Bermondsey may have been grey and dirty but it was home to Sheila and her mind turned to four years earlier – it seemed like a lifetime ago – when she had last seen Tooley Street. Then, she had been walking the other way, towards London Bridge with her fellow school pupils, sisters and mother, leaving for a new life in the countryside. Her mother. Who would have thought back then that the war would still be on and that she would be making the return journey with her mother gone? It all seemed so incredible and unreal and, overcome by the strange turn life had taken, she became tearful. Quickly dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief she made a point of looking up and around her, to see how things had changed.
Dockhead was largely how she remembered it – the houses, pubs, shops – but there were also big differences. She passed several bomb-damaged buildings, some no more than piles of rubble, and eventually arrived at the family home in Abbey Street. Or what was left of it. It too had been hit badly – something Sheila knew, of course, but was still almost surprised to see before her. She felt a sudden anger that an anonymous German pilot could have done this to the house where she and her family had shared so many experiences; the house which had been the very fabric of their lives. It seemed obscene to target this home of love and memories.
She felt sorry for her family and sorry for the building itself, for the very brickwork that had once been so special to them. Sheila stood staring at the destruction for a few minutes, touched by the sight of chunks of fallen wall still bearing scraps of familiar wallpaper, before moving away slowly. She felt as though another chapter in their lives had truly ended. There really was no going back to the way things used to be. They were different people now.
Aunt Rose opened the door to Sheila at the house in Stanworth Street.
‘Come in. We expected you earlier. Where have you been?’ she asked. Before Sheila had a chance to reply, her aunt added, ‘We’re going into Peckham this afternoon, to look around some shops. Fancy that?’
Sheila was delighted, albeit a little less so when Rose added, ‘You have got some money, haven’t you?’
Her Aunt Nell then appeared, unsmiling. Noticing Sheila’s bag, she commented, ‘Do you want to unpack your things in the bedroom?’
Sheila smiled for the first time since arriving, feeling a warm pleasure as she remembered the new dress that Mary had made for her and which she had so carefully folded and packed. She couldn’t wait to show it off and now was the opportunity to do so.
‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘I really do need to hang up my new dress.’
In the bedroom, she placed her bag on a chair, opened it up and unfolded her pretty blue dress with pride. She held it up for her aunts to see. However, Sheila’s hopes that her aunts would think the dress as lovely as she did, and make nice comments about it, were dashed. Even when she put it on later and stood there, expecting that they must notice it, there was no reaction from them. Sheila thought to herself how much fuss her mother would have made over her, with her ringlets and new outfit, and felt yet another pang of longing for Annie.
Nonetheless, on their bus journey into Peckham, Sheila felt very pretty and was sure that fellow passengers were giving her admiring looks. She wasn’t going to let her aunts bring her down – she was in London, she was wearing her new blue dress and, just for the moment, life felt really exciting.
Two of the aunts’ favourite shopping destinations were the elegant department stores: Jones and Higgins – the most prestigious shop in Peckham – and Holdron’s. The two establishments on Rye Lane were part of South London’s Golden Mile of shopping paradise and the women could easily spend over an hour inside each one, looking at all the different items on sale – a vast array of glassware, furniture, ornaments, linen. It was all rather too highly priced for them to consider actually buying anything but they enjoyed looking nevertheless.
As they hovered next to a highly polished dining-room table and chairs, agreeing how beautiful it all looked, a shop assistant approached and asked if they would like any help. Sheila smiled to herself as her aunts began their well-rehearsed charade.
‘We’re just looking at the moment,’ said Rose.
The assistant left them alone for a while and then, when she returned, Mary said, ‘We’re not sure. We can’t make up our mind.’
Then Nell added, with an air of finality, ‘We’d best go home and ask Charlie first. See what he thinks.’ With that, they would walk away.
There was, of course, no Charlie, but they didn’t want anyone to think that they couldn’t afford what was on offer.
