Yours Cheerfully

by AJ Pearce

  ‘I’ve just had a look at my hair,’ she said. ‘It was all over the place.’

  ‘You look lovely,’ I said. ‘Jack was right. The bee’s knees.’

  ‘I must get that picture with him,’ she grinned. ‘That will put the cat amongst the pigeons at work.’

  Bunts sat down on the stairs. ‘Are you having a lovely time?’ she asked.

  ‘It feels like a dream,’ I said, sitting beside her. ‘This morning seems about a year ago. I’ve just been trying to work out whether I want every single person to have met Charles, or if I want to hide him away and have him all to myself.’

  Bunty smiled.

  ‘Are you all right, Bunts?’ I asked. ‘I saw you limping at the march this morning.’

  ‘I’d just done a bit much, I think,’ she said. ‘It is getting better all the time, Em. Sometimes I don’t need my stick almost at all. It’s slow, but I’m getting there.’

  ‘That’s the best news,’ I said, relieved. Then I hesitated. ‘How was this afternoon?’ I asked, softly.

  I knew she’d understand what I meant.

  ‘It was lovely,’ she said. ‘Honestly. I didn’t know how I might feel in the church, and I was thinking of Bill of course. I knew I would, and it does hurt. Loads, actually. I suppose it always will, but not because of you and Charles. I am so happy for you, Em. I wish Charles wasn’t going away so soon, but I’m so very pleased you’re married.’

  ‘Me too.’ It was colder upstairs, and I shivered a bit. ‘I’ve never loved anyone like this, Bunts. It’s almost frightening. I’m so proud of him, but I’m scared as anything he won’t come back.’

  If anyone would understand it was my best friend.

  ‘Just love him,’ she said. ‘Whatever happens, if you love someone and know you’re loved back, you will always have that.’ She paused and then added, ‘To be honest, it’s not even the tiniest bit as good as when they’re actually alive, but you know, you have to try.’

  My goodness, she was brave.

  She smiled and gave me a shove with her shoulder. ‘Am I helping?’

  I shoved her back. Mucking about was better than being sad. ‘Not in the least,’ I said.

  ‘He will come back,’ said Bunty. ‘I made him promise.’

  We sat together for a moment until we heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

  ‘I might have known,’ said Charles, cheerfully. ‘Tell me you’re not hatching a plan.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ I said.

  ‘Thank goodness. Now, people have asked when we are planning to do the first dance,’ he said. ‘I think everyone’s dying to join in.’

  ‘Then we must dance!’ I said grandly.

  Charles escorted Bunty and me downstairs, where we were met by Anne and Baby Tony, together with Ruby, still wearing her crown.

  ‘What does a bridesmaid do now?’ she asked, after I’d picked her up but explained there wasn’t quite enough room for swinging her round.

  ‘Well, you get to stay up as late as you want, dance with anyone you like, and eat cheese puffs until they’ve all gone.’

  For the first time since I had met her, Ruby was speechless.

  ‘We’ll show you where the cheese puffs are,’ I said. ‘And then Charles and I will do a dance and then everyone gets to join in. Does that sound good?’

  Ruby nodded very seriously. I handed her to Charles, who immediately turned her upside down and carried her, now shrieking with excitement, into the drawing room.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ I said to Anne. ‘Your room’s ready when you want it.’

  ‘We wouldn’t have missed this for the world,’ said Anne. ‘But I’d better go and keep an eye on the monster over those cheese puffs.’

  ‘I’ll take you in,’ said Bunty. ‘And send Charles back out to you as you’re supposed to make a grand entrance.’

  I stayed in the hallway as I heard my brother ushering people around.

  Charles smiled as he came back out. ‘Would you care to dance, Mrs Mayhew?’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I very much would.’

  We walked into the room arm in arm as Jack announced us.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the bride and groom, Captain and Mrs Charles Mayhew, who will now take to the floor for the first dance.’

