by Ellie Dean
Contents
About the Book
About the Author
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Map of Cliffehaven
Author’s Note
Interview with Ellie
Character List
Copyright
About the Book
It is 1943 and April Wilton is devastated when she is forced to leave Portsmouth and the Wrens, where she has found friendship, fulfilment and love.
Rejected by her mother, and facing an uncertain future, she travels to Cliffehaven. However, she carries with her a secret, one that could change her life for ever.
Can the warmth and support of Peggy Reilly and those at Beach View Boarding House heal the wounds of April’s past, and bring her hope amid this time of turmoil?
About the Author
Shelter from the Storm is Ellie Dean’s eleventh novel. She lives in a tiny hamlet set deep in the heart of the South Downs in Sussex, which has been her home for many years and where she raised her three children. To find out more visit www.ellie-dean.co.uk
For the brave women who joined the services, the factories, farms and anywhere they could to take on a man’s job to free him to fight for his country. I salute you.
Acknowledgements
I am indebted to Vera Brett, wartime Wren, for her help and advice on all things connected to the navy. It was terrific fun to meet you and hear your stories about your time in the Wrens during the Second World War, and to confirm that my research had mostly been right. I must emphasise that April’s story is purely fictional, and is in no way connected to Vera’s own experiences. Thank you, Vera, for your generosity in allowing me to delve into your wealth of knowledge, and for the lovely afternoon we spent together.
As usual, this book could not have been written without the help of my terrific and supportive agent, Teresa Chris, and the great team at Arrow. Thank you all, especially, Jenny Geras, my very understanding editor.
Thanks as ever to my wonderful husband who supports me through the trials and tribulations of getting the story told, provides coffee, advice and encouragement.
Prologue
Portsmouth, November 1942
April Wilton clung to the side of the motor torpedo boat. They were racing across the choppy grey waters of the Solent – testing the engine that she and her fellow maintenance Wren, Paula Simms, had just serviced – and she was filled with the exhilaration of the moment. She had been feeling gloomy since her few hours of home leave the previous day, but now she was determined to keep cheerful.
April’s fair hair was whipped by the wind as the sea spray flew from either side of the MTB and sparkled like jewels in the weak, wintry sunlight. She’d started out on her journey home full of excitement in the hope that her mother would admire her smart uniform and be proud of her. This longing to have her mother’s approval had, however, ended in the usual failure, and no compliment had been forthcoming. The sad truth was something April could no longer deny. Mildred Wilton was an exacting, selfish woman, forever finding fault and bemoaning the hardships of war as if they were a deliberate assault by the combatants on her comfortable life. But then Mildred could always lay the blame for whatever ailed her on someone else. April knew she should just accept that her mother would never change and not let her spoil the wonderful new life April had discovered.
‘I’m glad to see you’ve cheered up at last,’ shouted Paula over the healthy roar of the MTB’s engine. ‘Was the trip home really that bad?’
Despite her resolve, April felt hurt all over again as she remembered the indifferent welcome she’d been given by her mother. She nodded and shrugged. ‘Mother was preoccupied with the new stock of hats for her shop, and after hanging around a bit to listen to her usual gripes about the lack of materials and the uselessness of her hat makers, I took myself off and visited a couple of friends.’
Paula sighed and patted her shoulder. ‘Parents can be very difficult, can’t they? Father spent most of my day’s leave shut away in his study. Still, we’re free of all that now and doing our bit – life is exciting, isn’t it?’
‘It certainly is.’ April gripped the handrail tighter as the speeding boat was taken into a sharp turn that in less capable hands would have seen them in the water. She grinned back at Paula as their hair was whipped from their faces, the spray splattered their oilskins, and the wind snatched away the possibility of any further conversation.
April revelled in the marvellous sense of freedom that always came when she was out on the water. Life in the Women’s Royal Naval Service was exciting and fulfilling, a world away from the stifling atmosphere at home and the strictures of boarding school where she and Paula had forged their close bond. She hadn’t regretted a single moment since she’d first heard the lecture from the recruiting officer who’d visited the sixth form, and seen the poster that exhorted her to ‘Join the Wrens and free a man for the fleet!’
She and Paula were both eighteen and had enlisted on the same day almost a year ago following a short course at a secretarial college to fill in the time between school and the adult world. They’d been friends since they both started at their private school, for they not only shared a love of books, cinema and dancing, but soon discovered that their childhoods had been similarly unhappy. Paula’s mother had died before Paula’s sixth birthday, and her father hadn’t known how to deal with his own grief, let alone that of his young daughter, and had immersed himself in his work, leaving Paula to the not-so-tender mercies of a hatchet-faced, coldly efficient nanny during the school holidays.
