Sweet Memories of You (Beach View Boarding House) (9 page)

There had been some discussion over whether they should invest in a Morrison shelter, which was a large, cage-like structure of steel, wood and wire that could be erected indoors. However, no one liked the idea of being trapped in such a thing should the house fall down around them, and once Ron had pointed out that, with so many people to accommodate, it was also impractical, they’d suppressed their dislike for the Anderson shelter, accepting it was better than nothing.

They crowded in and shut the door as the sirens wailed and Harvey howled piteously. There was very little room to manoeuvre, for the benches left only a narrow aisle in the middle, and the far end of the shelter was lined with shelves that were laden with tin mugs and plates, spare candles, old magazines, a large canister of fresh water, a kettle, and a can of paraffin to restock the heater.

Peggy put the box down on a bench as Ron mopped up the puddles on the floor and Rita settled Cordelia in her chair, pulling a blanket over her knees and hands to keep off the chill. Daisy wriggled and screamed in protest as Sarah tried to get her into the specially adapted cot that served as protection against any gas attack, and as the high-pitched noise rang through the metal shelter it even managed to drown out the sound of the sirens.

Peggy winced. ‘Let her be, Sarah. It’s too early in the morning for that sort of racket, and she’s getting too big to put in it, really.’ She pulled the worn rug out of the box and laid it on the floor.

Daisy was immediately all smiles, and she pulled herself up Ron’s leg and beamed up at him before she lost her balance and bumped down on her bottom. Ron picked her up and she roared with laughter as she gave his wayward brows a hefty tug.

‘Ach, to be sure you’ve a fair grip,’ he muttered. ‘I wish you wouldn’t do that.’

‘It’s your own fault, Ron,’ said Cordelia. ‘If you trimmed those brows she wouldn’t be able to get hold of them.’

Ron grimaced as he eased Daisy’s little fist open and then bounced her on his knee to distract her. ‘I’ll not be trimming anything,’ he grumbled.

‘That’s rather obvious,’ she retorted with a sniff.

‘To be sure, Cordelia Finch, ’tis too early to be at odds with anyone. Why don’t you turn off that hearing aid so a man can get a wee bit of peace?’

‘And to be sure, Ronan Reilly, it wouldn’t make a bit of difference,’ she replied waspishly. ‘I’d still have to look at you – and I have to say, it’s a particularly unattractive sight this morning after all the beer you obviously consumed last night.’

Ron rolled his eyes and looked to the others for a bit of sympathy, but there was clearly none forthcoming. He put Daisy down to crawl about the small rug Peggy had laid on the floor. ‘’Tis a terrible shame to mock the afflicted,’ he grumbled. ‘What with me moving shrapnel and me medal for bravery, one would have thought I’d earned at least a little respect.’

‘Your headache is self-inflicted,’ said Cordelia, ‘so don’t come the old soldier with me.’

Ron sighed deeply and then grinned at Daisy, who was looking up at him trustingly, and chucked her under the chin. ‘At least one member of this family thinks I’m the bee’s knees,’ he said.

‘Only because she’s too young to understand what a liability you can be.’ Cordelia’s glare of disapproval was rather marred by the twinkle in her eyes.

Peggy and the others were used to these minor spats and took little notice of them, for they knew that for all their arguing, there was a deep affection between Ron and Cordelia. Peggy doled out the porridge and they all sat in their overcoats eating their breakfast as the sirens stopped wailing and the seagulls mewled and wailed overhead.

Harvey stopped howling and wedged himself beneath the bench with a sigh of contentment. He didn’t mind the sound of the planes, or the thump and crump of bombs, he just hated that siren.

Peggy eyed the pair of them with affection. Ron was looking decidedly the worse for wear after yet another night of celebratory drinking, and Harvey didn’t look much better. ‘Have you been giving him beer again?’ she asked as she fed Daisy.

‘Aye. He likes a drop now and again.’

‘It’s not good for him, you know.’

‘A little of what you fancy does no harm,’ he rumbled as he finished his porridge. ‘Are you going to put that kettle on, Peggy? A man could die of thirst, so he could.’

