by Ellie Dean
‘That’s fine,’ he said almost grudgingly before switching it off again. ‘See you tomorrow.’
They saluted him and hurried up the ladder to the dock, eager to get washed and changed so they could have supper. It had been a long, tiring day, with countless interruptions by the Luftwaffe who seemed determined to swoop in at the most inconvenient moments and cause havoc, and they were starving.
April did her best to keep up with Paula, but she was feeling a bit light-headed and sick after the stench and heat of that engine room, and the corset she’d taken to wearing to disguise her burgeoning stomach was almost unbearably tight.
‘Are you all right?’ Paula stopped to let her catch up.
April nodded as she pushed back her sweaty hair and caught her breath. ‘I will be once I can get this corset off,’ she replied. ‘It feels as if it’s cutting me in half.’
Paula slowed her pace as they continued towards their billet. ‘It can’t be doing you or the baby any good,’ she murmured. ‘What does the doctor say?’
‘I don’t wear it when I go to see him for my check-ups,’ April admitted. ‘But everything’s fine, really, and at least the morning sickness is now a thing of the past.’
‘You won’t be able to hide it much longer, though,’ said Paula quietly as they approached HMS Firefly in the swiftly gathering gloom. ‘Another few weeks and no corset on this earth will mask it.’
April was all too aware of that, and could only pray that her bump stayed small and neat and didn’t swell up like a balloon for a while yet. ‘It’s a good thing we practically have to live in these,’ she said, plucking at the baggy overalls. ‘They hide everything, which is more than can be said for our uniform.’
They continued on in silence and were about to go through the front door when the sirens started to moan all through the city and the searchlights fizzed into life. ‘Damn and blast,’ muttered Paula. ‘There goes supper, and I’m absolutely ravenous.’
April was hungry, sweaty and uncomfortable too, but she needed the lavatory more than food and a wash. ‘I’ll catch up with you,’ she said, dashing indoors and racing to the downstairs loo as the other girls clattered down the stairs to the large, reinforced cellar which had once been the bar and hotel restaurant but now served as an emergency shelter.
She felt a good deal better as she emerged a few minutes later. The pressure on her bladder had eased and she’d used the opportunity to quickly loosen the sweat-soaked corset and have a delicious rub and scratch. She had no idea how her mother had survived all those years of wearing such a torturous garment, but it was sheer heaven to get the damn thing loose.
As she hurried through the main lounge she could see the searchlights weaving across the darkening sky and hear the drone of incoming aircraft above the shrieking sirens. Soon the big guns of the warships would boom out and the anti-aircraft guns would rattle off thousands of rounds, tracer fire stitching through the darkening sky as the brave boys from the RAF became embroiled in dogfights.
She hurried down the cellar steps, urged on by the petty officer who was impatient to close the reinforced door. The lights were dim within wire-mesh cages, the windows had been bricked up, and the only air came from a large vent which had been cut into the outside wall. It was a bleak, grim place even though the collection of old chairs and couches offered at least a bit of comfort during the long hours they’d had to spend in here.
There was a general moan about the no smoking, no alcohol rule, but there were books and magazines scattered about, a tea urn and a stock of biscuits and sandwiches which were a bit stale, but nevertheless, very welcome. The other drawback to being shut in down here for hours on end was the toilet facilities, for no matter how much they were scrubbed and disinfected the buckets behind the flimsy screens in the corner still stank, and April was not alone in avoiding them unless it was absolutely necessary.
She sank down beside Paula on the couch which had seen better days several decades before, and curled her arm around one of the moth-eaten cushions to camouflage the swell of her stomach which was more pronounced now the corset wasn’t holding it in. She could feel the mysterious and rather wonderful flutter of the baby moving inside her and she lived with the fear that her subterfuge might be damaging it.
She struggled to resist the almost driving need to run her hand protectively over her bump, for she also had to contend with the absolute terror of being discovered. There had been an extremely tricky moment at the naval stores when she’d gone to buy a replacement skirt in a larger size. The girl had given her a long, hard look before handing one over, and April had made some stupid joke about having suddenly discovered a liking for beer which had brought about this necessity.
