Wartime with the Cornish Girls

by Betty Walker

  ‘Bleedin’ ’eck!’

  Lily, who had clearly read the document when she first found the satchel, buried her face in her hands and began to weep noisily.

  Alice looked shocked, putting her book down at last. ‘That can’t be right. Oh, do pipe down, Lily. Your nose is turning red. What does the letter say, Aunty Vi?’

  ‘It says that Charlie’s to report to the barracks outside Penzance next week. Then he’ll be assigned to a training centre somewhere in England.’ Violet gave Hazel a sympathetic look. ‘He’s done it behind your back, after everything you said to him. You poor thing!’

  ‘Well, it’s obvious he can’t go,’ Alice said firmly, also scrutinising the letter before folding it up again and placing it on top of Charlie’s spare socks. ‘He’s too young, for starters. And too stupid. Who hides their running-away bag under the sofa, for goodness’ sake?’ Then she made a face. ‘Though I suppose we’ve nabbed his bedroom, so he can’t have had many hiding places to choose from.’

  ‘You’re right, I didn’t,’ Charlie said angrily from the doorway.

  Hazel sat down abruptly at the table, her legs trembling so hard she was no longer sure they could support her.

  Her son, who had been outside in the back garden all that time – conscientiously keeping out of everyone’s way while they got ready for work, or so Hazel had thought – had come back in, and was glaring at the contents of his satchel littering the kitchen table.

  ‘Is it true?’ Lily half-ran at him, but stopped short, her face crumpling to tears. ‘Are you g-g-going to war?’ When he said nothing, his face averted, she shouted, ‘You stupid boy! I hate you!’ Then she ran upstairs and into the room that used to be his, slamming the door so hard the whole house shook.

  Aghast, Hazel looked across at her son, one fat tear rolling down her cheek, swiftly followed by another. ‘Oh, Charlie, whatever have you done?’

  ‘What I told you I was going to do,’ he defended himself stoutly, and began stuffing his belongings back into his old satchel. ‘I’ve enlisted, and I’ll be shipping out to join my dad and the others as soon as I’ve finished my basic.’

  ‘But you’re still a schoolboy!’

  ‘No, Mum, I’ve finished with school. I’m a soldier now. Or as g-good as.’ His voice shook on those last words, and she guessed his bravado was just for show. ‘Anyway, it’s done now. And you were wrong. It was just like my mate Louis told me. The army took me, no questions asked.’

  ‘And has Louis joined up too?’

  ‘That’s right. We’ll both be going out there together, to do our bit.’ He fastened the satchel with clumsy fingers, defiance in his face. ‘And nobody can stop us.’

  Hazel did not know what to say or do that might stop her precious boy from throwing his life away. But her heart was breaking. She had never felt more helpless in her whole life.

  Violet had stood without comment all this while, listening intently to their exchange. Now that Hazel had fallen silent, she launched into a tirade, tearing a strip off the boy while he glared at her, not interrupting but not seeming guilty either. ‘Talk about ungrateful,’ she finished, shaking her head in disgust. ‘Your mum needs you, or hadn’t you noticed? Poor thing, she’s worked all the hours God sends, and even gone without, to keep food on your bloody plate. And now you’re going to turn your back on her, and for what? So you can join your good-for-nothing father and his mates out at the front …’

  ‘Don’t you dare speak like that about my dad!’ Charlie yelled back at her suddenly, his cheeks flushed. ‘He’s not good-for-nothing. You don’t even know him.’

  ‘I know what he’s done to your mum. She’s told me.’

  His furious glare turned on Hazel. ‘What have you been saying about Dad? That’s not right, telling fibs about a man when he’s not even here to defend himself. When he’s out there, risking his life every day, fighting for his country.’ Charlie slung the satchel over his shoulder as though ready to march to war right there and then. ‘You’re not fit to be his wife! And what’s more, you’re not bloody fit to be my mum!’

  ‘Charlie …!’ Hazel wailed. That was too much for any woman to hear from her own son. She gave a great, gasping sob, and buried her face in her hands.

  There was a knock at the door. Not a polite knock, but a loud, insistent thump that made Hazel sit up in a panic, her heart beating fast. She lifted the hem of her blue cotton pinny and dried her eyes with it.

