The line of the healer

by Jacquera

Ayla's line from her time, right up to now, what will her descendant be like? Please review.

21. Anya, 1941AD

Anya, 1941AD

Anya wrapped up her last present and placed it under the family tree. This would be her first Christmas as a registered nurse, able to give her parents some money for her keep. She hugged her knees in front of her, as she thought about how great it would all be that year. She remembered the hard years of the depression, years that had meant not being able to really celebrate the season. No money meant no presents or seasonal food. Times were still pretty hard, she had to make do with clothes brought from a second hands clothes shop, but she had managed to save enough to buy some nice gifts for her family. A knitted doll for her little sister Anna, a nearly new handbag for her mother and a pipe for her father. She was really looking forward to seeing their faces on the day.

But for now there was over two weeks to go, and she'd promised to take her little sister to the park where a skating rink was due to open. She'd managed to find a couple of pairs of skates at a charity shop, one in her size and one in her sister's and ever since she'd given the smaller pair to her for her eighth birthday and told her about the rink she'd been asking if today was the day it opened. When that morning she'd told her that today was the day, she'd almost thrown her breakfast across the kitchen in her joy. But she'd had school to attend first.

But Anya knew she'd be home any time, running in like a hurricane, sure to have told everyone at school about her treat.

Skating round and round with her friends, while Anna spent time with her own, Anya felt even more Christmassy. The skating rink was actually the lake she'd swum in when she was younger. They'd spent days making sure it was safe to be on, that the ice was thick with no thin areas. That it was smooth so skaters wouldn't trip up. Because it was a recession it had all been done for free. No one had charged for their labour and so no one was charged for entry to enter. There were barriers around the ice but that was more for safety than to keep others out. They were only letting so many in at a time, allowing people to skate for a time before they had to leave, either to wait in the queue again or go home.

Bundled up like she was, with scarf, gloves, woolly hat, extra socks and her warmest coat, she didn't mind the thought of waiting for another go. She'd brought a flask of hot chocolate anyway and one of the friends had brought warm chocolate chip cookies.

'Anya,' her sister shouted across the ice. 'Look at what I can do.' She twirled around on the spot and then when she came to rest bent over her breath showing white on the cold night.

'Be careful Anna,' she warned her. 'You know mama will be upset if you do too much.'

Anna was a special child, having survived consumption as a young child she was always more susceptible to illness. She had to be careful not to exert herself too much or she'd have trouble breathing.

'I'm okay Anya,' Anna smiled and skating off chattering with her friends.

Anya knew that they would look after her.

'What are you standing still for,' her friend Enid asked. 'Come on, we haven't got long left until we have to leave.'

'Are you going to queue for another go?' Anya asked the brown haired girl

'I don't know, it's really cold. My fingers are freezing and I think my toes are frozen in my shoes.'

'Oh please,' Anya pleaded. 'We could sing songs as we go around.'

'We could do that anyway,' Enid took her arm and together they started to skate again. They were soon joined by other friends so that in the end there was a line of five girls arm in arm, skating around. A force to behold or at least that was the way the young men watching thought. They didn't know how to approach them. Too scared too really.

Dressed in her white nurse's outfit, a starched cap on her head, she walked towards the ward where she'd been assigned to. She wasn't one of the trainees anymore and didn't have to overly worry about Matron. Just as though she did her job well, the woman would leave her alone. Not like when she'd been training. The Matron on the ward she'd been on had been a dragon. She'd point out the smallest things as errors, if her stockings were not quite straight she'd be told off and if she didn't get the bed pan to a patient in time, well they'd both be in trouble.

But the ward she was assigned to at the moment was lovely. The Matron though strict was fair and always ready with a bit of encouragement or a word of wisdom. Anya wished she could stay there but she knew that the assignment was only temporary. Soon she would be given her more permanent post. She really hoped it was working in the hospital she was in now, and not the one in the next town that she'd heard about. From what she'd heard it was horrible there.

But still, she was happy at the moment. And didn't really want anything to change. Not too much anyway.

She wasn't to get her wish.

After a long shift on the wards, caring for others all night and much of the day, the only thing she was looking forward to when she got home was curling up with a book and having a good long read. But as soon as she entered her home, she was hushed by her father as he was listening to the radio. She'd not even said anything and was about to say so, but when she heard that he was listening to the match between the New York Giants and the Brooklyn Dodgers she knew she be better being quiet.

She was just about to tiptoe out of the room when the commentators' voice was replaced with another one. 'We interrupt this broadcast to bring you this important bulletin from the united press. Flash, Washington. The White house announces Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour.'

'What?' Anya's dad jumped off the settee and ran to the radio. All thoughts of the match were forgotten. 'They've bombed Pearl Harbour?' He twiddled with the control knob but couldn't find any more news.

'But what does it mean?' her mother asked.

'It means...' her father spoke in a grim voice. 'It means that America is probably at war with the Japanese.' He slumped back down on the settee, his head in his hands.

The next morning the wards were full of chatter about what the bombing would mean to America and more importantly what it would mean to each individual within the walls of the hospital.

But whenever they saw a doctor or Matron, any of the higher up staff, they were quieter and got on with their work. Though often they would whisper as they made a bed or wrote up a report.

But in Anya's ward this wasn't true. She was working with children, very sick children and no one wanted to scare them. They had enough troubles already.

She walked down the ward, a mask over her face and an apron over her clothes, passed the children lying in iron lungs that helped them to be able to breathe. They were all asleep now, dreaming of better times when they had laughed and ran. Climbed apple trees and had tea parties with their friend. Lives that now were now changed and would never be as they were.

One of the children was crying, a girl. Anya walked over to her and stroked her hair to calm her. Pressing a button by her head so other nurses would come.

Soon with painkillers she was asleep again.

Anya walked into the side room between the two parts of the ward and took off her mask and apron putting them in the basket to be boil washed. She washed her hands and arms, drying them on a towel and then after checking her hair in the mirror walked into the top end of the ward. The part where the children had started to recover. They slept in normal beds, surrounded by toys that were not allowed in the other part of the ward.

A pair of eyes peeked out from behind a blanket as she walked passed.

'Nurse,' a little girl said.

'Polly you should still be asleep,' Anya frowned at her. 'You might be nearly well but you still need lots of rest.'

'My leg hurts,' Polly said. 'It's been hurting all night, but Nurse Andrews wouldn't let me have any more painkillers.'

Anya picked up the chart at the bottom of the girl's bed. 'I'm sure Nurse Andrew's couldn't give you any. Did you have some last night before you went to sleep?'

Polly nodded her head.

'Yes I can see it in my notes; you had an aspirin last night. So you can have another now.' She put the notes back onto the bottom of the bed. 'Be back in a minute,' she promised.

Anya went to drug cupboard but it was locked so she went to find Matron who was busy talking to a doctor. Anya stood respectfully by the wall until the doctor had left.

'Nurse?' The matron still hadn't learnt her name.

'Polly, the young girl in bed twelve is complaining of pain in her leg. I've looked at her chart and the last time she had any pain relief was last night.'

An eyebrow arched on Matron's face. 'And you are telling me this, why?'

'The drug cupboard is locked.'

'Ah yes, with the news of yesterday things have been a little unorganised around here. I will come immediately.'

Anya followed her at a respectful distance.

When they got to the drug cupboard, Matron turned to her. 'How is Polly doing anyway? She must be close to going home.'

She has a lot of pain in her leg, but hopefully the physiotherapy will take care of a lot of that.'

'Hmmmm, yes let's hope so. I've seen too many patients struck down by this illness who have never walked again.'

'Indeed Matron.' She curtseyed and went into the cupboard to get the aspirin.

She stopped off on the way to Polly's bed to get a glass of water for her. Then she went back to Polly.

'It tastes so horrible,' Polly grimaced as she forced the tablet down.

'I know dear,' Anya put her hand on Polly's arm. 'But it will take the pain away, at least for a while.'

Polly took a deep gulp of the water. 'Have I got physiotherapy this morning?'

Anya nodded her head. 'But you have to have some breakfast first.'

This was how life for Anya was like for the weeks after the bombing of Pearl Harbour. There was lots of talk about it, even more so when war was declared against Japan and then Germany and Italy, but in the main things were just the same.

Some of the local boys were called up but none that Anya knew. The war in Europe or even in Pearl Harbour seemed far removed from her life.

Until...

'Nurses,' Matron called them to her a few days before Christmas. 'You are all to report to the staff canteen for an announcement,' was all she said.

'What do you think is going on?' a nurse asked as they hurried to the canteen.

Anya shrugged her shoulders, she had no idea.

'Welcome ladies,' a voice said as they entered. 'Please be seated.'

Anya looked towards the voice and was shocked to see the top consultant in the hospital was addressing them.

A few more women came in and then the doors were shut behind them.

'Okay,' the consultant stared out at them all. 'I know many of you are really looking forward to the season, and will hopefully have a very nice time with your friends and family but this hospital has been instructed that some of its nurses will be needed to sent to Europe. We don't know if they will be working on the front line with our soldiers and those of the other countries of what is rapidly becoming the Allied Forces, or if they will be based in the UK, caring for soldiers that have been so severely injured they can no longer fight.'

A gasp when throughout the room.

'I know the thought of war is very frightening,' he continued. 'But we are looking for volunteers.'

No one put their hands up because no one wanted to go.

'If there are no volunteers then we will have to resort to another way of deciding who will go and who won't.' He motioned a Matron towards him. She gave him a bucket.

'In this bucket are everyone's names. There are one hundred nurses in total in this hospital; we have been instructed hat we have to send twenty of you. So the first twenty names out of this box will be the ones who are going.'

'But I have my mum I've got to look after,' a girl shouted.

Matron frowned at her.

'Everyone has responsibilities but they also have it to their country. Nearly every able bodied young man is going to be sent to war, you women are a lot luckier than that. I will start pulling out the names.' He put in his hand and pulled out a slip of paper. 'Ruth Taylor,' he said.

The girl who was Ruthie Taylor started to cry. She was only young, a year younger than Anya and hadn't even completed her training yet.

'All those that are not fully nurses will continue their training overseas,' the Matron said.

The consultant put his hand in again, took out a piece of paper and then another and another. In total he took out the rest of the nineteen names and then he started to read them out. 'Edith Bamber, Charlotte Hartley, Rachel Fisher.'

The list seemed to go on and on, accompanied by wails of those who had been chosen. Finally there was only one name to read out. It was Anya's.

New year saw Anya travelling by a coach to another part of America where she would undergo some basic training of what she could expect of her new job and what others would expect of her.

For the most part it seemed very much like what she already knew, though she might be a place that wasn't as safe. She'd already heard tales that they were going to be sent to the front line, that bombs would hit the hospital each day and they would have to amputate legs and carry out operations in near dark and with no sanitary conditions. She hoped they were wrong and she hoped that she wouldn't be stationed in the middle of a war field.

