Chapter Ten
The New Year of 1940 brought Sally’s first kiss. It had happened beneath the mistletoe that hung over the front door of Beach View, and she’d forgotten her shy awkwardness, giving herself up to the sweet and unfamiliar sensations that raced through her. He’d looked into her eyes then, and asked if she’d be his girl – and of course she’d said yes.
But while Sally and John were falling in love, and Anne and Martin were finally preparing for their wedding, the world around them was a far darker and more menacing place. Martin’s squadron, which included Alex and his Polish comrades, was flying ever more missions into Europe. Two million men between the ages of nineteen and twenty-seven were called up, along with the unemployed. February had brought terrible storms all over the country making it even more difficult to get supplies through, or travel anywhere and, in April, Denmark and Norway were invaded.
In May there was a change of leadership in Parliament, and Churchill took the helm of a coalition government and made his first broadcast speech in the House of Commons. Like everyone else in the country, Sally and the family at Beach View sat by the wireless and listened in awe as he offered his blood, toil, tears and sweat to the cause of defeating the advancing enemy.
The heart-stopping news that Paris had fallen and France had surrendered was swiftly followed by the fall of Belgium and Holland. The enemy guns could now be heard across the Channel. Invasion was suddenly a very real possibility.
Sally came out of the factory, tired and dispirited. Her position as line-manager had proved harder than she’d expected and, at the end of every shift, she was wrung out. Things had gone well to begin with, but as the weeks had gone on and she’d had to be rather firm over sloppy sewing, bad timekeeping, pilfering and too much gossiping during work, a few of the women had taken umbrage.
Their numbers weren’t large, but their whispering campaign had begun to wear Sally down – now they didn’t bother to lower their voices when they discussed her youthful lack of experience in management, and the fact they thought she was getting ideas above her station. It was even suggested she’d only got the job because she was Goldman’s favourite, and there was a lot of sniggering and elbowing as she made her regular trips to the office with the work-sheets.
She knew she should ignore them – there always had to be someone who was the focus of gossip, and she’d accepted the challenge of trying to keep them in order – but it was wearing to be constantly criticised, especially as she knew she was doing the job well.
Work was frequently disrupted by false alarms, but productivity was up, Goldman was pleased with her, and even Simmons gave his grudging praise when he saw the day’s output. At least she could rely on the majority of the women, especially Pearl, Brenda and Edie, a sweet, shy girl from Croydon who’d arrived in January, and was billeted with Pearl at the elderly couple’s house north of town.
‘Would the lady like a lift?’
She’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t noticed him waiting outside the gates on his motorbike. The weariness fled at the welcome surprise. ‘My dad said I shouldn’t accept lifts from strange men,’ she chuckled.
‘And my mum told me not to pick up girls on street corners,’ he replied, his handsome face creased in a smile. ‘But I’ll risk it if you will.’
She still blushed when he looked at her like that. ‘Go on then, but I’ve got to get straight back, cos Anne’s due for her last fitting.’
‘You’re a clever girl, Sally Turner, and I’m a lucky man.’ He hesitated for a moment as if he was about to say something else, then smiled and carefully placed the spare helmet over her head.
As Sally waited for him to fasten the buckle beneath her chin, she breathed in the scent of him. It was such a manly smell – of good woollen cloth, Brylcreem and Lifebuoy soap. He moved closer, his lips softly tracing kisses over her cheeks and nose before they lingered tantalisingly on her mouth.
She gave herself up to the kiss, swept away in the delicious sensations he was arousing.
‘Are you sure you have to go straight home?’ he murmured against her lips.
She gently pulled away from him. ‘I’m certain,’ she replied softly. ‘Anne’s wedding’s only three weeks away and there’s still a lot to do. Parachute silk isn’t the easiest fabric to work with, you know.’
