The Wartime Singers

by Lesley Eames

  They came to a halt as they saw soldiers practising a drill on the grass. Lizzie groaned. ‘And we came to escape the war for a while!’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Harry insisted. ‘I may dislike war, but I’ve never gone into a blue funk or anything like that. I’m coping, and I’d hate you to think otherwise.’

  ‘I don’t think otherwise. Courage isn’t being unafraid. Only a fool would be unafraid at the front. Courage is being afraid and carrying on despite it.’

  Harry smiled down at her. ‘That’s what I say to the chaps in my company.’

  They walked for a while longer then went in search of a tea shop. Finding one called The Copper Kettle not far from where they’d parked the car, they went in for lunch. ‘Did I mention in my letters that I met with Matthew Warren, the soldier whose address you found for me?’ Lizzie asked, picking up a menu card.

  ‘You touched on it, yes.’

  ‘He’s a very steady sort of man but he looked tired when he first came home on leave. He looked a lot better after a few days with his family.’

  ‘Good food and rest work wonders?’

  ‘They certainly do no harm.’

  ‘Then I’ll eat the biggest lunch I can manage.’

  Lizzie had to teach in the afternoon and Harry returned to Surrey to spend more time with his family but they went out for dinner the following evening. Harry was looking well and Lizzie was delighted.

  He drove her home afterwards and kissed her for the first time. A proper kiss, that was. There’d been plenty of pecks on the cheek. He drew her into his arms, looked down at her and lowered his mouth to hers. It was delicious.

  They had another two days together, meeting for a walk, a tea and a third dinner, but then the time came for them to part. Harry held her tightly, kissed her, then said, ‘I love you, Lizzie Kellaway.’

  The declaration caused her heart to leap and dance with joy. She looked up into his face and felt a burst of tenderness for him. Such an honest, eager, caring man. ‘I love you too,’ she told him, and was promptly kissed again.

  ‘You’ll take care?’ she asked, stroking his dear face with her finger.

  ‘I’ve everything to live for with you, my darling, and the war shouldn’t be quite so busy now we’re moving towards winter.’

  The war wouldn’t actually stop, though. Shelling, trench raids and sniper fire would continue. But hope was her lifebelt in a stormy sea, and Lizzie intended to cling to it.

  Meanwhile, there were Christmas concerts to organise.

  26

  Lizzie looked at the audience, as usual before a performance, and was pleased to see that this appeared to be a jolly crowd of men. One particularly wide grin stood out for her. It belonged to a trimly-built young soldier who carried his arm in a sling. He had a thick thatch of fair hair, twinkling eyes that she guessed were blue, and white, straight teeth that looked designed for smiles. From somewhere – probably charmed from one of the nurses – he’d acquired a red hat onto which he’d pinned a bobble of cotton wool so that it resembled a Father Christmas hat.

  He applauded enthusiastically, particularly after Polly had sung ‘Silent Night’ in the sweetest, clearest of voices.

  ‘It’s been a pleasure to be with you today,’ Lizzie said at the end. ‘We’d like to finish with “The Twelve Days of Christmas” but we’re tired and need your help.’ She was teasing, of course. ‘Will anyone join in?’

  Hands went up, the fair-haired man’s among them. He wasn’t a big man by any means, but his voice was a powerful tenor and Lizzie was delighted when he reached the final line and belted out, ‘And a partridge in a pear tree!’

  This time a doctor thanked the Penrose Players and Singers for the concert. ‘That was splendid. Just the tonic we needed,’ he said, then invited the audience to show their appreciation in the traditional way by putting their hands together.

  Cheers, whistles and applause followed, then the men began to file out. Except for the fair-haired man. He moved forward instead, aiming for Lizzie though she didn’t miss the admiring glance he sent in Polly’s direction.

  ‘Are you in charge?’ His voice held a faint Scottish burr.

  ‘We work as equals, but I tend to look after the bookings, if that’s what you mean?’

