Homefront

by Jill Barry

  “It doesn’t sound like it. It’s a very cheerful letter but then, I don’t suppose he’d want to worry either of us by sounding down in the dumps.”

  Eleanor nodded. “He’s always had a cheerful nature, your dad. Even when he was away in the trenches in the last war, he always seemed matter of fact. There must be old postcards somewhere. Requests for soap, or chocolate or socks!” She smiled. “Your mum and I tried our best to knit for our men folk. I dread to think how many stitches we dropped while we sat chatting, needles and tongues clacking nineteen to the dozen.”

  Charlotte shuddered. “I dread to think how Robert would suffer if he had to rely on me for his socks. I hope his mum will prove better in that direction.”

  “I don’t mind helping out,” said Eleanor. “I could get some wool tomorrow. I’ve probably got enough knitting needles to supply half the town.”

  “Mum always admired your knitting skills. I’ve still got the little woolly cardigans you made for me. There’s even a knitted dress and I must have been about ten when I last wore that.”

  “A lovely shade of forget-me-not, if I remember rightly. You looked very bonny in it too. Fancy you still having that. But your mother was the expert seamstress. She could buy a remnant and whip up a creation fit for a princess.”

  They sat in silence. Charlie visualised her mother’s wedding dress, a short white gown Noelene had made for her own wedding in 1918. Her parents had married only a week after the First World War ended. Charlotte’s father had escaped relatively unscathed but of course, Eleanor’s young man, Stephen, had not survived. It must have been very difficult for her, celebrating her friend’s marriage while mourning her lost love. You could tell, looking at the few photographs commemorating the occasion, how sadness sat on Eleanor’s shoulders even though she smiled brightly for the camera.

  “You know, I think we deserve a little treat. How about taking ourselves off to the pictures on Saturday night,” said Eleanor. “What do you reckon?”

  “I reckon it’s a very good idea.”

  “I’ve lost track of what’s on, I’m afraid,” said Eleanor.

  “Local paper’s here somewhere.” Charlotte rummaged through a pile of newspapers and magazines. “Don was looking for an article he’d seen in one of the Sundays so the Peel Bay Gazette’s ended up buried.”

  “That apprentice of mine always knows what’s showing. I can ask her tomorrow.”

  “No, it’s all right. I’ve found it now.” Charlotte riffled through the pages.

  “Too much to hope there’s a Cary Grant somewhere.”

  “As it happens, you’re in luck. Bringing up Baby’s on at the Roxy.”

  “What heaven. How about you, though? Is there something you fancy?”

  “Hmm, I’m not keen on Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy.” She looked at the next announcement. “Oh dear, I think The Dawn Patrol would be too much like piling on the agony.”

  “I agree! We need something to help keep our spirits up,” said Eleanor.

  “Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm is on at the Raleigh.”

  “I remember your dad saying he thought Shirley Temple reminded him of you when you were eleven or so,” said Eleanor.

  “Oh no! I think she seems very precocious. I hope I wasn’t ever like that. Shall we opt for Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn?”

  “Let’s do that,” said Eleanor. “I’d forgotten – one of my clients saw the trailer last week. It went clean out of my mind, with the men going away and so on.”

  “Did your client say it looked worth seeing?”

  “She said it was hilarious, the bits she saw. Cary Grant wears a swansdown-trimmed negligee at one point.”

  “Unmissable then.”

  They each began to laugh.

  “You see,” said Eleanor. “Operation Cheer Up is working already.”

  Next day’s mail brought a letter postmarked Huddlesham. This time, Charlotte’s hands were oil free as she’d been showing Robert’s mother where everything was kept in the small office beyond the customer counter. Pearl was due at any moment, to go through the system with Mrs Costello, much to Charlotte’s relief. It seemed a little tactless to open her letter in front of her sweetheart’s mum so once again she found herself pushing an envelope inside the pocket of her trusty dungarees.

  “Hey, what are you hiding away there? Come on, you can trust me!”

