Her Secret War Read online

  ‘May I help you? Can you recall what the box was like?’ Sarah asked, beginning to think this would be an impossible task.

  Suddenly, Mrs Twohig turned around. ‘Ah! Of course, now I remember. There it is, Sarah. Can you reach it? It’s that large red box on top of the books.’ The lady pointed to the top of her bookcase with her walking stick. ‘You have a look, dear, while I stick the kettle on the gas.’

  Once Mrs Twohig had quit the room, Sarah gave the cat a wary glance. Retrieving the box would entail disturbing him, and Montgomery was never slow to use his claws. ‘Come on, kitty, you need to move,’ Sarah coaxed, giving his head a tentative rub. With a wide yawn, the cat gave a languid stretch before bestowing a haughty stare upon her. He jumped down, and with his tail in the air wandered out the door after his mistress.

  It took a few minutes, but Sarah retrieved the box without spilling its contents or injuring herself as she balanced on the arm of the sofa to reach up. She sat down on Mrs Twohig’s armchair and placed her hands reverently on top of the box. It contained the remnants of so many lives. Heart pounding, she opened the flaps. A cloud of dust rose, making her cough. Each item was covered in a fine powder and tiny bits of grit. Using her handkerchief, she removed as much dirt as she could and sorted through the items, examining each one, hoping to find something familiar. By the time Mrs Twohig returned, Sarah had reached the bottom of the box, her hands shaking. Nothing. Not one item in the box had been recognisable: they were all other people’s memories.

  ‘Any luck, dear?’ her hostess asked.

  ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Never mind, Sarah. Come down to the kitchen for your tea.’

  ‘I’ll just put the box back,’ Sarah replied, jumping up to hide the tears that threatened to fall.

  There wasn’t a puff of air in the tiny kitchen despite the back door standing open. Mrs Twohig had to hooch the cat off the only other chair. ‘That cat has no manners!’ she exclaimed, but with affection. ‘Now, drink up, Sarah, and tell me about your plans.’ She pushed a cuppa towards Sarah as she sat down.

  ‘I’m leaving for England in a couple of weeks. I’m just waiting for the approval to travel to come through.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it, Sarah; I’ll miss you. Are you sure it’s the right thing to do? I hope you won’t regret it.’

  ‘It hasn’t been an easy decision. All I’ve ever known is No. 18 and North Strand. But everything has changed. There is this huge void in my life, now. It was hard when Ma died, but at least I had Maura. She was only twelve years old and the responsibility of her care fell to me. That made the grief easier to bear. It gave me purpose.’

  ‘That’s understandable. I always said your Ma would have been proud of the way you took the poor chick under your wing. You had to grow up before your time.’ Mrs Twohig’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Your Da wasn’t there much, was he?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Perhaps it was his way of coping? Men are never any use when it comes to domestic matters.’

  Sarah almost laughed. ‘Da didn’t like his routine to be disturbed and if he didn’t like something, he just ignored it. That included us. God forgive me, but I will not miss his harsh ways. However, Maura has left a hole in my life. I miss her so much. And I can’t help it; I want revenge for her needless death.’ Sarah took a deep breath. ‘Seeing the ruins of our home today has only reinforced it. It was murder, plain and simple.’

  ‘It was! You’re right, my dear. Those nasty Germans have a lot to answer for.’

  ‘As long as I live, I won’t understand why they did it,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Pure evil, my dear. My late father always said it. He fought them in the Great War.’ She paused to pour them both a fresh cup of tea. ‘Did you know Peter Roche died up on the bridge? Just like your poor Da.’ She shook her head. ‘His poor widow could only identify him from a mole on his back.’ She shuddered. ‘An awful business. At least you were spared that.’

  ‘Yes. The only way to confirm it was Da was his wedding ring. At least I haven’t been left wondering what happened to him. Some of the bodies were never identified. They just buried them together in a plot up in Glasnevin.’

  ‘Terrible for the poor families,’ the old lady said with a shake of her head. ‘You must miss him a little, all the same?’

  ‘He wasn’t the most loving of fathers, but he was my Da,’ she replied with a sad smile.

