Always in my Heart (Beach View Boarding House 5)

by Ellie Dean

  Peggy smiled as she spooned more porridge into Daisy. ‘I’m sure it does,’ she murmured, ‘but you must be thrilled at how well she’s getting on.’

  ‘It has been a revelation,’ Sarah replied. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if we’d given her more of a free rein back in Malaya, she might have shown these signs of improvement much earlier.’

  ‘Her injuries must have been severe for your family to cosset her so.’

  Sarah nodded and returned to stirring the porridge before carefully easing it off the hot plate and covering it with the saucepan lid. ‘At first we didn’t think she’d survive. She was in a coma for three weeks, and was very poorly for a long time after that. The doctor told us there were bound to be repercussions, and he warned that she would probably be retarded for the rest of her life and would therefore be very vulnerable.’

  ‘Well, he got that wrong, didn’t he?’ said Peggy acidly. ‘It does make me cross when doctors talk like that – it takes away hope to brand people in such a way. Call someone useless often enough and they’ll start to believe it and act accordingly.’

  Sarah smiled down at Peggy in gratitude. ‘Jane has certainly proved him wrong, but she’s still very naïve, and childlike in many ways.’

  ‘She’s just taking a bit longer to mature, that’s all,’ said Peggy comfortably. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting that now she’s got a job and her own money, she’ll come along in leaps and bounds.’ She caught hold of Sarah’s hand. ‘Getting away from Malaya was probably the making of her, Sarah, and although I know how homesick and worried you must be for the rest of your family, your sister will be all right.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘Thanks, Peggy,’ she said rather unsteadily. ‘It’s good to hear you confirm what I’ve suspected for a while now.’

  Peggy smiled back at her. ‘I think I heard the newspapers arriving. Why don’t you fetch them while I finish feeding Daisy? You can read out the headlines while I give her a bottle.’

  Sarah fetched the papers from the wire cage that hung beneath the letter box and carried them back into the kitchen. The house was beginning to stir, for she could hear footsteps overhead and the rattle and bang of air in the pipes as someone flushed the lavatory. The kitchen would soon be bustling with everyone chattering over their breakfast and preparing to leave for work. The peaceful interlude with Peggy was almost over, but it had renewed her optimism, and she felt ready to face whatever the day had in store for her.

  Peggy flicked through the pages of one of the newspapers as Sarah doled out the porridge and the girls chattered around her. Daisy was at last in a better mood and was lying in her playpen gurgling at Harvey, who was watching her, nose on paws, ears and eyebrows twitching at her every sound.

  If only the rest of the world was as peaceful, Peggy thought sadly, as she read about the awful German bombardment of poor little Malta, and the terrible struggle the Russian soldiers were having to survive not only enemy attacks, but dwindling supplies and a bitter winter. There were reports of atrocities in Hong Kong, and the fall of Rangoon and Java. The Japanese had landed in New Guinea, but their attacks on Darwin had been brought to an end by the arrival in Australia of three United States fighter squadrons. Sir Stafford Cripps was on his way to India to discuss Government policy and – just to put the tin lid on it – there was to be no more white bread after the sixth of April.

  Peggy folded the paper, shoved it across the table to Ron and lit a cigarette. ‘I don’t know about you,’ she said, ‘but it would be nice to have some good news for a change.’

  He stirred sugar into his tea and looked rather smug. ‘I got a letter from Rosie yesterday in answer to my telegram, and that cheered me up no end.’

  Peggy had heard all about Findlay’s spiteful actions and was pleased that Ron and Rosie were in communication again. ‘A letter from Rosie is hardly going to end this blessed war though, is it?’

  He chuckled. ‘It makes it easier to bear, Peggy.’

  She waved goodbye as Rita, Fran and Suzy left for work. Sarah was now upstairs cleaning the bathroom to fill in time before she went down to see Vera, and Cordelia was busy writing letters at the other end of the table. ‘Yes, I suppose it does,’ she murmured. ‘Jim’s letters remind me of how far away he is, but at least we’re in the same country and I know he’s still alive. Poor Sarah doesn’t have that luxury, and I think she’s finding it very hard to keep up a brave front for her sister.’

