Open Writing

After the Americans arrived in 1942, my hometown changed out of all recognition. It wasn't a boom town, but it attracted many strange characters. It didn't seem respectable any more. I think this often happens during wars, when people are living on the edge most of the time.

On Fridays, which was pay-day for the American servicemen, Warrington was besieged by hundreds of women from places like Manchester and Liverpool, all of them in search of a good time. They came in on trains and buses. People really resented these out-of-town women and the American servicemen giving Warrington town a bad name. That was the first time I heard the expression 'oversexed and over here' applied to the Americans soldiers and airmen.

Maureen Delaney was a school-friend of mine. She was a small, sharp girl, with pronounced opinions on everything under the sun. One day as we were walking home a young woman passed us. I had seen her before. She looked in her early twenties. Dark haired, not glamorous, but pretty in a gentle, fragile way. I liked the way she looked. She had dark sleepy looking eyes, which somehow made her look sexy. Except people didn't use that expression in those days. They would have said she had come-to-bed eyes.

She had just passed us when Maureen whispered: "She's a bad 'un." "What do you mean, she's a bad 'un?"

Maureen frowned: "Exactly what I say. She's married to my cousin and she's a bad 'un. Our Jack's away in the Navy and she's carrying on with another man."

I was shocked, thrilled and excited all at the same time. "Who is he? An American?"

"No he's not a Yank, he's French."

This was even more exciting like something out of a film - visions of Charles Boyer flashed through my mind. "Free French?"

"'Too bloody free' my father says. She needs to watch herself. If Jack finds out, there'll be ructions."

Our ways divided at that point and I wandered home, my mind full of the scandalous knowledge rocketing around. At eleven I was unsure what 'carrying on' and being a 'bad un' entailed. Lots of kissing and cuddling I supposed. She didn't look bad to me. Anyway it was nearly time for children's hour on the radio, so I ran home.

The weeks passed and the summer holidays arrived. I played with friends living in my neighbourhood. For the last two weeks of the school holidays, my father arranged for a car to take us to stay in Gwespyr, North Wales, where we went every year. Perhaps you will think that would be boring, returning year after year to the same place but it wasn't; it was wonderful being close to the sea and countryside. That little cottage felt better than my real home.

September came, the weather had broken. It was time to return to school. On my first morning, running through the rain, I noticed the strangest thing. In one of the front gardens there was a white candlewick dressing-gown lying, partially covering a bush. It looked odd, but I had no time to stop.

It was good to be back. We had a new teacher called Miss Throup. She was younger than any of the other teacher; being in her class might be fun. Maureen had recently had her tonsils out and wouldn't be back at school till next week.

I was on my own when I left school. Thank goodness the rain had stopped, I dawdled my way homewards. Then I paused. My eye caught a glimpse of something white. The dressing gown still lay draped over the bush and dripping wet after the day’s soaking. What would be the harm in ringing the doorbell, and telling whoever was inside the house about it? I walked up the path and rang the bell. No answer, so I rang twice, then walked down to the gate.

Just as I was fastening the catch I looked up and saw a woman bending down to lift the dressing gown off the doorstep where I had laid it. Then she stood up.

I didn't recognise her at first, she looked really terrible. Then I realised it was the woman with the come-to-bed eyes. Those eyes were now black and bruised. Her whole face looked damaged, her delicate features inflamed, swollen and distorted. She stood, slender in a sleeveless nightdress, with contusions on her arms, neck and shoulders.

It was a terrible shock; I'd never seen anything like that in my life. I couldn't say anything. Just stood there trembling and shaking. Then I pulled myself together, and walked back up the path.

"I saw it here this morning on my way to school. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

She leaned forward and I realised she was trying to speak, but her mouth was swollen.

"Is there anything I can do, go for a doctor, get a friend or a neighbour? I could telephone from up the road?"

She shook her head, and then motioned me to come inside. The house looked like a tornado had swept through it. Broken crockery and ornaments littered the living room and kitchen, and pictures on the wall were askew. It was so awful, so bizarre that it seemed suddenly comic. I started to giggle, then I heard a deep-throated chuckle, and we both fell on the couch shaking with hysterical laughter. I suppose we were suffering from shock. Her laughter turned to sobs and she lay down on the couch, and fell asleep. I crept upstairs, which looked pretty much wrecked as downstairs. Lifting a quilt off the bed, I took it and covered her up.