  As Roy put on the music, we started to dance. There wasn’t enough room to charge around doing a quickstep or anything too showy, but I didn’t care. Everyone who meant anything to me was there, particularly the chap who was holding me far tighter than the dance technically required. When the song came to an end and to a rousing cheer, we called for everyone to join in.

  As several other couples, including Guy and a very nimble Mrs Mahoney, took to an easy foxtrot, Charles gently pulled me to one side.

  ‘You do know that I intend to dance with you exclusively until we leave this party?’ he said.

  ‘I should hope so,’ I replied. ‘Although I have promised one with Father and then Roy.’

  ‘Quite right too. And actually, there is just one person I have a commitment with, if that’s all right with you?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Please do.’

  My mother was dancing elegantly with my father, and I looked on, expecting Charles to cut in. Instead, he walked over to Bunty, who was standing by the side watching. She hadn’t danced since the night Bill died in the explosion. It was one of the many things that we had all found so awful, because everyone knew it was one of Bunty’s favourite things. But although she was getting better, she had shown no interest in trying to dance. She once told me it was partly because of her injury, and partly because she couldn’t imagine being happy enough.

  I found myself tense, wondering if I should go over and stop Charles. It was well-meaning of him, but he didn’t understand.

  But when he asked her, Bunty smiled, looked over to me and mouthed, ‘May I?’

  I nodded my head, uncertainly. ‘Of course,’ I said.

  Bunty put her stick to one side and taking Charles’s hand, walked onto the floor. Then, with Charles helping her keep her balance, they began to dance. Slowly and carefully, but as I held my breath, Bunty was dancing.

  I saw Charles ask her if she was OK and she nodded in reply, her face a study of concentration but with the widest smile.

  Somehow and without fuss, the other couples gave them room, not leaving them on their own as a spectacle, but making sure no one would bump into them.

  I looked over at Bunty’s granny, who was sitting regally by the fire. She was watching with tears in her eyes.

  I felt my brother arrive by my side. He put his arm around my shoulder.

  ‘She’s been practising,’ he said quietly. ‘Secretly, in case she couldn’t do it.’

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ I whispered. ‘I didn’t know if she would do this again.’

  ‘I was going to help,’ said Jack, ‘but I’m never around, so she drafted in Charles for a test run. Which I understand you very nearly ruined.’

  The night when I came home and they had the music on. They must have been rehearsing.

  ‘We’re getting her back, Em,’ said Jack. ‘After everything she’s been through, we’re getting her back.’

  As the song came to an end, Charles thanked Bunty for the dance, and they walked over to Jack and me.

  Jack quietly went to get Bunty’s stick in case she needed it. I just looked at her, unable to find any words.

  ‘Was that all right?’ she said.

  ‘It was perfect,’ I said.

  After I finished hugging her, we were both in tears and Jack was back, saying that he must have got dust from the fire in his eye.

  ‘Shall we get a drink, Bunts?’ he asked. ‘Then, if I promise not to tread on your feet, perhaps we could give it a go?’

  As Bunty and Jack went to try out the punch, I put my arms around Charles and looked up into his eyes. There was so much more I had to learn about him.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘For the b
est wedding present in the world.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Woman’s Friend

  THREE DAYS LATER, Charles returned to his unit and by Boxing Day was on his way overseas. Our time together had been glorious, although after he’d gone, I did occasionally check my left hand to see if I really was wearing a wedding ring. I was newly married but without a husband, and now in exactly the same boat as thousands of other girls. I decided to look at it as a badge of honour.

  We spent our honeymoon in a quiet little hotel in Surrey. It was far enough from London to feel like a trip away, and close enough to where Charles was stationed so that we could leave it to the very last minute to say goodbye.

  Every single moment of our stay was a joy.

  Parting, on the other hand, was awful. I wasn’t keen on goodbyes at the best of times, but this was the absolute worst.

  Charles and I went to the railway station together so as not to spoil the lovely memories of the hotel. I also hoped that putting on a brave face might be slightly easier in public. I wasn’t going to let either Charles or myself down by crying, but that was easier said than done.

  Charles’s train was the first to arrive, adding insult to injury by being on time.

