by Joanna Toye
The machine stalled and Dora tutted. The bobbin had run out of thread and she hadn’t even noticed. She must pull herself together. She’d only ever met Hugh three times. He’d been charming and gentlemanly and nice to talk to, but now he’d gone from her life and even when he’d been in it, there could never have been anything between them. A man of his rank was well out of her reach.
She must concentrate – she had plenty of other things to think about. Getting this dress done, for one thing, and the Red Cross fete, which was fast approaching. The charity had been given a special allocation of sugar, fat, dried egg and flour, and Dora was baking for the tea tent and the cake stall. Yes, there was plenty to think about without Lily’s notion – bless her – of romance!
On Sunday morning, Lily was still in the scullery getting her breakfast when there was a tap on the back door.
‘Crikey, Gladys, I’ve only just got dressed!’ Lily ushered her in and indicated the teapot under its knitted cosy. ‘I’ll get you a cup.’
‘I’m on my way to church,’ Gladys explained, ‘I can’t stop, thanks. But I’ve got something for you.’
She delved in her bag. Lily took the envelope her friend held out to her, knowing exactly what it was – a wedding invitation – her second in a couple of days. The envelope was the usual Utility stuff, a far cry from the white vellum she’d handled the other day, but the contents meant so much more.
‘I can’t guess,’ she flannelled, opening the flap. ‘What can it be?’
She took out the card, as thin and discoloured as she remembered. But at least there were silver bells, and there were ribbons.
On it, Gladys had written in her very best handwriting:
Miss Gladys Huskins and Mr William Webb invite you to join them on the occasion of their wedding, on Saturday July 10th at 1 p.m. at St Mary’s Church, Hinton, and afterwards at the Parish Hall
Then she’d written: Please reply to: and her address, even though she must know that everyone she was inviting would accept.
‘Hm … let me think,’ mused Lily. ‘Have I got anything else on that day? I’d better check my diary.’
‘Oh, stop teasing!’ smiled Gladys. Then her face clouded.
Something was wrong – and Lily sensed it was something a bit weightier than apricot roses versus sweet peas.
‘What?’ she probed. ‘What is it?’
‘Can I tell you something?’ Gladys said slowly. ‘And ask you something, too.’
Lily nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘I wrote the invitations last night,’ Gladys began. ‘Sat up late. There’s one for your mum, and Jim, and my gran, and Les and Beryl, and Sid, of course. And I wrote one to Bill. It might seem a bit funny inviting the groom to his own wedding, but he can pin it up by his bunk. He’ll want to do that, won’t he?’
Lily nodded, wondering when Gladys would get to the point. Unless that was the point and was all Gladys had wanted to ask. Deciding it must be, she’d opened her mouth to reply when what her friend said next almost made her gasp.
‘You’re going to think I’m mad,’ said Gladys without further preamble. ‘But I want to invite Bill’s mum. I want to find her.’
‘What? I thought you said it was impossible—’
‘I know I did, I know.’ Gladys shook her head, as if she herself thought she was mad. ‘But when I saw the words written down, my name and Bill’s, and “wedding”, it was like … I dunno. Her little boy’s all grown up, he’s out there in this war, risking his life day and night, God love him, and he’s going to get married and she doesn’t even know? She doesn’t even know he exists, if he’s alive or dead? Just think of that!’
Lily thought, but all she could think was—
‘How? How are you going to do it? You don’t know the first thing about Bill’s mum! Where she is, or if she’s alive or dead, or anything!’
‘That’s what I wanted to ask you. You’re cleverer than me. You’ll think of a way to track her down. Oh, Lily, you will help me find her, won’t you?’
‘What do you think, Jim?’ asked Lily later. He was planting broad beans in the raised beds they’d made in the yard – everyone was still digging for victory. ‘Do you think we could?’
‘There isn’t much to go on, is there?’ Jim considered. He was running a trowel through the earth, making tiny trenches for the bean seeds. ‘Just that Bill was dumped in a children’s home in Stepney. Barnardo’s, wasn’t it?’ Lily nodded, watching the earth part like waves as the point of the trowel sliced through it. ‘I suppose you’d have to start there. If it’s still there, if it hasn’t been bombed, if it still has its records going back twenty years, and if they’re prepared to give you the information.’
