The Bomb Girl Brides

by Daisy Styles

  ‘UGH! That’s not breakfast!’ Katherine giggled. ‘It stinks!’

  ‘Polly thinks it’s delicious,’ Nora laughed. ‘Follow me, ladies,’ she said and led her helpers to the allotment. Polly greeted them with rapturous grunts before she buried her head in the overflowing bucket!

  Edna could barely sit still as they made slow but steady progress to Penrith in Malc’s car.

  ‘I can’t wait to see her,’ she said impatiently.

  Remembering the state Flora was in the last time he saw her, Malc felt it was necessary to warn his wife beforehand. ‘She might not look like her normal self.’

  ‘She’s bound to have her arm in a sling,’ Edna said. ‘Maybe even a plaster cast.’ She gave him a suspicious look. ‘Is there something else I should know?’

  ‘She had quite a few bruises about the face,’ Malc told her reluctantly.

  Edna clenched her fists. ‘What happens to men like him?’

  ‘War happens,’ Malc said grimly.

  ‘But most fellas don’t go knocking their kids and wives about,’ Edna pointed out.

  Malc gave a wry grin. ‘Next time he arrives home, he’ll find nobody to knock about,’ he said with undisguised satisfaction.

  ‘Do you think he might try to trace them?’ Edna fretted.

  ‘He might,’ Malc replied. ‘Though going by the last time I saw him, when he could barely stand upright, I’d say he was in no state to trace a cat! The army might try and get in touch with Flora on his behalf at some point, but let’s worry about that when it happens.’

  Edna was glad of Malc’s timely warning. It wasn’t the sling or the plaster cast that shocked her; it was Flora’s pale, bruised, emaciated face that broke her heart. Sitting on her hospital bed, Flora, wearing an oversized hospital nightie, looked like a bag of bones. Mother and daughter clung to each other; then after the nurse had closed the curtains surrounding Flora’s bed, Edna helped her weak and rather breathless daughter to dress in the clothes Edna had brought with her from Pendleton.

  Anxious that Flora shouldn’t know how upset she really was, Edna tried to sound light-hearted. ‘Eeh, lovie,’ she said, as she rolled nylons up her daughter’s skinny legs and secured them to her suspender belt. ‘We’ll have to fatten you up when we get you home.’

  Flora gave a little chuckle. ‘I’m going to the right place for putting on weight – a chip shop! I’ll be the size of a house in no time.’

  After packing the few things she possessed into a paper bag, Flora said a warm goodbye to the staff who’d taken good care of her; then, supported by Malc and Edna, one on either side of her, she slowly made her way to Malc’s car. Once she was settled, Flora shocked them both by making an announcement.

  ‘I need to go home.’

  Edna caught her breath as she looked at Malc. ‘Is that a good idea, lovie?’ she asked nervously.

  Flora replied firmly, ‘Yes, Mum – I have to.’

  The house was cold and damp, the smashed kitchen window was boarded up, and broken furniture lay strewn about the downstairs rooms.

  ‘God in heaven!’ Edna said, as she took in the desolation left behind by a violent man who had lost all control.

  Flora picked up the pieces of a picture frame. ‘This is me and John on our wedding day,’ she said and showed it to her mother, who’d never met her husband. ‘We were both twenty-one and so happy.’ Tears seeped out of the corner of Flora’s eyes. ‘He was the perfect gent, kind and gentle; he adored our girls.’

  Seeing Flora’s resolve starting to crumble, Malc said briskly, ‘Let’s find a case for your things, sweetheart, and be on our way.’

  Edna quickly emulated Malc’s manner. ‘Best be sharp – the little lasses will be expecting you.’

  With the two of them helping her, Flora packed clothes for herself and her daughters; then, with a last look at her ruined home, she locked the front door and, trembling with emotion, she walked down the path, clutching her mother’s firm hand.

  It didn’t take them long to drive back, but when they arrived at the cowshed they found it empty and a note was pinned to the front door. We’re down the lane at the allotment – come and meet us.

  The sound of happy childish laughter led Edna, Flora and Malc to the allotment, where Flora laughed for the first time in weeks at the sight of her daughters sitting on top of a wonky fence.

  ‘MARILYN! KATHERINE!’ she cried, as she hurried towards her girls.

