a heartwarming WW1 saga about love and friendship (The West End Girls Book 1)

by Elaine Roberts

  Ivy Cradwell smiled drying her hands on her long-bibbed apron. ‘That’s tomorrow’s breakfast taken care of.’ Lifting one of the eggs, she brushed it with her hand before twisting it in her fingers. ‘They look a good size.’ Ivy gave her eldest daughter a sideways glance. ‘I was just thinking we should start making a list for your bottom draw and I’ll have a look to see what we have that can be passed on to you and Sam.’ She gave a broad smile. ‘Your father and I are so happy you’re going to be living close by, let alone all the grandchildren we’re going to have.’

  Annie nodded.

  Ivy’s eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you would be excited and be thinking about planning your wedding. I remember being so happy when your father asked if we could get married.’

  Annie looked away. ‘I am excited, I just have a lot to think about.’

  Ivy sighed and moved the basket of eggs further along the table. ‘Talk to me because Sam will make you a good husband.’ She paused. ‘You both get on very well so I don’t understand what the problem is. Your father was so happy when he came and asked for your hand in marriage.’

  ‘I know, Sam told me.’ Annie’s shoulders slumped as she moved towards the back door. ‘I’ll go and see if Pa needs any help in the field.’

  Ivy closed her eyes for a moment. ‘While you were cleaning out the chickens, Mr Blake came to see your father and me. Luckily, I was hanging the washing on the line and saw him before he made it to the house.’

  Walking back to the sink, Annie groaned. She switched on the tap and rinsed her hands under the cold water.

  ‘No good you groaning, Annie, you were brought up to be respectful of your elders.’ Ivy frowned. ‘Your pa will be furious when he finds out.’

  Annie dried her hands on the cloth nearby before moving away. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to embarrass you or make you ashamed of me but he is such a rude man; so is Mr Butterworth.’

  The back door suddenly swung open and David walked in, his knuckles white from gripping the cane basket handles. He dropped the basket on the floor by the kitchen table and wiped the sleeve of his shirt over his forehead. ‘It’s warm out there.’ He looked from his ma to his sister. ‘Let me guess, Mr Blake?’

  ‘I’ve brought you a cabbage for dinner.’ William examined the leafy vegetable as he walked through the open doorway, closing it behind him.

  ‘Thank you, Grandpa, I expect Ma will be pleased with that.’

  William handed it over to his eldest granddaughter. ‘Was that Mr Blake I saw earlier?’

  Annie groaned. ‘It’s not fair. Him and Mr Butterworth are both so rude to us and always get away with it, but not anymore. I’m not a child and I don’t see why we should have to put up with it.’

  David shook his head. ‘I shall leave you to it but, Ma, I will say Annie shouldn’t have to put up with their bad manners, or indeed should any of us.’ He waved his hand in a salute to them both before walking towards the back door. ‘Try not to argue too much over their rudeness because they’ll have succeeded in causing the trouble they set out to do.’ He opened the door and was gone before anyone could say anything.

  William turned to follow David and stopped to peer back at them. ‘The trouble is we need them to sell our fruit and vegetables.’ He paused and shook his head. ‘So we don’t have a lot of choice but to put up with them.’ A small grin appeared. ‘But I will say Annie’s right, they’re rude and think they’re better than everyone else.’ He turned and followed David out the door.

  ‘Your grandfather should know better than to encourage such behaviour.’ Ivy shook her head. ‘As for David well, they can both say what they like but I think Rose is a bad influence on you, the Spencer family have always been a handful.’

  Annie threw her arms up. ‘And yet you want me to marry Sam.’

  Ivy stared at her daughter through hooded eyes. ‘He’s calmed down as he’s got older.’

  Annie glared at her mother. ‘Or maybe Pa doesn’t care who I marry as long as I stay in the village.’

  Ivy’s lips tightened, her eyes holding a steel-like quality. ‘You need to stop right there, right now, and just think about what you’re saying. Your father just wants what’s best for his children. The Spencers weren’t brought up to live by the same rules as everyone else. Their parents have been too free spirited with them, so they were always getting into trouble.’ Ivy shook her head. ‘That’s probably why her cousin’s family went to live in London with her grandmother when her mother died. That probably saved Joyce from all kinds of nonsense.’

