Sing Them Home

by Pam Weaver

  ‘That sounds perfect,’ said Lillian. She flashed him a smile. She was already imagining herself at the wheel, flying around the Sussex countryside.

  ‘Marvellous,’ said Mr Rawlings. ‘I’ll get all the paperwork done and we’ll be under way.’ He stood up and offered her his hand, which she shook warmly. ‘Well done, Mrs Harris. I knew I could rely on you.’

  Lillian’s head was whirling with plans as she returned the chair to the wall.

  ‘Oh,’ said Mr Rawlings, ‘I forgot to mention. There will be a little more money. Fifteen shillings, to be exact.’

  A pay rise as well, thought Lillian. Even better. ‘Thank you, Mr Rawlings.’

  ‘It may take a while to get used to the van,’ he said, turning back to the paperwork on his desk. ‘She’s a bit temperamental, but I’m sure you’ll soon get the hang of it.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Lillian breathlessly.

  She had her hand on the doorknob when he added, ‘I take it that you can drive, Mrs Harris?’

  Lillian turned with an indignant expression, and putting her hand on her hip, she tossed her head. ‘Oh really, Mr Rawlings. I can’t believe you asked me that,’ she said with a scornful chuckle. ‘Can I drive . . . ?’

  CHAPTER 8

  ‘Don’t be so utterly ridiculous!’ Dorcas snapped. ‘It can’t be done.’

  ‘It has to be, Mum,’ said Lillian doggedly. ‘I want that job.’

  They were crossing Homefield Road on their way back from the hospital. The mess on the corner had largely been cleared away from the pavements, thanks to the Canadian troops billeted in the area. Traffic was flowing again, and barriers had been erected. A jagged hole and a pile of rubble were all that remained of Reydon itself. The papers had said nine people in all had died: four Canadians and five German crew members. Of the sightseers who came, most stood by the remains of the wall on the other side of Lyndhurst Road, which had been stacked neatly in the grounds of Candia, and shook their heads in disbelief. In the normal course of events, there was no love lost for the Germans, but everybody agreed it had been a terrible tragedy.

  ‘But you’ve only got twelve days,’ said Dorcas crossly. ‘How on earth do you expect to learn to drive in less than a fortnight?’

  ‘It can’t be that difficult,’ Lillian retorted. Her face was set.

  Mrs Cooper threw her hands into the air. ‘There’s no reasoning with you when you’re in a mood like this, my girl.’

  They had met at Flora’s bedside. As soon as her shift was over, Lillian had dashed to the hospital to spend the last half an hour of visiting time with her daughter. As she had expected, her mother was there, and Lillian was pleased to hear that Pip had spent some time with Flora as well. It was a pleasant surprise to discover that Stella had popped by too.

  ‘Philippa didn’t stay long,’ said Dorcas. ‘She seemed a bit upset about Flora’s face, but she said to give you her regards.’

  ‘She comes across as a really nice woman,’ Lillian remarked.

  What little visiting time she had left went all too quickly, and it broke Lillian’s heart to leave her daughter sobbing in the nurse’s arms.

  ‘Be a good girl and the nice doctors and nurses tell me that after you’ve had the bandage changed tomorrow, you can come home,’ she said encouragingly. But Flora wailed as her mother and grandmother walked out of the ward.

  Too upset to talk, Lillian and Dorcas had walked from the hospital in silence, until Lillian broached the subject of having driving lessons. It was then that she told her mother about the van driver’s job and they began their argument.

  ‘You should have told Mr Rawlings you couldn’t drive,’ Dorcas said petulantly.

  ‘And then I would have got the sack,’ said Lillian.

  ‘He might have asked someone to teach you to drive,’ said Dorcas. ‘From what you’ve said, he thinks very highly of you.’

  ‘Which is why he’s offering me that job,’ Lillian insisted.

  They had reached the house. Dorcas opened the front door and went straight into the kitchen. She began by winding down the pulley and taking the clothes down ready to iron.

