The Waiting Hours

by Ellie Dean

  He hoisted his kitbag over his shoulder and strode down the platform, his gaze trawling the faces of the people waiting at the barrier. The announcements coming over the loudspeakers were muffled and unintelligible in the babble of voices and the clank and hiss of the vast engines arriving and leaving, and as he showed his travel warrant to the ticket collector, he wondered if he’d ever find that one beloved face amongst the shifting, noisy melee.

  Frank was tall and broadly built, so he was at some advantage as he stood there looking over the heads of the people dashing back and forth or standing in groups surrounded by their luggage. The majority of the men were in uniform, the clean-cut Americans standing out in their olive green against the drab khaki and dark blue. Factory women in knotted headscarves, worn overcoats and dungarees stood in groups chattering and smoking as they eyed up the men from the forces, and amongst them all were harried mothers with small children, girls in uniform, and men in bowler hats carrying tightly furled umbrellas.

  ‘Hello, Da.’

  Frank turned in delight and was swiftly swamped in an enthusiastic hug. ‘I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever find one another,’ he said after they’d drawn apart. He was still grinning as he drank in the sight of his much-loved boy who looked so handsome in his Royal Naval Reserve uniform. ‘To be sure, Brendon, you’re looking fine, so you are.’

  The dark blue eyes shone with affection as he returned his father’s smile. ‘You’re not looking so bad for an auld fella yourself,’ he teased.

  ‘Less of the old,’ retorted Frank, giving him a soft punch on the arm. ‘You might be as tall and broad as me, but I bet I could still get the better of you in a wrestling match.’

  Brendon laughed and lightly patted his father’s protruding stomach. ‘You’d have to catch me first, and it looks as if you’ve put on a bit of winter condition, Da. The army obviously fed you too well.’

  Frank quickly drew in his belly and pushed out his chest, but found he couldn’t maintain the stance for very long, so let it sag over his belt again. ‘Aye, you could be right,’ he said woefully. ‘Too much bully beef and mash, and not enough exercise being stuck in an engineering workshop every day.’

  Brendon grabbed his father’s kitbag and slung it easily over his shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here and find somewhere quiet where we can talk.’

  ‘It would have been nice to spend more time with you, son,’ said Frank as they strolled across the vast, crowded concourse. ‘But we only have two hours before my train leaves for home.’

  ‘It’s longer than some people get,’ replied Brendon, ‘and I could only manage a four-hour pass. But I know a little café just round the corner which does a decent cup of tea and pie and chips.’ He winked at his father. ‘Just don’t ask what’s in the pie.’

  They walked out of the station into a darkness eerily lit by dancing flames. Thick smoke swirled everywhere and Frank could hear emergency bells and the shouts of the firemen as they battled to put out the fires. He had witnessed too many scenes like this to get emotional any more, so he regarded the damage to the nearby buildings and the rubble piled in the street with jaded acceptance.

  Brendon led the way down a narrow side street to a tiny café which had condensation running down the blacked-out windows. Pushing open the door, they were assailed by the smell of frying and fragrant steam coming from several pots boiling on a stove. The place was empty, so without conferring with Frank, Brendon ordered pies, chips and peas and a pot of tea, and then joined him at a table by the window.

  ‘How’s your mother?’ Frank asked anxiously. ‘She doesn’t say much in her letters, but from what Peggy’s written, she’s still not handling things too well.’

  Brendon offered his cigarettes and once they were lit, he gave a sigh. ‘Mum’s actually a lot better now Aunt Peg has got her volunteering for the WVS. She’s also staying at Beach View for the nights after her shifts at the Town Hall, and I think having company again has really helped.’ He flicked ash from his cigarette into the battered metal ashtray on the table between them. ‘But she’ll be glad to have you back, Da.’

  ‘Aye, I hope so,’ Frank murmured. ‘But I still have to be involved with the Home Guard and Civil Defence, so there will be nights when I can’t be at home with her.’

  Brendon chewed his lip, his gaze avoiding his father. ‘I still mourn for them, Da, just as you and Mum do, but it happened some time ago and we all have to get on with our lives. It doesn’t mean we’ll love or miss them less, but what sort of memorial would it be to them if we didn’t make the best of what we have?’

