When We Danced at the End of the Pier

by Sandy Taylor

  I love Albert. And I love you.

  From Lieutenant Gertie xxx

  PS: The missus helped me write this letter but I wrote Gertie all on my own. X

  We continued to go to work but we never knew where the bombs would drop next and we worried about each other every day. Sometimes the raids went on all night and we had to sleep as best we could in the shelter next door. Houses and shops were being destroyed and many people lost their lives.

  On Friday, 29 November the Savoy cinema had a direct hit and Hannington’s store was bombed. I thought of that lovely shop and the day that Mrs Bentley took me and Brenda in there to buy the beautiful lilac scarf and gloves for Mum and it made me sad. Everything about this awful war made me sad. But amidst all of this I had Jack. Our feelings were getting stronger every day, heightened perhaps by the fear that at any moment we could lose each other.

  Monica hadn’t met her better class of person yet and she was still going out with Norman.

  One evening me and Monica were up on the green. It was freezing cold and the bench we were sitting on was damp. We could see the shadowy outlines of kids kicking a football around. There were houses all around the edge of the green. Some of them had damage to the roofs and some were boarded up. So far, our street had been lucky but I knew the next bomb could very likely have See Saw Lane written on it. I pulled the sleeves of my coat over my hands and shivered.

  ‘Have you and Jack, you know…?’ said Monica.

  I knew what she meant. ‘No, but it’s getting harder every time we see each other.’

  ‘Why don’t you just do it, then?’

  ‘Where would you suggest we do it, Monica, in a field?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I want the first time to be special. That’s why not.’

  ‘There’s always the barn.’

  ‘I’ve got bad memories of the barn.’

  ‘Would you do it if you could though?’

  I could feel my face going red but luckily it was too dark for Monica to see.

  ‘Part of me is scared at the thought but sometimes when I’m with Jack, I’m not scared at all and I want to do it so badly I get this pain in my stomach.’

  ‘That’s because you’re denying your body what it needs,’ said Monica, as if she knew everything there was to know about doing it. ‘So you get a belly ache. You have to listen to your body, Maureen.’

  ‘Have you done it with Norman, then?’

  Monica laughed. ‘Plenty of times,’ she said.

  I was surprised to find that I was shocked. ‘But you don’t love him,’ I said.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So how can you do it with him?’

  ‘You don’t have to be in love with someone to do it.’

  I was confused. ‘But—’

  ‘But what?’ asked Monica.

  ‘Well, isn’t being in love what it’s all about?’

  ‘People make love for all kinds of reasons, Maureen. When they’re lonely or sad or scared. Sometimes, especially now, people just need the comfort of another person’s body beside them, because we don’t know from one day to the next if we’re going to survive this war. I for one don’t intend to wait for Mr Right to come along.’

  ‘I never thought about it like that,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ said Monica, ‘I couldn’t do it with someone that I didn’t like, but I like Norman, he’s a nice chap and I know that he would never hurt me. But love? I am never, ever going to fall in love.’

  * * *

  But she did. Passionately, deeply, and with all her heart. The man in question was Flight Lieutenant Chester McQuaid from Santa Monica, California. She bumped into him on her way home from work during the blackout; she literally fell at his feet. Poor Norman!

  We were in my bedroom talking about it.

  ‘Don’t you think it was just meant to be?’ she said. ‘I mean, he comes from Santa Monica, of all places. I’m going to be Mrs Monica McQuaid from Santa Monica! How brilliant is that?’

  ‘You’re going to marry him?

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘But you’ve only just met him.’

  ‘But I think I’ve known him all my life.’

  ‘Well, Monica Maltby, I think you might have blown the “I’m never going to fall in love bit”.’

  ‘Guilty as charged, but at least now I can understand how you feel about Jack.’

  ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ I said, smiling at her.

  ‘It’s divine,’ she said, flopping back on the bed and cuddling my pillow. ‘Now you’ll have to do it with Jack, because if you feel about Jack the way I feel about Chester and I know you do, then you’ll end up being ill if you don’t do it immediately.’

  ‘OK, I’ll inform Jack tonight and the two of us can go in search of a field that hasn’t got any thistles in it.’

  Monica pulled me down beside her. ‘You’re daft, do you know that?’

  ‘That’s why you love me so much.’

  ‘Right now I love everyone… well, everyone except my dad. I shan’t miss him when I go to America.’

  I was feeling a bit worried. I mean, what did she know about this Chester bloke? He could be married with ten kids for all she knew. What if she got pregnant and then he disappeared back to Santa Monica, California? What then?

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Maureen O’Connell.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘You think he might leave me.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘He won’t, but even if he did, I will know what love is and nothing else will do. Not money or a big house or a flashy car or tea at the Savoy. I’ve learned that nothing else matters. I don’t care if we have to live in a mud hut as long as we’re together.’

  ‘Brave words, my friend,’ I said, grinning. ‘But somehow I can’t imagine you in a mud hut.’

  ‘Well, luckily I won’t have to be because Chester McQuaid III just happens to be fabulously, deliciously, disgustingly rich.’

  I burst out laughing. ‘Trust you to fall on your feet or in this case at his feet!’