  ‘Rose has never been like that, and she’s a good friend. As for Joyce moving to London, it didn’t stop her from losing her father though, did it?’ Annie walked over to the dresser and prised opened the King George V and Queen Mary biscuit tin, finding it empty but for a few crumbs and the aroma of what it had once contained. ‘Anyway, she’s probably a cook in some fancy restaurant now.’

  Ivy nodded. ‘I’ll give you that, we all thought he had been so lucky to get a job on the Titanic.’ She sighed, remembering the day they heard about the ocean liner sinking. ‘It must have been awful for them and to think it was only two years ago.’ Ivy frowned. ‘From what I remember, Joyce was an excellent cook and could have worked in some of the big houses around here, it’s a shame they moved away.’

  ‘You mean be in domestic service?’ Annie replaced the metal lid. ‘What’s wrong in wanting to work in a proper restaurant, or a top hotel, for paying customers? She was good enough for that even back then.’

  Ivy dropped some potatoes into the sink and turned on the cold tap, water spluttered out spraying drops onto the wooden worktop. The dirt that had been stuck fast on them quickly began to drop away and dissolve in the water. ‘There’s nothing wrong with domestic service, it prepares you for marriage.’

  Annie sighed. ‘Is that all I have to look forward to, cooking and cleaning for the rest of my days?’

  Ivy turned off the tap and stared into the muddy pool for a moment before turning to face her daughter. ‘I don’t understand why this life isn’t good enough for you.’ Her lips quivered but she sucked in her breath and bit down on it. ‘Thanks to your father’s hard work we don’t go hungry, we eat what we grow and he sells what we don’t need to Mr Butterworth, and that’s why you have to be nice to him.’

  Annie rushed over to her mother and draped an arm around her thin shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, you and Pa work so hard and have given us a good life but it’s not the life I want to have for myself.’

  Ivy sniffed and pulled away. ‘Here we go again.’

  ‘Ma, I don’t know what to say… except I feel trapped. Every time I think about my life with Sam the noose tightens. I don’t want to disappoint you, nor do I want to hurt Sam, but I don’t love him. I want to love someone the way you love Pa. Is that so wrong?’

  Ivy shook her head and sighed. ‘No, it isn’t, I would follow your father to the ends of the earth.’

  ‘And he would you too, Ma, it’s obvious to everyone you respect each other.’ Annie’s vision became blurry. ‘Whereas I don’t think Sam takes me seriously. Part of his proposal was telling me to let go of my dream because it was never going to happen. There was no talk of love, support, just of chickens, pigs, children, cooking and cleaning.’

  Pain flitted across Ivy’s face as she watched her daughter. ‘We all have to make sacrifices, Annie, that’s life.’

  Annie stood rigid, her face tense. ‘Do we, Ma, or is it just women that have to?’ She stared at her mother, watching fear and despair ravage her face in equal measure. ‘Look, Ma, I’m sorry, I know you’re sick of hearing about me wanting to perform but you’re all responsible for my desire to do it. Remember, I’ve been doing it for the family since I was knee high. We used to sing songs and dress up to put on our own little plays every Christmas, birthday and many times in between.’

  Ivy nodded. ‘You made us all smile, particularly your Aunt Dorothy and your grandparents, but Davi
d and Margaret were also a part of that and they’ve never expressed the need to perform in public.’

  Annie looked thoughtful. ‘I only vaguely remember Aunt Dorothy, but didn’t she leave the village a long time ago?’

  ‘Yes, she left when your gran died.’

  ‘I’ve made the beds, Ma, do yer need any other help?’ Margaret’s voice carried into the kitchen, over her footsteps thudding on each rung of the stairs. She walked into the kitchen. ‘I can peel those potatoes if you like?’ Her voice was partially drowned out by the thud of the back door closing.

