Holidays at Home Omnibus

by Wait Till Summer; Swingboats On the Sand; Waiting for Yesterday; Day Trippers; Unwise Promises; Street Parties (retail) (epub)

  Standing there not dancing, just on the periphery of the fun and laughter, was hardly exciting, but staying at home with his mother endlessly knitting and with the incessant organ music of the wireless interspersed with comedy shows and yet more music, or programmes like ‘The Brains Trust’, was worse.

  Joseph had an easy life, with a doting mother attending to every whim. His father had been the caretaker of the council offices, a faded old man, unimportant in a household that revolved around his son. He had died quietly without fuss a few weeks before. It was what awaited him upstairs that caused his life to be such a tragedy. There seemed to be no foreseeable end to that situation.

  Shirley learned a great deal that night. Besides new steps and increasing her ability to read her partner’s movements and know what he wanted of her, there was the realisation that she was really attractive. She had had one or two boyfriends previously but now, being universally admired for her dancing and for herself, her confidence blossomed. She danced three times in a row with a soldier called Frank who asked to take her home. She looked into his wicked blue eyes and glanced across at the solitary, boring figure of Joseph and agreed.

  They slipped out before the last waltz, while Joseph was searching for her to claim the dance which implied agreement for the man to walk the girl home.

  A shy young girl stood near when he had finally given up wandering around looking for her. ‘I seem to have mislaid my partner.’ he said with a shrug.

  ‘Mine has vanished too.’

  ‘Dance together if you like, no commitment, just the dance.’ He smiled and they glided into the throng.

  ‘You dance well,’ she said.

  ‘My girl doesn’t think so.’

  ‘More fool her then.’ He thanked her formally for the dance and hurried to the cloakroom to collect his coat and wait for Shirley to appear. He waited until the last person left, the doorman had locked up, the night had closed silently around him, then he walked disconsolately home. By the time he reached his street his mood had changed. He would never be humiliated like this again. Shirley had definitely seen the last of him.

  The final humiliation was finding the door bolted and having to throw stones up at the window to wake his mother to come down and let him in.

  ‘Joseph, where have you been? After midnight it is. I thought you must be in bed,’ she complained gently.

  ‘I had to get out among people, Mam. Miserable I was. I went to the dance and stayed until the end.’

  ‘I understand, son,’ Mrs Beynon said, kissing him. ‘I really understand.’

  * * *

  Shirley’s escort pleased her with his obvious attraction; she liked the strength of his arm around her and the way he stopped in the darkness and kissed her before walking on holding her even closer. Then his kisses became longer, more passionate and finally alarming. The way he held her, pressing her body against his, frightened her, and as they approached her home above the newsagent, she ran from him and knocked loudly and frantically on the door before fumbling for her keys.

  When she practically fell into the living room, Hetty took one look and demanded to know what had happened, as she put a comforting arm around her.

  ‘I came home with—’ She stopped, not wanting to admit that she had allowed a stranger to walk her home through the dark, empty streets. ‘He was a bit, you know, amorous. I thought he was going to force me, Mam.’ She began to cry and when her mother questioned her she refused to say who had upset her, knowing her mother would presume it had been Joseph. What did it matter; she wouldn’t see that stuffed shirt again.

  * * *

  Shirley’s father had left them when she was a child and it was only very recently that they had discovered his second family, who had been orphaned when he and his new wife had been killed in a road accident. Her two stepsisters, Maude and Myrtle, were being looked after by the Castle family who had found the sisters ill and undernourished and living in a semi-derelict stable. Bleddyn, Huw, Marged and Audrey were training them to help on the Castles’ beach stalls, shop and cafés. For her mother it was still very difficult to look at the girls and know that her ex-husband was their father.

  Hetty Downs had been shocked at the realisation that the two little girls found by Beth Castle living rough were her daughter’s stepsisters, Now the shock was fading and she realised how unfair she had been to blame them for their father’s treatment of herself and Shirley; she wanted to get to know them. The previous summer she had worked for the Castles in the café on the beach. Perhaps applying to work there again would be a sensible first step. After all, she had worked for them before and had helped out for a few hours recently. They knew she worked reliably and well.

  With Granny Molly Piper gone, she would have to ask Marged and Huw or perhaps Bleddyn. She decided that Bleddyn might be more sympathetic and called to see him one Sunday morning when he was most likely to be home. Since the death of his wife, Irene, and with both the boys serving in the forces. Bleddyn filled his time with work and was rarely at home.

  Leaving her daughter selling newspapers she walked to Brook Lane and knocked on the door. When Bleddyn answered, standing there almost filling the doorway, she forgot the opening words she had prepared, he looked so angry at the interruption.

  ‘Sony to bother you, Mr Castle, but could I have a word?’

  ‘Come in, Mrs Downs.’ he said, standing back to allow her to enter.

  ‘I shouldn’t be worrying you on a Sunday, but I know how busy you are, and—’

  He led her into the rather gloomy living room and gestured towards the chair beside the fire. ‘How can I help?’ His voice was quiet and there was no sign of that first irritation on his bearded face.

