by Shirley Mann
‘Alice, we made it!’
‘We certainly did you northern ninny. Time to celebrate with another cuppa, I think.’
Alice took control as usual and signalled to the waitress who pursed her lips but nodded.
Lily collapsed into the red plastic bench seat feeling as if she had climbed a huge mountain. Then she leaned forward suddenly.
‘Oh Alice, it’s beautiful!’
She reached out to take hold of Alice’s third finger on her left hand, which she had placed strategically on the table in front of her.
Alice sat up proudly.
‘Oh Lily, he’s gorgeous, and who’d have thought that awful bomb in Paddington would lead me into the arms of my lovely doctor. I am so happy. We’re getting married in October in the village, you will be there, won’t you?’
‘You try keeping me away!’ Lily exclaimed. ‘I’m chief bridesmaid, aren’t I?’
The next two hours were spent in detailed discussion of how to make coupons stretch to a wedding breakfast and new dresses. As they finally agreed they had addressed every possible issue, they sat back and ordered sandwiches and third cups of tea.
Alice looked closely at Lily.
‘You look peaky. Are you OK?’
‘Yes, fine, just a bit flat, that’s all. It’s been such a rollercoaster over the past few years and life just seems, well, a bit dull. I’m back at Liners and home and it’s as if I never left.’
‘Do you know, Alice,’ she went on, ‘the war was the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ve never felt so alive. I know it’s awful to say when so many people died and were badly injured, but it was so exciting.’
Alice knew what she meant. Her wedding plans were keeping her busy but the everyday trials of helping out on a hill farm when supplies were so short were a sharp reminder that the effects of war were not going fade quickly and dealing with them was not going to be glamorous.
‘Do you remember we said we would change the world at the end of the war?’ Alice said suddenly. ‘We had such dreams.’
‘I know, but now I’m home, it seems so easy to just slot back in where I left off and to be honest, they need my wage from Liners. It’s quite tough at the moment, as you know all too well.
Alice thought about the sparse supplies of feed for the animals and the long queues at the shops in Chorley. Glorious post-war Britain was feeling a little ragged around the edges.
‘You can’t give in that easily,’ she said, sitting up in her chair. ‘You were an excellent wireless operator – eventually,’ she added, ‘and look what you could have achieved – being an ATA pilot would’ve been one in the eye for Marion, wouldn’t it?’
Lily had told Alice about Sergeant Horrocks blocking her application to the ATA but apart from sharing it with her best friend, Lily had decided it was just going to be a secret she would hug to herself. To know she could have been a pilot was enough.
‘No point thinking about that,’ she said, ‘anyway Mum and Dad would laugh if I told them I was nearly a pilot. To them, I’m just their Lily. I don’t think I’ll ever be anything else in their eyes.’
‘I have noticed some changes in the country – mostly for the good,’ Alice was saying. ‘We’ve all got so much more confidence and I, for one, won’t be pushed back into the kitchen any more. I’m taking over more and more of the paperwork on the farm because Dad’s eyesight isn’t so good now and do you know what, Lily, even my brothers are beginning to treat me with more respect. Come on, Lily, pick yourself up and find that ‘nearly ATA pilot’ spirit. It’s in there somewhere.’
Lily’s shoulders drooped, unable to summon up any enthusiasm for the brave new world everyone was talking about.
‘What about Danny?’ Alice asked abruptly.
‘Oh, an odd letter, nothing too deep, just about his impending demob. He’s coming back early because of his back injury. They want to give him more treatment. I think he’s given up on me.’
Chapter 56
Lily peered through the curtains onto the Pennines. The blackouts had all been triumphantly removed and lay unloved in a corner of Alice’s bedroom. The room was a faded blue with floral curtains, a wicker chair and a dressing table with a picture in a silver frame of Alice as a little girl, sporting muddy knees, wellington boots and holding a small lamb. A borrowed mattress had been placed under the window for her bridesmaid to sleep on. The hills looked spectacular on this autumn morning with burnished colours and a faint hint of mist over the barn in the yard. Lily could hear the bleating of the sheep in the field behind and it felt deliciously rural. A shiver of excitement went through her and she looked round at the sleeping figure of Alice, with her rollers pressed against her cheek. Lily grinned and leaned over to shake her.
