by Ellie Dean
She kissed Sarah and Rita good morning and settled Daisy on a cushion so she could reach the table. It was still very early, but the girls had seen to breakfast and were already washing up the dirty dishes Fran and Ivy had left behind in their rush to get to their shifts on time.
‘Oh, you are good girls,’ she said, having to shout above the racket being made by the RAF. ‘But you mustn’t think you have to clear up after everyone just because you can’t go to work today.’ She eyed the heavy strapping on Sarah’s ankle and Rita’s knee. ‘How are you both doing after yesterday?’
Sarah placed tea and toast on the table and cracked open Daisy’s boiled egg so the toddler could dip in her toast soldiers. ‘My shoulder feels a bit bruised where the doctor manipulated it back in place, but my ankle certainly won’t let me walk all the way to Cliffe.’
She shot a glance at Rita, who was, unusually, wearing a skirt and jumper and determinedly tidying up discarded knitting and newspapers, even though she was clearly in pain and had to rely on an old walking stick of Ron’s to get about. ‘You need to have a word with Rita,’ Sarah confided. ‘Her knee has ballooned to such an extent she can no longer wear her trousers, and Fran told her she should go in for an X-ray to make sure she hasn’t broken something. She even offered to send an ambulance out, but Rita refused.’
‘Fran’s being over-cautious,’ said Rita. ‘It’s just a nasty wrench, and now Ron’s lent me this stick, I can get down to the fire station and help service the engines while there are no raids on.’
‘Well, I think you should heed Fran’s advice,’ said Sarah sternly. ‘You could have done some real damage, and walking on it will make it worse.’
‘Don’t fuss,’ Rita muttered. ‘If I go to the hospital I’ll be kept sitting about for ages waiting to be seen, and I have better things to do with my time.’
Peggy could see how the girl was favouring the other leg and doing her best to hide the pain the injured knee was clearly causing. She glanced at the clock. ‘If you feel you can walk to the fire station, you can make it to the hospital,’ she said firmly. ‘We’ll go together on my way to work – and I’ll have no arguments about it.’
‘Do I have to?’ moaned Rita. ‘I hate hospitals.’
‘None of us like them, dear, but there are times when they’re a great blessing,’ said Cordelia, coming into the room with the morning’s paper. She kissed the top of Daisy’s head, carefully avoiding the eggy mess on the child’s face. ‘Goodness,’ she breathed, catching sight of the pot of blackberry jam on the table. ‘Where did that come from?’
‘Ivy brought it home yesterday. I didn’t ask where she got it,’ said Peggy, going rather pink as she tucked into her breakfast.
‘I suspect it was from Ethel,’ said Cordelia with a sniff of disapproval. ‘That woman does a roaring trade on the black market and seems able to lay her hands on most things now she has a friend working in the factory canteen.’
‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Peggy. ‘I do hope her shady deals don’t cause any trouble for Stan. He’s such a dear man, and it would be awful if her carrying on made him ill again.’
Cordelia rolled her eyes as yet another squadron of bombers and fighters thundered overhead. ‘It’s not jam that will do the damage, but that awful noise,’ she said crossly. ‘I do wish they’d get on with this invasion. All this disturbance so early in the morning is most unsettling.’ She switched off her hearing aid and began to read the newspaper.
Peggy shared an amused glance with the two girls and finished her breakfast, still with one eye on the clock. ‘Where’s Ron?’ she asked, holding on to Daisy so she could clean her face of egg and jam before she trotted away.
‘He went out with Harvey really early,’ said Rita. ‘He’s cock-a-hoop, because Bert Williams brought his ferrets back.’ She grinned. ‘Rosie found them hiding in her outside lav, so he’s planning to go and see her later and try to mend things between them.’
‘That’s good,’ said Peggy. ‘I hate to see him so down.’ She reached for Daisy’s coat and hat. ‘It’s time for us to go, Rita. Do you want that ankle checked as well, Sarah?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘It’s really not too serious, but I’ll come with you both to make sure Rita does see a doctor, and then help her home if she needs it.’
Rita blew out her cheeks and dragged on her battered flying jacket. ‘It’s a lot of fuss about nothing,’ she complained, ‘but if it makes you happy, I’ll see the doctor and then get to the fire station.’
