Authors: Ellie Dean
He examined the rose, his finger delicately touching the tightly curled petals. ‘The human race can be ugly, with dirty little secrets hidden behind a smiling face or respected position, which is why I like to spend time in my allotment with my roses. Their smell is sweet and their honest beauty never lets me down.’
Ruby knew then that Stan understood, and the relief was so great it brought tears to her eyes. She hurriedly blinked them away as he handed her the vase. ‘Yeah,’ she murmured, ‘things ain’t always what they seem, are they? But this is very beautiful,’ she murmured as she breathed in the delicious perfume. ‘Do you grow lots of roses?’
‘Yes, I do. They are delicate despite their thorns, and I enjoy nurturing and protecting them so that, like children, they can flourish and blossom as they should.’
‘They’re lucky you look after them so well,’ she replied, ‘and that you care about them.’
He nodded and smiled and replaced the vase on the end of the ticket counter. ‘Would you like to see my allotment? Only there isn’t another train for an hour and if you’ve nothing else to do . . .’
‘I’d love to,’ she replied. ‘We never had a garden back ’ome, but it were lovely to go to the park and walk through the rose gardens. They’re not the same now they’ve been turned into vegetable patches.’
Stan locked up behind them and they walked in companionable silence over the little humpback bridge and through the remains of what had once been row upon row of terraced houses. ‘Blast bombs put paid to this lot,’ said Stan, ‘but they did the place a favour, for it was no better than a slum.’
They reached the allotment and as they walked down the narrow dirt paths between the rows of vegetables and flowers, Stan greeted the other old men who were digging and hoeing or sitting in their little sheds drinking tea or smoking their pipes.
His patch was right at the far end and backed onto the side wall of the dairy. Ruby stood and looked in awe at the way some of the roses had been trained to go along the wall, or to climb up bits of trellis. There were buds of bright pink, little blooms of yellow with red or orange on the tips of the leaves, and blowsy white and red roses that reminded her of the silk ones on her mother’s favourite hat that came out on every special occasion.
‘This is the best corner of the allotment because it’s so sheltered and gets the sun all day. My roses bloom earlier than most because of that. Those Harlequins,’ he pointed to the red, yellow and orange blooms, ‘shouldn’t really be out until June, and here we are still in the middle of May.’
Ruby closed her eyes and let the heady scent drift all around her. ‘This has to be the best place in the world,’ she murmured, ‘and I wish I could wrap it up and carry it with me.’
He chuckled. ‘I think we can manage that,’ he said mysteriously.
Ruby watched as he unlocked the narrow shed that sat in the middle of his vegetable patch, rooted about inside for a moment then emerged with some newspaper, string, a shallow wooden basket, and a pair of strange-looking scissors.
‘These are secateurs, especially made for gardeners,’ he explained, ‘and this is what we call a trug. It’s for carrying cut flowers or vegetables.’
He stood by the wall and regarded the blossoms thoughtfully before he cut through one of the thick stems and handed her a bud of the deepest red. ‘Red for Ruby,’ he said, and grinned. ‘You can pin it on the strap of your dungarees with this, while I cut some more for Peggy Reilly.’
Ruby took the safety pin and fixed the perfect bud so she could smell the scent without even turning her head. ‘It’s lovely,’ she breathed, ‘and I promise to take great care of it.’
‘That was my wife’s favourite rose. The house was always full of them when she was alive. The scent of them reminds me of her, and it’s as if she’s come back to me when they bloom every summer.’
Ruby watched as he carefully chose which blooms to cut and then placed them almost reverently in the trug. He must have adored his wife, she thought wistfully, and it was a lovely idea to grow her favourite roses and to feel that she was still with him as he worked in this peaceful place.
‘There, that’s enough I think.’ Stan took the trug to the shed and spread out the newspaper on the wide shelf that jutted out from beneath the window. He trimmed each bloom, carefully snipping off the thorns and lower greenery, and then soaked a lump of moss in a nearby watering can before wrapping it round the stems.
‘That will keep them fresh,’ he explained as he neatly rolled the paper into a cone around the flowers, tied it with string and hunted out a stub of pencil and a scrap of paper. Swiftly writing a note, he tucked it in with the blooms, and then looked at his watch.
‘It’s not yet five and a bit early for visiting time, but I’ve got the incoming from Hastings due to arrive and then the outgoing from Dover to deal with.’ He handed the bouquet to Ruby. ‘Why don’t you pop in and see Peggy for me?’
