Wedding Bells on the Home Front

by Annie Clarke

  ‘Maybe, Davey,’ she said, ‘but you’ll come back for our wedding? You have to – you must promise – because everything else is such a damned mess.’

  A woman tapped on the door, pointing to the church tower where there was the pale gleam of the clock. He nodded, wanting to tell her to bugger off. Instead he said, ‘I told you, I’d crawl, bliddy crawl to be there, but we’ll talk again when I telephone tomorrow, as usual.’

  ‘Oh, Davey,’ she said. ‘I love you, bonny lad.’

  He said, ‘I love you more’ but they were out of time, and he was speaking to an empty line.

  That afternoon, Fran had arrived home late, with Viola. Her mam was up at Massingham Hall with the co-op, helping with the bairns, while Sophia was at the hospital with Reginald. Ben was in the kitchen, their mam’s medicinal enamel bowl at the ready. ‘We heard the news. Alfie told us before rushing off with Sophia to the hospital.’

  The two of them had bathed Viola’s cuts and bruises, and then her hand. Ben had ordered the lass to bed in Fran’s truckle. ‘Mam’s said you must, and Fran’ll be up there and all, once she’s spoken to Davey. I’m to keep an eye on the two of you, while Stan takes care of Sarah.’

  Knowing she was beaten, Viola had headed up to bed, and Ben had then bathed Fran’s cuts, drying them as gently as he had Viola’s, and then pasting on the lavender grease his mam had left out.

  As Ben was finishing, Stan had burst into the kitchen and hunkered down by his da’s armchair, gripping Fran’s hand. They looked at one another. ‘You all right, lass?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh aye, nowt that a good night’s sleep won’t cure. Viola’s in my bedroom so I can keep an eye on her—’

  ‘No,’ Ben interrupted, ‘I’m to keep an eye on you both, Mam said.’

  Stan and Fran grinned at one another. Stan nodded. ‘Course you are, lad, and they’ll be glad of it too.’

  Ben slumped in the armchair opposite Fran. ‘Mrs Smith will be back for Beth, so that’s all right. When Fran goes to the phone box for Davey’s call, I’m matron, in case Viola needs anything.’

  Stan had left, calling that he and Sarah would collect Beth and meet Fran at the phone box at nine, but first he was off to check on Beth. Fran and Ben heard him running across the yard, but there was no slam of the back gate. Instead, there was the sound of Stan returning and poking his head round the door.

  ‘Sarah told me Ralph steered away and into the tree so’s he’d miss the bus. I owe him.’

  At nine thirty, Sarah and Stan, Fran and Beth walked back home. They’d waited for Bob’s call, but it hadn’t come. Fran, Sarah and Stan had watched as Beth paced back and forth until finally she’d sighed, ‘He’ll have gone back to sea. Aye, that’s what’s happened. I’ll get a letter in a day or two.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  Stan nodded. ‘Aye, well, that’s the navy for you, but come on, time for bed. We’ll walk you back.’

  Viola and Fran were woken at three thirty by Annie Hall calling, ‘It’s time for work, if you’re up to it, lasses. If you are, I’ll have eggs ready.’

  Fran groaned, her face sore, her body aching, especially her shoulder from reaching for Ralph. ‘Aye, Mam,’ she called back, ‘down in a tick.’ Viola was already getting dressed, groaning as she pushed her arms into her blouse. ‘Were it too uncomfortable on the truckle?’ Fran asked, pulling on her skirt, then brushing her hair, which though she’d washed out the blood was still a mite sticky.

  ‘I were so tired I wouldn’t have noticed if the sky had fallen in, Fran.’

  Fran smiled, then regretted it, because Beth wasn’t the only one with a split lip. ‘You have first run at the netty,’ she said.

  ‘Very kind of Your Majesty.’

  ‘There’s a torch on the hook to the left of the back door.’

  Down they went, into the kitchen, where the blackout blind was still down. Annie Hall came out of the scullery, and paled. ‘Holy Mother of God,’ she whispered.

  Viola scooted to the back door, unhitched the torch and headed for the netty. Fran sat at the table, wishing she could just lie in bed all day, but said to her mam, ‘’Tis fine, looks worse than it is. You should see the other bloke.’ Her lip hurt too much to laugh, her nose too, and she didn’t even want to think of her right eye.