  ‘What’s happening here?’ All eyes turned to the tall, thin man standing just inside the kitchen. His muddied grey trousers were held around his waist by a piece of string. His white shirt, with its rolled-up sleeves, had seen better days and hung out of the back of his trousers. He took a pipe from one of his trouser pockets and a box of matches from the other. ‘I thought we were getting some extra help in the fields today and here you all are gossiping.’ He stopped and ran his gnarled fingers through his thick mass of grey hair.

  Margaret took in her sister’s and mother’s troubled expressions for the first time before turning to her father. ‘If Annie doesn’t mind helping Ma, then I’ll come out and help.’

  ‘That’s fine, go and speak to David, he’ll tell you what to do.’ Tom opened the door for his youngest to leave the kitchen.

  Margaret did as she was bid, stroking the collie as she walked past. Rex looked up with sorrowful eyes before following her outside.

  Tom waited until the heavy wooden door thudded shut. ‘Right what’s going on here? And don’t say nothing because I can tell something is.’

  Annie pushed her damp palms down the sides of her ankle-length black skirt.

  Ivy cleared her throat. ‘Nothing’s going on, Tom, we’re just talking while we prepare dinner.’

  Tom’s gaze didn’t waver from his wife’s face.

  Ivy glanced down, unable to hold the stare of his watery blue eyes.

  ‘Pa, we were just talking about Aunt Dorothy actually.’

  Tom struck a match and held the flame in the bowl of his pipe. He puffed on it furiously, waiting for it to take hold of the brown strands of tobacco. Clouds of smoke eventually curled up into the air. The smell of the rich burning tobacco gradually wafted around the kitchen. ‘Is that right, Annie?’ His eyes suddenly held a steel-like quality. ‘And pray tell when were you going to tell me about your run-in with Mr Blake and Mr Butterworth?’

  Annie pulled herself upright. ‘I wasn’t, Pa, it was a few days ago and didn’t really see it as anything to worry about.’ She frowned but continued quickly before her father could say anything. ‘Don’t you get fed up with everyone knowing your business, and more than that, everyone having an opinion when they don’t know what they’re talking about?’ She moved over to the sink and picked up a knife to start peeling the potatoes.

  Tom smiled. ‘You know, Annie, you can’t distract me from what I want to say.’

  ‘Pa, I’m not trying to distract you.’ Annie took a deep breath and turned to face him. ‘Look, I was just saying to Ma I don’t love Sam; I’m not the right person for him anymore than he is for me. I want to go to London and I would like to do it with both your blessings. I’m tired of the likes of Mr Blake putting everyone down and mocking me for wanting to live my own life.’

  Tom’s lips curled in anger. ‘Not this again, it’s about time you gave up on this silly idea, and thought about settling down and having a family.’ He scowled. ‘How many times do we need to go through this for goodness sake? The answer’s no.’

  ‘That’s why you said yes to Sam isn’t it?’ Annie dropped the knife in the sink, water splashing up her arms and over the wooden draining board. She clenched her hands together. ‘Pa, I don’t understand why you wish to hold me here.’

  ‘Does it matter? We’re your family and you should be here with us.’

  ‘Please, Pa—’

  ‘Cities are dangerous places and I won’t be there to protect you. I also have to think about your sister. Margaret’s only sixteen and before you know it, she’ll be wanting to follow you.’

  Annie shook her head as she turned to face him. ‘No, she won’t. Margaret’s not me, she’s happy here.’

  Ivy stepped forward and put her hand on her daughter’s arm, whispering, ‘And you’re not?’

  Annie could feel a lump forming in her throat. ‘Ma, I love it here but I want to be on the stage.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand why you are both so against it.’

  Tom cleared his throat. ‘A friend of mine went to the city and we never heard from him again. Why do you think the farm that backs on to us has been left to fall into ruin the way it has?’

