The Waiting Hours

by Ellie Dean

  He reached out to her, but she slapped his hand away. ‘You’re selfish, that’s what you are,’ she snapped, glaring at him furiously. ‘Selfish and stubborn, and so full of yourself you haven’t even considered me. You’ve done your bit, and I need you here.’

  She broke into a fresh wave of tears and clung to Peggy. ‘You’ve got to tell him, Peg. He won’t listen to me.’

  Peggy held on to her and regarded the grim-faced Frank. ‘You both need to calm down,’ she said firmly. ‘I have no idea what either of you is talking about.’

  They both began talking at once and Peggy knew she’d have to take matters in hand if she was to make sense of any of it. ‘That’s enough – both of you,’ she shouted above their angry voices.

  They fell into simmering silence.

  ‘That’s better. Now I need a cuppa after that long walk,’ she said, purposefully steering Pauline through the door and indicating Frank should follow. ‘And when you’ve both cooled down you can tell me – one at a time – what the heck this is all about.’

  ‘He—’

  ‘She—’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it,’ snapped Peggy. ‘Not until I’ve had that tea.’

  Pauline sank into the sagging couch, buried her face in her hands and whimpered her distress as she rocked back and forth. Frank stood like a monolith beside the blazing range fire, his broad shoulders stiff with resolve despite his worried expression.

  Peggy made the tea as Pauline’s whimpers faded and a heavy silence descended, broken only by the sound of the waves on the shore and the occasional cry of a seagull. She placed the tray on the table and sat down. ‘We’ll drink this first,’ she said, handing round the cups, ‘and then we’ll talk.’

  She looked up at the big man whose head almost brushed the ceiling, his large presence seeming to fill the small, cluttered room. ‘Sit down, Frank. You’re looming as usual, and it’s unsettling.’

  Frank obediently perched on the edge of a kitchen chair, the cup looking tiny and delicate in his great weathered hands as he gloomily sipped the tea and shot wary glances at his wife, who was refusing to look at him.

  Peggy saw him fidgeting and knew it wouldn’t be long before he found it impossible to stay silent, so she wasn’t surprised when moments later he pulled a leaflet from his pocket and slapped it on the table.

  ‘That’s the cause of it all,’ he muttered.

  ‘It’s you that’s the cause of it,’ retorted Pauline, glaring at him.

  ‘Ach, Pauline, love, don’t take on so. It’s only for a wee while and—’

  ‘Hush, the pair of you,’ said Peggy impatiently. She scanned the rather badly printed leaflet which had been sent out by the Ministry of Labour and National Service, calling for experienced sailors to man and service small vessels for short periods over the following six months to relieve naval personnel for war duty.

  She finally placed the leaflet back on the table, understanding now why this row had erupted. ‘How far have you gone with this, Frank?’

  ‘I got permission to apply from the Home Guard and Civil Defence,’ he replied. ‘My application was accepted and I leave on Wednesday,’ he added, almost defiantly.

  ‘That’s very short notice,’ said Peggy. ‘Why have you left it so late to tell anyone?

  ‘It only arrived yesterday afternoon,’ he replied evenly, ‘and I knew Pauline would be tired after her WVS shift, so I waited until this morning to tell her.’

  Peggy guessed it had taken the night for Frank to pluck up the courage to tell Pauline, but she didn’t labour the point. ‘Where are you being sent – and for how long?’

  ‘Where I’m going is between me and the Royal Navy,’ he said. ‘The most I’ll be away is four weeks.’ He turned to Pauline. ‘I’ll be back before you know it, love,’ he said gently. ‘But I can’t sit about here doing a bit of fire-watching or messing about with the Home Guard when I have the skills to do something really worthwhile.’

  ‘You’ve already done your bit in the army,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve been on my own for too long, and now with all this new worry over Brendon I need you here – not messing about with boats.’

  Frank was about to reply when Peggy butted in. ‘What’s this about Brendon? What’s happened?’

  ‘He hasn’t been home on leave since before Christmas,’ said Pauline quickly, ‘and apart from a few postcards and short notes, I’ve barely heard from him. And to make things worse, Mother said she hadn’t been able to see him when she last went to London on one of her shopping trips.’

