The Returning Tide Read online

  HMS Attack, Portland, Dorset

  30 May 1944

  I caressed the envelope, missing Bobby so much. We hadn’t taken advantage of being stationed so close together and now I lived letter to letter.

  May 23, 1944

  Darling Adele,

  You know I’m missing you. When the opportunity for sleep comes my thoughts drift to you and I dream of our future. I feel you near me here because I know how much you love it. Are your family well? I had a letter from my mother. All is fine in Massachusetts.

  How is Portland? I can imagine it’s busy. The men here are restless, so together with the padre, Fr Lynch, and the Mother Superior who runs the school, we have concocted a plan. The men are going to build a shrine to Our Lady of Lourdes. It will be a grotto. Do you know the school run by Les Filles de la Croix at Tremough?

  Did I know it? Yes, I did – Amelia and I had nearly attended it when we moved in with Grandmother.

  I was at the Ferryboat Inn two nights ago. I cannot be there and not think of you. I feel guilty about taking you away from all of this. Everything is in bloom here. So many rhododendrons it reminds me of home. I wrote and told my parents of our engagement. I hope I will be able to meet your father before long and ask his permission to marry you. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve told my parents. I found that when I was writing all I was doing was talking only about you, so my mother asked directly in her last letter. I couldn’t lie. She is delighted.

  I love you so much and am counting the hours until this war is over and we can marry.

  Yours always,

  Bobby xx

  Leaning back on my bunk, I thought about his parents. What must they feel with him being away and falling in love with a stranger? I wondered how my parents would react. Grandmother would be livid. I smiled. That shouldn’t please me but it did. How far I had fallen. Fortunately Amelia would be marrying well in Grandmother’s eyes.

  I was due on duty in an hour. Focusing on work was hard when part of my mind was on Bobby, and now like so many others I lived letter to letter. The last one was dated four days ago. But the atmosphere here had changed since then to high alert. All leave had been cancelled. We were all on edge although we had no idea what was going on. One of the girls had come back from the docks yesterday afternoon in shock because she’d been caught in her overalls and headscarf with a wrench in her hand when two cars went past. Inside them were the Prime Minster, the King and General Patton. As she recounted it she said she’d wanted to meet her king but not dressed in grease-spattered blue overalls. We laughed with her but I knew that this meant major events were imminent.

  Father’s last letter was full of so little. He spoke of the dinner he’d had with Aunt Margaret and not much else. To be honest it was hardly worth wasting the paper for what it said except that he hoped to see me soon. I had no idea when I’d have leave again. I longed to be with Bobby in London so that he could speak with Father. I wanted our plans to be public now and my desire to hold things close felt foolish when so much was at risk. Amelia had been right to rush forward.

  Her letters were bursting with news. Her handwriting was minute in order to save paper and tell me everything.

  I heard from Eddie last night. He’d been at a do and had to dance with the governor’s wife who repeatedly crunched his toes. They were so sore the following day he walked with a limp. I can just see him being so polite, can’t you? He’s good that way. Do you remember at that house party when he was pigeonholed to dance with every wallflower and we managed to dance with him just once before the band called it a night? He has such a good heart and that is why I love him so much. He spots the wallflower and always makes sure she has one dance. I could not love him more.

  Please tell me more about your American. I heard that he is very handsome and has been spotted again in the Ferryboat. You also haven’t told me what you thought of all the changes around here. It’s strange, isn’t it? I can’t tell you how much easier it is driving on the widened road. Yes, I still enjoy driving and the admiral I’m looking after is very funny but recently there is a sternness and focus about him. ’Nuff said.

  Father called last night. Mother actually spoke to him. She lit up for a while but then came crashing down. I am distracting her by creating new and interesting food with what we have. I have never eaten so much fish and have become very good at adapting French recipes. Madame Pomfrey has given me her Tante Marie cookbook. It keeps my French fresh and my cooking different. Grandmother is happier than I have seen her in years. She is also fitter. I think it’s all the exercise she is getting between the fishing and the garden. Her pride in her vegetables is so amusing. I heard her bragging to Lady V.

