by Ellie Dean
Ethel’s usually sour face lit up. ‘They’re both right as rain. April’s got a day off from the telephone exchange, so she and my Ruby ’ave taken Paula to the park for a bit of fresh air. It’s good the gels are getting on so well, ’cos I think my Ruby’s a bit low at the moment,’ she confided. ‘What with her Mike all that way up north and no chance of seeing ’im until this war’s over, she’s worried ’e might go off her.’
‘I doubt that very much,’ said Peggy. ‘Mike’s far too smitten for that. It’s probably all this hanging about waiting for something decisive to happen that’s getting her down. Like the rest of us.’
‘Yeah, you could be right,’ said Ethel, flicking cigarette ash into a nearby flower tub. ‘It’s certainly getting on my nerves.’
Peggy had known Ethel’s daughter Ruby since she’d come down from London, battered and bruised by her brutal husband, who’d since been killed in a motorcycle accident. Like April, who’d come to Cliffehaven after being forced to leave the Wrens when she fell pregnant, Ruby had moved into Beach View, and with the help of Cordelia and the other girls, they had both slowly regained their confidence and sparky personalities. When Ethel also left London, she and Ruby had rented the bungalow Cordelia had inherited in Mafeking Terrace, and now Ethel was firmly ensconced in the tiny railway cottage, Ruby shared the bungalow with another factory girl.
Ruby had met the Canadian soldier, Mike, before he’d been involved in the disaster of the Dieppe raid and lost his sight in one eye. It had been love the moment they’d met for both of them, but their path to happiness had been disrupted by his being sent to the Outer Hebrides for the duration of the war.
‘At least the army didn’t discharge him and send him back to Canada,’ said Peggy. ‘And from what Ruby’s told me, I gather there are very few distractions up there on that remote island.’
‘Yeah, I know. But that don’t stop ’er moping about like a wet weekend.’ Ethel looked at the station clock and got to her feet. ‘I gotta get on, Peg. There’s a troop train due.’
‘I should be getting back to Beach View too. I dread to think what state Ron and the others will be in when they show up, but I suppose I can’t blame them. It’s not easy for Frank and Ron to see Brendon leaving again, and with all this talk of an invasion, he could be sent anywhere.’
‘I don’t reckon Pauline will find it that easy either,’ Ethel commented. ‘She ain’t made of strong stuff, but I bet she ain’t turned to the drink. I don’t know why men think it’s necessary to get drunk at the slightest excuse, and if Stan comes ’ome two sheets to the flaming wind he’ll get a right earful and no mistake. His diet don’t allow for beer.’
As Ethel bustled off to climb into the signal box, Peggy headed for home. She felt rather sorry for Stan, who was clearly under Ethel’s thumb, but as he seemed happy enough to let her boss him about, she supposed she shouldn’t be concerned. Her thoughts turned to the long, lively letter she’d received from her friend Dolly the previous morning. Dolly had confided in her long ago about the passionate affair she’d had with the American, General Felix Addington, and Peggy had always advised her to tell him about their daughter Carol, who was equally unaware of his existence. But Dolly had kept the secret to herself until fate had stepped in and brought father and daughter together down in Devon.
Forced to reveal the truth to both of them, Dolly had been terrified they’d turn their backs on her – but her letter yesterday was full of happy plans for the future. Felix and Carol loved her enough to forgive her, and once the war was over, both she and Carol were planning to go to America to be with him and to start again.
‘How Pauline will react to that, I dread to think,’ Peggy muttered to herself, turning into Camden Road and out of the wind.
Pauline had always been prone to histrionics, and would no doubt make a big issue about her mother deserting her to go and live in America – even though they hardly saw one another now. Dolly was a busy woman with many varied interests, and Peggy could quite understand her thinking that as Pauline was in her forties with a husband to look after her, she didn’t need her mother on her doorstep.
‘Which is all very well,’ Peggy murmured to herself, ‘but it’s me and Frank who have to pick up the pieces when Pauline falls apart.’
She set aside all thoughts of Dolly and her tangled private life as she continued down Camden Road. There was no sign of Rosie at the Anchor, and Peggy wondered fretfully if she had heard about Ron. Rosie had been her friend for years, and Peggy frequently wondered what Ron had done to deserve her. He’d better hope his Irish charm would smooth this latest disagreement and win Rosie over.