  Ron looked down at Harvey, who was now stretched out on his back close to the playpen, his tongue lolling. ‘Aye,’ he murmured. ‘We’re lucky, Peg – and we must never forget that.’

  Sarah heard the clatter of the letter box and rushed downstairs. There were several letters and a couple of postcards, but the only one that mattered was the buff envelope with WLA stamped in the left-hand corner.

  She turned it over and over in her hand, almost afraid to read what was inside, then told herself she was being ridiculous and tore it open. There was a single page and it didn’t take long to read. ‘I’ve got it,’ she called as she ran into the kitchen. ‘I’ve got the job and they want me up at the estate office this afternoon at two.’

  ‘Congratulations, dear,’ said Cordelia as she reached out her arms to her. ‘We all knew you’d get it.’

  ‘That’s more than I did,’ she confessed as she stepped over a recumbent Harvey and gave her a warm hug. ‘Oh dear,’ she stuttered. ‘I’m feeling quite emotional about the whole thing. Fancy getting so excited about a silly office job.’

  ‘You have every right to get emotional,’ said Cordelia firmly. ‘You’ve been through a lot and this is a new beginning.’ She beamed up at her. ‘I think we should all celebrate with a cup of tea and a biscuit.’

  Sarah sat down and Harvey took advantage of this and immediately put his head in her lap as if he wanted to congratulate her too. She smiled and stroked his silky ears as Peggy gave her a cup of tea and Ron shot her a wink.

  ‘It’s cupboard love, Sarah, don’t you be fooled. The old rascal’s after that biscuit in your saucer,’ he drawled.

  She laughed and broke off a corner of the biscuit which Harvey greedily snaffled from her palm. ‘The rest is mine,’ she said to him firmly, ‘so you might as well go back to guarding the fire.’

  ‘He’ll be coming with me to the Anchor after we’ve had our walk,’ said Ron as he left the table. ‘I’ll see you all later – and well done, Sarah.’ He grabbed his cap from the hook on the back of the door, whistled to the dog and tramped down the cellar steps.

  ‘It’s good to see that he’s his old self again,’ said Peggy to no one in particular. ‘I was getting quite worried about him.’

  Sarah felt as if some of the weight she’d been carrying since they’d left Singapore had been lifted from her shoulders, and she leaned back into the chair and lit a celebratory cigarette. Tomorrow morning she would be just like her sister and the other girls, and truly fit in, for now she too had somewhere to go and something important to do in the home-front battle against Hitler.

  It had been easy to find her way this second time, and she was surprised at how much quicker it had been now that she wasn’t hampered by sandals and a blister. She arrived at the main gates out of breath, her calf muscles complaining at the unaccustomed exercise, but with ten minutes to spare.

  There was no sign of the gamekeeper or his dog, but she didn’t linger on the driveway. Taking the narrow path through the encroaching rhododendrons, she let the peace wash over her as she took in the different colours and listened to the birdsong. She was going to like working here, she decided.

  Mrs Cruikshank was behind her desk, thumping away at the keys of the Imperial typewriter. She looked up and grinned as Sarah stepped through the door.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you again,’ she said as they shook hands. ‘I’m glad they saw sense and didn’t employ the other girl. She wouldn’t have been at all suitable.’ Without going on to explain what she meant by that, she beckoned Sarah to follow her as she went into
the other room.

  It looked very different to when Sarah had come here for her interview, for it had been turned into a sort of canteen and storeroom. ‘Who’ll be doing the cooking?’ she asked as she eyed the collection of cooking pots and pans, the industrial-sized gas rings and the enormous tea urn.

  ‘Mrs Oaks. She’s been Lord Cliffe’s cook since before the first war. She’ll provide the lunches, and in the evenings everyone who’s billeted here will take it in turn to do the supper. There will be ten girls arriving tomorrow and they will be billeted in the dower house. The Dowager passed away some time ago, and the house has been standing empty ever since.’

  ‘Does Lord Cliffe have any family?’ asked Sarah, who was still intrigued by the people who owned this wonderful place.

