Frightened now, she asked Lilly to help her to her bedroom and send for the midwife.
Almost throwing her baby at the pain-racked girl, Lilly ran from the house and left a message for her mother, then ran on to the house of the midwife. She was out but Lilly told her daughter to send her as soon as she could. For good measure she also called into the surgery and told the clerk there what was happening, then she ran back, quite exhausted with her efforts, to Olive.
Olive cried out and gripped Lilly’s hand for comfort and, in panic. Lilly ran out again, this time with her baby, saying she was going to look for help, and Olive was on her own.
She didn’t know what to do. She felt as though her back was breaking and when the pain transferred to the lower part of her body and intensified, tearing her apart, she knew that there was no time to go out herself and seek help. She was crying, both with the pain and for the fear of giving birth alone. In her imagination she convinced herself that both she and the baby would die. She called for Ronnie and for her mother-in-law but no one came.
An hour passed and still she was on her own. The pains had continued but they no longer made her cry out. She lay on her side and begged someone to come and help her. When help came it arrived in the form of the midwife, closely followed by the doctor, and Olive cried again, this time with relief.
The baby, a girl, was born an hour later and the first thing Olive said, when her mother-in-law ran up the stairs and hugged her, was, ‘I’ll never speak to Lilly again. Not ever.’
‘Oh, I will,’ Marged said, tight-lipped with anger. ‘I’ll have plenty to say to our Lilly.’
Lilly was sitting in the park. The weather had turned cold and she was shivering. No chance of going back home for a coat; she couldn’t face getting involved in all that screaming again.
There were other mothers sitting in the park, pushing prams or running after lively toddlers. One pushchair with a lively youngster in it was held by a young man. He was pale and from the way he walked, leaning heavily on one side and quickly taking the weight of his left leg, she guessed he had been wounded and was home recuperating.
‘Let him play on the grass,’ she advised, as the man tried in vain to pacify the struggling child. ‘Safe enough here, he’ll be.’
‘I don’t know,’ the young man said doubtfully. ‘My sister’s boy he is and I can’t run after him if he gets into trouble.’ He slapped his leg. ‘Shrapnel, see,’ he explained.
‘Tell you what, you rock my pram and I’ll watch your little boy for a while, how’s that?’
An hour later, when Lilly braced herself for the situation at home, she and the young man she now knew as Sam had made a date to meet later that evening. Lilly prepared a contrite expression and went to face her family.
* * *
Eirlys and Ken still wrote regularly to each other while he was away from St David’s Well, and he went less often to London on his free time, preferring to stay with his grandparents and spend time with Eirlys. He tried not to press for an answer to his proposal but Eirlys knew that she had to make up her mind. It was a time of rapid change. Overnight everything could be thrown out of order; things you could once rely on were no longer certainties. Love could wait, but why should it? The present attitude of grabbing happiness while you could had affected the most unexcitable of people. Everywhere there were friends who were jumping into situations with little thought. Ken could be leaving to work overseas at any time, so why should she hesitate?
Since parting from Ken some years previously, she had met, fallen in love and become engaged to Johnny Castle and would have married him, even though she was beginning to realise it was a mistake. Discovering that Johnny loved Hannah had been a shock but a short-lived disappointment. But a part of her still wondered whether they would have been as happy as most if they had married and ignored their doubts.
How much of a happy marriage was acceptance, she wondered sadly. The conviction that a man was the only one for her couldn’t be true, or why had she felt that conviction for Ken, and then Johnny, without it lasting in either case? And how could her heart retune itself to loving Ken once that love had faded and died?
Ken had a suspicion that her doubts were in part because of her previous love for Johnny and, in an attempt to help, on hearing that Johnny was home on unexpected leave, he suggested Eirlys invite Johnny, Hannah and the two little girls to tea on Sunday. Believing Ken had suggested it in an attempt to cheer up her father, who still missed the evacuees, she agreed, although with some trepidation. Would she be able to face seeing Johnny and accept Hannah, her long-time friend, as Johnny’s wife without feeling the strain? For her father she was prepared to try.
