JOE AND NELLY A World War Two ghost story

Nelly’s burial service came around too quickly for Joe. It was on a week day and Mum had to work. He pulled on a pair of long, dark grey trousers that Nan had altered. They fitted him well; they weren’t too snug and looked smart with the short-sleeved, light blue shirt that Mum had picked out for him. She steered him into Nan and Granddad’s bedroom, where they found Granddad’s favourite tie on the bed. Mum pulled Joe’s collar up, looped the tie around his neck and twisted it into a neat Windsor knot. Together they stared at the full length mirror on the wardrobe door. He’d been home for just over a month and he could barely recognize his own reflection.

Mum said, ‘The older you get, the more you look like your dad, especially wearing that smart tie.’ Joe smiled.

They went downstairs together. At the bottom, Mum kissed Joe on the nose and told him that she would be thinking of him and Nelly all day. Then she whispered something to Granddad before she opened the front door and hurried off down Lovegrove Street.

Granddad pushed the door shut and turned to Joe.

‘Now, son,’ he said. ‘Today isn’t going to be easy but I know that you can do it. Remember, Nelly’s service is at eleven o’clock, so you have plenty of time if you leave now. You know which church. I’ve given you directions. It’s up to you to get her there.’

Joe nodded. This was going to be harder than getting on the train to Wales. Seeing Nelly on the steps would only remind him that this would be the last time he’d see her like that, waiting for him.

And there she was, sitting on their little stone island, surrounded by the wasteland of war, singing in a soft, silvery voice:

’On Mother Kelly’s doorstep,

I’m wondering now,

Does little girl Nelly

Remember Joe, her beau,

And does she love him like she used to …’

Joe climbed up to join her on the top step. As he plonked himself down, he caught a glimpse of her face. She was gazing dreamily into space. What had she been thinking about? He still couldn’t believe that she wasn’t flesh and blood. He looked up and focused on the hazy sky and edged his trembling hand across the gritty step to touch her fingers. Her small hand slipped into his and he clasped it tightly. Joe turned and looked right into her eyes.

‘Nelly, you know that this will be our last morning together,’ he said. ‘You want to be with your parents again, so I need you to do something for me. You have to be brave and you have to trust me.’

She stared at him for a heartbeat and then gave a slight nod, her lips smiling but her eyes full of questions and fear. ‘Will you be with me?’ she asked.

‘I’ll stay with you as long as I can. It’s easy for me. I have a nice home and most of my family to care for me. You’ve been stuck on these steps for far too long. You have to move on now – to be with your parents.’

‘How can I do that?’ Nelly’s eyes turned to dark rain clouds in her pale face. ‘Can’t I stay here with you?’

Joe swallowed the lump in his throat so hard his words were strangled as he forced them out. ‘I have my mum to look after, just in case …’

Nelly picked at the growing hole in her flimsy frock, pulling at the threads and poking her finger in as far as it would go. Joe could see her dirty knee through it and part of a messy, bloody wound that had been there since that first day, when he found her on the steps, and it had never healed.

‘Will it be painful?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know. It can’t hurt as much as not being with your mum and dad.’

‘So, what do I have to do?’

‘You have to leave the steps and walk with me. Keep hold of my hand and don’t let go.’

They stood up slowly together, clinging to each other’s hand, and stepped down the crumbling stone steps one at a time. Nelly stopped and turned for one last look before Joe led her down the street to the Old Kent Road. It was a strange feeling, walking along the pavement with Nelly for the first time since he was evacuated. There were no other people, no cars or buses, and not a sound. It was like walking in one of those soap bubbles Mum taught him to blow through his fingers. As if the whole world existed just for him and Nelly. They stayed silent for ages. Joe concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. He couldn’t look at Nelly. Every time he did, he had to fight a lurching feeling. He tried hard not to stumble. It was Nelly who spoke first.

‘Where are we going, Joe?’

‘The church,’ he replied.

‘Does that mean that I’ll never see you again? Will we still be friends forever?’

Joe couldn’t answer.

The rest of the walk was a long silent one. Joe was hot and tired; he felt Nelly’s warm hand in his sweaty one and wondered how it didn’t just slip away. He felt like an anchor, holding on to her to stop her from drifting off.

When they arrived at the churchyard, they were still holding hands. They stood outside and looked over the wall at the small crowd that had gathered. Joe could see Nan and Auntie Margaret, who had taken the day off work. Mrs Davies had sent a bunch of flowers.

The day was bright and sunny. There were no tears. But there was singing – Nelly’s favourite hymn, ‘All things bright and beautiful’. Only Joe could hear Nelly singing along.

After a while, when the crowd had dispersed and Joe was sure that nobody could see him, he pulled Nelly through the churchyard gate and they made their way to the grave. They didn’t notice a tall figure following them. They stopped in front of a wooden cross. On it were written the names of her parents and underneath was Nelly’s name.

Joe took a deep breath. He knew he had to let go. He felt the sun on his neck and a gentle breeze that ruffled the flowers on the grave. Suddenly, he couldn’t feel Nelly’s hand and he realised that she was fading away.

‘Don’t forget me,’ he whispered. ‘I won’t forget you’.

Nelly stood by the grave and pointed at an object in amongst the flowers. There was a flash of sunlight on metal, something Joe thought he would never see again: the glint of burnished brass. It was the Lancaster bomber his father made from used bullet casings. He reached into the tangle of damp leaves and picked it up. It felt heavy and cool in his hands.

‘How did that get there?’ he asked. But there was no reply. Nelly had vanished.