‘But I don’t know her,’ said a startled Ruby.
‘Well, she knows a bit about you, as I explained earlier, and I’m sure you’ll both get along fine. Peggy Reilly’s the salt of the earth and a lovely lady, but I simply don’t have the time to go and visit her today. I very much want her to have the roses, because I know she loves them as much as I do, and they’ll go some way to cheering her up.’
Ruby looked up at him and smiled. ‘Then of course I’ll take them to her. When is visiting time?’
‘Six until seven, but I’m sure Matron won’t mind you slipping in a bit early so you don’t miss your evening meal. If she says anything, just tell her I sent you.’ He tapped the side of his nose with a grubby finger and winked. ‘She and I belong to the local rose growers’ society, and I happen to know that her bark is far worse than her bite.’
Ruby grinned back at him. ‘Thanks for everything, Stan. You’re a diamond.’
His smile was almost shy as he tugged at his hairy earlobe. ‘Get away with you and see Peggy before she gets swamped with visitors and you miss out on your tea.’
Peggy was sick of being in hospital, and although she’d managed each day to get out of bed and walk the length of the ward several times, she knew she wasn’t ready yet to go home. She also knew that Fran and the other nurses weren’t too happy about her breaking all the rules, but as her wound was clean and none of the stitches was coming loose, they turned a blind eye when they saw her shuffling past them.
The only panic had come when Matron was spotted in the corridor one afternoon, and Fran had swiftly got her into a wheelchair and back to bed before she marched through the doors. Fran had given Peggy a ticking-off once Matron had gone again, but it was done in good humour and they both knew she was wasting her breath.
Peggy lay against the mound of pillows and watched as Fran soothed the elderly woman in the far bed who’d woken from a nightmare. For all her wild hair and rapscallion ways, Fran was a good nurse, with endless patience and a cheering nature, and Peggy was feeling as proud as a mother hen of her little Irish chick. But she was also aware that she would have to be careful not to get the girls into trouble with Matron. It had been a close call that recent afternoon, and Peggy had come to the conclusion that her exercise must be tailored to Matron’s busy – but fairly predictable – schedule so she was occupied elsewhere.
Today had gone remarkably quickly, all things considered. There had been the usual bed bath, the unappetising meals, the lovely visit this afternoon from Jane who’d brought in Daisy, and the surprise few minutes with Suzy as she’d dashed in during her break and told her what had been happening at Beach View.
It seemed that Doris was behaving herself, the household routine was uninterrupted despite her interference, and Ron and the girls were managing just fine. She’d been delighted to hear that little Phyllis had at last found the courage to leave Doris’s employ, though how she was getting on in a noisy factory was anyone’s guess. The girl was timid and shy, and not at all prepared for the loud and sometimes rough behaviour that went on in those factories.
Peggy closed her eyes and wondered who would visit her this evening. It had been lovely to see Cissy again last night, but she was on duty at the airfield, and probably wouldn’t come again until the weekend. Her younger sister, Doreen, was in London, and didn’t even know she was in hospital because Peggy had insisted she wasn’t to be told. She certainly didn’t want her to make the long journey down here when she was so busy, just as she didn’t want Anne to come all this way. There was nothing any of them could do, and if her exercises went to plan, she’d be out of here – with or without permission – by the end of the week.
Her fighting spirit ebbed a little for there had still been no telephone call from Jim, and she suspected the telegram must have either gone astray, or simply not been passed on from the barracks mail room.
She gave a deep sigh, lit a cigarette and grimaced. It was not her usual Park Drive, but the horrid Pasha cigarettes that tasted foul and were always available because no one smoked them unless they were desperate. She stubbed it out in the tin ashtray and drank some water. This damned war had a lot to answer for, and she was sick of bad communications, lost letters, silent telephones, rationing, shortages, foul-tasting fags, and this blasted hospital bed.
A glance at the clock above the double doors showed there was still over an hour before visiting time. She would have liked to have stretched her legs a bit, but as Matron usually patrolled the wards before the visitors were let in, she realised it wouldn’t be wise.
One of the doors opened and a young, very slight girl in dungarees peeked round it. Fran went over to her, and they exchanged a few words before the girl headed down the ward, her arms laden with the most glorious bunch of roses.
Peggy wondered who she was visiting, and was most surprised when she came right up to her bed. ‘Mrs Reilly?’ she asked.
