Welcome Home

by Margaret Dickinson

  Frank wagged a cautionary finger at his mother and moved to open the door, flinging it wide in a clear gesture of welcome.

  ‘Hello, duck, come on in.’

  Edie stared open-mouthed, but she said not a word as Frank reached out to take the little girl from Irene’s arms.

  ‘I’m sorry, Frank,’ Irene said hesitantly, ‘I would have left her with Mam, but she was crying – and then Tommy wanted to come too.’

  ‘Of course he did. Come on in – all of you.’

  He carried Marie towards the hearth and sat down in his father’s chair with the baby on his knee. He stroked her blond curls and smiled down at her. Solemnly, she gazed up at him. Tommy sidled to stand beside his father’s chair and leaned against his shoulder. He had no early memories of the man, but he’d taken to him instantly; Frank was the only one who’d shown Tommy’s sister any kindness. Except his Granny Lil, of course, but she didn’t count. You expected grannies to love you. Mam had told him that this man was his dad. It was all a bit confusing. He’d thought Ken – the man in the blue uniform they’d known at the farm – was his father but his mam had warned him that he must never mention the handsome airman’s name again.

  ‘You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?’ Frank was saying softly to the little girl, who was gazing up at him with wide blue eyes, but it was Tommy who smiled and said innocently, ‘She’s my sister.’

  Without looking up, Frank said gently, ‘I know, lad, I know.’ Then he looked up to see Irene still hovering uncertainly in the doorway. ‘Come on in, Irene. Mam won’t bite.’

  Edie gave what sounded suspiciously like a snort, but she said nothing as her daughter-in-law moved hesitantly further into the room. Edie knew Frank wanted to talk to his wife on his own, but stubbornly, she refused to move. This was still her house, her home and—

  ‘D’you mind, Mam?’

  Edie opened her mouth to say, yes, she minded. She minded very much but something stopped her. Maybe it was the look on Frank’s face, maybe it was the sight of him dandling the baby girl on his knee – the way he was smiling at her, his arm protectively round her and Tommy standing close to him. As Irene sat down on the edge of the chair opposite him, they looked like a family – a complete family. Edie felt something swelling in her chest. It was a feeling she didn’t understand. Was it fear of what she now knew, without a shadow of a doubt, Frank was going to do? Or was it – strangely – an overflowing of pride in this man who was her son; a real man in every sense of the word who was prepared to forgive his wife in a way that she, Edie, had not been able to do?

  Archie had said as much only last night as they were getting into bed. ‘Our Frank’ll know his own mind. He’ll do the right thing and we’ll abide by it, Edie,’ he’d said. ‘You hear me?’

  She hadn’t been prepared to listen to her husband then, but seeing them together now, she knew she had to do what Archie had said.

  If Frank could forgive, then so must she. Slowly, she rose to her feet on legs that were a little unsteady. ‘I’ll – um – leave you to it then,’ she murmured, but Frank and Irene didn’t seem to hear her or even notice her slip out of the back door and make her way to her neighbour’s back door. It had been a long time – far too long – since she’d spoken to Lil and she regretted all the harsh words.

  She took a deep breath and opened the back door.

  ‘You there, Lil? Get the kettle on, duck, I’ve summat to tell you.’

  Archie had escaped to the pub; he hadn’t long to wait until lunchtime opening. He’d known what was going to happen that morning and he’d wanted to be out of the way. Late last night Frank had confided his intentions in his father and had been given his blessing. Archie was happy about the outcome. They’d lost too much already in this war to bear grudges and carry bitterness for years to come. He mourned the loss of his eldest son and would do so until his dying day. And there wasn’t a day went by without him thinking about Beth. And he was sure it was the same for Edie though they didn’t speak about her much now. As for Reggie, he was well settled in the countryside. It was a good life and Archie was content to let him stay there, though he wasn’t so sure that Edie was happy about it. So, all in all, Archie was ready to move on, to embrace whatever the future held for them all and if that included welcoming a baby, who wasn’t of his blood, into the family, then so be it.

  And yet, for all his decisions, he was still unsettled. As if there was still something else that was going to happen. He couldn’t relax in his usual seat in the pub, he wasn’t even enjoying his favourite beer. He was restless and he didn’t know why. Archie sighed. Time to go home. He reckoned he’d given them enough time now. He stepped outside and nodded to one or two of his acquaintances before turning towards home.

  It was when he turned the corner that he caught his breath. He stopped and stared the length of the street at the figures of two young people – a man and a woman – walking slowly towards him. The man was dark haired and wearing, of all things, a beret. The type, Archie knew, that Frenchmen wore. In one hand he carried a suitcase, but his other arm was protectively around the young woman, almost as if he was helping her to walk. And indeed, she did appear to be limping a little.

  And there was something familiar about her, something . . . Archie’s heart began to thump and he put out a shaking hand to the nearest wall to steady himself.

  Could it be? No, it wasn’t possible, was it?

  He pushed himself away from the wall and began to walk towards them on legs that were trembling. Still, he wasn’t sure. But then, as they drew nearer, the young woman looked up. Her hair was short, incredibly short, for she’d always been so proud of her long, curly brown hair. And she was thinner – much thinner – and she was definitely limping. And then, as she noticed him, she pulled away from the man’s arm and began to hurry towards Archie. And now he knew for certain.

