The Waiting Hours

by Ellie Dean

  ‘It’s about time you held your’n,’ the girl called back. ‘’Tis sick I am of the sound of it clacking away.’

  Carol and Betty didn’t dare look at one another as, like the girls surrounding Molly, they tried to smother their giggles. But they earned a sharp tap on the knees from Mrs Rayner’s walking stick and a ferocious glare, which only made things worse.

  The vicar, Samuel Fotherington, eyed the gathering nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the dog collar, his pale hands clutching at the lectern. He was an ineffectual speaker and inclined to dither about everything until his more forceful church warden made the decisions. He was a devout man, but the general consensus was that he’d have been better suited to a life in a monastery, for he seemed out of his depth with real life.

  Perhaps sensing that this important meeting was about to descend into chaos, he shot a glance at a glowering Stanley Wilmott and then stood tall and clapped his hands. ‘Order, please, ladies and gentlemen,’ he pleaded.

  When there was no let-up in the noise he cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Silence, please,’ he called out with a note of desperation.

  A begrudging silence fell and a flush of embarrassment coloured his face and shiny bald head. ‘I would like you to join me in a prayer before the meeting begins,’ he said without much hope.

  ‘This bain’t church, vicar, growled Mrs Rayner. ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘Your prayers bain’t gonna keep us in our homes,’ said someone behind them.

  ‘And you’ll not be getting no money in your plate, neither,’ shouted another.

  There were mumbles of protests going about the room, and demands to get the meeting going so they could all get back to work.

  The vicar went an even deeper scarlet and fluttered his hands as he looked in appeal to Sir John Daw. ‘I think it would be best if we just went straight to the business in hand,’ he said. ‘There’s no telling what they’ll do once roused.’

  Mildred was on her feet before the man had time to respond. ‘Silence,’ she boomed, making everyone jump. ‘I will not tell you again. How dare you behave in such an appalling fashion in front of our esteemed visitors?’

  She glared at all of them, settling her beady eye on anyone who dared giggle or try to protest. Mulish silence fell. ‘That’s better,’ she said, tugging forcefully on the hem of her baggy tweed jacket before turning to the chairman of the county council. ‘You may proceed,’ she said grandly before setting her plump behind firmly on her wooden chair.

  6

  Felix sat on the uncomfortable chair, his hat on his knees, his feet in the burnished brown shoes firmly wedged together on the rough platform as he looked out at the audience. He was horribly aware that all eyes were upon him as Sir John began to speak, and although he’d understood very little of the interchange between the audience and the odious Miss Ferris, it had been enough to realise that tensions were running high.

  He levelled his gaze above the heads and fixed it on the roof joists which had been darkened by the rain seeping through the ill-fitted sheets of corrugated iron. He tried to concentrate on the man’s rather rambling and pompous speech, but the hall was freezing and smelled of damp wool and the organic odour of cows and mud brought in on wellington boots, and he wished he hadn’t left his greatcoat in the car.

  As the man urged the people of Slapton to accept the order of eviction as their way of doing their bit for the war effort, Felix realised he was no longer under such scrutiny so allowed his gaze to roam over the faces.

  They were a mixed bunch, he saw, for among the farm labourers, land girls and artisans were elderly men and women dressed in shabby finery, neat, bright-eyed children, and young mothers who sat listening with quiet dignity despite the very real fear in their expressions. These country folk certainly looked healthier than their London counterparts, but they shared the same exhausted expressions of having to survive the hardships of a war that had already gone on for too long. And yet there was little doubt that they were possessed of a defiant spirit, for it blazed in their eyes as some of the bolder ones shouted down the speaker and waved angry fists.

  ‘Are we to be moved because of the Yanks?’ demanded a tall, thin farmhand from the back of the hall, pointing an accusing finger at Felix. ‘I seen ’em already up by Blacktor Farm making camp.’

  ‘Arr, they’m be over Strete way too,’ mumbled another.

  Sir John turned to Felix. ‘I think a few words of assurance from you might calm things down,’ he said grimly.

