SEPTEMBER 1939
Our wedding day. Into the Registrar’s office. One of the war brides. Get married quickly for now nobody’s any idea what’s likely to happen. Nobody has. He’s got her up the aisle. Nudge, nudge. On my side, my mother. That’s all. And on his side, Stan. A couple more mates from the village came down to the big town, but I was barely introduced and they didn’t stay. Pathetic, I thought. But then he’s got no parents so I shouldn’t be so snooty. They’d long since gone. He’s only got his mates. I should have been so lucky. I hadn’t even got mates. A wedding. My wedding. It was the only wedding I was likely to have, so I thought I’d better do it right. Len was surprised that I didn’t have anything in my bottom drawer. Not even a tin of pineapple chunks, or a jar of marmalade. I told him, you’re the shopkeeper. My mother, well, she found a way not to cry. Set her face like a mask and just stared straight ahead as if she couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. Maybe this reminded her of her day. Maybe she didn’t want me to see that she cared. Maybe. Earlier in the month, I’d been with her when the war started. Eleven a.m., Sunday morning. When the National Anthem came on the wireless she stood up. When it finished she sat down and was quiet for a few moments. Then she said that they’d already begun recruiting for Air Raid Wardens. She informed me that this was going to be a civvies’ war. I said nothing. She sighed, and then announced that she’d have to start stocking up. She calculated twenty fags at two shillings, tea at two and six, matches a penny ha’penny. She reckoned up how much she could afford to buy with her savings, and I listened. And then I told her that the date was set. A fortnight hence. I’d be wed. But she didn’t say anything. She just continued doing her sums in the margin of the previous day’s newspaper, using a little stump of pencil that was blunt at one end and chewed at the other.
SEPTEMBER 1939
And then the wedding was over, and we were off to Wales for a week in a small hotel on Anglesey that seemed populated with rich ladies who were already hiding from the war. They always dressed properly, with earrings and lined skirts. They even dressed for breakfast. Then came their morning walk, then lunch, gin and tonic, and an afternoon nap. Then cards. Dinner. Sherry. Bridge. They always stood for the National Anthem on the wireless come evening. I’m sure they all harboured a secret desire to salute. The anchor of their lives had prematurely dropped. I watched them watching me and Len. All right, so he might not be up to much in your eyes, but he’s decent and honest. Or so I thought. They didn’t talk to me. Sometimes they forgot themselves and nodded as they spread some jam on their crustless toast. I looked closely. The backs of their hands were mottled with purple veins. I think they knew that I was jealous of them. How could they not know? Why shouldn’t I be jealous of them? They had money. They’d found a way to hide from the world. They had each other. And there I was. I had Len. I had to train him not to sleep with his socks on. To undo his shoelaces before he took off his shoes. To do up his cuffs instead of just rolling them back. He was thirty going on seven. I liked it when they forgot themselves and sometimes nodded. But when they saw Len I noticed that they simply turned away. I wondered what they knew that they weren’t telling me. But I couldn’t ask. Len and I were supposed to be together. A team against the rest of the world. Man and wife. Him and me. I couldn’t side with them.
SEPTEMBER 1939
We got lost on the way back up. Len had borrowed a motor car from one of his farmer friends, — but there was only enough petrol to drive us there and back. Petrol had already gone on coupons. We couldn’t even go for a spin around Anglesey. So we parked the car up by the hotel and left it. Until we were ready to come back, that is. It was like dusting off an old friend and readying yourself to make an escape. We left early in the afternoon. It’s not enough time, Len. Shouldn’t we have left earlier? He looked at me. That ‘woman, you’re talking daft’ look of his. Very endearing, I must say. Enough to make you feel like you’d no right to be on this earth. Two hours later, he got lost. Just like I knew he would. It had been a bit touch and go getting down to Wales, but somehow we’d got lucky and made it. Len had pointed out (in his defence) that all the street and road signs had been taken down. In case of invasion. It’ll help the Hun. But coming back up our luck ran out. I thought you said you knew the way. I do know the way, I’ve just got a little mixed up, that’s all. A little mixed up seemed to me to be putting it mildly. But there was no point in arguing. No point whatsoever. As the day set around us, we had no idea of where we were. There were slogans in all the papers about saving petrol. They read: Is your journey really necessary? I’d begun to wonder this myself, honeymoon or no honeymoon. Next village, I’ll stop and ask somebody, he said. And then I noticed a light on in a small cottage, and Len pulled over. He got out and left me in the car. I saw a woman open the door. They spoke, Len pointed, she looked, I smiled politely. I hated him for doing this to me. Making me feel helpless and at somebody’s mercy. Me, I didn’t want to be anybody’s charity case. Especially not when I was supposed to be with my husband. The man who said that he would protect and honour me. Some joke. Well, Len came back and said we weren’t far wrong but we couldn’t go anywhere because of the blackout. I said nothing. I just looked at him. I let him know what I thought. And I reckon he understood all right. But he didn’t say anything except, come on, let’s get our stuff. She’s got a spare room and she says that we can have it for the night. Len laughed. Then he went on. I think she’s relieved I wasn’t the warden. I looked at Len but still said nothing. Reduced to being a bloody beggar. Her husband was already away. Left her and a three-year-old daughter behind. The girl’s in bed, she said as she buttered us some bread and asked us if we wanted our eggs turned over. No, mine’s fine as it is, said Len, his feet under the table. It’s easy to get lost, she assured me. Don’t bother, I thought. I already know he’s a bloody fool. And then Len did it. He fished into his inside pocket like some bloody spiv. Here, he said. I’d like you to have these. No, we’d like you to have these, he said. We appreciate what you’ve done for us. And he gave her some coupons like she was a common tart. The look on the woman’s face. Well, I nearly died of embarrassment, but I was learning. This was Len. His way of dealing with people. That night I couldn’t so much look at him, let alone let him touch me. No, Len. What’s the matter? Nothing. Is it because we’re in a strange house? Goodnight, Len. I hope this isn’t going to become regular. Goodnight, Len. Goodnight, but I’m not right pleased. Goodnight, Len.