Her legs gave way beneath her and she sank into a chair. ‘Oh look,’ she breathed, not taking her gaze from the snapshot she held in her trembling hand. ‘Aunt Jemima – do look. It’s him. It’s James. Mrs Wainwright has sent me a letter.’
Jemima held out her hand for the photo and, almost with a reluctance that was quite unnecessary, Kathy handed it to her. While Jemima looked at it, Kathy read the letter aloud.
‘Dear Kathy, I hope this reaches you eventually, as I know you are travelling a lot. I hope you like the picture of James. He is such a sweet little boy and so good. He is walking, of course, and talking too. He is getting quite a chatterbox and is adorable. I know you’d like a photograph of him. The enclosed was taken about a month ago . . .’
‘He’s a handsome little chap,’ Jemima said truthfully. ‘And there’s no mistaking who his father is, Kathy.’
She took the photo from Jemima and gazed at it again. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I wonder if I should—’
‘No, you shouldn’t,’ Jemima said, reading her mind. ‘It could be disastrous to reveal to Beatrice Kendall that she has a grandson. Goodness only knows what she might try to do.’
‘You’re right,’ Kathy admitted. ‘But I would so like Mr Kendall to know.’
‘Perhaps in time,’ Jemima said.
The letter and the photograph brought Kathy some comfort. Now she had an image of her son that she carried everywhere with her, yet she still yearned to hold him.
The door slammed behind Kathy as she sat at the dressing table applying her stage make-up. The sound made her jump and smudge her lipstick. ‘I do wish you wouldn’t do that, Rosie.’
‘I hate him. I don’t ever want to see him again.’
‘Now what? Can’t you and Martin go five minutes without a blazing row? Really! For a couple supposed to be madly in love, you take the biscuit.’
‘I’m not madly in love with him. I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man on earth.’
‘You wouldn’t get the chance. You’d be killed in the rush.’ Calmly, Kathy rubbed away the smudged lipstick and started again. ‘What – is it – this time?’ she asked, stretching her lips as she applied fresh lipstick.
‘He’s going to join up even though Ron got him a deferment for six months. He says he doesn’t want folks thinking he’s a coward.’
‘They won’t think that,’ Kathy said.
‘I know that, but try telling him.’
The door opened with a dramatic flourish.
‘You don’t know what it’s like to be a fit young man and have people staring at you wondering why you’re not in uniform,’ Martin shouted.
‘You just want to be a hero,’ Rosie screamed. ‘You’re doing a good job here else you wouldn’t have been given a deferment.’
‘There’s no talking to you.’ Martin turned and left, slamming the door behind him. But Rosie dragged it open and followed him across the corridor into his dressing room.
‘Well, I don’t want to talk to you if all you want to do is go and get yourself killed.’
She came back into Kathy’s room and slammed the door again.
‘That door is going to fall off its hinges if we’re here much longer,’ Kathy remarked mildly.
Rosie collapsed into the rickety armchair in one corner of the dressing room and dissolved into noisy weeping.
‘Oh, Rosie,’ Kathy sighed, getting up. ‘I’m on your side. I don’t want Martin to go either . . .’ She paused, wondering whether to confide in the girl of her own loss, but decided it might only make things worse. Martin was the one she should tell that to, if anyone. As far as she knew, only Ron knew about the loss of her fiancé. Theoretically, he had still been her fiancé when he’d been killed.
‘But you have to let the men do what they feel they need to do.’
‘What would you know about it?’ Rosie sniffed sulkily. ‘You haven’t even got a boyfriend.’
Softly, with a catch in her voice, Kathy said, ‘I know more than you might think.’
Rose stared at her for a moment and then jumped up. ‘Did you – have you – lost someone?’
She hadn’t meant for it to come out, but now there was no point in lying about it. Biting her lip, Kathy nodded.
Rosie stood up and put her arms about her. ‘Kathy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. But – but you must know how I feel, then.’
