by Ellie Dean
There was a path leading from the basement door past the coal bunker, shed and outside lav, through the vegetable plot and on to the back gate. Ron and Jim had fixed up a chicken run beside the shed to accommodate the few hens they’d been given by some grateful Australians. Those hens had proved to be good layers and didn’t seem to mind the air raids any more at all. Peggy smiled. It seemed chickens were as good at adapting to things as humans.
‘What are you grinning about, Mum?’
Peggy turned and put her arm round Anne’s thickened waist. ‘I was just thinking how lucky we are to have fresh eggs for breakfast – and what fun it was to have those Australians come to tea.’
Anne smiled back, her lovely face rosy with health, her dark hair shining. ‘It was quite a party, wasn’t it? Though I seem to remember Joe Buchanan caused a fearful row between Cissy and June. What happened to June, by the way? Is she still nursing at the hospital with Fran and Suzy?’
Peggy hadn’t told anyone but Jim about finding June in their bed with a young soldier. She’d thrown her out, bag and baggage. ‘She went to live in the nurses’ home for a bit,’ she said flatly, ‘but Fran told me she’d decided to get a nursing post in Leicester to be nearer her family.’ And good riddance to bad rubbish, she added silently.
Anne regarded her thoughtfully. ‘I get the feeling there was more to it than that,’ she said, ‘but she’s gone now, so I don’t suppose it matters. Does Joe still write to Cissy?’
Peggy finished her tea. ‘Now and again,’ she said, ‘but I think they both realise it was just a heat of the moment thing. They’d known each other less than twenty-four hours when he was posted abroad, hardly long enough for it to be a grand romance.’
Anne tucked her glossy black hair behind her ears. ‘Poor Cissy, she’s such a romantic. It must have felt as if she was in some sweeping drama – the handsome soldier off to war, the girl left behind to pine for him.’
‘I expect she did see it that way. You know Cissy, always theatrical. At least she’s not prancing about on some draughty stage any more, and actually doing something sensible for a change.’
‘Martin says she works jolly hard,’ said Anne, easing her back. ‘She’s quite surprised him.’
Peggy rinsed her cup and set it on the draining board. ‘It’s probably all for the best,’ she said, returning to the subject of Joe Buchanan. ‘Joe was a nice boy, but after the war he’ll be going back to the cattle farm in Australia, and I can’t see Cissy riding the range and branding steers like they do in the westerns – can you?’
Anne laughed. ‘Not for a minute. She might chip her nail varnish, and she couldn’t cope with that.’ She ran her hands over her prodigious bump. ‘I think I’ll have a bath now the house is quiet. Is there enough hot water, do you think?’
Peggy cupped her daughter’s cheek in the palm of her hand. ‘Have my share,’ she said softly. ‘And enjoy a good long soak while you can.’
Anne gave her a gentle hug. ‘It’s rather nice not having the house so full – it gives us time to be a family again.’
‘I was thinking the same thing earlier. But I do feel rather mean not letting out those two spare rooms. There are so many poor souls camped out at the Town Hall.’
‘Bless you, Mum,’ sighed Anne. ‘If it bothers you that much, then telephone Kath at the billeting office. I can always move into the smaller double room and—’
‘You’re not moving anywhere,’ Peggy interrupted. ‘That front bedroom is the nicest in the house and I’ve spent ages making it just right for you and the baby.’ She took her daughter’s hands. ‘I’ve decided I won’t take anyone else in until you’re back on your feet and ready to go home to that lovely little cottage of yours.’
Anne giggled. ‘If you say so, Mum. But I know you – one waif or stray, one sob story, and you’ll cave in as you always do.’
Peggy shook her head. ‘Not this time, Anne,’ she said firmly. ‘I want to enjoy my grandchild and to look after you both while I have the chance. Those rooms will stay empty.’