  ‘You know that Maude and Myrtle Copp are my husband’s children.’ she began, and when he nodded she went on. ‘I want to get to know them, help them perhaps, if I can. I was very unkind to them when they first appeared but their birth wasn’t something they could help, was it? And, well, I want to make it up to them, just in a small way, mind. I don’t want to take them from Marged and Huw.’

  Bleddyn sat opposite her and asked, ‘How can I help?’

  ‘Could you find me a job for the summer in the café at the beach? I worked there last year and, well, I’d get to know them informally, without any great drama, working alongside them. We could find out whether or not we could be friends.’

  ‘What about Shirley? She’s your daughter and could be hurt if you make too much of Maude and Myrtle.’

  Surprised at his thoughtfulness, she smiled. ‘It was Shirley’s idea. She told me she’d like to think she has stepsisters who can become friends.’

  ‘You have to forgive your husband first,’ Bleddyn insisted. ‘Any bitterness would be distressing for the girls and they’ve had enough trouble in their short lives.’

  ‘I’ve thought it through, Mr Castle, and I know I’m ready for this. After all, Paul – my husband – left us a long time ago.’

  ‘Will you answer something before I decide?’ Was there a twitch of humour in Bleddyn’s dark eyes?

  Her quick mind guessed what his question would be. During the previous summer she had fastened a kipper behind the drawer in the café kitchen to pay Marged and Moll back for accusing her of not cleaning properly. ‘No more kippers,’ she said, grinning. ‘I promise.’

  He laughed aloud then and offered her tea. They sat and talked for a surprisingly long time, the conversation wandering over husbands and wives, their virtues and vices, and their infidelities. They talked of their children and their fears for them during the conflict, relaxing then into favourite music and films, and radio programmes on which they both agreed that Tommy Handley’s ITMA was the unbeatable best. Hetty went home in a happier mood than she could remember. When she walked into the shop, Shirley asked, ‘Did you get the job?’

  Hetty laughed; she and Bleddyn had talked about everything except that. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, adding, ‘and for the moment, I don’t care!’
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br />   * * *

  Bleddyn felt happier after Hetty’s visit that he had for a very long time. He stood in the living room and her departure had made him see how gloomy the place was. Irene’s chair was close to the fire, blocking the heat and light from the rest of the room and the curtains were almost closed, as she had preferred. He pulled back the curtains and moved the chair away from the fire, opening up the room, and he felt better still. He wished he had invited her to stay for another cup of tea and wondered vaguely what excuse he could find for inviting her to call again.

  * * *

  Since the air raid during which she and Ken had sheltered for most of the night, Eirlys had felt more strongly attracted to him. It was a revival of their past romance but caution must prevail. It had been the moment, she told herself sternly, nothing more. Yet she failed to talk herself out of the emotional excitement that had been engendered that night. She had thought herself in love with him once and the feelings she had at that time had lain dormant, ready to spring back into life. She was frightened by the intensity of her feelings for him and tried repeatedly to convince herself it had been the romantic if uncomfortable closeness of that night, wrapped in each other’s arms among strangers and with danger all around. Nothing more than a romantic interlude she told herself, coupled with her loneliness, but her body told her something different.

  Fortunately Ken was away for much of the time and she immersed herself in work and tried to put from her mind the memories of that night.

  She liked her job, dealing mostly with the distribution of limited supplies of certain commodities. Yet she wished she were back in the council offices of St David’s Well, where she had been given such responsibility. Mr Johnston and Mr Gifford had trusted her with important jobs, given her more and more responsibility, and her present position was mundane in comparison.

  Everything she was given to do had rules to be precisely followed. ‘A monkey could be trained to do it,’ she complained to Ken in her letters. In one reply he suggested she went back home.

  ‘It was that last air raid that made me think about it’ he explained when he came home a few days later. ‘You could have been killed. Why stay here in a job that bores you when you could be doing something more useful and worthwhile in a town that’s safer?’

  ‘I’ll miss you and your family,’ she said, hurt by the suggestion that she leave him. Hadn’t their increasing closeness meant anything to him?

  ‘Since that night in the shelter, I’ve realised more and more how important you are to me,’ he said then. ‘I want you safe, and living among your friends and family.’

  She shook her head. How could she go back? Where would she live? She could never go back and live in the same house as her father and Teresa. No matter how badly she wanted to return, she had no home to go back to, not with Teresa there, and she didn’t seem inclined to leave.

  ‘No, Ken, I want to stay here with you and your family,’ she said firmly, then less confidently, ‘unless I’m in the way?’

  ‘They love having you here,’ he assured her quickly.

  He was home for three days, which he and Max Moon spent rehearsing a new song Max had written, a weepy called ‘Waiting For Yesterday’, which told of a soldier’s girl’s memories of wonderful carefree days filled with love, to which she hoped to return.

  ‘To my happiness you hold the key,

  Yesterday, oh yesterday,

  Please come, bring him back to me.’

  Ken stared at her as they sang the sentimental words as though they were meant for them alone. Could they go back to their yesterdays, she wondered. The look in Ken’s eyes told her they could.

  * * *

  Bleddyn called into the newsagent’s shop and left a message for Hetty with her daughter Shirley.

