The Dragonfly Pool

After that came some pictures of Hitler and his followers yelling, “Sieg Heil!” and goose-stepping in jackboots. Hitler said Germany needed more room for the German nation and he wanted Danzig, which really belonged to him and not to the Poles, and if they didn’t give it to him he would take it by force. And an American had invented a new kind of bath plug.

Tally had hoped that there would be a cartoon: The Three Little Pigs perhaps . . . but what came next was a travelogue about a country called Bergania.

Bergania was in the news because the king of Bergania had just refused to allow Hitler’s troops to march through his country if there was a war, and this was brave because it was a tiny kingdom, one of the smallest in Europe, and everybody feared the worst.

Though she was disappointed about the cartoon, Tally enjoyed the travelogue very much indeed. Bergania might be small, but it seemed to have everything one could want. A ridge of high mountains with everlasting snow, wide valleys planted with orchards and vineyards, and meadows where children herded goats like in Heidi. The capital of the country, which was also called Bergania, was a pretty town on the banks of a river, and overlooking it on a hill was the royal palace, guarded by soldiers in splendid uniforms.

The last part of the film showed the king on horseback at the head of a procession making its way toward the cathedral, where they were celebrating the birthday of Bergania’s patron saint, a brave woman called Aurelia who had been beheaded by the Romans because she wouldn’t renounce her faith.

Obviously St. Aurelia was important to the Berganians. They had draped their balconies with flags and decorated the streets with flowers and the procession was very grand. Behind the king rode courtiers and soldiers in splendid uniforms—and beside him, on a spirited pony, rode the crown prince, who was only a boy.

Tally was staring at him, wondering how it felt to be a prince so young, when the ancient projector gave a hiccup and the image on the screen stayed frozen. But though she saw the boy’s arm held up to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd, she couldn’t catch even a glimpse of his face. It was completely hidden by the gigantic feathery plumes on the helmet that he wore.

The film ended with a close-up of the king looking stern and resolute but rather tired, while the voice of the commentator said: “To the brave ruler who defied Hitler’s bullying, we, the people of Great Britain, send our greetings. Well done, Bergania!”

Then came the film they had come to see.

I’ll Always Be Yours was not a good film. In fact, it was a perfectly awful film.

Gloria Grantley played a poor girl who went to work in a department store where she caught the eye of a handsome millionaire. She fell in love with the millionaire and he promised to marry her but it turned out he was married already, so Gloria jumped off a bridge and everyone thought she had drowned and the millionaire felt terribly guilty. But it turned out that she hadn’t, and she became a nun and looked after little children in a convent and taught them to sing. It ended with her on her deathbed looking up to heaven and saying the millionaire’s name (which was Lionel) in a throbbing voice before she closed her eyes forever.

Tally was glad it was over; she couldn’t wait to get into the fresh air, but although people were streaming out of the cinema, Julia hadn’t moved. She was sitting with her shoulders hunched and her hands over her face.

“What is it, Julia? What’s the matter? It ended all right—she’s perfectly happy with God. It’s what she wanted.”

Julia shook her head. She was crying—not at all in the way that Gloria Grantley had cried, with glycerine tears rolling down her perfectly made-up cheeks, but hopelessly, her face scrunched up, her shoulders heaving. She had no handkerchief and Tally didn’t have one to give her; the children in Magda’s house did not come easily by handkerchiefs.

“Come on,” Tally urged her friend. “Let’s go outside.”

She took Julia’s arm and led her across the square and down some stone steps to the towpath along the river. There was a bench looking over the water and they sat down on it side by side.

“If you feel like telling me what’s the matter, I wouldn’t tell anyone. It isn’t because she didn’t get Lionel, is it? It’s something else.”

Julia went on sniffing and gulping. Then she lifted her head and said, “I miss her so much!”

Tally stared at her. “Who? Who do you miss so much?” And then: “What is it about Gloria Grantley that you—”

“She’s my mother.” Julia’s voice was flat and exhausted. She sat bent up like an old woman.

“Your mother? ” It seemed incredible, but now that Tally looked out for it she could see a likeness . . . something about the set of Julia’s mouth and her eyes.

“No one knows except Daley and Matteo, so you mustn’t tell.”

“I won’t say anything. But if she’s your mother . . . you mean you miss her during term time? I miss my father but—”