Sally gave her a hug as she put her coat on. ‘Chin up, love. And remember, we’re always here if you need us.’
Winifred rushed to greet her when she came in through the back door, which was always left open during the day. ‘Oh, Kathy love, I’ve been so worried. Where were you? I rang your number, but Tim said you weren’t there. So now he’s concerned as well.’
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry, Aunty Win,’ said Kathy. ‘I was at Sally’s.’ She put her arms round her. ‘I shouldn’t have said all those awful things, but it was such a shock.’ They clung together for several moments, each finding solace in the embrace.
‘Of course it was a shock,’ said Winifred. ‘And I’m more sorry than I can say. Now, you give Tim a ring and tell him you’re here. You can explain everything to him later. Then we’ll sit down and I’ll tell you everything that you ought to have known long ago …’
PART THREE
Chapter Twenty-One
1942
‘Aunty Myrtle … Albert asked me to marry him last night, and I’ve said that I will.’ Myrtle White turned to smile at her niece. Barbara, too, was smiling and she looked quite pleased, but Myrtle could not have said in honesty that the girl looked ecstatic at the news she was telling.
Myrtle put her arms around her and kissed her cheek. ‘Well, that’s wonderful news, my dear. Albert’s a grand young man; I’ve always thought so, and I’m sure he’ll make you a very good husband.’
‘Yes … I think so too,’ replied Barbara, sitting down at the breakfast table in the large kitchen. ‘We don’t want a long engagement. We’re going to choose the ring this afternoon and we plan to get married in the summer; June, we think. Albert should be due for another spot of leave by then.’
Albert Leigh was home on leave at the moment. He was in the army catering corps, stationed up in the north of England, and there didn’t seem to be any likelihood of him being sent overseas. He was now thirty-seven, considered rather too old for active service. Besides, all troops were at their various camps in Britain now, in this spring of 1942 – apart from those fighting in the desert areas in the Middle East – and had been ever since the debacle of Dunkirk.
Albert lived next door in the boarding house that was run by his mother and father and his sister, Winifred. He had worked there ever since he had left school, until he joined the army. They were a lovely family, on very good terms with Myrtle and Ben White who ran a similar boarding house next door.
Albert was a quiet man, but Myrtle was sure he was a good reliable one. She sometimes wondered why he had never married, but she had guessed he had been sweet on her niece, Barbara, ever since the girl was seventeen or so. But it was only quite recently that they had started going out together. Barbara was twenty-two, and her aunt thought that marriage to Albert would be a very good thing.
She glanced at her now, tucking into the plate of porridge that her aunt had placed in front of her. She enjoyed her food, did Barbara, and didn’t seem to mind that she was a wee bit plumper than some girls of her age. She was a most attractive girl, with dark-brown hair that had a natural curl, warm brown eyes and a flawless pink and white complexion. Myrtle was not surprised that Albert had been attracted to her, and there had been one or two others who had been smitten. But since she had lost Mike, two years ago, Barbara had quietened down considerably. She had a lovely disposition too, very kind and thoughtful, and that was what was important, really, far more so than a beautiful appearance.
Myrtle was very proud of this young woman, her niece by marriage; she loved her as though she were her own daughter. She and her husband, Benjamin, had had custody of her ever since Barbara’s parents, Thomas and Lilian, had been killed in a car crash when the little girl was eighteen months old. Benjamin was Thomas’s elder brother; there had been just the two of them, eight years apart. Ben and Myrtle had not been blessed with children, although they had been married for ten years and were extremely happy. And so they had brought Barbara up as lovingly as they would have done with any child of their own. They had decided, though, that she must know the truth when she was old enough. It would have been quite easy to pretend they were her real parents, but Barbara had been well aware that Ben and Myrtle White were her aunt and uncle, and therefore they shared the same surname.
