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

by Amy Miller

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ she said. ‘We’re just about to close up. There’s nothing left on the shelves now. We’ll be open first thing with fresh bread, rolls and all the counter goods we can manage in rationing.’

  ‘Could you tell me who runs this bakery, please?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got a complaint.’

  ‘I do,’ she replied, her heart hammering – there had never been a complaint before and her mind trailed through everything she might have done wrong. ‘Oh, my goodness, what’s the complaint?’

  ‘Well, I was biting into a slice of bread this morning,’ he said, ‘when I bit into this.’

  He held up Audrey’s wedding ring. She slapped her hand over her mouth and rushed out from behind the counter.

  ‘Oh!’ she said, taking the ring and pushing it straight onto her finger. ‘I am so happy, I mean, I’m so sorry!’

  She threw her arms around the stranger and gave him a quick hug.

  ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ she said. ‘I thought it was gone forever.’

  ‘My teeth were nearly gone forever,’ he said. ‘But the ring is fine.’

  ‘Audrey!’ said Pat from the doorway. ‘What on earth is going on here? Why are you draped all over this poor man?’

  Audrey turned to see her mother-in-law and noted the disapproving expression on her face. Quickly moving away from the man, she clasped her hands in sudden embarrassment.

  ‘I’m not draped all over him!’ Audrey said. ‘I lost my ring. My wedding ring – and this gentleman, he just came in and said he’d found it in one of our loaves. I lost it the evening John went into hospital and I worked on the dough.

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you. I don’t even know your name,’ she added, turning to him.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘I’m Arthur. Your bread is really very good, apart from the gold content.’

  ‘Well, I never,’ said Pat, tutting. ‘Thank goodness you didn’t choke on it!’

  ‘Why don’t you come in for your dinner?’ Audrey said. ‘We’re just about to shut up shop and eat. Maggie, Pat, why don’t you come in for your dinner too? Mary, can you set the table and set places for eight of us?’

  ‘Eight?’ said Arthur. ‘Sounds like you already have your hands full. There’s no need—’

  ‘There’s always room at my table,’ Audrey interrupted. ‘It would be a pleasure. A way to thank you for returning my ring.’

  * * *

  Audrey placed a steaming dish of Lancashire hotpot down on the table, and when she ladled the meat, carrots, onions and potato onto the plates, accompanied by a thick slice of bread to mop up the gravy, everyone made appreciative noises.

  ‘You always do us proud,’ said Uncle John, tucking his napkin into the collar of his shirt. ‘Even in rationing you manage to serve up a lovely supper. It’s like a magic trick.’

  Pat cleared her throat before picking up her cutlery and getting stuck in. ‘It’s not magic,’ she said. ‘It’s careful planning and making what you have got last. Us women are good at that – we have to be, mind.’

  ‘Oh, I might have known you’d have an answer!’ laughed Uncle John.

  Pat glared at him and Audrey smiled at Arthur, in apology.

  ‘There’s Prune Roly for afters,’ Audrey said, quickly interjecting. ‘Bit of an experiment, mind, since I’m almost out of prunes and I’ve no idea when a new consignment will make it through.’

  ‘Merchant Navy’s suffering an awful battering,’ said John. ‘It’s no surprise stocks aren’t making it through.’

  For a moment, everyone ate in silence, reflecting on the strategy Hitler and his army were trying to put into place, to sink ships transporting food into the country and starve Britain into surrender. That’s why everyone was ‘digging for victory’, turning every piece of available land into allotments, and why nothing was allowed to go to waste. Even the fat that collected in the bottom of the bakery ovens when they cooked the neighbours’ roast dinners on a Sunday morning could be scraped up and kept for cooking. Today’s scraps were tomorrow’s savouries.

  ‘Anyway, Arthur, what brought you to Bournemouth? I don’t believe you’re local?’ said Audrey, breaking the silence. ‘I don’t recognise your face.’

  ‘I’m an engineer, originally from Norfolk. I’m involved with the radar station that’s been set up near here,’ he explained. ‘The radar helps to detect and track aircraft.’

  ‘Interesting work,’ said Pat. ‘And where are you staying? I have a spare room if you need a billet – I make a very good stew.’