  ‘Beth,’ he whispered, the tears in his eyes almost blinding the sight of her. He brushed them aside impatiently. ‘Oh my Beth!’ He stretched his arms out towards her. ‘You’ve come home.’

  Jenny’s War

  Margaret Dickinson

  Love, hope and courage in a time of war . . .

  Is it possible for a ten-year-old girl to fall in love? Jenny Mercer thinks so. Evacuated to Lincolnshire from the East End of London at the outbreak of war, she is frightened of the wide open spaces and the huge skies. But the kindly Thornton family soon makes her feel welcome. And no one more so than Georgie, the handsome RAF fighter pilot who is caught up in the battle for Britain’s survival. When Georgie is posted missing, presumed dead, Jenny is devastated.

  More heartbreak is to come when Jenny’s mother Dot decides that she wants her daughter home and Jenny is forced to come back to live in the city which is now under almost daily attack from enemy bombers. Dot’s ‘fancy man’, Arthur Osborne, treats Jenny kindly. But is Arthur only interested in the girl because she can be useful to him? No one will suspect a ten-year-old girl of being involved with the Black Market . . .

  When the law comes a little too close for Arthur’s comfort, the family flees the city and head towards the hills and dales of Derbyshire. There, Jenny is caught up in a life of deception. All she really wants is to go back to Lincolnshire. For Jenny has never given up hope that one day, Georgie will come back . . .

  ISBN 978-0-330-54430-6

  The Clippie Girls

  Margaret Dickinson

  Sisters in love. A family at war. A city in peril.

  Rose and Myrtle Sylvester look up to their older sister, Peggy. She is the sensible, reliable one in the household of women headed by their grandmother, Grace Booth, and their mother, Mary Sylvester. When war is declared in 1939 they must face the hardships together and huge changes in their lives are inevitable. For Rose, there is the chance to fulfil her dream of becoming a clippie on Sheffield’s trams like Peggy. But for Myrtle, the studious, clever one in the family, war may shatter her ambitions.

  When the tram on which Peggy
is a conductress is caught in a bomb blast, she bravely helps to rescue her passengers. One of them is a young soldier, Terry Price, and he and Peggy begin courting. They meet every time he can get leave, but eventually Terry is posted abroad and she hears nothing from him. Worse still, Peggy must break the devastating news to her family that she is pregnant.

  The shock waves that ripple through the family will affect each and every one of them and life will never be the same again.

  ISBN 978-0-330-54431-3

  Fairfield Hall

  Margaret Dickinson

  A matter of honour. A sense of duty. A time for courage.

  Ruthlessly ambitious Ambrose Constantine is determined that his daughter, Annabel, shall marry into the nobility. A self-made trawler owner and fish merchant, he has only his wealth to buy his way into Society.

  When Annabel’s secret meetings with a young man employed at her father’s offices stop suddenly, she finds that Gilbert has mysteriously disappeared. Heartbroken, she finds solace with her grandparents on their Lincolnshire farm, but her father will not allow her to bury herself in the countryside and enlists the help of a business connection to launch his daughter into Society.

  During the London Season, Annabel is courted by James Lyndon, the Earl of Fairfield, whose country estate is only a few miles from her grandfather’s farm. Believing herself truly loved at last, Annabel accepts his offer of marriage. It is only when she arrives at Fairfield Hall that she realizes the true reason behind James’s proposal and the part her scheming father has played.

  Through the years that follow, Annabel will know both heartache and joy, but the birth of her son should secure the future of the Fairfield Estate. Yet there are others who lay claim to the inheritance in a feud that will not be resolved until the trenches of a bitter world war.

  ISBN 978-1-4472-3724-2

  ALSO BY MARGARET DICKINSON

  Plough the Furrow

  Sow the Seed

  Reap the Harvest

  The Miller’s Daughter

  Chaff upon the Wind

  The Fisher Lass

  The Tulip Girl

  The River Folk

  Tangled Threads

  Twisted Strands

  Red Sky in the Morning

  Without Sin

  Pauper’s Gold

  Wish Me Luck

  Sing As We Go

  Suffragette Girl

  Sons and Daughters

  Forgive and Forget

  Jenny’s War

  The Clippie Girls

  Fairfield Hall

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many sources have been used for information for this novel but I would like to pay tribute to the wonderful book, The Secret Ministry of Ag. & Fish by Noreen Riols (Macmillan) and also to acknowledge use of the newspapers of the day, particularly the Grimsby Telegraph and its Bygones publications.

  My special thanks to the staff of the North East Lincolnshire Local History Library in Grimsby Central Library – Jennie Mooney, Debbie Grundy, Tracey Townsend and Simon Balderson – who so kindly helped me with my research. Also my grateful thanks to Vanessa Dumbleton and to Carol and Garry Sidney for their interest and help. And, as always, my sincere thanks to the staff at Skegness Library for their continuing support.

  My love and thanks to my family and friends for their constant encouragement, especially those who read the script in the early stages; David Dickinson, Fred Hill, Pauline Griggs and Scott Heath. And never forgetting my wonderful agent, Darley Anderson, and his team, and my editor, Trisha Jackson, and all the team at Pan Macmillan.

  First published 2015 by Macmillan

  This electronic edition published 2015 by Macmillan

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited

  Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

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  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-1-4472-3727-3

  Copyright © Margaret Dickinson 2015

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  Figure © www.colinthomas.co.uk

  Street scene © Getty Images

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  The right of Margaret Dickinson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third party websites referred to in or on this book.

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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