A Mother Forever
Page 31
‘She was here. I was talking to her,’ the man said as he brushed dust from his clothes and gingerly moved his limbs.
‘Are you Herbie Wilcox?’ Eddie asked as he continued to look for Ruby, pulling away wood and anything that could be hiding her body. Herbie nodded, looking distracted.
‘Look out over there!’ came a shout from men a little distance away, who were helping the injured. ‘There could be another explosion at any time.’
‘Please – you’ve got to help me search for Ruby,’ Eddie pleaded, as Herbie started to back away from the hut.
But Herbie was hurrying away. ‘It’s dangerous to stay here . . .’ he called over his shoulder.
Eddie wanted to wring the man’s neck, but instead he continued to look for Ruby, calling her name as he did so.
‘Eddie . . . Eddie . . . Is that you?’ a faltering voice asked, as he turned towards the worst of the damaged work huts.
He rushed over to where Ruby lay amongst a pile of rubble. Blood was dripping from the side of her head, and from a gash where the sleeve of her jacket was ripped away. Lifting her in his arms, Eddie turned and ran with her away from the sheds just as an almighty explosion decimated what was left of shed number five.
Stopping by the gate of the yard to make way for the fire vehicles, he carefully set his wife onto her feet. ‘I won’t let you go,’ he promised as he searched her face before gently kissing her lips. ‘I’ll never let you go.’
Epilogue
8th May 1945
Ruby sat at her dressing table, checking that the dab of lipstick her granddaughter had insisted she needed had not smudged onto her teeth. ‘Not bad for an old one, eh, Eddie?’ She smiled at the silver-framed photograph beside her. It had been taken at the dairy’s annual dinner and dance for retired employees, not long before Eddie had been taken ill and gently slipped away.
Running her finger over the image of his smiling face, she sighed. ‘What would you make of the world today, my love? Here we are, celebrating the end of another war, and me all done up to the nines.’
She walked over to the window of her bedroom and looked out to where the residents of Alexandra Road were preparing for that afternoon’s street party. Bunting had been pulled out of lofts that had been packed away since the king’s coronation. All kinds of tables and chairs were being lined up and would be covered with bedsheets as tablecloths before the food for children was brought out, donated by most of the families in the road. Ruby had promised her piano to the celebrations; the men would wheel it from her front room onto the pavement later in the day. They would play tunes for children’s games, and later the adults would sing around it when the barrel of beer was opened. It would be a grand day, one they’d waited a long time for.
‘You’d have enjoyed this,’ she said to Eddie’s smiling face. ‘You always did enjoy your beer. You’d have loved to bounce one of your grandchildren on your knee – why, even your two great-grandchildren,’ she added, thinking of Sarah’s youngsters. ‘Time has certainly moved on, and I have so many memories to hang on to in my older years. I hope you’re looking down on me today, my love, and giving me your blessings.’
‘Talking to yourself, Mum?’ George said as he entered the bedroom. ‘I thought I’d come up and see if you were all right. The women are getting jittery in case you’ve changed your mind.’ He joined her at the window.
‘I was reminiscing. It seems to be the day for it, with so much happening in our little road.’
‘It certainly is a day for looking back as well as forward,’ George agreed as he put his arms round Ruby. ‘Do you remember the day we moved here – and Stella helped you when you lost the baby?’
‘It’s something I will never forget. The kindness of the Green family, and how those boys suffered during the Great War. It’s as if it happened yesterday. Time has flown by so fast. Did I tell you I received a lovely card from Frank? He wasn’t up to coming today. Oh, he gave his reasons, but I felt it would have been too hard visiting the town and digging up so many sad memories. He’s never been the same since Stephen died, bless him.’
‘Once this is all over, we must go down to Eastbourne and visit Uncle Frank. I have my faithful Box Brownie, so hopefully there will be some photographs to show him as well. That’s if I haven’t chopped everyone’s heads off,’ George chuckled. ‘I’m sure Frank will be delighted to meet the new Mrs Bob Jackson.’
‘I’m not sure how I’ll get used to being called Ruby Jackson, after all these years of being Ruby Caselton,’ she said. Returning to the dressing table, she picked up the photograph. ‘I hope I’m not letting him down.’