  The old lady nodded, her eyes full of understanding. ‘And what about your young man? Is he not going to help you out?’

  Sarah caught her breath. She had done her best to reconcile herself to losing Paul and since he had left, she had struggled with remorse. But she knew he had to enlist. It was too important to him, and above all, she wanted him to be happy. That day in Glasnevin, she could have appealed to him to stay, but she had realised it would only have destroyed whatever friendship was left. It would have been an incredibly selfish act on her part. However, it was still painful to think she might never see him again.

  ‘Paul has left Dublin already. He’s enlisting in the RAF up north and then he will be stationed somewhere in England.’

  ‘Ah, now, good for him. Do you hope to join him there?’

  ‘No, we broke up a few months ago. We are still friends, but our lives are taking us in different directions. My uncle has invited me to come and live with his family in the south of England and there is hope of a job, too.’

  Mrs Twohig reached across the table, squeezed her hand, and spoke in her soft way. ‘I’m delighted for you. A fresh start. It does no good to dwell on the might-have-beens, a stór. Life has taught me that over and over again. You have your life ahead of you. It seems to me, war or no war, that your future lies across the water.’

  Mrs T stood up and took a small black metal box down from a shelf. ‘Take this with you. It has always brought my family luck.’ She reached inside the box and pulled out an object. She blew on it, then rubbed it with the sleeve of her cardigan before handing it over.

  Sarah stared down at the metal cross on a black-and-white ribbon, lying in her palm. ‘No, no, I couldn’t accept this!’

  ‘Please take it. It was my father’s, and he swore it got him through the Great War. Survived the Somme, he did. Told us he took that medal from a Hun he shot who tried to kill ’im and his pal. I’ve no need for it now, and it might prove lucky for you.’ Mrs Twohig held up her hand as Sarah protested. ‘No, I’m determined. I want you to have it, especially as there was nothing of yours in that box from the Corpo. No arguments, please.’

  Sarah gulped down her tears, still staring at the medal. ‘Do you know what it is, Mrs Twohig?’

  ‘My father called it an Iron Cross. German medal for bravery. Now there’s a piece of irony for you. Bravery! Cowardly Huns dropping bombs on the innocent!’

  The cross was black with a raised silver border. There was a crown at the top and 1914 at the bottom. In the middle was the letter ‘W’. ‘I wonder what the “W” stands for,’ she said, looking across at her hostess.

  ‘Sorry, my dear, I’ve no idea, but my father was convinced that war trophy was a lucky charm.’

  Sarah glanced up. ‘I will treasure it and keep it always. Thank you.’ It was the most bizarre gift she had ever received, but if it were as lucky as Mrs Twohig claimed, it would be foolish to refuse it. Besides, she did not wish to offend the old lady.

  ‘May God go with you, and keep you safe, a stór,’ Mrs Twohig said, her eyes bright with tears. ‘I’ll keep you in my prayers.’

  6

  6th September 1941, Southampton Central Railway Station

  Sarah awoke as the train from Bristol crawled to a stop. Her fellow passengers were putting on their coats and retrieving their bags from the racks above their seats but Sarah waited, her excitement building. For a moment, all she could do was count her blessings, relieved to have made it to Southampton. Her journey from Dublin had been long and uncomfortable, the sea voyage nerve-racking due to the th
reat posed by the Luftwaffe. She had boarded the train with relief only to find there wasn’t a seat to be had. The train was full of soldiers on the move and she spent most of the journey in the corridor, nose to nose with the troops. Luckily, the men were a happy-go-lucky bunch and they had entertained her royally as the miles flew past. When they had disembarked several stops ago, she had been lucky enough to get a seat in a compartment for the rest of the journey.

  Now, a new adventure beckoned. Another surge of excitement ran through her as she pulled out Uncle Tom’s letter for the umpteenth time. Sarah scanned it once more before putting it back in her handbag. What would he be like? Ma had always spoken fondly of Uncle Tom and his wife Alice. They must be tender-hearted to have offered her, a virtual stranger, a chance to start over. Pulling a small mirror compact from her bag, she tidied her hair, applied some lipstick and adjusted her hat. Now she was ready.

