by Weaver, Pam
‘Did anything ever come of you possibly taking over, when Mr Hayward retires?’ asked Bea.
Jim shook his head. ‘He isn’t interested in being a sleeping partner,’ he said. ‘He wants to cash in his assets and enjoy the rest of his life.’
‘I don’t suppose I blame him,’ said Bea. ‘He’s worked hard all his life.’
‘He’s putting everything up for sale very shortly,’ said Jim, ‘which is why I thought snapping day-trippers would be a good idea.’
‘There must be some way you could do it,’ said Bea.
‘What would you need, if you did do it?’ asked Ruby.
‘A darkroom, for a start,’ said Jim. ‘If I take pictures along the promenade, the holidaymakers are only there for a few days. They’ll want to take their pictures home with them.’
‘Is that possible?’ asked Ruby.
‘If I had a helper,’ said Jim. ‘I can’t take the pictures and do the developing at the same time. And hiring a place to do the developing would need capital.’
‘You could use John’s shed, couldn’t you?’ said Bea.
Jim and Ruby stared at her and then at each other. ‘That’s a very generous offer, Mrs Bateman,’ Jim began, ‘but you could get good rent money for that room. I’m not in a position …’
‘If you were family, we could all share in your venture.’
Ruby gasped. ‘What are you saying, Mother?’
‘I’m saying that if you and Jim were married sooner rather than later, we could all help out.’
‘It’s one hell of a risk,’ said Jim.
‘All marriages are,’ Bea grinned.
Jim’s face coloured. ‘I … I didn’t mean that,’ he began.
‘I know,’ said Bea. ‘I was teasing.’
‘I still need capital,’ said Jim, shaking his head.
‘Linton left me a little money,’ said Bea. ‘I’m willing to risk mine to give you a leg up.’
Jim’s mouth dropped open.
‘I didn’t know that!’ cried Ruby. ‘Oh, Mother, that’s wonderful. You deserve it.’
‘I’m not sure how much it is,’ said Bea, ‘but Mabel thinks it may be as much as fifty pounds.’
‘Fifty pounds!’ cried Ruby. ‘Oh, Jim.’
‘He’s left some to you and May as well,’ said Bea. ‘I shall save May’s in a Post Office savings account. It could be twenty pounds.’
‘Then you must have mine too,’ said Ruby. ‘Sixty pounds could go a long way.’
‘Each,’ said Bea. ‘He left you twenty pounds each.’
By now Ruby was laughing. Jim looked totally speechless, but there were tears in his eyes.
Bea smiled benevolently. ‘So what’s it to be, Jim?’
He grasped Ruby’s hands and kissed them. ‘Would you like to marry me this year, Ruby?’
‘Oh yes, Jim Searle. Yes, a thousand times yes!’
With Linton’s funeral over, and his will finally settled, the family turned their thoughts to Ruby’s wedding. It was going to be a low-key affair. Ruby decided to make her own dress, and Aunt Vinny volunteered to make a bridesmaid’s dress for Cousin Lily. Lily was less fragile now and, as a matter of fact, she had a new beau, although she was determined to take things a lot slower this time. Nick Wilkins was already besotted with her.
Friends and neighbours had promised to help with the food by doing a loaf of sandwiches or a dozen cakes for the reception, and Jim’s boss said he would take a studio portrait picture for them on the day. They chose Saturday, August 5th; the following Monday was the summer bank holiday, which meant that Jim and Ruby could have a couple of days off before going back to work. By way of a honeymoon, Jim booked a coach trip with Cecil’s Turner’s coaches, which happened to be going to Eastbourne for the day.
Edith and the other girls were thrilled when Ruby told them about the wedding. Ruby had sneaked into the hotel the back way, and they were all in the staffroom when she told them.
‘If you have it after three o’clock, we should all be able to come,’ said Phyllis. ‘Oh, please say you’ll invite us.’
‘Of course I will,’ laughed Ruby. ‘And I want you all to come to the reception, if you can.’
‘We should be able to come for a while,’ said Edith, ‘but then we’ll have to get back to turn down the beds.’
‘Count me in too,’ said Doris. ‘I love a good party.’
‘Who’s having a party?’ The door squeaked open and Winnie made everybody jump as she came up behind them. She was carrying a vase of dead flowers and was on her way to the utility room to dispose of them.
