Shelter From the Storm

by Ellie Dean

  ‘No. Ethel’s the one for me, and I can’t wait to marry her.’

  ‘I wish it was that easy for Rosie and me,’ Ron said dolefully. ‘But perhaps, one day, you’ll get the chance to be my best man.’

  ‘I’d be honoured,’ Stan replied and then drew to a halt. ‘I want to say how much I value your friendship, Ron, and how very grateful I am for all you and Peggy have done for my little April. She’s going to find the next few months tough going, but I know you’ll watch out for her.’

  Ron felt a bit embarrassed and shrugged. ‘No need to get soppy, Stan. She’s one of us now, and we’ll do right by her.’ He glanced across at his friend. ‘You’ve done very well to keep things to yourself regarding the baby’s colour,’ he said solemnly. ‘So don’t get carried away with the wedding and such and spoil everything, will you?’

  ‘I know when to keep my mouth shut, Ron – there’s too much at stake to get careless. I just wish Ethel would accept her. It would make life so much easier,’ Stan sighed.

  ‘She’ll come round eventually,’ soothed Ron, although he had grave doubts about that. Ethel was not the sort of woman to suddenly change her mind about anything.

  They walked on and soon came to the rather ugly Victorian church which stood amid the surrounding houses in a bleak plot of land that had been concreted over. There was no churchyard or lychgate, merely a grey stone memorial to the dead from the first war which was adorned with a single and very weathered wreath.

  They shook hands and chatted to their friends who were standing round the side of the church away from prying eyes so they could smoke and pass round brandy flasks. Ron saw Peggy, Cordelia and the girls talking to Bertie as Daisy tottered about between their legs, and he nudged Stan. ‘Your April looks well in that outfit Peggy lent her. She’s a pretty girl, Stan, much like her mother was at that age.’

  ‘Thankfully she’s nothing like her mother,’ rumbled Stan, who’d succumbed to a drop or three of brandy to bolster his courage. ‘And once all this is done and dusted, I shall be telephoning my sister and giving her a piece of my mind.’

  Ron was about to reply when the vicar appeared and the guests began to filter into the cold, gloomy church. ‘How are you holding up, Stan?’ he asked, shaking his hand. ‘I hear you had quite a night of it at the Anchor.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he insisted, anxiously running his fingers over the safety pins before hurriedly drawing his jacket over his stomach. ‘But I’ll feel a whole lot better once Ethel gets here.’

  The vicar muttered platitudes and gently eased him towards the church door as the organist played something soothing and the guests found somewhere to sit and gossip while they waited for the ceremony to begin.

  Ron gripped Stan’s arm and firmly steered him towards the front pew. He was concerned that his old friend was sweating quite heavily and his breathing had become ragged. ‘Are you all right, Stan?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘The nerves have got to me at last,’ he confessed. ‘I think I’ll have another nip of brandy, if you don’t mind.’

  Ron wasn’t convinced that more brandy would help. ‘Sorry, Stan, the flask’s empty after Chalky took his last nip,’ he fibbed.

  ‘Never mind,’ he replied, smiling fondly back at April and the other girls who’d slid into the pew behind them, ‘I don’t really need it.’

  Ron turned round to greet Peggy and Cordelia, who were just sitting down with Daisy between them, and as he looked at all the women in his life he felt blessed. They were a grand bunch, and the prettiest in the church.

  He was distracted by a hubbub at the back of the church which was swiftly followed by a great crashing of chords as the organist began to fumble her inexpert way through the wedding march. ‘This is it, Stan,’ he muttered as they stood. ‘There’s no escape now unless it’s through the vestry.’

  Stan looked a bit green around the gills and shot him a sickly smile. ‘I couldn’t run even if I wanted to.’

  Ron steered him towards the vicar who was standing by the altar steps, and although he could feel Stan trembling, his colour was a mite better and a quick glance confirmed that the elastic and pins were holding.

  Ethel made a regal entrance on the arm of the rather handsome Fred Gough – an older man who’d retired some years ago from the RAF and was now in charge of maintenance on the factory estate. She wore a pale blue silk dress and coat she’d had made from a purloined parachute which had been dyed to match her satin shoes. Her little veiled hat was a darker shade of blue and she carried a posy of roses gleaned from Stan’s allotment. Ron nodded in approval, for Ethel had a terrific pair of legs and certainly scrubbed up well.

