Keep Smiling Through (28 page)

He grinned and smoothed his moustache. ‘Unfortunately the farmer had just ploughed it, so it was a bit of a bumpy ride and the poor old Spitfire took a thrashing. I hit my head on the instrument panel and was out cold for some time according to the land girls who managed to pull me out.’

‘He turned up at the base on the back of the farmer’s tractor,’ said Cissy with a wan smile. ‘The place was in chaos, communications were down and everyone was busy putting out the fires and trying to rescue as much as they could from the burnt-out hangars.’

‘We were told there were casualties,’ murmured Anne.

Martin nodded, his face ashen. ‘We lost several planes, four pilots and two civilian engineers. All good men, who will be very much missed.’

‘What about you, Cissy? It must have been terrifying to be in the thick of it.’

Cissy struggled to light a cigarette with one hand. She blew smoke, her gaze distant as she became lost in the memories of that raid. ‘We’d all gone to the shelters the minute the sirens went, but we could hear the bombs going off and the planes overhead. Me and Amy and the other girls were absolutely fine until one of the blasts knocked the shelter wall in. We were buried for a bit, and I honestly thought I’d never see daylight again, but they dug us all out quickly, and no one was seriously hurt. I ended up with a broken arm, and one or two of the others had nasty cuts and sprains, but Amy only had a few scratches and a badly bruised leg, so I guess we were very lucky.’

‘Certainly luckier than those poor souls who lost their lives in the Brook Street shelter,’ said Jim, who’d arrived in the kitchen doorway without any of them noticing.

‘Brook Street?’ breathed a wide-eyed Cissy. ‘But isn’t that the nearest shelter for Rita and Louise?’

‘Rita was on fire-watch up top, but Louise made it out in one piece only to find their street had been flattened,’ he replied, stroking her tangled hair with infinite tenderness before kissing her cheek. ‘But what about you, Cissy me darling? What’s happened to your arm?’

Cissy told him about the cave-in at the base shelter. ‘I’ll be fine in a matter of weeks, Dad,’ she assured him, ‘but I want to hear what’s happened to Rita.’

‘There’s nothing left of Barrow Lane or any of the streets behind the railway. The gasometer took a direct hit and the place was flattened. We had to get the maintenance crew in quickly to stem any gas leaks, and keep the residents away.’

‘Poor little Rita,’ sighed Anne. ‘We’ll have to find a space for them here – though I have no idea where to put them.’

‘They could share with me, I suppose,’ said Sylvia, ‘though it would certainly be a tight squeeze.’

‘No need for that, Lady Sylvia,’ said Ron as he emerged from the cellar with Harvey at his heels. ‘They’ve been billeted up at the old asylum and will be as comfortable there as anywhere.’ He pumped Martin’s hand and kissed Cissy’s cheek. ‘’Tis a world of thanks I’m giving to see you two again,’ he said.

‘It’s good to be home, Grandpa,’ said Cissy, ‘and as we’re both on leave until our injuries heal, it means we’ll be home for Christmas.’

‘This calls for a celebratory drink, so it does. Mrs Finch, break out the glasses while I get the whisky.’

Mrs Finch eyed Ron suspiciously. ‘I have no doubt you’re feeling frisky,’ she said frostily, ‘but I really don’t see why you have to tell
me.
’

Their laughter was soft and tinged with weariness and relief as Ron hunted out the glasses and poured the whisky. Then he raised his glass. ‘Here’s to Beach View and all who call it home.’

Anne felt the heat of the whisky at the back of her throat as she regarded them all with deep affection. This family would survive Hitler and come through united and stronger than ever.

Rita and Louise had battled with the ancient plumbing and taken it in turns to share the few inches of water in the bath. They’d used the rather murky water afterwards to wash Louise’s clothes and brush down her filthy overcoat, and Rita had strung everything up in the kitchen to dry, thankful they’d both had the foresight to pack a change of clothing and spare nightdresses in what they called their ‘air-raid bags’.

Having made the beds, Louise had curled up and was asleep within minutes. Rita had covered her with the heavy fire service overcoat and watched her careworn face slowly relax into peaceful repose. She would sleep for at least a couple of hours, and Rita had decided to take the opportunity to go back into Cliffehaven and try to discover what had happened to Cissy and Martin – and if Beach View Boarding House was still standing.

