Churchill’s Angels (27 page)

‘
I’d best go.’

He gripped her hand. ‘There’s a lot I want to say to you, Daisy Petrie, but it’s too soon. There’s an entire lovely summer to enjoy and let’s try to meet, but if I have leave at Christmas, I’ll ask Alf and Nancy to have me.’

‘I’ll try to be at home for Christmas.’

‘We could meet.’

She nodded.

‘In the meantime, we’ll write. Not stiff little letters, Daisy, but letters from you, telling me about all your work and the new base. Tell me about the happy things too, Daisy. I want you to join in and to have fun. There are all sorts of good things on a large base: sports facilities, a swimming pool, a cinema, even theatre groups.’

‘Gosh, no. My friend Sally is the actress. She’s going to be very famous, and an actor manager has asked her to join an ENSA troop.’

‘Good for Sally. ENSA is a great morale booster.’

A sharp spear of envy entered her. Adair was impressed by Sally. Immediately she was ashamed of herself. ‘She’s very good and really beautiful.’

‘Kiss me goodbye, beautiful, special Daisy.’

The tears waited until she was on her way home.

It was a perfect early summer evening. Lilacs were in bloom on trees in almost every garden on King Edward Avenue. Late tulips marched along garden paths, covering the ground in a lovely carpet of gold and red. The colours and the scents of the lilacs should have cheered her but she felt pressed down by a weight of unhappiness. Just when she was beginning to really know Adair, to openly welcome whatever was growing between them, they were to part. No walking out for Daisy Petrie. No sitting in the cinema, hot hand clutching hot hand, no stopping some evening at a dance in a social hall, no walking home, arm in arm along lilac-scented avenues. The scent of the lilacs was now completely obliterated by the residual smell of burning – so much beauty and ugliness, side by side. In the gutter at her feet were three shell casings and she bent down to pick them up. Metal. Think positively. Collect it for the war effort.

Daisy dropped the casings into her handbag and, before starting off again, looked for a moment at a beautiful sky.

This will end, she decided, and I will see him again – some day soon.

Petrie’s Groceries and Fine Teas was full of people when Daisy arrived back from the hospital. The shop was often very busy, especially on Fridays, when pay packets or allowances were received, and on Saturday mornings for the same reasons, but this was just another day. Perhaps a special consignment was in of some foodstuff that had been in short supply?

‘Daisy, my dear, have you heard the news?’ Miss Partridge doing her utmost to answer all the questions was battling nobly behind the counter. ‘Your mother is upstairs making yet another pot of tea – perhaps you could help her.’

‘What’s happened? Where’s Dad?’

‘I want your dear mother to tell you, and your father has gone to the wholesaler’s.’

Daisy muscled her way through the women who were talking loudly and vociferously. She caught snatches of conversation.

‘Wonderful …’

‘High time poor Mrs P had something to cheer her up …’

‘I heard there was some Cheddar. Anybody see the Cheddar …?’

She fled past the crowd and ran upstairs and into the kitchen. Her mother, trying to wipe away the tears streaming down her face, was loading a tray with cups and the kettle was singing on the hotplate. ‘Mum, what on earth’s going on?’

On hearing her Flora turned round. ‘Oh, Daisy, pet, you’ll never believe it,’ she said before once more bursting into tears.

Daisy took the milk bottle her mother was holding and set it down on the table. ‘Now, forget this tea party you’re giving, and tell me what’s going on.’

Flora took her handkerchief from her apron pocket and blew her nose. ‘Read it yourself, pet. Isn’t it a miracle?’

For a fleeting moment Daisy thought she was going to hear that Ron was not dead after all, but she read the name ‘Sam’ on the flimsy paper that her mother had handed to her.

‘Bernie’s told the whole street, and the people we’ve had in today … two ounces of this, a packet of that, but really they wanted to hear the news.’

Daisy read the short letter from the Red Cross offices in Geneva and burst into tears, and for a few minutes mother and daughter cried happily together. Daisy recovered first and read the letter aloud.

Dear Mr Petrie,

A message has been received from the German authorities that your son Sergeant Sam Petrie escaped from a working party on 4 April of this year and is still at large. We will send further news as we receive it.

‘Sam’s escaped? Where is he? Where was he? Is he alone?’