He heaved a sigh, gave her a swift hug and helped her clamber on to the back of the motorcycle. ‘You have no idea what you’re doing to me, Sally Turner,’ he groaned. ‘I don’t get to see you nearly enough, and when I do, you’re always rushing off somewhere.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry,’ she replied, cupping his cheek with her hand. ‘What about we go to the pictures tomorrow night? I’m sure Peggy won’t mind looking after Ernie.’
‘I can’t,’ he said, his gaze fixed to a remote spot over her shoulder. ‘I’ve got to go somewhere.’
She frowned. ‘Anywhere nice?’
‘I can’t really say.’ He took her hands, his expression earnest. ‘Sally, you’ve got to trust me, all right? There’s something I have to do, but I’m not allowed to tell anyone about it – not yet anyway.’
She was still frowning as she regarded him suspiciously. He was behaving very strangely, and it was unlike him not to be open with her. ‘All right,’ she replied hesitantly. ‘We can go to the pictures the night after.’
He rammed on the helmet and took a moment to fasten it under his chin, his gaze still not meeting hers. ‘I don’t know, Sal. I might be away for more than one night.’
She eyed him suspiciously, the chill growing inside at his obvious reluctance to tell her the truth. ‘You’re beginning to sound like Ron. He’s been disappearing for two or three days at a time as well, and refuses to tell anyone where he’s been.’ She eyed him keenly. ‘Peggy thinks he’s finally managed to nab Rosie Braithwaite at the pub. You ain’t playing me false, are you?’
‘I wouldn’t do that, Sal,’ he said urgently. ‘I thought you knew me better.’ He leaned closer, his voice low and urgent. ‘This trip has nothing to do with any damned woman,’ he hissed. ‘But it’s hush-hush and I can’t say anything.’
Startled by his fierceness, she regarded him warily. ‘It sounds a bit much,’ she murmured, ‘like something out of one of Ernie’s comics.’
‘I suppose it does,’ he replied, anxiously. ‘But I promise you Sal, when I get back I’ll tell you everything.’ He kissed her firmly, their helmets clashing. Then he climbed on to the motorcycle, told her to hang on, and drove down the road.
Sally clung to him, her cheek pressed against the soft wool of his coat, her heart banging painfully against her ribs. There was something going on in Cliffehaven – she and Peggy had felt it all week; had even discussed it this morning – and it looked as if John was part of it. She closed her eyes, hating the secrecy and fear, longing for this awful war to be over – and praying that whatever it was that was taking him away would see him return to her safe and unharmed.
When they’d pulled up outside Beach View, Sally took off the helmet, but remained clinging to him. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,’ she said. ‘Please be careful, John. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.’
He swung off the bike and pulled her to him in a tight embrace. ‘No-one and nothing will stop me coming back to you, Sal. I promise.’
After a long kiss goodnight, he tore reluctantly from their embrace and climbed on to the motorbike. Sally stood on the steps and waited until the sound of it faded into the distance. She had to believe he would return to her – and that their fledgling romance was meant to flourish in the ashes of a war that must be won.
Sniffing back the tears, she opened the door. Her worries over John were instantly muted by the unfamiliar and therefore frightening sound of angry voices in Peggy’s kitchen. She froze.
Jim’s roar of anger was followed by Peggy’s plea for him to calm down. Then came the sound of a man’s voice she couldn’t identify. It was calmer than Jim’s but edged with barely controlled fury. Stung into action by the need to protect Peggy, she hurried into the room.
Cissy and Anne were sitting warily at the kitchen table. Peggy was in her usual chair by the range and Ron was standing helplessly by as the two big men stood in the middle of Peggy’s kitchen shouting each other down. It was clear that all three men were related, and Sally realised this must be the brother Jim hadn’t spoken to since being demobbed after the previous war.
‘You’re not welcome in this house, Frank. Get out.’ Jim was almost nose to nose with his brother, who stood like a rock, refusing to be intimidated.
‘I’ll go when I’ve said my piece and not before.’ Frank exchanged glare for glare, his fists curling at his sides, his eyes flashing with anger. ‘You always were a hot-head, Jim, but this time you need to actually listen for a change instead of running off at the mouth.’
