Major Anderson had been wrong. The play had not been boring. It had been
thrilling and a little thought-provoking and sad. Our Town was a story about
Grover’s Corners, a small town in America, but really it could have been in
England or France or anywhere.
Maddie cried when the heroine, Emily, died. Smiled when Emily came
back as a kind of ghost to visit her family and told them to enjoy their lives
before it was too late. Even the small things were important: listening to the
magic of ticking clocks, wearing newly ironed clothes, looking at
sunflowers, watching loved ones while they slept. That’s what Emily had
told the ones she’d left behind, although none of them could hear her. But
she was totally right. Maddie agreed with her: the small things in life were
definitely the most important. And that’s when Maddie had cried again. But
she wasn’t alone for when she looked at Gertie, she was crying too. And
Gertie grabbed for her hand. Held onto it.
But there weren’t only tears that night. There was joy too. Pure joy in
Gertie’s eyes when she rode in the staff car, and wonder when she realised
she was going out to the theatre.
‘You stole the car?’ asked Gertie, amazed.
‘Not technically stolen. Yeah, okay – maybe,’ said Maddie.
They’d come home to a cold house and there was no cocoa left, but that
didn’t matter a jot. The night had been incredible, like something from a
dream. And besides, who needs cocoa when a fine, upstanding Southern
gentleman has given you glasses of bubbly?
‘Cinderella, that’s what I feel like. Ain’t it great?’ said Gertie.
‘No more than you deserve. And I feel like Cinderella too.’
‘And wasn’t that guy just the sweetest man you ever met?’ said Gertie.
‘A decent bloke,’ agreed Maddie. ‘I was only going to borrow the car.’
She laughed. ‘It was his idea to take us both out to the theatre.’
‘Think he fancies you.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Maddie.
But Gertie had already moved on. Her voice took on a dreamy quality.
‘And all those gorgeous American actors. How d’you think they got those?’
‘They’re here already. All service guys who act in their spare time.
Overpaid, over-sexed and over here.’ Maddie grinned. It had all been worth
it. And it felt good being a rebel. Okay, maybe only a small-time rebel,
because she might just get away with it. She’d delivered the car back to the
vehicle-pool and the log said that she’d taken the officer to the theatre after
his meeting and on to his billet. Could be perfectly fine.
‘I’m a wee bit tiddly,’ said Gertie. ‘Just two glasses of that stuff, but I
ain’t used to champagne.’
‘Off to bed then, Cinderella,’ Maddie ordered. She didn’t think it had
been real champagne. But even so, it was an unexpected bonus, like the one
she’d had in the post today.
Her brother Richard had sent a card. Laid out in careful bullet points. So
precise it made her smile. So very Richard.
1. He’d had a promotion. 2. He’d rented a flat of his own. And 3. He
invited her to visit. An open invitation, and he would cook for them. He’d
called her sister, a surprising declaration that had made her want to cry.
The whole day had been a feast of emotion. A time to treasure after the
interludes of sadness both she and Gertie had lived through.
After that night’s celebration, the war seemed easier to take. And to Maddie
it felt as if the whole sad business was gradually coming to an end, although
she had no idea when that might be. Maybe Mister Churchill did. She
trusted him, for he had steered the country through its darkest days. She
suspected there were times when even he had given up hope, but you could
never tell because he was always so fired up and positive in his speeches,
knew exactly what to say even when things had been so black that you
couldn’t see a way out.
Now there was real hope on the horizon. Everybody said so. And the
future? During the last five years, Maddie hadn’t dared to think about it.
But now she did.
The dream she’d harboured as a child resurfaced once again. She’d
buried it deep, for her father had scoffed, and her mother had dismissed her
as a fool. ‘Chickens in Hampstead?’ they’d said. ‘Ridiculous!’
So, she’d cast the dream aside. But things were different now. She was
no longer that six-year-old, didn’t need their permission to keep chickens or
get herself a dog. A smallholding, with lots of animals. What a great idea.
And maybe she’d use it as a kind of therapy, not only for herself, but others
too. People traumatised by the painful memories of war.
That’s it! That’s exactly what she’d do, just as soon as she was
demobbed. Start looking for somewhere. Maybe Gertie would be interested
too. They could find a place of their own. In the country, somewhere
peaceful, far away from any city and the ugly scars left behind by the
bombing. She didn’t need a reminder of the ugliness of the last six years.
The only thing she wanted to remember was the kindness of people she’d
met and their courage and resilience. She had a little money in the bank.
Money from her grandmother. Both she and Richard had been gifted a small
inheritance.
She would do it.
‘You sitting here talking to yerself again?’ Gertie laughed.
‘What?’
‘You’ll do it? What’s that mean? What you planning now, Madds?
Some new caper? Next step up from stealing staff cars would be bank
robbery.’ Gertie pulled her chenille dressing gown tighter around her and
grinned.
‘Just thinking about things,’ said Maddie.
‘Oh? What things?’
‘Afterwards. When this lot’s over and done with.’
‘Think they’ll throw us out of the service?’ asked Gertie, panic in her
voice.
‘We’ll all get our marching orders. Don’t see why the ATS would keep
on going, do you?’ said Maddie.
‘And if it did, would you stay on, Madds?’
‘Shouldn’t think so. Fresh fields to conquer. New things to try. I’ve got
lots of exciting ideas,’ said Maddie. ‘Might buy a small place somewhere,
nothing fancy. By the sea maybe, or in the countryside. Some cheap place
that needs fixing up. But I’d need a friend to help me. Somebody who
doesn’t mind roughing it for a bit.’ Maddie raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘Me? You mean me?’ asked Gertie.
‘Do you see anybody else here, you silly goose?’
And so, it was settled. Rough plans were sketched out for the future,
whenever that might be. It didn’t matter when or where. She could wait.
Just the thought that they would both be together in an adventure was
enough to go on with for Maddie. For both of them.
Cheerful whistling could be heard coming from Gertie’s bedroom
periodically over the following weeks. And Maddie found herself joining
in, although the art of pitching a whistle tunefully was one she had yet to
master. But enthusiasm went a long way.
There were lots of reasons to be optimistic: British and Allied victories
that made them proud of the chaps at the front, putting themselves in danger
every day. But Hitler’s terror machines, those damn V-2 rockets, were still
finding their way into the heart of London. Still, the farther the British
troops progressed, the more launch sites were being overrun. It was only a
matter of time before the Germans couldn’t use them anymore.
And Maddie had come to an arrangement with her conscience – she
wouldn’t blame the German people for either the Blitz or those awful terror
weapons. And the reason for that was a kind of trade-off: her own country’s
air force had done something just as horrific when the city of Dresden had
been firebombed, its ancient streets enveloped in fire storms. Three
continual days of bombing. Over 20,000 people killed. Its cathedral reduced
to rubble. She felt pity for the ordinary Germans who’d been trapped in the
hell of Dresden. But no more than she’d felt for poor old London and the
East End that had been pounded relentlessly during the Blitz.
Maybe now that madman Hitler would give up. And sanity could return.
And they could put the lights back on. And take the blackout curtains down.
And smile like they really meant it.