  Her mam came to her and held her gently. Fran breathed in the familiar smell of soapsuds. ‘Oh Franny, you look like a panda – black eyes and white as a sheet. Maybe we should put you in a zoo. It’d be safer, even in with the tigers, I reckon.’

  Fran nodded rather than smiled as her mam stroked her hair. ‘I kept Viola with me, Mam, because it left Sarah and Stan in peace, and besides, we both needed company, though at least I talked to Davey. But Bob didn’t ring Beth, Mam, just when she could do to hear his voice, poor lass, so he must be at sea. More to worry about. Do you know, I hate this bliddy war.’

  Her mam stroked her hair. ‘Hush, hush, I know. Now, will you go back up the wooden hill to bed?’

  Fran shook her head. ‘I’m off to the scullery to wash, then out to the netty. I reckon Viola could do to be clasped to your pinny and told she’s a bit of a panda too.’

  Her mam laughed. ‘Lord knows what our Ben’ll say when he sees you at the end of the day. The lad did us proud, even washed up the bowl. How about that for progress, eh?’

  As Viola came back into the kitchen, Fran asked her mam what she’d been longing to ask since she got up. ‘Any news of Ralph before you left the Hall last night?’

  Her mam shook her head. ‘We stayed until they returned. But you saw him get into the ambulance, and there’s nowt different. He’s cut and banged about, with a nasty gash in his leg, and they’re worried about septicaemia as he’s just got over it. But there’s more concern about his brain. Sister Newsome said maybe ’tis a bit bruised, as it were a right old bang. So, we wait and see, though there’re no promises he’ll wake.’

  As Fran opened the back door, taking the torch from Viola, she said, ‘So it’s an if.’

  Her mam just nodded. Fran couldn’t bear it.

  After the scrambled egg that hurt their lips too much to enjoy, they lugged their bags with their water and day shoes, not to mention their gas masks, to the bus stop, past the pitmen going the opposite way. ‘Be safe,’ the girls called.

  The pitmen stared through the gloom. ‘Bliddy hell. Be safe, lasses.’ ‘Heard our Ralph were a belter – missed you on purpose, and him once a bliddy Fascist, too.’

  ‘Aye, but there were others who went to the Commie meetings.’

  ‘Aye, right enough, man. So maybe we were wrong about the whelp.’

  On and on it went, and with every footstep, every jolt, the girls answered, ‘Be safe.’ ‘How do.’ ‘Right enough. Don’t call him a whelp.’

  They turned right down Main Street. The bus was already there, the women climbing on board carefully. Was Bert driving? They hurried as much as they could, for Stan and Sarah were waiting. Sid and Norm were with them, their caps slanted to one side, Woodbines in their mouths, as usual. But, thought Fran, it was not quite as usual, for Ralph had put them first, and they all knew it.

  When they arrived, Stan pushed back a strand of Fran’s hair and tucked it up under her woollen hat, then cupped her cheek as she had cupped Ralph’s. ‘’Tis the boss man from the depot driving. Bert’ll be back soon.’

  Viola said, ‘I remember at the wedding Bob said pretend could be reality, or something like that, and here we all are, pretending we’re all right. And so we are.’

  ‘Aye, we are. We’re breathing, aren’t we?’ Fran gave a careful smile.

  They heard Beth calling now, ‘Howay, wait for me.’ They turned, and Sid and Norm hurried to meet her, escorting her to the bus while Beth refused to let them carry her bag. Stan murmured, ‘I bliddy hope Bob’s letter arrives soon, or he phones tonight, for I bet she’ll be there for nine. Howay, anyone else think he seemed a bit strange at the wedding?’

  ‘Shh,’ Fran said, for Beth was close,
and besides, she had noticed and didn’t want to think what it might mean. It was enough to get into work, paste the pellets and get home again in one piece.

  Beth reached them. ‘Right, on we get.’ Her words were barely audible, for she couldn’t move her lips, both of which were very swollen, just as the bridge of her nose was. Her eyes too, and half closed. There was a stitched cut on her hairline, and a bruise was beginning to appear.

  Sarah kissed Stan and clambered onto the bus. Today there was no Bert to yell, ‘Get your arses up them steps, or I’ll leave you.’ The others followed, setting off down the aisle, then Sarah stopped. ‘Back seat? It’s where we—’

  ‘Back seat,’ insisted Fran.