There had been other moments when some of the girls had noticed her fuller breasts, and had teased her about giving Hedy Lamarr a run for her money in the bosom department, and times when a remark was jokingly made about her putting on a bit of weight. From then on, April had become almost reclusive, spending her off duty hours in her cabin, and eating in the dining room after she knew most of the others had left for the night. It was exhausting having to be on her guard all the time, and there were instances when she longed to just own up and get the whole thing in the open. But she had very little money and not the least idea of what she would do once she was out of the navy, so she gritted her teeth and carried on.
‘I’ll get us a cuppa and a sandwich,’ said Paula. ‘You look all in.’
April smiled gratefully and closed her eyes as she nestled into the musty cushion. She could sleep for a week if only her worries would let her – but with the planes roaring overhead, the guns going off at sea and the crash and thump of bombs exploding, there was fat chance of any real rest tonight.
Paula returned with a mug of cocoa and a Spam sandwich that looked as if it had been made at least two days ago. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ she sighed, ‘but I do wish the navy had a bit more imagination.’
April nodded her thanks, sipped the sweet cocoa and nibbled on the stale sandwich as the thunder of aircraft and the boom and rattle of guns impeded any further conversation. The walls trembled as a bomb exploded nearby and dust began to sift down from the cellar ceiling. The whine and zip of tracers mingled with the thud of flack and the whoosh of the pom-poms which April knew would be lighting up the sky and exposing the enemy bombers for the Allied gunners.
Another thud made the walls tremble and the ground shudder beneath their feet, but because they’d all experienced this before – and worse if they’d been caught out at sea – there were no cries of alarm, just a few sharp intakes of breath as everyone carried on reading, gossiping and drinking their tea. April burrowed deeper into the cushion as Paula went off to fetch another mug of tea and see if she could find a sandwich that was a bit more appetising.
April didn’t hear the explosion – and wasn’t aware that she’d been lifted from the couch as the blast ripped through the basement and dumped her unceremoniously on the other side of the cellar. She was unable to know that HMS Firefly was now no more than a lethal skeleton of toppling masonry which fell with inexorable purpose on those hidden in the cellar beneath it.
8
It was a relatively quiet night in Cliffehaven, and although the planes had been taking off and landing at Cliffe aerodrome on a regular basis, the noise they made was so familiar that no one really noticed it any more.
The atmosphere at Beach View was tranquil, and Peggy sat by the fire in her kitchen with the wireless turned down low for company. Daisy was asleep in her cot, Ron was off somewhere with the Home Guard, the girls were at the pictures, and Cordelia had been taken to dinner at the Conservative Club by Bertie Double-Barrelled, who’d turned up looking very dapper in black tie with a yellow rosebud in his buttonhole.
Peggy sipped her tea, thinking how pleasant it was to have the house to herself for a while, and not to be interrupted by the sirens going off. These quiet moments would give her the chance to really relax and en
joy Jim’s latest letters – and there had been a bonanza of five arriving today which she’d only managed to skim through earlier on.
She smiled fondly at Harvey and Queenie who were curled up together in front of the range fire, and then sifted through the collection of airgraphs and air letters to make sure she read them in the correct order. Some were almost two months old, while two of the airgraphs had been written less than ten days ago, which went to prove how efficient those girls were in the Kodak factories with their filming and censoring.
The air letters gave Jim much more space to write than the airgraphs, and accordingly, his handwriting sprawled across the thin blue paper. Ernie, his best pal, was recovering from yet another nasty bout of dysentery, and although Jim was suffering from a sore throat, a cold and a gippy tummy, he was muddling through. He’d found leeches on his legs that morning and on the puppy, Patch, that he’d taken on, but he’d burnt them off with a lighted cigarette and given him and the pup a good scrub in a bath of disinfectant.
