by Ellie Dean
They traipsed across the yard as Nipper went off to cock his leg, and entered the accommodation barn to discover there was the merest hint of flame coming from the last log in the burner. Quickly adding more wood and coaxing the flames into life, they lit the lanterns and stood round the stove in their overcoats and woolly hats warming their hands and faces.
Maisie drew the thick curtain over the window while Ida and Pru began to move the chairs closer to the fire. ‘It’ll soon warm up in ’ere,’ said Maisie. ‘At least we got enough places to sit with Carol’s couch and chair, and there’s blankets for our knees.’
‘Blimey, you remind me of me gran, sitting by the fire with a rug. By this time on Christmas Day we used to be out at the pub ’aving a right old knees-up – not sitting about like oldens.’ Ida grinned. ‘You’ll be offering us cups of cocoa in a minute.’
‘I wish,’ snorted Pru. ‘The last of the cocoa went the other day.’
Betty dug about in her large handbag. ‘I think this calls for something stronger than cocoa,’ she said, triumphantly drawing out a small bottle of whisky.
‘Where did you get that?’ asked Carol as the other girls whistled and clapped in delight.
‘Mrs Claxton gave it to me for Christmas, and as I’m not much of a drinker I thought you’d like it.’
‘Good for you,’ said Ida, hunting out clean glasses. ‘Get it open, gel.’
The whisky went down very easily, and Betty was about to replenish the glasses for a second time when they heard the roar and burble of what could only have been a motorbike engine. Pru, Ida and Maisie rushed to the door in the hope it might be one of the American boys they’d befriended come to join the party.
Carol joined them at the door, still in her hat and coat, while Nipper barked and danced about on his hind legs in excitement. It was hard to make out who it was in the gloom, for he was clad from head to foot in waterproofs – but he was tall and broad and definitely male as he swung his leg over the motorbike engine and stood looking about in confusion.
‘Over ’ere, mate,’ called Ida, opening the door a fraction more so the light from the lanterns spilled out over the cobbles.
‘I’m looking for Carol Porter,’ he said as he drew nearer.
Carol recognised that voice and gave a little cry of pleasure. ‘Brendon! Is that really you?’
‘It certainly is,’ he replied, pushing back the deep hood of his waterproofs and grinning down at her as the little dog ran in circles yapping about his ankles. ‘And this must be Nipper that Dolly told me about.’
Carol pulled him into the barn as the other girls shut the door and retreated towards the warm glow of the fire to watch and wonder who this handsome stranger was to Carol. ‘What a lovely surprise,’ she breathed. ‘But where the heck did you spring from?’
He was still smiling as he peeled off his dripping oilskins to reveal his RNR uniform. ‘I was in the neighbourhood. I hope you don’t mind me calling like this, but being Christmas, and with both of us far from home, I thought it would be nice to catch up.’
Carol hugged him fiercely. ‘It’s wonderful to see you after so long,’ she said in delight. ‘But what are you doing down here?’
‘I’m taking part in what’s going on down in the bay,’ he replied, slicking back his dark hair and adjusting his cap, ‘but that’s about all I can tell you, Carol, sorry.’
‘You must be frozen stiff after being on that motorbike. Come and get warm and meet the others, who are no doubt wondering who the heck you are. We’ve opened a bottle of whisky and were about to play charades, but you’ll make a far more interesting diversion. There are four girls here who will be only too delighted to have your company for the afternoon – and,’ she added, ‘they’re all single.’
He chuckled and placed his large hand on her shoulder as he glanced across the room to the wide-eyed girls watching him by the stove. ‘Lead on, Carol. I’m up for a game of charades, as long as you’ll all join me in a tot of rum to chase away the cold.’
She eyed the bottle he’d pulled from his oilskins pocket and giggled. ‘We’re already a bit tiddly from home-made parsnip wine and whisky, but I’m sure that’ll go down a treat.’
‘Too right it will,’ said Ida with a flirtatious smile. ‘I’m Ida, and this is Pru, Maisie and Betty. Pleased to meet yer, I’m sure,’ she simpered, batting her eyelashes.
