She straightened her back, hands tight on the reins as she forced her thoughts to the future. Yes, she would join the armed forces, but first she had to find a buyer for the smallholding.
Hilda was happy as they drew closer to Crewkerne. Soon they’d be on a train and heading for London, and, as Mabel had offered to put them up until
they could hopefully move into the downstairs flat, she wondered if her friend would mind taking the cat in too. It would break Ellen’s heart if they had to get rid of Socks, and as her daughter was already unhappy about leaving Somerset, that was the last thing Hilda wanted.
For a moment Hilda felt a shiver of doubt. Was she doing the right thing? And was Mabel right about London now being safe? As the station loomed, Hilda pushed her worries to one side. Ellen would go to school, make friends, and though she learned a lot under Gertie’s tutelage, it wasn’t right that for so long she’d only had adults for company.
Still, it had been good of Gertie to teach her, and that was something she had to thank her for. If only Gertie had kept her hands to herself. If only she hadn’t tried to kiss her; but even if she hadn’t, Hilda knew that she’d still be heading for home. Doug’s last leave had been the catalyst that unsettled her, made her look at Gertie differently, and only her illness had held her up from leaving.
‘Here we are,’ Gertie said as she reined in the horse in front of the station.
Hilda climbed down. Please, please, let the train be on time, she thought, dreading a prolonged goodbye. With Gertie helping with the luggage, she bought their tickets, relieved to be told that there was only a small delay, and then they moved onto the platform.
‘I suppose you’ll be staying with Mabel until you get your flat,’ Gertie said. ‘If you give me her address, I’ll post Ellen’s books.’
Hilda wasn’t sure that she wanted to keep in touch with Gertie. After what had happened, things could never be the same between them, and though she had agreed to remain friends, she wasn’t sure it was possible. She hadn’t told Gertie that the flat was in the same house, so said, ‘It might be better if you wait until we move into our own place. I’ll write to you from there.’
‘Will you, Hilda?’ asked Gertie, her brows rising in scepticism.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I’d best get back to the smallholding. Good…goodbye Hilda.’
‘Don’t go yet,’ Ellen begged, throwing her arms around Gertie.
‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to see to the animals.’
‘You won’t forget to post my books?’
‘Of course not, but we’ll have to hope I get your new address before I sell up and leave. Goodbye, sweetheart. I’m going to miss you.’
‘I…I love you, Gertie. I wish we could stay here.’
‘And I love you, darling,’ she said, her voice sounding strangled.
Despite everything, Hilda was touched by the scene. It was clear to see that Ellen was very fond
of Gertie, and that her affection was returned. She pulled a piece of paper out of her handbag, hastily scribbling Mabel’s address. ‘You’d better have this. If the flat falls through it might take me a while to find another.’
Gertie took the piece of paper, her face taut with emotion as she croaked, ‘Thanks.’
‘Stay safe when you join up, Gertie, and let me know where you are.’
‘Do you mean that, Hilda?’
‘Ellen’s going to miss you and she’ll want us to stay in touch.’
Gertie gave Ellen another hug, and then, her eyes awash with tears, she hurried from the platform and out of sight.
Ellen was crying too and Hilda reached out to put an arm around her. She didn’t like seeing her daughter unhappy, yet felt a surge of excitement. It was June 1943, and at last they were going home – going back to London.
When they arrived in London, Ellen found it strange, alien now. People, so many people, rushing around, and noise, there was so much noise. In the sky she saw huge, silver barrage balloons and she shivered with fear. All her memories returned. The sound of aircraft engines approaching, the scream of stick bombs as they fell, the fires, the smells, the houses flattened, one on top of her grandparents. She didn’t want to be here, she wanted to go back to Somerset and cried, ‘Mum, I want to go home.’
‘You are home. This is London, and it’s where we belong.’
‘I don’t like it. I want to go back to Gertie’s.’
‘Well, you can’t,’ her mother said impatiently.
