by Ellie Dean
‘I didn’t mean … that’s to say …’
Rosie waved away Doris’s stuttering apology. ‘So what do you say to the bungalow?’
‘I think it’s a very good idea,’ Doris replied, trying hard not to appear too eager. ‘But I’d need to see it before I make any decisions.’
Rosie unhooked a set of keys from near the telephone. ‘The address is on the tag, and you might need a bit of imagination to see yourself in there. I’ve yet to clear the old lady’s furniture and freshen the place up.’
Doris slipped the keys into her handbag. ‘I’ll pop in during my lunch break. Thank you for thinking of me when there are so few places to be had these days.’
Rosie giggled. ‘Don’t thank me yet, Doris. You haven’t seen the state of it.’
‘I’m still grateful,’ said Doris rather humbly before shaking her hand and hurrying off to work.
Doris walked quickly towards the factory estate, her mind in a whirl. The thought of having her own space again, of quiet evenings spent listening to the wireless, or summer days pottering in the garden unmolested by over-eager dogs and raucous toddlers, was very tempting. But would Peggy be offended if she upped sticks and left? She’d been so good to her, that the last thing she wanted to do was cause a rift between them. And yet the chance to make a home for herself again had been her driving force ever since she’d moved into Beach View, and although it had come sooner than she’d expected, she’d be foolish not to grab it with both hands.
Running up the wooden steps and into the newly built porch, Doris was about to unlock the office door when she realised the Colonel was already at his desk. ‘Good morning, Colonel,’ she said brightly as she stepped inside. ‘Isn’t it a glorious day?’
He got to his feet to welcome her. ‘My goodness, Mrs Williams, you look positively radiant this morning. Can I be so bold as to ask why?’
‘Indeed you may, Colonel,’ she replied, hanging up her cardigan and gas-mask box before patting her hair into place. ‘I have been offered the rental of a bungalow off Mafeking Terrace.’
His smile lit up his handsome face. ‘It must be old Mrs Carey’s place in Ladysmith Close. She was over eighty and passed away a couple of weeks ago – and it’s the only one empty at the moment.’
Doris paused in the act of making tea. ‘How do you know that?’
The smile broadened. ‘I live in the same street.’
‘Oh,’ said Doris and tried to concentrate on making the tea.
‘That wouldn’t be a problem for you, would it?’ he asked with concern.
‘No, of course not,’ she replied, silently berating herself for even thinking how nice it would be to have him as a neighbour as well as her employer. ‘Empty houses are as rare as hen’s teeth, and as long as it isn’t in too bad a shape, then I’ll grab it.’
‘Quite right,’ he said, accepting the cup of tea and eyeing it dubiously.
‘I thought I’d pop over during my lunch break,’ she said. ‘Mrs Braithwaite will need an answer by tonight.’
Colonel White cleared his throat. ‘Would you like me to come with you? Just to check on damp, roof tiles and guttering and such like,’ he added hastily.
Doris’s heart gave a little flutter which she determinedly quelled. ‘That would be most helpful,’ she said and took a sip from her cup. ‘Good grief,’ she gasped. ‘I forgot to put any tea in the pot!’
Colonel White laughed. ‘Let’s forget the tea and go and see that bungalow. I have a feeling your mind is elsewhere at the moment, and there’s nothing urgent to deal with here.’
Doris tried to keep her expectations of the bungalow in check as they left the estate and crossed the road into Mafeking Terrace, which ran in a loop along the side of the hill. Rosie had already warned her that the place was in a rather poor state, and as she’d never been up here before, the area might not be to her liking – although if the Colonel lived here, it couldn’t be all that bad.
Ladysmith Close was about halfway along Mafeking Terrace, and proved to be a pleasant, tree-lined cul-de-sac dipping down the hill with bungalows on both sides, and a panoramic view of Cliffehaven and the sea. Number 18 was set back from the pavement behind a sadly neglected garden and low brick wall.
