Chapter 26
When they exited the station at Forest Hill, Tilly and Ronnie were shocked to see the bomb damage to several of the houses.
One of them had an enormous hole in the roof, over which a flapping tarpaulin strained in the wind in an effort to keep the rain off.
The house next door had taken the brunt of the hit and the whole of one side had collapsed, leaving a pile of rubble.
The arm of a child’s doll poked out from beneath some bricks as if waving to them and Ronnie found himself thinking of the pilots responsible for releasing such weapons of destruction on the unwary, innocent population beneath them.
He felt a wave of relief sweep over him that he was a fighter pilot and his finger was not on the release button that would unleash the power to obliterate people on the ground.
But that did not make him innocent. He recalled his own escape from the cockpit.
When it came to it, war was all about survival.
Kill or be killed. He had shot down many German planes.
He was responsible for those pilots’ deaths.
He could not allow these thoughts to enter his head when he was flying, though.
He had to push all guilt to one side and do what he was put in that aircraft to do.
His mother had told him that the Wintons’ family home was Vanburgh House, Vanburgh Hill, Forest Hill, London, and that the workhouse was fairly close by.
They determined to set out for the workhouse first and wound their way through the streets asking for directions as they went.
It didn’t surprise them when they arrived at the gates to discover that the Greenwich Union Workhouse was now a rest home for injured soldiers.
There were many buildings in the cities and towns of England that had been given over to the convalescence of the hundreds of casualties.
‘Even though its purpose now is much more positive than when I was an occupant, it still looks grey and grim. What must my ma have felt when she arrived here, heavily pregnant and all alone in the world? What sort of family would throw a young woman out on the streets to fend for herself? A heartless one, if you ask me,’ Ronnie said.
‘That’s how things were for young women in service,’ Tilly replied. ‘The shame that Kate’s pregnancy would have brought upon the family was more important than her welfare and yours come to that.’
‘But I was an innocent baby,’ Ronnie said.
‘Don’t you want to go inside?’ Tilly asked.
‘No, all those injured servicemen. The nurses have far too much to do than to talk to me about the history of the workhouse. Let’s go to Vanburgh Hill. The house shouldn’t be too difficult to find,’ Ronnie replied.
They turned away from the building and retraced their steps to find the Winton residence.
‘Don’t expect too much, Ron,’ Tilly said. ‘They may not still live there. People move on. What did Kate say? Mr Winton was a banker. He’s probably retired now and bought a mansion in the country.’
They stood outside Vanburgh House and looked at each other. Ronnie paused to take in the elegant facade, the glossy black painted door and the brass knocker. His gaze moved upwards towards the windows in the loft.
‘That would have been Ma’s room, right up there in the servants’ quarters,’ Ronnie said. ‘She was happy here, so she told me.’
‘Do you suppose the family knew about you? That the father of her child was their son?’ Tilly asked.
‘Ma says not. That she couldn’t tell them. After they got the news about Philip’s death, she couldn’t burden them with her problems. I think she should have told them. They might have wanted to meet me. I might have given them some of their son back, don’t you think, Tilly?’
‘She did what she thought was right at the time,’ Tilly replied. ‘Well, are we knocking on the door or have you changed your mind?’
Ronnie gave three firm taps on the brass knocker and waited.
A maid in a neat black-and-white uniform answered the door. ‘Winton residence. May I help you?’ the squat, rounded figure asked.
‘Are Mr and Mrs Winton at home?’ asked Ronnie.
‘Who shall I say is calling?’
‘They won’t know me, but my name is Ronnie Locock. I’m a pilot on leave. I was hoping to see them before I return to active service,’ Ronnie explained.
‘Oh, do you know Mr Simon? Are you from his squadron? Do you have news? He’s missing, presumed dead, you see. Poor Mrs Winton. She’s distraught. Lost her husband and now her son is missing. Please, come in. I’ll go and tell her you’re here.’
The words all came out in a hurry and the young woman blushed as if she had said too much. She asked Ronnie and Tilly to wait in the library while she informed Mrs Winton and, before Ronnie could say any more, she rushed off.
Ronnie and Tilly waited quite some while before the door opened and the maid helped an elderly woman into the room and settled her in a comfortable chair.
She was elegantly dressed in a navy-blue dress with white-collar edging.
Her grey hair was swept up and she wore a single row of pearls around her neck.
