Wartime at Liberty's

by Fiona Ford

‘You’re a natural, love, you should be on the stage, but I heard that you’re not singing any more,’ Celia said with a sympathetic smile. ‘Henry told me all about it. He seemed quite worried about you.’

  ‘He’s a lovely chap.’

  ‘That he is. We’ve been through a lot together and have been friends a long time,’ Celia said with a hint of wistfulness. ‘His mother would be so proud of him, taking on that little brother of his too. He’s a good man.’

  Flo nodded; she was beginning to realise just how lucky she was to have someone like Henry Masters in her corner. He had been a friend when she needed one the most, not only offering a shoulder to cry on, but also giving her practical help and support.

  ‘Henry tells me you were a friend of his mother’s,’ Flo said.

  Celia nodded. ‘That’s right. I met her when I first moved up north. I didn’t know anyone when I arrived and we met at the steelworks. I’d got a job there in the canteen; Ida, Henry’s mother, was my boss. She was a right laugh, soon took me under her wing. Oh, the times we had.’

  Flo smiled as Celia’s eyes took on a faraway expression. Flo could practically see the cogs of her memory turning as though she were back there.

  ‘Did you used to sing there too?’ she found herself asking. ‘You’re a bit of a natural yourself.’

  Celia laughed, embarrassed by the compliment. ‘Me and my sister used to sing all the time when we was nippers. Then when we were older we’d sing in the pubs, gathering everyone together. They were some of the best times of my life. But when I met Ida, well, she was a wonder herself. There wasn’t a song she couldn’t sing; we used to entertain the masses on Friday lunchtimes after teatime. Brought the house down, we did …’

  As Celia trailed off, Flo couldn’t miss the look of wistfulness in her eyes. ‘What about now?’ Flo asked. ‘I mean I know Ida’s not with us anymore, but do you still sing in the pubs?’

  Celia shook her head. ‘Not any more, love. Besides, it’s a young woman’s game and I’m too old and too knackered now to do much more than sing for the kids.’

  ‘You’re not old!’ Flo admonished. Celia had barely more than a few laughter lines around her eyes; Flo placed her a couple of years older than Aggie.

  ‘I still love it though,’ Celia continued as if Flo hadn’t spoken. ‘Takes me away somewhere else when I sing, just like it does for you.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I saw that look in your eyes, Flo.’ Celia smiled. ‘You weren’t with me in a dusty school hall, you were far away, no doubt living the life of your dreams. Powerful thing, isn’t it, following your passions?’

  ‘It’s the music,’ Flo mumbled, embarrassed to have been caught out like that.

  ‘Get away,’ Celia grinned. ’Music’s in your blood, girl, just like it is in mine.’

  Flo thought for a moment. It was in her blood, but look at how much trouble it had caused. Sometimes following your passions wasn’t the right thing to do at all.

  ‘Anyway,’ Flo said, scooping up her bag and coat. ‘I’d better get back to Liberty’s; the customers will be wondering where I’ve got to.’

  Celia nodded as she walked her to the door. ‘Thanks for coming today, Flo, I really enjoyed it and I know the children did too. I hope to see you again on Thursday?’

  As Flo looked into the Celia’s blue eyes, she felt something stir. There was no doubt about it: she felt a connection to this woman, and instinctively felt safe. ‘You will. I’m looking forward to it already.’

  Walking out into the fresh air, Flo felt a little of the grief she had been carrying for so long now start to shift.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Flo enjoyed her second music session at the school as much as the first – they were the highlight of her week. She loved nothing more than getting lost in the music, watching the children’s delighted faces as they connected with the songs.

  Henry had given her a very welcome gift and she was desperate to thank him. That was why, this Sunday morning, she was taking Henry and Stan to Hampstead Heath, with the promise of a cup of tea and sticky bun in the tearooms, before they joined the girls at the convalescent home to visit Bess over in Edmonton.

  It had been Henry who had suggested the outing to visit Bess and he had also insisted that he call her Henry when they were away from the store. Both actions had surprised Flo, and the fact he wanted to extend the hand of friendship to Bess was not something she had expected. She wasted no time telling him this as they devoured cups of tea and freshly baked scones, which tasted to Flo like a little piece of heaven.