Sheila bought some sweets in the High Street with her own money but her aunts did treat her to a cake at Lyons tea shop, which was a favourite stop of theirs. There they would sit and feel very grand, being served by waitresses in black dresses with twin columns of pearl buttons running down the front to the waist, white collars and cuffs, aprons and black-and-white frilly hats. The waitresses were known colloquially as Nippies, most likely for the speed at which they would nip around, taking and serving orders. Sheila looked at their waitress, thinking how elegant she looked and how nice it must be to dress up like that every day for work.
That evening Sheila was told to squeeze in with her aunts in their bed, which she hated doing. However, it was worth enduring, on balance, for a pleasurable weekend that included the aunts’ traditional home-made cake, which was either made with coconut or, on this occasion, caraway seed. Sheila loved the light taste and the delicate aroma and, as filling as it was, it was always followed by fruit salad and cream – and then a slice of bread and butter because, according to the aunts’ strange logic, the cake and fruit and cream were ‘too rich to have on their own’. Unfortunately, it was then time for the equally traditional Sunday afternoon nap, for which she had to squeeze into bed with her aunts once more!
Sheila’s weekend away flew by and on the train home alone, she felt sad at the thought of leaving Bermondsey and returning to Hailsham.
Pierce got on well with Rosie Buckley. The pair would chat together in the kitchen when she was either on her way out, or returning to the house. It was nice to have another adult around whom he could talk to about the sort of things that were occupying everyone’s minds – such as the progress of the war and food rationing – but also to seek advice occasionally about the needs and concerns of his daughters. They needed a ‘motherly’ presence and Rosie was a godsend.
It had been two years since Annie had died. Rosie, whose husband was away fighting with the army, was an attractive lady and although Pierce had not failed to notice that, his thoughts returned constantly to his wife of seventeen years and their shared experiences.
Pierce was the target of a romantic overture from another woman. The kindly Miss Hunt, who had taken it upon herself to look in on the Jarman girls now that Annie was no longer around, revealed a secondary motive for her frequent visits. She had taken a shine to Pierce and would often drop by the house at weekends when he was there. At first Pierce couldn’t quite understand why she was calling – he’d certainly done nothing to encourage her – but it began to dawn on him slowly why she kept popping round. She would look at him in a certain way, with a shy little smile that made him feel uncomfortable, because, unfortunately, the romantic feelings he aroused in her were not reciprocated.
Mary and Joan had also noticed how Miss Hunt became quite girly in Pierce’s presence and were amused both by that and by their father’s unease. They had become used to Miss Hunt asking them regularly during the week, ‘Is your father coming down this weekend?’ Then, when he arrived on a Friday evening and they told him she had been asking about him, he would become rather agitated.
Eventually, he asked Mary and Joan rather sheepishly if they would tell Miss Hunt that he wouldn’t be visiting at the weekend – even when he was – but she invariably saw him out and about anyway. To his alarm, she even began waiting for him at the bus station.
One chilly Saturday in the late days of summer 1943, he saw her walking towards th
e house, and decided to take drastic action.
‘I’ll be in the garden, girls!’ he said hurriedly. ‘Miss Hunt’s arriving. Tell her I’m not here.’ As he was heading out, he called back, ‘And tell me when she’s gone!’
Joan opened the door to Miss Hunt, trying hard not to laugh.
‘Hello, Joan, just thought I’d pop round to see how you are,’ she said, walking in. ‘Is Daddy down?’
‘No, he’s not here this weekend, Miss Hunt,’ Joan lied. ‘He’s having to work.’
‘Oh,’ said Miss Hunt, obviously disappointed. Joan felt that she had to offer her a cup of tea, as usual, and Miss Hunt accepted.
Meanwhile, out in the garden, Pierce was crouched down, hiding behind a bush. It was a chilly day and in his rush to escape, he had had no time to put on a cardigan or coat over his shirt, and now he was regretting it. In fact, he was regretting his rash move altogether because not only did he feel cold, he also felt foolish, and had no idea how long Miss Hunt was going to stay.
