Iris Gower - Bombers’ Moon

‘Don’t think of the baby as a burden, it’s your child remember, yours, you’ll love it when it comes.’

‘I hope to God and all the saints you’re right, Hari, because I don’t love it now, that’s for sure.’

Hilda stirred herself from her half daze. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ She rested her hand for a moment on Kate’s shoulder. ‘You can’t help what the Good Lord chose for us, girl, this baby was meant to be, you can’t change it and I for one will love it whatever it is.’

Hari marvelled at Hilda’s forbearance: a child was coming into her world, into her home and she was accepting it with good grace. She seemed to read Hari’s thoughts.

‘Stephen is a good lad. He worked and kept us all while Eddie was missing; he generously kept my Eddie’s son, gave him his name, fed and watered the babe; we owe him a debt for that and don’t you forget it, any of you.’

‘She’s right,’ Kate said, ‘I’m a horrible pig, I must pull myself together and stop feeling sorry for myself.’

Hari hugged her and kissed her soft cheek. ‘Night, dear Kate, I’d best get home, if I still have a home after the air raid this afternoon.’

Kate held on to her hand. ‘Any news?’

Hari knew what she meant.

‘They’re both safe,’ she said gently. ‘That’s all I know.’ How could she tell Kate how her sister was betraying her country?

She walked home in the darkness, instinct leading her through the familiar streets towards her house. Good thing she hadn’t let it yet or she would be homeless. She felt her way inside, into the passage and shone her torch into the darkness. She closed the door on the world and followed the beam of light towards the stairs. She paused; should she make some tea, should she light the fire and stay up and read a book or listen to the gramophone?

She shone the beam of light up the stairs and crawled fully dressed into bed too tired to light the fires. Her stomach heaved as she thought of Michael lying with Meryl, making sweet love to her.

Her heart turned over. How could she still love him now after all he’d done to her? And yet she did, she loved him with all her heart and soul. And now, now he was married, to her sister, and he was nothing more than a traitor to her beloved country. Hari didn’t know what upset her most, Michael’s betrayal of their country or the betrayal of her love.

I didn’t think I could love Michael any more than I already did but once we were lovers I realized what closeness really was. He possessed me and I possessed him. He became part of me, one flesh, and at last I knew what that meant. And if I felt a pang of guilt and pity for my sister it soon passed, it was a different life now, a different world.

When he was leaving the farmhouse to return to his squadron he held me close. I breathed him in, the smell of him, the faint scent of the grass and the flowers and the fresh air. And beneath it all the musk, the scent of love and of passion—even as he pressed me close I could feel his arousal.

‘Goodbye, Liebling.’ It was our habit now to speak only German; it would be too easy to be caught out. He held me a moment longer and then he left. I could hear the rumble of his motorbike engine and I stood quite still until it was silent again.

I would not let myself cry; this was a dangerous world, an enemy world, in spite of the friends I’d made. I had a duty to my own country, to Britain. I had a duty to myself as well. I couldn’t let myself be seduced by the countryside, the fondness I was beginning to feel for my ‘father-in-law’ Herr Euler, who had done all he could to help me. To my colleagues at work, all of whom were human beings and had their own problems. Even Frau Hoffman, for all her hardness, was just being patriotic.

I could not understand her attitude though, to Herr Hitler; she seemed to worship him as though he was a messiah saving the world; to me he was doing his best to destroy it.

I poured a glass of wine from the bottle Michael had brought me and smoothed the glass gently, lovingly, as though it was his skin. I sat for a good hour watching as the sunlight moved in different shades and patterns, the light lower in the sky as evening drew closer. I had never been so happy and then the euphoria faded as I knew that soon I would go out to the field where I killed the chicken and try another one. I shuddered at the thought but it was something I would have to get used to if I wanted to stay strong, able to serve my country.

I lingered until it was almost dark and then I made my way to the spot where I had killed the bird and where I had met the woman who tried to kill me and my loved ones. I caught a chicken with ease this time and killed it almost cold-bloodedly, it was nothing after what had happened with Rhiannon.

