Wartime with the Cornish Girls

by Betty Walker

  George Cotterill, who had been standing to one side with Hazel, squeezed his way through to the foot of the crypt steps. He looked tense, a smudge of dirt on his forehead. ‘Not Eastern House, surely?’

  Violet was horrified, thinking of everyone she knew at Eastern House. The buildings were heavily camouflaged, but that kind of disguise probably worked best at night. The Germans would have seen it straight away in daylight, especially flying cross-country rather than coming in from the sea.

  Had that bomb landed on the listening post?

  The vicar looked pale and shocked. ‘Perhaps. They flew straight over us, didn’t they? I’m sorry, George. Let’s hope they heard the raid coming and got to a shelter in time.’

  Violet thought of the fortified tunnels, but said nothing. That was top secret.

  ‘Those bastards …’ George spluttered, almost incoherent.

  ‘Language, please! There are ladies present.’

  ‘Sorry, Vicar, but …’ George shook his head angrily. ‘It’s not even dark yet. Nobody will have been expecting them. Enemy planes flying over in the daytime, bold as brass?’ He looked disgusted.

  ‘If the Jerries think there ain’t no anti-aircraft guns, they do sometimes chance coming in the daytime,’ Violet told him eagerly, wanting to help. ‘We had one or two afternoon fly-bys in the East End.’

  ‘And us,’ Joe said, nodding at her side. ‘We’ve had a few bombing raids down in Penzance while it was still light. They’ve brought in anti-aircraft guns now, but it doesn’t seem to stop the Germans trying their luck.’

  George sighed. ‘I suppose we’ve got used to feeling safe here in Porthcurno, that’s all. But there are plenty who’ve had it worse than us. Like those poor souls in London.’

  ‘Oh, that’s for sure,’ one of the soldiers agreed, stepping out of the darkness at the back of the crypt, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lip. ‘Ain’t it, Vi?’ His smile was unpleasant. ‘But maybe someone went and tipped the Jerries off. Told them where to look for Eastern House. Now, who’d play a nasty trick like that on their own countrymen, eh?’

  Violet stared at Patrick Dullaghan, unable to say a word.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Eva felt sure that her father must have been safe in the underground tunnels at Eastern House during that bombing raid. But that didn’t mean everyone was safe. What about the soldiers gathered in the camp below or bravely manning the little pillboxes along the coast? And what of the civilians in Porthcurno, some of whom would have been sitting down to supper as that bomb struck …

  It was too horrible to contemplate what might be happening out there.

  She had lost Rex in the confusion early on, but dutifully followed everyone else to the church crypt anyway. Some of the locals had seemed quite scared and bewildered by the intrusion of the war into their quiet lives, but she’d reassured them as best she could, telling tales of bombing raids she’d survived. They had not seemed very comforted by this, to her surprise. So she’d made her excuses and squeezed in tight next to Violet’s plucky young nieces, who at least were unfazed by the sound of enemy bombers overhead. They too must have been through many such air raids.

  Being at the back, she and the girls were among the last to leave the dank little crypt once the Reverend Clewson had declared the raid over – though how he could be sure, she had no idea. Unless he’d received a personal message from the Almighty, she thought, and then scolded herself for being such a cynic. The poor man was just doing his best in a frightening situation, jollying everyone along as they headed home in the twilight, the dance well and truly over.

  People were pointing to a thick, ominous plume of smoke rising in one spot along the coast, roughly in the direction of Eastern House. Some of the soldiers had clambered onto a wall to see better, and were speculating how bad the damage would be. Others had already started to double-time it back to base, quite rightly assuming they’d be needed on duty tonight after all.

  ‘Do you think Eastern House was hit?’ Lily asked her, wide-eyed.

  ‘I’m not sure, to be honest.’ Eva struggled against her fear, studying the sinister pillar of smoke rising into the evening air as nonchalantly as she could. There was no point alarming the girls with her worries. ‘I certainly hope not.’

