Vera shot her a venomous look. ‘I’ve lived through one war already, Freda. Let me tell you there are spies everywhere and now there are some in Alexandra Road.’
‘About these men – how many are there, where are they from and where are they now?’ Alan asked as he took over rocking the pram from Freda.
Vera sighed. ‘They are in my front room drinking my tea and eating my biscuits. I dare not show them I’m aware they are spies now, could I? I said I needed to borrow some milk and left as soon as it was safe to do so. You’ve got to come and help me get them out of my house! You too,’ she said, glancing at Alan and Freda, who were trying not to laugh.
‘I’ve really got to get Georgina home, she’s not going to settle,’ Alan said, ‘but I’ll follow you up the road to check all is well . . . just in case you’re likely to be murdered in your bed.’ He dared not look at Ruby and Freda or he knew they’d all laugh. Vera was known for her outbursts.
‘I’ll knock on Sergeant Jackson’s door. We may need the long arm of the law if these men are spies,’ Freda said, jumping to her feet and squeezing past the pram that still stood in the hallway.
‘I just hope you’re right, Vera Munro, otherwise this could be very embarrassing for those men. I’ll get my coat.’
‘But Ruby . . .’
‘No more, Vera. Let’s get to your house before they steal your best china and plant a bomb,’ she said, pushing her friend towards the door. ‘Come on, Alan, let’s get to Vera’s house and save the country.’
Alan could see Ruby’s face twitch as she pulled on her coat and they set off up the road. He was finding it hard not to laugh himself.
Vera let herself into the house and looked nervously over her shoulder towards her friends as they followed behind.
Ruby stepped boldly into Vera’s front room. It was a mirror image of her own home but without a large aspidistra plant atop a polished sideboard. She stopped in amazement as she saw a dark-haired woman sitting beside a pale-faced young girl. Frowning at Vera, she said, ‘I thought your guests were men.’
Ruby shrugged her shoulders. ‘I didn’t say who they were. Let me introduce you.’ In a loud, slow voice she pointed towards Ruby. ‘This . . . is . . . my . . . neighbour . . . Mrs . . . Caselton.’
The woman smiled and nodded. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Caselton. My name is Gwyneth Evans and this here is Myfanwy but we call her Myfi. Don’t we, cariad?’
The child gave a small smile but continued to cling to Gwyneth’s arm, trying to hide. Large pale eyes followed Sergeant Jackson as he entered the room followed by his dad, Bob, and she shrank even further away as the men almost filled the room.
Bob knelt down in front of the frightened child and took her hand before starting to sing. ‘Paham mae dicter, O Myfanwy . . .’
Ruby smiled fondly. She’d forgotten that Bob had a beautiful singing voice. ‘I recognize that song.’
‘“Myfanwy” was always one of my favourite songs when I sang with the Police Male Voice Choir,’ he said, ‘although it’s been a while since I’ve performed.’
Gwyneth looked tearful. ‘Thank you, I’ve not heard my mother tongue for many months. Do you speak my language?’
‘Sadly not, my dear, forgive an old man’s ignorance. I do, however, have a fondness for the music of Wales.’
‘Why, you are Welsh?’ Ruby said as the penny dropped. The woman had a beautiful lilting voice. She could listen to her talk all day. Trust Vera to get the wrong end of the stick.
‘Put the kettle on, Vera, and let’s get to know our new friends, shall we?’
‘I’m going to shoot off home, Ruby,’ Alan said. He’d followed Bob and his son, Mike, into Vera’s with Georgina in his arms.
Ruby waved to her son-in-law as he left and followed Vera to her kitchen at the back of the house. ‘Now, whatever makes you think that lovely young woman and her daughter are spies? Are you going bonkers in your old age, Vera?’
Vera turned from filling the kettle. ‘She’s got a strange accent and I don’t understand what she’s on about when she talks to that young kiddie. She could be saying anything. I’m sorry, Ruby, I know you’ll take in any waif and stray and not mind the consequences but I’m uncomfortable about them sleeping under my roof. I’m going to ask if I can swap them for people I can understand.’
