by Daisy Styles
‘Where would you like to go on holiday?’
At first nobody could be bothered; it was early in the morning, the din from the conveyor belt was relentless and a cold wind whistled in from the moors.
‘Mars!’ said Lillian grumpily.
‘Come on, be serious,’ urged Elsie. ‘I’ll go first,’ she yelled over the clatter of the overhead conveyor belt carrying filled bomb cases across the factory into the packing department. ‘Blackpool!’
Smiling at the sweet simplicity of Elsie’s answer, Agnes went second.
‘Walthamstow Rex, with Stan, watching The Wizard of Oz for a whole week with beer, fish and chips and choc ices thrown in,’ she laughed.
Without any pause in her work, Emily filled the shells rolling by as she thought for a moment or two.
‘I’m not going to think about a holiday with Bill, though we did plan a honeymoon in Rhyl,’ she said sadly.
‘Come on,’ urged Elsie cheerily. ‘Keep it upbeat, Em.’
‘Okay, I’d love a holiday with Alice, camping in the Lake District, talking and walking and laughing just like we always did. That’d be my choice.’
‘Your turn, Lil,’ said Elsie, but when she turned to Lillian, instead of getting a cheeky reply, like ‘South of France with nowt on’, she saw Lillian was crying.
Still keeping an eye on the conveyor belt that rolled interminably on whether its attendants laughed, cried or fainted, Elsie moved up closer to Lillian so she could lay an arm over her.
‘Lil, love, I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘It’s not your fault, Elsie,’ Lillian said as tears rolled down her pretty face. ‘I’m so sick and tired of hardly hearing from Gary. I’d give anything just to be near him; even sitting beside him in a plane on its way to bomb the bloody Germans would be a treat!’ she sobbed.
Agnes nodded at the twenty-five-pound bombs swinging overhead.
‘Blow one of them a kiss; they’re all on their way to Gerry!’
The girls cheered up when Daphne breezed back into the digs with her suitcase bulging with fabric samples, dress designs, gin, chocolates and toys for Jonty and Esther.
‘Daddy’s agreed to everything!’ she announced as she picked up a bottle of Bollinger’s. ‘Wedding at St James’s, Piccadilly, reception at Claridge’s, honeymoon shooting grouse in Scotland!’
‘It’s a miracle what you can get on the black market if you’re loaded,’ Agnes remarked.
Without a moment’s guilt, Daphne beamed at her.
‘I know, darling, isn’t it marvellous?’
As the cork whizzed across the room and the champagne fizzed, Daphne poured everybody a cupful then raised hers for a toast.
‘Here’s to the eighth of September, my wedding day!’
‘Heck! You’ve moved fast,’ Agnes remarked.
‘There’s a war on, darling, we can’t hang about!’ Daphne giggled as she raised her glass. ‘To me!’
‘Yeah! Cheers! Good luck!’ her friends replied.
They all drank, all but Elsie, who, after taking a cautious sip, shuddered.
‘Ugh! It tastes like Eno’s Liver Salts!’
Daphne rolled her eyes.
‘Elsie, darling, you are truly a philistine.’
Elsie copied Daphne and rolled her eyes too as she replied.
‘Lucky I canne understand posh words!’
This time there was no stitching and sewing, begging and borrowing like there had been at Elsie’s wedding. Measurements were taken by Lillian and recorded by Daphne, and colours were finally agreed, after many hours of anguished indecision.
‘Green,’ said Elsie.
‘Blue,’ said Emily.
‘Red,’ laughed Lillian.
‘Pink!’ said Esther.
Daphne looked at the samples.
‘I’m in cream silk with a strapless lace top, bouffant skirt and Brussels lace veil, and you, my gorgeous bridesmaids, must blend in around the bride.’
‘This isn’t exactly fashion on the ration!’ Agnes said as she quoted one of the familiar slogans of the day.
Lillian swept a professional eye over the silk samples on the table.
‘Not green, not red … blue,’ she finally said.
‘And me?’ asked Esther.
‘Pale pink,’ Lillian replied as she planted a kiss on the little girl’s dark curls.
The samples and the girls’ measurements were sent off to the dressmaker.
