by Rosie James
In fact, in Bristol’s first air raid, five people had been killed and more than thirty injured, which was terrible enough, but it could have been so much worse. And when the Bristolians viewed the damage that had been caused, they could only shake their heads in wonder that so few lives had been lost.
‘Shall we have toast and marmalade this morning?’ Eileen said. ‘Then I’m going to ring the office and see what’s going on.’ She glanced at Abigail. ‘Shall I ring Blackwell’s and see if they’re open? I’ll fetch the telephone directory in a minute, and you can find their number.’
Despite the shocking awakening to the grim facts of war, by the following Monday, Bristol had picked itself up and got on with the job of living and working. But for the few days after that raid the city held itself in suspense. Did Hitler have them in his sights again? And if so – when?
Chapter 19
On the 10th July, what became known as the Battle of Britain began. Aerial warfare – with Spitfires and Messerschmitts in deadly combat – would continue for more than three months.
As they gazed upwards into the clear blue skies, people watched the flying machines as they ducked and dived and attempted to shoot each other out of existence. For the helpless observers below, it was a macabre, fearful sight as the relentless dog fights went on, the planes attacking and repelling each other, time after time, and it seemed to some that the display might have been put on for their grisly entertainment.
But as it turned out, those few, vital months of aerial skirmish saw Hitler’s intention to invade Great Britain completely foiled. Nazi jackboots would not be marching over English soil.
The weeks of July and August continued to be hot and sunny, and despite the country being at war, people went on with their lives as normally as they could, citizens being encouraged to ‘do their bit’. It soon became commonplace for housewives to learn civil defence, and how to put out fires with hoses and stirrup pumps.
But one of the things which made people feel they were really helping the war effort was to give away any metal object which might go into the manufacture of spitfires.
One morning, Mrs Matthews, gazing out of her sitting-room window, watched with dismay as the rather graceful chain fencing which linked the fronts of all the houses in West Road was dismantled and thrown into the back of a huge lorry to join the towering pile of other items which had been donated. Pans and kettles, bits of old cars, anything which could be melted down and turned into fighting planes.
Gladys Matthews turned away. West Road had always had that chain-link fencing, and already, the space left by its absence was giving her a feeling of extra vulnerability. But what was that, compared to what others were going through? Absolutely nothing. She had even become accustomed to the claustrophobic sensation she had from the blacked-out blinds at her windows. What had to be done, must be done.
She glanced at the clock. Abigail and Emily would soon be home from their visit to the swimming baths which had become quite a favourite with them once they’d got used to it. Every morning, Abigail tried to take her daughter out somewhere before she went to work – yesterday they’d gone into Woolworths to look around, and afterwards they’d popped into Robertson’s to see Janet.
Gladys Matthews’ eyes softened. How lucky Emily was to have Abigail for her mother.
Downstairs in the stock room, Abigail stopped what she was doing and took a break for a moment, thankful to rest her back. Despite the disruption of the war, the students’ books kept on coming, box after box. And there were still three which she hadn’t unpacked.
She half-closed her eyes for a moment, thinking about Emily and Mrs Matthews up there at the play park, Emily being pushed on the swings and being helped to build sandcastles. That little park had proved an absolute boon, because it was close enough to West Road for Eileen’s mother to walk safely with Emily, and today they’d decided to take a picnic with them. Abigail could imagine the two of them now, chatting away like two old friends – which, of course, was what they had become. Her little girl and Eileen’s mother enjoyed the sort of relationship which Abigail thought a grandmother would have with a granddaughter, full of love and the wish to make each other happy. Something which she herself had never experienced. Lucky for Emily, and lucky for Abigail too.
Just then, Martin came clattering down the stairs to stand beside Abigail. ‘Gosh, it’s hot down here,’ he said. ‘Come on. You can finish this later.’ He smiled down. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea because I think you deserve one – or would you prefer something cold? I could go over to The Berkeley and get us something special – like one of their milkshakes.’
Abigail returned the smile. ‘No thanks, Martin, a cup of tea is fine by me. And I’ll come up and make it. You’ve got other things to do.’
‘At least the shop’s quiet at the moment,’ he said, ‘which is just as well since it’s my mother’s day off.’
He went upstairs and Abigail followed, going straight into the little kitchen to put the kettle on. Glancing out of the window, she could see buses and a few cars making their way up and down Park Street, and she’d noticed on her way here earlier that all the shops were open. She hummed a little tune to herself as she set out their mugs. How did she deserve to be feeling so content with this war going on? But she had to admit it – she was content. She earned enough money to pay her way in the lovely home they were living in, and Emily was safe and enjoying her afternoon outside in the fresh air.
Even so, Abigail paused in her thoughts. It was difficult not to think about – and worry about – all the serving men in the thick of battle. Young men like Mark …
Then Abigail suddenly smiled as she remembered something that Eileen and Carrie had decided. Tomorrow, they were all going to Weston-super-Mare on the train! Apart from Mrs Matthews who’d said she’d be happier at home. Because Abigail and Emily had never been to the seaside and when Eileen had described what it was like, Emily had jumped up and down in excitement.