  Felix blinked at him in horror, for he’d not been expecting to speak today, although he had been briefed by Sir John as they’d driven into the village from the man’s office. ‘I doubt that,’ he replied. ‘They’re more likely to lynch me.’

  Sir John looked down his nose at him and then turned to the audience. ‘And now I would like to introduce you to General Felix Addington of the United States Army who is here to liaise with the various services, and of course with you.’

  ‘We don’t need no Yank telling us what to do,’ snapped the old woman in the front.

  Felix desperately wanted to run his finger inside his shirt collar and to brush away the bead of sweat he could feel blossoming on his temple, but knew he mustn’t show any sign of discomfort in front of these people. Remembering how he’d faced the might and terror of the German guns in the trenches of the Somme, he took a deep breath and got to his feet.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began to the general mutter and shifting. ‘As the old soldiers in the pioneering days of America used to say to the Indian warriors, “We come in peace.”’

  ‘That was before you shot them all, and stole their land,’ snapped the old woman in the front row. ‘Are you going to shoot us too if we don’t do as we’re told?’

  Felix realised he’d made a mistake in thinking these people could be easily swayed with platitudes. ‘No, ma’am,’ he said smoothly. ‘Our bullets are for the enemy, not our allies.’ He hurried on before she could say more. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the American soldiers you have seen are merely the first of many more who will be coming to Devon, and they will do all they can to help you during the evacuation. All of us are fighting the same enemy, and it is our aim to help you defeat them.’

  ‘You took you’m time about it,’ growled a man at the back. ‘We be fighting this’m war long afore you bothered to turn up.’

  Felix swallowed a retort and refused to rise to the bait. ‘The people of this village and all the villages and farms in the exclusion zone should feel proud to be playing a very important – indeed a vital – part in winning this war, for without your sacrifice, the Allied soldiers, sailors and airmen would not have the chance to become a cohesive and daunting fighting force against the enemy across the Channel.’

  ‘So you’re preparing to invade France, then?’ The question came from a bright-eyed, pretty young woman sitting next to the crone with the walking stick and belligerent attitude.

  He smiled down at her, struck by her similarity to someone but deciding it could just be the poor lighting. ‘I’m not at liberty to tell you much more, ma’am,’ he said. ‘But I assure you that when it is all over, the United States Army and the people of America will forever be in your debt, and will ensure that your property and land is returned to you as you’d left it.’

  She held his gaze for a moment. ‘Will that assurance include the church and the old tower?’

  ‘Indeed it will, ma’am,’ he said firmly. ‘All historic buildings and places of importance will be marked as out of bounds.’

  ‘Where we supposed to go then?’ asked a man on the left side of the hall. ‘And what about the crops still in my fields? It’s a disgrace to leave them to rot when half the country’s starving.’

  ‘And what about my stock?’ asked another from the back.

  ‘I do understand your concerns,’ said Felix, ‘and I believe there will be time after this meeting for the farmers and all who work on the land to discuss them with Sir Joh
n and your local councillor.’

  Felix could see that although the people before him had accepted the eviction, their worries were legion and couldn’t possibly be solved by one meeting. ‘There will also be notices delivered to every dwelling within the zone,’ he continued. ‘These will give advice on who to talk to and what to do about compensation, accommodation, transport and storage. I believe there will be additional advice for publicans and shopkeepers in these notices, and of course who you should go to concerning schooling for your children, pension assistance and postal services.’

  A defeated silence filled the room and as Felix looked down at the troubled faces he understood their pain, for he would have felt the same if such a thing had been forced upon him. ‘I would just like to say that I admire you all for the courage you have shown in accepting what must have come as a terrible shock. This evacuation will not be easy, but I know you will face it with the same admirable British spirit you have already shown during the long years of this war.’

  He took a breath. ‘I know that many of you have sons, brothers or fathers already in the services, so I’d like to remind you that the American boys coming here have also been torn from their homes and loved ones, and will have to learn to adapt not only to a new country, but to the fact that they too will soon be facing an enemy under gunfire. So please, accept them as you would want your loved ones to be accepted, for this is a fight we all share, whether on land, sea or sky – and, God willing, it will come to an end very soon, and then we can all return home.’

