The Waiting Hours

by Ellie Dean

  The train pulled in with a great exhalation of smoke and steam, and the grubby-faced engine driver leaned out to greet them. ‘Sorry we’re late,’ he shouted above the noise of slamming doors. ‘Jerry bombed a bit of track and we had to wait for it to be repaired.’

  As Stan stood chatting to the man, Ron stood back from the mad rush of troops all clamouring to get a cup of tea and a sandwich from the WVS wagon before they continued their journey, and looked anxiously for sight of his son.

  It was Harvey who spotted him first and with a yelp of delight went barging through the crush on the platform to throw himself at him.

  Frank dropped his kitbag and made a huge fuss of him, then, upon seeing his father, he opened his arms wide and enfolded him in an embrace. ‘Thanks for coming, Da,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I nearly didn’t make it,’ Ron replied, emerging rather breathlessly from the all-encompassing bear hug. ‘There are jobs to be done and Peggy’s on the warpath.’

  Frank grinned and hoisted the kitbag over his shoulder. ‘Let’s take our time walking back,’ he said. ‘It’s been too long since we had a chance to really talk, and once Pauline sees me that will be gone.’

  Cordelia Finch settled down with her tangled knitting in her favourite chair to listen to It’s That Man Again on the wireless. Pauline had just come back from finishing her stint at the Town Hall and was eating the supper Peggy had kept warm for her in the range oven, and now Fran had left for the hospital, the other three girls were sitting round the table enjoying the comedy show.

  Peggy walked into the kitchen having finally got Daisy to sleep after a long, trying day, and she plumped down in the other fireside chair, glad to be off her feet for a while. The kitchen was warm and cosy with the blackout curtains tightly pulled against the night and the fire glowing, and it was lovely to have Rita, Sarah and Ivy for company when all too often they were either working or out at one of the dances that seemed to be held most nights.

  She looked at them fondly. Rita was a local girl who’d come to live with her when her home had been flattened in a firebomb early on in the war. Small, dark-haired and with an elfin face, she was however a tomboy who favoured wearing trousers, boots and her World War I flying jacket and helmet, and racing about on her motorbike. Her hours at the fire station were erratic, for if there was a raid, then she was expected to attend to clear up the aftermath.

  Ivy had been billeted with Doris when she’d first come down from London to work in the armaments factory, but she’d had a miserable time there, so Peggy had willingly taken her in. She and Rita were a couple of imps who seemed to find it impossible to keep their room tidy – and like Ron, always seemed to have an excuse for not doing anything about it. The two girls had become close friends, and now Ivy was stepping out with Andy who also worked at the fire station, that friendship had blossomed even more.

  Sarah was a completely different kettle of fish. Brought up amongst the expats in Singapore with her sister Jane, she was well educated and very sophisticated for a girl her age. Sarah and Jane had escaped Singapore as the Japanese had poured in, and although their mother and baby brother were now safe in Australia, there had been no word of their father or Sarah’s fiancé who’d been left behind.

  Peggy kept half an ear on the wireless programme, but her thoughts were elsewhere. There had been ugly rumours coming out of that part of the world, and she knew that since Jane had left for some secret posting for the MOD, the worry over it all had deepened for poor Sarah, who worked in the office of the Women’s Timber Corps up on Lord Cliffe’s estate.

  Peggy admired Sarah’s steadfast loyalty to Philip, the fiancé she’d left behind, but it saddened her that the girl was being forced into a kind of limbo, unable to move on with her life. There had been an American army captain who’d caught her eye, but Delaney Hammond had turned out to be married, and Sarah had crept back into her shell after that, pinning her hopes and her future on a man who might, tragically, already be dead.

  Peggy stared into the fire, thinking how cruel it was of the Japanese not to give out any information on their prisoners. At least the Germans honoured the Geneva Convention and passed on news of men they’d killed or captured – even giving the fallen a decent burial when possible. But whatever was going on in the Far East remained a mystery, and both girls had to be going through agonies from not knowing anything.

