by Ellie Dean
Daisy had her nappy changed and Peggy dressed her in her prettiest pink layette before wrapping her warmly in a blanket. Anne had made a special effort with Rose as well, and she was dressed in her best woollen dress, with a hat and matching coat which had a velvet collar. Pristine white socks and sweet little shoes finished off the outfit, and she gave everyone a twirl just to show them how pretty she was.
Peggy’s smile was genuine as she looked at her granddaughter and realised there was a great deal of Cissy about her. Anne would have trouble with that young madam when she was older, and no mistake.
One by one they arrived in the hall and stood to attention as Alf the butcher arrived in his delivery van to help get them all to the station. Cordelia let Jim help her downstairs, and kept hold of his hand a little longer than necessary as if to silently convey her deep affection for him. Cissy was last – as usual – making a breathless entrance into the hall all of a fluster as she tried to button her coat and straighten her hat.
‘Private Reilly, you’re late on parade,’ roared Frank as Jim did his best not to laugh. ‘It’s spud bashing for you.’
She smiled up at him sweetly. ‘You said the last man in the hall – and I’m obviously not a man – so you can shout all you like, Uncle Frank, because I don’t peel potatoes – not with these nails.’ She flashed ten perfectly manicured fingers at him, the red varnish gleaming against her pale skin.
‘You always did have an answer to everything,’ Frank said with a grin. ‘Come on then, let’s get to the station.’
Jim made a fuss of Harvey and shut him in the kitchen so he couldn’t follow them, but the dog’s howls could be heard right down the street, and Peggy thought they echoed the aching anguish they were all trying so very hard to disguise.
Frank had obviously made an effort to clean his truck but it still stank of fish, and yet it didn’t seem to matter as Peggy and Pauline crammed in the front seat with Daisy and sat next to Jim and Frank, leaving the boys to ride in the flatbed with their grandfather. Cordelia opted to travel in Alf’s slightly sweeter smelling van, and Anne, Cissy and Martin clambered in after her with Rose.
Frank tooted the horn, waved his arm out of the window and they set off. As they drove in convoy down Camden Road, Peggy slipped her free hand into Jim’s and held on tight, her smile fixed as she acknowledged the calls of good luck from their friends and neighbours. She could see that Pauline was doing the same, but sharing this awful burden didn’t make it any easier to bear.
All too soon, they arrived at what was left of the station and reluctantly clambered down to the pavement. The old booking hall had been obliterated in a raid two years ago, and there was a sort of Nissen hut in its place from which the station master emerged. He gave a smart salute as Jim and Frank hoisted their kitbags and rifles over their shoulders and did their best to look jaunty.
The train was already in, and men in uniforms from all the different services, or in their best suits, were leaning out of the windows or standing about amidst their kitbags and suitcases to say a last goodbye to their loved ones. There were a lot of familiar faces – boys not much older than Bob whom Peggy had known since they were babies; men who’d worked on the fishing boats, in the shops or for the council; and others who’d been tellers in the bank, postmen, deliverymen and street-sweepers – all putting on a brave swagger as their women determinedly kept smiling.
Peggy found that she couldn’t breathe, and her legs were shaking so much she could barely stand. Anne seemed to realise how distressed she was, for she quickly passed Rose to Martin and took Daisy from her. ‘I’ll look after her, Mam,’ she murmured. ‘You’re not going to faint, are you?’
Peggy shot her a grateful smile and shook her head. ‘I’m fine,’ she lied as she held tightly to Jim’s arm. Struggling to breathe, she walked with him down the platform. They found the correct carriage, and Jim gently prised her fingers from his arm and went with his brother into the carriage to stow their belongings in the luggage rack above their seats. Then, after a long pause in which they no doubt girded themselves for what was to come, they jumped down from the train and began to say their goodbyes.
Peggy had eyes only for Jim as he ruffled his sons’ hair and gave them a fierce hug. He kissed Anne, Cissy and Pauline, and shook Martin’s hand, and then kissed Cordelia, who was losing her battle with her tears.
And then he wrapped his arms about his father. ‘Take care of them for me, Da,’ he murmured.