Peggy filled the tin kettle from the canister of water, lit the gas ring and hunted out tea and milk from the emergency box. ‘I hope this doesn’t go on for too long,’ she muttered. ‘I have to get to the shops this morning and then I’ve got my shift with the WVS at the Town Hall.’

‘Bertie’s taking me to lunch at the Conservative Club again,’ said Cordelia for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘I wonder what they’ll be serving? Last time we had lamb cutlets.’

Peggy’s mouth watered at the thought of lamb cutlets smothered in thick, rich gravy and lashings of buttery mash and mint sauce. Whoever was doing the catering at that club had to have connections with a black marketeer or a very obliging butcher, for she hadn’t seen such a thing in months. She finished feeding Daisy and then smeared a bit of the regulation margarine on a slice of wheatmeal bread for her. It was foul-tasting stuff, made from fish oil of all things, but as Daisy had rarely tasted proper butter, she quite liked it.

The roar of fighter planes leaving Cliffe aerodrome reverberated through the shelter, and as Rita’s gaze followed the sound, Peggy’s heart went out to her. Matthew was her first love, so of course her emotions were heightened, and Peggy could understand how hard it must be for her to hear those planes and not know if he was up there – and if he was, whether he would return safely.

As wave after wave of Spitfires and Hurricanes thundered above them, Peggy’s thoughts turned to Martin and all the pilots she’d been privileged to meet over the years. There had been tragic losses and close shaves, but it seemed this young generation was made of sterling stuff, and no matter what they had to face, they carried on determinedly. Kitty Makepeace was a prime example, for having lost a leg in the service of the Air Transport Auxiliary, she’d overcome the handicap, learned to walk on her prosthesis, got married to Roger, and climbed straight back into a plane again. Roger was still flying too, along with Kitty’s brother, Freddy, in Martin’s squadron, and all she could do was pray they would come through unscathed.

Ron poured some tea in a saucer for Harvey and then glared belligerently at the noise of the planes. He’d definitely had more than a drop too many the night before, for his head was pounding and the racket the RAF was making didn’t help. Yet he realised they were heading west, so the enemy raid was probably going on further down the coast – in which case it wouldn’t be long before the all-clear went.

He leaned back against the cold, damp wall of the shelter and quickly glanced across at Sarah before closing his eyes. She looked pale this morning, which was hardly surprising, for he’d come home well after midnight to find her alone and tearful in the kitchen. Immediately concerned, he’d made tea for them both and over the next hour or so, they’d discussed Jane’s posting, and the very real fear she had that her young sister might find herself out of her depth amongst such august company.

Ron had been a bit befuddled with the drink, but he could empathise with the girl and allay her fears over her sister, who was clearly more than capable of standing on her own two feet. He also understood that Sarah’s concerns were not just for Jane. She had a great deal to contend with, for not only was she far from home and family, but she’d been charged with her sister’s care and now faced the prospect of being parted from her until the war ended, and having to keep all this from their mother.

On top of all that she’d confided in him about the American and her feelings for him, and the awful guilt she felt over what she saw as a betrayal of Philip. His heart had gone out to her as he struggled to find the right words that might help, for he’d been in a similar situation during the First World War and had wrestled for months with his own guilt. He knew he wasn’t as good as Peggy with this sort of thing, and although he was flattered that the girl trusted him enough to confide in him, he’d found it a little awkward. But he’d done his best, and she’d seemed a little more positive by the time she’d finally gone back to bed.

He gave a sigh. There had been times over the past four years when he’d also felt adrift and helpless. Uncertainty over the future made him fret, for he’d already lost two grandsons – Frank’s eldest boys – when their minesweeper blew up in the Atlantic. And now he had Jim and Frank to worry over, as well as his surviving grandchildren and great-grandchildren – who were scattered to the four winds, communication with them rare and unsatisfactory,

He gritted his teeth. This damned war had a lot to answer for, and if he’d been a younger man he’d have taken up arms and gone over there to knock Hitler’s ruddy block off. Yet he knew his limitations and was content to do his bit for the Home Guard and shoulder the responsibility for Frank’s wife, as well as Peggy and the rest of the household, until Jim and Frank came home and the family could be together again.

His thoughts drifted back to the conversation he’d had with Sarah, and to the girls who’d come and gone over the years. Peggy clucked over them like a mother hen, but these girls weren’t helpless chicks, for every one of them had skills to play their part against Hitler’s tyranny – and to Ron’s mind, there was one in particular who would always stick out as very special.

