Sing As We Go

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Of course, Miss Curtis. Poor thing. What a dreadful thing to happen.’

  ‘Yes,’ Muriel murmured. ‘Isn’t it?’

  *

  With the help of her colleagues’ thoughtful actions, Kathy was kept busy all day and the time passed quickly. About mid-morning, Jemima walked through the department. It was not unusual, so Kathy thought nothing of it. It was also quite normal for the supervisor to stop and speak to the head of department, so seeing Jemima and Muriel with their heads together in conversation caused Kathy no discomfort. Though, perhaps, if she had thought for a moment, she might have guessed that this morning their exchange was not wholly about stock and displays.

  ‘I expect she’s told you,’ Jemima began, and Muriel nodded.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘That’s generous of you, in the circumstances.’

  ‘What happened to me was nothing to do with Kathy and I’m sorry to see nothing has changed. That woman . . .’

  ‘Precisely, but sadly there’s nothing any of us can do. If I had thought for a moment that interference from me would have helped, I’d have been up at their house in a trice. But I knew such an action would only make matters worse.’ Jemima pulled a wry grimace. ‘If they could get much worse. He’s gone this morning, you know.’

  ‘Yes.’ Now Muriel’s voice was husky. She still loved him and, even though now she was seeing him with someone else, she was trying to move on with her own life. And there would always be a place in her heart for her lost love. A part of her that would be devastated if he should be hurt or – God forbid – killed. ‘I’m trying to keep her busy. Trying to keep her mind off things.’

  ‘Good. Thank you, Muriel.’ Jemima moved on, and without even a glance towards Kathy, who was serving a customer, she left the department.

  Evenings were going to be the most difficult. The long hours that stretched into an even longer night. Hours of darkness when Kathy lay staring into nothingness, wondering what might have been and what, if anything, could be done. Once more, Jemima attempted to come to the rescue.

  Kathy arrived home before her that first evening and was feeding Taffy, still apologetic that she had neglected him the previous night, though, as he arched his back under her gentle stroke, she believed herself forgiven. He wound himself around her legs as she prepared his dinner and miaowed and purred in ecstatic anticipation.

  As she placed his dish on the floor, she heard Jemima’s quick tripping steps down the passageway.

  ‘I’ve just been talking to Ron Spencer,’ Jemima began, almost before she’d stepped inside and closed the door. ‘He wants to know if you’re going to the choral society on Thursday evening. Evidently they’re trying to get a special concert together for the war effort. In fact, he’ll probably ask you if you can spare any more time. I told him I’d ask you.’

  Kathy hid her smile. She wondered just which of them it really had been who had suggested trying to fill Kathy’s empty evenings. Touched by their kindness, Kathy said at once, ‘Yes, of course I’d be glad to help. I’d been thinking of offering to help you at the WVS too, but I do want to go and see Mr Kendall. Just – just to see if I can help him at all. He’ll miss Tony’s help with – with . . .’

  ‘He certainly will and I’m sure he’ll welcome you with open arms. But what she will do is another matter.’

  Kathy climbed the hill to the Kendalls’ house the very next evening, but no one answered her knock. She tried to squint through the blackout curtains to see if anyone was in, but the whole house appeared empty.

  Perhaps Mrs Kendall was still in hospital and George was visiting her or was still at work on the evening shift. Kathy turned away and retraced her steps. As she turned into the side street, she saw Ron wheeling his bicycle up the slope towards her.

  ‘Hello, love. I’m just on my way to the school now. Are you going to join us?’ His eyes showed his concern for her, but he made no mention of her disastrous wedding day. For that, she was grateful.

  Kathy took a deep breath and forced a smile. ‘Why? Is there a practice tonight? It’s only Tuesday.’

  ‘Not exactly. A few of us are meeting to discuss how we can help the war effort. Some chap in London has set up an entertainments’ unit of civilian artistes who are willing to travel anywhere to entertain not only troops but factory workers, shipyards, hospitals – in fact, any group of workers involved in the war. Some of us in the society would like to get involved.’