April’s father had succumbed to a heart attack shortly after her ninth birthday, and she still missed him. Sadly, they hadn’t been particularly close, for his strict upbringing meant that he kept any emotion in tight check beneath a rather formal veneer. Yet he had cared enough for April to have been a buffer between her and Mildred.
Mildred’s attitude to his passing had been one of undisguised relief. She was determined to make good use of the money he’d left to forge a new life for herself. She had never told April much about her life before marriage – April had a vague idea that her mother had been a secretary – but now Mildred launched herself into a new career as the owner of the best hat shop in Tunbridge Wells, unfettered by marriage and the daughter she clearly had little time for. April had never understood this lack of interest or affection, and Mildred had never revealed the reason for it – and so it was with a mutual sense of thankfulness that April had immersed herself in boarding school life and now in this new, exciting adventure in the WRNS.
It hadn’t been easy to start with, for she’d been naïve and painfully shy, and for a while she’d felt isolated amongst the other girls who seemed so self-assured and sophisticated – but that had slowly changed as she’d begun to make fr
iends. Now, at last, she felt she really belonged, and was an intrinsic part of something very special.
She and Paula had completed their initial training at Mill Hill in London, where the days seemed to be taken up with scrubbing floors, keeping fit, learning how to defend themselves in a gas attack, and endless marching – which they both hated. There had been a whole new language to learn now they were part of the Royal navy – beds were bunks, billets had names like HMS Midge, and bedrooms were cabins – but somehow that made it all the more thrilling.
April clung tightly to the railings as the captain of the MTB took it into another tight turn and headed back towards shore – or base, as the navy called it – to where flotillas of MTBs, motor gun boats and small, flat-bottomed landing craft were moored. April glanced across at Paula, saw her grinning, and knew she was thinking the same thing, for this had been the sight that had greeted them when they’d arrived, fresh from training to take up their maintenance drafts. They’d felt very proud in their brand new uniforms of navy blue jacket, skirt, tie and white shirt, with their sailor’s hats perched at a jaunty angle over their brows, and it had been impossible not to giggle and blush at the wolf whistles and shouts of encouragement that followed their march through the docks.
They’d been permitted to choose their job in the Wrens, and rather than be stuck in an office, had cheerfully opted to join the maintenance crew – although they had no idea what that might entail. The mystery was heightened when they were issued with bell-bottom trousers, a boiler suit and oilskins, and they’d wondered what on earth they’d let themselves in for.
April’s smile was wry as the MTB slowed to navigate the narrow waterways between the flotillas. She and Paula had been with three other new recruits when they’d been marched down to the harbour and taken on board an MTB for the first time. They’d scrambled down the hatch to be greeted by the sight of sailors stripped to the waist in the furnace heat of the engine room, and there had been a moment of shocked silence on both sides which was swiftly broken by the chief engineer barking out orders to his men to stop gawping and get on with their work. The sight of so many half-naked men had proved too much for one of the girls who’d clearly led a very sheltered life, for she went puce and shot back up the ladder, demanding to be drafted to an office job.
April and Paula had exchanged glances and stifled giggles as the sailors hastily went back to their duties, but over the ensuing months they’d become inured to the sight of bare, gleaming chests, for they’d spent most of that time in the stifling, sweaty heat of engine rooms, learning to change plugs, strip down gearboxes and distributor heads, and anything else that was needed to keep the boats ready for action.
The MTB came to a halt and rocked gently by the docking pier. April and Paula saluted the captain and quickly negotiated the rusting iron ladder to reach the more stable wooden boards of the dock. With a cheerful wave to the crew, they hurried through the melee of the vast port, eager to get back to their billet, HMS Firefly, to prepare for their night out. The committee for the combined services was laying on a party in one of the large municipal buildings requisitioned by the navy, and they’d been invited.
HMS Firefly was in fact a large guesthouse which had also been requisitioned by the navy, and when the English traitor, Lord Haw-Haw, had declared in one of his propaganda broadcasts that the victorious Luftwaffe had sunk her, it had caused great hilarity to all.
It stood back from the seafront, and was home to fifteen Wrens who worked as dispatch riders, typists, telephonists, plotters and the many other jobs that were available so men could be released for sea duties. The civilian population had mostly been evacuated, but Portsmouth was still bustling despite the almost daily bombing raids which had shattered the town. HMS Firefly was only one of many billets to accommodate girls from the Wrens, WAAF and ATS, and with an American army base nearby, an RAF station on Thorney Island, and thousands of Allied sailors, airmen and marines on shore leave, the vastly outnumbered girls were in constant demand – which was all very exciting.
They clumped through the front door in their thick sea-boots and ran up the two flights of stairs to the cabin they shared beneath the eaves, which had a lovely view of the sea and the flotillas of warships which were anchored in the lee of the Isle of Wight. To their disappointment, the island had suddenly been put out of bounds, and it was rumoured that the joint forces were conducting special training over there – perhaps even preparing for an invasion into France – so she and Paula had not been able to satisfy their curiosity and visit the famous coloured cliffs and sandy beaches.
