Fur Coat, No Knickers

by Anna King

  ‘Oh, Stanley, I’m frightened. You’ll be gone this afternoon, and… and I might ne—never see you again…’

  Stanley, his face filled with concern, held his arms out to her. ‘Now, don’t start that, Gracie, please. You know I can’t bear to see you upset. Come here. Come on, come and give me a cuddle. It’ll probably have to last me a long time, so let’s make the most of it – before your nan comes back and catches us. Or before Polly wakes up and starts howling again.’ He attempted a smile as he nodded over at the sleeping girl on the settee, but Grace was beyond being humoured.

  Crying quietly, Grace crept on to Stan’s lap, and when his arms fastened around her waist, she turned and buried her face deep in the harsh fabric of the khaki uniform and let the tears flow freely.

  And when, some time later, Aggie put her head around the door and saw the couple entwined in the armchair, she quietly withdrew without disturbing them.

  ‘Now, are you sure you don’t want us to come and see you off, Stan? It would be no trouble, son. We can all pile on to a bus and come with you to the station.’

  Stanley shook his head, smiling. ‘Thanks, Sam, but like I told you earlier, me mate’s kid ain’t well, so his wife can’t see him off, and I said we’d go together. I can’t let him down, can I? But thanks, anyway.’

  That Stanley was putting his friend before Grace was evident to all those present, except Stan. But nobody was going to risk causing an upset by commenting on Stanley’s tactless behaviour; not today.

  As the family stood bunched together on the front porch, Stanley said his goodbyes, kissing the women, and shaking Sam’s and Danny’s hands fervently as they all wished him luck. Then Bert Harris appeared at the top of the street – looking a lot more cheerful than the last time Grace had seen him on the bus – and with one final wave and a bearhug for Grace, Stan, his kit-bag slung over his shoulder, ran down the street to join his friend. And with much pushing and backslapping the two men walked off.

  Grace stood watching until the figures disappeared from view, her vision blurred from crying, then she slowly went indoors, shutting the door softly behind her.

  * * *

  Later that night, when the house was quiet, Hetty laid in Sam’s arms, her head resting on his broad chest. Keeping her voice low, she murmured in the darkness, ‘You know, love, I’ve often wished over the years I could have given you a son. Not that either of us would change our girls, I know that, but I felt at times that I’d let you down by not producing a son and heir, so to speak.’

  ‘You’ve never said anything about it before,’ Sam answered, his surprise evident in his hushed tone.

  Hetty snuggled closer. ‘No, I know I haven’t. And I haven’t dwelt on it either. It’s just that this morning, when we heard the news, my first thought was “Thank God we never had any sons”, and when I saw Stan and his friend, all togged out in their uniforms, looking for all the world as if they were off on some flipping adventure, well, I couldn’t help but think how we would have been feeling if it had been our son going off to war – and I was ashamed at the relief I felt, knowing we’d been spared that horror.’

  When Sam didn’t answer, but simply stroked her hair lovingly, Hetty felt her eyes begin to close and within minutes had drifted off into a restful, contented sleep.

  Beside her, Sam remained awake, his mind resurrecting his own youth and the horror of the trenches. Before he slept he lent his own prayer to Hetty’s, thanking God for His foresight in giving him daughters.

  Chapter Seven

  After the initial outbreak of panic, Britain settled down to the reality of war – a war that soon became complacently known as the Phoney War, for no bombs dropped from the skies as anticipated, and no German soldiers attempted to invade British shores.

  Air-raid shelters once again became playgrounds for scores of children – who were brought back home from the country – to play their games of hide and seek, and cops and robbers, while their parents went about their normal routine, their gas masks once again discarded.

  But even if people were able to disregard the concept of war in daylight hours, at night the bitter reality was driven home as weary pedestrians and motorists struggled to get home in the blackout. Kerbs, lamp-posts and mudguards on buses were coated with white paint in an effort to help guide people to their destination, but the exercise was futile. People soon realised they were more in danger of being mown down on the streets than obliterated by falling bombs, as once-familiar and well-walked streets became a nightmare filled with hidden headlamps of cars and buses.