  Stepping down onto the platform, Sarah took in the surroundings and the people milling about. She had a vague idea of what her uncle looked like from old photographs Ma had treasured. As no one appeared to be waiting for her on the platform, Sarah followed the other passengers towards the exit at the far end. Outside, the first thing she noticed were the barrage balloons being buffeted about in the wind, the implication of their existence above the city plain. Sarah looked away with a grimace. Nearby, a group of men were working close to the station entrance, shovelling rubble and debris into wheelbarrows. Part of the wall had a gaping hole; the station must have been hit in recent days.

  Spotting a gentleman standing near the entrance, Sarah thought it might be her uncle. He looked about the right age.

  ‘Excuse me, would you be Tom Lambe, by any chance?’ she asked on approach.

  The man swung around and weighed her up with a sweeping glance, his expression one of aversion. ‘I am not,’ he barked. ‘Bloody Irish! Why don’t you crawl back to your own country? We don’t need the likes of you here.’ With a snort of derision, he moved away, leaving Sarah stunned, her heart thumping. She had never encountered such animosity before. It left her feeling ill.

  ‘Sarah? Is that you?’ a tentative voice enquired.

  Sarah turned with relief. A middle-aged man stood a few feet away; he might have grown older, but she recognised her uncle immediately. Relieved, she closed the gap at speed, and held out her hand. ‘Yes! Uncle Tom. I’m very pleased to meet you at last.’

  Seconds later, she was hugged. ‘Ah,’ her uncle said, ‘I’d know you anywhere. Sure, you’re the image of your dear mother; same chestnut hair and green eyes. You are most welcome. I’m only sorry it’s just yourself; very sorry indeed.’

  Sarah gulped at the reference to Maura but returned the hug, choking back her tears. Uncle Tom cleared his throat and held her at arm’s length. ‘It’s incredible … the resemblance. Well, now, we still have a way to go, my dear. Let me take your case. We can catch the Supermarine bus home to Hursley.’

  ‘The Supermarine bus? Isn’t Supermarine the company you work for?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Since they had to disperse operations throughout the county, they have provided a bus service from all our different locations. Luckily, there is one that will take us straight home. It was that or cycle, and I assumed you’d have some luggage and would find that difficult. I’m afraid I don’t own a car.’

  ‘The bus is perfect. I’d much prefer it to a bicycle with this old case to lug about. How far is Hursley from here, Uncle Tom?’

  ‘About nine miles,’ he replied.

  Taking his offered arm, Sarah studied him as they walked along. Tom was a tall man, with a lean face. Flecks of silver at his temples, in otherwise dark brown hair, peeped out from under his hat, and when he smiled encouragingly at her, his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. There was little physical resemblance to her mother, but she warmed to him straight away.

  ‘Here we are. Shouldn’t have to wait too long,’ he said, coming to a stop and lowering her case to the ground. ‘How was the journey? Crossing the Irish Sea these days must be nerve-racking.’

  ‘I was anxious about it. There are so many stories about ships being attacked by U-boats or planes, even when flying the Irish flag. Everyone on board was nervous, even the crew – you could see it in their faces. I was never so glad to reach dry land when we docked at Liverpool.’

  ‘I had hoped to meet you there, but work is hectic, and I just couldn’t get away.’

  ‘Oh no; I didn’t expect it,’ Sarah replied. ‘The instructions in your letter were perfect, and I made all of my connections without too much trouble. Most folk are helpful, I find, if you need directions.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it; I was worried about you travelling alone. So many people on the move these days.’ He nodded towards an approaching bus. ‘Excellent! Here’s our transport.’

  They hopped on and uncle Tom ushered Sarah to seats up near the top. ‘I must warn you, my dear. The journey can be a bit hair-raising. You’d think the hounds of hell were after these drivers. They seem to believe they are a target for the Luftwaffe because they transport the workers. However, I doubt the Jerries know they even exist.’

