Wartime Sweethearts by Lizzie Lane

changed. Inside he worried deeply. He’d seen that sparkle back in the days of the last war, a young man’s yearning for excitement. For most of them it was also their first foray into a foreign country.
    A lot of those young men had never come home. He hoped and prayed his son would survive or that the great powers even now might come to their senses before a terrible tragedy unfolded.
    Despite everything, Stan Sweet felt obliged to keep their spirits up even though his heart was breaking. His country would want his children, especially his son. He didn’t want to hand them over. He was the one who’d raised them. There had been no government official to give a hand when one of them woke crying in the middle of the night, sick with measles or some other childhood ailment. Where was his country when he needed it? And now his country would send his son to war.
    He sipped more sherry to help him concentrate and say what he wanted to say.
    ‘Yes, there’ll certainly be a call up. There’ll be rationing too. Bound to be. They brought rationing in too late at the end of the last war. My guess is it’ll come in earlier this time – that’s if they’ve learned their lesson from doing too little too late. We need to take stock of what we have, both for the bakery and for our own stomachs. It’s a sin to hoard, but let’s just say everything will count in this year’s harvest festival. Nothing’s to be wasted and everything that doesn’t ruin must be stored. I fancy putting in some early broad beans. And if you can find me some old net curtains, I’ll throw them over the sprouts. No sense in making a gift of greens to the snails and sparrows. Let ’em go plant their own!’
    They all managed a subdued laugh.
    Leaving Ruby to clear the last of the dishes, Mary excused herself. ‘I’ll just go and see how Frances is.’
    While taking the dirty plates and crockery to the sink, Ruby cocked an ear to what was going on.
    ‘They’ll be calling you up, Charlie. We know that.’
    ‘And the girls? I hear it’s on the cards.’
    Stan Sweet held his glass in both hands, gazing at the dark red liquid so he could concentrate his thoughts and control his expression. He didn’t want them to know that he was worried the girls might be called up too.
    ‘’Course, women did a lot in the last war,’ he said. ‘Munitions, factory work, driving trams and even enrolling in the services, only office jobs and such like, but it did get them away from the kitchen sink, that’s for sure. I reckon this time they’ll end up doing even more in the services now, even go abroad to the front line I shouldn’t wonder.’
    ‘Getting away from the kitchen sink? Well, that’s for me,’ exclaimed Ruby, halfway between table and a sink brimming with dirty dishes immersed in hot water. In order to tackle the grease, she’d thrown in a handful of soda crystals.
    Stan Sweet wished he hadn’t said anything, not with Ruby within earshot. ‘You’ll be safer at the kitchen sink, my girl.’
    ‘Perhaps I don’t want to be safe,’ she said somewhat crossly.
    Her father threw her a warning look. ‘You’ve no idea what it means to be in danger. Stay put, Ruby. That’s my advice to you.’
    ‘Isn’t that up to the government?’ Her face was turned away, her hands now in the hot water. The steam rose in a thick cloud, reddening her face and plastering her hair to her head.
    Mention of women being called up had grabbed her attention. There was still a chance of getting away from the village and she sorely wanted to get away. News of her no longer pulling pints behind the bar of the Apple Tree had spread. Various conclusions had probably been made and Gareth himself would have added fuel to the fire. She could hear him now. ‘
Oh, she was a hussy that one. And me an innocent widower
.’
    Then there were his other women, the ones who smiled at him, winked and hinted at things that might have gone on between them, things she’d refused to