by Pam Weaver
Elsewhere, the burns on Flora’s skin were healing nicely. She still had a couple of crusty scabs on her neck, but pink new skin had grown underneath. Lillian told her that the rest of the child’s body was responding well to the creams the hospital had given her. Pip took her word for it. She had no reason to undress Flora while she was in her care.
She could only guess how frightening the incident had been to a three-year-old alone in her garden with fire falling from the sky. Pip closed her eyes as a distant memory of Marion’s terrible screaming came back into her mind. For many a year she had refused to think about it, but ever since that day, it returned unbidden: that awful moment when she’d seen Marion flying down the stairs engulfed in flames. Pip shook herself back to the present, and as she did so, her fingers accidentally touched Flora’s neck. Dropping her paintbrush, the child scrambled from the chair and began batting her shoulder vigorously. ‘It hurts, burning.’
Pip was horrified, and dropping to her knees in front of her, she held the child’s arms. ‘It was me,’ she said. ‘I touched you. It’s all right. Nothing happened.’ Pip felt her little body judder.
‘Hot,’ Flora said desperately. Big tears rolled down her cheeks.
Pip let go, and Flora began to brush her shoulder more vigorously. One touch, one stupid dip of her hand and she’d brought it all back to her. She could have kicked herself. ‘It’s all right,’ she soothed as she held the child close. ‘We’re all indoors and you’re perfectly safe.’ Flora relaxed. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I’m so sorry, Marion.’
The other children had stopped painting and watched them in mild surprise. Over Flora’s shoulder, Pip’s eyes met Georgie’s. ‘Mummy gave her a bit of a fright, that’s all,’ she said reassuringly. ‘It’s all right now.’
The girls returned to their work, but Georgie was still looking at his mother. ‘Mummy,’ he said. ‘Her name is Flora, not Marion.’
CHAPTER 12
Stella kept up her visits to Johnny’s parents even though they had no news to share. Since the telegram had come, way back in August, they had all endured weeks of silence. It didn’t help when in November, the local paper, the Worthing Herald, published a long list of Worthing men who had been made POWs in the North African Campaign but Johnny’s name wasn’t there.
‘Why haven’t we heard from him?’ Judith wondered.
‘It could be a clerical error,’ Desmond suggested, ‘or maybe he’s not counted in the numbers because he’s escaped.’
‘Escaped!’ Judith exclaimed, grasping at her throat. ‘Oh, Desmond, don’t say such things.’
‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ he apologized. ‘Thoughtless of me.’
Stella had been equally alarmed by the suggestion, but on reflection, it probably wasn’t so far from the truth. Wherever he was incarcerated, she felt sure Johnny would feel honour-bound to try and get home.
Stella had been invited to dinner. The meal had been prepared by the maid. All Judith had to do was turn on the oven, and as soon as Stella had walked through the door, the wonderful aroma of rabbit stew with dumplings filled her nostrils.
‘How’s your mother?’ Judith asked as she dished up.
‘Very well,’ said Stella. ‘She’s been helping me by listening to us singing.’
Desmond smiled. ‘How’s it going?’ He and Judith had been keen to hear all about Lillian, Pip and Stella’s singing group. ‘Are you any good?’
‘I think so,’ said Stella. ‘We’ve been meeting for a while, and the other girls are very enthusiastic.’
Judith dabbed her mouth with her napkin and looked up. ‘What sort of things do you sing?’
‘Mostly popular songs,’ said Stella. ‘“Rhumboogie”, “The Anniversary Waltz”, “Kiss the Boys Goodbye”, “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree”, that sort of thing.’
Desmond nodded approvingly. ‘I like that one. A little wine, my dear?’
‘Is it your own brew?’ Stella asked.
‘Elderberry,’ said Desmond. ‘It’s quite light.’
‘We wanted to sound like the Andrews Sisters,’ said Stella, holding out her glass while he poured. ‘But it was too hard trying to recreate the sound because they always sing with big bands.’
Judith smiled. ‘What are you going to call yourselves?’
