Always in my Heart (Beach View Boarding House 5)

by Ellie Dean

  ‘I can do you tea and toast, or a coupl’a sandwiches,’ she replied to Sarah’s query about breakfast. ‘Eggs is orf, and of course bacon and sausage ain’t been seen since Hitler mucked things up.’

  ‘What’s in the sandwiches?’ asked Sarah warily.

  ‘I can do you a round of spam with tomato sauce, or a round of corned beef with mustard.’

  ‘I think we’ll just have toast and tea.’ She passed over a precious pound note.

  The woman looked at it askance. ‘Ain’t you got nothing smaller?’ At Sarah’s apologetic shake of the head, she heaved a great sigh and scrabbled in her till, muttering about people having no idea how hard it was to get change – and didn’t they realise there was a war on.

  The tea was as weak as dishwater, and the toast had the merest hint of the infamous margarine smeared over it. There was no jam, and no sugar to put into the tea, and by the time they’d finished this meagre breakfast, they were still hungry.

  They went back onto the concourse and Sarah bought a newspaper and a packet of Park Drive cigarettes. Then they settled down amid the ebb and flow of people while they waited for their train to be announced. Jane read the newspaper from cover to cover while Sarah lit a cigarette and tried not to think about how late it was getting. If the train didn’t arrive soon they would get to Cliffehaven in the dark, and the great-aunts might already be in bed.

  ‘Which aunt should we try first?’ she asked Jane some time later.

  ‘Cordelia,’ said Jane. ‘She’s the younger of the two, and will probably be more likely to take us in.’

  Once again, Sarah was surprised by Jane’s mature good sense. She nodded and was about to reply when the announcement came over the loudspeaker. Their train had arrived. She stubbed out her cigarette, helped Jane gather her things and headed for the platform.

  Their second-class carriage was very different to the one they’d had on the Glasgow train, and far more comfortable. There were two rows of four padded seats facing one another in the compartment, with luggage racks overhead and antimacassars on the headrests. The windows had blackout blinds but hadn’t been boarded over, and could be opened by pulling on a leather strap, and there was a sliding door to shut out the draught that whistled along the corridor.

  Settled on either side of the window, they looked forward to actually seeing something of the countryside they would be passing through. And as other passengers joined them in the carriage they were relieved to see they weren’t once again surrounded by squalling babies and fractious toddlers.

  Then the guard blew his whistle and the train began to pull away from the station. They were on their way.

  Soon the chugging train was crossing the Thames, and they both leaned forward eagerly to try and catch sight of the famous bridges and the Houses of Parliament. Then they were plunged into endless suburbs, where row upon row of terraced houses backed onto the railway embankments. Everything was unrelentingly gloomy, with soot-stained bricks, dreary backyards, untended gardens and abandoned bomb sites over which great palls of grey smoke swirled from the many chimneys.

  They sat back in their seats, disappointed by the view, and while Jane dozed, Sarah smoked another cigarette and read the newspaper. That was all doom and gloom too, and she gave up on it with a sigh of frustration.

  But as the train travelled further south the carriage emptied and the scenery changed. Now there were rolling fields, rivers and streams and tiny leafy hamlets. Little villages with ancient stone churches and thatched-roof cottages followed small, neat towns where the gardens had been turned to vegetable plots and bomb damage had been minor. Then there were great sweeps of forest and patchwork fields around isolated farms where huge, plodding Shires pulled ploughs and heavily laden wagons as flocks of birds trailed them.

  ‘Oh, how lovely,’ breathed Jane. ‘I wish I could ride one of those. They look so gentle, so patient.’ She turned to Sarah, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘I do miss my poor Trixie. It wasn’t her fault she fell over that fence and caught me with her hoof – I shouldn’t have forced her to jump it when I knew she was so nervous.’

  Sarah was startled by this declaration, for it was the first time Jane had ever mentioned the awful fall she’d taken when out riding four years before – and her parents had decreed that it must never be mentioned. ‘I didn’t realise you remembered what happened,’ she said carefully.

