by Sandy Taylor
I didn’t know what she was on about. ‘I haven’t been anywhere,’ I said.
‘People leave money on the table for the waitress that served them. If they like you, they leave you a tip. That’s why it’s a good idea to be nice and polite. The nicer you are, the more money you get; that’s how it works. Now, pocket it before someone else does.’
This was wonderful – not only did I get paid, I got tips as well.
When I’d lived in Bermondsey it would never have occurred to me to work anywhere but a factory. That’s what girls like us did, we worked in the sugar factory or the custard factory or the sack factory down at the docks. It was only posh girls that worked in shops and hotels. Not that it bothered us much. Round our way it was called ‘knowing your place’ and ‘not getting above your station’. Me and Angela had known our place from the moment we were born and if we had known what a station was, we certainly wouldn’t have got above it. But here I was, working in a posh hotel, wearing a posh uniform, and I didn’t feel out of place at all.
‘All this talk of class is nonsense,’ said Miss Timony one day. ‘You are as good as the next person, Nell, and don’t let anyone tell you you’re not. I taught so-called educated girls when I was a headmistress and, believe me, some of them were completely clueless, without a decent brain cell between them. Never forget, cream always rises to the top.’
I loved listening to Miss Timony speaking. She had such a gentle voice and she came out with stuff I’d never heard before. I wished I could be like her.
‘She’s cultured,’ said Mrs Wright. ‘And a proper lady into the bargain. You don’t get many like her; some of em think their bodily functions don’t smell, but not Miss Timony. I bless the day she came to Sea View.’
I loved this new place I’d come to – it was so different from Bermondsey and Wales. The rolling hills of the Sussex Downs rose up behind the old town and on its doorstep was the sea, stretching out to the horizon and beyond.
I went up to the Downs as much as I could. I loved it up there; I loved the peace and quiet. I would stand very still and listen to the soft whisper of the breeze moving over the swaying grass. As I walked across the hills I thought of Mum and Daddy and Tony and Freddie and wondered if I was kidding myself in thinking they were still alive somewhere. I wished I still had the locket; at least then I could look at their faces.
I remembered the moment my mum had given it to me, and what she’d said as she put it around my neck. ‘If ever you feel lonely, you can open the locket and see my face and you’ll know that I am missing you as much as you are missing me.’ Well, I am missing you, Mum, and I hope at this moment you are missing me just as much.
Was the locket still buried under the oak tree at Hackers farm? Or had Jimmy dug it up and taken it on his travels? I wished I knew why he hadn’t met us at the barn – it hadn’t made sense then and it didn’t make sense now, because I knew that he would rather have been with me than the Hackers. I guessed I’d never know and I guessed I’d never see Jimmy or the locket again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
One day my walk took me up onto the Downs and across the fields to Beachy Head, the white chalk cliffs that skirted the coast and rose high above the beach. I stood at the edge and looked down over the sea and the lighthouse. Everything seemed so small from up here. My hair was blowing around my face. It was going to be hell to get the tangles out of it when I got home; I should have worn a scarf. But I loved the feel of the wind blowing through it. I sat down on the grass and hugged my knees. On this beautiful day in this beautiful place it was hard to believe we were at war.
I was reminded of it very quickly, when out of nowhere something shot through the clouds and roared towards the cliff. I jumped up and looked around me but there was nowhere to hide; I was a sitting duck. I started running away from the cliff, stumbling across the grass. I threw myself onto the ground as the bomb crashed into the cliff, shaking the earth beneath me. I lay there trembling, my heart beating out of my chest.
‘Are you okay, miss?’
I raised my head and saw a man running towards me. He took hold of my hand and helped me up.
‘This must have been your lucky day,’ he said, grinning.
‘Call that lucky?’ I said.
‘I sure do – that Doodlebug hit the cliff before it could hit you.’
‘Is that what it was?’
‘Yep.’
‘It wasn’t a plane then?’
‘It was a kind of plane, a PAC. A pilotless aircraft.’