‘Thanks, put us off before we start, why don’t you?’
Lily had been daunted at first, and not at all sure it was a good idea, but thinking about it, and always keen on a challenge, she’d got quite excited by the prospect.
‘I’m not trying to,’ soothed Jim. ‘But I don’t want Gladys to get her hopes up and be disappointed. Or you, for that matter.’
‘Neither do I, but it means so much to her. Apart from her gran, who’s not exactly loving, it’s not as if she’s got any family of her own – that’s why it’s so important to her. So it’s worth a try, surely?’
Jim straightened. He looked at Lily with a not unfamiliar mix of affection, exasperation and patience.
‘You really want to do this?’
‘Yes – oh, I don’t know. All I know is, Gladys does, and I can’t let her down.’
‘OK. But it’s not going to be easy.’
‘I know that!’
‘You can’t just nip off to London and expect to sort it in a day. It could take several trips. You can start at Barnardo’s, but you’ll probably end up having to go and look at public records. Birth and marriage registers, that kind of thing.’
As usual, Lily, carried away by Gladys’s longing and her own willingness to help, hadn’t thought of that.
‘Yes … I suppose you’re right.’
Jim said nothing but bent to his seed trench again. He was often right, or not so much right – more the gentle and necessary brake on the careering juggernaut of Lily’s enthusiasms. But he knew that set of her mouth: this was one thing she wasn’t keen to let go of. He held out his hand for the seed packet, and as she passed it, another look crossed her face.
‘On the other hand,’ she said, ‘we do know someone who lives in London, so if we took some time off, we could stay over and do a couple of days’ worth of hunting at a time.’
Jim looked up.
‘We could take a Saturday off to start with,’ mused Lily. ‘He’s at work in the week.’
Jim gave her a grin.
‘Clever you,’ he said. ‘Of course. Sid!’
Chapter 11
‘Well, Sis, that’s a bit of a blinder,’ he said when she got hold of him and explained what she and Gladys wanted to do. There was a telephone at Sid’s digs, and they spoke as often as they could, Lily from the telephone box by the chip shop.
It wasn’t just because Reg was away that Lily had become closer to the brother who was still within reach: she’d always been closer to Sid. They looked alike, tall and blue-eyed with their mop of fair hair, while Reg had their mother’s soft brown hair and eyes. But that wasn’t all. Reg was quieter and more considered – also like their mother – while Sid and Lily were outgoing and adventurous – a personality inherited from the father Sid could hardly remember and Lily had never known, who’d died when she was a baby. It was Sid who’d let Lily use the go-kart he’d made from an old orange box and a set of pram wheels and had picked her up and been kind rather than cross when she’d flipped it over and bent the frame; Sid who’d taken her scrumping apples from the big houses up on Cavendish Road and had taken all the blame when their mum had found out; and more recently Sid who’d entrusted her with some of his secrets, secrets that no one else knew.
‘I know it’s a lot to
ask, but could we stay with you? Or if not, could you find us, I don’t know, a hostel or something? Anything!’ she hazarded. ‘I know you’re at work in the week, and so are we, but if me and Gladys can get a Saturday off together, we could come on the train very early, stay over Saturday night and come home on the Sunday.’
Saturdays off were highly prized by the Marlow’s staff.
‘I see you’ve got it all worked out! What a surprise!’
‘It’s just an idea, Sid. I haven’t told Gladys yet. You know what she’s like, she’ll get all excited.’
‘I know exactly what she’s like!’ She could tell Sid was smiling. ‘But look, it’s a sweet thought of Gladys’s, and, well, Bill’s a mate.’
Sid and Bill had trained together before going their different naval ways.
‘And you did introduce them in the first place!’
‘Oh, blackmail now – nice one!’ But she could tell Sid was smiling again down the phone. Lily smiled too. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll have a think and see what I can come up with.’
