With Hope and Love

by Ellie Dean

  Peggy’s heart was full on this victorious day, even though there could be storms ahead – and not just for Cissy. She silently prayed that Pauline’s hopes wouldn’t be dashed by Brendon following his own dreams. The fall-out would affect everyone – especially poor, stoic Frank.

  The shops, offices and factories were closed, and it was way past the usual lunchtime closing hour, but the government had permitted the opening hours to be extended over the next two days as long as they shut at ten-thirty p.m. It seemed everyone was determined to take full advantage of the situation by trying to drink the two Cliffehaven pubs dry. Gloria at the Crown and Rosie at the Anchor had ordered in extra stock as soon as it seemed likely peace was at hand, but even with full cellars, they doubted it would last the week if the previous couple of days had been anything to go by.

  Ron swept Rosie into his arms as the packed crowd in the Anchor continued their noisy celebration and the two dogs barked excitedly. He kissed her long and passionately whilst their customers formed a circle around them and began to dance and sing the hokey-cokey, their feet stamping so hard the vibrations rocked the furniture and made the bottles and glasses rattle on the shelves.

  ‘They’ll bring the roof down in a minute,’ giggled a breathless Rosie. ‘Quick, help me get the piano outside so they can dance on the pavement.’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ said Ron firmly. He did his best to ignore the raucous comments aimed at his newly married status as he squeezed his way through the happy crowd to the old piano. He finally made it and grabbed hold of one side. But as he attempted to tug it across the uneven floor, a stab of pain shot through his lower back and left him gasping. It was a forcible reminder that, although his injuries from the accident in the tunnel some months ago had healed, hauling pianos about wasn’t a good idea.

  To hide his chagrin at the loss of the strength he’d once possessed, he quickly collared two of the nearest men and ordered them to get the piano outside. This was achieved swiftly, despite being hampered by the dogs, Monty and Harvey, who thought this was a wonderful game.

  Within minutes someone was hammering out a polka on the out-of-tune keys and people were dancing. Then, as if from nowhere, tables and chairs were being brought out into the middle of Camden Road. Carefully ironed white sheets were used as tablecloths and soon hidden beneath plates of sandwiches, bowls of jellies, teapots, and cups and jugs of watered-down orange squash. Every child wore a hat made from sheets of newspaper, and was given a lollipop and balloon by the new manager of the Home and Colonial Store who hadn’t proved popular with the housewives and was trying to curry favour.

  Ron eased his back surreptitiously. There was no need for Rosie to know he was suffering after all the wedding festivities and the night of love-making, and why spoil the day? Once he’d had a bit of a rest, he’d be right as rain again, or his name wasn’t Ronan Reilly.

  He checked that Harvey and his pup, Monty, weren’t trying to steal food or make a nuisance of themselves, and was about to go back in to help Brenda and Rosie behind the bar, when he saw Rita and Peter coming slowly towards him.

  The lad’s face was quite grey with pain after the walk from Beach View, and Rita’s deep concern for him was etched in her expressive dark eyes. Ron fetched the last chair from inside, placed it to one side of the door and quickly sat down before anyone else could nab it.

  ‘To be sure ’tis grand to see you, Peter,’ he boomed as they drew nearer. ‘Would you be after a pint to wet your whistle?’

  Peter nodded and came to an unsteady halt, his heavy breathing testament to the effort it had taken to get this far. ‘I reckon so, Ron,’ he managed. ‘Me throat’s as dry as a lizard’s backside.’

  ‘Eloquently put,’ said Ron, getting to his feet and pressing the lad into the chair. ‘Keep that warm for me, young fella. I’ll be back with your beer, and then I must go and help the girls. It’s mayhem in there,’ he added rather unnecessarily.

  ‘Fair go, Ron, mate,’ Peter drawled, struggling to get up again. ‘A bloke can’t sit and leave his girl standing.’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ retorted Ron, pressing him down again. To cut off any further protest he ordered Rita to come into the pub to collect another seat. Once inside, he sent her upstairs to fetch the stool from the bathroom. ‘Guard it with your life,’ he warned. ‘Seats are as rare as hens’ teeth today, and Rosie will kill me if it goes missing.’

