Authors: Barbara Taylor Bradford
He nodded and said nothing, thinking of their early days in Leeds, when he had worked as a navvy, at times building canals, at others working on the railway lines, occasionally doing private jobs for the likes of Squire Adam Fairley. That’s how he had first met her, on the way to Fairley Hall. He had come across her hurrying over the moors to that miserable house on a wintry morning. It was there she worked as a maid. Scivvy, more like, he added to himself, the way they treated her. They’d turned her into a drudge, and she only fourteen.
Blackie O’Neill now glanced around the rather grand restaurant of the Dorchester Hotel, marvelling to himself that she and he had come so far.
Emma said, ‘A penny for your thoughts, Blackie, you’re looking so far away.’
He grinned at her. ‘Thinking about our early days, that I was–and who would have imagined that you would have become such a grand and elegant woman; a real lady?’ He winked at her and added, ‘Even though most of the time you’re still a drudge, as you were then, working like the navvy I used to be.’
‘Nobody ever died of hard work, Blackie.’
‘Aye, Emma, I’ve heard you say that many times before–for the last thirty years, in fact. But sometimes I think you’re too hard on yourself. You should take it a little easier; after all, you are fifty.’
‘Fifty-owe on April the thirtieth, Blackie, to be exact. But I don’t feel it. I feel like a young woman inside, like a twenty-year-old.’
‘And that’s what you look like.’
‘It’s
me
sitting here, Shane Patrick Desmond O’Neill. And please remember that I am fully aware you did your teething on the Blarney Stone.’
‘Only too true, mavourneen. Ah, here comes the waiter with our potted shrimps.’ He threw her a long old-fashioned look, and winked.
Their walk through Hyde Park was leisurely. Emma had more or less finished for the day, and she was in no hurry to get back to Harte’s. And Blackie told her he had no appointments.
As they walked along he confided what he had learned from his contact at the Ministry of Supplies. The rumour in Westminster was that Churchill was going to get the boys off the beaches no matter what, and that there were plans afoot to use anything that floated to do the job. Although she probed and pressed, he genuinely had no other information, and explained that he had told her everything he knew.
‘Let’s hope it works,’ she said as she slipped her arm through his. ‘I put my faith in our Prime Minister.’
‘And so do I, Emma, so do I,’ Blackie readily agreed.
The following evening Blackie and David came to Emma’s house in Belgravia, again for a home-cooked supper. Afterward, they adjourned to the library for coffee and cognac, and at one moment Blackie suddenly volunteered, ‘I was told last night by one of my government friends that we’re assembling quite an armada to get our boys off beaches in Dunkirk. If anyone can do it, the Prime Minister can.’
David and Emma agreed with him wholeheartedly, and later Emma turned on the radio so that they could listen to the nine o’clock news on the BBC. And that night, Saturday May twenty-fifth, they learned that the British Army was now completely isolated; it had been separated from the French. The Germans occupied Boulogne, and the other French ports in the English Channel were falling one by one.
The three old friends sat in silence for a short while after the broadcast was finished, filled with dismay by the report and worried about their sons and the sons of relatives and friends.
It was Emma who finally roused herself and said, ‘They’re all alone out there, targets for the enemy, I know that. Nonetheless, we must believe they’re going to be all right…somehow. We can’t give up hope. That would be defeatist. No, we must believe all of those boys are coming home. They’re young and they’re tough and they
are
going to make it.’
I
t was an armada the likes of which the world had never seen before.
But it was an armada of great purpose and an implacable will to succeed. Its aim: to get the British troops off the beaches of Dunkirk and back to England before they were annihilated by the German onslaught.
The armada, and a motley one at that, was comprised of an amazing assortment of vessels, and they had made the hazardous journey across the Channel from every corner of England, sailing to assist the British destroyers and light battleships anchored off Dunkirk. The bigger ships were making desperate efforts to evacuate the men stranded on those wide open beaches, but because of the shallows they could not move in close.
However, the little ships could, and that is what they did: they ferried the troops to the safety of the British Royal navy ships, which in turn transported the men to Deal and Ramsgate
These little boats were owned and manned entirely by civilians. Volunteers from all walks of life, they were willing participants in the rescue, and none of them would rest until the sons of England were safely home.
And so they came…in their little rowing boats and yachts, in sailing boats and fishing trawlers, pleasure steamers and even barges from the canals of England. Anything that could float, and was seaworthy, set sail. There were over a thousand vessels in all, including the British naval ships, and all took part in the most daring rescue ever known.