Carol laughed. ‘Behave, Ida, and stop teasing him. Brendon’s my nephew, and not daft enough to fall for all your old flannel.’
‘Your nephew?’ Ida giggled. ‘You sure about that, Carol? He ain’t young enough.’
‘My sister’s fifteen years older than me,’ she replied, ‘and I can assure you, he is my nephew.’
Brendon took in the barn at a glance, noting the way they’d made it homely and cosy with colourful blankets and pictures on the wall, the chairs drawn close to the roaring fire, and the curtain blocking out the foul weather.
He shook hands with all four girls, feeling rather outnumbered and faintly ridiculous beneath their avid scrutiny, but when he took Betty’s hand and was captured by a pair of laughing, cornflower-blue eyes it took all his will to let her hand go.
‘Is Betty short for Elizabeth?’ he managed, taking in her flawless complexion and the golden gleam of her hair.
‘No, it isn’t. I’ve always just been plain Betty.’ She stuck out her leg and tapped the ugly calliper which was attached to a specially made boot. ‘Betty Big Boot was what the other children called me when I was little,’ she said without rancour. ‘Rather appropriate, don’t you think?’
‘Children can be very cruel,’ he replied, ‘and if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re not plain at all, but really rather lovely.’
As Betty went scarlet the other girls hooted with mirth. ‘Blimey, Betty, looks like you’ve got an admirer.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ she blustered. ‘I’ve already got a chap, and I’m sure Brendon was just being polite.’
‘Actually,’ he said, having cleared his throat, ‘I was being very honest. You’re a lovely-looking girl, and I’m not surprised you’ve got a chap. I hope he realises how lucky he is.’
Carol butted in before things got more awkward for poor Betty. ‘You’re as full of the blarney as the rest of the men in the family, Brendon Reilly, so shut up and get that bottle open. Then you can tell me what you’ve been up to since your last letter.’
He grinned bashfully, shot an apologetic look at Betty, and opened the rum. Once they’d made a toast to absent family and settled down by the fire, Brendon told them about his short leave home, and the letters he’d received from everyone, whilst surreptitiously watching Betty’s expressive face.
She must have contracted infantile polio, he mused, but my goodness there’s fire in her – I can see it in her eyes and her smile – and there’s a determination not to allow her crippled leg to define her.
‘So,’ he said, leaning back in the comfortable chair and feeling the warmth of the fire and the strong rum beginning to thaw him out from the long ride on that motorbike. ‘Who’s going first in this game of charades?’
‘Me,’ said Ida. ‘But only after we’ve ’ad another drop of that there rum, and you’ve told us what’s going on down there.’
He filled the glasses, and Ida raised hers in a toast. ‘Here’s to 1944 and the end of the war.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Brendon. He downed the tot and replenished everyone’s glass. ‘As to what I’m doing here, I can’t tell you. But I’m sure you’re all bright enough to guess.’
‘They’re firing a lot of guns and getting seasick in the boats as well as blowing things up,’ said Maisie, ‘so they must be getting ready for this rumoured landing in France.’
‘I wish they’d just get on with it,’ sighed Pru. ‘I’m fed up with all this hanging about.’
‘Oh, come on, Pru,’ protested Ida. ‘The place is swarming with thousands of Yanks – it’s not exactly a hardship.’
‘Have you bee
n able to get into Slapton?’ Carol asked Brendon.
He nodded and patted her hand reassuringly. ‘It looks just fine. I even found your cottage, and everything is just as Dolly told me in her letter. The army isn’t living in the villages but out in the camps, and when the shooting really gets going it’ll be well away from anywhere that might cause damage.’
‘That is a relief,’ she said on a sigh, lifting Nipper onto her lap.
The bottle of rum went the rounds again and they began to play charades, but as the level went down in the bottle, the game became quite raucous, and before they knew it, the time had come for Brendon to return to his billet and for the cows to be brought in – although quite how they’d manage the milking they had no idea.
They made Brendon promise to come again very soon, and clustered rather tipsily in the doorway of the barn to enthusiastically wave him goodbye. As the sound of the roaring motorbike faded, Carol put her arm round Betty’s shoulders and steered her back inside.
