Wartime Brides and Wedding Cakes: A romantic and heart-warming family saga

by Amy Miller

  * * *

  Elsie was in bed when she heard the music. After a long shift on the buses, her limbs felt like dead weights, yet she was unable to sleep with thoughts rushing through her head. The entire day had been filled with passengers talking of the previous night’s raid on Southampton, when the Luftwaffe had carried out a short but intense attack late at night, destroying churches, schools, public houses and dwelling houses, killing men, women and children.

  ‘A baby girl, just one month old, was killed,’ one passenger had told her. ‘She’d only just been christened, bless her soul. And a stables was hit, with most of the horses dead. The RAF have hit back, of course, but where will it all end?’

  Where will it all end? echoed in her thoughts. Elsie turned over in bed and blinked in the darkness, straining to hear the music coming from outside. At first she thought it was from a dance hall – they had been packed earlier that evening with young people grabbing hold of life like it was a balloon about to float away on a high wind, but while other young people enjoyed what they could of life, Elsie was set on working as hard as she could. She’d made a decision: every waking hour she would work, until the thought of William had faded from her head and heart. As the music grew louder and more familiar, she sat up in bed.

  ‘William?’ she whispered. The music, she now knew, was William. She would be able to recognise it anywhere; the tuneful rhythm of his song. He must be outside in the street!

  Pushing the covers off her bed, without disturbing her sisters, she tiptoed over to the window. A smile breaking out over her lips, she moved the blackout blind out of the way and opened the window, peering out into the night. The air was warm on her skin, and the moonlight bright. Casting her gaze to the garden, there in the shadows she saw William’s outline. He was leaning against the garden wall, his mouth harp to his lips, playing one of Elsie’s favourite songs, ‘Goodnight Sweetheart’. His eyes met hers.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Elsie said, quietly, trying to suppress a giggle.

  William stopped playing and moved over to under the window, his face upturned.

  ‘Can you come down?’ he whispered. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Wait there,’ she said, letting the blind drop down again, her heart racing in her chest. Pushing her feet into her shoes, she froze when her sisters stirred in their beds – June was sitting up, her eyes wide open.

  ‘Go back to sleep,’ said Elsie, gently, and luckily her sister did as she was told.

  Pulling on her mackintosh, Elsie crept down the stairs, past her mother’s bedroom and unlocked the front door as quietly as she could. In the darkness, William was there, waiting for her. Suppressing the urge to throw herself at him, she folded her arms across her chest and smiled.

  ‘Let’s walk,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll hop.’

  They walked slowly together towards the clifftop, in the moonlight, and though Elsie desperately wanted to talk, she stayed quiet, wanting to hear what William had to say. He had, after all, come to see her in the middle of the night – he must have something important to get off his chest. She hoped he’d had a change of heart.

  ‘Shall we sit here?’ he said. They sat on a patch of grass on the clifftop, which had been carefully trimmed, cared for even in wartime. Searchlights shone across the sky in the distance and the sea glittered.

  ‘I want to say I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for being how I have been and for calling our engagement off. I want to change. It’s just, Elsie, I saw things, I did things… unforgivable things… I… over there, I saw… all these families, people with their possessions in handcarts, leaving their homes in bare feet, being dive-bombed by Hitler’s army, chased by soldiers with guns. Their worlds were turned upside down.’

  His words caught in his throat and his eyes filled. Elsie lifted her hand and carefully wiped away a tear that had escaped his eye and was running down his cheek.

  ‘But it’s separate to this. I love you,’ he croaked. ‘I love you so much.’

  Elsie felt relief wash over her. Though she knew William was suffering, she was delighted that his feelings for her hadn’t changed. Since he’d called off their engagement she’d wondered if she would ever get over him.

  ‘I love you too,’ she said, quietly. ‘I always have and I always will.’

  They embraced one another, enjoying the warmth of their bodies.