  He glanced at Stan, who was watching her progress down the aisle with unashamed adoration, and breathed a sigh of relief that he seemed to have recovered from whatever had ailed him momentarily, and would get through the service.

  Ruby shot Ron a naughty grin as she followed her mother up the aisle, and Ron noted that she too was looking very fetching in what had clearly once been a ball gown of stiff, pale pink taffeta which had been cleverly converted into a most attractive knee-length day dress that Rosie would have loved to own. The outfit was enhanced by a jaunty straw hat decorated with flowers and she carried a posy of Stan’s roses.

  Ron rarely set foot in a church these days unless it was for something like this, and he was grateful that the service didn’t drag on for too long. The happy couple took their vows; he managed not to lose the ring or drop it as he handed it to Stan, and then the congregation sang ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ while the register was signed. Before he knew it, there was another crashing of chords and he was walking beside Ruby as the wedding party made their triumphant way back down the aisle.

  The church bells rang out joyously, and the happy couple posed for photographs on the church steps. Peggy and Cordelia, who always loved a good cry at weddings, dried their eyes and happily chattered to the other guests as Daisy tottered back and forth to gather up bits of confetti and try to eat them.

  Ron took himself off to a quiet corner to enjoy his pipe and let them get on with it, thankful that his Heath Robinson attempt to keep Stanley decent for the day was still holding together. He wished Rosie could have come, for occasions like this weren’t the same without her at his side, but she would be busy at the Anchor making sure everything was prepared for the afternoon reception, and he would see her soon enough.

  Doris had refused to lend Stan her car for the occasion and Bertram’s was in the garage being repaired after he’d run into a lamppost in the blackout. Peggy’s car had been put into storage for the duration, and as hard as he’d tried, Ron couldn’t get hold of any tyres to replace the old ones which had been chewed by mice and were as flat as pancakes. Having no other option, and thankful that it was a lovely fine day, everyone set off to walk the short distance to the Anchor.

  Ron waited until everyone had left and then quickly ducked home to collect Harvey. He wouldn’t be missed.

  He arrived at the Anchor at the same time as Stan and Ethel, and noted that the rest of the guests were strung out up the road with Cordelia and Peggy bringing up the rear with Daisy in her pushchair. He waited for them and winced as he heard the wheels squeaking.

  ‘I did ask you to oil them, Ron,’ Peggy chided without rancour. ‘They’re making the most appalling racket.’

  Ron promised he would see to them later and then helped Cordelia down the steps and got her settled in her chair where she had a good view of everything. He looked around for Rosie, but she was fussing over everyone and so he helped himself to a glass of beer and waited until he could get her alone.

  He finally caught up with her as she went out the back to get more sherry glasses. He slid his arm around her waist and gave it a squeeze. ‘Hello, my darling,’ he murmured appreciatively. ‘You’re looking especially lovely this afternoon.’

  She giggled and kissed his cheek. ‘That’s more than can be said about you last night. I didn’t think you’d make it o
ut of here, let alone escort Stan home and get back to Beach View.’ She smiled into his eyes as she wiped her lipstick from his smooth cheek. ‘But you do look handsome today, and I admire your close shave. Very kissable.’

  He pulled her closer and kissed her to shouts of encouragement from the rest of the party. ‘We’ll continue this conversation after that lot have gone home,’ he said with a wink.

  ‘I doubt you’ll be in a fit state for anything much by then,’ she teased, ‘but we’ll see.’ With that she hoisted up the carton of glasses and shot off.

  Rosie had done them all proud, thought Ron as he finished his meal. Following the delicious pea and ham soup there had been roasted chicken and potatoes with spring greens and leeks, followed by bread pudding which had been drenched in fruit, demerara sugar and thick custard. Wine and beer had flowed, and there were even a few bottles of champagne set aside for the toasts and the cutting of the magnificent cake which took pride of place on a side table. How on earth Ethel had managed to filch that much icing, fruit and marzipan was a mystery.

  Remembering suddenly that he was expected to give a speech, he urgently patted his pockets for the slip of paper he should have brought with him. There was no sign of it, and he gave a sigh of annoyance as he realised he’d left it on his bed. He’d just have to wing it – like he did most things these days.

