Home Front Girls

by Rosie Goodwin

  ‘Me too,’ she admitted as she spooned some sugar into her tea. There was sausage and mash for dinner today served with thick onion gravy, and Hilary attacked it as if she hadn’t eaten for a month.

  Well, at least the job she’s been doing hasn’t put her off her dinner, Annabelle thought wryly.

  When Hilary had finally cleaned her plate she suggested, ‘Do you fancy going over in the pinnace to the town tonight? We could have a nose round and perhaps find a café where we could have a cuppa? It would beat sittin’ up in the dormitory, an’ I overheard some o’ the other girls sayin’ they were goin’. Apparently there’s a hall where they have a dance at the weekends an’ all. That’d be nice wouldn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Annabelle answered unenthusiastically. She didn’t feel in the mood for going out, but then she couldn’t stay in forever, and if the rest of the week turned out to be as hard as her first morning had been, she would no doubt be in the mood to escape for a time by the weekend.

  Hilary beamed at her. It seemed that she had skin as thick as a rhinoceros’s, and even Annabelle’s stand-offish attitude wasn’t going to stop her befriending her. Annabelle’s thoughts turned to Lucy and Dotty then, and she wondered how they were faring. She was missing them both far more than she had thought she would.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Lucy trudged home through the snow, looking forward to seeing Harry and getting a few hours’ sleep. After the shop work in Owen Owen she found her job in the munitions factory very repetitive and the shifts had totally disorientated her. It felt strange to be coming home early in the morning when most other folks were going to work, but then she knew she shouldn’t grumble. At least she still had a home to go to, which was a lot more than some people had. The snow that had been holding off for days had now started to fall, and the thin covering on the ground disguised the piles of rubble left by the Luftwaffe’s attacks, making everywhere look clean and bright, apart from the damage caused by the raid of the night before. The results of that were still very much in evidence as firemen damped down the remains.

  At last she arrived at Mrs P’s, and after stamping the snow from her boots she entered the kitchen to find Mrs P making the fire up in an old candlewick dressing-gown with her hair clad in metal curlers. Harry wagged his tail as he scampered over to greet her, and Mrs P yawned.

  ‘Eeh, I’m right glad to see yer,’ she remarked. ‘I hates it when there’s a raid an’ you’re stuck in that ruddy factory. Half the night we were up again, an’ it’s enough to freeze hell over in that shelter now. I even wrapped Harry up in a blanket in there last night. But how are you? Yer look fit to drop.’

  ‘I am tired,’ Lucy said. ‘But I’m fine. A cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss though.’

  Whilst Mrs P pottered away to put the kettle on Lucy’s eyes strayed to the sideboard, which was covered in photographs of Mrs P’s three children, as was the wall behind them, at various stages of their lives. She had seen the woman dust them lovingly every single day since the two younger ones had been evacuated. She must miss them so much, she thought to herself, and once again found herself thinking of Mary. It was really hard to enter her own home now without her and Joel there, but what choice did she have? She just had to get on with life as the other people of the city were having to do.

  Thankfully she didn’t have to work that night, so she had arranged to go and see Miranda in the afternoon, once she’d had a sleep. Unless there was another raid, of course, and then Miranda would be at some church hall somewhere tending to the injured or homeless or driving an ambulance. It seemed that there was no job that was closed to women now, and the days of them staying at home to raise their families were long gone. With most of the men absent, fighting the war, the women had been forced to step into the breach – and a fine job they were making of it. It was commonplace to see women driving trams and buses now. A lot of the single women had gone to become Land Girls whilst others like Annabelle had become VADs. And then of course there were the others like Lucy herself who were busily making parts for Spitfires and tanks in the munitions factories. Each job was as important as the next and Lucy was glad to be able to do something worthwhile, although she still missed working with her friends.

  After sharing a cup of tea with her kindly neighbour, she crossed the yard to her own home where she fed Harry, gave him a few moments in what was left of the garden, then dropped into bed exhausted and was asleep the instant she closed her eyes.

