by Pam Weaver
Frankie didn’t argue but she certainly didn’t want to be snapped up by anybody. She tried not to be morbid about it but there seemed to be a pattern here. The people she loved the most met an untimely and suspicious death, so she made up her mind that she would avoid falling for someone else. It was better that way.
She would have liked to contact Romare’s family in America to tell them about the baby but the army had closed the book and wouldn’t give her their contact details. Perhaps it was for the best. Prejudice worked on both sides. Maybe they hadn’t wanted their son to marry a white girl. Someone from the London hospital had sent his effects but she couldn’t find anything helpful. ‘I feel dreadful just taking everything,’ she confided in a letter to Doreen, ‘but what can I do?’
Doreen was more pragmatic. ‘For heaven’s sake, Frankie! You’re carrying his child,’ she wrote back. ‘He would have wanted you to have everything. He loved you to bits and I think he would have moved heaven and earth for his baby.’
*
Ronald wrote to say he was coming back to Worthing for a short while. Aunt Bet had only seen her second son two or three times since hostilities began and Frankie hadn’t seen him at all! She’d kept in touch by letter of course but Ronald didn’t have much leave from his hush-hush job and what little he did get, he spent in London. He was looking for a flat or a small house to rent, he wrote, but it was difficult to pick something suitable at a distance. What he needed was someone closer, on the ground, so he suggested that Frankie might like to help him out. He gave her an idea of what he could afford, which turned out to be quite a bit, and asked her to look around. At first Frankie, aware of the desperate housing shortage, didn’t think she could find anything, but because Ronald was able to go to the upper end of the housing market Frankie discovered there was a much better choice. She found him a really nice flat right on the seafront. Stoke Abbott Court was an attractive 1930s purpose-built block of Art Deco flats with the beautiful curved surfaces which imitated the racing cars and the great ocean liners which were so much a feature of that bygone era. The letting agent eyed her swelling shape and was a little concerned that Frankie was planning to set up home herself, but having been assured that the flat was for someone else, someone high up in the secret service, the man almost bit her hand off to get the client.
When she got back home, Frankie reflected on how much she had enjoyed doing it and wrote back to Ronald saying as much. Before long, and to her absolute delight, another couple of requests came back by return of post and Frankie set off once more, this time with the promise of a small fee if she got the job done. Frankie was delighted. It might not be much but it made her feel like an independent woman again and it was good.
Christmas was a much happier time this year. The fighting was still grim in Europe but was there was a tangible sense that things really were coming to an end. The East Worthing canteen had already closed because there were very few soldiers hanging around the town now, and early in December, the home guard was stood down. Alan was still in Europe but for the first time in years, Aunt Bet and Uncle Lorry had Ronald and Frankie home for Christmas. Ronald brought a friend, Eric, to join them and the invitation included Barbara as well. Her mother had decided to take Derek to her mother’s (Barbara’s grandmother) for the season and the invitation was not extended to Barbara.
As Barbara was getting ready to go up to North Farm, the doorbell rang. When she opened the door she got the surprise of her life. It was Norman Miles, the chap she had gone out with a few times before she’d met Conrad.
‘Oh!’
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he began. ‘I’ve got three days leave and nowhere to go. I just had to see you again.’
She invited him in and while he drank a cup of tea, she explained where she was going. ‘I’m sure you can join us if you like.’
‘Oh no,’ said Norman. ‘I don’t want to intrude.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Barbara said. ‘If I go there and tell them I left you all on your own, they’d kill me. Come on. The more the merrier.’
Eric was a fresh-faced man with soft features and it was obvious that he and Ronald got on well. Aunt Bet excelled herself in the kitchen with roast goose and all the trimmings. Uncle Lorry had bagged a couple of pheasants, which were in the oven today but would be used for the cold meat buffet on Boxing Day. Aunt Bet’s Christmas puddings, made two months before the event, smelled wonderful as they steamed in the copper. Most people made theirs with reconstituted eggs but Aunt Bet had her usual Christmas ‘accident’ as she put some new-laid eggs into a bowl. She must have dropped them a little too hard, she confessed, and of course the shell broke. ‘It was sheer luck that I was making the pudding today,’ she said, rolling her eyes innocently.
