Wedding Bells on the Home Front

by Annie Clarke

  ‘Why the bliddy hell can’t it be brown, with thick gravy, or is that too bliddy much to ask?’

  They all fell silent. Mrs Oborne looked up from the head of the table. She smiled. ‘They do the best they can, and it’s—’

  ‘—warm and wet,’ everyone around the table shouted, then laughed.

  Mrs Oborne looked at Fran. ‘It’s a bliddy awful world, isn’t it, sometimes, and our Beth knows that more’n most. We’ll say no more, our Beth, but just know we love you, and we have your back.’

  Beth stared at her and pressed her lips together. She nodded, pushed her plate away and finally said, ‘I haven’t touched it, Franny, so stuff your face with more grey mince, and that’ll really give you something to mither about.’

  It wasn’t actually funny, but somehow it was, and they couldn’t stop laughing. Beth sat back and nodded. ‘Looking at the clock, we need to get bride and bridesmaids into the sewing shop to make sure everything really is right, especially for the silk, for we canna have any re-sewing, or so Mrs Iris said.’

  Viola rose with the other two. ‘Come along, for I fear Fran might be getting fat with all this lovely meat. Hurry.’

  The laughter followed them out of the canteen, and once back in the sewing shop Mrs Iris came to meet them, a bandage in her hand. ‘Hand out, then, Viola. We need to change that bandage. The Factory nurse said that something more than sticking a finger in the dyke needs to be done, and you’re to go to the doctor and be signed off, for ’tis not healing.’

  Fran looked at Mrs Iris. ‘It’s not septic?’

  ‘Oh no, but we don’t want it to be, do we?’ The supervisor’s frown was concerned, not cross. ‘What about this job I hear you might do for the Massinghams?’

  ‘Bliddy hell, is nothing sacred?’ muttered Mrs Oborne.

  ‘Not when I’m about,’ said Miss Ellington, entering on the tail end of Mrs Oborne’s mutterings. ‘So, you, Viola Ross, are to go up to Massingham Hall later today with the other three girls for support, because even yesterday when you and Mrs Hall had your talk, you were dithering about letting everyone down, or so I heard when Annie came to the allotment in the afternoon. But the nurse has shared with me that being signed off means you’re out of here. Mr Swinton knows you are giving in your notice. When you have the doc’s certificate, you just need to tell the Labour Exchange that your war work is ended.’

  Viola was looking from Miss Ellington to Mrs Iris, who was nodding. ‘Dr Dunster knows you’re on your way to him after today’s shift.’

  ‘I told Mrs Hall yesterday that I had decided I should be here. It seems like running away from the danger. Why should you all be undergoing this life while I sit on the sidelines?’

  Mrs Iris just looked at her. ‘Take a look at your hand, you’ve done your bit. The co-op is always up at the Hall, and your marrers will find their way up, so you won’t feel alone. So, that’s all sorted.’

  Beth glanced at Viola and realised the lass was relieved. She nudged her, whispering, ‘Ah, I see. You didn’t want to confess it was too much, Viola, and that’s brave, but you have to give in sometimes to improve things. Or these women will do it for you. Besides, there’s a desperate need up at the Hall, you must be able to see that.’

  Viola slipped her good arm around Beth. ‘How wise you are, how wise you be, I see dear Beth’s too wise for me.’

  Mrs Iris was shepherding Fran into the storeroom where the materials were kept, and so too the dresses.

  ‘Fran first,’ called Miss Ellington, ‘for no one must see her dress. In with you, Mrs Oborne, with the pins. Sarah, you’re next.’ She picked up the pincushion from the table, handing it to Mrs Oborne.

  Sarah laughed. ‘By, Miss Ellington, you’ve been learning bossiness from Mrs Oborne. Not sure I can cope. What do you think, Beth?’

  Beth was listening to Viola as she said, ‘Be wise, too, Beth. Listen to your own words. Sometimes we have to improve things when it all goes wrong. My mam and da were killed, and I lost a bit of me hand and ear, but I came here with Fran and Sarah, and look …’ she nodded towards Miss Ellington, Mrs Iris and Mrs Oborne’s retreating back ‘… we don’t even have to say what we want, because they already know. We have to let them help, eh?’

