‘Don’t call him that,’ Harry said, and added, ‘The flight lieutenant, who was the adjutant and the CO’s right-hand man in the office, had a nasty scar down the left-hand side of his face, poor chap.’
‘All right, then. He told Flight Lieutenant Hartley to write to Harry’s family.’
There was a strange moaning sound and everyone turned to see Bess with her hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide, staring at Barney.
‘Mam, what is it?’ Lizzie, sitting beside her mother, was concerned. ‘Are you all right? Sarah . . .’
‘I’ll get Lucy.’ The girl, though training to be a nurse, didn’t want to take the responsibility.
‘Hartley?’ Bess’s question came out in a strangled gasp. ‘You said his name was Hartley?’
Everyone was looking at her, puzzled, except perhaps Lizzie. She looked at Barney and then at Harry. Softly, she asked, ‘Do you happen to know his Christian name?’
The two men glanced at each other, mystified. Barney shrugged and then said, ‘I think it was Michael.’
Bess gave a groan and would have slipped sideways in her chair, if Lizzie hadn’t been supporting her. At that moment Lucy came hurrying into the room. She bent over Bess. ‘What is it, Mrs Dugdale? Are you ill?’
‘It’s all right, luv. I’ve just had a bit of a shock. At least – I think I have.’
‘Would you like to come and lie down?’
‘No – no, I’m all right. I’ve got to hear this. Please.’ She turned to Harry. ‘How old do you think he was?’
‘In his early forties, wouldn’t you say, Barney? He worked as the CO’s right-hand man. He wasn’t a flier or anything.’
‘He’d been in the RAF for several years, I think,’ Barney said.
‘And he had a Sheffield accent,’ Harry said. ‘I did notice that.’
Bess glanced round the room and then explained. ‘Mick’s middle name was Hartley, after my dad.’
There was a murmur amongst the family. They didn’t quite know what to say. Michael Hartley Dugdale had caused several of them a great deal of heartache, and yet they felt for Bess. Steve fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair and Nell bit her lip.
‘Do you think this man was your son, Mrs Dugdale?’ Lucy asked gently. She had vague memories of the man who’d kidnapped her. And she remembered the scar. She would never forget the frightening scar.
‘What I can’t understand,’ Bess said slowly, ‘is how he could have got into the RAF, specially calling himself a different name.’ She glanced round the room. ‘Wouldn’t he have had to produce his birth certificate?’
Before anyone else could answer her, Lizzie laughed wryly. ‘You think a little thing like that would’ve stopped our Mick? With his contacts in the Smoke, he could have got any false documents he wanted.’
‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ Bess mused, ‘but I expect I’ll never know for sure, ’cos he’ll never come back to Sheffield, will he?’
No one answered her.
‘Perhaps you could write to him, Mam, at this camp where he is.’
Barney looked embarrassed and cleared his throat. ‘There’s something you should know. If you do think he’s who you say, er – Hartley used to go up to London whenever he had leave. None of us knew why. In fact, we knew very little about him. But on one of his jaunts, the hotel where he was staying was hit by one of those dreadful doodlebugs. I’m sorry, Mrs Dugdale, but he was killed. The CO got word at camp.’
Bess stared at him for a moment and the tears ran down her face.
‘I think you should come with me for a moment,’ Lucy said firmly now. Bess struggled to her feet and, leaning heavily against the young nurse, allowed herself to be led from the room.
Lizzie wiped her eyes. Though she was saddened by the news, she was not quite as devastated as Bess.
‘It’s an awful thing to say,’ she said, her voice trembling a little, ‘but maybe he’s better off where he is. He was a bad lot and if what you’re saying is true, Barney, he must have had something to do with Josh and Amy not getting a letter about Harry. Vengeful to the last, eh? I’m sorry if that’s the case, Josh – Amy.’
Amy knelt beside her at once. ‘It’s not your fault, Lizzie, or your mam’s. We all love you both. But I’m sorry for your loss. Whatever he did, he was still your brother and Mrs Dugdale’s son.’
With Bess out of the room for a few moments, they could all speak more freely.
