Daughters of Cornwall

by Fern Britton

  She also had a veil, of course, simple and hip-length, caught on the crown of her head in a tiny sparkle of a tiara.

  ‘Where’s this from, Mum? It’s very pretty,’ I said as I took it from its musty tissue nest lying within a small and battered cardboard box.

  ‘I can’t remember,’ she said through a mouthful of pins.

  ‘Was it yours?’ I placed it on my head. ‘Does it suit me?’

  ‘I have said I can’t remember.’

  ‘What did you wear when you got married to Dad? I have never seen a photograph.’

  Mum ignored me. ‘Right, Shirley, hop onto that stool and I will pin your hem. Don’t want you tripping over it on your way up the aisle.’

  I tried again. ‘Why are there no photographs of your wedding?’

  ‘It was just after the war,’ she said, irritated. ‘We didn’t have money to throw around.’ She knelt down and began pinning Shirley’s hem.

  ‘Did you have a proper wedding dress?’ I persisted.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ she said crossly, not looking at me. ‘I have told you it was a long time ago.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum. I am just interested. That’s all.’

  She sat back on her heels and studied the hem. I thought the subject was closed until she said, ‘I got married in an ordinary two-piece suit. Nothing fancy. The tiara was given to me by a friend of mine from Kent, where I was born. I told her I was marrying your father and she sent it to me. She didn’t know that I didn’t have a wedding dress to wear with it.’

  ‘How kind of her.’ I put it carefully back in its box. ‘What was her name?’

  Mum rarely spoke about her life in Kent. All we knew was that her parents had died in a fire and she had gone to work in London when she was only eighteen.

  ‘Philippa Hampton. A very kind woman. She looked after me when I was on my own.’ Mum’s expression softened at the memory, then tightened again as she said briskly, ‘She was the person who taught me how to sew.’

  A bell rang in my head. I thought of the letter that Mum hadn’t opened all those years ago. The one she had thrown on the fire. I’m sure the name on the back of the letter was Hampton. ‘Tell me about her?’ I asked innocently.

  ‘She had a lovely shop. A bit like ours but smaller and I used to work for her.’

  ‘You never told us this?’

  ‘No well, it’s all a long time ago but she was very kind to me when I was … very young. We lost touch.’

  ‘That’s sad. She sounds lovely.’

  ‘She was. But …’ Mum returned her attention to Shirley’s hem, ‘neither of you will be in that church if I don’t get these dresses done. Now pass me the tape measure.’

  The wedding day dawned warm and cloudless.

  ‘Morning.’ I pushed Edward’s bedroom door open with my bottom as I was carrying a mug of tea in each hand. ‘Wakey wakey. Rise and shine.’

  ‘What time is it?’ he grumbled with his eyes still closed.

  ‘A quarter to eight. Time for you to have your last cup of tea with your sister in your last hours as a single man.’

  He pulled himself up and ran his hands through his Brylcreemed hair. ‘Thank you.’

  I passed him his tea. ‘Shove over.’

  He made some space for me and we sat together, quietly drinking.

  ‘Are you nervous?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘She’s all right, isn’t she? Shirley? You and Mum like her, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m glad you asked me that.’ I turned my serious face to him. ‘Mum and I have been waiting to tell you how awful she is and what a mistake you are making.’

  ‘Very funny, Toots.’

  I used my elbow to dig him in the ribs. ‘We love her, you idiot. She’s great. Remember she was my friend first and I do have excellent taste.’

  ‘This tea is good.’ He swallowed another mouthful and grinned. ‘Oh my God, I am getting married today.’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Bolitho. Who’d have thought?’

  ‘I wish Dad were here.’

  ‘I think Mum is happy he’s not. Can you imagine the ballyhoo of him turning up out of the blue.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  I bent to his cheek and kissed him. ‘I am always right.’ I got off the bed. ‘If you’ve finished your tea, I’ll take the cup downstairs. I’m next in the bathroom after Mum, then you, then David.’

  ‘OK.’ He passed me his empty cup.

  ‘One more thing,’ I said as I went to the door.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Could you please try to look handsome today?’

