by Dilly Court
‘That wasn’t very tactful, considering your uniform.’ Ginnie glanced anxiously at Laurence but the twinkle in his eyes made her smile for the first time that morning.
It had not been a good start to the day. The time she had spent with Shirley in the doctor’s waiting room had been nerve-racking, with small children creating chaos, and elderly people grumbling about the absence of discipline in the younger generation coupled with lack of respect for their elders. It had been even worse in the surgery when the doctor confirmed the fact that Shirley was two or three months into her pregnancy. She had collapsed in tears and then there had been an embarrassing few moments when they had had to make their way out between rows of curious patients. Ginnie returned to the present with a start as she realised that Laurence was speaking to her.
‘It’s all right, Ginnie,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m used to people saying things like that. Don’t look so worried.’
‘I don’t suppose she meant anything by it, but you haven’t had a very good send-off, especially where my family are concerned.’
‘I’m sorry that I didn’t get a chance apologise to Shirley for leaving so abruptly yesterday. She’s obviously very upset.’
‘She is, but then she’s a very emotional person.’ Ginnie felt a sudden need to reassure him. ‘She’s an extremely loyal friend, and she’s really sorry that your last evening ashore was ruined.’
‘She asked you to tell me that?’
Ginnie could not look him in the face and lie. She concentrated on stirring her tea, even though she did not take sugar. ‘Yes, words to that effect.’ It was untrue, of course. Shirley had forgotten all about Laurence until she had seen him that morning.
‘I wouldn’t upset her for the world. Shirley’s a lot of fun and we had a good time; it’s just a pity it had to end so abruptly.’ He pushed the plate towards her. ‘Would you like half the teacake? I don’t think I can face eating the whole thing and I wouldn’t want to offend Lady Macbeth over there.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the woman who had served them.
Ginnie suppressed a giggle. ‘Shh. She might hear you.’
‘Not a chance. She’s got her hooks into a young chap in army uniform. She’s probably telling him that her father was blown to bits at Mons or Ypres.’
Ginnie giggled and received a disapproving look from Lady Macbeth. ‘You’ll get us thrown out of here, Laurence.’
‘And I’d have to trot out the corny old line – I’ve been thrown out of better places than this.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I can hear a train coming. I think it’s time I made a move anyway.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Will you see me off? It would be nice to have someone waving to me as the engine pulls out.’
She stood up and slung her gasmask case over her shoulder. ‘You really are a romantic, aren’t you?’
‘I suppose I am.’ He left a tip in the saucer and went to open the door. A gust of steam blew into the buffet as the train belched into the station. Ginnie followed him onto the platform. Carriage doors were flung open and passengers alighted while others waited to take their place. She held her hand out. ‘Good luck, Laurence.’
He hesitated, gazing at her intently. ‘Say cheerio to Shirley for me.’
‘Of course.’
He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You’re a great girl, Ginnie.’
The guard’s whistle shrilled and Laurence leapt into the carriage just as the train began to pull away from the platform. He leaned out of the open window and waved. Ginnie raised her hand and returned the gesture, waiting until the train was out of sight. Taking her hanky from her pocket she dabbed her eyes. It was ridiculous to feel sentimental about a man she hardly knew, especially when he was her sister’s boyfriend, but there was a chance that he might never return and genuine tears of regret spilled from her eyes. She blew her nose, squared her shoulders and started walking.
She went straight to the shop but found it closed, which was unheard of mid-morning on a weekday. She hurried next door to the china shop and found Fred sitting disconsolately on a stool behind the counter. His expression brightened for a moment when she walked in and he stood up. ‘Is everything all right, ducks?’
‘I was about to ask you the same question, Fred. Why did Dad close the shop?’
‘He had a phone call from home. Dunno what your mum said, but he put the closed sign on the door and told me he’d be back later. That’s all I know. I’ve had Ida down here asking the same question. What’s going on, Ginnie?’
She backed towards the doorway. ‘I’d better go home and find out.’
Number ten Cherry Lane was in a state of uproar when Ginnie arrived. Her mother was shouting down the telephone and her father was upstairs, hammering on Shirley’s bedroom door.