Some of her friends were on the bus, girls she'd grown up with and others that she'd known since she started her training. Having them there really helped with her fears.

They drove into the car park of a large hospital. They scurried out of the coach like frightened rabbits, eyes looking everywhere.

'Come with me,' a nurse said leading the way into a large building. A long corridor with doors off, rooms that would be shared, six girls each room. 'Dinner will be at six sharp,' she said. 'Don't be late.' She swept out of the building.

'I don't like it here,' a girl shuddered. 'I want to be back at home with my mom.'

'Don't we all honey,' another girl said. 'But we are here, and have to make the best of it. Just think of this experience as an adventure. One you can tell your grandkids about.'

'If we ever get to have grandkids,' a girl muttered. 'If we don't get blown to smithereens by a bomb.'

The next few days were filled with tests, both of their nursing abilities and of their temperament. And a week after they had arrived they were given their assignments.

'I'm going to England,' Edith said, waving around a piece of paper joyfully.

'Me too,' another girl smiled happily.

'Well I've been assigned to a field hospital in 'Russia.' The girl who had said it had a look of terror on her face. 'Right on the front line.'

Anya took her hand and squeezed it. 'Me too,' she said.

They were all flown to England within a few days, those stationed in England soon transported to their new hospitals. Anya had to wait though. The hospital where she and others had been assigned to was behind enemy lines at the moment so they were waiting for them to move. It was either wait or be sent down with a parachute.

In the meantime she was working at headquarters. Sometimes nursing, other times running messages. She got to see some of the sights of London. Big Ben, Buckingham Palace. She imagined that the royal family was set beside a window looking out over the city. That the little princesses were pointing her out as she watched.

'They'd invite me in for tea and bread and jam,' she chuckled. 'The King would let me try on his crown.' She looked around feeling a bit anxious that she'd been talking to herself too loudly. If anyone heard her she could be thrown into the Tower. 'They might behead me,' she snorted at the idea and then sighed. She knew that to the royal family she was nothing but a lowly peasant. Not worthy of their notice.

The hospital rattled as bombs fell nearby. Dust fell out of rafters but Anya ignored it as she tried to stop a man's leg bleeding and him bleeding to death. She didn't even flinch when one of the windows blew out; she was too used to the conditions. Having spent the last few months on the front line nursing, Anya was prepared for anything and wasn't prepared to let fear get in the way of helping those that needed it. So she ignored her desire to run to safety and only thought of the man.

The material tied around his leg was bright red, it had started out white but wasn't anymore. The tourniquet had been tied on before he had arrived in the hospital and she didn't want of take it off until she had stopped the bleeding. She put another piece of material over the wound and pressed. 'Where's that doctor?' she screamed.

'I'm a dead un,' the man said weakly. 'You should go and look after someone who has a chance.'

She glanced up at his white face and shook her head. 'You are not going to die,' she said through gritted teeth. 'I am not going to let you die. Do you hear me?'

'Yes nurse,' he whimpered, obviously rather afraid.

'And you mustn't be frightened of me,' she insisted and then gently smiled. 'I'm not an ogre you know.'

The doctor came running it. 'What have we got here?' he asked.

'Leg blown nearly off,' she told him but it was pretty obvious what the problem was. His leg had a gaping hole in it at the knee. His lower leg only hanging on, well she was hanging onto it.

'We'll have to amputate,' the doctor said.

'No, not me leg,' the patient said. 'Please not me leg.'

'There is no choice. It is either you lose your leg or you lose your life. Which one do you pick?' The doctor had almost spat the words out at him.

The young man went even paler, though a few minutes before Anya would have said it was impossible.

'Take me leg.'

'Good choice,' the doctor looked at Anya. 'Has he had a dose of morphine?'

'Yes doctor.'

'How long ago.'

'Before he came in.'

'Okay, give him another dose and then get my surgical implements. I will stop the blood flow while you do that.' He turned to her, and whispered in her ear so that only she and not the patient could hear. 'Give him enough morphine to knock him out. I'm going to have to saw this leg off.'

'The hospital is one fire,' a nurse shouted, wafting smoke that was rolling down the corridor. 'Everyone out quickly.'

'A little bit of decorum,' a nearby doctor said.

The nurse stared at him for a minute and then turned around to run to the next ward to warn them. Not that they needed it, the fire alarm was already screaming.

'Okay nurse,' the doctor looked at Anya. 'We have to evacuate.'

She nodded, as did the other nurses on the ward. Then she went to the nearest bed, a man lying pale within it and started to unlock the breaks so she could push it through the already opening French windows.

'Thank goodness we are on the ground floor,' she grunted as she pushed.

'A little thing like you having to push a great man like me outside,' the man frowned. 'It's not right. I wish I could get out of this bed and help you.'

She lifted her head to glare at him. 'If you dare to put even one foot out of that bed then I will report it to your superior officer,' she warned him. 'You have a head wound, do you want to fall?'

'No miss,' he would have laughed but smoke was already coming under the door and he didn't think a joke warranted the situation.

Some of the men were getting well enough to just be supported outside where they were put in the outside chairs that they often sunned themselves in. Others had been sitting in wheelchairs and were easy to wheel out.

Anya rushed back into the ward; everyone was out except one man. A nurse was desperately hitting one of the brakes on his bed with her shoe.

'It's stuck,' she said, her eyes full of tears and worry.

'Leave me miss,' the man said.

'No one is going to be left behind,' Anya said. 'Even if I have to put you over my shoulder and carry you.'

The doctor ran back through the French windows. 'Why is this man not outside,' he shouted.

'It's the brake,' the nurse whimpered. 'It's stuck. I've been trying to hit it with my shoe but...'

'We will have to get him in a wheelchair,' he looked around. 'But there isn't any.'

'We could use a stretcher,' Anya suggested. She started to cough from the smoke.

'Yes, get a stretcher.'

Unfortunately the only stretcher was kept the other side of the ward and she'd have to go passed through the door to get there. That side was filled with smoke, not having the open windows to dissipate it. As she walked to it, she put a mask over her face, which helped her breathing a bit. Nothing could help her eyes though, that started to water as the smoke stung them. She could hardly see through the smile and the alarm seemed to be muffled in there. She crouched down, crawling on the floor, feeling it with her hands. She started to cough again. The mask wasn't protecting her that much; it wasn't designed to stop smoke getting in anyway. Finally she came to the side of the ward where the stretcher had been put. She grabbed it, dragging it along the ground. She heard crying coming from a bathroom.

What should she do? If she put the stretcher down, she might not find it again but if she didn't help whoever was crying they might die, burnt alive or die from smoke inhalation. She winced as she remembered the photos she'd seen as a training nurse of the lungs of a man who had died in a fire. She knew what she had to do. The man would be more comfortable on a stretcher but it wasn't necessary to save his life, they could always carry him out.

'I'm coming,' she shouted or tried to, but it just made her cough even worse.

She crawled to the bathroom and opened a door. A young man was curled up next to the toilet, an open wound on his head and black marks over his face where smoky tears had fallen over it. His eyes opened as Anya came in and then closed again. She noticed there was fresh blood on the wash basin.

'What are you doing in here?' she asked but got no response. She grabbed his hand, and started to pull him to his feet. That was when she realised that this was the young man whose leg had been sawed off. There was no way he would be able to walk, not even supported by her. Not even with his crutches that were propped up against the wall near the door.

Keeping her hold on him, she slowly turned around so he was behind her and then leaning over, she took his weight on her back and started to walk. Through the door, through the smokier than ever ward, she couldn't crouch down now, she'd never get him out so she continued to walk. Something wet slivered down her neck but she didn't have time to think about what it was. She grunted as she carried him, pushing the bed had been far easier. She stumbles, catching her foot on the stretcher that she'd left.

'What's taking so long?' the doctor ran into the smoke.

'Help me,' she just about managed to say.

'Oh my.' He ran up to her and took the man off her.

She bent down, untangled her foot from the stretcher and dragged it along the floor to the other side of the ward where the man in his bed was still waiting.

The nurse still trying to hit the brake with anything she could find. Her foot, her shoe, the leg of a chair. It still hasn't moved. She ran over when she saw them coming out of the smoke. Anya gave her the stretcher and shut the door behind them, once again cutting off much of the smoke.

The doctor dragged the man outside. A few moments later he came back with a couple of other doctors and together they dragged the man onto the stretcher and carried him out.

The nurse put her arm around Anya's shaking shoulders and helped her out.

Anya ripped off the mask as soon as she got outside, taking in huge gulps of air that made her feel dizzy. She lurched to safety. She sat on the grass far enough away from the hospital building to see a huge went in its roof, flames and smoke pouring out of it.

'Were we bombed?' she asked the doctor who came to check her over.

'I think so,' he replied. 'Let me see your neck, your bleeding.'

'What?' She touched her neck, pulling her fingers away red. 'I'm fine. The blood isn't mine,' was all she could say before she fainted.

She seemed to be drifting in pale fog. Drifting along, something was holding her, she was sure of that but she didn't know what. Then she fell, or it felt a bit like it. In her dreamlike state she couldn't make sense of anything. When she felt the cool arms of a chair under hers, and slats under her body, she opened her eyes. Blinking against the bright light that shone into them, not from the sun but a little torch that a doctor was shining into them.

'What happened?' she slurred, not remembering anything.

'You fainted,' the doctor replied in a matter of fact voice. 'Too much smoke inhalation I think.'

'Smoke?' She tried to search her memories but her brain felt like it was filled with smoke.

He frowned. 'You can't remember?'

She shook her head and coughed.

He stood up and walked over to another doctor who called a nurse to him. She could see them talking. Then he came back.

'Nurse Michaels said she helped you out of the hospital. You sat on the grass and then fainted. She thinks you might have bumped your head which would account for the memory loss.'

Anya nodded her head, all the more now trying to search her brain for the memories. And then they came to her. The fire, the man in his bed, the smoke, the man who she had carried on her back. Coughing. Sitting on the grass and feeling dizzy.'

'Is he okay?' she asked, putting her hand over the doctor's to grip it. 'Is everyone okay?'

'You are remembering?' He shone the light in her eyes again, this time it didn't seem so bright.

'I remember the fire, I found a man in the toilets, and he was injured.'

'Yes, yes, he has a head injury but will be fine.' He pulled a wrapped packet out of his lab coat packet and tore off the paper to reveal a tongue depressor. 'Let me have a look at your throat.'

She opened her mouth and felt the wooden stick press down her tongue.

'That's fine,' he took the stick out and smiled at her. 'You will be just fine.'

