by Pam Weaver
‘Believe me, he needs seeing to,’ said Albrecht in his own tongue as she left the room, and Franz gave his arm a playful slap.
When they had left, Ruby worried about Albrecht and Franz all day. They were supposed to be boys, but they behaved like grown men. Their voices were still a little high, but Franz had a distinct Adam’s apple; and she’d happened to see Albrecht coming out of the bathroom that morning: he was well-built – too well-built to be a child. He had seemed embarrassed to bump into her, clad only in his vest and shorts. He had apologized, at the same time running his fingers through his hair, and she couldn’t help noticing his hairy armpits. At what age did boys get hair under their arms? There was no sign of shaving paraphernalia in the bathroom, but she couldn’t very well rummage through his things, could she? And, come to that, why would two schoolboys prefer to be in a guest house rather than staying in a Worthing home, with young lads of their own age? How come they had been allowed to? It did seem rather odd.
Everyone was aware that the relationship between the British Isles and Germany was hardly convivial. Despite Hitler’s promises to the contrary, the newsreels were full of pictures of goose-stepping jackboots, and of dire warnings of the consequences of further aggression. Ruby couldn’t help thinking that, under the circumstances, maybe this visit wasn’t a very good idea, but her other observations worried her even more. In the end she talked it over with Jim while he was cleaning out the monkey’s cage.
‘I was thinking the same thing,’ he said. ‘If those two are only fourteen and fifteen, I’ll eat my hat.’
‘So what are they up to?’ asked Ruby. At Jim’s suggestion, she was giving the animal a little bit of raw egg. It seemed to be enjoying it.
Jim shook his head. ‘Search me.’
The boys arrived back home quite late. Apparently the play had gone down very well and they had received a standing ovation. They said they were too tired for cocoa, so they excused themselves and went straight to their room. The strange thing was that they crept back downstairs and went outside to sit on the wall again. Ruby wondered if they might be smoking, although she hadn’t smelled smoke on their clothes. After watching them for a while, she went back to her work.
Jim had spotted them too. He couldn’t hear what was being said, of course, but he did notice a car drawing up, and the boys appeared to be talking to the passenger. At first Jim thought the occupants were simply asking for directions, but then he wasn’t so sure.
* * *
Ruby didn’t sleep that night because she was listening out in case Albrecht and Franz were creeping about. Fortunately the house stayed quiet. Breakfast was uneventful and Ruby prepared them both a packed lunch. The coach arrived at ten, and Ruby stepped outside with them to see them off. When she saw the rest of the boys in the coach, they all looked physically larger than English boys of their age. Perhaps her suspicions were the result of an overactive imagination. Maybe all German boys were more powerfully built than English boys, but even the other German schoolboys were not as well developed as Franz and Albrecht.
As Albrecht and Franz climbed aboard the coach, Jim struggled down the path using his walking stick. ‘You forgot your packed lunches,’ he called after them.
Ruby tapped on the window to tell them. Their knapsacks stood in the road, waiting for the driver to load them into the storage area at the back of the coach. Jim undid one and shoved the lunch inside. The driver was stacking it as Franz came back down the steps.
‘It’s all right, mate,’ shouted Jim. ‘I’ve put it in the bag.’
Franz clicked his heels and nodded sharply, before climbing back on board. A minute or two later the driver was back in his seat and the coach moved off. Although nobody was looking, Ruby and Jim waved them out of sight.
‘Did you do it?’ she asked.
Jim nodded. ‘The cameras were right on top,’ he said. ‘All I needed to do was open the back. If they were spies, any photographs they’ve taken of the town will be ruined, when the light gets in.’
‘Do you think we should tell someone?’
‘What should we tell them?’ asked Jim. ‘That you heard them talking about the location of the local gasworks?’
‘It’s not the usual thing that a tourist wants to photograph,’ said Ruby.
‘We’ve done what we could,’ said Jim.
Ruby looked thoughtful. ‘What if they weren’t spies?
‘Then I imagine their teacher will tell them they should be more careful with their cameras in future.’