It went on under heavy enemy fire, and fierce bombardment from the Luftwaffe circling the skies above. But the valiant RAF was up there too, beating back the enemy planes, ensuring they did not have supremacy in the skies.
The whole of Britain waited in suspense.
On Sunday, May twenty-sixth, the weather broke at long last, and it poured with rain for the first time in weeks. Like everyone else, Emma was gloomy and more worried than ever because of this change in the weather, believing it might well slow down the rescue mission.
But the BBC reported that the seas were calm, and this reassured her somewhat. Also, her confidence in Churchill did not wain, and this belief helped to keep her spirits up.
At work as well as at home, Emma was glued to the radio, and she kept it on all the time. By Monday evening she was thrilled to hear on a BBC news bulletin that 7,000 men had been evacuated by the end of that day, and then the following Tuesday night she learned that 17,000 soldiers had been rescued.
The rest of the week, as the boats and Navy ships ploughed the Channel, 50,000 troops were lifted off the beaches every day. In the end, 200,000 soldiers were evacuated in those four days alone, stunning a nation that was suddenly and unexpectedly joyful.
It was an unbelievable rescue that surpassed anything the Prime Minister and his War Cabinet had expected or thought possible. The epic of Dunkirk gripped the imagination of Britain and her Allies.
Out of hell came back all the little steamers and rowing boats and pleasure steamers, bringing back the living and the wounded. The evacuation had taken eleven days. Some 335,000 Allied troops, including 26,000 French soldiers, had been brought to safety by the time the Germans finally captured the sea town. Their equipment had been abandoned, but thousands of men were safe, and that was all that mattered. Forty thousand were left behind, mostly French troops.
Emma was thankful that she was one of those who could rejoice. On June the third, her son Kit stepped off the barge that had transported him to Deal across a choppy Channel jammed with wreckage and vessels. Many of the small boats, in a hurry, had simply ferried the troops across to the coast of Kent, bypassing the destroyers and bigger ships, anxious to get the boys home without delay. Then they turned around and came back for more.
David was euphoric when he telephoned from Leeds to tell her that both Ronnie and Mark had been amongst the troops who had landed at Ramsgate, and she soon learned from Blackie that Bryan was safe. And so, thankfully, were her son Robin, and Tony, Elizabeth’s husband, who had survived the air battles over Dunkirk and were back at the RAF station at Biggin Hill.
Later, when he came home on leave, Kit told her: ‘I just made it by the skin of my teeth, Mother. I must have a guardian angel watching over me.’ He embraced her tightly and, clinging to him, Emma choked up, thinking of his father, Joe Lowther, who had died in France in 1916, apparently in vain.
On June the fourth Emma was sitting in the gallery of the House of Commons, once more a guest of Jane Stuart Ogden. Knowing how Emma felt about Churchill, Jane had invited her friend of many years to come and hear the Prime Minister speak again. Emma had been thrilled to accept.
Emma noticed that when Churchill rose in the Commons chamber to speak, a different atmosphere altogether reigned. She could almost feel their respect for him, it was a palpable thing, and their confidence in him was apparent amongst the majority of the Members.
Halfway through his speech, Churchill paused for a moment, and then his voice rang out once again, sonorous, filled with emotion as he spoke of the rescue. ‘A miracle of deliverance, achieved by valour, by perseverance, by perfect discipline, by faultless service, by resource, by skill, by unconquerable fidelity, is manifest to us all.’
There was absolutely no sound at all in the Commons chamber, and Emma thought that you would hear a pin drop, so quiet was it. As she groped for her handkerchief and wiped the tears from her eyes, she noticed that Jane was crying too. Leaning forward, Emma was attentive, and hanging onto his words as he continued his speech.
Churchill said, ‘The Royal Air Force engaged the main strength of the German Air Force, and inflicted upon them losses at least four to one; and the Navy, using nearly 1,000 ships of all kinds, carried 335,000 men, French and British, out of the jaws of death and shame, to their native land and to the tasks which lie immediately ahead. We must be very careful not to assign to this deliverance the attributes of a victory. Wars are not won by evacuations. But there was a victory inside this deliverance, which should be noted.’
His rhetoric was superb as he continued after only taking a short breath, and Emma couldn’t help wondering where he got his stamina from; how had he managed to write this speech with all of the other tasks he had? She did not know, but she was glad that he had. It was uplifting, inspirational.
Once more that amazing voice rang out. Not a person stirred or coughed, not a paper rustled. The Commons chamber was absolutely and entirely still, holding its collective breath, waiting to hear more.
‘Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender…’
His speech had been a long one this time, over half an hour, but he had delivered it with such magnificence the entire chamber was on its feet.