  But if the British people didn’t have the Germans to worry about, the winter of 1939-40 became the worst in living memory. First came the snow, and then the frost, then torrential rain leading to more frost. To venture out was hazardous, and the less mobile slipped and slithered before falling like ninepins on the ice-sheeted pavements and roads. The elderly, in particular, went down in their thousands, their broken bodies filling nearly every hospital and outpatient department in London and the outskirts. Gas, electricity and water were cut off, the powers-that-be answering complaints with the ever-popular excuse, ‘Don’t you know there’s a war on, missus?’

  Apart from the inconveniences, of which there were many, life for the majority carried on much the same as usual. The steady stream of children arriving back from the country meant that Sam and Hetty’s services were once again in demand. Schools all over the country reopened their doors, much to the disappointment of the children, who had imagined their childhood days would be spent running the streets without worrying about the stuffy boredom of the classroom.

  One of the good things to come about during the first year of the war was the gradual thawing of the famous British reserve. Strangers actually began to talk to each other, bonded together by rationing and hardship.

  Overseas, Hitler’s army continued to march, yet still Chamberlain’s government refused to commit themselves to all-out war. The ambiguous attitude of the government not to bomb the German munitions factories – in the hope that they would reciprocate – only served to boost Hitler’s confidence that he could conquer Western Europe unhindered. While Britain watched from the sidelines, the German army and airforce first attacked Norway and Denmark, then marched into Holland, Belgium and Luxembourg. But none of these coups could prepare the British people for the unbelievable – France, that bastion of allies, fell to the enemy. And with the fall of France came the turning of the tide in the war.

  Britain now had a new Prime Minister – and Winston Churchill soon showed the British public he was a man not open to compromise like his predecessor. Instead of Chamberlain’s placating words of comfort, Churchill roared defiance in the face of the enemy, his powerful rhetoric instilling new morale into the listening public.

  Meanwhile, the German army had successfully driven across France, pushing the British army further and further back until they were trapped on the beaches of Dunkirk on the northern coast. What followed would go down in the annals of history as one of the greatest acts of heroism ever witnessed, as ordinary men in their hundreds risked their own lives – protected only by small and often flimsy boats – in a daring rescue to pluck their stranded soldiers from the beaches of Dunkirk.

  And while England rejoiced in the triumph, it soon because obvious that the time of watching and uncertainty was finally over. The tiny island stood alone, brave and defiant, knowing that the battle had just begun.

  * * *

  ‘I think I’ll go over the park for a couple of hours. Fancy coming with me for a walk, Grace? It’s too nice to be sitting about at home doing nothing on such a lovely day.’

  Polly looked hopefully at her eldest sister, who was rereading one of Stanley’s letters for the umpteenth time. Raising her head, Grace smiled and folded the letter back into the brown envelope.

  ‘Yes, all right, why not. Hang on a minute and I’ll see if the others fancy a stroll.’

  Springing to her feet, Grace made for the door, only to
be stopped by Polly exclaiming dolefully, ‘It’s no good asking them, Grace. Mum and Dad are going to the pictures, and after that they’re going to some committee meeting; I don’t know if Nan’s going with them. And Vi’s out with her latest fellow, whoever he is.’ This statement was accompanied by a rolling of her eyes, eliciting a loud laugh from Grace.

  ‘Looks like it’s just you and me, then, Poll.’

  ‘Looks like you and me for what?’ Hetty had come into the hallway, pulling on a plain, pull-on felt hat to go with her WVS uniform. The two girls looked at the smart, if a trifle rotund, figure dressed in a green tweed suit interwoven with grey and a dark red jumper.

  ‘Oh, just going for a walk over Vicky Park, Mum,’ Grace answered cheerfully, as she pulled on a large floppy straw hat. Polly, too, was trying to look over Grace’s shoulder in the long hall mirror, while fixing a hat pin through a beige straw hat.

  Talking to her mother’s reflection Grace exclaimed, ‘Goodness, Mum. You’re not going to go out in that lot, are you? You’ll be baking by the time you get to the top of the road. Why don’t you leave the jumper off. Surely no one would mind on a day like this.’