‘You called it a dood…?’
‘Doodlebug. It’s a nickname the Americans gave it because the roar it makes sounds like the midget racing cars they drive on speedway tracks.’
‘Are you an American?’
‘No, Canadian. I’m stationed at the base on the other side of the Downs.’
He held his hand out towards me. ‘Robert Kellerman, Canadian Air Force, at your service.’
‘Nell Patterson,’ I said, shaking his hand. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying but you look very young to be a pilot.’
‘I’m twenty,’ he said. ‘Not that I feel that young anymore.’
We stood quietly watching the grey-black cloud of smoke billowing up over the cliff edge. Then we walked together back over the fields.
‘Are you from round here?’ he asked.
‘I’m from London but I’m staying here with friends.’
‘Do you like to dance, Nell?’
I thought of the dances at the village hall in Glengaryth and nodded. ‘I’m not very good though,’ I said.
‘Me neither, two left feet, but I like to listen to the music.’
‘I have to go this way,’ I said. ‘It was nice meeting you.’
He started to walk away, then turned back. ‘Listen, there’s a dance on Saturday night at the Grand Hotel. Would you come, Nell?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said.
‘Well, I’ll leave it up to you but I think it’ll be fun.’
‘Can I bring a friend?’
‘Sure you can.’
‘I might see you then.’
‘I hope so. Goodbye, Nell.’
‘Goodbye, Robert.’
I watched him walk across the field, then made my way home.
* * *
‘A dance with a bunch of Canadian airmen? Of course I want to come,’ said Jean, grinning. ‘I have dreams about marrying an American but a Canadian will do.’
‘He didn’t mention marriage – he just asked me to a dance.’
‘All the best romances start with a dance.’
‘I’m not looking for a romance, Jean.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m only sixteen.’
‘What better age? You’re young, you’re beautiful and you’re available. You are available, aren’t you?’
I thought about Jimmy, about how I’d felt that spring evening when he’d held my hand as we walked through the fields.
‘Well, are you or aren’t you?’ said Jean impatiently.
‘I suppose I am.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Okay, yes, I am.’
‘Good. Now what are you going to wear?’
My heart sank. ‘I haven’t got anything suitable for a dance,’ I said.
‘Then we’ll go shopping.’
I don’t think that I had ever gone shopping for clothes in my whole life. Mum had always bought mine and Olive’s clothes off the tallyman. He’d come into the flat with a suitcase and spread the stuff out on the kitchen table, then gone outside while we tried them on. There was never much choice but we didn’t mind; it was just exciting to get new clothes. Mum couldn’t afford to go to a proper shop because you had to pay up front, whereas with the tallyman you got to pay a bit every week. But I was earning money now; I could afford to buy something for the dance.
‘I’d love to go shopping,’ I said.
‘Are you working Saturday?’
‘No, it’s my week
end off.’
‘Mine too – we’ll have a great time, Nell.’
‘I’ll have to ask Mrs Wright and Mrs Baxter if I can go to the dance first.’
‘Why on earth do you have to get their permission?’
‘Because I can’t expect them to look after Olive while I’m out. Olive is my responsibility, Jean, not theirs. It would be taking advantage if I didn’t ask.’
‘Okay, but just make sure they say yes.’
I really wanted to buy new clothes and go to a proper dance, I really, really did.
‘Fingers crossed,’ I said.
‘Of course you can go,’ said Mrs Baxter, ‘and it was nice of you to ask us first, wasn’t it, Mary?’
‘Very nice. Olive’s not a bit of trouble, you go and enjoy yourself, girl.’
‘Where’s it being held?’ asked Mrs Baxter.
‘The Grand Hotel,’ I said.
‘I went there once,’ said Mrs Wright.
‘Was it nice?’ I asked.
‘It was a long time ago, Nell, I expect it’s changed a bit since then. It was like stepping into another world.’
Mrs Wright stopped talking and her eyes filled with tears.
‘What’s the matter, love?’ asked Mrs Baxter.