  Beth nodded, because it was expected of her, but Viola didn’t know that she, Beth Jones, deserved what was happening, for she had fallen for Bob when she and Stan were together, boyfriend and girlfriend. She had hurt Stan. And now she was being hurt. It was right that shame and hurt were to be hers. It was how the world worked, so she would bear it. But it wasn’t fair that her mam should suffer. She just didn’t know what to do about that, and it was hurting her mind as she tried to sort it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  At six thirty that evening, Viola, Fran and Annie Hall met Sarah and Maud Bedley in the back lane, and together they all cycled towards Main Street and then on to Massingham Hall. Annie led the way and beckoned Viola forward, leaving the other three to cycle behind in single file, their slit lamps juddering their meagre light onto the road. Viola could barely hold the handlebars, such was the pain of her hand, and now that her decision was made she hoped with all her heart that the Massinghams would like her – the bairns, too – and they would offer her the job.

  Annie turned her head briefly. ‘You have to understand, our lass, and I’ve said it before and will go on and on saying it, that our house will still be your home, our family always yours. You’ll be in Fran’s bedroom on your days off. Fran’ll be downstairs with Davey. Well, not with him, for he won’t be here much, but you get the picture. So, let’s move on to this evening. You’ve brought your saxophone with you, that’s good, for I said to the bairns that we would be having a sing-song and that seems as good a way as any to see if you like them and they like you, eh?’

  Viola nodded. ‘I played at Sarah’s wedding, so they might be sick of seeing and hearing me.’

  ‘Never,’ Annie laughed. ‘Trust me, they’ll fall at your feet. Just get rid of this gormless look you’re wearing on your face now, like those rabbits staring up at Farmer Thompkins’ gun.’

  Viola roared with laughter and said, ‘I pity any German invaders that come up against you, Mrs Hall.’

  ‘Howay, lass, drop back now, as I can see Mrs Bedley roaring up on the outside to talk about her proggy rug which’ll hang on someone’s wall once ’tis delivered to Briddlestone’s. They were mightily pleased with the ones we delivered when we visited Ralph the first time, and want a few more.’

  Viola did as she was told, for these women were the rulers of the universe. She laughed again at the thought as Fran caught up and asked, ‘What?’

  ‘Aye, what?’ Sarah puffed and panted.

  ‘I reckon the co-op women wouldn’t need an army to beat back the Germans, or the Japanese. Just themselves and their proggy frames.’

  They were laughing as they finally turned into Massingham Hall. ‘Mind,’ Fran muttered, ‘I wish they weren’t so bliddy independent, or we’d have had young Alfie collecting and returning us.’

  ‘Weakling,’ her mam called back.

  ‘Aye,’ shouted Mrs Bedley as the sheep beyond the drystone walls either side baaed. ‘Cycling ’tis good for yer ankles, so think on that.’

  ‘Oh, what do they matter when we’re to go up the aisle looking like bliddy daffodils?’ Sarah said to her mam, panting. ‘And why isn’t Ben here? Wasn’t he supposed to come?’

  ‘He’s head down puzzling out another crossword, and William’s doing one too. Got the bit between their teeth, they have. By, if the war goes on much longer they’ll be snaffled up by Davey’s—’

  ‘Mam,’ yelled Fran. ‘Walls have ears.’

  Her mam laughed, saying to Mrs Bedley, ‘I don’t reckon that drystone has, or that the sheep are listening. I said nowt out of place anyway, did I, bossyboots? I was only going to say “place”.’

  They had reached the house and Viola grinned as the gravel crunched beneath them on their way to the yard. Not even a chin
k showed between the curtains, but the grandeur of the place could be seen in the moonlight. Would the Massinghams treat her like a servant? Mrs Bedley had said no, and so too had Beth, who was staying at home with her mam, trying to sort her head out, she’d said. Her heart more like, thought Viola.

  They were about to enter the yard and she looked at Alfie’s flat above the garage. Would she be put somewhere like that too, on her own? She swallowed, scared, wanting to be part of 14 Leadenhall Terrace after all. Besides, her mam had always been dead against Viola going into service. ‘But I’m more a governess, Mam, and Mrs Sophia isn’t your usual nob,’ she whispered to the memory of her mam. ‘And I won’t stay unless I’m sleeping in the Hall, and that’s that.’ She sounded braver than she felt.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Fran murmured as they bumped over the garage-yard cobbles, ‘talking to yourself when you’re to be in charge of hooligans.’

