Far From Home
Authors: Ellie Dean
Tags: #Fiction, #War & Military, #Sagas, #Historical, #General
It is 1940 and Staff Nurse Polly Brown has been granted a posting at Cliffehaven Memorial Hospital on the south coast to be near her badly injured husband, Adam. But her decision has meant that she has had to part with their beloved five-year-old daughter, Alice, who is travelling to safety in Canada.
Polly’s heart is torn in two as she says goodbye to Alice and heads to the Beach View boarding house in Cliffehaven, where she throws herself into her work.
But as she confronts the fact that Adam may not survive his injuries, a telegram arrives at Beach View. The boat Alice was on has been torpedoed by a German U-boat …
Far From Home
is Ellie Dean’s second novel. She lives in Eastbourne, which has been her home for many years and where she raised her three children.
Also by Ellie Dean
There’ll be Blue Skies
Jean Partridge, and Daireen McKinley.
Two inspirational women.
RIP
September, 1940
POLLY HADN’T MEANT
to fall asleep, but the anxiety and fear that had plagued her for weeks had finally caught up with her, and she’d succumbed. She opened her eyes, attuned not to the usual Herefordshire dawn chorus of birds, but to the steady, soft breathing of the sleeping child in her arms. Loath to wake her little daughter, Polly gently drew her closer, inhaling the sweet baby smell of her as she kissed the fair curls that lay in disarray on the pillow. Alice was only five and in all of Polly’s twenty-three years she had never known such anguish, for this would be their last few precious hours together.
The knowledge that it could be many months, perhaps even years, before she would see her again brought hot tears rolling down Polly’s cheeks. Yet she didn’t wipe them away, for they were her only release from the heartache – the only visible proof she could allow herself in these quiet, still moments before she had to face the day.
Her lips fluttered on the peachy curve of her daughter’s cheek, over the tiny brows and smooth forehead and into the sweet hollow of her neck where the very essence of her child could be breathed in and held like a precious perfume. It was a scent Polly silently vowed she would carry with her until they could be together again.
Alice squirmed against her, her thumb seeking her mouth as she rolled away from Polly’s gentle embrace and snuggled under the blankets.
To Polly it was as if her daughter was already distancing herself; already preparing, albeit unknowingly, for the long journey ahead that would take her far from her mother’s arms to another country. Polly smoothed the tangled mass of her own hair away from her face, eyes closed, the tears soaking the pillow as she silently gave vent to the torment that had beset her ever since her darling husband, Adam, had been wounded in France.
Fate had been cruel as the shadows of war had lengthened and the threat of invasion grew with every passing day. Adam’s injuries had brought him back to Cliffehaven Memorial Hospital on the south coast, far from Herefordshire, and now, directly in the flight path of the ever-increasing enemy bombing raids on London. Her anxious attempts to get more information about his condition had been constantly thwarted by the matron at Cliffehaven, but it was clear he was not well enough to come home and be nursed in Hereford County Hospital, where she worked.
Fearing he might die before she could see him, Polly had secured a Staff Nurse post at the Cliffehaven Memorial to be with him, but soon realised Alice would not be safe there. With her mother, sister and nephews leaving for Uncle Peter’s farm in Canada, she’d had no choice but to agree to Alice going with them. But it was a bitter dilemma, and she was still torn with doubts that she was doing the right thing.
Aware that she could no longer contain her emotions, and not wanting to disturb Alice and frighten her, she eased the blanket over the tiny shoulders, touched the glossy curls and left the bed. Dragging the shabby dressing gown over her thin nightdress, she swiftly left the bedroom and hurried down the freezing landing to the even icier bathroom. With the door firmly locked behind her, she sank to the floor and surrendered to her anguish.
‘Polly? Polly, let me in.’ The commanding voice was accompanied by a rap on the door. ‘Come on. Don’t make this harder for yourself than it already is.’
Her sister’s voice cut through the fog of despair, and she stumbled to her feet. Smearing away the tears, she dragged her thick, curly hair into a rough knot on the top of her head, pinning it in place with the combs she kept in her dressing-gown pocket. ‘I’m all right, Megan, really,’ she sniffed. ‘Just give me a minute, will you?’
‘Only if you promise not to stay in there too long,’ her sister replied. ‘Wallowing in self-pity won’t do you any good, you know.’
‘Go away, Meg. You’ll wake Alice, and I need some time to myself.’ Polly wasn’t usually so sharp with her older sister, but there were times when she didn’t appreciate Megan’s rather bossy manner – and this was one of them.
‘Get on with it then,’ Megan said crossly. ‘I need to get the boys washed and ready, and it’s not fair you hogging the bathroom half the morning.’
Polly sniffed back the last of her tears as she listened to her sister’s footsteps retreat along the landing and down the stairs. Megan was only two years the elder and meant well, and her abruptness had certainly forced Polly to take control of her emotions, but then Megan wasn’t about to be parted from their mother, or her children.