Ruby would have laughed if she weren’t so annoyed. ‘I’ve heard some rubbish come out of your mouth over the years, but this takes the biscuit. What makes you think they want to stay here? I’ve no doubt that Gwyneth and Myfanwy would much prefer to be in their own home than here with you.’
Vera bristled indignantly. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my home. It’s clean and respectable, I’ll have you know.’
‘I’m not arguing with you, Vera, I know you keep a respectable home, but you are none too welcoming, are you?’
Vera shrugged her shoulders. ‘They can take it or leave it.’
‘Then I suggest they leave it and come down the road and stay with me. I have a spare room now George has his house in Crayford. Forget that tea, I’ll take them home with me right now, but think on. The government will be wanting you to take in others and they may not be as kindly as those two sitting in your front room right now.’
Not if I can help it, Vera thought to herself as she watched Ruby usher Gwyneth and the child out of the front door, followed by Mike Jackson, who had hold of their suitcases. ‘Oh, Bob,’ she called to Bob Jackson as he went to leave the house behind his son.
Bob turned abruptly. Although he hadn’t been party to the discussion in the kitchen he had the impression that Ruby had fallen out with her friend and was still annoyed. He’d seen Ruby in a fighting mood in the past and could spot the signs – thin pursed lips as she tried not speak out of turn and flushed cheeks. My, she was a handsome woman, he thought to himself.
‘Bob, I wondered if you’d had your tea yet? I have a bit of fish and it’s too much for one,’ she said coyly.
‘Another time, eh, Vera?’ he said as he let himself out the front door.
Vera smiled to herself. Oh yes, she would make sure there was another time. She’d set her cap at Bob Jackson a while back and by hook or by crook she would get her man. Married to Bob, she would invite his son to move in and then no government would be telling her to take in any Tom, Dick or bloody Blodwen.
8
‘Here, let me take those,’ Douglas said as Betty started to clear the table. He carried their plates to the kitchen and placed them in the sink.
‘Thank you, Douglas, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear what you have to say about Charlie. I’ll take care of the washing up later. I’ve wondered about Charlie’s last days for twenty-five years and can’t wait a moment longer. Please, make yourself comfortable,’ she said, pointing to one of two armchairs placed either side of the fireplace. The May evening was warm so the fire remained unlit. A wooden fireguard, embroidered with the image of a magnificent stag, hid the empty grate. A bunch of early summer flowers from Douglas were arranged in a cut-glass vase and stood on the mantelpiece.
Douglas took a large brown envelope from where he’d left it on the sideboard and sat in the proffered armchair. ‘I feel quite nervous now the time has come to talk about my friend and your late fiancé,’ he said apologetically. ‘I never thought this would happen.’
‘There’s nothing to be nervous about, Douglas. Please take your time and tell me how you first met,’ Betty encouraged.
‘We met on the troop ship heading over to France in late December of 1917. It was cold and snow started to fall as the ship left England, so it was not a day for sitting on deck. Conditions were cramped below deck and it wasn’t long before a fight broke out amongst the men who’d been drinking.’
Betty drew in a sharp breath. ‘But Charlie wasn’t a drinker. High days and holidays he’d have one, but even then it was to be social or to toast the King.’
‘Be assured that Charlie hadn’t been drinking. In fact we’
d been chatting about our home life and shared a laugh about your surname being the same as mine. He’d been keeping his own council until he felt it prudent to pull a couple of heavily built lads off another soldier and they objected with their fists.’
‘Oh my!’ Betty said. ‘He never mentioned this in his letters.’
Douglas gave her a smile of reassurance. ‘A true gentleman wouldn’t wish to worry his loved one. We met when I helped pull him to safety and we sat together waiting to be patched up.’
‘You were injured too?’
Douglas ran his finger up the side of his nose to a small bump on the ridge. ‘For my sins I received a broken nose, whereas Charlie had two black eyes. You would have thought we’d been in the fight rather than acting as peacemakers,’ he laughed. ‘From that day on we found ourselves in each other’s company and got on well. I mourned his passing as much as I would a brother, if I’d had one,’ he said sadly.
