Wedding Bells on the Home Front

by Annie Clarke

  She turned to all three because she knew they were standing quite still, waiting. ‘I know you’re all beside me, or I’d not be here today, looking like a princess and putting you all in the shade.’

  Fran went to hug her. Beth put her up hand. ‘Your mam’ll kill you if you crease that dress, not to mention Mrs Oborne, who’ll have all our guts for garters.’ They just nodded at one another, and Beth said, ‘Hear the church bell.’ They listened to the chimes … nine, ten, eleven. ‘Let’s gather up the bouquets,’ said Beth, ‘for we have to make sure our Fran gets wed.’ The door was ajar, and Reverend Walters’ sister was playing, but it wasn’t the ‘Wedding March’.

  ‘Wait,’ Ben ordered, slipping into the room. ‘Wait till the squeaking starts.’

  The girls looked at him. He winked, and then they were all laughing, and this time Beth’s laughter was real.

  The ‘Wedding March’ began. ‘’Tis time.’ Ben beckoned them out.

  They stood in the lobby, checking one another for the final time. Ben suddenly seemed pale and nervous, and such a young boy, and as Fran stood with him, she ruffled his hair.

  ‘Oh divint, Franny,’ he complained.

  Viola whispered from behind, ‘She’s in such a rush to get to her Davey, ’tis unseemly.’

  Ben and Fran linked arms, and Fran whispered, ‘Breathe in for four, lad, and out for four.’

  He looked at her. ‘Like our da always said. By, Franny, you look right pretty, you do.’ He stood on his toes and kissed her cheek. She squeezed his arm, then they gathered at the head of the aisle, with Fran looking towards the altar, to see if Davey was standing with Stan, ready to marry her. Instead she saw the Massinghams, who were tiptoeing up the aisle. There was a murmur of surprise as they passed the guests, who turned to one another, whispering.

  The ‘Wedding March’ stopped to allow the Massinghams to take their place. Fran whispered, ‘So Ralph didn’t come.’

  There was a heavy sigh from Viola, standing behind them. Ben said, ‘Just wait, girls. One thing at a time.’

  The ‘Wedding March’ started again. ‘Shouldn’t we go?’ asked Beth.

  Fran shook her head. ‘Bit of a log jam. Let them get seated. I need a clear run to get at me man.’ Alfie, who had been leaning against the back wall by the doorway, sidled up. ‘We got stuck behind a bliddy tractor. I’ll swing for Farmer Norton’s lad. Would he pull over? The boss weren’t pleased.’ His whisper was loud. The back rows turned, laughing.

  Fran said, ‘It doesn’t matter. Davey’s not going to escape.’ Alfie returned to leaning against the wall.

  Behind her, the girls were laughing just as she was.

  ‘Now?’ she said, as the Massinghams stopped at a pew several rows from the front, but then there was movement in the evacuee children’s pew behind theirs and a small figure burst from it, squirrelled through the Massinghams and shouted, ‘It’s Mr Ralph – oh we hoped you might. Oh, Mr Ralph, I missed you so.’

  ‘Oh,’ breathed Fran as the Massinghams parted, and there was Ralph, laughing, beside Professor Smythe.

  ‘Oh,’ echoed Viola.

  ‘There, just another surprise for you,’ said Ben.

  Eva hurled herself at Ralph, who staggered back, using his walking stick to recover, and held her close. The organ seemed to hiccup, then squeak and wheeze as the ‘Wedding March’ stopped again. The congregation grinned.

  Sophia tried to wrestle Eva from Ralph, but he said into the quiet, ‘Little Eva, I’ve missed you, but now I’m much, much better.’ Professor Smythe took Ralph’s walking stick, leading the way to their pew as Eva still clung to Ralph, her arms around his neck. Her voice was clear in the hush.

  ‘Oh, Mr Ralph, oh, dear Mr Ralph. I eat nice with me knife and fork the blacksmith made like you asked him to. And I did tell you when you were asleep, well, we all did, that we’re still learning our times tables. Mr Ralph, we were right worried, and so glad when you woke. Viola was an’ all. We know she was because she sang a lot. Sophia did too.’

  He was stroking her hair and turned, looking along the nave at Fran and Ben. He shook his head and called, ‘Oh dear, Fran, I’m so sorry, and you look quite lovely – you all do.’ He seemed to be looking over Fran’s shoulder.

  ‘That child,’ whispered Viola, ‘talks too much, and most of it’s nonsense.’