  ‘I see. But – but you said travelling. I mean – I have a job, and – and I want to be here whenever Tony comes home on leave.’

  Ron patted her shoulder understandingly. He had heard all about Saturday’s fiasco and his heart went out to this girl. ‘Of course you do, my dear. But – tell you what – come along with me now and at least hear what’s involved. We’re none of us too sure ourselves yet, but we’ve got some bod coming from London to talk to us tonight. We might all know a bit more by the end of the evening about exactly what they’re looking for a group like us to do. A lot of our members have day jobs, but they’d be able to travel reasonable distances in the evenings and at weekends. Besides, some employers can be surprisingly helpful if they know it’s for the war effort.’

  Kathy shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve nothing else to do. Why not?’

  ‘That’s the ticket.’

  The evening was a merry one. The ‘bod’ from London was something of an entertainer himself, and his talk to the company was littered with jokes and anecdotes that had the members of the normally rather staid choral society rocking with laughter. There was also a young man there, a stalwart of the Lincoln Operatic & Dramatic Society, Martin Montgomery. He was tall and broad with fair hair. His chin was firm and square and he had the cheekiest grin and the most mischievous blue eyes that Kathy had ever seen.

  He doubled as a stage manager for the local society, he told them, but his real love was being on stage. He then proceeded to demonstrate with monologues and a comedy routine that had the audience in stitches. Between them, the two visitors gave the choral society much to think about.

  As they walked home together through the blackout, Ron Spencer pushing his bicycle so that he could walk alongside her, they were both still chuckling.

  ‘I was rather impressed with his idea of forming a concert party that was more than just singing,’ Ron remarked.

  ‘Yes. The man from London – what was his name again?’

  ‘Sid Warren, I think. Yes, that’s it, because it made me think of rabbits.’ Ron chuckled. ‘I wonder if he includes producing a rabbit out of a top hat in his act.’

  ‘He said the show should include a comedian, a juggler and a speciality act. What’s that, exactly?’

  ‘It’s an act that’s a bit out of the ordinary. Like a hypnotist. That sort of thing. And, of course, there should be pretty dancing girls. Are you any good at dancing, Kathy, because you’re certainly pretty enough?’

  Kathy laughed. ‘I’ve got two left feet. No, I’ll stick to singing, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Fair enough. The dancing world’s loss is the singing world’s gain. But I’ll keep in touch, Kathy. I still think you might be able to help, even if you can’t travel far. Goodnight, love,’ he said as they reached the passageway leading to his back gate.

  ‘ ’Night, Mr Spencer.’

  ‘So, how did it go?’ Jemima asked as soon as Kathy was in the house.

  ‘It didn’t,’ she said, referring to her attempt to visit Mr and Mrs Kendall, but then she went on to tell Jemima about the choral society’s meeting. ‘They’re disbanding the usual meetings and putting all their efforts into entertaining war workers and such.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful. D’you know, I’ve never even heard you sing, dear. Solo, that is, only beside me in church. I really should have come along to one of the society’s concerts. How remiss of me.’

  Kathy laughed. ‘You wouldn’t have heard me among all the rest there either. Mind you, I did do a bit of a solo one evening.’
/>   ‘Well, if you decide to join their entertainment party I’ll certainly come and hear you if you’re performing locally. Be sure to tell me.’

  ‘I will,’ Kathy promised, but now her mind was drifting back to Tony, wondering where he was and what he was doing. And if he was thinking of her.

  The days dragged on. Ten dates later, a letter arrived from Tony, reassuring Kathy of his love and promising her that they would be married during his leave.

  Basic training’s going well, he wrote, and I’m thrilled because I’ve been selected to train as a fighter pilot. I’ll likely be posted down south though, as that’s where all the fighter action is likely to be . . .

  His letter was like one from an excited schoolboy who has been sent away to boarding school for the first time and finds, to his astonishment, that he loves it. To Kathy’s surprise, Tony didn’t even mention his mother. She couldn’t help wondering what his letters home were like.