  ‘I suppose it is.’ His gaze strayed to Polly again then, realising Lizzie had noticed, he laughed. ‘Sorry. I’m making a hash of this. Let me start again by introducing myself. I’m Jack Lomax.’

  ‘Lizzie Kellaway.’

  ‘I’m happy to meet you, Miss Kellaway. Congratulations on a first-rate performance.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I sing too. Professionally. Or rather I sang professionally before the war, and I hope to return to it now I’m out of the war.’ He gestured to his arm. ‘The doctors saved it but I won’t have enough strength for active service.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Better to have lost the strength of an arm than my life. Anyway, I have to earn a living and I’d like to earn it by singing again. But I’d also like to raise funds for the men who won’t be able to work anymore, and the men who’ve left widows and orphans behind. The pensions they receive don’t amount to much, and some families are struggling.’

  ‘That’s a fine ambition.’

  Jack Lomax pulled a face. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be able to achieve it, but I want to try. I have a concert in mind. Rather like the one you’ve just put on here, but with a paying audience. I wonder if the Penrose Singers might be willing to take part? There won’t be a fee as all the profits will go to the families.’

  ‘Do you think we’re good enough for a paying audience?’

  ‘Without a doubt. The lady who plays the piano is superb, while you and your friend…’ He sent another admiring look in Polly’s direction, ‘…have the most beautiful voices.’

  ‘When will this concert take place?’

  ‘I’ve no idea yet. I’ve another week or so here then I’m returning to Scotland to see my family and get a little fitter. Only then can I look into the possibilities. Might you give me your address so I can write to let you know if my plans make any progress? I promise I won’t make a nuisance of myself.’ He nodded towards Polly sheepishly.

  ‘I think you can be trusted,’ Lizzie said, smiling.

  He wrote her address into a notebook. ‘Luckily I’m right-handed and it was my left side that was hurt. Thank you, Miss Kellaway. I hope to be in touch. In the meantime, I wish you and your friends a happy and healthy Christmas.’

  ‘The same to you, Mr Lomax.’

  He cast one more glance in Polly’s direction then left.

  Polly hadn’t noticed him at all as far as Lizzie could judge. She’d simply helped Margaret to pack away the music then fetched their coats and hats from behind the makeshift stage. Lizzie walked over and took her coat. ‘The man I was talking to asked if we’d be interested in taking part in a concert to raise funds for servicemen’s families.’

  ‘What sort of concert?’ Margaret wanted to know.

  ‘Similar to the one we performed here, but it’s just an idea at present.’

  With that Margaret appeared to decide that, like many an idea, it could come to nothing, so excitement was a waste of time.

  Lizzie knew it could come to nothing too, but still felt disappointed when January and February brought no word from Jack Lomax. It would have been rewarding to raise much-needed funds. A show would also have helped Lizzie to cope with the long wait for the war to end. And Jack Lomax might have been good for Polly.

  A year had passed since her broken engagement. Polly never complained of feeling unhappy and made every effort to present a cheerful face to the world, but it was clear to Lizzie that her friend was still pining for Davie, even though nothing had come of his mother’s prediction.

  Davie might not have Polly’s present address but he could have reached her easily through her mother. The fact that he hadn’t written suggested to Lizzie that his feelings for Polly were uncha
nged – he was fond of her, but he didn’t love her.

  Polly deserved better. She deserved a man who loved her as much as Harry loved Lizzie. His letters were full of affection and hopes for their future.

  Typically, Polly had been generous with her goodwill when she’d heard about Harry’s declaration of love. ‘I’m so pleased for you!’ she’d said, but her own hopes of happiness still appeared to depend on Davie.

  If she’d been thrown into company with Jack, Polly would have had a chance to get to know him. Not only might he have helped her to see that there were other attractive men in the world besides Davie Perkin, Jack might also have boosted her confidence by helping her to realise that she was admired and valued by them.

  Ah well, it wasn’t to be. Lizzie just hoped her friend wouldn’t fall into the same groove of long-lasting disappointment as her godmother. Like Polly, Margaret had been pleased to learn of Harry’s love, though it was clear that the uncertainties of the future still troubled her even if she said nothing about them. They troubled Lizzie too, and because of them she’d decided to say nothing about Harry to anyone else yet.

