Sisters at War Read online

  He reached the farm and saw two Luftwaffe officers waiting outside. They flagged him down and showed him the requisition form for the Morris. Before they drove it away, the officer asked if it had been checked for rats, the ones that squealed. He laughed as he left. Uncle Thomas was pale with rage and helplessness until Aunt Olive came to stand beside him and said, ‘But you’ve still got the weaner so perhaps it’s an honourable exchange. You haven’t the petrol to run the blasted thing anyway.’

  It didn’t help, not really.

  Hannah moved into Sylvia and Cheryl’s rented house that very day, after she’d helped Uncle Thomas and Aunt Olive hide the valuables from the holiday cottage in the attic of the farmhouse. Clive, the conscientious objector, who had been stranded on Jersey and still shared his labours between the Andrews and the Charltons, harnessed the pony and trap and collected her mother, as well as the bits and pieces.

  Clive was about to set off when he called, ‘And you, Hannah. Do you need help? I can take your mother, and come back.’

  She shook her head. ‘I have my bike, Clive. Bet you wish you were back home.’

  He shook his head. ‘There are people I would miss.’ He looked long and hard at her, and for the first time she realised he was a young man. Had he a woman, is that why he had stayed when he could have gone? And what was it like to say to your friends, no thank you, I would rather be disgraced than fight? She couldn’t really be bothered with such questions, and turned away. Clive clicked the reins, her mother called, ‘Goodbye, darling, and good luck with the job.’

  Hannah waved them off, then cycled with her clothes in her backpack to the girls’ cottage on Farmer Morton’s land. She was due to start work at the nursing home on the early shift tomorrow, helping in the kitchens. To begin with she’d be washing up and preparing the vegetables for lunch. It made her think of April, who sliced carrots at a speed of knots, and for a moment she ached for Combe Lodge but, as she cycled alongside the stream and over the bridge, she thought of bombs falling on London and Coventry and all the other cities.

  She pulled in to let a German army lorry pass. The soldiers in the back waved. She waved in return, scared not to. At least the Germans weren’t likely to bomb their own. So what was a bit of rationing, a bit of fear? That wouldn’t kill her. She thought of Thomas’s wireless. It was just as well she was moving out.

  When she arrived at the house, Sylvia was at work as a nursing assistant at the same nursing home, and it was Cheryl who answered the front door. ‘Come in quick, before my nettle tea gets cold. Someone told me it was good for my skin,’ she said to Hannah. ‘I dry it too, because I reckon I might make a smoke out of it. Why not? Tobacco’s just dried leaves, after all.’

  Hannah liked coming to the girls’ house, because there was no sound of her mother coughing in the room they shared, and there were girls to talk to about Peter, who she was struggling to remember. It made her feel lost.

  Cheryl stood to one side, drawing Hannah into the dark hall and hugging her. ‘It’ll be fun,’ she said. She wore old slippers, socks over her stockings, two cardigans and smelt of sweat, but perhaps they all did because there was so little soap around. ‘Put your bag down, then come into the kitchen, at least it’s warm. I’m making paper chains ready for Christmas. You can help as you’re an artist. Have you brought your paints?’

  They walked to the kitchen. Hannah shook her head. ‘They’re at the farmhouse. I’ll cycle back for them before it gets dark.’

  ‘You’ve got your ration book, though?’

  She nodded. Cheryl said, ‘Off you go then and pick up the paints. We’ll have tea when you come back. Make sure you bring your week’s rations back with you and whatever else you can get hold of. I think we should have a party. Not tonight but tomorrow, after your first day at work. Go on, then.’ Cheryl scooped a key off the table, and threw it to her. ‘Hurry up. Bobby has brought us a rabbit, and it’s in the pot, with carrots. I’ll look like carrots, or a rabbit soon. Keep an eye on me ears, and let me know if they grow furry. He’ll bring a bit of booze and cigarettes to the party too, you know what he’s like. Fingers in pies, that lad.’

  She waved Hannah off into the hall and shut the door. For a moment Hannah stared at it, then turned and headed for the front door, the key cold in her hand. Her mother would have made her a cup of tea first. As she went out, Sylvia came in, bundled in an old coat and two scarves. ‘Off so soon, Hannah?’