  Peggy’s thoughts turned to Fran, who’d left earlier to work in the theatre at the hospital. She was a lovely Irish girl, with autumnal hair, green eyes and a sweet nature – unless roused to a fiery temper, which fortunately always blew itself out quickly. She could play the violin like an angel and had managed to capture the heart of the lovely Robert, who worked for the MOD and often serenaded her quite beautifully on the saxophone.

  Her gaze fell on Cordelia, who was on the point of nodding off in her chair. Cordelia Finch was a bird-like little woman who’d just celebrated her seventy-ninth birthday. She was in the habit of not turning up her hearing aid, which sometimes made conversations highly convoluted, and she and Ron were always exchanging insults and arguing about everything – but as they seemed to enjoy these exchanges, and there was no real rancour in them, everyone accepted them as part and parcel of the chaos that was Beach View.

  Cordelia had become an intrinsic part of Peggy’s family since she’d moved in as a lodger several years before the war. The absence of Anne, Cissy and the boys had saddened her as much as it had Peggy, for she’d become used to being surrounded by the noise and bustle of youngsters. But the arrival of little Daisy and the evacuees had brought colour and life back into the empty rooms, and Cordelia had blossomed again. She’d taken on the role of grandmother, advisor and willing accomplice in their mischief and fun, and Peggy was warmed by the love and care she brought into their home.

  Not wanting to interrupt the comedy show, Peggy waited patiently until the theme music was being played and then got to her feet. ‘As Ron has done his usual disappearing act and that front room still has to be cleared, I thought I might tackle it tonight. Anyone feel like giving me a hand?’

  Pauline and the three girls cheerfully agreed, and without disturbing Cordelia, who’d fallen asleep over her knitting, they donned aprons and headscarves before trooping out into the hall to take a look at what needed doing.

  The large room had been used to serve breakfast to the paying guests when Peggy had been running Beach View as a boarding house – and every Christmas, birthday and special occasion had been celebrated in it until the restrictions of the war had made any kind of party too expensive and difficult to contemplate. Now it was more of a storeroom for unwanted furniture and bags and boxes of things that might be useful in the future, but had remained untouched since the previous Christmas.

  Peggy noted the scratches on the parquet flooring, the dust clinging to the cornices and central plaster rose from which a single lightbulb dangled forlornly. The grand marble fireplace had been boarded up after the chimney had been damaged during a raid, and although it had been cobbled back together, it still leaked and was inclined to shed bits of soot and brick dust when the wind got up.

  Peggy took a deep breath, tied the strings of her wrap-round apron more firmly about her waist and started issuing instructions. ‘We need to get the boxes and bags out so we can see the wood for the trees,’ she said. ‘Go through them to see if there’s anything remotely useful in them and if not, stuff them into the cupboard under the stairs. Those that won’t fit can go up on the top landing for Ron to put in the attic.’

  She regarded the furniture. ‘We’ll need the two tables and at least twelve chairs, so let’s push them up against the wall out of the way while we clear the rest. The rug will need to be unrolled and given a good shake, and the curtains will have to come down to be washed. I can’t believe how filthy they are.’ She grimaced at the greasy feel of them, but as it was night, they would have to stay up for now as blackouts.

  Everyone set to, and before long the room was
looking much clearer. Sarah had unearthed a box filled with old Christmas decorations which they set aside for when the room had been cleaned properly, and Peggy found some of Ron’s tattered shirts which were beyond mending but would make excellent dusters or cleaning cloths.

  Ivy and Rita fetched brooms, dustpans, scrubbing brushes, mops, bucket and dusters, and Pauline brought in the gramophone, closely followed by Sarah, who was laden with an armful of records. With the lively music making it feel festive, they set to with a will, singing along to the popular songs as they scrubbed and mopped in unison from one end of the room to the other.

  They reached the doorway and rested back on their haunches to admire their handiwork, unaware that Ron and Frank were standing in the hall watching them in amusement.

  ‘I don’t know about you lot,’ said Pauline, getting off her aching knees to stretch her legs, ‘but I need a cuppa and a fag after that.’

  ‘I’ve got something better than a cuppa,’ said Frank.

  Pauline swung round, and, with a shriek of delight, threw herself into his arms.