  The chatter and laughter grew louder as the alcohol began to take effect, and as cigarettes and pipes were lit and people surreptitiously eased their feet out of tight shoes and loosened belts, it was time for the speeches. Fred Gough who’d given the bride away was clearly delighted to share a bit of the day’s limelight, and seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice. Everyone was getting restless by the time he proposed a toast to the bridesmaid.

  The applause was generous, perhaps out of relief that he’d finally shut up, and then it was Ron’s turn.

  He stood and smiled at everyone. ‘I’ll not be making a long speech,’ he said. ‘Because I left it back at home.’ This was greeted with laughter. ‘I just want to say that I’ve known Stan man and boy, and if I was to tell you about the things he got up to over the years, we’d be here all night.’

  As everyone chuckled, he smiled beatifically at the radiant couple through an alcoholic haze. ‘I’m delighted that he’s found such happiness with Ethel, and I wish them a long life and happiness together.’ He raised his glass. ‘To the bride and groom.’

  Stan swept Ethel into his arms for a smacking kiss and made her hat slide over her eyes. This was greeted with laughter and a few ribald remarks about their wedding night.

  Stan rose from the table and waxed lyrical about his love for Ethel, his pride in Ruby, and the joy with which he’d welcomed April back into the family fold. He blithely ignored Ethel’s glower at this and thanked Rosie for a wonderful spread; his friends for their dubious influence the night before; and Ron for the excellent way he’d handled being his best man.

  He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to Ethel, Ruby and April – and all the rest of you wonderful, wonderful friends. I salute you.’

  The glass was almost at his lips when his hand faltered and his smile faded into a frown. The glass shattered on the flagstones and Stan clutched at his chest with a look of utter astonishment. He staggered and the astonishment turned into a grimace. And then, with a deep groan, he slowly toppled like a felled tree and landed with an almighty crash on the floor.

  26

  In the stunned silence that followed Stan’s collapse everything seemed to go into slow motion. April stared dumbly at the sprawled figure on the floor, unable to make sense of what she was seeing, as people half rose from their chairs and Ron appeared to wade through an invisible sea to get to his old pal.

  Ethel’s piercing scream galvanised them all and everyone started shouting as she fell to her knees and threw herself across Stan.

  April was at the far end of the table with Ruby and they both rushed to Stan’s side just as Fran pushed her way through the crush of people now surrounding him. ‘Get off him, Mum,’ Ruby yelled, grabbing her arm and pulling her away. ‘He can’t breathe with you on top of ’im.’

  ‘He’s dead,’ she screamed, clinging to him and trying to shake him awake. ‘My Stan’s dead.’

  ‘He’s not dead,’ said Fran in a commanding voice. ‘Stand back, all of you, and give me some room – and Ruby, get your mother away. Now.’

  Ruby was having the devil’s own job trying to pull Ethel away, so April grasped her other arm and tried to help.

  Ethel wrenched her arm from April’s grip, her face full of hatred. ‘Get yer ’ands off me, you filthy slag,’ Ethel yelled. ‘It’s your fault my Stan’s dead, and I’ll kill you for this.’

  April dodged the clawed fingers, shocked at the venom spewing from Ethel.

  Ruby grabbed her mother more firmly and gave her a sharp shake. ‘Stop it, Mum. You ain’t ’elping. Just sit down and shut up while Fran takes a look at ’im.’

  ‘He’s dead, he’s dead,’ moaned an overwrought Ethel, collapsing against Ruby with a pitiful wail.

  ‘Someone run down to the hospital and get an ambulance,’ shouted Fran above the hubbub, ‘it’ll be quicker than phoning – and give Ethel a brandy.’ As Rita went flying out of the door, Fran and Ron rolled Stan onto his side, checked that his airway was clear and kept a finger on the pulse in his neck. ‘He’s not dead, Ethel,’ she said evenly. ‘Please try and stay calm.’

  ‘That’s no thanks to you,’ snarled Ethel, glaring at April through her tears. ‘If you ’adn’t come down ’ere flouting yer condition to all and sundry ’e wouldn’t’ve been so anxious these past weeks.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ethel,’ replied a stricken April. ‘But he seemed to be all right about it. Really he did.’