‘Quite,’ said Uncle Lorry.
‘It would have been such a waste otherwise,’ Frankie said with a grin.
‘You say that every year, Mum,’ said Ronald.
‘Moi?’ said Aunt Bet, and they all laughed.
Frankie had made paper hats and Eric had brought some real Christmas crackers, something they hadn’t seen in a long time. Ronald had arrived with a couple of bottles of wine and he delighted Uncle Lorry by giving him a bottle of 1943 Gordon & MacPhail Glenlivet whiskey all to himself.
Barbara and Norman arrived just as Aunt Bet was dishing up the vegetables and within ten minutes of his arrival, they were sitting at the table. Norman hadn’t come empty handed. He handed Aunt Bet a bottle of sherry and a tin of broken biscuits. While Aunt Bet clapped her hands he slipped a box of Cadbury’s milk chocolates into Barbara’s hands.
‘Oh my,’ cried Aunt Bet. ‘This will be a Christmas to remember.’
Uncle Lorry was just about to start carving the goose when someone tapped on the window pane. It was Doreen, looking very smart in her Wrens uniform. Frankie was thrilled but for a second Aunt Bet worried that there wouldn’t be enough food on the table. However, that didn’t dampen the level of her welcome.
Doreen was all apologies when she saw that they were just about to eat. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she cried. ‘We thought you would be done by now. Shall we come back when you’ve finished?’
‘Absolutely not,’ cried Aunt Bet. ‘Have you eaten?’
Doreen shook her head.
‘We?’ said Roland, the only one to pick up what she’d said.
‘Terry brought me,’ said Doreen cautiously. ‘He’s still in the car.’
‘Then bring him in, lass,’ Uncle Lorry cried as he shunted yet another chair up to the table.
‘Who’s Terry?’ asked Ronald.
Frankie shrugged.
When he arrived, Terry staggered in with a huge hamper. Frankie was impressed. Tall, fair-haired and with a real twinkle in his eye, he was a navy man, an officer, and a Lieutenant. He held out his hand for her to shake. ‘Hello, nice to meet you. Terry Fielding.’
Frankie slipped her hand in his and he gave her a firm handshake. She smiled. Good old Doreen.
‘Oh look at you!’ Doreen cried as came back indoors and held Frankie at arm’s length. ‘You look wonderful.’
Frankie laughed. ‘Don’t. I’m like a house already.’
‘Come on now,’ Aunt Bet cajoled. ‘Sit down, everybody. Everything is getting cold.’
The meal was amazing. The goose was cooked to perfection and the pheasants helped to make sure everyone had enough to eat, even though they had been intended for tomorrow. Aunt Bet watched her family and friends tuck in and smiled. Today, as well as the goose and the pheasants, the nine of them would enjoy roast potato, roast parsnip, carrots and cabbage, gravy and stuffing. Let tomorrow take care of itself.
The conversation was lively and enjoyable. Ronald and Eric were bound by a code of absolute secrecy but that didn’t stop them talking about jolly japes, concerts and days out together on a tandem.
‘There’s a beautiful lake in the grounds,’ Ronald said. ‘It’s too cold now, but in the summer a lot of us gather there for a drink and a chat.
’
‘And some of us,’ said Eric, giving Ronald a knowing look, ‘stay up half the night.’
‘He’s not going to let me forget that one,’ Ronald said good-naturedly.
‘Why’s that?’ Frankie asked.
‘He missed an important briefing and someone pressed the panic button,’ Eric went on. ‘Had half of security combing the grounds for him. Couldn’t find him for ages.’
Uncle Lorry raised an eyebrow. ‘How many have you got working there then?’
Ronald shrugged. ‘Eight thousand?’
‘Ten,’ said Eric.
‘Good God,’ said Uncle Lorry. ‘I had no idea it was so big.’
Doreen told them that she was on a forty-eight-hour pass. She glanced at Terry and gave him a shy smile. The way he smiled back convinced Frankie that he adored her. ‘We wanted you to be the first to know.’
