Sweet Memories of You (Beach View Boarding House) (31 page)

Doreen ran her hand over the downy quilt as she let the sights, scents and sounds of home soothe her pain and repair her tattered spirits. Beach View had already begun to work its magic.

Ivy was feeling remarkably bright despite the nightmares that had disturbed her sleep. She dug her lightly bandaged hands into her trouser pockets and walked back down the hill from the factory estate, her gas-mask box bumping against her hip.

She’d left Beach View very early that morning in her quest to find another job, and because she’d been the first to arrive at the estate offices, and another girl had been dismissed, she’d been very fortunate to be given a post in the large hangar where aircraft parts were put together. With her sore hands cushioned by thick gloves, she’d spent the rest of the day getting stuck in to learning how to use the tools and which bits went where, and although the pay wasn’t half as good as she’d been getting, it was better than nothing and kept her mind off the horrors of her entrapment. The other girls had also proved to be good company, and she’d discovered that she already knew a couple of them, having met them at various dances and pubs.

It had taken quite a bit of courage to go and look at the devastation on the far corner of the estate during her lunch break, but Ron had advised her to do it, because it was important for her to come to terms with what had happened. Yet the sight that met her was not what she’d expected, and she’d stood there dumbfounded trying to take it all in. The great piles of rubble had already been cleared, the parachute and tool factories had been demolished, and there was an army of men busily erecting the steel framework for new ones. It was as if the raid had never happened – had simply been a bad dream – and Ivy had found this more difficult to contend with than if things had been left as they were.

She’d stood for a while remembering Freda and all the others who’d died, and then turned away. Life and the effort to win this war went on regardless, but it was difficult to forget the terror she’d felt, and the sights she’d seen – and very hard to accept she would never see Freda again.

She reached the humpbacked bridge and waved to Stan, who was waiting for the next train, and then hurried down the High Street. She hadn’t seen the other girls from the East End in the canteen or at the factory gates, and she wondered how they were getting on.

The tall Victorian villa was situated off the High Street in one of the terraced back streets. In many ways it was similar to Beach View, but the front garden was unkempt and the doorknocker needed a good clean – as did the windows, she noted as she rapped the knocker and waited.

The elderly woman who opened the door resembled a cottage loaf in shape. ‘Hello, dear,’ said Mrs Pierce. ‘It’s Ivy, isn’t it? I’m sorry, dear, but the girls aren’t here.’

‘Have they found other jobs then?’

‘Gladys and Mabel have got something at the uniform factory in Camden Road, but Dot’s decided to go back to London.’ Mrs Pierce smiled. ‘I heard you were looking for a new billet,’ she said. ‘So you’re very welcome to stay here now I’ve got the room.’

Ivy explained about Beach View, thanked her and walked away. It was good her friends had found work, but she was surprised Dot had thrown in the towel and gone back to the Smoke. Life wasn’t half as pleasant there, and Dot had seemed very settled in Cliffehaven. It was a bit of a mystery, but she gave a mental shrug of acceptance and headed back down the hill. It was down to choice in the end, and she’d long decided she liked to be by the sea.

Instead of turning off into Camden Road she went down to the seafront and stood for a moment to enjoy the late sunshine and look at the sparkling sea. The air was so clean and fresh compared to London, and she liked the sound the waves made as they broke over the shingle and then made it rattle as they drew it back down the beach. She watched the gulls mewling and squabbling overhead, still in awe of how very large they were, and then she strolled down the promenade, hands in pockets, feeling very much at home.

She exchanged a bit of banter with the soldiers manning the anti-aircraft guns, but kept on walking, and all too soon she’d reached the end of the promenade and had to navigate the hill towards Beach View.

Ron had told her this morning that Peggy was bringing her sister back from Kent, and she wondered if they’d arrived home yet. The poor woman obviously must be in a bad way if Peggy thought it serious enough to fetch her home. Going by what Ron had said, Ivy guessed that she probably was suffering from nightmares, just like she herself was, and sudden flashing images of what she’d been through.

As she slogged up the hill, Ivy wondered if Peggy’s sister would appreciate talking about what had happened to her – it had certainly helped when Ron had made her tell him about being trapped in that basement. But everyone was different, so she had to keep her gob shut for once and find out how the land lay with Doreen before she approached her about it.

