Wartime with the Cornish Girls

by Betty Walker

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Alice!’ Lily hissed across the table.

  But Alice got a thicker slice, much to her delight, and the rejected sliver of cake was handed to the vicar instead, who studied it in a disappointed manner and then retreated to an armchair on the other side of the room.

  ‘Cake, Miss Hopkins? Mrs Baxter?’

  They all got a slice of sponge cake on a delicate side plate that matched the teacups. Violet nibbled on hers at first, longing to stuff it greedily into her mouth, but aware of the vicar’s wife watching them, perhaps in expectation of exactly such a breach of etiquette. It was hard to resist though; the jam was so sweet and the cream so fresh and thick, and soon it was gone and she was licking her fingertips with pleasure.

  The others were tucking in with the same hungry intent too, nobody speaking except for Alice, who kept murmuring, ‘Cake,’ in a delirious voice.

  Thankfully, Eva distracted the vicar and his wife while the others devoured their cake. ‘So, Reverend, I do hope you’ll lend your support to our little project. I know it must seem frivolous, dancing when there’s a war on. But we’re going to try to keep expenses down, and obviously any money raised from an entrance fee will go towards the church funds.’ Her smile was dazzling. ‘And I have to say, my father thoroughly approves. He thinks it’ll be good for the men’s morale.’

  ‘Ah, Colonel Ryder.’ The vicar nodded, smiling. ‘How is he?’

  As they discussed the colonel’s health and the weather and several other topics of little interest to Violet, she met Alice’s eye and surreptitiously indicated that her niece had a smear of jam her nose. Once that had been wiped off, sadly on Alice’s sleeve, Violet turned her attention to finishing her tea, now lukewarm and not as fortifying as she’d hoped. But at least she didn’t spill any on the tablecloth, much to her relief.

  ‘So you’re sure we don’t need to provide any refreshments for this dance?’ Mrs Clewson was asking. ‘There’ll be no expense on our part at all?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Eva promised her.

  ‘Because the parish council can be rather strict about that kind of thing.’

  ‘There’s no question about it, Mrs Clewson.’ Hazel leant forward. ‘I’ve drawn up a list of the refreshments we’re aiming to make for the dance. We’ll be clubbing together with some other ladies in the village, and using our own rations and supplies. Nothing from the parish council. I can let you have a copy if you like.’

  ‘Well,’ Mrs Clewson sat back, eyeing her thoughtfully, ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary.’

  ‘Not necessary at all,’ the vicar agreed.

  ‘I suppose, in that case, there can be no reason for us to raise any objections. The dance can go ahead.’

  Alice gave a strangled whoop, and Lily smiled happily over the rim of her teacup.

  Violet nudged Eva, and grinned at her and Hazel.

  They’d done it!

  ‘Thank you so much,’ Eva gushed. ‘You won’t regret it.’

  ‘Well, let us hope not.’

  The vicar brought his plate back to the table. ‘One of you ladies will need to collect the keys two or three days before the event, so you can decorate the hall and prepare the refreshments in advance.’

  ‘I can do that,’ Hazel said bravely.

  ‘Very good.’ Mrs Clewson gave her a searching look, and then glanced up at her husband, who was still loitering by the table. ‘Was there anything else, dear?’

  ‘Only that those persons attending your community dance should remember that the hall belongs to the church,’ the Reverend Clewson said, back to his stern face again, ‘and no bad behaviour can be tolerated on or around the premises.’

  ‘Bad behaviour?’ Alice echoed, looking at Violet in confusion.

  ‘He means hanky-panky,’ Violet whispered to her niece, and then blushed hotly when she saw the vicar’s eyes on her. ‘I mean, no … Of course there won’t be none of that. They’ll be dancing, that’s all. Good, clean fun.’

  ‘And it will all be over before dark falls,’ Eva reminded them, smiling.

  ‘Hmm,’ the vicar said.

  Eva stood up, still smiling. ‘Well, thank you so much for your hospitality, Mrs Clewson, Reverend. We won’t take up any more of your time.’

  Mrs Clewson stood too as the others got up. She smiled at Alice. ‘Did you enjoy your cake, dear?’

  ‘Oh yes, it was scrummy.’