‘I’ve done listening to you,’ Jim bellowed. ‘Get out, before I throw you out.’
‘Why don’t the two of you sit down and talk like civilised human beings instead of yelling at each other?’ said Ron, shoving himself between them. ‘You’re brothers, for God’s sake. Isn’t there enough fighting in this world without you tearing into one another?’
‘If you all don’t stop shouting this instant, I’ll put the lot of you in the street,’ snapped Peggy. ‘The children are asleep and I don’t want them waking to the sight of you at each other’s throats.’
She saw Sally hovering in the doorway and waved her into the kitchen. ‘I apologise for their behaviour, Sally, but it seems my husband and his brother have forgotten their manners.’
Sally edged into the room and slid on to the nearest kitchen chair beside Anne, who immediately grasped her hand and gave her a nervous smile. But Sally found little comfort in the other girl’s gesture – she’d seen too many fights in her life, and hated them; but to see such anger in this particular kitchen shocked her to the core.
‘You don’t apologise for me, Peg,’ snarled Jim. ‘This is my house, and I’ll do what I want.’ He threw himself into a chair, legs sprawled, arms tightly folded as he glared at his brother. ‘You’ve got five minutes to tell me why you’re in my kitchen before I boot you out,’ he growled.
Frank lifted his chin, his stance square and determined. After a glance at his father, he began to speak. ‘Since the war started I’ve lost most of my fishing crews. Two of the big trawlers have been taken to be used as minesweepers, and my four sons – along with all the other lads, have joined the Royal Naval Reserve. I’ve had to haul up and store all but two of the smaller boats because all I have left are three old men and a boy to run them.’
‘I don’t want to hear your hard-luck stories,’ rumbled Jim. ‘Get to the bloody point.’
Frank took a step towards him, his expression grim. ‘What I’m about to tell you is top secret, so I want your word you’ll say nothing outside this room.’
Jim sneered. ‘You’re just a fisherman, Frank – not some high-ranking boffin from the MoD.’ He snorted derisively. ‘Top secret, my arse.’
‘I think you should listen to your brother, Jim,’ said Ron, quietly. ‘There are things going on in Cliffehaven you know nothing about.’
Jim stared at his father, his tone caustic. ‘And I suppose you’ve got an ear to it all, eh, old man?’
‘I know more than you give me credit for,’ he retorted. ‘Frank wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important, so hold off the aggression and listen to him.’
Jim snorted again and fidgeted in the chair. ‘Go on, then. Spit it out. I’ll not be telling anyone you and Da have gone soft in the head.’
Frank got everyone’s assurance to keep his secret, and Peggy firmly closed the door to the basement. ‘Walls have ears,’ she said, ‘and so do small boys.’
She signed to Sally to shut the door into the hall then returned to sit on the edge of her seat by the range. ‘I know something’s up – there’s been a strange atmosphere in the town all week, especially down at the fishing station. What’s it all about, Frank?’
‘Every seaworthy craft of a certain size in the south of the country has been commandeered by the government for a special mission,’ he began. ‘From private motorboats to pleasure steamers, decked-in luggers and open fishing punts, they’re being taken up the coast. The local fishermen still working their boats are all going, and I plan to be one of them.’
He had everyone’s attention as he turned to Jim. ‘But it will be dangerous out there, and I can’t take old men and boys with me. I need you to crew the Seagull.’
‘I haven’t been in a fishing boat for years,’ Jim retorted. ‘I’d be no use to you.’
‘You know the boat as well as me, Jim. After all, we use to fish her together when we were lads.’
‘That was when I could trust you,’ muttered Jim, holding his gaze evenly and without affection.
‘I’ll go with you,’ said Ron, eyes shining at the prospect of an adventure. ‘To be sure I taught you all I know, and an old sea-dog never forgets.’
‘No, Dad,’ Frank said firmly. ‘Not this time.’
