Wartime at Liberty's

by Fiona Ford

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘That’s all I can promise you for now.’

  With that, she went upstairs, her mind reeling. Whether or not she went to Mr Button, she would find out what was going on herself, no matter what Jean or Bess thought.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  It was the following week and Flo, dressed in her best black dress, hat, coat and gloves, had gathered with the other seven thousand mourners at Hither Green cemetery to say goodbye to Celia. Flo could hardly believe it was happening. Over the past few days, she had done a lot of thinking about the revelations Celia had made as she lay dying.

  Flo didn’t know whether to feel angry, hurt, sad or glad that Aggie had been her mother. There had been times when she woke in the middle of the night, tangled in sweat-filled sheets, angered at the secrets that had been kept hidden from her for so long. But then came the intense sadness that she had been cheated out of real relationships with the women she had adored.

  Her friends had been wonderful and Flo truly felt that she would have been lost without them. As she glanced at them now, these wonderful women who never failed to look out for her or each other, Flo felt blessed. No matter what uncertainties lay ahead in her life, no matter the secrets she still had to uncover, Dot, Alice, Mary and Rose would always be her rock.

  The cool wind nipped at her neck as she stood towards the back of the crowd and huddled into her coat to keep out the January chill. Because so many had been killed in the atrocity, the powers that be had decided to hold a mass funeral and Flo had thought it only right and proper that Celia be interred during the service performed by the Bishop of Southwark. Being amongst so many mourners had been a powerful experience. But once again, it was the support of her Liberty girls, who had all somehow managed to take time away from work to attend this very special funeral with her, that had given her the most comfort.

  Like many of the mourners she had chosen to walk through the streets of Catford behind the cortèges to the church. It had been moving and emotional as Flo felt the waves of sadness pulsing through the crowd. There were young, old, rich and poor, all united in their grief as they came out to pay their respects to their dead.

  As the ceremony came to a close, Flo looked through the sea of faces and saw Henry and Stan. Even from several feet away, Flo could see that Henry was gripping Stan’s hand tightly and that both sets of eyes were red and swollen. Suddenly the former deputy store manager’s eyes lifted and found Flo’s. In that moment it felt as though the two of them were communicating with more than words as each acknowledged shock, sorrow and horror at the atrocity they had been involved in.

  ‘It was a beautiful service,’ Alice mumbled as they made their way out of the churchyard and on to the street.

  ‘I think Celia would have been very proud of all that’s happened here today,’ Dot added.

  Flo gave a half-smile. ‘I hope so. It felt the right thing to do. If you don’t mind, I’ll just go and say hello to Stan and Henry.’

  Henry and Stan were now talking to one of the teachers; Flo went over, smiled politely and exchanged pleasantries until she was finally left alone with the two of them.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Henry asked.

  ‘About as well as you, I imagine,’ Flo replied, feeling suddenly bashful. ‘It was a lovely service, or as lovely as these things can ever be.’

  Henry nodded in agreement as Stan tried to wrestle his hand free. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Flo,’ he began somewhat nervously, ‘if you might think about popping over for supper one night. Stan’s missed you – haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes!’ the boy said obediently. ‘Please come, Auntie Flo.’

  Flo raised an eyebrow. ‘Auntie Flo, eh?’

  Henry offered a sheepish smile. ‘I might have suggested it was polite to call you that.’

  Flo was just about to open her mouth to reply when the sight of someone staring at her in the crowd caught her attention. At first she couldn’t believe it, thinking her eyes must surely be playing tricks on her. But as she stared back she realised with a sickening sense of dread that just feet away was a man she had hoped she would never have anything to do with again.

  Because there, standing by the bus stop, not even pretending to be interested in what the mourner next to him was saying, was her father – Bill Wilson. He was leaning against the stand, grey hair billowing in the wind, and smoking a cigarette as if it were the most casual occasion in the world.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, so fuelled with anger that she didn’t even wait to hear Henry and Stan’s reply.

