Read the book: «An Unsuitable Mother»
SHEELAGH KELLY
An Unsuitable Mother
Copyright
This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2008
Copyright © Sheelagh Kelly 2008
Sheelagh Kelly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Soource ISBN: 9780007211586
Ebook Edition © DECEMBER 2008 ISBN:9780007287291
Version: 2019-06-11
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For my cousin, Michael Kelly
Contents
Title Page Copyright Note to Readers Dedication Part 1 Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Part 2 Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Part 3 Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Keep Reading Acknowledgements About the Author Also by Sheelagh Kelly About the Publisher
PART 1
1
What an intolerable burden, to be adopted by unsuitable parents. It was at times such as now that the holder of this view had a burning need to find the woman who had given birth to her. Whatever had made her abandon her baby, she could surely not be as insufferable as the one whose disembodied voice invaded this room.
Nell formed a weary reply to it now. ‘Ye-es, almost ready!’ When in fact she was not ready at all, but lounging on her bedroom windowsill, observing the newcomers moving in across the avenue; infinitely more fascinating than what lay in store.
‘You needn’t think dragging your feet’s going to help,’ inveighed Mrs Spottiswood. ‘And please don’t speak to me in that tone of voice! You’re coming to Ronald’s party, so get on with it.’
Some party, thought Nell, whose brown eyes remained fixed to the semi-detached house opposite, as yet another item of furniture was transported between the wooden rising-sun gates, and along a drive lined with hydrangeas. Her cousin’s send-off to war promised to be the dullest affair. Never mind that all involved had pooled their rations to concoct a good spread, with Aunty Phyllis in charge it would hardly be an electric occasion. At least, though thought Nell with a resentful sigh, there would be a do of sorts for the son of the house. Her own mother’s idea of a good send-off was to supply clean knickers, a flask of tea and a packet of sandwiches.
It was hard to believe there was a war on, with this dazzling August sunshine that lingered well into evening. No barrage balloons over York to mar the blue sky, nor even the faintest drone from one of the airfields that surrounded the city. Other parts of the county might be getting hammered, in southern skies British pilots battling desperately for what could be their final days of freedom, but the only bit of excitement around these parts came in the shape of foreign men seeking billets. None of them were around today, though, more’s the pity.
Nell closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sun, whilst waiting for the newcomers to reappear, and dreamed of the venue she would rather be attending, had she not been dragooned.
‘Eleanor!’
I am not an Eleanor, I am a Nell, came the irritated thought.
‘Coming!’ Sounding gay, but inwardly peeved at having to tear herself away, she went to grab a box of mascara from the dressing table. Spitting on the dwindling brown block inside, she worked it into a mud with the little brush. Then, determined not to miss anything, she repositioned herself by the window with her compact mirror, and began a hasty application to her lashes.
Whilst she was doing this, a figure entered her peripheral vision. In the hope that it was one of the new neighbours, and thus distracted, Nell poked herself in the eye. ‘Ooh, sod and blast!’ She was forced to cease everything, with a handkerchief pressed to her eye until the stinging receded.
And to cap it all, the figure had been no one important, only Geoff from next door, about whom she knew everything, for they had grown up together, though he was three years her junior. Fifteen: it seemed so long ago. She recalled herself at Geoff’s age in her final year at school, the trip to the hairdresser to lop off her plaits and reduce her dark-brown hair to jaw length, in preparation of starting work. But surely she had never been so childish as this boy? Certainly she had grown up very quickly in these last three weeks. A secret smile twitched her lips.
Still waiting for her right eye to stop smarting, tweaked by thoughts of other things, she continued to watch Geoff with her left. In his Boy Scout uniform, he was practising lobbing grenades, ripping out the pin with his teeth, and generally playing the big warrior. Except that the grenade was a potato. Stifling laughter, Nell leaned again on the windowsill to maintain her one-eyed surveillance, as, time and again, Geoff cantered with manly strides up the path, like a spin bowler hurtling for the wicket, his mouth emitting an explosion upon hitting the target.
Then his mother came upon the scene. ‘Geoffrey, what have I told you about wasting food?’ And, much to Nell’s further amusement, she cuffed him sharply round the head, ignoring his protests that he was only following orders.
Biting her lip in sympathy for poor Geoff’s plight, though still tickled, Nell finally managed to adorn her lashes with mascara, and added a quick smear of rouge to her lips and cheeks. At her mother’s further shout of impatience, she snatched a last look in the mirror, heaved in dissatisfaction for the tall and well-built figure reflected there, with its heavy breasts and thighs – such a big girl – then she prinked a dark-brown wave, smoothed the white sleeveless blouse and blue skirt, and tripped to the stairs.
But before she was halfway down, her mother witnessed a crime. ‘You are not leaving this house with bare legs!’
‘All my stockings are laddered!’ With no need to impress relatives, Nell had been hoping to save her one decent pair.
‘Then you can wear ankle socks!’
She turned back with a grumble. ‘Oh, all right, I’ll go and have another look …’
‘And close your window whilst you’re there!’
Nell’s white sandals stopped in mid-track. ‘It’ll be stifling!’
‘Why do you have to argue with every single request I make?’ It was Thelma Spottiswood’s turn to sound weary now. ‘Close it! It’ll be after blackout when we return, and I’ve no intention of leaving an open invitation to every crook in York. Anyone who’d stoop to pinching the lightbulb out of a public lavatory would have a field day in here.’
Nell wanted to complain that, if previous so-called family parties were anything to go by, they would be home well before nine thirty. Nevertheless, she went back to her room to don stockings and to pull down the sash – which was criss-crossed with brown tape as a safeguard against being shattered by bombs, even though York had been virtually free of those after almost a year of war – for it didn’t do to upset Mother. Be prepared, that was Thelma Spottiswood’s motto, as testified in her stock cupboards, her first-aid box, the stirrup pump forever at hand, and the thermos flask close to the kettle ready to fill with hot water in case of an air raid. So, being a considerate girl at heart, Nell did as she was told, finally arriving downstairs to present herself with a smile.
But her heart was to sink, as her father ordered dispassionately, ‘You can get that muck off your face for a start.’ Making ready for his stint as a member of the Home Guard, and changed from his shirt and tie into its newly issued khaki, Wilfred Spottiswood bent to put on his bicycle clips. But just because he would not be attending the party did not mean he would allow his daughter free rein. ‘You look like a trollop.’
With no expectation that Mother would spring to her defence, a dutiful but inwardly hurt Nell rubbed at her lips with a handkerchief, hoping not to blot away too much of the colour. That was one of the drawbacks of having elderly guardians – no, positively ancient, thought Nell, who still found it astonishing that they had been children at the time of Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee – how could one expect them to understand a modern girl’s outlook? Father would quite gladly spend all weekend in his garden, or painting the house, and keeping both immaculate – but woe betide if his daughter should attempt to embellish her looks. Checking the pockets of his battledress for his identity card and his manual, and slinging a rifle over one shoulder and a gas mask over the other, he finally deigned to spare her another, rather resentful, glance. The fact that he made no comment informed Nell that she was classified as fit to leave the house.
Father, though, was the first of them to depart, saying, ‘Have a good time at your party, but don’t be too late home.’
‘That’s if we ever get there,’ sniped his wife, with an accusing glance at their daughter.
Good time indeed! A grouchy Nell knew where she would rather be. Waiting now for her mother to don hat and gloves, she wandered to the window and watched her father push his bicycle to the footpath, where he paused to run a critical eye over his newly clipped privet. What could possibly be out of place? Why, it looked as if he had used a blasted spirit level on it! Then he cycled off, a grey, reserved and unhealthy figure, who spared not a wink of curiosity for the folk who were moving in. This was no surprise to Nell, for, outside work, the only human being to whom he paid lip service was her mother. Mother was a marvel at everything, possessing the ability to whip up a delicious meal despite this rationing, and would have it on the table the moment Father came in, and treated him as lord and master. As for their daughter, they seemed to think it sufficient that they were donating every material comfort that Father’s good position at the insurance firm could endow: a room of her own in a well-furnished house; a family car – even though it might be stuck in the garage most of the time due to wartime restrictions on petrol; elocution lessons to oust any trace of Yorkshire accent that they themselves retained; a grammar-school education, and a decent job to follow it. Yes, Nell was grateful for their sacrifices, and it was perhaps understandable when they had endured twelve childless years before adopting her that they wanted to be constantly involved. But did they have to be such old miseries?
‘What are you sighing at now?’ came the testy demand.
Made aware that she had been thinking out loud, Nell turned to see that her mother was ready: solid, large-bosomed and respectable-looking in her navy spotted dress, navy shoes, white gloves and white straw hat, she cut a shapely figure – but shapely in the manner of a cooling tower, thought Nell, everything rigidly confined and uninviting. She donned a smile, and explained, ‘Oh, nothing, I was just envying those new people across the road their lovely French table.’
‘So that’s what kept you so long upstairs!’ Beads of perspiration had begun to seep from the menopausal brow. ‘I don’t know what there is to envy, they can’t be so well off if they’re having to do the removals themselves. Sunday night and still they’re at it!’
Nell’s focus had by now turned back to the street. ‘Ooh, look, there’s the lady of the house again! At least I think it is, but she looks far too young to have children – maybe they’re not hers, maybe they’re only nephews and nieces come to hel—’
‘For goodness’ sake!’ Thelma Spottiswood came to smack her away from the window. ‘I’ve already waited an hour for you to get ready, I’ve no wish to hang around further whilst you invent people’s life stories.’