‘Know what?’ said Norman.
‘Terry and I are engaged.’
It was time to offer congratulations and top up their glasses.
‘When’s the big day?’ Frankie wanted to know.
‘We may wait until the weather is a bit warmer, or the war ends,’ said Terry. ‘Whichever comes first.’
‘Make it after March,’ said Frankie squeezing Doreen’s hand. ‘I might be a bit slimmer then.’ Everybody laughed.
‘You must all come to the wedding,’ said Doreen as she looked around the table. ‘You’ve been more like family to me than my own family.’
‘Doreen has told me all about you and what you did for her,’ said Terry. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am.’
‘We could always make it a double wedding,’ said Norman. He didn’t seem to notice Barbara freeze. ‘What do you say, Babs?’
Barbara had gone bright red. ‘I’m not ready to get married just yet,’ she said quietly.
‘Shall I clear the dishes?’ Frankie said quickly. It was an awkward moment but one which soon passed as Aunt Bet rose to her feet and took charge again. ‘Pop them on the draining board for now, and Ronald, would you get the best dessert dishes from the cabinet in the sitting room? Lorry, you come and help me take the pudding out of the copper.’
Terry’s hamper contained a couple of tins of sterilized cream so they had a choice of cream or custard. He also had a small box of liqueur chocolates, just enough to go round.
‘I’ve decided to emigrate after the war,’ Ronald told them as he tucked into his liquor. ‘There’s a real opportunity in Africa to make a good life.’
Aunt Bet froze for a second, then turning to her son with a bright smile said, ‘What will you do?’
‘D’you know what, mother?’ Ronald added with a chuckle. ‘I shall be a farmer. Eric here is an excellent stockman and we have already gone into business together.’
Now that she understood what Doreen meant by Ronald batting for the other team, Frankie guessed that they would be setting up a home together as well. Well, good luck to them. If their secret came out in this country, they risked shame and imprisonment. ‘It sounds like a wonderful opportunity,’ she said. Perhaps things would be better for them in Africa.
‘You could always come and join us,’ Ronald said to Frankie. ‘Once we’re settled and the baby is born.’
‘Yes, why not!’ cried Eric. ‘I fancy being a proxy father.’
Frankie smiled, only to humour them really, but it was certainly worth thinking about.
After lunch, they ate cob nuts and sweets, listened to the King’s speech and dozed. The women prepared a cold buffet tea, which nobody really wanted but ate anyway, and Barbara’s Norman got the evening going with some excellent party games. By the time the day was over, everybody agreed it had been the best Christmas ever. Despite her loss, Frankie had enjoyed her day as well, although more than once she’d wished Romare could have been here with her.
Forty-One
Broadwater, North Farm, 1945
Frankie’s baby, a girl, was born on March 5th 1945. Her labour began on a Sunday evening soon after supper, but Frankie didn’t say anything. Everybody went to bed and she woke Aunt Bet at two in the morning. Her pains were coming fairly frequently by then but Aunt Bet decided that they could wait until a decent hour before getting the midwife out of her bed. At seven Uncle Lorry biked over to Broadwater, his trousers on over his pyjama bottoms, and the midwife was with Frankie by seven thirty. The baby took her time. She didn’t put in an appearance until two thirty that afternoon. Even as a new-born she was an attractive little girl. ‘Monday’s child is fair of face,’ Aunt Bet said when she saw her. The baby had a lusty cry, dark curly hair and she weighed in at seven pounds three ounces. Her fingers were long and artistic looking and she had a healthy appetite. Frankie fed her herself.
The next few days were filled with joy but tinged with some sadness. The baby was lovely but her arrival meant that Frankie missed her husband again. ‘Romare should have been here,’ she told those who came to visit and no one knew how to answer.