She had been passing the hospital in Camden Road on her way to Beach View when she’d seen Lady Sylvia walking towards her. It didn’t take very long to learn that both Martin and Cissy had come home to recuperate, and that all was well at Beach View. She spent a few minutes relaying her own news and, with a promise to pass on her love and best wishes to Cissy, Lady Sylvia had hurried into the hospital to see her son.

With a much lighter heart, Rita had then headed for the fire station to ask John Hicks if she could have the night off. He’d readily agreed, and she’d set off for Goldman’s clothing factory to inform them that Louise would not be working her shift tonight, but would come in the next morning. Mr Simmons, the supervisor, wasn’t best pleased, but Goldman had overheard their conversation and quickly intervened. Louise did not have to go into work until the following afternoon.

Feeling much better about things, Rita headed for the allotments. But as she rode past the quiet, empty streets of ruined homes, her heart ached for how it had once been, and she deliberately avoided going anywhere near Barrow Lane.

The vegetable plots had been planted on an empty tract of land the council had once planned to use for new housing. The nearby houses seemed to be hardly damaged, but for the windows which had been boarded up, and the allotment had come through the raid unscathed. But Rita suspected that such bounty wouldn’t survive the thieves, and she’d dug up as many potatoes, carrots and onions as she could, putting them into the sacks Tino kept in his little shed. The cabbages and Brussels sprouts wouldn’t keep for long, so she’d take them with her, the rest could stay locked in the shed.

She didn’t stay longer than necessary, for the allotment reminded her too sharply of Tino, and she’d suffered enough loss for one day. With everyone she loved so far away and her home in ruins, it didn’t help to linger on thoughts of what might have been. She stowed the tools away and padlocked the shed, then quickly tied the neck of the sack she was taking with her and carried it through the allotment to the bike.

With the sack wedged between her and the handles, she’d had to ride the bike slowly and carefully back to the asylum. It wasn’t an easy journey, and it had taken much longer than she’d planned. She could only hope that Louise hadn’t woken and become distressed to find she was alone in such strange surroundings.

Having tucked the Norton safely inside one of the many outhouses, Rita lugged the sack over her shoulder and let herself in through the front door just as Vi came down the stairs and Aggie peered round her door.

‘Hello, Rita,’ said Vi cheerfully. ‘You’ve been busy. What you got in there?’

She closed the front door behind her, ignored Aggie’s inquisitive eyes, and joined Vi Charlton on her way to the kitchen. ‘Vegetables,’ she replied. ‘Thought I’d make a big pot of soup to eke out the emergency rations.’

‘Yeah, they don’t give us much, do they? And I had a tin of biscuits in my cupboard at home that I was saving for Christmas an’ all. The damn thing’s probably burnt crumbs now – just like me lovely clothes and shoes.’ Vi looked down at the dowdy skirt and worn cardigan she’d been given from the piles of used clothing stored at the Town Hall.

‘Still, we’ve got a roof over our heads, – though it comes to something when we’re sent to an asylum,’ Rita said wryly. ‘What’s your room like?’

Vi put her box of rations on the scrubbed kitchen table. ‘Not too bad; I’m sharing with two other girls from Shanklin Street. We’re down on the ground floor, so we can get in and out without alerting the nosy parkers.’ She shot a glance at the two older women who were gossiping as they stirred pots of something on the range.

‘Aggie’s here,’ muttered Rita, ‘and she seems to be lurking about the hall every time I come downstairs.’

‘No one takes notice of Aggie,’ said Vi. ‘She’s managed to upset so many people over the years she has very few friends here.’ She paused as she reached into the box for the brown paper bag which held her weekly ration of tea. ‘Has Louise heard anything of her husband and son?’ she asked quietly so the others couldn’t hear.

Rita shook her head. ‘But we hope the authorities will let them write to us for Christmas. It would help no end to know they’re all right.’

‘They’ve got to be better off than us,’ Vi replied, carefully spooning some of the precious leaves into a pot. ‘Have you seen what’s happened to the factory?’

‘Is it very bad?’

‘Not enough damage to shut it down completely, but Major Patricia has had a team of men working through the day to make it safe. It’ll be business as usual tomorrow morning, I bet.’ She took the kettle off the range and poured the boiling water into the pot. ‘Want to share this with me?’