Going to the front door, I fixed the snib, pulled the door behind me, and ran all the way home. Mum was making the tea. "You're late, where on earth have you been?"

I said I was sorry, and asked if Joan was in yet. Joan was home on leave from the ATS.

"She's upstairs, don't go bothering her, just get the table laid."

This was terrible, nothing was going right. I laid the table, rushing round like a scalded cat. Then I ran upstairs and told Joan. She made me sit down and repeat everything slowly.

Then she said: "Listen to me. Don't tell Mum, I'll go and see her and sort things out. If we tell Mum and Dad, they'll have the police round there and that's the last thing she needs. I know Jack Delaney; he's a bully and a drunk. She didn't deserve a beating like that, whatever she's done."

"Why did she marry him then?" I was aghast, unable to understand the way grown-ups lived their lives.

"She's an ex-Barnardo's kid, that's why. Jack Delaney's a good-looking charmer when he wants to be. He's from a well-to-do family. His father bought that house for him. I suppose she thought she'd fallen on her feet."
She gave me a cuddle. "Anyway you did the right thing. I was going out, I haven't got a date but I couldn't bear the thought of another of Mum's meat and potato pies."

We both giggled and I ran downstairs. Joan was right; the meat and potato pie was terrible. It wasn't Mum's fault really, Lord Woolton, the Minister for Food, had a lot of things to answer for, and Mum's meat and potato pie was just one of them.

We had so much fish that Dad said we'd be growing fins. Mum told him that Doctor Hill the Radio Doctor said fish was brain-food and Dad said, “Well in that case before this war is over we'll all be geniuses.” There was no doubt about it; Mothers had a hard time on the home front.

The next morning Joan was up bright and early. During breakfast she winked at me and said, "I'll walk to school with you, and then I can have a look at the old place."

I knew she wanted to tell me what had happened the night before. I got ready for school so quickly that Dad said: "What are you two up to?" We did the washing-up to allay any suspicion in that quarter.

On the way to school Joan gave me what she called the 'low-down' on what had happened the night before.

"I thought the best thing to do was ring Doctor Anderson; she's one of his patients. He told me to go to the house and wait for him. She was still asleep when I got there, and I must say she did look bad."

"He won't tell the police will he? I don't think it will help her - being a 'bad un,' and married to a sailor."

Joan laughed: "She's not a 'bad un,' as you call it. She went dancing with this French chap, a few times. She's not been sleeping with him, although he's crazy about her. Someone sent Jack Delaney a letter about his wife and Pierre. He came home roaring drunk from Gosport, where he's stationed, dragged her down the front path of the house, pulled off her dressing gown and gave her a beating. That was at three o'clock in the morning. Then he staggered off down town, where he got himself arrested for being drunk and disorderly. He's now back in Gosport feeling very sorry for himself, no doubt."

This was getting more puzzling by the minute, so much happening: "I don't understand, how did Maia know Jack was back in Gosport?"

"The police came to the house at lunchtime yesterday, hammering on the door; Maia cowered behind the kitchen door, thinking Jack had come back. The policeman put a note through the door, explaining what had happened to her husband. I realise it's complicated."

I felt disappointed. "Didn't you see Pierre then?"

"I did, as a matter of fact. Maia asked me to ring him and tell him all the details before she went in the ambulance to the Infirmary."

"Oh Joan, what was he like?"

"Well, as Mum would say, handsome is as handsome does, and he's absolutely gorgeous. When he came to the house he told me he'll marry her as soon as she's free. Today he's going to look at a furnished cottage. He's moved all her things out of the house. When she has recovered, that is where they will be living. Aren't you proud of yourself, setting all those proceedings in motion?"

"Joan, you are so clever. You could win this war single-handed."

I don't know what happened to Maia and Pierre. I think everything that occurred in that house became part of a past, which they didn't want to remember. I hope they did marry, and lived happily ever after. In which case she is a now a very old lady indeed, perhaps living in a chateau, with dozens of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Mum always said that curiosity would be the death of me. I've never been able to resist a mystery, and I'm very glad I solved the riddle of the dressing gown lying on the bush.