Keep Smiling Through (Beach View Boarding House 3)

by Ellie Dean

  She took off the coat and leather jacket as she eyed the two narrow iron bedsteads, the thin mattresses and the stack of clean linen, pillows and blankets which had been left on top of the old-fashioned dresser. The only other furniture was a heavy old wardrobe, a badly upholstered chair and a rather dilapidated oil-fired heater which had definitely seen better days.

  Rita regarded it dubiously. ‘It’s probably best not to light it,’ she warned Louise. ‘Put a match to that and it’s likely to blow up – and I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough explosions for one day.’

  ‘But it’ll get very cold up here at night,’ Louise protested.

  ‘If it does, then we’ll push the beds together and sleep in our coats. I’m not risking that thing.’

  Louise sank onto the worn, thin mattress, her face lined with fatigue. ‘How did you know that awful woman, Rita? Who is she?’

  ‘She’s just a very unpleasant old battleaxe who works at the factory,’ Rita replied airily. ‘I’ve learned to ignore her, and so should you.’

  ‘You never told me you were having trouble at work,’ said Louise accusingly.

  ‘You had enough to worry about. I’m a big girl now, Mamma. I know how to look after myself.’

  ‘You used to tell me everything,’ muttered Louise.

  Rita was too tired and distraught to get into yet another argument. She looked at her watch. It was too late to go to the recruitment office or to see what had happened to the factory, but too early to start cooking their evening meal. ‘You stay here and rest while I find the bathroom and somewhere to store the motorbike safely. I’ll also see where the shelter is – we might need it before the night’s out.’

  ‘Will it be safe here, Rita? What if that woman causes trouble?’

  ‘We’ll be as safe here as anywhere, and as long as we don’t rise to the bait, Aggie will soon find she has nothing to fight against.’ Rita kissed Louise’s cheek. ‘The door’s sturdy enough and we have a key to keep out people like Aggie. Rest, Mamma, and leave everything to me.’

  The hours had dragged interminably, and Anne’s fears multiplied as lunchtime came and went with still no sign of her father or news from the airfield.

  The three nurses were still at the hospital, no doubt dealing with the many casualties, and Lady Sylvia hadn’t been seen since she’d left in the Rolls-Royce this morning. Ron had refused to stay indoors and rest and, after makeshift repairs to some of the front windows, had taken himself off to the Anchor to check on Rosie. After that he planned to see if he could glean any news from his pals in the Home Guard, and track down his son. The telephone was still dead, and it was unlike Jim not to come home as soon as his fire-watch shift ended.

  ‘He’ll turn up, dear, don’t fret,’ said Mrs Finch as she wrung out the dishcloth. The water and electricity were back on, and she and Anne had spent the last three hours cleaning away the dust and debris that had floated in through the shattered windows. ‘I expect he’s got involved in helping to board up everyone’s windows.’

  ‘Then I wish he’d see to ours,’ muttered Anne. ‘It’s freezing in here, and once night falls it’ll get even worse.’

  She carefully carried the bucket of dirty water down the cellar steps and tipped it into Ron’s water butt which he used to water his vegetable plot. Standing in the gathering gloom she pulled her cardigan more firmly round her as she looked up at the sky and took a trembling breath. It was still and silent, the calm after the storm, but inside her heart it was still raging, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until her loved ones had returned home.

  ‘Anne, dear,’ called Mrs Finch rather sharply from the kitchen window. ‘Can you come inside? Quickly now. I need you.’

  Anne’s heart skipped a beat and an awful dread settled in the pit of her stomach as she hurried through the back door and up the steps into the kitchen. There had been an urgent edge to Mrs Finch’s voice which could only bode trouble.

  He was standing by the range, his broad shoulders slumped, his face grey and lined with weariness and pain beneath the bruises and the bandage wrapped round his head.

  ‘Martin,’ she gasped, and burst into tears.

  He gathered her to him awkwardly, hampered by the sling on his plastered arm. ‘It’s all right,’ he soothed. ‘Looks much worse than it really is – I promise, my love.’

  She clung to him, the anguish turned to joyous relief that was still tinged with fear. ‘Thank God you’re all right,’ she breathed, ‘but where’s Cissy?’

