Some Lucky Day (18 page)

‘What’s more important than putting decent bread into our family’s stomachs? This has got bits in it,’ snapped someone else.

‘Winning the war,’ he barked, the colour in his face rising to quite an alarming hue. ‘This is the new National Wholemeal Loaf. It is healthy and nutritious and it is all I can sell you today, tomorrow and until the end of the war.’ He folded his arms over his white apron and glared, daring them to argue further.

‘I’d rather go without than eat that,’ muttered Mrs Pike as she stomped out of the bakery.

Ron eyed the loaves of bread Mr Timmons had on his shelves. They certainly didn’t look appetising, but if there was nothing else then he supposed he had no choice but to buy them. Bread wasn’t rationed, and it had become a staple part of their diet at Beach View and filled the gaps left by the tight rationing. To go without bread was unthinkable.

There was a lot of muttering as the women reluctantly bought this new bread, and Mr Timmons, usually so cheerful and polite, remained grimly determined not to take the blame for this latest government decree.

‘Hello, Ron,’ he said as he handed over the two loaves he’d put by under the counter. ‘Sorry about this, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘Well, they’re sturdy enough, I’ll say that,’ he replied as he felt their weight. ‘To be sure, they’ll stick to the sides of the stomach so they will.’ He pulled Peggy’s string bag out of his trouser pocket and placed them inside.

Mr Timmons reached under the counter and handed over a fairly large brown paper bag. ‘There will be more tomorrow,’ he said quietly.

‘What’s that?’ said the woman behind Ron sharply. ‘Are you selling something else that we don’t know about?’

‘It’s the breadcrumbs swept off the floor at the end of every day,’ said Mr Timmons with a sigh. ‘It’s not fit for human consumption, Mrs Brown, but it ensures that nothing goes to waste.’

Ron opened the bag to prove there was nothing of any value in it and was immediately surrounded. ‘I use them to feed me chickens and ferrets,’ he explained to the women. ‘They don’t mind a bit of dust and dead spider mixed in with their food.’

There were some sniffs of disapproval and a few glares, and Mr Timmons had clearly taken umbrage at the mention of dust and spiders being anywhere near his shop, so Ron decided that retreat was the better part of valour and made a hasty exit.

On his return to Beach View, he regaled Peggy and Cordelia with what had happened at the bakery, and then placed the dingy-beige loaves on the table. Taking the breadknife from the dresser drawer, he carefully cut off the crust and shaved a thin slice for them all to sample.

‘Urgh, that’s awful,’ grimaced Peggy. ‘It’s got hard bits in it that get into your teeth, and when you start to chew it goes soggy and sticks to the roof of your mouth.’

As Cordelia echoed this sentiment, Ron examined the wafer of bread and came to the conclusion that they’d certainly used every part of the crop, for he could see bits of husk in it. He put it in his mouth and discovered it bore little relation to any bread he’d ever tasted before. ‘I’m thinking we won’t be eating as much bread from now on,’ he muttered. ‘But I suppose we’ll get used to it.’

‘Thank goodness I’ve got enough stale white bread to make that summer pudding,’ said Peggy. ‘This wouldn’t do at all.’

‘’Tis a good thing you got that white flour,’ said Ron. ‘Does Jim’s friend have any more, do you think? Only once word gets round, it’ll be as expensive as gold dust.’

‘He said he did, but I didn’t have enough money on me at the time to buy more,’ murmured Peggy. She reached for her purse. ‘It’s Johnny Carter down in Green Street.’

Ron knew Johnny very well from back in the days when they used to go night fishing off the coast of France. He was as sharp as a tack and as wily as a bag of ferrets, but friendship and shared experience meant that Ron knew how to get round him.

‘Keep your money in your purse, Peggy,’ he said. ‘I’ll go there now.’

The curtain was closed around Kitty’s bed as Nurse Hopkins finished rubbing the icy surgical spirit into her back and buttocks. ‘There we are,’ she said cheerfully. ‘That will keep the nasty old bed sores at bay.’

Kitty’s smile was wan, for although the girl meant well, she was getting a bit fed up with all this heartiness. She felt low today, and was utterly sick and tired of being imprisoned in this damned bed with her one decent leg strung up towards the ceiling.

She lay there, unable to help, as the nurse struggled to get her dressed in the hospital nightgown and do up the buttons down the front. ‘It’ll be much easier once the plaster’s off my arms,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.’

