Her Father's Daughter

by Beezy Marsh

  Annie shuffled about a bit, wondering how to explain her absence. She needn’t have bothered because Mrs O’Reilly wasn’t one to bear grudges. ‘Oh, it don’t matter now! Vera’ll be so pleased you’ve called around. I know how it can be when you’re setting up home. Bet your mum’s happy to be having a little grandkid on the way, ain’t she? Mind you, I can always loan her one of mine if she fancies . . .’

  Right on cue, a couple of little O’Reillys came tumbling head first down the stairs and landed with a bump, by Mrs O’Reilly’s worn slippers. ‘Get out of it!’ she chided. ‘Go on and play in the street.’

  ‘Is Vera in?’ said Annie, peering into the darkest recesses of the hallway, which was even grimier than she remembered.

  ‘No, love,’ said Mrs O’Reilly. ‘I just sent her up to the shops with me ration book. Why don’t you take a walk up there and see if you can find her? She’s been gone ages.’

  Annie lumbered her way up Acton Lane towards the grocer’s shop. Things were much quieter these days, with a shortage of petrol meaning fewer cars on the road. The delivery motorbikes, which her brother George used to love zooming around on, had all but disappeared. People still used buses and the trams if they were going further afield, of course, but most folk were just on Shanks’s pony – their own two legs. Hers were killing her from the effort of heaving the baby bump around in front of her like some great zeppelin.

  Women stood nattering to their neighbours on their front steps, just as they always had done, but their windows were now criss-crossed with tape to stop the glass shattering if a bomb dropped. That now seemed even more of a possibility than ever before. The notion of there being a Phoney War had ebbed away with the situation in Belgium and Holland, and the atmosphere around town was tense.

  She reached the grocer’s, which had some new posters up in the window, warning people not to be ‘squanderbugs’ when they went to the shops. A cartoon figure of an insect called the squanderbug had a little moustache on it, like Hitler’s, and was covered in Swastikas, the sight of which made Annie feel queasy. ‘Beat the squanderbug, keep your war savings!’ warned another poster. Well, Annie and her family didn’t really have much in the way of savings anyway, like most folk around these parts. They barely had two brass farthings to rub together by the end of the week, but she supposed the government knew what it was doing telling people to be careful what they spent their money on.

  There was a long queue of customers waiting to be served, with their cardboard boxes on string slung over their shoulders. Annie had nearly gone out without her gas mask the other day and was only reminded by a notice chalked on the pavement to go back and get it. All the women were chatting but Annie quickly spotted one among them who was being studiously ignored by the rest. Her hair was pinned up at the sides and pulled into a fashionable roll at the front. She had too much red lipstick on, her skirt was tight and her blouse had a few too many buttons undone. On her feet she wore the most ridiculously high-heeled peep-toe shoes. It was Vera.

  ‘Annie!’ she cried, loud enough to wake the dead, as she caught sight of her friend. ‘As I live and breathe! How are you, girl?’

  A couple of women in the queue exchanged glances and tutted.

  Annie made her way over to Vera’s side and they hugged. ‘Oh my Gawd! You look like the back end of a bus!’ said Vera, giggling. ‘When’s it due?’

  ‘I’ve still got a couple of months to go,’ said Annie, as the rest of the queue looked on reprovingly.

  Just then, a paperboy came running past, waving a newspaper in the air. ‘Read all about it! The miracle of Dunkirk! Our boys rescued from the jaws of defeat by the navy and our little ships!’

  There was a stampede out of the shop as mothers, sisters and wives fought to get the latest news on what had happened in France; even the grocer stopped serving and went out the back to switch on the wireless. The colour drained from Annie’s face and she felt the room starting to spin.

  ‘Steady on, girl,’ said Vera, grasping Annie by the arm. ‘I think we need to find you somewhere to sit down.’

  ‘It’s George,’ said Annie, her voice little more than a croak. ‘He’s over there . . . what if he’s . . .’

  ‘Now, now, don’t you be talking nonsense,’ said Vera, marching her friend out of the shop. ‘It sounds like it’s good news, not bad, so keep your pecker up!’

