by Ellie Dean
She had met Lieutenant Colonel Delaney Hammond at Cliffe when the American regiment had been billeted here. Despite the fact he’d told her he was married, and that she was engaged to Philip, who was now in the hands of the Japanese, their friendship had blossomed into something far deeper than either of them had expected – or indeed, wanted.
Sarah had tried hard to resist, hoping that by some miracle Philip was still alive and would come home to her. But the feelings for Delaney proved too strong, and when he’d confessed he’d foolishly lied about having a wife and family, and asked her to marry him, she’d allowed herself to believe they had a future together.
Then a letter had come from her mother containing a copy of the recently arrived note her father Jock had managed to smuggle out of Changi Prison two and a half years ago. At the bottom of the note Philip had begged Sarah to cherish his engagement ring and the promises they’d made to one another, for the love they shared would see him through whatever lay ahead. That note had been written within weeks of the fall of Singapore, and anything could have happened to them since – but it had forced Sarah to realise that she’d betrayed Philip by falling for Delaney, and had no choice but to honour her promise to Philip.
She set Delaney’s letter to one side, not ready to read it yet, and opened the pale blue airmail letter from her mother instead. Tucked between the folded sheets of thin paper, she found several small black and white photographs, and with a soft gasp of pleasure, she examined the snapshots of little James, the brother who’d been born during the final, terrifying days of Singapore’s fall into Japanese hands, and who she and her sister Jane had yet to meet.
She smiled at the chubby, laughing little boy as he sat on a sandy Australian beach lined with palm trees, or played with a puppy on the lawn at the back of her grandparents’ house. He was clearly thriving – as was her mother, Sylvia, who looked cool and elegant in a pale summer frock and broad-brimmed hat, standing on the veranda between her parents.
Sarah had never been to Australia, but from the photographs her mother had previously sent, the countryside around Cairns looked very similar to Malaya, with its rainforests, pristine beaches, cane fields and large white single-storey wooden houses that were built on stilts to deter the termites and avoid the flooding during the rainy season.
She studied this latest batch with longing. It had been almost three years since she’d seen her mother, and many years before that when her grandparents had travelled from their vast sugar cane and banana plantation outside Cairns to visit them in Malaya. Her grandfather looked much the same as she remembered: a tall, wiry man with a strong-featured, weathered face and a shock of sun-bleached, almost white, hair. Her grandmother was rounder and smaller, but her fine bone structure meant she still retained some of the youthful beauty she’d passed on to her daughter.
Sliding the photographs back into the envelope, she began to read her mother’s letter, smiling at her vivid descriptions of the social clubs she’d joined and the wide variety of rather eccentric people she’d met there. It seemed there were a lot of expats living in Cairns, and there was a hectic social whirl of tennis parties, cocktails, barbecues and dances, so it must have felt quite like home to Sylvia, who’d lived in the tropics all her married life.
Sylvia was positively brimming over with enthusiasm at her future plans, her pen flowing so swiftly over the pages that at times her writing was difficult to decipher. However, as she read on, Sarah’s smile faded, and a sense of foreboding made her frown.
Now the news is more cheerful, with the Allied invasion into France and the liberation of Rome, one can at last dare to look forward. It will be so wonderful to see you both when this beastly war is over, and you and Jane must come immediately peace is declared, so we can be ready to welcome Jock and Philip home.
I have informed the authorities of my address here, as I’m sure that when they’re released, Australia will be the best place for them to come as it’s much nearer than England, the weather is more predictable, and there’s no shortage of good fruit, meat and vegetables, which will help them recover from what must be a ghastly ordeal.
Mummy and Daddy have drawn up plans to build another Queenslander homestead on the property, and it would be perfect for you and Philip to have the space to settle down to married life and raise lots of lovely babies. I’ve already spoken to our local vicar, who’s very willing to do the service, although he’s warned me there will be positively acres of paperwork to fill in as neither of you are Australian citizens – but don’t worry about that, it will be easily sorted once I get your grandfather on the case.
The timing of the wedding would, of course, depend entirely on the season they are released, but I thought we could have the reception in the garden, which looks particularly lovely in the spring. The flowers here are quite spectacular, and will be perfect for your bouquet and the table decorations. Jock will, of course, give you away and be the proud father, and I’m sure Jane will jump at the chance to be your bridesmaid.
I doubt very much if you’ll find anything suitable to wear for your special day in England, what with the rationing and everything – so dreary – so I’ve started ordering pattern books from Sydney and catalogues from Myers, which is a large department store that stocks just about everything, and is almost as good as Harrods in London where I bought my wedding dress all those years ago. I would have passed it on to you, but sadly it was one of the many precious things I had to leave behind when we fled Singapore.
Mummy says I’m rather getting ahead of myself, and should stop and think about how things might actually turn out. I know she means well, but I daren’t let myself contemplate anything so horrifying, for it will simply crush me. So I’m making plans and looking forward to having you all home and safe so we can be a real family again.