Doris stood and regarded it with a beady eye, noting how quiet it was and how pleasantly the cool breeze came up from the coast to temper the rising heat. There was a large bay window to the left of the front door which needed a good rubbing down and a fresh coat of paint, and a smaller, frosted one to the right, which she guessed was the bathroom. The walls and roof looked to be in good condition, and so did the chimney, but as Doris had no real idea of what she should be looking for, she was glad the Colonel had come with her.
‘I’ll scout around out here whilst you go in,’ he said, heading for the side gate.
Doris nervously slotted in the key and pushed open the front door. Stepping inside, she noted the hall carpet was worn and the walls and paintwork were yellowing from either age or tobacco – it was hard to tell. There was a vague reminder of the elderly woman lingering in the air along with hints of boiled cabbage and fish – but that could easily be dealt with by opening the windows.
Doris pushed open the door to her right to discover a lavatory, washbasin and bath which had clearly been put in fairly recently, for it was in good condition; and then went into the front room. It was flooded with light and looked over the town towards the sea – reminding her forcibly of the vista she’d had in her old home, and endearing her immediately to this shabby little bungalow.
The curtains were heavy brocade and must have once been beautiful, but the glare of the sun had faded and frayed them and as she brushed her hand over them, she discovered they were full of dust. She surveyed the room. It was cluttered with aged, but good, solid furniture that had stood the test of time and still had wear in it. Every flat surface was covered in lace doilies, on which sat vases of dried flowers, trinkets and framed photographs from an era long since passed. An ornate mirror hung above the fireplace which still retained its lovely art nouveau tiles and brass fender, and there were framed embroidered pictures around the walls. The rug in front of the fire had scorch marks all over it, the parquet flooring would need sanding and repolishing, and the walls and ceiling were the same yellow as the hall. But Doris could see that despite all the clutter, it was a good-sized room, and with that lovely window it had huge potential.
She went back into the hall and explored the two bedrooms which were quite small, but perfectly adequate, and then headed for the kitchen which was at the back of the house and overlooked the garden.
Despite her age, Mrs Carey had clearly put her energies out there, for rows of beans and peas vied for space with onions, chives, dahlias and roses, and there were pots of herbs and pansies outside the back door. A sturdy fence surrounded the garden and behind it was a line of trees which shielded the bungalow from being overlooked by those in Mafeking Terrace.
The kitchen itself was very basic, with a Belfast sink, rotting wooden drainer and a couple of cupboards that had seen better days. The floor was tiled, but it was so grubby Doris couldn’t see what colour it was. A small wooden table and two chairs had been crammed in a corner, and pots and pans hung from hooks above the tiny black range which needed a good clean.
Doris gave a deep sigh of longing for her modern kitchen with all its new appliances. She was going to find it hard to adapt, but then beggars couldn’t be choosers, and with a bit of thought and a lot of elbow grease, she’d soon have this place in order.
Her thoughts were broken by the Colonel tapping on the window, and she unlocked the back door to let him in.
‘It all seems to be fine structurally,’ he said, stepping into the kitchen. ‘The guttering and drains are clear, there’s a damp course of sorts, and the brickwork has been recently pointed.’ He glanced around the kitchen. ‘It does look rather tired and in need of some attention in here, though, doesn’t it?’
‘The whole place
is tired,’ she replied, ‘and it will take a good deal of work to get it to feel like home.’ She smiled at him. ‘But strangely enough, I can imagine myself living here.’
He smiled back. ‘Jolly good,’ he murmured.
She followed him as he inspected the other rooms, and when they’d seen enough, she locked the door behind them and pocketed the key. ‘We’d better get back to the office,’ she said. ‘Half the day’s gone already.’
‘Would you think it a liberty if I was to ask you to have a look around my place? Only I thought it might give you some idea of how yours might be once the work is done.’
Doris dithered, which was most unlike her – but curiosity overrode propriety. ‘I should like that very much.’
‘Jolly good,’ he said, shooting her a hesitant smile before turning into the next-door garden.
Doris was rather startled that he actually lived next door, but she followed him up the path, noting the neatly cut lawn, the fresh paintwork and gleaming windows. Stepping into the hall, she followed him through the sparsely furnished and painfully tidy rooms until they reached the kitchen.
