Iris Gower - Bombers’ Moon

‘Don’t look so gormless. Jessie and I made a plan. I’m your pregnant wife—at least as far as the coast—that way you won’t stand out like a sore thumb.’

‘But…’ Michael waved his arms.

‘But nothing,’ I said fiercely, ‘I’m coming with you and that’s all there is to it.’ He stared at me dumbly and then shrugged in resignation and we left the barn together.

Hari was still in tears the next morning. She was all sorts of a fool for asking Michael to tea, showing off really to Meryl by bringing him to Swansea yet again. Her father held her while she cried and then begged her to tell him what was wrong. ‘Is it Meryl?’ His voice was anxious. ‘She vanished so suddenly after those men came to the house.’

Hari shook her head. ‘No, well… yes.’

‘Where is she now?’ His voice was fearful and Hari knew he was anxious about his youngest daughter; she was afraid for Meryl too.

‘She’s gone, she’s probably in Carmarthen now or captured by the military police.’ Hari felt the tears well up again. ‘It’s my fault, I wanted Michael to come to Swansea. Meryl warned me of the danger but selfishly, I just wanted to see him.’

‘Don’t blame yourself, Angharad—’ her father put his arm around her shoulder—‘you and the boy are in love, it’s only natural you wanted to be together.’

Hari hadn’t credited her father with so much understanding and, impulsively, she hugged him. ‘But about Meryl,’ she began. He shook his head.

‘We mustn’t worry about her,’ he said, ‘our Meryl has a core of steel, she can look after herself.’ And yet his voice shook even as he spoke.

Hari was working nights and before she left the house she made her father corned-beef hash and opened a tin of peas to go with it. She had some dripping in the pan from last week’s pathetically small roast and she used it to mix with flour and potato water to make the gravy. She ate very little and hoped her father wouldn’t notice. Of course, he did.

‘Starving yourself will do no one any good.’ His voice was stern. ‘Come on, girl, eat up. Have some bread to dip in the gravy, it really is very tasty.’

Hari longed to be alone so that she could worry in peace about Michael. Where was he? Had he been caught? She longed to drive down to the farm but knew it would be foolish to take the risk as she might be followed.

It was with relief that she kissed her father’s cheek and climbed into her car and drove away. Although she loved her father dearly, she was becoming tired of sharing her life with him. She was used to being alone, dealing with her problems on her own.

All night, Hari took messages, insignificant messages, and then, when she was almost asleep, the news came through that Italy had surrendered and for a moment hope filled her heart—was the war almost over? Listening hard, Hari heard that Germany had taken over where the Italians had left off and once again her heart was plunged into fear and despair. Would the war, the danger, never end?

Eddie’s son grew more like him every day. Kate listened to Hilda’s description of the baby’s dear face. Both of them doted on the child and Hilda told Kate how well he was learning to walk. Kate heard him talk in an endearing, stuttering way, his soft hands clinging to Kate’s skirts.

Hilda, although getting older and more careworn by the day, loved to hold the boy in her arms, gather him against her thin breast, kissing his downy head with tears in her eyes.

On the weekend, Stephen came home from his business trip and, to Kate’s relief, Hilda treated him like the man of the house he was. She generously made a large supper for Stephen and when he came into the little kitchen, dropping his bag on the floor, he took a deep appreciative smell of the roasting lamb.

‘Something good is cooking.’ He shrugged out of his jacket, hung it carefully on the back of the chair and sat down with a weary sigh. ‘Cup of tea, darling?’ he said to Kate.

‘Sure you picked a good time to come home, it’s all quiet here for once.’

‘His lordship is asleep I take it?’

For a moment Kate was irritated, she wanted to say her son’s name was Edward but she thought of Stephen’s goodness to her, remembered how Hari had described his scars, and softened.

‘Kettle’s just boiled,’ Hilda said and Kate felt for a chair and sat down close to her husband. ‘How’s work treating you?’

‘I went up to Island Farm today, I had to take them some new typewriter equipment.’

‘Oh?’ Kate felt his hand touch hers. ‘How did the prisoners treat you?’

‘Well, seriously, some of them are nice blokes,’ Stephen said. ‘Some are hard bastards, begging your pardon, Hilda.’

Without turning she poured the water into the teapot. ‘Don’t mind me! I think Germans are all bastards, they killed my Eddie didn’t they?’

‘Hilda,’ Kate said softly, ‘it’s wartime, we are killing Germans too. Sure as Mary was a Virgin the Germans can’t all be bad.’