‘You nearly gave me a heart attack,’ Doris exclaimed as she clutched at her chest. ‘I thought you were old Flossie Fosdyke.’
‘Ruby is getting married,’ said Edith, ‘and she’s invited us all to the wedding.’
‘Everyone?’ said Winnie. She turned to Ruby with a quizzical arch of her eyebrow.
‘Everyone,’ said Edith.
‘How lovely,’ said Winnie. ‘Then I should love to come.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Ruby.
‘I’m afraid I cannot buy you a present,’ said Winnie apologetically.
‘That’s fine,’ said Ruby. ‘Just come.’
‘I could always do your bridal bouquet.’
‘What?’ Ruby gasped. ‘Would you? Would you really?’
They heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. ‘Oh, Lummy Charlie – quick,’ Phyllis hissed. ‘It’s Mrs Fosdyke.’
The girls busied themselves with various bits of equipment, in an attempt to make it look as if they all had a legitimate reason for being there, while Ruby hid behind the door of the open cupboard.
‘What are you all doing in here, pray?’ Mrs Fosdyke boomed. ‘Hurry up, all of you. Breakfast has started, and you need to be doing the rooms. Fox, where is your cap? And Parsons,’ she called after Edith, ‘I shan’t tell you again: don’t run – walk.’
Behind the door, Ruby held her breath and prayed. If Mrs Fosdyke saw her there, she would probably accuse her of trespass and demand that she go to the office, and that would make her late for work. As it was, Ruby would have to run like mad to get to the ward on time. Mrs Fosdyke’s eagle eyes searched the room. Winnie ignored the housekeeper and continued washing out the smelly vase, ready to use for some new blooms. After a few seconds Mrs Fosdyke left the room and Ruby emerged from her hiding place.
‘Is it a big wedding?’ Winnie asked.
Ruby shook her head. ‘Just some friends and neighbours.’
‘I suppose things are a bit difficult, now that your poor father has died,’ Winifred began.
Ruby was at a loss to know what to say. She didn’t know the florist very well and was tempted to think it a little impertinent of her to raise such a subject. ‘We get by,’ she said.
‘I’m sure you do, dear,’ Winnie smiled. ‘Now tell me, what colours would you like in your bouquet?’
‘Ruby, would you come into my office?’
It was late afternoon, and the sister had stopped Ruby working in the kitchen. She had been washing up a couple of plates, knives and forks. Oh dear. She’d turned up five minutes late this morning. She had run all the way to the hospital, arriving hot, perspiring and out of breath, but she was still late getting onto the ward. Had someone reported her? Had her past caught up with her at last? Maybe someone from Warnes had told them that she’d been accused of theft and sacked. Her face suddenly felt clammy. Please, God, don’t let this be happening. She had been so happy, what with the wedding and all. She glanced around as she left the room. It was spotless.
The short walk to the sister’s office seemed like a mile as her thoughts raced hither and thither, trying to work out why she was being summoned.
‘Close the door, dear,’ said the sister as they entered her office. The friendliness of her tone made Ruby relax. If she spoke so kindly to her, she probably wasn’t going to give her the sack after all. She closed the door and stood to attention in front of the desk. It w
as only then that she realized that Matron was sitting in front of her. Her heart sank.
‘Ruby, we are delighted with your work on the ward,’ said the sister, ‘but we feel that you are capable of much more. Unknown to you, the sisters from other wards have been watching you at different times of the day.’
Ruby blinked in surprise. So that was why she’d had the feeling she was being watched.
‘And,’ the sister continued, ‘they would like you to teach their ward maids how to run their wards. We’ve all had a word with Matron here, and she has agreed that you should receive a promotion.’
‘We are aware that you are still very young, but we want you to supervise all the wards in the hospital,’ said the matron. ‘We are putting you in charge of ordering the linen, making sure every ward is as clean as your own. And, where standards fall short, we want you to show the other girls how to do it. Do you think you can manage to do that, Ruby?’
She could hardly believe her ears and she certainly couldn’t contain the smile that raced across her lips. ‘Yes, Matron,’ she said with as much restraint as she could manage. ‘I’m sure I can.’