Mildred put her hand over the mouthpiece, glaring at Ginnie. ‘You knew about this, miss. Why didn’t you tell us?’ She uncovered it quickly. ‘No, I wasn’t speaking to you, Avril. This is a terrible line. I’ll have to call you back later.’ She slammed the receiver down on its cradle, standing arms akimbo. ‘Well, I want an explanation. You took Shirley to see the doctor so you know all about it.’
‘I only found out last night, Mum. There wasn’t any point in telling you until she was sure.’ Ginnie slipped past her, heading for the kitchen. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
Mildred followed her. ‘A cup of tea isn’t going to sort this out, young lady. Your sister has disgraced us all. I suppose Charlie is the father, and not the young man who was here last night.’
‘You have to ask Shirley, Mum.’ Ginnie filled the kettle at the sink. ‘It’s got nothing to do with me.’
‘You’ll change your tune when no one will speak to you. We’ll be a laughing stock in the neighbourhood and I’ll never be able to attend another Mothers’ Union meeting.’
‘She’s been unlucky, that’s all. It happens in wartime.’ Ginnie lit the gas and put the kettle on the ring. ‘It’s done now and poor Charlie isn’t here to do the right thing. Shirley will need all the help we can give her.’
Mildred paced the floor. ‘I’ve already made arrangements. Shirley will have to go to Shropshire and stay with Avril until the baby is born. Then she can come back with a wedding ring on her finger and we’ll make up some story about a wartime wedding and tell everyone that she’s a widow.’ She spun round to face Ginnie, pointing her finger. ‘And you’ll go with her. Your dad will just have to find someone else to help in the shop. We’ll say that we’re sending you both to safety because of the doodlebugs. That will be much more believable. I’d come with you but I can’t leave your father. He’d be lost without me.’
The station at Lightwood Common was deserted apart from an aged porter who tottered up the platform to help them with their luggage. It had been a long and tortuous journey with several changes of train and many stops along the way. Their carriage had been packed with servicemen and women when they left Paddington, and when passengers alighted at stations along the line they were immediately replaced by yet more travellers. Older women wearing ugly felt hats grumbled incessantly about rationing and shortages, while young squaddies shared bawdy jokes until sharp reprimands from their elders silenced them and left them red-faced and resentful. Young babies wailed in their mothers’ arms, and the mere sight of them made Shirley groan and turn her head to stare blankly out of the window.
The train had reduced speed several times during air raids and this had added to the seemingly never-ending journey. They had eaten their packed lunch at midday with no hope of getting any more food until they arrived at their destination, and the buffet car had long since run out of tea.
‘Follow me, ladies.’ The porter piled their cases onto a trolley and set off along the platform.
‘It’s the back of bloody beyond,’ Shirley said grimly. ‘I’ll die of boredom in this godforsaken hole.’
‘Don’t be such a pessimist.’ Ginnie gazed round appreciatively. It was several years since her last visit to Shropshire, but she
had never forgotten the sweet smell of newly mown hay and damp earth combined with the scent of honeysuckle and dog roses. The mild air that caressed her cheeks was fresh and untainted by carbon monoxide fumes from cars and buses, and she remembered the countryside as being lush and gently rolling. She was a Londoner at heart but she had always had a soft spot for this part of the world and had looked forward to the brief holidays she had spent with Auntie Avril, who was the complete antithesis to their mother.
Where Mildred was spiky, snobbish and very much aware of her status in the community, Avril could not give two hoots what people thought of her. She lived, loved and dressed to please herself and had buried two husbands, both dead from natural causes, and was rumoured to have had at least half a dozen lovers in her misspent youth when she was an artist’s model in Paris.
‘I suppose we’ll have to walk to the pub,’ Shirley said crossly. ‘I’m sure my ankles are swelling already. I’ll be like a whale by the end of the nine months.’
‘Come on. You’ll feel better when you’ve had a nice hot cup of tea and something to eat. Auntie Avril is a wonderful cook, or she was before rationing came in. I can remember her chocolate éclairs – they were absolutely scrummy.’