  Peggy patted her arm. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing sinister about it all, Pauline. He’s probably been refused leave for a while with everything that’s going on, and it isn’t as if he hasn’t written, is it?’

  ‘The postmarks are different.’ Pauline said stubbornly, sniffing back her tears as she snatched a card from the mantelpiece and shoved it under Peggy’s nose. ‘See. It’s not got RNR on it, just a series of numbers.’ Her voice wavered. ‘He’s been sent back to sea to fight, I just know it,’ she managed before bursting into tears again.

  Peggy could understand Frank’s impatience, for Pauline had clearly not inherited her mother’s steel and was making rather more of this than was necessary. Nevertheless, she held her close and tried to coax her out of her tears. Then she caught the uncomfortable expression on Frank’s face as he rose from the chair and began to prowl the room.

  ‘Do you know anything about this, Frank?’ she asked sharply. ‘Did Brendon mention something on his last leave?’

  He came to a halt, his gaze sliding away from Peggy’s steady glare, his fists curling and uncurling at his sides.

  ‘You do, don’t you?’ snapped Peggy, feeling Pauline stiffen and pull away from her embrace. ‘Come on, Frank. Out with it.’

  ‘He didn’t say anything specific,’ he replied, folding his meaty arms over his chest as if to form a barrier between himself and the two women. ‘He just said all leave had been cancelled for the foreseeable future and that he was being sent somewhere he’d be of more use to the war effort than where he was …’ He tailed off miserably, still unable to look at them.

  ‘That means he’s back on a destroyer, or a minesweeper,’ gasped Pauline. ‘Oh, my boy, my lovely boy,’ she moaned.

  Before either Peggy or Frank could reply, her mood changed like quicksilver. She jerked away from Peggy to stand and confront Frank, her eyes blazing with fury. ‘How could you keep this from me? What sort of husband and father are you, Frank Reilly?’ she shouted, pummelling his chest with her small fists.

  Frank didn’t flinch from the assault. ‘Ach, to be sure, Pauline, love, I don’t really know anything of what’s going on. Please don’t blame me for this – I’m not in charge of where he’s sent, and we know he’s all right because he’s said so in his cards and letters.’

  ‘We haven’t heard from him for over a week, so we don’t know anything of the sort,’ she fired back, ‘and now you’re leaving me here on my own, dreading every ring on the doorbell.’ She jabbed a finger towards his face. ‘If anything happens to him while you’re gone, I’ll never forgive you. Never, ever, ever,’ she shrilled.

  Frank looked to Peggy for guidance, and she saw the awfulness of his situation clear in his drooping shoulders and sad eyes. ‘That’s unfair, Pauline,’ she said firmly, coaxing her back to the couch, ‘and you know it.’

  Pauline sniffed and gave a reluctant nod. ‘But he should still stay here. I need him in case … In case …’ The hysterics were over and now the tears were rolling down her anguished face unheeded as her mind played over all the dreadful possibilities.

  Frank knelt at her feet and took her hands, his expression full of love and concern. ‘Please don’t upset yourself like this, darlin’, he murmured. ‘Da asked him if he was going back to sea like before, and Brendon swore he wasn’t, so there’s no need to think the worst.’

  ‘Do you promise that’s the truth?’ she begged, clutching at his shirt. ‘You’re not
just saying that because it’s what I need to hear?’

  ‘I promise,’ he replied, gently enfolding her hands in his. ‘I talked it over with Da, and from the little Brendon said to him, he suspects he’s helping the Yanks down in the West Country to prepare for the beach landings, and when the rehearsals are over, he’ll be sent back to London.’

  ‘So he won’t be part of any real fighting?’ Pauline’s eyes were full of entreaty as she looked back at him.

  ‘Not at all,’ he soothed, settling on the couch beside her and gathering her into his arms. ‘And I’m sorry, love, but I have to go, just for a little while.’

  Pauline pushed against him in protest, but he held her even closer.

  ‘You see, darlin’, Brendon and me, we’re doing the job we know best, and if it helps to bring this war even a second closer to an end, then it’s our duty to play our part.’

