With Hope and Love

by Ellie Dean

  ‘What kind of property are you interested in? Some sort of Outback station?’

  Peter shook his head. ‘I don’t think Rita would settle easily out there. They’re usually very isolated.’ He shifted his leg into a more comfortable position. ‘What I’m hoping to find is a place that isn’t too run-down with enough land round it to grow vegetables, and pasture some animals, and to build storage sheds and a large workshop. I thought somewhere near Port Douglas or Cairns would be good, so we’ll have the coast, the rainforests, and the Outback almost on our doorstep.’

  ‘I don’t know either place,’ Jack admitted. ‘I’m ashamed to say I didn’t pay attention to the geography classes in school.’

  Peter grinned. ‘You and me both, mate. But Peggy’s got an old school atlas, so I’ll point the places out for you next time I visit. Port Douglas is a popular winter watering hole for the city people from the colder south, like Sydney, and has a thriving community, many of whom are English ex-pats from the tea and rubber plantations in India and Asia who are used to living in the tropics.’

  ‘I seem to remember Rita telling me about Sarah’s mother who fled Malaya to live with her parents up that way,’ said Jack.

  ‘Yeah, they’ve got a large cane plantation south of Cairns by all accounts. Sarah and I talked about it, but I can’t say I’ve ever been there. Cutting cane is one of the toughest, dirtiest and most dangerous jobs a man can do, and I steered well clear of it.’

  Peter fell silent for a moment to gather his thoughts. ‘Cairns is regarded as the capital of Northern Queensland and is much bigger than Port Douglas. Because of the cane, it has an airfield, busy seaport, shops, cinema, train station and enough cafés to satisfy anyone. There are settlements dotted all the way down the coast which can be reached easily by ute unless the Wet is particularly bad and the tracks are flooded.’

  Jack had heard about the heavy rains and the terrible heat from other Australians, and wondered how his daughter would cope after being used to the gentle warmth and soft rain of England. But that was something he’d worry about another time. For now he was more interested in the young couple’s plans for making a living.

  ‘So, if you find the right property and build the sheds and workshop, what will you do with them?’ he asked.

  ‘Rita and I have talked long and hard about setting up a business, much like yours, mending cars, trucks, bikes, farm machinery, and anything else that has an engine. We’d get a couple of reliable utes so we could travel to the customers if need be, but the bulk of the work would be done on our property.’

  He turned to look at Jack. ‘There’s a big call for good, hard-working mechanics over there, and if you fancy joining us, I can guarantee you won’t regret it, Jack.’

  ‘It’s thoughtful of you to offer, but I’ve already told Rita that Australia’s not for me,’ he replied. He nodded towards the view. ‘Those green fields and rolling hills are what gladden my heart, Peter. They mean home, and it’s here that I’ll stay.’

  ‘I can understand that, Jack. I feel the same about Queensland. But I know Rita’s feeling sad and guilty at the thought of leaving you behind. Won’t you reconsider? For her sake?’

  Jack watched his cigarette smoke blow away on the gentle breeze. ‘I could ask you the same question, Peter. Why don’t you reconsider?’

  Peter frowned. ‘I don’t get your drift, mate.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay and make a life with Rita in Cliffehaven instead of asking her to give up everything she has here?’

  ‘We did think about it, very seriously,’ Peter admitted, ‘and I was prepared to go along with whatever Rita decided, because it’s important that she’s happy. But having talked it over for many hours, we both realised there aren’t the same opportunities here to buy a large property with enough land to set up the business we dreamed about.’

  Peter stretched out his bad leg and shot Jack a rueful smile. ‘You’ve got to admit, mate, poor old England is grey and exhausted from six years of war. She’s battered and bruised, and is only just clinging on to that Bulldog spirit as she struggles to recover. Rita and I want to start our lives together in the sun where the colours are vivid, hope is alive, rationing isn’t so harsh, and there are few reminders of the war.’