Julie hadn’t realised how crowded the station would be on a Saturday morning, or how difficult it was to manage two cases, handbag, gas-mask box and a squalling baby. She had considered buying a perambulator, but she’d seen how many had had to be abandoned by the East End women as they’d hurried to get their little ones out of London to the relative safety of the countryside. These prams were coach built, sturdy carriages that took up too much room, and although they were useful for carrying children and baggage, they simply couldn’t be accommodated on the packed trains.
Having made a sort of sling to carry William so her hands were free, she managed to find a kindly porter who’d helped load her cases into the guard’s van and then found her a window seat.
As the train pulled out of the station, William began to squirm and whimper, his little fists waving furiously as his cries grew ever louder and more demanding.
But gas-mask boxes had their uses, and Julie had filled a thermos with warmed formula milk and packed a spare bottle alongside it. As the train rattled and jolted towards Cliffehaven she carefully poured some formula into the bottle, and began to feed him. Blessed silence fell, and there was a grateful sigh from the other passengers in her carriage.
‘Lively little one, isn’t he?’ said the rather sturdy woman in the unflattering brown tweed suit who was sitting opposite her.
‘His routine’s been disturbed,’ said Julie, giving her a smile. ‘He’ll go to sleep once he’s finished his bottle.’ She softly ran her fingers over William’s downy head as his eyelids fluttered.
The woman’s gaze drifted to Julie’s hand, settling momentarily on the absence of any wedding ring. ‘Are you taking him to his mother?’ she asked. ‘Does she live in Cliffehaven?’
There was something rather unpleasant in the woman’s eyes and Julie didn’t appreciate being given the third degree. ‘His mother’s dead,’ she said flatly.
The woman reddened. ‘Oh, I see,’ she murmured. ‘How very tragic.’
Julie didn’t bother to ease her embarrassment; she was a nosy old biddy and didn’t deserve it. She looked down at William, saw he was almost asleep, and tucked the empty feeding bottle back into the gas-mask box. With a clean piece of muslin to protect her coat, she hitched William up to her shoulder and gently rubbed his back to get rid of any wind.
William obliged with a rip-roaring burp that elicited smiles from one or two of the other female passengers, and Julie kissed his head. He was fast asleep, lulled by warm milk and the rocking of the train.
The woman in the ugly tweed suit was now rather pointedly reading her Agatha Christie paperback, and Julie turned to look out of the window.
They had left the suburbs of London some time ago, and now they were trundling through small country towns and neat little villages which seemed to be slumbering beneath the clear blue sky. She could see rolling green hills in the distance, grazing cattle, ploughed fields, farmhouses and barns. She caught glimpses of rabbits and the bright plumage of exotic-looking birds as they rose squawking from the dark woods, their long tail-feathers trailing. She leaned forward and watched some land girls guiding a plodding carthorse across a grassy field, the dray loaded with tree trunks. They stopped for a moment and waved to the train before returning to their labours.
Julie smiled as she waved back. The scene reminded her of her childhood when the family used to go hop picking. They’d slept in barns, eaten delicious meals that had been cooked on braziers outside, and had played until the sun went down. She’d turned as brown as a berry by the end of those two weeks, and could still remember how she’d snuggled up to Franny under the blanket, their mattress of straw prickling their skin as they listened to the grown-ups singing and chattering. Her father had loved a good sing-song.
She blinked away the tears and shifted William to her other arm. It was lovely to have such precious memories, but the pain of loss was still too raw, and it often caught her unawares.
The train whistle blew and the smoke from the funnel drifted past the window as they chugged past rivers and streams and huge tracts of wild, deserted marshland where startled birds of all kinds rose from the reed beds and long grass to wheel and flutter before settling again.
Julie took the postcard out of her pocket and read Eileen’s brief message. It had been sent a week ago, long after her own letter must have arrived, and far too late for her to write back and tell Eileen she was coming to Cliffehaven with William. What sort of woman was she to be untouched by such a tragedy – and how would she react when Julie turned up on her doorstep? It was a worry, and, as the train puffed closer to Cliffehaven, that worry was growing.
