Vera's Wartime Valentine

Vera blushed bright red and ran out of the house followed by Ken.

~ ** ~

Samuel called everyone to the wireless set - the BBC was about to make an announcement.

When everyone was sitting comfortably they found that the war was finally over. Not just with the Germans, everything. Suddenly the Americans had made a bomb of great power and two cities had ceased to exist. Not Tokyo - but two places that she hadn't even heard of before. She didn't believe this really; why would you drop this wonder-weapon on some obscure dump in the countryside when you could make a real impact on the capital?

The rumour factories were on overtime as usual. It was commonly propounded that the new bomb was the size of a pea and vaporised everything within a mile radius whilst not affecting property or people even one inch outside that distance. According to some people who clearly knew more than her, it was possible to stand at one point and have one hand turned to dust and the other perfectly fine. Vera was distrustful of this particular theory.

Nevertheless, it was on the BBC and no-one could argue with that. Ken didn't have to go to the Pacific. She had now to wait only for a few days until he could get another Leave pass and catch a train. Vera decided that she couldn't wait, she would go to meet him.

It was the furthest that she had ever travelled unaccompanied, all the way to London and then another train journey to a place unlike any she had ever been to. There were vast fields on flat countryside, without any hills to be seen. All her life she had lived amongst hills and valleys and this was unnerving -- she didn't like it at all.

When the train came to a halt at a station she alighted. There was an inn across the road, so she booked a room for the night. Clearly she was not the first lady to be visiting a soldier at the nearby base. When Ken appeared, wearing his best uniform and carrying an overnight bag she was waiting.

His last letter to her had been signed with a 'Norwich' and she was good to her word. She took him to a quiet corner and showed him her lack of attire under her dress.

They had all night to spend together, without any sniggering farmer's wife leering from the doorway. Vera made the most of it until Ken was groaning with fatigue.

In the morning Vera awoke, for the first time with a man alongside her. After so much time sharing a bed with the Doris and Agnes she had a muscular man to look after. She set to work.

After three days it was time for Vera to get dressed again and go home. She had to admit that she had had enough sex for the time being. In any case Ken had nothing left to give her; she had drained him dry.

She was sore and decided to leave her panties in her bag to allow the cooling fresh air to soothe her. She wondered now how she had lasted so long as a virgin; this fucking was a lark. No wonder some girls became nymphos and tramps.

She walked across the street to the station. There were no street signs; all the metal signs had been removed to help with the war effort and to confuse any invaders, but she knew that Norwich was around there somewhere. It would be amusing to be knickerless in Norwich, she thought. Like the old 'knock, knock' joke about Nicholas, she shouldn't climb trees. With that thought, she caught the train back to London and home.

~ ** ~

The Prisoner of War camp was closing for good. All the occupants were being repatriated except for a tiny number of senior officers - including a Field-Marshall - who were to be tried for the war-crimes.

Gustav visited for the last time and a tearful Edith made her farewells with a special tea for all. Samuel appeared oblivious to anything untoward. Helmut was there but kept his distance from Vera. Only his weasel-eyes betrayed his interest. Soon they were gone, like the guards, the workers at the 'Admiralty' and the men at the gunnery range. Everything was quiet and it was time for her to think about going home like everyone else.

****

Epilogue

Vera looked back at her life, reminiscing to herself. All those opportunities, both wasted and taken. As someone later said, life is what happens while you're busy making other plans. Now she was a widow with her plans behind her. Her body was softer now, years of housework had been no substitute for heaving feed sacks. Her breasts were no longer firm and reminded her of smaller versions of those displayed by Edith at the farm pump.

Whatever had happened to Ken? She had given her heart and her body without reservation but he had vanished. She knew perfectly well of course, truth be told. He surely had a family already in the States; presumably in Montana but it could have been anywhere. She had enquired with the American Embassy but had been firmly rebuffed. She had been told that no letters would be forwarded, no contact made. Unless he contacted her, that was the end of the matter.

In her purse she kept a folded scrap of paper with some writing, barely decipherable but treasured all the same. She knew every word on it without checking.

She had left the farm soon after Edith had. Samuel had been mystified when his wife announced that she was taking a holiday by herself, to Germany of all places to visit one of the ex-prisoners from the camp.

The other Land Army girls drifted off back to their homes in different parts of the country. The men who had worked there before were returning from the services in their 'Demob' suits and had priority on the jobs. The world was changing but in some ways things still stayed the same.

When Edith never returned from her holiday, Vera hadn't wanted to stay with Samuel and the strangers and so found lodgings in the town. She especially didn't want the humiliation of staying there in her condition -- she was with child. Within a few months she had gone from 'never been awakened' to 'having a pea in the pod'.

Tupped, like the ewes in the field when the ram had been put in. How stupid, after all that her mother had said.

Vera considered the irony of language. In the local parlance there was a word that sounded exactly the same; 'twp' -- and that meant 'stupid'. It was as apt a word to describe her state as could be imagined.

After the war it had been difficult to find a husband. An unmarried mother amongst thousands of similar cases, some had managed to follow their boyfriends across the Atlantic but the American military had made it impossible to trace anyone who wanted to avoid contact with old flames.

So she had turned into a Groundsheet after all. Too shamed to return home, Vera took shelter in the local community that she had come to know. Lucky to find anyone to marry, she had eventually found love and companionship with a local lad.

Huw had spent the war as a 'Bevin Boy'. He had been conscripted by random selection into the coal mines that had suffered a crippling loss of labour. Coal of course was absolutely essential to the war effort and so a number of men were sent underground instead of overseas. They were named after the Minister for Labour, Ernest Bevin.

Afterwards Huw had been unable to find other work; preference was always given to men with medals on their chests de-mobbed from the military so he had remained in the mines.

The war had not been a good experience for Huw, Regarded by some as a fortunate avoider of National Service, he had suffered from lung disease caused by the dust. Eventually it had been the end of him -- he had been killed by the war just as surely as any torpedoed sailor but without any medals to pin on his chest. The difference was that he took years to die instead of seconds, coughing his lungs up in the Miner's hospital.

He never marched in any Remembrance Day Parade, nor would his name ever be engraved on a granite war memorial.

He had even suffered the indignity of being called a 'Conchy' by ignorant people. He had been no conscientious objector; he would have preferred to have had a more exciting time than inside a narrow black tunnel a mile deep with the constant risk of a crushing rock fall or a gas explosion with no chance of rescue.

Huw had no other relatives; his family had all died of the tuberculosis before the war. He had been a good man though, he had looked after Ken Junior just as if he were his own.

The lad himself was now a fine young man, with no such problems with wars and health. There was a brave new future, exciting times ahead. Jobs were available in the new factories being built on the site of the old ammo works which had since been bulldozed away.

Grandchildren might soon be on the horizon, she knew that Kenneth was looking forward to a St. Valentine's dance that was coming in a few days time and with luck there might be a young lady to catch his eye.

If there were any, perhaps she would take them and her dog to play on the dunes. Vera frequently walked across the dunes, looking at the hollows and the marram grass that covered the strands of rusting barbed wire.

* * *

Thank you for reading. In case you are interested the locations described here are based on 'Island Farm' Prisoner of War Camp and Royal Ordnance Factory 53, together with RAF Stormy Down, traces of which still exist. There are several fascinating accounts online of these places. Certain well-known events such as the mass escape of 70 prisoners through a tunnel happened - but otherwise this is of course a work of fiction (apart from a family anecdote about a lady who left home to be with an ex-prisoner of war).