  With them both happily ensconced outside with their beers, Ron went back to work. It had been decided the three of them would now take it in turns to run the bar and join in with the celebrations, for it would be a long day and a late night.

  A while later the pub had quietened enough for Rosie and Brenda to take a breather and join in the fun outside. Ron was about to take up watch in the doorway with a beer so he could serve if need be and still feel part of the street party when he realised the wireless was on, but at a very low volume. As the King wasn’t due to speak to the nation until nine tonight, he went to switch it off to save electricity.

  He was just reaching for the knob when he heard the announcer say that Churchill was about to give an impromptu speech in Whitehall before he went on to Buckingham Palace for an audience with Their Majesties. Ron turned up the volume and leaned against the bar as all the chairs and tables were now in use outside.

  Churchill’s voice came through loud and clear above the happy cheering of what sounded like a vast crowd gathered in Whitehall. ‘God bless you all,’ he rumbled. ‘This is your victory.’

  ‘No!’ they shouted back. ‘It’s yours!’

  There was a smile in Churchill’s voice as he replied, ‘It is the victory of the cause of freedom in every land.’

  This elicited a great roar of approval and he waited for it to die down before continuing. ‘In all our long history we have never seen a greater day than this. Everyone; man or woman, has done their best. Everyone has tried. Neither the long years, nor the dangers, nor the fierce attacks of the enemy, have in any way weakened the unbending resolve of the British nation. God bless you all.’

  He waited for the enormous cheer to die down. ‘My dear friends,’ he said, his voice strong and triumphant, ‘this is your hour. This is not victory of a party or of any class. It’s a victory of the Great British nation as a whole. We were the first, in this ancient island, to draw the sword against tyranny. After a while we were left all alone against the most tremendous military power that has been seen. We were all alone for a whole year. There we stood, alone. Did anyone want to give in?’

  The crowd yelled, ‘NO!’

  ‘Were we down-hearted?’

  ‘NEVER!’

  ‘The lights went out and the bombs came down. But every man, woman and child in the country had no thought of quitting the struggle. London can take it!’

  ‘YES!’ they roared.

  ‘So we came back after long months from the jaws of death, out of the mouth of hell, while all the world wondered. When shall the reputation and faith of this generation of English men and women fail?’

  ‘NEVER!’ came the fierce response.

  ‘I say that in the long years to come not only will the people of this island but of the world, wherever the bird of freedom chirps in human hearts, look back to what we’ve done and they will say “do not despair, do not yield to violence and tyranny, march straightforward and die if need be – unconquered.”’

  The crowd cheered and Churchill struggled to be heard. ‘Now we have emerged from one deadly struggle – a terrible foe has been cast on the ground and awaits our judgement and our mercy. But there is another foe who occupies large portions of the British Empire; a foe stained with cruelty and greed – the Japanese. I rejoice we can all take a night off today and another day tomorrow.’

  Churchill paused to take a breath as the gathering remained silent. ‘Tomorrow, our great Russian allies will also be celebrating victory, and after that we must begin the task of rebuilding our hearth and homes; doing our utmost to make this
country a land in which all have a chance, in which all have a duty, and we must turn ourselves to fulfil our duty to our own countrymen, and to our gallant allies of the United States who were so foully and treacherously attacked by Japan.’

  Whistles and whoops came from the Americans in the crowd.

  ‘We will go hand in hand with them. Even if it is a hard struggle we will not be the ones who fail.’

  Ron grunted his approval as the crowd whistled and cheered and began to sing. He switched the wireless off to serve the eight customers who’d been patiently waiting whilst Churchill had been speaking, then fetched more beers for Peter and Rita and headed for the door. It had sounded as if half of London had been massed in Whitehall, and he could just imagine the shenanigans going on in Piccadilly and Trafalgar Square, but there was a party going on here, and he was eager to feel part of it.

  He handed over the beers and saw Rosie chattering away with Peggy. Standing in the doorway he watched the two women he loved most in the world. He was a lucky man to have been so blessed, and on this wonderful day he couldn’t resist grinning like a schoolboy as he caught sight of his gorgeous granddaughter, Cissy, playing a hectic and very noisy game of Blind Man’s Bluff with her little sister Daisy and an over-excited group of small children.