  As the bus travelled through the streets of the city, Sarah was shocked by the damage. Many buildings were mere shells with blackened walls and yawning holes. Each one represented a family torn apart, or a business destroyed. It reminded her of North Strand. From the Irish newspapers, she knew the Germans had bombed Southampton, along with most of the south English coast, but she hadn’t realised the full extent of the destruction. When she remarked upon it to Uncle Tom, he grimaced.

  ‘Damned Jerries! Did their best to blow us to kingdom come, but it will take more than that to beat us. We knew we would be targeted because of the naval base and Supermarine. We lost some good people when the factory was hit, you know. It was heartbreaking.’ He regarded her gravely. ‘Poor lass, sure you have experienced it first-hand. A dreadful business. What were they thinking, bombing Dublin?’

  ‘No one knows. There are plenty of theories, but only the pilots can answer the question. The German Ambassador said it was an error, if you can believe him.’

  ‘Well, it shows the level of depravity of Hitler and his maniacs, and no mistake. Now tell me truthfully, are you fully recovered from your injuries? There’s no need for you to start work straight away if you need to convalesce.’

  Suddenly self-conscious, Sarah touched the scar at the base of her neck before pulling her hair across it. ‘Oh, no, there is no need for that. I’m fine. My leg is a little stiff sometimes, but I was lucky not to sustain more serious injuries. So many others were not so fortunate.’

  Uncle Tom patted her arm. ‘Indeed, you were blessed, my dear. Your dear mother must have been looking out for you. But oh my! We were so sorry to hear about your father and Maura. A tragic waste.’

  ‘Thank you. There are days I still cannot believe it, but I have to focus on the future now,’ Sarah said, anxious to change the subject. She still found it difficult to talk about Maura’s passing, and any reminder of her father was unwelcome.

  ‘That is the best attitude, my dear,’ Uncle Tom replied. They sat in companionable silence for some minutes.

  ‘How long have you lived in Hursley?’ she asked.

  ‘Only since January this year. The factory at Woolston was bombed last September, as I said, and then in the Blitz in November the house we rented, here in Southampton, was irreparably damaged. Supermarine dispersed all the different operations throughout Hampshire in December. Makes it more difficult for the Germans, you see. My section, the Drawing Office, was sent to Hursley Park. It’s an old house and estate next to Hursley village. Anyway, I didn’t fancy the commute, and as my son Martin also works in the Drawing Office and our Judith was a secretary in Supermarine at the time, we moved to the village. We were one of the first families to arrive and were lucky enough to find a cottage to rent. It’s tiny, but sure it’s grand. Your Aunt Alice is so glad to be away from Southampton. The bombing destr
oyed her nerves, poor love. Shortly after, our Judith took off for London. She found Hursley slow after Southampton, I think.’

  ‘Do they build the Spitfires at Hursley?’

  ‘No, only the prototypes. The main factory is now at Castle Bromwich, up north. Have you ever seen a Spitfire?’

  ‘Only once. Maura and I witnessed a dogfight over Sandymount Strand one afternoon, but they moved out over the sea so I don’t know how it ended.’

  ‘My bet is our plane won. Damn fine machine, my dear; can out fly a Messerschmitt any day. Saved our bacon last autumn and no mistake. They’ll win us the war yet.’

  As the bus left the city behind, it picked up speed and Sarah turned her attention to the countryside as they raced along the leafy laneways. She could see rolling hills and a chequerboard of farm fields through the gaps in the trees. Would country life suit her, she wondered? It was bound to be very different to life in Dublin city. Would she be able to settle?

  ‘Your aunt is looking forward to meeting you. And Martin, of course. We do miss our Judith since she went up to London. It’ll be grand to have a young woman about the place again,’ Uncle Tom remarked.

  Sarah smiled up at him. ‘That’s a shame. I’d love to meet Judith – she’s about my age, isn’t she?’

  ‘About a year older. Don’t worry, she will be home in a few weeks for the weekend. Got herself a nice job, so she did. An important one, too, from what she says in her letters. We are extremely proud of her.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to meeting all the family. It is so generous of you to offer me a home and the possibility of work. While I was recovering in hospital, my job was given to someone else.’