  She also hoped her father had been able to evacuate the buildings in time, if that really was Eastern House on fire. Most of the staff, trainees and officers would have been safe enough in the underground tunnels, unless the cliffside had taken a direct hit. She could only pray it had not, as that would have been catastrophic for everyone in the tunnels. And she felt sure the soldiers in the tented area had designated areas for sheltering in the event of a raid. Assuming they’d received adequate warning, of course.

  She tried not to fret herself into a panic. As her father would have said, there was nothing anyone could do about it at this remove. But she had to admit to a flutter of genuine fear in her chest. What would she do if she lost her father?

  Despite the fact that he’d been a career soldier all her life, the thought of him dying had never really occurred to her before. Not with any seriousness. Daddy always seemed so capable and indestructible. But nobody was indestructible. She had learned that lesson the hard way with her mother, who had died of tuberculosis nearly five years ago, yet somehow she’d pushed the memory aside. Now it came flooding back, making her breath catch in her throat and her eyes blur with sudden, unexpected tears.

  ‘You all right, Miss?’ Alice asked bluntly, tugging on her sleeve. ‘You look right peaky. You going to chuck up?’

  Through her shimmering vision, Eva grinned down at the girl and shook her head. ‘No, thank God. Though if I do, I’ll make sure I throw up on you. What a brat you are!’

  Alice laughed, seeming deeply pleased by this insult.

  Expecting to catch sight of Rex at any moment, she popped her head inside the church hall as the others milled about outside, but found the place dark and empty, except for Hazel and her son, who were hurriedly collecting the remnants of the food.

  ‘Waste not, want not,’ Hazel said, looking at her guiltily. ‘Since the dance seems to be over, I thought we could take this lot home. Have a feast for a few days.’

  ‘Jolly good idea,’ Eva said with a smile, aware that Hazel was kindly housing Violet and her two nieces, not to mention her son Charlie, all of whom probably ate enough for a small army. ‘Have you seen Rex? I mean, Professor Templeton? I haven’t seen him since the planes came over.’

  ‘Sorry, I haven’t seen anyone. George – I mean, Mr Cotterill – went straight back to Eastern House with the men. Maybe the professor went with them. There’s only my Charlie here.’

  The lad flicked her an uninterested glance, then carried on stacking sandwiches into a cake tin, his expression distracted. He’d just lost his father, poor boy.

  Though at least Charlie had come back after running away, Eva thought, recalling what Lily had told her in whispers during the air raid. George Cotterill had brought him back, apparently, so all was well that ended well. Though the details were muddled. She had only been half-listening to Lily, her mind on Rex and her frightening suspicions. Though it would probably turn out to be a silly mistake on her part. It usually was where affairs of the heart were concerned. Her mother used to say she was always dashing in where angels feared to put a toe, let alone tread, and ending up in hot water.

  Still, she wasn’t the only one in trouble at the moment. There was something ‘going on’ between Hazel and George Cotterill, as her dad had put it yesterday, his tone rather disapproving. That was the gossip buzzing around Eastern House, anyway. Not that Eva cared one jot about that. So what if Hazel had been carrying on with someone behind her husband’s back? The husband had been a thoroughly bad sort, from what she’d heard. Besides, in case nobody had noticed, there was a war on. The usual rules no longer applied.

  She froze as she heard what sounded like a truck coming fast up the hill, crashing through the low gears,
then squealing to a halt outside the hall.

  Hazel’s head turned. ‘What on earth …?’

  They all hurried outside to find Lily and Alice staring at the newly arrived vehicle, which turned out to be an army truck. It was nearly dark outside now, the sun having set at last in the far west.

  A corporal jumped out of the truck, calling out, ‘Joe Postbridge of Swelle Farm?’ He turned to look at them, squinting through the darkness, the headlights partly covered to comply with blackout rules. ‘Hello? Is a Joe Postbridge in there?’

  ‘Never heard of him,’ Eva said crisply. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I know Joe.’ Behind her, Hazel stood in the doorway to the hall, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘He was here earlier, at the dance. And in the shelter too. But I don’t know where he went after that.’ She frowned. ‘Why, what’s the matter?’

  ‘I was sent to fetch him up to his farm.’ The soldier stopped, turning his head.

