The Clippie Girls (40 page)

They walked back the way they had come and entered the cool interior of the church, where they sat down with a sigh.

‘Looks like this place got bombed, too,’ Myrtle remarked as they noticed scaffolding down one side of the church and a tarpaulin covering a gaping hole in the roof. Then her attention turned back to her own discomfort. ‘My feet are killing me. How you stand up all day on the trams, I don’t know, Rose.’

‘You get used to it. And you’ll be on your feet a lot when you start nursing.’

The time dragged. They talked a little more and then fell silent, gazing round at the stained-glass windows and the plaques on the walls.

‘D’you think Peggy will have Freddie christened?’

Rose grimaced. ‘She’s not mentioned it and some vicars are funny about baptizing an illegitimate child.’

Myrtle snorted derisively and the noise echoed round the church, making them both fall into fits of laughter. When she’d wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes, Myrtle said, ‘That’s a bit unfair, taking it out on the innocent child. It wasn’t his fault, was it?’

‘No, it wasn’t. So, let’s see if we can find out where Freddie’s father is. It must be nearly an hour since we came in here. Let’s go.’

They retraced their steps back to the street and knocked on the door where Billy Parkin lived.

It was answered after a few moments by a big man, dressed in his vest and with his braces dangling down.

‘Hello, lasses, and to what do I owe this pleasure? Am I still asleep and dreamin’?’

Rose smiled and Myrtle giggled.

‘Is this where Billy Parkin lives?’

The man’s round face beamed. ‘It is, lass, and isn’t he the lucky one having two pretty lasses after him.’

‘Actually,’ Myrtle said, ‘it’s his mate, Terry Price, we’re looking for.’

A deep chuckle rumbled in his cavernous chest. ‘Aw, now that’s a pity. And there I was wonderin’ if I was about to meet my future daughter-in-law.’ He gave an exaggerated sigh, but opened his door wider, inviting them to step inside.

‘I was just about to mek a cuppa. Would you girls like one?’

‘Oooh, yes please,’ they both answered in unison. For once Myrtle didn’t snigger at the traditional offer. The tea, when it came, was strong with a little milk but no sugar, and the girls drank it gratefully. It had been a long walk and a long wait.

They sat around Charlie Parkin’s kitchen table. ‘Billy’s not here, I’m afraid.’ His merry face suddenly fell into lines of sadness and for a moment both girls held their breath. Had they unwittingly stumbled into the man’s grief? Had Billy been injured – or worse? At his next words, they breathed a sigh of relief. ‘He’s away in the army.’

‘Is he – all right?’ Rose asked, still tentative.

The man wrinkled his forehead. ‘Far as I know. I get a letter about once a week. Obviously, he was all right when he wrote it, but they take a while to come through and – who knows?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Rose said sympathetically. He was such a nice man, she didn’t want to be the cause of reminding him of an ever-present anxiety. But Charlie Parkin was smiling again. ‘So what brings you looking for Terry?’

The two sisters glanced at each other before Rose took a deep breath. They’d talked about what to say, should they be asked this question. They would tell the truth – all of it. There were enough people now who knew that Peggy had had a baby and they’d told Terry’s sister on their previous visit. No doubt his mam and dad knew too by now.

‘Before he went away, he was seeing our sister, Peggy. But he’s never written to her.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe he doesn’t want to see her any more and if that’s the case, then she’ll have to live with it. We called at his house a few weeks back. But they’d not heard from him either. At least, that’s what they told us.’ A note of scepticism crept into her tone.

‘We didn’t want to go back there again,’ Myrtle said. ‘We saw his sister and another girl and they weren’t – well – what you’d call friendly. They didn’t even seem to know if he was all right.’

‘But our Peggy wants to write to him,’ Rose put in. ‘There’s something he ought to know.’

Charlie raised his eyebrows, his mind working quickly. He’d been around long enough to guess what that sort of phrase meant. He was just grateful it wasn’t his Billy these two lasses were seeking. ‘I – see,’ he said slowly and in a tone that told the girls he knew exactly what they were implying. The big man sighed. ‘Aye well, these things happen, love. I expect she’s in the family way, is she?’

Rose nodded. ‘She’s had the baby. He’s a beautiful boy and, even if it’s over between them, we think Terry has a right to know.’

