The Girls They Left Behind

THE GIRLS THEY LEFT BEHIND

LILIAN HARRY

In 1940 the neighbours of April Grove, Portsmouth, are close-knit, patriotic and proud— but the onset of the Blitz puts their loyalties and strong family ties to the test as never before.

Betty Chapman meets a devastatingly attractive man in the Land Army who upsets all her settled ideas; newly-wed Olive Harker must decide whether to risk motherhood; Nancy Baxter offers comfort to lonely servicemen, while her son runs wild in the burning streets.

Their personal stories are played out against the backdrop of a great seaport at war: the horror of the air-raid sirens at night, the naval dockyards buzzing with activity and the overwhelming desire to survive the city’s darkest — and finest hour.

www.lilianharry.co.uk

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FICTION

Lilian Harry’s grandfather hailed from Devon and Lilian always longed to return to her roots, so moving from Hampshire to a small Dartmoor town in her early twenties was a dream come true. She quickly absorbed herself in local life, learning the fascinating folklore and history of the moors, joining the church bellringers and a country dance club, and meeting people who are still her friends today. Although she later moved north, living first in Herefordshire and then in the Lake District, she returned in the 1990s and now lives on the edge of the moor with her two ginger cats. She is still an active bellringer and member of the local drama group, and loves to walk on the moors. She has one son and one daughter. Her latest novel in hardback, A Stranger in Burracombe, is also available from Orion. Visit her website at www.lilianharry.co.uk.

By Lilian Harry

Bells of Burracombe

Three Little Ships

A Farthing Will Do

Dance Little Lady

Under the Apple Tree

A Promise to Keep

A Girl Called Thursday Tuppence to Spend

PS I Love Yon

Kiss the Girls Goodbye Corner House Girls

Keep Smiling Through

Wives & Sweethearts Love & Laughter

Moonlight & Lovesongs The Girls They Left Behind Goodbye Sweetheart

The Girls They

Left Behind

LILIAN HARRY

An Orion paperback

First published in Great Britain in 1995

by Orion

This paperback edition published in 1996

by Orion Books Ltd,

Orion House, 5 Upper St Martin’s Lane, London WC2H 9EA

Reissued 2007

Copyright Š Lilian Harry 1995

The right of Lilian Harry to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Printed and bound in Germany by GGP Media GmbH, Poessneck

The Orion Publishing Group’s policy is to use papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products and made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

For my sister Christine with love

Olive and Derek Harker arrived for the latest possible train

on that Sunday evening, but Portsmouth Town Station was as

crowded as if it were morning. The carriages were filling with

soldiers and airmen going back off leave, and the platform

was crowded with the women and children who were bidding

them goodbye. Some were smiling bravely, but most were

already in tears and few would be dry-eyed as the train

steamed out of the station.

‘I can’t bear it,’ Olive wept as Derek held her in his arms,

‘You don’t seem to have been here five minutes. It’s so cruel,

taking you away like this. We’ve only just got married.’

‘I know.’ He stroked her hair. He was having difficulty with

his own feelings. Men didn’t cry - especially men who were

soldiers, going off to war - but he felt disturbingly as if he

might. His throat ached in a way he couldn’t remember since

he was twelve years old. He swallowed the ache and buried

his face in Olive’s hair, and she turned her head so that their

lips met. She clung to him, her body shaking with sobs, and he

wondered how he was ever going to bring himself to break

away.

‘Livy, I’ve got to go,’ he whispered despairingly. ‘If I miss

the train ‘

‘I know. It’ll be jankers.’ She tried to smile and it nearly

broke his heart. ‘It’s all right, Derek, I’m not going to make a

fuss.’ The engine was pouring out steam and it billowed

around them, enveloping them in a humid cloud. She stared

at his face, her eyes dark and hungry, as if she were trying to

memorise each tiny iota. She had made love with the same

hunger last night, he remembered, and he had been caught

up in her desperation, turning to her again and again as if

every moment must be used for loving.

Suppose I didn’t go? he thought suddenly. Suppose I just

walked away from the train, from the station, from the war

itself and said to hell with it, it’s not my war, I’ve got a life to

live with my wife and my family - if there is one. And what

chance do we have to start one?

Suppose I just refused to go …

But he knew what would happen. He was a soldier. He

couldn’t even plead the excuse of conscience. He’d be posted

as a deserter. He’d be caught, court-martialled and imprisoned.

Perhaps even shot.

He hadn’t been through Dunkirk to end up like that.

The guard blew his whistle. The engine blew its own shrill

note. Doors began to slam and one by one the men broke

away from their girls, from their sweethearts and wives, and

climbed aboard. The women stood, their handkerchiefs at

faces that streamed with tears, and watched helplessly. Some

of them held children in their arms, children who looked

bewildered and lost.