  ‘I’m here, Anne.’ Cissy appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking very much the worse for wear. Her uniform was filthy, her face was bruised and covered in grime, and she too had one arm in a sling. ‘We’re a couple of old crocs,’ she said with a rueful grin, ‘but we’ll survive.’

  Anne held out her arm for her younger sister and the three of them stood in that tight embrace as their tears of thankfulness spilled and mingled. There were no words to express the joy of being home – of being safe and warm and loved.

  Mrs Finch dabbed her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief and hurriedly put the kettle on the range as Lady Sylvia followed Cissy into the room and sank into a chair.

  ‘It’s been quite a day,’ Sylvia sighed. ‘The hospital was in chaos and, for once, I felt a modicum of respect for Matron. That woman is superb in a crisis. She’d have made an excellent army officer.’ She took off her hat and shrugged out of her mink coat. ‘I came across these two looking rather sorry for themselves in casualty, and once I realised who they were, I was able to drive them home.’

  Anne kept tight hold of Martin, never wanting to let him go, needing his warmth and sturdiness to bolster her. ‘Has anyone seen or heard from Dad?’

  ‘He was at the hospital earlier,’ said Lady Sylvia. ‘I saw him working with the ambulance crew.’ She gave Anne a reassuring smile. ‘He’s unscathed, Anne, and told me to tell you he’ll be home for his tea.’

  Martin gently prised Anne’s arms from his waist and sank into a kitchen chair. ‘That cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss,’ he said wanly to Mrs Finch. ‘I suddenly feel rather shaky.’

  Anne touched his face, noting the bruises and the black eye, the heavy bandaging round his head, and the lines of weariness. ‘We heard about the attack on the airfield,’ she murmured, ‘and were all so worried. Was it very bad?’

  ‘Cissy could tell you more about that,’ he replied, nodding his thanks to Mrs Finch as she set the large mug of sweet tea before him. ‘I was a bit preoccupied at the time with two Messerschmidts on my tail.’ He took a sip of his tea and closed his eyes with a sigh of pleasure.

  Tears welled as Anne regarded him. He looked exhausted. ‘But you obviously got back to base safely,’ she managed.

  ‘In a roundabout sort of way,’ he said almost nonchalantly. ‘The Spitfire had more holes in her than a strainer. The engine had cut out and I’d lost the landing gear, so I had to put her down wherever I could. I could see the damage at the airfield, the runways were destroyed, and the only place I could find was a field.’

  He grinned and smoothed his moustache. ‘Unfortunately the farmer had just ploughed it, so it was a bit of a bumpy ride and the poor old Spitfire took a thrashing. I hit my head on the instrument panel and was out cold for some time according to the land girls who managed to pull me out.’

  ‘He turned up at the base on the back of the farmer’s tractor,’ said Cissy with a wan smile. ‘The place was in chaos, communications were down and everyone was busy putting out the fires and trying to rescue as much as they could from the burnt-out hangars.’

  ‘We were told there were casualties,’ murmured Anne.

  Martin nodded, his face ashen. ‘We lost several planes, four pilots and two civilian engineers. All good men, who will be very much missed.’

  ‘What about you, Cissy? It must have been terrifying to be in the thick of it.’

  Cissy struggled to light a cigarette with one hand. She blew smoke, her gaze distant as she became lost
in the memories of that raid. ‘We’d all gone to the shelters the minute the sirens went, but we could hear the bombs going off and the planes overhead. Me and Amy and the other girls were absolutely fine until one of the blasts knocked the shelter wall in. We were buried for a bit, and I honestly thought I’d never see daylight again, but they dug us all out quickly, and no one was seriously hurt. I ended up with a broken arm, and one or two of the others had nasty cuts and sprains, but Amy only had a few scratches and a badly bruised leg, so I guess we were very lucky.’

  ‘Certainly luckier than those poor souls who lost their lives in the Brook Street shelter,’ said Jim, who’d arrived in the kitchen doorway without any of them noticing.

  ‘Brook Street?’ breathed a wide-eyed Cissy. ‘But isn’t that the nearest shelter for Rita and Louise?’

