Keep Smiling Through (Beach View Boarding House 3)

by Ellie Dean

  Beach View Boarding House had escaped a particularly fearsome explosion nearby, and no one had been hurt, but the front door and most of the windows had been blown in, leaving it looking rather forlorn.

  Barrow Lane’s proximity to the railway added to Rita’s concern for Louise’s safety, and she’d made her promise she’d run for the public shelter the moment she heard the sirens. But she had a sneaking suspicion Louise hid beneath Tino’s marble-topped table at the back of the café rather than face the other women from the street. So far, they’d been lucky, and the only real damage had been further up the railway line in open country, which was inconvenient, but at least no one had been hurt.

  It was now late October, and everyone was too occupied with their own problems to get involved in Aggie’s troublemaking, or to be concerned over the Italian families who’d been forcibly removed from Cliffehaven. Rita’s dark hair and olive skin caused a lingering suspicion among some of the women that she was closer to the Minelli family than she let on, but with the constant raids and the need to increase their output, they were kept busy at the factory and they left Rita in peace. However, she had learned a sharp lesson in how quickly this could change, and she kept her thoughts and her personal business to herself as she went about her work.

  It had been another long, fraught day and she was exhausted, but Rita’s mind was working busily as she buried her chin in her coat collar and ran through the rain out of the factory gates. She’d come to the conclusion it was time to talk seriously to Louise about finding some kind of work, and she’d spent the day mulling over what she should say, and the best way to say it without upsetting her. Yet, as she hurried down Barrow Lane in the darkness, she knew that no matter how she dressed it up, Louise would not take kindly to her suggestions – or to Rita’s latest news.

  The night was black and wet, the wind tearing down the narrow streets and whistling round the corners and rooftops. Rita slipped into the alleyway between the houses and quietly let herself in through her own back door. She was glad to be out of the appalling weather, and needed a few moments to wash and change and catch her breath before she went next door. The day had been interrupted by numerous air raids and what felt like hours huddled in the shelter beneath the factories, and she wanted to sit quietly for a moment over a cup of tea and read her father’s latest letter.

  With the blackout curtains pulled and candles lit, she kicked off her boots, stripped and washed at the sink. Her last sixpence had been used in Louise’s meter this morning, so she had to make do with candlelight and cold water.

  The chill dowsing made her shiver, and she swiftly pulled on a thick sweater and slacks, knitted socks and sturdy shoes. Giving her wet hair a vigorous rub with a towel, she eyed the dust on the furniture, the hastily discarded clothes on the back of the couch, and wrinkled her nose at the pervasive smell of damp walls and musty rugs. The house was neglected and shabby, and she made a mental note to do something about it as soon as she could – but it wouldn’t be tonight.

  She poured the last of the tea from the flask she’d taken to work, but with only a dash of milk and no sugar, the weak concoction was barely drinkable. She curled up on the sagging couch, pulling the blanket round her to ward off the chill as the candles threw flickering shadows across the walls. Her only consolation was the thought that there probably wouldn’t be any raids tonight if this weather carried on, and that, for once, she and Louise could get a good night’s sleep.

  She had revealed none of her struggles to her father, who had enough to worry about, and had kept her letters cheerful and hopeful, telling him only about her trip to the theatre to see Cissy in her show, her afternoon teas at Peggy’s when time allowed, the matinees she’d gone to with May to watch the latest films, and how Louise had struck on the idea of trying to make pasta out of potato. The result was a disaster, but even Louise had seen the funny side of it and for the first time in months, Rita had seen her laugh.

  Rita grinned at the memory as she opened the envelope. The postal service was erratic, and some of his letters took weeks to get to her. This one was almost a month old. Jack Smith wasn’t a natural letter writer, and his offerings were usually short, but they were so heavily censored it was difficult to make much sense of them.

  He was kept very busy, with only a few hours off a week to go to the nearest town, where there seemed to be a pub on every corner. He was enjoying the camaraderie of the other men, and Rita suspected he was finding this sudden independence rather liberating after having had the responsibility of raising her on his own for so many years. The army was a man’s world, and her father was clearly revelling in it.