  ‘Oh, Frank, I’m sorry,’ she sobbed, collapsing against his broad chest.

  ‘I know, darlin’,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘I know.’

  Peggy crept out of the room, closed the door quietly behind her and walked slowly back up the track. Pauline would be all right for now, but once Frank had left she would need the comfort and love of family to see her through until his return. Peggy was fully prepared to take on the responsibility, but it was a great pity Dolly couldn’t share the burden, for with the travel restrictions in place, Bournemouth might as well have been on the other side of the world.

  She tramped across the windblown grass, going over everything that had been said during that upsetting exchange, then suddenly caught sight of Ron emerging from behind a gorse bush with Harvey dancing round him. Peggy decided the time had come for some straight talking – and this time, she vowed, she wouldn’t be put off by his blarney.

  He raised his bushy brows in surprise when he saw her walking determinedly towards him. ‘It’s not like you to be up here,’ he said, shoving the net purses and dead rabbits into his poacher’s coat pockets. ‘There’s nothing wrong at Tamarisk Bay, is there?’

  ‘They’re both fine for now,’ she replied, and went on to describe what had happened. ‘Did you know he’d signed up to this navy thing?’ she asked flatly.

  ‘We talked about it,’ he admitted, ‘and I did warn him that Pauline wouldn’t take too kindly to the idea.’ He took out his pipe and examined the tobacco in the bowl before reaching for his matches. ‘So, he’s off on Wednesday, is he?’ he muttered.

  ‘You didn’t know?’

  He spent some time getting the tobacco alight. ‘To be sure he kept it to himself, so he did.’

  ‘Just like you both kept Brendon’s new posting to yourselves,’ she said. ‘And how come you’re so certain he’s down in Devon?’

  Ron regarded her from beneath his brows. ‘I’m as sure as I can be,’ he muttered. ‘Brendon couldn’t tell me straight, but his silence confirmed my suspicions, and I’ve since heard things to back them up.’ He waved his pipe at her. ‘And that’s all I’m saying on the matter, Peggy, girl, so don’t waste your breath with any more questions.’

  Peggy burned with frustration. ‘What did you hear, and who from? If he’s really down there, then why hasn’t Carol written to tell us?’

  ‘No one tells anyone anything these days,’ he said moodily. ‘There is a war on, you know.’

  Peggy was about to reply that she was well aware of there being a war on but she was sick of being kept in the dark about things, when a rumbling filled the air. She stood with Ron and watched as several squadrons of Flying Fortresses and their fighter escort planes came thundering from across the Channel. The ground beneath them trembled, the down-draught bending the trees and making Peggy hold on to her hat.

  Some were so shot up it was a miracle they were still airborne. The less damaged landed and quickly got out of the way as others hurtled in with their wheels still up, engines dead or dying, or with missing wings and shattered canopies, to belly-flop on the runway or go spinning off in a shower of sparks.

  Even from this distance she could see the emergency services rushing to put out fires and rescue the pilots and their crews, and she cried out in distress and horror as a tattered Spitfire caught its drooping wing on the runway, somersaulted across the grass and exploded into a ball of flame.

  Ron put his arm round her shoulder and firmly turned her towards home as yet more bombers flew overhead. ‘If we’re to see an end to scenes like that, then we must stop asking questions and accept that our loved ones have to play their part,’ he said close to her ear. ‘Let’s go home, Peggy, and be thankful that such men are defending us, for there are none braver.’

  33

  Devon

  Felix took charge of the diplomatic bag which had just arrived by plane from London that morning, and waited until the soldier who’d delivered it left the room. He had mixed feelings about what the bag contained, for he’d yet to see Carol’s photograph – she kept forgetting to bring it with her – and it had been four weeks since he’d contacted his friend at the Pentagon, and his reply might well be in with the other correspondence. Or there could be firm confirmation of exactly when Operation Overlord would take place.

  The rehearsals in Slapton were finally beginning to take proper shape, but there were still areas of concern over the actual landings, which he knew made Eisenhower and Churchill reluctant to rush into cementing their plans. The original idea had been to make a two-pronged pincer attack, with a large force moving up from the south at the same time as the one in the north, but that had been scrapped once it was realised that because of the ongoing Pacific campaign, there were simply not enough ships to provide transport and cover for both invasions.