  There was absolute silence as he sat down and then everyone was on their feet clapping and cheering. Felix was stunned and he turned to Herbert Cornwallis in bemusement.

  ‘Well done, sir,’ the younger man murmured. ‘You’ve won them over, and they’ll go quietly now, you’ll see.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Felix sighed. ‘There’s enough trouble in the world without us fighting each other.’

  Once the applause had died down the chairman and Mildred Ferris were bombarded with questions. When it was clear that they were to be told little more, the majority began to shuffle towards the door, leaving the farmers and their workers behind to discuss their plight with Jack and Sir John.

  Felix leaned towards the vicar. ‘Who was that girl in the front row?’ he asked. ‘She was sitting between an old woman and a girl wearing a brace on her leg.’

  The vicar looked startled by the question. ‘That’s Mrs Porter,’ he said stiffly. ‘Recently widowed and working as a land girl up at Coombe Farm. Why do you ask?’

  ‘She reminded me of someone, that’s all,’ he murmured.

  ‘There’ll be no fraternising on my watch, General,’ butted in Miss Ferris. ‘The women here are to be respected by you and your men and left alone.’

  He looked into the pale eyes which reminded him of a marlin he’d once caught off his boat. ‘I will certainly make that clear to my men, Miss Ferris, but I suspect they may be led astray by certain young women in this community – and over that I have no authority.’

  The woman eyed him coldly and pillowed her sagging bosom on her folded arms. ‘If you’re alluding to the likes of Molly Jelks, who’s no better than she should be, then there’s nothing I can do,’ she said with a sniff. ‘But there are decent girls here, and until the area has been cleared I will make it my job to see that their honour is protected.’

  ‘And I’m sure you’ll do a sterling job, Miss Ferris.’ Felix put on his hat, shook hands with the rest of the people on the stage and wended his way through the gathering of farmers out into the drizzle. ‘Oh boy,’ he breathed to Herbert. ‘What a battleaxe.’

  Herbert grinned. ‘Every village has a Mildred Ferris.’

  ‘Then it’s a shame we can’t enlist them into the army,’ replied Felix. ‘A regiment of women like that would soon have Hitler’s thugs on the run.’

  As they reached the car, Felix saw the fair-haired girl slowly making her way through the churchyard with the girl wearing a calliper and the old woman clutching her arm. ‘Hold on there, Herby. There’s someone I need to talk to.’

  He ignored the man’s startled look and ran through the cemetery to catch up with them at the rear gate. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Porter,’ he said, doffing his hat. ‘But I want to apologise for not being able to answer your question fully.’

  She looked up at him with wide blue eyes and he noticed she had a perfect English rose complexion, and that there was the sweetest dimple in her left cheek. He felt the hammer of his heart as she smiled, for on closer inspection it was as if the clock had been turned back and it was Dolly standing before him.

  ‘I understand, really I do,’ she replied. ‘Everything’s secret these days, but I can make an educated guess about why you’re here and what you’re planning.’

  The old woman glared up at him and tugged the girl’s arm. ‘Come on, Carol. I’m getting cold.’

  ‘Would you like a lift in my car?’ he asked quickly; keen to grab this opportune moment to learn more about Carol Porter.

  ‘Goodness me, no,’ she chuckled. ‘We only live down by there.’

  He followed her pointing finger and regarded the huddled cottages with their thatched roofs and gardens full of winter vegetables. They looked like a picture postcard even on this gloomy damp day, and the thought that soon tanks and trucks would be thundering past them made his spirits plummet. ‘Then perhaps we will meet again, ma’am,’ he said.

  ‘I doubt it,’ she replied solemnly. ‘But I do appreciate what you said back there about the boys under your command. I think it made all of us stop and think.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Porter, and if there’s anything we can do to help, you have only to ask.’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ she replied before she turned away.

  He watched as the old woman clasped her arm and they slowly made their way down the steep hill. The girl with the leg brace waved her goodbye and limped off out of sight, but Mrs Porter didn’t turn back or glance in his direction before entering the cottage. Once the door had closed behind her, he went back to the car where Herbert was waiting for him.