  It was amazing, he mused, that after six long, hard years of war, the enduring spirit still lived on in the British people – for despite the terrors, the deaths, the lost homes and deprivations, they could still find the energy to rejoice in their hard-won victory.

  The rain that had been forecast held off until late Wednesday night when the thunder rolled in and the heavens opened. But it hadn’t dampened the spirits of the revellers, and the parties had carried on in the pubs, clubs, dance halls, hotels and restaurants.

  Every street had celebrated with its own tea party for the children, and a huge bonfire had been lit on the recreation ground to accompany a firework display. The local brass band had paraded down the High Street followed eagerly by small marching boys and a pack of barking dogs. The Mayor had given a short speech on the Town Hall steps the first evening, and although he was no Churchill and clearly tiddly, the crowds gave him a huge cheer and dragged him into the street to join a conga line that twisted and turned all through the town.

  It was now after ten-thirty on Wednesday night, and having rounded up all their tables and chairs, the bar was looking itself again apart from one glaring absence. The poor old upright piano had finally succumbed to over-enthusiastic playing and woodworm, and had been committed to the flames of one of the many bonfires that had been lit this afternoon.

  Ron paid Ruby for the hours she’d put in today, thanking her profusely for coming to help in their time of need, and then gave Brenda a large bonus on top of her wages for being such a brick throughout it all. Having wished them both a goodnight, Rosie locked the door behind them, kicked off her high-heeled shoes and almost fell into Ron’s arms.

  ‘I don’t know about you, Ron, but I’m dead on my feet. Thank goodness for young Ruby and Brenda. We couldn’t have coped without them.’

  ‘Aye,’ he rumbled. ‘Ruby was a bit of a revelation, wasn’t she? To be sure she knows her way about a bar – and how to deal with over-amorous drunks.’ He chuckled. ‘Did you see her arm-wrestle that chap out of the door when he tried to get fresh with her?’

  Rosie regarded him with a frown. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t know she was working in an East End pub before she came to live at Beach View. And once a girl’s done that, she can handle anything.’

  Ron smiled and drew her back into his arms until her head nestled into his shoulder. ‘She’s welcome to work here anytime,’ he said. ‘Ach, Rosie, wee girl, to be sure me feet are sore and me back’s complaining, but it’s been a party to end all parties, and we’ll remember it for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘It’s probably not over yet,’ she managed through a large yawn. ‘The weekend is still to come.’

  ‘It’ll calm down after Saturday night, and we can close the pub as usual on Sunday and take the day off. To be sure we’ve earnt the rest, and I feel as if I could sleep for a week.’

  She looked up at him with a naughty twinkle in her eyes. ‘We’ll have to see about that,’ she purred. ‘This is supposed to be our honeymoon, you know.’

  ‘Aye, that it is, and you’ll not be spending it here,’ he replied with an air of mystery.

  ‘What about the pub? We can’t just lock up and walk away.’

  ‘I had a word with the wonderful Brenda. She’s agreed to have Monty and take over next week with the help of Flo if she’s still around, and Ruby, who’s had her hours cut at the factory. Peggy said she’ll have Harvey as Cissy’s home and can walk him – and Bert Williams promised to come in to see to the ferrets.’ He grinned down at her. ‘So we’ll be fancy free.’

  Rosie giggled as she snuggled against him. ‘My goodness, you have been busy. So where are we going?’

  ‘To Brighton. So pack your dancing shoes and your best frocks. I managed to book the honeymoon suite at the Metropole where we’ll be waited on hand and foot and thoroughly spoilt.’

  ‘Oh, Ron,’ she sighed against his lips. ‘That sounds like absolute heaven.’

  3

  Ivy was not feeling the full ticket this early Thursday morning, and neither was Rita going by the dark shadows beneath her eyes. ‘You look as ropey as I feel,’ Ivy muttered, half-heartedly dragging a brush through the tangles of her brown hair.

