Authors: Pamela Evans
‘Glad you like it,’ he responded, looking pleased. ‘I’ll make us some tea and we can have it on deck as the weather is so nice. I bought some cakes, too. They won’t come anywhere near the standard of your mum’s home-made ones, but although I can make myself a fairly decent meal, my skills don’t run to baking.’
May smiled, feeling warm towards him and very glad that she had come.
‘I have most of my meals up here when the weather is good,’ he told her later when they were having tea in the sunshine. ‘Even in winter if it’s fine I wrap up well and come up here. I’ve always been a bit of a fresh-air fiend, but Ashburn gave me a real passion for it.’
‘It’s a wonder it didn’t put us all off for life, the amount we had there.’
‘Sometimes so cold, too,’ he said.
‘Oh yes, I still shiver when I think of Ashburn,’ she said. ‘I think being cold is my strongest memory of the place.’
‘I must say I choose only nice weather now that I can decide for myself.’
‘We have a lot to thank the place for, though.’
‘Indeed,’ he said.
‘Do you still have to go to the chest clinic to get checked over?’
He nodded. ‘Only once a year now.’
‘Me too. But apart from that, and the wonky shoulder the operation left me with, I’m fine.’
‘No off days?’ he asked.
‘I know if I’ve been overdoing things,’ she said. ‘But my breathing is fine. Amazing how you can manage with only one lung, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, it is.’
May burst out laughing. ‘Just listen to us. We sound like a couple of old codgers sitting here discussing our ailments.’
He laughed too and they moved on to other things, carefully avoiding any talk of war. May was slightly conscious of their illness being their main connection. Still, Doug was a lovely bloke and she enjoyed being with him, so she supposed it didn’t really matter.
They stayed on the deck all afternoon, drinking tea and chatting. This really was the most romantic setting, with the sun shining on the water, the birds singing and a handsome man by her side. She smiled suddenly.
‘Come on, share the joke,’ he said.
‘No joke,’ she assured him. ‘I was just thinking how perfect all of this is.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ he agreed.
What she didn’t mention was how enthralled Betty would be when she related this scenario to her. This would truly be the movie-style romantic scene her friend had always dreamed of.
When it was announced on the wireless in August that Russia had entered into a non-aggression pact with Germany, most people reluctantly accepted that war was now inevitable. The Pavilion was buzzing with it.
‘Gawd knows what will become of us all,’ said one woman who had called to buy a pound of sugar.
‘War hasn’t been declared yet,’ pointed out May, clinging stubbornly to her optimistic streak. ‘They still might be able to stop it. Let’s look on the bright side.’
‘No chance of them stopping it now,’ said another customer to murmurs of agreement. ‘Things have gone too far for that.’
‘We’ll just have to hope it doesn’t last long then, won’t we?’ suggested, May determinedly.
‘The papers seem to think it won’t drag on like the last war,’ said a man who had come in for a newspaper.
‘Well if the Germans are going to bomb us, we won’t be around to care,’ said someone, laughing nervously. ‘So there’s no point in worrying about it.’
‘I’ll take a couple of extra tins of peas please, just in case we’re still around,’ requested May’s customer.
‘They reckon there’ll be terrible shortages, Flo,’ said someone in the queue. ‘I hope you’ll look after your regulars.’
‘We’re not sure how it’ll work yet,’ said Flo. ‘There will be some sort of regulation, and even rationing if the worst happens. But we’ll look after our regulars if we can.’
‘Shall we wait and see if war does actually come before we start panicking?’ suggested May.
‘Nobody is panicking, dear,’ said the customer. ‘We are all very calm.’
‘You speak for yourself,’ said a woman who was known as a bit of a comic. ‘I nearly wet myself with fright every time I think of the dratted war.’
Everybody laughed and the atmosphere lightened.
When the news that the country was at war with Germany was finally delivered on the first Sunday morning in September by the Prime Minister speaking from 10 Downing Street, May amazed herself by bursting into tears. It had been an emotional broadcast. She and her parents stood up for the National Anthem, and then engaged in a communal hug, an almost unprecedented event for her father, who wasn’t a demonstrative man.