  Jack could have argued that Darwin had plenty of reminders after being totally flattened by a series of early morning Japanese air raids, but knew that was just being petty. He had to agree that England had lost her sparkle, and that everywhere you looked there was the dreary evidence of war.

  He regarded the peaceful valley and sighed inwardly. It was clear that Rita and Peter had made up their minds – all they needed now was his blessing.

  He glanced across at Peter who sat in silence, staring out at the view which Jack realised he wasn’t really seeing. It was the dusty red of the Outback, the isolated sheep and cattle stations, the bright blue of the Coral Sea and the palm-fringed beaches of white sand that were in his mind’s eye.

  Jack could understand that the young man yearned for home and family and all the familiar things he’d been missing for so long. Yet, as the years passed in all that endless sunshine and bright colour, would his Rita feel the same way about England and start to pine for the gentler climate of home? Only time would tell.

  Jack braced himself for the task ahead. He stood and put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, feeling the solid muscle and strength of youth. ‘If you promise me faithfully to love and cherish my daughter to the end of her days, then I give my permission for you to marry and go to Australia.’

  Peter got to his feet, his handsome face alight with joy. He grabbed Jack’s hand to shake it enthusiastically and almost lost his balance on the uneven ground. ‘You have my promise to love her forever,’ he said earnestly. ‘Oh, Jack, you have no idea how happy you’ve made me. I was so afraid you wouldn’t approve.’

  Jack chuckled. ‘She’s over twenty-one, Peter, and didn’t really need my permission for anything.’

  Peter’s expression became serious, the dark blue eyes holding Jack’s gaze. ‘Fair go, Jack, of course she did,’ he said. ‘Rita loves you dearly and understands how hard it must be to let her go after having her to yourself all those years.’ He squeezed Jack’s arm. ‘You’ve been a bonzer dad, Jack. I can only hope to be half as good when my turn comes.’

  ‘Let’s get all the arrangements sorted before we go that far,’ said Jack, shooting him a wry smile. ‘For now, I think we should go and tell Rita the news and then head for that country pub to celebrate over lunch.’ He grinned. ‘I don’t know about you, but all that talking has made me very thirsty.’

  Peter’s smile lit up his face. ‘The beers are on me, Jack. I can’t have my future father-in-law going thirsty.’

  ‘Too bloody right,’ drawled Jack in an appalling imitation of Peter’s accent, which made them both laugh.

  Beach View was at peace apart from the usual creaks and groans of the old timbers, and as everyone slept, Peggy sat in the deserted kitchen smoking a last cigarette with a cup of tea and missing Harvey who usually slept at her feet by the range. She was tired, and should have gone to bed earlier for she had work in the morning, but her brain was too active and she knew sleep wouldn’t come easily. There were too many things to think about and worry over, and although there was absolutely nothing she could do about any of it, that still didn’t stop her thoughts from churning.

  Ron had clearly been affected by the news of Freddy’s death and Ivy’s loss, and it seemed his back was playing up too – which was hardly surprising if half of what Rosie had revealed about the more intimate details of their honeymoon was true. Ron had been reticent to tell her very much about their honeymoon, giving her the most minimal descriptions of where they’d gone and what they’d seen and done. If he’d had the slightest inkling of how much Rosie had told her, he’d be so embarrassed that he’d never darken the doors of Beach View again. As it was, he’d promised to finish mending the windows and find a reliable painter and
decorator to freshen up the downstairs.

  Andy had telephoned from London earlier in the evening to say he and Ivy were staying with his mother overnight before Ivy caught the train to Salisbury. They’d been to see the shattered remains of Hughes Mansions and visited Mrs De Vries, before collecting the woefully few effects that had been stored by the council. Ivy had become very distressed to discover that her parents and sister now shared a grave with other unidentified victims of the bombing, and so Andy had promised to try and arrange for a plaque to mark their final resting place.