‘We don’t know, but he’s free, Daisy, free, and he’ll be on his way home, and I won’t let him leave again.’

Daisy was thrilled but she was also very afraid. They had never been able to ascertain where Sam was being held or if he had been moved. Was he in Germany or Poland or somewhere else entirely? And how would a man from Dartford manage in a country where he did not speak the language?

A hundred questions rushed without answers into her mind. Was he in uniform? Had they worn prison uniform? Either one would identify him. Did he have any foreign money? Had he learned any of the language in the prison camp? Again she wondered if he was alone. Alone and frightened? No, Sam Petrie feared nothing and could handle anything.

She smiled brightly at her mother. ‘You’d better get that new jumper started,’ she said. She would keep her fears and worries to herself. ‘Now away downstairs to all those people and I’ll take care of the tea party.’

Much later, after the shop had finally closed, and all the teacups, even the best ones from the display cupboard in the front room, were washed and put away, Fred, Flora and their daughters sat round the table in the kitchen and caught up with one another.

‘Great to have a night off,’ said Fred, ‘and I’ll be a happy man if I can sleep in my own bed tonight.’ He tried to suppress a groan as he looked at the evening meal Flora had prepared.

Food rationing and shortages were really pinching the country now. Even though they owned a grocery shop the Petries were adamant that they would have only the rations or allocations to which they were entitled. Everything was in short supply, and tonight, after Flora’s generosity of the afternoon, the family were eating fish cakes made without fish. There was not even a fresh egg to bind the mashed potatoes and beans together.

His hunger and his dislike of fish cakes without even a bit of tinned fish – surely Flora could have found some sardines – reminded Fred of an exciting possibility. ‘You’ll never guess what I heard at the ARP station this afternoon – popped in to make sure they didn’t need me.’

‘What did you hear, Dad?’ Rose asked as she pushed her ‘fish cake’ round and round her plate.

‘Everyone’s keeping pigs. Great idea—’ he began but was interrupted.

‘Where are we supposed to keep a pig, Fred Petrie, and who’s going to kill it?’

Fred reached out his hand and patted Flora’s as she placed her fork on the table. ‘Gently, love, Tom Stafford at the fire station is who. Well, I don’t know if Tom hisself is planning to kill it, but he’s willing to put up a pen and shelter and start a pig club. There’s a bit of land at the back and there’ll be a big notice right on the front window asking for scraps but, more importantly, Tom’s looking for folk who’ll take a share of the pig. He thinks maybe five shillings a share or four shillings and sixpence – seemingly that sounds better. We bring our scraps, like that plateful you’re playing with, our Rose, and then come Christmas we get a lovely share. Just think, fresh pork or a nice bit of bacon or, better still, ham for Christmas dinner. What do you say now, Flora, love?’

There was a reminiscent look in Flora’s eyes. When had she last cooked a real ham? ‘Real ham, Fred?’

‘It’s a real pig.’

‘What if we buy two shares?’

‘We get two shares of the pig.’

‘How big’s a share?’ Rose was more practical. ‘There’s plenty on this street would buy a share and then what? We pay fifteen shillings and get three sausages.’

‘No, lass. More people wants a share, more porkers Tom’ll buy. Seems he’s got a cousin not too far away has a sow expecting a litter. These damn U-boats scuttling all our ships, even farmers are having trouble fattening their animals and so they’re selling. Seems everybody in London’s doing it. Some posh bloke’s even got one in what used to be ’is swimming pool; no water in it, o’course, since they got bombed.’

‘And all we have to do is pay our five bob and take scraps to the fire station?’

‘That’s it. Good job for George an’ Jake; they’ll love it and makes them feel useful.’

‘My Sam’ll be home for Christmas. He loves a nice bit of ham, or what about roast pork with apple sauce? Perfect.’

Fred and Rose said nothing but they looked at Daisy, who had remained quiet. ‘What about you, Daisy, love?’

‘I’m a WAAF, Dad. Who knows where I’ll be at Christmas?’

Flora, who for a moment had been lost in thoughts of cooking a wonderful Christmas dinner for her eldest son, turned to Daisy. ‘That reminds me, pet, what’s happening with your pilot friend?’

‘He’s going to be fine, Mum.’

‘That’s nice. So you won’t be visiting him any more?’