  Rita had had to tell him about Tino and Roberto’s arrest, and he was so concerned that he’d also written to Peggy to ask her to keep an eye out for them – which of course she had done. He suggested that it might be better if they moved away from the coast and the constant threat of attack or invasion, but Rita doubted she could persuade Louise to do so until they’d had word from Tino.

  His letter wasn’t long and he finished with the usual warnings to stay safe and leave the motorbike at home. His scrawled ‘Love, Dad’ was followed by a row of kisses.

  Rita carefully folded it back into the envelope and tucked it away with the others in the shoebox she kept on the mantelpiece. She touched his photograph and blinked back the ready tears that always came after reading his letters. He’d only been gone a matter of months, but to Rita it felt like a lifetime and she longed to see him again – longed to hear his voice, and to feel his steadying, reassuring presence in these troubling times. Losing Tino and Roberto so swiftly after his departure had given her the weighty responsibility of caring for Louise, and without her father’s guidance, she often felt alone, vulnerable and far too young.

  She sniffed back the tears and grabbed her coat and gas mask. There was no point in feeling sorry for herself; there were far more important things to deal with tonight than her childish needs. Running down the stairs, she locked the back door and gate and hurried along the twitten that ran between the terraces to Louise’s backyard.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Louise was at the stove, stirring something in the big pot she’d once used to cook pasta. ‘You were due back half an hour ago.’

  ‘I went home to wash and change.’ Rita kissed Louise’s cheek and slipped off her coat. ‘There was a letter from Dad, and I lost track of time while I read it.’

  Louise sighed as she continued to move the wooden spoon through what looked like a very thin vegetable stew. ‘He is well?’

  Rita held her hands out to the warmth of the fire in the range. ‘He’s the same as always, and being kept very busy. He sends his regards, by the way.’

  ‘There was no letter from Tino or Roberto,’ Louise murmured in Italian. ‘You’re lucky.’

  ‘I know,’ Rita said softly. ‘But they’ll write once they’re given permission, and I’m sure it won’t be too long to wait now.’

  The spoon stirred a little more raggedly. ‘It’s been four months, Rita. How do I know if they are even still alive?’

  Rita stilled Louise’s hand, took away the spoon and pulled the pot from the heat. ‘Of course they are,’ she said firmly. ‘They’ll have been sent somewhere far from harm, and I’m sure we’ll hear from them any day now.’

  ‘You’ve been saying that since June,’ Louise replied, her voice breaking. ‘But we’ve heard nothing, nothing.’

  Realising Louise was on the brink of another storm of tears, Rita took her hands. Noting how cold they were, she gave them a rub. ‘Mamma, we have to have a serious talk about what we’re going to do until they come home. We can’t go on like this.’

  Louise snatched her hands away. ‘We’re fine,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I have made a start on the allotment again, and as you see, there are plenty of vegetables to eat. And Peggy brought over some tomato chutney and sugar this morning.’

  ‘We mustn’t rely on Auntie Peggy too much. She has a house full of people to fe
ed, and the rationing is as tough for her as it is for us. We have to fend for ourselves, Mamma, and my wages just won’t stretch that far.’

  ‘I’m sorry, cara.’ Louise’s shoulders sagged as she dipped her chin. ‘I’ve let you down, haven’t I?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said hastily, ‘but there’s plenty of work, well-paid work, and it would do you good to have something else to think about.’

  ‘But what can I do?’ Louise twisted her apron in nervous fingers. ‘I’m not clever like you, cara mia. I can’t read and write very well and I’ve only ever helped Tino in the café and raised my bambini. I wouldn’t know where to start.’

  ‘But you must have had a job before you married Tino?’

  Louise shook her head. ‘I did a bit of cleaning and mending at one of those posh hotels down on the seafront until Tino and me got married on my sixteenth birthday. I’ve never had a proper sort of job really.’