  ‘MUMMY! MUMMY!’ they exclaimed and jumped off the fence and hugged her.

  Though thrilled to see their mother, the little girls were keen to introduce her to Polly.

  ‘Can we have a pig bucket at home, Nana?’ Marilyn asked.

  Edna tried not to grimace when she caught sight of the potato peelings and cabbage leaves strewn all over Polly’s pen. ‘We’ll see, sweetheart,’ she told the girls, who were covered in straw and smelt of pig muck.

  ‘We’ve had a lovely time,’ said Nora, who also smelt a bit whiffy. ‘They’ll need a bath when they get home,’ she added with a grin.

  ‘You can say that again – phew, what a pong!’ Malc chuckled.

  Maggie, who’d been weeding her vegetables at the other end of the allotment, came up to say hello. ‘I never thought growing veg would be such hard work,’ she admitted.

  ‘It’ll be worth it,’ Edna assured her. ‘You’ll be pleased with yourself when you serve up fresh meat and veg at your wedding breakfast.’

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ Maggie agreed.

  Flora’s eyes strayed from Maggie to Polly. ‘OH!’ she gasped as the penny dropped.

  ‘Say no more,’ Maggie said hastily, as she nodded in the direction of the little girls.

  It took quite a bit of persuading to get Marilyn and Katherine away from Polly, but the thought of Nana’s chip-and-fritters supper eventually tempted them back home. They immediately found a bucket in the backyard and stuck on a label: POLLY’S BREAKFAST.

  ‘They’d best not put any good stuff in yon bucket!’ Malc joked.

  ‘Only the best for Polly the pig!’ Edna laughed.

  ‘Not to worry – in a couple of months’ time Polly will be bacon rashers,’ Malc added in a dramatic whisper.

  ‘The girls will be heart-broken,’ Flora said, as she and Edna set the kitchen table with plates and cutlery. ‘They’ll never eat a sausage again!’

  ‘Neither will Nora for that matter,’ Edna remarked knowingly. ‘That girl is besotted!’

  With Julia gone, albeit for a short time, Rosa began to breathe more easily. Guilty about her lack of contact with Roger, and specifically about not having shared her recent experiences with him, she sought advice from Kit, who had just finished her shift and was making her way over to the Phoenix nursery to pick up her son, Billy. Falling into step beside her, Rosa confessed her fears.

  ‘I’m feeling a bit worried about Roger,’ Rosa started. ‘I just haven’t been in the mood to write to him recently, and, if I’m honest, I don’t feel quite the same glow of excitement when I think of him these days either.’

  Heavily pregnant Kit slowed her pace. ‘Love changes,’ she said wisely. ‘I used to be so much in love with Ian I could barely breathe when I was near him. You mustn’t forget you’ve had a terrible upset recently,’ she reminded Rosa. ‘What did Roger have to say about all that?’

  Rosa blushed and shook her head. ‘I haven’t told him,’ she admitted.

  ‘I think you probably should – he’d want to know,’ Kit said firmly.

  ‘I agree, but I’m just too embarrassed to tell him what happened,’ Rosa blurted out. ‘It was such a pathetic failure.’

  Kit raised her dark eyebrows. ‘He’s bound to ask why you haven’t been in touch,’ she remarked.

  ‘I could just say I’ve been working long shifts and I’m exhausted,’ Rosa prevaricated.

  Kit gave her a baleful look. ‘It’s really not fair on the lad,’ she said quietly.

  Rosa blushed. ‘I know … I know …’ she sighed g
uiltily.

  Their earnest conversation ceased when they saw the nursery children in the playground; they were holding hands and dancing in a ring, singing, ‘Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush’.

  ‘Look at Billy,’ Rosa exclaimed. ‘Such a big boy now.’

  Kit smiled proudly at her striking son, who had the same silky black hair and deep dark eyes as her. ‘He’ll soon be big brother to a new baby,’ she said excitedly.

  ‘Lucky baby to be born into such a happy family,’ Rosa said with a catch in her voice.

  That evening Rosa took Kit’s sound advice: she forced herself to sit down and write to Roger for the first time in weeks. She talked about the cold weather, her long shifts, overtime and then, as she thought of him on his base way out in the middle of nowhere, her heart constricted. ‘Poor chap, facing enemy fire on a regular basis and having a useless girlfriend like me!’

