War Baby by Lizzie Lane

Gertrude tried her best, but her best had never been good enough. She’d been stripped of compassion, stripped also of the affection she should have given her daughter.
    Ada sighed. But that was Gertrude. Her daughter. This was Frances Sweet, Stan Sweet’s niece. She only hoped a dark evening in the forest didn’t lead to the same scenario. Even if Frances was a lot younger, the forest lived and breathed the ways of nature and wasn’t easily resisted.
    â€˜Seeing as you’re back home on the other side of the Severn shortly, you can.’
    â€˜I’ll get my coat!’
    Ada grabbed her arm as she swept by. ‘You’ll eat your supper. Then you can get ready. I’ll get my net.’
    â€˜You’re coming too?’
    â€˜Of course I am! I go elvering every year, don’t I?’
    As dusk fell, men, women and children trooped along the slippery paths at the side of the river, some of them lugging home-made elver scoops over their shoulders.
    Netting that might once have been hung up at a window were spread tautly over a frame, the resultant shape vaguely resembling a small bathtub. There was a handle at one end, this slung over the shoulder, the scoop hanging over behind.
    Elver fishermen not carrying a net or a parcel of sandwiches, carried torches with which to attract the young eels; others had storm lanterns and a few, notably those that worked in the forest coal mines, used the Davey lamps on their pit helmets.
    Ada kept her home-made scoop sitting on top of the shed roof. Once she had shaken the leaves out of it, she and Frances joined the others, seeking out and claiming what they considered the best pitch possible.
    â€˜Just here,’ she said, pointing at a favourite spot where a natural jetty of fallen stones speared out into the dark water.
    Ada was one of those lucky enough to own a storm lantern, the little flame flickering into life once they were settled beside the river. Ada attached it to a long pole so the light fell directly on to the water.
    Ada told Frances what to do. ‘Scoop it in. Shine yer light down into it and the little critters will come swimming in.’
    Frances fixed her eyes on the spot of light, which looked as bright as the moon. Even though this was her second spring in the forest, it was the first time she’d been elvering. She felt very confident of success, Ada leaving her to it while she sat back on the wet grass, her boots in the mud, her smoking pipe clenched in the corner of her mouth.
    Intent on what she was doing, she didn’t notice Deacon and his father Joe walking along the path behind them, but Ada did. ‘Off early, Joe?’
    â€˜I am that. Just been brought a message that our Roger is shipping out so got a bit of leave. Waiting fer us at home, along with Will Pegg and his daughter.’
    Mention of Will Pegg’s daughter was uttered with apprehension.
    â€˜I won’t ask what that’s about,’ Ada muttered, shifting her pipe from one side of her mouth to the other.
    â€˜You don’t need to,’ grumbled Joe.
    Deacon’s eyes met those of Frances before he followed soundlessly behind his father, the elver scoop bouncing over his back.
    Will Pegg’s daughter was named Della. Frances hadn’t had anything much to do with her. She merely knew her as one of the older girls, though she had noticed she had a winning smile and an ample bosom. She’d overheard Deacon and the other boys remarking about those breasts using their hands to describe the size of them. Once when Roger Peters had been home on leave, they’d almost tripped over him and Della in the forest. Della’s dress had been up around her waist and Roger had been lying on top of her.
    They’d hidden in the undergrowth, watching in silent fascination until the pair had finished and stood up, rearranging their clothes.
    They didn’t speak much, mostly just kissed and fondled each other. The only thing Frances