  ‘Tell your mother that if she wants to work in the café during the summer, there’s a job for her. She’ll be cooking food and serving alongside Marged and Beth.’

  Hetty was pleased. Although she was past forty, she could still be called to work in one of the factories in the area and she preferred the happier atmosphere of the beach.

  Hetty smiled and looked at her daughter. ‘I promised him there’d be no more kippers.’ She grinned.

  ‘Mam, as you’re in such a good mood, can I ask a favour?’ Shirley asked.

  ‘You want me to close up the shop this evening so you can go out?’ Hetty surmised.

  ‘Thanks, Mam. There’s a dance at the RAF camp and there’s a bus to take us and bring us back.’

  ‘Who are you going with?’

  ‘Oh, that Janet Copp, you know, the nice girl who works the market café.’

  ‘All right. I’ll come down at four, so you can get ready.’ ‘Thanks. Mam.’ Eating the sandwich Hetty had prepared for her lunch, Shirley dashed out. Now she had to ask Janet!

  Janet was surprised by the invitation and intrigued enough to accept. The bus picked up twenty girls at six o’clock and took them to where a dance was arranged to begin at seven.

  Food had been prepared for later and it looked as though the evening would be a good one.

  Unfortunately, the band, who had been playing at a school that afternoon, failed to turn up, having become lost in the narrow lanes in the coastal area around the camp.

  All signposts had been removed in case they helped enemy invaders and no one would help for the same reason, so they went round and round the lanes in their van until they ran out of petrol and when one of them had the belated thought to make a phone call, they were unable to tell anyone where they were, so their would-be rescuers also drove around in a search that lasted for hours. It wasn’t until one of the musicians had the bright idea of playing their instruments, loudly, that they were found.

  While the search went on, and the dance organisers gathered together some records. Shirley approached the man who seemed to be in charge and offered to sing.

  ‘Come on, Janet, let’s start with “For Me and My Girl”.’

  ‘But I don’t think I know all the words,’ Janet protested. Shirley grabbed her hand and led her towards the microphone. ‘Just hum,’ Shirley whispered to her doubtful partner. She knew she had enough voice on her own and if Janet couldn’t join in it didn’t matter. Just as long as she got on that stage, nothing else mattered.

  As often happens, as soon as they began to sing, with a pianist quietly trying to accompany them, the words came back and they sang in perfect harmony as though they had sung it together a hundred times. The pianist realised they didn’t need him and sat with the others to enjoy the unexpected performance.

  The applause was enthusiastic and they were encouraged to sing some more. Harmonising came naturally to Janet and even without the support of music they were surprisingly impressive. When records finally arrived and the dancing began, the two girls were excited at their success. Later, with the band playing and a microphone to give them more confidence, they sang again, daringly putting in a few simple dance steps between verse and chorus.

  On the bus coming home they felt like entertainers rather than a couple of girls out for a few dances and a bit of flirting. Everyone praised them and told them they should be professionals. It was exhilarating, the most exciting thing they had ever done, and hard to believe when they had never rehearsed an act before.

  ‘Janet, I want to do this again, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. And soon.’ Janet agreed. ‘I think we should sign up for some singing lessons too.’

  ‘Let’s talk to Max Moon before we decide anything.’ On this they agreed.

  * * *

  Writing to Eirlys was the simplest way of contacting Max and when Eirlys received their letter telling of the triumphant debut, she showed it to Ken.

  ‘I don’t think they should get too excited, Eirlys,’ he said, after reading the letter a couple of times. ‘We can rarely judge our own work honestly. Max and I have had quite a few hopefuls auditioning for us and you’d be amazed at how hopeless many of them are. Specially if they’re
pretty. An audience can be very kind to pretty girls – the hopeless ones as well as the moderately talented. Several who have sung for us have been quite unaware they are practically tone deaf.’

  ‘But you will help them?’

  ‘I’ll see them and listen to their act when I’m next in St David’s Well.’

  ‘They said in a PS that they are prepared to come to London to see you both,’ she prompted.

  Ken shook his head. ‘I want to let them down lightly; bringing them all this way might give them hope I can’t reinforce.’ He turned to her and suggested. ‘Why don’t you come with us next time we go down? We’re performing at that same RAF camp in two weeks’ time.’

  And so it was arranged.

  * * *

  Shirley and Janet met whenever they could and practised three songs. Their harmonising improved and they added a short dance sequence halfway through their second number, Jerome Kern’s ‘All The Things You Are’. They were determined that Ken and Max were not going to be disappointed.

  * * *

  Joseph heard about the girls’ success but showed no interest. He bought his newspapers from a different shop and when he walked past the place where Shirley worked he looked determinedly to the front. He was offended and wanted everyone to know this. When he was honest with himself, he knew he was fooling no one. Shirley didn’t care or was even aware of his displeasure.

  Instead of going out to the pictures or to a dance most evenings, he stayed home. He would leave work, eat the meal his mother had prepared for him, wash and change then go into the bedroom, where his sick wife lay, waiting for him to come to her. He would read her favourite books until she fell asleep, then tiptoe out to his own room and lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and wondering what he had done to deserve such a life.