The Post-War Dream

Chapter 2

Vera raised her body onto her tiptoes to see over the woman’s clashing flowery-patterned gaudy hat in front of her, blocking her sight of the haggard-looking men sauntering off the ship into the gale. She held her mini-Union Jack flag, weighed down by rainwater, halfway raised in anticipation of seeing Arnold’s face leave the ship. She didn’t want to raise and wave it too prematurely, superstitions and all that.

She lowered her body onto the flats of her feet to give her calves a rest and bumped into two other spectators, one on either side of her. She glanced behind her, almost bumping noses with the man standing behind her, to survey the rows upon rows of what felt like thousands of people on Southampton Dock. A tiny stream of water poured like a canteen off the front of the man’s fedora.

A cheer erupted around her. Startled, she swung her head to face forward again, hoping to see Arnold. The crowd had reacted to a pilot’s significant other rushing through the barricade to fall into the arms of her returned and alive beau.

Vera waved her Union Jack flag ever so slightly in reflex to the couple’s obvious excitement and relief. She cleared her throat to help settle her nerves and blinked hard to clear the rain mixed with seawater from her eyes. Any minute now, she was sure of it.

“Too many spaces in the line,” the man behind her grumbled.

Vera assumed he wasn’t talking to her and didn’t turn to face him. She raised herself upon tiptoes again, watching the small clumps of exiting troops.

“When our boys left, they were lined shoulder to shoulder.” The man sniffed what sounded like a wad of rainwater and snot farther into his sinuses. “Too many spaces in the damn line now.”

Vera glimpsed him from the corners of her eyes without moving her head. It didn’t appear he was talking to anyone in particular. When she looked forward again, she noticed the men, haggard, shambling forward, with considerable gaps between each clump. She wondered just how many of the boys hadn’t made it back home. Her chin struck her chest, exposing the back of her neck to the drops falling from the dark clouds, and she sighed.

She pursed her lips and turned to face the man. “But we did it. We stopped Hitler.”

The man eyed her and bit his bottom lip. “We did jack. We stayed safe and sound in our homes. They did it all.” He nodded toward the docked battleship. “But at what cost?”

Vera glanced at the disembark gangplank again as another cheer rose over the crowd. A small group of weary-eyed pilots gave haphazard waves to the smiling faces as they shambled away. One stopped to pinch the cheeks of a toddler whose mother bounced him in time to a drum beat only she could hear.

“I felt like I went through it with him,” Vera murmured.

The man closed one eye as he dipped his head to the side, popped a cigarette into his mouth, and used a match to light it. He inhaled, then exhaled a puff of smoke. “You don’t look old enough to have a man in the war. Why, you’re just a wee-one.”

“I am seventeen years old and properly engaged, thank you very much.”

“Brilliant,” he mumbled and took another puff. “Kids marrying kids and either having babies or getting blown to bits.”

Vera harrumphed and tightened her arms by her sides. She turned to face the ship and the exiting pilots. She would not let this crotchety old man ruin her fiancé’s homecoming, especially not one from something as monumental as another world war.

She saw the tip of a soggy pack of cigarettes creep over her right shoulder.

“Fancy a fag?”

Vera pursed her lips and shook her head. She watched the pack disappear.“How long have ya been engaged?”

Vera let her shoulder slump but didn’t turn around. “He proposed in a letter. I didn’t have time to write him back to tell him a proper yes. He wouldn’t have gotten it in time.”

“A letter from the battlefield?” The man chortled. “He probably thought he was about to die and got his knickers in a wad and panicked.”

Vera spun and stuck her fingertip into the chest area of his thick, wet overcoat. “Listen, sir, we’ve been together for three years, and we always knew we’d be together forever. Even before he was sent—” She shook her head. “Ya know what? Never mind. You’re not worth my breath.”

sirHe raised one eyebrow and took a long drag from his cigarette without holding it. “You tell your fiancé that a veteran from The Great War doffs his hat to him. And Britain thanks him for his sacrifice.” He tossed the cigarette to the wet dock and snuffed it out with his shoe. “He might be on that ship coming home”—the man pointed to the pockets of servicemen still alighting—“but he’ll never leave the war.” He placed a gentle hand on Vera’s shoulder before turning and manoeuvring through the crowd toward the back. As soon as he had abandoned his spot, two other spectators, whooping and hollering at the disembarking pilots, volleyed to fill the void so they could get a better view.

The surging crowd nudged Vera forward, a heavy speechlessness engulfing her. The unintelligible scream of someone’s name from the mouth of the woman next to her jolted her back to reality. She blinked and shook her head to right herself. She resecured her grip on her tiny flag and focused on the gangplank from the ship.

Her heartrate quickened. “Arnold,” she yelled and shoved through the few rows of spectators in front of her. “Arnold …” She had to use her shoulder to push through the last line of people who were refusing to relinquish their front-row view of the returning heroes. “Arnold!”

Her fiancée stopped to scan the crowd. His coat hung off his frail shoulders, and he ran a hand through his dishevelled hair.

Vera waved her tiny flag above her head with zeal. She bounced up and down, almost pogoing, to get his attention. “Arnold!”

Their gazes met, and her smile reached beyond both earlobes. Then it slowly faded, and her body slumped as he gave only half a wave, a courtesy nod, and continued shuffling with the rest of his small group away from the crowd. Vera stood there, dazed and battling her bewilderment. Slack-jawed, she followed the love of her life with her gaze. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but he looked … broken, soulless.

A shrill scream erupted next to her. She flinched, stuck her finger in her ear, and leaned away from its source. A woman, not much older than Vera, barrelled through the barricade and launched herself into the wide and inviting arms of her lover. His embrace blanketed her with warmth and security, his face glowing with rosy cheeks and a full-toothed smile. Vera steeled herself and glanced toward where Arnold had walked. She stared at the back of his threadbare jacket until he was out of sight.

“I’ll just see him when he gets to the house,” she whispered to herself with conviction. “He just must be knackered.”

Vera forced a grin as she turned to weave through the crowd to start the one-mile trek to the train depot. The wind made the rain pellets feel like daggers against her cheeks as she told herself that ’46 would be a better year than this one.

It just had to be.

had