Sarah took a quavering breath and closed her eyes. Her mother’s determination to believe that everything would turn out all right was admirable, but Grandma’s cautionary advice was far more sensible in the light of the fact that the Japanese refused to publish any data concerning their prisoners – alive or dead – and barred the Red Cross observers from entering their camps.
Sarah could only hope her mother came back down to earth and listened to that advice, for if she didn’t, and all her hopes turned to dust, the fall-out would be catastrophic, and Sarah dreaded to think what that would do to her.
She scanned the rest of the letter, which continued in much the same vein, and then tucked it back with the photographs before staring gloomily into space, feeling trapped and utterly helpless. It was as if Sylvia still thought of her and Jane as children – not young women in their twenties with minds of their own – for she’d mapped out their future in the finest of detail without a thought for what they might actually want to do once the war was over.
Sarah smoked her cigarette and glanced down at her sister’s letter lying on the bench. Jane was twenty years old and a thoroughly modern young woman who was immersed in an important job for the MOD, and living an independent life far from Beach View. What her plans were for the future, Sarah had no idea, but she doubted they gelled with Sylvia’s.
She noted the postal date, surprised it had arrived within twenty-four hours, for the mail was never usually that reliable. Opening the letter, she found a single, closely typewritten page, signed with Jane’s usual flourish. The forthright tone of the letter made her smile, for it showed just how far Jane had come since leaving Singapore.
Dear Sarah,
I’m guessing you’ve received the latest missive from Mummy, and I have to say I found it positively alarming. It’s clear she has no intention of coming to England after the war and simply assumes we’ll drop everything and go over there, no matter how inconvenient it might be. Of course it would be lovely to see her and the grandparents again, and to get to know little James, but I have no ambition to spend the rest of my life in the middle of nowhere – and I suspect you feel the same.
As for the wedding plans,
they are quite awful, and my heart goes out to you, knowing how trapped they must have made you feel. Apart from the fact you’ve admitted you’re in love with someone else and only marrying Philip through some misguided sense of loyalty, none of us know if he and Pops are even still alive. It would be miraculous if they were, and of course one must continue to hope – but we’re both wise enough to realise it’s most unlikely. I very much fear that Mother has been affected by living in the tropics for too long, and that her latest letter was written whilst she was having some sort of brain-fever. I do hope Grandma can talk some sense into her before it goes any further, otherwise goodness only knows what she’ll come up with next.
By the time you read this, I shall have written back telling her that my life here is busy and fulfilling, and although I will of course go to Australia for a holiday after the war, I will not be settling there. I’ve met a chap, you see, and we’re rather keen on one another. But more of that in my next letter, for now I have work to do and must dash.
Stay firm, Sarah, and don’t let Mummy bully you – and please, please, think long and hard about Delaney. It would be too awful to think of you spending the rest of your life in regret, and in this time of terrible uncertainty, we must grab every chance of happiness that comes our way.
Please give my love to Peggy, Ron and all the others at Beach View. I do miss you all.
TTFN, Jane. Xx
Sarah put the letter away and crushed the butt of her cigarette beneath her boot. Dearest Jane, how very much she’d evolved from that childlike girl who’d left Singapore almost three years ago, reliant on Sarah and lacking self-confidence. Her letter spoke volumes about her character, her energy and enthusiasm, and it gladdened Sarah’s heart to know she was well, happy and perhaps in love for the first time. It was also good to know that her sister’s opinion of their mother’s plans mirrored her own and that she felt just as strongly about it all. However, her advice on Delaney could not be heeded, for it was too late.
She felt the prick of tears and impatiently blinked them away as she reached for Delaney’s letter and held it to her heart. She had made her choice, now she must live with it regardless of whether Philip survived or not. And even if he had, he might not want to marry her. They both must have been changed by this war – Philip especially after being taken prisoner by the Japs – and she was certainly not the naïve girl he’d proposed to back in Singapore.
Sarah thought back to that protected, privileged life they’d led. They’d both been too young, unprepared for what the outside world was about to throw at them, and in consequence they’d been made to mature very quickly. And now Philip was in the hands of the Japanese and she had broken her vow to love him always by giving her heart to Delaney.
Her gaze fell on Delaney’s letter and she ached at the knowledge that she’d lost him. But she had meant what she’d said to Peggy that awful night she’d let her read her mother’s devastating letter. If Philip was still alive when this war was over, and wanted to marry her, then she would learn to love him again and be the very best wife she could be.
And yet she knew that despite the sacrifice and good intentions to atone for breaking her promise to Philip, a piece of her heart would always be Delaney’s – a very secret part which she would keep locked away except for those quiet, still moments she knew would come when the need to remember was too powerful to resist.
Sarah’s fingers trembled as she opened his letter. It was only a few lines long, but it broke her heart.
My dearest girl,
I sadly accept your reasons for ending it between us, but love and admire you even more for the strength you’re showing in doing what you feel is right. My heart will always be yours, my sweet English rose, and should fate be kind enough to see me through this war, I will return home to America and continue to hope that one day you might need me.
Delaney
Sarah folded the letter away, buried her face in her hands and wept.