  ‘Rita was on fire-watch up top, but Louise made it out in one piece only to find their street had been flattened,’ he replied, stroking her tangled hair with infinite tenderness before kissing her cheek. ‘But what about you, Cissy me darling? What’s happened to your arm?’

  Cissy told him about the cave-in at the base shelter. ‘I’ll be fine in a matter of weeks, Dad,’ she assured him, ‘but I want to hear what’s happened to Rita.’

  ‘There’s nothing left of Barrow Lane or any of the streets behind the railway. The gasometer took a direct hit and the place was flattened. We had to get the maintenance crew in quickly to stem any gas leaks, and keep the residents away.’

  ‘Poor little Rita,’ sighed Anne. ‘We’ll have to find a space for them here – though I have no idea where to put them.’

  ‘They could share with me, I suppose,’ said Sylvia, ‘though it would certainly be a tight squeeze.’

  ‘No need for that, Lady Sylvia,’ said Ron as he emerged from the cellar with Harvey at his heels. ‘They’ve been billeted up at the old asylum and will be as comfortable there as anywhere.’ He pumped Martin’s hand and kissed Cissy’s cheek. ‘’Tis a world of thanks I’m giving to see you two again,’ he said.

  ‘It’s good to be home, Grandpa,’ said Cissy, ‘and as we’re both on leave until our injuries heal, it means we’ll be home for Christmas.’

  ‘This calls for a celebratory drink, so it does. Mrs Finch, break out the glasses while I get the whisky.’

  Mrs Finch eyed Ron suspiciously. ‘I have no doubt you’re feeling frisky,’ she said frostily, ‘but I really don’t see why you have to tell me.’

  Their laughter was soft and tinged with weariness and relief as Ron hunted out the glasses and poured the whisky. Then he raised his glass. ‘Here’s to Beach View and all who call it home.’

  Anne felt the heat of the whisky at the back of her throat as she regarded them all with deep affection. This family would survive Hitler and come through united and stronger than ever.

  Rita and Louise had battled with the ancient plumbing and taken it in turns to share the few inches of water in the bath. They’d used the rather murky water afterwards to wash Louise’s clothes and brush down her filthy overcoat, and Rita had strung everything up in the kitchen to dry, thankful they’d both had the foresight to pack a change of clothing and spare nightdresses in what they called their ‘air-raid bags’.

  Having made the beds, Louise had curled up and was asleep within minutes. Rita had covered her with the heavy fire service overcoat and watched her careworn face slowly relax into peaceful repose. She would sleep for at least a couple of hours, and Rita had decided to take the opportunity to go back into Cliffehaven and try to discover what had happened to Cissy and Martin – and if Beach View Boarding House was still standing.

  She had been passing the hospital in Camden Road on her way to Beach View when she’d seen Lady Sylvia walking towards her. It didn’t take very long to learn that both Martin and Cissy had come home to recuperate, and that all was well at Beach View. She spent a few minutes relaying her own news and, with a promise to pass on her love and best wishes to Cissy, Lady Sylvia had hurried into the hospital to see her son.

  With a much lighter heart, Rita had then headed for the fire station to ask John Hicks if she could have the night off. He’d readily agreed, and she’d set off for Goldman’s clothing factory to inform them that Louise would not be working her shift tonight, but would come in the next morning. Mr Simmons, the supervisor, wasn’t best pleased, but Goldman had overheard their conversation and quickly intervened. Louise did not have to go into work until the following afternoon.

  Feeling much better about things, Rita headed for the allotments. But as she rode past the quiet, empty streets of ruined homes, her heart ached for how it had once been, and she deliberately avoided going anywhere near Barrow Lane.

  The vegetable plots had been planted on an empty tract of land the council had once planned to use for new housing. The nearby houses seemed to be hardly damaged, but for the windows which had been boarded up, and the allotment had come through the raid unscathed. But Rita suspected that such bounty wouldn’t survive the thieves, and she’d dug up as many potatoes, carrots and onions as she could, putting them into the sacks Tino kept in his little shed. The cabbages and Brussels sprouts wouldn’t keep for long, so she’d take them with her, the rest could stay locked in the shed.