‘See you later then, Aunty,’ said Barbara, finishing her toast and tea and getting up from the table. ‘Must go or I’ll miss the bus.’ She gave her aunt a quick kiss. ‘It’s my half day, though, as you know. Albert’s meeting me from work, then we’re going to choose the ring.’
‘How exciting!’ said Myrtle. ‘Perhaps we could all get together tonight – your uncle and me, and Albert’s parents and Winifred, and you two, of course, and have a drink of sherry to celebrate.’
‘Good idea,’ said Barbara, smiling, as she departed.
She worked as a telephonist at the GPO in Blackpool, as she had done since leaving school, helping out in the boarding house as well when required. Benjamin White was a postman and had left much earlier that morning to start his duty at 5 a.m. An ungodly time of day but he was used to it. He finished work, however, at lunchtime and then he was free – after he had had a quick nap – to help his wife in the boarding house.
At the present time they had RAF recruits billeted with them. It had been so since early 1940, one batch of young men following another. The Leighs’ house next door was also an RAF billet, as were the majority of boarding houses in this area of North Shore, Blackpool, and also in the centre and south of the town. It was the largest RAF training centre in Britain.
When the first lot of recruits had arrived at the Whites’ boarding house in 1940, the young woman, Barbara, who was assumed by the men to be the daughter of the house, had attracted a goodly number of admiring looks and wolf whistles, as well as invitations to go out to the pictures or dancing.
But Barbara White was quite indifferent to the fact that Blackpool was now a veritable sea of air force blue. These young men were everywhere: drilling in the streets; practising manoeuvres on the sands; and in their spare time, walking in twos along the pavements; frequenting the cinemas, dance halls and shops. Barbara, aged twenty, was already engaged to her soldier sweetheart, Mike Thompson. He was stationed in the south of England and she did not see him very often. They corresponded regularly, though, and planned to marry quite soon, depending on the progress of the war and the availability of leave.
But Mike did not return from Dunkirk with the thousands of other retreating soldiers. He was shot by gunfire from an enemy aeroplane. Barbara was devastated at his death, and it was little consolation to her that she was only one of many girls to have lost a loved one in similar circumstances. She did accept invitations, later that year and in 1941, from some of the RAF lads, but there was still a deep sadness at the heart of her.
She had known for a long time that Albert Leigh from next door carried a torch for her. She liked him very much, but he was fifteen years older than herself, and at times seemed like a different generation. He was kind, though, so very kind, and well mannered towards her. His manner of speech betrayed his Lancashire origins, but she, Barbara, was a Lancashire lass too, and proud of it, and she didn’t hold with snobbery or pretentiousness. Before he joined the army, Albert had spent a lot of his time, when he was not busy working in the hotel, with his mates at the local pub, where he played in the darts team, and she knew that he was an ardent supporter of Blackpool’s football team. A man’s man, one might say.
She had wondered, over the years, why he had never married. She could not be so vain as to think that he was waiting, hopefully, for her to smile encouragingly at him. He must have seen her in the company of lads when she was growing up, and then there had been Mike … Albert had told her how sorry he was on hearing of her fiancé’s death.
But then, during the autumn of 1941, when he was home on leave, he had plucked up courage to ask her to go out with him. He had told her then how much he had always admired her, had loved her from afar, and h
ow it would make him so happy if she would go out with him when he was home on leave, and write to him whilst he was away.
And he was so kind and thoughtful, so gentle and loving in his conduct towards her, that she had agreed readily. She had discovered that he was not so serious as she had once thought. He was able to make her laugh – not frequently, but often enough – and pull her round from the bouts of sadness that still came over her from time to time. She noticed, too, that he was not a bad-looking fellow. He looked much younger when he smiled, and his blue eyes sparkled with merriment, in between his far more sober moods.
When he asked her to marry him she did not hesitate before agreeing that she would do so. He had kissed her passionately then, as they stood on the promenade looking out across the dark sea.
‘You have made me the happiest man in the world,’ he told her. ‘I shall look after you, and love you always, my lovely Barbara. I shall never let you down.’
