Daisy's War

by Roberta Grieve

  Lily pulled the door wider and beckoned Daisy inside. ‘Mum and Dad are out, kids are in bed.’

  ‘Good – chance for us to have a chat.’ Daisy sat down at the kitchen table which was still piled with the remains of a meal.

  ‘I said I’m all right. It’s just...’

  Lily looked as if she was about to cry and Daisy took her hand. ‘Tell me, please. Is it Roland?’

  Her friend’s shoulders shook and a sob escaped her. ‘I don’t know if he’s all right. I haven’t seen him or heard from him and there’s been raids...’ She sniffed and looked up at Daisy. ‘I couldn’t bear it if...’

  Daisy didn’t know what to say to comfort her friend. In the end she resorted to platitudes. ‘I’m sure you’d have heard.’ How could she tell Lily that he probably hadn’t given her a thought? Hadn’t she seen him at the pictures with another girl, seen him dancing and flirting with June and other girls in the Wheatsheaf Hall?

  She stood up and began to clear the table. ‘I’ll help you with this,’ she said, ‘then I’ll have to go home. Mum will be worrying – you know what she’s like.’

  Lily dried her eyes and helped with the washing up. ‘Thanks for coming, Daisy. I’d better pull myself together – can’t let Mum and Dad see me like this. They wouldn’t understand.’

  As she walked home, Daisy went over their conversation. She was sure it wasn’t just worry about Roland’s safety that had Lily in such a state. Daisy hoped it wasn’t something more serious on her friend’s mind.

  She sighed. One more thing to add to the pile of troubles weighing her down.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lily didn’t come to work the next day. One of her little sisters came into the canteen with a note saying she still wasn’t well.

  ‘How was she when you went round?’ June asked.

  ‘She looked dreadful. But she said she’d be here today.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘Probably a touch of summer flu, I expect.’ Daisy wasn’t going to voice her suspicions in case Mrs Green overheard.

  When she finished work that evening, she didn’t feel like going straight home. She turned off the High Street and walked up Beach Street towards the seafront. She knew she wouldn’t get very far before one of the guards stopped her and sent her back. But she longed for a glimpse of the sea.

  Usually at this time of year she and her friends would be up on the beach, swimming in the sea if the tide was in. She missed those carefree days. But she had to admit that wasn’t the only reason she wanted to walk that way this evening. Perhaps she would get a glimpse of Lofty – Chris, she amended. She must get used to calling him by his proper name, she thought with a smile. If he was on duty, he would be riding his motor cycle along the prom between the gun emplacements, making sure the telephones were working and that messages were getting through all right.

  She had just reached the top of Beach Street when the air raid siren went off. ‘Oh, no, not again,’ she muttered. Where was the nearest shelter? It was too far to run home. She wasn’t too nervous. After all no bombs had dropped on the town so far. They seemed to be concentrating on the airfield or going further up the Thames towards London. Still, she shouldn’t take a chance.

  As she hesitated, someone shouted at her above the wail of the siren. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  She turned to see Chris on his motorbike. ‘Come on, get up behind me.’ She climbed on the pillion and clung to him as he roared off, depositing her at the entrance to the public shelter in the Broadway a minute or two later. As she turned to thank him, he swung round and was gone in seconds leaving her open-mouthed. After his initial shout he hadn’t said a word. Why had he been so short with her?

  She sat in the shelter praying for the ‘all clear’ siren, wondering if she’d done something to upset him. She’d have it out with him next time she saw him. Then her common sense asserted itself. It had been impossible to hold a conversation over the noise of the motorbike, and he had obviously been in a hurry. A smile crept over her face as she savoured the memory of her arms around his waist for the short ride. It had been quite exciting. She had scarcely been aware of the sound of the bombers approaching.

  A few people she knew were huddled together in the shelter, some gazing up at the ceiling as if they could see enemy planes overhead. Who was going to get it this time?

  Daisy spotted her brother with one of his pals and went over to sit with them. ‘Does Mum know where you are?’ she asked.

  Jimmy shook his head. ‘She went out after tea down to the WVS place and Dad’s on duty.’