  ‘Here we are then,’ I said, heartily, even though my chest felt as if someone was standing on it.

  ‘Right you are,’ said Charles, equally vigorously. Then he broke ranks on the chipper front. ‘Damn it,’ he said, under his breath.

  I had been doing quite well until that. Now I couldn’t trust myself to speak.

  For our last moments together as the train came into the station, we held onto each other as hard as we could.

  ‘I love you, my darling,’ said Charles. ‘More than anything else in the world. Never forget that, will you?’

  I pulled back to look at him.

  ‘I love you, too,’ I said. ‘Always.’

  Then he was gone.

  I waved until after the train was out of sight and then I still stood in the middle of the platform staring at the empty track, until I felt a hand on my arm.

  ‘Well done, you,’ said a well-dressed lady in a long blue coat. ‘It’s hell, isn’t it?’

  A horrid great tear ran down my cheek. I hastily wiped it away.

  ‘I promised myself I wouldn’t cry,’ I said, as another tear threatened to jump ship as well.

  ‘You didn’t,’ she said, ‘you did tremendously well, and that’s the picture he’ll remember while he’s away; your smile and how lovely you are. Now, if you’re waiting for the London train, shall we sit in the ladies’ waiting room? It’s awfully chilly today.’

  The lady’s name was Mrs Ives. I would remember her kindness for a very long time. She chatted to me and asked questions, and told me it was quite all right not to try to be Boadicea all the time as it was impossible to keep up. Sometimes you just had to give in to the odd watery day.

  ‘You should have seen me in the first war when my husband went off to the Front,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know what to do with myself. But saying goodbye is the worst part, I always think.’ She patted my arm. ‘He’s now a tetchy old major who’s been in a terrible mood ever since war broke out as he can’t go and fight. I’m expecting a medal for having to put up with him.’

  You could tell that Mrs Ives loved the old Major to bits.

  When our train arrived, we talked all the way to London, and as we parted and wished each other good luck, it was as if a friend, rather than a stranger, had popped up at exactly the moment I needed them.

  On Christmas Day, Hong Kong fell to the Japanese. Even the British newspapers found it hard to make anything positive of it, and while Charles hadn’t told me where he was being posted, it was a very gloomy start to the New Year.

  My answer to the gloom was to write to him every day and throw myself back into my work.

  After the march for nurseries, there had been a small flurry of activity. The pictorial magazine kept to its word and printed a piece on ‘Nurseries for Women Workers’ and included the photograph Bunty had taken of Anne bending down to adjust Ruby’s crown. Bunts had captured the moment when Anne was caring for her little girl while still pushing Tony in his pram. You could clearly see the sign saying, ‘MY MUMMY WANTS TO HELP WIN THE WAR’. It couldn’t have been better.

  Although Chandlers hadn’t been named, Anne’s local Gazette had picked up on the story, using another photograph by Bunty and causing a momentary stir. Several members of the public at the march guessed which factory the women were from and said they were going to write to the person in charge to say they sided with the women. It was a step in the right direction.

  Mr Adams, the Public Relations Manager, was no fool. Just a handful of female workers had managed to get themselves in the papers, and a policeman had ordered the man from the council to meet with them. Mr Adams had also seen the response of the crowd. Sacking patriotic women war workers at Christmas would not be a good move.

  Anne phoned on Boxing Day to tell me that Chandlers had offered her her old job back.

  ‘Well done,’ I said, feeling surprised. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I asked them for a decent reference and to take the sacking off my record,’ said Anne. ‘I don’t want to go back just to see Mr Rice have a seizure every time I clock in. And more to the point, nothing has changed. Mum would still struggle with the children and I’d be back in the same position.’

  It was a brave stand, especially as Anne was now out of work, and I admired her resolve. Since the march she sounded just like when we first met, if not stronger. No one was going to mess her around now.

  ‘It helps that Betty’s moved in,’ she said. ‘She’s going to pay a little bit of rent and depending on her shifts she’ll pitch in with the children while I’m looking for a job. She’s sharing my room, so we’ll be a bit squashed and Ruby will drive her crackers, but Betty hates her landlady and says she’ll stay at least until I’m back on my feet. And she’s pushing the union at Chandlers to let women join. We’re not giving in.’