  ‘Hello? Someone called my name?’

  Eva looked round at the sound of an unfamiliar voice.

  Violet had appeared from the field opposite, conspicuously picking grass from her hair. A man climbed over the stile behind her and jumped awkwardly to the ground. He collected a walking stick from beside the stile, and then limped heavily across to them.

  ‘I’m Joe,’ he said shortly, looking the soldier up and down. ‘What’s all the to-do?’

  His bearing was upright, despite what was obviously a bad leg. A war injury, Eva guessed. That was the face of a man who’d seen action. Tough and determined. She’d met plenty of men like him before, having spent much of her childhood on or around army bases with her father.

  ‘Bad news, I’m afraid,’ the corporal said uneasily. ‘Your farm took a hit in that raid. Mr Cotterill sent me to fetch you home.’

  The man looked almost grey in the poor light. He swivelled, staring back in the direction of the smoke they’d seen earlier. ‘M-my mother …’ he stammered. ‘How bad is it? Was she there when the bomb fell?’

  ‘Sorry.’ The corporal climbed back into the truck. ‘I don’t know nothing about it, beyond I’m to fetch you away to Swelle Farm, soon as may be.’

  Eva felt awful for Joe Postbridge, discovering that his property had been bombed. She only prayed his mother had not been hurt in the blast. But at the same time, she felt a wave of relief that Eastern House had not been hit. After all, they had only heard one explosion from down in the crypt, so it was possible nowhere else had been damaged by the bombers.

  Joe glanced round at Violet, strain in his face.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ she breathed, before he’d even spoken.

  ‘I’d like that,’ he said.

  ‘Would you mind the girls for a bit, love?’ Violet asked Hazel. ‘I’ll be back at yours soon as I can, I promise.’

  ‘Of course I’ll mind them.’ Hazel pulled Alice near and affectionately ruffled her hair. ‘You go. They’ll be all right with us.’ She nodded to Joe, her expression sympathetic. ‘I hope your mother’s safe.’

  Eva watched as the two jumped into the truck and the corporal turned it smartly in the narrow road, then roared off again, back towards the smoke rising.

  ‘You should have gone with them,’ Lily said, right behind her.

  Eva turned to her with a rueful look. ‘You’re right. I’m stranded now, no question about it.’ She peered up and down the road, but everyone else had left, most of them on foot. What an idiot she was. But she’d been so relieved to know the bomb had missed Eastern House that she’d felt quite dazed, unable to think straight. ‘Oh well, Shanks’s pony it is,’ she said, and then glanced down at her dancing heels. ‘If I take these off, it shouldn’t be too bad. How far is it cross-country to Eastern House? Two miles? Three?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Hazel said bluntly. ‘I’ll give you a lift. If you help me get the last of the food into my van, I’ll take you to Eastern House myself.’

  ‘But it’s so far out of your way!’

  ‘Maybe. But without you, there never would have been a dance tonight,’ Hazel pointed out. ‘And it was good fun until the Germans decided to crash the party. So, no more arguments. You’re coming with us.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Eva said, accepting with a smile. And she was genuinely glad, because she hadn’t really fancied walking barefoot for miles through rough fields of long grass and nettles, especially in the pitch-black. Besides, she needed to get back to Eastern House as soon as possible, to reassure herself that only one bomb had fallen on Porthcurno tonight and her father really was safe.

  ‘Better wait till you see the van, Miss.’ Alice was looking a little fragile. No doubt the news of Joe’s farm being bombed had shaken her. She pointed to the field opposite the church hall that some people had been using as a space for leaving their vehicles. There, Eva could just make out the sturdy, high-backed shape of what looked like an ambulance, glimmering in the dark. ‘It’s not what you might call comfy.’

  ‘If it means not having to walk, it’ll be perfectly comfy for me,’ Eva assured her, and then turned cheerfully to Hazel. ‘Right, leftover food, snippety-snap.’ She took Alice’s hand and marched back into the gloomy hall with her, determined to rally their spirits. ‘Did you know that if you whistle while you work, the job gets done in half the time? How are you girls at whistling?’