Bea had thoroughly enjoyed throwing herself into organizing the first meeting of the proposed Townswomen’s Guild, and today was the day. She had begun by making a list of ladies she thought might be interested. They were mainly the wives of people Rex knew well, but she had also picked out ladies from two local churches, the woman from the chemist’s shop, who was very chatty and friendly, and some friends of Effie Rhodes. They gathered in the Parish Rooms on Heene Road, because Bea thought a neutral setting would seem less daunting. Also, if any lady felt uncomfortable, she could make good her escape unnoticed.
She had funded the cost of hiring the hall out of her own money. If something was worth doing, she felt she should be willing to take the risk. About a week and a half before the big day, Bea had written to Mrs Dawson, who was a leading light in the Hastings Townswomen’s Guild, asking for advice. She was hoping to receive a letter that she could read out to anybody who turned up, but to her absolute delight, Mrs Dawson decided to come in person.
Bea met her off the train just after noon and, after taking Mrs Dawson to lunch at her place, the two of them walked the short distance to the Parish Rooms. Mrs Dawson looked smart and businesslike. She was wearing a black-and-white checked suit with wide white lapels. The long jacket had a wrapover panel in the front and large pockets. The skirt was a stylish length and she had a black hat with a white flash on the brim. By contrast, Bea was wearing a red ensemble. Her jacket had wide sleeves over the wrist and it covered her hips, and was complemented by a small black belt. The skirt, worn to mid-calf, was slightly flared with an open kick at the front. Her matching red hat had a black band and a saucer brim, which she wore low over her right ear. She carried a small black clutch bag and wore black patent shoes.
When they arrived at the hall, Effie was busy organizing everybody. The room was set and ready to go. To Bea’s amazement, most of the women to whom she had given invitations had turned up, and Mrs Dawson gave a spirited account of what was required.
‘I have never been one to rest on my laurels,’ she told them as she finished her talk. ‘If you ladies would like to be a part of this, we should get the ball rolling, don’t you think?’
By the end of the meeting everyone who wanted a branch of the Townswomen’s Guild in Worthing had agreed to pay an annual subscription of fifteen shillings, or one and sixpence per meeting. Casual guests would pay slightly more. Mrs Dawson, who had temporarily taken the chair, suggested that they set about selecting a committee. Bea was concerned that not knowing each other would prove to be a problem.
‘I realize that some of you ladies have only a fleeting acquaintance with each other, and that the rest of you don’t know each other at all,’ Mrs Dawson said, as if reading Bea’s mind. ‘I suggest you propose any of your friends that you deem suitable, and if you yourself would like to volunteer for membership of the committee, you should make that known.’
A few minutes later Bea was one of fifteen ladies standing in front of the assembled crowd. Given a piece of paper with the number six written on it, she was asked to say a few words about herself, and what she thought she could bring to the Townswomen’s Guild. After hearing from all the others, each lady then took part in a secret ballot. When the votes were counted, Bea was chosen alongside seven others to be on the committee. Although shaking her head with what seemed to Bea like false modesty, Effie Rhodes was voted in as the new chairman.
‘Well, ladies,’ said Mrs Dawson with a satisfied smile, ‘it looks
like the Heene branch of the Townswomen’s Guild has come to Worthing.’ There was a round of applause, after which Bea stood to thank Mrs Dawson for coming and to announce that they would meet once a month on a Tuesday afternoon. After that, Effie offered to hold the committee meeting in her spacious home on Richmond Road and then they broke up for a cup of tea.
‘You were marvellous, my dear,’ Effie cooed in Bea’s ear, ‘and I should like to ask you to consider being the treasurer. Would you do that for me?’
With Mrs Dawson standing close by, what else could Bea say but yes.
‘Splendid!’ cried Effie, ‘I always knew you were the right woman for the job.’
Bea was happy to do it, but she had the feeling that somehow or other she had been slightly sidelined. As the women made their way home at four o’clock, the newly formed committee was asked to convene in a small huddle to finalize the date and time of their first meeting.
