Free For All Our Tomorrows by Freda Lightfoot Page A

the company. And she was absolutely determined to at least give the children a little fun.
    They couldn’t traverse the headland with quite the freedom they’d enjoyed before the war, since severe restrictions were in place, but they slipped up through the woods behind the ruins of St Catherine’s castle, and keeping low between the gorse bushes, enjoyed a decent enough walk over the headland, revisiting old haunts.
    Jenny and Drew were eager to fly their kites, while Sara carried a basket with a flask of tea, bottles of fizzy lemonade and fish paste sandwiches, plus some Cornish splits which she’d made just that morning and a small jar of home made strawberry jam.
    They were aiming for a spot overlooking Combe Bay, a tiny cove where they’d used to swim and picnic often before the war, though they wouldn’t risk going right down into it now, because of the possibility of mines.
    Sara was still thinking about her conversation with Hugh, remembering how there’d once been a time when they would often go off together on a Sunday for the whole day, to walk and swim and relax. They’d regularly go as far as Polridmouth Bay close to the woods by Menabilly, or further still and visit the Rashleigh Arms for lunch.
    Once, quite early in their marriage, they’d enjoyed a few days away in Torquay, and after Drew was born, a whole week in the Scillies. The war had changed everything, for some more than others.
    As if reading her thoughts, Bette said, ‘Why doesn’t Hugh take you out any more? He’s such an old misery boots these days.’
    ‘He’s working hard in the pub, and he has his other duties several nights a week, training and such like. It isn’t easy for him to get time off.’
    ‘Nothing is easy at the moment, with the war, but other people manage to enjoy life along the way. Why doesn’t he?’
    ‘There are always those who seem able to carry on regardless, dancing, drinking, having fun; those who become completely reckless in their pursuit of pleasure because tomorrow they might go out on their ship or aircraft and not come back. You should bear that in mind, Bette, when you’re out with your marine.’
    Bette rolled her eyes, as if to say, here we go again on another lecture.
    ‘Others retreat more into themselves and can’t be quite so heedless, that’s all I’m saying. It isn’t always possible to judge how people really feel, or to say how anyone should cope with this kind of trauma. We all do the best we can. For Hugh it involves working extra hard to do his bit, so who am I to criticise, or expect more from him than he can give?’
    ‘Why shouldn’t you expect more? He’s quick enough to criticise you if he thinks you haven’t come up to scratch, and yet expects you, even now, to carry on doing the brunt of the work behind the scenes, without any fun whatsoever.’
    ‘You’re far too hard on him.’
    ‘On the contrary, not hard enough. Any you’re far too soft.’
    Sara was saved from defending herself as Jenny came up and wanted the string on her kite untangling. ‘Can we fly it now, Mummy? Drew says his will go higher and I’ve bet him mine will.’
    ‘Of course you can, darling, but you must keep a tight hold on the string.’
    Bette continued to make her point as the pair of them attempted to sort out the kite. ‘The marines who regularly come to the pub every night are already asking where you are. They say you explain the money to them better, which they never can understand, and they miss your sweet smile. Don’t you miss it too?’
    Sara looked suddenly sad. ‘Surprisingly enough, I do.’
    The two sisters spread out their mackintoshes and made themselves comfortable on a hump of grass while Jenny and Drew set about flying their kites; putting on their head scarves and fastening their cardigans against a breeze that had sprung up. ‘I used to complain that I had too much work to do, now the opposite is the case. I don’t have nearly enough.’
    ‘So what are you going to