identification, miss?’

I rooted around in my pockets and shook my head. ‘But then I don’t need anything to identify me to the stupid cows. They don’t bleedin’ care who I am so long as I ease their poor udders. I got a dog tag round my neck if that’s any good?’

After a moment the soldier shook his head. ‘I’d be eager to fish for them but I’m a happily married man. Go on then, milk them beasts, rather you than me, lady.’

As I rode away, I was jubilant. The soldier would have been given a description of me, perhaps even a photograph to look at, and he hadn’t recognized me. My disguise had worked. That was one hurdle over.

Michael was nowhere in sight. I took a deep breath and stood waiting in the silent dawn light of the barn knowing he would come. A few minutes later, a plank of wood moved at the back of the building. He was there and I ran to him and threw myself into his arms.

‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down,’ he said thickly. I sat with him on the straw-covered floor and Michael stared at me. ‘God, you look different!’

‘That’s the whole point.’ I gave him the food and the tea and watched him eat hungrily.

He winked at me. ‘The look has improved you no end.’

I hit him across the arm. ‘Don’t be facetious—you could have been captured, shot even. You were reported, obviously.’

‘Mrs Dixon?’ he said.

‘Or Georgie Porgy,’ I said dryly.

‘Look outside.’ He brushed crumbs from his mouth and I longed to kiss that very same sensitive mouth. I went to the barn door and strode outside, I was a land girl wasn’t I? I looked well on the land.

‘All clear,’ I said, not even a cow or a sheep in sight.’

‘I’d better go then.’ He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on my head.

I stayed for a moment in his embrace then shifted myself. I shrugged out of the overalls and an old skirt of Jessie’s came tumbling out. I straightened it and stuffed the haversack up inside the skirt and tied it around my waist. Then I hid the remains of the meal and lastly I took the ring Jessie had given me and pushed it on my finger.

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ Michael said.