  ‘Who on earth …?’ Alice said, going to the front door and peering out of the narrow side window. ‘It’s a young lad in uniform.’

  Hazel clutched her chest in terror. Had they come for her son already?

  Charlie stood in a daze too, his eyes on her face.

  ‘See what he wants, Alice, there’s a dear.’ Violet stooped over Hazel, rubbing her back as she gasped for air. ‘Now, deep breaths, Hazel. That’s it,’ she said reassuringly. ‘Nice and slow. In through the nose, out through the mouth.’

  Everything around her a fog, Hazel heard the front door open, a few muttered words between Alice and the visitor, then the door close again.

  ‘Oh, what is it? Please, someone tell me.’ She felt Violet push a hot mug of tea between her hands, and shook her head vehemently, thrusting it away. ‘I don’t want a drink. I want to know what’s happening. Who was at the door?’

  Alice came back into the kitchen, holding something in her hands. Some kind of buff envelope, it looked like. Her face was ashen.

  ‘It’s for you,’ she whispered, reading off the name on the envelope. ‘Mrs Albert Baxter. That’s you, Hazel, isn’t it?’ She handed it to Violet first though, not to Hazel. ‘It came with one of them telegram boys.’

  A telegram boy. Everyone knew what that meant. Hazel felt utterly numb inside. She was shaking from head to toe though, like she had a high fever. It was warm in the small kitchen, but her teeth were chattering.

  ‘He brought a telegram? For me?’ She stared at the buff envelope as Violet held it out, and shook her head. ‘Oh God, no, I can’t.’ She felt a familiar sickness, deep down, and covered her mouth, thinking of the baby inside. Poor little lamb. What kind of future would it have? ‘Open it for me, Vi, would you?’

  ‘Hazel—’

  ‘If it’s bad news, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t think I can cope. Not now, not today.’ She saw Charlie’s face, his eyes wide and very dark in a pale face, and a wave of love and sympathy crashed over her. After all his fury only moments before, he looked so forlorn and lost. She would have to be strong for him, at least. ‘Come here, Charlie. I need someone to hold my hand.’

  But he ignored her, standing mute and unmoving.

  Violet tore open the telegram, and read the words aloud in a flat voice. ‘We regret to inform you that your husband, Corporal Albert Baxter, has been killed in action. Letter to follow.’

  Before she had even finished, Charlie gave a terrible howl like a wounded animal and fled through the front door, running out of the house.

  Hazel called after him in vain, then sank back down, weeping for the man she had once loved enough to walk up the aisle with, for her son, for her unborn child …

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Without Hazel, the domestic staff were short-handed at Eastern House. Violet’s feet were soon aching as she traipsed about the place, doing the work of two women instead of one. But it was only right, Mr Frobisher had agreed solemnly, on hearing of her loss, that Mrs Baxter should have a few days off work to deal with her sudden bereavement. Not that Hazel had wanted to stay at home. But when she’d driven them all into work that morning, a little later than usual, Hazel had gone to see George Cotterill straightaway. And had told Lily in passing, when she re-emerged from his office half an hour later, red-eyed, that she’d been instructed to go back home.

  After several hours spent cleaning and chopping vegetables, Violet hurried out during her luncheon break to find Eva, grabbing a raw carrot to munch on her way. She regretted missing a proper cooked lunch, but
this mission was more important. More than ever, she thought, we need something to cheer us up and take us out of ourselves. And this dance might be just the thing.

  She passed Lily and Alice just outside the mess. The two girls had asked permission from George Cotterill to put up posters around the place and Lily was pinning one to a wall near the entrance door. They had already put some up in the village and on the church noticeboard too, making sure everyone in Porthcurno knew about the dance.

  ‘Don’t forget to have lunch,’ Violet reminded them both.

  ‘Yes, Aunty Vi,’ Alice said, then added with a sly grin, ‘Though Lily’s watching her figure. So she looks good at the dance.’

  ‘Lily?’ Violet stopped to stare at her niece. ‘Please tell me that’s not true. You girls need to eat properly.’

  But Lily only blushed and busied herself with the poster she was pinning to the wall.