  ‘I’m staying in a local hotel at the moment, but thank you for the offer,’ Arthur said. ‘Bournemouth seems to be a fine town, with generous people. I’m staying near to Swanmore Gardens. Have you seen the roses there? They’re quite spectacular.’

  Audrey smiled, thinking of the roses of Swanmore that she and Charlie used to visit once a year. The fragrance of those flowers was like nothing she’d ever known. It heartened her to think they were still blooming, despite the war.

  ‘Haven’t got time for roses, there’s a war on!’ laughed John, raising his cup of tea. ‘I’m just jokin’, young man, but I believe you found Audrey’s ring in the bread? That’ll be a first. Don’t go tellin’ the regulars, or they’ll all be wantin’ one!’

  He laughed again and then broke down into yet another coughing fit, though it didn’t last too long. Audrey fetched him a glass of water and patted his back, before returning to her seat and smiling at Arthur.

  ‘Yes, thank you for bringing it back to me,’ she said. Picking up her mug, she said. ‘Here’s to Arthur, and to our absent friends and loved ones.’

  She glanced at her ring and smiled sadly, her thoughts going out to Charlie, wherever he was. Then William banged the side of his cup with a fork.

  ‘I’ve got an announcement to make,’ he said. ‘It’s not been easy lately, with my leg and all, and the way I’ve been carrying on… But I’ve seen sense and I’ve asked Elsie to marry me. Again.’

  ‘Hurrah!’ said John, with another laugh. ‘Good for you, lad, good for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘Elsie wants to keep it small, but as long as we’re married, properly this time, I don’t mind.’

  Audrey pushed back her chair and hugged her brother. ‘That’s wonderful news,’ she said. ‘Two weddings! Mary, we better sort through those cake toppers, hadn’t we, love?’

  * * *

  When dinner was over and the dishes were washed, Arthur thanked Audrey once again, gently taking her hand and kissing it lightly.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You should visit those rose gardens near me, they’re truly special, as I can see you are too.’

  ‘Get away with you!’ said Audrey, feeling her cheeks flame. ‘As John said, there’s no time for rose gardens, but it heartens me to hear they’re in bloom, offering some beauty in these dark times.’

  Arthur winked at her and walked away into the street, leaving her standing in the doorway, her arms folded, a warm sensation in her heart.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The billeting officer for child evacuees, Margaret Peak, called when Mary was at school and the queue for morning bread was trailing down Fisherman’s Road. For a second Audrey wondered if she was there to scold her, as Mary had forgotten to take her gas mask to school twice last week. It was only when the schoolteacher told Mary she wouldn’t be able to attend the victory party when the war was over that the little girl made sure to take it. Audrey appreciated the schoolteacher’s optimism and sent her in two rock cakes.

  ‘Can’t it wait, Margaret?’ asked Audrey. ‘You can see how busy we are.’

  Margaret was a friend of Pat’s and very much cut from the same cloth. Sturdy, resilient and with a manner of someone who had ‘seen it all’, she shook her head, unperturbed by the queue.

  ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘It will only take a minute, if I can talk to you in private, please.’

  Rubbing her forehead, Audrey
sighed and asked Maggie to hold the fort, then she ushered Margaret into the back room, where the day’s scones and cakes were cooling.

  ‘If you’re here to ask me to take on another littl’un,’ said Audrey, ‘I don’t know where I’d put her or him. But, of course, I will try. If there’s a little evacuee that needs a home, I will find space.’

  The billeting officer smiled gratefully, but shook her head, her lips pursed together. ‘No, Mrs Barton,’ she said. ‘It’s more delicate than that, I’m afraid. How is Mary doing here?’

  Audrey smiled, pushing her hands into her apron pockets as she thought about the girl she had grown to love as if she were her own. Happiest when cuddling her pet rabbit, or engrossed in a jigsaw puzzle while Audrey worked in the kitchen, she had grown in confidence and happiness. Mary was a good little helper too and relished helping with the baking, or in the shop.