  Hannah explained. Sylvia raised her eyebrows. ‘What’s she like, for heaven’s sake. I’ll come with you to help. Wait a minute.’

  She dragged Hannah on to the front path, before darting round the side of the house and re-emerging with her bike. ‘It’s best we hide them round the back, or they might get nicked.’

  They rode two abreast along the road, but were flagged down by a two-man German patrol. Sylvia breathed, ‘Damn.’

  An elderly corporal stood there, his eyes cold. ‘Verboten,’ he snapped, pointing to the two bikes.

  Sylvia said, ‘What?’

  ‘Two abreast.’

  Hannah said, ‘What?’

  The corporal glared, ‘Fifty marks, now.’

  The girls looked at one another. Hannah said, ‘No money.’

  He pointed to the bike. ‘Bike.’

  Sylvia said to Hannah. ‘He wants the bike instead.’

  Hannah said, ‘But that’s not fair.’

  The private standing alongside the corporal said, ‘You go to court, and big fine then. Too many cars. Road little.’

  Hannah looked back. ‘I don’t think there are too many. There are none coming along and I don’t think there’s a rule about two abreast.’

  Sylvia hissed. ‘Shut up.’

  The corporal looked at Hannah. ‘Bike.’ It was hers he pointed at now.

  They took both bikes in the end, and cycled off. The girls walked back. In the kitchen Cheryl looked up. Sylvia explained. ‘Well, have a cuppa instead, but it’ll be Shanks’s pony for you two from now on. But borrow mine when I’m not using it, which I will be tomorrow, so you’ll both have to walk to the nursing home, or maybe the bus is running. Hey, your uncle must have another bike, surely, Hannah? Farmers have everything. Try him after work, why not?’

  She was smoking a proper cigarette, and now handed the pack to the others, grinning. ‘Take your coats off and have a smoke. Bobby’s just popped in with some. We’re having a party tomorrow, Sylv. We’ve decided. Bobby’s friends are coming. Got to welcome our Hannah, haven’t we?’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Next morning Hannah and Sylvia caught the bus, which ran infrequently, to the Elms Nursing Home. Sylvia had recommended her for the job, and as she stepped in through the back door she entered a world of clatter, and heat. The kitchens were full of steam from the washing in the laundry, and the cook was bustling, with a smile for her, and instructions on the washing up. ‘Soda, I’m afraid, and hot as you can. We have to make sure everything is sparkling clean. There are pregnant and new mothers in the main house, and convalescents in the west wing. Hurry now, Hannah. You come highly recommended by Sylvia, and what a hard worker she is. I just hope you’re of the same ilk.’

  Hannah sighed. How like Aunt Olive this woman was: a nag. After half an hour her hands felt like raw meat. She said as much, and Mrs Amos dug her out some rubber gloves. ‘Take care of them now, and put goose fat on your hands when you get home. I expected you to bring your own.’

  After washing up the dishes there were the vegetables to chop. The carrots stained her hands orange. The leeks and onions made them smell, just adding to the awfulness. Somehow she kept up, and then it was lunch, and the plates were returned by Sylvia and two others, but with no leftovers. Hannah’s stomach was rumbling as she piled them up for washing. When she was finished, Mrs Amos called her to the table. ‘Come along, our turn.’ It was breast of lamb stew and fatty, but Hannah was so hungry it didn’t matter, and she refused to think of the dishes waiting for her.

  Having eaten, she wor
ked on until at last the shift was finished. Mrs Amos waved her off. ‘Yes, you’ll do. You need to speed up though, but otherwise the plates were clean, the vegetables cut. We’ll make a deckhand of you one day.’ She laughed. Hannah too, but even to her own ears it sounded false.

  She rammed her hands into her coat pockets, to protect them from the cold. All she could think about was her sore feet, and sorer hands, as she and Sylvia travelled by bus to Haven Farm where they picked up potatoes, vegetables, and a cake her aunt had cooked. It was apple and honey, and Aunt Olive wrapped it in muslin. ‘Here you are, girls, get this inside you with a cup of tea and you’ll grow hairs on your chest.’

  Hannah grimaced but Sylvia laughed. ‘That’s so kind.’ She meant it. Hannah smiled, asked after her mother, and wondered if she could have the rest of her week’s rations, to take to the house.