They were on a bus now, and Ellen wanted to close her eyes against the sights they passed. So many gaping holes where buildings had been, rubble, so much rubble, and instead of greenery, everything looked grey and dull.
‘Look at that, a female messenger,’ her mother said, as a girl on a motorbike passed the bus. ‘The bus driver and the conductor are women too and I’ve never seen so many in uniforms.’
When the bus pulled up at a stop two elderly ladies got on and sat in front of Ellen and her mother.
‘I hate these bleedin’ things,’ one complained as her gas mask strap slipped off her shoulder.
‘Put a sock in it, Ethel. You’re always moaning about something,’ the other one quipped.
‘No more than you. I heard you having a go at that ARP warden last night.’
‘He asked for it, Flo, knocking on my door after midnight and telling me I had a light showing.’
‘And did you?’
She shrugged. ‘I hadn’t pulled one of my blackout curtains fully across so there might have been a tiny chink, but that’s only because I was using me small torch to come downstairs. Without it I’d be in danger of falling arse over tit and I was desperate for a pee.’
‘Well then, it seems apt that you told him to piss off.’
Ellen heard a titter, then a giggle, and turned to see her mother trying to hold it back. She couldn’t, and suddenly howled with laughter.
‘Are you laughing at us?’ the one called Flo asked indignantly as she twisted round in her seat.
‘Oh…oh, sorry, but I can’t help it.’
‘We ain’t a couple of comedians put on this bus for your entertainment, you know.’
‘Please…I…I’m sorry,’ Hilda gasped, obviously fighting for composure. ‘It…it’s just that it’s smashing to hear London humour again. We’ve been away, you see, living in Somerset, and it’s so good to be back.’
There was a loud, howling miaow from the basket and the woman asked, ‘Gawd, blimey, girl, what have you got in there?’
‘My cat,’ Ellen told her. ‘We’ve been travelling for ages and he wants to get out.’
‘He sounds like a noisy bugger.’
‘No more noisy than you, Flo.’
‘Shut your face, Ethel,’ said Flo before speaking to Hilda again. ‘You ain’t alone in coming back to London. Lots of people have now, including kids that were evacuated.’
‘Yeah, but I think their daft parents should have left them where they were.’
‘Ethel, you’re only saying that ’cos you don’t like kids.’
‘I do. Mind you, I couldn’t eat a whole one.’
Hilda laughed again, but Ellen didn’t join in. She looked out of the window, hating what she saw and wanting only to go back to Somerset.
After several changes, they at last arrived in Clapham, climbing wearily off the bus. Hilda
liked what she saw. Clapham Common stretched along one side of the road, and as they plodded along carrying the luggage and cat basket, arms aching, Hilda saw Clapham South underground station. Mabel had written that her house was only a couple of streets away from there. They crossed over the main road, turned a corner, and soon found the right place.
Hilda plonked her case and the basket down, gazing at the house for a moment. There were two front doors, one for the upstairs flat and one for the down, that one having bay windows. It looked nice and Hilda hoped she was in time to secure it, her eyes gritty with tiredness as she knocked on Mabel’s door.
Only moments later it was opened, steep stairs visible behind Mabel as she said, ‘Hilda, you got here then?’
Hilda picked up the case and basket again. ‘Yes, we’re here.’
‘Come in…come in,’ Mabel urged and tiredly they followed her upstairs.
Hilda looked around the sitting room, which wasn’t a bad size, and then, taking a deep breath, she said, ‘Mabel, I hope you don’t mind, but we’ve brought Ellen’s cat with us. She’d have been brokenhearted if we left him behind.’
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Mabel said as her son, Percy, walked into the room.
‘I guessed it was you,’ he said, ‘and I’ve put the kettle on the gas to boil.’
‘You’re a good boy,’ Mabel said.
‘Can…can I let Socks out now?’ Ellen asked.
‘Yes, love,’ Mabel said, ‘and my goodness, I can’t get over how much you’ve grown. Hilda, take the weight off your feet. I’ll make you a cup of tea and then show you your room.’
