by Pam Weaver
Sing Them
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PAM WEAVER
PAN BOOKS
This book is dedicated to my cousin Jeanette
and her husband Steve Luxton, Thank you for fondly
remembered holidays, all your encouragement
and for being such wonderful fans.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Blue Moon
Love Walked Right In
Always In My Heart
The People’s Friend
CHAPTER 1
2.15 p.m., Sunday August 9th 1942
Pip Sinclair was just going outside with a bucket of warm water when she saw her neighbour from two doors down hurrying along the alleyway that ran behind their houses. She was about to call out to her, but something made her hold back.
Lillian Harris looked very smart in a new spotted pinafore frock with dark blue contrast at the neck and sleeves. Pip remembered seeing the material. The dress was made from two others, both of which Lillian had bought in a jumble sale, but you’d never know. How clever.
Her daughter, Flora, was also there, and was dressed up too. But when Pip saw Lillian glancing around furtively, she pressed herself against the shed door. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt like she was witnessing something she shouldn’t. Lillian hurried her little girl along and crossed the road for the bus stop. Pip frowned. Where were they off to, and why all the secrecy?
Pip reached the tin bath on the grass and tipped the water inside. Hazel jumped up and down gleefully. At four years old, having a pretend swimming pool in the back garden was very exciting. Six-year-old Georgie was more philosophical, but he was already putting his toy boats in the water as Pip swirled it round to make sure the temperature was even.
It was a lovely warm day, and under normal circumstances, Pip would have taken her children down to the beach. It was only ten minutes’ walk away, but ever since 1939 the shoreline had been covered in sea defences. Barbed wire, concrete blocks and pillboxes had replaced the donkey rides, deckchairs and ice-cream kiosks. Worthing was on the front line as far as an enemy invasion was concerned.
The children began to squabble.
‘Now listen, you two,’ said Pip firmly. ‘If you’re going to argue, I shall tip the water out and we’ll all go inside.’
‘But she’s—’ Georgie began. His mother raised a finger and gave him a stern look, so he turned back to his game murmuring, ‘It’s not fair.’
Pip got herself a cup of tea and sat in Peter’s old deckchair to relax. Usually she had several other children to look after while their mothers were at work, but not today. It was nice to have her own children to herself for a change. Her thoughts drifted towards her husband. He was somewhere in the Far East. She wondered what he was doing. It would be a darned sight hotter out there than here, and he didn’t much like the heat. Poor old Peter. He’d be the colour of a lobster by now. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Where on earth was Lillian off to?
3 p.m.
As soon as they jumped off the bus, they turned the corner and Lillian saw him. Her heart skipped a beat. He was leaning against a tree smoking a cigarette. His Canadian uniform was the same as worn by most of the world’s armies: khaki jacket, cut short at the waist, with slip-on shoulder titles, pleated breast pockets and a field service cap worn rakishly over to one side. It was designed with practicality in mind, but it also made him look really handsome.
She squeezed her daughter’s hand and walked boldly on.
‘Are we nearly there, Mummy?’ asked Flora, but her mother, distracted, could only answer with, ‘Umm?’
It was a glorious day. It was hard to believe that the country had already been at war for three long years. Lillian felt a tinge of guilt. She must be mad. She really shouldn’t be doing this, but life was hard. It was also very dull. She felt old before her time. It was ages since a man had even noticed her, let alone paid her a compliment. Then he’d come along. She worked hard all day ‘doing her bit’, so why shouldn’t she get out and enjoy herself? She was still only nineteen, for goodness’ sake.
All at once he turned slightly and saw them. ‘Hey, you came,’ he said with a lazy smile.
She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip anxiously.
Flora looked up at her. ‘Is that man my daddy, Mummy?’
Lillian let slip a nervous laugh. How could she explain this to a three-year-old? Flora hardly knew her father. He’d been called up just days before she was born, and he’d only seen her a few times when he came home on leave before he was sent overseas. ‘No,’ she said, ‘this isn’t your daddy.’ And looking the Canadian straight in the eye, she added, ‘Uncle Woody is a friend.’
Woody crouched down to the child’s level. ‘You must be Flora,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘With all those lovely golden curls, you can only be a princess. I’m very pleased to meet you.’
The child grinned and then glanced up at her mother for approval. Lillian nodded and the little girl shook Woody’s hand. As he rose to his feet, Woody stuck out his elbow and Lillian threaded her arm through his. Then they turned towards the Ilex Way (her suggestion) and began their stroll.
They had agreed to meet in Goring because Lillian was concerned that people might recognize her in Worthing and she was anxious not to be the subject of idle gossip; after all, she was a married woman, and he was a stranger, a long way from his home. They might not be able to recall where they’d seen her (who remembers a railway porter, anyway?), but she didn’t want anything getting back to her mother. Dorcas had strong views on the sanctity of marriage. And besides, it had taken Lillian a long time to find war work that suited her. She liked her platform duties at Worthing and didn’t want to risk being given the sack.