‘I hear that your daughter has been looking after some German schoolboys,’ Effie whispered as they waited for the last two ladies to join them. ‘I do so admire her. The country needs all the help it can get, if we are to maintain world peace, don’t you think?’
Bea felt a little blush of pleasure reach her cheeks, and at that moment she quite forgave Effie for manoeuvring herself into the position of chairman. The committee seemed a nice bunch of ladies – eight including Bea herself. Only one person made her feel ill at ease. She knew Effie, of course; and she had had a meal with another lady, Cynthia Raymond. Mrs Dawson had suggested that, for the sake of decorum, they should refer to each other in the Guild by their surnames; and so, going around the circle, each woman said her name by way of introduction: Mrs Quinn, Mrs Rhodes, Mrs Wilmot, Mrs Raymond, Miss Horton, Miss Taylor, Mrs Crockerton. The final lady stared steadily at Bea, and she felt herself give an involuntary shiver as the woman said her name: ‘Mrs Fosdyke.’
CHAPTER 7
Now that Franz and Albrecht had gone, Jim took down the camera that he’d rigged up by the sitting-room window. He had waited behind the curtain on their last night and had taken several pictures of them. He’d been there when the car pulled up, and he saw Franz hand what looked like a small package to the front passenger. As he’d clicked the shutter, Jim had shivered with excitement. He’d been right all along: they were up to something.
Not wanting to worry Ruby, he had waited until now to retrieve the film. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t develop the film himself. When he had disposed of his darkroom, he had given his chemicals away to friends. One friend had a small photography business in Crescent Road. It was time to call in a favour.
On April 17th the weather on Cousin Lily’s wedding day was bright but blustery. She and Nick Wilkins married in Christ Church, a flint building with brick dressing in the very heart of the town, bearing the distinction of being Worthing’s first parish church. It was also the only church in the town centre with its own graveyard. Nick’s grandfather, a man who had attended the church all his life, was buried there. A popular place of worship, Christ Church had been at the forefront of social care for the people of Worthing ever since it was built in 1843. The congregation, which included Nick’s mother, had run a soup kitchen nearby until quite recently; and the south gallery was known as the Fishermen’s Gallery, and was kept aside for boatmen who might not smell so good when they came to church in the morning after a night out on the water. The high-backed wooden pews in dark wood had tall ends and large fleurs-de-lys, the roof was of pitch pine and there was geometric tiling on the floor – all of which made it seem rather dark inside. Nevertheless the atmosphere in the church was warm and inviting.
Nick had a large family, so his side of the church was quickly filled. It seemed to Ruby that half of Worthing was a cousin, uncle or aunt. Nick’s mother, Edie, was a gregarious woman who made friends easily, and Ruby took to her at once.
Lily’s side of the church wasn’t quite so full. Percy and Rachel had come down from London with little Alma, who looked delicious in a pale-pink dress. Aunt Vinny was dressed like a duchess. She was wearing a long-sleeved mauve print dress with a large lace collar and a string of imitation pearls. Her cloche hat was the same colour as her dress and she carried a lightweight stole and a small clutch bag. In the years since Ruby’s own wedding, Aunt Vinny had got herself an admirer. Bert Cable worked at the same laundry as she did, in South Farm Road, north of the railway line at the central station. A portly man with a large belly, Bert was one of the drivers. He laughed a lot – a loud cackle that resounded around the room, attracting attention and encouraging others to join in. To add to the hilarity, occasionally his top set of teeth clattered against the bottom set at the same time. When Aunt Vinny introduced him, Bert shook Ruby’s hand warmly. She liked him. He was an honest man. What you saw was what you got, and because Cousin Lily’s father had died many years before when she was only a child, Bert had volunteered to give the bride away.
Lily had two adult bridesmaids, friends from the cinema where she worked as an usherette. They were in knee-length lilac dresses, and the sash around each waist sported a large floppy rose. Their picture hats set off their ensemble very well. Ruby’s sister May, now almost eleven, was also a bridesmaid. This was her first time, and for May it was hugely exciting. She had grown into a rather plain child and was becoming a little chubby, so her smaller version of the same dress wasn’t quite as flattering as it should have been. But of course nobody told her that; everybody was very complimentary, and May loved every minute of the occasion. As for the bride herself, she was radiant in an ankle-length satin dress with a sweetheart neckline. On her head she wore a heart-shaped cap and veil. Her bouquet was made up of carnations and lily of the valley.
