1940 Close Family Encounter

Just a word of warning. This work of Historical Fiction touches on a couple of delicate subjects. I will completely understand if you don't choose to read it.

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A sister is a wonderful thing. Well most of the time. I loved mine. I'm not sure that she loved me but she hid it well if she didn't. Being two years younger than her, I treated her as my role model in everything. That's not to say that we didn't argue from time to time. My sister was called Evelyn but right from the start everybody shortened it to Evy. My parents learnt their lesson and called me Grace. Everybody lengthened it to a Gracie.

We shared a bedroom in the little house in Fordington. Fordington used to be next to Dorchester, now it was part of Dorchester.

Evy left school and got a job at Genge's. Two years later, I left school and got a job at Genge's.

As young adults we took a keen interest in any fashion magazine that we could lay our hands on. Without much success, we tried to emulate the styles of the times. With minor adjustments we were still able to ride our bicycles. The cycles were our pride and joy. It took us ages to save up for them. Much to Mother's chagrin we kept them in the hallway.

The Great War largely passed Dorchester by. Many Dorchester families wished that it had passed them by completely. Nobody really knew what it was about. The King and the Kaiser were cousins but it was unusual for family disputes to get that far out of hand.

Apart from the fact that the shops stopped selling some things, the biggest impact on the town was the Prisoner of War Camp. It was located on the Poundbury side of Dorchester so we never really saw it.

What we saw were groups of men who were put to work road sweeping and the like. The locals always treated them politely. There was very little name calling. Even people who had lost loved ones simply turned their heads and passed by.

Mother was an embarrassment. She was always getting into trouble for talking to them. She would ask if anyone spoke English. Then she would inquire if they were being well treated. Generally, they were. Mostly they were glad to be away from the mud, barbed wire, mustard gas and machine guns. They all missed home.

When she was rebuked by the NCO in charge, she would simply reply that she hoped some German mother was doing the same for our boys.

Just as the War was coming to an end the Spanish Flu struck. Father was working in Weymouth when he caught it. He threw himself in front of a train. The Coroner wasn't sure if it was because he was afraid of bringing it home or if it was a side effect of the disease. He ruled it as 'Misadventure'. Mother didn't last a year after that. She just went downhill fast.

So there we were. Two young women, barely in our twenties, all alone with a house to run. Slowly, we learned to budget. The bills were paid on time but money was always tight.

We hated the idea but, by 1920, the both of us finally summoned the courage to clear out our parents bedroom.

Evy, as ever the practical one, decided that if we rented it out we might just be able to afford a few luxuries. It sounded easy but there were very few suitable takers. They were all families. We didn't want a family and they wanted more than one room anyway.

We were about to give up, then one evening a gentleman knocked on the door. He'd got a job in Dorchester and was staying at a cheap hotel there. After he'd paid for his room and board it left him very little.

It turns out that we hadn't really thought things through. When he mentioned board and lodgings, we realised that he would probably want feeding.

Evy was quicker than me. She asked him how much he thought he would be prepared to pay. We were shocked. It was more than we thought. We agreed straight away.

Michael was from a little seaside town south of Dublin called Greystones. Some people are dubious about taking in Irish lodgers but our mother never brought us up that way. Besides, beggars can't be choosers.

He had a wonderful softness in his voice that made even the simplest story sound like a mist-covered Celtic legend.

When he first came to England he had lived in Manchester but he hated it. He missed living by the sea. So he had headed south.

"When I got to your glorious little town I bumped into just the right type of work for me so I thought 'That's close enough to the sea'. So here I am," he said.

Evy thought that there couldn't be many birds in the trees in Greystone as Michael must have charmed most of them.

Each evening, we would ask him about his life. Every answer involved a long and humorous tale which travelled far from the point and somehow miraculously found its way back again in the end. The only time he was a bit reluctant to speak was when we asked what he did in the war.

He really liked our cooking. Evy thought life in Ireland must be tough.

Less than four months had passed before Evy discovered that she was pregnant. "Oh, thank God," I thought to my shame. I was petrified that it was going to be me.