‘I still don’t understand how he could have wheedled his way into the RAF. They don’t just take anyone, you know,’ Barney said bluntly.
‘He was very clever,’ Trip said. ‘The sad thing was that he used that intelligence in the early days for criminal purposes.’ He glanced at Lizzie, trying to bring her a little comfort. ‘Perhaps he tried to redeem himself by finding a worthwhile career.’
‘I doubt it,’ Lizzie said tartly, no longer blind to her brother’s wickedness. ‘More likely he thought the authorities would never think of looking for him there. Like us, they’d think he could never have been accepted.’
The news had put a damper on the celebrations and soon after that the party broke up.
As the sun set in the western sky, Harry and Lucy stood on Sheep Wash Bridge, gazing at the gurgling water below them. The river curved between the trees on its way to Bakewell and was lost to sight.
Harry put his arm around her waist and took hold of her left hand. ‘Do you realize that this is the very spot where I fell in love with you? I was nine years old.’
Lucy chuckled softly. ‘After Lizzie’s wedding? I do remember standing here with you and talking and I promised to show you around Sheffield, if you ever came to the city.’
‘And you did.’ Harry paused and then asked, ‘When the convalescent home closes, will you go back to the city?’
‘I don’t know. I love it here. What will you do?’
‘Probably stay in the RAF, if they’ll have me. I signed on as a regular, not just for the duration of the war.’
‘Will it still be – dangerous?’
‘There shouldn’t be anyone shooting at us now,’ Harry laughed, ‘but I suppose there’s always an element of danger when you’re several thousand feet up in the clouds, relying on one engine and a tank full of flammable fuel.’
‘Life’s all about risks, isn’t it? It was a dreadful time when we thought you’d been killed. We’ve been very lucky that you’ve come back and Billy and Lewis will soon be home too.’
‘So, Lucy Henderson, are you willing to take a risk? Will you marry me?’
Lucy touched his cheek with gentle fingers and whispered, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
On a warm September day, the members of the families, whose lives had been intertwined for over twenty-five years, met again in Ashford-in-the-Water to celebrate the marriage of Lucy and Harry. They were all there again and a great deal of reminiscing went on. Even Barney was there as Harry’s best man. After the ceremony, when they all returned to Riversdale for the reception, Emily pulled Lizzie to one side. ‘Are you all right, Lizzie? You looked a bit pale in church and I saw Billy take you outside while they were signing the register.’
‘I had a bit of a shock yesterday, Emily, I don’t mind admitting.’
‘Oh dear, not bad news, I hope.’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘No – no – it’s good news, but it was a surprise.’ She bit her lip and added, ‘I didn’t want to say anything today. This is Lucy’s and Harry’s day, so please, if I tell you, keep it to yourself.’
‘Of course I will. Go on.’
‘I haven’t been feeling too well recently, so I went to the doctor and – and I’m pregnant.’
Emily’s mouth fell open – she couldn’t help it – and for several seconds she just stared at Lizzie. ‘That’s wonderful news. Lizzie, I’m so happy for you and Billy. I wondered why he was grinning broadly, like the proverbial cat that’s got the cream.’
‘I’m a bit old for having a baby,’ Lizzie said and Emily hear
d the anxiety in her voice.
‘Lots of women with large families are your age by the time they have their last babies.’
‘Possibly, but not their first baby.’
‘You’ll be well looked after, Lizzie. We’ll make sure of that. We’ll mind your baby’s not born in the back of the car like poor Lewis was.’
They both laughed. Lizzie linked her arm through Emily’s and together they walked into the house to take their places at the table for the wedding breakfast.
‘I’ll keep my promise, Lizzie,’ Emily whispered. ‘I won’t say anything to anyone today, but this is the start of a whole new life for couples like Harry and Lucy, for you and Billy, embarking on parenthood, and for all of us now the war is finally over.’
Lizzie hugged Emily’s arm to her side. ‘And the most wonderful thing is, Emily, through all the ups and downs, you and I are still friends.’
‘The best, Lizzie. The very best.’
