The Butlins Girls

by Elaine Everest

  ‘I’m so pleased for you. Butlins seems to have worked miracles for you and Bunty. Just look at how your lives have changed. There’s Bunty reunited with Gordon, and him a free man again, and you have the miracle of William’s return. Who’d have thought it?’ Molly said.

  ‘How about you? You’ve discovered you have an aunt, and you’ve also fallen in love. You have your future laid out before you and it includes Johnny. There could be three brides in our chalet . . .’

  Molly shook her head until her glossy curls bounced. ‘Most definitely not. Johnny has mentioned marriage, but I can’t think about such things until I’m confident that all my family problems have been ironed out. Johnny has been a darling helping me and being a shoulder to cry on, but I don’t want to enter a marriage with a sack load of trouble following on behind.’

  Plum sighed. ‘Molly, no one’s life is ever completely free of problems. Johnny loves you for who you are. Don’t push him away and expect him to wait around forever. There are far too many women who would gladly take your place. In some cases, even a wedding ring would not prevent them making a play for your man. Grab your happiness now and stop worrying about your family troubles.’

  Molly looked away. It was all right for Plum to tell her to grab her happiness now, but what if she found out something truly awful had caused her parents to run away to Erith all those years ago? For her grandfather to act as he had done since, it must have been something terrible. Mud sticks and she would not wish Johnny’s business and future to suffer because of his wife’s reputation. No, she needed to find out what had occurred, and until then Johnny would have to wait.

  ‘It’s such a relief to hear birdsong instead of Radio Butlins every hour of the day.’ Molly sighed as she sipped her tea. She was sitting in the small garden of Sally’s cottage enjoying the warm September sun on her face. Already the leaves were starting to take on a golden hue; summer would soon become a memory. A very happy memory.

  ‘I enjoyed our holiday at Butlins, but I’d not be able to work there as you did. My life is busy but in a different way.’

  Her aunt’s life was indeed busy. It was only a day since Molly had arrived, having been picked up by Dan in the farm truck, and already she had seen what the life of a mother and wife of a farm worker entailed. Dan’s day on the farm was long, and so was Sally’s. Early to rise, she would have bread baking in the oven, chickens cleaned out and fed, and if they were lucky, there would be eggs to collect during the day, although Molly was told this was mainly Avril and Annie’s job. The girls would be back to school soon, so Sally’s working day then revolved round walking to the village school to drop off the twins and returning to collect them.

  The girls were thrilled to have their cousin staying with them, and since their visit to Butlins, they had greeted her at every opportunity by chanting, ‘Hi-de-hi!’

  The two women heard the gate open at the front of the cottage. ‘That sounds like the afternoon post,’ Sally said, getting to her feet. ‘Time to get myself back in the kitchen.’

  Molly went to follow.

  ‘No, I insist you sit there and finish your tea. You are our guest, not a skivvy,’ she said, disappearing round the side of the house.

  Molly refused to take advantage of her new-found family members and had offered to pay for her keep, but it had been refused. So she did as much as she could to help around the house without annoying her aunt. Noticing bed sheets blowing on the washing line, Molly went to check if they were dry enough to take down, ready for ironing. She was just reaching for the pegs when Sally called her name.

  ‘Molly, come and look at what’s arrived,’ she called.

  ‘Is it good news or bad?’ Molly asked as she spotted a letter in Sally’s hand.

  ‘Good, I hope. As you know, I’ve been making enquiries to find out where your dad’s parents moved to. I was hitting my head against a wall at every turn. Then I thought I’d write to Florrie Hepsom.’

  Molly was puzzled. ‘Should I know her?’

  ‘I doubt it. She was a teacher at the village school for many years and may have known your dad. I heard she now lived in a home for retired ladies near Boston and was clutching at straws when I wrote to her. I should have known that she’d have followed the lives of many of her pupils over the years. She was sad to hear about Norman and Charlotte, but did know where your paternal grandparents moved to all those years ago.’

  ‘Is it far away?’ Molly asked, hoping they hadn’t moved overseas like Harriet’s husband, Bert, had done.