‘Aye, I’ll do that, son – and you take care of yourself,’ he managed as his eyes reddened and his jaw worked.
As Frank towered over Ron and held him in a bear hug, Jim kissed Rose Margaret and then touched the sleeping Daisy’s cheek before turning to Peggy. ‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ he said gruffly. ‘Give me a kiss, me darling girl, so I may carry it with me.’
Peggy clung to him fiercely as he kissed her. She could hear the guard’s whistle blowing, the slam of doors like a salvo of gunfire echoing down the long platform, and the hiss of the steam that was billowing all around them. But all she could feel was the sweetness of his kiss and the tender familiarity of his hands cupping her face – and she never wanted it to end.
He pulled slowly and reluctantly away from her as the guard blew his whistle impatiently and began to shout from the other end of the platform. ‘Keep smiling, Peg,’ he whispered. ‘I want to take your smile with me, not your tears. I love you.’
And then he was gone, Frank climbing into the carriage after him and slamming the door. As one, she and Pauline took a step towards the train, and as the window was pulled down and the brothers leaned out, they reached for their outstretched hands for one last touch – one final word of love.
The train chuffed and puffed and the wheels began to turn, slowly at first and then faster and faster. They could no longer hold onto their hands, could no longer run fast enough or hear their voices above the clanking of the wheels and the shrill whistle as the smoke and steam billowed over them.
And then it was the end of the platform, and they could only stand and watch as the train curved around the bend – watch until it had become nothing more than a speck in the distance. And then it was gone, leaving only an awful, empty silence behind.
Pauline had gone straight home after dropping the others off at Beach View, and although they’d tried to persuade her to stay another night, she’d insisted she needed time to herself.
Cordelia had quietly followed everyone into the kitchen on their return from the station, and had sat in her usual chair by the range as Cissy made a pot of tea and Anne tried to coax little Rose Margaret out of her hat and coat. She was a beautiful child, Cordelia mused, with her mother’s big brown eyes and dark curls, but was clearly rather a handful.
She turned her attention to Peggy, who was as pale as wax despite the determined jut of her chin. It was a good thing she had Daisy to occupy her, she thought, but the hardest part would come tonight, when she was in that big bed all alone. And Cordelia knew how that felt, for she’d spent almost three years on her own while her husband was in the trenches, and not a night had passed without her being fully aware of the empty space beside her.
Cordelia accepted a cup of tea from Cissy and returned her sweet, sad smile. There didn’t seem to be anything to say, no words that could bring any real comfort, so it was best to remain silent and give support when it was needed. She sighed. And it would be needed during the next few dark days, for Anne would soon be returning to Somerset with Rose and the boys, Martin only had a forty-eight-hour pass which ended at six this evening, and Cissy would be back on duty tomorrow.
She looked up and saw that Ron was watching Peggy too, and realised that it would be up to them as the oldest to provide the backbone to this family until Peggy was strong enough to take up the reins again – and the thought was rather daunting.
The silence was shattered by the roar of planes flying low as they headed for the Channel, and everyone looked up and followed the sound unt
il it had faded into the distance. The war went on, the world turned and nothing changed, despite the small human trials and tragedies that were unfolding behind the closed doors of every town and hamlet. And this knowledge seemed to bolster them, for they began, finally, to talk.
Ron slurped down the last of his tea. ‘Right, you boys,’ he said gruffly. ‘It’s time to stretch our legs and give Harvey a good run. Find some old gumboots and wrap up warm, it’s cold up on top.’
The boys looked to Peggy and she nodded with a wan smile. They gave her a hug and raced down the basement steps to change.
Ron winked at Peggy. ‘I’ll bring ’em back in time for their tea, so you’ve no need to fret.’
‘I never worry when they’re with you, Ron,’ she replied as she lit yet another cigarette.
Cordelia washed up her cup and saucer and left them to dry on the drainer as Anne tried to soothe Rose out of her tantrum at being left behind. Cissy heated a bottle of formula milk and then lifted Daisy out of her pram and pulled a chair up close to her mother.