  ‘She’s a lovely girl,’ said Audrey. ‘She’s quiet and a thinker, but she’s come on leaps and bounds since she first arrived. You know she’d never seen the sea or the sea birds, or a lamb or cow, so she’s learned a great deal about nature, I think. She never used to say a word, but now she does talk. She loves baking with me. In fact, she’s become like my little shadow – my companion. I care for her deeply, I really do.’

  Margaret nodded and took a letter from her coat pocket. She handed it to Audrey, who unfolded it and quickly scanned the words, the weight of them pressing down on her shoulders. Her hand flying to her mouth, she handed it back to Margaret.

  ‘Oh dear God, no!’ said Audrey, a deep frown creasing her brow.

  ‘Her father was killed in action,’ Margaret said quietly. ‘She’ll need to be told, of course. Are you willing to break the news to her, Audrey?’

  Audrey blinked before taking a deep breath and nodding.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I told her about her mother at Christmas. I don’t know how the poor thing will take this, though. How dreadful!’

  Margaret murmured in agreement, and shook her head sadly. ‘Unfortunately this isn’t the first time I’ve had to make one of these visits to an evacuee. Luckily, Mary has you for support.’

  Audrey smiled at the kind comment, then rubbed her forehead, aware of the enormity of the awful task ahead.

  ‘And for the time being, are you happy to keep Mary with you at the bakery?’ Margaret asked. ‘Mary has an ageing aunt in Scotland who’s in no fit state to look after a child, so I expect she’ll have to go into a children’s home.’

  Audrey didn’t hesitate for a moment. There was no way Mary was going to suffer more disruption and go into a children’s home with nobody there who knew her or cared about her.

  ‘Never,’ said Audrey. ‘She’s part of the family. I’ll do whatever I need to do, Margaret. Perhaps I can write to her aunt and ask for her permission? Mary must stay here with me – she’s family.’

  Margaret nodded briskly and held out her hand for Audrey to shake.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’ll look into it for you, Audrey. Mary is lucky to have you looking out for her. Very lucky indeed.’

  Audrey’s thoughts went to the numerous disappointments she’d had when trying and failing to fall pregnant. She smiled at Margaret and said: ‘We’re lucky to have each other.’

  * * *

  Audrey reached up to the top of the kitchen dresser and pulled down the Peter Rabbit sweet tin that held a few remaining barley sugar twists inside. She offered one to Mary, who, after a hasty ‘thank you’, quickly took one of the sticky orange twists, popping it in her mouth and tucking it safely into her cheek, a smile breaking out over her lips.

  ‘Is it m’ birthday?’ Mary said, her eyes twinkling. Usually the barley sugar tin only came out in the air-raid shelter if they had a particularly long sit, waiting for the ‘all-clear’ to sound.

  ‘No, love, else there’d be musical bumps, jellies and party hats,’ said Audrey, smiling, but feeling thoroughly wretched at the thought of the news she had to break. ‘I thought we could go for a walk together in a minute, to the sea cliffs – see if the sand martins have flocked yet, ready to follow the swifts overseas. What do you think? I sometimes wonder if all those Spitfires and Hurricanes worry the birds and put them off their journeys…’

  Mary shrugged and Audrey stopped talking, realising that nerves were making her witter on. It was the end of a busy day and Audrey had spent every moment of it worrying about how to tell Mary about her father’s death. The child had already endured so much sadness: her brother’s death, her mother’s death – and now this. Was there a point when she could not withstand any more tragedy?

  Walking out to the sea cliffs beyond the Overcliff, where there was a small area civilians could still access, Mary and Audrey sat down on a mound of grass and looked out over the sea. Pointing to a flock of small, dark and pale brown birds flying near small tunnels they’d excavated in the cliffs, they watched them swoop and dip through the sky, flying with natural agility, their excited twittering carrying through the air.

  ‘Oh no!’ said Mary, glancing up at Audrey. ‘There’s one there on the ground that’s injured. It looks like its wing isn’t working properly.’

  Audrey strained to see the bird Mary was referring to.

  ‘Perhaps it’s having a rest,’ she said, nudging her shoulder into Mary’s. ‘It’s gathering strength because they’ll all fly off to Africa for the winter, where it’s warm, then they’ll come back again next year. You can tell the seasons by the birds – and whether the harvest will be late or early. Charlie told me that.’