‘I suppose being thrust together as you were, friendships would have been made much quicker than before the war. Charlie was quite a reserved man. I have often wondered how he coped alone during the time he served in the army. It doesn’t matter if I say now, so long after his death, that for some time Charlie had thoughts about not fighting in the war. However, he was aware his family would have suffered if he declared himself to be a conscientious objector.’
Douglas nodded his head in agreement. ‘Charlie was not alone in thinking this way. I believe that is why we became firm friends. We weren’t quite the sharp shooters the Rifle Brigade expected so until the time of fierce fighting we worked as stretcher bearers rather than killing the enemy.’
Betty flinched. ‘I can’t imagine my Charlie killing anyone. Even now with colleagues and friends going off to war it is hard to think they will kill fellow men.’
‘It’s a case of kill or be killed,’ Douglas said gently. ‘We didn’t dare think we were dispatching someone’s son or brother, or indeed a husband with a young wife and children back home in Germany. For my part, I can just say that having made friends with a comrade while in the trenches was a comfort and I hope Charlie thought the same. I have a few things here that may bring you some comfort.’ He delved into the envelope and pulled out a small well-worn notebook. ‘I kept a diary at that time, although there were days when, due to fatigue or being in battle, I didn’t write.’ He flicked through the pages. ‘My words seem to be fading – perhaps it’s for the best. Who wants to remember times like that when our beloved country is again at war? However, I’d like you to have it as I mention Charlie and our thoughts up to . . . up to the sniper ending his life so quickly.’
‘A sniper?’ Betty stopped midway through reaching out for the diary. ‘I had no idea. Charlie’s family did not say . . . but then they were in mourning and I was not accepted into the grief. My parents assumed I would soon find another beau or live the life of a spinster taking care of them into their dotage. I was to all intents and purposes told to pull myself together and forget Charlie.’
‘My dear woman,’ Douglas said, reaching across for her hand and squeezing it tightly. ‘If only I’d been brave enough to find you and console you in your time of grief.’
Betty pulled her hand away, even though she took great comfort from the warmth of his fingers. ‘Douglas, time has moved on and, if anything, Charlie’s untimely death showed me I could stand on my own two feet and forge a career for myself. I have my little house and good friends. Why, I’m even a godmother. Here, let me show you a photograph of young Georgina. Isn’t she pretty?’ Betty smiled, gently running her finger over the image of the chubby-cheeked child before returning it to the sideboard. ‘My only regret is not being blessed with my own children, but my friends, and young Georgie, more than make my life a happy one.’ She picked up the notebook that Douglas had laid on the arm of her chair when he reached for her hand. ‘May I borrow this for a while? That’s if you can bear to part with it?’
‘Please, take the notebook, Betty. I brought it for I’d rather my memories lived with someone who was connected to that time.’
Betty smiled her thanks. It was the first time that Douglas had called her by her Christian name. She’d asked at the beginning of the evening if he would be less formal as calling each other by the same surname was somewhat confusing and a little comic. She liked him calling her Betty. It felt good.
‘Now, young lady, have you fallen off your bike today?’
Freda kept quiet as the men of Erith fire station laughed at her discomfort. She’d managed to topple from her motorbike as it came to a standstill in front of the station on the first occasion she was allowed to ride the bike home from her training session. She’d have the last laugh when they realized that in less than a week she’d be a fully trained dispatch rider and not at their beck and call to make tea and answer the telephone every time it rang. Freda had been flattered when told she was trusted enough to take telephone messages, but the novelty had soon faded. In fact, she might even be stationed elsewhere so they’d definitely have to make their own tea then. She smiled to herself. ‘I could ask if the wall at the corner of Erith Road was still in one piece?’ she retaliated. ‘But then I’m too much of a lady to mention such a thing.’
A roar of laughter followed her words and one of the men who’d been joshing her looked shamefaced as his colleagues laughed at his discomfort.