The Buffer Girls
Margaret Dickinson
Putting the shine back into Sheffield in the aftermath of war
It is 1920 in the Derbyshire dales. The Ryan family are adjusting to life now that the war is over. Walter has returned home a broken man and so it falls to his son and daughter, Josh and Emily, to keep the family business going.
The Ryan children grew up with Amy Clark, daughter of the village blacksmith, and Thomas ‘Trip’ Trippet, whose father owns a cutlery manufacturing company in Sheffield. The four are still close and as romance blossoms for Josh and Amy, Emily falls in love with Trip – but is unsure if the feeling is mutual.
Martha Ryan is fiercely ambitious for her son and so she uproots her family to Sheffield, where she feels Josh will have more opportunities. But all Josh wants is to continue his father’s candle making business and marry Amy. As the Ryans do their best to adapt to city life, their friendly next-door neighbour Lizzie helps the newcomers settle in. She even finds Emily employment as a Buffer Girl for the cutlery industry; though her attraction to Josh worries Emily.
Though her mother cannot recognize it, it is Emily who is best equipped to forge a career, while Josh’s ambitions lie in a different direction. And as time goes on, problems and even dangers arise that the Ryan family could not possibly have foreseen.
Read the opening chapters here . . .
One
Ashford-in-the-Water, Derbyshire, August 1920
‘You’re not serious, Mam.’
Emily Ryan stood with her hands on her hips, her curly blond hair flying free, wild and untamed, and her blue eyes icy with temper. She was tall and slim, with a figure that had all the young men eyeing her longingly as she strode through her young life. Her lovely face, with its perfectly shaped nose and strong chin, was the epitome of determination. Nothing and no one would stop Emily Ryan doing exactly what she wanted with her life, except maybe one person: her mother, Martha.
‘I’m deadly serious,’ Martha said firmly, folding her arms across her ample bosom. She knew she had a battle royal on her hands as she faced her daughter. Emily resembled her mother, but the older woman’s hair was now grey and drawn back into a bun and her once lithe figure had thickened with age and child bearing. Her face was lined with the anxieties life had brought her; her eyes were still bright but they turned cold when she was angry. And she was ready now. Battle lines were being drawn but Martha knew she would win in the end. She always did.
‘But this is our home. You can’t take us away from all this.’ Emily swept her arm in a wide arc to encompass the small, friendly Derbyshire village where they lived, and the surrounding fields and hills. ‘It’s Dad’s life. He was born here in this cottage. His parents and grandparents are buried in the churchyard. You can’t drag him to live in a city.’ She spat out the word. ‘He’d hate it. ’Specially now.’ Her voice dropped as she thought about her beloved father, sitting huddled by the kitchen range where he now sat every day, so cruelly maimed by the Great War that he could no longer work. He’d been the village candle maker, working in the front room of their cottage and supplying the local village shop and several others in the district. And he’d always served those who came knocking on the front door. It had earned him a modest income and the family had been content, until the war had come and taken away the tall, strong man with a ready smile and a gentle manner. Now he was unbearably thin, his shoulders hunched. His hands shook uncontrollably and any exertion left him gasping for breath. His two children – Emily and Josh – had taken on the work and were trying to keep his small cottage industry going, but it wasn’t the same without their talented father at the helm.
‘He’d no need to volunteer,’ Martha said quietly, her thoughts still on the carnage that had robbed her of the man Walter had been. ‘He could at least have waited until he was called up.’ Her mouth curled. ‘He’d no need to be a hero.’
‘Oh really,’ Emily said, her tone laced with sarcasm, ‘and have everyone around here brand him a coward? Handing him a white feather every time he set foot in Bakewell Market?’
‘He could have found work in a reserved occupation and appealed against his call-up whenever it came,’ Martha snapped. ‘But he didn’t even wait to find out if he was to be conscripted. Off he went to answer the country’s call as if Kitchener had been pointing his finger directly at him.’