‘Sorry, not Hartnell,’ Daphne apologized. ‘He’s just for moi – the virgin bride!’ she joked.
Lillian snorted with laughter.
‘Try telling that to the vicar!’
Daphne left ahead of the girls for her final dress fitting with Mr Hartnell.
Emily, Agnes, Elsie and Lillian followed later, travelling overnight with Esther, who asked Elsie why baby Jonty couldn’t be a bridesmaid too.
‘Well, he’s a lad for a start, and he’s too little to travel all the way to London so he’s staying with his nan in Pendle,’ Elsie explained.
Daphne, generous to a fault, had booked her bridesmaids into Claridge’s, where a taxi dropped them off.
‘Mummy! Mummy!’ shrieked Esther as they walked into the hotel glittering with gilt and shimmering mirrors. ‘Is this Buckingham Palace?’
Agnes smiled in delight as she took in the opulent surroundings.
‘No, it’s even nicer!’ she exclaimed.
Words completely failed Agnes a few minutes later when she walked into the grand reception area and found Stan waiting for her. Faint with delight, Agnes swayed and grabbed hold of Emily.
‘You never said,’ she murmured incredulously as she gazed up at her smiling husband.
‘Daphne arranged it all,’ he said as he gathered his wife and daughter into his arms.
‘How?’ gasped Agnes.
Stan shrugged as if he wasn’t quite sure how.
‘Via the hospital, she sent me a wedding invitation and money to cover my train fare to London. She’s quite a girl,’ he added, impressed.
‘She’s a miracle worker,’ sighed Agnes as she pressed her face against Stan’s warm chest.
‘Darling girl,’ he chuckled into her hair. ‘We’re going to have ourselves a hell of a weekend!’
Esther, impatiently squeezing Stan’s hand, looked up adoringly at him.
‘We missed you, Daddy.’
Stan bent to pick his daughter up in his arms.
‘And I missed you, my princess,’ he said as he gave her a big kiss on both cheeks.
Having only heard about Stan and the horrors he’d gone through, Emily, Lillian and Elsie were surprised to see a tall man, admittedly on the thin side, with a strong face, thick black hair streaked with grey and dark, intense eyes that, right now, burned with love and happiness.
‘Nice to meet you, ladies,’ he said as he shook each of them warmly by the hand. ‘Thank you for looking after my wife and daughter!’
Esther insisted that her daddy took her to the nearest park to feed the ducks, leaving the bridesmaids alone with the bride, who was eagerly waiting for Lillian to set her long blonde hair in an elegant chignon.
The girls bathed in turns in a sumptuous bathroom, revelling in an endless supply of hot water, bath salts and bubbles.
‘I feel like Marlene Dietrich!’ laughed Agnes as she waved one soapy foot in the air.
‘Say that when you’re cuddling up to Stan in bed tonight!’ giggled Elsie.
‘Save some bubbles for me!’ Lillian called from the bedroom, where she was attaching Daphne’s long, flowing veil to her family’s diamond heirloom tiara.
Once everybody’s hair was done, including her own and little Esther’s, Lillian sank into a fragrant bath, where she groaned in luxurious delight.
‘Ooh,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve never had so much fun without laughing.’
The taxi arrived for the bridesmaids and they squeezed in, in a froth of blue silk and tulle, holding their carnation bouquets high so they wouldn’t get dam
aged. With Esther the flower girl squashed between her mum and Elsie on the back seat, they drove through the September sunshine to Piccadilly.
‘Heard the news?’ asked the taxi driver as they wound their way through bomb-torn London streets where silver barrage balloons floated overhead. ‘The Eyeties have surrendered to the Allies.’
The girls in the back stared at each other in disbelief, then whooped with joy.
‘My Tommy might be there right now, celebrating in Rome,’ said Elsie wistfully.
‘We really are winning,’ the taxi driver said as he swung to a halt in front of St James’s church. ‘About bloody time too!’
After the ceremony the bride and groom hosted a lavish meal for their hundred guests back at Claridge’s: wild salmon, fillet of beef and chocolate soufflé washed down with Chablis, Châteauneuf-du-Pape and Dom Pérignon champagne carefully selected from Daphne’s father’s wine cellar. And then the party danced till dawn. Esther, who spent most of her time riding up and down in the glittering gilt lift lined with mirrors and equipped with a sofa on which she lay like Sleeping Beauty, was finally put to bed, blissfully happy and exhausted, leaving her mum and dad time to take to the dance floor.
