The Butlins Girls

by Elaine Everest

  Freda giggled. ‘That would have made your dad laugh.’

  Molly nodded. ‘Yes, he’d have reminded me of that for many a day.’

  Freda was pleased to see a glimpse of the old Molly appear. It had been a while since her friend’s green eyes had sparkled with fun as they’d enjoyed a joke or chatted about their favourite screen idol. ‘I was wondering if you would do me a favour, Molly. It’s my birthday this week. As I only have this afternoon off from Woolies, would you like to come to see a film at the Odeon? If you aren’t up to it, then I’ll understand.’

  ‘You have no idea how much I would love to celebrate your birthday with you,’ Molly said. ‘You’d be helping me get back to normal. It’s time I started to do something more than go to work. I’m sure it couldn’t be wrong to visit the cinema. It will be my treat. In my muddled state, I seem to have lost track of important events like the birthdays of good friends like you. I’m sorry, Freda.’

  Freda had worried about inviting Molly to the cinema, but perhaps this just might help her turn the corner after the tragic loss of her parents. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for.’ She checked her watch. ‘We have an hour before the early show starts. Would you like to pop into the Prince of Wales for a drink, or perhaps the cafe for a bite to eat?’

  Molly thought for a moment. ‘Can I be an absolute bore and stop by the shop? It’s almost closing time and I’d like to check that everything’s as it should be.’

  ‘You are not a bore at all. You know I love visiting your shop. I find it fascinating.’

  Molly laughed. ‘You are funny. You’re the only woman I know who is interested in the ironmongery trade. Even Mum left the shop side of things to Dad and just helped out with the paperwork.’

  ‘It’s something I know well after serving on a counter with similar goods at Woolworths. I don’t profess to be an expert, but I know the difference between a hammer and a screwdriver.’

  The bus soon arrived in the town of Erith, which nestled on the south side of the River Thames a little way from London, and the two girls walked the short distance down the High Street to the double-fronted shop. There were few shoppers, as it was early closing in the town. Norman Missons had always been of the belief that his shop should stay open every day as he offered an essential service to the people of Erith, selling, as he did, everything from pounds of tintacks to galvanized watering cans. His wife, Charlotte, had put her foot down when he’d suggested opening on a Sunday. She feared the wrath of their church and also valued their afternoon trips out in the car. It had been on a trip to Canterbury that Norman had done his best to avoid a child who’d run out into the road and they’d met their untimely deaths.

  As Molly and Freda approached Missons Ironmonger’s, they could see faithful employee George Jones preparing to close up shop for the day. He dragged a dustbin full of mops and brooms in from the pavement at the front of the shop before returning for a sign advertising a popular brand of paraffin.

  George stopped to tap his cap and nod to Molly. ‘Good afternoon, Molly. Did your visit go well?’

  Molly smiled at the grey-haired man. She had known him as far back as she could remember. Along with his wife, Kath, he had been such a support after the accident that took his employer and good friend from him, and George had done his best to keep the business running smoothly ready for when Molly was able to pick up where her father had left off.

  ‘The headstone is now in place, George, and the daffodils look beautiful in their marble pot. Please thank Kath for me.’

  George nodded. ‘We always picked the first bunch of daffs for your mum, so it’s only fitting we still pick them for her now.’ He glanced towards the highly polished dark wood counter as he entered the shop with a box of wooden clothes pegs in his hands.

  Molly, who was following close behind with a tray of blue-and-white enamel mugs, stopped dead in her tracks. Upon the counter, in a green-tinted glass vase, stood a bunch of daffodils, bringing a shaft of sunshine to this drab February day. This was where her mum always placed George’s annual gift. For just a second Molly expected to see Charlotte Missons in her white overalls polishing the wooden counter until it shone. She silently scolded herself for such a foolish notion.

  Freda stepped over the threshold and closed her eyes in delight, breathing in the aroma of paraffin oil and lavender-scented floor wax. She’d often visited the shop during her lunch hour from Woolworths to chat to Molly’s mum about Brownie and Girl Guide projects and would stop to lend a hand. Weighing quantities of nails on the large brass scales and tipping them into brown paper bags never ceased to thrill as she lined them up ready for George to place onto shelves. If she didn’t enjoy her job at Woolworths so much, she would have jumped at the chance to work alongside Molly’s parents in the family business. ‘Can I help you with anything, Mr Jones?’