‘Oh, you daft woman,’ her son said fondly. ‘Dad would be so proud of you. In fact, I like to think he’s up there now in a celestial pub in the clouds, raising a pint pot to all of us. I’m not sure my Irene would be with him, although she’d be pleased for you all the same. Marrying a retired police sergeant is something she’d be impressed with. Possibly she would raise a glass of dry sherry.’
‘I am doing the right thing, aren’t I?’
George sighed. Anyone who knew Ruby would say that Bob had brightened her life in recent years. He smiled at the thought of how their paths had crossed so many years before, when Bob, then a young constable, had spent hours in the cupboard under the stairs sheltering from a raid in the first war alongside Ruby. She was only dithering now because of her loyalty to his late dad, even after the merry dance he’d led her for so many years before he rescued her from the terrible disaster down at the Gilbert factory. George could have lost his mum that day. Twelve of the workers had perished – one of them from this very road. Since that day in 1924, his parents had hardly left each other’s sides, making up for all the lost years until his dad passed away just before Christmas 1937.
Eddie had been as good as his word: apart from an occasional glass of bitter at family parties or down the working men’s club, he’d been a reformed character. George knew that his parents had had a good life together, even if it had taken them twenty years to settle into it. Now his mum had met Bob – and he and his son Mike had slotted into the fold of the Caselton family and friends so well.
‘Yes, Mum. You are doing the right thing in marrying Bob, and you know it. So come on – let’s put your hat straight, and then we can get on with the party afterwards. It’s not just your wedding we are celebrating, but the end of the war as well. I’ll see you downstairs,’ he said, kissing her cheek.
Left alone, Ruby stared at the little photograph, then lifted it to her lips and kissed the glass. ‘There will always be a place for you in my heart, Eddie Caselton,’ she murmured, before placing the photograph away in a drawer and closing it slowly.
She drew a breath, then said to herself, ‘Time to move on.’ And went to join her family.
Acknowledgements
My fear when writing these acknowledgements is that I will forget someone who played a part in the creation of this book. My deepest apologies if I do. I appreciate everyone who plays a part in helping my stories leap from my mind onto the page.
My agent, Caroline Sheldon, and her lovely staff who are there at the end of the phone when I need help and advice. Caroline Hogg, my brilliant editor at Pan Macmillan, along with Samantha Fletcher, Camilla Rockwood and the editing team who work their magic on my words. I apologize again for the rubbish you have to wade through. Bethan and Meghan from ED PR for getting news of my books out to readers – you do a wonderful job, thank you. Some of you may have come across my new website and blog, and it would still be in the imagination of this dinosaur if it wasn’t for the skill of author and web designer, Charlotte Duckworth. Thank you!
Writing A Mother Forever took me to another moment in time. Although this book is set in Erith, just like the Woolworths series, it is set in an earlier time period. It was such an adventure to move back through the years to 1905, the year trams appeared in the streets and the riverside town was thriving. The streets were lined with beautiful houses and there wa
s an abundance of shops, with Alexandra Road just a few years old. As I took those first tentative steps into this new world, I had many questions about the town that I feared getting wrong. So, who better to turn to than the team at Bexley Archives. I’ve lost count of the many gems I’ve come across while delving into the records, or attending library talks and the Bexley Book Buzz Literary Festival, or just dipping into the records. I’m fascinated by the stories of the brickfields around the town and grateful for the way staff kept alive the memories of the fallen of World War One. Will Cooban, I kept my promise and included a certain name . . .
As a child a local story from 1924 had always fascinated me, and I was keen to include it in one of my books. A terrible explosion at the W. V. Gilbert munition works, on the banks of the Thames between Erith and Slades Green, on 18th February 1924 took the lives of twelve young women and their foreman. As a child who had played on the riverbank in the 1960s it was unimaginable, but to visit Brook Street cemetery with my mum and stop to look at the memorial to the dead just inside the gates brought home to me the enormity of the tragic event. I had no idea my paternal grandmother had worked in munitions and had left the works just a year or so before to give birth to her first son, my uncle Cyril. It was never mentioned and we grandkids never asked. Now it is too late. Imagine then how thrilled I was to come across recordings, courtesy of the Imperial War Museum, of women who had worked at Gilbert’s and also the Woolwich Arsenal during World War One and afterwards. These women most probably rubbed shoulders with my nan – in fact, if you spotted a character in my book named Cissie, who lived in South Road and befriended Ruby, it may just have been Nan . . .
