When We Danced at the End of the Pier

by Sandy Taylor

  There was stunned silence in the room. Brenda was gripping onto my arm and tears were pouring down her face. Then a couple of women started sobbing.

  Suddenly Mrs Forrest’s voice broke through the silence.

  ‘Well, at least our Jack will be alright. He’s a student, you see, a medical student. He won’t be called on to fight.’

  Jack looked uncomfortable. ‘Mum,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t think people want to hear about me.’

  ‘I was just saying…’ she went on.

  ‘There’s a time and a place, Moira,’ said Mr Forrest, ‘and this isn’t it. There are women here with sons.’

  I hadn’t known that about medical students and part of me was relieved, but I agreed with Mr Forrest that this was not the time to announce it to the rest of the room.

  Mum and Brenda went home and me and Jack walked down to the bottom of the garden and sat on the bench.

  ‘So you won’t have to fight?’

  Jack looked thoughtful. ‘Apparently not,’ he said quietly.

  ‘How does it make you feel?’ I said.

  ‘Less of a man, Maureen. That’s how it makes me feel.’

  ‘But at least you’ll be safe.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said.

  ‘Promise me you won’t go, Jack, promise me.’

  ‘Look, Maureen,’ he said, ‘I might never need to go. The regular army will be called up first and then the volunteers. The war may be over by the time it gets to me so stop your worrying. I’m going to have enough of that to deal with, with Mum.’

  But I was scared, because he hadn’t said he wouldn’t go. He hadn’t promised anything at all.

  Forty-Two

  Aunty Marge and Uncle John came round to help us put up the dyed sheets. Brighton was a town in waiting; we were all holding our breaths, not knowing what was going to happen next.

  It was the worst winter anyone could remember. Freezing ice and snow covered the pavements and hills but no one was dragging sledges and trays up onto the Downs and I thought that was sad.

  The worst thing about the blackout was coming home from work. Not only could you not see a thing but the pavements were like ice rinks. Maggie and me would cling to each other as we made our way to the bus stop. Kerbs had been painted to help us see but we still managed to stumble all over the place. It had its funny moments though, bumping into complete strangers and grabbing hold of them to stop ourselves falling into the road. We could hear them laughing and apologising but we couldn’t see their faces.

  ‘Just imagine, Maureen,’ said Maggie as the bus trundled slowly through the dark streets, ‘I could have been in the arms of my future husband and I wouldn’t have known it.'

  ‘I’m not sure that this a good time to think about having a husband,’ I said. ‘I mean, imagine being married and having children at a time like this. I’m worried enough about Jack in London and Nelson in the army without worrying about children as well.’

  We hadn’t heard from Nelson in months except for the Christmas card that had arrived after the New Year. In February a letter came through the door. When I opened it, I could see that it was addressed to Jack, Monica and myself so I waited until we could read it together.

  The three of us were sitting cuddled up under a blanket on my bed. I handed the letter to Jack. ‘You read it,’ I said.

  Jack started to read.

  Dear Maureen, Monica and Jack,

  I hope you don’t mind that I have written this letter to all three of you but I needed to get a letter out quick. We are on the move, getting ready to leave barracks. They haven’t told us where we are going and I couldn’t tell you even if I knew. I will be joining the Royal Tank Regiment, so hopefully all that training will have paid off.

  I don’t want you to worry about me cos I am a lucky fellow. I have you three as my best friends, how lucky can a guy get? You are my family and I love you all very much.

  Keep safe, my friends, and take care of each other. Keep lighting those candles, Maureen.

  All my love,

  Nelson xxx

  None of us spoke, we were lost in our own thoughts. Jack folded the letter and gave it to me. Me and Monica were struggling not to cry and I knew that Jack was too.

  Jack broke the silence. ‘He’ll be OK,’ he said.

  I didn’t know if he was trying to reassure me and Monica or himself.