Inside, Miss Hunt was enjoying her cup of tea and nattering away with Joan, even if she was disappointed that Pierce wasn’t there. Aware of her father outside, Joan tried not to engage her in conversation too much but Miss Hunt always had plenty to say about what was going on in the area and who was doing what. Annie had always had time for her because she thought it must be a little dull for her at home with just her father for company, and so Joan tried to behave as her mother would have done. She listened politely, asked some questions and made some remarks here and there. However, after half an hour, Joan had become increasingly worried about her father. When she heard Mary coming in through the side door, she got up.
‘Will you excuse me for a moment, Miss Hunt?’ she said and walked out to the kitchen.
‘Mary,’ she whispered. ‘Will you take Daddy his coat?’
‘Where is he?’ asked a puzzled Mary.
‘Shhh … He’s hiding in the garden.’
‘Hiding in the …’
‘From Miss Hunt.’ Joan explained hurriedly in whispered tones what had happened, as Mary began to giggle. It was too absurd for words.
‘Be quiet, Mary,’ Joan admonished. ‘She’ll hear you.’
‘OK, OK,’ said Mary, but she had to hold a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter as Joan walked back into the living room.
‘Is that Mary?’ asked Miss Hunt.
‘Yes, she’s just … erm, in and out.’
‘I thought I heard her laughing.’ She smiled. ‘She’s always laughing at something.’
In the garden, Mary saw the white shirt on the curve of her father’s back as he crouched under a bush, and started laughing again.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked her father.
Pierce jumped. ‘Mary!’ he said, looking up. ‘You startled me.’
‘I brought you your coat,’ she said, handing it to him.
‘Thank God!’ he said as he put it on quickly, trying to control his shivers. ‘When is she leaving?’ he whispered.
‘I don’t know,’ Mary replied. ‘She always stays quite a while. You know what she’s like.’
Miss Hunt remained in the living room for over an hour before finally taking her leave. As soon as she did so, Pierce was given the all-clear. He walked back into the house with aching limbs and a cross expression on his face.
‘I thought she’d never leave,’ he said. ‘It’s freezing out there.’
The girls couldn’t contain their laughter any longer.
‘Serves you right for running away!’ Mary teased. It felt strange for her to be behaving like the adult for once and her father like a child.
CHAPTER 8
War Bride
Frank and Mary on their wedding day at the convent in Dockhead, Bermondsey.
‘THE JARMANS’ NEIGHBOURS in Hailsham assumed that, in the absence of the girls’ mother, their aunts were their chief carers, and that’s certainly what their regular visits from London suggested to the outside world. In reality, although the aunts would occasionally do some cooking and shopping, the girls did most of it themselves, even when their aunts were there. They were bringing themselves up, and they went to a lot of trouble to assure Pierce that they were doing a good job.
Despite Sheila’s attachment to Bermondsey, without realizing it the Jarman girls had gradually become country girls, and even tomboy Kath had got to know the names of various plants, trees and flowers. She had learnt most of them from Miss Mobbs, who would take the class on a weekly nature trail. The route took them across the rec and over a stile into a field where they could follow various pathways. As they walked along, they would stop every now and then for Miss Mobbs to identify the various plant life.
‘Those feather-shaped leaves, there,’ she would say, pointing. ‘That’s wild parsley.’ A little while later she might draw their attention to ‘yellow bell-shaped flowers’, explaining that they were cowslip.
Kath looked forward to the nature trails not only because they were far preferable to class work but also because she was genuinely interested in learning all the different names. On one particular outing, the class had crossed the rec and climbed over the stile when, a little way down one of the paths, they saw a horse in a clearing. The children stopped in their tracks as it looked at them, only a few yards away.
‘Come along, children,’ called Miss Mobbs from behind. ‘It’s just a horse. It’s not going to hurt you.’