  I closed the door just in time to miss the pillow he threw at me.

  Mum, David, Edward and I had decided to walk to the church. Outside the shop, the bright sun lent Trevay the look of a fancy postcard.

  ‘Take a photograph of us all, would you David?’ Mum had become photo-mad after we had given her a Box Brownie camera for Christmas. ‘I want the shop in the background. Daddy would like to see it.’

  ‘The shop? What about me? The groom?’ Edward teased.

  ‘What about me the bridesmaid?’ I preened.

  Mum pulled us into her desired position. ‘Who’ll be looking at you two when I am in the photo?’

  David took a couple of pictures as directed, then we swapped and I took some of us with a palm tree in the background. ‘Dad is not the only one with palm trees.’

  Edward checked his watch. ‘We’d better get going.’

  Mum began to fuss around him, checking he had shaved properly and brushing the shoulders of his uniform jacket. ‘You’ll do. Now, David, let me see your hands. The best man must have clean nails.’

  David held his hands out dutifully. ‘I did scrub them.’

  ‘Good boy. Now, Hannah. Turn around slowly so that I can check that your dress is hanging straight. Is it pulling anywhere?’

  ‘No, Mum. It feels lovely.’

  ‘Good. Now then, how do I look?’

  She was wearing her navy two-piece suit with a felt hat that she had steamed and to which she’d added a silk peony.

  ‘You look lovely, Mum.’

  Edward held his arm out for her. ‘Come on, Mum, and no crying in the church please.’

  ‘As if,’ she sniffed.

  The three of them left me at the church door to take up their positions within, while I waited for Shirley.

  The guests, as they arrived, looked happy and pleased to be there, and commented on my dress and the weather. I noticed a trio of young men, all wearing their RAF uniforms.

  ‘You must be the Scampton gang.’ I held out my hand to them.

  ‘We certainly are,’ answered the tallest, most handsome one with a broad smile. ‘And you are his sister? Hannah?’ he said, his eyes so blue I had to look away for a moment.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sergeant Hannah Bolitho of the ATS?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ I blushed.

  ‘I am very pleased to meet you. I’m Greg, this is Dougie and Ian.’

  ‘Nice to meet you too,’ I managed.

  ‘We’d better go in and check on Ed,’ Greg said. ‘Don’t want him to get cold feet, do we? Catch up with you later?’

  ‘Lovely.’ I watched as they headed for the old church door and vanished into the gloom within.

  Shirley’s mum arrived next with a couple of her sisters, looking flustered. ‘I had a sherry to calm my nerves but all it’s done is made me feel hot. Do I look hot, Hannah? Do I need some more powder on my nose?’

  ‘You look lovely.’ I kissed her and then got tangled up with the aunts who had also been on the sherry and also wanted to kiss me. I managed to peel them off before saying, ‘You’d better go in. Shirley will be here in a minute.’ And sent them off like gaggling geese.

  The vicar emerged. ‘Any latecomers?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ I turned and peered down the short lane that led to the church. ‘Can’t see anyone.’


  ‘Your brother is looking a little nervous.’ The vicar smiled. ‘But your mother is handing around toffees.’

  I laughed. ‘That sounds like Mum.’ I heard the crunch of tyres behind me. ‘Here comes the bride!’

  A small, open-topped, blue car, its chrome gleaming, purred up to us. Shirley was waving from the back seat, her veil blowing and tiara sparkling. ‘I hope I am not too early!’

  ‘It’s best not to look too eager,’ laughed the vicar.

  The driver left his seat and opened the back door to let Shirley and her father out.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ I said to her.

  ‘So do you.’ She grinned. ‘Oh God, I feel a bit sick.’

  ‘You’ll be fine.’ I showed her the little satin bag Mum had made for me. ‘I’ve got a hanky and smelling salts in here if you need them.’

  ‘Oh thank you. Is my lipstick OK? Any on my teeth?’

  ‘Show me? No.’

  ‘Come on, you two.’ Her dad was anxious to get on. ‘Time and tide and all that.’