  Crossing the road, narrowly missing a passing cyclist, she stalked towards her father, the anger she felt inside increasing the closer she found herself to him.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she hissed.

  Bill regarded Flo for a moment; then he threw his cigarette to the ground, not even bothering to stamp out the end.

  ‘Hello, girl. Thought I’d find you here.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Flo asked, getting straight to the point.

  A look of mock hurt crossed Bill’s scar-ridden face, giving Flo time to look at him properly. He’d aged, she thought; his lined face was craggy and worn. He had bulges hanging from under his eyes and his cheeks were red and rosy from too much booze. His hair was thin and the old camel coat that hung from his already slender frame did little to disguise the fact that he’d lost even more weight since she’d seen him last.

  ‘Now, Flo, that’s no way to talk to your old man, is it? Where’s your respect?’

  ‘Respect has to be earned, Bill, you know that as well as I do,’ she sneered. ‘I’ve got more respect for the mud on my shoe.’

  Bill looked at her and laughed, the sound radiating pure menace. ‘You were never backwards in coming forwards, my girl, I’ll give you that.’

  At the term ‘my girl’, Flo shivered. Knowing she was related to this man had always made her flesh crawl; now it made her want to scream with fury.

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question. I’d have thought you’d be terrified to show your face, what with you being wanted by the police and all that for your part in the hooch ring that sent innocent people blind.’

  At the mention of his crime, Bill looked shiftly around him before turning back to face his daughter.

  ‘Well, like you, Flo love, I’m here to pay my respects to the dearly departed. Oh, and of course I’d read in the papers that my wife Sheila Wilson – or Celia Hallam as she was going around calling herself these days – was dead.’ Bill chuckled. ‘Seemed only right, as the grieving widower, to say goodbye.’

  A flash of fear passed through Flo as she looked at Bill.

  ‘Ah, you thought I didn’t know my wife was living in London and had changed her name?’ Bill laughed, lighting up another cigarette as he did so. ‘Nothing gets past me, Flo love, never has, never will. It suited me to let my missus play her daft games, mind – at least it did for the moment. ’Course, I never forgot that she owed me money. Left me penniless, she did, when she buggered off.’

  ‘My heart bleeds,’ Flo spat.

  Bill laughed again. ‘You’ve got fire, girl, always have. Still, as you’re in a compassionate mood, love, I’m sure you’ll want to make sure my loving wife repays her debt. You know, she was your mother.’

  At that it was Flo’s turn to laugh. ‘Come off it, Bill. We both know who my mother really was, and it wasn’t Celia.’

  ‘What do you mean? Don’t talk daft. I know you two were working together down that school. She’d have told you everything,’ he said, blowing clouds of smoke into Flo’s face.

  ‘She did tell me everything,’ Flo snarled, ‘she told me how she lost her baby, how you used to hurt her and perhaps most shockingly of all she told me how you took advantage of her sister when she was at her lowest point after her mother had died, and that Aggie was in fact my real mother.’

  At Flo’s outburst it took a minute for Bill to recover.


  ‘I don’t know what she told you but it weren’t like that. Your Aggie was sweet on me, always was—’

  ‘Oh, stop it!’ Flo shrieked, unable to listen to any more lies. ‘Just stop it, Bill. Aggie wasn’t sweet on you, you took advantage of a young innocent girl and I’m the result!’

  At that Bill fell silent, as did the crowd around her as, agog, they watched the unfolding scene. But Flo didn’t care. She had more to say and she wasn’t going to stop now. All the anger and the upset at the betrayals and lies she had endured over the years had to come out and she had her sights trained on Bill.

  ‘Do you know how much I hate you?’ Flo continued, her voice low and steely. ‘The never-ending lies, the hurt and ruin you spread everywhere you go. I’m ashamed to be related to you. I wish I could go back in time and make it so that I’d never been born. You disgust me. To know you’re my father makes my skin crawl. You’re the one that should be lying in that grave now, not Celia.’

  As she finished, she was suddenly aware of the hushed whispers of the crowd and Henry standing next to her.