‘I’m as strong as you, and tougher than Jim who’s got soft sitting in that projection room every day. I know the sea and everything it can throw at me, and—’
Frank silenced his father with a heavy hand on his shoulder. ‘I admire your courage, Da,’ he said quietly, ‘and I have no doubt you’re as fit and strong as a butcher’s dog. But I won’t be having your safety to worry about – things could turn very nasty out there, and I’ll need me wits about me.’
‘Oh, my God,’ breathed Peggy. ‘You’re going across the Channel, aren’t you?’
Frank hesitated and then nodded. ‘We have to rendezvous further up the coast before dawn tomorrow.’
‘But the Channel’s mined,’ gasped Sally. ‘You could all be killed.’
‘You mustn’t go – either of you,’ said Peggy. ‘I won’t allow it.’
‘We’ll have the navy escorting us,’ said Frank. ‘It will be as safe as it is sitting in a shelter during an air-raid.’
‘But …’
Frank’s expression hardened. ‘Our men are trapped with no way of escaping those beaches unless we do something about it, Peggy. The boats are their only hope. I have to go.’ He turned back to his younger brother. ‘What about it, Jim? Are you coming – or do I have to find someone else?’
Jim eyed him in silence for a long, tense moment. ‘I’ve got a job to keep as well as fire-watch and warden duties. How long will we be away?’
Frank shrugged. ‘I can’t honestly say. But I’m sure Peg can tell your boss something to keep him sweet until you get back.’
Sally saw Jim glance at Peggy, that fleeting look expressing his mixed emotions. She saw the tears in Peggy’s eyes and the fear as she waited to hear his answer. Anne and Cissy had the same haunted look in their eyes – and she knew it reflected her own terror. Could it be that John’s mysterious absence had something to do with this fleet of fishing boats and pleasure craft?
‘Is John Hicks going with you, Frank?’ she blurted out.
‘I have no idea, but as his uncle is a fisherman, it’s likely.’
Sally could feel the hammer-blows of her heart against her ribs and was certain everyone could hear them in the deathly silence of that kitchen.
‘I’m sorry, Peg,’ Jim muttered. ‘I can’t stay here while our men need rescuing.’ He turned back to Frank. ‘You’ve got your crewman, Frank, but don’t expect me to talk to you.’
‘I doubt there’ll be much call for conversation,’ Frank replied grimly. ‘Get your things together, Jim. We have to leave within the hour if we’re to catch the tide.’
Sally took in the scene through her tears as Frank followed Jim out of the kitchen. Peggy was trying very hard to be brave, but as she bustled into action and set Cissy and Anne to making flasks of tea while she made fish-paste sandwiches, she began to crumble.
Anne and Cissy immediately rushed to her side and helped her into her chair. Sally stifled her emotions, took the knife and continued to make the sandwiches as the three of them huddled by the meagre fire and sobbed. She wanted to cry too, but tears wouldn’t do John or the others any good – she just had to keep her fears tightly locked in and do her best to remain strong for all of them.
‘I’m sorry, Peg,’ said Frank, returning in sea boots, the thick waterproof coat and sou’wester slung over his arm. ‘But I didn’t know who else to ask. The Seagull isn’t the easiest boat to crew in a swell, and Jim knows her foibles.’
‘I know them too,’ muttered Ron. ‘I don’t see why I can’t come.’
‘Da,’ sighed Frank, ‘someone’s got to stay here and look after the women and kids. They need you more than ever now.’
‘But Jim hasn’t been in that boat for years,’ protested Peggy, her face streaked with tears. ‘Isn’t there anyone else you could take instead?’
He hunkered down in front of her and took her hands. ‘There’s no-one I could trust more with the Seagull, Peg. He’ll soon remember how to handle her – and we have the trip along the coast to get him used to the feel of her again. He won’t have forgotten. He needs to do this, Peg, please try and understand.’
Peggy was about to reply when the air-raid siren began the terrible whine that soon rose to an ear-splitting crescendo.