  At that moment the basement door opened and Eva yelled, ‘They’re here, Sophia, they’re here.’

  The women were forced to brake as the children hared up the steps, Eva in the lead. They clamoured around them until Eva shouted so loud that the bairns stopped their frenzy.

  ‘’Tis no way to show we’re good bairns to Miss Viola. Especially as she’s the one who played in the church like a bleedin’ angel, even though she has a poorly hand.’

  ‘Language, Eva,’ called Sophia.

  ‘Sorry, Sophia. A bliddy angel.’

  Viola ducked her head, loving this child instantly and wanting to laugh herself silly, and she could see that all the women were having the same problem. Annie Hall dismounted, propped her bike up against the garage doors and the others followed suit. By now, Sophia was shepherding the bairns down into the kitchen and Viola joined the others as they followed.

  The children were sitting down, warm milk in beakers in front of them, along with biscuits, home-baked. Eva clambered down from her high stool and led the women to the spare ones. ‘You’re to sit here, but you’re to have tea instead and a biscuit too. They’re still warm, and we didn’t pick our noses, so there’s nowt in them that shouldn’t be.’

  Viola stared, her face rigid, but it was no good, she couldn’t stop the laughter that forced itself up and out just as Mr Massingham entered from the corridor, rubbing his hands.

  ‘Well, and here we all are, and I do hope everyone has been on their best behaviour.’

  ‘I’ve tried to be, Mr Massingham,’ Viola said, before she could stop herself.

  She saw the mouths of the children drop open, and Sophia turn away, her shoulders shaking. Mr Massingham stared at Viola, who feared she had gone too far. She so hoped not, for the co-op and the girls had been right all along, and she knew already she should be here, with these bairns who bubbled with life.

  Mr Massingham was grinning at his wife, who lifted her head at last, wiping her eyes, which were alive with laughter. He raised his eyebrows, she nodded, and he laughed, a booming laugh. ‘Oh, you’ll do, if you’ll have us? That’s the big question, isn’t it, children? Will Miss Viola Ross come and help Sophia with you horrors? Let’s hope she can bear to leave the Halls for the bosom of a new family when she has as many days off as she likes, if only she’ll be here the rest of the time? We have a nice bedroom for her at the end of your floor, with a soft bed, and no pea under twenty mattresses, so she won’t be black and blue. What do you think? Can we persuade her?’

  The children were nodding, their faces eager. Eva said, ‘Aye, can she bear it, for just a few days a week would be grand, and we know she’ll go one day, for people do when it’s war. They go and don’t come back, for they might have died or found something better, so she mustn’t feel badly if she wants to leave. But it would be kindly of her if she’d give us some of her life, wouldn’t it?’

  She really was asking the others, who were following her every word. When Eva finished, they huddled together, then separated again. Finally, they nodded, solemnly. Viola was thinking how these bairns were like her, for whether they were orphans or not, their parents were still missing from their lives.

  So, yes, indeed, she’d give these bairns as much of her life as they needed. She lifted her head and Mr Massingham came over and handed her his handkerchief. ‘Wipe your eyes, my dear, then I must have it back to do the same. The little horrors get you every time. But say no, if it is your wish to do so.’

  Fran sidled up. ‘I reckon we should send that Eva into battle alongside the co-op, but her weapon will be words. The enemy would run home just to be with their families.’

  She linked arms with Viola as Mr Massingham moved away. Viola looked around the children, making eye contact one by one. ‘I reckon it’s an aye, don’t you, my bairns?’

  That was it then, thought Fran, watching as Viola took her saxophone from its case and started to play, though her hand was oozing again through its bandage. The children began to sing, ‘One man went to mow, went to mow a meadow …’

  Fran felt her mam’s arm slip around her waist. ‘There, our Franny. This’ll work well for all under the Massinghams’ roof, eh. We just need Mr Ralph to come home, restored to health, and who knows … Viola will be here, sweet Viola, and just what our Mr Ralph needs to keep him on the straight and narrow.’

  Fran turned, astonished. ‘Oh, Mam,’ she whispered. ‘Do you reckon? Really, I would never have thought—’

  ‘Hush, and listen,’ her mam commanded. Fran couldn’t, for that thought had never occurred to her, but her mam was so seldom wrong … Not that she’d ever tell her that, for they’d never hear the end of it.

