Avalanche of Daisies

by Beryl Kingston

  She was pleased and gratified when he wrote back by return of post to tell her he approved and to say how proud of her he was.

  I knew you’d settle in. Let me know how you get on. I can’t tell you anything about what’s going on here. There are guards on the gates and the censor reads every letter. They’ve even sealed up the telephones, not that that makes any difference to you and me. Non-stop drill, pep-talk yesterday, another one this afternoon. Keep your letters coming.

  So she kept them coming as her training continued – for two more bewildering days, which she spent trying to memorise the fare stages and calling them out whenever she was sure she knew them. On Thursday evening, as Mr Threlfall seemed satisfied with her progress, she was given a uniform, kitted out with a clipper and her own rack of tickets, and told that she was to report for duty the next morning ready to join a driver called Mr Tinker and to take a tram out on her own. It was quite a triumph. That night she wrote to Steve and Becky to tell them how well she was getting on.

  And even though her first day was horribly difficult, it wasn’t as bad as she’d expected because her passengers were kind and made a joke of her mistakes. They showed her where to clip the tickets when she wasn’t sure, and called out the stops for her when she hesitated, and generally turned the whole thing into a sort of pantomime. ‘Big place, London,’ one old woman said to her. ‘Don’t you worry, duck. You’ll soon get the ’ang of it.’

  By the end of her shift she was very tired and on Saturday morning she overslept and was late for breakfast, which annoyed her mother-in-law.

  ‘Just as well you haven’t got to go in this morning,’ she said, rather acidly, ‘or you’d have missed your shift.’

  Barbara didn’t know how to answer without appearing rude, but luckily, at that moment there was a ring at the doorbell which took her disapproving in-law downstairs.

  Voices in the hall, Heather’s surprised, a younger one quick and high trebled. Feet tramping up the stairs. Joyce and Hazel had arrived, wearing their best cardigans and hard-done-by expressions, to do as they’d been told and escort Barbara round the town.

  ‘Isn’t that good of them?’ Heather said, leading them into the kitchen. And her expression said, they know how to behave if you don’t.

  Joyce’s expression said she didn’t expect Barbara to take them up on the offer. Hazel sighed, loudly. But they were out of luck, for their arrival had given Barbara the chance to get out of the house.

  ‘Right,’ she said, daring them with a smile. ‘I’m ready. Where we goin’?’

  They were disgruntled, but they took her on the tour, from the twin turrets of the Palais and the Kinema at one end of town to the triangle of tramlines at New Cross Gate at the other, pointing out landmarks all the way. ‘That’s the Town Hall. You know that, don’tcher! I should hope so! There’s the underground shelter, see, in front the WVS shop. We got another one at the corner a’ Pagnell Street. We’ll show you that an’ all, in case there’s any more raids. There’s the butcher’s where Aunty Heather works. An’ there’s the tobacconist’s. They’re ever so nice. That’s where Uncle Bob goes. An’ there’s the fish and chip shop. I bet you never had nothing like that where you come from.’

  It was like a chorus and a very annoying one. ‘Ain’t it big?’ they asked as they crossed the road. ‘Don’tcher think so? I’ll bet you never had nothing as big as this where you come from.’

  ‘Oh we had plenty of good things in Lynn,’ Barbara told them. ‘You’d be surprised.’

  But that spurred them to greater efforts.

  ‘It ain’t just shops an’ dancehalls an’ cinemas,’ Joyce explained, nodding importantly. ‘We got churches an’ chapels an’ all sorts. There used to be a synagogue next to the tram depot. I’ll bet you never had a synagogue. Only it got bombed. They flattened the depot too, the same time. The one you’re in is new. They had to build it all up again.’

  It shocked Barbara to see how calmly they took all this destruction, especially when Steve was going out to France to face even worse. But she couldn’t say so because they would have mocked her and anyway they were rushing her back to the station end of town again.

  ‘This is the best part a’ town,’ Hazel said. ‘We come here every Sat’day. Everybody does. Look at all them shops. We got everything here, Home an’ Colonial, Dolcis, Davey Greig’s, the UD, Hemming’s, see – that’s a baker’s, they’re ever so nice – Singer sewing machines, the Co-op, Mr Green’s where Aunty Sis lives.’