  Peggy nodded to Ron and the others and they quietly left them to it. Homecomings were rare and very personal, and although it was wonderful to see Frank again, it was a painful reminder to Peggy that Jim and the rest of her family wouldn’t be returning to Beach View until peace was declared – and with the way things were going, it could be years before she saw them again.

  12

  Slapton

  It had proved to be an uncomfortable night for Dolly. Acutely aware of Carol sleeping next to her, she tried not to fidget or sprawl across the bed as was her custom. She was bone-weary after the long, difficult drive, but her tortured thoughts refused to let her sleep, so she lay in the profound darkness of the tiny bedroom listening to what she suspected were mice scuttling about in the thatch.

  Dolly was furious with herself for reacting so carelessly to the mention of Felix’s name. She’d had a lifetime of experience in keeping herself poised for any such occurrence and should not have been caught unawares. After all, she’d known Felix was due down here at some point and she should have stayed on her guard, even though her delight at seeing Carol again had made her forget about the outside world beyond the cottage. It was lucky Carol had given her an excuse for dropping that blasted bowl, otherwise she could have had a lot of explaining to do.

  Dolly’s immediate instinct was to get out of Slapton as quickly as possible. She’d be on tenterhooks all the time waiting to bump into Felix, and that would make for an uncomfortable visit. This village was too small and sparsely populated to be able to avoid anyone, let alone Felix, who had clearly made himself a presence in the place.

  In reality, however, Dolly knew things weren’t that simple, for during their cosy evening sipping whisky on the sofa, she had seen through her daughter’s strong exterior to the real heart of the matter. Carol had been managing with her grief these past few months, but Dolly could tell that the notice to evacuate had knocked her for six. Being forced out of her little cottage and away from the churchyard where her precious little family now resided was breaking Carol’s heart and stifling her spirit – and for Dolly to leave so suddenly would cause Carol even more upset. Dolly knew she hadn’t been the most stable of mothers while Carol was growing up, but she couldn’t leave her now she was facing such an upheaval.

  Dolly took the sleeping Carol gently into her arms and held her close, filled with regret that she hadn’t been a better mother, and aching for her inability to ease her daughter’s pain. Perhaps she should persuade Carol to give up her work as a land girl and move herself and her belongings into the Bournemouth house? She instantly dismissed the idea, for there was no way she’d be able to explain her prolonged absences when she had to be in London or Bletchley.

  Dolly carefully eased away from Carol, turned onto her side and nestled her face into the pillow. Then it came to her. It wouldn’t take too much to persuade Hugh to provide the necessary travel warrants for Carol to stay with either Pauline or Peggy. Peggy nearly always had a spare room, and although Frank would be back in Tamarisk Bay by Christmas, their house was quite big enough to accommodate Carol, and it might do both sisters good to have each other’s company. This idea pleased her and she smiled into the darkness.

  Dolly realised she must have fallen asleep at some point, for when she next opened her eyes it was to discover that Carol was already up and the aroma of toast was floating up the stairs. Dolly’s stomach rumbled, for she was very hungry after eating so little the day before. She clambered out of bed and got dressed in smart slacks, blouse and sweater, and draped a silk scarf around her neck to combat the chill of the early morning.

  Carol’s dressing table and mirror had already gone up to the farm, so she fumbled about in her handbag and found her powder compact. Swishing the curtains open to reveal a hazy sun spreading across the ruins of what had once been miles of pristine farmland, she used the poor light to put on some powder and lipstick. No one – not even her daughters – was allowed to see her without make-up.

  Dolly pulled the bedclothes straight, plumped the pillows and smoothed the counterpane, admiring the fancy iron bedstead with its brass knobs, which had once belonged to David’s parents. She looked round the small room, noting that although it was almost bare, Carol had kept the framed photographs on display. She regarded the one of Carol and David, taken on their wedding day, and the snapshot of Pauline, Frank and Peggy Reilly which had clearly been taken outside Beach View – they’d been happier days, she mused, eyeing the photograph of herself standing so proudly between her daughters.

