The War Widows

‘I’m sorry, ladies, but yer time’s up. I did warn you. If no one comes to collect you, it must be reported and you’ll be sent back to your own country.’ He looked at his list and at his watch, brushing his hand over his Brylcreemed hair, clearing his throat.

They were the only people left, sitting with toddlers on their knees in the draughty arrivals hall, looking forlorn as they scoured every coming and going, to no avail.

Suddenly the oriental girl stood up and flung herself on the floor on her knees in a bow of total submission, her black eyes peeking from beneath a battered straw hat while the child, in brown leggings and pixie bonnet beside her, watched open-mouthed as in halting but perfect English her plea was made.

‘Honourable sir…this is a big mistake. I have my letter here. I send a telegram. He will come for me,’ she pleaded. ‘We do not want to go back out east.’

This is terrible, Lily thought. That poor lass must be desperate to be humbling herself before a stranger like that. She could hardly watch. Poor refugees coming all this way by sea and air to a strange country that demanded papers, checks, medicals and questions, and no one to greet them. It was a disgrace.

And just who was the other reject in the printed headscarf? She looked like one of those displaced wanderers of war you saw on the Pathé News: a war bride or perhaps the bona fide fiancée of a British citizen. The two girls seemed such forlorn figures, abandoned by heartless Tommies who had, no doubt, promised them the earth. They looked so helpless Lily just couldn’t sit by and do nothing.

Her heart went out to them but where was Susan Brown? Did she think she too had been abandoned in the cold, clutching her bags in a panic, Freddie’s letters burning a hole in her pocket? What must she think of his family?

Lily watched the golden-skinned child cowering into her mother’s blouse for comfort until the mother pulled her away and the child’s mouth opened into a huge howl of protest. There was a tincture of dirty nappy she recognised only too well.

The muffled toddler was lifted up. What a welcome to Manchester! To be left behind with no one to greet them was a dreadful fate.

Passengers from the next flight were already hurrying through the hall, looking out expectantly as they were met by waiting relatives. Was Susan Brown among them? She would be searching for Freddie in the crowd, not a stranger. She must have wandered off somewhere, but where in this rabbit warren of buildings?

Perhaps the girl was in the toilet trying to spruce herself up after such a long journey, putting on warmer clothes? If only Lily knew what she looked like. Better to ask again at the desk, but the plight of these two Orphan Annies and their babies moved her to offer some help.

It was those summer dresses with ill-fitting suit jackets-probably their very best outfits-that moved her to pity. Their offspring at least were well padded in siren suits with pixie hoods, wide-eyed with terror. She would have to do something. She was a Brown Owl and Guiders knew their duty.

Perhaps there was some hiccup at Immigration and Susan Brown was delayed somewhere. Freddie must have filled in the sponsorship forms or his girlfriend wouldn’t have got this far.

The second mother looked thin and shabby in her faded frock with a striped headscarf covering her dark copper hair. Wisps were straggling across her cheeks and there were tears welling in her eyes as she helped the oriental mother from the floor. Suddenly they both started to rock back and forwards, keening and hollering so everyone stopped to stare and the children howled in sympathy.

No one was coming for them. It was a terrible sight, tugging at Lily’s heartstrings. Something must be done.

‘What is going on?’ she asked the official.

‘These lasses’ll have to go back. They are the third lot of abandoned refugees I’ve had to sort out today. More paperwork and more tears. If only our chaps wouldn’t promise these girls the earth, but that’s soldiers for you. Where that Greek comes from she’ll be in trouble. Women like her end up put out of the family for bringing shame.’ He was pointing at the headscarf, shaking his head.

‘Can we get them a cup of tea?’ Lily asked, feeling even more sorry for the two rejects, who were now huddled on the bench together as if to gain courage one from the other. It would give her something to do and a chance to search for Miss Brown, but with no photograph to guide her, Lily was beginning to panic. What if the girl set off for Grimbleton on her own in the dark? There was no direct bus route without going into the centre of Manchester first. Anything could happen…

A woman in an overall brought some chipped cups of tea on a tray and Lily handed them out to both strangers with a smile.

‘Your soldier boys will come,’ she said in her brightest voice. It was late. Perhaps Miss Brown was on the next plane from London.