Peggy loved her father-in-law, for although he was scruffy and an unreliable pain in the neck, he’d been her rock since Jim had been called up, and she knew that he simply adored Rosie, and would be heartbroken if she ended things between them. What Peggy couldn’t understand was why he persisted in upsetting her. If he took it into his head to go and see her while still silly with drink, then he was asking for trouble. Turning up full of remorse was one thing, but being drunk and maudlin was quite another.
With her thoughts churning, Peggy didn’t stop to chat as she headed for home, but merely nodded to acquaintances, and waved to Fred the Fish and Alf the butcher as she passed their shops. She wanted to get home, have a cigarette and catch up on what everyone had been doing before she prepared herself to face whatever this evening might hold.
She stopped on the corner by the burnt-out skeleton of a bombed house and waited for a convoy of army trucks to rumble up the hill from the seafront. She could see Beach View from here – the home in which she’d been born and raised, and to which she’d returned after her marriage to Jim and her parents’ retirement.
It was one in a short row of four-storey Victorian terraced houses which stood in a cul-de-sac halfway up the steep hill. There had once been six, but following a gas explosion right at the beginning of the war there were now only four. The rubble of the destroyed houses remained, but nature had taken over and now it was mostly hidden by brambles, ivy, grass and wild flowers.
Similar terraces lined the hill all the way up to the main road, which led past the Cliffe estate and RAF station to the villages and towns which lay to the north and east, and as Peggy stood there, she noted that just about every roof had missing tiles covered haphazardly with tarpaulin. Damaged chimney stacks had been shored up or demolished, and broken window panes had been boarded over since it was clearly pointless to keep replacing the glass when Jerry persisted in shattering it again. Walls were pocked by bullet scars from marauding enemy fighter planes, and not a lick of paint had touched the doors and window frames since war had started in earnest back in 1940.
Peggy glanced back at the housewives going about their shopping and realised that everyone and everything looked shabby and down at heel beneath the grey clouds that now blotted out the sun. It was a depressing sight, and she yearned for things to go back to the way they once were.
She crossed the road and headed down the alleyway which ran between the backs of the houses and petered out into a track which meandered up the steep hill to the east of the town and along the clifftops. Reaching her gate, she saw that someone had taken in her washing, which was a relief, for it looked as if it might rain again at any minute.
Pushing through the back door, she shut it behind her and gently unfastened the straps to lift Daisy out of the pushchair. She was heavy in her arms, draped over her shoulder and still half-asleep. ‘Come on, love,’ Peggy murmured. ‘Let’s get upstairs and see who’s home.’
The wireless was on, and Queenie was perched on her usual shelf keeping an eye on everyone as Cordelia washed glasses in the sink, Sarah did the ironing and Rita helped Fran set the table and sort out the seating arrangements. Peggy gave a sigh of pleasure. It was lovely to be in her kitchen again after the icy temperature of the warehouse and the cold walk back, for a fire glowed in the range, and the dim light from the low wattage bulb cast eno
ugh shadows to hide the faded linoleum, peeling paint and shabby furniture.
‘Oh, Sarah, how kind you are,’ she sighed. ‘But you shouldn’t be doing ironing on your day off.’
Sarah smiled back at her as she hung one of Ron’s shirts over the back of a chair. ‘Neither should you,’ she replied, ‘and actually, I quite enjoy doing it. It smells so lovely after being out in the fresh air all day.’
Cordelia turned from the sink. ‘We were wondering where you’d got to,’ she said.
‘I stopped off to chat with Ethel.’ Peggy sat down with Daisy on her lap to divest her of her coat, mittens and woolly hat. ‘She was keen to find out if I’d heard the latest Cliffehaven gossip, which has evidently spread like wildfire. I suppose you’ve all heard what happened at the Crown this lunchtime too?’
‘Aye, we have. To be sure Ron will be in trouble,’ said Fran, her green eyes sparkling with mischief beneath the crisp white nurse’s cap. ‘I feel quite sorry for him having to face Rosie after today.’