Danuta had escaped from Poland early on in the war, and had come to Beach View in search of her brother who, sadly, had been shot down during an RAF raid over France. Ron had been very taken with her, for she was a fearless little thing, highly intelligent and burning with the desire to crush the enemy that had wiped out her entire family. Having survived the slaughter in Poland and made her way through enemy territory to England, she was well qualified to fulfil that ambition, and had been frustrated that the only job she could get was in the hospital laundry or driving an ambulance.

Ron had understood her frustration and, through his many contacts, had arranged for her to meet some people who would hone her skills in covert attacks and sabotage as well as the more refined arts of spying and Morse code. He could only make an educated guess at what Danuta had been involved in since she’d left Beach View – and of course her irregular letters to Peggy revealed nothing – but he suspected she’d been parachuted in behind enemy lines to co-ordinate with the Resistance, and perhaps even to use her language skills to gather vital intelligence.

And now little Jane Fuller was following in her footsteps to Bletchley Park – not to spy or risk her life in occupied Europe, but to decode and decipher German signals.

He’d said nothing of this to Sarah, for he’d signed the Official Secrets Act many years ago and still adhered to it. And yet the years of covert action in the Special Forces during the first shout, and the contacts he’d made throughout this most secret of services, often meant that he knew a great deal about what was really going on – things deemed unsuitable for public consumption as morale had to be maintained.

He was roused from his thoughts as the all-clear sounded and Harvey started to scrabble at the door. He let the dog out, shooed the girls off to work, rolled up the rug, and helped Cordelia to her feet. Taking the heavy box of emergency rations from Peggy, he hurried indoors, and then grabbed his poaching coat. He needed fresh air and exercise after sitting in that shelter, and the hills above Cliffehaven were calling him – but first he’d make his weekly visit to the cemetery to place wild flowers on the graves of Danuta’s brother, Aleksy, and her stillborn daughter Katarzyna. He’d promised Danuta he’d watch over them, and he intended to do so for as long as he lived.

Peggy had a great deal on her mind that morning as she stood in the slow-moving queue at the butcher’s, so much so that, unusually, she was hardly aware of the gossip going on around her. There had been no airgraph from Jim in the morning post, which meant she hadn’t heard from him for almost a month, which was more of a frustration than a worry, for she knew how delayed the mail could get – and yet it would have been nice to hear from him a little more regularly now he was actually settled at the mobile workshop on active service.

She edged forward with the queue as Daisy burbled in response to the attention from the other women, and gave scant notice to the speculation that there might be pork chops on sale this morning. Rumours were rife in every queue and rarely proved true, so there was little point in expecting anything remotely appetising.

Peggy’s thoughts turned to Sarah and Jane. She’d heard someone go down to the kitchen very late and hadn’t really given it much thought until she’d heard the sound of stifled sobs. She’d guessed it was Sarah, and had been on the point of going in to comfort her when she’d heard the rumble of Ron’s voice. She’d lain awake until she heard Sarah return to her bedroom, and had hoped that her father-in-law had managed to quell the girl’s concerns. Ron, of course, had said nothing this morning and shot off before she could pin him down and question him, but she suspected his wisdom and kind-heartedness had done the trick as usual.

Peggy inched forward again as a woman emerged from the butcher’s clasping a small white package. ‘What did you get?’ she asked.

‘Offal and a bit of mince,’ she replied with a grimace.

Peggy nodded and sighed. She’d forget what proper meat tasted like at this rate, and Cordelia’s remark about lamb cutlets still resonated, making the reality even harder to deal with.

She inched the pram forward and then turned up her coat collar and huddled within the long line of women to shelter from the icy wind that was tearing up from the sea. March was a depressing month at the best of times, but this year it felt as if spring would never come. What with the shortages and restrictions, the damp cold and the seemingly endless roar of RAF planes overhead, life was tougher than ever and her usual buoyant spirits had deserted her.

Her thoughts returned to the girls living at Beach View, and the empty rooms that could house someone in need. She really should do something about them – especially now that Jane was leaving tomorrow. Perhaps little Ivy might like to move in?