Wartime with the Cornish Girls

by Betty Walker

  Perhaps he had chosen to go home with a friend tonight. He did that sometimes, to play a board game or kick a ball. Though in this rain?

  Before she could start to fret over his absence, Hazel changed into dry clothes and dried off her hair briskly with a towel. She hung her damp uniform over the rack beside the Rayburn, where it would dry overnight. She had chosen to keep the Rayburn running on a low heat through the summer, as their other stove ring ran on gas, whereas it cost little to top up the Rayburn with sticks and dead branches gleaned from the fields and hedgerows. Then she set about putting away yesterday’s cleaned dishes and making a cauliflower cheese for dinner, her hands working on automatic.

  But while she worked, there was a little worry nagging at the back of her mind.

  Where was Charlie?

  She kept checking the front gate and the road. But Charlie did not arrive home. By the time the dinner was almost ready, the worry had turned to fear.

  At last, as she considered whether to eat alone or keep the dish warming on top of the Rayburn, the front gate creaked, and a moment later Charlie appeared in the doorway.

  She had not meant to scold him, but couldn’t help it.

  ‘Where on earth have you been?’ she demanded, her relief turning at once to anger. ‘Have you seen the time? I’ve been out of my mind with worry.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ he said sullenly.

  He dragged off his wet coat and cap while she fussed about him.

  ‘Look at you, boy. You’re soaked to the bone!’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he insisted, but there was a red spot burning in each cheek and she thought there was a wild look in his eyes. ‘Leave me alone, would you? And don’t call me boy. I’m not a kid anymore.’

  ‘Why are you behaving like a child, then? Coming home so late …’

  ‘Dad does it often enough,’ he countered.

  She felt her stomach lurch at the surly tone in his voice. Charlie had always been such a good lad. But the way he was looking at her left her sick with anxiety. She had seen that contemptuous look on Bertie’s face too often.

  Charlie wasn’t turning into his father, was he?

  ‘Now, listen here,’ she began, her voice rising with fear, but he shook his head and pushed her away.

  ‘No, you listen.’ He swallowed hard, then blurted out, ‘I’m a man, you hear me? Not a boy anymore. And I’ve had a letter from Dad.’ He dragged a sodden-looking envelope out of his pocket and flapped it at her. ‘He says I should …’

  When he hesitated, she shook her head in despair. ‘Oh, what now?’

  Charlie’s face hardened at her tone. ‘Dad says that I’m old enough to join up. Or as good as. And that I should, too.’

  Hazel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’

  ‘He says I can go out there and join him, and all the other men in the regiment.’ When she tried to snatch the envelope from him, Charlie whisked it away and thrust it back into his pocket. ‘No, Mum. Not this time.’ He stood a little straighter, facing her. ‘This is my decision, and you’re not going to change my mind.’

  ‘Now, Charlie …’

  ‘No.’ He glared at her. ‘Dad’s head of this family, not you. And this is men’s business, none of yours.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You heard me.’ He looked her up and down scathingly. Another unpleasant trick he had learned from his no-good father. ‘What does a woman know about fighting a war? It’s death and glory, Dad says. Not cooking and cleaning.’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to lash out at him, to explain how women were fighting the same war as the men, only here, on the home front: going without, making do on very little, raising kids alone, working in munitions factories and carrying out other traditionally male jobs, all without complaining and for the good of Britain.

  Exactly as she was doing in Porthcurno, in fact!

  But Hazel bit back her retort, struggling to hold on to her temper. Charlie had that stubborn look she knew only too well, his chin jutting, his cheeks flushed with defiance. Getting angry would not help her, only push him further away.

  Bloody Bertie!

  Didn’t her husband understand their boy could be killed if he joined up? She suspected he was only encouraging their son so he could get back at her, aware that she had previously vetoed the suggestion of Charlie signing up as soon as he was old enough. Or perhaps Bertie wanted someone there to skivvy for him, to get him extra tea and tobacco rations, and get involved in his idiotic moneymaking schemes. It would be typical of Bertie to pull such a selfish, self-serving stunt, a man who had never truly cared about anyone except himself.

