by Ellie Dean
Ron could see Brendon and Frank were doing their best to clean up the mess with a discarded newspaper as Gloria stood there, her expression thunderous. ‘Now, Gloria,’ he placated softly, his eyes gleaming with mischief. ‘You and I both know where that gin came from and that the bottle was half-empty, so don’t be getting ideas of making a profit out of me. To be sure, ’tis sorry I am for the mess, but they were doing no harm until you frightened them.’
‘You’ve got a bleedin’ nerve, Ronan Reilly,’ she rasped, the gleam of humour in her eyes at odds with her furious expression as she folded her arms beneath her magnificently heaving bosom. ‘You come in my pub, let that vermin loose, and then blame me. I don’t know what sort of place Rosie runs, but this is a respectable ’ouse, and I ain’t standing for it. Cough up the money and get out.’
‘But I—’
‘Wallet,’ she snapped, her hand open beneath his nose, her eyes challenging him to argue.
He could hear the muffled giggles running through the watching crowd, and felt their eyes on him as he scrabbled in his trouser pockets, took out what money he had and placed it in a crumpled pile on the bar.
She eyed the grubby ten-bob note and few coppers disdainfully. ‘That ain’t enough.’
‘To be sure, it’s all I have on me at the moment. But I’ve a couple of fine rabbits to make up the rest,’ he said hopefully, digging them out of his coat.
Gloria grimaced and flinched as the dead rabbits were dangled beneath her nose. ‘You owe me, Ron, and I won’t let you forget it.’
Brendon dug into his pocket and pulled out a couple of notes. ‘We Reillys pay our debts,’ he muttered.
Gloria stuffed the money into her bra. She stood tall and imposing, her arm as straight and stiff as an arrow, pointing towards the door. ‘Out. Now,’ she ordered.
Ron returned the rabbits to his pocket and decided the only way to appease her was to use a charm offensive. ‘Ach, come on, Gloria,’ he wheedled. ‘Brendon’s leaving tomorrow and—’
‘I don’t care,’ she retorted. ‘And if you don’t leave right this minute, I’ll throw you out.’
Ron felt the tension rising amongst the interested audience and drew himself up to his full six feet three inches and tried to dazzle her with his smile. ‘Oh, Gloria,’ he crooned with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘I know you find me irresistible, and to be sure I’m flattered that one so lovely can’t keep her hands off me – but should we not go somewhere more private so we can discuss this further?’
Gloria’s lips twitched momentarily, and there was a speculative gleam in her eyes until she remembered their audience. ‘Don’t flatter yerself. I got my standards – unlike some – and if I’d wanted yer body, I’d’ve ’ad it. But only after a good scrub-down with soap and water.’
Ron met her challenging gaze as a chorus of cheers and ribald remarks followed this statement. Gloria was now playing to her audience, the town gossip Olive Grayson was lapping up every word, and it was time he beat a retreat. He only hoped he had the chance to explain this situation to Rosie before Olive got in first, for she’d take great pleasure in exaggerating, stirring and twisting his actions into something unsavoury. He caught sight of Frank and Brendon, who were now emerging from the private bar laden with the bottles they’d already paid for, and jerked his head towards the back door.
‘’Tis sorry I am it has come to this,’ he muttered, edging towards escape. ‘We’ll not be darkening your door again, Gloria.’
The three of them silently left the Crown with as much dignity as they could muster in the light of the amount of alcohol they’d already consumed. Emerging from the side alley, they staggered up the hill to the allotments where Ron’s old pal Stan had a nice shed and some comfy deckchairs.
Ron knew where Stan hid his key, and within minutes they were sitting in the sunshine out of the wind, and drinking whiskey from Stan’s none-too-clean chipped mugs while Harvey went off to see if anyone might be kind enough to feed him a biscuit or three.
‘That went well,’ said Frank dryly. ‘I expect most of Cliffehaven will hear about it before nightfall as Olive Grayson was watching your every move.’ He eyed his father quizzically. ‘There were certainly some sparks flying between you and Gloria. You haven’t been playing away there, have you, Da?’