Nearly every time we were alone together, Michael had made love to me. I say 'made love'. It really wasn't like that. He never forced me but he was always forceful. Like it wasn't something I had no choice in. It was just his right. Don't get me wrong, I didn't make a fuss because I knew that I liked the attention.

Whenever Evy went into the yard to hang out the washing, Michael would bend me over the kitchen table. It was as if he enjoyed the danger. I think that maybe I did too.

As it turns out, everytime I wasn't around he was doing the same thing to Evy.

Unlike Evy, I could pretend that it never happened.

I was so pleased when Evy and Michael got married. Suddenly instead of being Miss Eveline Groves, she was Mrs Michael Costello.

I don't know if he was one of those deep philosophical thinkers that you read about but after three months Michael decided that he didn't want to be a married man and he left. In the evening he was there and in the morning he was gone. It did cross my mind that maybe he thought that he'd married the wrong sister but I told myself not to be unkind.

They wouldn't allow me to be there at the birth of my nephew Terrence Costello but ten hours later they did allow me to hold the hand of my sister, Eveline, as she died. I had felt grief when my Father and my Mother had passed but it was nothing compared to the pain I had now. Evy was my world.

The committee of ancient fossils took some persuasion but eventually they agreed that it would be better if Terry lived with a relative rather than strangers, or worse in an orphanage.

From the moment he could talk, I made it clear that I wasn't his mother. I never wanted to replace her. Nobody could. I was only ever Aunty Grace.

Things were tough. Thank God for some of the local mothers who allowed me to leave Terry with them while I worked. Most people applauded me for taking on my sister's child. A few others made up their own stories.

Church charities would often help unmarried mothers; albeit with a heavy dose of moral condemnation. They couldn't cope with the concept of an unmarried Aunt.

A local character used to wander the streets of Fordington. A really old man with a walking stick. Much to the disgust of some local women, he would wear short trousers and a short sleeved shirt, winter and summer. PC Hames said that while it was unusual, it wasn't classed as indecent. Not unless anything showed below his shorts that is.

On his arms were various nautical devices etched in black ink. Anchors, ships wheels etc.

His right leg displayed the image of a Polynesian dancing girl on the calf. On the left he had the portrait of a lady. At one time she was probably a great beauty but now her face was wrinkled and hairy.

The first time that Terry saw the old man he must have been about five and just starting school. He was fascinated by someone with drawings on his body. He just kept staring.

Terry asked, "Can you get drawings on your legs Aunty Grace?"

"Oh no, no woman would ever have tattoos." I explained, "Only sailors have tattoos."

Terry exclaimed, "When I grow up, I'm going to be a sailor."

I always tried to be honest with Terry. When he asked about his mother I answered as truthfully as I could. We never spoke about his father.

I loved him, and not just for Evy's sake. But sometimes it was hard. On more than one occasion I wondered if I had done the right thing by not letting go of him.

During the early years, young men would ask me out. I couldn't go because I had to take care of Terry. Later when he could be left with a neighbour for the evening, as soon as I mentioned Terry they lost interest.

Still, I was proud of him. I watched him grow. Not just physically but he had a quick mind as well. The downside was that he could always talk me around to his way of thinking.

And then, before I knew it, he was gone. He left school and as soon as he could he was off to Devonport to become a Boy Seaman.

Twice a year he would come home on leave. Proud as Punch of his Bell Bottoms with their seven rings. Prouder still of every new badge sewn to his uniform each time.

Now the only gentlemen who asked me out were older. Sometimes, a date would end up with me being fingered and occasionally shagged in the back of a car. I got the impression that the blokes had to be home by a certain time.

It's funny how English is an ever changing language. Mother said that a Gentleman was someone who didn't have to work for a living. When I was a girl, this had been expanded to include anybody in the professional middle class. Like doctors or solicitors or people who owned businesses. Now, all adult males are called gentlemen. The same applies to ladies. So you get gentlemen who obviously aren't gentlemen and ladies who obviously aren't ladies.

My life was my own now. Well that's what I told myself. The house seemed strangely empty. Just full of memories.

I'd never taken much interest in politics but it was clear even to me that Mr Hitler wasn't a very nice man. Nobody was surprised that he marched into Poland and threw us back into war again.