Julie put the postcard back in her pocket and hitched William onto her shoulder. He didn’t weigh very much, but after a while he felt quite heavy. He grumbled a bit and squirmed, so she softly stroked his head and back until he settled again.
Her thoughts turned back to Eileen, remembering her as a rather pretty girl, with light brown hair and brown eyes, who jealously guarded her few bits of make-up and her best clothes and shoes from her much younger sisters. Eileen had been old enough to go out with boys, and Julie and Franny had been rather in awe of her, and would watch wide-eyed as she left the house with yet another admirer, swaying down the street in her high heels and best frock. They would have loved to have tried on her clothes and experimented with her powder and lipstick, but after an unfortunate incident involving a pair of high-heeled shoes, they hadn’t dared.
Julie smiled at the memory, even though she hadn’t thought it very funny at the time. She’d been about five or six, and had sneaked the shoes out of the cupboard. They were lovely shoes, with high heels and a pretty blue bow on the toes, but of course they’d been far too big and she’d clattered and scraped her way out into the backyard and promptly got the heel caught in a grating.
She’d tugged and tugged and the heel broke just at the moment Eileen had come home from the tool factory where she’d worked as a typist. Eileen had clipped her round the ear before going inside to complain loudly to their mother, who’d given her another clip and sent her to bed without tea.
Eileen had left not long after that, and Julie had wondered at the time if it had been her fault. Flo had convinced her it wasn’t, but Julie had remained puzzled to this day. She leaned her head back against the white antimacassar and pondered on what she might find at the end of this journey. Was Eileen married, or living alone? Did she really have no regrets that her parents and sister had died without her seeing them since that day? And what did she look like now – would she even recognise her after all these years?
She tried not to let these thoughts niggle at her and was actually dozing off when she felt the almost imperceptible slowing of the train. Opening her eyes, she saw they were travelling through a cutting with high grassy banks on either side. The skeletons of ruined buildings rose from piles of rubble, and a brick wall that had once run along the top of the embankment had a gaping hole in it. Cliffehaven was clearly not as safe as she’d once thought, and she began to have serious doubts about whether she should ever have come.
There was a flurry of activity as the other passengers in her carriage closed books and newspapers and began to haul their suitcases down from the overhead racks. Julie remained seated as the others pulled on coats and gloves and headed for the corridor. As this was the end of the line, there was no point in getting caught in the crush, but it was her reluctance to face her sister that really held her back.
The carriage cleared quickly, and she tamped down on the doubts. Gathering up her handbag and gas-mask box, she settled the sleeping William comfortably in his sling and stepped down from the train. It was far too late to change her mind; she had to see this through and make the best of whatever awaited her.
The guard’s van was right at the back, but a dear old porter offered to collect her two large bags, and once they were safely loaded onto his trolley, he slowly led the way across the concourse and out to the street.
‘There’s no taxis,’ he said, ‘but the trolleybus stop is just down there.’ He pointed down the hill where the long High Street seemed to run right to the seafront.
‘I’m going to Camden Road,’ she said. ‘Is it far?’
He tipped back his peaked hat to reveal a shock of white hair and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Down past the Town Hall and cinema, then left after that big bomb crater,’ he murmured. ‘It’s a fair way to carry that lot, what with the baby and all. You’d be best off leaving the bags here until you’re settled. They’ll be quite safe in left luggage.’
Julie realised it was good advice and, after unpacking a few necessities for William and stuffing them into her large handbag, she watched the old man stow her cases. ‘Thanks ever so,’ she said, giving him a penny tip.
He tugged his cap, slipping the coin into his trouser pocket, his gaze openly curious. ‘Visiting from London, are you?’
She smiled at him. ‘I’m a midwife, and start work on Monday for Doctor Sayers.’ She saw him glance at William and realised this conversation could go on at length if she didn’t get a move on. ‘Thanks again,’ she said brightly, and turned away, heading down the steep hill towards the sea.