The heat was almost unbearable at midday, but the work on the broken-down trucks continued, and he’d been sent further north to take over the running of another depot. The accommodation there had proved to be very basic, and he’d had to share with another officer who he hadn’t thought much of, because he was a terrible snob and kept banging on about his days at Eton and Sandhurst.
He was finding the routine boring, but it had been enlivened a bit by an invitation to visit one of the tea plantations, which had turned out to be a rather lively occasion after sampling the man’s stock of good Irish whiskey. There had also been a party of sorts laid on by his commanding officers which had involved the arrival of eight nurses from the nearby American hospital. The sight of white women had gone to some of the men’s heads and the night had ended up with one of the majors trying to perform acrobatics while a young captain showed his prowess – or lack of it – at juggling empty bottles.
Peggy smiled at this and tried not to think about Jim dancing with the nurses, for it was too painful and she knew he’d have been the life and soul of the party. She finished the two flimsy airmail letters and took the airgraphs out of their brown envelopes.
They were small and Jim’s writing was cramped, but she was delighted to read that he’d loved receiving all her letters, and those from Ron and Cordelia, and the rest of the family. They had helped to pass the time when the monsoon rains and the heat made it impossible to work, and he was longing for the war to end so he could come home to the clean sea winds of Cliffehaven.
There had been a large forest fire nearby, but no one had been hurt, and so far, the Yanks were keeping the Japs well away from where Jim was based. The mosquitoes were still attacking in swarms, but at least his pal Ernie had now recovered and was back in camp. He and Jim had rigged up some decent electric lighting in their basha – bamboo hut – and had even managed to find a couple of old tin baths somewhere that the native servants would fill with hot water. Jim and Ernie had grown quite fond of bathing out of doors, and with a cold beer in their hands, they’d sit and gossip and watch the world go by in luxury.
Peggy finished the airgraphs, put them back in their envelopes and sat for a moment, staring into the fire. It was hard to imagine Jim in a jungle – harder still to believe that he was beginning to feel settled amidst the mosquitoes and natives. Yet she knew Jim would always make the best of any situation by commandeering the little luxuries in life, dodging the dirtiest and most difficult jobs and making sure he ate three square meals a day. It was simply not in his nature to volunteer for anything unless there was some personal benefit in it, and it looked as if that hadn’t changed.
She placed the letters carefully on the mantelpiece beneath the coloured print of the King and Queen, and then dug her cigarettes out of her apron pocket. Resting back in the chair, she smoked her cigarette and closed her eyes. She supposed she ought to be doing some knitting or mending, but she was too tired. It had been a long, busy day. Doris had been an absolute pain in the neck all afternoon, and teatime had been disrupted by Queenie coming indoors with a field mouse in her mouth. Ron had dealt with it, Queenie had gone off in a huff and Cordelia had taken some time to pacify, for she didn’t like any sort of rodent – especially when they came into the house.
Peggy heard a key turn in the front door and glanced up at the clock, surprised to see it was only nine o’clock. ‘Who on earth?’
‘It’s only me, dear,’ said Cordelia. She came into the kitchen looking disgruntled.
‘You’re home very early,’ said Peggy. ‘And where’s Bertie?’
Cordelia propped her walking stick against a kitchen chair and took off her gloves before struggling out of her overcoat to reveal her smartest black velvet dress. ‘He had to rush off,’ she said flatly. ‘And I’m not best pleased about it, because I never got a chance to have dessert and coffee.’
Peggy could see that she was very put out, so bit back on a smile. Cordelia loved her puddings, and the Conservative Club was renowned for serving wonderful plum duffs and jam roly-polys. No wonder Bertie was in her bad books. ‘Oh, dear. Was he not feeling well – or have you two fallen out again?’
‘He was as fit as a fiddle,’ Cordelia retorted as she poured tea into a cup. ‘And I didn’t argue when he said we had to leave – I was having a rotten time of it anyway. But if he does that sort of thing again I shall refuse any more of his dubious invitations.’ She plumped down into the chair on the other side of the range and primly smoothed her dress over her knees.