Ken was apprehensive too. What if it proved that Eirlys still loved Johnny? It could end all hope of her saying ‘yes’ to his proposal. He knew he had to take the chance and he entered into the plans for providing tea for the guests.
Eirlys managed to bake a few party cakes with some duck eggs from Bernard Gregory. Hen’s eggs had been rationed since June but duck eggs were still exempt. To the small cakes she added some sweets for decoration, stuck on with a spot of jam in the absence of icing sugar. There were sandwiches of spam and when Mr Gregory heard about the tea-party he delivered an extra couple of goose eggs, hard-boiled and sliced, to impress the children with their size, and a ridge cucumber, nobbly, ugly but delicious in sandwiches. He also gave Eirlys a two-ounce bar of Cadbury’s chocolate which she grated over a small sponge cake. The table looked festive and Marie and Josie were impressed.
It was a happy occasion, her father enjoying the company of the little girls. The conversation was lively with no uneasy pauses. Ken watched Eirlys, admiration clear in his eyes. Made for family life, he thought fondly. Efficient, orderly, yet with such a relaxed approach that no one would guess she had worked so hard. No wonder she was so valued as an employee and it was not surprising that she had so many friends, either.
He wanted to be a part of her life, supporting her in whatever she wanted to do, sharing her problems, adding to her joys. For him there was no doubt about Eirlys being the one person for him. No one else had ever come close.
As Johnny and Hannah walked back home with Marie and Josie, Johnny said, ‘D’you think Eirlys invited us to show me she was back with Ken?’
Hannah smiled knowingly. ‘No, my darling, I think it more likely that Ken wanted to show her she was over loving you.’
Eirlys discussed Ken’s proposal with her father that evening.
He was delighted and hoped she would accept. ‘I’ve always liked Ken and I’m sure he’d make you happy. Your mam and I were upset when you called it off.’
‘I think I love Ken, but having known him for all these years there wouldn’t be the excitement. In other ways too, rushing into a marriage would be a disappointment. I’ll miss the build-up, the fun of collecting things for our home.’
‘You’ve done all that,’ Morgan said ruefully. ‘With Johnny and partly with Ken before. Perhaps a rushed marriage would be better.’
‘But everything is so grey these days.’
‘Nonsense, love, you’ll make a beautiful bride, however frantic the arrangements.’
She hugged her father but wasn’t convinced.
Johnny, Hannah and the girls met Eirlys again the following weekend. It included the last of Eirlys’s arranged entertainments. The Donkey Derby was to take place on Sally Gough’s field where the donkeys spent their leisure time and where they overwintered in the stables built for them by Bernard. No children rode them on this occasion; this was an event intended to make grown-ups look silly, with a commentary by Bernard Gregory aided and abetted by Eirlys’s father, Morgan Price.
As the line of animals set off at a leisurely pace, ignoring their jockeys’ attempts to make them hurry, and aiming vaguely at the winning post against the furthest hedge, the two men took it in turns to invent a racing commentary out of the disobedient animals’ actions.
Some turned and ran back to w
here their owners were tempting them to disobey by offering hay, others walked across the field and tipped their riders off into the stinging nettles before trotting on towards the finishing post. Being ridden barebacked was something most of the donkeys were used to but today they didn’t like it. Some had never been ridden at all, and they too were not hesitant in letting their riders know of their displeasure.
Eirlys laughed with the rest, standing near Hannah and the girls while Johnny ran about helping unseated jockeys to remount and on one occasion being chased from the field by the bad-tempered Charlie belonging to Bernard Gregory. Charlie liked children riding him and, as long as he was leading the string, was amiable and patient. A race like this tried his patience and he let them all know it.