  Aunt Olive was contrite. ‘Of course, I didn’t think. I know it’s tricky these days.’

  ‘I was just wondering, you see, Sylvia and I were stopped for riding abreast. They took our bikes. Do you have any to spare, or we’ll be walking everywhere?’

  Aunt Olive put her hands on her hips. ‘Whatever next? Sometimes these Germans are reasonable and then one does something like that.’

  ‘Never mind that, what about the bikes?’ prompted Hannah, irritation soaring. Sylvia looked at her, her eyebrows raised in surprise, and said gently, ‘I agree, Mrs Charlton, you never know where you are with them, but I suppose if they feel they’re the conquerors, they’ll think they can do anything.’

  Hannah snapped. ‘It’s not just that they think it – they can.’

  Aunt Olive flushed, and Uncle Thomas said from the doorway, ‘There’ll be no bikes for you, young lady, until you start treating your relatives with respect, and learn to say please. How often have I said this? Besides, my car’s been requisitioned, so I’ll need the only one we have.’

  Hannah spun on her heel. ‘Fine. Absolutely fine, and never ask me to cover for you and your pigs again, then. I don’t remember a please back then.’

  She strutted from the kitchen, with Sylvia running to catch her up, snatching at her arm. ‘Hannah, they’re your aunt and uncle. I don’t think that was fair.’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Sylvia. They’re not the ones walking back, are they?’

  They had reached the bridge when they heard the steady rattle of a tractor. Her uncle pulled in. ‘I have the rations you left behind. If you girls want to get up on the bar at the back, I’ll drop you off on my way to the field. It’s the best I can do.’

  Hannah looked up and hesitated but Sylvia said, ‘That’s really kind. Come on, Hannah.’

  They climbed on the bar. Hannah said, ‘He’ll be going to check the sugar beet, so it’s not that kind.’

  Sylvia hung on as Thomas started the tractor. ‘The sugar beet is over on the top road, he didn’t have to come this way. Just be reasonable.’

  Hannah shouted above the engine and the rattles. ‘Thanks, Uncle Thomas. Sorry about earlier. Tell Aunt Olive, will you, please?’

  He nodded. She shrugged. They’d always need extra food at the cottage, so Sylvia was right, it was daft to rub him up the wrong way. They went into a pothole and out again. She lost her train of thought, and began to think about the party. She hadn’t been to one for ages, and had thought she was too tired. But perhaps not.

  The party started quite early, at 7.30, because they were all working at the crack of dawn the next day. Bobby brought wine, which he had acquired, he said. Hannah thought of her uncle’s cellar.

  Cheryl had a gramophone, with jazz records, and some old-fashioned waltz music. Bobby’s friends were fun. He, and they, reminded her of Sid. She sipped her wine and ate a slice of quiche. They had made two with the eggs her aunt had sent with her uncle. They had also used some awful Camembert, called Tramp’s Foot because it was so high and strong, but it gave the quiche a kick.

  Bobby and his friend David produced more bottles from a box they had put beside the table in the kitchen. It was red wine, and made Hannah feel happy, and free. David grabbed her as jazz came on. ‘Come on, we can dance to this.’ She put her wine down, and the cigarette she was smoking. ‘I like cigarettes,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think I would but they make me happy.’

  David laughed and swung her round. ‘Could be the wine that’s doing that.’

  She laughed along with him. ‘It’s a shame there’s not more. But I know where there’s some, just sitting on shelves in the dark, being miserable.’

  He swung her again, and caught her, pulling her back against him. ‘You’re a cutie,’ he murmured.

  Someone was knocking on the door, but no one took any notice. Then there was further knocking, on the window. Cheryl shouted, ‘Someone get that. Hannah, off you go.’

  David groaned. ‘You heard the boss, Hannah. Better do her bidding.’ As she left for the front door he was working his way across to Bobby, holding his cigarette high in the air, to avoid the dancers.

  There was another bout of knocking, this time back at the door. She opened it. ‘Oh,’ she said. It was the German corporal from yesterday, still in uniform. He held up a bottle of wine. There were three more Germans behind him. He said, ‘I have wine, I hear music. Well, we hear music. We have wine. Perhaps we could join in with you as we are your neighbours.’

