‘Did they say where she might be going?’ she asked tearfully.
Mrs P shook her head. ‘I don’t think they know till they get ’em to the station. Someone from the WVS travels with ’em from there an’ then you’ll get a postcard givin’ you the address. I’m so sorry, love.’
Lucy shrugged. ‘It’s not your fault. We knew it was bound to happen, and if we do get raided, I dare say she’ll be safer out of the city.’
Mrs P nodded sadly, too full of emotion to speak.
The following Sunday evening, Lucy kept Mary up until the child’s eyelids were drooping with fatigue, aware that this would be the very last evening they would share together for possibly a very long time. She made the child her favourite jam sandwiches for supper and rocked her on her lap in front of the fire, then when they finally went to bed she wrapped the child in her arms and held her close as her heart ached. It was so hard to try and imagine the house without Mary in it, but she rightly guessed that many more women across the city would be suffering the exact same heartache. She had tried to be strong, but once Mary was asleep Lucy lay in bed savouring the feel of the warm little body in her arms and allowed the tears she had held back to slide down her cheeks as the hours ticked away.
On Monday morning, Lucy dressed the little girl cosily in the smart red coat and tied her woollen bonnet beneath her chin, then with a heavy heart she placed the brown label with Mary’s name and address on it around her neck and lifted the child’s suitcase. It was almost time to go, but first she had promised Mrs P that she would call round so that she could say her goodbyes.
The poor woman tried unsuccessfully not to cry as she kissed the child but it was useless, and soon both she and Lucy were sobbing, although Mary stood quite still showing no emotion whatsoever.
‘I’ve made her a couple o’ cakes to eat on the way,’ Mrs P said, thrusting them at Lucy in a brown paper bag. ‘Yer did remember to do her some sandwiches fer the journey, didn’t yer?’
Lucy nodded as she turned for the door. There was no sense in prolonging the agony and Mrs P followed her out onto the pavement, her head covered in a headsquare, wrapped turban-like around her metal curlers.
‘Goodbye, luvvie, an’ may God go with yer,’ she called as the sisters set off along the cold street.
Lucy clutched Mary with one hand and the case with the other; her feet felt as if they were made of lead and she wondered if she would be able to part with the little lass when the time came. She had both of their gas masks slung across her shoulder too, so it was hard going, but soon the school came into sight and Lucy saw a bus and a number of mothers with children already there. Lucy slowed her steps, hoping to delay the terrible moment when she would have to hand Mary into someone else’s care.
A woman from the Red Cross was ticking names off a list on a clipboard and then ushering the children onto the bus, and everywhere seemed to be organised chaos. Older children were screaming as they clung to their mother’s skirts whilst the younger ones appeared to view it all as a big adventure and clambered aboard quite happily to wave from the windows. A man was loading the children’s cases into the hold in the side of the bus and all the mothers were clearly trying to control their tears in case they upset the children even more.
There was only about half a bus full, the majority of the children having been evacuated the previous September, and in no time at all the woman with the clipboard approached Lucy and asked, ‘Child’s name?’
Lucy had to lick her dry lips before a sound would come through them.
‘Mary Ford,’ she squeaked and the woman nodded as she crossed the name off.
‘Give her case to the gentleman over there and then get her onto the bus, please?’
Lucy passed her case to the man then walked towards the steps of the bus where she stooped to wrap her arms tightly around Mary. There was a huge lump in her throat and she had to blink very fast to hold back her tears.
‘Now, now,’ the woman scolded. ‘We don’t want to set the children off, do we?’ She took Mary’s gas mask from Lucy and hung it about the child’s neck, then before Lucy could say another word she helped Mary up the steps, where another Red Cross worker settled her into a seat. All the other children were waving and shouting but Mary sat down and stared straight ahead with no sign of emotion whatsoever.
Lucy stood as if she had been rooted to the spot, feeling so bereft that she was incapable of speech. Then the final two children were put aboard and the Red Cross woman clambered up behind them and closed the door firmly.