  ‘It’s come back bit by bit – and of course I realise poor Trixie hadn’t been sold like Pops told me. She must have broken her leg and been put down.’ She was silent for a long moment as she continued to gaze out of the window, and the labourers stopped what they were doing and waved to the train. ‘Those are girls,’ she said breathlessly as she waved back. ‘I wonder if they’d let me do that sort of work so I could be with the horses again?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sarah replied hesitantly. ‘Mother and Pops certainly wouldn’t want you anywhere near horses. You’d have to be very strong and fit to take care of such big animals, and it looks like extremely hard work. Those girls are probably farmers’ daughters and used to the life.’

  ‘Maybe,’ murmured Jane, ‘but I saw a poster at the station, asking for women to join the Land Army. It didn’t say anything about having to be a farmer’s daughter – and Pops did look after trees, so that must count, surely?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Sarah replied non-committally. Her parents had laid down strict rules about Jane being kept away from horses, and although Sarah understood their well-meaning concern, she thought the ruling was harsh. Jane had always loved horses, was a competent rider and knew how to look after them – from what she’d just said it was clear she’d really missed not being around them.

  An hour later and the scenery changed again, with huge stretches of marsh which were alive with birds, and fields where great flocks of sheep roamed. Farmhouses huddled close to where the hills were scarred with chalk and gulls hovered in the darkening sky above a glittering sea. They must be getting close to Cliffehaven.

  The train chuffed into the station, where it was clear the enemy bombers had done their best to destroy every last bit of the station buildings. Clambering down to the platform, they hurried away from the clouds of steam and smoke and stood by the strange-looking hut that had ‘Ticket Office’ painted on the corrugated iron roof.

  Breathing deeply of the refreshing salty air, they looked to the bottom of the long hill and saw the sheen of the sea and felt revived. Cliffehaven might look very different to Singapore and Kuala Lumpur, but it wasn’t dowdy at all despite the bomb damage, for there were trees bursting with blossom, white-painted houses and red roofs.

  ‘Evening, girls,’ said the elderly stationmaster. ‘You look like you don’t come from these parts. How can I help you?’

  ‘We’re looking for Havelock Road,’ said Sarah, checking on the address.

  ‘Nice for some,’ he said enigmatically. He pointed down the hill. ‘Go almost to the bottom of the High Street, and then take the last road on your right. You can’t miss it. Havelock Gardens is on the corner, with a park on the other side, and if you go any further you’ll be in the English Channel.’

  Sarah thanked him and tucked the precious bit of paper back into her handbag before they began to walk down the steep hill. There were several bomb sites along the way, but there were also shops and a couple of places that looked like the pubs she’d heard about from her friends who’d visited England. A rather imposing Town Hall was protected by a wall of sandbags, as was a bank and a block of offices. It all felt very strange and rather daunting, for it was so different to anything she’d ever known, and she just hoped that they could find their feet quickly and be able to settle until it was time to go home again.

  They continued down the hill, past another huge bomb site, and the almost empty window of a large department store called Plummers. There was a shop called the Home and Colonial, which appeared to sell tinned food as well as other things, and a recruiting office for the RAF. The smell of the
sea was very strong now, and they could hear the seagulls crying on the light wind which ruffled the waves, and see the barbed-wire barricades that had been erected all along the promenade.

  ‘There’s the park,’ said Jane. ‘Come on, we must nearly be there. I do hope Aunt Cordelia’s in. I’m absolutely starving.’

  It was certainly a very pleasant area, for there were trees and pretty gardens behind the high walls, and on the other side of the road was the park, which looked very green and tranquil in the swiftly fading light. Sarah looked at the numbers on the houses and came to an abrupt halt. Number thirty-nine and its neighbour had been obliterated.

  ‘Perhaps the neighbours can tell us if the old lady got out alive,’ said Jane hopefully. ‘I’ll go and ask, shall I?’

  ‘We’ll do it together,’ said Sarah, trying her hardest not to show what an awful blow it had been. But there was no answer at number thirty-five, and it looked to Sarah as if it had been locked up for the duration, for every curtain was closed, and there was a padlock on the garage door.