‘You look so beautiful, Agnes,’ Stan said as they swayed to the music of the Joe Loss Orchestra, hired exclusively for the night by Daphne’s wealthy father.
‘Oh, Stan,’ she sighed as she laid her head on his shoulder. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. I’ve got you back, strong and healthy, Esther sleeping upstairs and the best friends in the world.’
‘They’re wonderful girls, every one of them,’ Stan agreed.
‘They’d do anything for me and I would definitely do anything for them,’ Agnes said with tears in her eyes. ‘And they couldn’t be more different,’ she said with a fond smile. ‘Little Elsie, so poor and frightened at the beginning, has now blossomed into a wonderful mum and loving wife. Emily’s a star, loyal and strong no matter what gets thrown at her, and Lillian …’ She laughed as she said the name. ‘She could cheer anybody up but she carries her own burden. God knows when she’ll see her Yank again.’
‘And Daphne?’ he asked.
‘Daf’s like a golden star that landed in our orbit. She’s brilliant and exciting but I think we’re going to lose her. I suspect Rodders will want her by his side in London, and whatever Flight Lieutenant Rodney Harston-Binge wants Flight Lieutenant Rodney Harston-Binge gets!’ she concluded with a knowing smile.
Across the crowded ballroom, Flight Lieutenant Rodney Harston-Binge was rather drunkenly dancing the foxtrot with Emily, who looked radiant in her blue silk gown and pretty floral headdress.
‘I really should apologize for behaving like a cad and a bounder,’ he said as he held her close and swirled her around the room.
‘Don’t be daft!’ laughed Emily. ‘It’s more my fault for leading you on when we met in London.’
‘Well, you were pretty irresistible,’ he said a little too intimately. ‘What’s a red-blooded man to do but jump in the car and chase after the prey!’ He laughed his over-loud snorting laugh. ‘But there you go. And if it wasn’t for chasing after your skirt I would never have met my wonderful wife. All’s well that ends well, as Shakespeare would say,’ he said with another snort.
As the next Joe Loss number swung into a waltz, Emily, clasped ever tighter in Rodney’s arms, dared to enquire about Alice and Robin.
‘Last time I asked you said they were in training,’ she reminded him. ‘Do you know where they might be now?’
With his tongue well loosened by alcohol, Rodney bent to whisper thickly in her ear.
‘It’s all supposed to be hush-hush but for those in the know,’ he winked meaningfully as if he was privy to top-secret information. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if they were behind enemy lines as we speak.’
Emily, overcome at the very idea of this, bolted out of the room and into the Ladies, where she burst into tears.
‘Oh, Alice, Alice,’ she sobbed into her tiny lace handkerchief.
She jumped when the door opened, then smiled with relief when she saw Elsie standing in the doorway.
‘I saw you rush off,’ she said with her characteristic bluntness. ‘What’s wrong, like?’
Though Emily longed to pour her heart out to Elsie, who she trusted implicitly, she knew it wouldn’t be fair to Alice and Robin.
‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘Dun’t look much like nothing to me,’ Elsie said knowingly.
‘It’s just this wedding … It makes me miss Bill,’ Emily lied.
‘Aye, well, that makes sense, pet,’ said Elsie as she laid an arm around Emily’s shoulders. ‘Now come on, let’s have another dance to Mr Joe Loss then get ourselves to bed. We’ve a long journey back tomorrow.’
Just after dawn the next morning, Stan had no choice but to kiss his wife and daughter goodbye.
‘Come with us, Daddy,’ Esther begged.
His heart melted. How he wished he could. ‘I’ll join you just as soon as the doctor allows me to leave Cambridge,’ Stan replied as he gave his daughter a big kiss.
The journey home was long but the girls were all so tired they slept most of the way. When the train stopped at Clitheroe station Elsie skipped out and smiled at the moors surrounding the town.
‘Eeh, but it’s grand to be home, like,’ she exclaimed joyfully.
