by Daisy Styles
‘Your father has confirmed O’Rourke’s been working with him to abduct Billy,’ Ian said. ‘He’s given us an address, and Mother Gabriel may by now have located Billy’s whereabouts. We have a real lead, Catherine – at last we have something to go on.’
Kit stared at him, colour rushing into her pale cheeks and her eyes lighting up for the first time in weeks as she cried out, ‘Oh, God! Can this be happening? Can it be true?’ She took a breath before she asked the next question. ‘When will we hear if she’s found him?’
Pulling Kit to her feet, Ian half ran back to his car. ‘Come on: let’s talk to Mother Gabriel together.’
39. Spring Band Wedding
As Ian and Kit telephoned Mother Gabriel in Dublin, Gladys was returning to Pendleton – the Phoenix had been declared safe for work by the maintenance team. She rushed breathlessly into the cowshed, where she found only Violet.
‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you safe and sound!’ she cried in relief.
When she heard from Violet all that had happened at the factory in her absence, Gladys sighed heavily. ‘It could have been us on the early shift instead of Ivy and her girls.’
‘We were so lucky,’ Violet murmured.
‘Featherstone’s organizing a memorial service at Pendleton parish church,’ Violet told her grimly.
‘Poor Ivy!’ Gladys exclaimed as she thought of the older woman’s patience and good humour.
As Violet poured them both a mug of tea, Gladys anxiously asked, ‘How’s Arthur now?’
‘He’s making good progress,’ Violet said happily. ‘With a bit of luck he might be home this week. So how did you pass your time in Leeds?’ Violet asked, helping herself to a Woodbine.
‘Trying to calm Mum down,’ Gladys answered. ‘And I visited Les’s barracks, where I met the captain in Les’s regimental band,’ Gladys said as a tell-tale blush crept up her cheeks. ‘He said some nice things about our Les.’ Her blushed deepened as she added, ‘We practised together; he plays the guitar and violin really well!’
Violet smiled a knowing smile, which Gladys shrugged off. ‘I only saw him a couple of times, and I didn’t give him my address.’
‘I bet you ten bob he’ll track you down!’ Violet laughed. ‘Even if it’s only to play the violin with you!’
In Ian’s office, Kit was holding her breath.
‘We have the police working alongside us now, Mr McIvor; there’s no need for you to come rushing back. I promise I’ll keep you posted on all developments.’
‘But shouldn’t I be there, helping you?’ he asked anxiously.
‘I think your presence in Dublin might send O’Rourke underground,’ she replied. ‘We need him in “operational mode”, as the police would say.’ Mother Gabriel, who was clearly enjoying the drama of liaising with the Garda Síochána, replied, ‘They’ve got plain-clothes policemen on the job around the clock outside the address we were given in South Dublin.’
Ian paused. His instinct and Kit’s too was to rush back to Dublin for the final uncovering of O’Rourke, but Mother Gabriel, or, more to the point, the gardaí, were quite right. Plain-clothes policemen on a twenty-four-hour watch were far more effective than he could ever be.
‘You promise you’ll keep us posted, Mother Gabriel?’ Ian requested.
‘Every step of the way, my child.’
Putting down the phone, Ian turned to Kit, who’d had her ear to the phone receiver throughout his conversation with Mother Gabriel. Seeing the wild look in her eyes, he knew exactly what she was thinking. Taking her in his arms he whispered, ‘Catherine, darling girl, don’t go down the Irish blarney path. This has nothing to do with curses and retribution; this is good policing instigated by Mother Gabriel. There could be no better team,’ he laughed. ‘A Rottweiler and an Alsatian – nobody’s going to shake the pair of them off!’
Kit pressed her hot face against his chest – could she dare to hope?
‘What will we do now?’ she asked in confusion.
‘Carry on as normal, as much as we can,’ Ian said as he bent to kiss her wonderful long dark hair. ‘I’m on the end of a phone.’
‘But I’m not!’ she protested.
‘Edna is – you’ll know any news just as soon as I do.’
‘So it’s back to work, even though my world’s turned upside down, again?’ she cried.
Ian nodded firmly. ‘We wait to hear from Mother Gabriel – and we pray, my darling.’