‘Humph!’ Hilda was not convinced. ‘Rather him than me—’ she nodded in Stephen’s direction—‘rather him than me work with them sods.’

Stephen drank his tea and said nothing more. Kate felt a pang. Eddie, she still loved him, down deep inside of her. She was happy she had a bit of him in the little one and yet respect and even love was growing for Stephen, who was a good husband and a good stepfather to her son.

He worked hard and brought enough money home to keep them all in reasonable comfort. If it wasn’t for Stephen they would be poor as church mice.

‘Hungry, Stephen?’ she asked.

‘I’ll be dishing up for the lad in a minute, don’t worry.’ Hilda had softened, she seemed to have picked up on Kate’s thoughts. ‘After all, Stephen is master of the household now. We are beholden to you, Stephen, and grateful.’

Kate examined Hilda’s words for sign of sarcasm but found none. Hilda was truly grateful to him. Stephen was embarrassed.

‘No need to be grateful, it’s me should be grateful, I’ve got a home and a family now and me with my ugly mug all scarred and burned—I’m one lucky blighter.’

Kate felt tears well in her sightless eyes and her fingers curled in his.

‘To me you will always be the handsome boy I first knew back in those days in the Glyn Hall,’ she said softly.

She heard Hilda move sharply from her chair and leave the room. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to her husband, ‘she’s still grieving over Eddie and,’ she sighed, ‘so am I sure enough but you are very dear to me Stephen, never forget that.’

‘And you are the most beautiful girl in the world, my Kate. I never knew I could love anyone as much as I love you.’

In the next few days Kate’s suspicion became a certainty: she was expecting Stephen’s child. She was excited, thrilled and fearful. There were doubts in her mind, worries more like. Would her scars hold, would Stephen be pleased even though it meant another mouth to be fed—and what would Hilda think?

She waited till nightfall and then went to see Hari. Darkness was no threat to Kate, for her it was always dark. In any case, she knew the streets of Swansea well enough. To her delight, Hari was home from work.

‘Kate! My lovely girl, what are you doing out alone when there could be an air raid any time? Come in, come in. There, sit by the fire while I pour you a drink of sherry.’

Kate felt for the chair and sat down. It wasn’t cold outside and yet the heat from the fire was comforting. When the drink was poured, Hari guided her hand to the glass. ‘I’m so glad you came,’ Hari said, ‘I’m so worried.’

Kate’s spirits lightened, she wasn’t the only one with problems, her dear friend Hari had some too by the sound of it.

‘What’s wrong, Hari, is it Meryl again?’

‘Partly.’ Kate listened while Hari told her of the night the military police had come looking for Michael. ‘Since then they’ve both disappeared into thin air.’ Hari’s voice was breaking. ‘I’ve been to the farm and no one’s there. Jessie’s gone away and the farmer next door is looking after the stock.’

‘Michael will get in touch with you, Hari, to be sure he will.’

‘How can he when they’re looking for him to arrest him for being half German. They think he’s a spy or something.’

‘Look,’ Kate said firmly, ‘if he’s got Meryl with him he’ll be just fine, you know what’s she’s like.’

‘I do.’ Hari’s voice had lightened. ‘She’s a bossy little boots but she’s strong and efficient, she’ll work it out, you’re right enough, Kate. I’m so glad you came and talked sense to me.’

As Kate put down her glass, feeling carefully for the edge of the table, the siren shattered the silence of the little kitchen. ‘Well, you’ll have to be bossy and efficient now,’ Kate said dryly, ‘come on, take me to the nearest shelter.’

Later, when the all-clear sounded, Hari walked Kate to her door and hugged her. ‘I’m not coming in,’ she said apologetically, ‘I’ve got to be up early in the morning. Take care and love to Stephen. You’re lucky to have him you know.’

‘I do know.’ Kate’s words were heartfelt.

She waited until she and Stephen were in bed and then she put her arm around his broad chest and felt his hair tickle her skin. ‘I’ve got something to tell you so I have,’ she whispered.

‘I know,’ he whispered back.

‘How can you know?’

‘I’ve got eyes. Sorry! That was crass of me. Your eyes are so beautiful I sometimes forget you can’t see.’

‘I can’t be showing yet,’ Kate protested. She felt her belly. It wasn’t as loose and fat around the scars as it used to be but it was still not flat and hard as the body of a young woman should be.