The crowds drifted away and the men set about clearing the field. Ken took Eirlys’s arm and led her towards Johnny, Hannah and their two daughters.
‘I hope you’re taking Eirlys home for a quiet evening,’ Hannah said. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job this summer, Eirlys.’
‘That’s right. A quiet evening being spoilt is what she deserves, don’t you agree, Ken?’ Johnny agreed.
‘After the the way she’s worked to make Holidays At Home a success, she deserves more than a quiet night in! It’s time for a celebration of a job well done,’ Ken said. ‘I’m taking her out.’
‘Where are we going?’ Eirlys smiled. She liked the idea; everything was already beginning to feel flat after these busy weeks and she didn’t like the sound of a quiet night in.
Ken kissed her cheek and hugged her affectionately. He was relieved that she didn’t object, sure now that her feelings for Johnny were no more than affectionate friendship. ‘I’m so proud of her. With her team of assistants, she’s given us a summer we’ll never forget.’
‘And I’m already preparing for the next one,’ Eirlys groaned in mock despair.
‘Make it the summer we’ll never want to forget, Eirlys my beautiful love,’ Ken said as they walked away. ‘Marry me.’
This time, she said yes, and immediately wondered why, after hesitating for so long. Perhaps it was the mood of euphoria at the approach of the end of a busy season, or the realisation that Ken was the one and, perhaps, had always been. Then she remembered the unfinished business of her father’s disasters. She couldn’t marry anyone until they had been sorted. ‘But not yet,’ she added as he began to speak.
‘Why? There’s nothing to stop us, is there?’
‘First, I have to clear Dadda’s debts,’ she added sadly. ‘I won’t have the money to do anything until all his bills are paid.’
‘Then let me help.’
‘I can’t do that!’
‘Why not? If we’re to be man and wife won’t you expect us to share everything, bad as well as good?’
They went back to the house and before Morgan joined them they went through the accounts which Eirlys had neatly written out to see exactly how they stood. The following day, they cleared every overdue account except for the three-piece suite bought – then sold – by Teresa, which they agreed that Morgan should manage on his own.
They discussed dates. There was no need to search for accommodation; they both agreed to move in with Morgan.
‘To make sure he doesn’t fall for another needy, greedy woman,’ Eirlys said ruefully.
With the hectic season of entertainment over. Eirlys took a week off from work and spent the time preparing for her wedding. She went first to see Marged and Huw Castle to ask them to organise the wedding breakfast. She wasn’t even certain of the numbers at this stage and she laughed aloud at the effect the wedding plans was having on her normally clear-thinking mind.
* * *
When Shirley reached London on the day she had arranged to meet the two agents, she hesitated at the station and looked around. Paddington Station was huge compared with the stations in the town of St David’s Well, and she wondered how to get out of it with so many alternatives on offer. The steps leading down to the underground were solid with people and she thought she would wait until the bustle had eased. She imagined that once the train had discharged its load, the place would be empty but trains continued to arrive and depart, and people continued to pour up and down the steps.
Taxis waited near one of the roadways and people were pushing their way through the hovering crowd determined to get there first. She checked the address of the first appointment and walked towards the taxi queue. She wished she hadn’t come.
When she eventually emerged from the dark cavern of the station she stared around her in disbelief. The scenes that met her eyes as they drove through the streets were like something from a nightmare. Many buildings were nothing but piles of rubble, the sun shining through jagged gaps in the walls, and what should have been rooftops was a motley of broken walls and sagging timber. Outside buildings that had survived serious damage, the entrances were surrounded by high walls of sandbags. The roadways had been cleared and red London buses drove through, finding their way, stopping at bus stops which were nothing more than temporary posts standing amid acres of rubble fields, people jumping on and off as though everything was normal.
Newspapers had shown pictures of the devastation caused by the Blitz which had ended a couple of months previously but had not prepared her for the shocking reality. She alighted from the taxi clutching her bag and the folder containing her sheets of music. She was early so she walked around taking in the sights, wanting to tell people when she got back how fortunate they had been to have escaped such terrifying air raids.