  She would make it up to him, she vowed, and signed off with love and kisses – it was the very least she could do.

  On her first night at her mother’s house in Pendleton, Flora lay in bed beside her two girls; with both fast asleep on either side of her, she felt safe for the first time in months. Though she worried about her husband and what would happen to him, she knew she couldn’t put her daughters at risk any more; it was her duty to protect them from harm, and if that meant keeping them apart from their father, then so be it. Murmuring a prayer of thanksgiving, she closed her eyes and drifted into a deep peaceful sleep, which mercifully wasn’t marred by a single nightmare.

  Downstairs by the crackling fire, Malc and Edna sat smoking in contented silence. It was Malc who broke it by asking, ‘Happy?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Edna said on a long sigh. Close to tears, she added, ‘I can’t bear to think what the poor kid’s been through.’

  Malc chuckled. ‘She’s got a lioness for a mother – now she’s here nobody would dare to touch her with you and your trusty rolling pin around.’

  ‘I wouldn’t hesitate to use it on anybody who hurt me or mine,’ Edna responded passionately.

  Malc smiled as he recalled the look of fury on Edna’s face when she had flourished the rolling pin at him.

  ‘I don’t doubt it, my sweetheart,’ he replied. ‘Not for a minute!’

  24. Home

  Julia leant eagerly forwards as the train puffed and wheezed its way into Euston Station. God! She felt like she’d left London a lifetime ago. Almost the first off the train, she virtually ran down the platform – eager to be back in the city that was home.

  ‘Ridiculous, to be so happy,’ Julia scolded herself as she manoeuvred a circuitous path around piles of rubble which children (with no better place to play) were picking their way through. ‘You’ve lived here all your life – what’s the fuss about? London’s even more bomb damaged now than when you left it.’

  But it was impossible to wipe the smile off her face. Julia walked through familiar streets and spotted old haunts, pubs and cafés where she’d spent time with friends before she was exiled to the North. Happy to be in the open air, she walked all the way home to Knightsbridge, where the spring sunshine lit on daffodils and crocuses in the parks surrounding the V&A and the Natural History Museum.

  When she arrived home, the house appeared to be empty. Dropping her case in the wide hallway, Julia glanced up at the family portraits that hung along the walls.

  ‘Hello,’ she called, wondering where everyone was. ‘I’m back!’

  Savouring the combined smells of beeswax, fresh flowers and something baking in the back kitchen, Julia wandered from room to room, with a contented smile on her face. The dining room, with gleaming china, crystal and silver laid out on the long, highly polished mahogany table. The luxuriously comfortable drawing room, with a thick cream Indian rug set on old parquet tiles that shone with years of polishing, and delicately coloured sofas and chairs banked with pretty silk cushions. Julia’s favourite painting in the house hung over the elaborate white marble fireplace: an oil painting of her mother before she ‘came out’ in society. Staring up at it, Julia realized with a shock how like her mother she now was; they had always shared the deep-gold blonde hair and penetrating green eyes, but she hadn’t realized until now that she also had her mother’s fine straight nose and full lips.

  ‘It’s as if I’m seeing everything for the first time,’ Julia thought, as she bent to inhale the fragrant spring flowers placed in a large crystal bowl on the grand piano that only Hugo played.

  ‘Home …’ she sighed.

  Her mind flew back to the home she’d just left: the cowshed with its rusty old wood-burning stove, battered utility furniture, threadbare curtains and rag carpets. The arctic-cold bedrooms and stark kitchen with rickety spindle chairs and scrubbed wooden table; the contrast was so great it made Julia shiver. She thought of Maggie and Nora getting up early every morning to tend their veg and feed their pig just so Maggie would be able to provide a meal of sorts on her wedding day. Julia shook her head – she’d come home for a rest, time away from the place where she’d been so unhappy with a group of women who had actively disliked her. She was here to recharge her batteries before her return North – the last thing she wanted was to think about the Phoenix factory whilst she was on holiday!