  ‘I’ll talk to you later.’ Violet shook her head, and headed outside.

  What Lily needed were some sober words of wisdom about boys, like her mum would have given her if she’d been alive. But right now, Violet couldn’t think of any wisdom worth handing on. Not when she herself couldn’t get Joe Postbridge out of her mind. And she knew both girls had been left upset by Charlie’s distress over his dad’s death. Going easy on them had to be her priority right now.

  Eva was sunbathing on the lawn, as always during lunch breaks. Though today she was flicking through a small booklet too, her face intent.

  ‘Oh, fantastic, you got my message,’ Eva said, looking up with a smile as Violet reached her. She closed the booklet and slipped it back into the pocket of her skirt with odd haste, almost as though she didn’t want Violet to see what she was reading. ‘I had a visit from the rather fearful Reverend Clewson this morning. Did you know, he had all but decided to cancel the dance on Friday?’

  Violet stared, horrified. ‘Lord, no! What the bleedin’ ’eck …?’

  ‘I believe tales of planned debauchery had reached his ears.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ridiculous, I know.’ Eva picked up the sandwich she’d been eating and grimaced at it, then put it down again. ‘Reverend Clewson demanded to know exactly how many people were coming to our shindig. He seemed to be under the impression that we were inviting thousands of sinful, godless soldiers, with only one thing on their minds. I told him it would only be a few dozen clean-cut soldiers, plus some very well-brought-up ladies, upon which he relented … and even agreed to provide home-made cakes courtesy of his wife, as a kind of apology.’ Eva grinned at her expression. ‘So, it’s all sorted.’

  ‘But whoever could have told him such a load of old cobblers?’ Violet was bristling with indignation.

  ‘Who indeed?’ Eva raised her eyebrows, then leant forward and whispered, ‘I was given to understand that the information came from the kitchens. Apparently, you ladies have a tendency to gossip while preparing meals, and Mr Frobisher likes to listen.’

  ‘Frobisher?’

  ‘It seems he’s one of Reverend Clewson’s flock. And he likes to gossip too, by all accounts. To the vicar’s wife, no less.’

  ‘Bleeding traitor!’

  ‘Well, quite. But I think I’ve scotched that rumour, so no need to worry too much.’ Eva glanced up as the sun went behind a cloud, and shivered. ‘Probably best to watch what you’re saying when Frobisher’s about, though. You have a spy in your midst.’

  Violet clutched her stomach, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘A what? A spy?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean for the enemy. The man just likes to be officious, that’s all.’ Eva peered at her, frowning. ‘You all right? You look peaky.’

  ‘Right as rain,’ Violet said stoutly, though in truth the conversation had left her on edge. Stupid, to be harking back to the bad times they’d suffered in Dagenham. This was another world, wasn’t it? ‘I s’pose you won’t have heard the news yet? About Hazel’s old man?’

  ‘Not a word.’

  Briefly, leaving out the more private details, like Hazel’s pregnancy, Violet told Eva about the telegram, and Hazel’s absence from work today.

  ‘Poor Hazel, she’s in a bad way over it,’ she finished. ‘Though her son’s taking it hardest, if you ask me.’

  ‘Charlie?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Violet shook her head in disapproval. ‘The lad scarpered, soon as he heard the news. I only hope he turns up soon. His mum’ll be going out of her mind with worry.’

  Eva looked thoughtful. ‘Was it a happy marriage?’

  Violet bit her lip, not knowing what to say and unwilling to heap blame on a dead man’s reputation. Speak no ill of the dead was what her mum always said. Even the most curmudgeonly of their neighbours had become saints, according to Mum, as soon as Saint Peter had met them at the pearly gates.

  ‘I thought as much’ was all Eva said, sparing her the need to say anything. ‘And I do hope Charlie realises how much his mother needs him, and goes back home.’

  ‘You can say that again.’ Though the way the boy had been behaving, she thought secretly, there was little chance of that. All the same, she dredged up a lopsided smile. ‘So, it’s all on again? The dance, that is. The girls have been putting up posters, like we agreed. Should be a damn good bash, and no mistake.’

  ‘It’s going to be splendid.’