Cordelia eyed the little family scene around the old range and decided it was time to leave them. They needed to share these close moments – needed time to come to terms with the awful void that Jim’s departure had left behind. She reached for her walking stick, took the discarded newspapers from the kitchen table and headed for her bedroom.
Ron strode across the grasslands, his cheeks stinging with the cold as Charlie and Harvey raced ahead. This was what he needed, he realised; the cold wind and the scent of the sea in his nostrils would soon rip away the gloom and invigorate him. He glanced at Bob, who was striding alongside him. He was the image of Jim at that age, and in a way that also helped to restore his spirits.
‘Have you brought your nets, Granddad?’ Bob asked as they breached the hill and stood looking out at the sea.
‘Aye, they’re in me pocket – but it’s a bit too windy for the rabbits today. They’ll be snug in their burrows until nightfall.’ He grinned at the boy, still unable to believe how tall he’d become. ‘Now, if we had the ferrets that would be a different matter entirely.’
Bob dug his hands in his pockets as the wind tore at his dark hair. ‘Have you thought of getting some again? Only a lot of the farmers down in Somerset still use them, and they don’t seem at all concerned about the odd air raid.’
‘Aye,’ Ron replied thoughtfully, ‘but your mother wouldn’t like it. She always complained of the smell, so she did.’
‘But they don’t smell,’ Bob protested, ‘not if you keep them clean.’ He grinned and nudged Ron’s arm. ‘Go on, Granddad, you know you’ve been itching to get another Delilah and Cleopatra, and now you’ve got the cellar to yourself, Mum can’t really complain if you keep them down there like before.’
The idea was tempting, and Ron did know someone whose ferrets had just had kits. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he muttered. ‘Come on, I want to show you something.’
They walked along companionably, the boy keeping pace with his grandfather as the younger Charlie raced back and forth with Harvey. Ron was strongly reminded of how he used to come up here with Jim and Frank when they were boys. How long ago it seemed – and how much had happened since. Determined not to spoil the moment by getting down-hearted, Ron led them towards the high fence that now surrounded the Cliffe estate.
‘That’s put paid to your poaching,’ teased Bob as he regarded the sturdy wire.
Ron just grinned as he fingered the wire-cutters in the deep pocket of his coat. Peggy would never forgive him if he took the boys poaching, and he had no intention of upsetting her – especially today. ‘The Forestry Commission has taken it over,’ he explained, ‘and rumour has it that the Women’s Land Army are taking charge and are about to set up a new corps to solve the labour shortage now there’s such a high demand for timber.’
‘We’ve got a lot of Land Army girls down in Somerset,’ said Bob, ‘and I’ve heard them talking about it. They seem to reckon they’ll have an easier time of it cutting down trees instead of ploughing and harvesting, but I doubt they will.’
‘Girls are silly,’ announced Charlie as he dug his hands into his coat pocket and kicked the fence for no apparent reason. ‘They giggle and talk about lipstick and boys and moan about their hands and nails. Me and Ernie prefer working with the German POWs – they’re much more sensible.’
Ron raised his eyebrows. ‘You have German prisoners of war in Somerset? Is that safe with so many women on their own?’
Bob shrugged. ‘Dunno, but they have to stay in camp at night like the Ities, and there’s always soldiers keeping an eye on them. Auntie Vi said we should feel sorry for them ’cos they’re a long way from home, and it’s not their fault Hitler is such a beast. She says that if we treat them fairly, then our men will be too if they get into the same situation.’ He screwed up his face as he looked at Ron. ‘What do you think, Granddad?’
‘I think it’s time we got out of the wind and had that flask of tea and packet of biscuits I have in me pocket,’ he said gruffly. ‘Come on, last one to the old farmhouse is a rotten egg.’
Bob seemed to forget he was all grown up and raced after his brother and the dog, and Ron jogged along for a while and then slowed to a steady walk, deep in thought. Vi was sort of right in her thinking, but he suspected she was simply trying to keep a fair judgement on things for the boys’ sake. The reality of prisoner of war camps in the first war had been far from cosy, going by the tales some of his mates had to tell afterwards – and with the Japs coming into this war with a history of brutal abuse and a total disregard for the Geneva Conventions, he doubted there would be much fair play to be had for the poor divils caught out in the Far East.