  ‘Of course he will,’ I said, but even as I said it, I didn’t know that I believed it.

  We found ourselves talking about Nelson; we all had our own special memories.

  ‘Remember the bloody awful brown jumper?’ said Monica.

  ‘I’ve still got it,’ I said, grinning.

  ‘Really?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I wonder why he loved it so much?’ said Monica.

  ‘His gran knitted it for him and he loved his gran,’ I said.

  ‘He didn’t have it easy, did he?’ said Jack.

  ‘But he always managed to smile,’ I said.

  ‘And that’s what’s going to get him through,’ said Jack.

  ‘I’m banking on it,’ I said.

  We limped through those first few months of 1940. Brenda was a bag of nerves; every time she heard a bang she burst out crying, thinking it was a bomb.

  ‘We’ll get a warning, Brenda. There are people whose job it is to let us know when the planes come over and everyone will have time to get to a place of safety,’ said Mum.

  ‘This is a terrible time to be alive!’ sobbed Brenda.

  Mum held her hand. ‘We’ll get through it, love. We got through the first war and we’ll get through this one. We all have to be brave.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m very brave at all, Mum.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ I said. ‘You were always a brave, funny little girl. It was you that kept us all going when times were hard. You have bravery inside you, Brenda, you just have to find it.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ she said, giving me a watery little smile.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ said Mum, hugging her.

  The reality of war came home to us all when we heard that the British Army had their backs to the sea on the beaches of a place called Dunkirk. The government called for anyone with a seaworthy boat to sail to France and help in the evacuation of the men. Thirty-nine British destroyers made their way across the sea, joined by over a thousand fishing boats, pleasure crafts and lifeboats. Jack and I watched as the ferryboat called The Brighton Belle left the harbour to bring our men home. I had never felt so proud as I did that day.

  Over three thousand soldiers were saved and the operation became known as ‘The little ships of Dunkirk’. Sadly, The Brighton Belle was one of many ships that never made it home.

  Afshid, who had become the font of all knowledge and therefore a key member of the war committee out in the yard, informed me and Maggie that they were going to close the Palace Pier and take up the middle section of planks so that the enemy couldn’t use it as a landing stage. The night before it was due to close, Jack and I went down to the seafront.

  There were only a few people hanging around the entrance to the pier. They’d come to look at the big guns standing ready to be placed on the end of it. We stood close together, leaning on the railings and looking out across the grey water. It was as still as anything, not a ripple disturbed its flat surface. You could barely hear the gentle waves that lapped the shore.

  ‘I wonder if Nelson is somewhere over there,’ I said.

  ‘He could be,’ said Jack. ‘In fact, I’m pretty sure that he is.’

  It was getting dark and it seemed even darker without the light from the lamp posts that ran along the length of the prom. People had started to drift away and soon we were the only ones there.

  ‘Come on,’ said Jack, grabbing my hand.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ he said, grinning.

  In one leap Jack jumped over the turnstile, then helped me over.

  ‘Are you sure
we should be doing this?’ I said, trying to climb over as elegantly as I could.

  ‘There’s a war on, Maureen, I shouldn’t think anyone will care.’

  We held hands and ran to the end of the pier. Jack stopped outside the ballroom.

  ‘You said that you wanted to dance.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  Jack pushed the door and it opened. The moon was shining over the water and in through the windows.

  ‘May I have the pleasure?’ he said, bowing.

  His voice echoed across the empty space.

  ‘You may,’ I said, and walked into his arms.

  Jack held me close to him and started humming ‘Moonlight Serenade’ very softly in my ear.

  I put my head on his shoulder, his face was soft and warm against my cheek. We started to dance, slowly, slowly, across the floor, our bodies fitting together just like I always knew they would.

  ‘Happy?’ said Jack, kissing me softly on the lips.

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘See that woman over there?’ he said.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I said, looking around me.