‘Not sure yet,’ said Stella. ‘The Southcoasters, the Highdown Trio . . . Skylark was a favourite until we discovered somebody else had already thought of that.’
‘So shall we see you at the assembly hall or the Connaught Theatre?’ Desmond asked with a teasing grin.
‘I doubt it,’ said Stella. ‘We want to be with ordinary people.’
‘What does that mean?’ said Judith.
‘We’ll go into works canteens, the hospital, factories, places like that,’ said Stella.
The three of them had talked it over. She and Pip weren’t seeking fame and fortune for themselves, though it was obvious that Lillian wasn’t averse to such things, but they all agreed that the people of Worthing needed a little light relief. The town had been hugely disappointed when long-distance coach trips had been suspended because of the petrol shortage. Not only did it mean a serious drop in the number of day-trippers but it also meant that the locals were unable to travel themselves. Added to that, to save coal, train services had been cut by ten per cent. The year 1943 promised to be rather bleak, what with soaring food prices and an epidemic of shoplifting so bad that specially trained private detectives had been called in from other areas to patrol the shops.
‘People need a morale boost,’ Stella went on. ‘Life can be so depressing at times. It’s all “Do this” and “You can’t do that.” The whole country is sick of rules and regulations. We think everybody should have a little time to simply enjoy themselves.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Desmond.
‘A noble cause,’ said Judith.
‘This stew is delicious,’ said Stella, deliberately changing the subject.
‘Have some more, dear.’
Stella shook her head. ‘No, no, that’s enough for now.’ She put her knife and fork together, and picked up her wine glass.
‘You look miles away, dear,’ Judith said to her husband. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘To tell you the truth,’ Desmond began, ‘I find myself in a bit of a quandary.’
‘Tell us,’ said Stella. ‘Maybe we can help.’
Desmond took a deep breath. ‘Well, my dear, as you know, since I retired, I’ve become a magistrate. A man was brought to the courts the other day charged with stealing by finding.’
Stella frowned. ‘Whatever’s that?’
‘The story goes that he picked up a pretty bracelet in the street, put it into his pocket and went home.’
‘And that was enough to bring him to court?’ said Stella.
‘He should have taken it straight to the police station,’ said Judith.
‘Perhaps he should,’ said Desmond, ‘but it was late at night. According to his solicitor, he’d just come out of a public house, it was raining hard, and he wanted to get home for his supper.’
‘Honesty comes before a full stomach,’ said Judith in a strident tone. ‘What sort of fellow was he? I’ll wager that he had a criminal record.’
‘I suppose it depends on what he did with the bracelet,’ said Stella. ‘Was it valuable?’
‘He put it in a drawer and forgot it,’ said Desmond, ‘and yes, it was very valuable, worth more than two hundred pounds.’
‘Did he plan to sell it?’ said Judith.
‘His solicitor said that he had no idea of its value,’ Desmond went on.
Stella frowned. ‘So how did the police find out about it?’
‘The gentleman in question saw a notice in the paper,’ Desmond continued, ‘so he took the bracelet to the address, which turned out to be a jeweller’s shop. The jeweller was out, so he left it and his details with the assistant. It was she who reported him to the police.’
‘I still can’t see what he did
wrong,’ said Stella. ‘He returned the bracelet to its rightful owner, so where’s the problem?’
‘I hope you dismissed the case,’ said Judith indignantly.
Desmond sighed. ‘Actually, my dear, it wasn’t my case. Old Bob Redding was presiding, and I’m sad to say that he convicted the poor fellow, even though he had a perfectly good character.’
‘But that’s awful!’ cried Stella. ‘That means anyone who finds something in the street would be better off keeping it than returning it to the rightful owner in case they get prosecuted for stealing!’
‘I quite agree with you,’ said Desmond.
‘I hope they didn’t send the poor man to prison,’ said Judith.
Her husband shook his head. ‘At least he was spared that,’ he said. ‘But he was fined five pounds.’ He paused. ‘I have to say I really felt for him. The chap only had one hand – apparently lost the other in the war. He’ll have a dickens of a job to get work with only one hand and a criminal record.’
