The screaming began as soon as the telegram arrived. Gertie didn’t open it,
even though it was addressed to her. That depressing task was left to
Maddie, who picked it up from the floor, where her friend had flung it.
People rarely got telegrams. Normal people at least. They all knew that,
and a couple of the girls from the ATS billet hovered in the background,
keeping a respectful distance. Sometimes telegrams announced happy
things like marriages and the arrival of a baby. But mostly they were the
overture to grief. Like this one.
Maddie read it in silence. Then she took her treasured friend Gertie by
the hand, gently led her into the lounge, settled her by the fireside and used
up most of her own tea ration on the strongest brew either of them had
drunk in a long time. Maddie was recklessly lavish with the sugar ration as
well, heaping spoonfuls of the precious stuff into Gertie’s cup. And then
Betty Wooten arrived, clucking in a motherly way and emptying the last
few precious drops of her brandy supply into Gertie’s cup.
Maddie eyed the older woman and nodded her thanks, watched Betty
leave. Everyone had gone now, leaving the two of them alone to their grief.
People were kind, mostly. But they didn’t always know what to say. Not
that she did, either.
She moved her mouth into a smile. It was meant to be reassuring, but
instead it felt alien and false on her lips, not a proper smile.
When would she find one of those again?
She rested a hand lightly on Gertie’s shoulder, a gesture of support, of
love. But it was rejected, shrugged off angrily, like an unwanted intrusion.
At least the screaming and the tears had subsided now. Gertie had lapsed
into an eerie, unnatural silence, head stiff, eyes staring straight ahead but
glazed, seeing nothing. Her friend’s face was white with shock, Maddie
noted, surprised at her own sense of calm. Her eyes were drawn to the port
wine stain on Gertie’s neck, which seemed even more pronounced than
usual.
The silence was a blanket of fog between them. Maddie had no idea
where to start. How to break her way through it. She took the telegram from
her pocket. Even as she’d read it to herself, digested its meaning, it had
been hard to believe: KIA. Killed in action. The language had been formal,
and stilted, just one of thousands of such telegrams sent since the war had
begun.
Maybe some clerk at the War Office had a template in his desk drawer.
Just had to fill in the name, date and place.
Gertie’s eyes flicked down towards the telegram. ‘Well, read it out
then,’ she ordered, her voice brittle and hostile.
A fragile tear built up at the corner of Maddie’s eye, wound its way
down the contour of her cheek. Soon, other tears followed: silent proof of
her pain. They trickled their way to her chin in thin, messy trails. But she
said nothing. How could she read these words out? They were cruel,
poisonous.
‘Read the bloody thing, Madds!’ Gertie ordered again. ‘You’re my pal,
ain’t you?’
‘’Course! But maybe you should wait till you’re—’
‘What? You ain’t got the stomach for it? Seems to me you were quick
enough to offer advice before.’ A fleck of spittle flew from Gertie’s mouth,
along with the angry words.
‘What? I don’t follow,’ said Maddie.
‘Oh, you follow all right. Wasn’t it you said I should marry Bill, even
when I was scared he might cop it?’
‘Gert, don’t do this. It’s nobody’s fault.’
‘I wanted to wait. I should have waited,’ wailed Gertie.
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, would it? He’d still be…’
‘Go on, say it! You can’t, can you, Maddie? My Bill would still be
dead. There you are – I said it for you. Give me that thing.’ She grabbed the
crumpled telegram and finally read it.
Then Gertie let out a howl of anguish again, angrily side-swiped the
crockery from the table beside her and rushed from the room in tears.
Maddie’s mind refused to accept any more sadness. There’d been
enough. So, it slipped into automatic pilot, and she found herself picking up
the pieces of broken crockery, mopping up the debris, tidying. She swept
the floor. Then she moved on to the kitchen and cleared away the breakfast
dishes. It wasn’t her turn for the washing-up, but she did it anyway.
Anything rather than think or pick her way through the emotional maze that
was lying in wait, ready to trap her.
The kettle whistled. Maddie didn’t recall filling it again, putting it on
the stove, but she must have done. She freshened up the tea in the pot, put
the cosy on and set the tray, took it through to the lounge.