She was fine and so was everyone else. Wounds were cleaned and covered. Water was given to those with smoke inhalation as well as medicine for those that were still having trouble breathing. Unfortunately the hospital was not so lucky. It was soon decided that it was too damaged to be used immediately as a hospital again so the patients were sent to other hospitals or sent home and the doctors and nurses were reassigned.

Anya was to accompany some of the men back to England where they would be treated in the hospital she'd been assigned to. The young man she'd rescued from the bathroom amongst them.

She closed her eyes when the plane took off. She'd never really liked flying anyway, found it too scary but after the events that had just happened she was a lot more jittery than normal. She decided that if she couldn't see then she could prated that she wasn't in a plane but the drone of its engines put pay to that. Still the noise was comforting and bit by bit, made her fall asleep.

She was jolted awake when the plane came into land. Bleary eyed she looked around the cabin at the men and women, both doctors and nurses and injured men; they too were blinking and rubbing their eyes.

'Are we back in England?' she asked.

The young man she'd rescued, the one who'd had his leg cut off, she assisting the doctor looked through the small window by his seat. 'Yeah we are back in England,' he smiled and then looked at where his leg was missing. 'Never thought I'd come back here with a limb missing. In fact when I left, I half didn't think I was going to be coming back at all.'

'Are you glad to be back?' she asked.

'I'm not too sure,' was all he said in reply.

She soon found out that she was being assigned to the Southmead Hospital in Bristol to work with injured soldiers again. Not that she minded, she was a nurse and wanted to help, plus she'd long ago realised there was no point in moaning about one's situation. You should just get on with it.

The young man whose life she had saved had also been put in the hospital though not to work obviously but to recover. She soon found out that he was actually from the area, having grown up and gone to school in nearby Patchway. He had a large family that came to see him often, sometimes coming on mass, so that the matron would refuse them all entry. Sometimes he was happy to see them and sometimes not. She liked it when she heard him laughing as his brother told him a silly joke but often he would just sit in silence. He would stare out of the window and sigh.

But soon he was doing well enough to be sent home. His mother made a great fuss of him on that day, making him groan with embarrassment. His father pushed him out in a wheelchair.

A few weeks later she got a letter from his mother.

'Our son Johnny has told us all about you. How you saved his life twice and how much he likes you. We would like you to come for tea on July 19th at six. Really looking forward to meeting you, we have heard so much about you from our son.'

Dutifully she went; she really did want to see the young man again, to see how he was getting on. She had often thought about him since he had gone home, wondering how he was getting on and if he was okay.

She caught the bus to his home in Patchway and took a deep breath before she knocked on his front door.

A woman came to the door. 'Are you Anna?' she asked.

'Anya.'

'Yes, yes, come in won't you. Its freezing out there, come into the warm. You can sit by the fire on the settee next to Johnny.'

Anya smiled and followed the woman.

'Here's Anna,' she said as they walked into their lounge.

'Anya.'

'I've made a veritable feast in your honour,' the woman said, pushing her down into a small space left on the settee. Johnny sat close to her.

She looked up at the woman. 'You shouldn't have gone to any trouble for me.'

'Oh, no trouble.'

'Do you need any help?' She started to rise off the settee.

'No, no, it's all under control.'

Anya sank back onto the settee where Johnny's hand was inches from her legs and there was no room to wriggle away.

She looked at him, his face so close that it made her eyes feel funny. 'How have you been?'

'Our Johnny has been getting on fine, haven't you Johnny?'

Johnny didn't reply. He just stared at the fire as if it was the most mesmerising thing he'd ever seen.

'He's been telling us all about you. Couldn't shut him up. Could we Johnny?'

Still no response.'

'Johnny.' His dad stood up. Walking over to Johnny he shook his shoulder. 'Johnny.'

'What?' Johnny pulled his eyes away from the fire and looked at his father. 'What?'

His father sighed.

'Here we are then,' Johnny's mum walked into the room pushing a trolley. 'Made some lovely soup, made with parsnips that Arthur here has grown himself.'

The man shrugged his shoulders. 'Just digging for Britain,' he said in a gruff voice.

'Didn't like it when he dug up my flowers but the vegetables he grows does come in useful. Now with the rationing and all. Even managed to sell some of it haven't we?'

'Yes mother,' Johnny started to look at the fire again.

Looking flustered at her son's behaviour, the woman continued. 'We will have corned beef mould for dinner, along with some potatoes from the garden and for dinner I've made a lovely prune roly poly. Though I haven't got any custard. Didn't have enough rations coupons for that.'

'I don't like custard anyway.'

'Don't you dear?' The woman looked again at Johnny staring at the fire. She sighed. 'He seems so different now to when he went...'

'He will be,' Anya tried to say gently. 'He's had a lot to contend with, the war, being injured and having his leg amputated and then the fire afterwards. He probably just needs time to think it all over. Though I could always ask the doctor to refer him to someone who can help.'

'I was hoping you could help. You are his sweetheart.'

Anya had just taken a sip of tea when that was said and she immediately started choking.

Johnny turned away from the fire, and started to pat her one the back. 'Are you okay?' he asked.

His mother had left the room again.

'No, I'm not okay. Why does your mother think I'm your sweetheart?'

He frowned. 'Because you are.'

'No I'm not. I'm just a nurse who you know.'

'And fell in love with. I've already been to see the vicar; we are to be married next month.'

She didn't want to hurt his feelings, he already seem exceptionally sad, depressed even, she didn't want to make what he was suffering worse but she knew she had no choice.

'I think you are a great guy,' she started. 'And really brave but you are my patient.'

'And I can be your boy friend too. And then your husband.'

'No. I'm sorry but that isn't' what I want.'

His face screwed up with pain. 'You don't like me because I've only got one leg,' he accused her.

'I like you but not like you want me too. We are never going to be together. I only came today because I was worried about you.'

'Worried about me?' his voice started to rise, quickly going from a raised voice to screaming and screeching.

His mother ran in. 'What's happening?'

'She don't want to marry me Mar,' he said. 'She thinks I'm not a proper man.'

Anya stood up. I think nothing of the sort. I like you, I've told you that, but you were my patient, nothing else.'

'I think you should leave,' his mother said, starting to push her towards the front door.

'I think you are right,' she shrugged off the woman's arms. 'But what I will say before I go is your son needs help. He could do with see a psychologist.'

'You want him to see a shrink? Get out of my house, now, go on, out. I don't know, you Americans are so stuck up. Think you are better than anyone else.'

'I don't.'

The door slammed in Anya's face but she could still hear Johnny screaming.

Anya laughed as she sipped out of a glass of lemonade, the bitterness of the lemons not really sweetened too much by sugar. She looked around the hall, at the polished floor, tables and chairs arranged round it. The stage where a man played the piano. In the year since she'd been in Bristol and two since she'd left America she'd come to love this place. A place where she could forget her job and the bombs hat fell around Bristol. Where she could just have a good time.

She'd been lucky that the hospital had placed her with a civilian family, the daughter of which had become her best friend Joan.

'Come on,' Joan stood up. 'Let's go and dance.'

The man was playing Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by the Andrew's sisters and when another man started playing a trumpet and the crowd in the dance hall started singing the words, she had to join in.

Dancing with an American soldier, she sang. 'He's the boogie-woogie bugle boy of Company B,' she crooned, grinning as the young man boogied in front of her.

'I love this song,' he said. 'They made him blow a bugle for his Uncle Sam.'

They sang together, soon a gap had opened up around them and people were clapping along to the words. She stopped for a moment, feeling embarrassed.

'Keep singing Anya,' Joan shouted.

So she did.

'A-toot a-toot, a-toot diddle-ee-ada-toot,' the young man mimed a trumpet as a real one played in the background.

'He puts the boys to sleep with boogie every night,' she laughed as some of the men around them pretended to snore.

'He's the boogie-woogie bugle boy of Company B,' they finished together to shouts of applause from the audience.

But amidst the noise of people clapping and laughing came another noise. A high whining sound that immediately changed the mood. The room was in salience except for the sound of the air raid warning and the distant sound of bombs falling.

'Air raid,' a man shouted. 'Everyone out. Go to the Temple Meads shelter.'

Thankfully the shelter was very near to the dance hall, just an old shed really. They scurried through its door, out into the dark night, barely able to see in front of their noses because of the blackout. They held hands, she holding Joan's, and an air raid warden led them across the street to the railway station. To the shelter.

They stumbled on the curb and bits of rubbish strewn on the street, and overhead they could hear the drone of an airplane.

'Please don't stop,' Anya said under her breath. 'Please don't drop a bomb on us.'

There was a clutter from high above, and then a whistling like a kettle left on the stove.

Anya ducked her head down and tried to walk faster, dragging the person behind her.

And then there was an explosion. The street lit by its light. Time seemed to go slow. Seconds stretched out as she saw the people nearest the dance hall fall. Soldiers that had stayed to make sure everyone else was out thrown across the street towards them. People at the end of the line dragged away from the person in front, ripped away. Bits of wood, brick and glass flying. Flames. Screams. Smoke. And the drone of the airplane moving away, its job done.

Coming out of a daze, she realized that she needed to run. 'Joan, come on,' she shouted and then realized that her hand was empty. Joan wasn't there anymore. 'Joan, where are you?'

The air raid warden started dragging her towards the station.

'Joan,' she shrieked. 'Joan.'

He bundled her through the door. 'Run girl,' he said pointing to where light was showing in a tunnel. 'Run.'

She ran towards the light. Deep into the tunnel, ignoring the slick algae walls, staying away from the line. She ducked down low when dust fell from the ceiling as another bomb hit nearby.

'Please be alright,' she sobbed. 'Joan, you can't die.'

She came to the light, the guiding line drawing her on, another light, brighter this one, pulling her one. She stumbled, falling to her knees, all the while tears washing her face. Her head throbbed with pain and something was trickling down her neck.

She kept on running, until a pair of hand stopped her. 'We're here,' a man said. 'You're safe.'

She looked around to see pale faces in candle light. The people were all sitting on the floor of the tunnel, sitting on the dirt or on top of coats. People were coming from the direction she'd just come from, dirty people, grimy dust covered people. Gashes on their faces. She scanned them for Joan but there were too many and the dust made them all look the same.

'I should help,' she said, trying to walk forward on wobbly legs. 'I'm a nurse.'

'You need to sit down,' the man said.

She realized then that he still had his hands on her shoulders and she looked up into his face. Dark eyes looked down at her, or at least they looked dark in the half light. He had a lop sided grin, or it might have been a frown. There wasn't really much to smile about at the moment.

'Who are you?' she asked, and then startled at her question, the silliness of her question, she looked at her feet.

'I am a friend,' he said. 'No sit down and let me tend your wound.'

'Wound?' She put her hand to the back of her head, amidst the dust and bits of rubble in her hair, she felt warmth, stickiness. Pain. 'I'll sit down,' she agreed.