  ‘Would you marry me?’ he said. ‘I think we should get married and do it properly this time. A big wedding, with all our friends and—’

  ‘No,’ said Elsie, then laughed affectionately when she saw William’s disappointed face. ‘I mean, yes, of course I will marry you, but let’s keep it small. Just us and our closest family, a cake and a barrel of beer, and some music. Let’s keep it simple. Life’s complicated enough as it is at the moment. Besides, my father is away and, without him to give me away, I would want to keep the wedding a modest affair.’

  William nodded and smiled in understanding. He looked into Elsie’s eyes and tucked her hair behind her ears. She sensed he had more he wanted to say, but instead of speaking, he moved his head closer to hers and they kissed in the moonlight, finding comfort and relief in one another’s lips.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘How about this one?’ said Audrey, opening up a tiny cardboard box and holding up a cake topper consisting of two clasping hands, made of wax. ‘It’s really old, probably an antique. Or, oh, I do love this one!’

  She smiled as she rummaged through her modest collection of carefully selected cake toppers and placed one down on the shop counter in front of Maggie and Mary. This one was an intricate white and silver model of a bride and groom seated together on the curve of a crescent moon. The moon had features carefully hand-painted on it, and a cluster of tiny stars attached to one end. All three of them smiled at one another.

  ‘I love that,’ said Maggie, carefully picking it up and holding it up to the sunlight pouring in through the shop window. ‘It’s perfect, isn’t it?’

  It was an unusually quiet Saturday afternoon in the shop and almost time to close. The morning had been busy as always, with people buying their bread, currant buns, carrot and Madeira cakes, but now there was little left on the shelves, and, with the stales bagged up and sold, Audrey, Maggie and Mary were discussing Maggie’s wedding, which she and George were arranging before he was posted overseas. Audrey now knew how hard up Maggie was, and had offered to make her a cake and put on the food, as a contribution. Charlie’s mother Pat was going to make a posy out of artificial flowers, and instead of trying to buy a new one, Maggie was borrowing a delphinium blue dress from Fran, Audrey’s sister-in-law. It was a very pretty frock, but whatever Maggie wore, even if it was a flour sack, she’d look beautiful.

  ‘Afternoon, ladies,’ said George, entering the shop and kissing Maggie’s hand. The three ‘ladies’ looked up and beamed. He was the kind of twinkly man it was difficult not to smile at. ‘What are you three plotting?’

  Audrey explained to George that now Mr Woolton had banned icing on wedding cakes, because it was considered a too-indulgent use of a rationed food, she was having to think around the problem and be creative.

  ‘Some folk are using painted cardboard over the top of a stack of tiny squares of cake that the guests can take home with them,’ she explained. ‘Others have a standard cake, fruit or sponge, and ice it with chocolate icing, or have a decorated plaster of Paris mould over the top. I’ve got a few moulds that I’m using now. Of course, there’s nothing that compares to the taste of the sugar icing, or the marzipan, but a cover will look good on the photographs and I’ll make sure the cake is delicious.’

  ‘If it wasn’t wartime I’d want you to have a cake that was five tiers high,’ George told Maggie.

  ‘And pink!’ she said, beaming at him, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

  ‘Five tiers?’ said Audrey, shaking her head. ‘You might have to find another baker! I’m good, but I’m not that good!’

  Georg
e laughed but was interrupted by the heavy step and explosive cough of Uncle John, who had come into the shop, stopping in the doorway to cling to the door frame with both hands. He was breathing heavily as an old dog.

  ‘John!’ said Audrey. ‘What on earth are you doing here? I had no idea you were going to be discharged from hospital today. I would have come to get you.’

  ‘I discharged m’self,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t stand another bleedin’ day in bed. I need to get back to m’ bread. I’ve been thinkin’ about that wheatmeal bread the Ministry of Food are trying to bring in, the one that’s supposed to be good for us all. I need to try it out.’

  ‘The National Loaf?’ said Audrey. ‘Yes, we’ve had more letters from the Ministry about it and the Bournemouth Food Control Office told me the grand plan is that all the bakeries will have to start baking it.’

  She felt for some advertising leaflets under the counter, then put them on the countertop for John and Maggie to see. The Ministry of Food were trying to popularise a wheatmeal loaf which had extra vitamin content, but so far Barton’s had stuck to white bread, beloved by its customers.