  On a much lighter note, Ruby’s news had brought great pleasure to Peggy for she loved a good wedding, and was already planning what she would wear, but the thought of the girl going all the way to Canada had always worried her. Ruby was a Cockney born and bred, used to crowded tenements, raucous pubs, smoking chimneys and solid pavements beneath her feet – how she’d cope in the isolation of a Canadian outpost during the winter, Peggy couldn’t imagine.

  However, Peggy knew that Ivy’s news and her absence from the wedding had hit Ruby hard, and her heart had gone out to the girl when she’d realised that Rita was also feeling bereft, and had kindly asked her to take Ivy’s place on the day. They were due to go shopping tomorrow, though goodness knew what they’d find with such few choices – and dull ones at that with all the cheap utility clothing filling the racks. If they didn’t find anything, perhaps she could ask Solly if he could get his hands on something decent – failing that, she’d try to find some good material and get one of the senior sewers to run up something more suitable at the factory.

  Thinking about Rita brought Peggy back to Jack, and the difficult decision he’d had to make that day. She’d fretted over his meeting with Peter, hoping all would go well, and so was delighted when they’d returned home to tell her to prepare for another wedding as Jack had given his blessing to their future plans.

  The young couple had gone to celebrate at the Anchor before getting Peter back to Cliffe, but Jack had stayed to confide in Peggy that although he liked the young Australian very much, and trusted his Rita into his care, it broke his heart to think of having to say goodbye to her when the time came.

  Peggy had tried to find the right words to say, fully understanding his pain in the suffering she’d experienced after Anne and the two boys had left for Somerset. But at least they hadn’t gone to the other side of the world, were in touch by telephone, and would be home again by the end of summer. She gave a deep sigh and stubbed out her cigarette. She might yet lose Cissy to the heady delights of America, so she shouldn’t get too complacent.

  Cissy was another worry, of course. The girl was clearly fretting at the lack of news from Randy, and after hearing of the experiences Freddy, Martin and Roger had gone through, she was beginning to doubt if he was still alive. And there was certainly enough evidence to justify that fear.

  Randy had been with Freddy throughout their imprisonment, and from the information leaking out, it seemed they must have been involved in the death march from Poland down to Germany. The odds against him having survived that were extremely short, and the longer the silence stretched, the more likely it was he’d perished.

  Determinedly turning her thoughts to more cheerful things, Peggy started to plan for Ruby’s wedding. If Mike couldn’t have the reception at the Officers’ Club, then she, Rosie and the Beach View girls would do it at the Anchor. It would mean lots of baking and sandwich making, and they’d dig out the D-Day bunting from under the stairs. A telephone call to Stan secured promises from him and April to help with the food stamps, and although it would be the most terrible rush, Peggy was determined to do Ruby proud.

  With that happy thought, Peggy dampened down the range fire and switched off the light. She could sleep now and dream of weddings.

  15

  It had been a difficult journey from Buckinghamshire to Somerset for Air Commodore Martin Black, for it involved several changes of trains and long, tedious waits at small country stations where children stared at him and their mothers pretended not to notice his appearance. He was still underweight and not fully fit, so tired easily, but at least now he was on the final leg of the journey that would take him to his wife and children.

  Martin sat in the empty compartment feeling very much alone without Roger and the other men he’d been imprisoned with. He gazed out at the passing scenery as the train busily chuffed its way towards Taunton. There was nothing quite so lovely as the English countryside in the spring, but the sight of those familiar landmarks reminded him of the last time he’d made this journey, and how he’d almost ruined things with Anne by letting the stresses and strains of the war and his commitment to the men at RAF Cliffe cause friction between them. He could only thank God that Anne had understood what he’d been going through, and they’d parted as lovers; the ties that bound them as husband and wife strengthened and renewed.

  That leave had been his last before he’d been shot down and captured two years ago, and although the thought of Anne and his children had kept him going in the camp – and on the long, torturous march across Germany – he knew what they would expect of him, and wasn’t at all sure if he could banish the horrors that haunted him day and night, and simply step back into family life as if nothing had happened.