‘Is the downstairs flat still empty?’
‘Yeah, and don’t worry, you’ll get it.’
‘I hope so, Mabel, ’cos if not I don’t know what we’ll do.’
Ellen opened the basket and for a moment Socks looked around warily, but then he slunk out, heading straight for Percy.
‘Hello, feller,’ he said, crouching down to stroke him.
‘Animals seem to like my Percy,’ said Mabel, smiling fondly at her son.
‘Er…er, Mum…Socks might need to go to the toilet,’ Ellen said, her eyes wide with worry.
‘He can’t go out yet or he’ll stray,’ Percy warned. ‘I’ll find him something to go in, and dig up a bit of soil from the garden.’
‘Mabel, I’m sorry, I didn’t think,’ Hilda said worriedly as Percy left the room. ‘He’s a tom and it might be a bit smelly.’
‘A bit of a whiff won’t kill us, and anyway the
landlord is due round in the morning. Once you give him the rent money you’ll be able to move in downstairs.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
Her eyes flicked to make sure that Percy was still in the kitchen, then she said with a wink and a whisper, ‘’Cos he likes me.’
‘Mabel!’
‘Don’t look so shocked. Nothing’s happened and never will, but he doesn’t know that and a bit of harmless flirting goes a long way. Mind you, I could be tempted. Unlike you, I haven’t seen my husband for over eighteen months.’
‘How about this?’ Percy said, returning and holding up a roasting tin.
‘No, that’s me good one,’ Mabel protested. ‘Come on, I think I’ve got an old one somewhere and it’s about time I made Hilda a drink.’
Socks wandered round the sitting room, sniffing and rubbing against every piece of furniture, while Ellen watched him, her expression morose.
‘Cheer up, Ellen,’ Hilda urged.
‘He’s going to hate it here,’ she complained.
‘He’ll be fine, and we will too. The Common is only a spit away, and once you’re in school, making friends, you’ll soon forget about Somerset.’
‘No, I won’t. I’ll never forget Somerset. Never!’
Percy returned clutching a rusted tin. ‘I’ll dig up a bit of soil now.’
‘Is the garden shared between the two flats?’ Hilda asked.
‘Yeah, we’ve got a metal staircase down to it from the kitchen, but despite being told to dig for victory, we hardly use it.’
‘What’s digging for victory?’ Ellen asked.
‘With food in short supply, we’ve been told to grow vegetables and such.’
‘We could do that, Mum,’ Ellen said eagerly.
‘Yeah, well, we certainly know how,’ Hilda agreed.
‘Mum can’t stand gardening,’ Percy said, ‘but if you want a bit of help, I wouldn’t mind giving it a go.’
‘Thanks, love, I might take you up on that,’ Hilda said.
Percy grinned as he left to go down to the garden. He had grown so much since she had last seen him and would be fourteen this year. The opposite in looks and character to his younger brother, Percy was tall and gangly with brown hair and eyes. He had a soft, caring nature, while his younger brother, Billy, was a little terror, causing his mother nothing but worry.
‘Here you are, get that down you first,’ Mabel said as she carried in a tray, ‘and then you can have a bite to eat. I’m afraid it ain’t much, just a bit of corned beef hash.’
‘Lovely, and thanks, Mabel. Where’s Billy?’
‘Gawd knows. The little sod is always off out as soon as my back’s turned. I wish he’d been a girl. He’s the same age as your Ellen and she doesn’t give you a moment’s worry.’
‘Percy doesn’t either.’
‘Yeah, he’s a good lad,’ Mabel said, smiling as her son came in again, the tin now full of earth.
‘Where do you want me to put it?’ he asked.
‘Blimey, I don’t know,’ Mabel said. ‘Stick it behind the sofa for now.’
‘Come on, boy,’ Percy urged, and Socks didn’t need any more bidding. It wasn’t long before the pungent smell of tomcat filled the air, all of them wrinkling their noses.
‘The poor sod must have been bursting,’ Percy observed, ‘but I’d better empty this straightaway.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Ellen offered.