  Hazel dropped her at the guard post below Eastern House, and drove away in the dark, lights off and relying simply on local knowledge to stay on the road.

  Eva showed her ID papers to the guard at the gate, though really it was just a formality. They all knew her by now at the listening post. ‘Is everyone all right?’ she asked the corporal on duty. ‘I heard the bombers going over earlier.’

  ‘No need to fret, Miss Ryder.’ The corporal grinned at her. ‘Jerry missed us, didn’t he? Bombed some farm up the way instead. I guess he took a wrong turning.’

  She’d been dreading bad news ever since hearing that explosion. Now she took a deep breath, desperately thankful to hear that nobody there had been hurt. Especially her father.

  ‘Is the colonel up at the house?’

  ‘No, Miss, he’s gone out to visit the farm that got hit, to see what can be done for the poor souls.’ The corporal shouldered his rifle and let her in through the fortified barrier. ‘He was looking for you earlier though.’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell.’

  He grinned appreciatively. ‘Colonel said to tell you to head straight for the tunnels.’ He winked at her. ‘That’s where the civvies are sheltering tonight. In case Jerry comes back.’

  Eva thanked him, and trudged wearily up the slope to Eastern House in the warm stillness of the summer evening. So, a long, stuffy night underground, was it?

  No doubt the others would be in the tunnels already.

  Including Rex.

  Pausing outside the looming edifice of Eastern House, its walls draped in camouflage, Eva felt a shudder run through her.

  In the distance, it seemed still and peaceful, though she knew that somewhere along the coast, a farm was burning.

  Swelle Farm.

  Strange how life could turn in a second, she thought, nothing ever the same again. Life one minute, death the next. That was how it had felt in London, when the bomb exploded nearby, blowing her into oblivion. It could have been forever, but for that American. She remembered the handsome pilot who’d sacrificed his life in saving hers, and wondered what her future might have looked like if she’d got a chance to know Max better. There’d been such chemistry between them that night …

  But it was pointless living in the past, dwelling on what might have been. Poor Max had died. She was still alive. For how much longer, though?

  She listened to the drag and roar of the tide over the beach at Porthcurno, and recalled how Rex had looked at her so strangely on the cliff edge. Had she imagined the grim look in his eyes? Or had he really been intending to cast her down to her death?

  In that split second, Eva made a decision.


  Turning away from the tunnels, she trod lightly across the front of Eastern House in the shadowy gloom of blackout, heading for the low building where she knew Rex had his quarters, along with some of the other ‘civvies’, as the guard had dubbed the non-military personnel who worked at the listening post.

  The house was dark and quiet. Nobody home. And the front door was unlocked, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?

  She knew exactly which room belonged to Rex, as he’d leant out of the window one sunny afternoon to wave at her.

  ‘Rex?’ she whispered, opening the door to darkness.

  The room was empty, its occupant sheltering from German bombers in the tunnels. Where she ought to be.

  Closing his door behind her, she stood a moment in the silence, gathering her nerve. The blackout curtain was in place, covering the window, so she put the light on.

  Her heart was thudding wildly at her own audacity.

  If she was caught in here …

  She pushed that fear aside and began to search regardless, hunting first through the loose papers on his narrow desk, then opening his drawers, peeking hurriedly in his wardrobe, even kneeling to rummage under his bed. Finally, about to give up, she lifted his mattress clear off the metal bedframe, noting how bumpy it felt … and a piece of folded paper fluttered to the floor.

  Eva bent to retrieve it, blinking as she realised what it was.

  The strange, childish phrase she had intercepted from the machine in the tunnels that he usually manned alone. Polly put the kettle on. A secret coded message. He had not seemed surprised to see it, and had said he would deal with it.

  Yet here it was, pushed out of sight under his mattress.

  She lifted the mattress again and ran a hand along its bare underside. Yes, there it was again. An odd little bump. Like a concealed pouch. It was sealed though, she realised on closer examination, with a row of neat, almost invisible stitches. Almost as though something had been sewn inside the mattress itself.

  ‘Oh, Rex …’ She bit her lip. ‘What have you been up to?’