Peggy nodded as she took note of the nasty scar on her forehead and the waiflike figure that was almost swamped in the dungarees.
‘I’m Ruby,’ the girl said breathlessly, ‘and Stan from the station asked me to bring you these.’
So this was Stan’s little waif, and she could see immediately why he’d been so protective of her. Peggy’s smile broadened in delight as the flowers were placed gently into her arms. ‘Oh, how wonderful,’ she murmured as she breathed in the heavenly perfume. She glanced down the ward. ‘Pull the curtain a bit, Ruby, and sit down so you can’t be seen,’ she urged. ‘It’s so lovely to have a surprise visitor.’
‘Stan said he were sorry he couldn’t come himself, but he has trains to organise, and he thought we should get to know one another seeing how kind you was to offer me a billet.’ She sat on the edge of the chair, her little face earnest. ‘He’s ever so nice, ain’t he?’
‘He’s a dear, sweet man,’ murmured Peggy, ‘and a complete softie. Everyone in Cliffehaven is very fond of him, and his roses win all the prizes every year at the flower show.’ She saw the piece of paper tucked in between the rose stems, pulled it out to read it, and then thoughtfully folded it into her dressing-gown pocket. ‘I understand he looked after you the night you arrived?’ she said softly.
Ruby nodded. ‘I didn’t have nowhere to go and it were bitter cold.’ She went on to describe the sandwiches and very welcome tea, and the night she’d spent in the Nissen hut alongside the suitcases.
‘I had the feeling he’d found you somewhere warm and safe to stay the night. He was very concerned about you when he telephoned me and asked if I could take you in.’
‘Yeah, he told me about that, and I’m ever so grateful for the offer. I’m sorry things didn’t work out and that you’ve been hurt, Mrs Reilly. Will you have to stay in ’ere for very long?’
‘Not if I can help it.’ She smiled. ‘Home is the best place to get better, surrounded by family and loved ones.’ She saw the sadness in Ruby’s eyes and her heart went out to her, for despite the wedding ring, she looked so very young, and was probably terribly homesick. ‘Tell me about your home and family, Ruby. You’re from London, aren’t you?’
Peggy listened as the girl described her home, her mother and her work at the pub. She noted that the husband, Ray, was mentioned only in passing and wondered at that. This little girl’s life seemed so empty of hope and joy, that it made her want to reach out and give her a cuddle – but of course she didn’t.
‘So that’s it really,’ Ruby finished. ‘I come down here, found a job and made a nice friend, and it’s lovely to be so close to the sea. I ain’t never been to the seaside before, and I like the way it smells, all clean and salty.’
Peggy noticed that she didn’t include her billet with the Frasers in this catalogue of success. ‘We’re very lucky,’ Peggy murmured. ‘I’ve lived here all my life, and I couldn’t imagine ever moving away.’
‘Stan said you’ve got a boarding house,’ said Ruby.
‘I do indeed. It’s three roads up from the promenade, and although you can only see the sea from one of the top windows, it’s sort of comforting to know it’s always there.’
Ruby grinned. ‘A bit like St Paul’s. As long as that’s still standing, it gives us all hope we’ll win this war, don’t it?’
‘It certainly does,’ Peggy said warmly.
‘I’d better go,’ murmured Ruby. ‘The nurses will get into trouble if Matron finds me here, and that little redhead said I weren’t to be too long.’
‘That’s Fran,’ said Peggy. ‘She’s one of my lodgers, and Suzy who’s also a nurse lives with me too.’ Peggy regarded Ruby kindly and resisted her natural instinct to offer her the spare room again. ‘We have a happy household at Beach View. There’s Sarah who works for the WTC, her sister Jane who delivers milk in the morning and does the accounts at the uniform factory in the afternoon – and then there’s Rita who drives a fire engine, Cordelia who’s everyone’s grandma, and my father-in-law Ron.’
‘It all sounds lovely,’ Ruby said on a sigh. ‘Do you have any children, Mrs Reilly?’
Peggy told her about her scattered brood. ‘The only one at home now is my baby Daisy, and she’s four months old and growing like a weed.’
‘Oh, how sweet,’ Ruby said wistfully.
Peggy picked up on that sadness immediately and wondered what was behind it, but she resisted asking. She hardly knew the girl, and some things were far too personal to share on a first meeting. ‘Would you like to stay and meet whoever’s coming in to visit me tonight? It’s almost visiting time.’