  ‘I shall tell Kitty you said so. She made it this morning.’

  ‘Though it weren’t as good as my gran’s sponge. Gran bakes the tastiest cakes in the world,’ Alice said, oblivious to her hostess’s dismay. ‘She makes ’em at home to sell in her caff. Back in Dagenham.’

  ‘In the East End,’ Violet said, seeing Mrs Clewson’s air of bewilderment. ‘That’s where we’re from. My mum runs a little café there and I help out. Well, I used to. Now, Mum … My mother has to run it on her own.’

  ‘How awful,’ Mrs Clewson said, looking sympathetic.

  Violet nodded. ‘We came down ’ere to get away from the air raids, see.’

  ‘And the street gangs,’ Alice added knowledgeably.

  Lily, hurriedly finishing her cuppa, almost choked on the tea she’d just gulped down. ‘Alice!’

  Thankfully, Mrs Clewson didn’t seem to have noticed, the vicar’s wife already asking Violet about the air raids in London.

  ‘Is it very bad in London? We hear such terrible stories …’

  Violet hesitated. ‘It’s pretty bad. My sister Betsy …’ But her voice gave out, and she found herself swallowing hard, tears blurring her vision. She’d had no time to fret about Betsy’s death since coming down to Cornwall, but saying her sister’s name had set her off without warning. ‘There was a bomb. A big ’un. It flattened the whole house. Betsy had just gone back in and …’

  Alice came round the table and gave her a tight hug.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Mrs Clewson had tears in her eyes too. ‘But you girls survived. That’s a … a blessing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Amen,’ the vicar said solemnly.

  Eva gave her a hug too. ‘Oh, you poor thing.’ She put her arms around the girls too, and bent to kiss Lily’s cheek, who was looking rather pale. ‘Something similar happened to a dear friend of mine too. This bloody war! Pardon my French, Vicar.’ Her smile wobbled but she added firmly, ‘That’s just the way of it, though. We’ve all to look out for each other now, haven’t we?’

  The vicar cleared his throat, and said something about making sure the church hall was tidied up at the end of the dance, but his wife paid no attention.

  ‘It was so nice to meet you all,’ Mrs Clewson said, steering them into the hall. She pressed a biscuit each into Alice and Lily’s palms. ‘Here, for the drive home.’ Then nodded to Eva. ‘Do give your father our kind regards, Miss Ryder.’

  ‘Of course, and thank you for the tea and cake. Delicious!’

  They all thanked the couple profusely as they trailed out into the afternoon sunlight. Violet gave the girls a quick hug once the door had closed behind them, worried they might have been upset by that mention of their mother’s death. But Alice smiled at her bravely, already tucking into her biscuit, and Lily, who was saving hers for later, merely whispered, ‘I’m all right, Aunty Vi.’

  Reaching the green army truck, Eva turned to wait for them. The corporal, who had hurriedly stubbed out his cigarette when he saw her coming, was already inside at the wheel.

  ‘Excellent work – that went better than expected,’ Eva told them briskly. ‘So you know the drill. I’m going to organise a band to come and play for us. No dancing without music, after all. Meanwhile, posters need to be finished and up about the place within the next few days. Spread the word among the other staff at Eastern House. And I’ll get Geoff over there,’ she said, nodding over her shoulder at the soldier, ‘to tell all his mates in the camp. Then Hazel collects the key, we make most of the refreshments at home, and turn up on the day two hours before the ha
ll doors open.’ She hesitated, glancing anxiously at Violet. ‘If that timing fits with your work schedule?’

  ‘I’ll have a chat with Mr Frobisher,’ Violet told her, not without inwardly quaking. ‘See if me and the girls can get off early that day.’

  ‘Me too,’ Hazel agreed.

  ‘Good show.’ Eva grinned at them all. ‘Well, ladies, it looks like we’re putting on a summer dance. Can’t wait to get dolled up and have a proper spin around the dance floor at last. How about you?’

  ‘Sounds lovely,’ Lily said, wreathed in smiles.

  Violet gave her a sharp look. ‘You and your sister will be helping with refreshments, missy. Not getting all dolled up and dancing. You’re not eighteen yet, you know.’

  ‘Oh, but—’

  ‘I’ll dance with you, sis,’ Alice said stoutly.