Back at the Phoenix, Agnes found a letter in her pigeonhole. It was from the Keswick hospital, recalling Esther for treatment. Agnes had known all along that this day would come; how could it ever have been otherwise? Her daughter was sick, and it was an undisputed fact that she needed hospital attention, but somehow, with all the recent events and the buzz and excitement of Daphne’s glitzy wedding, Agnes had managed to blank out the prospect of Esther leaving her again. She’d drifted into a make-believe world in which Esther would grow up with baby Jonty in a happy environment where she could see her at least once, if not twice, a day.
The bubble’s popped, thought Agnes as she bit back tears and screwed the letter into a hard ball.
Her daughter’s happy, carefree days in Pendle were drawing to a close.
CHAPTER 28
Parachute Drop
Autumn in Cornwall was soft and golden, like a final caress of a summer that seemed reluctant to leave. As the Italians surrendered to the Allies and the Soviets valiantly recaptured Kiev in the Ukraine, the Special Ops were sent on an overnight recce into unknown territory where, in a raging storm, they were instructed to transmit at all costs.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been as sodding wet in my whole life,’ Gwynne said as they arrived back at Helford House at dawn, drenched to the skin.
‘That tutor was dead right about stormy atmospheric conditions,’ Iris said as she stripped off her wet clothes. ‘I got nothing but a series of bloody hisses all night long.’
After removing her clothes, Gladys snuggled up under her eiderdown in an attempt to get warm.
‘I had a disaster with the aerial. I tied it to an overhead branch, which snapped and landed on top of my radio set – bang went three valves and any chance of me getting top marks for code-breaking,’ she said with a rueful laugh.
‘Come on,’ urged Alice, who was the first to change her clothes and was heading out of the door, hungry for her breakfast. ‘Back to work!’
When they worked together Alice’s and Robin’s combined skills made them an effective team, so much so that the commanding officer called them into his study for a word.
‘It’s been pointed out that you two work well together in the field,’ he said to the young couple standing before him. ‘Miss Massey’s French is practically flawless and her handling of explosives is first rate. Your wireless and messaging skills, sir, are highly commendable,’ he said to Robin. ‘Therefore it’s been decided that when the time comes for active service you two will remain together.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Robin as he gave a smart salute.
‘Yo
u’ll be dropped behind enemy lines in France in the very near future. That will be all. Thank you.’
As Alice turned to walk out of the room, her face lit up with happiness; from now on, whatever happened, she’d always be with the man she loved.
Soon afterwards, on one of their precious short leaves, Alice and Robin pooled their precious petrol coupons and drove around Cornwall in Robin’s old Austin. As they rattled and bounced over narrow, unmanaged roads, Robin lit two cigarettes, one of which he handed to Alice.
‘So you think our training’s coming to an end?’ he asked.
‘The Brigadier’s dropped enough hints,’ she replied. ‘Plus, we can’t stay here for ever, much as I’d love to,’ she sighed as she gazed across the wild moors and out to sea.
Robin took a thoughtful deep drag on his cigarette.
‘So far we’ve been taught how to parachute, drive a locomotive, use a pistol, receive and transmit Morse, decode messages, make invisible ink and how to kill ourselves,’ he laughed bleakly. ‘Think we’re probably ready.’
‘But are we really?’ Alice asked quietly. ‘Are you?’
‘Yes!’ Robin answered robustly. ‘I want this, Alice. I’ve never wanted all that ghastly military rigmarole; I’ve always preferred independence and the freedom to fight a personal war at close quarters. It might sound unpatriotic but I want to be master of my own destiny rather than a pawn in somebody else’s grand battle plan.’
‘I think your principles are far finer than mine,’ Alice answered.
‘Alice, my darling, whatever your motives you’re without question the best bomb-assembler on the course and you’re a mean shot with an A.45 pistol.’
‘Oh, Robin,’ Alice said as she leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘Don’t you ever feel scared?’
‘Of course! It’s sensible to be scared, like an actor getting stage fright just before the curtain goes up. It’s good to keep the adrenalin high; it keeps one focused.’
‘Oh, I love you!’ she laughed as he answered with his usual characteristic honesty and fervour. ‘Let’s not think about the war tonight, let’s just think about us.’