He started to pull back her hair, making her wince at the sensation and then cleaned the wound. After that he put a bandage over it.

'Thank you,' she smiled.

'You are welcome,' he returned the smile. 'It's my job after all. I'm a medic. Oh and my name is Tom.'

She awoke to find a blanket had been put over her, a rolled up jacket under her head. For a moment she couldn't remember where she was and then she remembered. 'Joan,' she thought and stood up. Immediately she felt dizzy and put a hand on the wall to steady herself.

'Are you okay Anya?' Tom came running over.

'What time is it?'

'Morning,' he smiled. 'The birds are singing out there, despite the rubble and the stench of smoke, they are still singing, bringing a new day to us.'

'Just hope it is a better day than yesterday,' she muttered to herself and then looked up at her. 'Have you seen someone called Joan?' she asked.

He smiled sadly at her. 'I have seen several people called Joan.'

'Oh.'

'Joan is your friend?'

'Yes, she is. I hope she is okay.'

He nodded his head; he like her had seen how brutal the war was to the human body. 'I will take you home?' He said this as more of a question than a statement.

'I need to get to work. I'm probably late already.'

'No work today,' he said gravely. 'Doctor's orders.'

'But if I don't turn up…' Tears filled her eyes.

'I will tell them what happened.'

She smiled. 'Thank you.'

He looked expectantly at her, she stared back.

'Where do you work?' he whispered.

She blushed. 'Ward nineteen of Southmead Hospital.'

'Ah, I thought I recognised you. I must have seen you there. I work as a registrar there. I will tell matron that you are having the day off.'

She put her hands on her hips. 'Don't you dare, she would kill me.'

'Sweet matron?' he asked innocently. 'I will have her eating out the palm of my hand.'

'Ha! You don't know her very well if you think that is possible.'

'Are but you don't know me.' His eyes twinkled at her. 'Yet.'

He walked her back to her lodgings, coming in with her to make sure she was alright. Joan's mother fussed around her, making her sit down, making her a cup of tea.

And all Anya could do was wince wondering how the kind woman would feel when she realised that Joan was missing.

'Joan will be so glad you are okay,' Enid, Joan's mother said.

Anya hung her head low. 'I'm sorry…'

'She was so worried about you this morning when she got home. Said she couldn't find you, was really worried you were in the rubble of the dance hall. You know quite a few people, mainly soldiers, died last night. Such a waste.'

'It is,' she agreed somberly. But then what Enid had said hit her. 'You spoke to Joan this morning? She's alright? I was so worried about her.'

Enid laughed. 'She's gone to work as normal. A kind airman got her to safety. I think she is quite taken with him.'

'Oh I'm so glad,' tears were dripping down her cheeks and into the tea.

'Now you just drink that,' Enid sternly told her. 'And then it is bed for you. Do I need to stay in the house with her today doctor?'

'No, no. She will be fine. Now I'd better go and see that Matron of yours. Goodbye Anya.'

'Goodbye Tom.'

Enid saw him out and then came back into the room. 'That is a fine man,' she said. 'He'd make a good catch.'

'I don't think he goes fishing,' Anya responded. Now that she knew Joan was okay, she was feeling much happier and in for a bit of a joke.

'Fishing? Oh you!'

Anya just grinned.

'You should have seen it,' Joan told her later that day. 'It was horrible. Body parts everywhere. I even saw a hand trying to claw its way out of the rubble, until it stopped. Poor thing underneath must have run out of air. Or bled to death. My Reg tried to stop me seeing it, when he escorted me out of the shelter but how could I not?'

'Your Reg? You only just met him last night.'

'Okay yes I did but I can tell, we're going to get married.'

Even in the light of what Joan had said about the remains of the dance hall, and those who had died in there, Anya couldn't help laughing. 'You are going to marry him?'

'Yes. I hope.' She looked down at the floor. 'He's asked me to go to the pictures tonight with him. Bet he will want to sit on the back row.' She wriggled her eyebrows. 'I intend to be engaged by the time I get home tonight.'

Anya shook her head and giggled. 'I wish you luck with that.'

Joan plumped her ample brown hair. 'I don't need luck,' she said with a wicked grin.

'So what is this Reg like then?'

'Ooh, he's wonderful. Bright blue eyes, light brown hair, tall, not too skinny or too fat, ever so gentlemanly. He's from Bath, not just the RAF camp but born there. He's perfect, for me anyway. I can imagine our children.'

Anya snorted, she couldn't help it. 'He sounds a dream.'

'Well if he is then I don't ever want to wake up,' Joan grinned and then started to laugh too.

That night Joan went out with her handsome Reg while Anya too weak from her injury stayed at home. Though she did get a visitor.

'I've come to see how you are doing,' Tom said as she walked into the lounge.

'As you can see I am fine. Been getting some sleep. My head doesn't even hurt anymore.'

'I'm glad,' he smiled. 'I…' he stopped talking for a moment and looked at her anxiously. 'I also wanted to ask if you would like to go out sometime.'

'I will probably go to the shops tomorrow. It's my day off and…' She tried to keep a straight face.

'No I mean would you like to come out with me sometime.'

'What? Like on a date?'

'Yes.'

She giggled. 'I would really like that.'

A few days later saw Anya on her first date with Tom. Well it was actually a double date because Jean had invited herself and Reg along. Not that Anya minded. She was just happy to have survived the bombing and hoped that the Germans would stay away from Bristol for a while. She'd been back at work since after her day off, and had often seen Tom walking down the corridors, nurses staring after him. She had giggled when she had thought about how they would have hated her if she had told them she was going out on a date with him. For a time she had considered telling them.

AT the pictures hey sat in the back row. The film they were watching, called Mrs Miniver, was about a middle class woman and Anya was trying to concentrate all her energies on it to avoid seeing the way Joan was all over Reg's face. But then Tom yawned, stretched his arms out and then placed it on the back of her chair.

She looked at him.

'Sorry,' he started to remove his arm.

'Don't,' she whispered, pulling it down over her shoulder so his hand rested on her upper arm.

He smiled. Leaning towards her, he kissed on the cheek.

A few weeks later, and Anya came home to find Joan sobbing her eyes out.

'Reg is dead,' the girl cried. 'Shot down over Germany. His mate told me that he'd seen his plane shot out of the sky, and fall to the ground in a blaze of fire.'

Anya didn't know what to say. 'I'm sorry.'

'His mate said they'd thought he might still be alive, they thought they saw a parachute coming from the plane, but this morning they had news from an operative in Germany who said he had been caught by the Germans and shot.' She started to wail. 'We had so many plans; we were going to have three kids like his mum had. We'd even picked out names and I had started to organise the wedding. He told me not to say until he got permission from higher up, but we were going to be married next month.'

'Oh Joan.'

'I can't believe it.' She rocked backwards and forwards. 'How can it be true? It can't be true, oh he's dead Anya. Reg is dead and I will never see him again.'

Anya put her arm around the girl, what more could she do.

Anya wriggled in the seat of a car. Somehow Tom had managed to get hold of some fuel to run it and was taking her to Oxford for Christmas to meet his family. They were driving through the streets of Banbury, passed an ornate tower with a cross at the top and a statue of a lady riding a horse, heading for Headington.

'It's wonderful isn't it? This town? Do you know the rhyme?'

She shook her head. 'I'm American remember.'

He smiled. 'Then I will tell you it. In fact I will sing it to you.' His hands on the wheel he started to sing. 'Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross to see a fine lady upon a white horse. With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes. She shall have music wherever she goes.'

Anya smiled. 'That's very good, what does it mean?'

'Um, some believe it is about Queen Elizabeth who rode to Banbury to see the cross, though not that one, but the original that was destroyed. The story I've heard though is it is about Lady Katherine Banbury who used to ride a white horse around these parts. She used to wear rings on her fingers and bells on her shoes, so had music wherever she went. The song was supposed to have been written especially for her, and she carried a copy of it everywhere with her.'

'Wow.'

'Maybe someone will write a song about you some day.'

She laughed at that.

The house in Headington was massive. White fronted with a drive up to the front. Four children were playing around the steps that led up to the front door, two more, older ones, could be seen sitting in a room through a large windows.

'You have a large family,' she said.

'What?' He started to laugh. 'I guess I do. My other brother and sister might not be here yet though.'

'How many of you are there?' She counted inside her head. 'Nine.' She stared at him in shock.

He didn't respond because the four children had seen them now and were running towards whether he had parked the car.

'Tommy,' they shouted.

'Hello kids, are you being good?'

A little one tugged at his trousers and stuck her tongue through a gap in her teeth.

'Started losing your baby teeth at last have you Lucy?' He picked her up and started to walk towards the house.

'You're pretty,' a little boy said to her, taking her hand and leading her in the direction Tom had gone.

The house inside was full of polished oak, old fashioned wall paper that was peeling a bit and worn carpet. There was a smell in the air of the old mixed with the spices of cooking and the scent of greenery brought inside and left on a table.

'Mother,' Tom called.

A flustered woman ran into the hallway, tendrils of grey hair hung around her face, flour flew off her and she had a huge smile on her face.

'Tommy's home,' Lucy shouted.

There was the sound of stamping feet coming from a side room and more from upstairs. Five more people appeared.

'My son,' an older man stepped forward.

'Father,' he put his arms around the man and hugged him. Then he embraced his mother and every other member of the family.

'And who is this?' his mother asked about Anya.

He took her hand, swung it. 'This is my girlfriend Anya.'

He introduced her to everyone, to his mother and his father, his brothers and sisters and the four children that had been evacuated from London and billeted to live there.

Anya dipped a sprig of holly into a strong solution of Epsom salts. 'I really thought they were all your brothers and sisters,' she said. 'I felt really sorry for your mum.' She put the holly on the table to dry.

'I'm sorry Anya; I led you on a bit. But your face when you thought they were all...' he stopped talking to laugh, slapping his thighs in his merriment.

'It's not funny,' she glared at him. 'Okay it is a bit, but still...' She picked up some mistletoe and dipped that into the solution. 'Are you sure this will make them sparkle?'

He nodded his head. 'Mother has been decorating at home like this since I was a little boy. One of my earliest memories is putting a piece of holly on the mantelpiece. I remember how it sparkled in the candlelight.'

Anya sighed. 'I miss my home, especially at this time of the year. I hope my family is okay.'

'I'm sure they are and remember the war won't be on forever. Once it is finished you can go back to America.'

'Do you want me to go back?'

'No.'

'Then I won't. Well I might for a visit but not to live. I'll stay in Britain. Just got to find somewhere to live once it is all over. Oxford is nice. I might find lodgings here. Get a job at that John Radcliffe hospital.'