  Lily suddenly glowered. ‘That don’t seem fair, Aunty Vi. Not when we’re helping with the posters and refreshments.’ When Violet began to speak, she cut across her, blurting out, ‘And we both know you’ll be dancing with Joe, if he goes.’

  Eva’s brows shot up. ‘Joe? Who’s Joe?’

  ‘Nobody,’ Violet said shortly, and silenced her nieces with a look.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Hazel finished cutting the last of yesterday’s brown loaf into wafer-thin slices, ready for an even thinner layer of butter, and laid down the bread knife with a sigh. No fried or scrambled or poached eggs for breakfast today, sadly, only bacon and buttered bread. Henny Penny had stopped laying a few days ago, after a near-fatal brush with a passing fox, and who knew when she might produce more eggs? And while Hazel might be able to make vaguely edible sponge cake with powdered egg, there was no way to fry it!

  Frankly, she didn’t know where the time had gone. Almost three weeks had passed since Eva had persuaded the vicar and his wife to let them use the church hall for a dance, and the big event itself was now only days away. They had decided on a Friday night before the moon was full again, so it was light enough to walk home, but not so light that they’d make a target for a bomber. And although only a few soldiers would not be on active duty that evening, the colonel had apparently agreed to allow those who wished to attend the dance to do so. Which meant more partners to go around.

  It was hard to get excited when there was still so much to do. Yet somehow Violet’s nieces were not put off by the amount of hard work, squealing with excitement every time the dance was mentioned. Especially Lily, who she could not help noticing had developed a crush on Charlie.

  Lily was older than Charlie, of course. But there were few young men near her age in Porthcurno, unless you counted the wet-behind-the-ears recruits, and Lily seemed to have little time for soldiers. The girl clapped her hands over her ears whenever a plane flew overhead, and barely glanced at the boys in uniform at the Porthcurno encampment, a tented barracks that seemed to have doubled in size since they started work at Eastern House.

  ‘The government are keen to protect their assets,’ George had told her only the other day, after a new convoy of troop trucks turned up at the barrier into the camp. ‘They’re extending the sea defences further along the coast, so more men are needed to dig holes and patrol the coastline.’

  Hazel had been unnerved by this. ‘Do the Germans definitely know about Porthcurno, then?’

  But he had refused to say any more, turning the subject back to matters closer to home. ‘How’s Charlie these days?’

  Hazel had bitten her lip, wishing he had not asked that question.

  She started buttering the bread while keeping an eye on the bacon slices, which were curling saltily in the pan now, the fat browning nicely.

  George had not come near the house since the evening of Charlie’s ‘fight’ with him, much to Hazel’s relief. She loved her boy and hated the thought that she’d turned him against her, even if he had calmed down somewhat in recent days.

  But what a stupid thing to do!

  It wasn’t that she regretted kissing George, as those few minutes in his arms had been the most marvellous thing she’d ever experienced. That kiss had shown her, once and for all, that her marriage to Bertie was dead. Because there was no way on God’s earth that she could have felt so wonderful kissing another man, if she had even a shred of love left for her husband. All his years of drunken fights and jealous rantings had turned her heart cold towards him.

  But she deeply regretted letting Charlie see her kissing George. That had been a wicked thing for a mother to do, and she winced whenever she remembered it. Purely an accident. But dreadful, nonetheless. She still didn’t quite know what had possessed her to kiss him. Except that it was something she’d been dreaming about for ages, and suddenly could no longer resist. And she knew in her heart that George felt the same about her.

  Meanwhile, Charlie had barely spoken to her since that night.

  ‘He’ll come around,’ Violet kept telling her.

  But how on earth could she believe that? Charlie spent less and less time in the house, preferring to sit in the ancient shed out back, as his father had often done after an argument, among the cobwebby pots and gardening tools. The boy was like a stranger these days, looking the other way whenever she tried to have a conversation, or just stamping sulkily out of the house.

  Lily came hurrying into the kitchen. ‘I can’t find my work shoes,’ she declared, a little panicked. ‘I’ve looked everywhere.’

  ‘Where did you take them off?’ Hazel asked.