  Annie allowed herself to be walked, gently, arm in arm with her friend, up Acton Lane and onto the High Street. Even with the war on, it was still as busy as ever. People always had a reason to go up to the shops, even if it was merely to get a bit of gossip. Just being in the fresh air had stopped Annie feeling dizzy. Vera had to pause every few yards to adjust the strap on the back of her shoes which kept slipping off, because they were a size too big.

  ‘I know they don’t fit me right, but I just loved them so much, I had to have ’em!’ she said. ‘Make me feel like a film star. In fact, I’ve got an idea. How do you fancy coming to the pictures with me?’ she said, turning to Annie.

  Vera was pretty, her blonde pin curls framing a doll’s face, with an upturned nose and a rosebud mouth, but when she spoke, Annie couldn’t help noticing some of her friend’s teeth were black and there was a whiff of booze on her breath.

  Annie didn’t want to offend her, but she really wasn’t in the mood to sit through a film. ‘I think I’d rather get home,’ she said, smiling apologetically.

  Vera looked crestfallen. ‘I’m not talking about just having a good time to take your mind off it all,’ she said. ‘It’s the newsreel they have on first, before the film. We might get to see if George is on one of them boats. Just think how happy that would make you, and your mum – she must be worried sick. Be good to check, won’t it?’ She puffed her chest out with pride at her great idea.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Annie. ‘Perhaps we could make it another day?’

  But Vera would not be dissuaded. ‘Oh, come on!’ she chided. ‘You know we always have fun when we’re together. You need something to get you out of the doldrums and this is just the ticket.’

  A couple of soldiers, who barely looked old enough to lather up shaving soap, were hanging around outside the Crown Cinema. Annie pulled some coins out of her purse to pay for herself and Vera. It was only a shilling each but Vera had a ten-bob note and she didn’t want to break into that so Annie stumped up for both of them. As Vera and Annie made their way in, with Vera wiggling in her too-tight skirt, one of the soldiers let out a low wolf whistle. She turned and flashed them a broad grin while Annie turned scarlet with embarrassment.

  There was a Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh film showing and, on any other occasion, Annie would have been delighted to sit through it, but right now, it felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on her shoulders with the worry of what was happening over in France.

  The cinema lights had already been dimmed and they shuffled their way along the back row, where there were double seats, because Vera had decided there would be more room for Annie to sit comfortably. There were a few old blokes dotted about, whiling away the hours until they could get another pint, some youngsters who were skiving off school and a few smoochy couples who planned to make good use of the darkness to get up to no good. God only knows what Harry would make of her going to such a notorious fleapit, and that was before she got onto the fact that she was there with Vera. Annie couldn’t quite get the way those women in the grocer’s were so openly snubbing her friend out of her mind.

  She didn’t have time to dwell on it because the Pathé newsreel started up and the voice of the news announcer filled the cinema. ‘Our man has risked his life to bring you these images of the beaches of Dunkirk under enemy fire, our own guns replying.’

  Annie’s mouth fell open as she watched the scenes on the big screen before her, the sky filled with the thickest pall of black smoke she had ever seen. This was war, real war, and it was horrific. The noise of gunfire was deafening as the announcer continued: ‘And here, on
their way home, home from the hell that is Dunkirk, our brave boys from the army are rescued by the navy. Alongside them, the little ships that turned a military disaster into a miracle of deliverance.’

  Hundreds and hundreds of soldiers were crammed onto the decks of boats of all shapes and sizes. It was a wonder they could stay afloat. ‘See how many of them are getting out?’ said Vera. ‘There’s blooming loads of them. Look! That boat is stuffed to the gunnels. Oh, I think I just saw George!’

  ‘Shhhh!’ said a man in the row in front. ‘I’m trying to watch the news!’

  ‘So are we!’ said Vera, angrily tapping him on the shoulder. ‘And what’s more, she’s in the family way and her brother is over there fighting rather than sitting on his bum in this cinema. So, we can talk if we like.’

  The man tutted his disapproval and the usherette appeared, shining her torch right into Annie’s face, making her squint. ‘Sorry,’ Annie mouthed.