  And then her gaze fell on the sepia studio shot she’d given Carol all those years ago when she’d begun to ask questions about her father. It was a shock to see it again after so long, for she hadn’t realised Carol still had it. Clearly it meant something to her, and as Dolly regarded the handsome man smiling back at her, she felt a twinge of unease at the realisation that Frederick Adams was still very much a part of Carol’s life.

  ‘If only I could turn the clock back,’ she murmured. ‘But it’s too late. What’s done is done, and the sooner I get Carol away from here and down with her sister, the better it will be.’

  She took a breath and smiled widely as she stepped into the kitchen and gave Carol a hug and kiss. ‘Good morning, darling. I thought you’d be at work,’ she said, regarding the pretty cloth on the table and the mismatched china. The jar of Harrods marmalade stood next to the pat of butter on a chipped saucer, and the teapot was an ugly brown thing sitting next to a small can of milk.

  ‘I’ve got the day off, so I said I’d go round to Mrs Rayner’s and help her pack her things.’ Carol put toast and scrambled egg on a thick china plate. ‘I’m sorry breakfast’s a bit of a mishmash, but my good stuff is packed away and already at the farm.’

  She sat down at the small table and once Dolly had used the freezing bathroom, they tucked into the lovely fluffy eggs and buttered toast.

  ‘I shouldn’t be too long next door,’ Carol said. ‘Why don’t you come and meet Mrs Rayner and lend us a hand? She was lovely to me when I lost David and the baby, and although she’s a bit brusque, you’ll soon get used to it.’

  ‘I’m not much good at packing – or with little old ladies,’ said Dolly, ‘so I’ll hang about here for a bit and write a few letters. If it looks as if you’ll be some time, I might take myself off for a walk.’

  She finished the eggs and buttered a slice of toast to go with a smear of the marmalade. ‘I’ve had a thought,’ she said.

  Carol eyed her warily. ‘Oh dear, that’s always dangerous. What are you planning now?’

  Dolly smiled affectionately at her, well aware that Carol was familiar with the strange workings of her mind. ‘While I was waiting for you to come home yesterday I read the pamphlet you’ve all had delivered. And I must say it was filled with comprehensive advice on just about everything this move will involve, which rather proves there’s clearly been a great deal of thoug
ht put into this evacuation.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Carol agreed, ‘and I suspect those plans have been in the making for quite a while.’

  ‘I noted that travel warrants and haulage are restricted to certain distances,’ said Dolly, her focus on the toast, ‘but I happen to have a friend who could bypass all that and get you and your belongings down to Cliffehaven. I’d go with you, of course,’ she added hastily, ‘and spend Christmas with you and Pauline.’

  Carol fidgeted with a fold in the tablecloth. ‘I don’t want to go to Cliffehaven,’ she said evenly.

  ‘But why not?’ pressed Dolly. ‘I can’t bear to think of you living up there in that draughty barn and spending Christmas amongst strangers, when you could be with your family.’

  ‘They’re not strangers, Mum, they’re lovely, friendly girls – and although I won’t be in my own home, at least I’ll be close enough to keep an eye on it from the farm.’ Carol reached across the table and took Dolly’s hand, her tone conciliatory. ‘It’s a lovely idea, but I’m not ready to leave here. Maybe next Christmas I’ll feel differently.’

  Dolly could see she was not to be persuaded, and so didn’t press the issue. ‘You go next door and get on with whatever you have to do, and I’ll clear up here,’ she said once they’d finished breakfast. ‘Is there anything else you’d like me to do until you get back? Only I’ll feel rather useless otherwise.’

  Carol laughed and shook her head. ‘There’s only a bit of washing, but I can see to that later.’ She glanced out of the window to the small strip of muddy grass at the back of the house. ‘The weather doesn’t look too bad, so it should be a good drying day.’ She blew her mother a kiss and went into the hall for her coat and wellingtons before leaving the house.

  Dolly always packed rubber gloves when she visited her daughters, for there was invariably washing-up or housework to do and she didn’t want to spoil her fresh manicure. She would clear the breakfast dishes and make a start on the laundry, for anything was better than hanging about doing nothing, and it was far too cold and soggy to go walking.