Wartime Brides and Wedding Cakes

by Amy Miller

  ‘Poor little thing,’ said Lily, gently rubbing Aggie’s back as she sobbed. ‘Was it bad then, in Bristol?’

  Christine nodded and seemed unable to speak. She swallowed and looked up at the clouds, as if to stem the tears.

  ‘Five months of bombing,’ she said. ‘The houses in my street were decimated. Hundreds of people were killed. We knew we’d be a target as an industrial centre, but I never expected it to be like it was. And poor little Aggie was frightened to bits. Even in our cupboard under the stairs, she just couldn’t stand the noise. Some of the babies here were stuck in rubble for twenty-four hours before being rescued. They’re properly traumatised, poor lambs.’

  Lily shook her head sympathetically and picked up Joy, kissing the top of her head. Her gaze dropped to Christine’s hands, where she saw an engagement ring and a wedding ring. ‘And where’s Aggie’s father?’ she asked. ‘Is he fighting?’

  Christine’s eyes filled with tears, which she wiped away quickly, before putting Aggie down on the grass again and busying herself with unbuttoning the tiny cardigan.

  ‘He’s a prisoner of war in Germany,’ she said, without looking at Lily. ‘He went missing in Crete but was reported as being in Germany. He was my best friend my whole life. We always said we’d get married when we turned eighteen, but then he was called up. We organised a wedding in forty-eight hours and managed to get married before he left. He was home on leave from military training for a week and that’s when I got pregnant. He’s never met Aggie and I’ve no idea when he’ll come home again. People have been so kind, sending their sympathies and enquiring over my anxieties about him. How about you? What about Joy’s dad? Is he fighting?’

  Thinking of Henry, who hadn’t been in touch since their awful meeting at the hotel, Lily found herself blushing and her pulse quickening, wondering how judgemental Christine would be. She never knew how to answer this question and though sometimes she was tempted to lie and pretend she did have a man overseas, she always told the truth and hoped that people would understand.

  ‘He’s a clot!’ she said and Christine laughed. ‘He’s married to another woman. He wasn’t at the time I knew him, but anyway, I think you can probably guess the rest. I was very foolish and made a mistake.’

  Christine nodded. ‘Did your parents support you?’ she asked. ‘I know lots of girls who have been in the same situation but their family wouldn’t have anything to do with them.’

  ‘My father didn’t like the idea of me being unwed, so I came to stay with my stepsister, Audrey, the lady you met at the bakery,’ explained Lily. ‘She’s been so kind to me and made me so welcome. My father has recently been to visit and I think he was bowled over by Joy. He wants us both to go and live with him when the war is over, but even though that’s what I’ve always wanted, I’ve started to feel part of the community here and now I have a new job teaching English to refugees at the local college. I’m happy here.’

  She fell silent, thinking that she loved her family at the bakery more than she could say and also enjoyed teaching her students – men from all over the world who found themselves in Bournemouth. Teaching them English made her feel as though she was doing something really useful.

  ‘Christine!’ said the matron of the centre, interrupting Lily’s thoughts. ‘Please come in now!’

  Christine rolled her eyes discreetly at Lily. ‘The other people here are lovely, but that one’s an old cat,’ she whispered, making Lily giggle.

  ‘Why don’t you come to the bakery for your tea?’ Lily suggested. ‘Audrey asked me to invite you.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  Chrisine cleared it with the matron and the young women left the home. As another plane roared overhead, prompting Aggie to burst into tears again, Christine comforted and kissed the child until she calmed down, and Lily was struck by the ability and power of women. Carrying their baby daughters in their arms towards the bakery, she realised what an important job she and Christine had to do – get on with life in spite of the war, while making sure they brought up their daughters to do exactly the same.

  * * *

  ‘Savoury onions,’ said Audrey, placing a casserole dish on the kitchen table. ‘Onions that I had to register for, stuffed with breadcrumbs, of which I have plenty, egg, a little bit of cheese and crushed sage from the garden. Help yourself to bread and cabbage and hopefully this will keep the wolf from the door. There’s pudding, of course – flaked barley cake, Mary’s favourite.’