  ‘Ah, here you are, darling,’ Miranda greeted her late that afternoon when Lucy arrived at the house. The For Sale board was still in the garden but Miranda had given up hope of selling the Lodge now. Few people were willing to spend money on a house that could be razed to the ground at any time. And so instead she had ‘pulled her belt in’ as Churchill had instructed the nation to do. Many of the rooms were shut off now, especially since Annabelle had gone, and Miranda spent her time between the kitchen and the bedroom.

  Now she nearly dragged Lucy through to the kitchen as she waved an envelope at her. ‘I had a letter from Annabelle this morning,’ she told the girl, as if the Crown Jewels had dropped through her letterbox. ‘And she’s safe and well, thank goodness.’

  ‘I had one from her too,’ Lucy smiled. ‘And one from Dotty.’

  Her face dropped then and Miranda squeezed her hand. ‘You miss them too, don’t you, pet?’ she asked, and Lucy nodded and blinked back tears.

  ‘I do, but they both said that they’re going to try and visit over Christmas so that’s something to look forward to, isn’t

  it?’

  ‘That’s if Haslar doesn’t have another sudden influx of patients and Dotty can get a train,’ Miranda pointed out. The constant attacks by the Jerries were soul-destroying for the railwaymen, who were working around the clock to try and keep the trains running. Then brightening a little she asked, ‘And how is Dotty doing in London?’

  ‘Well, the letter was quite brief,’ Lucy told her as she unwound her scarf from about her neck. ‘But then it would be, wouldn’t it, seeing as she’s still one-handed at the minute. But she sounded cheerful enough, although she’s frustrated because she can’t type. Robert’s bought her a new typewriter and she says Laura has made her feel really welcome. She asked me to give you her love and to tell you that she’ll write you a nice long letter just as soon as her cast is off.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to that then.’ It was growing dark now and Miranda hurried across to draw the blackouts before asking, ‘Have you eaten yet? I’ve got a Spam casserole and a semolina pudding in the oven, and it’s far too big for me. I can’t seem to get used to cooking for one. You will share some with me, won’t you?’

  ‘If you put it that way, how can I refuse?’ Lucy said with a twinkle in her eye, but inside her heart was heavy. Miranda was obviously missing Annabelle far more than she would let on, if her pale, drawn face was anything to go by. The girl knew that she worried about her husband too, but there was nothing she could say that would ease the woman’s pain. Only having her husband and daughter safely home again could do that – and who knew how long that might take? The newspapers were still full of doom and gloom and the war seemed to be intensifying, if anything.

  ‘Are you going to get a Christmas tree this year?’ Lucy asked, hoping to lift the mood a little.

  Miranda shrugged. ‘I can’t see much point, to be honest. The money could be better spent on other things at present and on Christmas Day I’ll go over to visit my parents so I won’t be here that much to see it. I might try to find some holly though, just to perk the place up a bit in case Annabelle does manage to get home. What are you planning to do?’

  ‘I shall spend it with Mr and Mrs P.’ Lucy fetched the tablecloth and spread it across the table. She had visited so many times now that she knew where everything was and didn’t need to be asked.

  ‘It would be nice to get an unbroken night’s sleep for a change, wouldn’t it?’ Miranda yawned when they’d finished their m
eal. ‘It’s not just us copping it now though. London is being hit pretty badly too, according to the papers. I just wonder if Dotty is safe, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, she’s got Robert to look out for her now,’ Lucy said. ‘I just hope those two make a go of it, as they obviously think the world of each other. I reckon Dotty used to believe that she wasn’t good enough for him, but Miss Timms has changed all that, bless her. Now Dotty knows that she came from a good family and she’s a fairly wealthy young woman in her own right, she may have a little more confidence in herself from now on.’

  ‘And what about you, darling?’ Miranda smiled at her gently. ‘When are you going to put the past behind you and look around for a nice young man? You can’t let what happened between your mother and father spoil your life too. Not all men are like your father.’

