by Ellie Dean
As the medics clustered round the respirator, Peggy held April close and encouraged her to tell her what had brought about this sudden change in Paula’s condition. None of it boded well, and Peggy’s heart twisted at the thought of that innocent little soul trembling on the very brink between life and death.
April finally loosened her grip on Peggy and mopped her face with an already sodden handkerchief. Her gaze never left the huddle around the machine that inhaled and exhaled in the corner, but her tears slowly continued to roll down her face. ‘I’d like to have her christened,’ she murmured. ‘Do you think the hospital padre would agree to do it?’
Some clergy were still reluctant to christen illegitimate babies, and as Peggy hadn’t met the hospital padre, she had no idea what his feelings were on the subject. However, she wasn’t going to discuss that with April at such a traumatic time. ‘We’ll only know that if we ask him,’ she replied. ‘But I doubt he’ll be in the hospital at this hour.’
One of the younger nurses overheard and came over. ‘Padre John is always here,’ she said. ‘He was wounded at El Alamein, and is now living in the small annexe at the back of the hospital. Would you like me to ask Mr Reilly to go and find him?’
Peggy looked across the room at the machine and the medics surrounding it and nodded. ‘I think it would be best,’ she murmured.
*
Ron’s heart was heavy as he tramped along the endless corridors, for to call upon the services of the clergy could mean only one thing, and the thought that brave little Paula was losing the battle made him want to weep.
He finally found his way to the annexe, and his knock was answered almost immediately, for the padre had yet to retire despite the late hour. ‘I’m Ron Reilly and I’ve been asked to fetch you,’ he said gruffly, surprised at the other man’s youth. ‘There’s a wee soul in the special baby ward that needs you.’
‘Last rites?’ he asked, reaching for his dog collar and small black bag.
‘I’m thinking her little mother wants her christened,’ Ron replied. ‘But aye, it could be that too.’
The younger man closed the door and limped along beside Ron as they navigated the stairs and winding corridors back to the baby ward. ‘Mortar fire at El Alamein,’ he said when he realised Ron had noticed his halting gait. He paused, breathing heavily. ‘Sorry,’ he panted. ‘The lungs aren’t what they were. Why don’t you tell me something about the mother and her baby so I don’t go in there and say the wrong thing?’
Ron eyed him thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know how you feel about such things,’ he said hesitantly, ‘but the mother’s not married.’
The younger man smiled as they set off again at a slower pace. ‘I’m not worthy to judge others; that’s up to God. But if you remember your Bible, Mr Reilly, Jesus blessed the little children and called them to Him, for the Kingdom of Heaven was theirs.’
Ron nodded and dug his nails into the palms of his hands as he struggled to keep the image of that wee, innocent soul leaving this earth for the benign and loving arms of a bearded Jesus. It was at times like this that he almost wished he was religious, and could still believe in some omnipotent being who could solve everything and forgive all sins. But Ron had lived for too long and seen too many horrors to be swayed by tales spouted by priests and nuns, and he preferred to live by his own creed – do unto others as you’d have them do to you.
As they turned the corner, the two men came to a halt and stared in amazement at the sad-faced group of people conducting a silent vigil outside the doors to the ward. ‘Who are they?’ whispered the padre.
Ron was almost blinded by his tears and his heart swelled as he looked at them all. Gloria and Rosie sat next to Cordelia, and were holding hands; Rita was in charge of a sleeping Daisy; and Ruby and the other girls from Beach View were ashen-faced as they also held hands – and at the end of the row of chairs, clinging to Stan’s arm, was a tear-streaked Ethel.
‘They’re April’s family,’ he replied. ‘And they’re here to show how much they love her and little Paula.’
*
Whether it was the outpouring of love, the care of the doctors and nurses and their infernal machine, or simply the will of God and the padre’s blessing, Paula survived the night. Normal life was all but put on hold by everyone at Beach View and Railway Cottage, and as day followed worrying day those who’d come to love April and her brave little baby would arrive from their places of work to sit and wait their turn to go in and see them.
No one castigated Ethel, for they could tell she was truly sorry for having been so unkind, and desperate to make amends. It was also clear that she’d come to care for Paula, for she would sit at her side, talking quietly to her and humming snatches of lullabies as she knitted endless tiny bootees, jackets and bonnets.
Peggy came out of the ward five evenings later with a beaming smile. ‘She’s clear of infection and breathing on her own again,’ she said excitedly. ‘They’re going to move her back into the incubator for a bit, but the doctor’s hopeful that within a couple of days she’ll be strong enough to go in a proper cot.’
Stan drew a sobbing Ethel into a bear hug, Ruby, Fran and Rita grinned at each other in delight, while Sarah and Ivy clasped hands, and Cordelia burst into tears. Ron dug his hands into his pockets, found a grubby handkerchief and blew his nose so loudly the sound reverberated right down the corridor, which earned him a sharp dig in the ribs from Gloria and Rosie.
‘I think we should let April have some time alone with Paula,’ said Peggy as she comforted a weeping Cordelia. ‘This is a special moment for her after all the worry she’s gone through, and I’ve told her we’ll see her tomorrow, so she won’t think she’s been abandoned.’
