‘Hull,’ both men chorused promptly.
‘They’re playing at Scunthorpe,’ Harry put in, ‘but Bert Platt down the street has still got his car on the road. He said he’ll give us a lift.’
Both men glanced at the clock. There was still time to reach the ground before the kick-off.
‘Then you’d better get off.’
‘You’re a good ’un, Edie Kelsey.’ Archie kissed his wife soundly on the cheek. ‘Come on, then, Harry.’
The two men hastily donned their jackets and black and white scarves knitted by their wives in Grimsby Town’s colours and scuttled out of the back door before Edie or Jessie could change their minds.
‘Now,’ Shirley said firmly, as the door closed behind the two men. ‘How about a nice game of charades?’ But it wasn’t quite the same without Beth’s hilarious antics and Frank and Reggie playing up to her.
It had been a good day in a lot of ways, Edie thought, as she got ready for bed that night, but not the same. It would never be the same unless all her family were around her. And now that could never happen again.
Quietly, she shed a few tears into her pillow whilst Archie snored gently beside her.
Eleven
Shirley was lonely now that both Beth and Irene had gone away. She even missed Reggie. Although she enjoyed her work, she didn’t mix with the other women and girls from Oldroyd’s and it wasn’t much fun going to the cinema or dancing on her own. But several times, as she walked home from work, she saw a young woman with blond curly hair – so fair that it was almost white – going into one of the houses at the opposite end of the street to where Shirley lived. They began to nod to each other, then to say a tentative ‘hello’ and finally, one evening, Shirley smiled and stopped. ‘I keep seeing you – do you live here?’
‘I lodge here.’ The girl nodded towards one of the nearby terraced houses. ‘With Mrs Porter.’
Shirley grimaced. ‘I don’t envy you. She’s a miserable old cow.’
‘She is unhappy woman, I think.’
Shirley was startled by the strange accent and, as if seeing a question in Shirley’s eyes, the girl said swiftly, ‘I am Swiss. I am freelance reporter for the local paper.’
‘Ah, I see,’ Shirley said. ‘Well, if you fancy a night out sometime, to the pictures or something . . .’
The girl smiled. ‘I would like that.’
And that was how it had started. Shirley was a chatterbox and soon Ursula knew quite a lot about the Kelseys and the Hortons. ‘What about your family?’ Shirley asked one evening as they walked home from the cinema. ‘You never say much about them.’
Ursula shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen them recently.’
‘Are they still in England?’
Ursula shook her head. ‘No – no. They went back to Switzerland just before the war started.’
‘Why didn’t you go back with them?’
Again, Ursula gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘I like it here and besides, back then I had a boyfriend I didn’t want to leave.’
‘Had?’ Shirley asked carefully.
‘He – he was killed at Dunkirk.’
Shirley put her arm through her friend’s. ‘Like our Laurence,’ she said softly. ‘I am sorry.’
Ursula turned her head away as if to hide tears.
They paused outside the gate of the house where Ursula had lodgings. ‘Haven’t you found it difficult here in England? Because you do have a bit of an accent.’
Ursula laughed ironically. ‘Sometimes, but as soon as I show my Swiss papers people accept that I am who I say I am.’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t been snapped up by the war office to help them with translating and such. Still,’ Shirley added as she squeezed the girl’s arm. ‘I’m glad you haven’t or you wouldn’t be here.’
Ursula was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Perhaps that is what your sister is doing. You said she speaks good French.’
‘Maybe. Whatever it is, she’s not very bothered about the rest of her family,’ Shirley said bitterly. ‘She hardly ever writes now, though when she first went away, her letters were several pages long. She doesn’t even tell us where she is. Anyway, I’d better go. Mam’ll whinge if I’m later than I said. ’Night, Ursula. See you.’
As Shirley disappeared into the darkness of the blackout, Ursula waited a moment before turning and walking back to the end of the road, but this time, instead of turning towards the town again, she took the way that led to the docks.
Archie’s was one of the few trawlers still going to sea to fish. Many had been requisitioned by the Navy and had been turned into minesweepers.