  Felix noted the questioning glint in the younger man’s eye and chose not to justify his actions as he climbed into the car. He’d heard somewhere that everyone had a double, but how extraordinary that he should find Dolly’s here in this quiet backwater. Could they be related? Was Dolly actually living here?

  ‘Where to, sir?’

  Felix quickly gathered his thoughts. ‘The American camps, Herby. I have to introduce myself to the commanding officers and make sure the set-up is going smoothly. And then I’d like to meet whoever’s in charge of the local regiment manning those gun emplacements we saw coming here. After that I’d like to go to the officers’ HQ and take a bath.’

  ‘That’ll be Moorcoombe Place, sir.’

  Felix frowned and flicked through the wad of notes Sir John had handed him earlier, certain that he’d seen that address written down somewhere. He found it and gave a deep sigh. ‘Just my bad luck, Herby. It’s owned by that darn Ferris woman.’

  Carol helped Mrs Rayner out of her coat, and, having settled her in her chair, stoked the fire to warm her while she put the kettle on for tea. She was puzzled by the American general, for he’d made a point of speaking to her when it really hadn’t been necessary, and he’d looked at her with such intensity that it had been quite unnerving. It was as if he’d been trying to place her in the context of having met her before – which didn’t make any sense at all.

  Shrugging off this minor concern, she carried the tray into the warm sitting room and placed it on a low table before sitting down to wait for the tea to steep in the pot.

  ‘That Yank’s interested in you,’ said Mrs Rayner sourly. ‘You watch your step, Carol. Men like that can’t be trusted.’

  Carol chuckled. ‘He’s old enough to be my father, so I doubt very much if he has designs on me. Besides, I’ll be leaving for Coombe Farm soon and probably won’t ever see him again.’

/>   7

  Cliffehaven

  Peggy steered the pushchair up the almost deserted pavement in the High Street towards the Town Hall, her chin tucked into her coat collar in an attempt to avoid the sleet blowing down the street and stinging her face.

  It was halfway through November and the wet, miserable autumn was continuing into winter, which was making life drearier than ever; and with no end in sight to this awful, draining war, the shops empty of anything festive or even remotely tempting, and her family dispersed, Christmas would not be the joyful time it had once been. Yet she was determined to do her best to make it jolly, for the girls and Cordelia always looked forward to Christmas, and of course this year Daisy would be two and old enough to really enjoy it.

  There was a very slight chance that Cissy and her American pilot would get leave for the day from Cliffe Aerodrome, along with Anne’s husband, Martin, who was the station commander. And of course Cordelia would invite Bertie Double-Barrelled, whilst Ron would ask Rosie to join them as he did every year.

  At least Frank was due to be demobbed very soon, and although Peggy suspected he and Pauline might prefer to have a quiet day at Tamarisk Bay in the hope Brendon might get some leave, she would ask them anyway. Pauline was a bit more cheerful now she’d joined the WVS, for having other things to think about instead of dwelling on her awful loss was doing her good – and even if Brendon did get leave, there was always room for one more around the table at Beach View.

  Peggy supposed she ought to invite her sister Doris, although she didn’t really want to – but the thought of her alone in that big house now she and Ted were divorced, and their son and daughter-in-law were living away, made Peggy feel guilty. Doris was family, and although Peggy had been avoiding her these past months while April Wilton was awaiting the birth of her baby, Peggy knew that her sister would feel slighted if the invitation wasn’t given, and would probably cause an almighty fuss.

  In a way, Peggy rather hoped Doris would refuse to come even though April was now living with her Uncle Stan and his new wife Ethel at the stationmaster’s cottage. Doris wouldn’t be able to resist making her opinions known about unmarried girls having babies – and about the fact that Peggy had willingly taken her in and colluded in the deceit by pretending there was a fiancé fighting abroad. If Doris had had the faintest inkling that gorgeous little Paula’s father had been a black GI, then there was no telling what trouble her sister might have caused.