  ‘That’s Pearce Signs,’ Joyce said, pointing to a large building on the other side of the road. ‘My friend Martha works there. They got a workshop out the back. Huge great thing.’

  But the piece de resistance was Woolworths, which was set on a corner site between the Co-op and a little shop that sold cards. ‘Whatcher think a’ that?’ Hazel asked in triumph. ‘Ain’t it whopping? I bet you never seen a Woolworths as big as that?’

  ‘Wait till you see inside,’ Joyce said. ‘It’s so big they got a caff down the end. Aunty Sis told yer, didn’t she? We’ll ’ave a cup a’ tea presently an’ you can see where our Betty works. She’s on the lipstick counter. Come on.’

  Well at least I shall see Betty again, Barbara thought, as she followed them through the doors. And she realised that she was quite looking forward to it. I can thank her for the hat. But then the impact of the store rushed in upon her and pushed all other thoughts aside.

  It smelt exactly the same as the Woolworths in King’s Lynn, a mixture of soap and polish and packing cases, with a whiff of leather from the purses and a combination of fluff and lanoline as they passed the wool counter. For a second it made her feel quite homesick but then she gave herself a shake and decided it was nice to be in a familiar place, even with these two superior kids! And it was totally, cheerfully familiar. It had the same wooden boards on the floor, the same plain light fittings, the same trays with the goods laid out in the same neat rows, the same price cards, sixpence, thruppence, penny ha’penny, the same milling Saturday crowds, the same patient queues. There was even the same red weighing machine.

  They trooped off to find Betty, who was hard at work, neat in her maroon uniform, behind a lipstick counter besieged by young women. And it was nice to see her again.

  ‘What a morning!’ she said, when the crush eased and she could pause for breath. ‘We been run off our feet. The Tangee’s come in. Would you like one Barbara? I kept some under the counter for me specials. I’m gonna wear mine tonight up the Palais. Give ’em all a treat. Tell you what, you could come with me, if you like. Whatcher think?’

  Barbara treated herself to a lipstick but she wasn’t sure about the invitation. It was kindly meant but she didn’t want to go dancing. Not without Steve. ‘I should miss him too much,’ she explained.

  ‘Yeh!’ Betty said. ‘I can see that.’ The next customer was holding out a lipstick. ‘Yes, miss. Can I help you?’

  ‘You coming up the caff?’ Hazel said, leaning over the counter so that her sister could hear her. ‘Is it your tea break yet, our Betty?’

  ‘Two minutes,’ Betty said. ‘You go ahead an’ save us a seat.’

  So they went ahead and found four seats round a corner table and after a while Betty came strolling up to join them and they all had a cup of tea and a doughnut, which kept the two girls quiet long enough for Barbara to thank her new cousin for the loan of the hat.

  ‘How’s our Steve?’ Betty wanted to know. ‘Aunt Sis said you’d had a letter.’

  ‘I had another one this morning,’ Barbara said and took it out of her pocket. ‘You can read it if you like. They’re still waitin’.’

  ‘What’s drill?’ Joyce asked, reading the letter over Betty’s shoulder.

  ‘Guns an’ things,’ Hazel told her and she looked boldly at Barbara. ‘He used to play with guns when he was a little boy. He come home once with all blood running down his face. You should’ve seen him. Aunty Heather went bananas.’

  Barbara could see him then, wo
unded and covered in blood, and her expression showed it.

  Betty gave her sister a kick under the table and was pleased when she yelled. ‘You finished that doughnut, have yer?’ she asked. ‘Right then. Go an’ play somewhere else. You an’ all, our Joyce. Give us a bit a’ peace.’

  ‘Where we supposed to go?’ Joyce said, glaring behind her glasses.

  Betty took a purse from her pocket and fished out a couple of pennies. ‘Go an’ weigh yourselves,’ she said.

  And rather to Barbara’s surprise that did the trick.

  ‘They like that machine,’ Betty said. ‘Hazel collects the cards. Right now we can talk.’

  ‘Yes,’ Barbara said. It was a relief to be rid of them.

  ‘No tact,’ Betty said. ‘That’s their trouble. You don’t really want to worry about our Steve. He can look after himself. Really.’