  But saying so would not be helpful.

  Charlie knew his father’s faults but had never seemed to care about them. Or not when it suited him to turn a blind eye instead.

  Hazel took a deep breath. ‘Be sensible, dear Charlie.’ She tried reasoning with him instead of arguing. ‘You can’t join up to fight. You’re too young.’

  ‘Dad says they won’t care about my age at the recruiting office. He says they’re desperate for more men.’

  More volunteers for death, she corrected him miserably but silently. God, she hoped he was wrong. Because if not, those recruiters deserved to be horsewhipped, sending mere boys away to war. But she kept a sympathetic smile pinned to her face.

  ‘The law’s still the law. And you’re not sixteen yet. They’ll ask for identity papers, and turn you away when they see your age.’ She crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping she was right.

  His lip trembled, and then his face fell. ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so.’

  ‘But I should try, at least.’

  ‘You don’t look old enough, darling. Best to wait until you’re older.’ She bit her lip, seeing that she nearly had him, and added lightly, ‘It would be embarrassing to be turned down, wouldn’t it? In front of all the other recruits …’

  That did it.

  ‘I suppose it would, yes.’

  ‘And you wouldn’t be sent out to join your dad, anyway. New recruits to the Cornish regiments don’t fight straightaway. They have to be trained first. It can take months. And I don’t know where your dad’s regiment is stationed at the moment. He wasn’t allowed to tell us where he was going, remember? But you heard him hint it might be overseas.’ She paused. ‘So the war may likely be over before you see your dad again.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Well, never mind, eh? Fighting isn’t the only way you can help the country. You just concentrate on your schoolwork and everything will work out – you’ll see.’

  Her son pulled out a chair and sank down at the kitchen table as though his legs would no longer carry his weight. He stared at the wall opposite where a photograph of a much younger Bertie hung, smiling broadly and moustachioed.

  ‘All the same, it’s not impossible. I could change the date on my identity papers.’ There was a sullen look on his face. ‘Some of the lads at school say they don’t look that closely when you enlist.’

  ‘Don’t you dare, Charlie Baxter!’

  ‘But, Mum—’

  ‘How about some supper, love?’ She put a hand on his shoulder, and felt him tremble. ‘Just this once, I’ll let you eat before changing out of your wet clothes. It’s so late, you must be starving. And no more talk of breaking the law, you hear me?’ Briskly, she carried the still-hot dish to the table, and removed the lid. A rich and tangy smell filled the kitchen. ‘It’s your favourite, cauliflower cheese.’

  He smiled, but only faintly. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  She undid her apron and sat down too, beginning to spoon the steaming cheesy mix onto his plate for him, as he hadn’t moved.

  ‘So, what else did your dad say in this letter?’ she asked, her heart beating fast, but trying not to show her concern.

  Charlie blinked and stuttered through a few things from his dad’s letter, even laughing while recounting some knockabout anecdote
from the trenches. But later, there was a faraway look in his eyes as he scooped up his supper, and she knew the idea of joining up had not left him. Though her son was unlikely to mention those secret yearnings again. Not now he knew how much she disapproved.

  Death and glory.

  Oh God, she thought wretchedly, why did I have to marry such a fool?

  But she feared Bertie could be right about the local recruiters. Everyone on the coast was so sure Germany was about to invade, some of them might turn a blind eye to a boy’s age in their desperation to get more men trained and ready to fight.

  She pushed the cheesy cauliflower about her plate, her movements listless, feeling a little queasy. She had successfully stalled him for now. But that truce wouldn’t last long. Not if she knew his stubborn nature.

  How on earth could she distract her son from enlisting?

  ‘You not hungry tonight, Mum?’ Charlie asked as he finished his plateful, glancing curiously across the table.

  ‘Oh.’ She realised she had barely eaten anything. ‘No, I suppose I’m not. Feeling a bit off-colour, that’s all. Some of the soldiers were sick today. Perhaps I’ve caught something.’