  ‘I know! I brought him home, I thought he’d better see the dump I live in before he commits. Mum fell in love with him and so did Archie. Even my rotten excuse for a father took to him. Of course the nylons, chocolates and tobacco might have helped,’ she said, giggling.

  ‘I’m happy for you, Monica,’ I said. ‘I really am.’

  ‘I know you are and I’ll really miss you when I go to America.’

  It was still amazing to me that she was so sure about everything. She didn’t seem to have a doubt in her mind. She was going to marry Chester McQuaid III and live in America and that was that.

  ‘Now about you and Jack,’ she said.

  ‘What about me and Jack?’

  ‘You have got to do it.’

  ‘Oh. That.’

  ‘How would you feel if you woke up dead one morning and you’d never done it?’

  ‘Well, obviously I wouldn’t feel anything, would I?’

  ‘Considering all those candles you’ve lit to the Blessed Virgin Mary, you’re bound to get into Heaven – you’ve even got a squashed dog rooting for you. So there you will be, sitting on a cloud, bored out of your skull, watching your Jack doing it with Marion Tucker.’

  ‘Don’t!’ I said, giggling and digging her in the ribs.

  ‘Well, I’m only saying,’ said the future Mrs Monica McQuaid III, from Santa Monica. Looking as innocent as you like.

  Forty-Nine

  We were all hoping that Nelson would be coming home for Christmas. We hadn’t seen him for so long and we missed him. We still wrote to him and told him all the news but we didn’t hear back very often. Then we got a letter.

  Dear Maureen and Jack,

  It sounds as if you’ve been having it tough in Brighton but I am thankful that you continue to be safe. You must have been worried sick about Brenda and Gertie when the Odeon was bombed. I am so glad that they came out of it alive. Pl
ease give Brenda my love. I wish I could have met Gertie.

  Well, the time has come for me to join my friends. Our job here is done and we are on the move. We haven’t been told where we are going, but as I said before, I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you even if I knew. In a way, it’s a relief. I want to do my bit and so do the other chaps.

  Think of me, as I am always thinking of you.

  Keep safe.

  Love always,

  Nelson xxx

  Jack folded the letter and handed it to me.

  ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he said.

  We took the bus into town and got off at the clock tower. Everyone knew the clock tower – it was as much a part of Brighton as the two piers. Now it looked sad, standing there all smashed up, with the hands of the clock dangling down its face like tears.

  ‘Poor old clock tower,’ I said.

  Jack held my hand and we continued down West Street and onto the seafront. It was still a shock to see the ugly coils of barbed wire all along the prom and the warnings telling us that the beach was mined.

  ‘Let’s go to Shoreham Harbour,’ I said. ‘It’s nice there and there’s no barbed wire.’

  There was a cold wind blowing off the sea as we walked along but it didn’t bother us, we needed to walk.

  We passed the new King Alfred building. Everyone had been excited when the building went up because it was going to be a public swimming baths but then the war broke out and now it was being used as the Royal Navy training base.

  When we got to the lagoon we could see that there were sandbags all along the front of it and two armed soldiers were standing guard at the gate. They nodded as we passed. I still found it hard to be near the lagoon; I still remembered waiting for Daddy that day, the day he didn’t come. Eventually we came to the bank where Monica and I had sat watching the ships.

  Jack and I hadn’t really spoken much on the way there. I imagined that his thoughts, like mine, were full of Nelson.

  There were more big ships in the harbour than when Monica and I had gone there.

  ‘It looks like a couple of the ships have seen action,’ said Jack, pointing to the largest one in the harbour that seemed to have damage to its side.

  I watched the water lapping the shingle and I thought about Nelson.

  ‘Do you think he’s scared?’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘He’d be daft not to be but I think he’s probably a bit relieved too. I mean, he always knew that he would have to fight, he just never knew when and the waiting must have been hard.’

  Jack seemed quiet and withdrawn. In fact, now I came to think about it he hadn’t really been himself for ages. I tried to pinpoint when he had started to change but I couldn’t.

  ‘There’s something troubling you, isn’t there?’ I said gently.

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

  ‘I want to worry about it, Jack. I want you to be able to talk to me if something’s on your mind, so tell me.’

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose and stared out across the water. ‘I’m getting funny looks, Maureen, because I’m not in uniform. Well, it started with funny looks and now it’s progressed to name-calling. It’s getting pretty nasty.’

  ‘Oh, Jack.’

  ‘And the thing is, I don’t blame them. All they see is a young chap who looks fit enough to fight for his country and they’re right, I should be fighting.’

  ‘You’re studying to be a doctor, Jack, that’s just as important.’

  ‘We’re at war, Maureen, I’m being judged and I hate it. What good would it do for me to say, “I’m going to be a doctor, I don’t have to fight, I’m exempt” when they’re calling me yellow belly and coward? They’re not going to say, “Oh sorry, mate, we didn’t realise”. No they’re not, they’re more likely to laugh in my face.’

  ‘I didn’t know this was happening.’

  Jack sighed and put his arm around my shoulder. ‘Sometimes I feel like a coward. Sometimes I wonder if I am hiding behind this exemption thing and feeling justified in staying behind, while other young men of my age are out there fighting.’