  ‘I don’t need a man to make me happy. I’ve got Harry,’ Lucy retorted immediately. ‘And once Joel comes home we won’t need anyone else.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be too sure about that,’ Miranda told her worriedly. ‘If I remember rightly, Joel and Annabelle seemed to be quite attracted to each other before he went away, so the chances are that even if they don’t get together he’ll meet a girl eventually and want to lead his own life.’ When Lucy’s face fell, she hurried on, ‘That doesn’t mean to say that he won’t still care about you. Of course he will! You are his sister and you’ll always be important to him – but both of you are too young to face a life alone.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Lucy sniffed haughtily, and realising that she had inadvertently upset the girl, Miranda hastily changed the subject and got back on to safer ground. Lucy was always as prickly as a porcupine, when her family were mentioned, and Miranda vowed that she wouldn’t speak about them again. When she came to think about it, Lucy was becoming increasingly withdrawn and touchy, but then it was to be expected. What with no word from Joel, losing her mother and then her little sister, it was hardly surprising that the girl wasn’t a ray of sunshine. Miranda suppressed a shudder as she thought back to the secret Lucy had shared with them. It must be very hard for her, coming to terms with the fact that her mother had been a murderer. Even so, as far as Miranda was concerned, none of it was the girl’s fault and she wished she could shake her out of her melancholy. Miranda thought of her own daughter then and the traumatic impact on her of the secret she had kept from her for all these years. Poor Annabelle. She seemed to be floundering, not knowing who she was any more. And then there was Dotty, torn between being thrilled to finally discover who her mother was, and anger at losing her so quickly.

  All three of the girls had an awful lot to come to terms with, Miranda concluded, and sadly, they were all going to have to work out their problems for themselves. No one else could do it for them.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘Don’t look so glum, Dotty,’ Laura said bracingly after she had returned from taking her children to school. ‘It won’t be long now and your plaster will be off, then you’ll be able to get cracking on your writing again.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a moaning minnie. It’s just that I get so frustrated at only being able to use one arm,’ Dotty apologised.

  ‘I can understand that. I know Paul has his moments, being stuck in that wheelchair, and I dare say I would be just the same,’ Laura answered sympathetically as she straightened the cushions on the settee. ‘But why don’t you just relax this morning? You could listen to some music on the wireless or read. As it happens, I’m only doing half a day in the office today so how about we go and do a bit of Christmas shopping this afternoon?’

  Dotty instantly brightened. ‘I’d like that. I need to get something for Annabelle and her mum – and Lucy, of course. Robert is going to come with me back to Coventry one day next week so that I can see them all before Christmas – if Annabelle manages to get home, of course, but I hope she will.’

  ‘Hmm, I can imagine the nurses are being kept very busy with all the raids we’re having.’ Laura paused in the act of pinning her hat on.

  Dotty couldn’t stop herself from grinning as she replied, ‘Actually, from what I can make out in her letters, the poor thing hasn’t been doing much actual nursing. It sounds like all she’s done up to now is clean the wards and empty bedpans. The nearest she’s got to proper nursing was being allowed to roll bandages when they had a bit of spare time. I just can’t imagine her doing menial and mucky jobs like that somehow. She was always so fastidious.’

  ‘Well, someone has to do it,’ Laura pointed out. ‘And keeping up the standards of hygiene in a hospital is as important as doing the actual nursing. I’ve no doubt she’ll be able to do more with the patients eventually. But will she be staying at Haslar? I know a lot of VADs have been shipped abroad to nurse the troops.’

  ‘She hasn’t said anything about a move,’ Dotty shrugged, then, ‘Is there anything I can do for you this morning while you’re at work? One-handed, that is.’

  Laura chuckled as she fastened her coat. ‘Nothing at all. The cleaning lady will be in as usual, so you just relax. I’m sure Robert said he was dropping by to see you on his way into work so that will break the morning up for you. Bye for now.’

  And with that she went off, leaving Dotty to pace the floor like a caged animal and curse her broken arm. She had never realised before how frustrating it must be for the men who had lost limbs in the war, and she felt guilty for complaining. After all, she was only temporarily incapacitated. They would have to learn to live with their disabilities for the rest of their lives. Annabelle had written to tell her horror stories about some of the men on the wards and Dotty felt tearful every time she thought of them, poor things.