‘Isn’t it funny,’ said Mrs Wright. ‘A man can make your life hell, he can knock you about, flirt with other women, but when he goes, all you remember are the good times. Just a few times when he was kind – because that’s all there was, Nell, just a few times. One of them was when he took me to tea at the Grand Hotel for my birthday. I was young and pretty then and I was in love.’
‘You’re still pretty,’ I said.
‘Not like I was then.’
‘She was a beauty, Nell, she could have had her pick.’
‘And I picked all right. I picked the meanest, laziest, no-good son of a— Well, let’s just say I picked the wrong one. But that day in the Grand Hotel, I was happy and I like to think that he was too.’
Mrs Baxter smiled at her. ‘I guess he wasn’t all bad, it just seemed that way at the time.’
‘Anyway, enough about me, Nell. You go to that dance and you have a lovely time. Olive can help me bake some cakes while you go shopping with Jean.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
I ran upstairs to my bedroom and looked in the mirror. Was I pretty? Miss Timony said I was and so did Jean, and Mr Philip said I looked like Fanny something or other and Miss Timony said that was a compliment. But I’d never been the pretty one; Olive was the beauty of the family, everyone said so. I’d just accepted that I was the plain one. I touched my hair. Mr Costos said that my hair was beautiful. I studied my face; all I could see was what I had always seen. I squinted to see if I could make out what they saw, but no, it was just the same old me. Mad hair, old eyes and thin as a beanstalk. But I was going to a dance in the Grand Hotel and I was going to buy a frock in a proper shop. I grinned into the mirror. Maybe things were about to get better.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jean decided that we should go shopping in Brighton because the clothes shops in Eastbourne weren’t modern enough.
‘It’s all old ladies’ stuff here,’ she said. ‘We need to make an entrance, Nell, and we’re not going to make one if we shown up in stuff our mothers wear.’
I didn’t know anything about fashion. I always thought that the pretty ladies who stood on the street corners back home looked lovely but my mum said they looked cheap. Well, given that our clothes came from the tallyman and theirs must have come from a proper shop, I found that hard to understand. I wasn’t completely stupid – I knew those ladies were doing something that people only talked about in whispers – but I liked them because they were kind and cheery and they weren’t mean to anyone.
We caught the bus into Brighton. I was so excited to be going to Lottie’s hometown.
‘Do you think she’ll be there?’ Olive had said that morning.
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ I’d answered. ‘It sounded as if she and her mother would be seeing the war out in Cornwall.’
‘Will you try, though? Will you knock on her door just in case?’
‘I might as well.’
‘I think you should, Nell, because you just never know, do you?’
‘It would be wonderful, wouldn’t it?’ I’d said. ‘If she opened the door.’
‘I’d try if it was Aggie. Me and Auntie Missus would try every day if it was Aggie.’
‘I’ll try then.’
‘How far away is Coventry, Nell?’
‘Best ask Miss Timony, she’ll know.’
‘I’ll ask her.’
‘Will you be okay today?’ I’d said.
‘Yes, me and Mrs Wright are cooking cakes. I think I’d like to be a cooker, Nell. I think I’d be a good cooker.’
I smiled at her. ‘I think you’d be good at anything you put your mind to, Olive.’
‘I think me and Aggie might open a cooker shop, Nell. Aggie likes eating.’
‘I think you mean a bakery,’ I’d said.
‘That’s the one, a bakery – I think we’ll open a bakery. Or a tea shop, I’m good at making tea.’
Olive was so definite about what she and Aggie were going to do when they were all grown up; it just never occurred to her that they might never see each other again. I envied her – I wished I felt that sure about Jimmy.
* * *
The bus took us all the way along the seafront, past towns and villages with names like Seaford and Newhaven, Peacehaven and a sweet little village called Rottingdean. There was also a little train whose tracks ran along the front of the beach.
‘It’s called Volk’s railway, it’s been there forever,’ said Jean. ‘My parents took me and my brothers on it once as a treat – it was the best day of my life. It’s not in use at the moment because of this bloody war.’
