There Is No Going Home

by Madalyn Morgan

  With five women in the house, there were always disagreements. Ena smiled to herself. Her mother would often say something that made matters worse. Her father on the other hand only had to enter the room and give his daughters a stern look to silence them.

  Ena set the pipe back on the rack and sat down on the settee.

  ‘I’ll take our cups out and make us some sandwiches,’ her mother said, pushing herself out of her chair when they had finished their tea.

  ‘I have a better idea,’ Ena said. ‘I want to see Bess while I’m here, so, in case Henry has to go back to London after lunch tomorrow, why don’t we go up to the Foxden Hotel for an early dinner?’

  Her mother’s face lit up. ‘Well, I’ll have to get changed. I can’t go up in this frock, I’ve been doing the housework in it.’

  Ena laughed. Her mother loved to get dressed up. ‘Go and put your glad rags on then.’

  Lily Dudley moved quicker than Ena had seen her move all afternoon. ‘Shan’t be long,’ she said, clearing away the cups and saucers.

  ‘There’s no rush, Mam.’ It crossed Ena’s mind that there might not be a table available in the dining room. When she spoke to Bess to tell her that she and Henry were coming to Foxden, and she hoped to see her, her sister had said the hotel was full but she would arrange cover so she and Ena could catch up with each other’s news. ‘I’ll telephone Bess and make sure she can fit us in,’ Ena called to her mother, as she headed up the stairs.

  On the approach to the Foxden Hotel, Ena looked over at the car park. No longer a roped-off area in a cobbled courtyard, it had been extended and was full of smart cars. She followed her mother up the steps to the hotel’s entrance and into the foyer. The main hall had been decorated since Ena was last there. The marble floor, as beautiful as ever, complimented the rich cream of the walls. The dark reddish brown stair carpet sweeping up to the first floor, the gilt light fittings on the walls - and the magnificent chandelier that hung from the ceiling - added a touch of grandeur.

  Ena had seen Bess wave when she and their mother arrived. She was now heading across the hall to meet them. Bess threw her arms around Ena and they both spoke at the same time asking each other how they were and exclaiming how long it had been since they last saw each other.

  With Bess in the middle, their arms still round each other, they chatted all the way to the reception desk. Ena’s mother said she was going to find her granddaughter and after a quick word with the receptionist, Bess and Ena went into the familiar office behind reception. Except for a lick of paint that looked as if it had been left over after decorating the walls of the marble hall the room hadn’t changed.

  ‘How’s Frank? I hope the new car park doesn’t mean his menagerie had to go.’

  Bess looked at Ena horrified. ‘No, it didn’t. Do you think I’d want a riot on my hands? Sadly,’ Bess said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, ‘we no longer keep pigs. But there are new sheds for the chickens and new stables for the Nancy’s ponies. She’ll give you the grand tour tomorrow.’

  Ena pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be here tomorrow.’

  ‘Another flying visit?’

  ‘Afraid so.’

  ‘One of these days you’ll have to stop and catch your breath, Ena.’

  ‘I know. And I will. It’s just–’ She never talked to anyone about the cold cases she worked on. But she and Bess had no secrets. In the past they had told each other everything. Her eldest sister was perhaps the only person in the world, apart from her husband Henry, that Ena could really trust. Even so, she hesitated.

  ‘What is it, Ena? Something is worrying you.’

  ‘It’s nothing really.’ Should she tell Bess about the Voight case? She decided against it. ‘It’s just that I’m going up to Silcott’s in the morning, while Henry’s in Oxford. He’s coming into Rugby by train, so there’s no telling what time he’ll get here. And, because he has to show his face at work before the end of the day, we’ll probably have to leave Mam’s early afternoon to miss the rush hour traffic in London.’

  ‘Never mind, next time,’ Bess said.

  ‘I promise. Henry too. He won’t even have time to see his parents tomorrow. But, as soon as the case I’m working on is finished, we’ll come up for a long weekend.’

  Bess looked perturbed. ‘Does the case you’re working on involve Herbert Silcott?’

  ‘In a way, yes.’ Ena took a breath. Since Henry didn’t believe her, she would confide in Bess; tell her that she had seen Frieda Voight, who Bess knew in the war as Freda King. ‘I’m looking for proof that Freda King existed.’

  Bess looked confused. ‘But you know she did. You worked with her.’

  ‘Yes, I did. I also exposed her and her brother Walter as spies. They were sent to prison because of me. At least Walter was. He was in Brixton until he died.’ Ena thought it best not to tell Bess Walter’s death was a suspected murder. ‘Sometime after Walter died, Freda is supposed to have killed herself. She was buried with him. I went to her funeral.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Freda isn’t dead. Her funeral was a sham. A coffin was interred and the name on the brass plate said Frieda Voight which was her real name. If anyone was buried that day, it was not Freda.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m certain. Her funeral was a set-up by MI5. Being dead is the best cover a spy can have. It sounds like something you’d read in a cheap spy thriller, but I’d bet my last pound that the security services promised her anonymity if she spied for them.’

  ‘I understand that but what makes you think after all this time that Freda is alive?’