‘I got something to say before we leave,’ said Ethel in her usual straightforward manner. When they all stilled and turned to look at her warily, she shook her head. ‘I ain’t gunna say nothing unkind no more,’ she said. ‘But I reckon we got an important decision to make now Paula’s pulling through.’
‘And what would that be?’ rumbled Ron suspiciously.
Ethel folded her arms and glared defiantly back at him. ‘April ain’t gunna want to let Paula out of her sight after all this,’ she said. ‘And I don’t blame ’er. But she ain’t the sort of girl to ask favours off no one and is probably scared of asking us to ’elp when Paula’s discharged.’
‘Then I’ll make certain she knows she and the baby can come and live with us,’ said Peggy.
‘You’re a good woman, Peggy, and I know you’d look after ’em as if they was yer own. But a boarding ’ouse ain’t no place to bring up such a delicate baby, if you don’t mind my saying so, and as we’re proper family, so ter speak, I reckon she should move in with me and Stan. Until she finds ’er feet like.’
Peggy might have taken umbrage at this, but she realised Ethel was, as usual, talking without thinking, so she smiled and gave her a hug. ‘That would be perfect,’ she murmured. ‘I’m so pleased you’ve come round, Ethel.’
‘Yeah, well, someone’s got to look after them proper, ain’t they?’ she said gruffly.
Stan grabbed Ethel and kissed her until they were both breathless. When they came up for air, he took her hands. ‘Let’s go in and tell April now, and put her mind at rest.’
Ethel poked him in his much-reduced stomach. ‘Soft old sod,’ she murmured affectionately.
Epilogue
April stood beneath the branches of the gnarled apple tree in the cottage garden and watched the sun dappling through the blossom onto the pram. She’d been living with Stan and Ethel ever since she’d been discharged from hospital back in September, and had brought Paula home here just before Christmas.
That first Christmas had been the best she’d ever experienced, for although there were no expensive presents and rationing meant they’d had to go without a turkey, the warmth of family and the delicious weight of her child in her arms made her heart sing.
Now spring was in the air, there were brigh
t heads of daffodils bobbing in the light breeze, and drifts of pink and white blossom floated like confetti across the vegetable patch she and Ruby tended under Stan’s watchful eye. Distracted from her musing by Paula’s chuckle, she smiled fondly as the little girl laughed up at her, kicking off her blankets to wave her chubby little legs and arms about.
The doctors had warned her that Paula would always be small for her age, but she’d put on weight, and looked marvellously healthy. Her hair was still dark and the curls were silky around her sweet face, and there were faint reminders of her father in the delicately formed nose and cheekbones, and in her olive skin, but her eyes were the darkest, deepest brown without any hint of that treacherous tawny gold.
April gazed at her. She was the most beautiful baby in the world as far as she was concerned, and in very great danger of being spoilt rotten by everyone, especially Ethel and Stan. She became aware she was being watched and turned to see Ethel standing in the doorway with an indulgent smile, tapping her watch rather pointedly.
‘Yes, I know, I’ll be late for work if I don’t get a move on.’
She smiled back, then kissed her baby’s irresistible little feet and fingers, nuzzled her sweet neck and reluctantly headed for the telephone exchange. Vera Gardener had surprised her by offering to take her on again when the unpleasant Bertha had suddenly decided she’d make more money working in one of the factories. The smelly Winston had passed away and Vera had turned her affections to Paula, proving to be an attentive and caring babysitter when Ethel had to be at the factory.
April kissed Stan on her way through the station – he was looking very much healthier now he’d lost so much weight – and then crossed the bridge. As the sunshine warmed her face and the sea sparkled at the end of the High Street, she felt she’d at last found her rightful place in the world. The continued silence from her mother was almost a blessing, for she’d realised a while ago that she didn’t need her approval, or even her love. She had all the love she needed right here in Cliffehaven.
Dear Reader
April’s story was one I’d wanted to write for some time, but rather lacked the courage to do so until now. It’s an emotive subject, played out during a time when strict moral codes were adhered to – or at least were seen to be followed – and the language and attitudes would not be acceptable in these more enlightened days. I have no wish to offend, but to keep the story authentic it was vital to use words and phrases I would never normally dream of using. There is little doubt that the girls were naïve sexually, for it wasn’t a subject to be talked about except in extremely vague terms by embarrassed mothers. The influx of dashing young men in the uniform of the foreign services, their perceived sophistication and the very uncertainty of the times proved irresistible to some, which led to clandestine affairs, and quite often, heartache.
The arrival of the black GIs certainly caused a stir, just as they had during the First World War, and not all of them abandoned their children. And yet the prejudice of inter-racial relationships was rife on both sides of the Atlantic, and it was a very brave girl who defied the conventions of the time and married her black American, or kept his baby. Pressure from family combined with the lack of any of the financial benefits available today, and the unwillingness of employers to hire an unmarried girl with a child of any colour, meant that many girls were cast out of their homes, with the inevitable result that many of these babies were placed in orphanages.