‘The ones who stayed were lads too young to go or old men,’ Emily argued. ‘The ones like Dad – fit and strong and healthy –’ tears smarted at the back of her eyes as she thought about the proud, upright man her father had been before he’d marched away to fight for his country. But she kept her voice steady, silently vowing not to cry in front of her mother. Later, alone, perhaps she would allow the tears to fall. But not now. This was one battle she had to win, for her father, for her younger brother and for herself too – ‘they all went and such a lot of them never came home. At least, Dad came back.’
For a long moment, Martha stared at her. Then she glanced away and murmured flatly, ‘Aye, he did.’ The unspoken words lay heavily between them. Perhaps it would have been better for all of them – including Walter himself – if he had not survived to be the broken wreck he now was.
Walter Ryan had been injured on 1 July 1916, the first day of the battle of the Somme, when thousands of his comrades had been mown down by enemy gunfire and blown to smithereens by their shells. It was a miracle he had not been killed and even more amazing that he had survived his terrible injuries to make it home to Blighty. The shrapnel in his leg had been removed and the wound had healed, but an earlier exposure to a gas attack and the constant pounding of the guns had left him gasping for breath, shell shocked and unable to speak.
Martha and Emily were standing in their small back garden, which Josh and Emily had planted with rows of vegetables. They were well out of Walter’s hearing and Josh was at work in the front room. There was no one to overhear the quarrel.
‘What I don’t understand, Mam, is why? We’re happy here, aren’t we? Josh and I are doing our best with the candle making. I make the wicks –’ the braiding of the fine cotton threads required nimble fingers – ‘and Josh makes the candles. He’s got some exciting ideas. He wants to try making coloured candles and scented ones too. He’s already carving some of the bigger ones and he showed them to Mrs Trippet at the big house. She said they were wonderful and she placed an order there and then. Oh, I know we’re not as good at it as Dad, but we’re getting better. And everyone around here helps us with Dad, if we need it. Mr Clark and Mrs Partridge have been wonderful. They come and sit with him and talk to him, even though he never answers them. Who’s going to be on hand in the city?’
Martha bit her lip; this was where it would get really difficult. ‘It’s for Josh’s sake. I’ve got to think of his future. There’s nothing for him here.’
‘What do you mean? Not many lads of seventeen have their own little business ready made for them.’
‘Josh will be eighteen next month,’ Martha said, ‘and besides, he won’
t have much of a business soon. The demand for candles is decreasing with every day. You know yourself it is.’
‘Ah,’ Emily said slowly. ‘Now I understand. It’s always about Josh, isn’t it? You want to uproot the whole family and take us to Sheffield – all for Josh.’
‘Of course it’s all for Josh,’ Martha snapped, not even attempting to be apologetic. ‘He’s a man and he’s got to make his way in the world.’
‘And what about me?’ Emily asked softly. ‘Do I really count so little with you, Mam?’
‘Don’t be silly, Emily. Of course you count. But you’ll get married. You don’t need a career. Not like a man does. Not like Josh does. And you tell me –’ Martha prodded her finger towards her daughter – ‘what else there is around here for him that would make him a good living – that would make him someone – because if you know of something, then I’d like to hear it.’
Emily couldn’t answer her. There was nothing locally that could offer Josh the opportunities he would find in the city. But she was not about to be beaten yet.
‘What about Amy?’ she said, trying a different tack. ‘She and Josh are walking out together now.’
Martha’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are they indeed? And when did that start?’
Emily shrugged, wishing she hadn’t said anything. It was not her secret to tell, but it was done now. ‘They’ve always been friends, but just lately – well, they’ve got closer. Or are you thinking that she’ll come with us?’
Martha shook her head. ‘No, she wouldn’t leave her dad.’
The village blacksmith, Robert Clark, who lived next door, had been a widower since his wife had died shortly after giving birth to Amy. In the early years, Robert had paid a kindly woman, Mrs Grace Partridge, who lived in one of the cottages further up the lane, to care for the infant whilst he worked. But at all other times, father and daughter had been – and still were – inseparable and so it had brought Robert peace of mind when Josh Ryan had begun courting Amy. Whatever happened, he would still have his daughter close by. Perhaps they could even live with him, he had daydreamed, and, in time, maybe another little one would bring joy to his life.
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