by Annie Groves
‘You will parade at nine o’clock each morning …’ the sergeant-major was saying, breaking into her thoughts. ‘And get those shoes polished.’ Then, indicating a corporal, the sergeant-major said in more gentle tones, ‘Corporal Wyngate will take you to Room 656.’
After the girls had been given their duties for the following day, they were dismissed.
‘Do you think I could ask for Sunday off on religious grounds?’ Tilly said laughing.
‘I should think that is a reasonable request,’ laughed Janet. ‘Maybe they could stop the war on Sundays too – oh, and every Saturday, so I could go to the market.’
‘I’m sure that won’t be a problem,’ Tilly laughed. ‘In fact, maybe we could ask them to keep the noise down while we had a sleep in!’
The girls were in good spirits being back in London, and Tilly couldn’t wait to get back home to Article Row. It didn’t take long to get to say hello to the girls they had worked with before leaving for the Isle of Wight. However, they couldn’t fail to notice that some faces were missing: either gone abroad or gone to meet their Maker – but no questions were asked and no explanations were given.
‘This is your office,’ said a solidly built female sergeant, whom Tilly vowed never to get on the wrong side of. ‘It’s quite small but you’ll soon get used to it and it can be quite cosy on cold winter afternoons.’
‘I bet it can,’ said Tilly as she and Janet wedged themselves behind the squashed-in desks and Tilly immediately likened it to her tiny office back at St Bartholomew’s Hospital where she once worked as an assistant to the Lady Almoner.
‘There are a number of American newspapermen working next door,’ said the sergeant, and immediately the hairs on the back of Tilly’s neck stood on end … It would be so wonderful if … No, she mustn’t torture herself like that. There was no need to dwell on what could have been. There were hundreds, even thousands of girls all over London and beyond who were crying into their pillows every night for the loss of an American sweetheart. She was beyond all that now.
‘Shall I just go and check they have enough typewriter ribbon … ? Tilly tried not to sound too enthusiastic and was dismayed when she was refused permission to leave the room.
‘There are plenty of Forces Restaurants locally, so you will do very well for lunch and at about one shilling and tuppence a pop, you won’t starve, I’m sure,’ continued the sergeant. ‘Your hours will be Parade at nine a.m., then start work at nine thirty and, with an hour for lunch, you will finish at five thirty. From then on, your time is your own.’ The sergeant then bid them good afternoon and they were given the rest of the day to find a billet.
‘Come on, Jan,’ said Tilly, collecting her bag and slipping the long strap across her shoulder. ‘We’ll go and see Mum. There’s plenty of room back in Article Row.’
Olive noticed there had been more than the usual interest in the much-sort-after tickets for the Red Cross Christmas raffle this year, and the reason was obvious when she saw Audrey display the basket, done up with a ribbon, containing a tin of talcum powder and a whole bar of Palmolive soap, in the shop window.
‘Now I know why there’s been such a rush,’ said Olive. Soap had been rationed since 1942.
‘The soap is scented,’ Audrey said in a low whisper, deeply inhaling the soap’s perfume.
‘It’s something to treasure, that’s for sure,’ Olive said. Undoubtedly it would be eked out to the last sliver by the lucky winner.
‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to when we can’t even get hold of a bit of soap,’ said a war-weary woman, accompanied by three young children in ragged trousers.
Olive nodded sympathetically when the down-at-heel woman, who was doing her Christmas shopping in the Red Cross shop, informed her that it was impossible to buy a decent bar of perfumed soap these days and bought three tickets while looking accusingly at Olive.
‘She must think we have a secret stash under the counter,’ Olive said, and then laughed, as the woman and her three wailing children left the shop. The shop was busy for the rest of the afternoon. As dusk drew in, the customers dwindled and Audrey declared the raffle closed. She drew a ticket from the box in which the staff had been placing them for the last fortnight, then stuck the winning number to the prize in the window, but an hour passed and nobody came to claim the star prize of talc and soap.
‘What if nobody comes to collect their prize?’ Olive asked Audrey, who was adding up the day’s takings, amazed at how much they had taken that day.