  As Rita’s gaze fell on Louise’s Singer sewing machine, she was struck with a bright idea. ‘There’s a uniform factory in Camden Road, and they’re recruiting machinists. You know how to use a sewing machine, and they’re offering really good pay, especially for the night shifts.’

  Louise’s blue eyes widened in horror. ‘I couldn’t leave you on your own all night, Rita. It wouldn’t be safe.’

  Rita couldn’t quite meet her gaze. ‘That was the other thing I wanted to tell you, Mamma . . .’

  ‘What is it?’ The blue eyes widened further with alarm.

  ‘May and I have signed up to do fire-watch. I’ll be sitting on some roof somewhere three nights a week with at least two others and a radio, so you won’t have to worry about me being on my own.’

  ‘But that’s a man’s job, and you’re only a little girl. I forbid it.’

  ‘I’ll be eighteen soon,’ Rita reminded her gently. ‘And lots of other girls my age are signing up to do the jobs men used to do. We have to keep the country running while they’re away fighting, Mamma. And I want to do my bit.’

  ‘You already work in that factory,’ she retorted. ‘It’s enough.’

  ‘No, Mamma, it isn’t.’ Rita relented at the sight of Louise’s unshed tears, and reached for her hands across the table. ‘We must both learn to adapt to what’s happening, Mamma. It won’t be easy, but think how proud you’ll be when Tino and Roberto come home to find we haven’t given in to the bombings and the rationing. This is our chance to make a difference – however tiny it might be – and I know you’ll find the courage to face your fears, roll up your sleeves and get on with it.’

  Louise’s smile was uncertain. ‘You seem to think I’m far stronger and braver than I really am,’ she said, her voice catching. ‘But I will do my best not to let you down.’

  Rita rounded the table and gave her a hug. ‘You’ve never let me down, Mamma,’ she murmured, ‘and I love you very much.’

  ‘This factory. Camden Road, you say?’ At Rita’s nod, she stood and returned to stirring the stew. ‘I will go there tomorrow morning,’ she said.

  Rita chewed her bottom lip, hesitant to say what she needed to now. ‘Can I offer just one piece of advice, Mamma?’

  Louise stiffened. ‘What advice is that, cara mia?’

  ‘Mamma, you will have to speak English all the time from now on. Even when we’re alone.’

  Louise turned from the stove, the ready tears rolling down her lined cheeks. ‘It is all I have of Tino,’ she murmured. ‘How can I not speak Italian – especially if it is only us to hear it?’

  ‘Because it wouldn’t be wise,’ Rita replied gently. ‘There are still people who enjoy nothing better than to stir up trouble, and now Italy has invaded Greece they need little excuse. You’ll find it much easier to get on with things if you speak English all the time.’

  Louise thought about this and finally nodded. ‘Peggy has said the same thing,’ she replied softly in Italian. ‘I will do my best, but you must be patient with me, cara.’

  ‘Then let’s start tonight,’ Rita cajoled. ‘The sooner you get used to it, the easier it will get.’

  Louise gave a deep sigh, and Rita was about to offer to go with her to the factory in the morning when the wailing siren heralded yet another air raid. She reached for their gas mask boxes, handbags and overcoats as Louise took the stew off the heat, damped down the fire in the range and stuffed the Madonna and Child into her shopping bag alongside the family photos she always kept in there now.

  They hurried down the stairs, locked the back door and gate and raced down the alleyway to join the tide of running people who were all heading away from the station towards the nearest public shelter, which was four streets away.

  It was pitch-black outside and still raining, the searchlights cleaving the sky as the Spitfires raced to intercept the enemy before they reached the English coast. The noise was deafening, the wailing siren sending chills up their spines as the roar of the numerous fighter planes made the very air tremble.

  Louise stumbled on the cobbles outside the burnt-out shell of Gino’s ice-cream parlour and Rita grabbed her arm before she fell. They were jostled on all sides as the crowd began to funnel towards the steep steps and narrow entrance of the vast shelter that had been made in the cellars of a block of tenements.