Lily made all her promises looking directly into Nick’s eyes. And as he returned her gaze, Ruby felt her own eyes smarting with tears. It all looked so perfect from here. Cousin Lily was a beautiful bride, and Nick was as proud as a peacock to have her. Ruby’s heart ached as she watched him reach out and tenderly take Lily’s hand in his, as he slipped the ring on her finger. Only three years ago she and Jim had been just like that, standing side by side and making those same promises. ‘For better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health . . .’ She felt a tear trickle down her cheek and prayed to God that Lily’s marriage wouldn’t turn out to be as difficult as hers had been. She sighed. If only Jim would talk to her.
After the wedding ceremony, Lily walked confidently into the vestry to sign the register, and the brilliance of her smile as she re-emerged into the church convinced Ruby that all those weeks of frustration, and yet more practice, had been worthwhile.
The reception was held in Christ Church hall, just a few steps away from the church itself in Portland Road, and the wedding party was for around fifty people. It was an opportunity for everyone in the two families to catch up with cousins, uncles and aunts. This wedding was so different from her mother’s. When Bea had married Rex, it was as if his relatives and friends had taken over the whole of Worthing. The reception had been a really posh do in Warnes Hotel, and a five-piece band played as they ate. Ruby had wondered if Rex’s family might disapprove of her mother. After all, Rex was a doctor and an educated man, and her mother was the widow of a fisherman. But she needn’t have worried. Without exception, they were thrilled to meet Bea and to see Rex happy at last.
‘No sign of any babies yet?’ said Aunt Vinny, as she cornered Ruby by the tea hatch.
Ruby felt her face colour. She shook her head.
‘You’ll have to tell that husband of yours to get a move on.’
Ruby smiled but said nothing. Aunt Vinny, along with so many others, had no idea how much her probing questions hurt. She would love to have a baby, but with things the way they were, there was little chance. Only the other day her mother had hinted that perhaps Ruby should see her doctor, even suggesting that if she was too shy to do so, she could have a word with Rex on Ruby’s behalf.
‘Don’t you dare!�
� Ruby hissed. The thought of baring her soul to her own father was too embarrassing to imagine. Besides, what was the point, when Jim had made it clear that he didn’t even find her attractive any more?
When her mother had approached her, Ruby knew that should have been the moment to confide in her. They had always had a good relationship and Ruby respected Bea’s opinions, but somehow she couldn’t do it. This was too personal, too intimate. Not only was she embarrassed, but ashamed as well. What sort of wife was she, when the man she loved wasn’t interested any longer?
‘Oh dear,’ said Aunt Vinny, as if suddenly aware of Ruby’s stricken expression. She put her hand on Ruby’s arm and leaned towards her in a confidential manner. ‘Is everything all right with you and Jim?’
‘Of course!’ cried Ruby and then deliberately changed the subject. ‘The tables look very nice. Did you make the wedding cake?’
After a few more minutes of small talk, Aunt Vinny excused herself to attend to other guests.
‘That photographer is bloody useless,’ said Jim, wheeling himself up behind Ruby. ‘He’s forgotten half of what he’s supposed to do. He should have done one with the groom’s parents and Aunt Vinny, and he—’ He stopped as Ruby turned around. ‘You’ve been crying.’
‘Daft as a brush, aren’t I?’ Ruby joked.
‘Many a true word,’ said Percy, joining them. He kissed his sister on the cheek. ‘How are you both?’
‘Fine,’ said Ruby. ‘How about you and Rachel?’
‘Business is good,’ said Percy, ‘but there’s a lot of resentment against the Jews in some parts of London. The Blackshirts are stirring up trouble. Looks like we’ll have to move again.’
‘Oh no,’ said Ruby. ‘Where will you go?’