  Hurriedly, aware of their time running short, they spent the next few minutes going over the arrangements for the dance: who was bringing what, what time they’d all meet up, and who might be expected to turn up.

  ‘And what about you?’ Eva asked at the end, her grin teasing. ‘I believe you have a beau lined up for the dance. Joe – was that his name?’

  The posh girl was too bloody good at remembering things, Violet thought, feeling her cheeks redden. If only Lily hadn’t mentioned his name in front of her …

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ she mumbled, looking away. ‘The man’s got his own business to attend to. I doubt he even remembers my name.’

  ‘Oh dear. What a slow-poke this Joe must be.’

  Violet felt her temper rise and excused herself before she could say something that might cause offence. But she practically ran back to the kitchen, barely glancing at the soldiers she passed in the corridor, her head whirling with a mass of new possibilities that were both disturbing and exciting.

  The dance was going to be ‘splendid’, all right. Something to break the daily boredom and drudgery of their work at Eastern House. But now she couldn’t stop imagining how it would be if a certain Joe Postbridge walked in the door …

  When Violet and the girls started to walk home at the end of their shift, she was surprised to see the old ambulance parked up on the verge just beyond the barrier.

  ‘It’s Aunty Hazel!’ Lily cried, pointing.

  ‘That’s Mrs Baxter to you,’ Violet reminded her, though she knew Hazel rather liked being called ‘Aunty’ by the girls. ‘Careful now, watch those trucks.’

  A convoy of new troops had just arrived, three dust-streaked trucks pulled up on the road while the sentry checked their documentation. They slipped between the trucks, glancing briefly inside. Men in uniform stared out at them, their faces weary and flushed with heat, but excited too. They had finally arrived at their destination, after all. God knew how far they’d come, Violet thought, sure she wouldn’t want to spend hours being bumped about in the back of one of those crowded trucks. Cornwall was a long way from everywhere.

  Lily had reached the old ambulance. She dragged open the passenger door and stared in, her face glowing. ‘Has Charlie come back yet?’

  Crossly, Violet pulled her away. ‘In the back,’ she told the two girls in a voice that would normally leave them quaking, but today only made them traipse slowly round to the rear of the vehicle. She climbed in beside her friend, ready with a sympathetic smile. One look at her face had told her that Charlie was not yet home. ‘Good of you to drive over for us. How you bearing up, love?’

  ‘A letter came f
or you late morning,’ Hazel said by way of response, speaking softly so the girls in the back wouldn’t hear. ‘I hope it’s not b-bad news.’

  Violet could see that Hazel had been crying, and was ready to cry again, by the shake in her voice. She took the flimsy envelope from her friend, desperate to reassure her. But how could she, when she knew how bad the situation was in London these days? They’d all seen the newspapers and heard the whispers. Bombing had intensified in recent weeks, and loss of life had risen steeply, even though so many had already left the capital. And her mum hadn’t replied to her last letter, which wasn’t like her. That was what she’d been worrying about, at the back of her mind …

  But the handwriting on the letter looked like her mum’s. So she was still alive, whatever else might have happened.

  ‘You’ll want to read that on your own, I expect,’ Hazel said quietly, watching her.

  ‘Five minutes. Will you wait?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Violet got out again and shut the door, then walked hurriedly away from the vehicle, head down, not wanting to catch anyone’s eye.

  She tore open the envelope and read the contents swiftly, her heart beating fast. The butcher’s shop next to the café had taken a direct hit, and there wasn’t much left but a crater in the ground. Miraculously, the café was still standing. But the air-raid wardens had told her the building wasn’t safe, and had closed the premises by official order.

  That had been bad enough. But two nights later, a bomb had exploded near the shelter at the end of their road. A few people near the entrance had been killed, and her mum herself had been hurt, taken to hospital with a broken arm and a few fractured ribs.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Violet exclaimed, her hand over her mouth.

  ‘It’s nothing too serious,’ her mum had written with a flourish, trying to play down the incident.

  But Sheila had decided to leave the East End. She was planning to take a train down to join them in Cornwall, as soon as she could scrape together the fare. Obviously, given the awkward situation over Uncle Stanley, she couldn’t stay with her sister, and wanted to know if there was space for her at Hazel’s.