by Ellie Dean
Ellie Dean
* * *
Homecoming
Contents
Prologue
PART ONE 1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
PART TWO 10
11
12
13
14
15
16
PART THREE 17
18
19
20
21
22
PART FOUR 23
24
25
26
PART FIVE 27
28
29
30
About the Author
Ellie Dean 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. She is the author of the The Cliffehaven Series.
To find out more visit www.ellie-dean.co.uk
Also available by Ellie Dean
There’ll be Blue Skies
Far From Home
Keep Smiling Through
Where the Heart Lies
Always in My Heart
All My Tomorrows
Some Lucky Day
While We’re Apart
Sealed With a Loving Kiss
Sweet Memories of You
Shelter from the Storm
Until You Come Home
The Waiting Hours
With a Kiss and a Prayer
As the Sun Breaks Through
On a Turning Tide
With Hope and Love
This entire series is dedicated to the men and women who sacrificed so much during wartime to ensure that we could live in a more peaceful world. From the beleaguered housewives battling on the Home Front, to the evacuated children and the men who fought so bravely in the theatres of war, may their dedication to the cause never be forgotten.
Dear Reader,
Well, here we are at the end of nine years and eighteen books! When I first began this series, I was thinking it might stretch to six books, so was delighted to be able to expand it beyond my original ideas, and really steep myself in the Reilly family’s comings and goings during the most frightening period in our history.
It’s been a joy to get to know the Reilly family and all of Peggy’s chicks, and now I must say goodbye to them with a heavy heart. They have become my family and I’ve come to love each and every one of them – even Doris and Pauline – and although Cliffehaven and all who live there are purely fictional, I know I shall miss them dreadfully.
Many of you have wanted me to carry on into the fifties and sixties with this Cliffehaven series, but I came to realise it would have been too painful to watch our beloved older characters become frail and pass away. Surely it’s best to remember them as they are in Homecoming – at peace, fulfilled and with the assurance that they will live on for ever in our hearts.
But all is not lost, for there is to be a new series in which we will meet Ron and Dolly in their youthful years, and follow their exploits before, during and after the First World War. There’s a lot of research to cover before the writing starts, but I’m hoping that the first book will be published towards the end of this year.
So, this is not goodbye, but adieu for a little while, and I wish you health and happiness in this new year of 2020, and hope you continue to enjoy reading about the trials and tribulations of the Reillys.
Acknowledgements
No author works alone, and long before a book is published an army of people have shared their wisdom, told their stories, and given their advice on the history and ordnance behind the scenes of the tales I’ve constructed.
Paul Nash has been tireless in his help regarding the history of the RAF during the Second World War, and has cheerfully guided me from making too many mistakes when I’ve had the wrong aircraft in the wrong time or place!
Jean Relf has generously provided me with the transcript of her father’s diaries and letters to help me understand Jim’s time in Burma.
Many extraordinary women have enthusiastically related their memories of doing their bit during the war, from ambulance drivers, land girls, Wrens, factory girls working in munitions, to drivers and mechanics – I salute them all, and fully understand why these wartime memories are still so very much alive, for it was an exciting and fulfilling time even though they lived in fear of air raids and life was precarious.
Teresa Chris, my agent, has been with me throughout the journey of this series, and I thank her once again for her tremendous support, and unfailing belief in me and what I can achieve.
My editors at Arrow have changed during the nine years of writing this series, and I want to thank them all for their dedication to ensuring that the books are the best they can be – Georgina Hawtrey-Woore – who is sadly no longer with us – Viola Hayden, who was absolutely on my wavelength and knew exactly what I was aiming for. Jenny Geras, who steered me gently through the editing. Last but never least, Emily Griffin, who picked up the reins brilliantly and with great enthusiasm helped me on the last lap of this long journey.
I want to thank Valerie, Oonagh, Ann, Tina, Linda, Amanda and all my other wonderful girlfriends who provided wine, chats and giggles which saw me through the tough times – and to my sons and daughter who’ve been unfailing in their love and support.
And finally to my darling husband who never once let me falter and who is always my most stalwart fan, and best friend. I love you.
Prologue
Burma, August 1945
Second Lieutenant Jim Reilly was stunned. He wasn’t the only one – his best pal Jumbo McTavish, their fellow officers and all the men of the South East Asia Command who were still in Burma were stunned, too. The Americans’ atomic bomb had virtually obliterated the city of Hiroshima, and yet the Japanese High Command were refusing to surrender. When the second bomb erased Nagasaki three days later, it was a long five days before the news came that Japan had finally agreed to surrender unconditionally.
The great joy and relief that greeted this announcement was tempered by the memories of all the comrades that had been left behind in the jungle graves of Burma and throughout the Far East. The cost of winning the war against Japan had been brutally high – not only to life and limb, but to Jim and Jumbo’s peace of mind which would for ever be fractured by what they’d seen and heard throughout the Burma Campaign.