  ‘Thanks for nothing,’ grumbled Rita, blearily regarding her reflection in the dressing-table mirror and wincing as the sun shone in her eyes. ‘You don’t exactly look radiant yourself.’

  ‘It’s all right for you. You don’t have to go into work until this evening. Gawd knows how they expect me to make bullets when me ’ands are shaking like a leaf and me ’ead’s pounding. I’m likely to blow the place up.’

  ‘Perhaps they’ll put you on different duties today,’ said Rita, turning away from the sunlight streaming in. ‘Surely the bosses must realise how dangerous it would be to let you loose with explosives after almost a whole week of overdoing things.’

  ‘They obviously don’t,’ Ivy retorted, pulling up her dungarees and adjusting the shoulder straps. ‘But I think it’s daft getting us all back so soon. Why couldn’t they’ve waited until Monday?’

  ‘The war might be over here, but the troops in the Far East still need armaments, Ivy. You can’t expect Uncle Jim to face the Japs with an empty gun just because you’ve got a hangover.’

  Ivy sighed and finished lacing her sturdy boots. ‘You’re right,’ she admitted, ‘but that don’t help with this ’eadache.’

  ‘You’ll feel better once you’ve had an aspirin and got some breakfast inside you,’ soothed Rita, digging about in the piles of clothing strewn across the floor and every other flat surface.

  Ivy gave a deep sigh. ‘I’ll feel better once I’ve heard from me mum or sister. I know they don’t write often, but it’s been nearly two months since Mum’s last letter, and I would’ve thought she’d let me know where they’ve been moved to.’

  Rita’s eyes widened. ‘They’ve been moved again? What for this time?’

  ‘The place they was in got condemned after a V-2 came down a bit too close just after Christmas. Mum’s fed up with it all, ’cos this will be the fifth move and Dad never stops moaning about how long it takes ’im to get to his allotment. Me sister don’t help, neither,’ she added gloomily. ‘What with ’er gadding about in the West End with all sorts, and staying out all night. Poor Mum’s at the end of her tether.’

  Rita gave up her search for something to wear and put her arm around Ivy’s shoulder. ‘I’m sure she’ll write soon,’ she comforted. ‘You know what the post has been like recently, and with moving house and all the excitement over the past few weeks, she probably hasn’t had the time.’

  ‘Yeah, that could be it,’ Ivy agreed. ‘It’s just frustrating that I don’t have no address for ’em, ’cos
I’d’ve liked to have gone up there to see ’em.’

  Rita bit her lip in thought. ‘You could ask Auntie Peg to help you write a letter to the rehousing people, I suppose. But I suspect you’ll hear from your mum before you get any answer from them. Government offices take their time to reply to anything.’

  Ivy’s face suddenly brightened. ‘Perhaps there’s a letter downstairs just waiting for me, and I’ve been worrying meself silly over nothing?’

  Before Rita could reply, she’d shot out of the room and was thudding downstairs to the hall. The metal cage below the letter box was empty. Thinking Auntie Peggy must have already collected the post, she raced into the kitchen to ask her and tripped over Daisy who was sitting on the floor with a jigsaw puzzle.

  ‘Sorry, darlin’,’ she said, giving her a cuddle to stave off tears. ‘Auntie Ivy was in such an ’urry to get to the post, she didn’t see you down there.’

  Daisy forgave her by winding her arms round Ivy’s neck and giving her a kiss.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ivy,’ said Peggy. ‘There was nothing for you this morning, but there might be something in the second delivery. The Post Office is all behind because of the public holiday.’

  Ivy had no option but to accept the fact. She gently disentangled herself from Daisy’s clutches and sat down at the table. ‘You ’aven’t got an aspirin, ’ave yer? Only I got a blindin’ headache.’

  Peggy smiled knowingly and fetched a bottle from the dresser drawer. ‘It’s a good thing I bought an extra supply of these last week,’ she murmured. ‘I have a feeling you won’t be the only one suffering today.’

  As if to prove her right, Rita came in looking like death warmed up, and Cissy emerged from the basement still in her dressing gown, blonde hair tousled, and last night’s make-up smeared on her wan face.