Lillian had lived with her mother all her life. She’d never even left home when she and Gordon got married. They couldn’t afford the rent on a place of their own, and now that his army pay had been reduced, it was well-nigh impossible. It made her angry to think that just because he was a POW and wasn’t actively fighting, she was expected to exist on next to nothing, especially when she had a child to support, but that was the way it was. Luckily, living with Mum meant that she had a babysitter when she had to work different shifts.
‘This is a beautiful place,’ said Woody, breaking into her thoughts, and he was right. The avenue was nearly a mile long and ran due east from St Mary’s Church, Goring-by-Sea, to the village of Ferring. It was wide and yet, at the same time, shady. Apparently, the Ilex, or Holm, oaks had come from somewhere in the Mediterranean and were planted in the previous century by the then owner of the Goring Hall estate. The public had been kept at bay by a pair of ornamental gates at either end of
the walk until 1940, when they had been removed as part of the war effort. The avenue had now become popular with strolling couples. He stopped walking and looked down at her. ‘Almost as beautiful as you.’
Lillian felt her face flush. ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said, doing her best to make light of it, but he’d already made her heart beat faster.
He leaned over her and cupped her face in his hands. As much as she wanted to be kissed, something made her step back. ‘Careful,’ she said with a nervous laugh. ‘I’m a married woman, remember?’
He apologized immediately and she wished she hadn’t reminded him. They resumed their walk.
‘Tell me about him,’ he said. ‘Your husband.’
Lillian was slightly surprised that he’d asked. She shrugged. ‘There’s not a lot to say. He got called up just as the war started. He was part of the British Expeditionary Force and was captured at Dunkirk.’
How strange. She felt slightly dispassionate about him now. He may be her husband, but after three years of separation, she might as well have been talking about a complete stranger.
‘I get the odd postcard,’ she went on, ‘but Gordon was never one for letter-writing.’
‘You must have been very young when you married,’ he remarked.
‘Sixteen,’ she said, adding with a resigned snort, ‘and in the family way. I had my daughter a week after my birthday.’
He made no reply. Why did she tell him that? She’d said too much. It was embarrassing. She looked away, remembering. It had been a difficult time. She shouldn’t have let Gordon have his way in the first place, but he’d sweet-talked her into believing that she’d be safe. They’d done it every time they’d met after that. He couldn’t get enough of her, until she’d found out she was pregnant. After that, he was horrible. He kept shouting at her and saying she’d ruined his whole life – as if it were all her fault! And then they had to face their families. There followed weeks of rows and blame, until the day she and Gordon stood side by side in church and said, ‘I do.’ She shook the memory away, and spotting her daughter heading for a patch of stinging nettles, called her back.
‘What about you?’ she said as they carried on walking. ‘Tell me about your life in Canada.’
‘I’m the oldest of six,’ he said, catching her hand in his and lacing their fingers. ‘My mom stays at home, and my dad works in a bottling factory. He was over here in the Great War. Well, not here, but in Europe.’
‘And that was supposed to be the war to end all wars,’ she said drily.
Flora was trying to pick some poppies, but so far she only had the heads.
‘Pick them at the other end of the stalk, darling,’ Lillian called. They went over to help her, but the child was already bored. She ran off to chase a butterfly.
Beyond the trees, they could see a golden cornfield, and at the far end, a few people were busy gathering in the harvest.
‘Imagine being lord of the manor with this as your driveway,’ Woody said. He reached out and took her hand again. ‘Allow me, m’lady.’ And he pulled her sharply towards him.
Until she was this close, she hadn’t realized how startling his eyes were. Blue, but more than that, they were a lovely, ethereal violet blue, the colour of cornflowers. His kiss, when it came, was as light as a feather, tender and caressing. He was so gentle. Gordon’s kisses had always been impatient, a means to an end, and they had to be quick, even after they were married. There was forever something to be scared of: being caught with his trousers down or being overheard by her mother. She closed her eyes and let this feeling of being with Woody absorb her. She could feel her senses rising, and with them the desire. They only stopped kissing when Flora tugged at her skirts.
They looked down to see her holding something green and wriggly in her hand. ‘Look, Mummy. Mummy, look. A pillercat.’
A woman walked by with a little dog, a poodle on a red lead. She glared disapprovingly at Lillian. Lillian recognized her as the woman who had just started working in the ticket office at the station.
‘Good afternoon,’ Lillian said politely. The woman didn’t reply, so Lillian poked her tongue out at her receding form. Woody laughed.
All too soon they’d completed the walk and were on the way back. They had spent such a wonderful afternoon together that she promised that next time she had an afternoon off, she would get her mother to babysit and would come alone. ‘I’ll tell her I’ve got to go to work or something,’ Lillian promised, ‘and then we can be together.’ It was only because her mother had gone over to Lancing to visit her sister, Aunt Lou, that Lillian had been able to come. Dorcas had wanted Lillian to come with her, but Lillian had said she preferred to spend a little time on her own with Flora. She hadn’t mentioned that she was meeting Woody, of course.