‘Come on, Mrs Simpkins . . . up you get. You can’t be late for your own wedding.’
Alice stirred and opened one eye.
‘What’s the weather like?’
‘Glorious, but the day will be over and Arthur will have given up and gone home if you don’t get up and get dressed.’
Hair carefully curled, dress ironed, a small autumnal posy placed in Alice’s shaking hands and two hours later, the girls were ready.
Lily walked behind Alice in her dusky pink dress, made by Mrs Colville’s sewing circle in the village, with their pooled coupons. The church was packed and on the end of each pew was a tiny bunch of flowers from the hedgerows that Alice and her mother had spent the previous day collecting. They had struggled to find colours but the berries of blackthorn and hawthorn provided a lovely contrast to the autumnal coloured leaves. The organ started up, being pounded by Mr Macdonald, who liked to claim his playing could be heard across the Pennines. The vicar stood at the end of the church, next to the baptismal font where Alice had been christened. He beamed with pride as if she was his own daughter. Next to him was Arthur, looking backwards to spot his bride. He suddenly wobbled and Allan, his brother and best man, reached his hand out to steady him. Arthur took a huge breath. The whole village had turned out, keen to see this young woman, who had rarely been spotted without wellies, in a bridal gown. They packed the back of the church, craning their necks to see the bridal party process down to the front. Lily glanced down at Alice’s feet. She was determinedly taking small steps so that her feet did not race her down the aisle.
Grinning Lily looked along the pew to the side and saw a smiling Amy, in a pretty, floral dress next to a rounded man with a kindly expression and big red cheeks. Marion, resplendent in a fox fur, stood erect and was unsuccessfully trying to look bored. Viv stood next to Marion with a rosy-faced little girl clinging onto her mother’s dress – but there was no Doug.
They reached the front and Lily glanced at the bridegroom. He was tall and quite distinguished-looking. No wonder Alice was in love with him, Lily thought. He looked like a man who could reduce capable Alice to a quivering jelly. She was delighted to see Arthur had eyes for only one person. He was staring at Alice with so much pride and love, Lily felt tears stinging her eyelids.
Would that someone would look at me like that, she thought.
The ceremony passed beautifully and the vicar, who had known Alice since birth, finished the official part with reminiscences of how Alice’s loud voice dominated the school choir and how her experience with livestock had helped her to keep her brothers in order. Lily thought Alice was going to burst out of her dress with pride when Mr. Colville made his speech at the village hall afterwards, nervously fingering his collar and unfamiliar tie. His voice was shaking with emotion as he talked of handing over his only daughter to Arthur and gave his new son-in-law such a sharp warning look that the wedding party all started to laugh. Lily had to delve into her pouch bag to pass her neatly ironed handkerchief to Alice’s mum and she smiled, watching the three brothers who were keeping an eagle eye on the food that was passing up and down the table. Lily sat back in satisfaction, feeling part of this lovely Lancashire family and hoping that her wedding, if she were ever to have o
ne, would be as relaxed and welcoming as this one.
As the Babycham was passed around, Amy sidled up to Lily. She touched her gently on the arm and Lily turned to face her, unable to keep the sheer delight out of her face.
‘Amy, you look wonderful,’ she waved her hand in a circular motion to take in the whole vision that was in front of her. Amy’s straight hair was cut into a bob, topped by a pretty pink hat with a net front. Her matching suit was pale pink and she was clutching a black patent handbag. She looked calm and content.
‘How are you?’ Lily’s eyes scanned her face and then relaxed as she found nothing to worry about.
‘I’m fine. Really I am.’ Amy glanced over at the man she had clung onto in the church.
‘Who is he?’ Lily motioned over towards the man.
