by AJ Pearce
‘Thank you,’ he said, quietly. ‘That’s very kind.’
I nodded and seeing how sad he looked, quietly made my way out into the corridor.
But as I left, he called out.
‘Emmy Lake, there’s one caveat to all this. Whatever you do, don’t you dare miss my brother’s wedding.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
All Aboard
‘AND YOU’RE SURE the paper chains aren’t too much?’
Five days later, Bunty and I were walking towards our platform at Paddington station. We had a march to go to and then a wedding, but she was having an attack of doubts.
‘Not at all,’ I said, confidently. ‘The whole room looks beautiful. The holly is lovely, we have the biggest bunch of mistletoe I’ve ever seen in my life, and the paper chains make it a proper Christmas wedding reception.’
‘Newspaper though, Em,’ said Bunty. ‘I’m still not sure.’
‘Bunts,’ I said. ‘When’s the last time you saw green and red crepe paper? Even if we had a thousand pounds, we’d have struggled to find any. Anyway, I like the newspaper chains. It’s topical. And by the time Roy and Fred have set up the music, and Thelma and Kath have put out the buffet, it will look like a palace. Everyone has been wonderful. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you all.’
Bunty looked happy. ‘Everyone wanted to,’ she said. ‘Although I do slightly question Fred’s recipe for a punch. It sounds revolting.’
‘It does,’ I agreed. ‘But that’s the whole point of punch, isn’t it? According to Mrs Croft’s Festive Special in “What’s In The Hotpot?” we can throw any old thing in there and it will be fine.’
‘What if someone chokes? Is this our platform?’
‘Father’s a doctor. He’ll be able to save them. Yes, it is,’ I said, looking up at the Departures Board. ‘With Daddy, Roy and Fred, Charles’s army chums, and Jack if he can get leave, we’ve almost all the services covered. There isn’t much that can go wrong that one of them won’t be able to sort out.’
‘The upside of war,’ said Bunty, shaking her head.
We showed our tickets at the barrier and began to walk down the platform. People who had managed to get time off at Christmas were crowding towards the edge so they could be first on the train. In normal years they would have been laden down with packages and nice-smelling things from London shops. You might even have seen a big ham sitting in the overhead storage nets. Now, though, it wasn’t nearly as ostentatious. It was the third Christmas of the war and the shops had had very little to offer. Home-made gifts were saving the day and I wondered how many people at the station carried crocheted and glued-together presents in their cardboard suitcases and hat boxes.
I hadn’t thought as far as Christmas. Having scrambled to get everything ready for the wedding, as well as trying to keep up with the plans for the march through daily letters and phone calls to and from Anne, I hadn’t had time for anything – even stage-fright – until now. Bunty and I had planned the day as meticulously as we could. We would be back and at the church well before three o’clock. We had to be.
‘You’ve gone quiet,’ said Bunty. ‘What is it?’
‘I can’t quite believe that by the end of today I’ll be married,’ I said, not mentioning any jitters about the timing. ‘Here we are on a platform, me with my notebook, you with your camera, and in a few hours’ time we’ll be in a church. It doesn’t feel real. I’m actually marrying Charles.’
Bunty laughed and put her arm through mine.
‘It feels real to me,’ she said. ‘Under this great thick coat, I’m wearing the fanciest dress ever. My best friend made it for me and it’s gorgeous.’
‘Aren’t you freezing?’ I asked.
‘I’ve got a woolly on and thick knickers,’ she said. ‘If only William was here, he’d be mad for me in these.’
She smiled.
‘Oh, Bunts,’ I said, squeezing her arm.
‘I do want you to know, I’m all right,’ she said. ‘And I’m going to enjoy every minute of today. Even if I am wearing knickers meant for a granny.’
Before I could say anything, a harassed-sounding lady carrying several bags and trailing two children in school uniforms pushed past us in an effort to secure a good spot.
‘Father Christmas knows exactly where Aunty Flory lives,’ she said crossly. ‘He’s very clever like that, but you have to remember he’s run out of fruit.’