  Martin opened the window and lit a cigarette, glad that he had the compartment to himself, but wishing he was on his way to Cliffehaven with his wingman, Roger Makepeace. Cliffehaven was home, where everything was wonderfully familiar, and therefore soothing to his soul. He would have liked nothing better than to sit in the warmth of Peggy Reilly’s kitchen, tramp the hills with Ron and his dog, or revisit old haunts with Roger to try and dispel the horrific memories which troubled them both. But Roger was in Argentina for a few weeks to support Kitty and Charlotte in their tragic loss of Freddy, and Anne seemed determined to stay in Somerset, so he had no choice but to travel alone and make the best of things.

  He’d felt bereft when Roger had been discharged from the hospital, and had withdrawn into himself, preferring to be alone rather than amongst men who could never understand the demons he was fighting. He and Roger had shared the trials of the prisoner-of-war camp and managed to survive the bitter winter trek across Germany; kept each other going when neither thought they could take another step; and shared what little food they could beg, steal or forage. They’d become closer than brothers through their shared experiences, and because of this unique bond, it was to each other they’d turned when the nightmares became overwhelming and they needed to talk.

  Martin stared into the darkness as the train clattered through a long tunnel, and wondered how Roger was coping in Argentina. It would be extremely tough for both of them to have no one to confide in, for their problems were certainly not something to share with their wives.

  He gave a deep sigh as the train emerged into the sunlight. The thought of Anne being burdened with such horrors was unacceptable, but it would not be easy to bury those memories and pretend he was untroubled. It posed a fearsome challenge, but then he’d met and conquered far more demanding challenges over the past two years. He’d find a way. He had to.

  Martin brushed cigarette ash from his blue-grey Air Force uniform jacket as the train began to slow on its approach to Taunton station. He stood and pulled the heavy kitbag from the luggage rack, dumped it on the seat and, with little pleasure, eyed his reflection in the mirror set in the partition.

  He was certainly no oil painting, he thought ruefully, for his eyes and face were still hollow, the flesh the colour of old parchment; the overall effect worsened by the fact his head had been shaved to rid him of lice. He’d lost an earlobe and there was a puckered and still livid scar above his right temple where a guard had hit him with a rifle butt. At least he’d been permitted to keep his moustache, but it was a poor thing compared to what it had been.

  ‘It’ll be a miracle if Anne recognises me, and the girls don’t run screaming,’ he muttered. ‘I hope she’s prepared them well enoug
h after our telephone conversations.’

  The thought of frightening his little girls was too painful, so he concentrated on hiding the scar and dark stubble beneath the cap, centring the RAF insignia and pulling the heavily braided peak low over his eyes. Checking that the buckle on his belt was in line with the jacket’s brass buttons, he tweaked the end of the braided sleeves to cover his bony wrists. He could do nothing about the fingers he’d lost to frostbite, or the lack of nails on the ones he still had and on his toes, which had blackened and fallen off during the trek – but the doctors had assured him the regrowth would give him normal nails again, so he should be thankful for small mercies.

  He slid open the compartment door and limped out into the corridor as the train slowly chugged along the platform and drew to a halt with a great exhalation of steam. His pulse was racing and he was aware of cold perspiration beading on his forehead as he pulled the leather strap to open the window and reach down for the door handle. Feeling quite nauseous with anxiety, he stepped down onto the platform.

  Determined not to limp on his damaged feet, he squared his shoulders and headed for the ticket barrier where he could see Anne jumping up and down and waving excitedly.

  Martin drank in the sight of her, praying she didn’t find his looks too repugnant, but before he could brace himself for the reunion, she’d barged through the barrier and was running towards him to fling herself against him and cling to his neck.

  ‘Oh, Martin, Martin,’ she sobbed, kissing his face and holding him tight. ‘It’s been so long. So very long.’

  He dropped the kitbag and held her as he kissed her deeply, marvelling at how she’d hardly changed in the two years they’d been apart. The war had been kind to her, for her dark hair was glossy, her skin radiant, and beneath that lightweight coat, he could feel that her figure was still as lithe and firm as the day they’d married.