The filling shed was still in the process of being rebuilt, so the girls were sent to work alongside Myrtle in the dispatch yard. Packing bombs of all sizes into wooden crates was a change from filling fuse cases, but they missed Ivy’s cheeky cackling laughter and the calm presence of Arthur wandering in to load the filled trays on to his trolley. Violet glowed with happiness when she told her friends during a tea break in the canteen that Arthur was due to be discharged from the infirmary the following day.
‘I’ll bring him home in an ambulance and nurse him myself, except when I’m working; then I’ve arranged for Nora or Maggie to keep an eye on him. Myrtle’s volunteered to help too.’
Malc burst out laughing when he heard about Myrtle’s involvement. ‘Bloody ’ell! He’ll be terrified of putting a foot wrong with her in charge. She’ll be giving him cold baths and cod-liver oil if he doesn’t watch himself!’
‘She’s a good soul, is Myrtle,’ Violet protested.
‘Heart of gold,’ Malc agreed. ‘But I wouldn’t want her to give me a bed bath!’ he chuckled.
Bringing Arthur home was a joy. After the driver pushed Arthur in his wheelchair into the back of the ambulance, Violet and Arthur sat side by side and gazed out of the window. As the vehicle gathered speed and headed north along the winding lanes to Pendleton, Arthur gripped Violet’s hand tightly. ‘Look, Vi,’ he said as he pointed towards the sun drifting out from behind a bank of dark clouds and illuminating the bright green hillsides, where herds of black-and-white cattle grazed.
‘The world’s a beautiful place,’ he murmured contentedly.
Violet smiled at his happy excited face; he was as entranced as a boy with everything around him, pointing out the rich colours of the autumn leaves and the light falling on a vast sweep of the distant Pennines ridge.
When they got to the cowshed, the driver wheeled Arthur into Violet’s room, where a bed was freshly made up for him. On the bedside table, Violet had arranged flowers from his garden in a vase and some back copies of the local paper, so he could catch up on the news.
‘This is just fine,’ he said as he stepped out of the wheelchair and settled on the comfortable bed, where the pillows were piled high. ‘Ahhh,’ he sighed contentedly as he lay back and closed his eyes.
‘Don’t go overdoing it,’ the driver warned. ‘One day at a time; otherwise you’ll be back in the Royal Infirmary with high blood pressure.’
Arthur winked. ‘I’ve got my nurse to look after me,’ he joked.
‘Lucky you!’ the ambulance man chuckled. ‘They don’t come more stunning than your fiancée.’
When he’d gone, Violet made them both a cup of hot strong tea, then she snuggled up beside Arthur, who looked tired after his exertions.
‘Oh, it’s so good to be home,’ he sighed as he nuzzled her silver-blonde hair.
‘If I’m to marry you soon, Mr Leadbetter, I’m going to have to take very good care of you.’
‘Have you checked out the dates with the Phoenix chaplain?’
Violet nodded. ‘The first date he can marry us is 21 October. I can push you down the aisle in your wheelchair, if you can’t walk.’
‘It’s my face that hurts, not my feet!’ he laughed as he pulled her close to kiss her sweet smiling mouth. ‘I plan to walk up the aisle with my beautiful bride on my arm,’ he assured her.
When the happy couple told their friends of their wedding plans, Gladys immediately said the Bomb Girls’ Swing Band would provide the wedding music.
‘I can’t exchange vows with my husban
d and play the clarinet too!’ giggled Violet, who was as happy as a teenager.
‘We’ll let you off on this one occasion,’ Gladys teased.
There was no time to make wedding clothes, but that didn’t bother Violet; she’d worn a perfect Brussels-lace gown for her wedding to Ronnie, which she’d burnt at the first opportunity. For her wedding to Arthur, she’d wear her best dress and they’d have a small reception at the Black Horse pub in town. Though Violet imagined a simple affair with few guests, there were those at the Phoenix who had other plans.
‘The man’s a bloody hero!’ Malc told Mr Featherstone, who nodded in agreement with him.
‘If it weren’t for his selfless action, many more lives would have been lost,’ the factory boss declared. ‘We’ll have a whip-round and give the newlyweds a fine spread of a wedding breakfast.’
‘And a honeymoon in Blackpool?’ Malc suggested with a cheeky wink.
Mr Featherstone threw his hands up in the air as he laughed, ‘Yes! And that too!’
Just before the wedding, another letter arrived from Mother Gabriel.