‘I’m just interested …’
‘That’s obvious! I wish you’d show as much enthusiasm for your cousin as you do for the antics of strangers. I don’t know where you get your nosiness from – now go and fetch your gas mask then let’s be off to this blessed party, Nebby Nora!’
Hurrying to comply, Nell wondered, too, from whom she had inherited her boundless curiosity in mankind, how she could be so intrigued with what went on in others’ homes, not just in material concerns, but in their relationships, and how they coped with this war. Had her real parents been writers, artists, actors even? Often detached, her adoptive ones showed not the slightest interest in anyone outside their sphere. As anticipated. Thelma Spottiswood hooked her gas-mask container over her shoulder, and, in the same aloof manner as her husband, left the house with nary a peek at the newcomers or their furniture, discreetly nipping her daughter’s arm when Nell turned to stare.
Few words passed between them as they walked along the tree-lined avenue to the nearest main road. In fact, the avenue ran between two main roads, one end being quite genteel, almost countrified in appearance, and enclosed in its view a quaint redundant windmill upon a rise – having once formed a village west of York, prior to urban spread. But with their house being situated nearer the more industrial highway, it was there they must head. Nell’s aunt lived in the adjacent district, about a mile or so away. Before the war they might have walked there on an evening such as this, but now, with a thought to conserve shoe leather, they went only so far as the nearest bus stop.
Being Sunday, there was little traffic about, though still enough army vehicles to irritate Nell, who remained piqued at having her own jaunt vetoed. On the opposite side to the bus stop, behind a wall that extended from the carriage works, ran a vast network of railway lines, at this point in the road some of them bulging out from the main track, like an aneurism in a blood vessel, to serve another part of the city, before joining the chief artery again. Even today, the locomotives made for a great deal of soot, and Thelma Spottiswood puffed gently at her white glove to expel such a fleck.
Nell had something to broach to her mother, but it might not go down too well. Anyway, the bus came then.
There was a wasp on board, floating up and down the aisle and generally causing a nuisance, until a grim Mrs Spottiswood rose and squashed it with her bag against a window.
Five minutes later, mother and daughter alighted, to undergo the rest of their trek along a straight, wide avenue that had lesser groves branching off to right and left, the occasional shade of a tree, and a variety of building styles, some Edwardian, but most of them modern semi-detached residences, with leaded lights and neatly planted beds of marigolds, roses, white alyssum and blue lobelia. The avenue was around a mile in length, though Nell and her mother did not have to walk half so far.
Upon reaching her aunt’s gate, there was a warning. ‘Stop making it so obvious you’d rather be somewhere else! I won’t have your aunt and uncle offended. You never know, you might enjoy it.’ With Nell tagging behind, Mrs Spottiswood approached a door not dissimilar to their own, Buckingham green, half-glazed, with a circular formation of stained glass, and a cast-iron letterbox. Singing could now be heard from behind it, which presaged a livelier affair than usual.
‘Goodness, Phyllis,’ Thelma Spottiswood announced above the rowdiness upon entering, with a smile to her sister-in-law, ‘you do have a full house!’
Nell perked up too, there being several more guests than she had anticipated, her main focus being the young men in uniform who had commandeered the gramophone, and were leading a rousing chorus of ‘Roll Out the Barrel’, to which Ronald and his sisters and other relatives were happily singing along.
At such extraordinary sight, her mouth fell open. Whilst she continued to gawp, her mother waved and smiled to family members, and enquired somewhat dubiously over the din, ‘Are those Ronald’s army colleagues?’
‘Yes – at least two of them are,’ mouthed her sister-in-law, a mousey dumpling of a woman, not half so smart as the other Mrs Spottiswood, with a kinder though less intelligent face. Then, unable to speak without having to shout, she drew Thelma and her daughter aside, and divulged, ‘The others he met in town and just hit it off with. They were billeted in York after Dunkirk. Such grand young chaps. I don’t think any of them is over twenty, I could weep when I think what a terrible time they must have had, but they’re putting such a brave face on it – as you can hear!’ She issued a quick laugh. ‘And what with them being so far from home – from London, two of them – Ronald thought it would be nice to extend some local hospitality. He’s such a thoughtful boy. Look at our Daphne and Margaret, can’t even peel themselves away to greet you. I’m sorry about that – and the noise. I’m afraid they’re all rather merry, let’s hope they’ve left you something to drink – you should have come sooner.’
Missing Thelma’s blameful glance at Nell, Aunt Phyllis tried to catch her husband’s eye, waving above the sea of heads and summoning him. Eventually he came, holding his bottle aloft as he forged a passage towards the latecomers, a similar height and build to Nell’s father, though less poker-faced.
But even as Nell returned his kiss, she was gazing intently over his shoulder at the others.
‘Right, let me go and collar them!’ Upon the final line being hollered, Phyllis wobbled back to the gathering. ‘Settle down, boys, settle down!’ Then, with order half-restored, she led forth her sister-in-law and the mesmerised Nell to introduce them. ‘Ronald, I don’t want to curtail your fun, but let me just acquaint your pals with Aunty Thelma and your cousin.’
Tall and bony, the image of his father, except with pimples, Ronald bade a cheery greeting to the new arrivals, as did his sisters – all three cousins older than Nell, in their twenties – whilst their mother turned to those in khaki and began counting them off on her fingers. ‘Now, let me see if I can remember all their names – no, don’t tell me, Margaret!’ Her elder daughter had been about to leap in. ‘This is George, Sid – no, Stan, oh, I’m so sorry! – John, Reg, and last, but by no means least, Billy.’
Nell’s heart was already spinning, having flipped over in shock at her first glimpse of the latter, who epitomised the phrase ‘tall, dark and handsome’ – if a little chubby. Formally introduced to the young soldiers, she could only blush as Billy extended a confident handshake to her mother, his accent most definitely from the heart of London.
‘Very pleased to meet you, Mrs Spottiswood!’ Then, just as quickly, whilst Nell remained slack-jawed, he grasped her hand too and shook it firmly, smiling with genuine warmth – some might say impishness – into her face. ‘You too, Miss Spottiswood.’
‘Nell.’ She managed to find her voice, and smiled as she withdrew her hand, which felt as if it had touched a live wire, then moved it along the row to be shaken by the rest, one after another.
‘It’s Eleanor,’ corrected Mrs Spottiswood, though her exasperation was mild, and to her sister-in-law and the rest of the gathering she jokingly complained, ‘Really, you give your child a lovely name and what does she do but adulterate it!’
‘A rose by any other name!’ Billy’s eyes were warm and mischievous as they rested on Nell’s blushing face, only to receive a mute warning for this blatancy.
But her mother seemed very taken with the tall and good-looking young man, indeed with all of those who surrounded her, beaming in that coy fashion which always embarrassed Nell. ‘You’re not from round here, Billy!’ She wagged her plump finger at him. Nell wanted to drag one of Aunt Phyllis’s antimacassars over her head.
‘Ah, I can see there’s no fooling you, Mrs Spottiswood!’ Billy, with his sparkling blue eyes, had one of those faces that looked as if it were permanently laughing, but there was such kindness in it too, that no one could take offence at its teasing. ‘No, I have to confess I’m one of your perishing southerners – so is Johnny here.’
‘Nonsense!’ tinkled Thelma Spottiswood. ‘We’re very happy to have you in our midst, all of you.’ Inconveniently overwhelmed by a hot flush, she shed her hat and tried to fluff up the dark-grey waves beneath, which were soaked in perspiration, at the same time wafting her face. ‘Goodness, I thought it was hot enough out there – do excuse me!’
‘I’ll fetch you a drink of water!’ Billy shot off, soon coming back to press a glass into her hand. A crimson-faced Thelma sipped at it gratefully until recovered. Following which, the bout of polite interrogation continued, most of it directed at the handsome Billy, with whom she was obviously smitten – as were Margaret and Daphne, saw Nell, for they clung on his every word.
‘And are you and your friends liking it in York?’
‘Oh, you bet,’ vouched Billy, with a smiling glance at Nell. ‘Not to mention it’s a darned sight safer than the capital at the moment, what with Jerry creeping nearer by the day. Can’t help worrying about my old mum, though.’
Thelma Spottiswood sympathised; Nell, too, managing to display similar condolence, as he looked at her quite brazenly.
At his mention of the enemy, Daphne’s plain face had turned anxious. ‘I heard some people at church this morning saying the Germans’ve already landed and the government’s kept quiet about it.’
‘Don’t you think we’d have seen them by now?’ Touring the room with his bottle, her father remained calm and kind, though there was a hint of anger in his eye for those who had caused such disaffection. ‘Come on, I thought this was meant to be a party?’
With his words, it was back to another singsong, Margaret and Daphne swooping on their handsome visitor, one either side of him as they caroused. Provided with food and drink, Nell and her mother were to sway happily in time to the music, though Thelma didn’t actually know many of the words. Despite being sandwiched between his hostesses, Billy seemed unable to keep his eyes off the attractive dark-haired girl who stood out from the rest, not only because of her height, and though she persisted in turning her back on him, Nell herself could not resist sneaking an admiring look.
‘Well, I’m glad to see you’ve shed that maungy expression,’ observed Thelma, causing her daughter’s face to snap up from her glass. ‘Kicking up such a fuss about wanting to traipse around town on a Sunday, looking into closed shop windows – I told you you’d have a much better time here. See? Mother knows best!’