  Last night I went to the social held for the Yanks in the village hall. I found myself studying all the men wondering if one of them was yours. I don’t think he was there because I’m sure I’d know your American. I would feel your love for him. Despite not finding him, I had a good laugh and so enjoyed dancing. It helps to keep my mind off the distance between Eddie and me. I feel your hunger for your Yank and know you understand mine. Who would have thought that we would both be in love and be separated? I pray daily for us both and for our men. Mother is in the same place but Father is here in the UK – at least he is at the moment, although I overheard something that made me think this may not be the case for long.

  Stay safe. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers along with our men.

  Xxxx

  5 June 1944

  I was out of breath from racing up the hill. I rushed into my cabin and collapsed on my bunk with my head in my hands. My mind was full of images of what we’d just witnessed – the troops boarding the landing craft. Somewhere Bobby was readying himself too. I tried to pray but no words could express the fear in me, yet at the same time there was hope that we could win this war. I heard footsteps approaching and I looked up. Pat came into the cabin carrying a letter. She smiled. I knew it was from Bobby.

  1 June 1944

  I don’t when I’ll be able to write again. I know you will be aware of what is happening. Know that I love you with all my heart.

  Pray for us all.

  Bobby

  I quickly stood, adjusted my uniform and walked to my duty with a heavy heart.

  The sky was clear above me and planes flew silhouetted black against the evening sun. Each plane was towing a string of gliders. I knew then that the operation had begun. I waved at them and saw a group of my friends cheering as they flew past. The area was in full operation mode. The invasion was under way. I clutched Bobby’s letter in my hands as I watched the landing craft leave the harbour. My fear was beyond words. I looked to heaven and swallowed back tears. I had a job to do.

  Stand of the Tide

  The tide has turned! The free men of the world are marching together to Victory!

  I have full confidence in your courage and devotion to duty and skill in battle.

  We will accept nothing less than full Victory! Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking.

  GENERAL DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER, 2 JUNE 1944

  It involves tides, wind, waves, visibility, both from the air and the sea standpoint, and the combined employment of land, air and sea forces in the highest degree of intimacy and in contact with conditions which could not and cannot be fully foreseen.

  WINSTON CHURCHILL, 6 JUNE 1944

  Thirty-One

  HMS Attack, Portland, Dorset

  11 June 1944

  I’d fallen asleep in the sun. It hadn’t been my plan and now I could feel the sunburn forming on my skin. Grandmother’s voice rang in my head, but the last thing I was worried about at the moment was my complexion. The days were blurring together. Having seen the departure of so many vessels as I went on duty days ago, it broke my heart to find boats returning with the dead and wounded. I didn’t know what to do with my feelings so I locked them inside and made my face a mask. Exercise Tiger had taught me what the Allies we
re up against so I knew when the boats departed that the odds of all these men returning were slim. Pat was becoming more worried by the day. I tried not to think, just to work, eat, drink and sleep.

  ‘Adele,’ Dot shouted, ‘there’s a call for you.’

  I raced to the telephone, my heart beating. I knew it wouldn’t be Bobby but I couldn’t help hoping as I picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Adele, darling.’

  ‘Mother.’ I swallowed my disappointment. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine, fine.’ She hiccuped.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I could hear her controlling her breathing. She sobbed.

  ‘I just––’ She took a deep breath. ‘I just wanted you to know that your father is fine.’

  I frowned. ‘Why wouldn’t he be? Father’s in London.’

  ‘He’s in France, dear. He landed with the Canadians.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s a doctor, darling.’

  I bit back my response. ‘He didn’t say,’ I said at last.

  ‘I know. He didn’t want to worry you.’