‘As tempting as it is, I wouldn’t dare,’ Ron replied. ‘Rosie would deal with me as thoroughly as the vet did Harvey.’ He eyed the whiskey in the mug, saw an ant about to drown itself and flicked it out with a grubby finger. ‘God help me, boys. To be sure she’ll hear about this and, like that ant, me life will be in peril.’
‘You always did live on a knife-edge, Grandad,’ said Brendon with a wry smile. ‘How Rosie puts up with you, I really don’t know.’
‘It’s because she loves me,’ Ron replied with drunken bravado. ‘She’s a forgiving woman, so she is, and this’ll all blow over, you’ll see.’
He chuckled and raised his mug in a toast. ‘Here’s to women. Can’t live with ’em, but can’t live without ’em. God bless them all.’
2
The British Red Cross distribution centre had been set up on the vast factory estate which sprawled across the northernmost reaches of Cliffehaven where cattle had once grazed. Situated behind high barbed-wire fencing, it was overshadowed by several barrage balloons which glinted like silver whales above the mass of corrugated iron roofs.
Peggy could have left Daisy with Sarah and Cordelia, but as she spent so little time with her now she was working, she’d decided to take her along this afternoon so they could have half an hour’s play in the park before she started her two-hour stint as a volunteer for the Red Cross. She steered the pushchair up the steep hill, then showed her identity card to the guard on duty at the gate and headed for the new building at the far end.
She passed the canteen, which was alive with chatter and the ever-present wireless, and then glanced towards the armaments factory where Ivy worked, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. But it seemed everyone was busy, so she carried on past the tool factory, the parachute manufacturer and the large engineering sheds where bits of planes were being made. There was a wonderful sense of industry, with the sounds of thudding, whining tools echoing from those vast sheds, and Peggy felt a certain pride that she too was now an intrinsic part of the workforce striving to do their best to defeat Hitler. Her sewing of uniforms for Solly Goldman might not be as important as making bullets and bombs, but it paid well and gave her the satisfaction of knowing she was doing her bit. Since she’d given up on volunteering for the Women’s Voluntary Service because her sister Doris – queen bee at the WVS – had been such a pain in the neck, she was glad to sacrifice two hours every Saturday to do something charitable.
Peggy’s defection from the WVS and her new job at the factory had caused yet another breach in her relationship with Doris – who was now refusing to talk to her unless she wanted something, and although this saddened Peggy, she was determined to do things her way and not be cowed because her snooty sister didn’t approve of her working alongside her London evacuees in what she considered to be a common factory.
Approaching the large British Red Cross warehouse, Peggy saw Kitty and Charlotte waiting outside, and smiled as they waved to her. They looked lovely, with one so dark, the other fair, each dressed in dungarees and layers of thick sweaters that didn’t quite disguise the fact they were both pregnant. Kitty had been Peggy’s evacuee back in 1942, following a terrible accident in the plane she was delivering for the ATA which had left her with a partially amputated leg, and a doubtful future. But Kitty was made of stern stuff, and she’d soon learnt to manage the prosthesis, returned to flying and ended up marrying Roger Makepeace, who was Martin’s wingman and best friend.
Dark-haired and usually girlishly slender, Charlotte had been close to Kitty since their boarding-school days, and she too had become an ‘Attagirl’, before marrying Kitty’s rogue of a brother, Freddy, and falling pregnant with twins. Both men were now incarce
rated in Stalag III along with Martin, and the girls were putting a brave face on things, determined to do their bit until they could all be reunited.
Peggy hugged them both warmly and kissed their radiant cheeks. ‘You both look marvellously well,’ she said affectionately.
Kitty laughed and tucked her short fair hair behind her ears. ‘I’m just glad I’m not having twins,’ she said, patting her bump. ‘This one’s heavy enough on its own.’
Peggy eyed the walking stick Kitty had taken to using now her pregnancy had advanced. ‘You’re not finding things too much, are you, dear?’ she asked with motherly concern. ‘Shouldn’t you be resting at home instead of coming here?’