  Sally grinned. ‘Would you believe that Leonard and Joan live in Skegness?’

  Molly gave a large sigh of relief. ‘I suppose they might have moved to a larger town to disappear if something awful had happened in their own small community?’

  ‘Miss Hepsom writes that they moved to make it easier for Leonard’s job in insurance. As luck would have it, she kept their address as she was one of his customers. Look.’

  Molly took the letter and read the neat copperplate lettering. She made a note to visit the lady to thank her for her help and tell her about her parents. ‘What should I do next?’

  ‘You, young lady, are getting up bright and early tomorrow and taking the first bus to Skegness to visit your grandparents.’

  ‘But what if they are like Grandfather Kenyon?’

  Sally laughed. ‘They broke the mould after my miserable father was born. Will it hurt to meet them? What harm could it do? If they don’t want to know you, then jump back onto that bus and come straight home to us. We love you.’

  Molly hugged her aunt. ‘I’ll do just that.’

  22

  Molly held her breath as she knocked on the door of the small mid-terrace house. Crossing her fingers behind her back, she prayed that whoever opened the door was not as nasty as her grandfather Kenyon.

  A white-haired woman opened the door and stared at Molly, an inquisitive expression on her face. Molly could see her dad in the shape of the woman’s nose and the twinkle in her eye. ‘Can I help you?’

  Molly had never felt so nervous before. ‘Yes, I hope so. This sounds absurd, but I believe you may be my grandmother. My name is Molly Missons.’

  ‘Oh my!’ the woman murmured, ushering Molly inside. ‘Len, Len, you’ll never guess who I found on our doorstep . . .’

  Molly was shown to a comfy armchair after shaking hands with a wiry man, who was sitting in another chair. ‘I’m Molly Missons,’ she repeated to him.

  He frowned for a moment. ‘I know all of the Missons around this way. There aren’t many of us. I can’t recall a Molly. Are you local?’

  ‘My parents were. I come from Kent,’ she replied, hoping that soon the penny would drop.

  The man scratched his head thoughtfully. ‘No, can’t say I know any Missons in Kent.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Len. The girl says she is our granddaughter. That can only mean one thing.’

  The man’s eyes lit up. ‘You’re not our Norman’s girl, are you?’

  Molly nodded. ‘Yes, I am. I have some papers to prove it if you’d like to see them?’

  The couple brushed away her offer. ‘No need for that. Why would anyone want to pretend to be our Norman’s daughter? If you say you are, then we more than believe you,’ Joan Missons said, pulling a chair from the dining table and sitting close to her husband.

  ‘So who is your mum? Would we know her?’ Len asked.

  ‘My mum is Charlotte . . . Charlotte Kenyon?’

  Len and Joan Missons looked at each other in disbelief. ‘I don’t understand,’ Joan said. ‘I thought Charlotte was married to Bert . . . Albert Missons.’

  Bert? Could they mean Harriet’s husband? she wondered. ‘No, my parents were Norman Missons and Charlotte Kenyon. Here, I have a photograph of them on their wedding day,’ she said, delving into her handbag for the same photograph she had shown Sally and handing it to her grandmother. Her aunt had suggested she take it with her to show the couple.

  ‘You have the
look of your mother,’ Joan said as she ran her finger over the image of her son.

  ‘I noticed you said they “were” your parents, rather than “are”. . . Does that mean they’ve passed on?’

  Molly nodded. ‘I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but my parents died in an accident in August 1945. I had no idea I had relatives until I came across some papers recently. I have my birth certificate, and there are people who can vouch for me if you have any doubt I’m your granddaughter. I don’t want anything from you. I just wanted to say hello.’

  Len looked up from the photograph. His eyes were damp. ‘I lived in hope that he would turn up one day. Some things were said long ago that were wrong . . .’

  Joan patted his shoulder. ‘Some things should have been mended and not left, but it’s water under the bridge now. It’s too late to see our son this side of the Pearly Gates, so let’s make our amends with this young lass sitting here. She must think we are a right lot. I’m going to put the kettle on and we can chat. We have a lot of catching up to do.’