Stella took in her breath. ‘Say that again. He lost his what?’
Desmond raised his eyebrows. ‘He’d been invalided out of the army. He was shot in the hand and they had to amputate.’
Stella put down her glass. Her blood had run cold. She knew her father-in-law wouldn’t tell her the name of the man, but it sounded awfully like Mr Dennison. In fact, it was too much like him to be a coincidence.
‘Is everything all right?’ Judith was saying.
‘I think I might know the man in question,’ said Stella. Her parents-in-law looked up at her in surprise. Stella put her finger to her lips. ‘His children go to my school, or to be precise, they used to go but haven’t for a while.’
‘A problem family, then,’ said Judith.
‘I went round to their house,’ said Stella. ‘I think they can’t come to school because they have no shoes.’
‘But surely that’s easily remedied?’ Judith said.
‘If the magistrate fined him five pounds, that was probably all the discharge money he had left,’ Stella protested. ‘They don’t give them much, you know.’
‘I hope the father doesn’t spend all his time drinking in pubs,’ said Judith, beginning to stack the empty plates. She looked up at her husband. ‘You did say he’d been to the pub, didn’t you, dear?’
Desmond nodded.
‘I didn’t actually see the man,’ Stella admitted, ‘but his wife is a really good mother, and the children are very bright.’ She was beginning to feel very angry. How could the magistrate be so unfeeling? Clearly the stupid man had no real idea of how hard life could be for some people less well off than himself. She couldn’t imagine how awful it would be to be without shoes. Besides, the court’s sentence was grossly unfair. If that person was Mr Dennison, no wonder he was depressed. What sort of a world was it when picking up a piece of lost property and taking it home was tantamount to stealing?
‘Tell me where they live,’ Judith was saying, ‘and I’ll make sure the children have shoes. This is exactly the sort of thing the WVS was created for.’
‘I’m not sure I can,’ said Stella. ‘If this really is the same man, his wife is a very proud woman. I wanted to help them, but she wouldn’t let me. You know, they truly don’t strike me as dishonest people.’
Judith rose to her feet, the empty plates in her hands. ‘A little gooseberry fool, Stella, dear?’
She nodded numbly. When Judith had disappeared with the empty plates, Stella glanced at her father-in-law.
‘Have you talked to the British Legion?’ he asked. She frowned, puzzled. ‘They help ex-servicemen and their families.’
They heard the sound of the trolley returning from the kitchen.
‘Before you go home,’ Desmond said, ‘I’ll give you the name of a contact. Some of these ex-army chaps have a way of doing things without it seeming like charity.’
Later that evening, when he helped her into her coat, Desmond pushed a piece of paper into her hand. ‘Don’t worry about telling Thornton about your family with no shoes. The Legion know how to handle this sort of problem, and if that chap is looking for a job, they can probably help with that too.’
‘What can he do with only one hand?’ said Stella.
Her father-in-law kissed her cheek. ‘If there’s a job to be had, they’ll find it. The British Legion have contacts everywhere.’
Every week, sometimes twice a week, when the girls met to practise their repertoire, the vexed question of what they should wear would come up. Their taste in fashion was roughly the same, but it was hard trying to decide on a colour that would suit them all. Should they wear an evening dress, day dresses or a suit? The Andrews Sisters wore American Army uniform a lot of the time, so much so that it had become their trademark, but Stella, Pip and Lillian weren’t in the forces. Working on the railway, Lillian had a recognizable uniform, and Pip wore a uniform of sorts when she was doing her obligatory fire-watching duties, but neither uniform was very attractive. Then there was the problem of the style of costume for the stage. Lillian was slim, and Pip had a pear-shaped body, whereas Stella was curvy.
One evening after practice, Pip turned up with a slither of material in midnight blue. ‘What do you think of this?’
‘That’s gorgeous!’ Stella exclaimed.
‘This chap has a bolt he can give me at a good price,’ she said, ‘but I have to be quick about it.’