  The children were creeping from their pew and clustering around Ralph, only to be hushed and herded back to their seats by Sid. Fran heard Ralph say, ‘Davey, I’m sorry to hold things up, but Fran would wait for you for ever, you know that.’

  The laughter throughout the church was warm. Ralph limped into the pew, still carrying Eva. He stopped, untangled himself and sat down with the bairn beside him, but Eva wasn’t through yet.

  ‘Don’t you leave us again. We were so miserable because you’re so nice now, Mr Ralph. I reckon we love you.’

  Sophia turned and mouthed ‘So sorry’ to the congregation and to Vicar Walters, who was standing with Stan and Davey, but there was no need, for all were grinning fit to burst.

  Behind Fran, Sarah said, ‘The prodigal son returns, though not quite tickety-boo, with a bliddy big scar on his forehead and half an ear missing, but looking surprisingly well. ‘The Carlyle unit did him good, obviously.’

  Smythe was taking his place, the Massinghams too, and the ‘Wedding March’ was being banged out yet again. Reverend Walters was beckoning them forward. He shouted to her – not, she thought, as a vicar should: ‘Davey’s champing at the bit, so come at a gallop, for the organist might run out of wind.’

  They laughed their way up the aisle, Fran’s eyes on Davey every step of the way, her blond, blue-eyed boy, so like Sarah. And beside him, her big brother, so dark, just like her. She grinned at Stan, he winked, then turned to the front, but Davey just watched her as she watched him, and she so wanted to toss aside her bouquet and run to reach him. Finally, they were there, and Davey took her hand, kissing it. He was pale, obviously hungover, and she leaned into him, whispering, ‘By, lad, you’re in need of the hair of the dog, I reckon.’

  Reverend Walters smiled, then looked over their heads into the nave. ‘Dearly beloved …’

  Ralph watched as Fran and Davey kissed one another at the end of the service, now man and wife, while the three bridesmaids hurried to the spot beneath the hymn board. Mrs Hall drew out a saxophone from beneath the bride’s family pew, and handed it to Ben, who passed it to the vicar, and then to Viola. Ah, Viola, who had held his hand, squeezed it, talked to him, whose very touch and sound had drawn him back so that he woke into a great sense of safety. The sense had actually been a scent, Sister Newsome had told him, for even the girls had puffed at the cigar. But nonetheless, it was an awakening into safety.

  ‘Look at these women, they’re just like a well-oiled machine,’ whispered Reginald Massingham, poking Ralph over the head of Eva sitting between them. ‘These women, young and older, are terrifying.’

  Ralph smiled. ‘Indeed.’

  Professor Smythe, who was sitting on Ralph’s right, asked, ‘Are what?’

  ‘Terrifying, Mr Massingham said, Professor Smythe,’ Eva explained. ‘Do you reckon you need an ’earing aid for your lugs?’

  Ralph bit his lip, feeling the laughter building. Professor Smythe merely raised an eyebrow at him before answering, ‘Do you know, I believe I might, young lady. Whisper and let’s see if I pick it up.’

  But before Eva could do so, Viola was raising the saxophone strap over her head and beckoning to the child, who now clambered over Ralph’s legs, carefully, and Professor Smythe’s, less carefully, and ran up the side aisle to the girls.

  ‘Clearly here I am, deaf and worthy of not very much except to be trampled on,’ whispered the professor. ‘I’m so glad I came, quite a boost to the morale, eh? So glad too, dear boy, that you and I got to talk a fair bit at ‘the Carlyle’ when I spent a few days there. Oh yes, we sorted out this and that, and just how to go about snaring our bête noire, eh, our ghastly little
tyke? We will triumph. You and I will get our man.’ Smythe’s voice was a mere whisper. He added, a little louder, ‘I am so pleased you came out of the dark tunnel, dear boy. Not for any other reason than you deserved to – grand effort with the bus.’

  Ralph swung round to stare at him. ‘Really?’ he whispered.

  ‘Indeed.’ The tone was robust and genuine.

  Ralph turned back, seeing Eva standing with Viola, facing the congregation. Eva saw him and shouted, ‘Don’t you leave, Mr Ralph. Don’t you dare leave, even if you need a rest. You keep him there, Professor, you hear me.’ She shouted again: ‘Did you hear me?’

  It was a real question. Professor Smythe stood, saluted and said, ‘Loud and clear, Miss Eva, loud and clear.’

  Eva turned to Viola. ‘We thought he might be deaf, you see. He’s old and dithery, aren’t you, Professor Smythe?’