Sally put her fears aside and raced upstairs to collect Ernie. Wrapping him in his blanket, she soothed his tearful complaints at having been woken for the third night running. She hurtled down the stairs to the kitchen where Anne, Cissy and Peggy were gathering blankets and all they might need for the next few hours.
Ron and Frank had already gone down to the basement to get the other boys, and Jim marched in, resplendent in corded trousers, thick sweater, waterproof coat and boots, carrying a sleepy and disorientated Mrs Finch.
There was no panic as they turned off the lights and trooped out of the back door and down the path to the Anderson shelter. They had become inured to spending nights within its cold damp walls, and this familiar routine was strangely comforting.
With Mrs Finch settled in her chair, Peggy lit the primus and heated milk for cocoa. It was one of the anomalies of the war that the milk and newspapers were delivered every day, regardless of what had happened the night before.
Sally kept Ernie on her lap and tried to make herself as small as possible in the tight squeeze of so many people. Cissy and Anne sat either side of their parents, the two boys on their laps. Ron kept Harvey firmly against his chest, wrapped in the folds of his poacher’s coat, and Frank sat edgily by the door, clearly impatient to be away to his boat.
Searchlights raked the sky and the wailing siren mingled with Harvey’s anguished howls.
‘You should have put that animal down months ago,’ shouted Frank over the din.
‘I’ve had to let the ferrets go already,’ Ron yelled back, ‘and that was enough. Harvey hates the siren. When it stops wailing, so does he.’ He ruffled the dog’s ears and earned a lick on his face which he dried on the animal’s fur.
Sally held Ernie close as she remembered the day Ron had released his precious ferrets. He had asked her to go with him on that awful morning eight weeks ago, and she would never forget the anguish in the old man’s eyes as he’d been forced to face the fact that Cleo and Delilah were suffering.
He’d waited until everyone was out before he shut Harvey in the shed. As Sally watched, he’d taken Delilah and Cleo out of their cage, stroked them lovingly and given them some bread and milk before tucking them in his cavernous coat pockets. Their long walk up into the hills had been silent and thoughtful, accompanied only by the mournful cries of the gulls and the sweet-scented smoke coming from his pipe.
He’d chosen a spot by a ring of gorse where there were plenty of rabbit scrapings and burrows. She had sat on the springy grass beside him, the salt wind in her hair as he took the animals one by one from his pockets. He’d murmured to them as he’d stroked the soft pale fur of their bellies, and whispered his goodbyes as he’d gently put them down.
There were tears in his eyes as he watched them scurry into the nearby rabbit holes, but he said nothing as he helped Sally to her feet and began the long journey home.
Sally had walked silently beside him, knowing this was not the time for talk. But it seemed only natural to take his gnarled, rough hand in hers to offer tacit comfort and sympathy.
‘Thank you, me darlin’,’ he’d said softly, squeezing her fingers. ‘I knew you’d be the one to understand.’
And she had understood, for Delilah and Cleo were as much a part of him as the landscape. They had been his companions and his children – and now he’d had to say goodbye to them for ever.
She could feel the tears prick as she dipped her chin, resting it on Ernie’s head as she saw how Jim and Peggy were holding fiercely to their children, how Anne and Cissy were trying so hard to be brave for their mother’s sake, and the way Ron was regarding his sons, the love and fear for them doing battle in his eyes.
Her thoughts turned to John, to her father – and even to Florrie. Would she ever see them again? At this very moment she couldn’t believe any of them would survive, and she huddled in the flickering shadows of the hurricane lamp and waited for the enemy to come out of the skies.
The sirens stopped and the ensuing silence was deafening. Frank held his watch up to the meagre light and grimaced. ‘We’ve got to go, Jim.’
‘Now?’ Peggy put her hand over her mouth. ‘But the all-clear hasn’t gone, and there’s a curfew for the boats. No-one’s allowed out after dark – it isn’t safe – you could be mistaken for the enemy.’