‘No, you eat your grub,’ he said.
Hilda wasn’t sure she fancied it now, what with the smell lingering and pervading the room.
Mabel hurried to throw open a window. ‘I hate to say this, but I’ll be glad when you get that cat out of here in the morning.’
‘I can’t blame you for that, and can’t wait to have my own place again. Oh no!’ she exclaimed, her eyes rounding. ‘I wasn’t expecting to move in so quickly. What about furniture? I can’t move into an empty flat.’
‘The daughter didn’t want any of the old girl’s
stuff, so it’s still there. All she took were a few bits and pieces. The landlord was going to clear it out, but I asked him to leave it.’
‘Mabel, you’re a treasure,’ Hilda said, smiling widely.
‘You may not say that when you see it. Most of the stuff’s ancient.’
‘I don’t care, and, anyway, once I’m in I can start replacing it.’
‘All you’ll get nowadays is utility furniture. It’s as plain as a pikestaff.’
‘Mabel, I’m home, I’m back in London, and that’s all that matters,’ Hilda told her friend and she meant it. Ellen might look miserable, but once she made friends she’d soon snap out of it. Somerset and Gertie would become a distant memory.
Ellen sat looking out of the window after breakfast. It was a Sunday morning in July now, but she was still miserable, despite making friends with Lucy Price, the girl who lived next door. Lucy was pretty, with lovely blonde hair and blue eyes, the image of her mother. They went to the same school, one that had strangely been renamed The South West Emergency Secondary. She didn’t mind it there, but Socks had gone missing on his first foray outside. She and Lucy had become inseparable, combing the streets at every opportunity in the hope of finding him, but as the weeks passed with no sign of him, Ellen was desolate.
‘Are you still mooning about that cat?’ she heard her mother ask.
‘Lucy said she’d pray to Jesus to bring Socks back, but it hasn’t worked.’
‘I could have told you that.’
‘What if he’s hurt? What if he’s laying somewhere, injured?’
‘Ellen, he’s a tom and has probably gone off after a female in heat.’
‘In heat! What’s that?’
‘Me and my big mouth,’ she complained. ‘Look, it’s just that tomcats like to roam and he’s probably as happy as a lark with a lady friend, that’s all. You never know, he might come home again one day.’
Ellen hoped her mum was right, that Socks was happy, but she missed him so much. Not only Socks, her dad too. ‘I wish Dad would come home.’
‘So do I, darling.’
There was the sound of the back door opening and Mabel came in, carrying something on a small plate.
Ellen saw her mother looking at it warily as she said, ‘Watcha, and what have you got there?’
‘Harry just came round with it. I’ve cut a bit off for us and thought you might like the rest for your dinner.’
Harry lived at the end of the street, a cheeky, furtive-looking chap with a bit of a gammy leg who was always getting hold of stuff that was almost impossible to get now.
‘Spiv or not, bless Harry’s heart,’ Hilda said. ‘Mind you, it’s funny-looking meat. Is it beef?’
‘No, it’s horsemeat, but he said it’s very tasty.’
‘Horsemeat! No, Mabel, I don’t think I could eat that. I’d be wondering if the poor animal has just raced in the 3.20 at Kempton Park.’
Mabel chuckled. ‘You daft moo.’
‘No, I mean it. You know what Harry’s like and I wouldn’t put it past him.’
‘Leave it out. He might be a bit of a tea leaf, but even he wouldn’t nick a flippin’ racehorse.’
‘Why did you call Harry a tea leaf?’ Ellen asked.
‘Tea leaf – rhymes with thief,’ Mabel told her, ‘but one with a heart of gold.’
Hilda snorted. ‘Oh, did he give it to you for nothing then?’
‘Well, no, but he only wanted a tanner for it.’
‘Sixpence for that! You were robbed.’
‘Fine, please yourself,’ Mabel said, beginning to look annoyed. ‘If you don’t want it I’ll offer it to Dora.’