Barely were the words out of her mouth when the horse bolted suddenly and made a few strides towards them. As the children screamed and turned back in their tracks, they were surprised to see their teacher ahead of them, in a shameless show of ‘every man for himself’, making a run for the stile and clambering swiftly to safety, leaving her charges to follow in her wake.
Once they were all back in the rec, a wide-eyed and slightly breathless Miss Mobbs tried to regain her equilibrium and said, with as much dignity as she could muster, ‘I think we should go elsewhere for our nature trail today, children.’ With that, they set off afresh, the children sniggering as they followed behind their not-so-esteemed leader.
Shortly after this incident Kath got into trouble at school and for once she was innocent. Her classmate and fellow Dockhead evacuee, Pamela Phillips, had removed her hairband and asked Kath if she would hold it for a moment while she rearranged her hair. As Kath took the band, Miss Mobbs caught sight of her.
‘Stand up, Kath Jarman!’ she shouted. Kath did so and the teacher approached and smacked her sharply on the leg.
‘Now go and stand outside until I tell you to come back in!’ she said.
A startled and tearful Kath did as she was told, but wondered what she had done to incur such wrath. After being outside for a while on her own, Kath became frightened when she thought she heard the distant sound of an aeroplane engine. Miss Mobbs still hadn’t called her to come back in and Kath, on the spur of the moment, decided that she would go home.
Running off, she was met at home by Uncle Albert, Pierce’s younger brother, who was visiting. A kindly man, with a mild and good-natured disposition – and an endless supply of puns – he was upset to see Kath so distraught.
‘I’m not going back. I hate her,’ said Kath, as the tears burst forth. ‘She made me stand outside with the planes going over.’
‘Come and sit down and tell me all about it,’ he said, quietly wondering what planes she was referring to, as he hadn’t heard anything.
Kath explained to him in detail what had happened. She fully expected him to send her straight back to school, as her father would have done, so was relieved and grateful when Albert told her that she could stay at home for the rest of the day.
The following morning, Kath’s indignation had abated, and although she still felt aggrieved by the incident at school, she was worried about what Miss Mobbs would say to her about her disappearance. To her surprise, her teacher didn’t say a word about it and Kath wondered whether once she had told her to stand outside she
had simply forgotten all about her.
When Kath moved on from being taught by Miss Mobbs and started secondary school at the age of eleven in September 1943, she found it as challenging as her older sisters had done. They were all painfully aware by now that the level of education they had received at their schools in Bermondsey was far below the expected standard in Hailsham, and it was difficult for them to catch up.
English was her favourite subject and she liked the teacher, Mrs Russell. However, she was less keen on the history teacher, Miss Foster, whom Kath considered a rather austere, straight-backed woman, and whose severe-looking brogues completed a rather unsympathetic look. Kath felt that she frequently criticized the London children for their lack of knowledge and, despite the passage of time, she still considered them outsiders.
‘She doesn’t like evacuees,’ she told Pierce.
‘I’m sure she does,’ he replied. ‘Joan always got on very well with her. She thought her very nice.’
Despite her father’s reassurance, the following day at school, Kath was dismayed when Miss Foster went round the class, providing the origin of each pupil’s surname. Kath was looking forward to her turn but felt humiliated when Miss Foster dismissed her with, ‘Jarman. Oh, just a common town name.’
Kath was invariably bottom of the class in history tests and was dejected each time she checked the results list pinned to the notice board. She knew that she would arrive at her name soonest if she looked at the end of the list first. Usually her name was right at the bottom but just occasionally, and to her great delight, it came one or two places above. One day, however, she couldn’t see her name in the usual spot and so slowly worked her way upwards and upwards – but still couldn’t find it. Beginning to think that it must have been left off by mistake, she carried on working her way up towards the top where, to her astonishment, she saw that she was in second place, just behind Gordon Alchorn, who was always in first place and was never beaten.
The Sisters of Battle Road Page 18