  ‘She’d be worried if she knew you’d been out in an air raid.’

  ‘Don’t care,’ Jimmy said. ‘She’s never at home these days.’

  ‘She still worries about you though. And she’s got to do her bit for the war effort – we all have.’

  ‘I know. Me and Fred want to as well but we’re just kids. What can we do? We used to go up to the guns and run errands and that, but we’re not allowed any more.’ He kicked his heels against the wall.

  ‘You could help Dad, couldn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t like working on the allotment and I’m too young to join the Home Guard.’

  ‘You could run errands for them though. Why don’t you ask him?’ Daisy hoped her brother could find something useful to do otherwise he’d be getting up to all sorts of mischief.

  Just then the ‘all clear’ went and there were sighs of relief as people stepped out into the early dusk. It was a beautiful evening, the sky to the west streaked with pink, and Daisy breathed deeply of the fresh air after the mustiness inside the shelter.

  She turned round to speak to Jimmy, but he and Fred had gone. She caught sight of them running round the corner and wondered what they were up to. She should have insisted on him coming home with her, not that he would have obeyed. She had little influence over him these days; he had changed since his experiences as an evacuee in Wales.

  She walked home slowly, stopping to speak to a neighbour, who said how lucky they’d been not to ‘cop a packet’ this time. ‘Poor old London,’ he said.

  Daisy nodded and the man went on. ‘They’re starting to call this part of Kent ‘bomb alley’ with all these raids. We’re bound to get hit some time.’ He shook his head gloomily and she muttered a reply and hurried away before he could say anything else. She felt depressed enough already.

  What with Dad always reading out bits from the paper and everyone so miserable these days, it was a job to stay optimistic. But Daisy was determined not to let things get her down. Of course, there was Bob and so many of their old school friends to worry about. But being miserable didn’t help. So, she decided, she would stop feeling guilty and go out and enjoy herself whenever she had the chance. After all, she was doing her bit as best she could, like everyone else.

  There was a letter from Sylvia on the mantelpiece when she got in and she sat at the kitchen table to read it. Her sister seemed quite cheerful, describing the dress she’d worn to a dance and the films she’d seen. But, as she turned the paper over, Daisy’s heart skipped a beat.

  ‘I don’t want you to worry – and please don’t tell Mum,’ she’d written. ‘We had a bad raid the other day – broad daylight it was when they came over. We lost quite a few planes and there’s craters everywhere. I was on duty but luckily our building was spared. We are all right so please don’t worry. Love Sylvia.’

  Daisy swallowed a lump in her throat. She had been so wrapped up in her own affairs she had hardly spared a thought for her sister. And everyone knew the airfields were getting a hammering. She re-read the letter and noticed Sylvia had written a ‘PS’, an afterthought. ‘Do you see anything of Lieutenant Hargreaves? Remember me to him.’

  A casual sounding inquiry but Daisy couldn’t help wondering if Sylvia was more smitten with Roland than she’d thought. Should she write back and tell her about Lily? She shook her head. Best not to say anything, she decided.

&nb
sp; ***

  Daisy was at work when the sirens went again two days later. ‘Not another raid,’ she muttered, as Mrs Green ushered them outside and into the shelter. Their few customers vacated the canteen quickly and rushed off to their posts.

  ‘This is the worst one yet,’ the supervisor said, although they hadn’t heard any bombs drop nearby. But the guns up on the seafront were going nineteen to the dozen and there seemed to be no let up.

  Sergeant Shiner nodded knowledgably. ‘It’s Eastchurch they’re after. All those planes lined up like sitting ducks.’

  ‘I thought they’d go for the docks,’ Mrs Green said.

  ‘They’ll be next.’

  Daisy tried to shut out their voices. Why did they have to be so pessimistic? She bent her head, muttering a silent prayer for Roland and Stefan. Most of the Poles had been posted away but she knew Stefan was still there as his job was maintaining the planes’ engines. Lily said she had seen him in the town the other day, but she hadn’t mentioned Roland.