  Pushing her youngest daughter aside Hetty said, ‘Let’s have a look, Polly, dear. I can never get this hat to sit right.’ Then, turning to Grace, she added, ‘As a matter of fact the ladies of the committee would very much mind if I turned up half-dressed – even in a heatwave. So I shall just have to grin and bear it. There! That should do it. I’ll just see if your nan wants to come with us before I call your father in from the garden. He’s probably fallen asleep out there, like he always does after his dinner.’ Leaning nearer her daughters, Hetty winked and said drily, ‘It’s a sign of old age, that is.’

  Moving aside to let the girls have the mirror back, Hetty leant her hand on the banister and called up the stairs, ‘Mum! Mum, we’ll be off in a minute, if you want to come with us. If not, the girls are going over the park, if you’d prefer to go with them.’ Peering up the long flight of stairs, Hetty was about to call again when Aggie’s voice floated down impatiently, ‘All right, all right, there’s no need to shout. I ain’t deaf.’

  Puffing slightly, the large frame of Aggie appeared at the top of the stairs. Pausing for a moment she looked down at the three women waiting in the hallway, and for a brief second her heart swelled with pride. The trio made a striking picture, with Hetty in her smart WVS uniform, and her two granddaughters in their thin, brightly coloured cotton frocks. Aggie had made them herself. A blue sprigged pattern for her Grace, and a yellow-and-white check design for Polly. Thinking of her dressmaking efforts, Aggie was reminded of her other granddaughter. Descending the stairs slowly she demanded, ‘And where’s the other young madam. Off gallivanting, I suppose.’

  Hetty made a face at her daughters before turning to her mother, saying, ‘Now, don’t start, Mum. Vi’s only doing what most girls her age do. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying yourself, now is there?’

  Reaching the bottom of the landing, Aggie snorted, ‘Enjoying yourself is one thing, off out every night with Gawd knows who is something else… Anyway…!’ Looking from one impatient face to the other, she cried, ‘So, I’ve got a choice have I? Well, ain’t I the lucky one. Still, if it’s all the same to you lot, I think I’ll stay at home with me feet up an’ listen to the wireless.’ Her eyes twinkling, she nudged Grace, adding, ‘I wouldn’t want to cramp your style over the park. Not with all them uniforms wandering about looking for a bit of company.’

  ‘Nan!’ both girls cried at once, their faces laughingly indignant.

  Just then Sam wandered in from the garden, his amiable face glowing red from lying out in the sun.

  ‘You ready, Hett? We’ll miss the start of the film if we don’t get a move on.’

  ‘Well, I’m ready. I was just waiting for you,’ Hetty replied as she adjusted the strap on her leather shoulder bag. ‘Now are you sure you don’t want to come with us, Mum? It’s a Cary Grant film. You like him, don’t you?’

  Aggie shook her head and snorted, ‘Cary Grant, huh! What sort of a name is that. He should’ve stuck with his own name. I mean, what was wrong with Archibald Leach? I ain’t got no time for people what’s ashamed of where they come from. And anyway, I don’t fancy going out!’

  Sam and Hetty exchanged a look of exasperation. Sometimes it seemed as though Aggie moaned simply for the sake of it. Though to be fair to the elderly woman, she had taken Danny’s call-up into the army very badly and was constantly worrying about his safety, as were they all. But it didn’t do to fret over such things, especially when there was nothing you could do about it.

  ‘All right, Mum, suit yourself. Now you know I’m going to a meeting after the pictures, so I’ll be home about seven…’

  ‘And I’ll be home about six, so make sure my tea’s on the table, woman.’ Sam landed a light blow on Aggie’s rump with the flat of his hand. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re off. Don’t want to keep Archibald waiting, do we?’

  ‘Silly bugger.’ Aggie’s comment followed her family into the street.

  Coming out at the top of the road, Sam spotted a number six bus and, grabbing Hetty’s hand, dashed after it.

  ‘See you later, girls. Have a nice afternoon!’ Hetty called out, then saved her breath for running.

  Grace and Polly strolled on unhurriedly, giggling like a couple of schoolgirls at the many wolf-whistles they attracted along the way from eager servicemen looking for a bit of diversion on their short leave.