‘How many coupons will it take?’ Lillian asked anxiously. ‘Flora has grown so quickly I’ve just had to get her some new things. I don’t have many left.’
Pip gave her an old-fashioned look and thumbed her nose. ‘This fell off the back of a lorry.’
Lillian went to the mirror on the wall and held the fabric up to her face. ‘I love it.’
‘If we all had the same colour,’ Pip went on, ‘we could each make it up in the style that suits us best. You can sew, can’t you, Lillian?’
Lillian nodded. ‘You bet. I’d look best in a pencilline dress.’
‘I’d go for a sweetheart neckline,’ said Pip. ‘I’d have it fitted at the waist and with a slightly flared skirt. That would hide my hips.’
‘Maybe we could all wear a string of pearls or something,’ Lillian suggested.
‘No,’ said Stella, and she said it with such force it stopped the other two in their tracks.
‘You don’t like pearls?’ said Lillian.
‘I don’t think we should have the material,’ said Stella.
Lillian and Pip looked at each other in mild surprise. ‘But it’s the best suggestion we’ve had so far,’ said Lillian. ‘We all agree the colour is perfect. Why don’t you like it all of a sudden?’
‘I love the colour, and the idea is great,’ said Stella.
‘So what’s the problem?’ Pip demanded.
‘It fell off the back of a lorry,’ said Stella. ‘We all know what that means. It’s probably stolen, and it’s definitely black market.’
‘Oh, come on,’ said Pip. ‘Everybody does it now and then.’
‘But I don’t,’ said Stella.
‘Who will find out?’ asked Lillian. ‘If anyone asks, we could say it came from the market.’
‘No,’ Stella said again. ‘Look, I turned a blind eye to the petrol, but I refuse to be involved in the black market any more.’
‘What do you mean, the petrol?’ said Lillian, widening her eyes innocently.
‘Lillian, I’m not stupid,’ said Stella. ‘We all know that petrol was knocked off from somewhere. You’d never get that much petrol for so few coupons, and it was pink, for goodness’ sake. Call me old-fashioned, but up until then I’d never bought anything on the black market, and I don’t want to start now.’
‘But you won’t get caught,’ said Lillian, shaking her head. ‘I promise.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Stella. ‘No, I can’t do it and that’s that. I’m a school teacher, for heaven’s sake. What sort of example would I be setting for the children?’
The other two looked glum.
‘Anyway,’ Stella went on, ‘you two have far more to lose than I have.’
Pip turned her back and stared out of the window. Lillian lifted her head defiantly. ‘It’s perfectly safe if you do it in small doses,’ she said vehemently. ‘Nobody cares about the likes of you and me. I’ve been getting stuff off the black market for years and I’ve never been caught.’
‘Supposing,’ Stella said stubbornly, ‘just supposing you did get found out. Who would look after Flora if you went to jail?’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ Lillian shouted. ‘I’m telling you that won’t happen!’
They were having their first row.
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Stella crossly, ‘but you can count me out.’
‘Do you really think anyone is going to be bothered about a bolt of dress fabric?’ Lillian insisted.
Pip turned back with tears in her eyes. ‘She’s right, you know.’
‘See?’ said Lillian. ‘Pip agrees with me.’
‘No,’ said Pip, ‘Stella is right. I never gave much thought what might happen to my kids if I got caught before. It’s all very well for you, Lillian. You’ve got your mum to look after Flora. I don’t have anybody to look after Georgie and Hazel. No, Stella is right. It’s stupid and it’s risky.’
Lillian turned away in a huff. She was loath to give up on a midnight-blue frock. It was years since she’d had anything decent or new. ‘It’s no more risky than getting an extra bit of meat from under the counter at the butcher’s,’ she added sulkily.
‘But we’ll be on stage, remember?’ said Stella. ‘Every woman in the place will know exactly what we’ve done.’
Lillian sat down heavily. ‘But it’s such a wonderful colour,’ she said miserably.
Pip laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve been a perfect idiot. I never should have suggested it.’
‘So now we’re back to square one,’ said Lillian. ‘What are we going to wear?’