Bunty and I tried not to laugh, especially when the bigger child asked why Father Christmas couldn’t have stocked up.
‘Here it comes!’ shouted the smaller one as he heard the first sound of the train puffing its way into the station. Smoke rose up into the heights of Paddington’s enormous domed roof, and Bunty and I stepped aside so that the little family could get in first. Despite the number of people leaving the city, the train had lots of carriages and we were confident we would get seats.
We helped them with their bags and as doors began to slam shut along the train, Bunty climbed in.
‘Mind your camera,’ I warned as its case threatened to swing out from her shoulder and bash itself on the side of the train.
‘Gosh, yes,’ she said, turning around as she was halfway in. Then she stopped, looked down the platform and started waving so frantically she almost fell out. ‘WE’RE OVER HERE,’ she shouted. ‘IN THIS ONE.’
I turned round to see what was causing the fuss.
There, tearing down the platform, in his army greatcoat and cap, was my lunatic of a fiancé.
‘Nothing to do with me,’ said Bunty, still waving.
As people hauled up the last of their bags into the carriages and the remaining doors were closed, I stayed on the platform, holding ours open as wide as it would go.
‘WAIT! PLEASE, WAIT FOR HIM,’ I yelled at the guard, who was looking at his fob watch and coming towards us in a predatory way. ‘WE’RE GETTING MARRIED,’ I shouted for extra weight.
‘We’re nearly a minute over,’ said the guard, who clearly wasn’t a romantic.
Charles was now at the next-door carriage, red-faced but keeping up a very impressive sprint.
‘EM,’ he shouted as he ran. ‘KEEP THE DOOR OPEN.’
‘I’m getting out,’ declared Bunty.
‘Bernard, Larry, don’t move,’ said the lady with the children, as she got off the train as well. ‘THEY CAN’T GO WITHOUT ME,’ she bellowed at the poor guard. ‘How exciting,’ she said, to Bunty. ‘Love’s young dream.’
‘Darling!’ gasped Charles, as he finally made it and hurled his arms round me, kissing me passionately and then, less romantically, declaring he had given himself a stitch. ‘Thank you,’ he panted at the guard.
‘ALL ABOARD,’ shouted the man.
‘Not yet,’ said Charles, recovering himself well. ‘He’s nearly here.’
‘WAIT,’ came a voice, rather more faintly than everyone else. ‘Good grief.’
Mr Collins was running at a decent pace, his hat rammed down onto his head and his coat flapping behind him to reveal a very smart suit.
‘Goodness,’ said the lady.
‘His brother,’ said Bunty, filling her in. ‘Half-brother really. He’s a lot older,’ she added, politely lowering her voice.
The guard was very nearly at the end of his tether. ‘ALL ABOARD,’ he shouted unnecessarily loudly.
‘YOU CAN DO IT, SIR!’ shouted either Bernard or Larry who were both hanging out of the door.
Mr Collins finally staggered up to us, breathing heavily. ‘You’re very kind,’ he managed, speaking to the guard. ‘So sorry. Shall we? Ladies first.’
Bernard and Larry’s mother nodded prettily and chivvied the boys back into the carriage as the guard blew his whistle and more or less pushed the rest of us in.
‘Not that it isn’t utterly lovely to see you,’ I began, feeling rather thrilled and turning to Charles as we all took our seats, ‘but what on earth are you both doing here?’
Charles put his arm around
me.
‘It’s not that I don’t trust you to get back on time,’ he said. ‘It’s just that I thought you might need a little assistance should anything go wrong. You know, if you have to steal a car or something to get back.’
Bernard and Larry’s eyes nearly popped out of their heads.
‘I can steal my own car,’ I said, in mock-indignation.
‘Yes, but you don’t actually drive,’ said Charles. ‘Yet. I know. Are you all right, Guy?’
‘I’m too old for this,’ said his brother, getting his breath back and looking as if he was enjoying himself. ‘May have burst a lung. I’ve brought a spare camera,’ he said, turning to Bunty. ‘I thought it might be useful if you run out of film.’