‘I know that, Albert,’ she replied meekly, quite overcome that someone should love her so devotedly. Mike had loved her, as she had loved him, but theirs had been a happy, carefree relationship, not so serious and ardent as this was showing signs of being. All the same, she felt that she was doing the right thing. Her aunt and uncle were good to her and she knew that they loved her dearly. She was contented living with them; after all, it had always been her home and she had never known any different. But she could not say that she was always entirely happy or completely satisfied with her lot. Aunty Myrtle was inclined to fuss and be overprotective of her at times. Barbara knew that it was because of her love for her niece, and that she was being true to the promise that she and Uncle Ben had made to look after her. She felt, though, that marriage to Albert would give her more independence. She would be more of a person in her own right, and to be married was, of course, something of a status symbol. It was all to the good that her aunt and uncle approved wholeheartedly of her engagement to Albert.
He met her out of work that day in February and they went to Beaverbrooks, the jewellers, in Blackpool, to choose a ring. Barbara, with Albert’s approval, chose a sapphire with a diamond at either side, and it fitted her perfectly. He placed it on her finger there and then, in the shop. He kissed her, though not quite so ardently this time, in front of other people, and told her again that he was the happiest man in the world. The shop assistants looked on with smiles of approval, although they had probably seen it all before; but Barbara felt a mite embarrassed.
The wedding, after an engagement of only four months, was a somewhat quieter affair than it would have been in peacetime. Barbara did not choose to wear a traditional white dress, which would cost an extravagant amount of money and clothing coupons. She opted for a pale-blue dress that she might be able to wear again, and a small hat that would not look out of place at church on a Sunday morning. Her friend, Dorothy, whom she had known since she was at school, was her bridesmaid, and likewise Dennis, an old school friend of Albert’s, acted as best man.
Just a few friends and family members met together at the Whites’ boarding house after the church service. The buffet lunch, consisting of various sandwiches, meat pies, sausage rolls, fancy cakes, and trifles – topped, inevitably with synthetic cream, as fresh cream was by now an unobtainable luxury – had been prepared beforehand by Myrtle White and Alice and Winifred Leigh. Not a lavish spread, because of the rationing and because people believed it was their patriotic duty to be prudent. There was, however, tinned red salmon on the sandwiches, as well as a wedding cake that was quite rich with fruit. Both Mr and Mrs White and Mr and Mrs Leigh were not averse to a discreet amount of what was known as ‘hoarding’. And so, between them, they had been able to provide tinned salmon, and tinned pears and peaches, as well as a fair amount of dried fruit, ground almonds for the almond paste, and icing sugar, to make a really acceptable wedding cake. It had been baked by Alice Leigh and iced by Myrtle White.
At many wartime weddings a large white cardboard structure, shaped like a cake and known as a ‘whited sepulchre’, was displayed, with a tiny fruit cake hidden inside. But that was not the case at this wedding reception. Although it was only of medium size, the cake for these newly-weds was the real thing, and was duly cut by the bride and groom whilst their health was drunk in brown sherry.
The honeymoon was spent in the seaside resort of Southport, often regarded as a rival to its near neighbour, Blackpool. Southport could be seen clearly across the Ribble estuary as one stood on the promenade of nearby Lytham St Annes, but could only be reached by a roundabout route by road or rail.
‘Is Your Journey Really Necessary?’ the propaganda posters enquired of civilians, but Albert considered, as a serviceman, that he and his new wife were entitled to travel away on honeymoon, be it only for a long weekend.
Barbara knew that her new husband was blissfully happy. He was more cheerful and amusing to be with that weekend than she had ever known him to be. He told her time and time again how much he loved her.
‘I’ll never let you down, Barbara, my darling,’ he told her once again. ‘I’ll always be there for you. I’ll love you for ever.’