  ‘Apparently the wheatmeal loaf, or the National Loaf, I should say, is going on trial at the Isolation Hospital and the Linford Sanitorium,’ said Audrey. ‘To see if it makes any difference to the patients’ health. We’re to get wheatmeal flour from the miller soon.’

  ‘That’ll be a bugger to work with! And how are the patients in the Isolation Hospital going to tell anyone what they think?’ laughed John. ‘The Bournemouth Food Control Office ain’t thought that one through properly, ’ave they? Ha!’

  Audrey laughed, glad to see John in better spirits, but concerned that he wasn’t yet fit enough to be back at work. Walking out from behind the counter to greet him properly, she scolded him under her breath, taking his arm to help him walk. He batted her off with a playful slap, but when he reached Maggie, his mood changed.

  ‘I’ve heard about what you’ve been up to, young lady, and I do not approve,’ he said. ‘When did you ever think it was okay to bite the ’and that feeds you?’

  Maggie’s face flamed red and she quickly busied herself with wrapping up the cake toppers in tissue paper and carefully putting them back in the cardboard box. George looked quizzically at her, but she said nothing. Audrey sighed and chewed the inside of her cheek. Maggie had worked really hard to make amends for what she’d done, but John wasn’t one to let things go so easily.

  ‘What’s this about, sir?’ George said, confused. ‘Are you okay, Maggie? You seem flustered.’

  ‘No wonder she’s flustered,’ said John, leaning his elbow on the counter to take a breather, ‘she’s been caught pilfering, ain’t she? I’m disappointed in you, young Maggie. I’ve always been fond of you, girl, and thought you had your head screwed on.’

  Audrey sighed as Maggie’s face grew redder still and her bottom lip wobbled. Without saying a word, Maggie pulled off her apron and threw it onto the shop counter, before running out of the bakery and into the street. George stood, open-mouthed, in the bakery, looking from John to Audrey in confusion.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, John!’ Audrey cried. ‘If you’ve nothing useful to say then why speak? I’ll not have you talking like that to Maggie. Now, go on with you and make yourself useful or get out from under my feet. Honest to goodness!’

  Grumbling, John left the room and went upstairs to the kitchen. Mary, who hated any confrontation, slipped her hand into Audrey’s for protection.

  George pointed over his shoulder to the door. ‘I should go after Maggie,’ he said, but Audrey quickly grabbed his arm.

  ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I want to explain what’s happened, so you know.’

  Haltingly, Audrey told George that because Maggie had been so keen on him, ever since they first met, she’d taken a bit of sugar to swap for clothing vouchers. She’d always intended to give it back. Audrey also explained that Maggie had a difficult grandmother, who was a drunk, and who was in debt.

  ‘She didn’t mean any harm by it,’ said Audrey. ‘I’ve known that girl for years and she’s got a good heart. She just thinks you will be disappointed in where she’s from. She made a mistake, that’s all. How does that make you feel about her?’

  Audrey sucked in her breath, hardly daring to wait for his opinion. If what she’d told him had changed his feelings for Maggie, she’d never forgive herself for meddling. Mary’s hand squeezed tighter around her fingers.

  George concentrated as he formulated his answer, and then he broke into a smile. Running his hand through his hair, he let out a big sigh.

  ‘It’s not right, what she did, but I understand why,’ he said. ‘I love that girl. She’s got me hooked.’

  Audrey’s shoulders dropped in relief. She looked down at Mary, who smiled up at her. They both took a deep breath.

  ‘That’s that then,’ said Audrey. ‘Now you better get on after her. She’ll be on the Overcliff. There’s a bench there, where before the war, people used to sit and enjoy the view. It’s where we all go when things are getting on top of us.’

  * * *

  ‘Stupid old fool,’ Maggie muttered as she sat on the bench, hugging her knees. She stared out to sea, thinking she’d like to wring Uncle John’s neck, for ruining everything for her, when there was a tap on her shoulder. Quickly wiping her eyes with her hanky, she turned to see George smiling down at her. The skin around his eyes crinkled into tiny smiles, making his face light up. Despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t help return his smile.