‘I wouldn’t feel sorry for Ron,’ Cordelia said briskly. ‘He’s a scallywag, and Rosie deserves better.’
‘You could be right, Cordelia,’ said Peggy, ‘but they’d be lost without each other, so I hope this all blows over quickly.’ She set Daisy on her feet and the little girl ran straight to Cordelia and wrapped her tiny arms around her legs, smiling up at her winningly and asking for a biscuit and juice.
Cordelia dried her hands. ‘Ron should realise what a treasure he has in Rosie and stop behaving like an overgrown schoolboy,’ she said, hunting out a biscuit from the packet in the air-raid box that always stood by the door. ‘And knowing how Rosie feels about Gloria, I think he’s gone too far this time.’ She handed over the biscuit with a loving smile at Daisy, and then poured a little orange juice into a cup. ‘If you ask me,’ she said crisply, ‘he’s a fool.’
Peggy was used to hearing Cordelia being stern about Ron – it had become a sort of game the pair of them enjoyed, so she didn’t take much notice. She took off her coat and gloves and put her arm around Rita. ‘How are you, love? I didn’t expect you to be home yet.’
Rita hugged her back. ‘John let me off early as there wasn’t much doing, but he had me stripping one of the engines, so the day didn’t drag too much.’ Her face brightened. ‘And I got a letter from Dad. He’s trying to get some leave so he can come down, but I know how difficult things are at the moment, so although I’d love to see him, I’ll understand if he can’t make it.’
‘I’m sure he’ll do his best,’ soothed Peggy, kissing the top of her head. Rita would certainly benefit from a visit by her father, but with things the way they were, Peggy suspected his army duties would keep him away.
Rita went to fetch another chair from the dining room, so Peggy turned to Fran, whose copper curls were glowing in the firelight. ‘And what about you, dear? All those lovely letters this morning – have you heard from your family?’
‘Mammy was full of gossip about her neighbours and moaning about Da’s lumbago, which he uses as an excuse to get out of doing anything useful around the house.’ She grinned impishly. ‘He’s a lot like Ron, really. Full of Irish charm, and a magician at getting out of things he has no wish to be doing.’
‘And you, Sarah?’ Peggy asked, knowing full well there had been an air letter from Australia in the morning post, as well as an intriguing one bearing a US forces’ franking.
‘I’ve had a letter from Mum, and two from Jane,’ she replied, exchanging the cool iron for the one heating up on the range. ‘Jane says she’s kept so busy with the MOD that there’s not even the slightest possibility of getting any leave at the moment, but she sends her love to everyone.’
She dipped her chin and began to iron a pillowcase, her fair hair falling over her shoulders and hiding her face. ‘Mum’s enjoying living in Australia, and little James is growing like a weed – but she says the heat and humidity in Cairns is very draining and she misses not having proper seasons. After all those years of living in Singapore, she longs for cool English autumn days, cold rain and frosty mornings.’
‘Well, she’s welcome to them,’ chuckled Peggy, hearing the first spots of rain clatter against the window. ‘I could do with some sun after the lousy winter and spring we’ve had.’
As Sarah continued ironing Peggy watched her thoughtfully. Sarah was usually so open about things, and this avoidance tweaked Peggy’s curiosity, for there was only one person she could think of who might have sent that letter.
While working in the offices of the Women’s Timber Corps up at an Cliffe estate, Sarah had become friendly with an American, Captain Delaney Hammond. He’d since been posted abroad, and Sarah had confessed tearfully to Peggy that her feelings for the captain had gone deeper than just friendship. As he was married and she was engaged to Philip – who’d more than likely been taken prisoner when the Japanese overran Singapore – there could be no future in their relationship. Sarah had struggled to come to terms with her feelings, guilty at being disloyal to Philip, but at the same time battling her deep affection for the married captain.
Peggy had noticed letters going back and forth during the first few months following his departure, but as far as she knew, they’d stopped some while ago – so why had they started again, and more to the point, why was Sarah being so secretive about it? Now wasn’t the time to quiz the girl, but tomorrow Peggy was determined to find a quiet moment to talk to her alone and find out just what was going on.