‘If Roger can put up with being a POW, then I can certainly manage the added weight on my stump.’ She squeezed Peggy’s hand. ‘You do worry, Aunt Peg, and there’s really no need. The doctor’s passed us both fit, and a few hours a week helping out here won’t kill either of us – in fact we’d be going quite potty if we weren’t doing something useful.’
Peggy smiled at Charlotte, who was easing her back after bending to make a fuss of Daisy. ‘Are you sure you’ve got your dates right, dear? You look as if you’re about to pop.’
Charlotte giggled. ‘Quite sure. There are two of them in here,’ she said, caressing her enormous stomach, ‘and I’m eating for both of them when rationing allows, so it’s hardly surprising I’m so huge. Mother wrote and told me she got quite big with me, so it obviously runs in the family.’
Peggy smiled even though she fretted that both girls were doing too much with only three more months to go in their pregnancies – but then she hadn’t exactly rested during any of her own while she was running the boarding house, and certainly hadn’t when she’d been carrying Daisy.
She followed the girls into the echoing warehouse, where the sound of the music coming from the wireless was fighting a losing battle with all the chattering. It was a terrible shame that Kitty’s parents were in Argentina, and Charlotte’s were up in the Midlands, but Peggy was delighted to have the chance to mother them, and was very excited at the thought of three little babies to cuddle and croon over.
Peggy had chosen to volunteer for the Red Cross as it had branches all over the world and was almost wholly a voluntary organisation which did the most wonderful work, not only for the sick and wounded, but for the men and women who were in internment camps. She felt proud that in her own small way she was bringing comfort to those who needed it most.
The three women kept their jumpers and coats on, for it was cold in the warehouse, the concrete floor and iron roof keeping the vast stores of tinned food and medical supplies at the right temperature to stop them from going off. Unstrapping Daisy from the pushchair, Peggy took her over to the knot of little ones playing on mats in a corner under the watchful eye of several sprightly grandparents who’d volunteered for the job while the young mothers packed the food parcels. Once Daisy was happily occupied with a doll’s house, Peggy joined Kitty and Charlotte at the long table where the POW boxes were being filled.
The Red Cross provided a bewildering array of different parcels to be sent abroad, some with medical supplies, others with food, or recreational things like board games, jigsaw puzzles and books. Prisoners’ next of kin could send their own parcels, but these were strictly checked for anything not on the permitted list of goods, and then weighed before they were sent out. Medical supplies were being transported to the internment camps across Europe, but the Japanese had barred the Red Cross personnel access to their camps and had refused to accept any parcels, which was in direct defiance of the Geneva Convention. Whether the Germans allowed their prisoners to have their parcels wasn’t known, but it seemed that at least they were being delivered, and the inspectors permitted into the camps.
The three women set to with a will in the food section, each of them praying that their loved ones would benefit from the tins of meat, vegetables and fish, and enjoy the luxury of butter, biscuits, tins of cigarettes and bars of Cadbury’s chocolate. It had been explained to them that each parcel must contain a balance of fat, protein and sugar to supplement what was probably a very poor diet in the camps, and that things like jam, dried egg, tea and cocoa would be a boost to the prisoners’ morale.
Once each box was filled and firmly tied with string, it was sent down the line to the women who were responsible for addressing them before they were transported by truck to the mailing centres. There were so many POW camps now that each depot was responsible for a particular area, and the one in Cliffehaven covered a vast swathe of Germany, so it was quite possible that Martin, Roger and Freddy might be the recipients of parcels packed right here at home.
Peggy, Kitty and Charlotte had of course sent their own private parcels as next of kin – even though there was very little available in the shops to make them interesting – but so far there had been no acknowledgement from their men to say they’d received them.
‘I don’t know how the Red Cross manages to get hold of all this stuff,’ said Kitty, picking up a tin of cocoa powder from the great stack behind her. ‘I haven’t seen cocoa or bars of chocolate in the shops for months.’
‘The large food companies have been very generous to donate so much.’ Peggy glanced across at the grim-faced security guards who were patrolling the warehouse. ‘That’s why we have them watching our every move,’ she muttered. ‘As if we’d stoop so low as to steal from our poor boys.’