  ‘Extending the hand of friendship is something I’ve always done,’ Henry admitted. ‘When Dad died, we had so many visitors to the house that it proved a great distraction and also made me realise how loved he was in the community.’

  ‘It must have been a great support to your mum too,’ Flo mused, watching Stan take a huge bite out of his second scone.

  Henry nodded. ‘It was the only thing that pulled her out of those dark, dark times. It was awful, and she rallied, but it was hard for her being so much younger than Dad.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Flo asked, above the din and clatter of cups against saucers.

  ‘She was thirty-three when he died, Dad was forty-eight, so there was a big age gap. She was too young to give up on life.’

  ‘Did she remarry?’ Flo asked.

  ‘Eventually,’ Henry said. ‘But the trouble was that the man she met wasn’t a patch on my dad.’

  ‘Was he Stan’s father?’ she said, chancing a look at the youngster, who was too busy shovelling in the remnants of his scone to pay attention to the grown-ups talking.

  Henry nodded. ‘We never really got on. He did treat my mum all right, though, and that’s all I could have really asked for.’

  ‘Your poor mum,’ she managed, ‘to have lost two husbands.’

  ‘She broke down after her second husband died,’ Henry said, looking across at Stan and ruffling his hair. ‘And this one’s been a godsend. Everything I do is because of him, and I want him to have a good life.’

  ‘Well, he certainly seems happy enough.’ Flo beamed. ‘You love singing at school don’t you, Stan?’

  Stan nodded, crumbs flying from his mouth as he gave Flo a grin that lit up his entire face. ‘I like “Everything Stops For Tea” best.’

  Flo and Henry laughed at the pride on Stan’s face. He was so easy to be around, Flo thought, and she could understand easily why Henry had taken him under his wing. He would be a wonderful little boy to have as a son. For a moment it hit her how much Neil would have adored a son like Stan. She and Neil had planned to have children, and she felt winded at the pain of how her hopes and dreams had been so tragically snatched away. She rubbed her chest to try and get some air into her lungs.

  Henry leaned across the table and squeezed her shoulder. ‘Flo, are you all right?’

  Looking down at his large hand she relaxed and nodded.

  ‘How about we get some fresh air then?’ he said gently, before turning to Stan: ‘Fancy a run around?’

  Flo had anticipated the journey to the convalescent home taking a lot longer than it actually did. With it being a rainy December Sunday Flo had counted on a lengthy service with many changes and lots of time between them. However, they had struck gold with only one bus change that arrived within five minutes.

  They arrived earlier than the rest of the girls, which gave them a chance to take in their surroundings. It had stopped raining now and the late afternoon sun bathed the large stone house with a golden glow. Set in well-tended grounds, the convalescent home looked like a stately mansion, with its gleaming white pillars, double front door and sweeping gravel driveway.

  ‘Not bad is it?’ Henry said admiringly.

  ‘Are we at another park?’ Stan asked, his voice filled with hope.

  Flo laughed, and found herself taking the little boy’s hand. ‘No, we’re going to visit a friend of ours who’s poorly.’

  Stan’s ey
es widened. ‘How poorly? Will she die?’

  ‘She’s all right, Stan,’ his brother reassured him. ‘Nobody’s going to die.’

  ‘I certainly hope not,’ came a familiar voice. ‘At least not today anyway.’

  Spinning around, Flo saw Bess walking up the path behind her.

  ‘Bess! What are you doing out of bed?’ she asked, rushing forward to kiss her cheek.

  ‘It’s not a hospital, Flo,’ Bess admonished good-naturedly. ‘We’re encouraged to get out for some fresh air and now the rain has gone it’s time to make the most of it.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Henry smiled. ‘This is my brother, Stan.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Bess said with a glint in her eye. ‘You tell that brother of yours not to sack my sister again.’

  ‘All right,’ Stan said. ‘Henry’ – he turned to face his older brother – ‘don’t sack this lady’s sister again.’

  Flo was doubled over with mirth as Henry nodded and promised that he wouldn’t.

  ‘We missed Jean on the shop floor,’ Flo said after she had recovered from her fit of the giggles.