‘You want him to contribute to his keep, I suppose.’

Rose bristled visibly. ‘Certainly not. That’s not why we’re trying to track him down, I promise you. No, there’s plenty of us to take care of our little man. We all love him. Gran, Mother and we three sisters. We’ll look after him and – as far as we’re able – he’ll want for nothing. But—’ Here she paused and put her head on one side as she regarded Charlie steadily. ‘We feel that any man has the right to know that he has fathered a child – especially,’ she added, slyly appealing to a man’s ego, ‘a son.’

‘We realize,’ Myrtle said, ‘that the reason he hasn’t written to her is most probably because he wants to end it, but we still feel—’

To her surprise Charlie raised his hand to stop whatever she had been going to say, ‘That might not be the case, lass. I don’t want to raise your hopes, mind you, ’cos you could be right. Terry’s a good-looking lad, but you see the reason he hasn’t written to your sister – or to anyone for that matter – is because the lad never learned to read or write.’

Forty-Nine

Rose and Myrtle felt they had been knocked down with the proverbial feather. They stared at Charlie, glanced with shocked faces at each other and then looked back at him once more.

‘Never—’ Myrtle began, appalled to think that in 1942 there were still grown people who could not read or write. Rose put her hand warningly on Myrtle’s arm and the girl fell silent.

Charlie sighed and explained. ‘He found it very difficult. Our Billy used to help him get by as best he could, and the school never bothered with him. They treated him as a dunce and he was – is, God willing – anything but. He’s a bright lad. Strangely, he’s very good with figures and with his hands. He’d make a good mechanic or an engineer, but if you can’t read or write . . .’ Charlie spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

‘How did he get in the army?’ Rose asked. ‘Don’t they have to be able to read and write for that?’

‘They probably weren’t too fussy when the war was starting. Glad of anyone who volunteered and there’s always mates to help you out. He was maybe able to hide it – just like he did at school. And besides,’ he added sarcastically, ‘you don’t have to be able to read to be able to shoot straight.’

‘But didn’t he have a job after leaving school and before going into the army?’ Myrtle asked tentatively. She couldn’t begin to understand how it must feel not to be able to read.

‘Him and Billy got a job together working on a building site. Billy helped him out.’

‘But now,’ Rose said slowly, ‘he hasn’t got Billy with him to read or write letters for him.’

Charlie shook his head sadly. ‘They volunteered together – hoped to stay together – but it doesn’t work like that now. In the last war there were so many pals’ battalions – you know when relatives and friends all joined up together, stayed together and died together – that I think this time the authorities don’t want that happening again, where communities lose a whole lot of lads together. It’s not exactly good for morale,’ the man added bitterly.

‘So his sister and that other girl were probably telling the truth when they said they hadn’t heard anything from him,’ Rose said. ‘They didn’t even know if he – if he was all right.’

‘These days,’ Charlie said, ‘no news is good news, as they say. You did know they’re abroad, him and Billy?’

Both girls shook their heads.

‘Oh aye, been gone just over a year. North Africa, they’ve been, though they’re not together. Billy said in his last letter that he hadn’t seen or heard anything of Terry. It was worrying him, I could tell. And of course they can’t get back to England on leave, probably not until the Company they’re in is shipped home. At least, that’s what I’ve heard said.’ He paused and bit his lip, deliberating whether to tell these girls any more. He didn’t know who they were. He only had their word for it that it was the truth they were telling. He decided to take the risk. ‘There is just one thing that perhaps you ought to know. The other girl you saw that day, it was likely Sylvia Thomas from next door. She and Amy Price are best friends. And – ’ he paused and took a deep breath before adding – ‘there’s always been a sort of understanding between the families that one day Terry and Sylvia might – well, you know what I’m saying.’

‘Yes, we do,’ Rose said bitterly. ‘It’s just a pity our Peggy didn’t know that before she agreed to go out with him.’

‘Like I say, maybe it’s more to do with what the families’d like rather than . . .’ His voice petered away, but then he added more strongly, ‘Terry’s not a bad lad. I don’t reckon he’d lead a girl on if he wasn’t truly fond of her.’