  With the two girls out of the way Barbara could say what she felt. ‘He’ll be right in the thick of it,’ she pointed out, her face creased with concern. ‘I mean bein’ with the tanks. They’re right up in front.’

  ‘Give you a bit of advice,’ Betty said, offering Barbara a cigarette. ‘Don’t think about it till you ’ave to. That’s what I do. Just get on with your life an’ make the best of things. It might never happen an’ then you’ll have wasted all that time worryin’ for nothin’.’ And when Barbara looked doubtful, ‘If it’s got your number on it, it’ll get you, no matter what. All the worryin’ in the world won’t stop it.’

  It was such pragmatic advice and so courageous that it cheered Barbara up. She took a cigarette and they both lit up. ‘I’m glad you’re my cousin,’ she said.

  ‘Same here,’ Betty told her and made a grimace in the direction her sisters had taken. ‘Those two get on my wick sometimes. They’re all right. Don’t get me wrong. Bit silly, that’s all. But it’s nice to have someone me own age in the family.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Barbara told her. ‘I got two little brothers at home. They can be little beasts when they like.’

  So they smoked and compared notes on the annoyance of younger siblings.

  ‘Joyce’ll be all right once she gets out to work,’ Betty said, as she stubbed out her cigarette. ‘That’ll knock her down a peg or two, which is what she needs. Hazel’s spoilt, a’ course. That’s her trouble. Makes her cocky.’

  ‘Yes,’ Barbara said with feeling. ‘I’ve noticed.’

  ‘Have they been putting you down?’ Betty asked.

  Barbara was embarrassed. They had been horrid but she didn’t want to tell tales. ‘Well …’ she said.

  ‘Beastly little things,’ Betty said, grimly. ‘Well I’ll soon put a stop to that.’

  ‘Don’t let them know I said anything.’

  ‘’Course not,’ Betty grinned. ‘I know a trick worth two a’ theirs. You wait till they get back.’

  Which they did, almost on cue, as Betty was repairing her make-up to go back to the counter.

  ‘Now then you two,’ she said to them. ‘We got a treat in store for you. If you can behave yourselves, me an’ Barbara are gonna take you to the pictures Wednesday. Our treat because we’re both working women. An’ she’s our cousin. Only no nonsense mind. You’ll have to be on your best behaviour from now on.’

  Quick eye messages from Joyce and Hazel. How much does she know? A shrewd stare from Hazel to her older sister. Are you friends with her? A smile of approval from Betty to Barbara. Yes, I am. A sly sideways look at Hazel. So you’d better watch it.

  ‘Thanks!’ Joyce said at last, accepting the offer and the change of behaviour. ‘That’ud be lovely.’

  ‘Don’t thank me,’ Betty told her. ‘Thank your new cousin. It was her idea.’

  So their Wednesday outing was arranged, to Betty’s catty gratification and Barbara’s satisfaction. But she didn’t go to the Palais that night even though Betty asked her again as they parted company. She stayed at home and turned in early. And couldn’t sleep.

  She lay on her back in Steve’s neat single bed, gazing at the shadowy shapes of his furniture and listening to the cackle of the wireless in his kitchen, and turned her wedding ring round and round on her finger. They’d had one blissful week together and one hard-working week apart and she missed him cruelly. My darling Steve, she thought, if I knew where you was that wouldn’t be so bad. And she wondered whether he was thinking of her and hoped he was.

  In fact, Steve and his brigade were a mere six miles away, on the other side of the Thames, crammed into the stadium at West Ham. But they weren’t thinking of their loved ones. They were listening to the Brigadier. Their vehicles had all been thoroughly waterproofed, their equipment checked and re-checked, they’d been through every training routine so often they could have done them in their sleep. ‘And we’ll probably have to’, as Dusty Miller observed, ‘before this lot’s over.’ They were armed and ready and, although few of them had expected to be brought to such a pitch, they were raring to go. And now they were listening to a personal message from General Montgomery, Commander-in-Chief 21st Army.

  ‘The time has come,’ the Brigadier read, ‘to deal the enemy a terrific blow in Western Europe. The blow will be struck by the combined sea, land, and air forces of the Allies – together constituting one great Allied team, under the supreme command of General Eisenhower.