‘Derek…’

‘Livy, I love you.’ He caught her hard against him and

kissed her fiercely, then tore himself away and scrambled up

into the train. The door slammed and he twisted to stare

down at her. ‘I love you …’

‘Derek - Derek.’ She could not say the words she knew he

longed to hear. She had said them in the night, over and over

again, but now her throat closed against them and her lips

could only form his name. She gazed up at him, her misery

tightening about her like a straitjacket, and heard the slow

thump of the pistons as the train began to move. He was going

from her, slipping away, leaving, and she could say nothing,

only stand mute, shaking her head and feeling the tears like

rain upon her face.

‘Livvy…’

‘Derek - Derek -‘ Suddenly her tongue was freed and she

ran beside the train as it moved slowly along the platform. ‘I

love you, Derek. I love you.’ He had heard, she knew he had

heard. He was smiling, an odd, distorted smile, and there was

rain on his cheeks too, but it wasn’t raining and she knew it

must be his own tears. Derek, in tears? Her eyes flooded again,

blurring her vision, but there was no stopping her now and

she ran along the platform, blundering into other women,

young girls, mothers with babies, giving them hardly a

thought for all her thoughts were with the man who was going

back to war and leaving her behind.

‘I love you, Derek.’ She stood at the end of the platform,

waving. The train was pulling away fast and he had gone, but

his face was still visible, a pale blur as the train receded, and

she could see his hand waving back. And although she knew

that he could not possibly hear her now, she called to him one

last time, her throat aching with the pain and the tears and the

effort of trying to make him understand.

‘I love you …’

In the train, Derek caught the whisper of her love, not

through his ears but through some deeper part of him, a part

where only Olive dwelt and only Olive could reach him. And

the tears ran unchecked down his cheeks as he stood at the

window and watched the familiar streets of Portsmouth pass

him by.

Soldiers didn’t cry. But Derek Harker was crying, and he

wasn’t going to apologise to any man for that.

Olive went back to work the next morning just as if she hadn’t

got married on Saturday morning and had a thirty-six hour

honeymoon. There didn’t seem to be much point in doing

anything else, despite her father’s disapproval.

Ted Chapman had been stubbornly opposed to his

daughter continuing to work at all, even though she was

employed by Derek’s father in the office of his builder’s yard.

‘Your mother’s never gone out to work and I don’t like the

idea of my girls doing it, once they’re wed,’ he said for the

dozenth time as Olive came down to breakfast. ‘Married

women ought to stop at home and look after their men.’

‘Chance’d be a fine thing,’ Olive retorted, feeling the tears

dangerously close again. ‘How can I look after Derek when

he’s living in a Nissen hut down in Devon? And we haven’t

even got a home. What am I supposed to do all day if I haven’t

got a job?’

‘You could give your mum a hand.’ But Ted knew his

argument was unconvincing. Annie had the housework well

under control, and both Olive and Betty did their share. And

Annie herself had something to say about that.

‘More and more women are having to work these days,

what with all the young men being called up for the Forces. If

she wasn’t doing that, she’d be doing something else. At least

Harker’s is only a few streets away.’ She refilled the big

teacup the girls had given him for Christmas a few years ago.

‘Anyway, you can’t tell her what to do now, she’s a married

woman.’

It was hard enough to believe that, all the same, and Annie

had to keep reminding herself by thinking of Olive and

Derek’s wedding day only the day before yesterday, with

Olive in the white dress she’d borrowed from a friend and her

chestnut hair glowing in the sun.

‘She’s still living under our roof,’ Ted muttered, and Annie

clicked her tongue in exasperation.

‘Honestly, Ted! Anyone would think our Olive was out on

the razzle every night and bringing back sailors, like Nancy

Baxter. All she’s doing is getting married, and it’s not her fault

she can’t start with her own home and her man coming home

at nights like a couple should. She’s a good girl and you know

it, and Derek’s a decent chap. You were keen enough for

them to get married when you came back from Dunkirk.’

‘I never said anything against them getting married. It’s her

working I don’t like. But I suppose you’re right. Nothing’s the

same any more, and you can’t tell young people what to do.’

He finished his tea and got up, going out into the back

porch to find his bicycle clips. Olive and Betty made a face at

each other and Annie sighed.

‘I don’t know about your dad, I’m sure. He’s all on edge

these days. He’s never properly settled down since he came

back from Dunkirk. It upset him a lot, that did.’

‘It upset a lot of people,’ Olive said, thinking of the things

Derek had told her. Young soldiers, no more than kids really,

shivering and crying all the way home from Dover in the

trains, their uniforms still soaked from having to stand in the

water, many of them wounded by the bombing and suafing

they’d suffered on the beaches. Her dad had been brave, she

knew, taking his ferryboat over to help get them away, but he

hadn’t had to suffer like they had. And he didn’t have to go

back. She thought of Derek again, going off on the train with

all those others, knowing what they might be going back to.