In the last few weeks before her delivery, Frankie had done some serious thinking. She was determined to do her best for her baby and although she knew she was very welcome to stay on the farm, she wanted her own home and her independence. The problem was – how to get it? If she rented rooms, something which would be difficult for Aunt Bet to accept, she would have to have a male guarantor. She was sure Uncle Lorry would do that for her, but it still didn’t feel like being able to stand on her own two feet. She had to find a way to support herself long-term but who would look after her daughter while she was at work? Frankie spent some time walking around the farm partly to get a bit of exercise, partly to be alone and have time to think and partly to look at the land itself. By the end of February she was making a plan.
On Sunday March 25th friends and family gathered for the baby’s christening in the eleventh century St Mary the Virgin Church in Sompting, a lovely church which sported an unusual Saxon tower with a Rhenish helm and a four-sided pyramid at the top. The baby was as good as gold, staring up at the vicar’s face with a curious expression throughout the ceremony. She didn’t even murmur when he splashed the water on her head. Frankie called her Lillian Rose.
Most of them were there: Aunt Bet, Uncle Lorry, Barbara, Mrs Waite from the florist shop and Ronald. Alan was still somewhere in Europe, and Doreen lord-knows-where. Afterwards, they gathered back at the farm for a little party and once everyone had gone home, Frankie put her idea to Uncle Lorry.
‘Seeing as how I’ve got that money from my husband’s will, I’d like to buy a little land off you,’ she began. ‘You don’t have to say anything now, but would you give it some thought?’
Times were difficult for Aunt Bet and Uncle Lorry. With Alan writing to say he had fallen for a French girl and that he wasn’t coming back to the farm and Ronald talking about emigrating to Rhodesia, Bet and Lorry faced a rather bleak and lonely old age. But unless he had help with the day to day running of the farm, Uncle Lorry couldn’t carry on indefinitely. The work was simply too much.
Her uncle looked at Frankie with a puzzled expression. ‘What land?’
‘The bit we used to use for the track,’ she went on. ‘You always said it wasn’t much use for anything else, so I should like to buy it from you. I have looked into it and I can pay the market rate.’
He stared at her for a second. ‘Are you planning to use it for scrambling again?’
Frankie shook her head. ‘I thought about that but with petrol still on ration I don’t think it would work,’ she said. ‘No, I should like to use the land for people on holiday.’
‘Holiday?’ said Uncle Lorry. ‘What sort of holiday?’
‘We all know the war is practically over,’ Frankie went on, ‘so there’s every possibility that people will soon have the time to get away for a little break. The trouble is, money is scarce. I plan to use the land as a camp site.’
Uncle Lorry’s expression became a little warmer.
‘I’ve already looked into it,’ Frankie went on
, ‘and once everything is back to normal, I’ll be able to get army surplus tents and blankets at a knock-down price. I know someone who will put in a word for me, one of the quartermasters from my old barracks. It’s all legit, nothing black market.’
‘You’ve certainly been busy,’ said Uncle Lorry.
Frankie grinned. ‘What could be better for a holiday than a place in the country with lots of lovely walks for the whole family?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ he said, ‘but you don’t have to pay me, love. You can have the land with my blessing.’
‘I want this to benefit us all,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘If I pay you, the land will always be mine and you’ll have a bit to put by so that you can retire whenever you want to. It’s much better this way.’
‘So you’ll hire out the tents?’
‘I’ll start with the tents but I plan to look out for some caravans as well.’
Uncle Lorry looked impressed. Aunt Bet came into the room with a tray of tea. ‘What are you two cooking up?’ she said good-naturedly. ‘You look as thick as thieves.’
When they told her Frankie’s plan, Aunt Bet was very enthusiastic although at first, just like her husband, she tried to talk Frankie out of buying the land. In the end she could see the benefit for them all. ‘I could sell eggs at the gate,’ she said.
‘Better than that,’ said Frankie. ‘We could set up a shop in the old bike barn. I’ll pay you rent or, if we do it together, we could share the profits fifty-fifty. It could be a nice little money spinner. If holiday-makers are staying for a week, they’re bound to run out of things like soap, tea and bread.’
She could tell by the expressions on their faces that she had given these two dear people a new lease of life, and if they managed to get it to work, a future for her lovely daughter.