  Not everything, however, was a fairy tale. Irene had had to move back to her mother’s in the West Midlands. They didn’t like each other one little bit, but on a widow’s pension and struggling to find work, Irene hadn’t a choice. Everyone felt dreadful about it, but there was nothing they could do. ‘There are thousands of girls in the same spot,’ said Anne. ‘It’s an absolute disgrace.’

  ‘I’m writing to our MP again,’ Bunty promised. ‘He’s becoming the worst pen-pal ever as he never manages to write back.’

  Bunty was on good form all round. Two weeks into January, the weather seemed to think it would be funny to give everyone another challenge by becoming terribly cold and snowing heavily. Bunts and I spent as much time as possible in the kitchen as it was warm, and when we went outside, thick boots and several layers were in order. We happily re-lived the wedding and the party, especially remembering the food, and just when we thought we’d run out of things to talk about, Thelma or Fred or Roy would call round and we’d start all over again. Roy now called Bunty ‘Ginger Rogers’ and joked that he was holding a grudge as she had danced with Charles and Jack, but not him. Bunty called his bluff by turning on the wireless and asking him for a turn around the kitchen. He was delighted to oblige.

  At Woman’s Friend, now that the factory series had finished, I had been researching other areas of war work to cover. The Ministry’s recruitment campaign was still in full swing and we were keen not to be a flash in the pan. In between spending more time than ever on trains, trying to get access to obscure training grounds for the WAAF, or to interview new recruits to the Women’s Land Army in a field in the back of beyond, “Yours Cheerfully” was taking up most of my time. Every week, the number of letters seemed to double. I couldn’t write replies fast enough and the leaflets we printed were gone as soon as they came in. Circulation was up so Mrs Mahoney was kept busy managing production, and I was more than happy to look after the readers’ letters almost
entirely on my own.

  On a very dark Wednesday afternoon, Kath and I were putting on our coats and woolly hats, ready to take on the snow and leave for the day. I’d had a letter from Anne that morning, which had been jam-packed with news.

  ‘Apparently,’ I said as Kath adjusted her new tam-o’-shanter to try to cover her ears, ‘Betty says the local authority reckon it will take them two months to contact the Ministry of Health just to ask if they will have a meeting about getting Chandlers a nursery. Two months. For a meeting!’

  ‘How is Anne?’ asked Kath.

  ‘She’s doing well,’ I said. ‘She’s got an interview for a job working as the Women’s Officer at the Labour Exchange. Nine to five hours and everything.’

  ‘Good for her,’ said Kath. ‘I’m so glad it’s gone well.’

  ‘So am I,’ I said. ‘Even if getting anything done is like pulling teeth.’

  I tutted crossly as Mr Collins came in.

  ‘What takes two months?’ he asked.

  ‘The Ministries and local authorities,’ I said, crossly. ‘Anne’s not getting anywhere very fast. And we’ve had three letters to “Yours Cheerfully” in the last week from women who say they’ve read about the Government Nurseries, but no one has a clue how to get one. I’m still trying to work out what to say in reply.’

  ‘Can I show you something?’ said Mr Collins. ‘Sorry, I know it’s the end of the day, but I’ve just seen it myself.’

  ‘Yes of course,’ I said, realising my vehemence was no way to speak to one’s boss, new brother-in-law or not.

  He turned to Kath.

  ‘I’ll only keep Emmy a minute,’ he said, ‘unless you’re in a rush to get home.’

  ‘Not at all, I’ll wait,’ said Kath. ‘We’re going to the cinema.’

  ‘Very nice,’ said Mr Collins as I followed him into his office, where his desk was covered in a large mock-up of a page for the magazine.

  ‘I’ve been working on something and want to know what you think,’ he said. ‘I thought it could go on page three instead of the usual rather dull welcome from me. I think Mr Brand has made it look very nice. Go ahead, have a look.’