Home Front Girls

lowered his head.
    ‘Annabelle,’ he whispered gruffly. ‘You know that I’m never going to be the man that I was before the war, don’t you? What I mean is, this leg is never going to be as it was. I’ll always be a cripple and that will seriously impede what job I’m able to do. It’s highly unlikely that I’ll ever be rich or—’
    ‘Shh.’ She placed her finger on his lips to silence him, and when he raised his head again he saw all the love she felt for him shining in her eyes and hope stirred in his heart. ‘You’ll always be more of a man than any other I’ve ever known – apart from my dad, of course,’ she told him with a twinkle in her eye.
    ‘Then in that case I’ll say this; none of us knows what’s going to happen with this blasted war or even how much longer it may go on for. But if at the end of it you think you might not mind being saddled with a man with a gammy leg . . .’
    ‘Is that a proposal?’ she grinned but he shook his head.
    ‘No, it isn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to tie you to that because as I said, who knows what might happen or if we’ll both still be alive? But if we are . . .’
    ‘That’s good enough for now,’ she sighed, but then she had no time to say any more because he was kissing her and there were more stars behind her eyes even than there had been in the sky on the night of the Blitz – and the war couldn’t last forever, could it?

Epilogue
     
    The war raged on so slowly that people began to despair and wondered if it would ever end. Four long years passed. Hitler’s next horrors were the V1 and V2 rockets that reduced much of London to rubble, causing countless deaths and immeasurable heartache to thousands. But then in April 1945, as Soviet troops advanced on Berlin and the American troops invaded Okinawa and Nuremberg, Hitler realised that the tide had turned. Not wishing to suffer the same fate as the Italian dictator, Benito Mussolini, who had been killed and mutilated, his body put on public display in Milan, Hitler and his lover, Eva Braun, whom he had married less than forty hours earlier, committed suicide on 30 April in his Führerbunker. The people of England rejoiced as the news reached them, and yet more good news followed at the beginning of May when the German forces surrendered in Italy and Berlin. German forces in Denmark and the Netherlands quickly followed suit, along with the Germans’ surrender in Bavaria, the Channel Islands and Breslau.
    On 8 May, Winston Churchill made a radio broadcast during which he announced: ‘Hostilities will end officially at one minute after midnight tonight, but in the interests of saving lives the “Cease fire” began yesterday to be sounded all along the front, and our dear Channel Islands are also to be freed today!’
    Victory was official, and suddenly celebrations erupted throughout Europe as people tried to take in the wonderful news that the war was really finally over.
    ‘I can hardly believe it,’ Mrs P said as she scraped marge on yet another slice of bread to add to the pile already tottering on the table.
    ‘Well, yer can believe it, me old duck,’ Fred declared with a broad smile. Mrs P stared at the glass of home-brewed ale in his hand. He’d already drunk enough to sink a battleship and the party wasn’t due to start for another hour yet. But then she didn’t want to get on at him today of all days.
    ‘’Ere, get off that, you little sod,’ she said then, slapping her Barry on the back of the hand with the butter-knife as he pinched a slice of bread. The children had arrived home the night before, and Mrs P was still trying to get used to how big they had grown in the time they had been away. Barry had shot up without a doubt and his younger sister Beryl wasn’t far behind him. A right little madam now she was, but it was so wonderful to have them home. If only . . . she thought then as her thoughts slipped to her Freddy. It was a day for celebration, but like thousands of other families it would be bittersweet as they thought of the loved ones who would not be coming back.
    Her eyes went to his photograph in pride of place on the mantelshelf, and seeing her tear-filled eyes, Miranda slid an arm about the woman’s shoulders, feeling her pain. She had come to help with the preparations and hopefully, Annabelle would be arriving from Haslar soon to join them.
    ‘You must always remember he was a hero,’ Miranda told the older woman gently. ‘And you will always