‘It has been known,’ Charlotte said. ‘A woman got arrested last week, her pockets bulging with chocolate and tins of butter.’ She gave a little sigh and eased her back. ‘But I can understand why she did it. The temptation is awful when there’s so little to be had in the way of luxuries these days – and frankly, I could kill for a bit of chocolate right now.’
Peggy’s mouth was also watering at the thought, but she firmly pushed the distant memory of chocolate away and dug in her string bag for the flask and the paper bag she’d filled with the last of the broken biscuits from her tin at home. ‘You’re just tired and in need of some sugar. Here, help yourself to some of those, and then have some tea from the flask. I added a bit more milk than usual as I thought it would be good for you both.’
Charlotte smiled. ‘You think of everything, Peggy. What would we do without you?’
Peggy giggled. ‘I’m sure you’d manage.’
‘Actually, I don’t think we would,’ said Kitty affectionately.
‘Bless you, darlings, it’s lovely of you to say so.’
The tender moment was broken by a cheerful voice. ‘Hello, Peg. I thought I’d find you here.’
She looked up to find Gracie Armitage smiling at her. They’d become friends when Peggy had started at Solly’s factory, even though Gracie was a good ten years younger than Peggy. Gracie was the senior cutter at the factory and struggling to raise her daughter on her own while her husband flew for the RAF. Her little girl, Chloe, was only months older than Daisy and they were now almost inseparable.
‘Hello, love. I didn’t realise you did a turn here.’
‘I couldn’t before, but it’s easier now they’ve arranged childcare.’ She glanced across at the children playing on the far side of the warehouse. Daisy and Chloe were huddled together by the doll’s house and no doubt plotting mischief as usual.
‘Peace, blessed peace,’ Gracie sighed, taking the chair next to Peggy. ‘She’s been a holy terror all morning.’
‘Oh dear, I know how that can get you down,’ Peggy murmured. ‘Daisy’s just as awkward at the moment. It seems to be a phase all children their age have to go through.’ She glanced at Charlotte and Kitty. ‘Just you wait and see what you’ve let yourselves in for, girls. And it gets worse as they get older – you mark my words.’
Charlotte and Kitty blithely shrugged off her warning, and Peggy smiled. They were happy in their innocence but wouldn’t know what hit them once those three babies arrived, all yelling for attention and causing them sleepless nights.
Gr
acie chuckled. ‘There are some who definitely get worse as they grow older. Your father-in-law is a prime example.’
Peggy checked the long list and reached for a tin of butter. ‘He’s certainly always getting himself into one sort of pickle or another, but as far as I know he’s actually been behaving himself lately.’ She glanced across at Gracie, who’d gone rather red. ‘Why? Have you heard otherwise?’
‘Oh dear,’ groaned Gracie. ‘You obviously haven’t heard.’
‘Heard what?’
‘I’m sorry, Peg, I thought you’d have heard or I wouldn’t have mentioned anything. Ron was thrown out of the Crown this lunchtime. I assumed he’d have come running back to Beach View with his tail between his legs – after all, he couldn’t very well go and take refuge in the Anchor. Rosie will have his guts for garters!’
Peggy stared at her in confusion. ‘Thrown …? The Crown …? What the heck was he doing in there when he knows full well he shouldn’t be?’
‘I don’t know,’ Gracie said awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry, Peg, I shouldn’t have said anything.’
Peggy clucked her tongue. ‘I think you’d better tell me what you do know.’
Gracie’s blush deepened. ‘All I heard was that he’d been drinking in there with Frank and Brendon, and somehow his ferrets got loose and ran into the bar. By all accounts they caused complete chaos and Gloria was so incandescent with rage she threatened to throw Ron out single-handedly.’
Peggy giggled. ‘I’d have liked to see her try,’ she spluttered.
Gracie shot her an uncertain smile. ‘So would I, but she’s a big woman, and when roused is probably capable of anything. I certainly wouldn’t want to tangle with her.’
‘It’s not like you to pick up on gossip, Gracie,’ Peggy murmured, eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘Who told you?’
‘It’s true I don’t take much notice of the latest scandal doing the rounds, but that Olive Grayson who works in the factory loading bay collared me as I was walking up here and filled me in.’