  Beth agreed. ‘Aye, we’ll not be thinking of sitting elsewhere, for what were it you said Ralph told you, Fran? Face what you’re worrying about and move on. So, we were on the back seat when we suddenly found ourselves on the floor or over the seat in front, and here we are again. So we’ll sit on the bliddy seat, and that’s bliddy that.’

  Fran began laughing, and soon the other three were as well. As they moved along the aisle, they checked to see who was missing. Everyone was here. They reached the back seat, sat, and held hands. Together they faced it, like everyone else.

  ‘Now we move on,’ said Fran.

  Viola muttered, ‘Well, if the driver gets a move on, that is’.

  The depot boss shouted, ‘Right, off we go. Let’s get this charabanc on the road. I’m Mr Harris. And you are the most remarkable women I have met.’

  ‘Aye, well, flattery will get you most places, Harris,’ Mrs Oborne shouted back, ‘but putting a good tyre on that bus’ll get you everywhere, including into me good books.’

  ‘You divint want to be in her bad ones, Mr Harris,’ yelled Maisie.

  ‘Fate worse than death, that is,’ added Sandra.

  Mr Harris laughed, then drove off, finally picking up from Sledgeford. None of the Sledgeford women said anything about the incident. They took their places quietly, until Amelia clambered on board and set off down the aisle. She stopped, looked and said, ‘Good heavens, I knew you’d look bad, but those lips, those eyes … Even a bit of slap wouldn’t help.’

  ‘And you can sit down and keep your own bliddy lips shut,’ bawled Mr Harris, ‘or someone will feel like shutting them for you, you daft cow. Slap, I’ll give you a bliddy slap.’

  Everyone was laughing now, really laughing, and things were better, almost all right. They watched as Amelia sat down with a thump in the first available seat.

  Viola looked along the back row. ‘There, we’re laughing. I reckon that first we pretended and now it’s real. Perhaps that’s what Bob meant?’

  ‘I didn’t understand him,’ said Beth. ‘Never heard him say it before. But aye, that’s what he could mean. I’ll ask if he telephones the box tonight, for I were thinking as I lay in my bed, while me servants scattered rose petals over me to help me sleep …’ They were laughing again. She waited, then continued ‘… I was thinking he might be at sea trying out the refit, and not had time to scribble a note, and would be back in tonight.’

  The others thought about it and nodded. ‘That makes sense,’ Sarah mumbled, her lip bleeding again. She pressed the handkerchief Beth handed her against the split, and they were quieter as they carried on to the Factory. In fact, everyone was until Mr Harris pulled into the siding.

  ‘Anyone left on board after five minutes is a cissy,’ he called.

  They waited for Mrs Oborne’s retort. And waited. Finally, to everyone’s relief, they heard her say, ‘I reckon the sooner our Bert gets his great big arse back on that driver’s seat the better, for you’ll get to see for yourself that you’re in the company of a bliddy army, Mr Harris, who divint take kindly to being called cissies. By, you’ll likely find yourself bunged in the luggage hold contemplating your misdeeds and wondering why you’ve your trousers tied round your throat.’

  It wasn’t her usual bellow, but it was good enough, and they all clambered from the bus and made their way to the gates, their passes at the ready. Even Maisie had hers in her hand. ‘That’s a flaming miracle,’ muttered Beth. ‘Our lives are complete.’

  Everyone laughed again.

  As they reached the gates, Harry and Barry were checking the last of the girls off an earlier bus. They waited. The wind blew. They pulled their woollen hats further down. Finally, Harry reached for Mrs Oborne’s pass, then looked up. ‘Bliddy hell.’

  ‘Language, man,’ said Mrs Oborne. ‘You should see the other bloke.’

  Harry looked down, checked the pass and said quietly, ‘We heard a tyre had blown, we just didn’t—’

  ‘Aye, well, now you do,’ said Maisie, holding out her pass, ‘and this wind is chasing up me skirt and whirling round me unmentionables, so get a move on, for today I’ve got me pass in me hand.’

  Barry beckoned her over. ‘Canna have the wind being cheeky, can we now.’ He looked in her bag and patted her on the shoulder. ‘You be safe, you hear.’

  This was what both guards said to every one of them, and it reminded them that they were the daughters of pitmen, and they straightened their hunched shoulders, regardless of their aches and pains, and began striding towards the Factory. In front of them, others were keeping to the main thoroughfare, before heading along to one section or another. It was like a city of flat-roofed brick buildings, thought Beth, not for the first time. She’d never walked to the end.