‘This way, ladies.’ The porter trundled his cargo through the ticket office. ‘Mrs Parkin’s sent someone to meet you.’
‘Thank God for that.’ Shirley uttered a sigh of relief. ‘A chauffeur-driven car would be heaven.’
Ginnie was nearest to the exit and she could see the form of transport that their aunt had laid on and it was most definitely not a limousine. She followed the porter out into the leafy lane where a pony and trap was waiting to take them to the Ferryboat Inn. The driver had a battered felt hat pulled down over his forehead and a pipe stuck in the corner of his mouth. He gave them a cursory glance and then continued to stare absently into space. The pony, a sturdy Welsh cob, pawed the ground and snorted as if eager to be off.
‘Give us a hand with the baggage, Percy.’ The porter tossed Shirley’s dressing case into the trap, followed by the pigskin valise which had been their father’s twenty-first birthday present and much valued by him even if it was a bit worse for wear.
‘That’s your job,’ Percy muttered, grinding his teeth on the pipe stem. ‘I’m just doing Avril a favour. I ain’t no taxi driver.’
Grumbling beneath his breath the porter hefted the last of their bags into the back of the cart and stood, holding out his hand. ‘There you are, ladies. All stowed safely.’
Ginnie fumbled in her bag for her purse and gave him sixpence. He did not seem impressed as he hobbled back into the ticket office muttering something about mean Londoners.
‘Hop in then, unless you want to walk alongside,’ Percy said impatiently. ‘I ain’t got all day. I got pigs to feed and a thirst on me that’s a proper torment.’
Ginnie climbed up to sit beside the driver and held her hand out to help Shirley, but it was brushed aside.
‘I can manage, thanks. I’m not helpless.’ Shirley hauled herself up to sit beside Ginnie, squashing her against Percy. ‘Stop fussing,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t want everyone to know.’
Ginnie made herself as small as possible. There was a strange smell emanating from their driver and she could not tell whether it was the coating of mud and something nasty on his boots, or the fact that his personal hygiene left much to be desired.
Shirley turned to him with a wave of her hand. ‘Drive on, my man.’
‘I ain’t your man, lady. I’m me own person as you’ll find out in due course.’
‘I can’t wait,’ Shirley said in a stage whisper. ‘I’m going to be out of here on the first train tomorrow morning. I refuse to be buried alive in a place where the driver stinks of eau de pig.’
‘Shut up, he’s not deaf. He’ll hear you.’
Shirley tossed her head. ‘I don’t care, and if the jolting of this foul contraption doesn’t bring on a miscarriage, nothing will.’ She clung to the side rail as Percy flicked the whip and the pony jerked into action.
The Ferryboat Inn nestled amongst the trees on the riverbank, lazing in the late afternoon sun as though it were posing for a photograph which would adorn many chocolate boxes and calendars. The building itself comprised of two seventeenth-century cottages built of mellow golden stone with Welsh slate roofs. Stone steps led down from the gravelled terrace to a grassy bank, where the hand-operated chain ferry was at rest, bobbing idly on its moorings close to the shore. Percy drew the trap to a halt outside the main entrance. ‘Get out here,’ he said gruffly. ‘I got to see to the animal.’
Shirley leapt to the ground like a parachutist bailing out of a burning plane and Ginnie followed more slowly. ‘Thank you, Mr Percy,’ she said, trying hard not to wrinkle her nose as the breeze wafted his body odour her way.
‘Just Percy, miss.’ He tipped his hat. ‘I’ll bring your bags to the bar, save you carrying them.’
‘That’s very kind. Thanks again.’ She moved aside as he clicked his tongue against his teeth and encouraged the pony to walk towards the stable.
‘There’s Auntie Avril,’ Shirley said, waving enthusiastically. ‘Thank goodness she’s still the same. I was beginning to think we’d stepped into the pages of Cold Comfort Farm.’
‘Don’t be such a snob, Shirley. You sound just like Mum.’