‘Oh, someone will claim it for sure. It will be a late Christmas present.’
‘Well, someone is going to be very lucky and smell gorgeous over Christmas.’
‘Are you looking forward to going to the country?’ Audrey asked as they tidied around before locking up.
Olive beamed. ‘I can’t wait. Agnes said I have to put my feet up and be waited on hand and foot,’ she laughed. ‘I can’t really argue with her, though; my feet are killing me today.’
‘Mine, too,’ said Audrey. ‘We have been exceptionally busy today. I’m going to go home and soak my aching feet in a bowl of warm water.’
‘Throw some Epsom salts in for good measure, it’s really soothing.’
‘I’ll try that,’ said Audrey. ‘I’m dressing the altar in the church tonight ready for tomorrow. I want everything looking just right for the big day.’
‘You work so hard, Audrey,’ said Olive. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you sit down and have a proper rest for ages.’ They had been on the go all week, swapping, mending and organising salvage schemes. As salvage stewards they each wore a special badge with an ‘S’, and were in charge of collecting all manner of goods from their neighbours for salvage as well as for the Red Cross shop.
Housewives had been urged not to throw away aluminium milk bottle tops or cans. Rubber could be recycled to make boots for paratroopers. Leftover bones gathered at ‘bone drives’ went to produce glue used in ship-building and shell cases, while battledress fabric was made from wool remnants, and the nation’s pigs benefited from every scrap of food waste that could be collected. Olive knew that the work had to be done regardless of whether it was Christmas or not.
But, fortunately, she had a few days off from the depot and the shop. On Boxing Day, Audrey would gather with like-minded women in the church hall to dismantle used batteries and electric light bulbs, and sort the old tyres that had been dredged from ponds. They would not be the only women who would be doing their bit for the brave men fighting for their country. Olive knew that the salvage campaign was the brainchild of Herbert Morrison and the women of Britain were proud to support it.
‘Well, there’s no sense in slacking. I’m like you, Olive: if I see a job needs doing I have to get on with it.’
‘We’ll only be gone two days and then I’ll be back in the shop the day after I get home,’ said Olive, feeling a bit guilty for leaving it to Audrey now.
‘Don’t you worry at all, Olive. If anybody deserves a nice rest it’s you. You never stop.’
‘We sound like the mutual esteem team.’ Olive laughed.
‘And why not?’ Audrey laughed. Then a little more thoughtfully she said, ‘If that prize isn’t claimed in the next five minutes somebody is going to go without a Christmas present.’
‘You’re right,’ Olive said, looking at the clock near the door, just as Archie came hurrying into the shop. As usual Olive’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.
‘Hello, Archie,’ she smiled ‘have you come to walk me home?’
‘Well, yes,’ Archie said, ‘that would be my pleasure, but as I was passing the window I noticed that my number has come out for the raffle.’ He looked a bit bewildered when Olive and Audrey burst out laughing.
‘Let’s have a look,’ said Audrey, examining his ticket. ‘Yes, he’s only won the star prize, Olive.’
‘The star prize!’ Archie was thrilled. ‘I’ve never won a thing in my life.’ He looked at Olive now and said in a l
ow voice that was meant only for her, ‘Until now.’
‘Here you go, Archie,’ Audrey announced with great aplomb, ‘your raffle prize.’ She handed him the gift basket containing the talc and the soap. and Archie’s eyes widened.
‘Well, what a lovely surprise.’ He then turned to Olive and said, ‘But I can’t use scented soap and perfumed talcum powder; the lads at the station would think I’ve turned—’
‘Archie!’ Olive said, presuming he was going to say something that would embarrass Audrey.
‘I was going to say “vain”. Why, what did you think I was going to say?’ Archie laughed ‘Anyway, you can have it, Olive. You ladies like things like this.’
Olive’s jaw dropped as she looked at Audrey.
‘Oh, I can’t take it, Archie. People will think the raffle was rigged in my favour!’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Archie. ‘I paid my money for the raffle ticket just the same as everybody else.’