He dismissed these dark thoughts and smiled as he saw the two boys urging him to hurry. This was what mattered now, for they would soon be leaving for Somerset again, and he might not get the chance to be with them for another year or so. It was not the time to dwell on such things as war and prison and death and dying – but on family and home and the love that bound one person to another.
He quickened his pace and finally reached the tumbledown walls of the old farmhouse. Sitting on a hummock of grass, he poured tea into the tin mugs and handed them round.
As the boys drank their tea and munched on their biscuits, Ron lit his pipe and prepared to tell them the story about how he came to have moving shrapnel in his back. It wouldn’t be the whole story, neither would it be particularly true – but he’d told it so many times before that he could embellish it so it made them laugh – and he loved hearing them laugh.
With the gas fire lit against the chill of the early spring day, Cordelia settled down in her chair. But instead of putting on her glasses and reading the papers, she stared into the flames for a long while, her thoughts returning to the other times when she’d had to say goodbye. There had been too many over the years, and she understood too well how bereft Peggy must be feeling now. Yet she knew that feeling would pass, that Peggy’s spirit would be revived as she slowly picked up the pieces and returned to the everyday needs of her home and family.
Cordelia reached for her glasses and lifted up the rather creased and grubby Daily Mail, deciding to give it a quick glance before she settled down to read the Telegraph, which she’d always preferred. She skimmed through most of the paper and found nothing much different to the news bulletins she heard on the wireless every night. The Telegraph had the same news, of course, but there was an interesting piece on Lord Beaverbrook, who was now the Minister of Supply, and further comment by the Editor on Churchill’s recent speech and the awful events unfolding in the Far East.
There was also a report and long analysis on the successful ‘Channel Dash’ made by the Germans from Brest in Brittany, through the Straits of Dover and into the North Sea to reach their base in Germany. It was the first time since the Spanish Armada that enemy ships had sailed along the Channel, and it was shocking how easily they’d managed to avoid the heroic and determined e
fforts to sink them by the Royal Navy and the RAF.
It seemed that there was bad news everywhere, and she was about to set the paper aside when a small headline at the very bottom of the back page caught her eye.
JAPAN CLAIMS SINKING OF REFUGEE SHIP
A radio broadcast was sent out yesterday from the Japanese, who claim that their Imperial Air Force has sunk the refugee ship, the HMSS Monarch of the Glen which was carrying women and children to safety from Singapore. This cannot be confirmed, and could be a treacherous and cruel piece of propaganda. But the Monarch of the Glen has not been sighted since leaving Singapore and has not arrived at her first port of call as scheduled.
Cordelia let the newspaper flutter unheeded to the floor as the terrible sense of loss overwhelmed her. The family she’d never known she had was gone; the plans and dreams she’d happily envisaged were lost – scattered like smoke on the wind.
The anguish that had been building all day swelled until she couldn’t fight it any longer, and she buried her face in her hands and wept.
Chapter Fifteen
A week had passed since Jim and Frank had left for Yorkshire, and now that Anne and the boys were back in Somerset with Rose Margaret, and Cissy had returned to her duties at the airfield, Peggy was struggling to cope. The house was suddenly too empty and quiet, the nights alone in that big bed too long.
She cooked and cleaned, cared for Daisy, took long walks with the pram, queued at the shops and struggled with the laundry, but her thoughts were constantly with Jim, wondering how he was getting on, and where the Army would send him and Frank. With the world in such turmoil, they could be sent anywhere – for even Darwin and Broome in Australia had suffered several devastating air raids, and Java, Rangoon and Hong Kong had been overrun by the Japanese.
Peggy finished hanging out the washing and stood for a moment by the pram where Daisy was gurgling happily in the spring sunshine. It was the beginning of March, and Ron’s vegetable patch was coming on a treat, the chickens were still laying a good number of eggs, and she could see the first green buds sprouting on next door’s lilac tree. Spring was definitely around the corner, for there were only a few pale clouds drifting in a leisurely fashion across the blue sky, and the breeze felt several degrees warmer than of late.