‘Mister Stan will not forget. I wrote many times,’ smiled the oriental young woman, shaking her head at the teacup. ‘No more tea, thank you.’

‘My soldier is at camp. He come. He send brother,’ said the other.

‘Where are you from?’ Lily asked, hoping to take their minds off their predicament.

‘London,’ answered the tiny woman.

The two of them were like peg and prop. One was tall and statuesque, the other tiny like a bird.

‘And you?’ Lily turned to the girl in the headscarf.

‘I come from Athens…Greece.’

They all smiled politely and fell silent, lined up like a set of jugs against the wall until the official Lily had spoken to at the information desk hurried over. He was beaming with relief, looking at each of them and clutching his papers.

‘Winstanley…Any of you for Winstanley?’ he mouthed slowly.

At last, thought Lily, her enquiries were bearing fruit.

At the sound of the name the two women rose as one. ‘Yes,’ they replied in unison, standing expectantly and then immediately stared at each other with suspicion.

Lily sat down with shock.

‘This is Miss Winstanley, she’s come to collect one of you,’ said the officer, but they both also sat down promptly and shook their heads.

‘There must be some mistake. I’ve come for Miss Susan Brown from Burma,’ said Lily.

The man was pointing to the oriental girl, who was back on the floor, prostrate again, her head buried in her palms.

‘Honourable sir, I do not know this lady…She is not my Mister Stan,’ she sobbed, pulling her child into her chest away from them.

The other girl grabbed her hand. ‘Get up, Miss Susan. Your Mister Stan has sent for you. Lucky, lucky you.’ She turned to Lily. ‘I wait for Sergeant Winstanley. She wait for a Mister Stan.’

Lily felt her knees shaking. There couldn’t be two Winstanleys anticipated, could there?

‘Not to worry,’ she whispered. ‘If your name is Susan Brown, then it’s me come to collect you. I’m Lily Winstanley, Freddie’s sister. I’m sorry I was late.’ Stretching out her hand as if to gather up Susan in one fell swoop, there was no hiding her relief. ‘Freddie said you were bonny but I was expecting…never mind…’ There was no hiding her surprise.

‘Freddie, you know my Freddie, Miss Lily?’ said the Greek lass, jumping up excitedly. ‘I have his address: twenty-two Division Street, Grimbleton.’ A piece of paper was shoved under Lily’s nose. Arms were flung round her. ‘He is coming for me too?’

‘Hang on,’ Lily gasped, stepping back quickly. ‘Not so fast…It’s her I’ve come for: Susan Brown from Burma, Freddie’s intended. I don’t know anything about you. Show us that address again,’ she said, peering at it intently and then at them both.

‘But that is my address too,’ cried Susan, peering at the lettering. ‘My Stan lives at twenty-two Division Street, Grimbleton. It is written on my heart.’

The other girl folded her arms. ‘But I am Anastasia Papadaki. Sergeant Freddie Winstanley is my man and Konstandina is his child. I name her after his mother, Konstantia. It is the custom, yes?’

‘No, No! I am Susan Liat Brown. Mr Winstanley is my intended,’ screamed Susan. ‘And this is his child, Joy Liat. He is my man. I have his address. You, lady, are a big liar! I have a photo…See!’ Susan produced a tattered sepia photograph. ‘It was taken in Rangoon before he left on a ship, when I was a teacher. See…we are in a concert party.’ Her smile was triumphant.

Lily peered at it with dismay. There was no doubting that was Freddie grinning at the camera, dressed in a Pierrot costume.

‘Give me here. On the bones of Agios Vasilios…Ne! Ne! Yes! That is Freddie, my Freddie. We meet in Athens when I was nurse,’ said the Greek, refusing to give way. ‘She is liar. Susan is dead!’

‘How am I dead if I am here with little Joy?’ Susan shouted back, clinging to the toddler. ‘She is his little Joy.’

There was a deafening silence as they both stared at each other. Lily’s heart was thumping a drumbeat. It would take the judgement of Solomon to sort out this mess.

‘Oh heck,’ she said, scratching her head. What have you been up to Freddie? she sighed.

They were all looking to her for guidance. ‘What do we do now?’