  ‘Can I have the leftovers?’

  She had been keeping the rest to go with tomorrow’s dinner. But she smiled, and pushed the dish of cauliflower cheese towards him.

  ‘You go ahead, love. Fill your boots.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Eva was pleased to be met off the London train by a friendly young corporal in a tight-fitting uniform, who opened the door to his car and urged her to ‘Hop in, Miss.’ He had a strong northern accent that was quite hard to understand at first, but apparently the train had pulled in late to the station and he was now running nearly an hour behind schedule. ‘Don’t want to miss your dinner, do you?’

  By which she guessed it was him who didn’t want to miss his dinner.

  ‘Something tasty tonight, is it?’

  ‘Dunno about the main course, Miss,’ he said, jumping in behind the wheel and starting the engine with a loud judder. ‘But it’s Spotted Dick for afters, and that’s my favourite.’

  ‘Oh, mine too,’ she said cheerfully, though it wasn’t. But she knew better than to make a chap feel as though they had nothing in common. ‘I hope it comes with custard.’

  The corporal pulled away from the station with barely a glance behind, clearly in a hurry. ‘There’d be a riot if it didn’t, Miss.’

  Eva clutched her handbag on her lap, and stared out of the window at the summer evening. The town was still quite busy, as it was a Friday evening, and the first pub they passed was doing a roaring trade, people drinking outside in the sunshine. She got the feeling they did not suffer much from bombing raids down here, and felt a stab of envy at such a carefree existence. Still, it must be dull to only have a pub for amusement, or the occasional parish hall gathering on holidays.

  As the car made its noisy way through narrow streets, she caught a glimpse of the sea in the near distance, sparkling blue over the crest of a hill, and a wild green coast, its high cliffs dashed by white-capped waves.

  ‘Oh, how beautiful,’ she gasped, leaning forward to see more, but the low, white-washed cottages closed in, preventing her from catching the view again.

  ‘First time down here in Cornwall, Miss?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  He risked a quick glance at her, his grin a bit cheeky. ‘City girl, are you?’

  ‘I might be.’

  ‘Most of the lads down here are townies, me included. So we don’t judge.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it, Corporal.’

  ‘Call me Geoff,’ he said with a wink, and stuck out a hand. ‘Short for Geoffrey.’ She shook it, a little alarmed as the car veered about the road, but to her relief he hurriedly returned to steering. ‘How did you get them scars, Miss, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  She stiffened, and put a hand to her hurt cheek. The ridges still felt rough under her fingertips from where she had been hit by flying stone.

  ‘A bomb fell near where I was standing.’

  ‘That’s bad luck.’

  ‘The others I was with that night would say I was the lucky one,’ she said sharply, not keen to talk about her near-death experience. ‘If they’d survived, that is.’

  She had tried to find out more information about those who’d been around her when the bomb fell, but in the chaos, it seemed survivors had been taken to different places. And nobody she’d spoken to had known where she could find the names of the dead. She had gone back to the tiny house she’d been sharing with several other dancers, to collect her belongings, but nobody had been home.

  She would have persisted, but Uncle Teddy had taken her straight back to his flat after that, not even allowing her to visit the club and ask there. He hadn’t trusted her not to give him the slip again, he’d said bluntly, though with a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Come on, Miss, what’s your name? I’ve told you mine,’ Geoff said, undeterred by her mealy-mouthed answers. ‘Or is your name top secret?’

  ‘I’m Eva.’ She hesitated. ‘Eva Ryder.’

  ‘Ryder.’ Geoff slowed, looking round at her with wide eyes, then continued, ‘As in, Colonel Ryder, our commanding officer? Wait, are you his daughter? The one who’s always getting in such trouble?’

  ‘Guilty as charged.’

  ‘Flippin’ ’eck,’ he said in a blank tone, and pushed back his cap to rub a sunburned forehead. ‘Is that why you’re here? Was the colonel worried for you in London, with all the bombs falling?’

  ‘Something like that.’ She crossed her legs, and saw his sideways glance, followed by an appreciative look in his dark eyes. ‘Are there many soldiers stationed at Porthcurno?’