Speaking of W. V. Gilbert, you may have spotted a very young Maureen Gilbert pop up in this book. Maureen is a much-loved character from the Woolworth series and is no relation to the munition works owner – a pure coincidence.
I’d best say thank you to my husband, Michael, and our dog, Henry, who keep me grounded and sane while I work on my novels. My husband likes to remind me that if it wasn’t for him the name on the cover of my books would not be Everest!
Again, thank you all for your help.
A Letter from Elaine
Dear Reader,
Hello again. It doesn’t feel that long since I sat down to write my last letter to you, and what a time it has been. Who would have guessed what we were facing back in the spring? I pray that you and yours are keeping well as it is all we can ask for at the moment.
Thank you to readers who searched out a copy of Wedding Bells for Woolworths even though the world was in lockdown and we could not venture far from home at the end of April. Our supermarkets did their best to stock the book, but I have to confess that I was worried anyone would endanger themselves by going out of their way to buy a copy. Online we discovered the joy of buying from independent bookshops. I discovered Hive.co.uk, who not only deliver books but pass a percentage to local bookshops. Isn’t that nice? I’m sure like me you have used your e-reader more than usual. Did your reading material change at all? I found myself reading more crime and psychological thrillers as well as lots of new romcom authors. Pure escapism!
Working from home, I had thought life would go on as usual, but of course I was wrong. Being told to stay home can mess with our heads, and with cancelling so many author talks, workshops, book signings and events I’ve been climbing the walls at times. However, thank goodness for social media where we’ve been able to chat about every subject under the sun. Our moods must have been lifted by being able to turn on our laptops and natter with our friends. I’ve enjoyed watching author talks via Zoom, along with weekly chats with fellow saga authors on Messenger. July saw me reach a special anniversary when I celebrated forty years free of breast cancer. How those years have sped by, but how grateful I am that the dedication of my consultant meant I was able to live to write my books, grow old (ish), and get to know you all. I’m truly grateful as many people, my own mother included, never had that chance.
I’ve been posting on my blog and have set up a newsletter section for readers. Have you signed up to both? If not pop over to my website (details below) and complete the box for the newsletter, and also for blog notifications, which you will find on the blog page. I plan to have special competitions available for anyone following my newsletters.
What do we have to look forward to? Well, at the time of writing we’ve got Christmas – I plan to read as many Christmas books as possible to get me into the festive spirit, and as it’s my birthday I may just raise a glass or two to fellow Christmas babies. Is there one in your family?
2021 will see two books from me: the first, of course, is this one; the second is something completely different, but you will have to wait a little while longer to hear more . . .
With love,
Elaine xx
You can visit me here:
Twitter: @ElaineEverest
Facebook: Elaine Everest Author
Instagram: @elaine.everest
Website and blog: www.elaineeverest.com
A Mother Forever
Elaine Everest was born and brought up in north-west Kent, where her books are set, and has written widely for women’s magazines – both short stories and features – as well as fiction and non-fiction books for the past twenty-four years. Successful in writing competitions, she was shortlisted for the Harry Bowling Prize and was BBC Radio Kent’s short-story writer of the year in 2003.
A qualified tutor, she runs The Write Place creative writing school in Hextable, Kent. Elaine lives with her husband, Michael, and their Polish Lowland Sheepdog, Henry, in Swanley, Kent.
You can say hello to Elaine on
Twitter: @ElaineEverest
Facebook: Elaine Everest Author
Instagram: @elaine.everest
Website and blog: www.elaineeverest.com
Also by Elaine Everest
The Woolworths Girls
Carols at Woolworths (ebook novella)
Christmas at Woolworths
Wartime at Woolworths
A Gift from Woolworths
Wedding Bells for Woolworths
The Butlins Girls
The Teashop Girls
Christmas with the Teashop Girls
First published 2021 by Macmillan
This electronic edition published 2021 by Macmillan
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
The Smithson, 6 Briset Street, London EC1M 5NR
EU representative: Macmillan Publishers Ireland Limited,
Mallard Lodge, Lansdowne Village, Dublin 4
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5290-1597-3
Copyright © Elaine Everest 2021
Cover images: Woman © Colin Thomas, all other images © Shutterstock
The right of Elaine Everest to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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