The army padre had held a service on the day the Japanese had surrendered, and although Jim had never been a religious man, he’d earnestly and sincerely thanked God that he’d survived and would be going home when so many others hadn’t been given that blessing. He’d also given thanks that the planned Operation Zipper to invade Malaya and capture Port Swettenham and Port Dickson in early September would not now take place, for none of the men had the stomach for more warfare. With the certain knowledge that their fighting days were over and they’d soon be boarding a ship for home, Jim and Jumbo had set their minds to thoroughly enjoying their leave.
The beaches of Ramree Island that had seen such fierce fighting were peaceful now, and the all-weather airbase that had cost so many lives to build and defend was running smoothly with almost daily flights bringing in fresh provisions, construction materials and tools, and on their departure, transferring the more seriously ill patients from the field hospital to the larger, better equipped ones in India. The pale golden sand stretching from the edge of the dark green jungle right to the shore of the turquoise sea made a perfect playground now the monsoon was over.
Having time on their hands and the wherewithal to make their camp more comfortable, Jim, Jumbo and the other sappers had put their skills to
work on building accommodation huts, a mess hall and a large recreation room that was open to the skies but for a canopy of mosquito netting, to garner the cooler air of evening and provide a place for the men to watch the films being brought in, listen to the comedy shows on the wireless, or hold dances.
The natives, free at last from their Japanese persecutors, had put up makeshift kiosks of bamboo and canvas above the high-water mark to sell their lethal rice wine, tasty snacks wrapped in banana leaves and curries delicately flavoured with coconut and fragrant spices. Their small, slender and beautiful women had finally came out of hiding, as untouchable and remote as ever with their shy smiles and lowered eyes, but adding beautiful colour with their bright longhis and jingling bracelets.
Once the building work was completed, and his time was his own again, Jim had bought a hammock from a Burmese pedlar and strung it between two palm trees where he had a good view of everything that was going on around him. Stripped to his shorts and barefoot, he’d spent a good deal of time languishing in the hammock, a crate of beer close to hand in the shade, his sweat-stained hat shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare that occasionally speared through the palm fronds.
The heat was debilitating and he’d been too lazy to talk, even to Jumbo, who’d taken to sprawling his great length in a nearby planter’s chair beneath a vast umbrella to read a copious number of books he’d found in the hospital library. Jumbo’s red hair and fair skin were perfectly suited to the northern climate of the Isle of Skye, but the tropics had done him no favours, and although he burnt and peeled, he never went brown, unlike Jim, whose olive skin was now as dark as polished mahogany which made his eyes an even deeper blue.
Jim had slept and dreamed of Peggy and home – of his daughters, Anne, Cissy and little Daisy, and his sons, Bob and Charlie – of his elder brother, Frank, and his father, Ron, and the town of Cliffehaven where he’d lived all his life until two wars had forced him to take up arms and leave those familiar and much loved surroundings.
Those dreams echoed the sadness that had plagued him ever since he’d left Beach View, for he’d been gone for almost four years and had yet to meet Anne’s little girls, and the last time he’d seen Daisy, she’d still been a babe in arms. Cissy, who’d always been the naughty one with ambitions to become a star of stage and screen had clearly matured during her time as a WAAF at RAF Cliffe, and was now a business partner in a very successful private taxi hire company in London.
As for his sons, they’d left home as evacuees back in 1940 – bewildered little boys who couldn’t possibly have understood why they’d had to be torn from their family to go and live in Somerset with their big sister, Anne. Bob was now a capable young man of eighteen and managing the Somerset farm, and Charlie was fifteen, all set to take his school certificate and go on to technical college to study engineering. Jim had missed so much of them growing up, and there had always been a constant shadow of worry hanging over him that his children, and his beloved Peggy, had become strangers during his long absence – and he to them, for the war had changed him irreparably. If only the army would release him, he could return home and begin to repair his relationship with them all and once again be in the bosom of his family.
As the exhaustion of almost constant battle had slowly left him and the long, languid days had begun to make him feel restless and impatient for news of his demob and passage home, he’d abandoned the hammock and set about keeping busy by joining in the fun.
The hot, sunny days had become filled with shopping in the Burmese markets which had sprung up again, or with swimming and playing games of football and cricket on the sand accompanied by the mouth-watering aromas of barbecued meat cooking on hot coals outside the mess hall. The sultry tropical nights had seen Jumbo leave his chair, book and umbrella to join Jim and take part in dancing with the off-duty nurses from the nearby hospital, or drinking beer while watching a film or listening to ITMA on the wireless.