Sorry for all the horrible thoughts she had entertained earlier, Nell smiled warmly for her mother – the one she genuinely regarded as Mother, and not the faceless one who had given her away – and had to agree that it was a more enjoyable evening than she could ever have forecast.
So enjoyable, in fact, that she and Thelma were still to be found there at ten o’clock.
Then – ‘Hush, everyone!’ A tousle-haired Uncle Cliff urged the roisterers to stop. And they heard that ominous wail that all had come to dread.
‘Oh bother!’ exclaimed Thelma. ‘I was just about to suggest we make a move.’
But there were more fragile souls to be comforted, Uncle Cliff laying a firm hand on Daphne’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, love, it’ll only be another false alarm.’
‘Will it, though?’ Her pasty face had turned even whiter, and her behaviour nervy. ‘This could be it.’
‘Be assured, Daphne,’ laughed her Aunty Thelma, a stalwart of the Women’s Voluntary Services. ‘In the unlikely event that they were to breach our defences, there are millions of us ready to take up arms before we’d allow them to get to our children. Your uncle’s showed me how to use his gun, and God help the first German who tries his bullying tactics on Eleanor!’
Mimicking this bold example, despite her own twinge of nerves, Nell gave her cousin a reassuring smile, and assisted her to the exit.
With others taking care of Daphne, Cliff put on his tin helmet and herded everyone towards the Anderson shelter in the garden. ‘By, it’s going to be a tight old squeeze tonight.’
‘Some of you’d better come in ours!’ summoned a next-door neighbour, invoking the group to split in half and move after him. ‘Bring your glasses with you if you like!’
‘Er, not the bottles as well!’ Cliff objected, but in vain. He uttered a groan, then, after going round turning off the gas and electricity supplies, hurried after the others.
It was dark outside. With those around her toting glasses of beer or sherry, Nell found herself guided by competent male hands towards the even darker interior of the shelter, which smelled of damp earth. Uncle Cliff had rigged up a light of sorts, but they couldn’t turn it on yet, and as they filed in, everyone seemed to be tripping over everyone else’s feet as well as the items of comfort that had been deposited here in case of a drawn-out siege: bottles of water, a torch, a paraffin stove, a kettle, cups, magazines, tins and boxes of essentials. Her mother’s plump bottom directly ahead of her, head down and bent almost double, Nell shuffled and groped her way in, intending to take a seat beside her mother on one of the bunks that Cliff had fitted on two sides. But somehow, amidst all the fumbling, one of the young soldiers managed to engineer a place for her elsewhere, leaving her sandwiched between him and the one called Billy. Then, with ranks of bodies squashed together, the unnerving wait began.
The light had been turned on now, though it was still very dim. There was desultory chat as they sipped their drinks and waited. Nell herself remained speechless, for she had just felt the back of Billy’s hand caress her thigh. Jammed into place, it was impossible for her to move out of range, and so she remained stiff as a poker on the edge of the bunk, hiding her discomposure in her glass and trying not to flinch, as the hand continued its secret stroking.
With no word to the contrary, Billy seemed to take this as an invitation to go further. To her shock, whilst casually chatting to the others, and unnoticed in the poor light, he worked his arm round behind her and tugged her blouse from under the band of her skirt, slipped his hand beneath it, and began to caress her bare back. Nell developed instant goose bumps, and dared not move as the hand grew ever more adventurous, stroking its way underneath her perspiring armpit and brushing the tips of its fingers against her breast. Outraged at his nerve, Nell immediately clamped her arm down on it to prevent any further indignation, growing redder and redder, and trying to retain her look of interest as Aunty Ethel related each step of her recent medical procedure.
Undeterred, a twinkling Billy – obviously greatly enjoying this assault – managed to release his trapped digits from beneath the moist heat of her arm, and diverted his efforts. Nell shivered in anticipation as his hand meandered seductively downwards over her spine and began to invade the waistband of her skirt. She bent forward as if to attend to some interesting morsel of conversation, though her intention was to prevent this rude foray. She half succeeded. The waistband too tight a squeeze, Billy had to content himself by wiggling a finger against the swell of her buttock. Then, a press stud burst with an audible pop. As alarmed as she, Billy quickly withdrew his hand and pretended to examine the sleeve of his battledress.
Everyone looked at him. ‘Was that you, Billy?’ laughed Aunty Phyllis.
‘Yes, I don’t think this uniform’s quite up to my bulging biceps,’ joked Billy, the object of some amusement. ‘I shall have to get out me needle and thread when I get back to billet.’
Phyllis glanced around for her emergency sewing box. ‘Oh, I’m sure one of us can do it while we’re wait—’
‘Thank you very much, but don’t you go bothering yourself, Mrs Spottiswood!’ he cut in hastily. ‘They teach us how to do that sort of thing in the army – it’s nothing much anyway. And if my seam’s the only thing that explodes tonight I’m sure we’ll all be heartily glad.’
2
It turned out that she was to be late for work anyway, but it didn’t matter for so were plenty of others. The previous night’s raid had been successful – for Jerry that was – sixty-nine houses near the cemetery being damaged, leaving two seriously injured, over one hundred and fifty with minor wounds, and causing all sorts of problems with the flow of traffic around York’s narrow streets, mostly due to sightseers clustering to gawp.
Apart from twittering over the matter with colleagues when she finally arrived, for once Nell was to suppress her curiosity and focus on more pertinent matters. Hence, over the next few days and evenings, eager for change – eager for anything that might help the time up to meeting Billy go more quickly – she was to acquire her two certificates, plus the necessary references, one from her first-aid instructor, the other from her old headmistress, and then submit her application to be a nursing auxiliary. Applying personally in her lunch hour on Thursday, her keenness, intelligence and smart appearance being viewed most favourably, on the heels of her interview came acceptance.
It was with pride that she was able to announce to her mother that evening, ‘I’m going to be working on one of the ambulance trains – I start a week on Monday!’
For once, Thelma was magnanimous. ‘Very well done, dear!’
Basking in this praise, Nell chattered away about her new post whilst her mother carried on preparing the evening meal, which smelled delicious as usual.
‘But won’t your employer require a month’s notice?’ cautioned Thelma, looking suddenly distracted as beads of moisture sprang to her brow.
‘No, they’re willing to accept a week as it’s such a worthy cause,’ said Nell, her mind moving to Billy, with whom she had managed to steal a few hours on Tuesday evening after first aid, but who remained ignorant of her success. She couldn’t wait to give him the news, and the thought of this made her clasp her hands. ‘Isn’t it exciting! But I’ll miss my friends, of course.’ Having struggled to devise a plan of how to gain parental consent to go away without them, she had now seen a way forward. ‘Oh, before I forget, Barbara’s parents have invited me to spend the weekend at their house in Scarborough. Was it all right to accept?’
Slightly hot and bothered as she went about the kitchen, Thelma paused in her preparation of dinner. ‘Barbara … was that the girl you introduced me to in town the other week?’
‘No, that was Enid.’
Her mother looked only slightly relieved. ‘Good, she wasn’t the kind I’d like you to spend time with. Very flighty.’ She elbowed her daughter out of the way in order to transport a saucepan from the gas stove to the sink. ‘Will you please shift? And hand me that masher – and lay the table, your father will be in any second.’ Once assisted, she drained the potatoes, raising a brief cloud of steam from the sink, then began to mash them as she went on to ask, ‘Well, who is this Barbara then?’
‘Oh, just a workmate.’ Collecting a handful of knives, forks and spoons, Nell tried to sound casual, but it obviously emerged as dismissive as she went to the dining room.
‘Really, Eleanor! She might be only a workmate to you, but she obviously holds you in much higher regard, or why would her parents have been kind enough to invite you into their home for the weekend? Having said that, I’d rather have met her before you accepted.’
‘She’s a perfectly respectable girl,’ replied Nell, ‘you’ve no need to interrogate her.’
‘I’d much rather form an opinion on that for myself – and don’t be so insolent!’ Thelma’s cross response was due as much to the sweat that was streaming down her temples as to her thoughtless daughter.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it how it sounded.’ Nell tried to be helpful, lifting the warm plates off the rack before tendering, ‘So will you ask Father if it’ll be all right?’
Her mother gave a snort. ‘I’m sure he’ll say the same as me – it will have to be all right, seeing as it would be rude to rescind your acceptance! Don’t mention it at the table or you’ll give him indigestion. I’ll speak to him later. Oh, the things you land me with!’ Having quickly drained all the vegetables and replaced them near the stove to keep warm, she went to throw open the larder door, tapping her lips thoughtfully as her eyes ran over the contents. ‘Now, what do I send?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you can’t arrive at someone’s house empty-handed! Not in these times of shortage.’
Nell gave a negating smile. ‘Barbara’s parents won’t need it, they’re very well-off.’
This was rather condescending in her mother’s opinion. But, before Thelma could object again, Nell added, ‘What I meant was, it’s not just me going, there’s a whole group of us, half a dozen – it’s a huge house apparently, so they can’t be short of a bob or two.’
Her mother looked slightly relieved at not having to plunder her stock cupboard. ‘Well, I’ve no wish to insult – but you must reciprocate. Barbara must come to us sometime.’
Nell gave a quick nod. ‘Should I take my ration book, do you think?’ Billy had warned her that she would have to hand this over to the proprietor of the hotel. This might be difficult as her mother had charge of it, but she added now, ‘Her parents might need it so they can purchase extra food.’