  The raid went on for hours and she, Lily, and June clung together. It was a relief when the all clear went. Peeling potatoes and washing up was much better than sitting in the dark worrying. At least being busy took her mind off things.

  It wasn’t till she got home from work that she found out what had happened at the other end of the Island. She swallowed back her sobs as her father described the horrors he’d seen at the Eastchurch base. His face and clothes were streaked with smoke and he slumped in his chair by the range, looking exhausted.

  He’d not long been home from his Home Guard shift when he got the call. ‘We went up there to do what we could, but it was chaos,’ he said. ‘We lost a lot of planes and the ops room was hit.’

  ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea, Dad.’ Daisy went into the scullery and filled the kettle. ‘Anyone hurt?’ she called out, not wanting to mention possible deaths. It was too horrible to contemplate.

  ‘Not sure. We were helping fight the fires. There were some ambulances toing and froing.’

  Just then her mother came in, plonking her shopping bag on the kitchen table and sinking into a chair. ‘What a day. I thought the all clear would never go.’ She looked up as Daisy came back in with the tea tray. ‘Tea, oh good. I could do with a cuppa.’

  ‘Dad’s been up at Eastchurch,’ Daisy said, pouring the tea.

  ‘Oh, my goodness. Are you all right, Stan?’ Dora leapt from the chair and went over to him. ‘I didn’t think you were on duty today.’

  ‘It was all hands to the pump, love,’ Stan replied. He patted her hand reassuringly. ‘It was nearly all over by the time we got there. I don’t want you worrying.’

  ‘I can’t help worrying, can I?’ Dora said. ‘What with Sylvia up there in Norfolk and us being bombarded and frightened out of lives. And goodness knows what our Jimmy’s up to.’ She blew her nose fiercely and picked up her cup. ‘Oh, don’t take any notice of me. It’s just been a heck of a day, that’s all. And then I come home and...’ She almost started crying but sniffed and stood up. ‘No use carrying on. I’ll get the tea on.’

  Stan grinned at Daisy as Dora started banging pans around in the scullery. ‘She’ll be all right now she’s let off a bit of steam.’ He stood up. ‘I’d better have a wash, get out of these clothes.’ He squeezed her shoulder as he passed and said, ‘You all right, gel?’

  Daisy nodded and went to help her mother. She was pleased to see that Dora was back to her usual self after her little outburst.

  ‘What have you been up to today then?’ she asked as Daisy started chopping carrots.

  ‘Much the same as I’m doing now,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Of course, with the raid, we didn’t have any customers this afternoon.’

  ‘You did go to the shelter though?’

  ‘Of course. Mrs Green is a stickler for following the rules. To be honest though, Mum, I would rather carry on working than sit there doing nothing and imagining what’s going on outside.’

  ‘I know how you feel, love.’

  They worked in silence for a while and when the food was ready called up to Stan to come down. He looked much better, having put on a clean shirt and combed his hair. ‘No Jimmy then?’ he asked as Dora dished up the sausage and mash.

  ‘Here he is,’ Daisy said as the back gate clanged open and her brother burst through the door.

  ‘Wash your hands and sit up to the table,’ Dora said.

  ‘And where have you been?’ Stan asked.

  ‘Out with me mates,’ the boy replied.

  ‘Not getting up to mischief, I hope.’

  ‘No, Dad, honest. Just mucking about.’

  After tea, Daisy went up to her room to write to Sylvia. She wished there was some way of getting news of Roland. Despite him being a two – or three – timing rat, she felt her sister deserved to know if he was all right. She must be worried, knowing that all the airfields in the southeast were being bombed continuously.

  It was a difficult letter to write, trying to sound cheerful and minimise the strain they were all under. She told her sister that Dad was revelling in his Home Guard work and Mum was always out at the WVS and how she had to help more at home. ‘As for Jimmy, he’s always up to mischief as usual. I think he’s the only one enjoying this war,’ she wrote, ending on a light-hearted note.

  She pulled another sheet of note paper towards her thinking she might as well write to Bob as well. But what could she say? And where could she send it? She had an official address where all mail for those serving overseas went but would he ever get it, since no one knew where he was and whether he had been taken prisoner. Oh, what was the use, she thought, screwing up the piece of paper and resting her head on her hands. A tear rolled down her cheek.