  Felix knew there was a great deal riding on the rehearsals in Slapton and the success of the invasion, for the memory of what had happened at Dunkirk where so many Canadians had lost their lives was still at the forefront of Churchill’s mind – and neither he nor Eisenhower wanted Operation Overlord to turn into a similar disaster. Yet the ongoing delay was causing a great deal of tension amongst the service hierarchy, and although the date for the landings had been changed from 1st May to the 31st, it still wasn’t written in stone.

  Felix glanced out of the window. The weather had improved, but the forecast for Operation Tiger didn’t bode well, with high tides, heavy seas and strong winds making any landing almost impossible. The long-range forecast covering the proposed date for Overlord was sketchy to say the least and, to make matters worse, there were concerns over the spring tides, the shortage of extra ships to defend the troops, and the lack of certainty about how successful the bombing raids on the gun batteries along the French coastline had been.

  The men and women of the Resistance were doing a sterling job at sabotaging arms dumps, railway lines, communications and gun emplacements, yet there were still fleets of swift E-boats hidden all along the beaches, and enough enemy planes and U-boats to cause untold trouble to any invading force. It was a minor miracle that the Krauts hadn’t cottoned on to what was happening down here, but the subterfuge of dummy airfields and service camps being built along the Kent and Sussex coast seemed to be working – drawing attention away from the west, making the enemy think any invasion would be coming from the east.

  Felix emerged from his thoughts and opened the bag. He drew out a stack of heavily sealed envelopes marked ‘Top Secret’, most of which contained minutes of meetings held in London relating to the Devon operation. There were a few private letters from home, which he set aside to read later, and one that bore a very important seal which could not be ignored.

  Felix slit it open and unfolded the single sheet of good-quality notepaper. It informed him that two VIPs and selected guests would be arriving in Slapton in three days’ time at 14:00 hours to raise morale and inspect the troops.

  The identity of these visitors made him gasp. ‘Goddammit,’ he muttered. ‘That’s all I need.’ He strode out of his office to find his adjutant lounging back with his feet on the des
k while he smoked a cigarette.

  ‘On your feet, soldier,’ he roared, making the man jump to attention and drop his cigarette on the floor. ‘Put that out,’ he snapped, ‘and then round up the commanders of each and every unit – including the MPs, the medics, marines and Limeys. They are to be here within the hour.’

  The man looked at him aghast whilst extinguishing the cigarette beneath his boot. ‘But they’re spread over miles,’ he protested.

  ‘That’s what jeeps are for, soldier. Now scat.’

  The man scuttled off and Felix glanced at his watch before reaching for the telephone on the desk. He’d planned to meet Carol this afternoon when she collected Betty from the cottage hospital, but the imminent arrival of two such revered visitors, with all the attendant hullaballoo, would make that impossible. He dialled a direct number and had to wait only seconds for Sergeant Cornwallis to pick up.

  ‘Herby, I need you to check that Carol and Betty make it to the farm okay. I’ve had to call an emergency meeting of heads of staff, which will probably take up the rest of the day. Tell Carol that Lieutenant Reilly and I will try to get to see them both this evening, but it’s unlikely.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You’re to return here immediately for the briefing as you’re the senior British MP. You have an hour.’

  He cut off his reply by slamming down the receiver and returned to his office to read through the letter again and draft some sort of schedule for the visit. Hopefully there would be no expectation of any sort of display and he could get away with an inspection of the troops and a short tour of one of the bigger camps, followed by a top-rate afternoon tea – which would mean alerting the senior chef.

  Felix regarded his scrawled notes and had second thoughts. Experience had taught him that he shouldn’t assume anything, so he’d better make more detailed plans. He’d get men and landing craft prepared to do a dummy run up the beach and across the Ley under fire, with a couple of blasts from the big guns above Torcross to make things more dramatic. He’d have to use the marines, he decided, for at least they wouldn’t throw up if the sea got rough, and knew how to swim should the landing craft have to anchor in deep water.