  I sighed. Didn’t want to worry me? Just in that moment I realised how little my parents knew me. ‘So he’s in France now.’

  ‘Yes, darling, but he’s fine.’

  ‘Thank God. How’s Grandmother, and Amelia?’

  ‘All is well. Amelia’s off driving at the moment.’

  That was not what I wanted to know. Mother sounded so odd. ‘Thank you for letting me know. Are you well?’

  ‘Just fine. But –’ she paused ‘– I must tell you.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘Reginald is missing presumed dead.’

  ‘Oh Mother, I’m so sorry. Poor Aunt Margaret and Grandmother. How are they taking the news?’

  ‘Not well, but your grandmother has gone to London to be with Margaret.’

  ‘That’s good.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’ll try and ring Aunt Margaret but will write immediately.

  ‘Yes, you do that, dear. Now our three minutes are up. Love you, darling.’

  ‘Love you,’ I said, but I don’t think she heard me. I placed the receiver down and walked back to my cabin.

  I collapsed on my bunk. Uncle Reginald dead. I closed my eyes offering a prayer for him. Father in Europe. With all the casualties, he and all the doctors they could muster would be needed. Surely he might be more useful in a proper theatre rather than in the field? But then, I knew very little of what was happening. Mother’s words sounded in my head again: Uncle Reg, dead. I couldn’t believe it.

  Pat walked in. ‘You caught the sun.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, silly really. I fell asleep.’

  ‘Good. Then you’ll be rested for the dance tonight.’

  I made a face. The last thing I wanted was to go dancing.

  ‘None of us feel like it,’ said Pat, ‘but it will do us good.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘We’ll all just mope otherwise.’ She forced a smile.

  ‘True,’ I said. Pat hadn’t had word about Joe either. Her nails had been bitten down to the quick, but she was nothing if not determined to keep a brave face. I would go with her and do the same.

  Windward, Mawnan Smith, Falmouth, Cornwall

  20 September 2015

  Lara popped her head through the kitchen door. ‘Morning.’

  ‘Coffee?’ Jack placed some mugs on a tray with the cafetière and milk.

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘It’s one way to say thank you.’ They walked together toward the terrace. The sky was moody today with grey heavy clouds interspersed with spots of blue sky. ‘Gran loved the tapioca and ate the tomato soup last night.’ He smiled, poured a mug for her.

  ‘I’m so pleased.’ She added a bit of milk to her coffee then sat on the nearby bench. ‘My great-grandfather had pneumonia last year. All he would eat was good simple food, from tapioca to homemade ice cream.’

  ‘And you lost him in August.’

  Lara nodded. ‘But not from pneumonia.’ She stood. ‘I think we should see what we can tempt her with today. Maybe we can up your standard while I’m here, as well,’ she said, smiling and turning to take in the view again. In the distance the white column of the lighthouse stood out against the blue-grey water in front.

  He laughed while trying to look indignant. She affected a very straight face but she liked the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. His whole face lit up. ‘Shall we begin?’ she said in her best teacher’s voice.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He grinned. ‘Follow me.’ Jack strode through the large hall to the kitchen. Yesterday Lara had loved the time she’d spent here with him.

  ‘Is it just you and your grandmother here?’

  ‘Yes.’ He leaned against the counter, watching her. The bookcase on one wall was stuffed with cookbooks that had been heavily used, the spines creased and dented. She recognised a few of the names, including one by her old boss Stephan who had fired her.

  ‘I didn’t ask yesterday – is there anything in particular your grandmother likes to eat?’ Lara spoke quietly in case she had the layout of the house wrong and his grandmother could somehow hear her.

  ‘She’s not really interested in food or cooking.’

  ‘A challenge then.’ She turned back towards Jack. ‘What’s your speciality?’

  His mouth twitched. ‘Osso bucco.’

  ‘Anything else?’ She opened the big fridge, checking out the contents and beginning to form a plan.

  ‘A few things. What about you? What can you teach me?’