They spent some time discussing terms and conditions, and decided that she should start her new post at the beginning of May. When Ruby walked out of the sister’s office, she was no longer a humble ward maid, but the wards supervisor of Worthing Hospital. The sad thing was that she wouldn’t have the post for very long. It was a pity that the Board of Governors and the government didn’t allow married women to work in hospitals.
Ruby’s promotion had sent everyone into a frenzy of excitement and congratulations. All their neighbours agreed that she deserved it and wished her all the luck in the world. A week later it was Bea’s turn to be excited. When Ruby came home from work, she couldn’t wait to show her something.
‘I’ve had two letters,’ she said, even before Ruby had taken her coat off.
‘Two?’
May was clambering onto her sister’s knee to show her something she’d made at school. It was a piece of canvas, which had some large holes. May had embroidered it in coloured wool. The pattern wasn’t symmetrical, though it was obviously meant to be, but it was both eye-catching and colourful.
‘That’s gorgeous,’ cried Ruby. ‘I love that blue kiss you’ve made in the corner.’
‘It’s a place mat,’ said May.
‘I can see that,’ said Ruby. ‘It’s really lovely. What did your teacher say?’
‘She liked it,’ said May, a little pink glow of pride rising on her cheeks.
Ruby hugged and kissed her. Their relationship had improved a lot since May had finally understood that Nelson was never coming back, and she was a lot nicer to Ruby these days. ‘You’re the best and the cleverest sister in the world,’ said Ruby, and May giggled.
‘Sit up now,’ said Bea, putting the hot plates onto the table.
May slid from Ruby’s lap and pulled out her own chair.
‘Aren’t you going to put your dinner on your place mat?’ Ruby asked. She lifted the plate and May arranged the mat underneath. ‘You said you had two letters, Mother.’
‘You remember I said I had Mabel’s address book,’ said Bea. A cloud of steam enveloped her as she tipped the cabbage into a colander standing in the sink. ‘Well, I wrote to George Gore’s widow to offer my condolences. I mentioned you-know-what, and she’s written back to say she wants to see us.’
A plate of sausages, cabbage and mash appeared in front of Ruby and May.
‘Where does she live?’ asked Ruby.
‘York,’ said Bea, ‘but she doesn’t want us to go there, thank God. She’s coming here.’
‘Here?’ cried Ruby. For a split second the thought of it horrified her. Where would they sleep? Would she have to postpone her wedding?
‘I mean they’re coming to Worthing,’ said Bea patiently. ‘They’ve booked a guesthouse, and she’s bringing the children for a week during the summer holidays.’
Conscious that May was all ears beside them, they ate their meal making small talk about school dinners, the price of potatoes and when Ruby’s new job would actually begin. After dinner, May was sent to the scullery to have a wash, while Bea and Ruby did the washing up.
‘Did you ask Mrs Gore about the bullet, Mum?’
Bea shook her head. ‘All I said was that it was a terrible coincidence that three of the pals had survived that awful war, only to die within months of each other.’
Ruby looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t understand why Jim is so sceptical about it,’ she said. ‘The more we delve into it, the clearer it seems to me. Someone has got it in for them.’
‘But we don’t really understand why,’ said Bea. ‘If it was to do with the war, surely they would have done what they wanted to years ago.’
Ruby nodded vaguely. ‘You said you had two letters, Mum?’
‘When I was going through Mabel’s address book,’ said Bea, ‘I came across another familiar name. Colonel Blatchington.’
Ruby caught her breath, recalling the letter Linton had given her the day he was taken into hospital: The officer in charge, Captain Blatchington, was standing by to shoot him in the head with a revolver, if he was still alive.
‘Do you think he’s the same person?’ she whispered.
‘It’s a very unusual name,’ Bea remarked.
‘But you said Colonel Blatchington,’ Ruby cautioned.
‘The war was over sixteen years ago,’ Bea said. ‘Plenty of time for promotion.’
‘I was two years old,’ said Ruby wistfully. ‘Mum, I get the feeling that this is about more than what happened in the barn. Uncle Jack wasn’t there, was he?’
‘But he was part of the firing squad that shot Victor,’ said Bea. Ruby nodded. ‘I wrote to the colonel,’ Bea went on, ‘telling him about Linton’s passing, and of course I mentioned Nelson as well.’
‘And?’ said Ruby.
‘He sent his condolences,’ said Bea.