He handed it to her, and Bunty gave a squeak.
‘I say, it’s a Rangefinder,’ she said. ‘That’s heaps nicer than mine.’
‘Not at all,’ said Mr Collins. ‘Have a look and see what you think.’
As Bunty and Mr Collins began to talk about photography, Charles turned to me and smiled.
‘I’m so pleased you’re here,’ I said, quietly.
‘Are you sure?’ said Charles. ‘I did um and ahh over it. That’s why we nearly missed the train. I know you don’t need me with you, darling, but I just thought if something did go wrong, or held you up, I’d rather be with you missing the wedding, than us being apart.’ He patted his breast pocket, gently. ‘I have the ring with me, but as far as I’m concerned, I don’t care. After today, we’re married, legally or not.’
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘Although it’s supposed to be awfully bad luck seeing each other before the ceremony.’
Charles pulled a dramatic, mock-horrified face, and I laughed.
‘You do know I’m on a serious journalistic assignment, don’t you?’ I said.
‘Absolutely,’ replied Charles. ‘That’s why I’m proud of you.’ He dropped his voice. ‘You’ve got a dreadful boss, though.’
‘I heard that,’ said his brother.
‘So did we,’ said Bernard and Larry. ‘Miss, might you show us your camera, please?’
As Bunty began to show the boys how to look through the viewfinder, I sat back happily and leaned into Charles. He was right that Bunty and I were more than capable of going to the march and getting to the wedding in time, but I was delighted he had come to show his support.
Now my thoughts turned to Anne Oliver and the Chandlers women.
There was so much riding on this morning, and it most definitely wasn’t without risk. I was pleased to bring two more people who would be on their side. I just hoped other people outside the town hall would feel the same way.
While Betty and the others had made extra efforts to keep this morning’s march secret, we all knew that there was a good chance Mr Terry would have found out. I had no idea what he was likely to do if that happened, but I would put money on the fact he would not play fair.
All we could do now was get there and see.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I Want to Tell You About My Husband
WE WERE LUCKY. The train stopped once in a siding for twenty minutes, but we passed the time with a spirited game of ‘I went to the Shop and I bought . . .’ which ended in an unsurprising dead heat between Bernard and Larry, and showed that thinking about vegetables alphabetically could take one’s mind off nearly anything.
Wishing each other a happy Christmas and thanking the boys’ mother for her kind wishes for the wedding, the four of us got off the train, and as we had decided during the journey, immediately split up. Bunty as photographer stuck with me so that we could be members of the press, and Charles and Mr Collins would pretend to be bystanders and give the women a cheer if it looked as if they needed it.
We were to stay within eyesight in case anything funny happened, and together or not, we all had to be on the twenty past eleven train back to Paddington.
Sharing a carriage with the family on the train had meant the mood had been light, with chatter and games suitable for eight-year-olds, but as soon as our journey was over, it felt entirely different. I was back on Mr Terry’s ground.
I didn’t know what to expect, but any giddiness around Charles racing into view earlier quickly disappeared. There was nothing giddy about what Anne and the others were doing. For all the plans to have the children wear flowers, and pretend it was a parade, the point remained entirely serious. Someone had to begin to listen.
Charles and Guy followed Bunty and me at a distance, not looking out of place as several soldiers also got off, as did a smart-looking naval officer.
Bunts and I walked almost in silence up to the market square to position ourselves very close to the start of the march. We planned to follow it down to the town hall, keeping our distance. My only worry was that if Ruby saw us, anonymity would go straight out the door. It would be hard to appear like a reporter if I was being a human carousel for my small friend.
Anne had been right in her prediction about the town being busy. On a bright winter morning, even if there was little to be bought in the shops, it hadn’t stopped people coming to browse. Women with baskets looked determined, while older couples walked more slowly, but on just as much of a mission. There were uniforms everywhere and a definite sense that Christmas was on the way.