  Her mam whispered as the saxophone soared, ‘Remember you’re to visit on Wednesday, so says the rota.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Tuesday, 17 March

  Viola had an appointment to see the doctor at four fifteen because he’d been called out on an emergency the previous afternoon. She and the girls walked through Massingham after their return from the fore shift and sat in the waiting room, looking at the war posters. Spuds and Spam – Eating for Victory. Make Do and Mend. Doctor Carrot, the Children’s Best Friend. Finally, Mrs Dunster called from her desk, ‘The doctor will see you now, Viola. You girls wait here.’

  Fran and Sarah did as they were told. The clock ticked on to four thirty. They paced, sat, then paced some more before Fran said, ‘Surely he’ll sign her off?’

  Mrs Dunster, who always wore her hair in a bun and had steel-rimmed glasses, snapped, ‘For heaven’s sake, sit still and stop fretting, it’s scaring the horses.’

  Fran looked around the room, where the only other person waiting was Mr Salmon. He winked and muttered, ‘Me days of going over the jumps be long gone, lass, but I still fancy a bit of a roll in t’hay from time to time.’

  Mrs Dunster sighed as the girls laughed. ‘That’s quite enough of that, Mr Salmon. We’ll be hearing all about your oats next.’

  Viola emerged at four forty five as the girls were giggling. She was waving a letter. ‘Right, I’ve to go to the Labour Exchange right now.’

  Mr Salmon headed towards the surgery, then, with his hand on the sneck, spun on his heel. ‘As for me oats—’

  ‘Enough,’ roared Mrs Dunster.

  Mr Salmon was laughing as he shut the surgery door behind him. They began to explain to Viola as they left, only to find Alfie waiting in the Rolls-Royce. ‘Your mam said you’d be here, Fran. Viola’s to give me the letter and I’ll get it to the Exchange, and then she’s to get on and pack, since Eva insists you are needed tomorrow. Though I heard tell that the Canary Club has some elderberry wine waiting come six o’clock, after your tea. A sort of celebration and farewell for our Viola, and a perk-up for our Beth.’

  He snatched the letter, ducked into the car and set off as the others looked at their watches.

  Beth linked her arm through Viola’s. ‘The die is cast, bonny lass.’ Her smile still didn’t meet her eyes, though at least it was a smile, Fran thought. But aye, Mrs Iris was right, she was as thin as a rake and w
ould soon disappear. There’d just be a green frock walking along the aisle behind her and a bunch of daffs wobbling about in the air. Fran knew she was being daft, but it hid the worry over Beth, and the fury at Bob.

  She came back to the present as they stood in the sun, at the end of the doctor’s drive, looking across the posher end of Main Street while Sarah said, ‘Right, tea first, and then, Viola, you must pack, since I can’t see you objecting at the first fence.’

  Viola looked confused, so Beth explained about scaring the horses. When she’d finished, they set off arm in arm, keeping to the sunny side of the road. As the detached houses became streets of terraces, Sarah asked, ‘Your first job at the Hall tomorrow is …?’

  Viola was clearly puzzled, then, as Sarah pretended to throw something up in the air, her face cleared. ‘Ah, confetti … Of prime importance, eh?’

  ‘Stop causing mischief, Sarah,’ Fran said, ‘for you know it vexes the vicar. Try and put them off, Viola, eh?’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Viola replied, ‘but what about my bridesmaid’s frock? It’s still in the sewing workshop and not finally fitted yet.’

  Fran shook her head. ‘Beth was in there again today. Any news …?’

  Beth said, her voice tired and thready even to her own ears, ‘Unless you eat your head off and get fat, it’ll fit, and Mrs Iris and Mrs Oborne are just starting on the sewing. They’ve been so busy working on overalls for other factories they’ve had to put the more important work aside …’ She paused for the laugh she knew would come. It did. ‘But they promise they’ll be ready for the big day, or Mrs Oborne will want to know why. So, we’re safe, for who’d dare cross her?’

  Fran took over. ‘We’ll miss you, bonny lass, but you’ll not escape us, so never think you will. But you’ll come to the hospital tomorrow, our Viola? For if you don’t, then it’s my mam who’ll want to know why. Four of us, or none of us, eh, Beth? Because we stay together as marrers, divint we?’