Returning to check on the bread sauce, her mother voiced scepticism. ‘If they’ve got the wherewithal to have half a dozen house guests for the weekend they must shop on the black market.’ Nevertheless, she undertook to relinquish the ration book come Friday evening. ‘Oh, here’s Daddy – right on time as usual!’
The next day, after a quick bite to eat, Nell hurried round to her lover’s billet during the hour that had been allocated for dinner, to convey the good news that she could go away with Billy as planned. He wasn’t there, of course. Every morning since he had arrived in York, straight from the beaches of Dunkirk and carrying only a mattress and a small bag of rations, along with wounded pride, a lorry had collected him and other infantrymen from their billet, and taken them to a camp for exercise. But Nell left a message with Mrs Precious, just so he would not fret that he might not see her again before being sent to London.
Then it was back to her typewriter, the rest of the afternoon feeling as long as a week.
Directly after tea, Nell asked that she might be excused, and ran up to pack a small suitcase, her mother calling after her, ‘I’ve laid out clean underwear for you!’
Shouting merry thanks, Nell reached behind a row of books to retrieve the carefully folded package she had recently hidden there. Not daring to unwrap the silken nightdress, which had left her virtually penniless until next pay day, she slipped it directly into the case alongside her old one – better take that or Mother might be suspicious. Straight on top went a layer of suitable clothing and a bathing costume. Hidden though it might be, the nightdress provoked a momentary quiver. She was sexually ignorant in regard to the mechanics, though not so totally naive that she did not know the gamble she was taking. A man and a woman in the same bed …
But then her parents slept in the same bed, and they had no children – and at this moment Nell could not have cared less, for who knew how long they would all have to live? The excitement and urgency of being with Billy overruling any risk, she snapped the case shut, then it was back down the stairs.
‘Let us look at you!’
Hurrying through the hall to the sitting room, a suitcase in one hand, her gas mask container slung over her shoulder, Nell answered her parents’ demand, reduced to a schoolgirl again as she posed for their inspection.
Father had spread before him on a maroon chenille tablecloth the small arsenal he had accumulated. Some of it was from his exploits as an officer in the Great War, such as the Webley service revolver, the lethal-looking bayonet, and the Luger automatic pistol taken from a dead German. Other weapons were home-made – a brass knuckle duster and a garrotte. To Nell he didn’t appear to be doing anything specific with them, but he just liked to exhibit them from time to time, as if to reassure his family that he would be ready to protect them if the Germans did land. But his attention was now for his daughter. ‘That’s more like the girl I know!’ announced the grey face, with a pleased smile for her lack of make-up. Then he dipped into his pocket and pulled out half a crown. ‘Here you are, my little chickadee, treat yourself.’
Nell reached out and thanked him with a warm smile.
‘Better take a mackintosh in case it rains,’ warned her mother, rising to go and fetch this, whilst Nell exchanged an amused but frustrated glance with her father.
‘Let her do it if it keeps her happy,’ Wilfred advised her, as his wife folded the mackintosh over the crook of Nell’s arm.
‘Now, have you got everything – identity card?’
‘Yes, Mother!’
‘Let me check your case.’
‘There’s no time!’ Nell dashed for the door. ‘I’ve a bus to catch.’ For once, she thanked providence for the rationing of petrol. There was no danger of Father offering to chauffeur her into town: he was saving all his coupons towards a decent family outing.
Her parents came to see her off, their exit disturbing a sparrow that was enjoying a dust bath amongst the geraniums, and drawing a tut from Wilfred over the desecration of his prized garden.
‘Now, don’t do anything to show us up,’ warned her mother. ‘And if you hear the sirens go straight to a shelter!’
‘I won’t – I mean, I will!’ Nell called gaily over her shoulder, and hurried away up the avenue.
Not until out from under father’s eye did she take a little cardboard pot of rouge from her gas mask container and smear some on her lips, checking her appearance in her compact mirror, before catching her bus, nerves gurgling in her craw all the way into town.
And there was Billy! As handsome as a film star, waiting for her at the prearranged spot. Waving frantically to him through the window, she jumped off the bus almost before it stopped, and rushed to meet him as he too accelerated forth. Thrilled by what lay ahead, they exchanged a quick bright-eyed kiss, then spurted to catch their connection to Scarborough, which was about to depart further along the kerb.
Once in their seats, holding hands and grinning like Cheshire cats, they spoke little to each other as the bus chugged jerkily on its way out of the city, for besides them being so keyed up, there were too many passengers who might overhear intimacies.
However, as the bus paused to give way to a tank, Nell did reveal her successful appointment. ‘Guess who’s to be a nurse?’
‘Oh, when?’
‘Monday week!’
‘Good for you!’ He gave her a commending pat on the hand, before appearing to have second thoughts. ‘’Ere, you won’t be dealing with wounded soldiers, will you?’
‘Why, would you be jealous?’ teased Nell.
‘I flipping-well would, if you’ll be running your hands over their bits and pieces!’
She tittered at his rudeness, then moved up close to appease him. ‘Well, you’ve no need to be. I’m led to understand that we’ll only be used for evacuating civilians from London to somewhere safe up north.’ Then she donned an optimistic smile. ‘Maybe we’ll be able to meet down there! You could take me to Bermondsey.’ This was where he hailed from. ‘I’m dying to see it.’
Billy had mixed feelings about this. ‘Much as I’d love to see you any time, I’d prefer it to be well clear of London. The way things are heading, it’s only a matter of time before they hit us.’
‘Hmm, well, I don’t relish being bombed either, but I hope I get to do something crucial, that’s the whole point of becoming a nurse.’ It was Billy who, in part, had inspired her decision. To be so young and yet so totally embroiled in the defence of one’s country, he had put her to shame. ‘Anyway, let’s not talk about the war. Let’s concentrate on enjoying ourselves.’
‘Oh, I intend to.’ Billy gave her his dirty grin as the bus started to move again, then added hastily, ‘Speaking about that, you’d better put this on.’ After a peripheral glance, and with a definite lack of ceremony, he withdrew a small box from his pocket and slipped it to her.
Taking his lead, Nell lifted the lid of the box in surreptitious manner, and though she would have preferred to exclaim and openly admire its contents, she was to sneak the ring quickly onto her finger and whisper only, ‘It’s lovely!’ before tucking the tiny container out of sight.
But as much as she tried not to draw attention to it, the tips of her thumb and finger itched to examine the golden circle that adorned her wedding finger – not a fake one from Woolworths, as one might expect for an illicit weekend, but a genuine wedding ring – for which she beamed thanks to her lover.
‘Only nine carats, I’m afraid.’ Bill looked self-effacing, the restrictions of war and not parsimony having barred him from acquiring a twenty-three carat one, as he was quick to explain. ‘But I’ll be buying you a proper one when it’s all over.’
‘No you won’t,’ came her murmured instruction. ‘I’ll be keeping this one forever.’
Then, sharing a loving smile and a squeeze of each other’s hand, they tore their eyes away, and for the rest of the journey were to watch the countryside whiz by, and to mull over tantalising thoughts about the coming night.
With the room in total blackout, and her senses all to pot, there was no way of telling when night became day. Nell gasped as, with the aid of a lamp and snatching a look over Billy’s naked shoulder, she consulted his watch on the bedside table. ‘You do realise it’s almost nine o’clock?’ Nine o’clock in the morning that was.
Her bed companion grinned and stretched luxuriously like a cat, sharing a long, loving gaze with her, before hugging her to him and dappling her shoulder with kisses between words. ‘Well, the landlady did say to make ourselves at home. Anyway, we can stay in bed all day if we like, we’re married.’
Nell chuckled adoringly and returned his hug, shivering at the touch of his lips on her skin. ‘Oh, I wish we were, Bill, that we could fall asleep together every night, wake up together like this …’ Intensely happy, she released her hold on him and extended her hand to properly examine the exquisite gold ring he had bought her, all shiny and new.
Averse to losing any contact with her, however brief, Billy repossessed her hand and kissed it. ‘We will one day, I promise. You do believe me, don’cher?’ And he beheld her with a face so earnest that it could not possibly tell a lie.
‘Of course I do! That goes without saying.’ They had discussed this in depth. Aside from her parents not granting permission, Billy had told Nell she was much too young to be left a widow.
‘I saw what it was like for my mum after Dad was killed,’ he had become serious. ‘If anything should happen to me, I couldn’t bear the thought of you strugg—’
‘Don’t!’ Shuffling around quickly to synchronise her body to his again, she laid her hand across his lips, her eyes and voice pleading. ‘Let’s just put everything else aside and enjoy this chance to be together. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is.’ Totally spellbound, she cupped his cheek and stroked his brow, his ear, his smooth young jaw, feeling so intensely close, yet desiring to be closer still.
Billy agreed, his expression as blissful and contented as Nell’s as he tried to pull her even nearer to him, and rubbed his hand from nape to buttock as they kissed again.
At length, he tendered, ‘So … was it all right then?’
Nell glimpsed again the slight self-consciousness she had witnessed upon first entering the hotel room last night. She had been so worried about her own innocence that it had not occurred to her that Billy might be nervous too, but it had turned out that her lover was as inexperienced as she. ‘More than all right,’ she murmured lovingly, bestowing more kisses, to which Billy responded by burying his face in her neck, nuzzling around the back of her ear and into her hair.
‘But we really ought to get up,’ she was finally to say. ‘It’ll be embarrassing if the landlady sees the light under the door and comes knocking.’ The rattling of pots could be heard from downstairs, and the thunder of childish footsteps on the landing as the evacuees returned from breakfast.