‘I know exactly how you feel. But it’s no use, Rosie love. If they want to go, there’s nothing we can do to stop them.’
‘I can have a jolly good try though. I’ll go down fighting,’ Rosie declared. The two girls stared at each other and then collapsed against each other laughing.
‘Come on,’ Kathy said at last. ‘We’d better finish getting ready. The show’ll be starting in ten minutes and you’re on in the opening number. Just one more piece of advice: don’t spend your last few days before he goes – if he does go – fighting. If . . . if anything did happen to him – and God forbid that it does – but if it did, you’d regret it.’
Rosie gazed at her. ‘Is – is that what happened to you?’
‘Not exactly, but – but I have a lot of regrets. Things I didn’t do – things I . . . I didn’t tell him that . . . that I should have done. And now I never can.’
Rosie’s tears ran afresh, but now for a different reason, as she hugged Kathy again.
‘Now, come along. Go and make up with Martin before the show starts or you’ll both be looking as black as thunder all the way through and you know Ron— he’ll pick up on it.’
Rosie smiled, rushed out of the door, across the corridor and into the dressing room opposite. Kathy saw Martin with his arms outstretched and Rosie flying into them. She turned away, the familiar lump rising in her throat and a physical ache in her arms at their emptiness.
The show began to tumultuous applause and Ron smiled and nodded in delight. ‘That’s what I like to hear. A good audience from the off.’
At the end of every number there was rapturous applause, whistling and stamping feet. The audience was a mixture of servicemen and women from a nearby camp, factory workers after a long day’s shift and munitions workers letting their hair down, released for a few hours from their dangerous work.
There was such a lot of noise that no one heard the sirens begin to wail until an ARP warden came rushing into the theatre, down the centre aisle towards the stage, shouting and waving his arms. The music petered out and the audience shuffled to their feet. Now, everyone could hear the sirens. The warden climbed on to the stage and grabbed the microphone.
‘There’s an underground shelter down the street,’ he began, but Ron tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Is it big enough to take all of us?’ He swept his arm in a wide arc to encompass all the cast of the show and the audience too.
‘Er – well – no, probably not, but . . .’
‘Then we’re staying here. The show goes on. We’ll give those who want to go time to leave, but we’re going on.’
His announcement, heard over the mike, was greeted with a huge cheer, and many of the audience who had stood up sat down again, settled themselves comfortably back in their seats and looked expectantly towards the stage.
‘Get on with it then,’ shouted a voice from the middle of the auditorium. ‘Let’s show old ’itler ’ee can’t stop us having a bit of fun.’
Laughter rippled through the theatre and more people sat down again. In the end only a handful left, either to go home or to hurry to the shelter. The warden shrugged his shoulders and left the way he had come in, muttering darkly, ‘On your own head be it then. And it probably will be. We’ll likely be digging you all out in the morning.’ He was greeted with catcalls and pelted with crumpled-up cigarette packets by those nearby who heard his words. But he ducked out of the door with a good-natured grin on his face. He was worried that his words would be prophetic, but, deep down, he admired the spirit of the players and those who stayed to watch. They were cocking a snook at the
enemy and he liked that. It was what he did every night on duty.
The show went on; the quintet who served as the concert party’s orchestra played Kathy’s opening music and she went on stage to tumultuous applause. She sang her usual songs to end the first half of the show, but during the interval she sought out Ron and the pianist, Terry.
‘Do you think it’d be a good idea to change the finale to our wartime songs? I’ll lead the singing with the whole cast behind me?’
Ron glanced at Terry and they nodded together. ‘Good idea, Kathy, and we’ll keep going until the “All Clear” sounds, even if it takes all night.’
The word went round the cast of the change in their programme. The first half began again, sooner than normal. Without the music and the clapping and cheering, the occasional “crump” of a falling bomb was unnerving some of the audience. Though no one else left the theatre, everyone was relieved when the show began again to drown out the noise of the air raid.