  ‘Flo, is everything all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine,’ she replied, her eyes never leaving Bill’s.

  Her father’s face was contorted with anger now, twisted and bulbous. He threw the second cigarette to the ground; the bright amber end continued to glow as he looked first at Henry and then back to Flo.

  ‘This your new fella is it, love? You don’t hang about, do you? Your Neil’s barely cold in his grave.’

  ‘Lecturing me about morals? That’s rich coming from you,’ Flo said with a braveness she didn’t feel. ‘The little you know would barely fill a ration-book stamp.’

  ‘You cheeky little …’ he began, balling his right arm into a fist, ready to strike.

  Just as quickly, Henry reached forward and clamped his hand around Bill’s arm in a vice-like grip.

  ‘I don’t know what you want and I don’t know who you are, but I do know that if you hit this woman you’re going to have me to deal with and who I am to her is none of your business.’

  Bill laughed as he shucked off Henry’s hand. ‘Got to you, haven’t I, pretty boy?’

  Henry lunged forwards so he was nose-to-nose with Bill. Pointing to a large bump on his nose, he grinned. ‘Pretty boy, eh? Know how I broke my nose? Fighting with an inmate in prison. And see this bump right here?’ he continued, pointing to a lump on his ear. ‘I lost that bit of flesh when another lag bit my ear in a different fight. You ever been in prison?’

  Stunned, Bill leaned back and nervously shook his head.

  ‘’Course you haven’t.’ Henry laughed. ‘I’ve met petty little thugs like you before. Think you’re the hard man when you know nothing, and you’d rather beat up defenceless women than face a man head on. Now here’s what I do know: you’re going to turn around, walk away and leave Mrs Canning here alone. I learned a few things in prison, and one of them was how to almost kill a man while leaving no trace of injury. Don’t make me put that into practice, sunshine.’

  At that, Flo turned to look at him in astonishment but Bill wasn’t leaving before he had the final say.

  ‘You don’t scare me, pretty boy, but as you for you, my girl,’ he snarled, turning to Flo, ‘I won’t forget about that debt. You owe me.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  After Bill stormed off, the interest amongst the crowd died away and Flo found herself alone with her former boss. As she ran her eyes across his lined, weary face, she wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful or amazed at the way he had spoken to the man she was unfortunate enough to call her father.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked gruffly.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Look …’ He shifted from foot to foot. ‘If you’re all right, I’d better be getting back. I left Stan with one of the teachers and promised I’d only be a minute.’

  ‘Yes of course,’ Flo said, still feeling slightly breathless at the exchange that had just taken place. ‘But, before you go, thank you. You didn’t have to stand up for me like that, but, well, I’m ever so glad you did. My father … he’s not the nicest of men, so thank you again for what you did.’

  Henry shook his head. ‘It was nothing. I didn’t know he was your dad, Flo, but he looked like trouble to me. To be honest, I think you’ve had enough of that in your life of late.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Flo agreed, looking hesitantly at Henry. ‘Those things you said, about you getting hurt in prison and fighting. Was that true?’

  Flo saw a flicker of pain pass across his face.

  ‘They were true.’

  Flo couldn’t even begin to imagine the indignities and atrocities he must have witnessed and been subjected to in prison. She thought back to how Celia had defended him. For her aunt’s sake as much as her own she wanted to find a way to help him.

  ‘Why won’t you tell me what happened with the money? I believe you didn’t do it, so why won’t you tell me? I want to help you.’

  Henry gave her a half-smile. ‘I’m fine, Flo, I don’t need your help.’

  ‘But I want to,’ Flo tried again. ‘You should have your job back and we should catch the person who really did this.’

  He reaching out a hand and Flo felt him squeeze her shoulder. ‘And I’m grateful, truly I am. But you have a lot to deal with. I’ll get through all this on my own.’

  At those words Flo felt a pang of regret that she had misjudged this wonderful man. As he leaned towards her, she felt the roughness of his cheek brush against hers when he planted a tender kiss against her skin.