‘I’m pleased you’re not going on one of those,’ Edie had said. ‘At least you’re doing what you’ve always done. We’re all used to that. Minesweeping must be ever so dangerous.’
Archie said nothing. The North Sea was now an even more perilous place. He did not tell his wife that his ship had been fitted with guns in case of attack, nor about the trawlers that were already being lost – and not only those which had been turned into minesweepers for the duration of the war. The Nazi planes had no compunction in attacking innocent fishing vessels wherever they found them. Although he felt guilty keeping yet another secret from Edie, he didn’t want to worry her; she had enough anxieties already. His trips were mainly confined to a strip down the east coast of the country, much of the North Sea being closed to fishing now. But there were times when he went to the west coast of Scotland and the Hebrides and even into the Irish Sea, though in the early months of the war, several trawlers had been sunk off the north and northwest coast of Ireland by U-boats. Mines, too, were a constant threat. All this Archie kept to himself and he certainly never told her if he was venturing into Icelandic waters. Luckily for him, it was a tradition that fishermen’s wives never asked where their husbands were going; another superstition that Edie respected.
‘Edie, love,’ Archie said, when he was at home for longer than usual in March, 1941, ‘You know you refused to have an Anderson in the yard . . .’
‘I most certainly did, Archie. I hope you’re not going to bring that argument up again.’
‘No, love, I’m not, but I really would like you to have something here.’
‘But it’s only a step away into Lil’s yard,’ Edie argued.
‘I know, love, I know, but I’ve heard there’s a new type of shelter available – one you can have in the house. It’s called a Morrison shelter after the Home Secretary, Herbert Morrison. They say he designed it. If you really won’t let me build you an Anderson in our yard—’
‘I won’t.’
‘Then at least let’s consider this. It sounds like a good idea. ’
‘What is it?’ Edie was suspicious. ‘What’s it like and where will it go?’
‘It’s a big metal cage about the size of our dining table – mebbe a bit bigger. In fact, that’s where it would be best. We don’t use that room a lot —’
‘We do at Christmas and Easter,’ Edie argued, determined not to let Hitler spoil all their fun.
‘I know, love,’ Archie said patiently. She was a grand wife, his Edie, and she was coping remarkably well with all the hardships. When he had to be away he was glad that she had Lil close by, but even Lil couldn’t take away the constant worry Edie had when he was at sea. Archie knew Beth and Frank were never far from her mind either, just as they weren’t from his, and she was still struggling with the loss of their firstborn. He just hoped that Reggie, Irene and the baby were as safe in the countryside as they believed them to be.
‘But if I take the dining table down and store it in the shed,’ he went on, ‘the Morrison will serve as a table too.’
‘I’ll tell you when I see it,’ was all Edie would promise. She didn’t want to argue with her husband; he was only thinking of their safety and she had to admit it had been very scary hiding under the table or squeezing into the cupboard under the stairs when the town was targeted by the Luftwaffe.
The monstrosity, as
Edie came to call it, arrived the following week and she watched Archie erect it with a sour expression on her face. It was a large metal cage the same height as their dining table but a little longer and wider and had a sturdy iron frame and a steel top. The steel mesh, put up from the inside when an air raid happened, gave extra protection.
‘You’ll never get that in there,’ she said, making one last ditch attempt to thwart Archie.
‘You just watch me,’ he said with a grin.
‘Now,’ Archie said, standing back at last to admire his handiwork, ‘Just fetch one of your pretty tablecloths, Edie, and let’s see how it looks.’
Moments later, Edie’s biggest cloth almost covered the shelter. ‘There you are,’ Archie said. ‘Not so bad, is it? And it will keep you and Shirley safe. There’s plenty of room for you both, though it’ll be a bit of a squash when I’m at home. We’ll put a mattress in and pillows and blankets to make it comfy. You can sleep in there.’
‘Oh aye, when there’s bombs dropping all around us. I don’t see us getting a lot of sleep. But it’s not as bad as I thought, Archie,’ Edie said, giving in gracefully. ‘Though it’ll be even more of a squeeze to get us all round it at Christmas. Still, like you say, it’s handy to get to – no rushing through the dark streets to find a public shelter – and it looks strong enough. Does Lil want one?’