  Now she tried to think more cheerful thoughts, and first on the list was her visit to Coventry. She had really missed her friends, even though Laura and Paul had made her feel more than welcome. Laura’s children were adorable too. Simon was seven and a real little imp, always up to mischief, but lovable with it, and his five-year-old sister Elizabeth, affectionately known as Lizzie, was a real little sweetheart, never happier than when Dotty was reading her a story.

  Her stay with the Parsons family in Whitechapel had been a time of adjustment for Dotty. Leaving her home town had not been easy, and discovering who her birth mother was had been a bittersweet experience. After all the years of dreaming, she had finally found her mother, but the chance for them to really get to know each other on this new, more intimate footing, had been cruelly snatched away from her. And then there was Robert and her admission of the love she felt for him. He had made it more than clear that he felt the same way about her, but was too much of a gentleman to rush things. With his inbuilt sensitivity, he was happy to give Dotty time to come to terms with everything that had happened.

  As in Coventry, the spirits of the people of London were low. It seemed that the war was escalating, with the German forces dominating and Dotty wondered where it was all going to end. Her broody thoughts were interrupted then as Mrs Wiggins, Laura’s daily help, breezed into the room wielding a tin of wax polish and a large yellow duster.

  ‘’Ello, me owld duck,’ she said cheerfully and Dotty instantly perked up. No one could stay sad around Ada Wiggins for long. Born and bred within the sound of Bow bells and proud of it, she was like a ray of sunshine. She was short and plump with a wicked sense of humour, and Dotty had taken to her at first sight. Today Mrs Wiggins was clad in her customary flowered wraparound apron and she had a headsquare tied turban-like around her steel-grey hair with one metal curler sitting on her forehead. Sometimes she put Dotty in mind of Mrs P. A Woodbine dangled from the corner of her mouth, something she wouldn’t have dared do had Laura been at home. But she had already sussed that Dotty could be trusted not to tell on her. Her husband, Jim, worked on the London docks and her family were all grown and long flown the nest. ‘I don’t really need to work,’ she had confided to Dotty shortly after the girl had arrived there, ‘but it gives me a bit o’ pin money to do as I like wiv, which is no b
ad fing is it, dearie?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Dotty had agreed, trying hard to keep a straight face, and their friendship had grown from there. The woman fussed over Dotty like a little round mother hen. It soon transpired that Mrs Wiggins had worked for Laura for years and they thought the world of each other, which was hardly surprising as the housekeeper kept the house clean as a new pin with never a word of complaint. She would even meet the children from school if Laura was tied up in the office, and then she would look after them till their mother or father arrived home. She had told Dotty that the children had been evacuated to a small village in Kent earlier in the war, but they had pined for their parents so badly that Laura had eventually brought them both home, much to Mrs Wiggins’ relief. Now Mrs Wiggins spoiled them both shamelessly.

  ‘She has this knack of being able to conjure a meal up from almost nothing,’ Laura confided to Dotty one day. By her own admission, Laura had never enjoyed cooking, so the meals Mrs Wiggins regularly prepared for the family were more than welcome.

  Now she dusted her way across the sideboard before asking, ‘How long’s it been since you ’ad a warm drink, dearie? Or per’aps I could tempt you to a bit o’ somefink to eat? You ain’t as far through as a stick o’ celery.’

  Dotty chuckled at Ada’s attempts to feed her up as she watched the postman walking up the path through the snow-white net curtains. The post was very hit and miss nowadays, and she wondered if he would have anything for her. ‘I’m fine for now, thanks.’ She smiled at the woman then hurried into the hall to retrieve the letters from the letterbox. It was no easy task with only one hand but eventually she came to one with her name on and instantly recognised Mr Jenkins’s stamp. He had written to her often since she had come to London, keeping her informed of what was happening about her late mother’s estate, so now she took the envelope into Mrs Wiggins and asked, ‘Would you mind opening this for me, please? It’s rather awkward with only one hand.’