  Lily thought for a moment, then brightened. ‘In the sitting room. Alice and I were playing cards with Charlie last night, to celebrate him leaving school. Maybe I kicked them off under the sofa.’

  She scampered off to find them.

  Violet came downstairs, tying her work headscarf over smooth rolls of fair hair. Behind her trailed Alice, her nose in a book as usual.

  ‘Breakfast, is that?’ Violet asked, peering over her shoulder at the buttered slices of bread. ‘The bacon smells bloody gorgeous.’

  ‘Is there enough for all of us?’ Alice sat down at the table, still reading. ‘I had to share my bacon with Lily yesterday.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, love,’ Hazel said, feeling awkward. These were her house guests, after all, and she felt responsible for feeding them all adequately. ‘I’ve done what I could with the ration books you gave me. But you know what it’s like. Everything’s scarce these days, even the home-grown veg. Besides, Mr Cuthbert only comes around with the butcher’s van once a week, and the cupboard’s bare until tomorrow.’ She paused, nodding towards the labelled can she’d left out on the dresser. ‘Except for that new American stuff. But I’m saving that for tonight’s supper.’

  Violet picked up the can, frowning at the label. ‘Specially Pressed American Meat? What on earth is that?’

  ‘The butcher says people are calling it “spam” for short. It’s cheap, whatever it is. Thought I’d give it a whirl once the real meat had run out.’

  ‘I get so hungry these days, I’d probably eat shoe leather if it was dipped in gravy,’ Alice moaned, looking up from her book with a doleful expression.

  They all laughed, though it wasn’t that funny.

  ‘Blimey, watch out, that bacon’s going to burn!’ Violet made a lunge for the frying pan, grabbing it off the stove top. ‘Think I saved it just in time,’ she said breathlessly, laughing as she turned the meaty slices over with a fork. ‘I like my bacon crispy. But not black.’

  Hazel became aware of Lily standing in the doorway. The girl was very pale, wordlessly holding up an old dark green canvas bag, its thin sides bulging, for them all to see.

  ‘What’s the matter, love?’ Hazel asked her, carrying the buttered bread to the table with one eye on the clock. They no longer had to leave for work so early, now they had a vehicle of their own. But it was surprisingly easy to get carried away and end up being late anyway. ‘What have you got there? That looks like Charlie’s old school satchel.’ She frowned, perplexed and a little worried by the gi
rl’s continuing silence. ‘Where did you find that?’

  ‘Under the bloody sofa,’ Lily croaked, and Hazel could see tears in her eyes.

  ‘Language, young lady,’ Violet reprimanded her sharply.

  Hazel said, ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘He’s been keeping it hidden from us. All this time.’ Lily dropped the satchel on the table and emptied it out. ‘So we wouldn’t know what he was planning.’

  ‘Careful of those slices of bread …’ Hazel stopped and stared at the contents of her son’s old satchel. ‘What on earth …?’

  The satchel held a change of clothes, a spare pair of socks, a book, folded papers of some kind, and her husband’s second-best tobacco tin, battered and dented, with BERTIE scratched across the lid. He’d given it to Charlie at the start of the war, even though the boy didn’t smoke, of course. It had been intended as a joke present, one that would annoy Hazel, as he knew she didn’t want her son to take up smoking; it was such a filthy habit. But Charlie had treasured the baccy tin ever since.

  Lily pulled out one of the folded papers, opened it with a flourish and handed it to Hazel. ‘See? Do you see what it is?’ she demanded, her tone hysterical.

  ‘Calm down, please,’ her aunt said, arms folded across her chest in a disapproving manner, but Lily continued to ignore her.

  ‘Dear Master Charles Baxter, I am pleased to inform you that …’

  Baffled, Hazel had to read through the typed sheet and its blunt message several times before she fully understood what she was looking at.

  Then she gasped, and put a shaking hand to her mouth.

  ‘What is it, love? Christ, you look bloody awful.’ Violet put the pan of bacon back on the now-cold stove, staring at her. ‘Hazel?’

  ‘He … He’s enlisted!’ Hazel could not seem to breathe properly, her chest was so tight. She handed the official letter to her friend; her vision was too blurred with tears to see the words anyway. ‘My boy, my Charlie … He’s only gone and joined up!’