‘Do you have any idea at all where the children might be going?’ Lucy managed to ask the man who had loaded the luggage, and hearing the note of desperation in her voice he smiled at her kindly.
‘Well, I can’t be sure but I reckon I heard them mention Folkestone.’
‘But that’s only across the Channel from where all the fighting’s going on,’ she said faintly.
He patted her hand. ‘So it is, but it isn’t a target like the industrial cities, is it? Your little ’un will be just fine, I’m sure. And now if you’ll excuse me I’d best get them off to the station. I’m the driver, see.’
She watched him climb into the driver’s seat and seconds later the bus rumbled into life and began to pull away. Lucy ran alongside it waving frantically, but Mary didn’t even glance in her direction and within minutes she was gone. Lucy stood there feeling utterly devastated. She had meant to tell Mary how very much she loved her and how much she would miss her, before she boarded the bus, even though she had told her the same thing at least a dozen times that morning, but everything had happened so fast that she hadn’t had time to say anything. And now she could only pray that Mary knew.
The mothers began to trickle away then, most of them openly crying now, and Lucy trailed behind them. She had to get to work, which she supposed was no bad thing. There seemed little to go home for now that Joel and Mary were gone.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Look, here it is!’ Dotty excitedly held up a copy of Woman’s Heart magazine. ‘A Wartime Romance by Dorothy Kent. It feels really strange to think that this is my story. And Robert has already chosen the one they want to publish next month.’
‘You must feel very proud,’ Annabelle said with a trace of envy in her voice. After all, it was quite an achievement to see your name in print and to know that your work was going to be read by hundreds if not thousands of people. ‘And I’m sure the next one will wonderful too, if Robert has chosen it.’
Dotty blushed furiously. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? He asked me to call him Robert because it’s friendlier than a surname, that’s all.’
‘And of course you don’t fancy him a bit, do you? And you’re not looking forward to going to London again at all,’ Annabelle teased.
Lucy just smiled but she didn’t comment. Since Mary had gone she had been very withdrawn and quiet, and the other two girls were making allowances for her. She had practically brought Mary up so they supposed she was bound to be missing her badly.
‘Of course I’m looking forward to going to London again,’ Dotty said. ‘But it’s only business. I’ve told you, I think Robert already has a ladyfriend – Laura, who he works with.’
Annabelle rolled her eyes but wisely held her tongue. She was sure that Dotty must have mentioned Robert Brabinger at least a dozen times a day since their meeting, and she had a sneaking suspicion that Dotty was more than a little smitten with him, even if she hadn’t admitted it yet. But time would tell. Meantime, she and Dotty were doing all they could to cheer Lucy up, sadly without much success up to now. But they had persuaded her to go to a dance with them at the Locarno in the city centre that night, and Annabelle was looking forward to it. She was fed up of being stuck at home in Leaf Lane all the time.
They were now into May and the war bulletins were not good. On the first of the month the papers had reported that a German mine-carrying bomber plane had crashed in Clacton injuring 156 people and killing four
Germans and two civilians. But then the following week even worse news had reached them. The Allies who had landed in Norway only two weeks before, had departed; the German army had been too powerful for them. The Allied Forces were now in France and Belgium, but what if they were unable to hold the Germans off again? It made everyone realise that there was only the Channel between Great Britain and the enemy, and the threat of an invasion became a very real possibility.
‘The Jerries have invaded the Low Countries,’ Mrs P told Lucy one evening after work. She was all in a tizzy as she waved the newspaper under the startled girl’s nose. Lucy still tended to go round to Mrs P’s for a cup of tea each evening. It delayed going home to an empty house for a time at least. ‘They’re bombing Holland and Belgium and all the harbours. It says here that almost all our ships have been sunk and now they’re sending in tanks and parachutists. Where in God’s name is it going to end, eh?’
Lucy felt physically sick at the news, and she knew that both she and Mrs P were thinking the same thing. Mrs P’s Freddy and her own Joel could be out there somewhere.