No one else was there. The house was quiet now, as if it too was holding
its breath. Like Maddie.
She should go to the bedroom, try to comfort Gertie. But something told
her that it was too soon. Or maybe she just wasn’t ready, wasn’t brave
enough to face more guilt, more recriminations from her friend. Instead,
Maddie slumped down gratefully into a chair. A tiredness had overtaken her– maybe the tea would help. Good for what ails you. That’s what the WVS
ladies always said, standing behind their huge tea urns, after a raid, when
people were scared, and friends had died. Maybe it was true. Maybe tea was
a magical elixir that could heal all wounds.
Maddie poured the tea. It was thick and black. No milk. No sugar. Its
bitterness seemed fitting.
She thought about poor Bill Adams. Dying out there in a foreign land,
far away from all he knew and loved. She’d liked him. He’d been a decent
man: not handsome, or particularly clever, but kind and thoughtful to those
around him, and he’d treated Gertie with respect and love. He would have
made a good father.
According to the telegram, Lance Corporal William Adams had given
his life for his country on 27 July 1942. Maddie was shocked: surely that
couldn’t be right? August was almost over. Did it really take that long to get
the news to relatives? She read the telegram again. They’d probably got the
date wrong. And did it even matter? The poor man was gone. He had died
valiantly as befitted a soldier of the proud Eighth Army.
Valiantly. Maddie wondered if they always wrote that to loved ones.
And where exactly was El Alamein? Somewhere in Egypt, she guessed.
The Eighth Army was fighting in the desert as far as she knew, but some
things passed you by when there was so much going on in this war.
She tried to imagine it. A place with burning sand beneath your feet.
Flies everywhere, and getting thirsty in the stifling desert heat and having to
fight in that. She wondered what might have gone through Bill’s mind. She
hoped there had been no time for fear or pain, just an instant and the poor
man hurled from life into death. If there was a choice, that’s what Maddie
would have picked. But war was unpredictable. And who said you got a
choice?
Maddie finally took matters into her own hands. As soon as she came off
duty, she organised a doctor to pay a home visit to the house in Sunnyfield.
Gertie had refused to leave her bedroom for four whole days now, had
locked the door. At first there’d been sobbing, but then silence, which was
even worse. And the trays of food Maddie had left for her were still
languishing in the hallway, ignored, uneaten. It couldn’t go on – she’d make
herself and the baby ill.
Someone found a spare key, and the doctor, a fussy old gentleman with
an ancient suit, a colourful bow tie and a battered trilby hat, had smiled at
Maddie and winked. ‘We’ll get her well again,’ he’d promised.
He’d been a man true to his word. He’d only been in there for a few
moments when he rushed out to the telephone in the hallway and called for
an ambulance. It worked like clockwork. A military ambulance arrived ten
minutes later, driven by an ATS girl. Someone Maddie knew, which made
her feel confident and happier. She relaxed. The doctor was right: it would
be okay. Everything would be fine. They would take Gertie to Redhill
County Hospital and sort her out. There was even a maternity unit in there.
But when Maddie saw the small, pale face that peered out from beneath
the hospital blanket and looked down at the shrunken figure on the
stretcher, she was frightened for her friend. Gertie’s face was not only
sallow, but terrified; the firm, round cheeks that had filled out with the rosy
bloom of pregnancy had collapsed inwards, leaving a harrowed look.
Maddie gasped. Could four days of starvation really do that to you? She
reached for her friend’s hand, took it in her own. Squeezed it.
‘I’m frightened, Madds,’ said Gertie, her voice no more than a hoarse,
childlike whisper.
‘No need. I’m coming with you,’ said Maddie and smiled. ‘Tweedledum
and Tweedledee, remember? You can’t have one without the other.’
‘They won’t allow that,’ said the doctor. ‘You know how these places
are.’
‘Oh, no?’ said Maddie. ‘This is the best friend I’ve got on the whole
planet. I’d like to see them try and stop me.’
And with that, Maddie Brady climbed into the back of the ambulance.