  ‘Over there,’ he said. ‘The brassy blonde in the red dress, you can’t miss her.’

  Then I realised he was joking, so I played along. I looked across the empty dance floor and said, ‘Yes, I can see her.’

  ‘Don’t ever dye your hair that colour, Maureen.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I said, ‘I promise.’

  ‘Because I love you just the way you are.’

  ‘You love me, Jack?’

  He nodded. ‘Always and forever.’

  I caught hold of his hands and spun him around. Jack was laughing.

  ‘You mad girl,’ he said.

  ‘Jack Forrest loves Maureen O’Connell!’ I shouted and my words bounced back to me across the empty floor.

  Jack stopped and looked into my eyes. ‘You must have known.’

  ‘Say it again, Jack,’ I said.

  He took my face gently in his hands and looked into my eyes.

  ‘I love you,’ he said softly. ‘I love you.’

  The moon cast shadows of light across the room as we stood there wrapped in each other’s arms.

  Then we kissed again and we danced to the music in our heads. Round and round we went until I was dizzy with happiness and dizzy with love for a boy that I had waited to dance with for almost all my life.

  Forty-Three

  On 2 July the beaches were closed. Coils of barbed wire were put up all along the seafront and big concrete boulders placed on the beach to stop tanks gaining access to the town. No one was allowed on the seafront after five o’clock in the evening. It was so sad to see our beautiful beaches like this. We had spent all our childhoods here, sitting on the pebbles, paddling in the sea and balancing on the wooden groynes. We wondered if our town would ever be the same again.

  Jack and I took to walking up on the Downs but even this was changing. Trenches were being carved into the beautiful hills. The whole place was crawling with big heavy tanks and soldiers. The Devil’s Dyke was out of bounds. Brighton was preparing for war.

  At the weekends Jack and I and sometimes Monica and Norman went to the pictures. Jack’s new love was Ava Gardner but Rita Hayworth was still his favourite. Mum and I were worried about Brenda, who managed to go to Woolworths every day but refused to leave the house once she’d come home. I tried talking to her about it.

  ‘No bombs have dropped on Brighton yet, Brenda. You should enjoy yourself while you can.’

  ‘I know I should,’ she said. ‘But I hate the blackout and I’m so relieved to get home that I don’t want to go out again.’

  ‘We don’t know how long this war is going to last. You can’t hide yourself away, love. I don’t want to scare you, I really don’t, but if Brighton does get bombed, you’ll be no safer in the house than you would be outside.’ I held her hands in mine. ‘Me and Mum are worried about you and if your dada is looking down on us, then he’s going to be worried about you as well.’

  Brenda’s eyes were filling with tears. ‘I wish he was here,’ she said.

  ‘I don't.’

  ‘Don't you?’ she said, shocked.

  ‘It was the First World War that made him ill.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Well, it was and I don’t think he could have coped with another one.’

  Brenda dried her eyes.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Dada would be very proud of you.’

  She cuddled into me. ‘Thanks, Maureen,’ she said.

  * * *

  Every day trains were pulling into Brighton station, carrying evacuees from London. They were a pathetic-looking bunch and I felt so sorry for them. It must have been dreadful to be torn away from everything you knew and have to say goodbye to your mum and dad. As many families as were able opened up their homes to these poor frightened children; that’s how we ended up with Gertie, and it was Gertie who found the bravery in my little sister.

  Mum, Brenda and I went to Brighton station. There were crowds of people, mostly women, waiting for the train to come in from London, carrying the evacuees.

  Mum gave her name to an official-looking woman who was sitting behind a table. ‘We’d like to take a little girl into our home,’ said Mum. ‘You see, there are no men in the house so we thought a girl would be best.’

  ‘Do you mind what age she is?’ asked the woman, barely looking up.

  ‘No,’ said Mum. ‘We don’t mind.’

  Eventually the London train chugged into the station and the crowd surged forward.