Only the week before, a young man’s mother in the next street had received a telegram saying that he was missing, and now the sight of the telegram boy cycling down the road was one to be feared. Who knew whose door he might stop at with a telegram for some poor woman telling her that her beloved husband, son or brother was missing or worse still, dead?
‘Churchill reckons they’ll target France next,’ Mrs P went on as she mopped at her streaming eyes with a snow-white handkerchief, and now Lucy’s blood really did turn to ice. Joel had told her in a roundabout way that he was in France in the last letter she had received from him. She glanced towards the darkened window, her mind full of terrible images as the barrage balloons floated like pale silver ghosts in the sky above the city.
Then only yesterday they had listened to yet another radio announcement informing them that sixty Luftwaffe He-111 bombers had besieged Rotterdam, devastating the city centre. None of them could help but wonder what would have happened if they had bombed Coventry. No one was using the phrase ’Phoney War’ any more. Suddenly it was all too real.
Yet for the three friends, life went on much as it had before. They went to work at Owen Owen each day and every night they returned home, hoping to hear word from their loved ones. Lucy had not heard from Joel for weeks and nor had Annabelle or her mother heard from Richard, and sometimes they feared the worst, even though they all knew that the post was taking much longer to get through now.
‘You’ll probably get a whole heap of letters turn up all at once,’ Dotty would tell them when she saw how worried her friends were, and they could only hope that she was right. It didn’t stop them fretting, however.
After work today, they all headed for Annabelle’s house where they had arranged to get ready for the dance. Dotty had taken her best outfit to work and put it away in her locker, but Annabelle had promised to find something of hers that Lucy could borrow. Much like Dotty, Lucy had never had the inclination or the funds to follow fashion so she had agreed to Annabelle’s offer, although her heart wasn’t really in it. She would much rather have gone home and read a book or listened to Joel’s crackly old wireless, but not wanting to be seen as a spoilsport, she had agreed to go along.
Miranda was waiting for them when they arrived at the charming old house in Cheylesmore. The kettle was whistling and a meal of corned beef hash was ready.
‘Sorry it’s corned beef again,’ she apologised to Annabelle as she loaded a pile of mashed potatoes onto their plates, ‘but the butcher had run out of meat when I got there and I went quite early this morning too.’
Annabelle wrinkled her nose but Lucy piped up, ‘It looks delicious. Thank you.’ She scowled at Annabelle, who clearly didn’t realise how lucky she was to have a mother to come home to and a hot meal on the table.
Once they had all eaten, Miranda shooed them away upstairs although Lucy and Dotty had volunteered to wash up.
‘No, you get away and doll yourselves up,’ she told them with a smile. ‘You’re only young once. Oh, but before you do, I wondered if any of you would fancy doing a first aid course? The Red Cross are running it one night a week from next Thursday along in the church hall, and who knows when first aid may come in handy, the way things are?’
Dotty and Lucy both said they were interested, but Annabelle didn’t seem at all taken with the idea.
‘First aid!’ she exclaimed. ‘But won’t that be rather boring?’
‘It isn’t meant to be exciting,’ her mother pointed out. ‘And what would you rather do? Stay in and sulk?’
‘Well, I shall definitely go,’ Lucy said and Dotty nodded in agreement.
‘And so shall I. It will be nice to feel we’re learning something worthwhile.’
‘In that case I suppose I ought to come along too,’ Annabelle said with bad grace and she then ushered her friends up the stairs ahead of her. She still had an outfit to sort out for Lucy but she wouldn’t be letting her wear any of her nylon stockings. They were getting like gold dust now.
An hour later, Lucy regarded herself uncertainly in the mirror on Annabelle’s dressing-table. She was wearing a cream cotton summer skirt and a lacy figure-hugging jumper in a lovely shade of cornflower blue. She had managed to squeeze her feet into a pair of Annabelle’s high-heeled shoes too, although she had no idea how she was going to walk in them. To complete the picture, Annabelle had loosened her lovely auburn hair from the band she usually tied it back with and teased it into thick shimmering waves that fell about Lucy’s slim shoulders. Annabelle had even persuaded her to wear a little make-up and now as Lucy stared at her cherry-red lips and her new look she scarcely recognised herself.