  ‘Aye, I agree, but Pauline’s a mother, and they feel things differently to us.’ He regarded his son with deep affection. ‘I know she worries over you, and if she could, she’d wrap you up in cotton wool and hide you for the duration of the war.’

  Brendon’s smile was sad. ‘I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it – and at least I’m not still out in the Atlantic or in the Pacific on a minesweeper – which actually I’d prefer to being a sitting duck on London’s docks.’

  They fell silent as the woman brought over the pot of tea and two plates heaped with pie, chips and mushy peas.

  ‘Is it very bad here?’ asked Frank after he’d tasted the pie and found that, although he couldn’t identify the meat, it was delicious.

  ‘Not half as bad as it was,’ Brendon replied. ‘Harris’s bombing campaign is biting and the Germans can’t build enough planes to replace the ones the RAF boys have taken down, so it’s been relatively quiet just lately.’

  ‘It’s the same up north.’ Frank retrieved a lump of gristle from the pie and discarded it on the side of his plate. ‘This damned war has gone on for too long and everyone’s sick of it – now it’s all quietened down, we’ve become impatient to get on and finish it.’

  ‘It will happen,’ said Brendon quietly, ‘and probably quite soon. You’ve heard the rumours, no doubt?’

  ‘The invasion into France?’ murmured Frank, aware of the woman behind the counter watching them. At his son’s nod, he finished his food and pushed the plate away. ‘It can’t come soon enough,’ he said, pouring the thick, dark tea into their cups, ‘and having noticed the build-up of Allied troops all heading south, I suspect it could even be early next year.’

  Brendon shrugged. ‘I can’t comment on that, Da. But it’s a fair estimate.’

  Frank eyed him sharply. ‘But you won’t be playing any part in it, will you?’

  ‘I’m under orders the same as everyone in the services, Da. I do as I’m told, and go where I’m needed.’ He pushed his own plate away and reached for the cup of tea. ‘But I think you can safely say that, as a reserve, I won’t get involved.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ breathed Frank. ‘I don’t know how your mother would react if you were caught up in the fighting again.’

  Brendon lit their cigarettes. ‘You know, Da,’ he said carefully, ‘it’s a terrible responsibility being the only survivor of three brothers, and I’m finding it harder than ever to go down and see Mum.’ His dark blue eyes regarded Frank steadily. ‘She smothers me, Da, makes me afraid to tell her anything in case she gets upset. And then I feel guilty, and return to base wishing I’d been honest with her and told her how I really felt about it all.’

  ‘I’ll have a wee word with her once I’ve settled in back home,’ said Frank. ‘You should have written and told me what you couldn’t say to your mother.’

  Brendon let out a deep sigh. ‘I didn’t want to upset you either,’ he confessed. ‘But Dolly understood, and she’s a very good listener. For someone who pretends to be empty-headed, she’s a very sensible woman.’ He grinned. ‘Did I tell you she took me to afternoon tea at the Ritz?’

  Frank’s eyes widened. ‘What on earth was Dolly doing up here?’

  Brendon shrugged. ‘She said she’d come up to meet some friends and do some shopping.’ He grinned. ‘The tea was quite the best I’ve ever had, with proper cream cake and little cu
cumber and smoked salmon sandwiches in really soft white bread. The memory of it still makes my mouth water.’

  ‘Aye, well the nobs that go to the Ritz only expect the best,’ said Frank sourly. ‘I’m surprised our Dolly can afford such things.’

  Brendon chuckled. ‘Dolly will always surprise us one way or the other,’ he said. ‘She’s a unique woman – and I love and admire her enormously.’

  Frank grinned. ‘Aye, she’s not like any other grandmother I’ve ever met, but I’m glad she’s not living on our doorstep – she’s got enough energy to wear anyone out.’

  They continued to talk as the tea went cold in the pot and customers arrived and left, and all too soon it was time to return to the station.

  Brendon reached into his thick overcoat pocket. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be down for Christmas, so would you give these to Mum, Peggy and Grandad on the day? They’re not up to much, I’m afraid; the shops don’t seem to be stocking anything decent this year.’