  Pearl, cheeks pink from hurrying through a blustery morning, stood in the doorway, a big smile on her face.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Pearl,” said Charlotte. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d abandoned us.”

  Pearl unwound her red woollen scarf. “As if I would. I’ve been spending as much time as possible with my mum and dad.” A little of the sparkle faded from her brown eyes but she gave her friend a rueful smile. “You know Mum’s not been too wonderful lately?”

  Charlotte nodded. “Yes, you said. When is it you start work at the air base?”

  “Monday. In one way I can’t wait but in another, I feel so guilty, so sad about leaving home.”

  “You mustn’t! Feel guilty, I mean. Your mum has your dad to watch over her and I can pop in sometimes, now Eleanor’s moved in and taken on the shopping and cooking.”

  “How are you two getting on?”

  “So far so good. Mind you, she seems determined to feed me up. In a funny kind of way, rationing might prove to be my salvation. Otherwise, Robert might come back on leave and find I’ve grown twice as big in his absence.”

  Pearl chuckled. “I rather doubt that, given the way you run round here.” She paused. “Seriously, Charlie, I’d love it if you could call and see my folks. I’ll be home as often as I can but I’ll probably find the first few days hard-going. Not that I’m afraid of pulling my weight,” she added defensively.

  Charlotte patted her friend’s arm. “No one would ever think that of you,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “I’ll introduce you to Robert’s mum now.” She lowered her voice. “I’m sure you’ll get on well. I got a letter from him today but please don’t mention it. His dad says they still haven’t heard so … well, you know.”

  Pearl nodded. “I’ll be discretion itself. In other words, I know nothing!”

  Chapter 9 - Love Letters and Little Pleasures

  Pearl’s arrival to explain the bookkeeping system provided the perfect excuse for Charlotte to grab some privacy in which to read Robert’s letter. Once in the kitchen, she didn’t even wait to fill the kettle from the tap but sat down in the old easy chair beside the stove, the seat her father often occupied in the evenings if he wanted to stay in the warm and listen to the wireless.

  There were two whole pages.

  Deaconsbury Training Camp

  Sunday 10th September 1939

  My dear Charlotte

  I wouldn’t call myself the best of correspondents so please forgive me if my sentences don’t always turn out like they should. First things first, thank you for driving us to the station and most of all thank you for saying you’ll be my girl. That means such a lot to me. More than I can ever tell you.

  I hope my ma and pa will help ease the way along for you and Mrs Bennett. I didn’t tell them you and me want to write to each other but I’m pretty sure they’ve guessed. I shall drop them a line after I finish my letter to you but the kind of things I shall say to them won’t be what I’ll be saying to you!

  Charlotte smiled to herself at that comment which she’d keep to herself, of course. She skimmed the part about accommodation, the food and one or two of the other new recruits Robert had palled up with, as he put it. She nodded with satisfaction, noting her brother had sent a postcard to Pearl. That was something she could pass on to her friend and would doubtless mean more to her than the cup of tea Charlotte was supposing to be making!

  Clicking her tongue against her top row of teeth, Charlotte hurried to fill the kettle, put it to heat on the stove and picked up her precious letter again. She suspected Robert had abandoned
the task halfway through, because the next section appeared slightly lighter than the first, which appeared in very bold pencil. Maybe he’d lost the first one and borrowed someone else’s. It didn’t matter. The sentiment behind the words was by far the most important thing.

  I want you to know how much you mean to me. I want you to think of me at night when you say your prayers and remember me in them, please, my dear lovely Charlotte – as I shall remember you in mine.

  It’s almost time now for lights out. Before we know it it’ll be time to rise and shine. That’s Army life for you. Square bashing and spit and polish till the cows come home. Take very good care of yourself my dearest and don’t forget to confide in my father if you have any worries or if some pesky so and so tries to make eyes at you!

  Your ever-loving Robert xxx

  PS If you can send me a snap of yourself it would be very much appreciated. The days seemed to go by in a rush and I should have got Don to photograph the two of us together. But far better I have one of you and not one with my ugly mug on it, I think!