  ‘No, young lady. Everything’s in hand. Get yourself off and enjoy what’s left of your half-day, and take Molly with you. It’s time she started to get out a bit more.’

  ‘I’ll do that, George. In fact, Molly’s coming with me to the Odeon shortly to see Now, Voyager.’

  ‘She’ll enjoy that. The missus went with her sister the other day and hasn’t stopped talking about that actor Paul Henreid ever since. You’d never believe she saw the film the last time it was on at the Odeon by the way she went on and on about it.’ George looked at the large clock at the back of the shop. ‘You’d better get a move on or the best seats will be gone.’ He called out to Molly, ‘You get yourself off or the B-movie will have started. I’ll finish up here.’

  Molly looked up from where she was sifting through a pile of envelopes. ‘I’m all done, George. I’ll put the post in Dad’s office and be on my way.’ She still could not call the back room by anything other than the name by which it had been known since she was a young child. Entering the office, she tossed the paperwork into a wooden tray, then noticed a small white envelope with her own name written on it in neat copperplate writing. It was most likely another condolence card, she thought, as she tucked it away in her handbag to read later, along with another, which she noted came from her dad’s solicitor, Mr A. C. Denton.

  The two girls reached the cinema just as the lights went down and sat enthralled throughout the first film, in which handsome secret agent Clive Danvers saved the country from invasion by uncovering a dastardly plot. It was the main feature, though, that Molly and Freda looked forward to more, and they were not disappointed.

  Freda looped her arm through Molly’s as they dashed across the High Street to a fish-and-chip shop on the other side. They joined a queue of people waiting for fried fish, both breathing in the aroma of chips and vinegar in the steamy shop. ‘That must be the most romantic film I’ve ever seen,’ Freda sighed.

  ‘I’m so pleased you asked me to come with you. It took my mind off my own life for a few hours,’ Molly said. She glanced at the posters pasted to the white-tiled walls of the chip shop. A forthcoming jumble sale at Christ Church and an Easter funfair and circus at the recreation ground that backed onto her house. She was pleased that some of the Rec, as the locals called it, was back to how it used to be and no longer used to ‘dig for victory’. A third poster caught her eye. ‘Look, Freda – Butlins holiday camp is having a grand opening in May. Mum had wanted to holiday there before the war started, but then Dad heard the camp had been taken over by the services. Perhaps we could take a trip in the summer?’

  ‘I’d like that,’ Freda said excitedly. Since moving to Erith in 1938 she’d fallen in love with the Kentish seaside towns and visited Margate and Ramsgate whenever she could. She wrinkled her nose in thought. ‘Where is Skegness?’

  ‘It’s up in Lincolnshire somewhere. A fair way to travel. We’d have to find out how to get there. I’m told we would stay in wooden huts and join the other holidaymakers for our meals. They have entertainment, and there’s also a swimming pool. Everything is included for a lovely holiday.’

  ‘It does sound wonderful.
Is Butlins just in the one place?’

  ‘From what I remember Mum telling me, they have a few different holiday camps. For some reason, she was keen on visiting the one in Skegness.’

  The girls chatted excitedly as they inched their way up the queue towards the high green-and-cream shop counter.

  ‘Been to see that Now, Voyager, have you?’ a rosy-cheeked woman asked as she wrapped a portion of cod and chips in a copy of yesterday’s Erith Observer.

  ‘We have, Vi. Bette Davis is so sophisticated. The change in her appearance by the end of the film was almost a miracle,’ Molly exclaimed.

  ‘I thought the same when I see it with my old man. It’d be no use me dressing like Bette Davis working in here, though,’ she guffawed, brushing strands of greying hair from her hot face. ‘What can I get for you two girls this evening?’

  Molly opened her purse. ‘It’s my treat, seeing as how it’s almost your birthday, Freda. Rock and chips twice, please, Vi.’