  The usherette shone the torch over them both, caught sight of Annie’s pregnant bump, rolled her eyes and walked away.

  ‘You could get away with murder with that baby inside you, Annie,’ said Vera. ‘People treat you with respect.’ She clasped her hands in front of her for a moment. ‘Not like me . . .’

  It was a relief when the news came to an end and the film started up. Annie allowed herself to be transported into another world, in 21 Days Together, where Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh had but twenty-one days to spend together, before he would be hanged for a murder he’d committed as a crime of passion. As the credits rolled and they strolled out into the foyer, Annie turned to Vera and said, ‘Thanks for making me come along.’

  Vera had been right: watching the film had made her feel a bit better. Of course, she hadn’t seen George on the grainy black and white newsreel; there were so many soldiers crammed into those ships, all looking exhausted and filthy, more like a rag-tag bunch of tramps than an army. It would be a wonder if their own mothers could recognize them. But at least she had some hope now.

  Pressing her hands together to give herself the strength to broach the subject, Annie turned once more to her friend as they left the cinema. ‘Vera,’ said Annie, struggling to find the right words, ‘there’s something I wanted to ask you. Bessie told me about the other night—’

  But a tall chap, handsome and in uniform, with slicked-back hair, and a toothy grin, cut in. ‘Afternoon, ladies. I was wondering if you might be free later to come to a dance up in Shepherd’s Bush?’

  He caught sight of Annie’s bump and took a step back. ‘Oh, pardon me, I didn’t mean to intrude.’

  ‘No, don’t go,’ said Vera, eagerly reaching out to him. ‘She’s my pregnant sister. I was just taking her out because our brother’s away in Dunkirk and we wanted to try to spot him. She’s got to go home now, haven’t you, Annie?’

  Annie nodded, watching Vera depart on her new shoes that were slightly too big, walking with a wobble, leaning on the soldier.

  Just before they rounded the corner, Vera looked back over her shoulder and gave Annie a knowing wink. As she did so, Annie felt her heart sink, right into her poor swollen feet. She walked home alone.

  3

  Annie

  Acton, June 1940

  ‘And what time of day do you call this, young lady?’

  Bill stood in the hallway at Grove Road, his shaving mug in his hand and his braces dangling over his trousers, as he caught his youngest daughter Elsie trying to creep in through the front door.

  He raised his hand to slap her, his salt and pepper hair flopping forward over his face, which was puce with anger. ‘I’ve a good mind to knock you into the middle of next week. You can’t be stopping out all night like some common . . .’

  Annie came out of the kitchen, where she’d been sitting up with Mum half the night, and moved towards him, to stop him doing something he’d regret.

  Bill halted in front of Elsie, at the foot of the stairs, with the words he wanted to say lodged in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, not to his favourite. All the years he’d raised her, taught her manners, set her on the right path. And then the war had come along and filled her head with silly ideas and she wasn’t his sweet-natured good girl any more. She was going off with the other factory workers, the brazen lot, putting on rouge and powder, curling her hair in rollers and dancing till dawn with God knows who. Well, he was going to put a stop to it.

  ‘You can’t treat us like this, me and your mother . . .’

  Elsie reached out to him. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I just got carried away and I missed the last bus back, so I stayed around at Joan’s place in Notting Hill. I didn’t mean to worry you and I promise I wasn’t doing anything to make you ashamed of me.’

  He recoiled from her touch, turning away to shuffle back off down the hallway as Elsie stood there, shame-faced.

  Annie went to her side. ‘What on earth were you thinking? You should have come home. Mum has been scared sick about you and so have I, on top of all the worry about George. You could have been lying dead in the gutter, knocked down by a car in the blackout . . . Anything could have happened to you.’

  Elsie rolled her eyes and started to climb the stairs. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with everybody. I’m fine, aren’t I? I wasn’t in any kind of danger, I just stayed out overnight. Lots of the factory girls do it. I’m nearly twenty-one! I’m not a child.’