Daisy did not answer immediately. She looked around the little kitchen where the family had had so many happy meals: Christmases, Easters, and birthdays. She looked at her father’s prized wireless. Just recently he had listened to a new programme. ‘Getting my education in my old age, love,’ he had told her as they listened one day during her leave to
The Brains Trust.
This question-and-answer programme
was already well on its way to becoming a national favourite. When would she be back again to enjoy all these simple family joys?

Flora was looking at her, surprise in her eyes.

‘Sorry, Mum, I was just remembering that this kitchen is my favourite place. And no, I will not be visiting Adair in the hospital. Soon he’ll be going to a convalescent hospital and I’ll be at a new air base.’

‘We’re glad the lad’s better, but really it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to get too … too what did you say, Fred?’

Fred was flustered. He would have preferred that Daisy not know that she was being discussed. ‘Can’t remember but it is better that, natural like, you’re separated, Daisy.’

They were right, of course they were right. She and Adair had nothing in common apart perhaps from a love of planes. But every time they had met, it was as if a small breeze blew on a spark that had been lit the moment he had popped up out of the cockpit of the
Daisy
, his face and hands covered in dirt and oil. The spark had not been extinguished by separation, but grew ever stronger.

‘He’s hoping to spend Christmas at the Humbles’. If I get leave we’ll meet.’

‘That’s nice, pet,’ said Fred.

‘It’s ages till Christmas,’ Fred reminded Flora later when they were preparing to go to bed and she had been, once again, saying how much she worried about Daisy. ‘Just let nature take its course. She’ll meet a nice lad at this new base. Probably lots o’ lads more like us.’

Her posting had to come today. The ringing of Rose’s alarm clock woke Daisy but she stayed, curled up in bed, to allow her sister to have the family’s bathroom to herself. Her parents, as always, were up and had already washed before them. Her mind was busy. Had the WAAF forgotten all about her? She had passed the tests and been promoted. Had they thought they’d told her then when and where she was supposed to go? No, she would not panic. The letter would come today. Rose was still busy in the bathroom and so Daisy jumped up, put on her dressing gown and went into the kitchen to help her mother.

‘Stir the porridge while I get dressed, pet, and make some toast. Alf brought some butter when he was in …’ she hesitated.

‘Visiting Adair, Mum. He’s Adair’s next of kin. How nice of Nancy to send us some of her fresh butter. You could give her some of your share of the pig come Christmas. And no, they never did get round to keeping pigs,’ she added quickly as she could see the question forming in her mother’s mind. ‘Too many other things to look after.’

‘And will you look out the old atlas, pet? Your dad and me was trying to figure out where our Sam would be going. Nice if we can see him in our minds. If he’s walking to Switzerland he’d be in lovely mountains.’

Again she looked absolutely desolate and Daisy quickly agreed with her that to look at maps of Europe would be a good idea. At least it would give her something to do. She would have to see Frank Wishaw before she left, to encourage him to visit her parents. A big lad wanting feeding up was just what her mother needed. But worry followed worry. Rose was also determined to join the Forces.

‘I’ve never been further than Brighton, Daisy. I want some excitement,’ she had said the night before as they’d talked before falling asleep

‘Being hurt in an air raid isn’t excitement enough for you?’

‘Some might say I’d already done my bit, but Stan and me’s talked. We like each other a lot but we’re not even twenty yet. Plenty of time.’

Daisy remembered those sweet moments by Adair’s bed when his eyes had said, even promised, so much. ‘Couldn’t agree more, Rose.’

It was a lovely morning and so Daisy decided to walk over to the cinema where her friend Sally Brewer had fallen in love with not only the silver screen but several of the actors appearing on it. It was so long since she’d seen Sally, who had written just before Christmas about a new part in a play. Sally would not be there but Daisy felt guilty about not visiting the parents who had often slipped Sally’s three particular friends into the cinema.

Mrs Brewer was thrilled to see her. It was almost a year since Daisy had seen Sally’s mum and she looked different, much thinner than before, although, like her daughter, she had always been thin.

Now she enveloped Daisy in a warm hug. ‘Daisy Petrie, we knew you were at home and if we hadn’t seen you I’d have been that sad.’

‘Sorry, Mrs Brewer. A friend crash-landed near here and is in the County Hospital, and visiting took up some time, and then, well, you know about things at home.’