‘I er . . . I’m not too sure I feel comfortable like this,’ she mumbled, but Annabelle waved her concerns aside.
‘Oh, don’t be so silly. You’re too used to walking about dressed like an old schoolmarm,’ she chided. ‘Wait until we get to the dance. The boys will be queuing up to dance with you.’
‘I hope not,’ Lucy retorted, horrified at the very idea. She had never had a boyfriend and had no wish to have one now.
‘You do look lovely, Lucy,’ Dotty said, quietly envious. Lucy’s eyes and hair were stunning, and Dotty had never realised just how very attractive she was up until now. She made Dotty feel like a little grey fieldmouse.
‘Yes, you do,’ Annabelle retorted, slightly concerned that Lucy might steal the limelight. ‘And now we’d better get going otherwise it will be over before we even get there.’
Dance halls tended to close a lot earlier than they had used to; when they opened at all, that was. This was to allow people to get home whilst public transport was still running. It seemed like ages since Annabelle had had a really good night out, and she was champing at the bit. She herself was wearing a silk dress in green and gold, one of her particular favourites that she knew she looked good in, and Dotty was wearing the outfit they had all now christened ’her London suit’.
‘Wow!’ Miranda exclaimed when they all went back downstairs to collect their coats. ‘You all look absolutely beautiful. Have a lovely time, won’t you? But don’t forget to leave early enough to get the last buses home.’
Dotty giggled, thinking that Miranda had made them all sound like Cinderella.
Annabelle gave a martyred sigh as she yanked her coat on and added another layer of Romance, her latest bright red lipstick, in the hall mirror. ‘Yes, Mother! I dare say it will be a lot more fun than this first aid class you’ve nagged us all into going to.’
Miranda bit back the hasty retort that sprang to her lips. She had no wish to spoil the girl’s night out but at that moment she was heartily ashamed of her daughter. Admittedly, Annabelle had mellowed slightly over the last few months since being forced to take a job, but deep down the girl was still very self-centred and selfish.
Dotty and Lucy thanked Miranda again for their meal and for allowing them to get ready at her
home, and after Miranda had kissed them all they set off.
Once they reached the city centre they queued to get in then made a beeline for the ladies cloakroom where they hung up their coats and touched up their make-up.
Annabelle patted her hair into place again before telling them, ‘Come on, girls, I’m ready if you are. Let’s go and get ourselves a drink.’
Out in the dance hall, they saw that the majority of those present were girls and Annabelle sighed. ‘I thought it would be like this,’ she said despondently. ‘Nearly all the halfdecent-looking fellows have gone to war. Still, we may as well have a drink and make the best of it.’
She crossed to the bar and ordered three drinks which Lucy and Dotty stared at uncertainly when she passed them over. It looked like water with a slice of lemon floating in it.
‘What is it?’ Dotty asked, mortally aware that she was showing her ignorance.
Annabelle sank down onto a chair at the nearest empty table and after lighting a cigarette she told her, ‘It’s a gin and tonic. Try it. After a couple of those, you might even start to enjoy yourself.’
Ignoring the sarcasm, Dotty dutifully did as she was told before wrinkling her nose.
‘Ugh, I’m not sure that I like it,’ she said. It certainly wasn’t as pleasant as the champagne that Robert had bought her in London.
‘It’s an acquired taste,’ Annabelle told her as her eyes scanned the dimly lit room for likely prey.
There were a lot of people already on the dance floor and Lucy asked innocently, ‘What dance is that they’re doing?’
Annabelle sighed inwardly. These two were going to take some educating, that was a fact. ‘It’s the jitterbug.’
Lucy giggled and winked at Dotty. ‘Well, they all look like they’ve got a touch of St Vitus’ Dance to me.’
Annabelle shook her head in exasperation. Some people were very hard to please.
They had been sitting there for a few moments when Annabelle suddenly dug Dotty urgently in the ribs.
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