The child was not at the address Murphy gave me. The woman told me a pack of lies, saying she’d never heard mention of Billy, but after I’d threatened her with the Garda and the wrath of God she gave me the address of where she’d been instructed by O’Rourke to move the child on to.
‘Christ Almighty!’ Ian swore as he ran his hands through his thick brown hair. ‘Does it ever bloody end?’
‘I will not give up, Mr McIvor,’ Mother Gabriel’s letter went on. ‘This is now a matter between me and my God,’ she finished.
Ian decided not to tell Kit this latest piece of news. It was yet another dangling carrot to worry and upset her. Poor Billy. Just thinking about how confused and frightened the child must be, dragged from place to place and living with strangers, brought tears to Ian’s eyes. No, he would not tell Kit: it could push her over the edge entirely.
One of the best things about the imminent wedding was that the Bomb Girls met to practise for the first time in weeks. They met up to rehearse in the Phoenix chapel, where the band discussed the music for Violet’s wedding.
‘Obviously, “Here Comes the Bride”,’ said Gladys. ‘And a hymn we can all sing.’
Without a second’s hesitation Myrtle said firmly, ‘ “Jerusalem”.’
‘We’ll need another rousing song for when they leave the chapel?’ Nora said.
Maggie burst out laughing. ‘ “When the Saints Go Marching In”!’ she cried. ‘That’ll lift the rafters!’
Maggie turned to Kit, who’d been silent throughout the entire discussion. ‘Any ideas, Kit?’ she asked.
Kit just shook her head. ‘That all sounds fine,’ she replied.
When Ian drove up to see her later that day, Kit confessed her reluctance to play in the band. ‘I’m not in the mood for laughing and singing,’ she confessed. ‘It just doesn’t feel right.’
‘I understand, my darling, but I do think that Violet would be upset if you didn’t play at her wedding; after all you are the best drummer in the county!’ he joked.
‘I just can’t put my heart into it,’ Kit replied glumly.
‘Do it for Arthur and Violet,’ Ian urged. ‘They’ve been to hell and back in the last few months.’
Kit kissed his anxious face. ‘You’re right,’ she replied. ‘I’ll do it for love.’
Before they parted, Ian pulled Kit close and kissed her warm lips. ‘I want to take you shopping for some wedding clothes, darling,’ he announced.
Kit looked reluctant. ‘I can’t keep spending your money,’ she protested.
‘Come on,’ he coaxed. ‘It’s turning cold: if you wear that skimpy crêpe dress I bought you in the summer, you’ll freeze to death.’
Kit’s eyes lit up. ‘Well, if you put it like that,’ she conceded. ‘How can I say no?’
Neither Violet nor Arthur had any idea of the machinations taking place right under their noses at the Phoenix. Maggie’s big sister, Emily Yates, from the cordite line, had joined forces with Edna and between them the two cooks put together a simple wartime wedding breakfast.
‘Parsnip soup for starters,’ Edna started. ‘My neighbour’s got a good crop of veg on his allotment this year – cabbages and sprouts too.’
‘I could make trays of meat-and-potato pies,’ Emily suggested. ‘I know we’ll never have enough mince for that many guests, but we can bulk out the mixture with onions and carrots and some fresh herbs – at least they’re free and growing wild on the moors,’ she laughed.
‘I’ll provide the spuds,’ Edna said. ‘There won’t be enough time to do chips but mebbe we could roast potatoes in lard and dripping.’
Emily quickly said, ‘And drain the stock for the gravy.’
‘Pudding’s going to be a challenge,’ Edna said thoughtfully.
‘Jelly and custard,’ Emily suggested. ‘It’s the best we can do.’
As Edna and Emily completed their menu, Malc – courtesy of the factory whip-round, which had been much enhanced by Mr Featherstone’s personal donation – booked a hotel on Blackpool’s breezy promenade for the newlyweds’ honeymoon and bought return train tickets for them too.
‘They’ll probably never get out of bed,’ he joked when he told Gladys of his arrangements. ‘Don’t let on to them,’ he whispered. ‘We don’t want to spoil the surprise. They’re in for the shock of their lives!’
It wasn’t easy taking Kit shopping; even though she’d expressed interest when he’d first suggested it, her mood swings were unpredictable these days. Frustrated at the little she could do to help in the search for Billy, Kit failed to show enthusiasm when he mentioned a shopping trip to the large Co-operative store in Piccadilly, but, as she walked between aisles of beautiful dresses, her mouth literally fell open in amazement.