It was flattering, if a little discomfiting, to know that she evoked such feelings in Albert, especially as she knew he was not a sentimental sort of fellow. At least, that was the impression he gave to others. As for Barbara, she told him that she loved him too. It would have been churlish not to do so; besides, she was very fond of him already and she felt sure she would grow to love him in time.
Although Barbara had had a few boyfriends before she met Mike, she was still a virgin when she married Albert. She had been brought up to believe that it was right to save oneself for marriage. She had, therefore, been a little apprehensive about the wedding night, but she had found that there was no need to be. Albert proved to be a sensitive and considerate lover, and although the experience was not what she could call earth-shattering, she knew she need no longer worry about it. Anyway, she knew it was a part of married life, something her husband would expect of her. She did not know whether or not it was the first time for Albert. She guessed that it might not have been, but it was something she would never know.
Albert went back to his camp a couple of days after they returned to Blackpool. Barbara continued to live with her aunt and uncle. It seemed pointless to move next door to the Leighs’ boarding house to the room that Albert slept in, seeing that her husband was not there. They hadn’t really discussed the future very much, but the idea was that they would save up and buy a home of their own when the war was over.
Barbara continued with her job as a telephonist. She stayed at home most evenings, writing letters to Albert in answer to the long loving letters she received from him, or listening with her aunt and uncle to their favourite programmes on the wireless: Monday Night at Eight, In Town Tonight (broadcast on a Saturday), Happidrome, Garrison Theatre, and ITMA, with the irrepressible Tommy Handley, the comedy show above all others that managed to keep the people’s spirits up in those depressing wartime days.
Occasionally she went to the cinema with a friend from work. She enjoyed Gone with the Wind, and the light-hearted Hollywood musicals, starring such glamorous female stars as Betty Grable, Veronica Lake and Alice Faye, as well as the movies put on for propaganda purposes to boost the morale of a population becoming more and more war weary: Mrs Miniver and In Which We Serve. She could not be persuaded, however, to go out dancing. Albert, to her surprise, was a very good dancer and she looked forward to stepping out on the ballroom floor with him the next time he came home on leave.
That was in September, when he was granted a whole week’s leave. They went dancing a few times that week, to the Tower, and to the Empress ballroom in the Winter Gardens. But their favourite venue was the smaller Palace ballroom, a more intimate place, but just as splendid in its own way as its larger counterparts. The superb ballroom floor was perfect for the thousands of dancing feet that trod it each evening.
They danced to an old-time
medley; the veleta, the military two-step and the St Bernard’s Waltz, as well as the quickstep, the modern waltz and the foxtrot. Albert confessed that he had been to lessons in ballroom dancing some years ago, and he was certainly a very accomplished dancer. Barbara had never been able to master the slow foxtrot, but under Albert’s patient guidance she found she was now able to do so, following the expert lead that he gave.
Barbara sang softly beneath her breath to the music of ‘As Time Goes By’, a sentimental song that captured exactly the mood that they and hundreds of other young couples were feeling that night; a tale of moonlight and kisses and sighs, and of love that would last for a lifetime.
‘I’ll always love you, my darling,’ Albert whispered to her. ‘No matter how the time goes by … you will always be the only girl for me.’
Barbara felt, almost, as though she might be falling in love with her husband. One thing she was certain about was that their child was conceived later that same night.
Baby Katherine Louise was born on 30th June, 1943.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As 1943 dawned there was hope, at long last, that the tide was turning. It seemed that victory – hopefully in the not-too-distant future – was now a possibility; some, indeed, believed that it was assured. Civilians and servicemen alike were now starting to look towards the long-term future and to think about what sort of a world would emerge after the war-torn years.
A significant event had been when the Russian armies defeated the Germans. Hitler’s greatest mistake had been, undoubtedly, his belief that Russia could be conquered along with the rest of the Western nations. He had not reckoned with the severity of a Russian winter, which proved to be the undoing of the German armies. The last of the German troops at Stalingrad surrendered on 2nd February, 1943.
Time Goes By Page 23