‘She won’t. She thinks we’re on honeymoon, remember?’ Billy assured her, his face still pressed to her neck, dotting it with kisses.
‘Even more embarrassing! Everyone at the breakfast table knowing what we’ve been up to.’ But her smiling embrace was to prove Nell didn’t really care. Didn’t care about anything but the boy she loved.
Eventually, though, they had to rise. Dressing quickly, with a fond smile for Billy as he too covered his nakedness, Nell waited for him to cease hopping about on one foot, before turning off the lamp. Then, rendered blind, she stumbled her way to the window and pulled aside the blackout curtains to let the sun filter through the network of masking tape. Even lit by sunbeams, the room was not much to speak of, with a cast iron bedstead – with very rumpled sheets – beige lino and two well-worn green rugs, a wardrobe, a washstand, and above this an unframed mirror, plus one or two pictures of moorland and sheep to punctuate the faded wallpaper. But to Nell and her lover it was heaven. Both adjusting their clothes, giggling and whispering to each other, they made their way downstairs to seek breakfast, trying to appear like an old married couple.
The landlady did not bat an eyelid upon announcing she had been keeping something warm for them, and almost immediately they were served with bacon, egg, toast and tea. At least the evacuees had gone off to play, so they were allowed to eat in peace. Tucking in, but remaining self-conscious in an otherwise empty dining room, it was not long before Nell and Billy had cleared their plates, and were escaping into the fresh air.
Despite the fact that Scarborough was under fortification, with barriers, minefields and concrete pill boxes thrown up around the town, and sections of the beach cordoned off with barbed wire, it remained the bustling place of entertainment it had always been – even more bustling, with so many servicemen and children competing for space along the front. Historically a place to sit in deckchairs and listen to the band, the genteel Spa was now under military requisition. Nevertheless there were pleasures to be had amongst the amusement arcades and shellfish stalls, and these Nell and Billy proceeded to chase, undeterred by the sandbags and wire-netting, barely letting go of each other all day – even managing to eat a saucer of cockles with arms entwined, as they bumped and weaved their starry-eyed way in and out of the promenading throng, absorbing all the raucous treats that were on tap.
And when the money ran out, there were self-invented pastimes to supply laughter – even without the glasses of beer partaken at lunch – Nell’s companion so easygoing, a delight to be with. For her afternoon recreation he made up a guessing-game, which involved comparing passers-by to animals.
‘I can’t think what that chap might be,’ mused Nell, when it came to her turn, swinging her leg as they sat on a bench along the seafront. ‘He’s not really like any creature, is he?’ Billy was quick to gain points. ‘He’s a thatched cottage – has to be, with all that hair. Blimey, he’s like Moe off the Three Stooges!’
‘That’s cheating!’ She elbowed him laughingly, and drew away to accuse. ‘You said it had to be animals.’ Even this short gap between them proved too much, her eyes barely able to leave him for one second, as she watched a runnel of sweat filter from his dark hair to his brow, trickling through the creases at the edges of his eyes, then onwards down his firm cheek, before giving in to the urge to dab it away with her finger. ‘I’d hate to hear what I remind you of.’ But she shuffled back to him again, fondly laying her head on his shoulder.
Billy cuddled up to her, his voice deep and flirtatious as it murmured into her ear, ‘I can answer that easy enough – velvet, and chocolate and cream, all soft and sweet.’
‘Oh don’t say that!’ Nell looked and sounded disappointed. ‘Not all sugar and spice and things that make one puke.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that!’ Billy laughed. ‘Gawd help us – how do you want me to see you then?’
‘I’d much rather be thought of as a femme fatale.’ She adopted an exotic air, her accent foreign and her voice theatrical. ‘Dark and mysterious –’
‘You’re a ruddy mystery all right,’ cut in Billy, whipping his jovial face out of reach as she pretended to clip him. Then he sought to explain. ‘No, it’s just sometimes hard to put a word to a feeling, ain’t it? I think you’re really nice-looking – that goes without saying.’
His subject flushed with pleasure, but made self-effacing comment. ‘Not exactly dainty, though, not like that girl over there.’
‘Who cares? Look at the geezer she’s with, he’s not built like me, is he? No, we’re well-matched, you and me. I like something to get hold of.’ To Nell’s chuckles, he demonstrated this, before adding, ‘What I meant about the velvet thing was, your face has this gentle, warm way about it, as if you’re always concerned for other people, no sharp edges to it …’
‘Pudgy,’ contributed Nell.
‘No! Stop running yourself down. It’s a lovely mug. Your skin, it’s all creamy, and those chocolatey eyes, it’s as if they’re reflecting candlelight …’ His subject gave a squirm of delight, he an embarrassed quip. ‘How’s that for bleedin’ poetry?’ Moving on quickly, he asked, ‘Okay, what do I remind you of then?’
Nell placed a finger to her chin and looked thoughtful. ‘Hmm – a wet dog.’
‘Thanks very much!’ he sputtered laughingly. ‘I needn’t ask what you think of my hairy chest!’
Nell laughed too – her face ached with all the laughing she had done over the past twenty-four hours. ‘Let me finish! One of my uncles has this black mongrel –’
‘Oh, even better!’ roared Billy, throwing back his dark curly head.
‘– who loves nothing more than to jump in the river, and when he comes out he’s all bright-eyed and laughing and boisterous, bursting with life and energy – that’s what I love about you,’ Nell managed to finish. ‘You’re so full of fun, and believe me there’s such a dearth of it in our house. My parents are such old fogies.’
‘Do you ever speculate over what your real ones were like?’ asked Billy, who knew her life story.
Nell looked slightly taken aback, for she considered Wilfred and Thelma to be her real parents. They were the only ones she had known, and, perhaps due to their honesty in never hiding it from her that she had been adopted, she felt as secure as if she had been born to them. But then she admitted with a guilty smile, ‘Only when my own are annoying me, I wonder if the others were film stars or something exciting like that. But I don’t regard them to be real parents – after all, they gave me away, didn’t they?’
‘They must’ve been mad.’ He squeezed her. ‘Well, there’ll be bumper fun when we get our own house – and lots of kids.’ After sharing a tender kiss, his eyes, and Nell’s too, drifted away from each other to watch the youngsters frolick ing on the crowded beach with their buckets and spades. ‘Shall we join ’em?’
And so they did, removing their shoes and emptying them of sand, then threading their way amongst an ever-growing colony of deckchairs to find an unoccupied patch of beach, where Billy spread his khaki blouse for them to sit on. Then, aware of other people only yards away – old men with knotted handkerchiefs to protect their bald pates and trousers rolled up to the knee, scarlet-faced wives in full corsetry, complete with handbag – in discreet but awkward fashion, both shed their clothes to reveal the swimming costumes worn beneath.
Once settled side by side, looking out to sea over their kneecaps, Nell leaned against Billy, lost in reverie. ‘Where shall we live? London or York?’
‘I don’t give a fig, so long as I’m with you,’ he answered, rocking her back and forth, their flesh stuck together in the August heat.
In total agreement, Nell imbibed a deep lungful of all the scents that wafted by – the brine, the shellfish, the donkeys, the frying of chips, the honest sweat – and felt her spirits soar as high as the brilliant sun. Squinting at its reflection glittering on the waves, she exhaled a rapturous sigh. ‘We couldn’t have asked for a nicer day, could we? I just wish it didn’t have to end.’
‘Me neither.’ He squeezed her gently. ‘But we’ve got most of tomorrow as well.’ Then, as his eyes swept her curves, he became aware that her shoulders were quickly turning pink. ‘Lord, you’re going to have to watch it with your delicate skin.’
Raking her damp fringe from her brow, Nell puffed out her cheeks and fanned her face. ‘Yes, I should’ve brought a hat.’
‘Allow me!’ said Billy, and, reaching to his pile of clothes, he pulled out his forage cap and stuck it on her head at a jaunty angle. ‘There you are, Mrs Kelly! How do you like that titfer?’
The recipient looked proud at first, but then she sniggered and covered her mouth. ‘Nelly Kelly – won’t Mother be delighted!’
And they found themselves laughing gleefully again, as Billy exhorted, ‘Come on, let’s go for a dip!’ And, ignoring their audience, they ran yelling into the ice-cold sea.
* * *
By the end of an exceptionally fine day, which was to include an abandoned spell of jitterbugging on the dance floor, whilst Billy’s olive skin was to assume an attractive shade of tan, Nell found herself crimson. She had won a photographic award as the girl with the most sunburned back on the beach, but it didn’t feel much of a privilege now. Even a hastily purchased pot of cold cream failed to ease the fire, and by bedtime she was radiating such heat that her lover could not get near without causing dis comfort – hardly conducive to unrestrained passion. All the same, she vowed that there was no way this would prevent her from being in Billy’s arms for their final night together.
Afterwards, reluctant to go to sleep, draped only in a sheet, for Nell’s burnt skin could bear nothing more, they lay with the curtains apart and their bodies lit by the moon, loath to miss any expression on the other’s face, holding hands and murmuring into the night.
‘I’m dreading leaving you,’ Billy voiced his mixed feelings, gently playing with her fingers throughout, ‘but I’m rather glad to have this chance to see my old mum’s all right.’
Nell softly agreed. ‘You must be worried, and she about you.’
‘Yeah, her little baby,’ he grinned.