Lily didn’t say anything to Gladys, not wanting to disappoint her if it came to nothing, though she had every faith Sid would make sure it came to something. And she was right. A few days later, a letter arrived:
Hello Sis,
Looks like you’re in luck. My landlady and her daughter are going away the weekend after next. As I’m her favourite lodger – could be my handsome face and sunny outlook, more likely those eggs Mum sent for her last time I’d been home – she says you can use her daughter’s room. You’ll have to bunk in together, but hope you won’t mind that.
Sid went on to say he’d meet them at the station when they knew what train they’d be getting. He also offered to come with them on their quest.
I can’t have you two innocents wandering round London Town on your own. What would Mum say?!
Mum, thought Lily, wouldn’t say anything, because she had no intention of telling Dora what the plan was. Gladys had begged her not to – she wanted as few people to know as possible, in case they had to admit defeat. But Lily was sure she wouldn’t mind Sid, of all people, being in the know. Gladys loved Bill, but she idolised Sid and when she heard what he’d offered to do for them, she welled up.
‘You’re a true friend, Lily,’ she sniffed. ‘And Sid … well, I can never thank him enough!’
Lily didn’t point out that they hadn’t even got to London yet, still less found Bill’s mother. She’d let Gladys enjoy the moment.
‘Another one?’ said Peter Simmonds in mock surprise. ‘Are you sure? Where are you going to put it?’
‘In my tummy,’ declared John proudly.
His mother burst out laughing.
‘There’s your answer,’ she said. ‘But really, John—’
‘Oh, let him,’ said Peter, adding quickly, ‘if that’s all right with you. He’s done a lot of running around this afternoon.’
‘And catching and throwing,’ added John.
Eileen nodded at her son and he helped himself to another rock cake.
The cricket lesson had been a big success.
Her suggestion had been something of an experiment. John did want to learn the game, but she’d also wanted to see how he and Peter got on before she allowed herself to get any more involved: she wouldn’t have dreamt of letting any man into her life unless he could accept her son – and even more importantly, that John took to him. She had no such worries now. When they’d met, Peter had shaken John solemnly by the hand and on the way to the park had tactfully let Eileen do most of the talking, only chipping in when invited, respectful of their existing bond.
Once in the park, though, he’d gently taken charge and had proved a natural teacher, starting off with a game of throw and catch. Eileen had seen how in a short time John’s concentration and co-ordination had improved, but before he could get bored or tired, Peter changed tack and had him running between the wickets (his jacket and her cardigan laid on the ground) and trying to intercept balls before they rolled over the boundary (the path).
Seated watching with her back against a plane tree, Eileen had felt positively left out. After showing John the correct way to pick up a bat (‘Like you would an axe … What do you mean, you’ve never picked up an axe?’ Peter had teased) he’d bowled him a few impossible-to-miss balls before announcing it was time for tea.
‘One more thing to remember,’ he declared as they both flopped down. ‘Cricket teas are a very important part of the game.’ Eileen had already set out the flasks of tea and lemonade, some ham sandwiches and the rock cakes she’d spent the previous evening making. ‘And I can tell you, John, this one looks top-notch.’
Later, as they packed away the things, John having run off to look for ‘treasures’ to add to his collection, Peter turned to Eileen.
‘Do you think he enjoyed it?’
‘You know he did!’ she smiled. ‘And knowing him, he won’t leave it there. He’ll want to practise. Every Sunday, probably.’
‘Fine by me,’ Peter replied quickly, then, worried he’d shown a bit too much enthusiasm, covered it with: ‘Oh, there’s something I meant to tell you. It’s a work matter.’
Eileen secured the cover over the wicker basket without looking up. She knew what he was doing – steering them back onto neutral ground. Oh, well, one step at a time.
‘So what do you think, Miss Collins? Do you accept?’ Miss Frobisher asked next day.
Ever since it had become known in the store that Miss Naylor had left ‘for personal reasons’ there’d been speculation about her job. With profits down because of rationing and lack of stock, Marlow’s wasn’t keen to engage any more staff, but the last thing Lily had expected was that she’d be asked to cover. She swallowed hard and found her voice.