‘I’m off home,’ Freda announced. ‘It’s been a long day.’ She glanced at the clock; it was too late to head to Alexandra Road, as Ruby would have locked up for the night. She’d go to Betty’s and use the bedroom that had been put at her disposal by the manager of Woolworths for when Freda’s fire station duties ran into the night. She yawned. First she had to push her motorbike behind the fire station and cover it with tarpaulin, then she would cross the road to Betty’s house and be in bed inside ten minutes. Reminding her colleagues to keep an eye on the motorbike, she bade them goodnight and headed outside. The watch had been a busy one with callouts to a house fire and an out-of-control bonfire. Thankfully no enemy action but even so, the air-raid siren went off in the early evening. It all made for a tiring night’s work after a day spent at the motorbike training school in the East End of London.
A flash of light from a doorway startled Freda. Someone was lucky not to be in trouble with an ARP warden . . . but surely that was Betty’s house? Whatever was she doing outside at this time of night? As she approached the little terraced house she spotted a man walking away . . . It was Douglas – and at this time of night! Freda thanked her lucky stars that she’d stopped for that last cup of tea, otherwise goodness knows what she’d have walked in on.
Betty rinsed the sherry glasses and placed them on the wooden draining board before turning off the kitchen light. She’d had such an enjoyable evening with Douglas as they had shared memories of Charlie. It was as if he was alive once more and the two people who cared for him most were able to fill the gaps in their knowledge of the brave soldier. They’d had so much to talk about that the evening had passed in a flash. A little thrill of excitement ran through her at the thought of seeing Douglas this coming weekend. She’d agreed to meet him to go dancing, something she’d not done with a man for a very long time. Raising her hand to her cheek where he’d kissed her goodnight, she gave a contented sigh and headed up to her bedroom. Because of Charlie, Douglas had come into her life. ‘Thank you, Charlie,’ she whispered as she made her way up to bed.
‘It’s only me,’ Freda said as she let herself into Betty’s house.
Betty walked back downstairs, pulling on her dressing gown. ‘I’m not in bed yet, Freda. Would you like me to make you a cup of cocoa? I’m dying to know how you got on with your training.’
‘That would be lovely, if you’re sure you aren’t tired? I thought I saw a light at your front door just now.’
Betty took milk from the pantry and poured some into a small pan. ‘It was Douglas. We had such a lovely evening chatting about Charlie and how our paths have crossed. It
’s so strange to think Douglas and Charlie only became friends because of my surname being Billington.’
‘And you’re not related in any way?’ Freda asked. She noticed that Betty had a glow about her that she’d never seen before with the Woolworths store manager. Surely she wasn’t falling in love at her age?
‘Goodness no, it is a pure coincidence,’ Betty smiled.
Thank goodness for that, Freda thought to herself as she removed her coat. She’d have hated anything to upset her friend and suddenly finding oneself in love, as that was the way she could see Betty’s new friendship heading, would have been just awful.
Betty handed Freda a cup and saucer and they sat down to chat. ‘You’ve had a busy day. If it was me, I’d be exhausted, but then I am older than you.’
‘You’re still a young woman, Betty, and you always work long days. I have to confess to flagging this evening, having had to work my hours at the fire station after a morning shift at Woolies and an afternoon on my training course.’
‘So, tell me, what did they teach you today?’
‘We had to listen to a talk about basic repairs to our motorbikes. It wasn’t as interesting as learning about riding them. Tomorrow it is first aid.’
‘I can see how that wouldn’t be so interesting but both are worthwhile learning. Why, you could break down somewhere remote and not find anyone to help you. First aid is always useful, as you well know. You could pass on what you learn to the Girl Guides.’
Freda’s eyes lit up. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. They will love to know about first aid and I’ve promised to take my motorbike to one of the meetings and give a talk about being a dispatch rider for the Fire Service.’
‘When will you be operational?’
‘Would you believe, the end of next week. The training course has gone so quickly. I’m just a little bit scared at the enormity of the job.’
Christmas at Woolworths Page 11