The brass taps gleamed above a pristine Belfast sink, the draining boards were pale and smooth from being regularly scrubbed, and burnished copper-bottomed pots and pans were lined up like soldiers on the shelf above the modern gas cooker. The cupboards had been painted white and the red and blue tiles on the floor were spotless. She admired it all, thinking privately that the Colonel might have left the army, but old army habits clearly lived on.
‘I have rather a lot of time on my hands now I live alone,’ he said shyly. ‘But it means I can tinker about decorating and seeing to both mine and Mrs Carey’s garden, which I rather enjoy.’
Doris looked from the pristine kitchen into the back garden, which had been turned into a flourishing vegetable patch with a freshly creosoted shed tucked into one corner. ‘You certainly put my house-keeping and gardening skills to shame,’ she replied lightly to cover her embarrassment at how easily he’d read her mind. ‘If we’re to be neighbours, I shall have to look to my laurels.’
‘I’m sure not,’ he replied, ‘and if we are to be neighbours, then perhaps we can be less formal out of the office. My name’s John.’
Doris felt the heat slowly rising up her neck and into her face as their eyes met. ‘Mine’s Doris,’ she managed.
‘Well, Doris, I think we have something to celebrate, don’t you? How do you feel about me taking you to the Officers’ Club this evening for drinks and dinner?’
Her blush deepening, Doris didn’t dare look at him. ‘That sounds very pleasant,’ she replied.
He tugged at his jacket, rubbed his hands together and then dug them in his trouser pockets as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. ‘Jolly good show.’
*
Peggy slowly made her way home with the two little girls who were tired after their busy day in the crèche, and inclined to grizzle and whine at having to walk. Rachel Goldman had done her best to find a pushchair big enough for them both, but they were so few and far between, it had been a hopeless task.
Queenie was preening on the garden wall as they approached, and quickly dashed off at the sight of the children. One she could tolerate; two was above and beyond her patience. As Peggy reached the gate the girls spotted Ron and Harvey in the garden, and with all grizzling forgotten and a rush of energy they pelted down the path to greet them.
Peggy was about to warn them not to hug the dog, but Ron was already warding them off, quietly reminding them how to pet Harvey without hurting him.
Harvey was clearly feeling very sorry for himself and embarrassed by the cone round his neck, the tight bandage around his middle and the leash fastened to his collar. He stood there looking the picture of misery as the children fussed him and Ron kept a tight hold of the lead.
‘Is that really necessary? Peggy asked. ‘The poor boy’s already feeling foolish, and you know how he hates being on a lead.’
‘To be sure, if I don’t have it, he’ll be off and busting his stitches,’ Ron muttered. ‘He’s already tried to make a break for it today, and I’ll not be risking losing him again.’
‘He’s probably after the rats in the bomb site,’ she said.
‘They’ll not be there for much longer,’ Ron said. ‘I put poison down that hole and covered it up good and tight so no other animal can get down there.’ He tugged Harvey’s lead. ‘That’s enough petting for now,’ he told the girls. ‘It’s teatime and Harvey’s hungry.’ He looked across at Peggy. ‘There’s a letter for you from Jim,’ he said, almost as an afterthought.
‘Then why didn’t you say earlier?’ She raced up the concrete steps into the kitchen, and with barely a nod to the others, snatched the letter from the table and dashed upstairs to read it in peace.
Settling into the chair, she found her fingers were trembling as she tore it open. The thin pages of the air letter slid from the envelope and a small black and white photograph fell into her lap.
She gazed at it, hardly daring to believe how handsome, fit and tanned Jim looked – all bare-chested and muscled in just shorts as he stood on a sunlit veranda surrounded by palm trees. He didn’t appear to be injured at all, she thought in wonder – and in fact looked supremely fit.
She kissed the photograph and eagerly began to read.
My darling Peggy,
I know how anxious you must have been, but as you can see by the photo, I’m fine. I can only hope that the nurse’s letter arrived before the telegram, and that it has gone some way to easing your worry. It was only because I managed to persuade the padre to convince my commanding officer not to send anything until I was safely in hospital that the telegram was delayed by about three weeks.