Although she walked with a stick, she stood remarkably straight and tall for her age.
She had a worried frown on her face and when she spoke it was with a shaky, hesitant voice.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Locock, Miss . . . I’m sorry, Mary didn’t take your name. I’m always telling her to ask any visitors’ names. I might not wish to see them, you see. I don’t receive many visitors these days. She obviously remembered one name, but didn’t ask yours, Miss?’
‘Truscott. Tilly Truscott,’ Tilly replied.
‘I know that name,’ Mrs Winton said. ‘Truscott. Yes, that’s familiar. Bring some tea, Mary.’
Mary scuttled off with an embarrassed look on her face.
‘Thank you for receiving us, Mrs Winton. We’re sorry to arrive unannounced, but we don’t have much time before we must return to our duties. Please forgive us,’ Ronnie explained.
‘Now, Mr Locock, how can I help you? Or perhaps you can help me. Do you have news of Simon? Are you in his squadron?’
‘No, I’m sorry, Mrs Winton, but I’m not here about Simon. I’m here to ask you about your other son, Philip,’ Ronnie said.
‘There must be some mistake,’ Mrs Winton said. ‘Philip is dead. He died in the last war. I’ve lost one son and I don’t want to lose another. Simon’s plane went down over France and he’s reported missing in action. If this is some mistake, then it’s a very inconsiderate one, Mr Locock.’
Ronnie suddenly felt sorry that he had arrived to add to Mrs Winton’s troubles.
He didn’t have any idea how she would take the news that she had a grandson or even if she would believe him.
What right did he have to disturb her family life?
Mrs Winton was a widow. He would be leaving her to cope with the news alone.
But he hadn’t come all this way to simply get up and leave.
‘No, this is no mistake, Mrs Winton. This will come as some surprise to you or, perhaps even, a shock. I am Philip’s son. That makes you my grandmother.’
‘Then you have made a mistake,’ Mrs Winton replied. ‘Philip wasn’t married. He died too young. Now, I don’t want to waste your time, Mr Locock, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll wish you good afternoon.’
At that moment, Mary arrived with the tea.
Mrs Winton got to her feet. ‘Ah! We won’t need the extra cups after all, Mary, these young people are just leaving,’ she said.
‘If you show them out, I shall take tea here, thank you. Sorry I can’t help you.
I hope you find the person you are looking for. Now, if you’ll excuse me—’
‘You don’t understand, Mrs Winton,’ Ronnie interrupted. ‘Philip is my father. My mother is Kate, Kate Truscott as she was then, when she worked for you.’
Mrs Winton froze. Her face turned the colour of bleached cotton.
‘Leave the tray, Mary, thank you. That’s all,’ she said, collapsing back into her chair.
For a while she remained silent, taking in the information. Then she spoke to Tilly. ‘If you would be so good as to pour the tea, my dear,’ she said. ‘I feel in need of some hot, sweet tea. I have indeed had a bit of a shock.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry to spring this upon you,’ Ronnie said.
‘I decided to come and find you because I may not survive the next flight I take. That is why I wanted to meet you. I wanted you to know about me. I may suffer the same fate as your son, Simon. At least you can hang on to the fact that he has been declared missing. He may be alive, somewhere, lost in France. I was shot down and I made it home to England. Tilly was abandoned in Dunkirk. Unlike many others, she wasn’t rescued.
She made it home too. There is hope for Simon yet. Take heart from that.’
‘Thank you for the advice, young man, but I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.
Are you saying that you are related to me because you have come to claim your birthright?
Do you want money? Are you threatening to expose this family as trying to cover up their son’s indiscretions?
Are you trying to sully our good name? Be honest with me, Mr Locock. What is it you want?’
‘None of those things,’ Ronnie replied. ‘I simply wanted to meet you. I wanted you to know me. To acknowledge that I exist. Your son made love to my mother and she conceived a child. She gave birth to me at the workhouse, not far from here. When she learned that Philip died at the Battle of the Somme, she couldn’t bring herself to show you the child, your grandson, me.
She returned to Micklewell, her family home, and her parents helped raise me.
She met Albert and married him. From the age of five, Albert has been a father to me but when I learned that my true, natural father was Philip, I wanted to meet his family.
I wanted to know something about him. Can you understand that? Do you remember Kate?’