  The professor said to Ralph, as he sat down, ‘Dear Lord, next she’ll be asking me how old I am, and when am I going to die.’ There were ripples of laughter through the church as this was repeated down the pews.

  Viola, however, was hushing Eva as she crouched beside her. ‘Have you remembered the words, Eva?’

  ‘Course I have, Miss Viola.’

  ‘Good girl.’

  It was then that Ralph thanked God yet again that Viola was the evacuees’ governess or Sophia’s helper, or whatever name they’d given her, and they’d be under the same roof, for he wasn’t sure he could exist without her, and he couldn’t understand how love could come so suddenly. So it must have been for Sophia and his father. He looked down and moved his leg. His calf muscle was improving its function, and though part of his foot was numb from nerve damage, he felt much restored and able to work, and listen, and forage, as Smythe had put it.

  He let himself think of Sister Newsome’s words as she’d told him he’d sacrificed himself for all the Factory girls on the bus. But how could he not do that, when he had killed the fathers of two of them?

  Eva was singing ‘Cheek to Cheek’ along with the saxophone, her hands clasped together, Viola’s remaining fingers strong and able on the saxophone. Eva’s eyes were closed and her voice steady.

  The other bridesmaids were singing with her now, but Ralph stared at Eva. Orphaned Eva who seemed to love him, and who had moved him almost to tears when he’d heard her voice: ‘Mr Ralph …’ Eva with her parents beneath bricks. Eva who would go who knew where when the war was over? Well, not a bloody orphanage, if he had anything to do with it. He’d keep her with him if it was too much for Sophia. If he didn’t die falling foul of Swinton, that was, for he was more determined and able after his survival in the car wreck to seek restitution for himself, and prison or worse for Swinton, and whoever the big boss was.

  The song ended, and there was no applause for it was a church, after all, but Ralph silently clapped Eva, who was looking for his approval, and then he mouthed to Viola, ‘Bless and thank you.’ Viola blushed, but from the heat of his face, he was doing so too.

  Fran and Davey walked down the aisle to the sound of handbells, which the children were ringing, having scooted along a side aisle to stand near the font. Davey whispered, ‘Eva seems to think a wedding without bells is no wedding at all, so they arranged to get them from a handbell club or something like that. Or rather, our Viola did. They weren’t having any truck with no church bells just because there’s a war on.’

  Fran was grinning, for wedding bells were wedding bells when all was said and done, and perhaps they might forget to throw the confetti they’d made, and which the vicar deplored. She waved to Cyn Ellington, Simon Parrot and Mr Swinton as she and Davey progressed along the nave.

  Davey was waving to someone standing at the back, next to Alfie. As they neared, he stepped to one side, pulling Fran with him. ‘Fran, remember me talking of Daniel? Well, here’s the reprobate in person, and Daniel, this is Fr—’

  ‘I think you mean Mrs Bedley,’ Daniel interrupted. He smiled at Fran. ‘We’ll talk at the wedding tea, for I have much to tell of your crossword husband, absolutely all of it bad.’ He winked, and now Davey was pulling her along to the door.

  ‘Don’t listen to a word he says.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Fran stood in the porch in much the same way Sarah and Stan had a month ago. This time the trees were well in bud, though the wind was the same. It rustled her daffodil bouquet just as it had Sarah’s, though that had been made up of snowdrops and ivy. She looked down the hill. Bert’s bus was there, waiting, but not Cecil’s, for he was taking delivery workers to the aft shift, then returning the fore shift. Valerie would be on that and Maisie, with a few others, all of whom would join them for the wedding tea.

  Davey kissed her cheek. ‘I miss everything about my home, but one day I will come back.’

  Stevie was setting up his camera and called, ‘Best you take your missus for a toddle round the graveyard, Davey. The confetti will be thrown when I take the photos. Sorry, Vicar, but the evacuees have been making it for days and we can’t disappoint them, can we?’

  Fran waved her bouquet at Stevie and smiled an apology at the vicar, who grinned, calling out, ‘Never fear, I know when I’m beaten. Mr Massingham’s given my nephews ten bob to sweep it up.’

  Waving to Mr Massingham, Fran replied, ‘Thank you so much, Reginald, and Stevie, we’re off to tell our Betty all about the wedding. Give us ten minutes.’

  The bridesmaids called from behind her, ‘We’ll catch you up. Mildred’s just pinning up Beth’s hem – she caught it on a pew.’