  ‘Pa, that isn’t going to happen to me. I’ll probably be able to send money home so you don’t have to work so hard.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘We don’t need your money, we don’t need anything other than the love of God, our family and what the land produces to keep our body and soul alive.’ He turned and opened the door. ‘I’m not talking about this anymore. Some of us have responsibilities, and it’s not right to leave my father working with David while I’m doing nothing. I don’t want to hear any more about it.’ The house shook as the door slammed shut behind him.

  2

  Matthew Harris sat at his piano looking out at the hundreds of empty seats in the auditorium of The Lyceum Theatre on London’s Wellington Street. The orchestra pit, where he sat playing his piano during a production, right up to the grand circle still gave him a thrill, despite working there since it re-opened nearly ten years ago. He had worked hard, and had his battles along the way, but he had reached the top and now it was his turn to reap the rewards for being the Music Director for The Lyceum Theatre. He loved the grandness of the theatre, from the magnificent pillars outside the three-storey building to the swooping swags across the top of the stage and the intimate boxes on each side of it. The ornate scrollwork was everywhere in the theatre. The atmosphere during the day was at odds with the excitement of actors getting ready for their evening performances. There was a stillness that some might have found eerie, especially when the building grunted and groaned like an old lady. He loved the peace and quiet; none of the daily noises outside intruded to destroy it.

  Matthew lifted the lid of his piano and admired the worn ivory keys that lay like sleeping soldiers alongside their ebony counterparts, all waiting for his hands to wake them up. He casually ran his fingers over the keys; the tinkling sound soared out into the auditorium. It was early but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d hear Kitty Smythe’s voice yelling out against something. She was definitely a Jekyll and Hyde but he quite liked the challenge of trying to keep the star happy and still getting the most out of her performance.

  ‘Matthew, darling.’ Kitty’s voice rang out from the wings. ‘The weather is dreadful out there, it can’t make its mind up what it wants to do.’

  Matthew watched the tiny waisted star of The Belle Of New York walk slowly on to the Lyceum stage, her skirt, clinched at the hem, hampering her speed. Her blonde hair was immaculately rolled into a chignon, partially hidden under a broad brimmed hat heavily decorated with flowers and ribbon.

  ‘Have I kept you waiting again? How naughty of me.’ Kitty giggled as she stepped on to the stage. The curved heels of her buttoned ankle boots thudded on the wooden floorboards and echoed in the empty theatre. She stopped after a few steps to look out at the red plush seats and the opulent decor. ‘You know it’s amazing when you think we fill this place night after night.’

  ‘It is, and they all come to see you, my darling.’ Matthew gave her his best smile.

  Kitty shuffled over and put her cup down on the lid of the piano before slowly walking to the middle of the stage. ‘I love all of this.’ She waved her arm around to take in the whole theatre. ‘It’s quite a magical place.’

  A cracking noise sounded from above her head. Kitty looked up as a sand-
filled sack hurtled towards her. Her chilling scream filled the air. She ran to one side. A ripping sound came from her fashionable fitted pink skirt as she lost her balance and ended up splayed out on the stage. The hessian weight landed with a thud near where she had been only seconds ago.

  Matthew jumped up from the piano and ran over to her. ‘Are you all right?’ He reached out to take her hand and help her up. ‘Thank goodness you looked up. That could have been me, I was only standing there a few minutes ago.’

  Kitty was trembling as she took his hand and climbed to her feet. She stood there breathless holding her free hand flat against her chest. ‘I heard a noise.’ She gasped.

  ‘Let me find something for you to sit on.’ He shook his head as he looked around him. ‘You could have been killed.’ He grabbed a wooden chair from the wings and rushed over to her. The last thing they needed was the star of the show to collapse in shock. ‘Here sit on this for a few minutes, just rest.’ He anxiously looked up at the fixings above their heads. ‘I shall speak to Stan about this, it’s not good enough.’

  Kitty held her head in her hands for a moment. She looked up. ‘Stan will be livid, I could have been killed.’

  Matthew turned and stooped down to study Kitty’s pale face. ‘Let me get your coffee for you, it might help settle you a bit.’ He took the couple of steps to his piano and picked up her cup. He passed it to Kitty. ‘You might need extra sugar in it for shock.’