‘His name is William. He’s . . . lovely.’ She stretched out her ring finger to show Lily. ‘I met him after . . . my illness. He was the butcher and started saving the best cuts for me. We eat lots of meat,’ she finished with pride.
‘And are you . . . well? Did you tell him—’ Lily could not finish.
‘Enough, but not all,’ Amy confided.
‘That’s great, Amy, I’m so pleased for you.’
‘So Mullins, you made it through unscathed.’ A familiar, imperious voice interrupted.
‘Marion, how are you?’ Lily was not sure whether to lean forward and hug this tall figure, looking like the chairwoman of the WVS but Marion kept her arms tightly folded.
‘I’m very well and I can see that you are too. Although I have to say, you look a bit pale, you really shouldn’t wear such bright lipstick. It makes you look very brash.’
She swung round to catch hold of the vicar, accusing him in a loud voice of obviously being acquainted with her uncle, the Bishop. Lily and Amy started to giggle as Alice, wearing a very smart navy blue going away hat came down the stairs. Her mother was following behind her, fussing and fretting while her father stood shyly at the bottom, waiting to lead her to her husband who was peering round the front door, looking at his watch.
The normally muddy Land Rover had been spruced up and polished to take the couple to the train for Scarborough, but before it roared into life, Alice threw her bouquet over her shoulder. Marion, Amy and Lily all pretended not to try to catch it, but at the last moment, Marion edged the other girls out of the way and triumphantly grasped at the small bouquet, holding it above her head. Alice raised her eyebrows at Lily and then yelled a cheerful goodbye to the whole group before the car sped off, leaving a cloud of dust in the vehicle’s wake.
‘God help him, whoever he may be,’ Viv whispered from behind Lily.
Lily swirled round.
‘Viv, I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. Are you OK? Your daughter is beautiful.’
‘Yes, she is, isn’t she?’ replied the proud mum, looking over to where her little girl was playing on the stone step with the little pot figures off the top of the cake. ‘Her name is Abigail.’
‘Doug . . . ?’ Lily faltered.
‘Killed two years ago in the Atlantic.’
Lily took a sharp intake of breath but Viv seemed unperturbed.
‘I was a war bride. I think you, of all people, know I should never have married him.’
She looked sharply at Lily and Lily blushed.
‘I’m sorry, Viv. I should have warned you.’
‘No, I walked into it and anyway, I wouldn’t have had Abigail if I hadn’t met him, and she’s all that matters now. My parents have taken us back in and, of course, I get a war widow’s pension, so we manage.’
As she walked away to wipe Abigail’s sticky hands, Lily thought about how the war had changed lives.
Maybe it was time to change her own.
Chapter 57
‘Lily, come on you’ll be late.’
Lily adjusted her hat in the mirror. She could picture her mum standing at the bottom of the stairs and her dad hovering in the background. It had taken every bit of self-discipline not to push them away when they fussed around her but most of the time, it was a waste of effort and she had a feeling that was one war she would never win.
Lily automatically straightened the white lace cloth on her dressing table, pausing for a moment with her hand on the application form for a traineeship at Ringway Airport with the air traffic control department. She proudly rearranged it neatly for the umpteenth time and then stood up straight with a satisfied smile.
‘Coming.’ She raced down the stairs and put a finger on her mum’s lips as she was about to make her usual comment about broken ankles.
‘I’m ready. I’ll get the two o’clock. It’ll get me in at half past, which will be fine.’
‘I thought you were meeting him at half past?’ her dad said from round the banister.
‘Dad, it won’t kill him to wait another five minutes for me.’
The telegram had arrived the day before. She could not believe that her future rested on those few words. She had dissected them, read them in different voices, touched them with her finger and wet them with tears.
Demobbed STOP arriving Manchester tomorrow STOP meet me at the Midland at two thirty if you want to STOP love always Danny
She determinedly did not turn around as she walked down the road but she knew her parents had raced into the front room to peer from behind the curtains. Her stomach turned over. She hoped she was not about to disappoint them.