They left Beach View five minutes later, and although Daisy was perfectly capable of walking to the hospital, Peggy decided that it would be expedient to put her in the pushchair. Daisy didn’t like this idea at all, and made a terrible fuss all the way down Camden Road, but with both girls hobbling, their progress was very slow.
The hospital was quiet, so Rita was seen quite quickly before being sent off to the X-ray department in a wheelchair – which she liked as little as Daisy had appreciated her pushchair.
Peggy sat in the waiting room trying to amuse Daisy with a colouring book while Sarah’s ankle was looked at, and when the girl came back with a bright smile to say that it was only twisted, she sighed with relief.
‘You’ll soon be out and about again as long as you rest it well,’ she soothed. ‘I just hope the Yanks responsible for all this get their comeuppance. They had no business to be racing about so carelessly down that country lane – and as for just leaving you both …’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’m going to be late for work,’ she fretted. ‘Whatever are they doing with poor little Rita?’
The answer came half an hour later. Rita was returned to them in the wheelchair, her leg bound from ankle to mid-thigh in a plaster cast, her mutinous expression needing little explanation. She glared at Sarah and tightly folded her arms. ‘Don’t you dare say I told you so,’ she warned.
The nurse smiled at Peggy and handed over a pair of crutches. ‘Your daughter’s got a hairline fracture at the top of her tibia, and there is some damage to the hamstring and muscles surrounding her knee. The cast will have to stay on for six weeks, I’m afraid, but after that she’ll be as good as new.’
Peggy didn’t correct her mistaken belief that Rita was her daughter, for in a way she was just as much a daughter as her beloved Cissy – who was stationed up at Cliffe aerodrome and much missed. ‘Thank you very much, nurse. We’ll make sure she doesn’t overdo things.’
The nurse grinned as Rita scowled. ‘Best of luck with that,’ she said, passing over a box of pills and a slip of paper. ‘These are to combat the pain, and she has an appointment with the doctor in six weeks’ time. Any problems, please don’t hesitate to bring her in.’
‘I am still here, you know,’ grumbled Rita as the nurse bustled off. ‘Anyone would think I’d gone deaf and daft as well as crippled.’
‘At least you’ve still got a leg – unlike poor Kitty,’ said a practical Sarah. ‘And she doesn’t moan and carry on, so neither should you.’ She took the crutches from Peggy. ‘Come on, Rita, it’s time to call in at the fire station and then go home.’
Peggy grinned, for Sarah was being unusually bossy, and although Rita was making a great show of being out of sorts, she could see the girl was grateful for her businesslike manner and lack of sugary sympathy.
Peggy waited until Rita had practised with the crutches, and then followed them out of the hospital as far as the gate. ‘I know it’ll be horribly frustrating,’ she said, kissing her cheek. ‘But please try and be nice to poor Sarah. She really does have your best interests at heart.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry I’ve been such a brat,’ Rita replied with a rueful smile. ‘Go to work, Aunty Peg, and stop worrying about everything. We’ll be fine.’
Peggy dithered at the gate with Daisy and watched them make their slow progress along the uneven pavement. She was anxious Rita might trip and topple over, but it seemed she’d got the hang of the crutches and was now moving quite confidently towards the fire station, swing
ing along in an almost piratical manner, calling out to her colleagues who were watching from the forecourt.
Peggy gave a sigh of relief that both girls would be all right after their ordeal, and hurried down Camden Road to the vast clothing factory which sprawled the length and breadth of an entire block. Solly Goldman was an old and much loved friend, and he’d understand why she was so late and not make a fuss, but it would mean losing an hour’s wages, which would make her a bit short at the end of the week when the milk and paper bills had to be paid.
Once Daisy was ensconced happily in the nursery under the watchful eye of Nanny Pringle and her two young assistants, she took a couple of puffs of a cigarette and then hurried into the factory, which was humming with activity, the ever-present wireless providing background entertainment.
The building had once housed a fashion clothing business but had been extended during the war years to cope with the growing demand for uniforms. Solly had always had a keen eye for what was needed and had got in early when he realised the war really was coming and the forces would need to be clothed, so he’d invested in bigger and better machinery, taken on more machinists and was now conducting a roaring trade.