  I stood next to Mum during the service, trying, surreptitiously, to spot RAF Greg. He was two pews back from us and it was hard to look at him without cricking my neck, so instead I thrilled to his pitch-perfect singing voice during ‘Love Divine, All Loves Excelling’.

  The service went – apart from David playing the fool and pretending he’d lost the ring – without a hitch.

  Following bride and groom back up the aisle to the sunshine waiting for us, I managed a sly glance at Greg. He was looking straight at me, smiling. I almost tripped over the back of Shirley’s dress in excitement.

  While we were in the sunshine having the group photographs taken, I searched for my brother. He was standing behind a gravestone, smoking and chatting with a group of people.

  ‘Edward?’ I said out of the corner of my mouth as we grinned to the camera, ‘ask your Scampton gang to join us. It would be a great picture to send to Dad.’

  Edward fell for it and called the boys over. The photographer organised us into a small group of bride and groom, me and the three RAF boys. Greg was placed next to me and I swear his hand grazed my bottom as he straightened the back of his jacket. I was in love.

  The reception was waiting for us in the back room of The Golden Hind pub and the walk down from the church to the harbour was a pleasant one. I found myself strolling alone with a group ahead of me and one behind. The sea below us was at high tide, gloriously lit by the blue skies above. Fronds of pink tamarisk waved gently beyond slate walls and the coconut scent of gorse was on the air. The soft caress of my satin dress on my skin pleased me and I began to imagine my own wedding day, walking this lane with Greg beside me, confetti on his shoulders and his strong arm around my waist. So far away was I in my daydream that it took me a few moments before I registered that someone behind was calling my name.

  ‘Hannah! Hannah!’

  I stopped and turned. Hurrying down to me were Mr and Mrs Tomlinson, the couple who had been our lodgers and were now married, holding the hands of a little girl who I assumed was their daughter.

  ‘Hello!’ I grinned. ‘I didn’t see you at the church.’

  ‘We were a bit late,’ panted Mrs Tomlinson. ‘Sophie, say hello to Hannah.’ The child looked at me with screwed-up eyes and buried herself in her mother’s skirts. ‘She’s shy but once she knows you there will be no stopping her,’ Mrs Tomlinson laughed.

  We began to walk together down the hill. ‘I’m so glad you could come,’ I said. ‘How is your new parish, Mr Tomlinson?’

  We shared our news all the way to the harbour and The Golden Hind until they spotted Mum and abandoned me.

  Greg had gone off with his friends after the photos and must be at the bar by now. Should I go and look for him? Or would that look too desperate? I decided that the noisy throng in the pub could carry on perfectly well without me for a bit, so I wandered to the harbour.

  I leant against the warm stone of the harbour wall and tipped my face to the sun. Thoughts of Greg subsided as I stood with closed eyes listening to the separate noises around me. The laughter from The Golden Hind melted into the laughing sound of the gulls above me. The softness of the waves, slapping the wall under me, joined the song of the fishing boats’ rigging. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath of the air laden with tar and sea salt. I might have been born on the other side of the world, but the blood of my father flowing in my veins was the blood of a Cornishwoman.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  I jumped, startled by the unexpected interruption. A man, not much older than Edward, was standing beside me. He had a kind face. One that was familiar somehow. I liked it. I smiled at him. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I hope so. I am looking for someone.’

  ‘I know most people around here.’

  He smiled shyly. ‘I can see by your dress that you may have been at the wedding today.’

  ‘Yes. Chief bridesmaid.’ I laughed. ‘My brother was married today. Do you know him?’ I wondered if that was how I knew this man’s face.

  ‘No, no. I’m actually looking for a friend of my foster mother’s. Clara Bolitho?’

  ‘She’s my mother.’

  ‘Oh well. Goodness.’ He ran his hand through his hair anxiously. ‘My name is Michael Carter. Your mother knew my foster mother in Kent. Miss Philippa Hampton?’

  ‘Good heavens.’ I was astounded. ‘Mum talked about her for the first time only a few weeks ago. They were very good friends, I believe.’

  ‘I believe so. Yes.’ There was the beginning of a relieved smile.