Nell smiled too, knowing that he was the youngest, almost twenty years younger than his eldest sibling. ‘I’m more worried in case they send you back to Europe.’
His tanned body heaved a sigh. ‘Well, they’ll send us sometime, that’s for certain. I’ll almost be glad in a way …’
‘Oh, Billy, don’t say that!’ She knew a little of what he had been through, for in their quieter moments she had coaxed it from him: how he hadn’t known where he was going or what was happening, had just done what he was told and gone where he was sent, only to end up on a beach with thousands of his comrades, their backs to the sea; there to wait for days under murderous fire until the rescue boats came; and even more days whilst others boarded ahead of him, forced to watch them sail for England, whilst in the meantime he lost everything – his comrades, his rifle, his equipment, half his uniform, and all personal possessions, even a little china ornament for his mum. As the brave boats had continued to come, he had waded out until the sea lapped his chest, only to wade ashore again when there was no more room aboard; and when his wrung-out carcass was eventually hauled onto a craft and given the tastiest jam sandwich and the best mug of tea he had ever consumed, this was promptly interrupted by a dive-bomber, forcing him once more over the side to swim for his life …
At her first cry of anguish, Billy had lifted his head from the pillow. ‘No, I mean, if I have to fight ’em, I’d rather it be over there than on our own doorstep – oh, I don’t know what I mean, Nelly, it’s hard to explain …’ Allowing his tousled head to fall back, he hesitated for long moments, before proceeding to admit his shame over the benighted inhabitants of Belgium and France. ‘Those poor bloody wretches, thinking we’d come to save them – well, we thought we had too,’ he interjected a bitter laugh, ‘lapped it up, I did, being thought of as a conquering hero, taking souvenirs off the girls – none of them as pretty as you, mind,’ he added quickly.
Secure in his love for her, Nell showed this with her smile.
‘Didn’t think we’d be running for our lives with our tails between our legs,’ added Billy, picking absently at the sheet that draped them, ‘and leaving the poor blighters to their fate.’
‘But you gave of your best, you’ve no need to be ashamed!’ Nell felt tears prick her eyes. Hating that raw anguish, she tried to stroke it away, her hand upon his cheek.
He turned to meet her gaze for a second, love and pity in his eyes, before averting it to the ceiling. For how could he tell her the real story? That it had been every man for himself. That he had stepped over dead and dying comrades in his haste to escape the blazing hell of Dunkirk. How could he violate such innocence of mind? How could he share with this tender-hearted young thing the sights he had seen: of men’s limbs blown to fleshy rags, of their screaming pleas to be put down; how he had clamped his hands over his ears to try and block out their piteous cries of ‘Mother’ as they died; how he’d frantically dashed their blood and brains and bone from his uniform, as if that would erase the intense humiliation he felt as a soldier, as a man. The ceiling became a battlefield, the whole of it ablaze, he could taste again the smoke, his lungs choking with it, his ears filled with the terrifying shriek of the Stukkas and the hellish shrieks of men, his heart and body leaden with exhaustion and overwhelming loss …
All he could murmur now was, ‘You’ve no idea how powerless I felt, Nelly. No idea, and I pray with all my heart you never do, my darlin’. Never.’
Her fingers encased in a grip of steel, Nell tried to ease them out so that she might comfort him, making Billy suddenly aware that he was hurting her.
‘Oh, sorry!’ He was immediately attentive, yet his face remained etched with atrocious memories.
‘No, no … I’m not hurt.’ And with her hand freed, she was able to stroke him tenderly, trying to impart that she understood, that she loved him more than any other person on earth.
Forgetting her burnt skin, a distraught Billy reacted by hugging her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. Then, just as quickly, he apologised again. ‘I just love you so much, you make everything better …’
The minutes leaked away, their voices becoming drowsier. Gripped by an awful premonition that she would never see him again, that these were the last moments they would ever share, Nell refused even now to look away, for that would propel her towards the sleep she was trying so hard to fight.
Even after Billy had gradually succumbed, her eyes remained on his dear face, allowing every detail to be imprinted on her memory, gazing, listening to his breath, feeling it on her cheek …
She had fallen asleep after all. Her head felt like a ball of fire, and her eyelids were stuck together, but the blinding sun which pierced them told that it was morning. She turned away from the source in discomfort, but could not escape the punishing light that streamed in through the window, and so lay there for a second, rubbing her eyes and attempting to prise them fully open.
Then, feeling the heat of Billy close by, she roused him gently with a kiss, privately wincing under his instinctive caress, for her face was still as a beacon in contrast to the white linen pillowcase. Yet, they made love again, for it need not be said that this might be their last opportunity for a very long time.
‘How long do we have?’ she later enquired softly, cherishing every second.
Bill lifted an arm to grope on the bedside table. ‘Oh, bloody Nora, me watch’s stopped. I can smell breakfast, though, so it must be about seven.’ With a hasty kiss, he rolled onto the edge of the bed, forwarded the hands of his timepiece, and began to wind it, chatting to her over his shoulder as he did so, before exclaiming, ‘Sod it, now I’ve over-wound the perishing thing!’ He gave the wristwatch a hearty shake, then tapped it on the table, but nothing could get it started again.
‘Good!’ beamed Nell, rolling across the mattress to imprison him. ‘We can stay here forever then.’
‘’Fraid we can’t!’ Giving her a kiss, then an eye-watering slap on the rear that almost sparked a fight, Billy chivvied her into getting dressed, then both went down to breakfast. His guess had been imprecise, for it was actually closer to eight, and forty-five minutes later they were back in their room, reluctantly, to pack.
This done, Nell took a final look at the bed, her half-wistful gaze noting that the sheets were covered in black hairs from Bill’s chest and arms. ‘Gosh, it looks like a ruddy dog’s slept in it!’ And with a false laugh, she made a last-minute effort to brush them off.
‘Here, don’t forget your budgie box!’ Billy noticed her gas-mask container and quickly hooked it over her shoulder. ‘Whoops, sorry, forgot about the sunburn!’ He gave an apologetic wince, then reminded her, ‘Must get your ration book from the landlady as well.’
‘Do I have to give this back?’ Reluctant to depart, protective of the wedding ring he had given her, Nell was gazing at it now, still upon her finger.
‘Are you telling me you want a divorce already?’ he scolded with good humour, drawing forth a negating laugh from her. ‘’Course you must keep it – and take good care of it till we can use it for real. Here!’ He took a chain from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. ‘I bought you this so’s you can thread it through and keep wearing it, even if it ain’t on your finger. Don’t do it yet, though!’ he warned with a smile. ‘Else the landlady’ll be calling us a pair o’ dirty dogs.’
‘You are so romantic!’ quipped Nell, despite her low spirits. Then she heaved a sigh. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better go and catch our bus then …’
Downstairs, though, there was to be a reprieve. The landlady, who had shown such kindness all along, now proposed that she look after their luggage so they could catch a later bus, and so, ‘Make the most of your honeymoon,’ she whispered.
Though at first deeply obliged, and exhilarated at being allowed this extra time together, by the time evening came around the young couple were forced to accept that it might have been better to leave as planned. For this had merely been a stay of execution. Due to Nell’s blistered skin they had constantly been forced to seek out shade. Not that it really mattered, for their spirits already resided there.
It was almost a relief to arrive back in York. When they alighted in Exhibition Square, it was to be surrounded by the dozens of airmen and soldiers waiting to catch their buses back to camp after an evening out, all extremely merry. Without aid of a street lamp, which were all painted black, Billy held on tight as he steered Nell towards her bus stop, there to wait with her.
‘Leave you on your own and give one of these rag-bags a chance to interfere with you? I don’t think!’ And he insisted on catching the bus with her, even though it would mean a return trip to town for himself.
But it was merely prolonging the agony. Hand in hand, their pace becoming slower and slower as they followed the white line of the kerb to the end of her avenue, Nell finally drew to a halt and turned to him, her face saying everything. Wearing a similar expression, Billy gave a sigh, at the same time nabbing an automatic look at his watch, forgetting that it was useless.
He gave a mirthless little laugh. ‘I’ll have to see if Mr Precious can do anything with it – he does a lot of delicate work with instruments so he might be able to. Well, I reckon I oughta go …’ Implanting a last wistful kiss, then holding Nell at arm’s length and gazing into her eyes, he pledged that they would see each other before too long. ‘Keep your chin up, gel.’ Then, reluctantly, his hands released their hold, and their owner made tracks for his billet.
Unable to bear the poignant departure, her suitcase in hand, Nell immediately turned and hurried for home.
‘Ah, the wanderer returns!’ announced her father in a pleased manner as she entered. ‘We can go to bed.’ But as he turned off the wireless and rose, he thought to ask, ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’ Then he chuckled at her mother. ‘From the colour of her face it certainly looks as though she did.’
‘Oh yes, it was smashing,’ replied the luminous Nell. ‘But I’d better not keep you and Mother up any longer.’ Case in hand, she made for the stairs. ‘I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.’
‘We’ll look forward to it,’ supplied her mother, rising to pat the cushions. ‘Heavens, your skin does look angry – dab some calamine on before you go to bed.’ Then she made a pensive addition. ‘You know, you wouldn’t think a weekend is long, but we really missed you, didn’t we, Father?’
Touched, and rather guilty at deceiving them, and already pining for Bill, Nell felt her eyes start to burn. Hence, she increased her pace. ‘I missed you too – goodnight then!’
A lump in her throat, she tried her best not to let it get the better of her as she undressed and climbed into bed. But the moment she laid her head upon the pillow, the image returned of Billy walking away. Then she buried her face under the covers, and quietly sobbed.