And yet Solly wasn’t all about making money, for he was a generous benefactor of many charities and had been instrumental in helping to organise the rescue and safe transport to England and America of Jewish children who otherwise might have been slaughtered or imprisoned by Hitler.
Solly was waiting for her by her machine. He was as wide as he was tall, with dark hair and brown eyes that missed nothing. He wasn’t a handsome man, but he was charismatic, and all the machinists were a little in love with him.
He looked at his gold watch. ‘Oy, vay, Peggy. You’re an hour late, and I was getting worried. Do you have a problem at home that I can help with?’
Peggy quickly explained her lateness as she shrugged off her coat and settled at her machine. ‘I’m sorry, Solly, but I’ll make up the hour.’
His large, soft hand rested lightly on her shoulder, the diamond winking in his gold ring. ‘You don’t have to, Peg,’ he said quietly. ‘I know you work twice as hard as everyone, so you won’t miss out on any pay.’
‘But that isn’t fair on the others,’ she protested. ‘I can’t let you do that.’
He made an expansive gesture with his hands. ‘My Rachel would have my guts for garters if I didn’t,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Now, I must get back to my accounts. We’ll speak later perhaps.’
Peggy smiled as she threaded the machine and picked up the first of what would be many pairs of navy bell-bottoms she’d sew that day. Solly might consider himself to be in charge, but it was Rachel, his wife, who quietly oversaw everything that went on and kept Solly under her delicate but very firm thumb.
Ron stood on the top of the hill, the fresh, salty wind blowing in his face from the sea, and watched the bombers and fighters take off and land at Cliffe aerodrome. They’d been busy since before dawn now the fog had lifted.
He lit his pipe and idly watched Harvey darting in and out of the gorse and through the long grass, tail windmilling, nose to the ground in search of who knew what. Ron’s mood was lighter today, for Flora and Dora were safely at home, and there was real hope that Rosie had forgiven him – although it was odd that she hadn’t brought the ferrets herself, and Bert had been very cagey about it all.
Ron saluted the fresh batch of planes which screamed overhead, and decided not to go to Tamarisk Bay this morning to check on Frank and Pauline. He had enough problems of his own, and the last thing he needed was Pauline moaning and wailing and making his Frank’s life a misery. He turned for home, planning to get changed, see Stan about his roses and then go to the Anchor.
‘Come on, ye heathen beast,’ he rumbled at Harvey. ‘To be sure you’ve watered every blade of grass, and that tank must be empty by now.’
He tramped across the rolling hills, acknowledging greetings from the soldiers manning the big guns that lined the clifftops who’d become friends over the past few years, and was just about to descend towards the alleyway when he was disconcerted to see Bertie Grantley-Adams striding towards him.
Bertie was looking his usual dapper self – the ultimate country gentleman in plus fours, tweed jacket and hat, and sturdy brogues – but behind that facade and bristling moustache was a man of great bravery and intelligence who’d honed his skills as a saboteur and spy during the first shout, and was now working secretly for MI5. Ron hadn’t known him before he’d become a constant companion to Cordelia, but soon realised they had a good deal in common, for although they were retired, they both still had an allegiance with their old paymasters, and were often called upon to do some undercover work.
Peggy and the girls at Beach View had come to like and respect Bertie, even though they fondly mimicked his plummy accent and called him Bertie Double-Barrelled behind his back.
‘Hello, old chap,’ said Bertie heartily. ‘Thought I might find you up here.’
‘It’s not like you to be out and about at this hour,’ said Ron. ‘Has something happened I should know about?’
Bertie took a moment to light a small cheroot and watch the planes going out over the Channel. ‘I heard from a mutual friend early this morning,’ he said in the sudden lull between the flights.
‘Oh aye?’ Ron tamped down on his impatience, for Bertie never got straight to the point and he’d learnt long ago that it did no good to rush him.
Bertie continued to smoke his cheroot as another squadron of planes took off. ‘She would have telephoned you, but with so many people in the house, she couldn’t be sure of getting hold of you.’ Bertie’s eyes gleamed in the early morning sun as he turned to regard Ron. ‘She knows you well enough to realise you’d probably be out at this early hour.’