  Ugly mug indeed! Eleanor had teased Charlotte about her young man having matinee idol looks. He was a handsome fellow, without a doubt and it would be lovely to have a photograph of him to keep on her bedside table. Perhaps when he came home on leave, they could sort something out.

  She was admiring that big curly R on his signature again when the kettle began whistling, bringing her down to earth. Tea for five people took priority over her love letter, at least for the time being.

  Once the tea had brewed, Charlotte poured it carefully into a tall jug. She’d need to make two journeys to make sure she didn’t tilt the tray and cause an upset. What a shame someone couldn’t invent a machine for dispensing tea. If they could do it with petrol, surely they could do it for the cup that cheered?

  Eleanor and Charlotte’s cinema trip proved a great success.

  “At least we can sit in someone else’s blacked out room this evening,” said Charlotte as they made their way, arm in arm, down the road to the cinema.

  “I still can’t get used to it,” said Eleanor. “The autumn days will seem extra short this year. You know that big screen I have at the salon to stop the light escaping when people come in and go out? It’s really rather unstable. I need to find a way of securing it.”

  Charlotte almost offered Robert’s services to take a look at it but stopped in time. “It’s difficult for everyone,” she said. “We’ve no option but to close the garage earlier and earlier as the evenings draw in. Just imagine if you lived in a vicarage. They’re usually built to house a big family, aren’t they? That must take miles of black cotton.”

  “True, though I expect some of the rooms can be shut up for the duration, if nobody needs to use them.”

  “I don’t know what I’d have done without your help, Eleanor. Measuring up and getting the material, I mean. I wasn’t too quick off the mark sorting out things at home.”

  “Your dad said he managed for those few nights before he went away. But I need to make sure we can black out his window and Don’s as well, ready for any leave coming their way. I’ll do that as soon as I can so you needn’t worry about it.”

  “That’s a relief. It strikes me this war’s causing lots of extra work and worry. Let’s hope it doesn’t last for long.”

  Eleanor sighed. “I don’t think we should get our hopes up regarding a swift ending. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but unfortunately, I can’t. Raymond had a good understanding of the situation before he went away – far better than mine.”

  They were nearing the cinema. “It’s a good job the Government decided to allow cinemas and theatres to reopen. I’m really looking forward to this film,” said Charlotte. “And it’s something to tell Robert about when I write next.”

  Eleanor chuckled. “Creeping in through the double doors then through whatever they’ve rigged up will seem peculiar. But it’s great to be able to gaze at a big screen and forget the war for a while.”

  “The newsreel’s important, don’t you think,” said Charlotte. “We get lots of information that way.”

  “I know,” Eleanor agreed. “The Government didn’t take long to catch on, as you say. Can’t wait to see Cary Grant.”

  “I think he’s spoken for, Auntie El.”

  “Aw, I wouldn’t really want to marry a film star. I reckon that would just be asking for trouble.”

  As they made their way through the blackout precautions and into the foyer to pay for their seats at the dimly lit ticket booth, Charlotte found herself wondering whether her godmother also found this period in their lives to be unreal. Sometimes it seemed bizarre with so many men away and others joining them when their turn came. She felt like holding up her hand and yelling ‘Stop’ before any more harm could be done. No such luck. She’d have to play the waiting game with as much good grace as possible.

  Eleanor purchased tickets and they moved into the auditorium where the usherette guided them to two middle seats, six rows back in the Stalls. Last time Charlotte visited the cinema, she’d sat in the back row feeling shy about being there with Robert. Then his arm around her shoulders had made her feel warm and cherished. Now she wondered when she’d experience that magical feeling again. Tonight he’d be in her prayers. If faith and love could get him through this and safely out the other end, Charlotte Moore was the girl to count upon.

  The newsreel began. Men marched briskly across the screen. Latecomers hurried into their seats. Charlotte sat back and waited to be entertained.

  “Katharine Hepburn has some stunning outfits,” whispered Eleanor soon after the star made her appearance.