  ‘We could do with the money, Mum,’ said Lillian, following her mother into the kitchen, ‘and he promised me an extra five bob a week.’ Should she tell her mother it was fifteen shillings? Lillian didn’t want to. She had plans for the other ten bob.

  ‘And what about the driving test?’ said Dorcas, determined not to be defeated just yet. The pulley swung erratically as she snatched down the clothes. ‘That’ll cost you seven and six, and how are you going to fit it in?’

  ‘I don’t have to take one,’ said Lillian, ducking away from the wooden rungs. ‘They suspended all that for the duration in 1939, remember?’

  ‘But surely you’ll have to prove that you’re capable of driving?’ Dorcas insisted.

  ‘I guess Mr Rawlings will ask the van driver,’ said Lillian.

  Dorcas sighed as she tugged on the rope to make the pulley go back to the ceiling. She knew it was pointless trying to make her daughter see sense. Lillian had always been headstrong and impetuous, which was why she’d had to get married at sixteen, but this madcap idea was just plain stupid. ‘How are you going to pay for the lessons?’

  ‘Who said anything about paying?’ said Lillian. ‘There’s more than one man in this town who would give me a free lesson or two.’

  Her mother looked shocked.

  Lillian chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. I won’t get myself into any trouble again, I promise.’

  Two doors away, Pip was glad of her new-found friendship. She liked Stella a lot. She had known Lillian for some time but only as the mother of one of the small children she occasionally looked after. Most working mothers in the country were supported by the nurseries set up by the government for women doing war work, but because there were no munitions factories or heavy industry in the area, there was a singular lack of them in Worthing. Those women with preschool children who did go out to work had to rely on relatives or friends, which was why Pip had set up a small nursery in her own home.

  She soon gained a good reputation for her nursery. She only had a few children at a time – five, including her own – but she had a lot more names on the books. She provided indoor and outdoor playtimes, and taught them songs and counting. She read stories and played games. The children who came to her were very happy.

  Before the war, Peter, her husband, owned a builders’ merchant’s in Lyndhurst Road. When he was called up, with no one to run the business, Peter had shut it down, but he’d kept the premises. Pip had divided the shop in two. One half was being used as a general hardware store, run by the Powell family, and the other was rented out to Mr Stanford, a cobbler. The rents for the two shops brought in a steady income, which augmented Peter’s army pay, so she was better off than most. The nursery idea benefited everyone. Pip had plenty to keep her mind occupied, and it stopped her dwelling on the past. Her children had lots of playmates. The government inspectors were happy too. They liked the fact that she was contributing to the war effort by enabling several mothers in the area to work and provide for their own families. Pip didn’t charge a huge amount to look after their children, but she had a good business ethic, which meant she more than covered her costs.

  Pip hadn’t always been so shrewd. Soon after Peter left, she’d fallen victim to a bit of a scam. Terry Wilcox had put her in touch with a farmer who wanted to sell some land, so Pip had bought twenty acres. At five pounds an acre, it seemed like a good deal, but after she’d parted with her money, she’d discovered that the land was waterlogged. It was a costly mistake, and one she certainly wouldn’t be making again.

  She missed Peter. Their marriage wasn’t a passionate affair. It could be more accurately described as comfortable. At eighteen, she’d met him at a village-hall dance, where he was playing in the band, and they had married a year later, in 1935. She’d told everyone she had no family of her own. It was better that way. Peter was a hardwo
rking man who put his family first. Before the war came, Pip always had birthday presents, happy Christmases and holidays. He spoiled her when the children came along, and unlike a lot of his generation, he was a hands-on father. Up until February this year, she had received letters from him quite regularly. They were long and chatty. Despite the war, life in Singapore had carried on as normal. His talent as a reasonable musician had opened the doors to some amazing opportunities outside of his official duties, like playing in places like Raffles Hotel and the Singapore Club. The fall of Singapore changed all that.