‘Hurry up, Nan,’ said a brisk young Wren to a cheery-looking lady. ‘I’ve only got forty-eight hours and I’m halfway through that.’
The fruit and veg stall was doing a brisk trade, and a queue wound its way out of the butcher’s as clusters of women chatted together or watched their children run around in the square. As was the fact everywhere, there was little in the windows. The days of endless fat plucked turkeys hung up in rows had temporarily gone. I overheard someone saying there was chicken and through force of habit I nearly checked my bag for my ration book.
The Christmas tree though hadn’t let anyone down. A healthy fir at least twelve feet high had been erected in the square and decorated with dozens of different widths of red ribbons. A small sign had been put up beside it, thanking members of the public for their donations and saying that when the tree came down after Christmas, the ribbons would be washed and sold to go towards the town’s War Bonds fund. A small child was trying unsuccessfully to untie one at the back.
To my concern, a Salvation Army band were playing carols close to the tree. A corporal was rattling a tin, again for the war effort, and wishing people a happy Christmas whether they put anything in it or not.
I frowned. None of us had thought of this. The band could well drown out the women, or worse, the women would look as if they were trying to take attention away from the Sally Army who were trying to raise funds.
There was nothing we could do about it now.
‘I didn’t think about the band,’ said Bunty, noticing me watching.
‘They’ll be here soon,’ I said, checking my watch yet again. My stomach was jumping all over the place with butterflies. I wondered how Anne and Betty and the others must be feeling.
‘Do you think Mr Terry will come?’ whispered Bunty.
‘No. I think he’ll stay well away,’ I said. ‘But I bet he’ll send people from the factory to see which women are here.’
‘And sack them?’
‘If he can. But this isn’t a protest, it’s a patriotic “Help Us in the War Effort” parade.’
‘Good point,’ said Bunty. ‘I’ll get the camera out. Guy explained twice how to use it, so I hope I’ll be OK.’ She took the very up to date camera out of its leather case and had a practice, sizing up shots and playing with the aperture. ‘There’s Charles,’ she said, surreptitiously. ‘By the newsagent.’
I glanced to my right and saw Charles lost in a newspaper as any serviceman would be. Searching the square, I could see Mr Collins looking in the taped-up window of a ladies’ clothes shop, for all the world a baffled husband plucking up courage to go in and buy something for his wife.
On current performance, they would both make very
good spies.
The Salvation Army had just got to the descant in ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ and I wished I could have enjoyed it, as they were playing quite beautifully. As they came to the end and several people clapped, I was delighted to see the musicians putting down their instruments as their leader told them to have a break for some tea.
‘That’s good,’ I whispered to Bunty. ‘Come on, Anne.’ I stamped my feet on the ground and jigged around a little, not through cold, but anticipation.
‘Hold on,’ said Bunty. ‘What’s that? Is it singing?’
We looked at each other as a group of female voices grew louder. It was singing.
Then we saw them. Rounding the market square corner and marching down the side by the shops.
Anne and Betty, Maeve, Violet and Irene, together with what must have been over twenty other women.
Some of them were pushing prams, some holding the hands of warmly wrapped-up children, and almost all of them carrying signs. And every single one was wearing something floral.
With much of it in red, white and blue, from their brightly coloured scarves to home-made rosette-style brooches and little flags on sticks stuck to the prams, for all the world it really was a parade.
To the tune of ‘My Old Man Said Follow the Van’ they were singing the most patriotic song you might ever hear.
‘My old man
Said, “Love, do all you can,”
To help the war work effort every day.
So, off I went and signed up to be a worker,
Proud to help our boys, cos us girls are never shirkers.
Now we say to you daughters, you mothers and supporters
Of our boys who fight so we are free,
Please all sign up and join us, but we also beg, please help us
Cos us factory mums with kids need nurseries.’
It was inspired. As their voices rang out across the square, for all the colour and spectacle it made on a Saturday morning in a small town, you could see that to a woman, the marchers were serious.