‘That’s right, Olive, he did,’ Audrey countered. ‘I’ll put the winning ticket in the window. I’ll write Archie’s name on the back, and the date it was bought – who is going to argue with a police sergeant?’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Olive, still feeling a little apprehensive and undeserving of the prize. Then a thought struck her and she turned to Audrey, holding up the soap in one hand and the talc in the other.
‘Which one do you prefer?’ she asked, and there was no hesitation from Audrey who, as the poorly paid vicar’s wife, did not get very many luxuries – if any at all.
‘Oh, Olive, that is kind of you. Do you mind if I have the talcum powder?’
‘Not at all,’ Olive said benevolently, handing the tin to her friend. ‘Happy Christmas.’
‘Oh, and a happy Christmas to you, too, and you, Archie.’ She threw her arms around Olive’s shoulders and gave her a friendly hug, then the same to Archie, whose face coloured to a fetching pink, Olive noticed, smiling.
‘I think it’s going to be a wonderful Christmas after all,’ Olive said as she linked her arm through Archie’s and made her way back to Article Row.
‘I do have a proper present to give you tomorrow,’ Archie said as Audrey turned off at the vicarage, waving her Christmas booty.
‘Oh, you didn’t have to buy me anything, Archie,’ Olive said as a warm feeling of contentment washed over her.
‘I didn’t say it was bought,’ Archie offered, and would say no more on the subject no matter how much Olive tried to coax it out of him. Laughing, he told her she would just have to wait and see.
‘Archie, can you hear something?’ Olive whispered as she entered the hallway of number 13. Barney had gone to the pictures to see Casablanca with Sally, who had a bit of a crush on Humphrey Bogart, to take her mind off Callum not being on leave for Christmas, Alice was at the child-minder and Olive was picking her up at six, so Olive knew there should be nobody in the house at all.
‘Stand back, Olive, I’ll see to this.’ Archie’s laughter from moments ago died away and was replaced with the steadfast professionalism he was renowned for. Olive did as she was told. Archie was the perfect man for a situation like this. If burglars had managed to force their way in there was plenty to steal as Olive had only finished making her Christmas presents this morning. She had spent many long hours knitting and sewing remnants to make clothing for the girls and for little Alice – not to mention Agnes, their hostess for Christmas.
‘Oh, Archie, be careful,’ Olive said, as Archie quietly crept towards the front-room door, which was not closed tight. Archie waved Olive’s fears away and she was quiet.
Suddenly, Archie flung the front-room door open and roared – scaring the life out of Tilly and Janet, who were sitting on the sofa chatting.
‘Oh, Archie, I nearly died of fright! We didn’t hear you come in!’ Tilly gasped, and Olive, thrilled her daughter was home, hurried towards her, arms outstretched.
‘Oh, darling, why didn’t you let me know you were coming home? I’d have been here to meet you! And it’s lovely to see you again, Janet.’
‘We only got here half an hour ago.’ Tilly laughed, as she hugged her mother. ‘There’s fresh tea in the pot; you don’t mind, do you?’
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ exclaimed Olive – anything for her darling daughter.
They all settled down to their tea and a good old catch-up, and Olive sighed, thankful she had taken Drew’s letter out of the rack on the mantelpiece and put it into her bag for safe-keeping. She wouldn’t tell Tilly about it just yet. Sometime over Christmas would be soon enough, maybe …?
‘Do you think Agnes would mind if we came to the farm, too?’ Tilly asked.
‘I think she’d be very upset if you didn’t,’ Olive replied, thrilled that they were all going to be together at Christmas. She needed the distraction now.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, feeling the lurch of her stomach, which threatened to disgrace her.
‘Olive, are you all right?’ Archie sounded very concerned, but Olive didn’t have time to answer as she rushed to the bathroom.
NINETEEN
Olive tried to quell the rising nausea all the way to Surrey in Archie’s car and she hoped her stomach bug would not spoil her little holiday with the family.