  Mary smiled at Audrey, from under her fringe, and tucked into a slice of bread spread thinly with margarine. The news of her father’s death had devastated her, but shown plenty of love and patience: she seemed stronger. Now, one of her front teeth was wobbly and she was having to shove the bread into the side of her mouth and into her cheek to chew it properly, making Audrey chuckle.

  ‘Mary, I think we should tie a piece of cotton to that tooth and tie the other end to the door handle, then slam it shut, don’t you?’ she said. ‘It needs to come out!’

  ‘But then I won’t be able to eat the barley cake!’ said Mary.

  ‘You know what they say about pudding, don’t you?’ said Christine, putting her petite shoulders back as if ready to make a speech. ‘Reflect, whenever you indulge, it is not beautiful to bulge. A large, untidy corporation is far from helpful to the Nation. It’s from the Ministry of Food – I saw it in the paper.’

  Everyone at the table – Lily, Elsie, Mary and Christine – laughed, and Audrey was heartened by the fact she was back in her own homely kitchen, putting a meal on her own, albeit fire-damaged, kitchen table. Finally, after help from the Assistance Board and with favours from friends and neighbours, they had been able to move back into the bakery, leaving a quietly relieved Pat to get on with her life. Now, with the shop about to open again, she felt as if she was getting back to ‘normal’ – as normal as life could be in wartime – and that she could finally concentrate on Elsie and William’s wedding.

  ‘We’re preparing for a wedding, Christine,’ said Audrey, serving up the onions. ‘Elsie here is marrying my brother William. You’re more than welcome to join us for the reception.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Christine, grinning at Elsie, who yawned an enormous yawn.

  ‘Excuse me!’ Elsie said. ‘I’ve been working long hours. I look and feel exhausted! My skin looks grey, doesn’t it?’

  Audrey laughed and shook her head: ‘No, Elsie love,’ she said. ‘You look lovely.’

  ‘You should use used tea leaves in muslin bags as a face mask,’ said Christine. ‘And if you’ve any lard, it works a marvel on the skin, instead of cold cream. And do you have any lipstick? If you melt the pieces you have and mix it with lard, you’ll have a new blusher. Then you’ll look and feel brighter.’

  ‘Oh, you know all the tricks!’ Audrey said. ‘You’ll be a useful girl to have around. How long are you staying in Bournemouth, Christine?’

  ‘A month or two, I think,’ she said. ‘It depends on Aggie. I’m not sure what we’ll go back to, but I do want to go back. Being here is lovely and thank you for the welcome, but Bristol is my home. Makes me realise what all the little evacuee children must feel like. Homesick, I should think.’

  Audrey checked Mary’s reaction, but she was too busy eating, thank goodness. She was doing everything she could to protect Mary from upset at the moment – she just wanted her to feel at home at the bakery, not to be reminded of feeling homesick. But, of course she knew exactly what Christine meant. In the mass evacuation of children from the major cities, Bournemouth had received thousands of evacuees – from Southampton, Portsmouth and London – and while some, she knew, were content, others missed their parents immeasurably. Who the children were billeted with made a difference too: some local women loved their evacuee visitors like their own children, enthusiastically introducing them to life on the coast, while others treated the city children with disdain, complaining of fleas, foul mouths and bad manners. Audrey shudd
ered at the thought of any child being neglected, wishing she had a house big enough to take care of them all. It was a cruel irony, she thought, that she loved children so much, yet she wasn’t able to have one of her own. Motherhood, it seemed, was out of reach.

  ‘Audrey…?’ Lily said, smiling and waving a hand in front of Audrey’s face to attract her attention.

  ‘Hmm?’ said Audrey, blinking. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I was just thinking. What did you say?’

  ‘I said I think someone’s at the door,’ Lily said. ‘Shall I get it, or are you expecting someone?’

  Audrey slid back her chair, suddenly flustered. ‘No, no, I’ll get it,’ she insisted. ‘You carry on with your dinner and make Christine feel at home. Find out all her beauty tricks!’

