by Lizzie Lane
Turning her back on the grave she retraced her steps along the path and out of the church, down the incline and slowly back up the hill.
Stratham House was on the way and Ruby decided to call in on Bettina in case her father was in there. He hadn’t had much to do with Bettina since Charlie’s death, but there was always the chance that he might have relented and dropped in.
Daffodils danced in big clay pots to either side of the front door. Cowslips and crocuses dotted the small areas of lawn that were left closest to the house. The rest of the garden had been dug up and planted with vegetables. Ruby reminded herself that her father had planted most of those. He still tended the garden, but kept himself to himself, declining offers of refreshment from the woman who he’d once counted as a friend.
At the sound of the gate creaking open, the tall figure of Bettina Hicks came out from the garden shed, a stone-built affair attached to one end of the house. She was wearing gumboots and the rough webbed gloves she used for gardening. Despite her age, Bettina was a fine figure of a woman. Her back was ramrod straight, her eyes clear and her cotton-fine hair was fashioned into a cottage-loaf style, the sort favoured by the Gibson girls before the Great War.
She hesitated for only a moment before recognising which twin was visiting. Ruby’s peek-a-boo hairstyle gave her away.
‘Ruby! How nice to see you. Would you like a cup of tea?’
Ruby tucked a tress of unruly hair back behind her right ear. ‘I was looking for Dad to tell him his lunch is ready. Obviously he’s not here.’
‘No. I’ve not seen him all day. Not seen a soul in fact.’
A sad smile accompanied her words. Bettina was on her own most of the time now. Gilda Jacobsen, a friend of a friend, she’d once had staying with her, had gone back to London shortly after Charlie’s death taking her two children with her. She’d gone without saying a proper goodbye. Ruby found it hard to forgive her for that. She’d so wanted to talk with her, make her a friend and even part of the family. Gilda, already widowed by the war, had been having a relationship with their brother. Like everyone else she’d been devastated at his death, especially considering that he’d survived one sinking only to die in another shortly afterwards.
Bettina had also taken Gilda leaving hard. What with her nephew Mike Dangerfield away serving with Bomber Command and Stan Sweet no longer taking tea with her, she was alone much of the time.
Ruby wished she could do something about it, but her father wouldn’t take kindly to her giving him a good shake and telling him to buck up. Anyway, he had the right to be sad. But life goes on, she told herself. Life has to go on.
‘You look as though you’re busy,’ Ruby said to her after rousing herself from her thoughts. ‘I don’t want to intrude.’
Bettina smiled. ‘You’re not intruding. I’m glad of the company. Come on into the kitchen.’
Although Stratham House was grandly titled, there were only two reception rooms, a kitchen, bathroom and two bedrooms. Mrs Hicks had forsaken a third bedroom to have it converted into an upstairs bathroom, quite a luxury in the area.
‘An old woman’s indulgence. I’m too old to be paying visits down the garden or hanging a tin bath from the back wall,’ she’d explained early on when Ruby’s father had been a regular visitor.
Bettina talked about the garden as she took the kettle from the hob, warmed the willow-patterned teapot and then put two spoonfuls of leaf tea from the caddy into it.
‘Would you like a biscuit? They’re very good.’ She laughed. ‘Of course you know they’re very good. Mary made them. I must admit you girls bake the best biscuits ever, far better than I could make myself or even buy in a shop. Not that there’s that much choice in a shop nowadays and you have to queue, even for biscuits!’
The tea was poured into bone china cups decorated with roses. The biscuits – four of them – were set out on a separate plate.
Bettina went on talking about the garden for a while then switched to talking about the wedding.
‘I’m so looking forward to it. I thought about buying a new hat, but then thought Mary might have need of my ration quota for a going away outfit.’ She paused. ‘I take it your father hasn’t relented and let her have your mother’s wedding dress to alter?’
Ruby shook her head. ‘No. He’s not the easiest man in the world to get on with at present.’
‘Ah yes,’ sighed Bettina. ‘Only to be expected of course, but hard to live with. Charlie’s loss was so unexpected.’ She looked down into her lap, for the moment lost in thought. When she raised her head and Ruby saw the sadness in her eyes, she felt her heart would break.