‘If you’re sure I’m up to it, Miss Frobisher …’
‘I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise,’ her boss replied crisply. ‘You’re more than ready for the responsibility at second sales level. And I’ll oversee Schoolwear as well as this department. You won’t be totally on your own.’
‘Well, in that case,’ stuttered Lily, ‘thank you! You know I’ll do my best.’
‘Good, so—’
‘There’s only one thing,’ Lily began. ‘When would you like me to start?’
She held her breath. She’d filled in her leave form asking for the following Saturday off for the London jaunt with Gladys: it was in the pocket of her uniform dress for Miss Frobisher to approve. Gladys had already had her form signed: was this unexpected shove up the ranks going to scupper it for Lily?
‘Well,’ Miss Frobisher reflected, ‘I need to have a good look at Schoolwear first, properly assess the stock levels, look at the targets and so on. So perhaps next Monday – a week today?’
Lily’s exhaled breath of relief sounded so loud to her she was surprised the windows didn’t rattle.
‘In that case, Miss Frobisher, could I possibly take leave on the Saturday before? I’ve got an offer to see my brother in London.’
‘London! Quite an expedition!’
‘Yes. And it’s taken a lot of planning,’ she added hopefully.
‘I’m sure it has. All right, give me your form. There won’t be many Saturdays off once you start your new role!’
‘Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs!’ The expression was one of Dora’s favourites, employed when a simple ‘Well I never!’ just wasn’t enough. ‘Our Reg a sergeant, Sid with his fancy job at the Admiralty, and now you, running a department!’
‘Not quite, Mum! Miss Frobisher’s still in charge.’
‘Maybe, ordering the stock and that,’ pooh-poohed Dora, as if it was nothing. ‘But day-to-day, it’s you, isn’t it, Lily, stood there saying what’s what. And with a junior to work under you, as well! That’ll rock Sid back on his heels, always swanking about the Wrens he gets running around for him!’ Lily smiled at her mother’s delighted pride, relieved that her news had distracted her from asking any more questions abou
t the trip to London, and why Gladys was tagging along if the point was to see Sid. Lily had come up with a white lie about Gladys being on the lookout for a fancy corsage like the one Ava Gardner had worn at her wedding, and, as a truthful person, it was a lie which was refusing to lie down quietly.
She closed her eyes briefly in silent prayer. Just let them find Bill’s mother. Then all the effort and all the evasions would be worth it.
Chapter 12
Lily had made a few train journeys, including a couple on her own, but Gladys was something of a novice and stood meekly by on Saturday morning while Lily bought the tickets and led her to a third-class carriage. It was the first train out of Hinton and, mercifully, empty. They even managed to get a seat, till Lily gave hers up to an elderly lady with a cat in a basket and Gladys sacrificed hers to a solider in battledress who came hobbling on with sticks.
Sid was waiting for them at the barrier wearing his uniform which, he said, he’d put on to add ‘a bit of clout’. He hugged each of the girls in turn, and with Gladys already thanking him, though they hadn’t achieved anything yet, took the small overnight bag they were sharing and hustled them out beneath the huge Euston Arch into the bustle of London. He’d worked out the buses; they were going to go straight to Stepney.
Lily had visited Sid in Birmingham and in Liverpool. She was used, she thought, to what Hitler’s Blitzkrieg had done and was still doing, but London was something else again and both girls sat silent as the bus passed bombsite after bombsite. Ravaged churches, offices, restaurants and shops near the station gave way to warehouses and factories as the bus wove eastwards via ‘Road Closed’ signs and craters. Then it was whole streets razed, houses sliced in half and stripped bare but for shreds of wallpaper or a cobweb of curtain flapping at a window frame.
It made them realise just how much their small Midland town had been spared – there’d been frequent warnings, but actual bombs had been relatively few. The bomb before Christmas, everyone agreed, had been a mistake or a misjudgement on the part of the pilot. There was no mistake about the devastation in London; anything and anyone was a target. Lily shivered. She’d been so pleased when she’d learnt Sid wasn’t being sent abroad; one brother to worry about was enough. How could she have thought he was safe here?