‘You’re very quiet, Olive,’ Archie said with concern. The whole family now knew they were a couple and voiced the opinion that it should have happened ages ago. ‘You look very pale.’
‘Just tired, I expect, Archie.’ Olive managed a wan smile and settled down for the rest of the journey, wishing it was a bit lighter so the scenery might take her mind off her biggest worry, now that Tilly was home.
‘Well, I’m sure Agnes will revel in spoiling you,’ said Archie, who had spoken to Agnes on the telephone back at the police station earlier. ‘She can’t wait to see everybody.’
‘She will be so pleased to see Tilly again, just as I was,’ Olive said.
‘D’you think Agnes will let me ride one of the horses?’ Barney asked from the back, sitting between Tilly and Janet, who had Alice on her knee. Sally could not get the time off work to go to the countryside, Christmas being one of the busiest times at the hospital.
‘I can’t see why not,’ Archie offered. ‘As long as you don’t go galloping off into the distance.’
‘They’re shire horses, Archie,’ Olive laughed. ‘They tend to plod rather than gallop.’
‘It would be like a ten-ton truck heading towards you if one of those broke into a gallop,’ Barney said enthusiastically, and they all laughed knowing that Barney still had a bit of the daredevil in him.
‘Oh, darling, are you sure you’re not sickening for something?’ David asked, taking hold of Dulcie’s hand. The children were tucked up in bed with the promise of a visit from Santa, and Mrs Wilson had gone home for the Christmas holiday.
‘It’s nothing, David. Don’t fuss, darling. I’ll be fine.’ Dulcie didn’t want anything to ruin their perfect evening. Tomorrow, she would give him the best present he could ever wish for.
‘You have me worried now, Dulcie,’ David said. ‘Tell me if you are feeling unwell.’
‘Yes, David, I do feel a little unwell but it will pass,’ Dulcie said, tucking her feet under her on the sofa and snuggling into her husband, admiring the flames of the open fire flickering in the cosy darkness of the room and watching the shadows dance on the wall.
‘What is it, my swan, tell me!’ David’s own health had improved in leaps and bounds since he had been in the care of his beautiful wife, and regular check-ups with a new consultant had allowed him to become the husband that Dulcie deserved. He couldn’t bear it if there was something seriously wrong with her. They had a new understanding of each other since their first tentative lovemaking turned into a thing of deeply loving wonder, and he thanked the Lord for his good fortune in meeting Dulcie.
‘I was going to tell you this tomorrow, as an extra Christmas gift, because it is a gift, David, the most precious gift I can ev
er give you.’ She had so longed for him to come home this evening, suspecting that she would never be able to keep the news from him until tomorrow. ‘We are going to have a baby!’ Dulcie saw the look of disbelief in David’s eyes.
‘A baby … ?’ He eyes widened and when suddenly Dulcie began to laugh so did he.
‘But how?’ David’s beautiful hazel eyes were wide in wonderment, as Dulcie stopped laughing and said, with a huge smile on her face, ‘Oh, David, I will tell you the facts of life sometime; you really must stop throwing your trousers on my side of the bed!’ And then, in true uproarious East End style, Dulcie threw back her head and laughed until tears ran down her face. But her laughter ebbed when she noticed that David was crying. She turned fully to face him now, her hands cupping his face, and she gently kissed his tears away.
‘I told you everything would be all right, didn’t I, David? I told you we would find a way.’
‘You did my darling,’ David said tenderly, ‘but I never dared believe it.’
‘Well, you can believe it now, my love, because Dr Harris said so.’
‘We’ve got a goose for dinner as well as duck and chicken,’ Agnes said enthusiastically, thrilled that her ‘family’ were all here to help her celebrate her first Christmas at the farm. ‘Carlo prepared it and the girls chopped down the tree.’
‘Shouldn’t that be the other way around?’ Barney asked, perplexed, while everybody laughed. They were having such a good time catching up with all the news since Agnes left Article Row. Olive was amazed she had taken to country life so well. And the darkness didn’t seem to bother her any more, even when she went outside to get another log for the fire.