‘I miss Gilda and the children. I never thought I would, but I do. She used to write at first and then a month or two ago it stopped. I don’t know why.’
‘And your son? He writes frequently?’
‘Oh yes. He does, but …’ Again her gaze dropped to her lap. ‘He’s so busy doing war work over in Canada, and anyway, writing is all very well. But you can’t beat contact with another human being. Face to face, so to speak. And somebody of one’s own age.’
‘After Charlie died everything changed,’ remarked Ruby.
Bettina jerked her chin. Her expression was one of sad regret.
‘I’m grateful that he takes care of my garden, but he declines my offer of a cup of tea. In fact, he doesn’t even come in the house, because his boots are too muddy and he can’t take them off because his socks are in need of darning.’
‘That is not true,’ Ruby protested. ‘Mary and I make sure of that.’
Bettina forced a little laugh. ‘I know that. It’s just his excuse. Still,’ she said visibly brightening. ‘At least we’ve got the wedding to look forward to and seeing as I’m not buying a hat, I think I’ll alter and trim my favourite one. It’s a cloche style but I’m sure that with a little ingenuity I can make it into a pillbox and even add a little veil and a silk rose – or a real one if I can find one.’
‘A Charles Stuart, perhaps,’ said Ruby. ‘It’s already in flower and there are lots of buds just waiting to burst open. Mary is planning to use some for her bouquet.’
Aware that the rose bush, Charles Stuart growing in the Sweets’ garden, had been bought to commemorate both Christmas 1939 and Charlie’s surviving the sinking of his first ship, Bettina nodded silently.
‘We’ll see if there’s enough for Mary’s bouquet first. I can make do with something else, and isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Make do and mend?’
‘I’m wearing yellow. Actually it’s the material you gave to Mary. There’s only enough of the blue for Mary’s dress and for Frances as a bridesmaid.’
‘You don’t want to be a bridesmaid?’
‘I would if there was enough of the blue material, but there isn’t. All we had in the rag bag was Mary’s old dress that got ripped by the dog!’
Bettina laughed. ‘Blasted dog. Still, it’s thanks to him that Mary and Mike are getting married.’
They talked about the time Mike Dangerfield had been staying with his aunt and had brought a friend’s dog with him. The dog’s teeth had connected with Mary’s dress and torn it. They both smiled at the memory.
‘So how about you, Ruby? Do you have a sweetheart? Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry …’
Ruby put down her teacup which was now empty. ‘You’re not prying. There’s nobody serious. I’m enjoying myself while I can. I work hard. I think I deserve a little fun. I’m not a nun!’ Normally she wouldn’t have revealed so much to somebody who was basically only a neighbour, but Bettina was such a kindly, motherly person. Ruby felt comfortable telling her.
‘Nobody said you were or that you should be a nun.’ Bettina looked at her with kindly eyes.
‘Good!’
‘More tea?’
‘Why not?’
It had always surprised her how easy it was to talk to Bettina. Her father must have found it easy too; shame that things had fallen so desperately apart.
/> ‘I’ve made a point of not going out on a date with anyone from the village. Most of the men I meet are through work. Some of them have been soldiers – officers mainly – home on leave. A few days and they’re gone. They ask me to write to them, but … well … I haven’t encouraged it.’
Bettina saw her slight smile. ‘I can’t say I blame you for enjoying life as it is.’
‘As I’ve already said, I enjoy my work. I didn’t think I would enjoy standing up in front of a group of women and talking about baking, but I love doing it. It’s safe to say that I don’t have a care in the world, except …’ She looked down at her teacup, turning it around on its saucer. ‘Except for Dad of course.’ She sighed. ‘I just wish he was his old self again.’
‘So do I,’ Bettina said quietly.
‘Oh well. I’d better be off. Lunch will be getting cold and I still haven’t found him. I wonder where he’s got to.’
Actually, she suspected he was in the pub. He’d always liked the odd pint, but never during lunchtime, not until Charlie had died. The thought of it was worrying. Too much to drink and he became somebody else, somebody with a temper and the fists to match.