He didn't speak, just reached out and stroke the curve of her cheek.

Christmas morning brought tears to Anya's eyes. In the morning when she woke she thought about the Christmas she had spent with her family growing up, and about the last few when she was missing them. Though she had got some telegrams from her family they were a long way away.

'Anna will be really growing up now,' she whispered to herself trying to imagine her as a twelve year old. Starting to put away her dolls and getting into makeup and even boys.

There was a knock on her door, and after waiting to be told she could come in, Tom's mother came in carrying a tray. On it was a steaming cup of frothy hot chocolate. The woman winked at her. 'Bit of a tradition on Christmas day,' she said. 'We always used to have a cup of cocoa with cream on top.' She shrugged. 'No cream anymore, so couldn't give you that and the cocoa is older than I would have liked. Managed to swop it for some eggs.'

Anya had soon realised that the people in this house were as self sufficient as they could be. They grew their own vegetables, had apple and pear trees in the garden and kept a hen house so they could have eggs and the odd chicken. They brought a piglet each year, fed it on scraps and then sold it at the winter fair, swapping its meat for other luxuries. Though she'd been told that they kept some of the meat for bacon and pork. They even grew their own herbs and spices in a little glassed house.

Anya took the cup of the tray and sipped it. A look of appreciation spread over her face. 'Thank you Mrs Clifford,' she said.

The woman smiled. 'Call me Mary.'

'Mary, thank you, this is lovely.' She took another sip.

'You put a smile on my Tom's face. All the things he has seen during this war, but you gave him hope. I would give you anything I had.'

Anya thought about what she'd seen since that winter two years ago when America had declared war. She frowned slightly. 'It has been a hard time,' she said.

'That it has, and I suspect will get even worse this next year. Oh well,' Mary stood up. 'Enjoy your cocoa. Breakfast will be ready in an hour.' She closed the door on her way out.

Anya got out of bed, and went over to the window. She pulled back the curtain, wincing a bit as sunlight shone, reflected on a layer of snow that had fallen the night before.

The children were already out there, bundled up in warm clothing throwing snowballs at each other. Screaming and shouting with laughter. Then she saw another figure, a large one. Tom. Rolling a snowball around the ground, it getting bigger and bigger. And bigger. He saw her and waved.

Anya drained the last of the cocoa and picked up her clothes she'd taken out of her case the night before. Then picking up her toiletry bag and a towel, she hurried to the door, and headed for the bathroom Tom had shown her the day before. She quickly washed and put on her clothes and then back in her room put on her shoes and a coat and gloves. Then she ran down the stairs, past the kitchen that smelt of baking bread, out the back door to where Tom was still rolling the snowball, but it was bigger now.

'Roll another one,' he shouted.

She gathered up some snow, patted it into a ball and then started patting more snow around it. Then she started rolling it around the ground like Tom was doing to the bigger one. Finally he shouted enough, her fingers were cold, frozen by then but he helped her place her smaller ball on top of his. Then he placed sticks in its sides and an old hat on its head. A scarf around its neck. Lastly he put some coal on its face, for its eyes and mouth.

'Hello Mr. Snowman,' he said, bowing slightly.

'It is lovely to meet you,' she grinned, curtsey and pulling out the legs of her trousers. 'I'm charmed, I'm sure,' she reached out towards one of his twig arms and gently shook the bottom of it.

'Breakfast,' a voice called from the house.

'Come on,' Tom grinned. 'You haven't lived until you have tasted Mother's Christmas breakfast.'

There was more food on the table than Anya had seen before the war had started. Bacon from the pig fried in its own fat. Eggs from the chickens. Freshly baked warm bread. Bread wasn't rationed, so she was used to eating it, but she hadn't had a slice of warm bread for a long time. It had been made with wartime flour, which made the bread look slightly greyish but as it was the only flour that wasn't rationed, she didn't care. There was also a large jug of milk on the table and some butter.

'Eat up,' Mary said, and started to hand warmed plates around the table.

Tom grabbed one, and started to fill it with eggs and bacon, putting a couple of slices on it too, spreading butter thinly over them. And then he gave the plate to Anya. 'Eat,' he said as he poured some milk into a cup and gave that to her too.

'Thank you,' she said, her mouth watering from seeing the food on her plate.

He filled his plate up the same and started to eat.

Picking up her knife and fork, Anya savoured each mouthful, chewing slowly so the egg could intermingle with the bacon in her mouth. She grinned with each mouthful.

After the breakfast dishes were all washed up, Anya helping, they gathered around the tree and started to open presents. She was surprised and very tearful to see that there was a pile just for her. They were wrapped up in old newspaper as there was no wrapping paper around anymore.

Tom placed one in her lap.

She picked it up and turned it over, untying the string that she wound around her hand and put on the floor next to her, she pulled back the newspaper to reveal a silver angel broach, blue stones glinting for eyes. 'It's beautiful,' she sighed.

'It was my grandmother's. She left it to me in her will. Said I should give it to a special young lady. Can't think of anyone more special than you.' He leant over and kissed her.

'Ooooh,' Lucy grimaced in disgust. 'They're doing yucky things.'

Everyone laughed.

'Open your present Lucy,' Mary whispered, putting a squashy present into the girl's hands.

The paper was pulled back, to reveal a doll very like the one Anya had given to her sister two years ago. She felt tears prickling on her eyelids and wiped them away before anyone could notice.

'I'll call her Lucy,' Lucy said.

'You can't call her Lucy,' Tom chortled.

Lucy stuck out her bottom lip. 'Why not?'

'Because it is your name.'

'I will call her Sally then. Sally was my best friend in the entire world when I lived in London.'

Hand in hand, they walked through the countryside. Both Anya and Tom bundled up in warm clothes though whenever they kissed there was enough heat to melt the snow that they trudge through.

'It is so beautiful around here,' she sighed. 'And the snow reminds me off home. The snow is Bristol turns to grey sludge and ice within no time but here...' she breathed in the cold winter air. 'Here it's just pristine.'

'Would you like to live here?'

She shook her head. 'I don't know. I miss my family so much.' She turned her head away as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Tom, who had been pulling something out of his pocket, put it back in and turned her around. He wiped the tears of her cheeks. 'I would like to meet your family one day. When the war is over.'

'When the war is over,' she sighed. 'Will this war ever be over?'

He just squeezed her hand to comfort her. To give her hope and let her know she wasn't alone. His other hand was in his pocket, white fingers gripping a ring box.

Anya hurried through the streets of Bristol heading towards a cafe. She told Joan to meet her there, wanting to cheer the girl up because all she did was mope in her room about her lost love. She was busy thinking of other things that she could do to help her, and didn't see the man until he said hello.

'Johnny?' She didn't know how to respond to him. Last time she'd seen him he had been so strange and his mother had thrown her out of the house for saying she didn't' want to marry him. She tensed herself for whatever he would say.

'Anya, it is so nice to see you again.' He was walking on crutches to get around and had a grin on his face.

'How are you?'

'I'm good. Really good. It is still hard to cope with losing my leg but I think I'm doing okay.'

'I'm glad,' she tried to walk passed him.

'I just wanted to say how sorry I am about the way I treated you.' He grimaced. 'You must have thought I was mad.'

'Not mad. Just a bit depressed. Needing help.'

He nodded his head. 'Got help now. Before I was sent to war I was dating a girl. We were engaged but I broke it off before I even got back to England. Never thought she would want me. I suppose I latched onto you because you are a nurse and would be able to understand what I was going through and help me. But I was wrong. You and me...' He shook his head. 'We weren't ever meant to be together.'

'No.'

'She came around to see me you know. The girl I was engaged too. She doesn't care about me losing my leg, she loves me. We are going to get married.'

Anya smiled. 'I'm glad for you.'

'You should come to the wedding.'

'I don't know, I'm pretty busy.'

'Oh okay, but I will drop off an invitation at the hospital for you. Maybe you will change your mind.'

'Maybe, but I doubt it,' she said truthfully. 'I've got a lot going on at the moment.'

'That's alright. Been great seeing you again. You saved my life, twice; you will always be special to me.'

'I've got to go. I'm meeting someone.'

'A man no doubt. Pretty girl like you. I won't keep you. I've got to meet my girl anyway.'

'Goodbye then.'

'Goodbye.'

Anya sat in the back of a cart they'd manage to catch going to Bath. Even though she'd been in England for years she'd never been there before. Tom had told her all about the city, how the Romans had built Baths there which was what it was named after. And the Abbey that was an outstanding beautiful building. She was really looking forward to going and having a look around.

They travelled slowly because the horse pulling the cart walked slowly. Fuel was harder to come by now and even Tom hadn't managed to get any. The rocking sensation of the cart sent Anya to sleep from which she awoke to Tom's smiling face when they arrived in the centre of the city.

'Are we here?' she yawned.

He nodded. 'I think we will have a look around the city this afternoon. It's nearly lunch time and I had a couple of my friends organised something for you in the park. Are you hungry?'

'Yes.'

He led her through a set of ornate gates into a grassed area. And there surrounded by men in uniforms was a sheet spread over the land, with baskets on it.

'Thanks guys,' Tom said and they left.

Anya looked in one of the baskets. 'Did they cook this?'

He laughed. 'Your friend Joan did. She was in on the secret too. Helped me and then a couple of mates who were heading to bath anyway brought it over this morning.'

'So why couldn't we have ridden with them?' She grumbled half heartedly.

'No room in the car for the two of us. They put the food in the back.

She sat down and he offered her a sandwich which she took and bit into. She looked around the park, enjoying the beauty of nature and the sight of people enjoying it too.

That was when she saw him. A man she recognised. She stood up. 'Be back in a minute tom,' she said and walked towards the man.

Tom frowned and watched her go.

'You,' she stabbed a finger into the man's chest.

'Hello Anya, long time, no see.' He grinned at her.

'But you are dead.'

'I feel fine.'

She stared at him. 'What's going on Reg? Your mate said you were dead. Shot down over Germany.'

He laughed.

'Joan thinks you are dead.'

'Best that way.'

'What?'

'Look I met someone else. Someone really nice. I asked her to marry me. We got married yesterday.'

'You're married? But what about Joan?'

He sighed. 'I didn't want to marry her. She was too pushy and to be quite honest too boring. I want adventure. My wife is from your country. Once this war is over and I've been decommissioned, we're moving over there.' He frowned when he saw how shocked Anya was. 'Look I told my mate to tell Joan I was dead. It was better that way.'

'And easier too?' She shook her head; put her hands on her hips. 'You were too cowardly to tell her you didn't want to marry her weren't you?'

'She would have clung to me. Begged me to change my mind. I couldn't be bothered with all that.'

'And what if I tell her?'

