Peggy chuckled. ‘Yes, to Bob.’
For a moment Terry was stunned, but Peggy went on to explain. ‘She’d always been in love with him, but never said anything because she thought him and me – well, you know.’
‘Did you ever have feelings for him? I have to know.’
Peggy shook her head vehemently. ‘Only those of a dear friend, but I think he took it to mean more.’
‘He was in love with you.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
‘He – he said so, but I’m doubtful it was real love.’ She smiled. ‘He soon transferred his affections to Rose – thank goodness!’
Terry held her close. ‘So you’re really mine.’
‘Oh, yes, yes,’ Peggy breathed, lifting her face to be kissed once more.
The wedding was a quiet affair: only Peggy’s family, Terry’s family and Charlie Parkin, who had agreed to stand in for Billy as Terry’s best man. ‘It’s what he would have wanted me to do,’ the grieving father said bravely.
‘You want to go to the hotel me and Bob stayed in for our honeymoon.’ Rose pulled a face. ‘If you can call three days a honeymoon. But it’s a lovely place. It’s in Buxton. I’ll give you the address.’
So whilst her family took care of Freddie, Peggy and her new husband set off for a few days’ holiday in the Peak District. When they’d left, Edith and Harry went to Mary, who was holding Freddie up to wave goodbye.
‘Mrs Sylvester,’ Harry began, ‘it wasn’t a very good start, but I hope we can put it all behind us and be friends. We’d like to see Freddie now and again, if – if that’s all right with you.’
‘Of course it is. Here, would you like to hold him?’
‘Will he cry, do you think?’ Edith asked, but held out her arms eagerly to hold her grandson for the first time.
‘Shouldn’t do,’ Grace put in. ‘He’s used to being passed from pillar to post.’
And indeed the little chap beamed at his new-found grandmother and tried to pull her hat off. They all laughed, Edith most of all. She didn’t care what her hat had cost or how many clothing coupons she’d used to get it. If her grandson wanted it as a toy, then he could have it.
The days went all too quickly and the moment came when Peggy was standing on the draughty railway station platform waving goodbye to Terry and holding Freddie up high so that Terry could see him until the last possible moment.
As the train disappeared into the distance, Peggy held their son close and whispered, ‘Come home safely, my darling. Come back to us.’
Epilogue
The war went on for another two years, but the Sylvester family were lucky. Both their young men came back both physically and mentally sound. Many didn’t. Many never came home at all, their graves were in foreign countries or their names on a memorial somewhere. Many more came home physically wounded, some irreparably so. Others returned with unseen scars that would take a long time – if ever – to heal. Laurence’s sons and Letty’s other two sons also came home safe and well, though her mourning for Walter, her firstborn, would never end.
Terry and Bob were demobbed and returned to their loving wives, grateful to be alive and determined to build a future for their families. Bob got his old job back as a tram driver and Terry learned to read and write under Peggy’s sympathetic tuition. He was taken on by one of the city’s cutlery manufacturers and, as Charlie Parkin had told Rose and Myrtle, with anything manual he was a quick and able learner. Myrtle continued with her nursing career, and in time she fulfilled her head teacher’s prophecy and rose to become matron in one of the big city hospitals. She never married, but her interest in children never waned and she was the instigator of many improvements in paediatric care. She embraced the coming of the National Health Service with fervour, seeing it as fairness for all walks of life. The name of Matron Sylvester became a byword for strict but fair discipline and her hospital was held up as a shining example of how a hospital should be run.
Sadly Grace did not live to see her youngest granddaughter’s success, but she was able to hold Peggy’s daughter and Rose’s firstborn, a son. As the years went on, Rose and Bob added two more children – both girls – to their family and Peggy and Terry had two more sons.
After the war ended Grace seemed to fade quickly. With only Mary still at home, it seemed as if there was nothing to keep her going. Whereas for years she had grumbled about her house being invaded, now it was too quiet. Mary and Laurence Bower married quietly and he came to live with them, to help Mary look after Grace until she died in the winter of 1951 from pneumonia.
Laurence retired and he and Mary enjoyed their final years together, helping out with Mary’s grandchildren, but also taking time for themselves to enjoy trips and holidays that neither of them had ever had the chance to do before. They visited Laurence’s two sons, who had both settled in the south of England. They also married and presented Laurence with grandchildren of his own.
Peggy and Rose remained close, living not far from each other on the outskirts of the city. Bob and Terry, after an initial wariness, became good friends. They both supported Sheffield United Football Club and could be seen, together with Charlie Parkin, Harry Price and Percy Thomas, on the terraces at all the club’s home matches on a Saturday.
‘I can never take Billy’s place,’ Terry had confided to an understanding Peggy. ‘But I’ll look out for his dad. It’s what Billy would have wanted.’