‘That would be lovely,’ sighed Rita. ‘I’ll just go and check on Louise. Keep an eye on that, will you? I’ll be back in a minute.’

Vi regarded the sack thoughtfully. ‘If I make a start on preparing the veg, do you think I could share some of your soup?’

‘Of course, Vi. But don’t do too many potatoes and onions, they’ll keep in the sack for ages yet.’

Rita hurried out of the kitchen, caught Aggie’s malevolent glare through the chink in her door and raced up the stairs. It would be a relief to get back to work and some kind of normality – but she still needed urgently to speak to that woman at the recruitment office. Although her head was telling her she’d probably lost her chance of fulfilling her dreams, her heart still yearned for it not to be so.

RITA HAD FALLEN
asleep almost the minute her head had hit the rather lumpy pillow. When she woke, she experienced a moment of disorientation before she remembered they were in the asylum, and that earthy smell was coming from the sack of vegetables in the corner and the onions she’d strung together from the hook on the door.

Lying there in the relative warmth of the thin blankets and the profound darkness of the blackout curtains, she listened to Louise’s soft breathing and knew she still slept. But she would wake soon enough to the trials and tribulations of adjusting to their new home and the people who shared it, and Rita could only hope that her time at the clothing factory had given her enough self-esteem to be able to cope and make friends.

She stared into the darkness, loath to begin the day, for although she had few qualms about their living arrangements and was quite happy to muck in with everyone else, she dreaded the visit to the recruiting office.

Unable to go back to sleep, and with her troubled thoughts churning, she climbed out of bed, hauled on her fleece-lined leather jacket over her nightdress, and tiptoed across the room to peek through the blackout curtains. The condensation had turned to ice on the inside of the windows and she had to scrape it away to see anything. It was hardly worth the effort, for the dawn was depressingly grey, with low clouds veiling the sea and the buildings at the bottom of the hill. Rain spattered against the glass, gulls cried mournfully as they hovered and swooped, and she could see the path of a brisk wind in the surrounding trees.

She sighed and let the curtains drop back into place. The only good thing about such a murky day was that Gerry would probably stay at home and leave them in peace to clear up the mess the Luftwaffe had left behind yesterday.

Not wanting to wake Louise, Rita quickly got dressed, used the bathroom and hurried downstairs to make a pot of tea. The kitchen was warm and welcoming, and, despite the early hour, was already quite busy. She greeted the other women who were sleepily preparing breakfast, feeding babies and helping one another to adjust to a different way of living.

Most of them were neighbours from the streets surrounding Barrow Lane, and had known each other for years, and it seemed that past enmities and niggling irritations had been set aside for now. Regardless of age, they were all in this together, with one goal: to get through this war, see their men home, and start again.

Rita spent some time chatting with them as she waited for the kettle to boil and the toast to brown, and was gratified and relieved to discover that Louise was no longer considered an outcast. In fact, she learned, Louise was regarded quite kindly now she’d proved she could hold down a proper job and go it alone – which Rita found most amusing in the circumstances, although she kept that to herself.

Louise was still curled up in bed when Rita brought the tray of tea and toast into the bedroom, but she was awake and threading the rosary beads through her fingers as she murmured her morning prayers and gazed at her photographs of Tino and Roberto.

‘I’d stay in bed for as long as you can until you have to go to work this afternoon,’ Rita said cheerfully. ‘It’s horrid out there.’

Louise slipped the rosary beads round her neck and sat up. ‘Do you have to leave just yet?’

Rita nodded as she poured the tea. ‘I’m due to start my shift at ten, so it’ll give me time to go to the recruiting office first.’ She fell silent, her appetite for tea and toast dwindling at the thought of what she had to do.

‘You’ll be far safer staying in Cliffehaven,’ said Louise, tucking into the toast, oblivious to the irony of her words considering their situation. ‘And the job in the factory pays very well. I can’t understand whatever possessed you to enlist with the WAAFs in the first place.’

Rita stirred the few grains of sugar she’d put in her tea, unable to reply. Louise would never understand – could never accept that there were opportunities and challenges for a girl like her outside the confines of Cliffehaven.

‘You’ll be much happier here amongst the people you know,’ Louise continued. ‘And when the men come home you’ll realise how much you really love Roberto, and settle down to a happy and contented life. A woman’s place is in the home with her husband and babies – not fooling about with engines and dashing around on motorbikes.’