He shrugged. 'I'm married now. What can she do? I don't really care.' He sneered. 'But she will. Just think of how she will react to you telling her that. She'll be devastated. You are better off letting her believe I am dead.'

'I'm not so sure about that. She is already devastated. It might help her to know that you are a lying cheat.'

A young woman ran up to them. 'Oh Reg, there is a wonderful show on today. Can we go to it?'

'Sure honey,' he put his arm around the woman and led her away.

'Who was that you were talking to?' she asked.

'She was just asking directions honey.'

Sadly Anya walked back to Tom and told him about Reg. 'What should I do?' she wailed. 'Do I tell her? Or would it be better if she never knew?'

Tom sighed as he once again left the ring box in his pocket.

Anya knocked on Joan's bedroom door.

'Come in,' a voice sniffed.

She walked in to find Joan staring out of the window.

'Joan,' she said softly, wincing when she saw how red the girl's eyes were.

'Hello Anya,' she smiled a watery smile. 'Just looking at the stars and wonder if one of them is Reg.'

Anya sighed. 'I've got something to tell you. Tom took me to Bath today and...'

'He asked you to marry him.' She didn't say this as a question but as a fact.

'No,' Anya shook her head and for a moment wondered what it would be like being his wife. 'No he didn't. This is something else, someone else. I saw him in Bath.'

'Oh don't say you have gone off Tom. I could never have stopped loving Reg, not if we'd been together a thousand years.' She started to cry.

'Anya put her arm around Joan. 'Look, there is no easy way to say this.' She paused for a moment and then started to blurt out all she knew. 'Reg isn't dead. I saw him today in Bath and he's...'

Joan glared at her. 'I thought you were my friend and you are making up silly stories.'

'It's not a silly story. I saw him, talked to him. He isn't dead. His mate lied.' She continued quickly when she saw hope bloom in Joan's eyes. 'He told his mate to lie. He met someone else, an American nurse.'

'You!' Joan slapped her across the face.

Anya stared at the shaking girl in shock; she put her hand up to where her cheek was starting to burn. 'Not me,' she said through gritted teeth. 'Another nurse. He told his mate to tell you he was dead so he could marry her. He married her yesterday.'

Joan was quiet. She just stood still, not saying a word. Frozen like a statue. But unlike a statue, her lip quivered a bit, and her hands were slowly turning into a fist. And suddenly she sat down on the bed and started to cry. Great racking sobs of someone who had had everything they knew taken away from them.'

'I'm sorry Joan. I didn't really want to tell you but I couldn't let you moon over him like you were. I had to tell you. If I hadn't you might still have been thinking about your lost love in fifty years time.

'I know,' Joan said in a very quiet voice. She turned to look at Anya, winced when she saw the hand shaped mark on her friend's face. 'I'd like to be alone.'

Anya nodded her head and left, closing the door on her way out. Her last sight of Joan was the girl had her head in her hands and she was shaking uncontrollably.

Anya was helping a soldier walk to the toilet when she saw Tom come into the ward. She smiled at him and then got on with her job. When she came back, she settled the relieved solider back into bed and walked over to him.

'You shouldn't be here,' she hissed. 'Matron won't like it.' She could feel the woman's eyes on her back already. Daggers being thrown there.

'I've told you before, Matron is a sweetheart. I had a little chat with her when I came in and though she isn't happy, she's willing to give me a few moments of your time.'

Anya frowned. 'Why do you have to see me now? Why can't it wait until our date tonight?'

'I've being reassigned.'

She gasped. 'Where to?'

He took her hand. 'France. Cherbourg probably. Since D Day, that is where the front line is and they need medics. But I'm not going until the end of the month and who knows what cities and towns our men will have liberated by then. The main thing is I'm going away and,' he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out the ring box. 'I want you to marry me before I go.' He opened the box to show a gold ring, a sparkling paste stone set in the top. 'Please,' he said in a strained voice.

She looked from the ring up to his face and then back at the ring. Then she looked back at him again.

'Put the poor bloke out of his misery,' one of the injured soldiers shouted. 'Before he has a heart attack and ends up in one of these beds.'

Anya stared at Tom. She could see hope in his eyes, mixed with fear, uncertainty, outright terror. She smiled which made his face relax a little. She took the box of him, took the ring out, slipped it on her ring ringer and whispered. 'I would love to be your wife.'

'Is that a yes?'

She nodded. 'Yes,' she said feeling tears threatening to well up.

He threw his arms around her, held her tight, kissed her on the lips and then spun her around. 'We're getting married,' he laughed.

'That's nice,' Matron came over. 'Now can my nurse get back to her work please?'

'Of course.' He turned back to Anya. 'We will talk about its tonight?'

She nodded her head, kissed him and then turned back to her work.

A place like a hospital, especially during a war, is a seed plate for gossip. News that Tom had proposed and Anya had agreed to be his wife soon got around. So much so that by the time Anya had got back to her lodgings that night, Joan had already told her mother. Anya walked in to find the woman, Enid, with her arms in a sink full of soapy water washing a large net curtain.

'Hello love,' she said, pulling the plug out of the sink. The water gurgled down the drain, leaving fizzing bubbles on the material. She turned the cold tap on to rinse all the suds out. 'Can you help me with this?' She plonked the sopping wet net curtain into a bowl and headed for the door.

'Isn't July the wrong time for spring cleaning?' Anya asked, wondering why the curtains were getting washed now when they had only been cleaned in the March of that year.

'Is it?' A sparkle came into Enid's eyes. 'But I'm not going to put these curtains back up.' She gave Anya one end of the net and took the other one herself. Then she stepped away so the space between them was filled with the net. 'Help me squeeze the water out of this love,' she said, turning it one way while Anya turned it the other way.

They draped it over the washing line, spreading it out and putting clothes pegs on it to secure it to the line.

'Once that is dry, I will start cutting,' she mumbled to herself, lost in her thoughts.

'You are going to cut it?' Anya fingered the net curtain, looking at the whirls of silver thread that formed little birds that were scattered all around it, alongside golden thread shaped into flowers. 'You shouldn't cut it, it's too beautiful.'

'And will make a beautiful dress.'

'You are going to make it into a dress?' Anya nodded. 'Joan will look lovely in it. I'm sure it will cheer her up.'

'It's not for Joan silly,' Enid laughed. 'It's for you. For your wedding day.'

'My wedding day?'

'Joan told me that Tom had finally asked you. About time too. Third time lucky hey?'

'Third time?'

'He was going to ask you at Christmas and again the other week when he took you to Bath, but each time you were too upset about something and he wasn't able to. Poor lad had been distraught.'

'He really wanted to ask me those times? Why was I the only one not to know?'

'Talk of the hospital. You must go around with cloth in your ears. Joan told me he's been walking around that hospital talking to himself, practising what to say. His nerves must have finally pushed him to ask you.'

Anya frowned. 'It wasn't nerves, he's being reassigned. They are sending him to France by the end of the month. That's why he asked me. Because it might be our only chance to be together.' She started to cry.

'No crying allowed young lady,' Enid put her arm around Anya's shoulder and gave her a clean hankie out of her pocket. 'That young man of yours will come back fine. You mark my words. The bride can't cry anyway, she's too busy getting everything sorted.'

Anya sniffed.

'Now it is the seventh of August today. Joan said that Tom has already been to the local Church to see the vicar. The first lot of banns will be read out tomorrow. Then they will be read out on the fourteenth and twentieth so you will be able to get married on the twenty first of August which is just over two weeks so we have to get busy making that dress.'

Anya used the hankie to wipe her eyes and once again touched the drying net. 'It is very beautiful,' she said.

'And so are you. I think that once made, that material will look really lovely on you.'

Anya grinned, still sniffing, her face wet with tears but she could feel hope welling inside her as well as fear, hope for the future. 'Thank you,' she took Enid's hands in her own. 'I am really grateful to you.'

A few weeks later saw Anya standing at the front of St. Chad's Church next to Tom. She was wearing the net curtain but now it looked nothing like what you would put at a window. Instead it draped over her, pulled in at the waist showing her flat stomach. The gold and silver threads sparkled in the light pouring through the stained glass windows. She was wearing a pair of dainty slippers that had been Enid's when she was young and had a crown of flowers in her hair. She felt beautiful and could tell by the way Tom was looking at her, he felt the same.

'We are here today,' the vicar said. 'To witness the marriage of Thomas and Anya. To pray for God's blessing on them, to share their joy

And to celebrate their love. Marriage is a gift of God through which husband and wife may know His grace.'

Tom took her hand in his, squeezing it gently.

'First,' the vicar continued. 'I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry, to declare it now.'

Thankfully no one objected. For a moment Anya thought that Joan was going to but all she did was put her thumb up to her, and then smiled.

The vicar turned to Tom. 'Thomas, will you take Anya to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her,

and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?'

'I will.'

'And Anya, will you take Thomas to be your husband. Will you love him, comfort him, honour and obey him, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?'

For a second Anya thought about what she was doing. Did she truly want to commit her life to this man? But she didn't think about it for anyone to realise she was thinking about it. She just looked in Tom's eyes, smiled and simply said. 'I will.'

The vicar then turned to the congregation. To Tom's family and their friends. 'Will you, the families and friends of Thomas and Anya support and uphold them in their marriage now and in the years to come?'

'We will,' the congregation said.

'Thomas and Anya, I now invite you to join hands and make your vows, in the presence of God and his people.'

'I, Thomas take you Anya to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; according to God's holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow.'

'I, Anya take you Thomas to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; according to God's holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow.'

The vicar looked at Tom's friend standing next to him who quickly passed over the ring.

'Heavenly Father, by your blessing let this ring be to Thomas and Anya a symbol of unending love and faithfulness, to remind them of the vow and covenant which they have made this day through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.'

He passed the ring to Tom who put it onto Anya's finger.

'With this ring, I wed you. With my body I honour you. All that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you, within the love of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.'

The vicar nodded and smiled. 'In the presence of God, and before this congregation, Thomas and Anya have given their consent and made their marriage vows to each other. They have declared their marriage by the joining of hands and by the giving and sharing of a ring. I therefore proclaim that they are husband and wife.' He leant forward and joined Tom's and Anya's hands together. 'Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder.' He looked at Tom. 'You may kiss the bride.'

Anya felt Tom's arms slip around her back. He pulled her to him and gently kissed her to the rapturous applause of the congregation.

Joan's mother had organised a little party in the Church's hall after the wedding. Tables had been dragged out of storage under the stage and placed along two sides of the hall, with another near the stage. Tom's family had donated a couple of chickens to the affair which had been cooked with stock and vegetables and some grains to make a chicken stew. This was followed by bread pudding and he speeches.