3
The next day it was boring old work as usual. Nell was thankful that there would soon be a new career to take her mind off things. But there was a week to get through before then.
How time crawled. It felt like a year had gone past and it was still only Monday teatime. Ever despondent over Billy’s departure, Nell sat at the table, nibbling on the home-grown salad, trying to take her mind off him by watching her parents, wondering what was going through their minds as they ate in silence – had it been just herself and Billy at the table she was sure they would have never stopped chattering. Drat! There she was, thinking of him again already.
Only the clicking of Father’s false teeth was annoying enough to lure her mind away. Mr Spottiswood had developed the ability to clean the underside of his artificial palette without removing the dentures. Using his tongue to whip any debris from beneath, he rolled the clackers from cheek to cheek and around his entire mouth, giving them a thorough vacuum before fitting them back into place again. Why did he persist in doing that, as if it were some sort of art form? Skilful it might be, but the way it warped his face, the dentures jutting forth as if to pop from his mouth at any minute and making him look like a camel, and that awful clickety-clacking they made, it was so uncouth. Did he assume he was being discreet in not actually removing his teeth, or did he just not care?
Nell’s eyes flickered to her mother, who found it as irritating as she did, she could tell that by the slight flare to her nostrils. Yet her mother never dared criticise him, even when he did it at someone else’s house. Poor Mother, dying to be considered as a pillar of the community due to her prominent role with the WVS, purchasing its uniform so she could stand out from lesser women, yet brought down to earth by a husband who did not know how to eat in polite company. And that was not all. Mother had tried to allude that it was not the done thing to sit at the table in one’s shirt sleeves, but there was Father, lord of the manor, with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Nell could not say she blamed him in this heat, but it obviously grated on Mother. How awful to feel that way about someone you were married to: wanting to change them. Nell couldn’t ever envisage being annoyed by anything Billy did. She loved the way he walked and talked and ate, the way his giggles shook his entire body – he was a proper giggler, her Bill – all his little fads, such as picking the strands of orange peel out of the marmalade before spreading it on his toast …
Trying not to sigh, she crunched the last radish on her plate, laid down her cutlery, and attempted to make conversation.
‘One of the girls at work said they found a German parachute in the field at the back of their house after the other night’s raid.’
‘And would she know what a German parachute looked like if it fell on her?’ enquired her father in a supercilious tone. ‘No. You want to tell her to watch it, or she’ll find herself locked up for spouting such rubbish.’
‘It’ll be fifth columnists who’ve planted it,’ explained her mother. ‘Don’t let it frighten you, dear.’
Nell gave a nod and fell silent again. Then, when her parents had also finished, she helped her mother to clear the table, whilst Father seated himself in his armchair with the evening newspaper.
Her mind far away, wondering whether Billy had reached London yet, she was helping her mother to wash the pots when a disgusted exclamation drew both women’s curiosity, and they wandered back to the sitting room.
‘What is it, dear?’ Thelma asked her husband, tea towel still in hand.
Nell’s father regarded her for a moment, the expression on his face turning from annoyance to disgust, as he announced in a tart and slightly melodramatic voice. ‘I was going to ask what you enjoyed best about your weekend in Scarborough, but I won’t trouble you now, for it’s quite evident!’ And he bequeathed the newspaper, suitably folded to display a laughing photograph of a group of young people in swimming costumes, with Nell at their centre, under the banner: Girl with the most sunburnt back.
Nell’s heart leaped as her father stabbed a finger at the dark-haired man beside her in the photograph and mouthed sarcasm. ‘One didn’t imagine your friend Barbara to be so hirsute!’
Her frowning mother snatched up the press and exclaimed, ‘Why, that’s Billy!’
Wilfred turned on her. ‘You knew what she was up to?’
‘No! But I know him – he was at Ronald’s party.’ And his wife joined the attack on Nell, saying, ‘Someone had better explain themselves!’
Nell twisted her fingers as she fought to deliver an explanation. ‘I didn’t enter the competition. The photographer just snapped –’
‘That is not what we’re objecting to, and you know it!’ interrupted her mother. ‘You didn’t think to mention there’d be chaps amongst the group! Did you arrange this at the party, invite Billy along?’
‘No!’
‘Look at him with his arm around you,’ stuttered her father, ‘and you with barely a stitch on!’
‘I’d never have let you pack your bathing costume had I known!’ railed Thelma. ‘You let me assume it was an all-girl group – although those other young ladies leave much to be desired!’
To Nell’s astonishment, she realised then that her mother was under the misapprehension that the strangers in the photograph were part of the fictitious Barbara’s group. This being so, things were not half as bad as they could have been. ‘It was all girls!’ she strove to convince her parents. ‘We bumped into Billy by accident and he tagged along.’
‘To ruin our daughter’s reputation!’ Wilfred was livid with Nell. ‘What have we done to deserve this? There’s our Ronald, doing his bit for King and country, his parents proud as punch, showing off the photo of him that appeared in the church magazine, and what sort of pictorial keepsake do we get of our child? This decadent rubbish!’ He slapped the newspaper onto the hearth. ‘That’s only fit for lighting the fire!’
‘I’m ever so sorry,’ Nell gushed earnestly to both, ‘but it’s this war! No one can afford to be serious all the time. Everyone has to grab their chance of having fu—’
‘Don’t blame Mr Hitler for your behaviour!’ interrupted her father. ‘Fun? Huh! The war seems to have become an excuse for all manner of immorality under the guise of fun!’
‘Quite!’ his wife agreed ‘She’s becoming far too wayward for my liking.’
Nell bit her lip. Thank heaven that neither of them had guessed that she had gone away with Billy alone, and even worse had shared a bed with him. Never in their wildest nightmares could they have conceived such a thing of their well-raised daughter.
‘Well, there’ll be no more! I’m going to write to this Barbara’s parents!’ babbled Thelma, hurrying to a bureau and taking out a writing pad and fountain pen. ‘Here, you can jot down their full address!’
Nell hovered between panic and impatience. ‘It’s hardly their fault, I was the one who was snapped by the photographer! I didn’t even enter the blasted competition.’
‘And you can dispense with that language!’ Her father pointed a warning finger that came dangerously close to her face. ‘Apologise to your mother!’ And after Nell had shown contrition, he added, ‘What she said is right, the girl’s parents are obviously lax and need to be reminded that they had someone else’s daughter in their care!’
‘It wasn’t their fault!’ protested Nell again, but more politely. ‘They had as much idea as I did that I was even being photographed!’
‘That’s hardly relevant,’ barked Wilfred. ‘And stop arguing!’ His scowl served to terminate any further protest. ‘For God’s sake, girl, you seem to have forgotten there’s a war on, that men are out there fighting for their lives whilst you’re acting like some –’ He broke off with a growl of exasperation.
Don’t you think I’m aware there’s a war on? railed Nell silently. That I might never see my darling boy again? That all this kidding about of which you so disapprove is just a front to make everyone feel better? But she didn’t say it, for she had been raised to respect her parents.
‘And as for this chap!’ continued her father, seizing the newspaper again and rapping the photograph of Billy with the back of his hand as if wanting to punch the man himself. ‘If I catch him pawing you again I’ll be writing to his commanding officer!’
‘She won’t be seeing him again!’ pitched in her mother.
‘I shan’t,’ mumbled Nell, eyes to the carpet. ‘He’s left York.’
‘Good – and I forbid you to write to him!’ shrilled Thelma. ‘We’ll be checking all your letters!’
‘Right, get to your room!’ came the abrupt command from her father. ‘And stay there for the rest of the night.’
Packed off in disgrace, Nell flung herself onto her bed, lashing out at the mattress in frustration. These stupid bloody people, why could she not have been adopted by someone at least able to understand? They had no perception of her whatsoever. Dealing the mattress a last punch, she rolled into a sitting position and balanced angrily on the edge of the bed, glaring at herself in the dressing-table mirror.
Then, after a moment or two, she conjured up Billy’s laughing face, made believe that he was looking back at her, teasing the bad temper from her with one of his jokes, and it forced her to blurt out a laugh – laugh, then cry, that she missed him so much already, and he had only been gone twenty-four hours. Face crumpling, and tears bulging over her lower lashes, she jumped up, snatched a brush and ran it viciously through her dark hair numerous times, to try to prevent herself from breaking down completely.
Well, her parents might think they had covered everything, but the letters wouldn’t be coming here. In defiance, she hauled a stool up to her dressing table, and proceeded to write to her beloved, telling him what had just occurred. ‘But you needn’t worry,’ she assured Billy. ‘Nothing and nobody will ever stop me loving you …’
Once the envelope was firmly adhered, and its flap marked with ‘SWALK’ before it was concealed in her pocket for tomorrow’s post, Nell dragged the stool up to her open window, to take solace in the goings-on of the avenue, waving over her sill to the new people, whom she had yet to meet, and chatting to various neighbours until the light began to fade.
Words were terse and far between at the breakfast table the next day. Outwardly cowed, but secretly smug at having the letter to Billy in her pocket, Nell left at the usual time and posted it on her way to work. She was also to slip into the press office during her lunch hour and order two copies of the damning photograph – not purely from any sense of mischief, though certainly this was a bonus – mainly because she did not have any visual record of herself and Billy together, and it was such a good one. The prints would be ready to collect by the end of the week.