  ‘His Lordship has been a widower for many years and shown no desire to marry again. Both his sons are in the military, and their wives and children have moved to their other estate in Wales for the duration. His daughter is in the Observer Corps.’

  She gathered her thoughts and continued her inventory of where everything and everyone was on the estate. ‘The lumberjacks are down in the woods in a series of log cabins with their foreman, Alf Billings. He’s a retired sergeant major with long experience of working the horses in the forest, and it’s his job to keep everyone in order and make sure there are no shenanigans after lights-out. Apart from the farm labourers, who are now mostly made up of Land Army girls, we have two young lads working for us until they’re old enough to be called up, two conscientious objectors, and three experienced lumberjacks who are over fifty and therefore too old to be called up.’

  ‘That’s quite a workforce,’ said Sarah. ‘But won’t the others find it galling to have to work alongside conscientious objectors?’

  ‘They might not like it, or approve of what they are, but the work is essential to the war effort and they’ll just have to get on with it,’ said Mrs Cruikshank. ‘Alf and my husband will keep an eye on things so they don’t get out of hand, never you mind.’

  She turned away and headed for a table where great stacks of clothing had been neatly laid out. ‘The WTC uniform is exactly the same as the Land Army one, but you get a beret instead of a felt hat, and of course a WTC badge.’

  She began to rifle through the sweaters and trousers and held them up against Sarah to gauge their size. ‘You’re very small and slight,’ she said, ‘but there’s bound to be something here that will do. What size are you, anyway?’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘I lived in Malaya and everything was made especially for me, so I’m afraid I have no idea.’

  Mrs Cruikshank smiled ruefully as she continued to pick out the clothes. ‘You’ll find these probably won’t fit quite as well as what you’re used to, but I’m sure you or Mrs Reilly can make any necessary alterations.’

  Sarah eyed the sweaters and woolly shirts, and the mannish jodhpurs, and almost laughed out loud. Vera had warned her that the uniform was far from glamorous, and she hadn’t been exaggerating. They were so far removed from the delicate silks and cottons she’d been used to that it would be like dressing up for a male part in some strange play. Her mother would have a fit if she ever saw her in this lot.

  Mrs Cruikshank handed a clipboard and pencil to Sarah. ‘I’ll call each item out and you tick it off. Might as well get used to it before the others get here, for this will be part of your duties tomorrow.’

  ‘Two green jerseys; two pairs of riding breeches; two overall coats and two pairs of dungarees.’

  Sarah ticked them off in horrified fascination as the dowdy, workmanlike clothes were carefully stacked in a second pile.

  ‘Six pairs of woollen knee-length socks; three beige woollen shirts; one pair of boots; one pair of brown shoes, and one pair of gumboots,’ continued Mrs Cruikshank. ‘You probably won’t need most of this, but it’s the uniform, so you have to have it,’ she said with a shrug before she continued with her list. ‘One green beret; one Melton overcoat; one mackintosh; a green armband and metal badge, a hat badge and two towels.’

  The heavy woollen overcoat reminded her of the pea jackets the sailors had worn when the weather had turned cold on the ship coming over here. ‘Won’t all this be very warm when summer comes?’ asked Sarah, who was still rather taken aback by the drabness of it all.

  Mrs Cruikshank grinned. ‘Undoubtedly, but when it’s raining or snowing and the wind is howling across the hills and you have to walk here every morning, you’ll be glad of it, believe me.’

  She took the clipboard and placed it on the other end of the table. ‘You’ll be responsible for this lot once I’ve gone, so keep the door locked and the key in your pocket. If someone needs to replace anything there are dockets to fill in. There’s a locker in the office which has its own key. I’d advise you to keep what you’re not wearing in there. You won’t want to be carting that lot home tonight – it weighs a ton. Now, follow me and I’ll show you around outside.’

  Sarah nodded and trotted after her. For a big woman, Mrs Cruikshank could move quite fast, and Sarah had to almost run to keep up with her as she led the way into the forest.

  ‘My husband has moved his office down here for the duration so you won’t be too disturbed,’ she said as they passed a log cabin set on a bank above a fast-running stream. ‘The men’s camp is through the trees over there in the glade.’