Emma was speechless herself, immeasurably touched by his words: she was certain it would go down in history as one of the greatest speeches ever made in this chamber. His use of language was superb, and he had just evoked so many different emotions in everyone: a sense of duty and patriotism, a belief in their island race, faith in those young men who were fighting to save freedom and justice, and the young women who stood shoulder to shoulder beside them.
Emma was not the only one moved by Winston Churchill’s words, nor was she the only one with tears on her cheeks. Several Labour members cried, and so did Winston Churchill himself.
Emma and Jane later learned from her husband Bill that everyone thought this was a most outstanding and successful performance. A Labour MP called Josiah Wedgwood thought it was ‘worth a thousand guns, and the speeches of a thousand years’. Bill also told them that Harold Nicolson had said, ‘Winston made the finest speech I have ever heard.’
‘How can we fail, Jane, with this man leading us? And our brave boys fighting for us. I know we are going to win. I truly believe that.’
‘I pray you are right, Emma. Because if you are wrong, we are doomed as a nation…’
‘It was Winston Churchill who was
right
when he said we must go to war, that we had no alternative. Because we had to defeat the Germans and
win
the war, in order to crush the terror of Nazism. You will see, Jane, the Prime Minister will be vindicated. Well, actually, he is already, I think. If today’s reaction is anything to go by.’ She suddenly smiled at Jane, and added, ‘And one day he will be considered the greatest Briton of them all. As Blackie would say, you mark my words.’
Jane gave her dearest friend a long, thoughtful look, frowning slightly. Then she said slowly, ‘You are very certain, Emma, so very sure…of ultimate victory.’
‘I am very sure of
Churchill,’
Emma answered, staring back at her friend.
Not for the first time, Jane saw that implacable look settle on Emma’s face, and she knew it was wisest to say no more. Emma’s mind was made up, and nothing and no one would ever change it. Nor would they shake Emma’s unfailing belief in ultimate victory.
I
‘m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Harte, but I wonder if I could have a word with you?’
Emma looked up from the papers on her desk, and smiled at her secretary standing in the doorway. ‘Of course, Anita, come in and sit down.’
The young woman gave her a tentative smile, stepped into the office and closed the door. Then she walked across to Emma’s big partners’ desk and took the seat opposite her.
After studying Anita for a second, frowning slightly, Emma said, ‘You’ve got a face like a wet week, as my brother would say. Now, Anita, my dear, it can’t be all that bad, can it?’
Anita shook her blonde head, and forced a smile. ‘It’s not, not really. But I think you’re going to be upset, Mrs. Harte, and the last thing I’d want to do would be to upset you, you’ve been so good to me, but—’ Anita paused, took a deep breath and finished in a rush, ‘I’m leaving, Mrs. Harte, I want to give you my notice.’
Startled though she was momentarily, it took Emma only a moment to catch on, and she exclaimed, ‘Well, I certainly don’t want to lose you, Anita, but I think you’re going to tell me that you’re joining one of the services. Is that it?’
‘Not exactly, well, what I mean is, I’m not going into the ATS or the WAFs. I’m joining the Land Army, Mrs. Harte.’
‘I see. That’s very worthy of you.’ Emma smiled, put down her pen and leant back in the chair. ‘I must admit, it had crossed my mind that you might want to do your bit for the war effort, and of course I think it goes without saying that I’m sorry to lose you. You’ve been an excellent secretary, and worked very well here.’
‘Thank you, Mrs. Harte. I love the store, you know. But I just don’t feel right, what with my three brothers in the forces and my sister working in a munitions factory. I want to…well…pull my weight, so to speak.’
‘I understand, I really do. All of the young people feel as you do, Anita.’
‘I hate to let you down, I know what a lot of work you have.’
‘Yes, and I shall miss you, you’ve been a godsend over the last couple of years. Actually, I don’t quite know what I’ll do without you.’ Emma brought her hand to her chin, her eyes suddenly growing thoughtful. ‘What about one of the junior secretaries who work out there with you? Either of them a possibility for me?’
‘I think Fanny might be…in a year. Both she and Lois
are
juniors, Mrs. Harte. I give them a lot of the filing, letters to type, small things. Honestly, I don’t think they could handle what I’ve been doing. Not that I want to blow my own horn, Mrs. Harte, but, well, they just haven’t had my experience.’
Emma nodded, sighed heavily, looking suddenly worried as she thought of what faced her in the next few weeks. ‘I suppose you’re leaving immediately?’ Emma raised an auburn brow as she spoke.