  Molly sat with her grandparents and told them everything she knew of her parents’ early life, the business and their home. They in turn asked questions and she answered as honestly as she could.

  ‘One thing I’d really like to know is why my parents left this area and never told me they had family. What happened that made Grandfather Kenyon so bitter? He won’t say anything apart from that my dad was a thief. I don’t believe that for one minute. Even my aunt Sally has no idea: it all happened when she was a child.’

  Len Missons jumped to his feet. ‘Why, the old b—’

  ‘Watch your mouth, man. Whatever happened, I’ll have no bad language in this house. It all boiled down to money, love. Men and money. Harold Kenyon has been a miserable so-and-so all his life. God only knows why. Molly – your gran, that is – married him, but your mum was what’s called an “early baby”, so we can but guess.’

  Molly listened intently. She found it fascinating to hear about her parents, but she was no closer to finding out what had happened. ‘So why did Dad leave the area?’

  Len Missons answered. ‘Harold Kenyon owned Holcroft Farm at the time. Quite a big concern, it was. Our Norman was courting your mum, and his cousin Bert was seeing a barmaid from the Old Bull in the village. She must have been a good sight older than him, but he wasn’t that choosy. They’d go out together quite often, as Bert had a car.’

  ‘He was always a bit on the flash side was Bert,’ Joan added.

  ‘The first we knew was when the police turned up here one evening looking for our Norman. It seems the money for the farm labourers’ wages had vanished from Harold’s office at Holcroft, along with some other money. Harold wasn’t one for banks. He didn’t trust them. He also had cash in his desk from the sale of pastureland,’ Len added, ‘and probably more besides. It was all missing and he reckoned Norman had taken it, as he had been at the farm collecting Charlotte not an hour before.’

  ‘Were there any witnesses?’ Molly asked.

  ‘They interviewed Bert and he confirmed he’d seen Norman walking up to the farm office as he drove by,’ Joan said. ‘I didn’t believe him for one moment, but the police and Harold Kenyon did. But it got worse for our lad.’

  ‘How ever could it get worse?’ Molly asked.

  ‘We only heard this later. Bert Missons went to see Kenyon and told him that Charlotte was expecting Norman’s child. As our Norman would no doubt go to prison for being a thief, all kinds of shame would be placed on the whole family.’

  Molly gasped. ‘But she wasn’t . . . ?’

  ‘No,’ Joan continued. ‘But we didn’t know that back then. Bert offered to marry Charlotte, as his name wasn’t tarnished like Norman’s was, as long as Kenyon paid him well for saving the family name. Harold Kenyon coughed up straight away. The first your mum knew was when Harold Kenyon told her she had to marry Bert as Norman would be charged for the theft and would go to prison. Kenyon was a man to be feared back then and your mum was too afraid to cross him.

  ‘Norman and Charlotte ran away that night. They left a note for us to say that whatever anyone said, Norman was innocent, but so as not to bring shame on both families, they planned to make a fresh start elsewhere.’

  ‘Mum did write to her parents when I was born, but the letter was returned,’ Molly said. ‘I wonder why they didn’t write to you.’

  Len and Joan looked at each other. ‘Love, we sold up and moved away. Your parents would have had no idea where we were. We kept very quiet about where we were going,’ Joan explained.

  ‘But why? You’d done nothing wrong,’ Molly exclaimed.

  Len leaned forward in his chair. ‘We tried to put things right after Bert scooted off with that barmaid. It was clear to us that he had pinched the money and fooled Kenyon into giving him more, but no one would listen. He had always been a bad lot. Kenyon was hell-bent on ruining our name, regardless of whether it was Norman or Bert who had taken the money.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Did the police not try to find Dad or Bert?’ Molly asked.

  ‘Kenyon dropped the charges,’ Len said.

  Molly was aghast. ‘He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would do such a thing. He is still bitter more than twenty-five years later. He didn’t want to accept me as his granddaughter.’

  Joan sighed. ‘Molly, we sold up our home and gave Kenyon every penny he’d lost. We moved here and put the past behind us.’