Suddenly everything was hussle and bussle. Ration books, identity cards, gas masks and air raid precautions. Dorchester prepared.

There were some communal air raid shelters around the town. People that had gardens built Anderson shelters made of corrugated iron and earth. I only had a small backyard so I improvised and put a mattress in the cupboard under the stairs.

I knew that ports like Southampton, Portsmouth, Bristol and Plymouth would probably be targets for the Luftwafa. And I was really glad that I didn't live in London but, somewhat naively, I couldn't think why they would want to bomb Dorchester.

The man next door was convinced that the Eldridge Pope Brewery would be high on the German's list of targets. He was terrified of dying of thirst.

By 1940 Terry turned eighteen. As far as the Navy was concerned he was a man now. They promoted him to the rank of Ordinary Seaman. It didn't sound like much of a promotion to me and if I had my way he would be a Commander at least; but I could be biased.

He was to return home any time now for a couple of days shore leave before joining an unspecified ship and sailing on to an unspecified ocean. Like everything else these days, the exact details were a secret.

Occasionally, at night I would hear the bombers flying high overhead on their way to attack what I assumed was Bristol. The air raid sirens would sound, I would spend the night under the stairs only to emerge the next morning with no idea what had happened.

Just to get out of the house, you understand, I have been persuaded to spend an occasional night in the Bull's Head in the High Street lately. At one time I would never have considered going into a pub on my own. The war has changed everything.

After a quiet night in the pub, a young soldier offered to walk me home. Although it wasn't far, I didn't like walking in the black-out so I agreed. When we got near to the house he grabbed hold of me and tried to snog me. He felt my tits and then he had his hand up my skirt. It all happened so quickly that I just went along with it. I had my back to a wall. His hand was in my knickers and he was stroking his fingers up and down my quim. I was breathless.

If he had kept on going, I wouldn't have resisted. But he didn't. He stopped.

He started to undo his flies.

Those few seconds allowed my conscience to kick in.

"Please stop! You're half my age." I said.

He stammered, "Sorry, sorry." Then the soldier ran off.

Despite what you may be calling me right now, it was never my intention to tease anything.

I managed to navigate the last thirty yards or so to the front door. I sort of regretted stopping him. There was a war on. Maybe I would never get another chance. Maybe I was a fool.

Another thing I hated about the black-out was the black-out curtains. Everyone was obsessed with not having the slightest chink of light showing. Before the war, if I went out I would leave a hall light on so that I didn't have to go into a dark house.

Now, I had to go into a pitch black house full of memories.

I turned the key. As I stepped in I was aware of a faint glow.

"Oh God, did I leave a light on?" I said to myself. Then I heard the wireless. Low level speaking. There must be someone in the house.

"Terry?" I called as I quickly closed the front door.

"Hello Aunty," came the reply from the front room.

"Oh Darling. When did you get back?" I asked.

"Not long ago. I came straight from the station." he said.

"It's so wonderful to see you."

"And you."

He hugged me.

I made him turn slowly so that I could see his new uniform. To be honest it didn't look too dissimilar to his old one but I suppose another Tar would know the difference. His right forearm bore the symbol of an Anchor in fresh black ink.

He then produced several food items; all of which couldn't be had for love nor money.

Terry asked if I would mind if he had a quick bath as travelling was such a grimey ordeal these days. I fetched him a fresh towel. I was going to remind him that we were only supposed to have a depth of five inches but I thought sod it.

When he emerged in his pyjamas and dressing gown it was quite like old times. We sat talking and drinking cocoa until quite late.

At about 11 o'clock the damned air-raid siren went off.

"I suppose we will just have to both squeeze under the stairs." I said.

I took my dress off and threw it over the sofa. I didn't want to sleep in it. My slip would do fine.

"I'll go against the wall and then you can budge in afterwards and shut the door. It might be best if you lose the dressing gown. There won't be a lot of space." I said.

"Oh, and turn the lights out after I've lit the candle, would you?" I added.

Once we were both in it was a bit snug but quite cosy.

We started by facing each other. I asked him about his life in the Navy. He asked me about my life at Genge & Co. I must admit that the Navy sounded a little more interesting.