  “What do you think of Cary Grant in specs?”

  Her godmother chuckled. “Can’t really imagine him being a palaeontologist! But I’d still like him if he wore a sack over his head.”

  “Except that’d mean you couldn’t gaze at his chiselled jaw.”

  “Shush!” The curt command came from the row behind.

  Charlotte froze, not daring to glance sideways at Eleanor lest she burst out laughing. She lost herself in the story, loving every moment and laughing at every rib-tickling incident.

  On the way home, they made their way carefully along streets made unfamiliar by the dark cloak of blackout restrictions. Their eyes had been focused upon the bright cinema screen and at first both agreed they seemed to wade through nothing but unforgiving dense darkness. Charlotte thought of the time at Fun Land when she’d pushed through those double doors of the ghost train ride, with Robert shining the torch, its beam highlighting the sham spooky effects. How much had happened since then.

  At last, eyes adjusting, the two women found they could step out with more confidence. Maybe that’s what it’s all about, thought Charlotte. If I learn to accept the situation we’re in, it will become easier as time goes by.

  “When I opened up the salon this morning, I found a letter on the doormat.” Eleanor’s words greeted Charlotte as she let herself into the kitchen one chill October evening.

  “You mean from Dad? Is he well?”

  “Very well indeed. He thinks all that running back and fore between petrol pumps and money drawer must have helped keep him fit.”

  Charlotte nodded. “My dungarees are looser than they used to be. It’s no bad thing, either.”

  “Well, don’t loose too much weight. Rationing won’t help either.”

  “Most of our customers are either discussing the increase in the price of petrol or they’re wondering how they’re expected to manage without this, that or the other.”

  Eleanor stirred the soup simmering on the hob. “It’s much the same with my clients, though they’re more concerned with clothes and food coupons than petrol prices.”

  “Any more news from Dad?” Charlotte didn’t want to pry but she had the impression Eleanor was bursting to tell her something.

  “Yes.” Her godmother’s face shone with pleasure. “He says to tell you there’s a strong possibility he’ll get lea
ve over Christmas.”

  Charlotte gave a little cheer, rushed over to the stove, grabbed the wooden spoon from her godmother’s hand and waltzed her round the kitchen table until Eleanor begged for mercy. “I’m not so young and energetic as you are,” she complained. “Pooh … Eau de Petroleum’s all right in its place but I wish you’d wash your hands before you dance with me!”

  Charlotte giggled. “I shall remember in future. What a lovely bit of news, though – about Dad, I mean. It’s not a bad journey to Huddlesham and back. If the weather doesn’t play up, I could drive him to the camp on the morning he’s due back. That’d give him some extra time.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t want him back by midnight on Boxing Day. Christmas Day’s on a Wednesday this year.” Eleanor retrieved her spoon. “Will you open for business?”

  “Oh yes,” said Charlotte. “If only for a few hours. Customers expect it.”

  “We can time the meal for early evening so we all sit down together.” She looked expectantly at Charlotte. “If that suits you, my dear?”

  “Are you volunteering to cook dinner?”

  “Of course. But I wouldn’t want to impose. You and Raymond and maybe even Don if he can get leave too, might prefer to spend the day as family.”

  “But you’re family too, Auntie El,” Charlotte’s tone was indignant. “I thought those friends you used to go to for Christmas Day had moved to York?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So you’d be on your own if you weren’t here?”

  “Well, yes. I suppose so.”

  “Your place is here, with your family.” Charlotte edged her way past the stove to the sink and began washing her hands.

  “You don’t know how happy it makes me feel to hear you say that,” said her godmother.

  “I’m sure it’s what Mum would’ve wanted. Specially after all you’re doing to help us.” Charlotte scrubbed her nails vigorously.

  Eleanor sank into the easy chair beside the stove and clasped her hands around her knees. “Thank you,” she said. “I know Raymond will always love Noelene.” She looked up at Charlotte’s profile. “I would expect nothing less. I never dreamt your father and I might become fond of one another.”