  ‘Hundreds.’

  That surprised her. ‘Why so many?’

  ‘I take it you don’t know anything about Porthcurno?’

  ‘I thought it was just some obscure coastal outlook.’ When he laughed, she realised she was missing something important. ‘Why all the troops then?’

  ‘Oh no.’ He shook his head, changing down through the gears as the winding country road grew steep. ‘If you don’t know, Miss Ryder, I’m not going to be the poor sap who spills the beans and earns himself a court martial. You’d best ask your pop, not me.’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘Your poppa. Your daddy.’

  She smiled at his northern accent. Hundreds of troops, though? What on earth was this place? Porthcurno had been kept top secret, indeed. She had never even heard of it. Though that was presumably the point. Loose lips sink ships, she reminded herself.

  Being banished to stay with her father in the back of beyond would not be too much of a drag if there was a large populace of soldiers on hand. Maybe a summer romance wouldn’t be out of the question in Cornwall.

  She thought yearningly of the brave American pilot who had saved her life that night by pushing her towards the shelter. She could barely remember what had happened in that split second, except that the world had turned black. But she could still recall his handsome face, smooth accent, and impressive rank. Flight Lieutenant Max Carmichael.

  Such a gentleman!

  ‘Here we are,’ Geoff said, as the car suddenly began to descend a narrow, rattling track with trees on either side. ‘Porthcurno.’

  She looked up, blinking, and was dazzled by the sun on the wide blue waters ahead. The cliff was jagged with outcrops of rock, much of it hidden behind trees and what she realised as they came closer was camouflage netting. On the hillside running down to the beach was a vast, white, stately Georgian house, much of its roof and walls covered with yet more camouflage netting.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing at the house, surrounded by clusters of buildings.

  ‘That’s Eastern House.’ Geoff slowed for a checkpoint of barbed wire across the road, manned by guards with rifles slung over their shoulders. ‘Porthcurno Headquarters, some call it.’ He glanced at her. ‘You like the look o
f the place?’

  She caught a glimpse of whitish sands at the end of a narrow V-shaped valley, and smiled. ‘Oh, very much.’

  Two minutes later, as the vehicle crawled up the steep slope towards Eastern House, she saw a door open at the top, and a familiar figure emerge.

  ‘Daddy!’ she cried, a sudden delight sweeping over her, and as soon as Geoff drew up, she had the door open and was out, running across to the colonel, who caught her up in a fierce embrace.

  ‘Welcome to Porthcurno!’ her father boomed, swinging her off her feet, then spoiled the welcoming effect by squinting down at her in the sunshine. ‘I just hope you’re going to behave yourself, missy.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Violet was feeling cornered, and it wasn’t a comfortable sensation. Though not by the leering Stanley, for once, but her aunt instead. While they were peeling potatoes in the kitchen together one night, Aunt Margaret had asked at length about London and her sister’s health, and now seemed baffled that Violet was still unmarried.

  ‘But why ever not?’ she kept asking, frowning. ‘You’re not that bad-looking a girl. Is there something wrong with you?’

  Violet tried not to glare at her. ‘Of course there’s nothing wrong with me, aunt. It’s just the way things are.’

  ‘I suppose you turn them off.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Being so gobby and independent. Men don’t like that.’

  Violet felt her cheeks redden and struggled against a bitter tide of outrage rising in her chest. She felt strongly her status as an unmarried woman, due to no fault of her own but to the shocking loss of her fiancé to a sudden bout of influenza, and to have salt rubbed in that wound was unnecessarily painful. She had long since accepted that she would never again love someone as deeply as she’d loved Leonard.

  Her aunt had never been a very sympathetic woman, to put it mildly. But as Margaret had grown older, she seemed to have become nastier than ever. Small wonder her mother had refused to abandon London and her beloved café, and travel down to Cornwall with them. No doubt Mum felt that even the risk of nightly bombing raids in Dagenham was preferable to sharing a home with her unpleasant sister!