‘You’d better bunk in with me tonight,’ she said. ‘There’s no way I’m going to let you drive back now you’ve had so much to drink.’
Betty sank onto the double bed Carol had brought up from her cottage. She grinned up at her, her eyes barely focusing. ‘I’m not used to it,’ she said, hiccupping, ‘but I’ve decided I rather like rum. Brendon’s nice too, isn’t he?’ she added dreamily.
Carol smiled. ‘Yes, he is,’ she said softly, drawing the thick eiderdown over her sleepy friend. ‘And I rather think he likes the look of you, too.’
‘That’s nice,’ she muttered before falling asleep with a soft smile on her lips.
23
Cliffehaven
Doris had not put in an appearance; nor had she answered Peggy’s telephone calls. Although Peggy had initially worried about her being alone on such a day, she’d become cross at her lack of communication and decent manners and had decided to let her stew until after Christmas. There would be words between them, that was for certain, but this was neither the time nor the place to air her grievances and tell her sister exactly what she thought of her.
Thanks to Ron and Frank’s exploits, dinner had been a triumph and Peggy was now flushed with pleasure and a little too much sherry as she sat at the large table littered with the debris of the delicious feast, and the remains of the hand-made crackers, empty bottles and crumpled napkins. The shabby dining room looked lovely with paper chains strung across the ceiling, the tree all glittery with tinsel and baubles, the old and rather tattered fairy on the top leaning to one side as if she too had imbibed rather too well.
Peggy smiled at the sight of Harvey and Rosie’s Monty curled at her feet beneath the table, sated from being surreptitiously fed by all and sundry and too full to bother to move, even when Queenie insinuated herself between them.
She gave a deep sigh of contentment. It had been a wonderful day despite the absence of Jim, Anne and the children, for Anne had telephoned earlier from Somerset and she’d got to speak to her boys and grandchildren as well as Sally and her Aunt Vi. Sally’s husband, John Hicks, had managed to take a couple of hours off duty to call in before noon, delighted to have been able to speak to her and their little son Harry before he had to return to the fire station with a packet of smoked salmon sandwiches, a cracker and a pair of knitted socks.
The house was once again ringing with laughter and music as the girls danced with the young men, Ron canoodled with Rosie, and a rather tiddly Cordelia flirted and twittered with Bertie Double-Barrelled and asked for more sherry. Daisy had become over-excited by it all, and Peggy had put her to bed for a short nap, certain that all the noise wouldn’t disturb her, for she was used to squadrons of planes flying overhead from Cliffe Aerodrome night after night, and slept through it all.
Peggy lovingly caressed the beautiful silk scarf Jim had sent her all the way from India, along with a pair of gold bangles which jingled delicately every time she moved her hand. There had been silver bracelets for Cissy and Pauline, carved sandalwood boxes for each of the girls, a lovely brooch for Cordelia, a carved wooden doll for Daisy, and silk ties for Frank and Ron. Her own parcel now seemed dull and dreary after receiving such exotic presents, and Peggy could only hope that Jim would appreciate how very hard it was to find anything decent in war-torn Cliffehaven.
She set aside her worries and watched the fun as Cordelia demanded to be taught the jitterbug by Cissy’s young American flyer, who’d brought a tin of real coffee and packs of cigarettes and nylons to show his appreciation for the invitation. Anne’s Martin, and his two closest friends, Wing Commanders Freddy Pargeter and Roger Makepeace, had returned earlier this morning with Rita’s young Matthew Champion from a night raid over Germany, and had managed to snatch some sleep before arriving in time for dinner at two o’clock. The older pilots’ spirits were high after having talked to their wives, Charlotte and Kitty, who were based down near Southampton delivering planes with the ATS – and they too had raided the mess and brought wine, cigarettes and gin.
As Cordelia became rather giddy and out of breath she was steered to a comfortable chair by Bertie, where she promptly fell asleep, the home-made paper crown slipping rakishly over one eye. Peggy regarded her with deep affection, for Cordelia always loved a party, but had yet to learn that too much sherry meant she missed most of the fun.