  Molly was horrified. To think that Bert Missons had caused such problems for her family and then Harold Kenyon refused to let bygones be bygones. ‘Did you ever hear from Bert again?’

  ‘No, not since the day he ran off with that barmaid, Harriet. He can go to hell as far as I’m concerned,’ Joan said with passion.

  ‘I know where she is,’ Molly said, before explaining her side of the story.

  ‘So that’s about it,’ Molly said, hanging the last of her clothes in the wardrobe. ‘Harriet and Simon must have read about Mum and Dad’s death and decided to profit from it. It wouldn’t have taken much to read an obituary and know that a local businessman and his wife perished in an accident, leaving a daughter.’

  Kath, who was sitting on Molly’s bed listening as she unpacked, was outraged. ‘We should go to the police at once,’ she said.

  ‘I want to speak to George first. It’s only fair he should know all the facts. Most of what I’ve found out is hearsay. I’m not sure the police will act. Perhaps once Mr Denton returns, he can advise us. In the meantime, I have a little announcement of my own. I really wanted to tell you and George together.’ She looked at the bedside clock. ‘He seems to be late home from the shop.’

  ‘He’s doing some work on the building. We didn’t want to bother you, but there was a water leak after the storm last week. It came in through the roof over the office. He’s clearing everything out so a builder can come in and sort out the damage. It’s a right mess, I can tell you.’

  ‘I ought to go and help him.’

  ‘We thought it might upset you to see your dad’s office in a state,’ Kath said with concern.

  Molly sat beside her on the bed and hugged the woman. ‘It may have done once, but I think I’ve grown up a little this summer. I realize that my parents are in my heart and I have my memories. I’ve found relatives I never knew I had, which is a dream come true, but above anything else, I have you, George and Freda, who are as much family as those I share blood with. Bricks and mortar mean nothing. Harriet and Simon aren’t nice people – it could take an age for us to prove they are not entitled to claim my home, so I intend to move on. Then they can’t hurt me.’

  Kath kissed Molly’s cheek. ‘I can see the sense in what you say. Time alone will show how things will pan out. So, what is this announcement you mentioned? Is it something to do with that nice young man Johnny?’

  ‘Johnny and I are just friends for now. I have too much going on in my life to worry about marriage. You needn’t raise your eyebrows at me like
that, Kath. You’ll be the first to hear when there’s a wedding in the offing.’

  ‘Then what is this news?’ Kath asked, not believing a word Molly had just said.

  ‘I was going to wait to tell George, but here you go. Freda mentioned that a house opposite where she lodges in Alexandra Road is up for sale. With the insurance-policy payout, as well as my savings, I worked out I could more than afford it. I wrote to the owner last week and offered to buy the house.’

  ‘Well, that is a surprise,’ Kath said. ‘They are nice sturdy little houses. You’ve made a good buy there. I’ll be sorry to not have you living here, but you’ll only be a couple of streets away, so we can see each other often.’

  ‘Most definitely,’ Molly agreed. ‘I’ll need your help to turn my house into a home.’

  ‘It’s a shame you can’t take some of your parents’ furniture from the Avenue Road house. I can’t see as how it belongs to Harriet. Surely she only inherited the house, not the furniture as well. But, I can see that you don’t wish to antagonize your unpleasant relatives.’

  ‘I thought the same, but I have time to think about it, as I won’t be moving in until next month. How about I put the kettle on and we have a cuppa before I go and find George?’

  ‘That’s a good idea, and two letters have arrived for you.’

  The women went through to the kitchen, and Kath fetched the envelopes while Molly filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. She settled down to read her correspondence as Kath laid out the cups and saucers. ‘This is from Bunty. They hope to move in with her parents, in the East End, by Christmas while they go through the legal process after having been wrongfully imprisoned.’

  ‘I hope it works out for them,’ Kath said. ‘Do you know if they will be compensated? I hope so after all they’ve been through.’

  Molly checked both sides of the letter. ‘Bunty doesn’t say, but I would think something should be done. I hope so. They are such a nice couple. Bunty does say they will be getting married in the new year and I’m to be a bridesmaid. That’s such lovely news.’