  It was a gloomy, claustrophobic place deep below ground and sparingly lit. Rita and Louise had always tried to avoid it in the past, for the shelter on the other side of the railway lines was much more pleasant, built as it was beneath the playing fields, and with proper ventilation. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and they didn’t have time to get there tonight.

  The warden shouted for them to hurry up as they negotiated the steps and tried to find somewhere to sit. Wooden benches lined the dank walls of crumbling mortar and worn bricks, and a few more were set out in the middle of the vast space. The floor was unevenly laid with concrete that had been painted dark green, but the paint was already blistering from the damp and the tramp of many feet.

  Rita found them a place on one of the side benches and took Louise’s hand. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, had never really suffered from being enclosed, but she knew Louise was terrified, and some of that fear was transmitted to her as the warden slammed the door shut and they were plunged into further gloom.

  The three ceiling lights flickered and buzzed inside their metal cages, and then mercifully settled, but Rita was suddenly all too aware of how deep beneath the building they were, and of how ramshackle that old tenement was. One blast from a nearby bomb could bring it down, and they would be buried alive.

  Determined to keep these thoughts at bay, she rummaged in her coat pocket, found the bag of broken biscuits she’d put in there this morning and offered it to Louise, who shook her head and pressed it back into Rita’s lap.

  The siren no longer wailed, but the sound of many aircraft rumbled through the walls and made the earth vibrate beneath their feet. The lights flickered again as the deeper, heavy-bellied drone of the enemy bombers approached. Their fearful power filled the gloomy basement, making the earth tremor and the walls shudder. The answering rat-a-tat-tat of the anti-aircraft guns on the surrounding hills was joined by the heavy boom of the Bofors guns on the seafront and the sharp machine-gun fire of the duelling fighter planes. There was the heavy crump of a distant explosion, swiftly followed by another – and then another.

  Rita put her arm round a trembling Louise, finding comfort in their closeness, even though she too was terrified that the enemy bombs seemed to be getting nearer by the minute. Dust and debris rained down on them as the tenement miraculously withstood the blasts, and they both flinched as yet another explosion threatened to rock it from its foundations.

  Whimpers of fear and muttered prayers mixed with the sound of crying babies, further explosions and the roar of enemy bombers. It was clear to everyone that the nearby railway station was the enemy’s target.

  The deadly whine of a stricken plane screamed overhead, followed by an earthshattering explosion that made t
hem all gasp. No one said anything, but everyone was wondering whether it was an enemy plane, or one of their own.

  Rita thought of Martin Black, whom she’d met once at Peggy’s, and understood how deeply Anne and Peggy must worry about his safety up there in his Spitfire night after night. Their fear must be even greater now Anne was expecting their first baby, and she gave thanks that her father was safe in the Midlands. She refused to admit that nowhere was really safe any more, for Liverpool and Manchester had been hit by massive raids, and the whole country was in the midst of an enemy blitz.

  The barrage ceased as swiftly as it had begun, and all eyes turned towards the warden, waiting for the all-clear so they could escape this awful place. But he resolutely ignored them as he sat firmly by the door, and they had to accept that the enemy would come back as they always did after they’d finished their attack on poor old London, which was suffering more than anyone.

  The enemy bombers returned half an hour later, harried by the Spitfires and Hurricanes, and defended by their own fighter planes. To gain speed and height, several bombs were dropped before they escaped across the Channel – this was known as ‘tip and run’ – and everyone flinched as two explosions once again rocked the very foundations of the old building.

  It was another twenty minutes before the all-clear sounded, and as the warden opened the door they shuffled impatiently towards it, hungry for fresh air and open space despite the fear of what they might find.

  Rita and Louise were cold and stiff after their long incarceration. They emerged to the urgent clamour of fire-engine and ambulance bells, and the stench of acrid smoke which stung their eyes and hit the back of their throats. It was still dark, but there was a fiery orange glow above the High Street which illuminated the changed landscape of those once familiar streets.