  ‘Keep back, keep back!’ shouted the woman. ‘It’s not a cattle market.’

  We watched as the train doors opened and children of all shapes and sizes climbed down onto the platform. They seemed a sorry bunch, clutching their parcels close to their chests and looking completely bewildered. My heart went out to them. They were carrying gas masks across their shoulders and they all had labels pinned to their coats.

  The woman was still screaming, ‘Hold hands, all of you, and line up! That’s right, a nice straight line, so that the good people of Brighton can look at you.’

  She had said it wasn’t a cattle market but that is exactly what it was beginning to feel like. Names were called out and children were chosen.

  ‘Look at her,’ said Brenda, staring at the line of children.

  ‘Which one?’ I said.

  ‘The one in the green coat.’

  The little girl looked to be about seven or eight. She had a mass of tousled straw-coloured hair and she was grinning at Brenda, who was grinning back at her.

  Brenda tugged at Mum’s sleeve. ‘That’s the one,’ she said. ‘Get her quick before anyone else does.’

  ‘I can’t just walk up and grab her, Brenda.’

  Luckily the woman called out Mum’s name. ‘Mrs Perks?’ she bellowed across the station.

  Mum stepped forward. The woman was just about to take the hand of a rather large child when Mum said, ‘It’s alright, we’d like to take that little girl,’ pointing to Brenda’s chosen child.

  ‘Well, she has two brothers with her. I don’t imagine you want all of them.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Mum sadly. She looked at Brenda and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Sorry, love,’ she mouthed.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said the woman and she walked across to the little girl. When she came back, she was smiling. ‘She doesn’t mind being separated from her brothers and, quite honestly, it might make it easier to place the boys. Her name is Gertrude Lightfoot and she’s eight years old. She must write to her family at once and let them know where she is staying.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mum, then she walked across to the line of children and took Gertrude’s hand. We ran over to them. Mum knelt down so that she was on the little girl’s level. ‘Hello, Gertrude,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘’Allo, missus,’ said the little girl in a broad cockney voice. ‘Y
ou me new mum, are ya?’

  Mum laughed. ‘I’m not your new mum, Gertrude. I’m just going to look after you for a while.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said the little girl. ‘And me name’s Gertie.’

  Mum took the parcel she was carrying and we all walked out of the station.

  ‘When we get home, Gertie, you can write to your mum and dad. They’ll want to know where you are.’

  ‘I ’aven’t learned me letters yet, missus,’ said Gertie.

  ‘You can’t write?’ said Mum.

  ‘Can’t read neither.’

  ‘I’ll teach you if you like,’ said Brenda, grinning.

  ‘Cor, fanks,’ said Gertie, smiling up at her.

  During the bus ride home, Gertie never stopped talking.

  ‘Av ya got a telly?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Mum. ‘Have you got one at home, then?’

  ‘We ’aven’t even got a lavvy at home, missus,’ she said, grinning. ‘But me mum said I might land on me feet and go somewhere what’s got a telly.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Gertie,’ said Mum.

  ‘I’m not disappointed, missus, I never expect much. Have ya got a dog?’

  ‘No, Gertie,’ said Mum. ‘We haven’t got a dog.’

  ‘Have you got one?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, ’is name’s Nosebag. Mum said we should have called ’im fleabag cos he’s crawlin’ with the little buggers.’

  Mum looked alarmed.

  ‘Don’t worry, missus, Mum got us all deloused before we came ’ere.’

  ‘Well, that’s alright then, isn’t it?’ said Brenda, smiling gently at her.

  Gertie stared at Brenda. ‘You gonna be me sister, then?’

  Brenda reached for her hand. ‘If you want me to,’ she said.

  ‘I’d like that,’ said Gertie. ‘I’ve got three soddin’ brothers at home.’

  ‘The woman at the station said you had two brothers,’ said Mum.

  ‘Me mum wouldn’t send the baby away, she said ’e was too little.’