  They kept walking along the winding forest track until they reached a low hill which gave them a panoramic view through the trees to the rest of the estate. ‘That’s Cliffe Farm down there,’ said Mrs Cruikshank as she pointed to a jumble of red-roofed buildings in the distance. ‘The horses are stabled there, and the Land Girls are billeted in the actual farmhouse.’

  She turned and pointed further into the forest. ‘The gamekeeper’s cottage is much deeper into the woods where he can keep an eye on the pheasants and deer. He isn’t a part of the Forestry Commission or the MOS – he’s Lord Cliffe’s gamekeeper and his duties are to safeguard the estate from poachers and see to the fishery.’

  She turned to Sarah and smiled. ‘You won’t see much of him. Groves is a solitary man with an unpleasant manner, and we all steer clear of him.’

  ‘He frightened the life out of me when I came for my interview,’ said Sarah. ‘I certainly wouldn’t like to bump into him or his dog after dark.’

  Mrs Cruikshank patted her arm. ‘I feel the same way, so you’re not alone.’

  ‘Does Lord Cliffe still live in the big house at the end of the drive?’

  ‘He’s in London mostly these days, but he moved his personal things into the east wing last month. The American Army has requisitioned the rest of the house, and their officers are due to arrive any day now.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit risky with a lot of girls working on the estate?’ Sarah asked, grinning.

  Mrs Cruikshank laughed. ‘It certainly is, but one does hope that as the Americans are officers they will behave like gentlemen – and that our girls will remember they are ladies.’

  Sarah giggled. ‘I hardly think any man worth his salt would find us at all attractive in that horrid uniform,’ she replied.

  ‘Perhaps that’s why the powers that be in the Land Army designed it that way,’ said Mrs Cruikshank with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘After all, everyone is here to work, not flirt. Come on, let’s go back to our office so you can try your uniform for size. Then we can have a cup of tea and I’ll bring you up to date with all the dockets and bills of lading, and show you how to do the wages.’

  Peggy was cooking rabbit stew with pearl barley and dumplings, which smelled a great deal more pleasant than the brew of boiled potato peelings and meal which she’d prepared for the chickens.

  Having opened the window to let the stench out, she’d quickly closed it again on the brisk wind that had got up during the afternoon. It might almost be April, with crocuses and daffodils enlivening the hedgerows and bomb sites, but it got very chilly once the sun was low in the sky. Spring was obviously just around the
corner, but she did wish it would hurry up. There was nothing like a bit of sunshine to make things seem better, and the winter had dragged on for long enough.

  She left the stew to simmer away in the slow oven while she warmed herself by the fire and re-read the letter from Jim that had come in the second post that morning. Once again it was in tatters due to the censor, but he was delighted with the photographs she’d sent him, his back was better, and he was finding the manual labour a bit easier now he’d got used to it – but he still hated obeying orders and being shouted at by the sergeant major.

  His endearments touched her heart, but it made her blush to think that someone else had read those very private words. It was unsettling to realise a stranger could legally pry into the intimacies of her marriage – but then she had to accept it was the price everyone had to pay if the spies were to be caught.

  She looked up at the mantelpiece where she’d placed the photograph he’d sent. He’d had it taken after his initial training period, and he looked very handsome in his uniform, with the beret pulled over one brow. It was true what they said, she thought with a soft smile – a man in a uniform was very attractive. It sort of tidied them up, made them straighten their shoulders and hold their heads erect. But if any girl dared flash her eyes at her Jim – or he got carried away with how handsome he looked – there would be fireworks and no mistake.

  She sat in the warm kitchen and tried not to think about what he might be getting up to so far from home. He’d always been a flirt, and had sailed close to the wind several times over the years, but ultimately he’d always stayed faithful, and she had to believe this would continue.

  Her thoughts were disturbed by the slam of the front door. The girls were coming back from their shifts, so it was time to go and wake Cordelia from her afternoon snooze. She was about to leave the warmth of the fire when Jane came into the kitchen, still dressed in her dairy uniform of trousers, jacket, white overall coat and long striped apron, the cap set rakishly on her head.