‘Shut up.’ With a toss of her head, Shirley hurried across the gravel forecourt to meet their aunt.
Ginnie hesitated, gazing downriver where the trees bowed to its stately progress towards the sea, their green foliage reflecting in the sun-dappled water. She gasped with pleasure at the sight of an otter breaking through the glassy surface as it reached the opposite bank and slid sinuously into the undergrowth. The river had always held a special fascination for her in all its moods, from lazing along as it was now on a hot June day to rushing past in a foaming torrent as it had one Christmas when they had come to stay. The noise and bustle of the city seemed a million miles away and she felt as though she had stepped into another world where war and destruction did not exist, and time slowed down so that it was endless summer.
‘Ginnie, darling. Are you going to stand there all day or are you coming in?’ Avril waved a silk-clad arm to attract her attention. ‘I’ve made a jug of Pimm’s in honour of your arrival. Unless, of course, you’re like your mother and would prefer a cup of tea.’ She disappeared into the depths of the pub with Shirley hot on her heels.
Ginnie needed no second bidding. It was cool inside the building and nothing seemed to have changed since their last visit. The taproom was dominated by the large inglenook with its cast-iron fire basket and ornate andirons. The low beamed ceiling was tarnished by years of tobacco smoke and the walls were hung with gleaming horse brasses. Roses spilled from a posy bowl on the bar and either by chance or by design their colour was reflected in the chintz curtains and seat covers.
Apart from the fact that a bar counter had been built across one corner of the room, nothing much had changed in the three centuries since the first cottagers moved into their new home. The roughly plastered walls were covered with framed oil paintings done by Avril’s first husband, a noted artist in his day, and some charcoal sketches of the locals executed by Avril herself. She had slipped behind the bar and was holding up a dust-encrusted bottle. ‘I’ve been keeping this hidden from view since 1940,’ she said triumphantly. ‘I’ll just pop into the kitchen and get some ice and the trimmings. I’ve had everything ready for hours because I didn’t know when you’d arrive. Sit down and make yourselves comfortable. You can unpack later.’ She opened a door at the back of the bar and went into the kitchen.
Shirley took off her hat and gloves and laid them on a table by the window. ‘I’m still not staying,’ she said mutinously. ‘I adore Auntie Avril, of course, but that doesn’t mean that I want to spend the next six months in the backwoods.’
‘You’re jolly lucky to be here.’ Ginnie peeled off her once white gloves which were now a dishear
tening shade of grey. ‘If you’d kept your legs crossed this would never have happened.’
‘Don’t be vulgar. It wasn’t like that and now I’m a widow before I was even a wife, or at least I think it’s Charlie’s, but I can’t be sure.’
Through the open doorway Ginnie could see their aunt struggling with a tray of ice cubes. ‘Auntie’s gone to a lot of trouble for us, Shirley. You’d better start thinking about other people.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘This is a small village. It might be better if you pretend that you are married. You don’t want to embarrass Auntie Avril.’
‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’ Avril breezed into the bar carrying a glass jug filled with ice and slices of cucumber, apple and a sprig of mint. ‘I can assure you that there’s very little that would embarrass me, my dears.’ She splashed Pimm’s into the jug and topped it up with soda water, tossing in a few strawberries at the last moment. ‘It would be so much nicer with lemonade, but I haven’t been able to get any for ages.’ She filled three glasses and raised one to her lips. ‘Welcome to the Ferryboat Inn, my darlings. It’s lovely to have you here.’
Ginnie passed a glass to Shirley, who had collapsed onto the wide window seat and was fanning herself with her hand. ‘Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.’
Avril patted her immaculate victory roll, flicking back an invisible tress of sleek auburn hair. ‘Are you feeling queasy, darling? I’ve never been in the pudding club so I wouldn’t know how it feels, but it’s beastly bad luck.’
Shirley took a mouthful of her drink and swallowed. Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘It is rotten, Auntie. No one seems to understand how I feel. Mum and Dad were absolutely furious and made me feel this big.’ She demonstrated by squinting through a minuscule gap between her thumb and forefinger.