  It was her turn to smirk. ‘Plenty.’

  His eyebrows rose.

  ‘I worked in a two-starred Michelin restaurant as the second chef.’

  She watched the information sink in.

  ‘Why the gardening leave then?’

  She stuck her head in the pantry. Should she just state the facts or try and make them sound better? Finally, she decided honesty was better. ‘I lost my temper with my boss and he fired me.’

  ‘Should I be worried?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Throw anything other than a tantrum?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ She walked to the garden door. ‘Let’s start with a tarte tatin and see if we can tempt your grandmother with fruit from her garden.’

  ‘That’s a good choice. She doesn’t normally do French food. Apple crumble is her preferred choice. Good English food with no foreign influences.’

  ‘So you don’t do the osso bucco for her?’

  ‘I just call it stew and serve it with potatoes.’

  Lara grinned. She liked his way of thinking. ‘Well, let’s try and entice her with a few foreign dishes that are only partially familiar. Hopefully this will wake up her appetite.’

  They stood together and looked at the sky. ‘We’d better be quick harvesting the apples because it looks like we’re in a for some rain.’ Jack handed her a basket and they dashed to the trees.

  ‘What types of apple trees are in the backyard?’

  ‘Yard?’ He frowned, then smiled. ‘You’re in England now. You mean garden. Or even orchard, at a stretch.’

  ‘I guess I do.’

  ‘As far as I’m aware they are mostly eaters, but the furthest ones from the house are cookers.’

  ‘Eaters and cookers. Well, I suppose that tells me something.’

  ‘Oh, you wanted to know variety then?’

  She nodded while picking ripe ones off the tree branches as well as windfalls from the ground.

  ‘I believe they’re a mix of the local varieties like Rattler, Tommy Knight, Manaccan Primrose and Pig’s Snout, to name a few.’

  ‘What fabulous names.’

  He laughed. ‘I suppose so.’

  Jack and the young woman had gone from the terrace. So that was his Lara. Didn’t he see the resemblance? I stood and picked up my sister’s unopened letters in my unsteady hand. This pile began in late 1946 and the last one was postmarked October 1950. She must have simply stopped writing because I hadn’t replied.

  How could I? Turn
ing the first letter over, I tried to imagine her life in the United States with their child Elizabeth. I hadn’t come home for the christening; in fact I hadn’t returned to Windward to look after Mother until Amelia and Elizabeth had been gone a month.

  My stomach tightened and the letter dropped from my fingers. I couldn’t read them, not now, not after all these years. But part of me was curious, had always been. I slipped the letters into the top drawer of my desk. Those letters would tell me everything I wanted to know and everything I didn’t.

  My window rattled as the wind picked up. Despite the clear morning, I could see weather coming in from the east. In about an hour the house would be lashed with rain. Opening my bedroom door the smell of cinnamon and cloves drifted up from the kitchen. They were scents of the past – harvesting apples and preserving them with Mrs Tonks. Sitting down, I let the memory fade away while I sipped a glass of water. I didn’t need food to tempt me to the past – it was becoming ever present.

  The first drops of rain were spitting down, yet in the distance Lara could see sunlight falling on a sloping field filled with cows. She stopped on her way back to the kitchen, noticing particular fruit on a nearby tree. ‘You have figs.’

  ‘Brown Turkey.’

  ‘What a lovely name.’ She reached up and took several fat figs with raindrops beading on their surface. So many were ripe. Collecting more would be their next task after the apples. But these figs would be perfect for lunch. Lara had noted a selection of cheeses wrapped in paper on the marble counter in the pantry. It showed that Jack had an understanding of food and maximising flavours. It also demonstrated the cool temperature of the pantry, and also how temperate Cornwall was.

  As they arrived back at the kitchen, she asked: ‘Jack, does your grandmother enjoy her food when well?’

  ‘She does.’ He held open the door, studying her, and suddenly laughed.