  Cheryl came to the door ‘What’s going on?’ she said, then, ‘Oh.’

  He addressed Cheryl. ‘We have wine. We would like to meet you all, but we understand if you feel it is not to the liking. We do not force you. I know Bobby, if that would influence you.’

  The corporal turned to Hannah. ‘I did not know that you would be here.’

  She said, ‘I nearly wasn’t. Your lot took our bikes because we couldn’t pay fifty marks, and German soldiers took our house.’ She walked away, back to the room.

  Cheryl laughed. ‘Come one, come all. We’re all young, and there’s some quiche.’

  Hannah wound her way through the dancers, all of whom were Cheryl and Sylvia’s friends. She felt alone amongst the music, chatter and laughter. Laughter and chatter that faded when the Germans entered but quickly grew loud again when the bottles were raised high and Bobby welcomed the four of them. She longed for Peter, and moved to a corner, where she sat on the arm of the sofa. What was Peter doing? What about Bee, was she flying? Did they still have that child, and had they moved her into her bedroom?

  She suddenly felt tired, sipping from a glass of wine which was on the small table. It probably wasn’t hers. She examined it. No, it wasn’t, there was lipstick on the rim. Well, who cared? She downed it in one. A German stood in front of her. ‘Perhaps you would dance?’ he asked.

  It was the corporal. Well why not?

  It was a waltz. He held her closely, but not too close. David was dancing with Sylvia. ‘My name is Hans Ader. Yours is . . .?’

  She said, ‘My name is Hannah Miller, but you must know that because suddenly my cottage was requisitioned, and my uncle’s car was also, and I have absolutely no bike. All a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?’

  Hans flushed. ‘These things happen. Sometimes they cannot be stopped, only minimised. My men talk, they hear of the . . . “rat”. There is talk of pigs. Deals are done. Forgive me. I did the best I could.’

  She looked up at him. His eyes were so very, very blue, but he looked tired, and strained. He repeated, ‘Forgive me. I minimised what could have happened.’

  His arm was strong around her, her hand in his felt safe just as her head began to spin. She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you for the deal. Yes, thank you.’

  He said, ‘It was wrong to take the bikes. I knew nothing of that. A trick. It is not as it should be. We are not all such people. It is stealing.’

  They danced all evening, and she felt less alone, and resented it when Bobby came along and cut in. ‘I hear from David that you’re a cutie,’ he said. ‘It’s sad that such a lovely girl hasn’t more lovely wine
to drink, but a little bird tells me that there are some bottles sitting on shelves. Well, that’s a lucky person, that is. He must have done something very good to have that little bit of bounty at times like these.’

  He swung Hannah round, and she squealed, almost overbalancing. Bobby held her close. ‘We ought to invite him and his wine to the next party,’ Bobby laughed.

  She saw Hans staring, and could see the jealousy in his eyes. Bobby pulled her towards him, doing some sort of a shuffle with her. ‘I’ll give him an invite,’ he crooned in her ear.

  She shook her head. ‘If you think my uncle would like a party, you’ve another think coming, and his wine and beer will stay right where it is, for just as long as he and his mates can make it last.’

  ‘Ah ha, so where would a farmer put it, to be safe? It will be found, and requisitioned, you bet your sweet life.’

  She shook her head, then wished she hadn’t because she felt so dizzy. ‘’Course it won’t, he’s hidden it really well under the barn.’ Bobby swung her away again, and this time it was Hans who caught her and swept her away, into some sort of a waltz, and she was glad, because she felt as though she’d been on a swing too long and just wanted to sit still.

  The next day, when she and Sylvia returned from their shift, having had to walk as no bus arrived, they found their bicycles propped up inside the garden wall. There was a note in Hannah’s shopping basket.

  I try to be helpful so here are your bikes. Please may I see you this afternoon? I think you say your shift finishes at one, and you are home at two. A walk perhaps? Just wave from your path, towards my house. It is my day to be free.

  She waved from the path, though Sylvia said, ’You can’t, it will make you a Jerry-bag, a horizontal collaborator.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, I’m just going for a walk, and anyway, we are all collaborators, I suppose, to have them to our party, Sylvia. Don’t be so stuffy. I think I could love him, really really love him.’