Determined not to give in to the debilitating fear that she was about to lose everything she held dear, Polly lit the gas boiler and hurried through her morning ritual. She’d discovered long ago that calm could be restored with the familiar and mundane, and she welcomed it now.
Having washed and cleaned her teeth, she wiped the condensation from the mirror and unpinned her hair. It spilled over her shoulders and round her face in an autumnal tangle of gold and russet curls which sparked in the early sunlight pouring through the bathroom window. Adam called it her crowning glory, and had made her promise never to cut it, no
matter
how much Matron disapproved. At the thought of her husband, her resolve faltered, but she determinedly steeled herself against more tears. Megan was right. They achieved very little.
Her wide grey eyes stared back at her from beneath winged eyebrows and dark lashes, the sunlight emphasising the paleness of her skin and the shadows and hollows that told of sleepless nights and tortured thoughts. She looked away from her reflection as she brushed her hair and twisted it into thick rolls on either side of her face, tying it back at the nape with a strip of ribbon. There was no need to pin it into the usual neat bun, for she wasn’t working on the wards today, and wouldn’t be nursing again until she arrived at the Cliffehaven Memorial.
Polly shoved the contents of the bathroom cabinet into her sponge bag, resolutely refusing to think of Adam’s injuries and what she might find at the end of that long journey to the south coast. Today she must concentrate on Alice, keep her emotions under control, and make sure their parting caused the child as little trauma as possible.
Hurrying into the bedroom, she found Alice was still asleep, so she dressed swiftly in skirt, blouse, cardigan and sensible shoes and then finished her packing. Placing her two suitcases on the landing with her gas-mask box and overcoat, she returned to the bedroom and took a moment to instil the memories of the little house she wouldn’t see again until after the war.
Polly had received the signed tenancy agreement two weeks before and the family from London would be moving in the next day. She’d stored away all the precious things she and Adam had collected over their six years of marriage, and locked them in a trunk in the attic. But the memories lingered so strongly she could almost hear Adam’s tread on the stairs, his voice softly calling her – and feel his arms round her as he told her he loved her. They had been childhood sweethearts – their first kiss shared during harvest when they were barely fourteen – their last as he’d prepared to board the troop train which had taken him to France.
She let her gaze wander over the bed where Alice had been conceived, to the sturdy furniture they’d had such fun finding in junk shops, the rag rugs she’d made and the pretty curtains she’d hung at the window. With a deep sigh, she tore her thoughts from the past and, after a long, lingering look of love, gently drew Alice from her sleep.
Polly and Adam had scrimped and saved to buy this little terraced house on the edge of Hereford, close to the hospital and the garage, where Adam worked as a mechanic before the war. They’d added a bathroom and inside lavatory, which they considered the height of luxury, and lovingly tended the pocket-handkerchief square of garden at the back. They’d shared their joy in Alice and been happy here, although Polly freely admitted it had none of the charm of Blackthorn Farm, which had been her family home for two generations. But she and Adam were the first in their families to actually own a house, and that made it very special. Polly prayed that the people from London would take good care of it.
Alice looked sweet in the little smocked dress which had puff sleeves and a broad sash at the waist. With white socks and sandals, and matching ribbons in her hair, it was as if she was dressed for a party. But Alice had strong views on what she wanted to wear, even though she was only five, and Polly was happy to indulge her today. Adding a cardigan to ward off the chill of this early September morning, Polly helped her carefully negotiate the narrow stairs down to the kitchen which suddenly seemed cramped with so many people milling round.
Megan was still in her dressing gown as she busily stirred the porridge at the small range. Their mother, Enid, cradled a cup of tea as she smoked her first cigarette of the day and leant against the stone sink watching her twin grandsons career round with their paper planes. Sam and Will were seven, with identical freckles across their snub noses, the same shock of bright red hair, and lusty voices. Dressed in their school uniforms, their long socks were already half-mast, the ties and shirt collars askew.
‘About time too,’ said Megan, who seemed unable to emerge from her recent bad mood. She put the bowls of porridge on the table and swept her auburn hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘Sit down,’ she ordered the boys, ‘and stop making that awful racket. The last thing I need today is one of my headaches.’
‘They’re just letting off steam,’ said Enid. ‘Why don’t you go and get ready in peace? Pol and I will keep an eye on things here.’ Her grey eyes and faded auburn hair seemed to accentuate the paleness of her skin and the recent sorrow that had lined and aged her gentle face.
Megan took off the apron she’d tied round her thickening waist and threw it on to the back of a chair. Without another word, she left the kitchen and stomped upstairs.
‘There are times,’ said Polly, ‘that I wish I’d never asked Meg to move in with me. She’s not exactly been the most pleasant company lately.’
Enid crushed the cigarette out and drained the last of her tea before reaching for Polly’s hand. ‘Give your sister a bit of leeway, love. It can’t be easy for her having to move out of her home in Birmingham to stay here – especially with Tom fighting abroad and this baby on the way.’