  ‘She’s a hard worker,’ Bess agreed, sitting on a wooden bench by the door. ‘It’s good for her to be around me less. She’s been a tower of strength, but I worry it’s too much.’

  ‘She’s not been herself, that’s true,’ Flo said, taking a seat next to Bess. ‘But she’s strong.’

  ‘She’s had to be,’ Bess muttered, before turning to the little boy. ‘So how old are you, Stan?’

  ‘I’m ten years old,’ he said with pride. ‘I like football and mud.’

  Bess giggled. ‘They’re two of my favourite things too.’

  Stan stared at her in surprise. ‘But you’re a girl! Girls don’t play football, and they don’t play in mud.’

  ‘Well, this one does.’ Bess smiled. ‘Or at least she did.’

  As Bess cast her eyes downwards, Flo followed her gaze. Her right arm was in a sling, the missing hand still bandaged up. Flo ran her eyes across the rest of Bess, and was pleased to see she looked as if she was on the mend. Her burns were healing well and she had some of her colour back in her face. She had lost the yellow skin tone too after being away from the munitions factory for a few weeks. Looking at her hairline, Flo could see that Bess’s hair was beginning to grow back. Like everything in life the scars were beginning to heal, but Flo also knew that not every injury was visible.

  ‘How are you doing really, Bess?’ Flo asked in a low voice.

  Bess turned her face up towards Flo and smiled. ‘I’m all right. I’m beginning to come to terms with what happened and I’m ready to go home.’

  ‘Have they said when that might be?’ Flo asked.

  ‘No idea,’ Bess sighed. ‘But I won’t make a fuss, though I do want to start living a normal life as much as I can.’

  ‘Quite right.’ Henry nodded approvingly. ‘Rose mentioned that she wanted you to take part in her first-aid nights at the store. She’s starting them up again next week.’

  Bess’s face brightened at the prospect. ‘Well, count me in, I’d love to help.’

  ‘Already?’ Flo asked visibly shocked. ‘Don’t you think it’s too soon?’

  ‘Not for me.’ Bess shook her head in defiance. ‘I’ve spent most of my life fighting to survive. Now things are different; at least I can encourage other people. There are times when I’m still hit by the weight of what happened. I look down at my right hand and I feel shocked to see nothing but a stump. But I know that so many other people have faced worse traumas than I have. Look at Rose, she’s lost much of her sight and is still doing her bit for the war effort. She is an inspiration to me, and it’s only right I pay her back in some way.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure then the event starts at six next Wednesday,’ Henry offered.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Bess promised.

  Flo looked at Bess’s face. She could see she meant it too. There was something about her determination that inspired Flo. If Bess could get on with making the most of her life after a setback, perhaps Flo could too.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Up until eleven that morning Flo had been enjoying a run-of-the-mill Tuesday at work. She had answered a lady’s queries about what was likely to be in the legendary Liberty’s New Year sale, she had dealt with a customer who wanted to buy some new utility print, and also sorted through the long-neglected button drawer.

  She was just considering whether or not she had time for tea before the lunchtime rush when the sound of a confident stride echoing across the shop floor made her look up and give a start of surprise.

  Larger than life, with a smile that engulfed his entire face and a set of dazzling white teeth that perfectly offset a thick head of black hair that was unbelievably rich and deep in colour: the man in front of Flo was instantly recognisable.

  ‘Max Monroe,’ the man said, extending his hand towards hers. ‘I’m delighted to meet you.’

  ‘And I you, sir,’ Flo replied cautiously. ‘Florence Canning, fabric department manager.’

  Usually they were briefed about any important customers coming into the store but nobody had said a word to her about Max Monroe putting in an appearance.

  Just then the sound of another set of heels skittered across the floor. ‘Max darling, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to greet you.’ Evie’s voice boomed loud and clear as she sidled up to him. ‘Mrs Canning, this is Max Monroe.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve just done the introductions,’ Flo said, aware her tone was a little clipped. ‘Tell me what brings you to the fabric department today, sir?’

  ‘Darling Max is here to pick out a fabric for the suit we’re making him,’ Evie gushed, linking her arm through his to try and drag him away to the rolls of print.