  But she wished she could do something about Margaret’s heartache. What, though? Lizzie’s thoughts returned to a letter but so did her doubts about the wisdom of stirring up the past. It was frustrating.

  27

  ‘Easter bonnets,’ Lizzie said suddenly.

  Margaret and Polly looked up from the newspapers they were reading down in the kitchen and exchanged puzzled glances.

  ‘It just occurred to me that wearing Easter bonnets for our next concerts might help to cheer the men,’ Lizzie explained.

  ‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ Polly agreed.

  Margaret’s expression bordered on horror but she wasn’t the woman to spoil the men’s fun just because her taste was different. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘We haven’t the money for shop-bought bonnets but we might be able to put something together from things we already have.’

  ‘I have dozens of fabric scraps in my sewing box,’ Polly said. ‘We could use them to make flowers.’

  ‘You want us to make flowers?’ Margaret’s tone was even more dubious now. Doubtless the memory of her disastrous attempts at knitting loomed large in her mind.

  ‘Lizzie and I will be happy to trim your bonnet,’ Polly assured her.

  ‘Just as long as it isn’t gaudy.’

  They agreed to search their possessions for anything that might be useful.

  Two days later, they came together to share their treasures. ‘I’m afraid I found little,’ Margaret said, producing two old hats. Both were small and dull, one being faded black and the other a tired grey. Margaret had never followed the Edwardian fashion for extravagant hats.

  Lizzie had only one old hat to offer, but it was a straw boater and therefore promising as an Easter bonnet. She’d also found an ancient green skirt with a tear in the back. ‘I thought we could cut it up to make leaves. What have you found, Polly? That’s an awfully large bag you’re holding.’

  Polly pulled out a hat, an enormous Edwardian confection in cream.

  ‘Goodness! Where did you get that?’ Lizzie asked.

  ‘I told old Mrs Bishop about our plans and she had her maid look out this hat for us. It isn’t the only one.’

  She brought out another two enormous hats. ‘There’s one for each of us.’

  ‘Good heavens,’ Margaret muttered faintly.

  One of the hats sported feathers, another wax fruit and the third a posy of silk flowers. ‘Mrs Bishop doesn’t want the hats returned so we can chop them about as much as we like. We can use Lizzie’s dress for leaves then add to these silk flowers with some of our own.’

  Polly showed them a rose she’d made out of red fabric scraps. ‘I can make more red roses and I’ve fabric for pink and yellow ones too. I think we should look as bright and cheerful as possible.’

  ‘I agree,’ Lizzie said.

  Margaret merely swallowed.

  The hats took shape over the days that followed. Trying them on in the music room, Lizzie and Polly were delighted with the results. ‘They’re so bright and cheerful,’ Lizzie declared.

  Margaret shuddered when she looked in the mirror but stayed stoic and even managed a weak smile. ‘The men will like them, no doubt.’

  ‘We should get used to wearing them while singing,’ Polly suggested.

  They were due to practice anyway, especially as they had a new song in their repertoire called ‘The Gardens of England’, chosen by Lizzie with Easter bonnets in mind.

  They ran through the song several times, making the chorus particularly rousing:

  So when I’m called to roam,

  Many miles from home,

  This will I know,

  Wherever I go,

  That in hedgerow and woodland glade,

  In flowerbed, in sun and shade,

  It’s springtime in the gardens of England!

  ‘Excellent!’ Lizzie declared. ‘I hope the men will join in.’

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Polly said, being nearest to the hall.

  Lizzie followed her out. ‘Polly, you’ve still got—’

  But Polly had already opened the door in her big flowery hat.

  A young man stood on the step. Lizzie knew him immediately. ‘Mr Lomax! How nice to see you.’

  ‘I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time to call?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Lizzie pitied him because he obviously thought Polly looked adorable in her colourful hat but she’d shown no sign of even recognising him. ‘Please come in.’