Later, I found the spot in the shrubbery where I had hidden the case. I brushed away the leaves and earth and hurried back to the farmhouse. The case was locked. I broke it open with a knife and there inside was my prize: a fully functioning radio. I hadn’t dared show it to Michael as I knew he would have been afraid for me.

I examined the set minutely and I realized then I’d have had little chance of building one like this. It had metal valves and when I switched it on it sprang to life. I heard a German voice gabbling, talking quickly, excitedly. I pressed the earphones close and turned pale with excitement and fear. Something big was going to happen—and soon.

I listened for a while, took down the coded message and tried to work it out. The shadows were filling the room, I had only the light from the fire but as the words danced in my eyes and became legible I sighed with relief; I’d made out the code. Mussolini had been arrested—not of great import to the war but at least decoding the message was practice for me.

I went back to work the next day and was greeted by my friends with such warmth and companionship it was hard to remember that these people were the enemy. But no, the enemy were soldiers with bayonets and bombs. I thought of Michael in a plane, perhaps over Wales, and tears burned my eyes.

That night I went to the pictures and in the middle of the programme was a short film about how well Germany was doing in the war against Britain. A powerful German voice emphasized how many planes were in the sky. I saw tanks with soldiers smiling and waving and it seemed an Oder bridgehead had been breached but I didn’t know what that meant.

I went home on my bike and the long ride wearied me. I was missing Michael so much it was like toothache. I climbed into bed too tired even to touch the radio and fell instantly to sleep.

When I arrived in the radio room the next day I was greeted with silence. For a moment I thought I’d been caught out. I was so frightened I nearly forgot to speak German, nearly but not quite. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘We had to disarm the Italians,’ Frau Hoffman said, ‘we’ve seized military control of Italy and our forces have rescued Mussolini. We will punish the enemy, we will beat them into the ground, their humiliation will be final and death will follow for those who dare to oppose the righteous regime of Herr Hitler.’

I held my breath—this information could be of use to my countrymen. I would have to send a message home that night.

It was easier said than done. I decided I would call Bridgend, the only radio operation I was familiar with. Perhaps my sister would take the message. Would she know it was from me? Perhaps better not.

I eventually remembered the sort of code she and the colonel used and tapped out a message hesitantly over to what I imagined must be a Bletchley Park receiver, expecting loud boots at the door and a pistol to my head at any minute. There was some response, which I didn’t understand, and I sent the message again more confident with the Morse this time and then closed down the machine and packed it away.

Hari sat beside the hospital bed staring out of the window afraid to look at Colonel Edwards’ grey face. He was sick, gravely sick. He had no relatives and he had wanted her beside him when his moment came.

Outside, the hospital blocks staggered downwards to a dip in the hillside. Old House Lodge had once been a hospital only for those unfortunate people afflicted with infectious diseases, but now it was wartime it had been turned into a hospital for the sick and wounded from the services.

The colonel opened his eyes. ‘Hari,’ he said softly, ‘don’t grieve, I’ve had my day and I want to say I love you, my dear. I would like to add, as a daughter, but it wouldn’t be true. I love you as a man loves a woman; that’s why I sent you away you know, to Bletchley.’

Hari rubbed his hand. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know, David.’ It was the first time she’d spoken his Christian name and he smiled beautifully.

‘You’re a good lady, Angharad Jones, and I want you to have all the happiness in the world.’ He touched her cheek. ‘You’re just a young slip of a girl, you’ll meet the man who loves you and you will love him and I know you are going to be very happy one day.’

‘I have already met the man I love,’ Hari said painfully. ‘And he’s just not meant for me.’

‘My dear Hari.’ There were tears in the colonel’s eyes and, too late, Hari realized he’d misunderstood. He kissed her hand. ‘You’ve made me the happiest man in the world dear, dear little Hari.’ He closed his eyes and with her hand against his lips, he died, softly.

Hari began to cry, tears for him, but also tears that she knew were self-pity. The nurse touched her on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry about your father, dear, or is he your granddad? He had a good life and you saw him happily on his way. God bless ye and look after ye, not many are there for their loved ones at the end.’