  The next Sunday, she went again to the Kendalls’ house and this time George opened the back door to her knock.

  ‘Hello, lass. You’re a sight for sore eyes and no mistake. Come away in.’

  ‘How’s Mrs Kendall?’ Kathy asked as she stepped over the threshold. ‘Is she home from the hospital?’

  ‘Oh yes. They only kept her in three days. Just until after Tony had gone.’

  So, Kathy thought, the woman had been in when she had called the previous week.

  George’s face fell into lines of sadness. ‘I told them what had happened, like, and how he had been called up and was leaving early on the Monday morning. They said they’d keep her and see how she coped with him leaving.’

  ‘And did she?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Cope?’

  George shrugged. ‘Case of having to, love, isn’t it? But she’s very down. Tony’s very good, though. He writes to her every other day or so.’ He pulled a wry expression. ‘Mind you, I’m not sure if it helps or not. She gets so upset when a letter comes, yet I know she’d fret if he didn’t write at all.’

  Kathy swallowed her resentment. Tony had only written to her once in the two weeks since he’d been gone. But instead she smiled brightly at George Kendall and asked, ‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’

  He gazed at her for a moment and then shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘You are a remarkable lass, you know. Not many’d come here and offer to help after what happened last week. I just wish . . .’ His voice broke and he stopped, as if unable to go on.

  Kathy touched his arm. ‘I know,’ she said gently. ‘I know you wish the marriage had taken place.’ She took a deep breath and smiled tremulously. ‘But it can’t be helped now. Maybe when Tony gets leave, well, we’ll have to see.’

  ‘Just do it, lass. Next time, don’t tell anyone except p’raps Miss Robinson. Just slip away, the two of you, and do it.’

  Kathy smiled sadly. ‘Yes, I think you’re right.’ Then she took a deep breath and said, with new determination, ‘Now, what can I do?’

  For the next two hours, Kathy helped George cook a meal. Then she cleaned the kitchen, ending up by washing the red tiled floor. Just as she was finishing, she glanced up to see a pair of feet standing just in front of her. Feet encased in women’s shoes. Kathy held her breath as, slowly, her gaze travelled up and up, stopping eventually when she met the hostile eyes of Beatrice Kendall.

  ‘And what, may I ask, are you doing here?’

  Kathy scrambled to her feet and dropped the floor-cloth into the bucket of soapy hot water. ‘Helping out.’ She smiled brightly. ‘I thought Mr Kendall could do with a hand now Tony’s not here to help.’

  Beatrice put her hand to her chest and staggered to one side, slumping against the table. ‘Oh, you cruel, heartless girl,’ she gasped. ‘How could you say such a thing to me?’

  Kathy spread her hands helplessly. ‘What have I said wrong? I’m only stating the obvious.’

  Tears trickled down Beatrice’s face. ‘But to remind me so callously.’

  Kathy said quietly, ‘I wouldn’t have thought you needed reminding. I certainly don’t. Look, Mrs Kendall, why can’t we be friends? I’d like to help you. Help your husband care for you . . .’

  ‘Friends?’ the woman shrieked. ‘Friends, you say, when you’re trying to steal my son away from me. My only child, who’s everything in the world to me. If I lose him, I don’t want to live any more.’

  ‘But don’t you see – can’t you see – you’d be gaining a daughter? I don’t want to take him away from you. I’d never dream of doing any such thing.’

  ‘You already have. I’ve hardly seen him these last few weeks. These precious last few weeks. What if he never comes back? What if he gets killed . . . ?’ Her voice rose hysterically.

  Kathy felt the colour drain from her face. ‘Don’t say that! Don’t even think it!’

  George came hurrying into the room. ‘Oh, Beatty, what are you doing in here?’ Beatrice leant against her husband. ‘Send her away, George. I don’t want her here. She reminds me . . .’

  ‘Come along, dear, let’s get you settled back on the couch and then we’ll talk about it.’