Fran looked at the clock on the mantel. ‘I’d better get out of this uniform and grab an hour or two of sleep before supper,’ she said through a vast yawn. ‘It’s been a long, busy day, and I’m on earlies again tomorrow and the operating theatre is booked solid. What time are the others coming?’
‘Pauline should be here soon, and I’ve said we’d eat at about seven. Goodness only knows when the men will turn up,’ Peggy said, reaching for her wrap-round apron. ‘But they’d better be sober enough to eat their dinner. It would be terrible to waste all that pigeon when it’s such a treat to have some meat other than rabbit for the pot.’
‘Ron won’t have an appetite for anything much when he hears what Bertie and I saw this afternoon,’ said Cordelia with a glint in her eyes.
Peggy regarded her with surprise. ‘I didn’t realise you’d been out with Bertie.’
‘He popped in just after you’d left and took me for a glass of sherry at the Officers’ Club.’ Cordelia sat down, folded her arms and looked at Peggy over her half-moon glasses. ‘It’s quite surprising who you can bump into at that club,’ she said with just a hint of glee.
‘Not Ron, surely?’ gasped Peggy as Fran hovered in the doorway and the other girls stopped what they were doing to listen.
‘Of course not,’ Cordelia replied dismissively. ‘He might have been an officer during the previous war, but they wouldn’t let him past the bottom step looking the way he does now.’ She made sure she had everyone’s attention. ‘It was Rosie.’
‘Rosie?’ breathed Peggy. ‘What on earth was she doing in there?’
Cordelia pursed her lips and tried to look disapproving. ‘She was having lunch with that handsome one-armed major.’
‘Good for her,’ said Fran from the doorway.
‘Yes, it’s time Rosie had some fun,’ said Sarah. ‘Ron never takes her anywhere, and Major Radwell’s a real gentleman.’
‘It might make Ron treat her better if he thinks he’s got a rival,’ muttered Rita.
‘I’m sure it was all perfectly innocent,’ said Peggy firmly. ‘Rosie’s not tied to Ron, and she can have lunch with whomever she pleases.’
‘Hmm.’ Cordelia pursed her lips. ‘They looked very cosy, the pair of them, and Bertie and I agreed that the amount of flirting going on was enough to set tongues wagging for a month of Sundays.’
‘Oh, lawks,’ sighed Peggy. ‘I do hope you’re wrong, Cordelia.’
‘I might be old, but I still have my wits about me,’ she replied waspishly,
‘and I know when there are shenanigans afoot, believe me.’
Peggy had met the Major during one of her rare evenings at the Anchor, and could perfectly understand why Rosie might have had her head turned. He was the very opposite of Ron, with his lovely neat appearance and gentlemanly manners. ‘Rosie has always enjoyed a bit of flirting,’ she said, ‘and I don’t think any of us should take this too seriously.’ She looked at Cordelia. ‘What was her reaction when she saw you and Bertie Double-Barrelled?’
‘She didn’t see us at all. Bertie and I were in the club room where there’s a large mirror that reflects the diners through the wide archway. They left soon after we arrived, and were far too interested in each other to notice anyone else.’
‘Today has been a bit of a mess for Ron and Rosie, hasn’t it?’ said Sarah, gathering up the freshly ironed laundry. ‘I hope they get ahead of the Cliffehaven gossipers and kiss and make up before the evening is out.’
‘Well said – and with that in mind I think it’s best if we keep this to ourselves tonight,’ Peggy decreed. ‘None of it is really any of our business, and it’s up to Rosie and Ron to sort it out. Besides, this evening is going to be tricky enough with Pauline likely to get over-emotional and the men raddled with drink.’
‘I’ll go and warn Ivy,’ said Rita, reaching for her ancient fleece-lined leather flying jacket. ‘Her shift finished ten minutes ago, so she must be almost home by now.’
4
Totally unware of the brewing storm, Ron tried to focus on where he was going as he made his unsteady progress through the narrow lanes that criss-crossed the area between the High Street and Camden Road. ‘Let’s stop in for another wee dram with Rosie,’ he slurred.
‘I don’t think that would be wise, Grandad,’ cautioned Brendon, who was still quite sober compared to the others. ‘We’ve had enough to drink and Aunt Peggy will have supper on the table by now.’