Peggy felt a jolt of concern. ‘Dubious? I thought you were going to the Conservative Club – not some racy gambling den.’
Cordelia sipped her tea. ‘Perhaps dubious was the wrong word,’ she said. ‘Unsatisfactory would be better.’ She set the cup and saucer down and regarded Peggy evenly. ‘He spent the first hour in a huddle with a group of his men friends, leaving me to converse with their wives, who were really quite awful. Doris would have loved it, because they did nothing but boast about their smart houses and friends, and their husbands’ important positions in the town.’
‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Peggy. ‘How awful for you.’
‘I was bored rigid, so I made an excuse and went and sat in the powder room flicking through old magazines until the gong went for dinner.’ Cordelia grimaced. ‘No one had even noticed I’d gone, and I have to say I was quite tempted to get a taxi home and leave them to it.’
Peggy’s eyes widened. ‘Good heavens,’ she breathed. ‘You must have been very upset, and I don’t blame you one little bit for wanting to leave. And here’s me thinking what a gentleman he is. Does Bertie always carry on like that when he takes you out?’
Cordelia shook her head. ‘He’s a sociable sort, and usually very attentive. But since joining the Cliffehaven Gentlemen’s Society, he’s changed.’
Peggy frowned. ‘I’ve never heard of the Cliffehaven Gentlemen’s Society.’
‘You wouldn’t have unless you move in certain circles,’ said Cordelia with a sniff that denoted her disapproval. ‘It’s as secretive as the Masons – and probably just as daft – but Bertie thinks he’s the absolute bee’s knees since he was invited to join it.’
‘So what does this society stand for? Are they a charity linked to the Conservative Club?’
Cordelia shrugged, her lips pursed. ‘I don’t think they’re affiliated to anything political, but I suppose it could be charitable. It’s most likely just some silly men’s club that gives them an excuse to eat and drink and stay out late at night without their women in tow. Their wives don’t seem to know anything, and as I said before, it’s all very exclusive.’
Peggy stubbed out her cigarette and threw the butt into the fire. ‘However exclusive it might be, it’s no excuse for treating you badly. Did Bertie explain why he had to bring you home so early before dashing off?’
‘He’d forgotten there was a special meeting tonight,’ Cordelia replied. ‘He did apologise, but I could tell he was more interested in g
etting to that meeting than seeing me home safely, so I made him pay for my taxi.’
‘He made you come home on your own in a taxi?’ Peggy gasped. ‘Good heavens, Cordelia, that’s appalling bad manners.’
The fight seemed to go out of Cordelia and she shrugged. ‘Better that than him driving like a lunatic and risking our lives to get me here so he wasn’t late for his meeting. At least the taxi driver helped me up the steps to the door.’
Peggy patted her hand. ‘I should give up on him altogether, dear,’ she murmured. ‘It seems he’s not quite the gentleman we thought he was.’
‘I agree. But it’s a shame, because I really rather enjoyed our little drives out into the country and the evenings playing bridge at the golf club. Bertie could be good company.’
She gave a wistful sigh and then looked back at Peggy with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘I obviously don’t fit in with his smart new set – and frankly, I wouldn’t want to. But I tell you what, Peggy dear, they might think an awful lot of themselves, but my late husband wouldn’t have approved of any of them. Nouveau, he would have called them, with more money than sense and absolutely no substance or class.’
Peggy was relieved that Cordelia seemed to be in a better mood. ‘Oh dear. They do sound horrid.’
Cordelia gave a little snort of derision. ‘The women were covered in flashy jewellery and expensive silks, and the men were little better in their brand new tuxedos with pearl studs in their shirts and vulgar cufflinks. My father always said you could tell a real gentleman by the age and cut of his dinner jacket – at least Bertie didn’t let me down on that.’
Peggy had never moved within the sort of circles that called for tuxedos and flashy jewellery, and couldn’t really understand why an old dinner jacket was better than a new one, but she let it pass. Cordelia had some old-fashioned ideas that didn’t always make sense.