You know me, Peg, the gift of the blarney rarely lets me down and gets me out of all sorts of scrapes, and it’s thankful I am that the padre is an Irishman and it didn’t fail either of us this time.
Now, I realise that three weeks sounds like a long time to you, but I was completely out of it and barely noticed where I was or what was going on. You see, we were having a bit of trouble with the Japs and our planes couldn’t come in, so I stayed in the field hospital until I could be airlifted out – which evidently took those three weeks. The surgeon in the field hospital was terrific and got me sorted very quickly because my wound wasn’t that serious, but with all the muck and bullets flying about, I got an infection – which was lucky really, because it meant I was on the first plane out of there.
So here I am, back where this madness all started, and being looked after like one of those maharajahs, with hot and cold running water, gorgeous Australian nurses and lots of peace and quiet – which is a blessing after the awful racket I’ve had to put up with lately.
The hospital’s quite big, and there’s a long veranda at the back overlooking a lush tropical garden which runs down to a sandy beach and swift flowing river. It’s lovely sitting out there with a cup of tea or a cold beer, enjoying the sun, dozing off, or playing a hand or two of cards. Once I’m properly up and about again, I’m going in that river, it looks very inviting – and I’ll also have a go at croquet! Did you ever imagine, Peg, that I would ever write that line? Some of the chaps are awfully good at it, and I’m longing to give it a go. I’m sure I’ll pick it up in no time.
The chaps here are a good bunch, and I count myself lucky that I got off so lightly, which is more than I can say for Ernie. Poor blighter got it bad, and I feel terrible because it was all my stupid fault. I can’t tell you what happened, the censors would cut it out anyway, needless to say his war’s over and he’ll be on his way home soon. As far as I know, Big Bert is still causing the enemy mayhem and putting himself right in the middle of things. He’s what the Aussies call a ‘bonzer bloke’, but it strikes me he’s either leading a charmed life or is invincible.
I’m sorry I got wounded and caused you to fret, but please don’t shed any tears for me. I’ll be right as ninepence very soon, and am ha
ving a high old time here. The nurses are great fun and don’t mind mucking in with a game of cards or Ludo, and they don’t get all hot under the collar if a chap swears or tells a dirty joke. I’ve met a lot of Aussies during my time away, and now I’ve met some of their women I can see why they’re such a cheerful, sunny bunch. Perhaps after all this is over we should go out there and see what life could be like for us? I hear it’s sunny most of the time and you can grow oranges in your back garden! How about that?
I’ll write again very soon. Give my love to everyone, kiss Daisy for me and tell Da to hurry up and propose to Rosie. I just know you’re itching to dust down your wedding hat – and by the sound of it from your letters, there will one or two chances to wear it before long. I just wish I could be there to share it all with you. But things are changing, and that day is coming nearer. I send you a kiss and a prayer that the sun will soon break through these dark clouds and we can very soon be together again.
Jim. x
Peggy held the letter to her heart, thankful that he was somewhere safe and getting better. She refused to let the thought of him being returned to his regiment cast a shadow on her happiness, and silently vowed to remain positive from now on.
Running back downstairs, she handed the letter to Ron to read and helped supervise the children who were squabbling over a picture book. ‘Where’s Doris?’ she asked. ‘She’s usually home by now.’
‘She’s getting changed,’ said Ivy. ‘The Colonel’s taking her out for dinner,’ she added with a knowing wink.
‘Goodness,’ breathed Peggy. ‘Things are hotting up.’
‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t jump to conclusions,’ said Doris from the doorway. ‘The Colonel has kindly asked me to dinner because I have something to celebrate.’
Peggy admired the neat black dress, fake pearls and dinky concoction of black net and feathers perched on Doris’s carefully brushed hair. ‘It must be very special for you to have made such an effort,’ she said. ‘I must say, you do look marvellous,’ she added, noting the heightened colour in her sister’s face and the happy gleam in her eyes.