  While George half carried his wife back to the front room, Kathy emptied the bucket of dirty water down the drain in the back yard and replaced it in the washhouse. Returning to the kitchen, she washed her hands at the now sparkling white sink and took down her coat from the peg. She stood, listening a moment and then, when there was no sound of George returning, she let herself quietly out of the back door.

  The formation of the concert party was going well, and by the end of March Ron Spencer had rounded up enough people to make up a variety show.

  ‘I’m just short of a soprano,’ Mr Spencer said, sitting down in Jemima’s kitchen and picking up the cup of tea she had offered him. He looked across at Kathy. ‘Won’t you reconsider, Kathy? You’re perfect.’

  ‘But you’re going to be travelling all round the country, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, I have to admit, that’s the idea now. We’ve found enough folk who are free for one reason or another. One or two are even prepared to leave their jobs. They’re trying to make their way into the entertainment world and they see this as an ideal opportunity to get themselves known. And we’ve got official backing from ENSA and we’re even going to be paid for our efforts. There’s no stopping us now. We can go anywhere we’re wanted.’

  ‘I could see if Mr James would keep your job open for you, dear,’ Jemima put in. ‘He’s anxious to do whatever he can to help with the war effort and, to tell you the truth, we don’t need so many staff nowadays. Sales are dropping alarmingly.’ There was silence between the three of them. They all knew that many of the items that the store sold could be classed as luxury items. ‘It’s a case of “make do and mend” now. Mr James is seriously looking at what else they can stock. Things that people really need and want.’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid a lot of things are going to change.’ Ron glanced again at Kathy. ‘So, what d’you say?’

  Kathy ran her tongue around dry lips. ‘I – I’ll think about it,’ she murmured, avoiding his gaze. She would have loved nothing better than to have said ‘yes’ there and then. But there was another worry niggling at her mind now. A worry that gripped her afresh each morning as she leant over the bowl in her bedroom and retched.

  Twenty-Six

  ‘You’re pregnant, aren’t you?’ Jemima said bluntly as, for the fourth morning in a row, Kathy pushed aside the untouched bowl of cereal.

  Kathy hung her head, unable to meet Jemima’s eyes. Miserably, she whispered, ‘I think I must be.’ She’d managed to hide the morning sickness for a month. At first she’d believed it was just because she was so devastated by her ruined wedding day. Then, as the days went on and there was only one letter from Tony, her misery had deepened. But now, she had to admit, the sickness was happening far too regularly to be just that. The truth had to be faced. How gleeful her father would be, she
thought bitterly, that what he had accused her of was now a fact.

  Jemima sighed heavily and lowered herself into the chair on the opposite side of the table. It was Sunday morning, so there was no need to rush. ‘So, what are you going to do about it?’

  Kathy’s head snapped up. ‘I’m not going to get rid of it, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  Jemima shook her head sadly. ‘Kathy, how can you even think that I could suggest such a thing?’

  Kathy hung her head again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I – I’m not thinking straight.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Jemima whispered. There was a pause before she added, ‘So, what are we going to do about it?’

  ‘We?’ Kathy’s voice was high-pitched. ‘Don’t you mean me? What am I going to do about it? This is my problem. I don’t want to bring shame on you. I’ll – I’ll think of something.’ Her voice trailed away, because she had no idea at this moment what that ‘something’ might be.

  There was a long silence in the room before Jemima said softly. ‘Kathy, my dear, I’m going to tell you something now that will probably shock you. I’m sure most people – including you – view me as a dried-up old spinster who has never known a man, who has never – ’ her lower lip trembled for an instant – ‘has never known love and passion. But you’d be wrong. Quite wrong. You see, during the last war – rather like you – I wanted to get away from the farm. I wanted to do my bit, so I joined up to be a nurse. A VAD nurse. I even went to France.’ Now her eyes took on a dreamy expression, but there was sadness there too. ‘I saw some terrible sights, Kathy. Sights no young girl should ever see, and death and suffering that no young man should ever know. That’s why I was so upset when this war started. You see, the very people who should know better have let it all happen again.’