  In her own large south-facing room that overlooked the gardens surrounding the Natural History Museum, Julia decided to run a deep, hot bath in the bathroom adjacent to her dressing room. Wallowing shortly after in the perfumed bubbles, her eyes strayed to the glass shelves on which stood her favourite (and rather expensive) perfumes, creams and fragrant oils. She couldn’t help but recall how she’d dreaded bath nights in the cowshed: taking it in turns to bathe held little attraction, especially when you were last in the line and the water was stone cold. After drying herself on soft white towels warming on the heated towel rail, Julia slipped into her silk dressing gown and sat at her dressing table. Staring into the large mirror, she critically examined herself: her shoulder-length, silky blonde hair had lost its healthy glow and needed a damn good cut and set.

  How was she going to fit everything into the few precious days she had at home? Hugo was her priority – she missed him terribly – but more to the point she urgently needed to pick his brains about Rosa’s missing brother. If anybody knew about secret underground activities, it was her brother, no matter how much he denied it.

  She was longing to catch up with her oldest friends, Rita and Mildred, too, and spend time with her parents, though it was unlikely that her father would be at home, especially now that the third battle of Monte Cassino was under way. Julia knew the days would whizz by and in no time she’d be back in the filling shed handling filthy stinking gunpowder twelve hours a day. Looking at her shredded nails and stained fingers, Julia groaned: it would take more than an expensive manicure to set them to rights.

  Finding a recent copy of Vogue on her bedside table, Julia lay back against her plump pillows covered in cool silky peach satin and flicked through the magazine, which featured a spring wedding supplement. Julia smiled to herself as she admired one gorgeous gown after another; poor Maggie would weep if she were to see these wonderful and very expensive designs; Nora would just gawp and mutter under her breath, ‘They’re all too posh for me!’

  ‘There I go again,’ Julia thought crossly. ‘Thinking about the very women I couldn’t get away from fast enough.’

  But there was a touch of pathos when she thought of Maggie and Nora. They were so poor and so bloody selfless, one just couldn’t help but be impressed by their tough spirit, even if she had to be two hundred miles away to appreciate it.

  Tired after her bath, Julia dozed off, and when she awoke it was to the sight of her mother laying a tea tray on the dressing table.

  ‘Welcome home, darling,’ she said softly.

  ‘Hello, Mummy,’ Julia answered with a happy smile, leaping up to give her a hug. ‘It’s lovely to be back.’

  ‘We’ve missed you,’ Mrs Thorpe replied, squeezing her daughter har
d and breathing in the smell of her.

  Julia stepped back to get a better look at her mother in her Red Cross uniform. ‘I’ve been working for the Red Cross too,’ she told her.

  ‘I’m surprised you have the time,’ her mother said, as she poured Ceylon tea into pale china cups, one of which she handed to her sleepy daughter.

  Julia eagerly accepted the tea, which she sipped; then she grimaced. ‘Ugh, so weak!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Ceylon’s always been your favourite,’ her mother reminded her.

  Remembering the pint-pot mugs of strong black tea that she drank, especially on the night shift in order to keep herself awake, Julia replied, ‘I’m used to a stronger brew these days.’

  After they’d finished their tea, Mrs Thorpe left her daughter to make arrangements for the evening. First Julia rang Hugo, who (in the brisk business voice he used in the office) said he’d meet her at the Ritz the following evening; and then she rang Mildred and Rita, whom she arranged to meet for dinner that night. Realizing she’d better get a move on, Julia hurried into her dressing room and rummaged through her vast wardrobe.

  ‘Goodness!’ she said out loud. ‘I’d forgotten just how many clothes I have.’

  In Pendleton she really wore only three sets of clothes: nightwear, work overalls and day clothes – usually a thick jumper and a tweed skirt. But here she was faced with silk and satin cocktail dresses, pretty crêpe tea dresses, cashmere twin sets, fashionably flared short skirts, even a white fox-fur coat. Savouring the luxury, eventually Julia chose a skimpy sage-green pleated silk dress, high-heeled black suede shoes and new nylons, which she gently pulled on, marvelling at their delicate flimsiness.

  ‘What a treat,’ she murmured, as she clasped them to her suspender belt. ‘They wouldn’t last five minutes in the Phoenix.’

  She was careful with her make-up, using rouge to colour her pale cheeks and mascara to emphasize her long lashes. There wasn’t much she could do about her hair until she made an appointment at the hairdresser’s; cursing the chemicals she worked with, Julia left it long and loose and hoped nobody would notice how dull and lank it looked these days.