‘We’ll all take our bathing costumes,’ Eileen had said, ‘and we’ll run in and out of the water and splash each other!’
As Martin had said, the shop was unusually quiet, and presently Abigail took their tea and the finger biscuits they both liked and placed everything on the side counter which was conveniently out of sight from any customers. He stopped what he was doing and turned back to glance at her.
‘Ah, good. Thanks, Abigail,’ he said, moving over to stand by her side.
And for some reason, for the first time since she’d worked at Blackwell’s, Abigail felt a sudden rush of awareness. Awareness that he was a good-looking, well-built, well-dressed male, exuding a whiff of strength. Of superiority. He was standing closer to her than he needed to, so that she could smell the manly scent of him, his toiletries, the shampoo he used on his hair, perhaps the odour of his expensive suit fabric. Moving a step away, she picked up her cup and sipped.
‘D’you know, Abigail,’ he said, glancing at her, ‘my mother and I never thought we really needed anyone to help us in the shop, but since you’ve been working here, I’m afraid you’ve made yourself indispensable!’ He grinned.
Abigail dropped a slight curtsey. ‘Well, I’m glad that I’m giving satisfaction,’ she said, ‘but honestly, Martin, this is not a job for me, it’s a total pleasure. I just love handling books, being with books of any sort, and there are lots here that I could just sit and read right through to the end. Of course, the students’ ones are a bit beyond me,’ she admitted, ‘but I still like looking through them when there’s a moment, attempting to follow what they’re trying to tell me.’ She paused. ‘I’ve always known that I’m a bookworm and think I will be for the rest of my days.’
He nodded. ‘We both spotted that within an hour of you working with us, Abigail,’ he said. ‘You’ve tackled anything we’ve asked of you and it’s been a huge help.’
There was the briefest pause before he spoke again. ‘I don’t know if you like the cinema, but they’re showing G
one with the Wind at The Whiteladies’ this week and next. It stars Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh and it’s bound to be good.’ He hesitated. ‘I thought I might give it a try.’
Abigail had never been to the pictures in her life and she looked away for a minute, feeling awkward, because she sensed that Martin was going to ask her to go with him. It was the expression in his eyes as he looked down at her … but he knew she was married, didn’t he, even though she was alone right now?
She shifted away from him, smiling brightly. ‘Do you know, going to the pictures is something which my husband and I promised we would do again as soon as he returned home.’ She made a face. ‘I know I shouldn’t grumble because I have so much to be thankful for – but it is a very long time since we were together and Emily and I miss him so much.’
Martin nodded slowly. ‘Of course you do, Abigail,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure he misses you, too.’
Martin finished his cup of tea, then returned to what he’d been doing. Why had fate sent him the most lovely, the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, to work alongside him every day? And why had he thought, for a single moment, that she would agree to go with him to the pictures – or to anywhere else?
A woman who, it was obvious, would be forever out of his reach?
Chapter 20
7th September 1940
In the usual, unhurried peace of a Saturday morning, Abigail sat at the bedside table with her pencils and colours. She’d almost completed this picture – a copy of one of Dada’s – and she narrowed her eyes, studying it critically. No, it still wasn’t as good as his.
It was early, and she glanced across at Emily who still hadn’t woken up, her dark ringlets tumbling around her pillow, framing that cherubic face. Darling Emily, the ‘millstone around Abigail’s neck’, which was what Edna had said she would be.
Abigail half-smiled. She would not change a single thing in her life because she was lucky! She and Luke had produced this little girl who lived in a perpetual world of love and happiness, and if she and Luke were never to meet again, the joy of being Emily’s mother would never be taken away from her. It was hers for ever and nothing would change that.
Abigail’s expression darkened as she started putting her things away. What about Carrie, sweet-natured Carrie? Would Carrie ever know what it was to have her own child? Mark’s child? However much they all tried to reassure her that Mark would have got himself and his men out of danger, Carrie had become convinced that she and her beloved would never see each other again.
‘It’s just that I keep having this recurring nightmare that Mark is injured and that no one is there to help him,’ Carrie had said one day when she was feeling particularly down. ‘I even hear him calling my name and I can’t do anything about it. And I wake up crying because I know in my heart that hoping for the best is a false hope.’
‘You do not know that,’ Eileen kept saying. ‘Just because Mark’s name hasn’t surfaced yet doesn’t mean that he won’t!’
But despite everyone’s encouragement, most were coming to the conclusion that, as the days were passing with still no news, it seemed unlikely that Mark would come home again, or even that his body might ever be found.
One morning at the vicarage as they were clearing up their breakfast dishes, Joan Waters turned to her husband. ‘I’m getting really worried about Carrie,’ she said. ‘She is grieving for Mark all the time, and I know she’s not sleeping very well. It’s just not knowing that’s keeping her awake.’
Jonathan patted his wife’s arm. ‘Look – I’ve got a meeting in London next week and I thought I’d go to the War Office and see if I can find out anything.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps my dog collar will get me past the door.’
Now, Abigail went over to the bed. It was time Emily got up because last night as they were all playing Monopoly, with Emily there too, Carrie had mentioned that tomorrow there was going to be a garden party on the vicarage lawn and she thought they might all enjoy it.