Ellen was relieved that her mum had turned it down, though she didn’t think Lucy’s mum, Dora, would want to eat horsemeat either. She pictured Ned, Gertie’s horse, and gulped, the thought of eating him awful.
‘Are you all right, Hilda?’ asked Mabel. ‘You’ve gone a bit pale.’
‘I feel a bit queasy.’
‘In your condition, it ain’t surprising.’
Ellen saw her mother give a warning shake of
her head before she said, ‘Ellen, why don’t you go and play with Lucy?’
‘She’s gone to church with her parents. She won’t be back yet.’
‘Well, go and play in the garden for a while, there’s a good girl.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I said so. Now do as you’re told.’
Ellen felt shut out again. She wasn’t silly; she had heard her mother and Mabel whispering. There was something going on, something her mother hadn’t told her, and as she ambled through the kitchen on the way to the back door, she paused. Instead of going outside, she opened the door and closed it loudly, then sneaked back to listen to her mother and Mabel talking. A recipe. All Mabel was talking about was a recipe for something called Wooten Pie that was made with vegetables.
‘It sounds all right, Mabel, but I’m too worn out to bother much with cooking. I don’t know why it’s taken me like this.’
‘Do you remember Lily Baxter?’
‘I think so. Didn’t she live on the end of your street in Battersea?’
‘Yeah, that’s her, and if I remember rightly she was the same as you, sick a lot and worn out.’
‘I feel so rough, Mabel. It could be because I’ve been ill, going down with the flu and a chest
infection in Somerset. In fact, when I didn’t have a show for a couple of months, I just put it down to that.’
‘When are you gonna tell Ellen?’
‘Soon, but I don’t know how she’s going to take it.’
Ellen went rigid. Was her mum ill again? Something tickled her nose and she tried to hold it back, pinching her nose desperately, but it was no good and the sneeze burst loudly.
‘Ellen, is that you?’
Shamefaced, she walked into the living room, her eyes down.
‘I told you to go into the garden.’
‘Sor…sorry,’ she stammered, but then desperate to know she blurted out: ‘Mum, what’s wrong? Are you ill?’
‘Oh, I get it. You were eavesdropping.’
Ellen felt tears pricking her eyes, but then her mother beckoned her over. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t have been listening, but no, I’m not ill.’
‘I heard Mabel say that you’ve been sick, and then you said you felt rough.’
‘Yeah, that’s true, but it’s got nothing to do with illness. I wasn’t going to tell you this until I was safely past three months, but well, I’m having a baby.’
‘A baby! How?’
‘We’ll talk about that when you’re a bit older; suffice to say for now that in around six months or so you’ll be getting a baby sister or brother.’
‘Does Dad know?’
‘I wrote to him as soon as I was sure, so I hope so. Now go on, off you go and leave me and Mabel to chat in peace.’
Ellen was still smiling as she went into the garden. A baby sister, she’d love a baby sister, but she didn’t know how she’d feel about a brother. Billy came rushing through the back gate, clutching what looked like apples, and seeing her he ground to a halt.
‘What have you got there?’ Ellen asked.
‘None of your business,’ he said stuffing them under his shirt, ‘and if you say anything to me mum, I’ll punch your lights out.’
With that he ran up the metal stairs, leaving Ellen scowling. She liked Mabel’s son, Percy, but didn’t like Billy. He was the same age as her, and at the same school, but he was always hopping off, him and his gang running wild and nicking things, especially from the market stalls. She kept out of his way as much as possible, and was glad that he’d gone upstairs.
Ellen scanned the garden. With Percy’s help she had dug over the soil, but she doubted much would grow. They had come across all sorts of rubbish – rubble, bricks, old bottles – and, unlike Gertie’s
lush earth in Somerset, Ellen could see that this soil hadn’t been fertilised in years.
‘I’m back,’ Lucy called, her head appearing above the garden wall.