‘Holy Mother!’ she gasped. ‘I’ve never seen such a place in my entire life.’
After assessing Kit’s small stature and colouring, the friendly assistant brought several dresses into the changing room, where Kit tried them on. Twirling in front of the full-length mirror, she couldn’t make her mind up between a soft dove-pink velvet dress with a nipped-in waist and fitted three-quarter-length sleeves and a stunning emerald-green silk dress with pearl buttons down the bodice and a stylish pleated skirt.
‘What do you think?’ she asked Ian.
Looking at his breathlessly excited girlfriend, Ian couldn’t decide either.
‘Have them both!’ he laughed.
In the car on the way home, Kit’s unhappiness returned and she slumped into silence.
‘It feels all wrong, Ian,’ she said quietly. ‘Me having treats, walking about free as a bird, whilst my son is in hiding somewhere!’ she cried in an agony of pain. ‘I don’t think I can take much more; it would be easier to die than live like this.’
Ian pulled off the main road so that he could park. As he took her into his arms, he murmured, ‘I know how much you’re suffering, my darling.’ As she sobbed wretchedly against his shoulder he added, ‘Would it make you feel any better if I was back over there, searching alongside Mother Gabriel? I could leave for Ireland tonight,’ he said impetuously.
‘It’s for me to be over there, not you,’ she replied. ‘But thanks for the offer,’ she added limply. ‘God! Doing nothing is a torture.’
Ian stared through the windscreen, which was speckled with rain. Kit was right: this prolonged waiting was a slow form of torture – if there was no good news at the end of it, he seriously wondered if their relationship would survive.
On Violet’s wedding day, the guests gathered in the Phoenix chapel, where Myrtle played a classical Mozart piece as they waited for the bride’s arrival. Smiling, a happy Arthur standing upright at the altar rail looked surprisingly well; and he had walked down the aisle, not been wheeled, as he’d promised. At a signal from the chaplain the Bomb Girls broke into ‘Here Comes the Bride’ and radiant Violet on Malc’s arm walked down the aisle
bearing a bouquet of late champagne roses from Arthur’s garden. She wore a simple cream woollen dress that skimmed over her slender body, and her hair was loose around her glowing face. When she reached Arthur’s side, he turned to her with a look of utter love that immediately had half the guests weeping into their handkerchiefs. After the simple but touching short ceremony, the bride and groom burst out laughing as the band played ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’, which, as Maggie had predicted, had the chapel rocking.
Expecting to walk down the hill to the pub in Pendleton for their wedding breakfast, the newlyweds were flabbergasted when they stepped out of the chapel to find dozens of munitions girls forming a guard of honour for them. At the sight of Arthur, whom no one had seen since the explosion, the workers quite spontaneously started to clap and cheer the man who had saved so many lives. With tears in his eyes, Arthur drew his wife’s arm through his and with pride they processed along the line of smiling women to the canteen, where Edna and Emily awaited them. Amazed, and very moved, Violet and Arthur gazed at the tables set with jam jars of autumn blooms and at the top table decorated with a Union Jack tablecloth and vases containing the last of the autumn dahlias.
‘How did this all happen?’ Violet gasped.
‘After what Arthur’s done for the Phoenix, we all thought you deserved something a bit special,’ said Mr Featherstone, who was standing by the top table with his beaming wife. ‘Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Leadbetter!’
After a loud cheer, the guests, who consisted of a good half of the workforce, settled down at their tables, where they were served Edna and Emily’s tasty wedding breakfast, along with bottles of pale ale supplied by Mr Featherstone, courtesy of Malc’s local black-market contacts. At the end of the meal, Arthur got to his feet and addressed his smiling guests.
‘I think you all know by now that Violet was a hard woman to court,’ he started.
‘You got there in the end!’ Malc called out.
‘We’ve certainly had our struggles,’ Arthur said with an understated smile. ‘But God brought us through, though there were times in that infirmary in Manchester when I thought I wouldn’t make it.’ Arthur took a deep breath to steady himself. ‘Violet was always there beside me; quiet, strong and determined, she pulled me through.’ Reaching for her hand, he said in a voice choked with emotion, ‘I will love you always.’