  ‘Aye,’ Frank muttered gruffly as he took the three neatly wrapped packages and transferred them into his own coat pockets. ‘I’ll do that.’

  They regarded one another in silence, knowing their short time together was over. Frank put his kitbag down and gathered his son into his arms, holding him close, wishing he could take him home with him. ‘Look after yourself, wee boy,’ he murmured. ‘And don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’

  Brendon’s arms tightened about him. ‘I love you, Da,’ he muttered. ‘And I’ll do my best to come home sometime over Christmas, I promise.’

  Frank could barely see through his tears as he swung the kitbag over his shoulder and walked quickly towards the platform where his train was waiting. He turned at the barrier, waved to the tall figure standing still amid the swirl of people and then hurried to climb on board as the guard raised his flag.

  The train was packed with troops and kitbags, so Frank remained in the corridor by the open window and leaned out. But Brendon could no longer be seen beyond the great swirls of steam and smoke from the engine, so he closed the window against the flying cinders and leaned against it, his emotions jumbled as the great wheels began to turn and the train slowly drew away from the station.

  It had been wonderful to see his son after so long, but like Pauline he wished he could just bundle him up and keep him safe. Not that he’d ever let anyone but his father Ron know that. He stared out of the window, wondering about his return to the cottage in Tamarisk Bay, and if Pauline really was coming to terms with their awful loss. He hoped she was, for Brendon was right: the time for mourning was over and they needed to get on with the lives they’d been granted.

  11

  Cliffehaven

  Supper was over, the dishes washed and put away by the four girls while Peggy took Daisy upstairs for her nightly bath. Fran was now getting ready to go on night shift at the hospital, Rita and Ivy were playing their gramophone records upstairs, and Sarah was on the telephone in the hall arranging to meet a friend the following night.

  Ron surreptitiously looked at the clock on the mantelpiece as Cordelia turned her back on him and became engrossed in trying to tune the wireless for the evening news. The coast was clear. It was time to make his escape. He grabbed his cap from the table, clicked his fingers at Harvey who was slumped in front of the fire, and began to back away towards the cellar steps.

  ‘And where do you think you’re going?’ asked Peggy, who had suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway carrying a grizzling Daisy on her hip. ‘I asked you to move the furniture in the front room so I can get it ready for Christmas, and as far as I can see, nothing’s changed.’

  ‘Well, now, Peggy,’ he began, avoiding her stern gaze. ‘’Tis a while yet before Christmas, and I have other things to be doing.’

  Peggy set Daisy on her feet and folded her arms. ‘What things?’

  ‘Ach, just things,’ he said vaguely, taking a few more steps back.

  ‘What are you up to, you old rascal?’ Cordelia chipped in, eyeing him over her reading glasses. ‘No good, I’ll be bound.’

  Ron put on his best hangdog expression and eyed them from beneath his sweeping brows. ‘’Tis a sad thing that an old soldier who suffers terrible from the shrapnel moving about in me back is treated with such little respect,’ he muttered.

  ‘You’re an old fraud,’ said Cordelia.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Peggy. ‘And we’ve all heard that excuse too many times to be swayed by it, so there’s no point in using it yet again to get out of doing things round the house.’

  ‘What’s he trying to get out of now?’ asked Rita, appearing with Sarah, Ivy and Fran in the kitchen doorway.

  Ron rammed the grubby cap on his head as little Daisy clung to his legs and looked up at him in tearful reproach. ‘This house has too many females in it,’ he grumbled. ‘A man can do nothing right, and it’s making me life a misery, so it is.’

  ‘I’ll make it even more miserable if you don’t go and shift that furniture,’ said Peggy, the glint in her eye emphasising the threat.

  Ron glanced at the clock with some urgency. ‘Aye, I can believe that, but the furniture will have to wait. I’ve somewhere important to be and I can’t be late.’ With that, he picked up Daisy, dumped her into Peggy’s arms and swiftly ran down the steps, Harvey at his heels.