  Freda went to protest but could see that it was a losing battle. ‘Thank you. Rock salmon would be nice. Can you leave them open, please, Vi?’

  Vi nodded as she shook the bubbling fat from a basket of chips and tipped them into a large metal hopper at the front of the counter. ‘We need more chips out here, Bill,’ she bellowed towards an open door at the back of the shop. ‘It’s your birthday?’ she said to Freda. ‘Well, many happy returns, love, and plenty of them. Here’s a saveloy each from me. I’ve been meaning to say thank you for taking our Jeanie under your wing at Woolies. She loves her job on the biscuit counter. Been the making of her, it has. She’s even walking out with a nice young man from the shoe shop next door. He’s no Paul Henreid, though,’ she added with another belly laugh. ‘But then my Jeanie’s no film star, come to that.’

  The girls both laughed as they watched Vi tip their fish and chips onto squares of paper and place a long saveloy sausage on top before folding newspaper around each parcel, leaving a gap from which to eat from. ‘Help yourself to salt and vinegar.’

  ‘No chance of Jeanie’s fella lighting two cigarettes and handing one to her to smoke, like they did in the film?’ Freda asked with a sigh. ‘What was it she said to him?’

  ‘“Don’t let’s ask for the moon. We have the stars,”’ Molly said with a dreamy look on her face.

  ‘Me and my Bill tried that the other night after we see the film,’ Vi said with a grin.

  Molly’s eyes grew wide at the thought. She’d known the rotund Vi for many years, along with her pint-sized husband, Bill. ‘Was it romantic, Vi?’ she asked, before blowing on a hot chip and popping it into her mouth.

  ‘Romantic? Bless my soul.’ She started to laugh as tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘Bill took one puff of those fags and nigh on coughed his guts up. We’ll not bother with romance again.’

  Still giggling, the two friends headed out into the dark evening, the fish and chips warming their hands as they headed to a bench nearby.

  ‘I’m full up,’ Molly said a short while later, as she wiped her mouth with her handkerchief. ‘It was very good of Vi to throw in the saveloys, but I really can’t eat mine.’

  ‘You’re right there. They won’t go to waste, though – I’ll take the scraps back for Nelson. He’ll love them. That dog eats anything,’ Freda said, folding the newspaper round the scraps. ‘Do you fancy coming back for a cup of cocoa?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’ll head home. I want to have an early night to be at the shop on time for deliveries.’ Molly knew that Freda’s landlady kept an open house for family and friends, but at the moment she preferred not to be where people were aware of her loss. She still couldn’t trust herself not to burst into tears when people showed their concern.

  ‘Enjoy your sleep and dream of Paul Henreid,’ Freda laughed.

  ‘He’s a little on the old side for me, thank you very much.’

  Freda thought for a minute. ‘Perhaps the dashing actor in the first film. What was his name?’

  ‘Johnny Johnson. I’ve seen him in a few films. He always plays the handsome hero.’

  Freda nudged Molly as she pulled on her gloves. ‘So you’re in love with a movie star, are you? I must admit he is extremely handsome. I’ve spotted him myself in a few films. He has a beautiful singing voice. It is such a shame he has only appeared in two musicals. Do you think he’s English or American?’

  Molly thought for a moment of the tall, dark-haired matinee idol. She wasn’t going to admit to Freda that she was sweet on the actor and made sure she saw any film he appeared in. ‘He’s always been in English films, but who are we to know? If his acting is that good, he could be any nationality.’

  ‘I have some old movie magazines in my room. I’ll see if there’s anything about him. We may as well find out about the mystery man you’ve fallen in love with.’

  Molly pushed Freda’s arm and laughed. ‘Get off home, you daft thing. I’m no more in love with Johnny Johnson than you are Paul Henreid.’ She hugged Freda. ‘Have a lovely birthday and I’ll see you in the week.’

  As Molly headed away from the High Street and walked up the tree-lined avenue to her home, she thought about the handsome movie star. She was never going to admit to her friend that she dreamed about Johnny at night as well as during quiet moments at work. It was the only time she managed not to think about her parents.