There had been trips along the coast in a convoy of trucks, delightfully crammed in between laughing nurses who wore little more than swimsuits and native sarongs. These outings always involved more beer, swimming and picnics on the beach, and they’d returned to camp satiated with sun and sand and sea to fall dreamlessly asleep until birdsong and the chatter of monkeys woke them at dawn.
It was a leisurely, very pleasant life, and if he’d had Peggy with him, Jim could have stayed on this island for ever – but of course all good things must come to an end, and when it was time to leave for England, he knew he’d be amongst the first to board the ship.
Jumbo had gone off just after dawn that morning to the hospital to get more lotion to slather onto his raw skin – or at least that was the excuse he’d given Jim. However, Jim had noticed how he couldn’t quite meet his eye, and had seen the way he’d looked at the pretty little Welsh nurse with the long black hair and lilting voice, and suspected the enormous Scotsman was smitten. If so, then it would be interesting to see what came of this seemingly mutual attraction, for Jumbo had always sworn he’d never tie himself down, and was content to live alone in the glens of his Scottish island home where he tended the deer and managed the forest of the laird’s estate.
Jim had been about to leave the hut he shared with Jumbo and two other officers to wander down the beach for an early morning swim before breakfast when the Brigade Commander’s adjutant had forestalled him by announcing that their commanding officer had ordered a meeting of all officers in the recreation room within the hour. The young man had refused to answer their questions, but spirits soared, for it could only mean they were on their way home at last.
An hour later, the officers of South East Asia Command streamed out of the recreation hall in numbed silence, trying to make sense of it all before they had to inform the men under their command of the new orders. It had felt as though a huge cloud had suddenly blocked out the sun.
Operation Zipper was now Operation Jurist and would go ahead, but earlier than previously scheduled and on a much smaller scale, having transferred a proportion of its original strength to the new Operation Tiderace. Jim and Jumbo would not take part in Operation Jurist which was under the command of a British Naval Force tasked with liberating Malaya, but were due to join 60,000 infantry on Operation Tiderace’s vast convoy of battleships, cruisers, destroyers, Royal Fleet Auxiliary and escort carriers which would set sail from Trincomalee in Ceylon and Rangoon in Burma in ten days’ time. They would arrive in Singapore in time to witness the signing of Japan’s complete and unconditional surrender on board HMS Sussex .
Operation Tiderace had been swiftly organised immediately following the two atomic attacks on Japan, and would retake Singapore and reinforce the British Military Administration that was already being set up there. It was not known how long the mixed brigades of SEAC were expected to stay in Singapore, but their brigade commander had warned them they would definitely not be going home before Christmas – and could very well remain in Singapore well into March 1946.
Once Jim and his fellow officers had passed on this devastating news to their men, the previously carefree mood had soured into resentment and bitter disappointment, and the beach became deserted as the men sought solitude to try and digest what these new orders meant for them and their long-suffering families. Silence seemed to prevail throughout the camp, and eventually a long, muted queue began to slowly form outside the communications hut to send this devastating news to their loved ones at home.
Jim had joined the queue, sick at heart, the weight of disappointment lying heavily in his gut as he tried to decide how to word the telegram to Peggy. She would be as disappointed as he to learn he’d miss yet another Christmas, and although the message would have to be necessarily short because censorship was still the order of the day, he would sit down tonight and write her a long letter to try and explain as well as he was permitted why he wouldn’t be coming home. He certainly didn’t want her to hear what SEAC were up to through news broadcasts or in the papers, but however muc
h he wanted to protect her from hurt, there was absolutely no way around it.
Having sent the telegram he knew would bring her terrible grief, Jim had pushed his way back through the queue that now stretched all along the beach, and tramped over the sand, his eyes blinded with unshed, angry tears. Reaching the small, secluded cove at the far end, he’d slumped down into a fold of the dunes, wrapped his arms about his knees and stared out at the shimmering vista before him.
But instead of a sparkling blue sea he saw the choppy waters of the English Channel which splashed on Cliffehaven’s pebbled beach, and where the sky was bleached by the sun and hazy with heat, there was only the dark grey of English skies, and the gathering clouds of a winter storm.
Jim buried his head in his arms and silently wept.
Part One
* * *
1
Cliffehaven
Beach View Boarding House stood three terraces back from the promenade, and was one of the many Victorian villas that lined the steep hill on the eastern side of Cliffehaven. Despite its name, the only view of the beach was from the room on the top floor, the others looking down into the back garden which had been turned into a vegetable plot or at the roofs of the other houses.
Three storeys high above the basement rooms, and once quite elegant, it now showed the scars of wartime in the patched roof, pitted stucco and shattered steps which led up to the rather battered front door – but at least it was still standing, which was more than could be said for some of the surrounding villas. A gas explosion had devastated two neighbouring houses at the end of Beach View Terrace; a V-1 had destroyed the house behind, and one cul-de-sac further down had been obliterated by a V-2.