  Then, after a long pause while they sat watching the birds, Audrey picked up Mary’s hand and held it tightly. ‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ she said, her heart hammering in her chest. ‘It’s sad news, I’m afraid, Mary.’

  Mary picked up a pebble from the ground and turned it over in her hand. She stared up at Audrey, her big brown eyes like pools, her cheeks bright. ‘Is it Daddy?’ she said in a tiny voice.

  Audrey nodded and swallowed hard. She had to remain composed, despite how she really felt.

  ‘I’m afraid so, Mary,’ she said. ‘There was a letter from the military, to inform his family that he has died. The letter came to me. Your father was killed in combat, fighting in the war.’

  ‘Why was he fighting?’ Mary immediately asked. ‘He used to tell me off for fighting with my brother.’

  Audrey’s throat ached with emotion, but continuing to hold Mary’s hand, she quickly tried to work out how best to explain the inexplicable. The little girl’s eyes were burning into Audrey’s face, waiting for an answer.

  ‘The war is complicated,’ she said. ‘Your father was fighting to try to help end the war.’

  ‘But why was he fighting?’ Mary insisted. ‘I don’t understand why he was fighting.’

  Audrey could see that Mary was agitated. Her mouth was contorting as she spoke and she battled to hold in her tears. Her shoulders had stiffened and she held her hands on her lap in fists.

  ‘Because…’ Audrey started, her eyes darting around her as she struggled to formulate an answer. ‘Because when one person starts fighting, it’s difficult not to fight back.’

  ‘But it’s wrong to fight,’ Mary said again, her voice hoarse. ‘I would never, ever fight anyone. At school when you fight you are sent to the head teacher and made to write lines or stand in the corner and face the wall. It’s stupid and wrong and naughty. NAUGHTY DADDY!’

  She threw the pebble as hard as her little arm could throw, then threw herself flat onto the ground, sobbing so hard her body convulsed.

  Audrey crouched down on the soil next to her, resting her hand on Mary’s back, which was hot and clammy through her dress. Though Audrey tried desperately to remain calm, tears dripped down her face.

  ‘He wasn’t naughty,’ she said softly. ‘He was doing his duty and, very sadly, he lost his life. We must be kind to his memory.’

  Mary kneeled upright, her face red and wet from crying. Her body w
as taut with anger. ‘I don’t want memories!’ she screeched. ‘I want my daddy, my mummy and my brother back! Why have they all left me? They didn’t care about me!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Audrey said, gently taking her little frame and holding her in her arms, tightly, until the sobbing relented into hiccups and the collar of her dress was sodden with Mary’s tears. ‘I’m sorry, Mary. I’m so sorry.’

  After a long time, with the light fading and the sand martins now black dots and dashes against the sky, like Morse code, Audrey asked Mary if she was ready to go home. Mary seemed empty and withdrawn and it felt to Audrey as if she had retreated within herself again, somewhere impossible to reach.

  As they stood up from their spot on the grass, Mary looked back at where the injured bird had been rooted to the spot the entire time. Audrey willed it, with all her might, to take flight and, as if the universe had heard her wish, the bird lifted its fragile wings and took to the sky, where it joined a small flock of birds preparing to migrate, and was, thank goodness, no longer alone.

  ‘Come on, Mary dear,’ Audrey said. ‘Let’s get you home.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Over the coming days, following the news of Mary’s father’s death, everyone in the bakery did all they could to keep up the little girl’s spirits. Encouraged to help out in the bakery, she was also given more responsibility in the kitchen, including getting the breakfast on the table. Now, Mary was spreading margarine (made to go further by whipping it with milk and flour) on toast for herself and sitting with Lily and Joy at the kitchen table, while Audrey served customers in the shop. Popping upstairs with a letter for Lily, Audrey stroked Mary’s hair, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and smiled at her. Lily smiled at her stepsister in admiration – she was doing all she could to help Mary feel loved and cared for at all times.

  ‘Letter for you,’ said Audrey to Lily, then turning to Mary, ‘Are you ready to help Maggie in the shop after breakfast?’