So, this is Cliffehaven, she thought as she passed the long queues outside the butcher’s and grocer’s and carefully navigated the broken paving slabs and huge walls of sandbags that protected the Town Hall entrance. The air was clean after the smog and dust of London, with a tang of salt on the chill breeze. Seagulls screeched and soared against the cloudless blue sky, and the glimpse of sea at the bottom of the hill was tantalising.
Julie eased the sling round her neck, hitched the straps of her handbag and gas-mask box over her shoulder and resisted the temptation to explore the seafront. William would wake soon and need feeding and changing, and despite the bright sun, it was too cold to hang about.
Cliffehaven had obviously suffered in the bombing, for there were large piles of rubble between the shops, and the skeletons of once grand buildings stood open to the elements. Julie walked past the early matinee queue that stretched along the pavement outside the Odeon cinema. Fred Astaire was obviously as popular here as he was in London, and she felt a pang of homesickness as she remembered the old Galaxy where she and Lily would go when time allowed.
Determined not to think about her life in London, or to dwell too long on the rising doubts, Julie hurried on until she reached the vast bomb crater on the corner of what must be the High Street and Camden Road. Running parallel to the seafront, Camden Road stretched before her, and she began to regret wearing her high-heeled shoes, for they really weren’t meant for walking such long distances. All she could hope for was that Eileen’s flat wasn’t at the far end.
She passed the fire station, where the bright red engines were being enthusiastically hosed down and polished to the accompaniment of dance music coming from a wireless. She reached Solomon and Goldman’s factory just as the workers poured out on their lunch break, and had to wait for an ambulance to turn into the hospital entrance. It looked like a big hospital, and would surely have a maternity ward, and she wondered fleetingly why Matron hadn’t applied for her to work there.
The Anchor pub was doing a roaring trade, the hubbub of voices almost drowning the efforts of the pianist, who seemed to have rather more enthusiasm than skill. Julie felt a deeper pang of homesickness this time, for although the Anchor bore little resemblance to the Toolmakers’, the atmosphere and memories it evoked were all too painful. She took a deep breath, blinked back the tears and took note of the house numbers. There was a row of shops on either side of the road now, with doorways leading to the flats above.
She slowed and came to a halt outside a door sandwiched between the bakery and hardware shop. It looked as if it had been freshly painted, the brass fittings were polished to a gleam, and the single step was freshly scrubbed. Eileen might have left the East End far behind her, but she hadn’t quite lost their mother’s prid
e in keeping her home looking nice and neat.
Julie’s mouth was dry and her pulse was racing as she reached for the door-knocker. Eileen might not be in – and even if she was, would she welcome her, or slam the door in her face? That postcard hadn’t been at all encouraging, and she’d yet to tell Eileen about William. She banished the doubts and gave the knocker two determined raps. Having come this far, she couldn’t fail now.
She stepped back as she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. William was, thankfully, still asleep, and looked very sweet wrapped in his sling. She just had to hope that Eileen thought the same.
The door opened to reveal a small, slender, dark-haired woman in her thirties, whose welcoming smile faltered as she regarded Julie. ‘Yes?’
Julie’s breath caught as she took in the flawless make-up and freshly set hairdo, the neat blouse and skirt, the high-heeled shoes and delicate stockings. There was little doubt this was Eileen, for she looked just like their mother. ‘Hello, Eileen,’ she said. ‘It’s me, Julie.’
‘Good grief,’ Eileen muttered, her gaze flitting towards the far end of the street before returning rather coolly to her sister. ‘I wouldn’t have recognised you from Adam. What on earth are you doing here?’
Julie swallowed. ‘I start as district nurse and midwife at Cliffe surgery on Monday,’ she replied, her hand protectively cupping William’s bottom.
Eileen’s brown eyes settled on William, and her expression hardened. ‘Whose is that?’ she asked almost accusingly.
‘This is William,’ Julie replied firmly. ‘He’s Franny’s baby, and I’m looking after him until his father can get home.’ She eased back the blanket and sling from his little face. ‘Isn’t he just beautiful?’ she breathed.