‘No, she’s happy with the Anderson.’
And so the ‘monstrosity’ found its place in the Kelsey household and doubled as a dining table for the first time on Easter Sunday.
This time there were only the four of them sitting in Edie’s front room, trying to make the best of a bad job. Edie had shed a few tears as she cooked their dinner, but by the time Lil arrived, carefully carrying the trifle she had made, Edie had dried her eyes and pasted a welcoming smile on her face.
‘There,’ Lil said, setting it carefully on the table. ‘Home-made sponge cake, bottled fruit, jelly made with powdered gelatine and a custard made with dried eggs. No cream, I’m afraid, but what do you think, Edie?’
‘It’s a triumph, duck. You’re so inventive.’
Lil pulled a comical face. ‘You’ve got to be these days, haven’t you?’
But the day dragged for all of them and there was no word from any other member of the family. After they’d finished eating, Shirley announced. ‘I’m off out to the park. I’ve made a new friend. She’s called Ursula and she’s lodging at the end of our street. Ta-ra.’
‘Bring her back for tea, if you like, love,’ Edie said, but Shirley had left, banging the back door behind her.
Edie glanced at the other two. Archie was settling in his easy chair in front of the range for his Sunday afternoon nap, his eyelids already drooping.
Edie and Lil exchanged an amused look. ‘Fancy a game of Rummy, Edie?’ Lil said softly.
In the autumn of 1941, Alan Forster finally asked Beth if she’d like to train to be an agent in occupied France. ‘It’ll be very dangerous work. Have no illusions about that, but you’re perfect for the job. You speak the language fluently and you’ve actually visited the area where we want to send you to when you were with us in France.’ He hesitated and then added, ‘We want you to go back to the farm – to Simone’s parents. We’ve come up with what we think is a good cover story. You look very young for your age, Beth, and we think we could pass you off as a girl who’s only just left school.’
Beth gasped and stared at him. ‘But won’t it be awfully dangerous for Monsieur and Madame Détange?’
Alan shrugged. ‘It’s what they want to do. They’re appalled at the invasion of their country. They’ve hardly recovered from the last war and now they’re overrun yet again and by the same enemy too. And Emile – their son whom you’ve met . . .’
Beth smiled inwardly at the memory of the handsome young Frenchman. Instantly, she could picture him in her mind’s eye as vividly as if he were standing in front of her. His black hair swept smoothly back from his forehead, his dark blue eyes flirting with her. He was slim in build and yet had a wiry strength from working on the farm from an early age. The young Beth – she felt so much older now, even though in reality it was only three years since she’d last seen him – had been more than a little bit in love with him.
‘. . . has joined the local resistance group,’ Alan went on, interrupting her thoughts. ‘In fact, I think it was he who set that particular circuit up. But these groups will need help and support from us. They’re hiding in the woods and forests. We’ve already sent an organizer, but he needs a lot more support. In the meantime, we’ve sent him a wireless operator, but it’s only for a certain length of time. There are other areas where both those people would be more useful eventually. So we need to train replacements for both of them and we’d like you to train as a wireless operator and, in due course, be dropped by parachute into France.’ He paused and met her steady gaze. ‘It’ll be a while before you actually go – the training is intensive, but will you do it?’
Without hesitation, Beth said, ‘Of course I will.’
‘You’ll need to talk to Sybil Carpenter. She’s the second in command in charge of women recruits under Vera Atkins.’ He smiled as he added, ‘Maurice Buckmaster is the Head of F Section – the French Section – and Vera is his Assistant. Both Vera and I answer directly to him.’
Beth’s eyes shone.
On the morning she was to meet Miss Carpenter, Beth dressed carefully, but, remembering what Alan had said, not as one might have supposed for an interview for a job. She applied Ponds cold cream to her face but no other cosmetics. Then she tied her hair into two bunches. She would have liked to have plaited it, but it was scarcely long enough yet. Then she put on a gingham dress that reached to just above her knees.