  He began to bite his lip. ‘Um. Well yes, but … she’ll be busy celebrating your brother’s marriage won’t she? I’ll wait a bit. Don’t want to give her a shock.’ He laughed nervously. ‘I will wait until later.’

  ‘Not at all. You can join us for the wedding breakfast. I know Mum would want you to share in our big family celebration. I’ll tell her you are here.’

  ‘Oh no, no. It’s going to be a bit of a surprise to see me, I think. I don’t want to intrude on a family occasion. I could maybe see her tomorrow?’

  Over his shoulder I spied Edward’s dashing RAF chum outside the pub with a beer in his hand. ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘OK. If you change your mind you know where we are.’

  I put him out of my mind as I left him and sauntered casually over to the pub, knowing that Greg could not miss seeing me.

  ‘Hey.’ He smiled.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Nice wedding. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Thank you. A lemonade please.’

  From that moment on I knew we were going to be a couple. Inside the pub he guided me with a hand around my waist and kept me beside him, attentive, always including me, no matter who he was talking to or what the subject was.

  When the call came for dinner, he said, ‘Can I sit next to you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Shirley spent ages making the seating plan.’

  ‘I can fix that.’ He steered me towards the top table then whispered something in Edward’s ear. Edward spoke to Shirley and Shirley spoke to a waitress and the waitress, when she saw Greg, nodded and an extra place was squeezed in next to mine.

  ‘Well, this is nice,’ he said, helping me into my chair before sitting down himself. ‘Now tell me who is who.’

  I pointed out the more interesting people and then caught Mum, sitting on the opposite side of Edward, giving me a very old-fashioned look. ‘And that is my mother, Clara.’

  ‘She looks amazing.’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘She’s worried about you.’

  ‘Of course she is. She doesn’t know who you are.’

  ‘Introduce me.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Now. Before our dinner is served.’

  ‘OK.’

  We left our seats and went to her.

  ‘Mum, may I introduce Greg Winter. He’s a friend of Edward’s.’

  My mother, n
ot getting up, looked him up and down and gave him her hand. ‘How do you do.’

  ‘I am very pleased to meet you. Edward and I flew together in the same squadron. He is a fine man.’

  Mum never could trust charm. ‘Yes, he is. And what are you doing now the war is over?’

  ‘I am a photographer.’

  Mum was not impressed. ‘What sort of pictures do you take?’

  ‘My interest is fashion. I have had a couple of things published in the women’s magazines.’

  ‘Fashion?’ My mother looked surprised and impressed. ‘I am in the fashion business too.’

  ‘Are you? How fascinating. I look forward to hearing all about it. Perhaps we could find a quiet corner after we’ve eaten?’

  ‘I look forward to it.’

  When we got back to our seats, Greg whispered, ‘She hates me.’

  ‘Oh stop it,’ I said. ‘I think she liked you.’

  ‘I hope so, because she’s going to be seeing a lot of me.’ He felt for my hand under the table. ‘If that’s OK with you?’

  The food was good and the speeches funny; even David, nervous as he was, got many laughs and a round of applause for his best man’s speech. And all the time, Greg stayed close to me. When the small swing band began to play, he took my hand and led me to the floor. He danced well and soon I was following him as if we had been dance partners all our lives. Mum watched me all the while.

  At midnight the bride and groom made their farewells and left the pub in a shower of rice and drunken ribaldry for our home. The guests and the band took their cue and began to collect their things ready to leave. Saying goodnight to them, I went back to our table to collect my small bag and the shoes I had abandoned before dancing. Sitting on her own was Mrs Tomlinson.

  ‘Hello. Have you had a good time?’ I asked her. ‘Where is Sophie?’

  ‘Harold is putting her to bed. We have a room upstairs.’ She pointed vaguely at the ceiling and I could see she had had a few too many glasses.

  ‘Oh that’s nice.’ I wanted to get away because Greg was waiting for me outside. ‘Well, goodnight,’ I said.

  ‘I have to tell you something.’ She gripped my hand and pulled me down next to her. ‘I was remembering my own wedding. What a wonderful day. Your mother was an angel. Without her I don’t know what we would have done. You are so lucky to have her as your mum. I love her like a mum. An angel she is. An angel.’