  Annie followed her, slowly, because she was finding stairs so difficult now, and went into Elsie’s room. Elsie started unbuttoning her blouse, revealing her curvaceous shape. She was a much bigger build than either Annie or her mum, just the sort of fresh-faced, rounded girl that soldiers liked to press against as they did a foxtrot around the dance floor, that was for sure.

  As she was standing there in her brassiere and skirt, Annie spotted a red mark just above her sister’s collarbone.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ said Annie, peering at her. ‘Is that a love bite?’

  Elsie’s hand flew up to cover her chest and then she sat down on the bed, all the wind knocked out of her sails.

  ‘You’d better find a way of covering that up or your dad will go crackers,’ said Annie, making her way over to the chest of drawers where Elsie kept her make-up. She pulled out some powder and handed it to her. Elsie dabbed a bit on and then looked up at Annie. ‘It’s useless! You can still see it, can’t you? Oh God, what was I thinking?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Annie, sitting down next to her sister. ‘Who is he, then? I hope he is worth all the trouble he’s causing.’

  Elsie bit her lip and looked at the floor. ‘Just a fella I’ve seen at the dances a few times.’

  Annie’s face darkened. ‘Tell me you didn’t . . .’

  ‘No!’ cried Elsie. ‘What do you take me for? I just had a bit of a cuddle in the back alley behind the Shepherd’s Bush Empire, that’s all, and I think I let him go a bit further than I wanted because he’s just joined the navy.’

  ‘He’s going away to sea, so you let him take a bite out of you?’ said Annie, nudging her sister in the ribs to make her laugh.

  Elsie shook her head. ‘Oh, Annie. I know I shouldn’t have let him, but it felt, well, it felt nice. And all the blokes seem to want to do more with us girls now, because they’re going away to the war and they don’t know if they are ever coming back. It doesn’t seem fair to say no to them.’

  Annie looked into her sister’s eyes. She’d held her as a baby and helped raise her, so in some ways they were more like mother and daughter than sisters. ‘I understand. You want to have some fun, but you need to be careful about letting them go too far. You don’t want to get yourself into trouble or you’ll find yourself with a bad reputation.’ In her mind’s eye, Annie saw Vera tottering off out of the cinema with a soldier on her arm. ‘Did you really stay at Joan’s place?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Elsie. ‘Cross my heart, I did.’

  ‘Look, Elsie, you are a grown woman, but you are living at home still, so you’ve got to th
ink about Mum and Bill and their feelings and their rules because you are under their roof. You can’t stay out like that. I had to come down here because Mum was up all night worrying about George and she had a bit of a funny turn when you didn’t come home. We’ve hardly had any sleep.’

  Annie rubbed her eyes. She was dog-tired but with the baby kicking her half the night, she could barely get any kip at the moment, no matter what Elsie had been up to. But she wasn’t going to let on about that.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Elsie, staring at the floor.

  Annie stood up and pulled open a drawer, rummaging about for another blouse for her sister. She picked the one with the highest neck she could find and told her to put it on.

  Right on cue, Elsie’s older sister Ivy appeared in the doorway.

  She wagged her finger. ‘Who’s been a dirty stop-out then? Come on, tell me, who is he?’

  Elsie quickly buttoned her blouse up before Ivy could spot the love bite.

  ‘Do you think he’s going to put a ring on your finger?’ said Ivy, brandishing the sapphire engagement ring that Charlie had bought her. She was proud of being a fiancée and you couldn’t blame her, but Annie wished she’d picked another moment to flaunt it. The last thing the family needed was for Elsie to start charging up the aisle with some bloke she’d snogged around the back of the Shepherd’s Bush Empire.

  The scullery was more like a funeral parlour than the cheery, bustling heart of their Grove Road home for the rest of the morning. Mum managed to say two words to Elsie by lunchtime, but only after she’d promised never to stay out like that again. Mum’s face was grey with worry and she’d barely eaten, not even after Bill made her favourite bread and dripping to try to tempt her.

  It had only been a few days since the first reports about Dunkirk in the papers and Mum sat there in her rocking chair, poring over every last detail in the Evening News and the Daily Mirror, while keeping her ears pricked for further updates from the BBC Home Service.