  She didn’t stay longer than necessary, for the allotment reminded her too sharply of Tino, and she’d suffered enough loss for one day. With everyone she loved so far away and her home in ruins, it didn’t help to linger on thoughts of what might have been. She stowed the tools away and padlocked the shed, then quickly tied the neck of the sack she was taking with her and carried it through the allotment to the bike.

  With the sack wedged between her and the handles, she’d had to ride the bike slowly and carefully back to the asylum. It wasn’t an easy journey, and it had taken much longer than she’d planned. She could only hope that Louise hadn’t woken and become distressed to find she was alone in such strange surroundings.

  Having tucked the Norton safely inside one of the many outhouses, Rita lugged the sack over her shoulder and let herself in through the front door just as Vi came down the stairs and Aggie peered round her door.

  ‘Hello, Rita,’ said Vi cheerfully. ‘You’ve been busy. What you got in there?’

  She closed the front door behind her, ignored Aggie’s inquisitive eyes, and joined Vi Charlton on her way to the kitchen. ‘Vegetables,’ she replied. ‘Thought I’d make a big pot of soup to eke out the emergency rations.’

  ‘Yeah, they don’t give us much, do they? And I had a tin of biscuits in my cupboard at home that I was saving for Christmas an’ all. The damn thing’s probably burnt crumbs now – just like me lovely clothes and shoes.’ Vi looked down at the dowdy skirt and worn cardigan she’d been given from the piles of used clothing stored at the Town Hall.

  ‘Still, we’ve got a roof over our heads, – though it comes to something when we’re sent to an asylum,’ Rita said wryly. ‘What’s your room like?’

  Vi put her box of rations on the scrubbed kitchen table. ‘Not too bad; I’m sharing with two other girls from Shanklin Street. We’re down on the ground floor, so we can get in and out without alerting the nosy parkers.’ She shot a glance at the two older women who were gossiping as they stirred pots of something on the range.

  ‘Aggie’s here,’ muttered Rita, ‘and she seems to be lurking about the hall every time I come downstairs.’

  ‘No one takes notice of Aggie,’ said Vi. ‘She’s managed to upset so many people over the years she has very few friends here.’ She paused as she reached into the box for the brown paper bag which held her weekly ration of tea. ‘Has Louise heard anything of her husband and son?’ she asked quietly so the others couldn’t hear.

  Rita shook her head. ‘But we hope the authorities will let them write to us for Christmas. It would help no end to know they’re all right.’

  ‘They’ve got to be better off than us,’ Vi replied, carefully spooning some of the precious leaves into a pot. ‘Have you seen what’
s happened to the factory?’

  ‘Is it very bad?’

  ‘Not enough damage to shut it down completely, but Major Patricia has had a team of men working through the day to make it safe. It’ll be business as usual tomorrow morning, I bet.’ She took the kettle off the range and poured the boiling water into the pot. ‘Want to share this with me?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ sighed Rita. ‘I’ll just go and check on Louise. Keep an eye on that, will you? I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Vi regarded the sack thoughtfully. ‘If I make a start on preparing the veg, do you think I could share some of your soup?’

  ‘Of course, Vi. But don’t do too many potatoes and onions, they’ll keep in the sack for ages yet.’

  Rita hurried out of the kitchen, caught Aggie’s malevolent glare through the chink in her door and raced up the stairs. It would be a relief to get back to work and some kind of normality – but she still needed urgently to speak to that woman at the recruitment office. Although her head was telling her she’d probably lost her chance of fulfilling her dreams, her heart still yearned for it not to be so.

  Chapter Thirteen

  RITA HAD FALLEN asleep almost the minute her head had hit the rather lumpy pillow. When she woke, she experienced a moment of disorientation before she remembered they were in the asylum, and that earthy smell was coming from the sack of vegetables in the corner and the onions she’d strung together from the hook on the door.

  Lying there in the relative warmth of the thin blankets and the profound darkness of the blackout curtains, she listened to Louise’s soft breathing and knew she still slept. But she would wake soon enough to the trials and tribulations of adjusting to their new home and the people who shared it, and Rita could only hope that her time at the clothing factory had given her enough self-esteem to be able to cope and make friends.