  ‘Take care, Flo,’ he said as he turned to walk away.

  At home later that night, Flo was relieved that the house was empty. Since Jean and Bess had been caught with the confidential Liberty papers, Flo had barely seen them, and tonight, after a trying and difficult day, she had to admit she was grateful.

  Draining her second cup of tea of the evening, Flo sat back in the chair at the table and tried to relax. She felt restless after such a busy day, and toyed with the idea of going to the pictures. At only eight o’clock it was too early to go to bed and she didn’t feel in the mood for reading or listening to the wireless. Pushing her cup and saucer across the table, Flo resolved to knit for a while, only as her eyes strayed to the dresser she caught sight of the letter Neil’s father had posted through her door. She had completely forgotten about it, and her breath caught in her throat. She knew she had to look at whatever was inside. Gingerly she reached for it and, as carefully as if she were exhuming buried treasure, ripped the envelope open. To her surprise another letter, in Neil’s handwriting, addressed to his father, came tumbling out. She paused and looked at it for a moment. Why was Neil’s dad sending her a letter addressed to him?

  Tracing her fingers across the pen strokes, she closed her eyes and brought her husband’s face to her mind. In that moment it felt as if Neil was close to her all over again.

  Pulling the letter out of the envelope, Flo gasped as she saw it was dated just a few days before Neil’s ship had been torpedoed. These would have been his final words.

  20th September 1942

  Dear Father,

  Thanks for your last letter. I received it yesterday and enjoyed reading it during a quiet moment out on the deck with just the clouds and noise of the waves for company.

  I thought I’d reply straightaway. It sounds like you and Harry had a good day by the sea the other week. I could just fancy fish, chips and mushy peas myself, all washed down with a cold beer. I hope you had one for me, Dad.

  I’m doing all right. I’m sorry if my last letter made you worry. I didn’t mean to sound funny with you. Truth be told, I’ve had some things on my mind, and find life on board this great big ship gives me time for reflection. I suppose I’ve been a bit down about a letter I sent Flo. We had a row the last time we saw each other and things were said that shouldn’t have been. I can hear you now, telling me to think before I speak.
I’ve never done that in my life, have I, Dad? Anyway, it’ll be all right. I’ll write to her soon, now that I’ve calmed down since I last wrote to her and got everything off my chest. I’ll make things right with her now. I suppose I’m just searching for the right words to say.

  That’s what’s so daft about this flaming war. You can’t have a normal row with your wife and make up when you’re ready. You’re separated for weeks or months, and suddenly things seem so much worse. Flo’s my world, Dad, always has been, and I only ever want her to be happy, so I’ll write to her soon and tell her and then we’ll be back to normal and I won’t feel as low as I do on board this floating city.

  Anyway, say hello to Harry for me when you see him next and tell him he still owes me for that tip I gave him up Wimbledon Dog Track four years ago.

  I’ll see you soon.

  Your loving son,

  Neil

  When Flo finished reading the letter, she dropped the paper as if it were a hot potato. Her Neil, her precious Neil, had wanted her to be happy no matter what. Her Neil, the man she had known and adored since they were children, had forgiven her for her lies. This was everything.

  Shakily, she got to her feet, still holding the letter to her chest. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she went over to the dresser and picked up the last photo that had been taken of the two of them – their cherished wedding photo. As she looked into the eyes of the boy she loved with her heart and soul, she kissed the face behind the glass and held the frame to her heart.

  ‘I’m going to follow my dreams, my love, and you will be with me every step of the way.’

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The moment Flo read Neil’s letter to his father it was as though a beacon of light had illuminated the advice Celia had given her before she died. Flo knew now without doubt that turning her back on singing was not the answer.

  She had been so overjoyed to see her husband’s handwriting again that she had ended up reading and then rereading the note, losing herself in Neil’s words. That he had loved her was the most important thing of all. He had thought they would have time to make up; it wasn’t his fault that Hitler had had other ideas.