‘Good heavens,’ the girl replied, her brown eyes widening. ‘You’re not a nuisance at all. I just haven’t got the hang of the bally thing properly, that’s all, and with Matron on the warpath this morning, I’m all fingers and thumbs.’

Kitty had long since realised that Nurse Hopkins had probably gone to boarding school and been very good at games. ‘I feel sorry for you nurses,’ she said. ‘She really is the limit, isn’t she?’

‘Frightful woman,’ Nurse Hopkins replied with a roll of her eyes. ‘Honestly, she’s far worse than any headmistress I had the misfortune to cross – and I can tell you, there were one or two old dragons.’

‘Yes, I know exactly what you mean,’ replied Kitty as she thought of the times she’d been hauled in to face the wrath of her own headmistress.

Nurse Hopkins beamed her lovely smile. ‘I can see you’re a bit down in the dumps this morning,’ she said. ‘But we have a special treat for you, which I guarantee will cheer you up no end.’

Kitty perked up immediately. ‘Freddy’s here?’

The nurse shook her head. ‘Unfortunately not, although I have to say, he does liven things up around here when he visits.’ She must have seen the disappointment in Kitty’s face, for she hurried on. ‘General Thorne has said you can get out of bed today.’

‘Really? That’s marvellous, but what about that?’ She eyed the pulley contraption which had been lowered so the nurse could attend to her.

‘Oh, you won’t need that once you’re up and about,’ said the nurse as she eased Kitty’s leg out of the harness. ‘So, what do you think? Would you like to go and see the garden? It’s a beautiful day.’

‘Yes,’ Kitty replied firmly. ‘I’m fed up with lying here.’

‘Jolly good show,’ said the nurse. ‘I’ll just go and fetch Nurse Gardner to help me get you into the chair.’

She dashed off through the curtain and Kitty wriggled her bottom up the bed until she was bolstered by her pillows. With her leg out of the pulley it was so much easier to move around. Yet she didn’t dare try to do any more, for she was still hampered by the plaster casts on her arms, and all the wriggling had pulled at the scar in her abdomen where her spleen had been repaired.

With a sigh of frustration, she leaned against the pillows, sadly remembering the times she’d swung her legs out of bed in the morning without a moment’s thought. Now she had to wait to be helped with the slightest thing.

‘Here we are,’ Nurse Hopkins said brightly. ‘Now, I know you’re impatient, but you need to take things slowly and carefully. You’ll feel a bit odd for a while, but that’s only natural after lying in bed for so long.’

Kitty found she couldn’t help at all as the two nurses sat her up and lifted her to the edge of the bed. They joined hands beneath her thighs and behind her back, and with one orchestrated heave, had her in the bedside chair.

‘There, that was easy, wasn’t it? Light as a feather, you are. How does it feel to have disembarked the bed?’

‘Odd,’ admitted Kitty, ‘but in a very nice way,’ she added hurriedly.

Nurse Gardner straightened Kitty’s nightdress and in several efficient moves had the hospital dressing gown on and tied round Kitty’s narrow waist. ‘We don’t want you getting a chill, even if it is lovely and sunny out there.’

‘Your chariot awaits,’ said Nurse Hopkins as she brought in the wheelchair. ‘Let’s pop you in and get you a good dose of lovely sunshine.’

Kitty was lifted from one chair to the other. A blanket was tucked over her lap, and a leg-rest was drawn out from underneath so her plastered leg was fully supported. ‘Let’s go,’ she said impatiently.

The curtain was drawn back and there was a chorus of congratulations from the girls who were still confined to their beds as Kitty was wheeled down the ward.

Kitty grinned with delight as Nurse Hopkins steered her through the swing doors and out into the corridor. This had clearly once been a rather grand house, for there was a magnificent oak staircase leading to the floor above, dark wood panelling halfway up the walls, and a highly decorated ceiling with plaster angels, roses, unicorns and heraldic shields dancing across it.

‘What was this place?’ she asked.

‘It used to belong to an old lady,’ Nurse Hopkins replied. ‘She was the last in line of a very grand, wealthy family. Her son and grandson were both killed on the Somme in the last war, so she decided to leave it in their memory to the services as a hospital. Between the wars it was used as a nursing home for the elderly veterans with long-term health problems, and now it’s proving to be a wonderful place to treat the injured from this war. Every service is accounted for here, including the Women’s Timber Corps, the Land Army, the NAAFI and dozens of others. You’re in the east wing, and the larger west wing has been allocated for the men.’