They’d only ever seen it once, on the occasion of his brother Sefton dying and Sefton’s wife, Frances’s mother, taking off and leaving her child behind.
There’d been a man involved. Stan Sweet had found out about him, following him to a pub in East Bristol where he’d faced him down and given him a licking he was likely to remember for some time. Not that it made much difference to Mildred. She’d still shot off. The last they’d heard she was in London.
On Ruby’s return home, she found Mary putting away the dishes. Stan Sweet was sound asleep in one of the old armchairs placed either side of the fireplace.
His mouth was open, his eyes closed and his arms were flopped over the chair arms. His snores were loud and clear. His breath smelled of beer.
‘He came in ten minutes ago,’ she said when Ruby glanced accusingly at their father.
‘No need to tell me where he’s been. I can smell it.’
Mary shrugged. ‘He’s our father. We can’t tell him what to do.’
Ruby gritted her teeth. She wanted to say that he could do with somebody telling him that life goes on, but held back. She thought about what she’d said over her mother’s grave. It was too much to hope for, but it was something. Hope, as somebody said, springs eternal.
‘I take it Mrs Hicks wouldn’t let you go until you’d had at least two cups of tea,’ said Mary, an amused smile on her face.
‘You’re right,’ whispered Ruby. She crooked her finger so that Mary would come closer, nodding to where her father was really sending the snores home!
‘Best not to disturb him. He’s not sleeping well.’
Mary agreed with her.
‘I told Bettina about the time Frances came to live with us. Do you remember what he was like then?’
‘Very angry with her mother. I don’t remember Mildred very well except that she wore a lot of make-up and never left the house unless she was looking her best. Dad called her a hussy.’
‘That’s right. But he didn’t dwell on Mildred leaving. He brightened up for the sake of Frances I think. At least, that’s how I recall that time.’
Mary nodded and kept her voice low. ‘He felt responsible for her so he brightened up. That’s how Dad is.’
‘That’s what he needs now,’ whispered Ruby. ‘A responsibility to face up to and live for.’
Mary agreed with her. ‘He’s only got us and we’re grown up and don’t need anyone to be responsible for us. Neither does Frances. She’s growing up too.’
Ruby fiddled with the collar of her dress. ‘Poor Dad. What he needs is grandchildren. Imagine how happy that would make him.’
‘Ruby!’ Mary managed to keep her voice down, but had no control over the heat spreading over her face. ‘Give me a chance. I have to get married first.’
Ruby grinned. ‘Not necessarily, my dear sister. In fact, you don’t need to get married at all. Do I have to point out to you that babies do not come from under the gooseberry bush?’
Mary’s blush deepened. ‘Of course I know where babies come from! Don’t be so silly! Honestly, Ruby, at times I can hardly recognise you as my sister.’
‘At times I think I need to speak to you about the facts of life!’
To Mary it felt as though her face was on fire. ‘I’m off upstairs. I need to finish dusting the bedroom.’
After she’d gone, Ruby stood thoughtfully. Heading upstairs to dust the bedroom was only an excuse. She told herself her sister just had a case of wedding nerves. Everything would be fine – including having babies.
CHAPTER FIVE
SPRING HAD COME to the forest. Days of watery sunshine intermingled with breezy days, and days when it rained, though lightly.
Frances stood in a forest glade, enjoying the chirping of birds in the trees and watching their coming and going with twigs and bits of sheep’s wool tugged from barbed wire fences.
When evacuation had first been suggested to her, she hadn’t wanted to leave home and stay with Ada Perkins – mother to Gertrude Powell and grandmother to Miriam – across the River Severn in the Forest of Dean. She’d wanted to stay with her uncle and cousins in the only safe home she’d ever known. As it turned out, she settled in well with both Ada and the local kids and hadn’t grumbled too much when it had been decided, in light of the recent bombing raids, that she should come back for a while. For the rest of her life she would remember this carefree time, days of learning how to tickle trout, how to snare rabbits and how to forage for lunch when it was too late to go home.