  Quickly making her way to the door, Audrey took off her apron and tucked her hair behind her ears. Expecting a neighbour perhaps, she didn’t let her mind go to the dark, dreadful place that feared the arrival of a telegram reporting on Charlie’s whereabouts. The tension slipped out of her when she saw Arthur standing on the doorstep, holding a bunch of roses. His eyes were twinkling as he smiled at her and presented the flowers.

  ‘I hope you are feeling better now, Mrs Barton,’ he said. ‘I wanted to wish you luck for the shop opening tomorrow. I’ve seen the repair work going on and I’m impressed by how quickly you’re back up and running.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Audrey, accepting the flowers with a smile. ‘Will you come in for some pudding? We’re about to have barley cake – there’s plenty to go around. I’ve a new girl stopping in for dinner. She’s from Bristol, I’m sure you’d like her.’

  Arthur laughed and held up his hand in refusal, just as the memory of Pat’s story popped into Audrey’s mind. She touched his sleeve and left her hand there for a brief moment.

  ‘Arthur,’ she said, seriously, ‘I should be giving you flowers, not the other way around. I heard about the incident off the Head and how brave you were. Lesser men would have turned away. Everyone is talking about you and they’re so grateful – you’re a hero.’

  At this he burst out laughing and shook his head. ‘One minute I’m a coward and the next, I’m a hero – I can’t keep up,’ he said.

  Audrey felt her face redden. ‘No, I didn’t mean—’ she started.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he replied, kindly. ‘I’m used to it, Mrs Barton – the gossip, the hard stares, the mistrust. I rescued that man because he was in trouble, not because I want to be considered a hero or to get people to like me.’

  He gave a slight bow, and left, walking away down Fisherman’s Road, leaving Audrey holding the bunch of flowers, with the uncomfortable feeling she’d been misunderstood. She longed to call him back and correct him, but wasn’t sure what it was she wanted to say. Watching him disappear into the distance, she was struck by a thought: I liked you anyway, Arthur, I liked you anyway.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The kettle steamed on the range, as Audrey made sure the kitchen was gleaming, before preparing a late-night hot drink for William and John. Her pocket watch told her it was 11.20 p.m., and time to put down the blackout blinds, as listed in the Echo, but to Audrey, it felt more like 2 a.m. Suppressing another yawn, she made two mugs of OXO and took them, on a small wooden tray, into the bakehouse for the men.

  ‘They were saying earlier on the wireless that there were hundreds of bombers over Germany last night,’ she said, setting down the tray in the warm, floury room and yawning once more. ‘Berlin, Boulogne and Kiel felt the brunt of it. Doesn’t bear thinking of, really, and it makes me worry for Charlie.’

  ‘Get to bed, young lady,’ said John sternly. ‘If I know Charlie, he’ll be all right. Shop’s open again tomorrow and that’s what you should be concentrating on, not what Bomber Command are up to.’

  Audrey rubbed her eyes and shrugged, rather put out by John’s dismissive comments, and said goodnight to the men. He was a kind, fair and hardworking man, was John, but he had absolutely no time for fretting.

  Alone in her bedroom, she opened the envelope she kept under Charlie’s pillow and, by candlelight, read the last letter he had sent her, weeks ago now. It was only a few lines long, but included a dried stem of a little blue flower he’d picked. Holding the delicate bloom in her fingertips, she tried to conjure up an image of him, smiling and laughing, in her mind. Whispering goodnight to him into the empty room, placing the envelope safely under her pillow, she blew out the candle and lay in the dark, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to quieten her thoughts.

  Hearing the drone of distant aircraft, she suddenly felt incredibly alone. John might be able to see the German people as the enemy, but Audrey couldn’t help but think of the ordinary people, just like her, trying to go about running their homes and businesses but whose lives were being turned upside down by the RAF. Women and children, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, would be yet more victims of this war. There but for the grace of God go I. On the other hand, she’d heard stories of the German army burning down villages in Crete, murdering old people and children in their beds and forcing others to dig their own graves before executing them.