I thought long and hard about April’s baby, and what her outcome would be, and came to the conclusion that she had to survive and stay with her mother. April had the love and support of Stan, Ethel and Peggy, but realistically, there was still a tough battle ahead in a world not yet ready to accept she’d made a mistake, and was doing her very best to atone for it. Baby Paula had come to represent all the ‘khaki babies’ born during those times, and I wanted her to have the love and warmth of a proper home denied to so many others.
Between the two wars and after 1945 the orphanages were overcrowded, the mainly church-funded institutions unable to support so many unwanted children. It is during these times that the churches began to send the children abroad, mainly to Australia where, despite the promises of a better life, they were often abused and used as slave labour in some of the harshest environments on earth. I have explored and researched this era of the ‘Empty Cradles,’ for my book, Savannah Winds, which I wrote under the pseudonym of Tamara McKinley.
I hope you enjoy Shelter From the Storm. Please let me know what you think. You can contact me through www.ellie-dean.co.uk, or on Facebook.
Interview with Ellie
1. What made you want to become a writer?
I’ve always loved reading and making up stories. I am an only child, raised by my grandmother and her sisters, who opened up the world of books to me. Yet it was the family story which always intrigued me, and I knew that one day I would have to sit down and write it. I eventually achieved this, and it was the start of me realising that storytelling was something I could really do well. The rest, as they say, is history!
2. Describe your writing routine and where you like to write.
I have black coffee for breakfast, at least two cups, and make a point of reading the newspaper before doing the Sudoku, and the cryptic crossword. This gets me into a working frame of mind and wakes up my brain. I have an office in my house which overlooks paddocks and the South Downs, and I sit down there before ten every morning. I check my emails and Facebook, and then read through what I’ve written the day before. Editing this gets me into the next scene that I want to write. I work through from ten until around six, five days a week. If a deadline is looming however, then I might work over the weekend and at night. I find that sometimes I do my best work after midnight!
3. What themes are you interested in when you’re writing?
The theme of family, and of the intricate threads which bind people together or tear them apart. People react differently to situations, and I find it fascinating to watch my characters evolve throughout the book.
4. Where do you get your inspiration from?
Inspiration comes from everything and anything. A conversation overheard – a newspaper article – a line in a book – or a song.
5. How do you manage to get inside the heads of your characters in order to portray them truthfully?
Once I have the plot and the title, then I must have the actors playing their parts. I wait for them to come to me, to show themselves and tell me about their lives. It might sound weird, but that’s how I work. It’s like meeting new friends. You don’t know everything about them immediately, but as they talk, you can discover who they are, where they come from, their social background, their aspirations, their failures, etc. As an author I become this person, with their viewpoint, their likes and dislikes and the reactions they will have to any given situation. An author must evolve into these characters to make them fully rounded, and it doesn’t matter what gender they are – people are very similar underneath the skin.
6. Do you base your characters on real people? And if not, where does the inspiration come from?
I don’t actually base my characters on anyone, but there are certainly shades of people I’ve known and loved or disliked intensely. People like to think I’ve based a character on them, but that isn’t so – and yet I might have picked up a habit of theirs, or the way they say things, which leads them to think that it is them.
7. What’s the most extreme thing you’ve ever done to research your book?
I flew a Spitfire. It was a simulator, unfortunately, but it certainly gave me the feeling of flying – and I got a certificate to prove it!
8. What aspect of writing do you enjoy most?
I love doing most of it. Working out a story, plotting it, finding my characters and taking them through the trials and tribulations of the book to a satisfying end. I enjoy the research too, for I’ve learned a huge amount about the Second World War, and I’m constantly surprised by what I unc
over. The writing is harder – and it seems to get harder the more I do it. Probably because I’m aware of the pitfalls, and because, at times, it feels as if I’m trying to knit fog – but once I have written THE END, the joy is in the editing. With the story complete, it’s great to go through it again and turf out all the things that shouldn’t be there, and to make it as good and as polished as possible.
9. What’s the best thing about being an author?
Not having to get dressed in the morning to go to work – or to go outside when the weather is foul or to battle with commuter traffic.
10. What advice would you give aspiring writers?
Learn your craft. Do your apprenticeship by writing, writing and writing – and reading. Persevere – take advice and don’t get precious about your work. The publishing world is tough, so be prepared to develop a very thick skin.
11. What is your favourite book of all time and why?
There are so many favourites, it’s hard to choose. Exodus by Leon Uris was the first adult book I read when I was about eleven, and it inspired me to one day write a brilliant story. Delicious by Nicky Pellegrino because I adore Italy and the Italians, and this book is redolent with the scents of olive oil, garlic and herbs!
12. If you could be a character in a book, or live in the world of a book, who or where would you be?
I’d be the female captain of a pirate ship, sailing the Caribbean and being romanced by someone dashing and handsome – like Ross Poldark!
The characters
PEGGY REILLY is in her early forties, and married to Jim. She is small and slender, with dark, curly hair and lively brown eyes, and finds it very hard to sit still. As if running a busy household wasn’t enough, she also does voluntary work for the WVS, makes tea and sandwiches for anyone in need and is always there to listen and to sympathise.