Frances was now thirteen. In another year she’d be leaving school, probably to help out in the family bakery in Oldland Common, unless she obtained a job in a factory producing war materials. There was one at the bottom of Cherry Garden Hill that used to produce lawn mower parts before the war. Apparently it was now producing nuts and bolts. There was a chance she might get a job there, although her age might count against her.
In the meantime she was enjoying her few days back in the forest. Soon she would be returning home to be a bridesmaid at her cousin Mary’s wedding.
‘Mary’s marrying a pilot,’ Frances proudly told her schoolfriends while on a foray to pick wild mushrooms and garlic and to see if the odd rabbit or two had got caught in one of Ralphie’s traps.
Deacon, with his cheeky face and tumbling hair, was the friend she most wanted to impress. She was over the moon when his face lit up with awestruck delight.
‘Get on! Bombers or fighters?’
‘Bombers,’ said Frances, his response causing her to glow with delight.
‘What sort of bombers? Hampdens? Wellingtons? Halifaxes? Lancasters?’
All Frances knew was that he flew in bombers. She hadn’t a clue about what type of bomber. ‘I’m not sure: He didn’t say. I think it’s a secret.’
Deacon narrowed his eyes so he could better read her expression. ‘You don’t know, do you?’
‘Yes I do,’ Frances replied hotly. ‘But I can’t tell you. Remember what that poster in school says: “Careless talk costs lives”.’
Deacon winced. She could see by his expression that he wanted to know more, but was an out-and-out patriot so wouldn’t dare press her further.
‘Are you going to be a bridesmaid?’ asked Merlyn, the only girl Frances had really latched on to.
Uncertain whether being a bridesmaid would impress them, she considered denying it. She’d spent most of her childhood in the company of boys, preferring to climb trees and make dens rather than play with a doll and pram.
It was only remembering Deacon’s reaction to Susan, a blond-haired girl at school who lisped a little, but was full of confidence and favoured wearing dresses with bows and an Alice band in her hair, and how Deacon became dumbstruck when Susan was in the room, that Frances finally admitted, ‘I suppose so.’
Merlyn persisted. ‘W
hat colour?’
‘Na, na, na-na, na. Frances is going to wear a dress and bows in her hair,’ mocked Ralph – or Ralphie as they usually called him. He was a scruffy boy from a large family. On account of there being rarely enough food to eat at home, he had become a skilled hunter of anything edible. This included salmon, trout, rabbits and pheasants.
Deacon clipped the back of his head with the flat of his hand. ‘She’s a girl, Ralph. Girls wear pretty dresses. Haven’t you noticed?’
Ralphie, scornful of anything sissy, wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve in an act of contempt. He’d never actually quite taken it on board that Frances was a girl. From the moment she’d arrived in the forest, she’d joined in every scrape they’d ever got up to and could climb a tree quicker than anyone else.
‘What colour?’ Merlyn repeated. Merlyn had also spent most of her childhood ranging the forest with the boys. Of late she’d taken to wearing a ribbon in her hair. And now she was asking about the colour of the bridesmaid’s dress Frances would wear. Like Frances, Merlyn was growing up.
Confused by conflicting emotions, Frances shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. Blue, I think.’ Blue was the first colour to come into her head, mainly because she’d glanced around her and Deacon was wearing a navy-blue pullover. ‘Not navy blue,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘I think sky blue.’
‘I like pink best,’ said Merlyn. The answer was not surprising. The ribbon in her hair was pink.
Frances didn’t know quite how to respond except to say that it most definitely wouldn’t be pink. ‘I don’t care what colour you like, Merlyn. I like blue best and my dress will be blue.’
There were plenty of mushrooms growing, especially around a part of the forest frequented by deer.
‘Deer’s poo! You can’t beat it for growing mushrooms,’ Deacon had declared.
Frances gathered up enough mushrooms to fry in butter, perhaps with a few scraps of bacon added.
Deacon was close by doing the same. The line of mushrooms she was following joined up with those he was picking. She could have gone in the other direction, there were plenty growing there too, but Deacon was like a magnet. She was drawn to him, but couldn’t as yet understand why.