‘Well…’ Anita stopped, and leant forward. ‘Look, Mrs. Harte, I hope I’m not doing the wrong thing, saying this, but I think you should talk to Mr. Harte’s junior secretary. He’s not in London much these days, since he’s been running all the Yorkshire stores, and I don’t think she has all that much to do because Brenda Small is the senior secretary. She’s a very competent junior from what I’ve noticed.’
‘Perhaps I should talk to her. I doubt Mr. Harte would mind, because he
is
away a great deal these days.’
Anita sat up straight. She looked relieved, and she beamed at Emma, pleased that her idea had been received so well. ‘Shall I go and get her, Mrs. Harte? Ask her to come along to your office?’
‘I think I’d better speak to my brother first. He’s here in London this week, and he’ll be coming to the store today. If he’s not already here. And thank you for your suggestion, Anita. By the way, when will you be leaving me?’
‘I’d like to give a week’s notice, but I can stretch it to two if necessary, Mrs. Harte.’
Ten minutes later, Winston Harte was sitting in the chair just vacated by Anita Holmes.
He listened closely as Emma spoke, nodding from time to time, paying strict attention to her words as he always did. He adored his sister, and thought she was the most brilliant person he had ever known.
When she had finished repeating Anita’s conversation, he said at once, ‘No problem, Emma. It’s true, I’m hardly here these days, and one of the other juniors in my office can help Brenda if there’s any spillover.’
‘If you’re sure, Winston. She would be a great help until I can find someone else, a permanent secretary.’
Winston chuckled, his eyes filling with merriment. ‘I doubt you’ll want anyone else.’
‘Oh, she’s that good?’
‘Yes, she is, as a matter of fact.’
‘Glynnis…Glynnis Jenkins. Isn’t that her name?’
Winston nodded. ‘She’s Welsh, from the Rhondda, and, quite aside from being a good secretary, she’s straightforward. A very nice young woman altogether, Emm.’
Emma’s relief was apparent, and it was reflected on her face; her vivid green eyes suddenly looked less worried. ‘It’s nice of you to do this, Winston.’
‘Anything for you, love. I know you’re a bit overwhelmed with work at the moment. The extensive McGill Holdings to handle on top of everything else is a hell of a load for you.’
‘Yes, it is, and it’s awfully time-consuming. But you’ll never hear
me
complain, Winston. When Paul left me everything he made me one of the richest women in the world, and Daisy a great heiress, as you well know. I do my best to look after McGill Holdings properly because the company will go to her one day, and to her progeny: that’s what Paul wanted, you know. He wanted Daisy and any children she might have to be safe, and properly taken care of financially. Just as he took care of Constance and Howard in Australia. Those are lifetime trusts he created for them…he was very good that way.’
Unexpectedly, a look of immense sorrow fell across her face like a dark shadow, and her eyes turned cloudy. Winston heard her barely perceptible sigh. He asked softly, leaning forward, ‘Are you all right, our Emm?’
She stared across her desk at him and blinked several times, then swallowed hard. ‘Yes, I’m fine, Winston…’ Another sigh escaped, and she went on, ‘I wish he’d never gone back to see Constance about the divorce…he might still be alive if he’d come here from New York with me last year.’
‘He had to go because he knew war was coming and he wanted to put his affairs in order, and also make sure his companies would run properly without him. You know very well he thought he would have problems going back and forth to Sydney,’ Winston pointed out gently.
‘You’re right. And yet I can’t help thinking if only…’
‘Oh Emma, darling, life is full of
if onlys,
you know that better than anyone else. And we all think
if only
we hadn’t done that, or this…it’s human nature to react in this way. But what about this…if only you hadn’t married Arthur Ainsley you’d have had a few extra years with Paul, have you ever thought about that?’
‘Of course I have. But if I hadn’t married Arthur I wouldn’t have had Robin and Elizabeth, now would I?’
‘No, you wouldn’t.’ Changing the subject, Winston now said, ‘Is Henry Rossiter all right? I haven’t heard you mention him lately. He is working out well, isn’t he?’
Quite visibly Emma cheered up, and she exclaimed, ‘It’s one of the best things I ever did, making him my financial adviser on a permanent basis. He’s been extremely smart with McGill Holdings, and he works very well with Mel Harrison in Sydney. Long-distance business relationships are not always successful, but this has been wonderful, and continues to be. As for Harry Marriott in Texas, he and I work well long distance, too. He’s running Sitex Oil the way Paul did, and since he’s a partner I know he has the company’s interests at heart.
‘I’m glad to hear all this, but it’s still a burden for you at times. I wish I could help lessen the load for you.’