As the bus pulled into Brighton we could see how much damage had been done to the town. Beautiful buildings had been ripped apart, some reduced to just a pile of rubble. I wondered if people had been killed in there, or if they’d managed to get to safety. As we got closer to the pier I could see rolls of ugly barbed wire and concrete barriers lining the beaches, just like in Eastbourne. There was a ship way out on the horizon, just a misty shape in the distance. I wondered if it was a Royal Navy ship guarding the coast from the enemy. It made me think of my daddy; he would have been on a ship like that. I swallowed down the lump in my throat. I mustn’t feel sad today – this was a happy day out with my friend Jean, and anyway, I had to keep faith that he was all right, that’s what I had to do.
The sea looked calm today, hardly moving at all. Dark seaweed was draped in long, shiny strands across the pebbles. This was the beach where Lottie used to come and read her books. I couldn’t wait for this war to be over, when I would see my friend again, when we could stand together hand in hand and watch the water lap the shore.
‘So, shall we shop first and then look for your friend’s house?’ said Jean.
I nodded. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s shop.’
We walked up the hill to the town. Jean seemed to know where she was going.
‘Do you know Brighton well?’ I asked.
‘Pretty well. I’ve got an aunt who lives in Hove, just along the coast. I would have taken you to Hanningtons but it was bombed. You would have loved it, Nell. We couldn’t have afforded to buy anything in there but it was lovely just to look around. You have got your ration book with you, haven’t you?’
My ration book was probably still at Hackers farm. ‘I lost it when me and Olive were evacuated,’ I said.
‘Bloody hell, Nell! You won’t be able to buy anything without your coupons.’
‘Hold yer hair on, Jean. Mrs Baxter gave me hers.’
‘That’s all right then, you had me worried there for a minute.’
We walked along the road past large department stores with mannequins standing in the windows wearing the latest fashions. It all looked lovely and I
wanted to go into every one of them, but Jean just kept on walking.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To Madam Eleanor’s shop in Bond Street. I’ve never been in there but I’ve always wanted to.’
I hurried after her as we turned off the main road and into a narrow street. I could smell the sea and taste the salt on my lips in the warm air blowing up from the promenade.
We stopped outside a little shop. Over the door it said: GOWNS OF DISTINCTION.
‘Here it is,’ said Jean, going into the tiny building. A bell tinkled above our heads as I followed her inside.
‘It looks expensive,’ I whispered.
Before Jean had a chance to answer me, a woman appeared from behind a curtain. I thought she looked very smart. She was wearing a lovely cream costume with a pale blue scarf draped around her shoulders. Her hair was almost white; soft waves fell gently around her face. I thought she could have been an actress.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ she said, smiling at us. ‘And what can I do for you today?’
‘We’re going to a dance tonight and we need to buy a dress,’ said Jean.
‘I’m sure we can find something nice for you,’ she said, flicking through the rails of dresses. She stared at me for a moment as if she was sizing me up. ‘Green, I think, to set off your hair.’ Then she looked at Jean. ‘And blue for you.’
‘This dance is at a posh hotel,’ said Jean, ‘not a church hall. I’d like red, please.’
‘Well, if you’re sure, dear.’
‘Oh, I am,’ said Jean. ‘I want to make an entrance and I won’t make much of an entrance wearing blue, will I?’
Madam Eleanor turned back to the rows of dresses. ‘It all depends on the kind of entrance you’re planning on making,’ she said, a bit sharply.
Jean looked at me and rolled her eyes. I grinned at her.
Madam Eleanor handed us both some dresses to try on and we went behind a flowery curtain. I was having so much fun.
Jean helped me into an emerald-green dress. The material felt so cool as it slipped like silk over my body. I’d never worn anything like it in my life. I suddenly wished that my mum was here – she deserved to have a day out like this and to be dressed in these beautiful clothes that came off a hanger and not off the tallyman.