  Sighing, she pulled his photo towards her. Gazing at it, she realised she had almost forgotten what he looked like. What had happened to him? It was the not knowing, imagining all sorts of things, that hurt most. A couple of weeks ago, Mrs Gardner had received a letter – ‘missing’ it said. That’s all. But everyone knew what that really meant, Daisy thought. She shook her head. No. She would not accept it. He was a prisoner, he must be. But then, he surely would have written, or if he couldn’t, his parents would have been notified.

  The thoughts went round and round in her head and a lump formed in her throat. But she did not cry. Instead, she picked up her hairbrush and vigorously swept it through her thick locks. A dash of lipstick followed.

  Sitting here feeling sorry for myself won’t do. I must get on with my life, she told herself as she got ready to go out, swallowing the rush of guilt. She almost decided to stay home that evening, but Chris was calling for her in ten minutes. How could she let him down? Besides, he knew she was promised to Bob. She had told him so often enough.

  He’d just laughed. ‘Nothing to stop us being friends,’ he’d said.

  It was more than that though, and she knew it deep down. Going to the pictures, eating fish and chips on the way home – all harmless enough on the surface. Would Bob understand when – if – he came home?

  A shout up the stairs put a stop to her introspection. ‘Your friend’s here.’

  She pasted a smile on her face and went down to greet him. He was waiting in the narrow passageway and as she appeared, he opened the front door and ushered her through.

  ‘Why didn’t you come in?’ she asked.

  ‘I didn’t want your dad quizzing me,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I don’t think he approves.’

  ‘It’s not you. He’d be the same with anyone.’

  ‘Not true. I bet Bob would be welcome.’ His voice was flat.

  ‘Oh, Chris. That’s different. He’s known Bob forever. We’re neighbours - our families are friends.’

  ‘Let’s drop it, eh? I know where I stand.’ He grabbed her hand and hurried her along. ‘Come on. We’ll miss the start of the film.’ He didn’t speak again until the lights went up at the end of the newsreel.

  ‘Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you
. Still friends?’

  She nodded. ‘Friends,’ she said and was rewarded with his lovely smile.

  The lights dimmed and the curtain opened on the big feature. Her mind strayed from the film and she kept glancing towards Chris. He appeared to be engrossed in the screen and she sighed. He seemed determined to keep a distance between them. That kiss a few weeks ago had obviously meant nothing. She should be pleased that he respected her feelings for Bob. But, she thought miserably, it’s all very well being friends, but I’m beginning to think it’s not enough.

  ***

  Chris, too, had found it hard to concentrate on the film. He had been attracted to Daisy right from the start, but his feelings had soon developed into something stronger. He wasn’t like most of the other lads, looking for a bit of fun to relieve the strain of being at war.

  Daisy was special and he wished with all his heart that he had never heard of Bob Gardner. Not that he wished him ill - of course not. The man was fighting for his country after all and of course he respected Daisy’s promise to stay true to him. If only things had been different. He sighed.

  The film came to an end and everyone stood for the National Anthem. As the lights went on, a burly man pushed past them and Daisy stumbled as he stood on her foot. Chris grasped her hand to stop her from falling and she smiled up at him – a smile to stop his heart. He kept hold of her hand until they were out in the street. She hadn’t pulled away at least.

  They walked along the High Street, stopping for a bag of chips at Curd’s in Rose Street. There was a long queue – right out the door and round the corner. Chris didn’t mind if it meant more time with Daisy. He was still holding her hand when someone else joined the queue.

  ‘Hey up, Lofty. What you up to, mate? Found yourself a nice bit of fluff then?’ The man nodded towards Daisy and laughed.

  Chris reddened and he bit his lip. Much as he’d like to punch the bloke in the mouth, he managed to hold on to his anger. He didn’t want to make a scene in front of Daisy. ‘For your information, Norman, this lady is Miss Bishop who works in the NAAFI. The next time you go in for your tea and fags I hope you’ll be more polite than you have been now.’