  As seemed to be so often the case, the British were woefully unprepared for war in the East, even though the intelligence had warned them of the ever-growing menace from Japan. The considered opinion of most of the powers-that-be was that because the Japanese were small of stature, they were weak and ineffective. Officers were convinced that if an assault ever came, it would begin from the sea. No one expected the Japanese to come overland through Malaya. In just a few days, the RAF had lost all its fighter planes, the battleship HMS Prince of Wales and the battlecruiser HMS Repulse, which had been sunk solely by enemy air power. The casualties were mounting. Resistance against the Japanese invasion by the locals and the British forces on the islands was fierce, but the Allies were running out of food and water. Surrender was inevitable. Peter had been captured by the Japanese and was now a POW somewhere in the Far East.

  Having tidied her children’s toys away, Pip sat down with pen and paper. A methodical woman, she wrote to him two or three times a week. She had no idea if he was getting her letters, but she forced herself to believe that he was alive and well, and still reading them.

  Dear Peter,

  We’ve had a bit of excitement here. A plane came down in Lyndhurst Road . . .

  She crossed that bit out. Perhaps it was better not to say exactly where the plane came down for fear, at best, of falling foul of the censors or, even worse, giving the enemy some useful information.

  . . . nearby. The children and I are fine, although I have had a bit of a problem making Georgie stay in the garden. He’s so inquisitive and wants to see what’s going on down the road. I’ve caught him wandering around the alleyway twice. No damage at all when the plane came down, and we made friends with a teacher who was passing by at the time.

  Pip paused and chewed the end of her fountain pen. Should she mention Flora’s injury? No, she decided. Better to keep it light.

  Just lately, the weather has been lovely, with blue skies and a light breeze off the sea. The children are as brown as berries. They send their love. Hazel keeps drawing her daddy pictures. They’re too precious to send as they might get lost in the post, so I’m keeping them in a box for you.

  Well, that’s all for now. Keep smiling.

  All my love,

  Pip xx

  She put the letter in an envelope and addressed it to his regiment. Even though he was halfway round the world, if it didn’t get blown up or sunk on the way, with a bit of luck he’d be reading it by the end of the month. She smiled to herself. Oh, the wonders of modern communication.

  Lillian had a driving lesson lined up for the next day. Cyril Johnstone, who was working on the station as a painter and decorator, was eager to help her out and would be waiting for her in his car as soon as she’d finished her shift, in Station Approach. She’d sworn him to secrecy, but sadly the lesson itself wasn’t to go well.

  He began by staring at the front of her blouse as she climbed into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Right,’ she said, making sure it was buttoned all the way to the top. ‘So how do I start it?’

  His hand rested on the back of her seat as he leaned forward. ‘Turn the key in the ignition, darlin’.’ His breath on the side of her face was sour. ‘Press your left foot down onto the clutch. No, not that one. That’s the brake. Now press all the way.’

  His tone was very suggestive. Lillian frowned. ‘I’m serious about this, Cyril,’ she said curtly.

  ‘Course you are, darlin’,’ he said, removing his hand from the back of the seat.

  She turned the key and the van sprang into life. Pressing her foot on the clutch, she felt his hand cover hers on the gearstick. She didn’t like it one bit, but between them, they eased the car into first gear.

  ‘Now you press the accelerator,’ he said. The car moved forward. ‘Good girl.’

  His hand was still over hers on the gearstick and he pushed it into second gear.

  ‘Do you mind not sitting so close to me?’ she said as she spotted Iris coming out of the station.

  Cyril gave her a brown-toothed smile and moved away, but not enough to please her.

  She’d made it twice round the loop of Station Approach before she’d had enough of his body odour so close to her to want to finish the lesson. He’d eventually taken his hand from the top of hers on the gearstick, but then he’d kept patting her leg as he complimented her.

  When she finally got back home, Lillian was all hot and bothered. There was no time to dwell on that, though: Flora was home. She lay on the sofa under a lightweight blanket. She was pale but clearly delighted to be back. The bandage was gone. From the left side, Flora looked the same as always, but the lovely golden hair on the right side of her head was missing. The exposed skin looked enflamed and sore. It was also stained with iodine. The burn reached her chin, and although her ear was intact, it was very red, and Lillian could see signs of broken blisters. The sight of it tore at her heart, but she stifled her pain as she put her arms out.