‘Oh Winston, you do. You run the Yorkshire stores, and help me with Harte Enterprises. Frankly, I don’t know what I’d do without you. Which is why, right now, I’m wondering how I could be so selfish and take one of your secretaries.’
‘It doesn’t present a problem, Emma.’ Winston rose, smiled down at her. ‘I’ll go and have a word with Glynnis–and Brenda, of course. And then I’ll bring Glynnis in so you can talk to her.’
‘Thanks, Winston.’ Emma’s eyes followed him, and she could not help thinking how handsome he was. Like her, he was all Harte in looks and colouring, and there was certainly no mistaking that they were brother and sister. His devotion to her meant a lot, and she realized, as he closed the door softly behind him, how much she relied on her older brother.
Within fifteen minutes Winston was back in her office, bringing with him Glynnis Jenkins. As Emma stood up, and went to greet her, she found herself marvelling at the young woman’s looks. She had forgotten just how beautiful the Welsh girl was. She wasn’t beautiful in a classical way: she was too voluptuous for that with her sultry looks and shapely figure. But she had a certain glamour about her, even though she wore a simple, plainly tailored black cotton dress with a white collar and cuffs. Her thick, glossy brown hair, worn in a pageboy style, fell around a full face that was superbly sculpted, and she had a wide forehead, a pert nose, and dimples in her cheeks. Her eyes, large and thickly lashed, were luminous, an unusual smoky grey in colour.
‘Here’s Glynnis,’ Winston said, ushering the young woman across Emma’s office.
‘Hello, Glynnis,’ Emma said, giving her a warm smile.
‘Good morning, Mrs. Harte,’ Glynnis answered rather shyly as she walked forward, trying not to appear nervous.
‘Now, let’s go and sit down over there on the sofa,’ Emma went on, ‘so that we can have a little chat. I’m sure Mr. Harte has explained that Anita is leaving to join the land army.’
‘Oh yes, he has.’
‘Would you like to work for me, Glynnis?’ Emma sat in a chair next to the sofa.
‘Very much, Mrs. Harte.’ Glynnis cleared her throat and added, ‘I think I’ll be able to do the job. I’ve learned a lot from Brenda…’ She stopped, let her voice trail off, and sat down on the sofa, looking first at Winston who remained standing, and then back at Emma. ‘I’ll certainly try very hard, Mrs. Harte.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
Moving towards the door, Winston now said, ‘You’ll be just fine, Glynnis. And if you’ll excuse me, Emma, I’ll leave you two alone to talk.’
‘I realize you’ve things to do, Winston. I’ll see you later,’ Emma murmured, and turned to the young woman sitting opposite her.
‘Let me tell you a little bit about Anita’s job, Glynnis. Naturally I realize you know what being a secretary means, the tasks involved. The only difference really, if you work for me, will be the hours. They’re a bit longer, but you would be properly recompensed for any overtime. Also, I often work at home, so I would need you to be there with me at certain times. I also give a lot of dictation. You do know how to take shorthand, don’t you?’
‘Oh yes, I do. As I said, Brenda has trained me for the last year, and I’m a good typist as well. Brenda says I’m a fast learner when it comes to office work.’
‘That’s good to know. Anita wants to give a week’s notice. Today is Monday, so I expect she’ll leave on Friday. That only gives you four days with her, Glynnis. However, I might be able to persuade her to stay an extra week. That’s really up to you.’
‘If I can start working with her this morning, Mrs. Harte, I believe I can be ready by Friday to take over…’ Glynnis stopped, and gave Emma a worried look, biting her lip.
Emma said, ‘Is something wrong?’
‘It’s the other two juniors who work with Anita. Do you think they’ll be upset? I mean, about me being brought in?’
‘I’m sure not, but you can leave me to handle things diplomatically. Now, tell me a little bit about yourself, Glynnis. How old are you?’
‘I’m nineteen, Mrs. Harte, and, as you can guess, I’m Welsh. Mr. Harte’s always said there’s a bit of a lilt in my voice, a bit of the Welsh there. Anyway, I came to work in London in 1938, when I was seventeen. I live with my cousin Gwyneth in Belsize Park Gardens–she’s got a little flat there, and I’m sharing with her. My younger brother Emlyn is in the RAF, and my older brother Dylan is in the army. So we’re all gone from home at the moment, except for my little sister Elayne, who’s back in the Rhondda with my parents.’ Glynnis cleared her throat again, and then finished, ‘Oh, and I’m single, Mrs. Harte.’
Emma nodded. ‘Thank you, Glynnis, for filling me in. Now, perhaps we’d better talk to Anita, get you started this morning. The sooner the better.’