‘I hope it was a whole lot more than “fond” of Peggy, Mr Parkin,’ Rose said firmly. ‘Our sister fell hook, line and sinker for him. She hurt a really nice lad to take up with Terry Price and she’d never have let him – well, you know – if she hadn’t been in love with him. She’s not that sort of girl. None of us are.’

Charlie gazed at her, seeing the bright spots of colour in her cheeks, the glitter of battle in her eyes. She was a feisty one and he admired that way she was sticking up for her sister – the way they both were. Slowly he nodded. ‘I believe you, lass. I believe you.’

‘He seemed to believe us, but did you reckon he was telling us the truth?’ Myrtle asked as they walked home. There was a note of scepticism in her tone.

‘What? About Terry not being able to read or write? Yes, I think I did. There was a girl in my class at school and she used to get into such trouble. The teachers called her idle, lazy – you name it, they called her it. And all the other kids used to laugh at her, but I tried to help her. I felt sorry for her. She used to say all the letters got jumbled up. She could manage to read a bit. Signposts and short sentences, but when it came to reading long paragraphs she just got lost. Maybe it was like that for Terry.’

‘And what about this Sylvia?’

‘If it’s true, then that would explain why those two girls were so – so frosty.’

‘But do you think they are engaged? That he was just having a fling with our Peggy?’

‘I don’t know, Myrtle, any more than you do.’ Rose was becoming impatient now. ‘How could I? Come on, let’s get home.’

‘But what are we going to tell Peggy?’

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’

‘Not even about him not being able to write, because that explains—’

‘It explains nothing. Even if he can’t write himself, if he’d wanted to be in touch with her he’d have got someone to do it for him.’

‘Maybe he’s too proud to ask anyone else now Billy’s not with him. I know I’d be mortified if I couldn’t read or write. I wouldn’t want
anyone
to know. For once, I sympathize with Terry.’ Myrtle, whose whole life until now had been immersed in studying, couldn’t imagine anything worse.

‘You could be right, but I still don’t think we should tell Peggy. It might raise her hopes. She’s getting on nicely now. We don’t want to upset her again.’

‘What about Mam and Gran? Do we say anything to them?’

‘Not at the moment. We’ll just see what else we can find out.’

‘But how?’

To that Rose had no answer.

As Charlie Parkin closed the door after his departing visitors, he was thoughtful. He was friendly with both the Prices and the Thomases. Harry and Percy were his drinking buddies, but now he was faced with a dilemma. Did they know about this lass that Terry had got into trouble? He didn’t know if he should say anything to them. Harry Price had never said a word, but then perhaps he wouldn’t. Charlie mulled over the problem for the rest of the day and by the time he went to bed that night, he’d decided to wait until he wrote to Billy again. He’d tell his son what had happened. Billy would know what to do for the best.

But as Charlie slept soundly that night, a telegram was already being drafted to arrive at his house early the next morning with the worst possible news. The loss of his only son would drive all thoughts of Peggy and her baby out of Charlie Parkin’s mind for weeks to come.

Fifty

Peggy was indeed much better. Now she took on most of the housework, though Grace still liked to do the cooking.

‘I’m not taking to my chair with a rug over my knees quite yet,’ she said tartly.

But she was willing to pass on her cookery skills to her granddaughter. ‘Your mam never had the time to learn. Always had to be out earning money for all of us.’ She sniffed, thinking about her son-in-law. She was not one to speak ill of the dead and it was obvious he had been poorly, but she sometimes questioned silently whether if he’d stirred himself a bit and not sunk into self-pity he could have found work back at the bank. Her own husband would have helped him, she knew. Ted had been content to sit by the fire, being the wounded war veteran and letting others take care of everything, but he hadn’t been too badly wounded to bring three daughters into the world, Grace thought sourly.

‘You’re getting quite a dab hand at pastry,’ Grace told Peggy and the young woman turned pink with pleasure. Her grandmother didn’t hand out compliments very often and praise from her was rare.

They were all able to sit down together to the evening meal, but just before Peggy was ready to serve, Mary said hesitantly, ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked Mr Bower to tea with us. I – I should have mentioned it before, but . . . Is there enough to go round?’

‘I’ve made a meat and potato pie, Mam. If we all have a slightly smaller piece, it’ll stretch.’

Grace muttered something under her breath that Mary took to be disapproval. ‘It’s all right,’ she said hastily. ‘We’ll go out.’