‘So what do we do now, I wonder?’ enquired May, who was feeling quite shaky with reaction but instinctively protective towards her parents.
‘What we were doing before the broadcast, I suppose,’ suggested Flo, trying to hide her anxiety. ‘You were peeling the spuds for dinner, I was getting the last of the blackout curtains up and your dad was in the garden tending to his plants.’
‘So let’s get on then,’ said May, heading for the kitchen.
But no sooner had they resumed their activities than a high-pitched wailing sound filled the house.
‘Bloody hell, it’s the siren. The Germans are here already,’ said Dick, and the three of them grabbed their gas masks from the hall stand and scuttled off to the back garden. May tried to grab Tiddles, who was lazing in the sun on top of the wooden coal store, but he shot away from her and disappeared over the back fence, so she followed her parents into the sour-smelling shelter without him.
When they emerged after the all-clear to find everything as it was before and not an enemy bomber or an invader in sight, the heavens empty except for the silver barrage balloons that now floated in large numbers in the sky over London, the trio headed into the street to find out what was going on. Neighbours were hurrying out of their houses and a warden came by on his bike with the news that it had been a false alarm.
With her gas mask slung over her shoulder and leaving her parents chatting to the people next door, May jumped on her bike and pedalled furiously towards the home of another family who were very much on her mind on this dramatic day.
Betty and George were talking to some neighbours at the front gate when May arrived, George holding Joe, who beamed at the sight of May and leaned towards her.
‘You’re all in one piece then,’ May observed with her godson now ensconced happily in her arms. ‘I thought I’d better come round to check.’
‘It’s a wonder we didn’t all die of fright,’ complained Betty. ‘The siren scared the living daylights out of me. Fancy having a false alarm so early in the war.’
‘How’s everything round your place, May?’ asked George. ‘Are your mum and dad all right?’
‘A bit bewildered like everyone else. It’s still a shock even though we’ve been expecting it for ages. But we just have to get on with it as best as we can, I suppose.’
‘His mother has gone to pieces completely,’ said Betty, making a face and glancing disapprovingly towards George. ‘She’s sobbing her heart out indoors. Sheila is in there trying to calm her down.’
‘I must go back in and see if I can comfort her in some way,’ said George. ‘She gets very upset about things these days. She never used to be like it when Dad was alive.’
‘I think she’s entitled to be upset on the day war breaks out,’ suggested May. ‘She won’t be the only one shedding tears today. It’s a huge thing that’s happened.’
‘It seems to be the idea of my going away that’s upsetting Mum so much,’ explained George. ‘But there’s nothing I can do about it. I will be one of the first to be called up, it’s obvious. I’m eighteen and fit and healthy. Just the sort of man the services want.’
May felt a dull thud of reality as the truth of his words hit home. Up until now it had been
might be
and
possibly
. Now war was here and it was
definite t
hat the young men would be sent away to fight for their country.
‘Is there anything I can do to make your mum feel better?’ she offered. ‘I could remind her that I live close by if she wants a bit more moral support while you’re away.’
‘It’s kind of you to offer but I don’t think it will help much at the moment. She’s too upset,’ he explained. ‘Sheila is with her and I’ll go back indoors in a minute.’
‘It’s downright ridiculous the way she’s carrying on. She’s saying that George can’t go away because he’s got us lot to look after,’ announced Betty with utter disdain. ‘I mean, have you ever heard anything so stupid? Who is going to care about something like that? All the young healthy men will have to go.’
‘Don’t be nasty about my mother please, Betty,’ requested George in a firm tone, giving his wife a cold look. ‘You know how much it upsets me.’
‘Well, as long as you’re all right, I’d better get back home,’ intervened May quickly, not wishing to stay to witness a private argument. She handed Joe to George and got back on her bike. ‘Give my best to your mum and let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. See you soon.’
Smacking a farewell kiss on Joe’s cheek, she headed for home. Was it her imagination or had Betty not seemed particularly bothered about the prospect of George going away to war? She’d almost seemed to relish the idea.
Being an avid follower of the news and having taken a keen interest in events in Europe this past year or so, Doug wasn’t in the least surprised by what the Prime Minister had had to say on the wireless. It was a historical event even so, and a shock to actually hear the words, the occasion made even more dramatic by the air-raid siren a few minutes after.