‘It’s been a lovely day, Mum,’ said Cissy, plumping down beside her. ‘But we’ll have to leave soon. Randy has to get back to Biggin Hill and I’m on duty tonight.’
Peggy cupped her daughter’s sweet face with her hand, noting how drawn she looked despite the flawless make-up, neat WAAF uniform and carefully arranged fair hair which had been coiled back into lustrous victory rolls. ‘I’m just glad you could come at all,’ she said above the noise. ‘We don’t see nearly enough of you.’
Cissy bit her lip. ‘I know, and I would come home more often if I could, but with raids going on day and night, leave isn’t really on the cards.’
She watched Rita dancing with Matthew, the pair of them oblivious to everyone but each other. ‘We’ve lost so many of our boys,’ she said quietly, ‘but it’s been marvellous for us to have this break from it all.’ She put her arm around Peggy and held her close. ‘Thanks, Mum, for being you, and for everything you’ve done to make today special.’
Peggy blinked away her tears and held her daughter fiercely, warmed by her words, but afraid for all these youngsters who’d had to grow up too quickly to defend their country and snatch the smallest of moments to find release from the stress they were all under. If providing a joyful Christmas lessened the strain of this endless war, then at least she was doing something useful – and they all knew they’d be welcome at any time, should it be for a shoulder to cry on, motherly advice, or simply a cup of tea and a chance to relax away from their duties.
‘Bless you, Cissy,’ she said, kissing her cheek. ‘It’s no bother, and I’d do it all again tomorrow if it didn’t encourage your grandfather and Frank to go on another poaching trip.’ She looked across at Frank and Pauline, who were rather unsteadily slow-dancing to Bing Crosby, while Ron was attempting to do a foxtrot and treading on Rosie’s daintily shod feet.
Cissy chuckled. ‘Neither of them need much encouragement, Mum – you should know that by now.’
‘I’d better wake Daisy, or she won’t sleep tonight,’ said Peggy, getting to her feet. ‘You won’t leave just yet, will you?’ At Cissy’s promise to stay for another half-hour, she hurried into the hall just as there was a knock on the front door.
Wondering who it could be, since most people came straight into the house from the basement, she opened the door and saw her sister, resplendent in a fancy hat and mink coat, her arms laden with beautifully wrapped gifts.
‘I decided to call in on my way back from the luncheon,’ she said in her poshest voice as she stepped into the hall and dumped the packages on the nearby chair. ‘I won’t stay long, because I’m rather tired after such a splendid afternoon.’
Peggy folded her arms. ‘Doris, you’re always welcome here, but it would have been nice if you’d telephoned to tell me you were coming.’
‘I didn’t think I needed to,’ she said, unfastening the luxurious mink coat. ‘I’d already said I might pop in if it was convenient.’
Peggy didn’t want a row, but she could feel her impatience rising. ‘How very gracious of you,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m sure everyone will feel honoured by your grand presence.’
Doris eyed her coolly. ‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Margaret, and it’s hardly fitting for the occasion.’
‘Neither is lying,’ said Peggy, ‘but as I refuse to let you spoil what has been a wonderful day, we’ll discuss that some other time.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Doris airily, slipping off her coat to reveal a beautifully tailored dress and jacket of cream shantung silk, a triple string of pearls and a diamond brooch.
Peggy realised in horror that her sister was going to carry on the charade of having been to that snooty lunch, but it would soon lead to trouble if she went on about it to the others, who knew the truth. Ron had had a lot to drink, and as he disliked Doris intensely, would no doubt let her rattle on until she’d dug a huge hole for herself before letting her fall into it.
She grasped Doris’s arm as she was about to head for the noisy dining room. ‘Listen, Doris, we know you weren’t invited to that do, so I’d keep quiet about it if I were you.’
Doris went pale beneath the immaculate make-up, and Peggy could see she was silently debating whether to bluff it out, or come clean. ‘How?’ she managed finally.
‘It doesn’t matter how, just be aware that they do. Everyone will be delighted to see you,’ she said, crossing her fingers behind her back at the fib, ‘and although I know you must be feeling horribly hurt by the disgusting way you’ve been treated by that woman, we’re your family – and I can promise you that we’re all on your side.’