  ‘Darling, you’re home!’ she cried as she ran to the sofa and enveloped the child in her arms.

  ‘I was allowed to take her home during visiting time,’ said Dorcas, standing over the two of them with a contented smile. ‘We’ve read some stories together, and Flora has been dressing Dolly, haven’t you, sweetheart?’

  Flora hugged her mother and smiled shyly.

  The subject of driving lessons wasn’t mentioned. Neither woman wanted to be the cause of any tension now that Flora was back.

  ‘Did they say anything about her hair?’ Lillian whispered when Flora was looking at her picture book again.

  ‘They seem to think some of it will grow back, but it may not be like it was,’ said Dorcas.

  Lillian gulped. ‘Oh, Mum.’

  ‘Now, now,’ Dorcas said firmly. ‘She’ll be fine. When it’s healed, we can put a little bonnet on her for a bit.’

  Just before teatime, there was a knock at the door. It was Stella.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ cried Lillian happily. ‘Look who’s home.’

  Stella was delighted to see Flora and to meet her properly for the first time. Seeing her daughter’s puzzled expression, Lillian said, ‘Auntie Stella helped Mummy to find you when you were poorly. She took you to the hospital.’

  ‘I’m glad to see you are a bit better,’ said Stella. ‘I’ve brought someone to see you.’ She handed Flora a parcel wrapped in faded pink tissue and tied with some red ribbon. With her mother’s help, Flora managed to take the paper off without tearing it, and Dorcas folded it neatly. No one said anything, but it was an unwritten rule that the same paper would be used over and over again. Wrapping paper was a luxury, and the pink tissue would be put in a drawer for another time and another present.

  Under the final layer, they found the familiar toy rabbit, cleaned up and with a bandage covering the neat stitching on his arm. He also sported a bright yellow bow round his neck.

  ‘It’s Mr Floppy!’ Flora cried happily as she hugged him close.

  Lillian had a confused look on her face. ‘They told me it was lost,’ she began. ‘How . . . ? I mean, where . . . ?’

  ‘The sister had put him in the bin,’ Stella said confidentially. ‘That nice nurse fished it out when she wasn’t looking and gave it to me in a brown paper bag. It was filthy, of course, what with the soot and all the muck in the bin, but it was nothing a good wash wouldn’t cure. His arm had lost some of its stuffing, so I added some cotton wool and
bandaged it.’

  ‘You are very kind,’ said Lillian, ‘and you’ve made a little girl very happy. Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ said Stella.

  ‘Stay for tea,’ said Dorcas.

  ‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly,’ said Stella. ‘I have to get back. The land girls . . .’

  ‘Surely you’ve got time for a cup of tea,’ Dorcas insisted.

  They turned to look at Flora. She was sleepy, struggling to keep her eyes open. Now that she had Mr Floppy, she had relaxed. Lillian pulled the blanket up to her chin and they all crept out into the kitchen.

  ‘So you will stay?’ asked Dorcas.

  Stella hesitated for a moment or two, then said, ‘Why not?’

  Dorcas busied herself with cups and saucers, while Stella sat at the table, and Lillian stood in front of the mirror over the fireplace and tried to tidy her unruly hair.

  ‘Busy day at work?’ Stella asked to make conversation.

  ‘Frustrating,’ said Lillian.

  She was interrupted by a tap on the back door. It was Pip.

  ‘Just popped in to see how the patient is.’

  ‘You must have smelled the tea,’ said Dorcas. ‘Sit yourself down, dear. Where are the children?’

  ‘Mrs Doughty from across the road has invited them to play with her two,’ said Pip. She turned to Lillian. ‘So what’s happening with Flora?’

  They went over the same ground again with the addition of the return of Mr Floppy, and by the time they were halfway through their second cup of tea, Lillian had launched into her hopes for the new job and her driving lessons.

  ‘I thought Cyril would be a good choice for instructor,’ she said ruefully, ‘but he was more interested in getting his hand on my leg, the lecherous old basket.’

  ‘But he’s old enough to be your father,’ Dorcas scowled.

  ‘Well, that didn’t stop him!’ cried Lillian.