  As the newly-weds set off down the path, they heard Stan call, ‘Howay, Mildred, you be careful with them pins. Divint want you jabbing left, right and centre. Ouch.’

  Davey laughed. ‘She’s skelped his ear.’

  They reached Betty’s mound, next to Fran’s great-grandma’s headstone. They both stood by it, and as the bridesmaids caught up, Fran lay several daffodils on Betty’s grave. ‘’Tis so small,’ she whispered, as she always did, then added, ‘We’ll get that headstone, so we will, Betty, and for Da. Just you wait and see.’ She turned to put a single daffodil on her da’s mound.

  She had held back two. ‘For you, Davey, for your da, and Beth’s.’

  Davey nodded. Fran laid one daffodil on his da’s, and one on Beth’s da’s. ‘Marrers together,’ he murmured.

  Stevie was calling them back. The four girls hesitated and looked at one another.

  ‘Race you,’ yelled Fran.

  Davey nodded. ‘Eat my dust.’ But the girls were away, running along the gravel path with Davey behind, yelling, ‘False start, I weren’t ready.’

  Ahead, Stan, Norm and Daniel were cheering them on, with Sid, his hands cupped round his mouth, yelling, ‘Stop being a big girl’s blouse, Davey, lad, and put some petrol in your tank, you soft desk-worker.’

  Davey drew alongside Fran, panting and calling out, ‘Petrol’s on ration, you dozy bugger. But you’re right, sooner I get back into the pit the better, for I used to be able to wallop you, no trouble.’

  They all arrived together to find that Stevie had turned the camera round and had taken a picture of them, five abreast, cheering themselves over the imaginary line, the girls holding their dresses up to their knees, showing their socks and sensible shoes.

  Norm stood with his arms wide. ‘By, it were the socks that did it. Socks and sensible shoes. ’Tis a sight to carry to me grave.’

  Annie was shaking her finger. ‘Decorum – is it too much to ask on your wedding day, our Franny? And high time you threw that bouquet.’

  Stevie had turned his tripod around again. ‘Aye, come and stand in front of the church, everyone, and behave yourselves just for one bliddy minute, then I’ll take a few pictures and we can get to the club for the important stuff.’

  ‘Stevie,’ warned Mildred, ‘this isn’t the Rising Sun, so language. Fran, no throwing the bouquet till I tell you, same for you bairns with the confetti. Don’t listen to this old fool.’

  S
tevie pulled a face and disappeared under the blanket, while Daniel sidled up to Davey. ‘I see why you love this woman, Davey. And all of them.’

  Mildred had taken over the organisation and had the smaller ones in front and the taller ones behind, with two bridesmaids on each side of Fran and Davey, then the mams, Ben and Stan divided up similarly. She signalled for the confetti to be thrown. After ten minutes it was all over, and Mildred ranged the bridesmaids behind Fran, waving everyone back, then said, ‘Throw the bouquet now, Fran. I could do with some of my elderberry wine, cos I’m cold to me vest.’ Fran grinned, and threw it over her head.

  She turned and saw that it had fallen on Beth, who grabbed it. Someone called, ‘Oh aye, she’s already gone through one husband, so throw it on, lass.’

  Fran saw Mrs Pritchard from Leadenhall Terrace, a few houses along from number 14. She also saw the vicar’s sister hush her and whisper. The flush rose on Mrs Pritchard’s cheeks, and her hand went to her mouth.

  Beth paled, but merely threw the bouquet, which caught on her hair and flicked sideways. Viola caught it with her good hand. Everyone clapped and now it was Annie who took control, standing with Beth and telling everyone to hurry down the hill, because once Bert got to the bus it would go. ‘Bert is ready for his sandwiches. You’ll have to stand, for we’re short of a bus.’

  ‘And I hope them pheasant ones have been put aside for this worker, I do an’ all,’ yelled Bert.

  Mr Swinton patted Bert’s shoulder. ‘If I know these girls, they’ll have checked that the sandwiches have your name writ large.’

  The two of them walked on down the hill, and Bert could be seen offering his cigarettes to Mr Swinton, which was such a rare occurrence that Fran and the bridesmaids gaped, while Mrs Oborne called, ‘By, that’s a bliddy miracle.’

  Her husband said something to her and she turned, trying to locate Reverend Walters, who was nearby, chatting to the Massinghams. ‘’Scuse me language, Vicar, but you have to admit ’tis a rare event for our Bert to offer up his cigs to anyone, let alone Swinton.’ She was pointing at the two older men.