  2

  Molly was still coming to terms with arriving home to a darkened house. The large, detached property set back from the road, close to the town of Erith, didn’t seem as welcoming now she lived there alone. The houses in leafy Avenue Road had been built for the town’s well-to-do in the past century and, with their bay windows and generous front gardens, still attracted the wealthier tradespeople from Erith. Norman Missons had been proud to live in a street that showed how well his business was doing. With her mother no longer there to welcome her, though, the house seemed quiet and empty.

  She turned her key in the lock and entered the large hallway, quickly reaching for the light switch. The homely room was flooded with light, picking out a framed photograph on the wall that had been taken on Charlotte and Norman’s wedding day. Molly looked at it as she removed her coat and hat, placing them next to her parents’ coats on the hall stand. They looked so young and in love. Who was to know they would be taken so soon and not live long enough to enjoy their old age together? Molly felt the anger and the unjustness she’d bottled up start to bubble to the surface. Life was so unfair – so bloody unfair.

  Drawing the forest-green velvet curtains in the large bay windows of the front room, Molly lit a taper and held it to the kindling in the grate. She always made sure that before she left home each morning, there was a fire prepared and ready to light the moment she came home from work. In the kitchen, she already had the makings of a meal. The three years she’d spent working in the Land Army had taught her how to utilize her time as efficiently as possible. They had also taught her not to be afraid of hard work. After the filling fish-and-chip meal with Freda, Molly decided the shepherd’s pie could be saved for tomorrow.

  She poured milk into a small pan and placed it on the stove to heat for her nightly cup of cocoa. Freda had been a good friend, especially since the day Molly heard that her parents had been involved in an accident. Freda had moved in with her during those first dark weeks, forcing her to eat even when Molly had no idea whether it was night or day. When the tears finally came, it was Freda who held her while she sobbed. Freda had little family to speak of, apart from a brother in the navy, although she did have some wonderful friends and colleagues who worked alongside her at Woolworths. Once Freda had returned home, Freda’s landlady had sent food and offered a bed if Molly couldn’t face being alone in the large house in Avenue Road. Molly may not have any blood relatives, but she certainly had friends who cared.

  Carrying a cup and saucer into the front room and settling in her dad’s armchair by the fireside, Molly reached for her handbag and took out the two envelopes. The letter from Mr Den
ton, the family solicitor, requested she attend his office in Pier Road at her earliest convenience to discuss her father’s will. Molly was sure that everything would be straightforward, as her dad had never said otherwise. She’d visit tomorrow afternoon when it was quiet in the shop. She opened the second envelope with reluctance: people had been so kind with their condolences, but the well-meant messages of sympathy still broke her heart to read. Many an evening had been spent crying over her best vellum notepaper as she wrote to thank her parents’ friends for their kind thoughts. The funeral had been well attended, the Missons family being thought of highly in the busy town. Fellow business owners and town councillors had filled the pews of Christ Church before following the cortège to the graveyard on the other side of town. An obituary in the Erith Observer had been glowing in its praise of the well-known couple. Freda had saved the newspapers that covered Mr and Mrs Missons’s accident and the funeral for a time when Molly was ready to read them. Molly was so thankful that she had.

  Carefully opening the envelope, and making a mental note to save the stamp for Freda to add to the Brownies’ charity collection, she scanned the single page, covered in an untidy handwritten scrawl, and frowned. Surely this couldn’t be right.

  My dearest child,

  I am saddened to hear of the loss of my cousin-in-law and his wife, and must apologize for my tardiness in contacting you so many months after their untimely deaths. I have only just returned from South Africa with my son, Simon, where I have property and business interests. Be assured I will arrive shortly so we can discuss your future and the property that is bequeathed to me under the terms of your father’s will.

  Your devoted relative,

  Harriet

  Molly read the page several times. She had never heard her parents speak of any relatives, let alone a Harriet and her son, Simon. Granted, her parents’ past was a mystery to her, but surely if there had been a family disagreement of some kind, she would have been told. After all, she was an adult and deserved to know about her family – even more so now she was alone in the world.