  The lady at number forty-one was very sympathetic, but didn’t know anyone called Cordelia Fuller. She knew only that the family at number thirty-nine had lived there for some years and the mother had taken her children to the West Country while her husband was away with the Army.

  Sarah swallowed her disappointment and thanked her before asking the way to Mafeking Terrace. It turned out to be some way to the north of the town, beyond the park and right beneath the towering hill that overlooked Cliffehaven. With heavy hearts they began to trudge back the way they had come.

  Mafeking Terrace was a narrow cul-de-sac which was almost lost in a maze of similar streets that wound along the bottom of the hill and afforded the residents an excellent distant view of the seafront. Every red-brick bungalow looked the same, with a sloping roof over two heavily taped front windows and a short cinder path leading to a sturdy wooden door in which a circle of stained glass had been embedded. There was no real front garden, just a scrap of lawn and a small flower bed. ‘Sea Vista’ was halfway down.

  Sarah took a deep breath, walked up the path and rapped the brass knocker. There was a flicker of movement behind the lace curtains at the nearest window, and Sarah grinned at Jane. ‘At least someone’s at home,’ she murmured. ‘Let’s hope it’s Aunt Amelia.’

  But there was no sound of approaching footsteps – in fact there was utter silence. Puzzled, Sarah rapped the knocker again, and after another long moment of nothing happening, dared to push the letter box open just enough so she could see into the hall.

  Her pulse began to race as she realised the occupant was standing in an open doorway at the end of the narrow hall. She could only conclude that the old lady must be frightened to open her door to strangers, and peering through her letter box was surely only making her even more nervous.

  ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Great Aunt Amelia Fuller? It’s Sarah and Jane Fuller from Malaya. We didn’t mean to frighten you, but do you think you could let us in?’

  ‘Go away and leave me alone.’ The voice came from the depths of the bungalow and was far from pleasant.

  Sarah and Jane looked at one another in shock. ‘She must have misheard,’ muttered Jane. ‘Try again.’

  ‘Great Aunt Amelia, we’re sorry to disturb you,’ called Sarah. ‘Didn’t you get my father’s telegram? His name’s Jock Fuller, and his father was your brother, Charles.’

  There was no response, so Sarah tentatively pushed the letter box open again. ‘We’ve got nowhere else to go, Aunt Amelia. Please let us in,’ she begged.

  ‘If you don’t leave my property I shall call the police. Now be off with you.’

  Sarah stepped back in shock at her vehemence. ‘Will you at least tell us how to find Aunt Cordelia?’ she ventured. ‘Is she still alive and living in Cliffehaven?’

  There was the sound of a slamming door. If that old witch really was Great Aunt Amelia, then she clearly had nothing else to say.

  ‘What shall we do?’ asked Jane fearfully. ‘It’s getting late and it’ll soon be dark.’

  Sarah was close to tears, but she couldn’t let Jane see how furious she was with that horrid old woman – and how frightened she was not having anywhere else to go. ‘We’ll go back to the High Street and see if there’s someone at the Town Hall. I seem to remember seeing a WVS sign outside.’

  ‘Hello, dear. Can I help you?’ They both turned at the sound of the voice coming from the next bungalow’s doorway. The speaker was a pleasant-faced elderly woman who came out to her garden gate to speak to them.

  ‘We thought our Aunt Amelia Fuller lived next door to you,’ explained Sarah, ‘but we were obviously mistaken.’

  The elderly woman shook her head. ‘Oh, that was Amelia all right,’ she muttered, ‘but she’s as mean as they come, and if she thinks you want something then she clams up.’ She eyed their suitcases. ‘I heard you say you’ve just arrived from Malaya.’

  Time was of the essence, and Sarah didn’t really want to get into a long explanation, even though this old lady seemed very pleasant. ‘That’s right,’ she said, ‘and we’ve been trying to get in touch with Amelia and her sister Cordelia. I don’t suppose you know where we could find Cordelia? Only it appears that her house has been bombed.’