Danny hesitated when the waiter at the Midland Hotel came to take his order. He desperately needed a beer but worried how that would look. Also, he needed his wits about him.
‘Tea, I think, but I’ll wait thank you. I’m expecting someone.’
He felt awkward and strange in civvies and the rough tweed chafed his thighs. His back was still sore from the pummelling the physiotherapist had subjected him to that morning.
He had never been more nervous in his life.
Then he saw her.
She looked as out of place as he felt in the faded grandeur of the lobby and he suddenly panicked that he should have arranged to meet her somewhere less forbidding. He watched her touch her velvet collar and then reach up to straighten her hair. Danny smiled, realising she was as nervous as he was.
He stood up and walked towards her. He knew he was in the right place.
‘Lily,’ Danny breathed deeply, his whole being immersed in that one word.
She seemed to take a moment to register him and then she said softly and without question, ‘I’m here.’
At that moment, nothing had ever seemed so right and Danny took Lily in his arms and gently held her. The waiter, who had come to see if they needed anything, shuffled backwards silently.
The scene was exactly as they had both imagined, but as they reluctantly drew apart, each of them faltered. Lily pulled back to look at Danny properly, as if seeing him for the first time. He was so familiar, but there were lines at the side of his eyes and he looked thin and a bit older.
Danny’s eyes studied her.
‘We’ve come a long way, Lily,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.’
‘I’m here,’ she repeated, ‘but I’m not the same girl I was. I’ve seen . . . done things—’
She looked so lovely but so grown-up. This was not the gawky girl he had teased; she was now a mature and capable woman.
‘I know,’ his brow furrowed as glimpses of a dark room in Sicily and a back street in Rome came back to him.
‘What do you say we start again?’
‘Yes,’ Lily looked relieved. His arms felt like home, but it was not going to be simple.
The waiter hovered in the background.
‘Would sir and madam like a table for afternoon tea?’
‘Yes,’ Danny told him, and, smiling, he reached down and slowly laced Lily’s hand in his.
‘Let’s start with sharing an afternoon tea table and we can take it from there.’
Acknowledgements
I have taken so many
long-suffering people on this journey with me and there are many who have listened with forbearance to my insecurities, doubts and frustrations but there are some I would like to single out.
Former World War 2 WAAF Vera Morgan read ‘Lily’s War’ for me and finally made me believe I had successfully made the transition from journalistic fact to fiction and I must also remember Delma Matkin, wireless operator, for her wonderful story of the bicycle race and water fight. Thanks too to Flt Lt Stuart Skilling and Hazel Crozier, who showed me round Cranwell and de-mystified the RAF for me, Lynn Hamill of the WAAF Association, Andrew Panton and Louise Bush of the Lincolnshire Aviation Heritage Centre, East Kirkby and Robert Fleming of the National Army Museum as well as Adam Sutch of the RAF Museum.
The first people to give me the confidence to tackle a novel were the inspiring Owen Sheers and Sarah Hall, tutors on an Arvon Foundation course, which is where it all began as a gift for my 60th birthday from my lovely family. I also had encouragement from the Wirksworth Writers’ group, fellow-novelists Tricia Durdey, Alex Davis, Sian Towers, Moira Knowles, Stef Hill and Kate Seymour and my first readers, Sarah Price, Sue Jones, Pam McInally and Kate Roberts.
Kate Barker is my wonderful agent who led me to the equally wonderful Claire Johnson-Creek at Zaffre. They have both helped me enormously. I look forward to continuing to work with them and I can’t tell you how proud I am to be part of Zaffre’s Memory Lane list.
I must, finally, thank my family, or The Unit as our WhatsApp group is called, especially my husband, Kevin, our two daughters, Sarah (a fellow journalist and first port of call for all angst-ridden moments) and Jayne (praise from her made me believe I had actually cracked it) as well as my sister, Hilary. You never failed to believe that I could actually write this novel and have encouraged and helped me every step of the way. I couldn’t have done it without you all.