The debris of people’s homes had been moved away from the roads to allow life to go on. In the absence of pavements, people were walking along the edge of the roadways, men carrying newspapers and briefcases, mothers with children and shopping bags, schoolchildren, a postman, the police. Several ARP wardens stood in a group gesturing towards one of the buildings, making notes, discussing the ruins. An old man pushed a tattered handcart gathering wood which was scattered among the rubble and she saw the policeman wave him away, no doubt aware of the danger of more of the buildings falling. She felt like an intruder, a voyeur looking in on other people’s grief.
She was still early for her appointment but she went to the address where she had arranged to meet the first of the two agents.
The address was above a baker’s shop, where a queue of tired-looking women stood patiently waiting, hoping for a few of the cakes that the proprietor had managed to bake. Shirley was hungry but she had sandwiches in her bag and couldn’t take anything from these people who needed treats more than she did.
Pushing her way through the patient, good-natured shoppers, she knocked on the door.
The interview was brief. The three people present asked her a few questions about her experiences and seemed less than excited by her answers. She sang two numbers to piano accompaniment, but she was nervous and didn’t give her voice its usual strength. They told her abruptly they would contact her when they had something to offer. She left convinced that was very unlikely to happen.
Disappointment hit her hard but slowly left her. She had a second audition and surely she couldn’t fail to please the second one?
Another taxi took her to the place where she had arranged to meet the second agent, Mr Desmond Green-Hamilton. She read the name and checked the address unnecessarily. To her alarm, she was set down in a street of ruined buildings.
‘This can’t be it!’ she exclaimed to the driver.
‘Sorry, love, but London ain’t what it used to be. If I ain’t mistaken there’s your appointment right there, waiting for yer.’
Paying the taxi driver, Shirley apprehensively stepped out into the silent and empty road with damaged and abandoned houses on both sides.
The man was standing near the wall of what had once been a grand building. He wore a smart suit and was smoking a cigar, holding a briefcase in a beringed hand. His hair was slicked back like a second skin, black and shining, curling on his neck, and his bright darting eyes were a
ssessing her as she approached. He waited until she reached him, eased himself from the wall and offered a hand.
‘Miss Shirley Downs? Pleased to meet you.’
‘Mr Green-Hamilton?’ She looked around her and, gathering strength and confidence from her anger and disappointment, convinced she had wasted her time, said, ‘I hope you don’t expect me to audition here in the street!’
He casually waved a hand up at the mined facade of the building and shook his head. ‘That was my office, Miss Downs, but it’ll be a long time before I can audition young ladies there again. No, we have to use my flat.’ As she hesitated, he added casually, ‘My secretary will be making us some coffee, as the junior is off sick this week, so, if you’ll follow me.’
Desmond Green-Hamilton had never had an office. The bombing of London had given him the wonderful opportunity of inventing one: a smart office with an exceptionally good address. All he had to do was meet his clients there amid the ruins of these fine buildings, sigh with deep sadness at the trials of wartime, and leave them to imagine the rest.
Foolishly Shirley envisaged his flat like those seen in Hollywood films, so the drab, poorly furnished room into which she was led fifteen minutes later was a shock. Did she imagine it or did he use his hands more than necessary as he helped her out of her coat? His hands touched her neck and she felt them around her waist. She was decidedly nervous, looking around for the promised coffee supplied by a secretary, both of which failed to materialise.
He coaxed her to relax, take off the cardigan she wore under the thin summer coat and she wished she had worn something more flattering than the sleeveless, fitted dress she’d had the summer before.
‘Some of my stage dresses would have looked the part,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t think a train journey to London was the place to wear them. All I’d expected to do was sing, not dance as well, like I usually do.’
Holidays at Home Omnibus Page 75