  ‘Students are exempt for a good reason,’ I told him. ‘This war isn’t going to last forever and when it’s over we’re going to need doctors and engineers and architects.’

  ‘Are you saying my life is more important than theirs?’

  ‘Well, it’s more important to me, but no, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you are just as important to this country as the men that are fighting with guns and bombs.’

  Jack looked at me and smiled. He brushed the hair away from my face and said, ‘What you’re saying makes sense, but right now, I’m thinking with my heart and not my head, and my heart is telling me to join up.’

  ‘Your mother will have a nervous breakdown if you go to war.’

  ‘I know she will. Sometimes I wish I had brothers and sisters then she wouldn’t concentrate on me so much.’

  I wondered if I was being selfish too. Was I being like his mum, who didn’t care about other mothers, only about her own son? And did I blame her? Wouldn’t I be the same if I had a child? Wouldn’t I be relieved my son didn’t have to fight? I thought that I would.

  I watched the birds splashing about at the edge of the shore without a care in the world. They didn’t know there was a war on and even if they did, they could fly away. I wished that me and Jack could fly away.

  I took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want you to go, Jack, you know that, but if that is what you need to do, then I promise I won’t fight you on this.’

  ‘Have I told you how much I love you, Maureen O’Connell?’

  ‘Not in the last couple of hours,’ I said.

  Jack took my face in his hands. ‘I love you, Maureen O’Connell,’ he said.

  ‘And I love you, Jack Forrest. I have always loved you and I always will.’

  We lay back on the grass and kissed.

  Fifty

  In the early hours of Wednesday, 11 December, there was a banging on the front door. It was my day off so I was still in bed. I heard Mum answer the door, then talk to someone. After a while she called up to me, ‘Maureen, I think you should come down!’

  I threw some clothes on and ran downstairs. Mr Forrest was standing in the hallway.

  ‘I thought you’d want to know that several bombs have dropped on Western Road. By all accounts they didn’t explode but I think they have caused quite a bit of damage. That’s where your bookshop is, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Oh God, I hope it’s OK!’

  ‘I’ve got the car outside, would you like a lift so that you can see for yourself?’

  ‘Oh yes please, Mr Forrest.’

  ‘Come next door when you’re ready,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a long road, Maureen,’ said Mum, following me upstairs. ‘There’s a good chance that the bookshop is fine. Try not to worry.’

  * * *

  But the bookshop wasn’t fine. I knew as soon as we got close that it was far from fine. Pages from the books were flying all down the road. Some were caught up in the trees; they clung to the branches, fluttering away like hundreds of white butterflies.

  Mr Forrest parked as close to the shop as he could. I hurried down the road. As I got closer, there were more pages flying about. They were blowing everywhere. They covered the pavements and the road. They were under my feet and I was treading on them.

  There were police and soldiers and wardens everywhere. I couldn’t get near to the shop but I could see Peter running around, gathering up the torn pages of his books.

  ‘I have to get to the bookshop,’ I said to one of the wardens.

  ‘No chance, miss,’ he said, looking for all the world as if he was in charge of the whole thing. ‘There’s an unexploded bomb in there.’

  Then Mr Forrest was at my side. ‘This young lady,’ he said to the warden, ‘works in that shop and that gentleman is her friend and he looks as if he needs her help, so be a good chap and let her through, eh?’


  The warden scratched his head and looked at Mr Forrest, who was wearing his work suit and looked important.

  ‘Oh well,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I can see my way clear to letting her through but don’t come running to me if the building falls down on her head.’

  We thanked him and I walked towards Peter. I touched his arm.

  ‘It’s not safe here, Peter,’ I said.

  He looked dazed and bewildered. ‘My books,’ he said.

  ‘We can replace the books, Peter, but we can’t replace you.’

  A soldier was shouting at us, ‘Get out of the bloody way!’

  ‘Come on, old chap,’ said Mr Forrest gently. ‘Let’s get you home, eh?’

  Peter stood for a moment, staring at his beloved books, broken and ruined on the ground, flying up into the sky and over the tall buildings. ‘My books,’ he said again. He was holding the torn pages to his chest as if they were his children and yet he had never been able to read them.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Mr Forrest and slowly, Peter allowed himself to be led away.

  The bomb had dropped straight through the roof and landed at the back of the shop. A bomb disposal team would come in and make it safe. If it had gone off, there would have been no shop left so we’d had a lucky escape. Four bombs had fallen that morning on shops and houses in Ship Street, Western Road and Upper North Street and, for some reason, none of them had gone off. People started calling it Brighton’s luckiest air raid.

  * * *

  As soon as we could, Maggie and I got to work cleaning the place up and saving what books we could. We moved the undamaged ones to the front of the shop and we put some in boxes on the pavements so that we could still trade. The war council, out in the yard, had been demolished and so had the record player and all Peter’s records.

  Volunteers were in the street, clearing rubble from the road. The women from the WRVS were supplying them with hot drinks and food. Everyone was pulling together and, despite the damage that the bombs had caused and maybe because there had been no loss of life, it felt like a big street party.