My heart was pounding. Could it be news at last?
My mother glanced at me anxiously, fearful that I should be disappointed.
I dashed to the telephone.
“Violetta,” Mrs. Jermyn’s voice was breathless. “I’ve had news.”
“Jowan …”
“Yes, dear. He’s in this country. I’ve just had a call. They told me he was here … and he was on the telephone. I’ve spoken to him. He’s coming home!”
I could not speak. I was too overcome with emotion.
At last I stammered: “I shall come … right away …”
“Yes, yes,” she said.
I went back to the dining room. They were all looking at me expectantly.
I said: “It … it’s happened. Jowan is coming home.”
Reunion
MY FATHER WOULD HAVE driven me to Cornwall, but we decided it would be quicker by train. My mother wanted to come with me, but I said I should prefer to be alone. However, we agreed they could drive me to London where I could get the train from there to Cornwall.
I was overcome with joy. This was the day I had been waiting for.
My parents stood on the platform at Paddington waving to the train as it went out and the long journey to the West Country began. How slowly the train seemed to travel! It was impossible to sleep. I could only think of seeing Jowan again. He would have changed. Had I changed? I was four years older. So much had happened since we last met. I could not imagine what had happened to him, but I should learn. I should talk to him again, be with him, make plans for the future.
Then suddenly into my mind came the thought of Richard’s divorce. It was such an unpleasant subject that I thrust it aside. Nothing was going to spoil this wonderful time.
It was seven o’clock when the train pulled into the station. To my surprise I saw Gordon on the platform. He seized both my hands and kissed me lightly on the cheek.
“I’ve come to collect you,” he said. “Mrs. Jermyn told me the news.”
“Is Jowan there?”
“Yes. He came in late last night.”
“You … you have seen him?”
“No. Mrs. Jermyn just telephoned, told me, and asked me if I would meet the train. I wasn’t sure whether it would be this one.”
“I came as soon as I heard.”
“I guessed you would.”
“Oh Gordon … it’s such wonderful news!”
“Mrs. Jermyn could scarcely speak for excitement.”
“It was good of you to come, Gordon.”
“It was nothing … the least I could do. I suppose you may be staying at the Priory, but if you want your old room at Tregarland’s it is ready for you.”
“Thank you, Gordon. I hadn’t thought of that.”
When we reached the Priory it was nearly eight o’clock.
Gordon stopped the car and said: “I’ll leave you now. If you want transport at any time, let me know.”
“Oh thank you, Gordon. You are good.”
“Good luck,” he said.
They were waiting for me in the Priory great hall.
Mrs. Jermyn cried: “It’s Violetta.” Beside her stood a tall figure. It was Jowan himself… and yet different. He was very thin, a little haggard, and he had lost his healthy color. He was subtly different from the man who had gone away … and yet he was Jowan.
We looked at each other in wonderment for a few seconds, then I ran to him and he held me tightly in his arms.
“Violetta,” he said. “After all this time …”
“The waiting is over now. It has been so long … so very long …” I sounded muffled, incoherent. “I’ve often dreamed …”
“I too. I can’t believe it. I’m afraid I’ll wake up and find I’m dreaming still …”
Such banal words after all those years of waiting. But our emotions were too strong to let us say all that was in our hearts.
Mrs. Jermyn broke in.
“You two will have such a lot to say to each other. And, Violetta, you must be hungry. There’s nothing much in trains these days. Now I am going to have something sent to you. Come into the little sitting room. Then you can talk … I think you two would like to be alone.”
There were tears in her eyes and I saw that she was desperately trying to control her feelings and be practical.
“Thank you, Grandmother,” said Jowan. “That would be good.”
He was holding my hand tightly, as though he would never let it go.
I was happy. I had never been so happy in my life. If only I could rid myself of the terrible fear that I was dreaming and this might not be true.
There was so much to tell. Jowan insisted that I start first, so I related what had happened since that tragic day when I had been forced to admit to myself that he was not one of the survivors from Dunkirk. I explained how I had worked for a while in the Priory, which had been turned into a convalescent home for soldiers, and afterwards in London in the Ministry. I told him about the air raids in which I had been involved—not an uncommon occurrence for people who lived in London—and how I had been recuperating at Caddington when his grandmother had telephoned to tell me he was back. He listened intently.
“We heard little scraps of information—which were often exaggerated to make it really bad. We were told that London was in ruins, together with the airfields and the docks. We didn’t believe it, of course.”
“I want to hear about you, Jowan. I want to know everything.”
“I want to tell you everything, Violetta … every little detail.”
“We have a long, long time to talk.”
“First I will give you the bare bones,” he said. He told me how he and his company had been trying to get to the coast. They knew the Germans were in control and there was nothing they could do but get back home and build up new strength in order to be ready for the enemy when they came to attack Britain.
“There was not much chance of getting to Dunkirk,” he said. “The enemy were too numerous. Our company was surrounded. We were somewhere near Amiens when we were all taken prisoner. We knew what that meant. My corporal, Buster Brown, was with me. He is sharp-witted, a wiry little Cockney. He is a good cook and could work all sorts of miracles with our meager rations. He had a way of disappearing and returning with a couple of chickens. He’d concoct some dish with them, which was a luxury after tinned fish and meat of slightly mysterious origins. He admitted he raided farms for the chickens, and he used to say: ‘Well, what’s a bit of nicking? Ain’t we saving them from the Hun? Small price to pay for that and you’ve got to feed the boys that lay the golden eggs.’
“He was a great character and I never saw him disconcerted in any situation. He had always been my special servant and I often thought how different life would have been without Buster Brown.
“Well, we were surrounded and put in lorries. There was a great deal of confusion in the dash to the coast, and the gathering up of small groups of prisoners was left to young and inexperienced men newly arrived on the battle scene. We were close to a small deserted château which was probably intended to serve as a temporary prison, but perhaps because we were not a large company and there were more pressing matters to occupy the German headquarters, we remained there. In most cases there would have been some notification that we were prisoners of war but there are occasions in such times as we were living through when those matters are overlooked.
“Life was not too bad in the beginning. We had periods of exercise, strict rules of course, and not very adequate food, but most of our company were housed in the château and we were among our own people. We planned our escape continually. We knew there would be no early release. We were aware that the French were beaten and that we had lost much of our equipment and would concentrate on getting our men out. We did not know how fortunate we had been in that evacuation.