I
With the privations, bombardments, and the constant threats, one wondered how we could endure, but we did. We’d been at war for months that felt like eons. The reports on the radio, newsreels and newspapers had given us hope one minute, but taken it away with the next. I’d given up paying attention to more than immediate tasks. The Now was all that mattered. Now was all we had. undefined
My children were billeted in the country as part of an evacuation scheme to keep them safe from the blistering attacks that were sure to come. My husband was in the airforce, stationed overseas. I felt as though I were alone in a foreign country. My once familiar and regulated, comfortable life had been torn asunder. Letters to and from loved ones were spasmodic and communication by telephone was almost non-existent. undefined
Work was my main distraction. I was a nurse, in at a city hospital. Both a blessing and a bane. The hours were long, the work was relentless. I was distracted from the mundanity and loneliness of an empty house. Each day, I’d return exhausted from another day at the hospital but I felt my family’s absence keenly.
One evening , though I had been on my feet all day, with no time to snatch more than a cup of tea and biscuit I was not at all hungry, but forced myself to dip some chunky bread into a bowl of soup, grateful for the sustenance. After supper, while I washed the dish, spoon and knife, I reflected on the apparent quiet. The apartment was lit by a lamp and candles. I longed for the sound of my children’s laughter, or bickering or anything at all. I wished they were with me but was glad they were safe even though we were far apart. I hadn’t seen them in weeks and wondered how much they might have changed in that time. I checked the rooms, ensured the blackout curtains were closed, then sank into bed and read a couple of pages of a novel I’d borrowed from the library. As I closed my eyes, I prayed before drifting off to sleep…
II
It feels like spring. The sky is clear and bright, a gentle breeze wafts the scent of flowers from nearby gardens. I’m with my husband and children. We spend the day with family and friends, picnic in the park, play games and talk about inconsequential things. We wander home and meet the neighbours in the street. The tableau is a resplendent celebration: tables are adorned in brightly patterned cloths, piled high with plates of food, jugs of flowers, bottles of home made beers, cider and lemonade. A Victrola blasts popular dance tunes out over the street through a neighbour’s open living room window. People dance the jitterbug, hokey pokey and cheek to cheek. We, eat sing and chatter. Laughter punctuates the merriment. Everything is perfect. My husband has never looked more handsome than when he stands in front of our friends, raises his glass and toasts,”To peace.” My heart leaps in happiness. Everyone else stops what they’ve been doing and similarly raise their glasses saying, “To peace.” undefined
Peace.
The word resounds. The harmony, the golden light of love that surrounds and emanates from every individual fills me with such joy, I am unable to contain it and softly sob.
III
The sob caught in my throat as I was jolted awake. The building reverberated. I was momentarily stuck between my dream life and reality. An air raid siren pierced the night. The sounds of bombs exploding, planes zooming overhead, distant boom of canons and the ack-ack-ack of returning gunfire told me it was time to go. I leapt out of bed, threw on my coat and shoes, and headed for the nearest tube station. Outside was organised chaos. We’d experienced this many times before. Spot fires had broken out. The house two doors down was in ghostly ruins. The streets were dark. I was ushered to the shelter where hundreds of people were gathered underground. undefined
My neighbour, Mrs Whiteside saw me and moved over to give me a place to sit next to her. She was knitting a sweater for her son who was serving overseas. undefined
I muttered, “Thanks.” undefined
She asked, “Are you alright, Deary?”
I said, “Yes. Thank you- and you? undefined
“Nothing to complain about.”
“Have you heard from John?” undefined
“I got a letter from him last week. He doesn’t say much. He’s probably not allowed to.” undefined
There was a rumble from up above us. The lights in the station flickered. Some people muttered, “Oh.” But mostly they were quiet. I think we realised early on in the war that we were safer in numbers and that putting on a brave front was best for us all. So we learned to stifle our fears and get on with living.
I looked into the eyes of my companions. The girls who worked in the Kardomah Cafe, the local school teacher. The bookmaker, the dentist, the usher in the cinema. The mother with her boys who weren’t evacuated to the country. Familiar faces, all with one desire: to see the end of the war and to finally live in peace.
IV
But peace would be a few years away and some of them wouldn’t make it.