  Grabbing his ratty old poacher’s coat along the way, he stomped off down the garden path and slammed the gate behind him. There were times when the responsibility for looking after all those females became too much, and he really didn’t see what the fuss was about. Christmas wasn’t for another couple of weeks yet, and it would only take a matter of an hour to clear the furniture and get it straight.

  He cut through the back streets and along the alleyway that ran behind Gloria Stevens’ pub and came out halfway up the High Street. He was late, so didn’t wait for Harvey who kept stopping to water lamp posts and follow smells, but kept going up the hill until he reached the station.

  ‘You look flustered,’ said Stan, the stationmaster. ‘Meeting someone off the train?’

  ‘Aye, and it should be in by now,’ said Ron, peering through the gloom along the empty track.

  Stan shook his head. ‘It’s been delayed with a hold-up on the outskirts of London.’ He placed a meaty arm round Ron’s shoulders. ‘Never mind, old chum, there’s time for a cup of tea from the lovely WVS ladies who’ve been standing about with only me to talk to.’

  Ron had a moment of panic as he realised the WVS tea wagon was parked at the end of the platform, but it soon ebbed, for thankfully Pauline wasn’t amongst them. He bought a cup of tea, his pennies rattling in the empty tin mug on the counter, and went to sit by his old friend Stan on the bench.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘how’re things at home now you’ve got April and baby Paula living with you?’

  Stan’s face lit up in a beaming smile. ‘She’s the most perfect baby,’ he said with a soppy look in his eyes, ‘and April’s a perfect little mother. Ethel and I are over the moon to have them both home at last – and in time for Christmas.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me about Christmas,’ Ron grumbled. ‘It brings nothing but hard work and women bossing me about from morning to night.’

  Stan grimaced. ‘I know what you mean. Ethel’s been putting up decorations and cleaning the place from top to bottom and April’s fussing about what we’ll eat, and how to dress the table.’ He gave a sigh. ‘I’m not allowed to eat anything tasty since my heart attack, because everything I like is supposed to be bad for me. Christmas won’t be much fun, I can tell you that, Ron.’

  ‘The diet’s doing you good, though,’ said Ron, taking in the slimmer waistline, the much looser railway uniform, and healthier colour in his face. ‘And you look a lot better for it, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  Stan patted his midriff which was half the size it had been before the heart attack floored him on his and Ethel’s wedding day six months before. ‘Aye, I feel better too. But I’ll miss not having lovely
plum pudding or a mince pie.’

  ‘I doubt you’ll get either with the rationing the way it is,’ said Ron gloomily, filling his pipe as Harvey tried hard to persuade the adoring ladies of the WVS that he was starving and that only one of their sandwiches would keep him alive.

  ‘But knowing how clever your Ethel is,’ Ron continued, ‘I expect she’ll manage to find the ingredients and let you have a wee taste or two as a treat.’

  ‘My Ethel’s proved to be a very strong-minded woman,’ said Stan darkly. ‘If she decides I can’t have something then nothing will shift her.’

  ‘Then you’ll just have to sneak something when she’s not looking,’ said Ron, puffing on his pipe to draw the flame through the tobacco. ‘It’s the only way I get enough sugar in me tea.’

  ‘Life’s difficult, isn’t it?’ sighed Stan.

  ‘When women are involved it is,’ agreed Ron. ‘But God love ’em, I don’t know what we’d do without ’em.’

  ‘Aye, and there’s the rub.’ Stan folded his arms and settled more comfortably on the hard bench. ‘So, Ron, who are you waiting for this evening?’

  ‘My boy, Frank. The army let him go finally, and I promised to meet him.’

  ‘I’m surprised Pauline’s not here.’

  Ron regarded the women at the end of the platform. ‘He wanted to talk to me on the quiet before he got caught up in all the female hysterics,’ he replied. ‘Pauline’s helping out at the Town Hall today and should be making her way to Beach View by now – so she’ll see him soon enough.’

  Their conversation was brought to an end by the sound of the steam engine huffing and puffing towards them. Stan carefully placed his stationmaster’s cap on his head, picked up his lantern to guide the train safely in and got to his feet. Harvey was immediately alert and stood at Ron’s side as the sound of the engine grew nearer, somehow sensing that someone important to him would soon be arriving.