As they began the finale, there was a loud thud close by and the whole theatre seemed to shake, but Kathy stood in front of the microphone and belted out the words to ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ without so much as a tremor. The audience clapped and cheered. Kathy waved her arms, inviting the audience to join in. By now the show was over-running by half an hour, but no one left. They stayed in their seats clapping and cheering and singing and ignoring the bangs and thuds outside. With perfect timing Kathy was singing ‘When They Sound the Last All Clear’ as the noise of the sirens began again and everyone heard the “All Clear” in reality.
As the song ended, a cheer rippled through the audience and Ron approached the microphone.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’d just like to say thank you for your support . . .’
‘No, mate, thank you,’ a voice came out of the darkness, and the whole auditorium erupted in applause yet again.
When Ron could make himself heard again, he said, ‘We’d like to end our show with ‘Land of Hope and Glory’, led by our very own soloist, Miss Kathy Burton.’
By the end of the song, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. As they always did at the end of the show, the cast went to the foyer of the theatre to stand in line and bid the audience good night as they filed out.
There were handshakes and hugs and kisses.
‘Brilliant.’ ‘So brave to carry on.’ ‘Thank you.’ ‘God bless you.’ ‘You’re doing a grand job.’ The whole cast basked in the praise. Kathy, standing next to Rosie and Martin, seemed to receive the most plaudits, but it was pretty, blonde Rosie who got the admiring glances.
‘You’re a doll.’ One airman in his smart blue uniform kissed her soundly on both cheeks. ‘When are you going to let me take you out?’
Before Rosie could utter a gentle refusal, Martin butted in, ‘Sorry, old boy, she’s taken.’
The airman turned slowly to look Martin up and down. What he saw was a tall, fit young man old enough to be in uniform. He said nothing, but his scathing glance spoke volumes. He turned back to Rosie and shrugged. ‘If that’s what you prefer, honey, good luck to you.’
The young airman turned away to follow his mates, leaving Martin staring after him, his expression thunderous.
‘That does it. I’m volunteering tomorrow.’
Thirty-Four
There was nothing anyone could say now to dissuade him. Within a week Martin had left the party to go home, pack his case and wait for his papers to arrive.
Rosie walked about in a trance, her eyes permanently swollen with weeping. But like the trouper she was, she insisted on carrying on with the show.
‘I just need thicker make-up,’ she remarked drily.
‘That’s the ticket, love,’ Ron commended her as he patted her on the shoulder and winked at Kathy, who knew what he was hinting. She gave him a little nod that said a silent Yes, I’ll keep my eye on her.
But who, she thought sadly, is keeping their eye on me? Ron knew about her loss, but not the whole of it. No one else here knew about her yearning to hold her tiny son again.
‘What on earth are we going to do without Martin?’ Ron moaned. ‘It’ll take about three people to do the work he used to do.’
‘I thought you’d found a new stage manager,’ Kathy said.
‘I have, but he doesn’t help write the scripts like Martin did, nor does he want to take part in the sketches.’
‘There’s still Lionel and Melody to write, and maybe you’ll find someone else to join us. Have you been in touch with ENSA? They might know of someone looking to join a concert party.’
Ron’s face brightened. ‘Now that’s an idea, Kathy. Why didn’t I think of that?’
‘Because you’ve got a lot of other things on your mind, that’s why.’
His sighed and his face fell into worried lines again. ‘But I don’t think we’ll be able to write a pantomime for this year. It’s a huge task. Have you any ideas?’
‘Not for a pantomime, no. I presume you don’t want to revive Jack . . .’
Ron shook his head. ‘We’ll be visiting some of the same places we did last year. They won’t want to see the same old stuff again.’
‘True.’ Kathy was thoughtful before she said, ‘Then why don’t we put together a Christmas show? You know – seasonal songs with one or two sketches with a festive flavour. I’m sure Lionel and Melody could come up with one or two brand new scripts. They’re used to producing new material all the time.’