She was a bit out of breath by the time she reached the alley at the back of the house, and she was still panting a bit as she went into the scullery and up the stairs. Fran was helping Peggy with the tea, Cordelia was laying the table, and the kitten was avidly watching everything from the shelf above the drainer, but there was no sign of anyone else.

‘Hello, dear,’ said Peggy. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Getting meself a job making bits of plane.’ Ivy dumped her gas-mask box on a nearby chair and shrugged off her coat.

‘It’s a bit soon, Ivy,’ Peggy fretted. ‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’

‘I need the money,’ Ivy said. ‘Besides, work keeps me busy and I don’t ’ave time to think about other things.’ She poured herself some lukewarm tea and gulped it down. ‘I’m off out with Rita tonight, so I’d better get changed.’

‘By the way,’ said Peggy, ‘you had a visitor.’

Ivy frowned. ‘What visitor?’

‘A very nice young chap called Andy Rawlings.’

‘I don’t know no Andy Rawlings. Who is he and what did he want?’

‘He’s one of the fire crew who got you out of that basement, and he wanted to see if you were all right.’ Peggy chuckled. ‘There’s no need to look so fierce, Ivy. He was just concerned, that’s all, and so I told him you’d be home for tea and to call round again.’

Ivy remembered a pair of strong arms and broad shoulders, dark brown eyes in a face smeared with sweat and soot, and a Cockney accent. She felt a tingle of pleasure at the thought that he’d been worried about her, but she wasn’t going to let Peggy know that.

‘I don’t know why he come round. He knew I were all right anyway.’ She met Peggy’s amused gaze and infuriatingly felt the heat rise in her face. ‘What’s a young bloke like that doin’ messing about with fire engines when he should be in the Army or something?’

‘He’s profoundly deaf in one ear and the Army wouldn’t take him,’ said Peggy rather shortly.

‘Oh.’ A chastened Ivy shuffled her feet as the blush deepened. ‘Well, I weren’t to know that, were I?’ she managed before she shot out of the room and took the stairs two at a time.

As she swung round the newel post to take the next flight she crashed straight into someone coming the other way and they had to cling to each other to stop themselves from falling over.

‘Goodness me. You
are
in a rush. Where’s the fire?’

Ivy giggled. ‘It’s not the fire – it’s the fireman what’s the trouble.’ She looked into the amused face that was so like Peggy’s and realised this must be her sister. ‘Hello, I’m Ivy.’

‘And I’m Doreen.’ She cocked her head and regarded Ivy, the amusement still clear in her eyes. ‘So, who’s the fireman stirring you up, Ivy?’

‘Just some bloke what reckons his chances,’ she replied with a nonchalant shrug. ‘Honestly, blokes are a funny lot, aren’t they? They seem to think that carrying a girl out of a burning basement gives them the right to take liberties.’

Doreen smiled. ‘What sort of liberties?’

‘Coming round ’ere, letting Peggy get ideas. You know what she’s like with ’er matchmaking – she’ll ’ave us married off before the week’s out.’

‘Oh well, you can’t have that,’ said Doreen, clearly trying not to laugh. ‘Goodness me, Ivy, no wonder you’re in such a rush to escape.’ She patted Ivy’s arm. ‘You’d better get changed for your night out. Tea will be ready very soon.’

Ivy watched her go down the stairs. She seemed very nice, not at all like snooty Doris. And even though she was twice her age, Ivy had an inkling that they would get on very well.

She ran up the last flight and crashed into the large front bedroom on the top floor, startling Rita who was in the middle of pulling a dress over her head. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I’m running a bit late, but I’ll be ready in time, don’t you worry. I’ve been looking forward to tonight and no mistake.’

Rita buttoned up the cotton dress. ‘Did you manage to get a job then?’

Ivy told her all about it as she stripped off her dungarees and thick shirt, then grabbed her ratty dressing gown and her washbag. ‘The pay ain’t as good, but they’re rebuilding the munitions factory, so I expect they’ll be taking people on and I’ll be earning better soon enough.’ She paused in the doorway, wanting to question Rita about Andy Rawlings, but then changed her mind. She’d discover for herself what he was made of, if he was interested enough to come to the house again – and if she was interested enough to want to find out more about him.