‘The curfew’s been lifted tonight, Peg, and we’ll be all right for a while,’ said Frank. ‘Got your things together, Jim?’
‘In the hall.’ He took Peggy and the girls into his arms. ‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ he murmured. ‘Please don’t cry.’ He gently thumbed the tears from Peggy’s cheek before ruffling his sons’ hair. ‘Look after your mother and do as she tells you.’
‘Where are you going, Dad?’ they chorused.
‘Well, now,’ he said, with forced cheerfulness and a wink. ‘I’m going with your Uncle Frank on a wee adventure, and I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.’
He stood and gave Ron’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘I’m leaving you in charge,’ he said softly. ‘Look after them for me, Da.’
Frank hugged his father, said goodbye to everyone else, and left the shelter. With a nod to Sally and a soft touch to Ernie’s head, Jim followed him into the night.
Sally held Ernie close as the boys badgered Ron and Peggy with questions. The tears were blinding her and her heart felt as if it was being crushed by an iron hand. Jim and Frank were going into the unknown, braving the channel and the mines, heading for France and into the jaws of the enemy guns. And, if John was with them …?
She closed her eyes and tried to shut out the images of what might happen – but they remained with her.
When the all-clear finally sounded, they struggled, aching and stiff with cold, out of the Anderson shelter and into the dawn.
They silently trooped indoors, thankful that no raid had come, but weary of the nightly disturbances.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Peggy, then sank defeatedly into her chair. ‘I forgot to fill the kettle, and there’s no water. The fire’s gone out and … and …’ She burst into tears.
Cissy and Anne rushed to her, and the boys were on the verge of tears themselves as they witnessed this unsettling behaviour from a mother they’d never seen cry before.
‘I’ll light the fire,’ muttered Ron. ‘You boys go and get some wood from the shed. But mind how you go.’
Bob and Charlie took another worried look at their mother and then hurried downstairs, still in their nightclothes and slippers.
Sally took Ernie upstairs to get him washed and dressed, but her thoughts were of John, Jim and Frank, and suddenly she was overwhelmed by it all. The dangers had never seemed so real before, but now they were stark and terrifyingly close.
‘What is it, Sal? Why you gone a funny colour?’
‘Nothing,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I’m just a bit tired from spending all night in that shelter. Come on, let’s get you sorted, and then I can see about breakfast.’
* * *
The morning was spent cleaning the house while Ron kept the boys occupied in the vegetable garden. Sally realised she wasn’t the only one who needed to be busy so she didn’t have time to dwell on what might be happening out in the Channel, for Peggy, Cissy and Anne set to work cleaning as if their lives depended upon it.
It was her day off from the factory, and come mid-afternoon the housework was done.
‘Come on, Anne,’ Sally said. ‘We need to do the last fitting so I can finish your dress in time.’
‘I don’t feel very much like dressing up,’ Anne replied, her brown eyes huge in her wan face. ‘Martin’s probably out there now giving air-cover to the boats. How can I possibly even think about dresses and weddings and—?’
‘Because he’ll be coming home expecting you to marry him in three weeks’ time,’ said Sally firmly. ‘And you can’t do that in a dress that ain’t – that hasn’t been finished.’
‘But what if—?’
‘That’s quite enough of that,’ she said sternly, realising she was beginning to sound like Peggy. ‘We all got to get on with things, Anne. It’s the only way we’re going to win this bloody war.’ She took Anne’s arm and firmly steered her into the dining room and shut the door.
Anne stood and gazed out of the window. ‘You’re right of course,’ she murmured. ‘I’d be letting Martin down if I give in to such defeatist thoughts.’
Sally opened the trunk she now used to store her needlework away from the dust, and pulled out the dress, which she’d covered in a muslin sheet. There had been much discussion over what Anne should wear for her wedding, for even a day-dress would now mean handing over at least seven clothing coupons. Wedding dresses were as rare as hen’s teeth and would have cost a fortune if one could have been found, so most girls opted for something borrowed, or the uniform of the service in which they served.