  ‘I’m sorry, dears, but I don’t get out much any more, so I’ve rather lost track of everyone. I remember Cordelia, though, nice little body.’ She grimaced as she glanced to the bungalow next door. ‘Not like her sister at all.’ She thought for a moment and then shook her head. ‘I seem to remember Cordelia moved into a boarding house with a local family after her husband died,’ she murmured, ‘but I can’t for the life of me remember their name.’

  Sarah felt a twinge of hope. ‘What was her married name?’

  The old lady frowned as she struggled to remember. ‘Something like Sparrow or Thrush or Swallow.’ She shook her head in frustration. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve not been much help, have I?’

  ‘You’ve been very kind, thank you,’ said Jane.

  ‘I’d offer you a bed for the night, but I already have two evacuees living in and simply don’t have the room,’ she said worriedly. ‘I do hope you find Cordelia, and when you do, give her my regards. It’s Olive Farmer.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Farmer, we’ll do that.’ They hastily moved away before she could prolong the conversation and trudged their weary way back to the Town Hall. All the shops were closed now, and when they arrived, it was to discover there was no one from the WVS to welcome them and that every spare inch of space had been taken up with beds, baggage, prams and squalling children.

  They stood with their suitcases at their feet in utter despair and bewilderment until a little woman in a wrap-round apron approached them with a screaming baby in her arms.

  ‘It’s all right, ducks,’ she said after they’d told her their plight. ‘No need to look so down in the mouth. I’ll find you a couple of blankets and you can bed down in the Mayor’s parlour for the night. He doesn’t need it until tomorrow anyway.’

  She gave them a cheerful wink and they followed her to the store cupboard, which she unlocked, and then she handed them two blankets and pillows. ‘You’re supposed to sign for them,’ she confided in a stage whisper, ‘but the office is locked, and I reckon you look honest enough.’

  Sarah and Jane took the bedding and followed her into the Mayor’s parlour, which was a sharp contrast to the crowded, echoing room they’d just come from. ‘Thank you so much,’ breathed Jane. ‘You’re a real lifesaver.’

  The woman shrugged. ‘In times like these we all need an ’and now and again,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘Just remember to be out of here by eight – the Mayor likes to make an early start.’ She cocked her head and looked them up and down. ‘This is a one-off,’ she warned. ‘You’ll have to go to the authorities and get a proper billet in the morning.’

  ‘Is there anywhere we can buy something to eat?’ asked Jane.

  ‘Yeah, there’s a chi
ppy just up the road. He’ll do you a nice spam fritter if you ask him with a smile.’

  After she’d closed the door behind her the sisters looked at one another and giggled. ‘It looks as if we’re going to have to get used to the awful spam if we’re not to die of starvation,’ said Jane.

  ‘At least we’ve got somewhere to stay for tonight,’ said Sarah. ‘Come on, help me push these heavy chairs together so we can make them like beds. And look, there’s a gas fire. We can even have a bit of warmth as well.’

  They pushed the chairs end to end and placed the blankets and pillows on them before trying to work out how to get the gas fire going. After a bit of experimentation they discovered it took sixpences, and were soon bathed in a satisfying warmth.

  Sarah left Jane by the fire and ventured out again to find the mysterious chippy. She didn’t really know what she was looking for, and then she smelled the mouth-watering aroma of frying fat and vinegar wafting towards her and saw the queue of people waiting. The taped window was steamed up but she could see the menu, and it appeared that chips and spam fritters were not the only thing on offer, and her spirits rose at the thought of some lovely fish.

  Yet, as she stood patiently in the queue and listened in to the orders of those in front of her, she realised there wasn’t any fish or sausages to be had. Like it or loathe it, spam was her only option.

  Having overheard the way to ask for two fritters and something called mushy peas, with tuppenceworth of chips, she clutched the unfamiliar small change in her hand and managed to sound quite confident as she asked for an added splash of vinegar, a bit of salt and a pickled onion. Her mouth was watering so much she could barely speak, and once their supper had been carefully wrapped in newspaper, she put the right money on the counter and ran back to the Town Hall.