  ‘Yeah, well I know better,’ she yelled, jabbing a finger at her. ‘He were worried sick about the trouble you’d cause – and now look what you done!’

  April could only stare at her in bewilderment and disbelief, for Stan had shown no sign of worrying about scandal – and she was horrified at the thought that she could have in some way been the cause of today’s collapse.

  ‘I’m sorry, April,’ murmured Ruby above her mother’s wails. ‘She knows it ain’t your fault really. She’s just in shock and doesn’t know what she’s saying.’

  April had no reply, for Ethel had been bottling things up for weeks and now, in her fear and shock, the truth of her feelings had come pouring out.

  ‘Come on, April,’ said Peggy. ‘We all need to calm down and give Fran some room while we wait for the ambulance.’

  ‘Was I to blame?’ she asked tearfully.

  ‘Of course you weren’t,’ soothed Peggy, steering her and the others from Beach View to the far end of the room. ‘Ethel’s just being hysterical.’

  April sat down next to Cordelia as the other guests slowly moved away from the stricken man and formed little groups, their voices muted, their expressions solemn as they listened to Stan’s ragged breathing and waited for the ambulance. Rosie brought a pillow and blankets downstairs to cover Stan as Fran continued to monitor his pulse and Ron knelt at his side, his face quite grey with anxiety.

  April sat in mute distress while Peggy got the men to shift the table and chairs away from Stan, and the women to rally around Ethel so that she stopped that awful wailing and calmed down. There was nothing anyone could do, and the wait for the ambulance seemed interminable.

  And then the clanging bells heralded its approach and it screeched to a halt outside the Anchor.

  There was absolute silence in the pub as the doctor examined Stan and spoke quietly to Fran. Then, like the parting of the Red Sea, the gathering shifted and Stan was placed on a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance. Ethel and Ruby clambered in, the doors were slammed shut and it roared off back down the road.

  ‘Well done, Fran,’ murmured Peggy. ‘Stan’s very lucky you were here, because I doubt anyone else would have known what to do.’

  Fran l
ightly shrugged off her praise. ‘I suspect Ron would have coped,’ she replied, glancing across to where he was shakily downing a nip of brandy. She looked around at the stunned guests. ‘Poor Stan,’ she sighed. ‘And poor Ethel. What a thing to happen on your wedding day.’ She grabbed her handbag and gas-mask box. ‘I’ll go to the hospital and keep you posted. Better everyone stays here and not turn up in Casualty – the staff have enough to do.’

  As Fran slipped out through the door Rosie tapped a spoon against a wine glass. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as there’s any news,’ she said, ‘but for now I think we ought to raise a glass to Stan and Ethel and wish them the very best of luck.’

  Glasses were filled, the toast given with heartfelt emotion and slowly the conversation stuttered into a muted flow. However, the mood of the day had been ruined and as time went on and still there was no news from the hospital, people began to drift home.

  April sat with Peggy, Cordelia and the other girls, none of them sure what to do for the best, but reluctant to leave until Fran telephoned with news. April couldn’t dismiss Ethel’s accusation and, although she realised Ethel had been hysterical with fear and grief, her words ate away at her as time slowly passed. She wanted desperately to see Stan, and all this sitting about not knowing what was happening at the hospital was absolute torture.

  ‘I’ll go and help Rosie with the clearing up,’ she said to Peggy. ‘I can’t bear doing nothing.’

  ‘I feel the same,’ she replied, and they went across the room to where Rosie was reluctantly clearing away the detritus of the abandoned wedding table. Ron and his pals were huddled in a solemn group nearby, so April got them to carry the magnificent cake upstairs with a warning to stow it away well out of reach of the dogs. Then, while Ron cleared all the bottles away, Fred, Alf and Chalky stacked the extra chairs and carried them back into the cellar as their wives helped the barmaids wash and dry the many glasses.

  The bunting and paper streamers hanging from the rafters and the balloons bobbing in clusters from above the inglenook and bar seemed suddenly highly inappropriate, so it was agreed that they should all be taken down. Within minutes there was little sign of the celebrations but for a few tiny pieces of confetti that drifted across the flagstone floor as a sad reminder.