  She looked up at the sky, which was lightening now dawn was on the way. See, Da, she thought. I’m a pitman’s lass and I have the sort of bruises you had after most shifts, and that’s all, and I’m striding along with the rest. And tonight my man will call the telephone box, and I’ll tell him as though ’tis nothing. That’s how we’ll see this bliddy war through, and there’s nowt complicated about it, just like you’d say.

  They marched in through the doors of their section and into the changing room, hanging up their macs, shaking themselves out of their boots, pulling on overalls and stepping into their day shoes. Those who would be in detonators stepped into their spark-free felt shoes. They took out the scarves from their pockets, ready to create turbans, and in their place put several clean handkerchiefs in case their cuts opened. They put their rings, hairpins, kirby grips, anything contraband, in their boxes, checking one another for anything forgotten. And then they waited, quietly, Amelia’s words still ringing in their heads.

  The door opened, Miss Ellington and Mr Swinton entered. They scanned the room, but nothing showed on their faces.

  ‘They must have expected to see a zoo full of pandas,’ muttered Mrs Oborne.

  Mr Swinton went through the safety and security procedures while Miss Ellington started to check them.

  ‘No Gaines?’ called Fran.

  Mr Swinton stopped. ‘I do hope you’re listening, Miss Hall?’ It wasn’t really a chastisement, for his voice was gentle.

  ‘Oh, indeed I am. I did just hope, as it is security and safety, that we would have a second security officer checking us.’

  Mr Swinton winked. Everyone gasped with delight.

  ‘He’ll be here any minute,’ called Miss Ellington. ‘He left his clipboard in the SO’s changing rooms. Quite forgot it, it seems.’

  The door opened and in came Mr Gaines, checking his clipboard. Without looking up he snapped, ‘Resume the safety and security rules, if you will, Mr Swinton.’

  Beth watched Swinton as he resumed; it was much like a times table chant, there was a rhythm to it that she hadn’t noticed before. She began to nod, Fran joined her and soon everyone was doing it, and the laughter began, faint but there. Gaines finally looked up, his face screwed in complaint. But then he saw them and froze, looking from one woman to another.

  Mr Swinton stopped and turned to him. ‘Is there a problem, Mr Gaines?’

  Gaines looked at Miss Ellington, who said to Mr Swinton from the far side of the room, where she was still checking the girls, ‘Only that I need Mr Gaines to help
with the checking, which he seems to have quite forgotten about. Time is ticking, Mr Gaines.’

  Gaines rose on his toes and held up his hand. ‘Forget the time. These women, they’re … Well, they’re not fit for work, surely.’

  Mr Swinton stuck his hands in his overall pockets and rose on his toes. ‘Ask them.’

  Gaines did, settling back on his heels, his clipboard tucked underneath his arm. In reply, Mrs Oborne moved in front of the women, and not to be outdone, rose on her toes, put her hands in her pockets, then settled back on her heels too. ‘We’re quite fit. Just a few bumps and bruises, split lips, black eyes, scalp cuts, some stitches, but nowt to make a fuss about. We need checking for contraband, though, so you’d best get a scamper on or the night shift’ll be late off, and they’ll not be too pleased. Neither will we, will we, ladies?’

  She turned, a hand to her ear. A resounding ‘No’ was bellowed by the women.

  Mrs Oborne returned to her place. Miss Ellington pointed to the clock. ‘Five minutes.’

  Mr Swinton rattled through the rules as Gaines rushed around the women, checking for silk, nylons and hairpins, but these were old-timers, and he’d find nothing that shouldn’t be there, thought Beth.

  Gaines returned to the front, and Mr Swinton reiterated their roles, which were the same as yesterday. They filed out behind him, and this time Gaines stood to one side as they left the changing rooms. ‘Be safe,’ he murmured to each of them, his voice different.

  As Beth walked along with the other girls every bit of her body wanted to slump, but not today, or tomorrow, or ever.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Earlier that day, Tuesday, 3 March

  Annie gathered a few extra chairs around the table. The co-op women still had rugs to finish for the Briddlestone’s order, for if there was no order fulfilled, there was no payment, and their girls would have no help with bills or with saving for the headstones, even little Betty’s.

  She checked the kettle. They’d had fresh tea leaves yesterday, so these would be a bit pale and wan, but they were used to that now. She heard the others coming through the backyard and smiled. Little would be said about their lasses’ bangs and bruises. It would be just another day.