‘Oh.’ Ruby felt totally deflated and disappointed.
‘But,’ said Bea, clearly enjoying her little bit of drama, ‘he said that he has Percy in his office, and he complimented me on my hard-working and trustworthy son.’
Ruby’s face broke into a wide smile. ‘Oh, Mum, that’s amazing! I wonder if Percy knows the colonel had a letter from you?’
‘I should think so,’ said Bea.
‘Do you think he will write?’
‘Probably not,’ said Bea. ‘You know how stubborn Percy can be.’ She wiped the draining board with a cloth and threw the washing-up water away. ‘But I know where he is and that he’s safe. That’s enough for me.’
May was back. ‘Can I have a story?’
‘Did you clean your teeth?’ her mother asked.
‘Yes,’ said May, baring her teeth for inspection.
‘I’ll do the story, Mum,’ said Ruby. ‘You have a sit-down.’
Mounting the stairs behind May, Ruby smiled to herself. Her mother was right. Percy might still be angry, but at least they knew where he was. She’d ask Mum for the address and then leave it a couple of weeks, before writing to him herself and asking him to give her away at the wedding.
CHAPTER 33
Dear Percy,
I hope this finds you well, as it leaves me. This is to let you know that Jim Searle and I are getting married on August 5th at St Matthew’s church. We are having a small celebration afterwards in the church hall and I would dearly love you to give me away.
Jim is going into his own photographic business, and I have had a promotion at the hospital. Mother and May are well and send their best love. You are my dear brother, and I miss you.
With fondest love, Ruby
Percy stared in fascination at the glass and wrought-iron dome. He had never seen such an amazing building in his life before. His gaze wandered along the mosaic frieze at the top of the brickwork, just under the roof; someone at the Black House had told him it depicted sixteen different skills. He couldn’t remembe
r them all, but he knew the sculptures represented all walks of life, from brick-makers and farmers to engineers and musicians. Careful not to miss his footing as he looked up, Percy wandered around part of the building, trying to read the inscription: Opened by Her Majesty, the twenty-ninth of March in the year MDCCCLXXI. Thine O-Lord is the greatness and the power and the glory and the victory and the majesty …
Pausing by one of the many doors, Percy flicked a speck of dust from the sleeve of his shirt and smiled to himself. Only five months ago he was bobbing around the Worthing lump – a range of underwater chalk cliffs that rose well over ten feet, about five miles off the Worthing coast – trying to catch cod and herring, lobsters and crabs. Just look at him now. This was the Royal Albert Hall, for goodness’ sake – the place where the Italian world heavyweight boxer, Primo Carnera, had knocked out Reggie Meen in 1930. The place where leading artists from all over the world had played, sung and performed since it opened, way back in the Victorian era. Now inside the hall itself, Percy turned his eyes towards the three tiers of seating, and ‘the gods’ above them. Tonight it was his turn. Oh, not to perform, but to be part of the vast organization that would facilitate Oswald Mosley and the leading members of the BUF. Tonight, at 7.30 p.m., their illustrious leader would make a grand entrance, bathed in the smoky-blue beams of the arc lights and heralded by a fanfare, and preceded into the hall by six of his most trusted men carrying flags. Percy would be one of them.
A young man, no more than seventeen or eighteen, hurried towards him. ‘Excuse me, sir.’ Percy turned and the Blackshirt stood smartly to attention and handed him a letter. Glancing down, Percy recognized the writing instantly, but he couldn’t look at it now.
He was well aware that the Communists and left-wing Labour Party members had pledged to hold a counter-demonstration, but the men under his leadership were more than capable of dealing with any trouble. He had taken great pains to train them in the art of being polite but firm. There was, he told them, no need to descend into violence. Violence never solved anything. And he should know. All his life he’d faced Nelson’s belt and the lash of his father’s tongue. The only thing it had achieved was to create in Percy the desire to get even. People were already flocking to Oswald’s clarion call in droves, but if they got beaten up, or if they saw others being bashed about, they’d stay away. They came from all walks of life – the rich and famous rubbing shoulders with ordinary people. He’d met people he’d only read about in the newspapers, like Sylvia Pankhurst and Mary Richardson, the widely known suffragettes of a bygone age. The latter had become head officer in charge of the women’s section, which she guarded like a bulldog.