‘Good job I’m not massive in the bosom department,’ she murmured, as she looked at herself in the full-length mirror. She had a slim figure that was perfectly proportioned, but she would never be described as buxom. And now she was glad of it. White ankle socks and brown, lace-up shoes completed her outfit. She smiled as she checked her appearance. It was like looking back down the years to her fifteen-year-old schoolgirl self.
‘I look younger than our Shirley,’ she giggled and then, sobering, put on her coat and left her lodgings to make her way to Baker Street.
As she stepped inside, a voice accosted her. ‘You can’t come in here, girl. What d’you think you’re doing?’
Beth turned to see the man who regularly greeted her every morning. ‘Jim, it’s me.’
The middle-aged man’s mouth dropped open. ‘Good Heavens, so it is, Miss Kelsey. Whatever have you—?’ Then he paused, as if suddenly catching on. ‘Ah, you’ll be wanting to see Miss Carpenter, I take it?’
Beth smiled and nodded. This man saw all the comings and goings in and out of the buildings in Baker Street that had once been the offices of Marks and Spencer. But now they had a very different purpose and Jim Lovatt was at the heart of it. He probably knew more about what was going on here than any other individual in the building.
‘I don’t need to take you to her office, do I? You know the way.’ Beth was about to turn away when he said quietly, ‘Just be careful what you sign up for, love, won’t you?’
‘I will,’ Beth promised huskily, touched by the older man’s concern.
Moments later she was knocking at Sybil Carpenter’s door, her heart beating a little faster than its normal rate.
‘Come in,’ a voice called and Beth opened the door to what was to become a very different way of life for her.
Twelve
‘Mam – this is Ursula Werner. She works for the local newspaper as a freelance, covering events and news items when their regular reporters are busy. I’ve brought her home for tea like you said I could.’
Normally, Edie would have been welcoming but she had queued half the morning outside the butcher’s and then again at the grocer’s. Her feet hurt and she was not in the best of tempers. Shopping was boring and it was so tiring trudging f
rom shop to shop.
As if sensing a problem, the girl said cheerfully. ‘I have brought you some tea, Mrs Kelsey, and some butter.’
Edie blinked at the girl. Although she spoke perfect English, she had a strange accent. Sensing her mother’s disquiet, Shirley laughed. ‘Ursula is Swiss – from Zurich. That’s right, isn’t it, Ursula? She’s been in England a long time, but some of the accent still comes out now and again. Do you remember when Beth first came back from France, she couldn’t remember some English words?’
Edie nodded, still staring at the stranger. She was unnerved by Ursula’s accent – and her name, if it came to that. She wished Archie was at home. Still, if the girl was being employed by the local paper she must be genuine. The editor would have vetted her, Edie was sure.
‘That’s kind of you,’ Edie said, trying to instil some warmth into her tone. It was a nice gesture on the girl’s part, she had to admit. ‘Sit down, duck. Make yourself at home while I get the tea on.’
The two girls sat down at the table whilst Edie moved between the scullery and the living room, setting the table and bringing in the food.
‘So,’ she heard Shirley say, ‘what have you got lined up for the paper next – anything interesting?’
Ursula laughed. ‘My pieces are always interesting.’ She paused and then asked casually, ‘Will Beth be home soon? I’d like to meet her.’
Edie, coming in at that moment, almost dropped the plates she was carrying. That strange accent again, she thought. Maybe she had some kind of speech impediment. She couldn’t sound certain letters of the alphabet like some folk couldn’t sound their ‘r’s.
‘No – no,’ Shirley said uncertainly, not meeting the girl’s questioning gaze. ‘She’s – away.’
‘In the forces?’ Ursula was evidently not going to let the subject drop.
‘We don’t know,’ Edie said, banging the plates down onto the table in a gesture of frustration at the newcomer opening up a topic of conversation that was rarely raised. Each member of the family had their own thoughts – and worries – about Beth, but for some strange reason not one of them wanted to voice them aloud. But now, she and Shirley were being forced to confront uncomfortable thoughts.
Welcome Home Page 10