  ‘Mr Lomax is the gentleman who had the idea for a fundraising show,’ Lizzie said, leading him into the music room.

  Having whipped her hat off, Margaret shook his hand. Polly took her hat off too and did likewise. She was as friendly as ever but the special spark in Jack’s eye appeared not to register with her.

  ‘Would you like tea?’ Lizzie offered. ‘We were going to have some soon anyway.’

  ‘Tea would be welcome. Thank you.’

  Lizzie hoped to leave Polly and Jack together but Polly returned to the door. ‘I’ll make it.’

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch before,’ Jack said. ‘I spent longer at home than anticipated because my grandmother was ill and I didn’t like to leave before she was better. I’m very fond of Granny Lomax and I owe her a lot. My interest in music, for one. That was a rousing song I heard you singing as I reached the house.’

  ‘We’re practising for our spring concerts, hence the Easter bonnets,’ Lizzie explained.

  He grinned. ‘I’m sure they’ll cheer your audiences.’

  Margaret cleared her throat. ‘I recall your voice from the concert we gave. You’re a tenor, if memory serves me correctly. Are you classically trained?’

  ‘I have a little training. I began singing as a boy when Granny Lomax encouraged me to join the church choir. I had a different sort of voice then. High and clear. The choirmaster took an interest and gave me some coaching. We all thought my singing might come to an end when my voice broke, but I was lucky to find myself a tenor. I continued singing in the church choir and joined another local choir as well, singing the sort of classical music I believe would please you, Miss Penrose.’

  ‘Bach?’ she asked naming one of her favourite composers. ‘Brahms? Grieg?’

  ‘All of those. Again, I was fortunate. The classical choirmaster took an interest and coached me too. I haven’t had any other training. My family has never been wealthy, you see. In fact, Granny Lomax and my grandfather lived in a one-room croft for several years after they married. Neither of them had much education, but Granny Lomax in particular wanted her boys to do better.’

  ‘She sounds wise.’

  ‘She’s canny, all right. Like both of his brothers, my father became a clerk. We led a respectable life as I was growing up, but I’m one of four children so there wasn’t money for luxuries such as
singing lessons. Not that I’m complaining. I may never sing at the Royal Opera House but I’ve managed to make a good living by singing in theatres, including London theatres.’

  Lizzie liked Jack’s openness. From the look of approval on Margaret’s face, so did she.

  He stood when Polly returned with the tea tray. ‘Let me help,’ he said, taking it from her. His gaze was tender again though Polly still appeared unaware of his interest.

  ‘Thank you. If you could put it on the table…’

  He did so and Polly poured tea for all of them.

  ‘About the fundraising concert,’ Jack said then. ‘I’ve been in touch with the manager of a theatre on Drury Lane. I’ve worked with Charlie Sparrow before and he’s willing to help.’

  ‘Which theatre?’ Margaret enquired.

  ‘The Merriment.’

  Margaret paled. The Merriment sounded like a music hall.

  The reaction wasn’t lost on Jack. ‘I’m trying to put together a musical programme that’s entertaining and rousing, as the aim is raise funds. But I also want it to be tasteful.’

  ‘Tasteful,’ Margaret repeated, as though finding comfort in the word.

  ‘I don’t have a date yet, but I’m here to ask if you’re agreeable in principle to taking part?’

  Lizzie looked at Margaret and Polly then nodded. ‘We’ll take part if we possibly can.’

  ‘Splendid.’

  He really did have the most engaging grin. Lizzie glanced at Polly again and saw that she was smiling too. It wasn’t the sort of smile that suggested he’d made an impression on her as a man, but it was a small step forward.

  ‘What sort of music would you like from us?’ Lizzie asked.

  ‘Perhaps a piano solo, a duet and some singing?’

  ‘We can wait to choose our songs until you’re sure of your other performers,’ Lizzie suggested. ‘That way you can ensure the programme is balanced.’

  ‘How considerate of you, Miss Kellaway. Naturally I’ll give you as much notice as possible.’