Despite having this to look forward to, though, she was, if anything, even more subdued upon coming home that Tuesday evening, for her visit to Billy’s former billet had been fruitless, no letter arriving from his hand.
Still, the fact that she appeared so passive did go someway to healing the rift with her parents. And after all, it was early days, Billy had only been gone forty-eight hours. Undaunted, yet missing him dreadfully, Nell had no need to be ordered to her room that night, but went willingly, pulling her stool to the dressing table and pouring out her heart.
And to her joy, the next day her visit to his digs was to be rewarded by an envelope which sported the endearment ‘ITALY’ – I trust and love you.
Treasuring his letter, and the one which came two days later, she was to read them again and again throughout that week. And also to pore over that memorable photograph, a copy of which was swiftly despatched to Bill, who had said how much he would value it. Thus Nell was to keep herself happily occupied, whilst waiting for her new position to commence.
Finally, the important day came. Instructed to report at eight a.m. to the railway sidings in Leeman Road – which, being at the far side of the network of lines, involved a journey by bus to the station, and then a short walk – Nell arrived in good time, though she was to find two others had beaten her to it. She offered a friendly hello, but being taller and much younger than both, and sticking out like a sore thumb, she felt too self-conscious to say any more for the time being.
The first response was to come from a stocky woman with bobbed auburn hair and a quiet, but mature and amicable way about her, whose smile and the shrewd twinkling glint in her blue eyes more than made up for any plainness. ‘I’m Beata Kilmaster,’ she began, in a soft Yorkshire accent. ‘Are you for the ambulance train as well?’
Before Nell could reply, the third in the group butted in knowledgeably, ‘We’re not meant to call it that, it’s a Casualty Evacuation Train, they’re totally different things.’
‘That’s me told then,’ said Beata, with an arch expression at Nell.
Liking her at once, Nell was now assigned leave to introduce herself. Having done this, she turned expectantly to the self-appointed oracle, whose response was concise.
‘Avril Joyson.’
Nell gave her a nod and a smile, but the latter was secretly for Bill, whom she imagined would have had fun describing this one. Avril’s face was that of a goldfish, cheeks sucked in as if blowing bubbles, and protuberant blue eyes that lacked either warmth or animation. Her tied-back hair was extremely thick and coarse, the colour of hay, and with a tight natural wave. Nell had to bite her lip to prevent herself from bursting out laughing – a goldfish with a thatched roof, Billy would probably have it.
Based only on looks, she much preferred the former woman, who, with her fresh complexion and russet hair, was more like a trusty Cox’s Pippin, and with whom she felt immediately at ease. ‘I wonder which one’s ours?’ She glanced around at the collection of locomotives that chugged and steamed around them, filling the air with their sulphurous hiss. Her query was mainly addressed to Beata, for Avril seemed to be more intent on scrutinising her than the trains.
‘Well there’s one thing, you won’t have any problem hefting patients about. Tall, aren’t you?’
Embarrassed, Nell turned to the speaker, who was looking her up and down quite shamelessly, and tried to shrug off the accusation. ‘Well, taller than average, I suppose …’
‘I can’t think why you’d want to make yourself even loftier with those high heels.’ Avril continued to criticise. ‘And they won’t like that lipstick.’
Already unsure of herself, Nell’s heart sank. Thank goodness she had one person who appeared to like her, as Beata smiled in rebuttal:
‘I don’t suppose the patients will care much, so long as we look after them.’
Thankfully there was someone else for Avril to look at soon, for at short intervals, the rest of the crew began to turn up: a portly mother and daughter duo named Green; a vivacious French woman, coincidentally bearing the surname of French, who could barely make herself understood; two more women of Beata’s age; and seven men.
‘Gosh, they’ve already got their uniforms,’ whispered Nell, as two very aristocratic-looking girls made a tardy appearance. ‘They look rather grand, don’t they?’
But it turned out that the pair had few airs and graces, and from their chummy introduction it appeared they would be more than willing to muck in, even if they were hoping to qualify as state-registered nurses and not mere auxiliaries. One might have guessed from their mannerisms that Lavinia and Penelope Ashton were sisters, but never twins, marvelled Nell, for the first was dark of countenance, the other fair and blue-eyed, the only similarities their height and their wavy hair. During a brief chat with the rest – not instigated by Nell, but by the thoroughbred girls – she discovered that the men were Salvation Army bandsmen, who were to act as stretcher-bearers. All except Avril were very pleasant, decided Nell, as she smiled and shook hands with each in turn. There was no chance to discover much more about her fellow volunteers, for preceding Matron Lennox, Sister Barber came on the scene then, a pretty, delicate-boned woman with fair hair and a heavily freckled face, who grudged them a smile before warning them to pay close attention to what their superior had to say.
Despite the clanking activity from the railway that went on around them, all became attentive to matron, who was starched in dress though not in manner, with pleasant, rather birdlike, features. It was an old-fashioned face, kind, her hair parted in the middle before disappearing under the neat little white cap, conjuring for Nell the spectre of Florence Nightingale.
Upon ascertaining everyone’s name, Matron Lennox was not to mince her own introduction. ‘No woman should offer herself as a nurse unless she is prepared for hard work, self-denial, and to take her share of occupations that are repugnant to every refined and sensitive being.’ Hands clasped before her, her periwinkle-blue eyes rested briefly but effectively on each and every female, allowing her sermon to permeate those ignorant minds. ‘Whether it be your intent to fulfil a lifetime vocation, or whether your services were offered purely from a view of public-spiritedness and only for the duration of the war, the attributes you will need to fulfil your role shall be the same. To whit: –’
To whoo! Nell looked at her feet to stop herself giggling.
– presence of mind, gentleness, accuracy, memory, observation and forethought. No matter what rank you are to achieve, these are essential to the wellbeing of your patients. You may find the way ahead severely taxing, and be especially overwhelmed during your initial introduction to the wards, and fear that there is far too much to learn. But you will not be expected to know everything at once, and, in possession of those qualities, in no time at all you will reach a standard where you can rightly be proud of your title.’ She finished on a smile, then briefly turned away. ‘Very well, Sister, let us show them what they’re in for!’
There followed a procession to the designated train, where Matron was to come to an abrupt halt.
Sister’s eyes penetrated the nearest recruit, who happened to be Nell. But before the latter could grasp her meaning, Beata had stepped forth and opened the door of the van for their superior.
Crushed by naivety, and wondering how Beata could have interpreted Sister’s mute instruction, Nell kept her head down as Matron ushered her group of nurses aboard one of the converted railway wagons, and proceeded to lecture them on what was required.
‘As you can see, even though the workmen have done their part, it is somewhat in the raw.’ Her declaration was unnecessary, for amongst a liberal sprinkling of sawdust were relics of its previous cargo: a wizened carrot and a shrivelled cabbage leaf. Matron began a slow tour, tapping the partitions that separated the ‘wards’ from the rest of the wagon. ‘This will eventually be the doctor’s office, this one for myself, this for the sister, and this is the nurses’ mess.’ She showed them how the stretchers would be installed in racks, one above the other. ‘But before any equipment is installed it will need to be cleaned from top to bottom, and for this it will be all hands to the pumps – so, as I announced earlier, I hope none of you is afraid of hard work. If you are then you’re in the wrong profession.’ She eyed them all with a face that was stern yet fair, as if allowing them this last-minute chance to withdraw.
At Sister’s prompting glare, Nell reacted a few seconds after everyone else. ‘Yes, Matron.’
‘Very well, I shall close by issuing a warm welcome to all, and leave you in Sister’s capable hands!’ And with this she departed.
With their superior gone, Sister Barber then proceeded to give her new nurses all the do’s and don’ts. And the don’ts seemed to be mostly for Nell’s benefit. ‘You’ll be expected to turn up in more sensible footwear tomorrow, Miss Spottiswood, and without lipstick!’
Nell’s humiliation was amplified by Avril Joyson’s told-you-so look, as Sister continued, ‘You won’t feel half so glamorous when you’re swinging the bedpans!’
Initially deceived by the warm smile of welcome and the freckled angelic face with its baby-blue eyes, Nell was quickly learning that this one would brook no nonsense. If Matron was Florence Nightingale, this was Florence Vulture.
‘For those of you who have been nurturing some romantic notion, let me make it plain that you are here under sufferance, and in the most fundamental capacity. Although you may be credited with the title “Nurse”, make no mistake, it is an honorary one. You are here as helpers. Some of you may go on to achieve distinction,’ her eyes flickered briefly to the Ashton girls, before settling on Nell, ‘others are merely here for the duration. But you are all starting out on the same footing, and there will be no lording it over others. I am here to see that you do not kill anyone. We must all of us make the best of it. But let it be known that I cannot abide giddiness or laziness. Neither will be tolerated.’
Having imprinted these opinions on them, Sister Barber began to interview them one by one. On discovering that the Frenchwoman had barely a word of English, she tutted in dismay to herself. ‘What on earth have they landed me with?’
‘Pardon?’ The French woman cocked her ear.
Sister mouthed loudly at her, ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Zey send me!’ came the strangled response. ‘I nurse.’
‘But in England – why are you in England?’
‘Ah, mon mari.’ Mrs French groped for words. ‘’E Anglais!’
Sister heaved a sigh. ‘Good Lord, I’ll warrant you can barely count to ten …’
‘Mais oui!’ The other’s face brightened, and she proceeded to count aloud with pride, ‘Wan, doo, tree, four, fahve, sees, sevahn, ate, nahn –’
The free sample has ended.