Tom stood at the top table; he smiled down to where Anya was looking up at him. 'Thank you everyone for coming to our wedding. And thank you to everyone who helped with the preparations. To Joan and her family, her mother who made the beautiful dress my bride wears and organised so many details, to my own family who provided this wonderful meal as well as the car, and fuel, that brought Anya here today. I would also like to thank her parents for having such a wonderful daughter and have already sent that message to them in a telegram. Lastly I would like to thank my beautiful Anya for consenting to be my wife, a fact that I will be eternally grateful for.' He bent down and kissed her. 'Thanks Anya,' he whispered in her ear.

Then Tom's best friend stood up. 'What can I say about the groom? I could tell you a funny story, like the time we were in training and he stayed up all night studying for a test only to fall asleep in his porridge in the morning. He spent the whole test with bits of it in his hair. Or what about the time he was spent throwing up in a toilet after drinking too much the night before? My best story is though is when we were at school together in Oxford. We were ten year old boys, up to no good, climbing up trees to nick the apples thinking we could make cider with it. Only thing was when Tom went up, his slipped, the branch broke underneath him, the end cutting through his clothes, but not through him. Hanging up there in the tree. Dangling from a branch. He was pretty near to the ground so if it had broken all the way all he would have got was a couple of bruises but he was a slight. Hair in his eyes, big hole in his pants, red face from screaming and crying like a baby. I was going to help him but then I heard the farmer coming. He tended to whistle everywhere he went so I knew it was him. I ran, and the farmer found our Tom hanging in his tree, a bag of stolen apples on his back. He took him to Tom's father who gave him the walloping of his life but no one ever knew that I was involved so I got no punishment. And now I am too old to be punished.' He grinned.

'You think,' a voice from one of the tables said. 'You're not too old to be put over my lap,' the man warned to much laughing.

Lastly Joan's father stood up. 'I have in my hand a telegram I received the other day from the Bride's parents and they have asked me to read it out to her.' He cleared his throat. 'Our darling Anya, we miss you so much and it is with great sadness that we send this telegram knowing we will miss your wedding. You were our first child, a lovely beautiful and wise girl who we are so proud of. We know that you would only have chosen the best of men for your husband, and from what we have heard about Tom, we are sure that you have chosen wisely. So we bless you both on hits day and hope for good lives for both of you and many children. As hits war drags on, each day seems to take you further away from us, but we promise that once it is over, once it is safe once again to travel then we will be coming to see you and we hope that in future years you will come back to America to see us bringing lovely babies with you. Love Mom and Dad.' Joan's father stopped for a moment, 'the next bit is from your little sister Anna.'

Anya could feel tears of happiness and sadness welling up in her eyes.

'Big sis, I remember the day you gave me my doll Daisy over two years ago. Though I am getting a bit old for dolls now, I'm nearly thirteen, I have put her on my bed and each night before I go to sleep I give her a hug, thinking of hugging you. I miss you so much but Mom says that you are going to be living over there. That made me sad until she said that you would probably start having babies and I would be an aunty. Aunty Anna sounds good doesn't it? So hurry up and have those babies because Dad says that as soon as the war is over we will be coming to England and I expect you to have had a baby by then. Love Anna.'

'To Anya and Tom,' Joan's father raised his glass. 'To having many loving years together and to having lots of babies.'

'Years and lots of babies,' everyone repeated as they banged their glasses together.

Except for talking to Tom about where she would live after they were married and Anya getting herself transferred to the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford so she would be close to her new home with her in laws, she hadn't thought too much ahead to what would happen after the wedding but Tom had. He'd organised a honeymoon for them. They travelled to it on train, her none the wiser about where they were going, though changing trains at Birmingham and Preston were dead giveaways that there holiday would be in the seaside town of Blackpool. He'd booked them to stay for a few days at a little hotel that specialised in cream teas and full English breakfasts. By day they'd walk up and down the golden mile, visit the park or lay on the golden sands soaking up the sunrays. By night they went to shows like Tessie O'Shea or Frank Randle or ones on North Pier. One night they went to the Tower and danced in the Bathroom, paintings of angels looking down from the ceiling at them and the ornate gold painted woodwork.

Two days after their wedding, Tom woke her up early, and told her to get dressed. They caught a bus to a nearby village, arriving at nine. Before they explored the little village, which had been named in the Doomsday Book as Frecheltun, they went into a little cafe called Whittles Bar and ordered eggs and bacon with a side order of fried bread. And of course they asked for tea.

Anya dipped her fried bread into the yoke of her egg and then put it, dripping, to her mouth. 'This is really good,' she grinned. 'I think it is even better than the wonderful food they serve up at the hotel.'

'Hmmmm,' was all Tom replied. He bit into the sandwich he'd made with the bacon, eggs and fried bread. Half of it fell back out but as he was leaning forward it fell on his plate. He chewed contentedly.

'And this little village is really lovely too.' She sighed. 'I feel a million miles away from the war.'

He swallowed his food and smiled. 'A quaint little village is sure to do that. Looking around you can imagine that the people are always happy and nothing bad could ever happen here. They are very lucky in this village to have such as oasis of calm.'

She nodded. Stirring her tea she smiled when she saw a woman dragging a small boy towards a school that was opposite the cafe. He was struggling with each step but his mother still took him in the front door. She came out a few minutes later, minus her child.

Tom had seen that smile and also the mother and child. 'You will be a brilliant mother you know,' he stated.

She blushed and looked down at her egg yolk stretched plate.

'come on, let's have a look around,' Tom said, picking up their plates and taking them to the counter.

Hand in hand, the newly married couple left the cafe to have a look around the village that they imagined was far away from the war.'

They walked around the village, visiting shops, staring in shop windows, admiring flowers in gardens and generally just having a good time. It was very quiet around Freckleton; they didn't hear any cows or too many birds. One thing they did hear though was a crack of thunder and the rain that came soon after. Caught outside they didn't know where to go until they saw a farm nearby. Running through the rain, they banged on the door.

A woman opened it, and took one look at them and another one at the sky and then pulled them in, standing them in front of an open fire.

'You look drenched,' she said, running off to get some towels, which she gave them.

Anya gratefully dried her hair and her clothes as best as she could. She could see steam coming from her as the heat of the fire started to dry her.

'I will get you a nice pot of tea,' the woman said, looking out the window and frowning as lightning lit up the sky. 'Going to be a serious storm today,' she said.

'Doesn't look too good does it?' Anya said.

The woman looked at her. 'American are you? Come a long way for a rainy day in Freckleton.'

'We're on our honeymoon,' Tom said.

'Yes, I thought you might be. Young couple like you. You have that look about you, when you glance at each other, love fills your eyes. I remember when my husband was the same.' She sighed. 'Anyway, you are welcome in my farm, I'm Mrs Harris.' She poured hot water into a tea pot and added tea leaves. Stirring it, she put on the lid and started to fill three cups, using a strainer to get rid of the leaves.

'Thank you,' Anya took a cup from her and sipped it. The flavour of tea burst over her tongue as she swallowed it.

Another crash of thunder but this time the sound seemed to go on, rumbling in the sky. Over the farmhouse and moving on.

They stared at the ceiling and then Tom jumped up. 'That's not thunder,' he said, pulling open the front door.

The rain was torrential now but they could still see an airplane.

'It's flying too low,' he shouted. He ran out the door.

'It's heading for the village,' Mrs Harris screamed, her hand over her mouth in shock. She too ran out of the door, calling for her husband on the way.

Anya saw a little man scuttle out of a barn and head towards the woman. He looked up at the sky and then together they started to run.

And Anya followed them. She banged the front door shut behind her, kicked off her shoes and then started to run in her bare feet, thankful for the first time that she didn't have nylons on. They'd have got in the way.

Tom was some way in front of her, but she could still hear him shouting. 'No, please no. It's going to crash. That plane is going to crash into the village.'

They were a couple of streets away from where they'd had had their breakfast when they heard a loud bang. They kept on running until they saw that the street that the cafe was on was filled with flames and the cafe was in the middle.

Tom put his hands through his hair. 'No,' he shrieked.

Anya didn't know what to say but then she remembered the child whose mother had taken him to school, that was opposite the cafe. 'The children,' she shouted starting to run. She didn't get close to the school, it was too hot.

There was a man, a soldier, crawling away from the cafe. Flames surrounded him and he was injured but he kept on crawling because not to do so would mean death.

Tom ran over to him and dragged him to safety. He quickly examined him and finding nothing too wrong with the man, said that he would probably be okay. Of course he didn't say this to the man. It probably wasn't a good idea because they had no idea if he had internal injuries.

Anya meanwhile stared at the school. Fire was pouring out of its roof and she could hear the screaming of young voices as well as cracking beams. 'We've got to do something.'

Mrs Harris put a gently hand on her arm. 'I don't think there is anything we can do,' she winced as she heard a young girl screaming for her mother.

Other people were arriving in the street now. Men charging forward but beaten back by the flames. Women with tears in their eyes.

A woman tried to run up to the school, but one of the men dragged her back. 'Let me go,' she shrieked. 'My Jimmy is in there.'

When she turned Anya saw it was the woman she had seen that morning taking her son to school, forcing him to go.

'Oh my baby,' she sobbed. 'I should have listened to you today when you said you didn't want to go.'

Anya couldn't watch. She turned away, wiping tears madly from her eyes. A pair of arms caught her, wrapped themselves around her as Tom pulled her to him. Not this time an embrace of desire but of comfort. But there was nothing more he could say.

They pulled out eighteen bodies from the cafe that Anya and Tom had eaten their breakfast in only a short time before. Her stomach still felt full from it making her feel that she should throw up. If they had lingered longer, if the bus had taken longer to get them to the village, they might have been there when the airplane hit. There could have been two more bodies. That thought was shocking enough but when they started pulling out the bodies from the school she really was sick. Forty bodies, two of them teachers but the other thirty eight were the little bodies of four to six year olds. Children that the adults were meant to protect, but hadn't. She knew children died, she was a nurse she was used to that but this time it was different. These children hadn't been killed by enemies but their own people. By an accident.

They didn't find the bodies of the three English crew men that had flown the airplane. They had been burnt up in the flames.

After that they didn't feel like staying in the area. They boarded a train to Oxford early so they could spend some time with family before Tom left. They spent the last two days of their honeymoon with them after which he reported for duty and found out that they would be leaving the next day for Paris that had now been liberated.

So Anya stood on a platform, surrounded by Tom's family as they waved goodbye to him. And just before the train started its journey, she ran up to it, to where he was hanging out of the window waving and kissed him on the lips.

'Make sure you come back,' she said, her eyes blazing with determination.

'I will try,' he said and then kissed her back.

But all too soon the train started moving. Anya waved until she couldn't see it anymore.

'Come on love,' Mary, his mother put her arm around Anya's shoulders. 'He will be alright. I'm sure of it.'