  Sighing in dismay, Audrey pulled the eiderdown over her head and curled up. She must make sure, she thought, as her head whirred, that in the shop at least, she brought a little joy into her customers’ daily lives. Warm bread, cakes, bakes and a smile… that much she could do. There was so much wild fruit this year, particularly blackberries and crab apples, she thought, before falling into a deep sleep, that she should make fruit loaves and fruit buns. The scent of them baking would be enough to raise people’s spirits…

  * * *

  Hours later, when John was working alone in the bakehouse, knocking back dough ready to be baked in the hot ovens, and the neighbourhood was silent apart from a fox skulking through the vegetable patches, Audrey’s heavy sleep was disturbed by the warmth of a familiar body climbing into the bed beside her. In the thick of a dream, she sleepily opened her eyes to see Charlie’s face, opposite her, in the dim light.

  Suddenly wide awake and sitting bolt upright, her heart racing, she reached out her hands to cup his face, to make sure she wasn’t imagining him. ‘Charlie!’ she said, incredulous. ‘Charlie, is that really you?’

  Heart pounding and body trembling, she wept with joy when Charlie gently embraced her, his body melting into hers. She held him tightly in her arms, resting her cheek against his. Blinking in the darkness, she felt relief and love wash over her.

  ‘I’ve got three days’ leave,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t have a chance to write.’

  They lay back down together in the darkness, unspeaking, but facing one another under the cover, just breathing in each other’s scent and warmth, knees and toes touching. As time passed, they moved closer and explored one another’s bodies, gently making love in the darkness, forgetting everything and everyone else and eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms.

  When Audrey woke with a start at dawn, looking across the bed to Charlie’s side to find it empty, she wondered if she’d dreamt the whole thing but then she saw his kitbag on the floor beside the bed, draped over with his uniform. Straining to hear the sound of voices in the bakehouse, Audrey’s heart leapt. It wasn’t a dream – Charlie had come home.

  Springing out of bed and skidding on the floorboards as she did, she dressed quickly and ran down the stairs to see him again with her own eyes. In the light of dawn and working the ovens, he looked exhausted and much thinner than he had when he’d left eight months before.

  ‘Found this fella inspectin’ my bread,’ said John, with a laugh.

  Audrey grinned and, hiding her shock at Charlie’s undernourished appearance, she ran towards him, suddenly feeling foolish and shy, but he welcomed her with open arms. ‘I’ve missed you, Charlie,’ she said. ‘We’ve all missed him, haven’t we, John? So much has happened. To you too, no doubt.’

  Charlie nodded. ‘I wouldn’t know where to begin,’ he said, swinging round
to shovel a tray of bread tins into the oven. ‘I heard the sorry news about Maggie’s sister, poor girl. And John tells me the bakery took a hit, but you’ve got the place up and running again. Must have been ’ard work. I’ve never felt so proud of you, Audrey, I ’ave to say.’

  Audrey felt suddenly overcome with emotion. The months of missing Charlie and the strain of the bakery’s repairs suddenly gripped her. Unable to speak for a moment, she gestured towards the bakery shop, and staggered into the corridor, where, leaning with her back against the wall, she gathered herself. She couldn’t start crying on Charlie’s shoulders. If those news reports on Crete were anything to go by, he would have witnessed horrors more terrible than she could possibly imagine. Only last night she was thinking that she had to work her hardest to lift people’s spirits – and that would start with her own husband. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to the store cupboard and checked various boxes until she found a string of bunting once used for a birthday celebration and took it out to the front of the shop, where she strung it over the window.

  ‘Have we won the war or summat?’ said Flo, arriving at the bakery for her bread.

  Audrey smiled and shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But the bakery shop’s back open today and my Charlie’s home on leave for three days. That’s reason enough to get the bunting out in my book!’

  She couldn’t stop herself from beaming.

  Flo pursed her lips and took a sharp intake of breath. ‘There’ll be those not so eager to celebrate your good fortune,’ she said. ‘Some husbands never come back, you know, Audrey.’

  Pausing from hanging up the bunting, Audrey ignored Flo and privately rolled her eyes. ‘Put a sock in it, why don’t you?’ she muttered. ‘I’m celebrating and that’s that!’