We drifted off to sleep.

When I awoke we were back to back in the dark. I lay there thinking that I could still hear the growling sounds of aircraft overhead.

My eyelids dropped and I slipped back into sleep.

Something disturbed me enough to wake me but not enough to startle me.

I was lying on my side. Face to the wall. Terry was snuggled up to my back breathing gently, his right arm around my waist.

Dear boy, I could have removed it but I was just glad that he was getting some rest. I wasn't sure if sailors still slept in hammocks. If they do, they can't be very comfortable. I must ask Terry later.

One thing I was sure of was the faint odour from my fanny. The attention of that soldier had aroused it. Everything had happened so quickly that I hadn't had time to do my usual nighttime ablutions. I prayed that Terry didn't notice.

My vaginal contemplation was interrupted by an almighty explosion.

Windows shattered and the staircase collapsed on top of us.

"What the hell!" shouted Terry.

"A bomb! A bomb," I screamed.

"If it's not a direct hit, it's bloody close.

"Are you hurt?" I asked.

"I can't feel any pain but my legs are trapped from the knees downward," Terry said.

"How about you?" he added.

"I'm the same. Can you get the cupboard door open? I said to Terry.

He grunted and twisted and then said, "I can't turn around. Wait, let me see if I can budge it with my elbow."

Crash! crash! crash!

"No, the bastard's solid. There must be debris up against it."

"What are we going to do now?" I asked.

Terry mustered his calmest voice and said, "There's nothing we can do, we just have to wait. They will dig us out soon."

It must be a woman's logic but my first concern was for the contents of the larder. I'd been holding back some of my rations for weeks for Terry's return. Oh, and there were those lovely things that he'd brought with him. I hoped that they wouldn't be ruined. I hoped we wouldn't get looted. That's what rationing can do to your brain.

We fell silent for quite a while. Neither one of us wished to acknowledge that we could be in danger. There could be further falls. The roof. The walls.

Eventually, Terry spoke.

"You know Aunty, there have been so many times, when I was growing up, that I would have given the earth to be laid just like this with you."

I was stunned. We just lay there in the silence and the darkness.

In the end I just had to say, "I don't quite know what you are saying. What do you mean?"

"Well, you are the sexiest woman I've ever known. While the other lads have photos of film stars above their bunks, I have a picture of you."

"I don't understand. Do you mean that you had fantasies about me?" I'm glad that the darkness hid my embarrassment.

"Oh yes, the others were wanking thinking about Greta Garbo or Mae West, I only ever had you in mind."

I really hoped that that was Naval slang for something innocent but I was afraid that it wasn't.

"Why are you telling me this? You must know that it's wrong."

"Nobody knows what our future holds. I'm going off to war. I could be killed or worse. God, we don't even know if we are getting out of here."

"Don't talk like that." I said.

The silence returned. A long long silence.

Terry's hand moved up and rested on my right breast.

I should have stopped him but I didn't.

He caressed it gently.

One word of rebuke from me and it would have stopped. No such rebuke came.

For a long time he alternated between squeezing and stroking.

My nipples were so hard beneath my underclothes.

Pressed firmly against my back, I could feel his stiff penis in the divide of my buttocks.

I knew about Hearts of Oak so, I'm sure that there is a precise Naval term for a stiff penis, but I have no idea what it is. Just its presence gave me a tingling sensation but when Terry started to bump it against me I lost all sense of right and wrong.

Was this the wanking he talked of or was there more to come. I wanted to be fucked. I needed to be fucked.

Terry reached down and dragged my slip upwards. With my lower legs trapped, I could do little to help other than lifting my left hip slightly from the mattress.

He pulled my drawers to one side and slipped a finger into me. I pushed as far back towards him as my current position would allow.

He obviously soon decided that I was ready.

I thought that maybe entry would be impossible with my legs locked together but Terry managed to use the gap below my buttocks to find his way in. He even managed to avoid a complete catastrophe. Was it Naval training or just instinct, I didn't know.

We both had to wriggle about but eventually Terry had most of his penis in me. Every time he pushed forward I pushed a little backwards until I was fully penetrated.