  ‘I saw her in Oxford Street.’

  Ena and her mother dined with Bess, Frank and their teenage daughter Nancy. Over dinner, Bess brought Ena up to date with recent news of their sisters and brother.

  There wasn’t time to visit her sister, Margot, even though she was only fourteen miles away in Coventry, and there was no way she could visit Claire or Tom, they both lived too far away. It suddenly struck Ena that for many years it had been the tradition that the Dudley family met up at Easter and Christmas. When they had finished eating Ena said, ‘Let’s get everyone together and have a family Christmas this year.’ She raised her glass in the hopes the Frieda Voight case would be history by then.

  ‘That’s a lovely idea. I’ll telephone everyone, see what their plans are.’ Bess lifted her glass to join Ena’s. ‘Here’s to a traditional Dudley family Christmas!’

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning, Ena set off for Lowarth and Silcott’s Engineering, the factory where she had worked in the war, and where she had shared an office with Freda King. Ena had made dials and discs for a secret location that she only knew as Station X. After the bombing of Coventry in November 1941 it became necessary for Ena to deliver her work, which was of great importance, to Bletchley Park.

  She parked the Sunbeam and ran across the road to the shop where she had bought pear drops to suck on the train when she accompanied Mr Silcott or Freda to Bletchley. She felt a sudden chill. The thought of the many times she had travelled with Freda and the danger she had been in made her shiver. She stepped into the shop and shook her head to rid herself of the memory.

  She asked the young woman behind the counter, ‘Has the gentleman who owned the shop retired?’

  ‘Two years ago. Were you a customer?’

  ‘Yes, when I worked at Silcott’s.’

  ‘Come to visit old friends, have you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ena said, which wasn’t really a lie because she hoped to see some of her old friends while she was there. She looked at her watch. ‘It’s almost eleven. It’ll soon be tea-break, won’t it?’

  ‘The factory side breaks before the offices. You’ll see the men come out and light up.’

  ‘In that case, I had better buy some chocolates.’ She looked along the shelf behind the counter. A jar of pear drops caught her eye. Recalling the day she was poisoned made her stomach churn
. She quickly put the memory out of her mind. ‘I’ll take a box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray and a tin of Quality Street.’

  Armed with a selection of confectionery, Ena left the Newsagents and crossed the road. The street had changed. The old two-up-two-down cottages, made unsafe when the Luftwaffe dropped stray bombs in 1940, had been pulled down. In their place were the new temporary prefabricated homes made of pebbledash slabs. The small area on either side of each front door had been cultivated and, although many of the flowers had gone over, the gardens still looked attractive. She wrinkled her nose. The metal roofs on the bungalows were anything but attractive. Still, they had solved the housing shortage after the war. And, coming from America as part of the post-war Marshall Aid plan, they had fitted kitchens and indoor lavatories that were separate from the bathrooms. The downside, Ena thought, was their ten-year life expectancy, which had ended some years ago. She wondered what the council would replace the ‘prefabs’ with.

  As she neared the factory Ena stopped. The building was twice as big as it was when she worked there. There was now a large brick extension on the left where the old factory used to be and the offices on the right of the building had new windows and their own entrance. No more having to walk through the factory avoiding greasy machines to get to and from the offices, Ena mused.

  In the car park a smart advertising board said Silcott Engineering, Lowarth. Beneath the name was a detailed plan of the factory. Arrows pointed to various parts of the building. Ena decided not to go to the offices via the side entrance. She wanted to see how improved the building was and went through the front door to reception.

  The main entrance door opened into a spacious lobby. A new wall had been built after a Luftwaffe bomb had brought most of the outer wall down, leaving a huge crater in the car park.

  ‘Ena Green to see Mr Silcott,’ she said to the smartly dressed young woman behind the desk.

  While the receptionist phoned through to her old boss, Ena kept an eye on the door to the factory hoping to see one of her friends come through. They didn’t.

  ‘Mr Silcott is coming out to see you now, Mrs Green.’

  A second later Herbert Silcott burst through a door on the opposite side of the lobby, arms open and beaming a welcoming smile.

  Before Ena could speak he threw his arms around her and lifted her off her feet knocking the wind out of her. ‘Come through, come through,’ he said when he put her down. ‘We’ll go to my office, have a chat, then I’ll show you around. You won’t recognise the old place.’

  Herbert opened the door to the offices and almost skipped down the corridor. Halfway along he stopped. ‘My secretary,’ he said, over his shoulder as he opened the door. ‘Telephone Frank Whittle, Miss Rose. Tell him his order is finished. It’ll be going down overnight and will be with him tomorrow morning. But first, would you bring tea and biscuits to my office? Thank you.’ Without waiting for a reply from the flustered Miss Rose, Herbert shut the door.

  The room opposite was the small office that had played such a large part in Ena’s life during the war. On the door was a brass nameplate: Herbert Silcott, Proprietor.

  So Mr Silcott’s father-in-law was no longer named as proprietor of Silcott Engineering. Good for you, Herbert, Ena thought. She didn’t say anything because Herbert had always led the staff to believe he owned the Lowarth factory. He pulled out a chair from beneath an ebony-wood desk for Ena and took his seat behind it.