‘Of course, it’s a fundraising event, as usual,’ she’d said, ‘but there are always nice things to buy, plants and books – with a special corner for the kids – and the afternoon teas are a special favourite.’ She’d made a face. ‘It’s been a bit tricky this year because of the food shortages, but my mother has managed to find enough ladies of the parish to come up trumps. And of course we’ve been saving up things ourselves so that there’s enough – my mother is a very thrifty organiser.’ Carrie had glanced at Emily. ‘But this year, my dad has managed to dig up something extra special for the children. He’d heard of a little roundabout he could hire, just five little cars, but it’s not mechanised, so it has to be swung around by a couple of strong men of the parish who are willing to flex their muscles. Stand there in the centre and get the thing rotating. They have to take it in turns, of course, but enough of them have volunteered.’
That had immediately caught Emily’s interest because she’d already been on a roundabout on the pier when they’d been to Weston-super-Mare. ‘Can we go to the garden party, Mummy?’ she’d begged.
‘Yes – if Eileen wants to – and if you will agree to go to bed now, Emily,’ Abigail had said.
Now, at last, Emily woke, sat up and stretched her arms. Then she jumped out of bed, ran over to the window and looked out. ‘It’s a lovely day, Mummy, see? The sun’s out! And we’re going to the garden party later, aren’t we? So I can go on the roundabout!’
Presently, they went down to the kitchen where Eileen was putting out the cups and saucers. She smiled.
‘What shall we all have for breakfast? The kettle’s boiled.’
Just then, Mrs Matthews came through. She’d overslept that morning and hadn’t heard Emily’s tap on her door and, as had become more normal, she was managing with just one of her sticks. Eileen smiled inwardly. She’d always suspected that part of her mother’s fragility had been to do with her losing her earlier inborn love for life. But for a whole year she seemed to have regained quite a lot of it.
‘Do you know, I would like my rasher of bacon with an egg today,’ Mrs Matthews said as she sat down next to Emily. ‘Which book have you got there, Emily?’
After they’d eaten their fried breakfast – which they’d all chosen after smelling it sizzling in the pan, and which Eileen reminded them was the last bacon until their rations were due next week – Eileen said casually, ‘Abigail and I are going to the vicarage garden party at All Saints later, Mother. Why don’t you come with us? It’s going to be another lovely afternoon and the days are already beginning to close in, aren’t they, so there are not going to be many more chances to have tea sitting outside.’
Before Eileen’s mother could reply, Emily spoke up quickly. ‘Oh you must come with us, Mrs Gladys! Because there’s going to be a roundabout to ride on. You could come on it and sit next to me.’
Eileen’s mother chuckled. ‘Well, I probably wouldn’t come on the roundabout, Emily, but I think I would like to come to All Saints with you this afternoon, of course. I have been to many of these things in my time and they are always very happy occasions.’
Eileen was thrilled. She hadn’t expected such a quick and positive response. ‘Oh, good, Mother! So I will order a taxi for two o’clock – the thing opens at two-thirty. And there will be plenty of seats for everyone to sit down, Carrie told me that. She also said that it will be all over by five, so we’ll be back home in good time to make supper.’
Abigail stood up to start clearing the dishes and glanced up. ‘From what Carrie told us about their afternoon teas, I don’t think we’ll be feeling like any supper.’
‘Oh – not even some chips?’ Emily said.
Abigail ruffled Emily’s hair as she went past. ‘Honestly, Emily Wilson! You’re going to turn into a chip one day!’
Abigail had never been to a vicarage tea party – or to any tea party – and as soon as they arrived, she could see there were already groups of people wandering around examining what was for sale on the stalls. And in the
far corner, a long trestle table, covered with a white cloth and holding rows and rows of cups and saucers and plates stood prepared to receive all the contributions from the parishioners as they arrived. Standing behind the table, folding paper napkins into neat triangles, was Carrie. She waved as she saw them.
It was a really lovely day, sultry but pleasant, and presently, Mrs Matthews, walking fairly easily with her stick, turned to Eileen.
‘Now, you go off by yourselves,’ she said, ‘because I can see several people I know, so there’ll be others for me to talk to.’
‘Look, Mrs Gladys,’ Emily said, ‘there’s the roundabout! Shall we go over and see when it’s going to start?’
‘No, you go, Emily – because there’s a lady over there who’s beckoning to me,’ Eileen’s mother said. ‘I’ll catch up with you all later.’
‘So can we go over and see when the roundabout is going to start, Mummy?’ Emily began, and Abigail shook her head.
‘Not yet, because I can see some lovely books over on that stall, Emily, so let’s go across and have a look. You may like to buy one.’
‘And I’ll go over and see if I can help Carrie with anything,’ Eileen said, turning away.
Presently, Jonathan Waters formally announced that the event was open for business, and then things really took off. There were plenty of small children present, all running around, chasing each other excitedly and waiting to buy things in the children’s corner, and by now the trestle table was laden with cakes and sandwiches, with a queue already beginning to form. But the little roundabout, with its five brightly coloured cars, still hadn’t started. Emily looked up at her mother.
