They’d just finished eating a gloopy macaroni thing for tea. Maddie had
almost heaved, but she’d eaten it anyway, for it had been kind of the cook at
Inglis Barracks to think of them. She often sent strange leftovers back home
with Gertie. Giving food. A sign of love. Not to be dismissed out of hand
just because the macaroni has stuck together, and the cheese is
unrecognisable as any kind of real dairy product. So, Maddie ate it
gratefully and told her friend to thank the cook. A stalwart woman who
never gave up trying to work miracles with meagre wartime rations.
Maddie made tea in their tin mugs and both women settled in to listen to
the news on the wireless.
‘This is today’s news, and this is Alvar Lidell reading it,’ the announcer
said. ‘And cracking good news it is too.’
‘What?!’ said Gertie. ‘That’s odd.’
‘It is,’ agreed Maddie. ‘He’s never said that before.’
Maddie stared intently at the wireless set, her mug clutched so tightly
that it left small indents in her fingers. She turned to Gertie, who seemed to
be holding her breath in anticipation. Mr Alvar Lidell had one of those
proper British speaking voices, a bit like the king and queen, and he had
always been so calm and measured in his delivery of the news. Even when a
bomb had landed outside the studio, he had carried on, sitting there behind
his microphone in evening dress. Very British. Very proper.
Whatever kind of news he’d had to report throughout the war, good and
bad, he had never been carried away by emotion. He was someone you
could rely on to be cool in the face of terrible news. A man with credibility.
Someone you could believe in. That was why you invited him into your
front room.
Yet here he was being… being what? Emotional, Maddie supposed.
There was no other word for it. He’d become excited and his voice cracked
in several places as his words speeded up until he sounded quite breathless.
As Maddie listened to the news bulletin, her mug of tea hovered
forgotten in mid-air. And when she next looked at Gertie, her friend’s eyes
were wide with shock.
‘Bastard!’ said Maddie. ‘A cowardly, bullying bastard.’ Her voice
shook.
‘God and all his angels be praised!’ said Gertie.
‘I think you’ll find God had nothing to do with this. Now the devil…’
said Maddie. She stared at a space in the distance, but her thoughts were
somewhere else. ‘Bastard,’ she said again. ‘Cowering in a damn basement
bunker, not man enough to face the Russians. Killing himself. And Eva
Braun. And his poor bloody dog,’ she said. ‘The dog. Why would you do
that?’
‘Reckon he wanted to see if the cyanide would work. Tried it out on the
Alsatian first,’ said Gertie. And a huge tear ran down her cheek – Gertie
loved dogs.
‘Cyanide and a bullet. The coward wasn’t taking any chances, was he?’
said Maddie. ‘You know what this means, Gert?’
‘It’s over?’
‘It’s over! Maybe not today, but soon. Very soon.’
Gertie started to shake, and she dashed from the room. When Maddie
caught up with her, she was in the bathroom, throwing up. A mixture of
gloopy macaroni and black tea. She was shivering and kept on muttering
one name over and over again. Bill. Her lovely husband.
Maddie got her to bed and put an extra blanket on top: her own blanket.
Shock. It could do that sort of thing to you.
Then she went back and freshened up the stewed tea with another shot
of boiling water and sat down in the lounge. Hitler had committed suicide.
The coward had killed himself yesterday in a dank cellar beneath the Reich
Chancellery, leaving his troops to carry on fighting and dying in a useless
battle to save Berlin. So much for his master race and a Reich that was
meant to last a thousand years.
The wireless was still on. Playing cheerful jazz music from some big
band or other. And Maddie wanted to be cheerful too. To sing along with it.
But all she could think about was the waste of the last six years and all
those poor souls who had given their lives. Men, women and children on all
sides of the war. So, instead of singing and cheering with happiness,
Maddie Brady sat in the freezing-cold room alone. And cried.