They agreed to meet at the dance a week on Saturday but she made him say his goodbyes by the entrance to the Ilex Way, and then she and her daughter caught the bus. She waved discreetly to him from the window and settled down for the short journey back to Worthing. Having waited for a girl cyclist to pass, the bus pulled out into the road and he was gone. Lillian smiled to herself. What a lovely afternoon she’d had. For the first time in a very long time, it felt good to be alive. How exciting to have someone special in her life again. She wasn’t a bad girl. She hadn’t done anything really wrong. She touched her mouth. It still tingled a little. She looked out of the window as she felt her cheeks begin to colour. With Flora sleepy and curled up on her lap, Lillian spent the rest of the journey reliving the memory of his wonderful kisses.
7 p.m.
‘A cup of tea before you go?’
Stella, who was putting her shoes by the back door, glanced up at her mother-in-law’s face. Judith Bell’s expression said it all. She didn’t want her to go, not just yet.
Judith, a small, birdlike woman in her early fifties, was in her WVS uniform. When war came, she was already one of the key organizers of the Worthing branch. Her first job had been coordinating the evacuees from London, and everyone agreed that she’d done a magnificent job. Since that time, Judith had proved herself able to put her hand to almost anything, from manning the WVS canteen van for the Canadians erecting the town’s sea defences to setting up first-aid courses for beginners. Stella couldn’t help admiring her mother-in-law. It was a mystery how she managed to do everything. Of course, like many women of her ilk, she had a daily woman to do the housework, but she still managed to fulfil her duties and maintain her high standards.
As for Stella, she was an attractive girl with fair hair and a ready smile. She was quite happy to stay a little longer. She still hadn’t told her in-laws the reason she’d turned up out of the blue. ‘That would be nice, but I’ll have to make it quick. I’ve been out all day on my bike and I really do want to get back home.’
‘But there’s no school tomorrow, is there?’ Judith said, as she reached for the kettle in her neat and spotless kitchen.
‘No,’ Stella conceded, ‘but I have to play the piano for Mrs Hurrup-Gregory’s ballet class. They’re getting ready to put on a bit of a show for the Canadians.’
‘Ooh, is it going to be open to the public?’ said Judith. She had put a tray cloth on the tea trolley and was now arranging the Royal Albert bone-china cups. ‘I do so love the ballet. I haven’t seen one for ages.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Stella, ‘but I might be able to get you in if you’d be willing to help backstage.’
‘When is it?’
‘Two weeks’ time.’
Judith pulled a face. ‘Oh rats. I shall be on a course in London.’
Stella’s father-in-law, Desmond, came through the back door and put half a bucket of fruit on the floor.
Judith shrieked. ‘Desmond,’ she cried. ‘Shoes!’
Desmond returned to the doormat and dutifully kicked them off. His wife turned her back on him as she finished getting the trolley ready, so Desmond and Stella exchanged a sympathetic smile. He looked forward to Stella’s visits. Thei
r only son, Edmund, Stella’s husband of five years, was serving somewhere in North Africa and they all shared an anxiety about him that was never fully expressed.
When Stella arrived, the three of them had spent a few minutes strolling around the garden while Desmond picked some strawberries and vegetables for her to take home. For a few precious minutes, they’d been able to forget that the country was at war and that their nearest and dearest was far away from them, risking his life to bring peace. But she’d have to tell them her news soon. She couldn’t leave it much longer.
Judith put the teapot onto its stand. ‘I’ll take this through,’ she said.
As the sound of the rattling trolley faded, Desmond produced a canvas bag and began putting new potatoes inside.
‘Not too many,’ Stella cautioned. ‘There’s only me, remember?’
Desmond nodded. ‘There’s a few tomatoes, some runner beans and some carrots,’ he said. ‘Do you like gooseberries?’
‘Ooh, yes, please,’ said Stella, and a couple of handfuls went into the bag as well.
Desmond straightened up. ‘Now, my dear, if there’s anything you need . . .’ he said, patting her arm.
Stella nodded. ‘I know where to come. Thanks.’
Desmond was a man of few words. He was very fond of his daughter-in-law, and he’d once told her that as soon as he’d met her, he’d known why his son had fallen for her. The pat on the arm was only a small gesture, but she knew it was heartfelt.
The conversation when she’d first arrived had begun with Johnny (he hated his first name, so Stella called him by his second name), but they’d quickly run out of things to say. Then Judith had hurried indoors to find a letter he had sent her. It was weeks and weeks old, but she and Desmond had only just received it. Being in a war zone, Johnny wasn’t allowed to say anything that might be useful to the enemy, so information in his letters, when they had them, was sparse. Desmond had handed it to Stella and watched her read it.
Stella had a letter too, which she carried in her handbag, but she only showed them part of it. ‘The rest is . . . well, you know . . .’ she’d said, keeping the pages back. She blushed modestly and no more was said.