  ‘May I?’ he said, taking a seat next to her on the bench. They looked at one another and he reached over, lifted her hand and held it in his. ‘Maggie, I love you, no matter what,’ he said. ‘Audrey explained about what’s happened. Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me everything? You know I’ll be posted overseas as soon as we’re married and I don’t want there to be secrets between us.’

  ‘I just didn’t want to mess it up,’ she said, her voice barely audible. ‘I wanted to be a girl you couldn’t resist. I would love to be your wife, but I didn’t think you’d be interested in me once you saw where I was really from. We… we… don’t have a penny to our names. My grandmother lives for fags and any booze she can get her hands on, and I’m, well, I’m just a shop girl.’

  ‘You’re not “just” anything,’ he said. ‘You’re Maggie Rose, the girl of my dreams, my wife-to-be. It’s not your fault that your grandmother is a ruin.’

  ‘I know what I did was wrong,’ she said. ‘Audrey is so kind, she has been so kind to me. I don’t know what I’d do without her.’

  ‘She’s a big-hearted lady,’ said George. ‘In wartime, that’s refreshing. Anyway, there’s something I need to tell you too. I haven’t been entirely honest with you either…’

  ‘What?’ said Maggie, suddenly stricken by an all-consuming fear that George was going to tell her something dreadful, like that he was already engaged.

  ‘I’m to be involved in a dangerous mission, with an elite group of pilots,’ he said in a serious, quiet voice. ‘You mustn’t talk to anyone about this, but after we’re married, that’s what I’ll be doing. I’m fearful for my life, Maggie. I must be honest.’

  Maggie felt as if she could hardly breathe. The prospect of losing George, just as soon as she had met him, filled her with unspeakable dread. But, in her usual fashion, she knew she must remain upbeat, positive and hopeful. Perhaps he would be lucky, perhaps he would escape whatever this mission was, unscathed. She knew not to dismiss his fears or pretend that he wasn’t facing danger, but instead squeezed his hand, trying to transmit all her love to him through her hot palm.

  In the warm sunshine they sat there together, looking out to sea, not knowing what was waiting around the corner, or whether they would have the luxury of a future together. For now, they were together and for that she was grateful.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was mid-August and preparations for Maggie and George’s wedding were wel
l under way. Audrey had organised the food and planned to make small ‘finger’ sandwiches with three different fillings: fish paste, mock crab (reconstituted dried eggs, a tiny bit of cheese, salad dressing and a few drops of vinegar) and carrot (grated carrot and cabbage bound with sweet pickle and a dash of vinegar), as well as savoury splits (scones stuffed with diced beetroot and horseradish), spice cake, carrot cookies and rosehip jellies. There would be home-made lemonade to drink and glasses of sherry. The men would want beer, of course, but there was such a beer shortage at the moment, they’d have to go without. Even the public houses were having to shut up shop, though the Carpenter’s Arms seemed to keep going! Wasn’t much of a wedding feast, she knew that, but rationing meant feasts just weren’t possible. With even potatoes hard to get hold of, putting a meal on the table was difficult; just last week when a greengrocer advertised he’d sell potatoes at 9.30 a.m., women started queuing at 7.30 – four of the older ladies fainting in the street.

  ‘Poor old dears,’ said Audrey, thinking of those women who were just trying to feed their families. She had planned to ask Sid the butcher for any ham offcuts he might have for Maggie’s big day, but he’d gone on such a rant before she’d even opened her mouth, complaining ‘them that try to wangle an extra bit to the ration are downright selfish and downright unpatriotic’, she’d stopped before she started. What she had planned would have to do.

  ‘Maggie, love,’ she said, at the end of a busy day in the bakery. ‘Will you close up the shop for me while I check the takings?’

  Maggie nodded and went to turn the shop sign to closed when a uniformed man came in. He was in his late twenties, with cropped dark hair, electric blue eyes and a lovely smile, with deep dimples each side of his mouth. Audrey smoothed down her apron and, when he fixed her with his blue eyes, was horrified to feel herself blush. She held a hand up to her cheek and wondered what on earth was wrong with herself.