April pulled off her sodden oilskins and kicked off her boots before sinking onto one of the single beds and stripping off her boiler suit. The room was quite small, and sparsely furnished, but the blue and white navy issue counterpanes made it feel a little more homely. Any clutter was tidied away in the single chest of drawers and wardrobe, for the cabin was inspected each day by their petty officer Wren, and penalties were dished out for the slightest infringement of the strict rule of orderliness.
‘I don’t know about you,’ said Paula from the depths of the sweater she was pulling over her head, ‘but I’m starving. I hope the Yanks are laying on some decent food, because navy rations are getting worse by the day.’ She shook out her dark curls, her brown eyes gleaming with anticipation.
April laughed and stripped down to her regulation underwear of unattractive bra and black-out bloomers. ‘They usually do, and of course the navy will provide extra grog rations.’ She glanced across at her friend and they shared a grin of delight for the evening ahead. The combined services’ parties were becoming quite legendary, and they counted themselves very fortunate not to be on fire-watch duty tonight.
They quickly bathed in the regulation few inches of water in the draughty, freezing bathroom on the lower landing, and then carefully dressed in their smart uniform which was the envy of all the girls in the other services. It was a strict rule that uniform had to be worn at all times – even for parties – and although it would have been lovely to wear a proper frock now and again, it certainly saved on clothing coupons. The navy blue suited them both, the well-fitting double-breasted jacket and pencil-skirt enhancing their slender figures; the black stockings were rather thick lisle, but added a touch of glamour that even the unattractive and rather clumpy lace-up shoes couldn’t diminish.
April brushed out her shoulder-length fair hair and swiftly pinned it into a chignon. She carefully applied mascara, powder and lipstick and then donned her cap so that the blue insignia was at the perfect angle. Adjusting her tie until the knot was set dead centre, she nodded with satisfaction and went to fetch her navy issue gabardine coat.
‘Let’s just hope we don’t have an air raid tonight,’ she said as she waited for Paula to find her umbrella. ‘It would be such a shame to miss the party.’
‘I don’t think Jerry’s too bothered about spoiling our chance for some fun, unfortunately,’ Paula muttered. Banging doors and loud voices reverberated through the house, heralding the departure of the other girls. ‘Come on, we don’t want to miss out on the food – you know what gannets those girls from dispatches are.’
They ran down the stairs and out of the door to discover that darkness had fallen and it had started to rain. The streets gleamed in the pale moonlight that shone fleetingly from between scudding clouds, and water was dripping from the ornate metal trellis above the narrow porch. Unfurling their umbrellas, they made a dash across the road just as their bus wheezed and rattled into view. Having paid the clippie, they greeted the other girls on board and within minutes were excitedly discussing all the wonderful possibilities of the evening ahead.
There was a distinct division amongst the girls, for although they were mostly from respectable middle-class families, there were some who’d been born with the proverbial silver spoon in their mouths and thought themselves far superior. With their plummy voices and rather snooty bearing, they set themselves apart, while the rest prefer
red to stay within their own sets – just as they had in their private school days.
As the bus trundled past the yawning bomb sites and shattered remains of buildings, April began to feel uncomfortable at some of the rather vulgar banter that was going back and forth between the girls around her. She enjoyed the dancing and the fun of these parties, but she had certainly never let any of the boys take liberties. Like many of the other girls, Paula had no such hesitation, and the sudden freedom from her restrictive home and school life meant that she’d thrown herself wholeheartedly into whatever was on offer – especially the lure of the rather flashy Americans with their candy, nylons and cigarettes which garnered a kiss and cuddle – and maybe more besides, which April found rather shocking.
Paula had teased April about being such an innocent, and had even tried to set her up on several blind dates, but April was happy to keep them all at arm’s length until the right man came along – even if some of the girls thought she was in danger of being a bit of a prig.
The bus groaned its slow way through the town and arrived on the corner by the municipal building where the sound of the party drifted out to greet them. It was clearly already in full swing. April and Paula hurried off the bus and everyone swarmed towards the sound of the big band music.
The noise was terrific, the vast room crammed with men and women from all the Allied services. The Americans were there in great numbers, with their smart uniforms, their charm and almost childlike openness, and amid the fray were servicemen from Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Poland, New Zealand and Australia – all vying for the attention of the comparatively small number of girls.
April and Paula handed in their coats and gas-mask boxes to the woman in charge of the cloakroom and quickly made their way back into the hall. The band was twenty strong and made up of American marines. They were playing Glenn Miller’s ‘In the Mood’, and before they’d had time to survey the food and drink on offer, both girls were whirled onto the dance floor.