Then Jim had come home with the parachute silk a few weeks ago. He’d refused to say where he’d got it, as usual, and as there had been no enemy airmen parachuting into the town, and the stores at the airfield were under lock and key, it was thought wiser not to ask any more questions.
She felt the slithery weight of it on her arm as she drew away the muslin sheet, and knew it was the finest thing she’d ever made. ‘Close the curtains, Anne,’ she said softly. ‘You don’t want half the street seeing you in your Liberty bodice and knickers.’
The room was plunged into darkness, and Anne switched on the light before stripping to her underwear. She slipped her feet into the white high-heeled sandals her Aunt Doris had lent her, and held out her arms so Sally could carefully slide on the dress. ‘It’s cold,’ she muttered with a shiver.
‘Silk is always cold at first,’ said Sally through a mouthful of pins. ‘It’ll soon warm up.’
The tiny buttons would fasten the dress from neck to hip, and it was important she got it just right, otherwise it would hang awkwardly. She smoothed the material over Anne’s hips and adjusted it at the shoulders and neck. They had all lost weight over the past months, due to shortages, stiff rationing and the sheer energy used in getting through each day, so it wasn’t surprising she had to take it in at the waist again.
‘I couldn’t get the right buttons,’ she mumbled through the pins, ‘but at least I found a dozen all the same size, if not the same colour.’ She rooted in the box on her sewing table, and took out a handful. ‘As you can see, I’ve started to cover each one with the same silk as the dress, so no-one will ever know.’
‘You are clever, Sally. I would never have the patience, or the skill, to do something like this.’
‘And I couldn’t be in a classroom all day with those kids,’ she muttered, as she pinned the back where she wanted the buttons and buttonholes to be. ‘I’d end up throttling them.’
‘I doubt it,’ murmured Anne. ‘You’ve endless patience with Ernie.’
‘He’s me – my brother,’ she said. She finished pinning the back of the dress and stood behind Anne as they admired the effect in the cheval mirror that Peggy had brought down from one of the bedrooms.
Anne’s dark hair and eyes were a perfect foil for the shimmering silk. The dress had a scooped neckline and cap sleeves, and fell from the close-fitting bodice into a waterfall of silk that would float around her ankles when she walked. To emphasise her tiny waist, Sally had stitched in a false belt at the front, which she’d decorated with scraps of lace, seed pearls and sequins to match the embellishment on the sleeves.
Sally gazed at her creation and wondered if she’d ever have the chance to wear such a beautiful dress – to look so regal, to feel so assured of being loved by the man she adored. Then she caught sight of her own reflection and realised she could never look as elegant or beautiful as Anne – and that although she was in love with John, that was no guarantee he loved her enough to ask her to marry him. She looked away from their reflections. She wasn’t quite seventeen anyway, so she was being silly to dream of such things.
Anne seemed to read her thoughts. ‘It’ll be your turn one day,’ she murmured.
Sally gave a great sigh and tried to extinguish the hope that burnt so brightly. With so many uncertainties at the moment, it wasn’t wise to try and see into the future. ‘You look ever so lovely,’ she said instead. ‘Like a princess.’
Anne grinned with delight. ‘I feel like a queen,’ she replied, swirling the skirt, and almost tripping over the hem.
‘Stand still before you tear the silk,’ said Sally hastily. ‘I need to pin the hem and, once that’s done, I can get on and finish it.’
* * *
The boys were just settling down to listen to Children’s Hour when the doorbell rang. As Sally and Anne were doing their best to put together an evening meal from Spam, whiskery potatoes and dried eggs, Peggy went to see who it was.
Sally could hear the voices in the hall, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. At least it didn’t sound like the telegraph boy with a dreaded brown envelope.
Peggy returned to the kitchen with a hesitant smile. ‘That was Miss Ormiston from the Billeting Office,’ she said. ‘It looks like we’ve got another couple of waifs and strays to look after, though how on earth we can make that food stretch to so many, I don’t know.’