  Hearing the sounds of Dot saying goodbye to her customer, Flo turned to the Liberty’s matriarch. ‘Mrs Hanson, allow me to introduce you to Max Monroe.’

  ‘Hello, sir. Pleasure to meet you. Is there something we can help you with today or are you happy browsing?’

  ‘Mr Monroe is a star,’ Evie hissed. ‘He is not just browsing. Dot, go and fetch him a cup of tea,’ she ordered before turning back to Max, who had remained silent as he watched the exchange agog. Now, however, he put his hands up to protest.

  ‘Really, there’s no need.’

  But Evie smiled reassuringly. ‘Dot doesn’t mind, do you?’

  ‘I ain’t fetching nobody nothing,’ Dot said in a firm tone. ‘I am more than happy to help Mr Monroe with his purchase but I ain’t anybody’s whipping boy! If the man wants a cuppa, I suggest you fetch it yourself, Evie Allingham.’

  Flo giggled inwardly as she watched Evie turn puce. Turning to their unexpected guest, she gave him a sweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Actually, sir, I am sorry but nobody will be able to fetch you a cup of tea as we don’t allow beverages on the shop floor. I’m sure you understand?

  Max Monroe nodded and smiled at Flo. ‘Ladies, it’s not a problem at all. Why don’t we just pick out some delicious fabric, Mrs Hanson. I would love to hear your recommendations. You look like a lady who knows her way around a suit.’

  ‘She does when there’s a fella in it,’ Evie muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Flo and Dot to hear.

  Flo winced as she watched Dot draw herself up to her full height and shoot Evie a menacing stare. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

  ‘Mr Monroe, it would be my pleasure to show you some of the fabrics I think would work. Would you follow me please?’ Dot said in a calm voice that surprised Flo.

  As she led Mr Monroe out towards the fabrics, Flo turned on Evie and whispered, ‘In the stockroom. Now!’

  Leading Evie down to a quiet corner of the room, she rounded on the new employee. ‘I’ve had just about enough of your petty jibes, Mrs Allingham,’ she hissed.

  Evie seemed dumbfounded as she opened and closed her mouth. ‘How dare you talk to me like that? I’m a consultant on the Board of Trade. You should show
me some respect.’

  ‘And you should show your colleagues some respect,’ Flo snapped. ‘You didn’t make a fool of Dot with that cheap insult of yours, but you did make a fool of yourself.’

  ‘That woman has been mean to me ever since I got here,’ Evie protested.

  ‘You’ve done nothing but wind her up,’ Flo retorted. ‘And do you realise you sound like a child? Now stay down here for a while and sort the remnants pile. I don’t want to have this conversation with you again.’

  With that she turned on her heel and left Evie simmering in the stockroom. Walking up the stairs towards the shop floor, Flo did her best to calm down; it would not be good at all to greet customers fuming. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she walked out on to the floor and saw to her delight that Dot was talking animatedly to Max Monroe.

  ‘I hope you’re taking advantage of all of Mrs Hanson’s expertise?’ Flo smiled as she watched Dot take out a roll of worsted wool. ‘If anyone knows about fabrics it’s this woman.’

  Max frowned. ‘But I thought you were in charge.’

  ‘I am.’ Flo nodded. ‘But Dot has a wealth of experience.’

  ‘And not all of it in fabrics either,’ Dot replied tartly. ‘Not that anyone takes any notice of me.’

  Laughing, Max ran his hand along the fabric as instructed by Dot. ‘I can’t believe that’s true for a second.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ Flo chuckled. ‘We would be lost without her.’

  ‘You’d survive.’ Dot winked at Max. ‘Now, sir, how about this one? It would be good for performing, wouldn’t it, Flo?’

  Flo ran her hand across the material. It was one of her favourite heavier fabrics, which moved with the wearer. ‘I agree. It’s perfect for a performance. I had a dress made up in it last year that I liked to use when I sang.’

  ‘You sing?’ Max’s eyes lit up.

  Flo looked abashed. ‘Not any more. I used to … I play the piano now.’

  ‘Don’t you pay any attention to her,’ Dot said with an eye roll. ‘She’s a natural. All talent she is, Mr Monroe. You’ve never heard anything like it, yet she won’t sing no more.’