Kitty was eager to see more of this lovely house, but for now she was happy just to be out of bed and on the move.

Nurse Hopkins brought the wheelchair to a halt at the open French windows. ‘There,’ she breathed. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’

Kitty gazed out at the sweeping lawns where a game of croquet was being played with great enthusiasm and little skill by a group of men on crutches. There were dense trees forming a barrier at the end of the garden, and the neat flowerbeds being tended by some of the more able patients were alive with colour. She could hear birdsong and smell the roses that clambered over the stone parapet of the broad terrace where people were gathered in groups in their wheelchairs, or sitting at tables beneath vast umbrellas.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she sighed. ‘But . . .’ She suddenly felt afraid to go out there and be stared at by all those strangers – especially the men. ‘I don’t think . . .’

Nurse Hopkins knelt beside her and softly placed her hand on Kitty’s bandaged thigh. ‘You’re no different to everyone else out there,’ she said quietly. ‘They’ve all been injured one way or another, and the majority of them have lost limbs too. Don’t imagine that they’ll stare or make comments, for each and every one of them knows how hard that is to bear.’

Kitty watched as the group playing croquet laughed uproariously at something one of them had said. Then she regarded the men and women in wheelchairs who were chatting in groups as they drank tea and smoked cigarettes – and the quiet few who were reading, or strolling on their crutches across the lawn.

‘Oi, Kitty!’ yelled Doreen from the terrace. ‘What you doing there? Come out here. I saved yer a place.’

Nurse Hopkins laughed. ‘A foghorn would have a job making itself heard when Doreen’s about.’ She tilted her head. ‘So, why don’t I take you over there to join in the fun?’

Kitty realised Doreen had drawn unwanted attention to her, and she knew that if she chickened out now she’d be thought of as terribly feeble and a bit of a wet blanket. ‘All right, but just for a little while,’ she replied reluctantly.

Nurse Hopkins patted the stump of Kitty’s thigh, and with a rather knowing smile, pushed her wheelchair through the French windows and onto the terrace.

Kitty returned the various greetings with some bravura, despite feeling horribly exposed.

‘Blimey, it took you long enough,’ said Doreen, who was sitting at a big wooden table with five other people. ‘I thought you’d changed your mind.’

Nurse Hopkins brought Kitty’s wheelchair to a halt and set the brake before striding off.

Kitty felt abandoned and quite vulnerable, but Doreen was having none of it. ‘You know Beth, Joan and Sybil from the ward, of course, and this ’ere’s James – he’s RAF – and this is Edward who’s a Marine,’ she said as she made the introductions.

Kitty smiled shyly at the two men opposite her as they just as shyly welcomed her to the group.

‘Doreen’s frightfully bossy, isn’t she?’ said the young airman with an empty left sleeve in his dressing gown. ‘But she’s jolly good fun and cheers us up no end.’

‘Yes, she’s quite a girl, is our Doreen,’ agreed Ed, who had heavy bandaging over his head and right eye.

‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ said Doreen flirtatiously. ‘I’ve heard about you Marines.’

‘It’s sailors who have a girl in every port,’ he replied with a smile. ‘Marines are much more selective.’

Kitty began to relax as the banter went back and forth in the dappled shade of the nearby trees. It was a beautiful day, she was alive and amongst people who understood exactly what she was going through. Everything would be all right.

Doreen lit a cigarette and picked up the pack of rather grubby cards from the table. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘We was about to ’ave a few ’ands of five card brag.’ She squinted at Kitty through her cigarette smoke. ‘You up for it, gel?’

‘Only if you’re prepared to lose,’ smiled Kitty.

‘Now that’s what I call fighting talk,’ laughed Doreen. ‘Yer on, gel.’

Ron strode across the hills with Daisy happily ensconced against his broad chest in the old army satchel he’d adapted for just this purpose. Harvey was galloping about trying to catch flies, wasps and butterflies as they hummed and flitted above the long grass, and the air was scented with warm earth and the salt from the sea.

These hills had become his second home, and he loved the sense of youthful freedom they gave him, for he was at one with the elements, and he could turn his back on all his responsibilities and just be.

After giving the ferrets a bit of a run through the maze of rabbit warrens that lay beneath the chalk and grass, he’d put their catches in one of the pockets of his long poacher’s coat, and with Dora and Flora now asleep in another, he’d set off again. He’d decided to take a different route today, and instead of heading down into the valley which eventually led to Cliffe aerodrome and the tiny village where Anne and Martin had a house, he turned north-west.