It had been Harry and Percy who had settled the two families’ differences over Terry and Sylvia. After Rose and Myrtle’s visit and Terry’s hurried departure to see Peggy, Edith and Harry had looked at each other.
‘Well, lass, looks like there’s definitely nowt between our lad and Sylvia, then.’
‘No,’ Edith had agreed. ‘How ever am I to face Mabel? It was bad enough before, but now . . .’
Harry had puckered his brow. ‘Leave it with me, love. In fact, there’s no time like the present . . .’
He’d got up that very minute, called for his mate from next door and suggested a walk down to the pub. There he’d told Percy what had just occurred. ‘Missis is worried how your Mabel’s going to take it.’
Percy had taken a long drink of his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘They’ve been a couple of silly, romantic lasses, that pair,’ Percy had said, referring to Amy and Sylvia. ‘Time they grew up and learned what’s what. And you leave Mabel to me.’
What transpired between husband and wife no one ever knew, for the matter was never referred to again. Mabel came round to her neighbour’s house the next morning to borrow a spoonful of tea leaves and chatted amiably about the weather as if nothing had happened. Edith, taking her cue, said nothing either. The only reference ever made was when Mabel brought round a gift for Terry on the morning of his wedding. ‘Me an’ Percy hope they’ll be happy, Edith. It’s nowt much, but it’s the thought that counts they say.’
‘Oh Mabel, it is,’ Edith said, taking the present gratefully. ‘It is. Thank you.’
As for Amy and Sylvia, they had both been in such serious trouble with their parents for the lies they’d told that their friendship was awkward, blighted by their own silliness. Whilst they never actually fell out, they both began to make other friends and to go their own ways.
Times were still hard, rationing was still in place for several years after the war ended, but the resilient Sheffielders began to rebuild their city and their lives. It would all take time, and many hearts would still grieve for what they had lost in the dark days of the war, but now, for those that were left, there was hope for the future.
The Clippie Girls
Born in Gainsborough, Lincolnshire, Margaret Dickinson moved to the coast at the age of seven and so began her love for the sea and the Lincolnshire landscape. Her ambition to be a writer began early and she had her first novel published at the age of twenty-five. This was followed by twenty-eight further titles including Plough the Furrow, Sow the Seed and Reap the Harvest, which make up her
Lincolnshire Fleethaven trilogy. Many of her novels are set in the heart of her home county but in Tangled Threads and Twisted Strands the stories include not only Lincolnshire but also the framework knitting and lace industries of Nottingham. Her most recent novel, Jenny’s War, was a top twenty best seller.
www.margaret-dickinson.co.uk
ALSO BY MARGARET DICKINSON
Plough the Furrow
Sow the Seed
Reap the Harvest
The Miller’s Daughter
Chaff upon the Wind
The Fisher Lass
The Tulip Girl
The River Folk
Tangled Threads
Twisted Strands
Red Sky in the Morning
Without Sin
Pauper’s Gold
Wish Me Luck
Sing As We Go
Suffragette Girl
Sons and Daughters
Forgive and Forget
Jenny’s War
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
On a visit to Crich Tramway Village, the Home of the National Tramway Museum, I saw tram number 264, which had been damaged in the Sheffield Blitz of December 1940. Now beautifully restored, along with many others, this tram inspired my story. I am very grateful to the staff of the museum, who have been so helpful with the research for this novel. I also wish to express my thanks to the staff of the Sheffield Local Studies Library, who kindly helped with my researches in the newspapers of the day, most notably The Star. And as always, many thanks for the continuing support of the staff at Skegness Library.
Thank you to Pauline and Mervyn Griggs, Margaret Trigg and Marjorie Payne for all their memories of and information on Sheffield.
A great many sources have been used for research, including: Sheffield Transport by Chas. C Hall (Transport Publishing Company, 1977); Clippie by Zelma Katin (John Gifford, 1944); Sheffield Tramway Memories (South Yorkshire Transport Museum Trust Ltd, 2010); Sheffield’s Date with Hitler by Neil Anderson (ACM Retro Ltd, 2010); Then & Now: The Sheffield Blitz – Operation Crucible by Alistair Lofthouse (ALD Design & Print, 2001); Sheffield Blitz by Paul License (Sheffield Newspapers Ltd, 2000); It’s a Bit Lively Outside, compiled by Joyce Holliday (Yorkshire Art Circus, 1987).
And last, but never least, my love and thanks to my family and friends for their constant support and encouragement, especially to those who read the typescript in the early stages, David Dickinson and Fred Hill; to my agent, Darley Anderson and his staff; to Trisha Jackson, Natasha Harding, Liz Cowen and everyone at Pan Macmillan and to Tory Lyne-Pirkis and Clare Motte at Midas Public Relations.
First published 2013 by Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2013 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
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www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-447-23771-6 EPUB
Copyright © Margaret Dickinson 2013
The right of Margaret Dickinson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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