Harvey was sitting poised by the table as Queenie emerged from beneath it demanding to be fed. Ron had rolled a second piece of pork belly over stuffing for their tea, and when Peggy took out the roasting tin, the delicious smell wafted through the kitchen.

Peggy let Ron carve, and said nothing as he dropped a few scraps down for the animals – everyone deserved a treat. She loaded each plate with golden roasted potatoes and a heap of vegetables from the garden. There was a pot of gravy to go with it, and some of the apple sauce she’d made from last year’s crop which Sarah had secretly harvested from the orchard on the Cliffe estate.

Peggy made sure Ron divided the meat fairly and then gave Harvey his bowl of bonemeal and scraps to keep him occupied while they ate. She picked up Queenie and set her on the wooden drainer well away from Harvey’s greedy nose, and gave her a saucer of milk and another of tinned cat food.

As the animals tucked into their meal, Rita and Ivy came into the kitchen, closely followed by Sarah and Fran, each looking very fetching in the dresses they’d made out of some old curtain material they’d found on a market stall. Rita and Ivy had pinned sparkling combs in their dark curls, Fran’s Titian ringlets were held back by a green ribbon and Sarah’s fair hair had been smoothed into a neat French plait.

‘Well, don’t you all look lovely?’ said Peggy with a sigh. She glanced across at her sister and realised it wouldn’t be kind to reminisce about the days when she and Jim had gone dancing in the ballroom at the end of the pier, for no doubt Doreen and Archie had gone to dances during their stay in London. ‘Sit down then and eat before it gets cold,’ she ordered. ‘It’s not often we have such a treat.’

As Peggy spooned the food into Daisy’s mouth and tucked into her own meal, she wondered if that nice young man would call again. She’d questioned Rita closely and discovered that he was twenty-two and single, and although he was forced to wear a hearing aid, he hadn’t let his disability slow him down. According to Rita he was popular at the fire station, and John Hicks spoke very highly of him. She felt a warm glow of pleasure that he’d sought Ivy out, and rather hoped something might come of it if he’d taken the broad hint she’d given him earlier.

‘Peggy Reilly, you’re up to something,’ muttered Ron beneath the chatter around the table. ‘It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain young fireman, would it?’

‘Don’t be silly, Ron,’ she replied airily. ‘The thought never crossed my mind.’

‘Hmph. And pigs might fly,’ he retorted before tucking into the pork.

Ivy and the other girls clattered down the road in their high heels on their way to the drill hall, where the town council were laying on the dance for the servicemen. Rita was hoping that Matthew would manage to get away from the aerodrome for one night, while Fran had already arranged to meet Robert there.

They arrived at the draughty old hall which was used by the Home Guard, the Guides, Scouts and the Women’s Institute, but for tonight was decked out in bunting, flags and balloons. The sound of the rather good local band drifted through the ill-fitting windows and thin wooden walls, and people were standing about chatting and laughing. Matt was outside with Robert, and Rita and Fran ran on ahead to meet them.

‘It looks like we’re on our own,’ said Sarah, linking arms with Ivy. ‘Still, there will be plenty of chaps to dance with. Some of the Yanks from Cliffe are planning to be here and I can introduce you if you like.’

Ivy grinned back at her, and they paid their sixpence at the door then stepped into a whirlwind of sound and movement. The band was playing ‘Under the Spreading Chestnut Tree’, and the dancers sang along as they followed the sequence of hand movements that were so much a part of the fun.

Ivy and Sarah went to the long table that had been set up as a bar, and once they’d got their glasses of beer, they shed coats, bags and gas-mask boxes and tapped their feet in time as they watched the dancers and joined in the song. The hall was full to bursting, and there were a lot of servicemen in their uniforms, both American and English – but the uniforms of the Yank soldiers were very much smarter than the baggy, unflattering khaki of the British boys, and with their clear skin and wholesome good looks, the Americans were a magnet for the girls.

There was a rush to the bar as the song ended and then the band struck up ‘The Lambeth Walk’ and Ivy couldn’t resist. ‘Come on, Sarah. We gotta do this one.’

They left their drinks with their coats and gas-mask boxes and joined in, laughing as some of the Yanks got confused and did the wrong steps, and before long they found themselves with partners and the old, creaking floor groaned beneath the stamping feet as the rafters rang with the noise.