4
Ron bolted the Anchor door after the last customer. The lunchtime session was over, and it would be four hours before the pub was opened again – so the afternoon stretched before him, the confusion over where he stood with Rosie still unresolved.
They’d had little time to talk during the busy two hours, but he had managed to tell her about her letter going astray, and how he’d spent most of the three weeks worrying over where she’d gone with Major Radwell – and if she was planning to return.
Rosie had been horrified to learn that Ethel had kept the letter out of spite, and that her own swift departure with Radwell had caused him such anguish. But on hearing that Ethel and her cohort, the odious Olive Grayson, were now in prison for stealing food from the Red Cross distribution centre to sell on the black market, she’d perked up no end.
Ron had been a bit miffed that she’d treated his concerns over Radwell so lightly, but as there hadn’t been time to question her further, he’d had to put his feelings aside and get on with serving the customers. Now the pub was closed, he had no idea what Rosie’s plans were for the afternoon, and sensing he shouldn’t push his luck by asking her out to lunch or assuming she’d even want his company, he began to clean the tables, empty ashtrays and tidy up.
‘It looks as if it’s a lovely day out there,’ she said, glancing through the window. ‘Why don’t we take those sandwiches you made yesterday to the old ruins, and let Monty get some exercise? You could fetch Harvey on the way.’
Ron’s heart missed a beat at this unexpected invitation. ‘To be sure, those sandwiches will be curling and dry by now. Why don’t I treat you to some fish and chips – or lunch at the Officers’ Club?’
She smiled at him and shook her head. ‘The sandwiches have been wrapped in a damp tea towel and kept in the fridge, so they’re fine – and the dogs have been indoors all day and need some exercise.’ She eased off her high heels and headed for the stairs. ‘I’ll just get changed into something more comfortable and dig out the picnic blanket and hamper. Grab a few bottled beers, will you? That climb will be thirsty work.’
Ron looked down at his polished brogues and carefully pressed twill trousers and gave a sigh. He could get changed, he supposed, but other than his suit, he possessed only his scruffy old corduroys which had to be held up by thick string – not at all suitable to impress a lady. He fished six bottles of beer from under the counter and went to collect his hat and tweed jacket from the hall, deciding he’d just change his shoes and hope Peggy could get any grass stains out of his trousers.
Rosie came downstairs in flat shoes, high-waisted cream linen trousers and a blue twinset. She’d tied a matching blue silk scarf in her hair, freshened her red lipstick, and was carrying the picnic basket and rug. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said cheerfully, handing over the rug and basket, and clipping the lead to an excited Monty’s collar.
Ron’s heart swelled at how lovely she looked, and having placed the beer bottles inside the basket, he opened the side door with a flourish to let her pass. ‘It’s not like you to want to walk the hills,’ he teased as they headed down Camden Road.
‘I know, but I’ve spent the last three weeks cooped up in various dark and dingy places dealing with unpleasant people and solicitors, and I need to get out, breathe fresh air and stretch my legs.’
They walked in companionable silence until they reached Beach View. All was quiet but for the soft murmur of voices coming from Cordelia’s room, so Ron could only assume everything was all right. Not wanting to get involved in any more domestic chores, he swiftly changed into his walking boots and closed the kitchen door on the cat to stop her from following them. Minutes later he and Rosie were traipsing up the hill with both dogs galloping ahead of them in gay abandon.
Rosie was not a natural hill walker, preferring to potter around the shops in high heels, and certainly didn’t have the breath to talk as she heroically tried to keep pace with him.
Ron slowed and waited patiently when she had to stop to catch her bre
ath and ease her leg muscles. He kept his thoughts and hopes to himself as they reached the brow and began to tramp across the gentler undulating clifftops. Rosie seemed to be in a good mood; she hadn’t given him the cold shoulder and it was a beautiful day despite the racket the planes were making overhead. He’d let her guide the conversation, and not badger her with all the questions that were clamouring in his head – then perhaps he’d know better where he stood.
Passing the track that led down to Tamarisk Bay where his son Frank lived with Pauline, they headed across the wind-flattened grass to the ruined farmhouse. Whilst the dogs hurtled about exploring every blade of grass and thicket of gorse, Ron spread the blanket in a sheltered, sunny corner and placed the basket by his feet.
Rosie plumped down beside him, stripped off her cardigan and tried to get her breath back. ‘I always forget how steep that hill is,’ she panted. ‘But my goodness, the view’s worth it, isn’t it?’
‘Aye,’ he agreed. ‘’Tis a grand sight, so it is.’
In the brief respite between the bombers and fighter planes taking off and landing, they could hear the skylarks, and they admired the shimmering water in the Channel, the sweep of blue sky and the startling white of the hovering gulls. Choosing to ignore the distant sounds of warfare drifting over from France and the ugly gun emplacements that were dotted along the cliffs, they regarded instead the green hills which swept away from the craggy chalk cliffs, down to the dark woodlands of the Cliffe estate, the fields of ripening wheat and the sprawl of the Cliffe aerodrome which swam in the haze of heat.