  Sitting down, Ena gave the room an approving smile. Before she could comment, there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Herbert called.

  ‘Your tea, Mr Silcott.’ Miss Rose put down the tray. ‘Would you like me to pour, sir?’

  ‘No, we’ll manage. You get back to your post, Miss Rose.’

  The secretary gave Ena a polite smile as she made for the door. ‘Thank you,’ Herbert called after her. Half turning back to her boss, Miss Rose smiled again.

  Herbert was a kind man and fair in his dealings with the people who worked for him. Ena and Herbert had always sent each other Christmas cards. The cards often contained snippets of news, and one year Herbert told her that his father-in-law had died. He said no more than that, but Ena’s mother had told her that, even though it was Herbert who had run the company successfully for many years, old Mr Williams had left the factory to his daughter. He may be the boss at work, but his wife wears the trousers at home, Ena thought. ‘How is Mrs Silcott?’

  ‘She is very well. She still does the wages and brings them in.’ Herbert chuckled. ‘I don’t think she trusts me to add the hours up correctly. She has always been prudent, has my good lady-wife. She was brought up to be careful, where I was brought up to be… Well, put it this way, our childhoods were very different.’

  Ena knew they were. Her mother had told her when Ena first went to work at Silcott’s that Herbert’s father had worked for Williams Engineering, working his way up from a fourteen-year-old apprentice to foreman. Lily Dudley had known Herbert’s mother. She was a dressmaker. It was after a dress fitting to which Mrs Williams had brought her daughter that she and Herbert started walking out together.

  ‘Well, they say opposites attract, don’t they?’ Ena poured the tea. ‘Like old times, isn’t it?’ she said, handing Herbert a cup and pushing the plate of biscuits across the desk to him.

  ‘What do you think of our old office, Ena?’

  ‘It’s lovely.’ Ena looked round the room. ‘With just one desk it appears much bigger.’

  ‘Yes, there’s a good deal more space now, than when the three of us worked in here.’

  Ena looked at Herbert. This was the opening she needed. She mustn’t let it pass. ‘A lot has happened since then, Mr Silcott,’ she said, with a sigh, ‘and some of it isn’t good.’

  ‘No. I gathered it wasn’t from the brief telephone conversation we had. If there’s anything I can do to help, Ena, you know I will.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ena took a deep breath. What she was about to tell Herbert she knew would upset him, but there was no way around it. She needed his help. ‘You know Freda was a spy, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Herbert shook his head slowly. ‘I found it hard to believe, but Military Intelligence came to see me. They explained everything. They knew I wasn’t involved in her treachery. They told me the investigation was hush-hush, but word got out. Even though I was cleared the business suffered for several years.’ He took a drink of his tea. ‘But that’s by-the-by. The business recovered. Freda on the other hand… To kill herself…’ Herbert looked as if he was about to cry. He put down his cup. ‘Terrible, just terrible.’

  ‘Freda didn’t kill herself.’

  Herbert shot Ena a look that was somewhere between relief and disbelief.

  ‘I saw her not long ago in London.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I am. It’s why I’ve come to see you. I need a copy of her work records to help me find her.’

  ‘But I don’t have any, dear.’

  ‘You must have, Mr Silcott. When you paid her you’d have deducted tax and National Insurance. Mrs Silcott would have kept a record. We all had work numbers. Freda must have had one because she clocked in like the rest of us.’

  Herbert shook his head.

  ‘There must be something, surely?’

  ‘I no longer have Freda King’s work details. The intelligence people took all the staff records. They took everything between nineteen forty and forty-five. They asked why there were no time sheets and I told them my wife dealt with everything to do with staff hours and wages, and they went to my house. Did the same thing there. They took everything.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Yes. The only remaining references to Freda King ever having worked here were in the annual account ledgers at my accountant’s office.’

  Ena expelled a sigh of relief. She was about to ask for the accountant’s address when her old boss dashed her hopes. ‘Military Intelligence searched his offices too. They took several yea
rs of his records, the same as they did from here.’ Hebert leaned back in his chair. ‘I have no proof that Freda King ever worked for me.’

  ‘No,’ Ena said, thoughtfully, ‘no one does. It’s as if she never existed.’

  ‘Except we know she did.’

  ‘Does,’ Ena corrected.

  ‘Yes, of course, does. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, Ena.’

  ‘Don’t be!’ Ena dashed the idea of Freda King away as if she was swatting a fly. ‘How about showing me around. I want to see all the changes you’ve made since I worked here.’ In truth, it was the last thing Ena wanted, but she was not about to offend her old boss. Military Intelligence might have erased Freda King on paper, but they had not erased her from Herbert’s memory, or hers. Ena decided not to pursue the subject and followed Herbert out of his office.

  Her heart wasn’t in the tour of the factory but she put on a smile and listened to Herbert as he explained the capabilities of each new machine. She stopped to speak to a girl from Lowarth who she had been at school with, and two old friends that she had worked with in the war. When the lunch bell rang she went back to the office, collected her bag and the chocolates, and joined the women in the canteen.