  When they arrived at the park, the girls picked out a cool spot underneath a sprawling oak tree, and stretched their long legs out on the dry grass, sighing with contentment.

  Throwing her head back so that her face was turned towards the sun, Grace murmured, ‘With a bit of luck, we can get a bit of colour on our legs. Save having to smother them in cold tea – not that there’s ever any cold tea left, not with Nan. She’s a proper teapot if ever there was one.’

  ‘Mmmm, yes, I know. Still, maybe the war will be over soon, then we won’t have to worry about rationing any more.’ Turning over on to her stomach, Polly looked up at Grace and laughed. ‘Mind you, Vi would be upset, wouldn’t she? She’s never had so much fun. It’s a good job Mum and Dad don’t know half of what she gets up to, or they’d have a fit. And as for Nan…!’

  ‘Yes, well, good luck to her. As long as she’s careful, and Vi’s not as scatterbrained as she makes out. She knows what she’s doing.’

  Polly plucked a blade of grass and chewed on it thoughtfully.

  ‘Grace! Do you think, I mean would you come with me to a dance one night?’ As Grace stared at her sister with obvious surprise, Polly flushed, a look of embarrassment spreading across her freckled face. ‘Vi said she’d take me one night, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable going with her, not the way the men all flock around her. I’d be out of my depth. I’d much rather go out with you.’

  Grace gave a loud, throaty laugh. ‘Well, thanks a bunch, Poll. That’s a back-handed compliment if ever I heard one. Are you sure you’d want to be seen out with me and my warts-and-hook nose?’

  Polly giggled and flapped her hand at the indignant face.

  ‘Oh, you know what I mean, Gracie. I know you wouldn’t go off with some fellow and leave me on my own.’

  Pulling a face, Grace leant back against the tree and smiled.

  ‘I know what you meant, silly.’ Staring thoughtfully across the park she murmured, ‘I suppose I could do with a night out myself. Apart from Friday night at the club, I haven’t been out anywhere since Stan left.’ Appearing to make up her mind, Grace nodded and grinned. ‘All right, Poll, you’re on, and there’s no time like the present. How about tonight? I heard Vi saying she was going to the Palais, maybe we could all go together.’ As the idea took hold, Grace felt a trickle of excitement in her stomach at the thought of getting dressed up and going out. As she’d just said to Polly, she’d hardly gone outside the front door – apart from to work, of course – sin
ce Stan had gone overseas. Grace had hoped Stan’s latest letter would contain news of his leave, but he hadn’t even mentioned it, even though he must have been due some by now.

  Her thoughts turned to her sister Violet, who was constantly out in the evenings, leaving the house all done up to the nines. Well, Grace pondered silently, I wouldn’t look too bad myself if I made the effort! Let’s see how Vi likes a bit of competition.

  Giving herself a mental shake, Grace looked at her youngest sister, a tender smile on her face. The September sun had brought out Polly’s freckles, and the orange hair that Polly hated with a passion was braided into a thick plait and pinned to the back of her head. And to Grace’s eyes, Polly looked lovely. Already mentally picking out the dress she would wear that evening, Grace grinned at her sister.

  ‘You can borrow my black dress, if you like, Poll. You know, the plain one; you’ve always said you liked it. It’ll look good on you. Though I don’t know what Vi’ll say when she finds out that two gorgeous young women are going to be keeping her company – Ooh, blast! Where did that come from? It made me jump.’ Grace had sat up quickly, her fingers curling around the small rubber ball that had landed in her lap. Spying a small boy standing a few feet away she smiled gently. ‘Here you are, love. Come on, I won’t bite,’ she said gaily as the child hesitated. He was about three or four with a mop of fair curly hair and enormous blue eyes. Eyes that were regarding the two girls warily.

  As Grace made to move towards the boy, a loud raucous voice cut through the air.

  ‘Freddie, Freddie, what yer doing, yer little bleeder?’

  Looking up, Grace and Polly saw a pretty woman striding towards them, her face heavily made-up and wearing a tight, white dress, gathered at the waist with a wide red belt, and red high-heeled shoes. With every step the heels sank into the turf, causing the woman to lurch slightly as she walked.