Ron put his hand on her shoulder and at last he was really smiling. ‘Now that is a good idea.’
‘Well, there’s nothing like rubbing it in, is there?’ Rosie said bitterly, slamming the door of the bedroom she and Kathy were sharing in their current digs.
The Christmas-themed shows instead of a pantomime had worked well and the party had worked all over the festive season, not even getting home to see their families.
‘All the lads and lasses in the forces have to be away, so we can too,’ had been Ron’s suggestion. He wasn’t surprised when everyone had agreed with him. Christmas was a tough time for those forced to be away from their loved ones. The least they could do was to bring a little laughter into their dull routine. Now they were into the new year of 1943. Kathy could hardly believe that another whole year had gone past. James would be two by now. She still only had the one photograph of him. She looked at it each morning when she woke and at night before she fell asleep.
Kathy’s eyes widened. ‘Why? What’s happened?’ Her heart began thumping painfully. Oh, surely nothing had happened to Martin?
‘We’re going to a hospital, would you believe, to entertain the patients?’
Kathy breathed a sigh of relief, but now she was puzzled. ‘But – we’ve been to hospitals before. Why – why are you so upset about this one?’
Rosie bit her lip. ‘We’ve always just played to an audience that could come to us in a big room in the hospital or a nearby hall. This time Ron wants us to go into the wards. There are some very – very sick lads there. Badly injured and – and – ’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘We might even see someone – someone die. And all the time I’ll be thinking – it could be Martin.’
Kathy stood up and put her arms around her. ‘Try not to think like that. Try to think that he’ll be one of the lucky ones. That – that he’ll come back.’ Kathy’s voice quavered and at once Rosie returned her hug. They held each other close. ‘I’m so sorry. I was forgetting. I’m being selfish, aren’t I, when there’s countless other girls feeling just the same? You’re right and we have a job to do. Martin – ’ now her voice too was unsteady – ‘Martin would be the first to say “the show must go on”, wouldn’t he?’
Next day, the whole party clambered into the bus to travel to the north of England, to a hospital in a town just south of Newcastle. Travelling was much more fun now with everyone together. There was laughter and banter and even singing throughout the journey. It left Kathy – and now Rosie too – less time to brood.
As they neared the town
where the hospital was situated, Ron stood up at the front of the bus. ‘Now listen, you lot. I understand that the hospital has kindly found accommodation for all of us. The girls are to go to the nurses’ home and the boys are in a hotel nearby. It’s where a lot of the parents, wives and so on stay if they come to visit the lads in the hospital. They do special rates for them and they’ll do the same for us. The hospital administration says that visits like ours help keep up the staff’s morale as well as the patients’.’
An appreciative murmuring at the compliment rippled through the bus and when, a few moments later, they turned into the driveway leading up to the hospital and drew to a halt at the front steps, they saw two nurses standing at the top. At once they came running down, smiling and waving. When Ron stepped down, Kathy heard a merry voice greet him.
‘You must be Mr Spencer. I’m Brenda and this is Elsie. I’m to take the ladies to the nurses’ home and Elsie will take you gentlemen to the hotel. It’s only just there.’ She waved her hand to the right of the hospital. ‘Nice and handy. And you can park the bus round the back of the hospital.’
Ron shook their hands. ‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’
‘It should be us thanking you,’ Brenda laughed. ‘We’ve all been looking forward to you coming so much. There was a raid in Newcastle last night and some of the bombs got a bit close. It’s unsettled some of the patients, so you’ve come at just the right time.’ She glanced up at the windows of the bus and saw Rosie’s and Melody’s young faces. Her own face sobered and she leant a little closer to Ron to say, ‘We do have some very sick boys here. I – I hope all your party are – prepared.’
‘I’ll have a little word before we come into the wards,’ Ron said quietly. ‘Thank you for warning me.’
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