Ron realised then that he was talking about Pauline’s mother, Dolly Cardew, who unbeknown to her daughters was working for the SOE and not living out a quiet retirement in Bournemouth. Dolly was in direct contact with several agents who were being flown into enemy territory, and one of them was Danuta, the young Polish girl who’d lived at Beach View at the start of the war. ‘Is this about Danuta?’ he asked fearfully.
Bertie nodded, his expression glum. ‘She was betrayed and taken by the Gestapo the night she was due to return to England,’ he said. Seeing the shock in Ron’s face, he hurried on, ‘But it’s not all bad news. The Allies bombed the prison and she managed to escape to a safe house, and will very soon be on her way to England by fishing boat.’
‘That’s marvellous news,’ breathed Ron. ‘To be sure I feared for that brave wee girl, and many a time I deeply regretted sending her to Dolly.’
‘It was what she wanted,’ said Bertie, ‘and she’s proved to be extremely useful to us as well as resourceful.’ He stamped out the butt of his cheroot beneath his brogue. ‘But I’m sorry to say she suffered during the Gestapo’s interrogation, and it’s touch and go as to whether she’ll survive the Channel crossing.’
Ron felt the blood drain from his face as his imagination ran wild.
Bertie squeezed his shoulder in consolation. ‘She’s a born survivor, Ron. If anyone can pull through it, she will. Arrangements have been made to pick her up quite close to Cliffehaven so she can be taken straight to the Memorial Hospital.’
Ron took a deep breath to steady his racing heart. ‘When is she expected?’
‘Before dawn tomorrow. I’ll tip you the wink when I hear she’s arrived, but it might be a while before she’s well enough for visitors.’
Ron’s heart clenched at the thought of that young, vulnerable girl being in the hands of those Gestapo brutes. ‘The others have no idea of what she’s been doing,’ he murmured. ‘But if I don’t tell Peggy she’s at the Memorial and she finds out, there’ll be hell to pay.’
‘I’m sure you’ll think of some explanation to satisfy her,’ said Bertie comfortably. ‘Sorry to dump this on you so early in the day, but Dolly was adamant you sho
uld be told. I suspect she might put in an appearance as well – the girl has come to mean a lot to her – but of course she’ll cover that by visiting Pauline.’
Ron sighed. ‘It’s a tangled web, all this secrecy, isn’t it, Bertie?’
‘It certainly is, although the worst-kept secret is this invasion. Everyone is discussing it in quite fine detail – right down to the fact that gliders will be used – although where they get the information is a mystery.’
‘There’s loose talk amongst the troops, and with the influx of servicemen pouring into the south, it’s quite evident that something’s afoot. People aren’t stupid.’ Ron narrowed his eyes against the glare of the sun on the sea. ‘I just wish they’d get on with it now the weather’s cleared. I don’t suppose you know when it will happen?’
Bertie grimaced. ‘Sorry, old chap. Those on high are keeping it very close to their chests.’
Ron nodded and shook his hand. ‘Thanks, Bertie. Will we see you later?’
‘It’s a fine day for a round of golf, but I’ll pop in later and take Cordelia to afternoon tea at the club.’ He strode off towards the golf club which sprawled beyond the northern boundaries of Cliffehaven, a sprightly, neat figure with an energy that belied his advanced years.
Ron headed down the hill to Beach View, his worries about Rosie momentarily forgotten amidst his troubled thoughts on Danuta’s plight. The girl had escaped the horrors of the Warsaw ghetto and come to England in search of her fighter pilot brother, who’d tragically been killed shortly before her arrival. Danuta had been pregnant at the time, and when the baby had been stillborn, she’d become determined to play a part in bringing Hitler down. She’d lost everyone she loved, and was filled with such anger and pain that he and Dolly had feared for her ability to stay cool in dangerous situations.
But Danuta had proved to them that she could channel that fury into a steely determination to survive and do as much damage to the enemy as she could, and had played an intrinsic part in rescuing Martin, Freddy and Roger from the horrors of Buchenwald concentration camp. Now she needed to be loved and cherished, and Ron knew there was no one better placed to do that than darling wee Peggy. Yet how to explain why Danuta was back in Cliffehaven at the Memorial, which had been designated as a service personnel hospital?