His first thought had been to get on his bike and go to May’s, but when the warning sounded he hurried to the public shelter and didn’t get on his way to Ealing until after the all-clear.
A sense of urgency to see May consumed him; as though death and destruction was about to strike and he had to reach her before it started. But much to his surprise, all seemed the same as ever on the streets, though there were groups of people chatting outside, which was unusual for the residents of this neighbourhood where privacy was of the essence. Naturally he was a little afraid, though having cheated death once, when he’d had TB, he was something of a fatalist. But this was something beyond himself; it was a threat to people the world over.
Seeing a telephone box, he slowed down. May hadn’t been the only woman in his thoughts when Mr Chamberlain had declared that ‘this country is now at war with Germany’. Someone else had immediately come into his mind. He stopped and propped his bike on the kerb. A man came along and went into the box. Doug got back on his bike and started to pedal away. But the compulsion was too strong, and he came back. A woman was waiting to make a call now. He stood behind her, forming a queue. His legs were shaking and he could feel sweat on his brow which had nothing to do with the declaration of war.
It was warm and clammy inside the kiosk when his turn finally came, and it smelled of sweat and stale cigarette smoke. He got through to the operator and asked to place a long-distance call, whereupon he was instructed to put his money into the slot. After much hissing and crackling he was finally told that the number was ringing.
When he heard the familiar voice, Doug found he couldn’t utter a word. It had been four years since he had last spoken to her and the emotion was overpowering.
‘Hello,’ she said.
He went to replace the receiver but couldn’t do it.
‘Hello,’ the woman was saying, sounding anxious now. ‘Who is it? Who’s there?’
‘Hello, Mum,’ he said at last, his voice thick and distorted by tears. ‘It’s me, Doug.’
There was an empty, echoing silence as the person at the other end recovered from the shock.
Doug was trembling with emotion as he got on his bike after the phone call. The sound of joy and relief in his mother’s voice brought tears to his eyes and compounded his feeling of guilt. He shouldn’t have stayed out of touch for so long. It was unforgiveable. The sad fact was that because of his moodiness he often hurt his mother when they were in contact so he’d thought it best to stay away; he knew now that he was wrong, and in future he would ring his parents regularly and go to see them as much as he could.
His dear Mum, they’d been so close when he was a child. On the phone she’d made a pointed remark about his lack of communication. That wasn’t usually her way, bless her. She deserved more from her son. He headed for the Stubbses’ thinking of his happy childhood and resolving to take proper care of his filial duties from now on.
‘Will you have to go into the services, Doug?’ enquired Flo chattily later on when he was having tea at the Stubbses’ house.
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ he replied. ‘All young men will be called up, won’t they?’
‘Most will, but you’ve had TB,’ she replied as though it was a blessing. ‘I should think you’d be excused because of that.’
‘I’ve
had
TB, Mrs Stubbs,’ he said with more than a hint of irritation. ‘I don’t have it now.’
‘Even so . . .’
‘Flat feet is a valid reason for exclusion from the military,’ put in Dick. ‘So I’m damned sure TB is.’
‘I’m sure it would be if I had it,’ said Doug. ‘But I don’t.’
‘You’ve had it, though, that’s the important thing,’ declared Dick. He didn’t seem to have noticed Doug’s edginess. ‘You’ll get out of the services with no trouble. You’ll be the envy of all your mates.’
‘I don’t want to get out of it,’ explained Doug tartly. ‘I am quite prepared to go and fight for my country.’
‘Oh,’ said Dick in surprise. ‘That’s very patriotic of you, mate.’ He pondered for a moment. ‘There was a lot of that sort of feeling around when the last war broke out. I’m not sure if they’ll be queuing up to enlist this time after what happened to the poor devils on the front line back then.’
‘Dick will be too old to be called up, thank God,’ Flo mentioned. ‘It isn’t often we welcome the passing of the years, but it’s a blessing when it comes to going away to war.’
‘I’m in a reserved occupation, the same as I was last time,’ Dick pointed out. ‘So I wouldn’t have to go to war anyway, which is a bit of luck.’