Sally turned to greet the new arrivals, gasped in amazed horror and forgot her determination to speak nicely. ‘Pearl, Edie?’ She took in the dirty clothes, the tear-streaked faces and the two bulging, filthy pillowcases they carried. ‘Oh my Gawd,’ she breathed. ‘What ’appened to you?’
Pearl swept back her tangled hair with a dirty hand. ‘The ’ouse went up while we was at work last night,’ she said, stifling her tears. ‘The silly old bugger ’ad a big box of grenades he’d kept after the last war, ’idden in the cupboard by the chimney. The fireman said they musta deteriorated and got over’eated and blew up. The poor old dears never stood a blinking chance.’
Edie nodded dumbly. She wasn’t given to talking much at the best of times, but now she seemed too traumatised to say anything.
Pearl pointed at the pillowcases. ‘This is all we could salvage,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘The clean-up crew said it were too dangerous to look for anything else.’
Sally put her arms round both of them, sat them down and poured cups of tea that resembled dishwater. The leaves had already been used several times, but at least it was hot, and there was milk to help it go down.
Peggy returned to washing lettuce under the tap. ‘You can both have the room next to Sally’s,’ she said. ‘There’s only a double bed in there, so I hope you don’t mind sharing.’
‘That’s blindin’ Mrs Reilly,’ said Pearl, blowing on the tea. ‘I could sleep anywhere tonight, I’m that tired.’
‘Did you manage to salvage your ration books?’
They shook their heads. ‘Sorry, Mrs Reilly, but they went up with the ’ouse. Mrs Whatsit from the Billeting place gave us some temporary cards to be going on with though.’ Pearl reached into her coat pocket and pulled them out. ‘It could be a while before we get the proper ones.’
Once the tea had been drunk, Sally showed them upstairs and helped to make the bed, find towels and teach them how to use the gas boiler in the bathroom without losing their eyebrows.
Pearl was distraught as she tipped the contents of the two pillowcases on to the floor. ‘All our lovely things are gorn,’ she wailed, ‘and look what’s ’appened to me best dress, and Edie’s new jacket.’
Sally eyed the bedraggled bits of cotton and gathered everything up. ‘A bit of a wash and they’ll all come up lovely,’ she soothed. ‘You’ll feel better once you’ve had a bath as well. I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen when you’ve finished.’
‘I ’ope Mrs Reilly don’t mind us turning up like this,’ said Pearl.
‘She’s glad to have you, I’m sure,’ she said softly, ‘but she’s got things on her mind at the moment, so she’s not quite herself.’
Pearl and Edie looked at her questioningly, but it was Pearl who spoke. ‘Mr Reilly’s brother’s a fisherman, ain’t ’e? Have they gone over – you know – over there? Cos my Billy’s dad’s gone, and ’is mum don’t know what to do with ’erself, so I can guess what she’s going through.’
‘I think John has as well,’ she admitted, ‘and with Martin in the RAF, none of us are thinking straight at the moment.’
‘Oh, Gawd, Sal. Where will it all end?’ Pearl burst into tears again.
Sally rushed to comfort her. ‘We gotta keep strong, Pearl,’ she murmured, close to tears herself. ‘We just gotta for their sakes.’
An hour later, everyone had finished tea and cleared away. The boys had been put to bed and cigarettes had been lit as they sipped weak tea and sat by the wireless, fearfully waiting to hear the news.
It was the twenty-sixth of May, and the armada of little boats had been escorted by naval gunships through the minefields of the Channel to Dunkirk and the beaches of northern France. As the gunships gave covering fire, the RAF flew above those little ships as they headed for the shallow water and the hundreds of thousands of men stranded on the beaches. There was order amid the mayhem as those men awaited their turn to wade through the water, past fallen comrades, to reach their rescuers.
As Sally listened, she could only pray that they would all come home safely. But none of them realised they would have to wait another nine agonising days before there was any news of their loved ones.