They spent the rest of the summer and autumn picking berries, cultivating vegetables and making jams and preserves. Mary always kept Anya busy, so much so that it was only at night when she was alone in a double bed that she thought too much about Tom.

And then she started to feel sick.

It had been about two months after their wedding that Anya started to feel queasy. First of all she'd just had a heavy sensation in her stomach and then started going off food. By the time she was feeling sick, the sight of potatoes frying was enough to make her head for the toilet. And the thought of bacon was enough to send her there too.

She was pretty sure that she was pregnant, she hadn't had a period since before they'd got married and with sickness on top of that, it made her think she probably was. But it wasn't until she started showing around Christmas that she knew for sure.

Tom was ecstatic. He'd been allowed home for a week and when he saw how large her stomach had become, he nearly fainted. Soon he was rubbing it at every available time and would often be seen his head to Anya's stomach whispering to the baby within.

When Anya started to laugh at this, he would complain and then kiss her, his hand still on her stomach, and say obviously he wasn't paying enough attention to his wife.

The baby kicked, for the first time. They both felt it and stared at each other in wonder.

But all too soon Christmas was over and nineteen forty five had arrived and Tom had to go back to Paris.

The next couple of months Anya spent getting ready for the baby. Her mother in law, Mary, showed her how to knit and the two women would sit in the lounge in the evening with just the radio on quietly in the background and the sound of clanking of knitting needles sounding throughout the room.

Soon Tom's younger sister joined them and Lucy, one of the young children living with the family, would come and sit on the rug watching them knit. Anya would often entertain them all by talking, asking questions about motherhood or telling stories. She told them of her life growing up in America, and of the pool frozen over enough to skate on. Often she would just make up stories or tell them myths from the country of her birth.

'Long ago,' Anya repeated the words her mother had told her many times when she was growing up. 'A peaceful tribe of Indians lived beside a River and many of them were dying. It was believed that the tribe must appease the thunder god, who lived with his two sons in a cave behind a waterfall. At first, the Indians sent canoes laden with fruit, flowers and game over the waterfall, but the dying continued. The Indians then began to sacrifice the most beautiful maiden of the tribe, who was selected once a year during a ceremonial feast. One year, Lelawala, daughter of Chief Eagle Eye was chosen. On the appointed day, Lelawala appeared on the river bank above the waterfall, wearing a white doeskin robe with a wreath of woodland flowers in her hair. She stepped into a white birch bark canoe and plunged over the waterfall to her death. Her father, heartbroken, leaped into his canoe and followed her.'

'That's really mean,' Lucy said.

Anya nodded her head and continued to tell the story. 'The thunder god's two sons caught Lelawala in their arms, and each desired her. She promised to accept the one who told her what evil was killing her people. The younger brother told her of a giant water snake that lay at the bottom of the river. Once a year, the monster snake grew hungry, and at night entered the village and poisoned the water. The snake then devoured the dead. On spirit, Lelawala told her people to destroy the serpent. Indian braves mortally wounded the snake on his next yearly visit to the village. Lelawala returned to the cave of the thunder god, where she now reigns as the Maid of the Mist.'

Lucy jumped up when Anya had finished her tale. 'I'm going to dress up as the maid of the mist,' she said. 'I will get my sister and brothers to play that I am Lela...' she looked at Anya.

'Lelawala.'

'Lelawala,' repeated the girl with a big smile. 'I will be Lelawala, and my sister can be the thunder god and my brothers his two sons.'

Anya grinned as Lucy ran out of the room. She was used to that reaction; most of the tales she had told had been played out afterwards.

In February she received a letter from Joan, inviting her to her wedding. She hadn't heard from the girl for some time. Anya had been busy waddling around as she grew bigger each day while Joan had been too busy going out dancing in Bristol to write. This letter came really out of the blue. She'd not been expecting it.

A few weeks later on a sunny day towards the end of April she was sat on a pew in the Church she'd married Tom in eight months before when the vicar had seen her he had come to talk to her but frowned when he saw the size of her stomach It was enormous

'You are due very soon,' he said in a disgusted voice. 'I don't know, you young people never waiting I know there is a war but that is no excuse.'

'Pardon?' Anya didn't understand what he meant

'You must have been in the family way before you got married.'

'No I wasn't.' She stood up, her extended stomach touching the front of the pew. Her eyes blazed towards the vicar.

'The evidence is before me,' he said smugly, obviously feeling that he was superior to her.

'This baby was conceived on my honeymoon,' she said through gritted teeth. 'Not before.' She sat down and turned her head away from him so he would know that their talk was over.

He tutted and then walked over to the front of the Church.

Joan glided passed, in the net curtain dress; though it had been let out, panels of parachute silk had been added to the skirt and made into flowers to adorn the top of the bodice.

Anya watched as the couple exchanged their vows and felt every so often the eyes of the vicar staring accusingly at her.

At the end he had another dig. 'Ladies and Gentlemen, the bride and groom. And a lovelier and more pure bride I have never seen.'

Joan glowed with happiness at this.

Anya did not. Saying that for half of the service she hadn't been feeling too well. She'd been having some trouble recently with going to the toilet and the hardness of the wooden pew seemed to be making the pain of constipation worse. She had decided that as soon as Joan was married, she would slip into the Church's toilet.

Not that she got the chance. After Joan had passed by with her new husband, Anya had stood up and felt warm liquid running down her legs. It ran into her shoes and puddle onto the floor. For a moment she thought she had wet herself but then her nursing training kicked in. Waddling over to Enid, Joan's mother, she was about to whisper in her ear about her predicament when the first wave of pain washed over her. She clutched one of the pews, her tails digging into the wood.

'Everyone outside for photos,' a woman shouted and nearly everyone in the Church hurried out of the front door before she could get help.

The only person remaining frowned at her when she turned to him. He was about to walk off leaving her alone but then he must have seen the pain echoing in her face as another contraction rocked through her.

'Help me,' she managed to say. 'The baby is coming.'

'And rather too soon,' he said and then went to help her. He led her into his vestry where he sat her down on a settee and went to get help.

'Arrrrrhhhh,' Anya screamed as another pain ripped through her stomach. 'These contractions are coming too quickly,' she gasped trying to count between each pain. She only managed to get to one minute before another one came. 'Help me,' she screamed.

Joan, still in her wedding dress, and Enid, her mother rushed in.

'Anya, are you okay?' Joan asked.

'No, I'm having a baby,' she groaned, perspiration on her forehead.

'Very early isn't it?' the vicar said but Enid shut the door on him. Then she turned to Joan. 'Go back to your husband,' she ordered. 'Birth is messy and that dress of yours will get ruined.'

'I don't care,' Joan said her face nearly as white as her dress at seeing her friend in so much pain.

'Sorry for ruining your wedding,' Anya just about managed to say.

'Hush. It's unimportant. You are all that matters.'

'Right,' Enid said. 'If you are insisting on staying then you need to get changed.'

Joan nodded her head and rushed out of the door. The vicar was still there but Enid once again shut the door in his face before he could say anything.

'Arrrrrhhhhh' Anya shrieked again.

Enid put a cover from a chair over Anya and pulled her skirt up to look between her legs. She helped her get her knickers off. 'You are seven centimetres dilated already,' she said. 'How long have you been getting these contractions?'

'For about half an hour and then at the end of the service, my waters broke.'

Enid nodded her head. 'Okay, you won't be long now.' She looked at Anya over the large mound of her stomach. 'How many months are you?'

'Eight.'

Enid frowned. 'You are rather big for eight months; you look more like you are overdue.'

'Don't you start too. I had enough from that vicar. I wasn't pregnant when I married Tom,' Anya said indignantly.

'I never said you were. I just think you are rather big. There is a chance you could be having twins.'

'Twins?' Anya stared at Enid in shock.

'Twins?' Joan walked through the door, now dressed in normal clothes.

'Twins?' they just caught the vicar mumble before the door was shut.

'I think so,' Enid said. 'But we will soon now.'

Another contraction ripped through her body. 'I need to push,' she shouted.

Joan quickly examined her. 'Fully diluted,' she grinned. 'Very quick, you must have an ancestor looking out for you.'

But Anya didn't answer, she pushed and pushed. Straining with the pain of the contraction, working with her body, she pushed a baby out.

'It's a boy,' Joan picked him up and tied a ribbon around his umbilical cord. 'Get a knife,' she said to Joan.

'My good knifes,' the vicar was heard grumbling through the door before Joan came back with one.

Enid cut the baby's umbilical cord.

And Anya had another contraction.

'Baby number two,' Enid said knowledgeable as she saw the top of a baby's head.

Anya pushed and felt something slip away from her.

Enid picked the blue baby up, it wasn't moving, no crying.

'Is it dead? Joan shrieked.

'Dead?' the vicar was heard saying through the door. 'Oh God please, don't let the baby be dead.'

Enid said nothing. She just put two fingers on the baby's chest and pressed gently and then she put her mouth around the baby's nose and mouth and breathed into its lungs.

Anya watched in terror.

The baby started to cry and its brother joined in too. Enid tied off and cut its umbilical cord. 'It's a girl Anya,' she whispered as she wrapped a blanket that Joan had brought around it and gave it to Anya. Then she passed the other baby, already wrapped up to her too.

Finally they opened the door and the vicar came in. He was the image of contrition. 'I am so sorry my dear,' he said. 'I misjudged you. Even I know that having twins makes a woman a lot bigger and brings them early. Are they okay?'

'They will be just fine,' Enid said. 'They are small for newborns but not too much. '

And at that moment, the bells of the Church started to ring, and not just that Church but every Church in the area.

'Vicar,' a man shouted out. Running into the vestry, he looked shocked at the scene before him but shook his head to clear his mind. 'Vicar, the bells,' he said, grinning. 'The war is over.'

One month later Tom came home to be greeted by his wife, still a new experience for him, and his two children. She had tried to send a letter to him after the end of the war but things were so disorganised that she wasn't sure if he'd got the news or not.

When he saw the children it was obvious that he didn't know but he took it all in his stride and was soon holding the two little babies, one in each arm.

'You are very clever Anya,' he said in awe at his children. 'Thank you,' he started to cry.

And all Anya could do was grin. She had her husband, her children, and her friends. All she was missing was her parents and sister and she knew that they would arrive as soon as it was safe to cross the Atlantic.

Six months after the end of the war, and ten weeks after Japan had surrendered found Anya surrounded by all her family. Husband, children, in laws, close friends, and her parents and sister who had just arrived from America.

And Aunty Anna got to cuddle her niece and nephew.

And Anya, seeing her little sister, being reunited with her, could see an image of what her own little girl would look like in the future, but much more than that, she saw another girl, dressed in strange clothes, stamping on what looked like a uniform. Her daughter's granddaughter, called Alana.