  ‘On the eve of this great adventure I send my best wishes to every soldier in the Allied team. To us is given the honour of striking a blow for freedom which will live in history; and in the better days that lie ahead men will speak with pride of our doings. We have a great and a righteous cause. Let us pray that “The Lord Mighty in Battle” will go forth with our armies, and that His special providence will aid us in the struggle.’

  Amen to that, Steve thought, and found that he was stirred almost to tears by the splendour of the words. It was a great cause and a righteous one. And they were making history.

  ‘I want every soldier to know,’ the message continued, ‘that I have complete confidence in the successful outcome of the operations that we are about to begin. With stout hearts, and with enthusiasm for the contest, let us go forward to victory … Good luck to each one of you. And good hunting on the mainland of Europe.’

  ‘So this is it,’ Dusty said, as they filed out of the arena.

  ‘This is it,’ Steve agreed. It could only be a matter of days now. Or hours even. ‘The sooner we get on with it the better.’

  Chapter Ten

  King’s Lynn was a very dull place on that Saturday evening. The abrupt departure of the Desert Rats had leeched all the colour from the town and Tuesday Market Square was virtually deserted. There were no lorries, no gangs of soldiers, just a baker’s van making a late delivery at the hotel and half a dozen local lads on bicycles idling towards the Corn Exchange in the half light of a midsummer’s evening.

  Victor Castlemain crossed the square in ebullient high spirits. His rival was gone – good riddance to him – and now he was on his way to the hop to reclaim his girl. He hadn’t seen her for over a fortnight because he’d had a bad cold last Saturday and felt too rotten to go out, but that only meant that there’d be more things for them to talk about tonight. She’d probably be missing that soldier quite a bit, so she’d be glad of some intelligent company. Oh yes. Everything was going to come out right now. As he bought his ticket, he couldn’t help preening.

  There were so few people in the hall that he saw her gang at once, done up to the nines and posing by the bandstand. Barbara wasn’t with them, which was a bit of a disappointment, but he didn’t mind if she was late, just so long as she turned up eventually. He ambled round the edge of the floor, where half a dozen couples were dancing in the self-conscious way of the first on the floor, and pretended to meet the gang by accident.

  ‘No Spitfire yet?’ he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘Hain’t she comin’ tonight?’

  Their reaction was alarming. Instead of giggling and bridling at him the way he’d expected, they dropped their
eyes and looked embarrassed and said they didn’t know. What’s the matter with them? ‘What you mean, you don’t know?’

  To his horror, Joan snapped at him. ‘Like we said, we don’t know. We’re goin’ ourselves in a minute, hain’t we, Mavis? Thass no fun with nobody here.’

  ‘Thass right,’ Mavis said. She smoothed her hair in her usual way but she was still avoiding his eye. ‘We’re waitin’ five minutes in case the Yanks come an’ then we’re off.’

  There’s something up, he thought. No doubt of that. And now thoroughly alarmed he went on questioning. ‘You meeting her somewhere else then, are you?’

  ‘No we hain’t,’ Joan said, much too aggressively. ‘If you want to know.’

  ‘Where is she then?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ they chorused. And now he was sure they were hiding something and that it was serious.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said pretending nonchalance. ‘I’ll find her.’

  But although he roamed the town all evening and prowled in and out of the dancehall at regular intervals, the only people he found were Tubby and Spikey Spencer, who were half-cut and no use to him at all, except for buying drinks. By the time he got home he was brewing a hangover which was most unlike him, and as a result he spent most of Sunday sleeping it off. It was all rather demoralising.

  However, on Monday morning, as he set off to work, the weather blew him into life again. There was a strong tide running and a strong wind howling and rain clouds were fairly scudding across the town, ragged with speed.

  ‘Thass more like November than the first week of June,’ his workmates complained, grumbling in to start the week. But it restored Victor’s optimism. She might not have been at the dance but she had to be at work. He could find her there. Normally he wouldn’t have dared to intrude on her during a working day but this had gone on long enough. That lunch hour, after combing his hair until it looked as slick as a wet otter, he stepped out into the gale in the High Street and fought his way to the draper’s.