Ellen smiled at her friend, wondering what it would be like to go to church every Sunday. Lucy didn’t seem to mind and sometimes talked enthusiastically about it, and when she had been invited round to her house for tea last week, Ellen had thought it strange that they had to pray before starting to eat. What good did praying do anyway? Lucy had prayed for Socks but it hadn’t brought him back.
‘Hello,’ Ellen now said.
‘Are you coming out to play?’
‘Yes, and guess what? My mum’s having a baby.’
‘Wow, you’re lucky. I wish my mum would get one too.’
‘Do you know where they come from?’
‘My mum says that children are a gift from God.’
Ellen wondered if her mother knew that God had sent her a present, and decided to ask her later, but for now she said, ‘How about a game of hopscotch?’
‘Yes, all right.’
‘If God sent my mum a present, how do we thank him?’
‘That’s easy,’ Lucy said. ‘You just close your eyes and talk to him.’
‘What? Like praying?’
Lucy nodded as she bent down to chalk numbers on pavement slabs, while Ellen wondered again what it must be like to go to church every Sunday. There was only one way to find out. She’d have to ask her mum to take her, but somehow, even as this thought crossed Ellen’s mind, she doubted her mother would agree. Unlike Lucy’s mum, she never talked about God – but surely she’d want to thank him too for the baby?
When Mabel left, Hilda sat, smiling. Yes, she felt tired, drained, but what did it matter? Doug’s last leave while they were still in Somerset had resulted in a baby. She was having a baby! It had taken her over two months and they had come back to London before the penny dropped. She’d been overjoyed. They had tried for so long, so many years and she had given up hope, but at last, when she had least expected it – it had happened!
Ellen had looked pleased too, but there would be a huge age gap between them. Her daughter would be thirteen in November, and the baby born a month later. Would it be a boy? Oh, she’d love a boy, a son, and was sure that Doug would too. There hadn’t been a reply from him yet, but she could just imagine the look on his face when he read her letter.
‘Mum, will you take me to church?’ Ellen asked as she came in.
‘What for?’
‘Lucy said the baby is a gift from God and I think we should go to church to thank him.’
‘Lucy’s talking rubbish and, no, I’m not taking you to church.’
‘Where did it come from then?’
‘From under a gooseberry bush and that’s all you need to know.’
‘But…’
‘That’s enough. Now go and have a wash, you’re filthy.’
Ellen had barely left the room when someone knocked on the door. Hilda went to answer it, smiling at Lucy’s mum, Dora Price. ‘Hello, back from church then?’
‘Yes, and it was a lovely sermon,’ she said, her eyes flicking around the living room.
Hilda followed her gaze, too happy to care about the shabby, old-fashioned furniture. It had been a shock when she’d first seen the flat and its contents, the clutter, the flowery décor and frills, but she’d cleared a lot of it out and one day, when she had the money, she’d buy stuff that was more to her own taste. Before realising she was having a baby, and a week after returning to London, she’d decided to go for a job in the same factory where Mabel worked, relishing the thought of earning two quid a week. Of course her difficult pregnancy had put paid to that, but new furniture
didn’t matter. All she cared about was the baby, the things it would need, saying now, ‘Sit down, Dora.’
‘No, it’s all right, I can’t stay. I hope you won’t take offence, but I’m a bit of a hoarder and I wondered if you need a cot?’
‘Oh, so you’ve heard about the baby?’
‘Well, yes, Mabel just came round to offer me some disgusting horsemeat and mentioned it. Wasn’t she supposed to tell me?’
‘Now that Ellen knows, it’s fine, but I was keeping it under wraps until then. As for the cot, I’d love it.’
‘I’ll get Cyril to get it out of the shed before he goes back tonight.’
‘Thanks, it’s good of you,’ Hilda said, unable to help feeling envious of Dora whose husband was in a reserved occupation. He worked in an aircraft factory out of London, but managed to come home every weekend, sometimes arriving on Friday night or Saturday morning at the latest.
‘It’s only been used for my Lucy and it’s in good condition. I’d have loved another child, but something went wrong when I had Lucy and they told me there’d be no more. I don’t know why I held on to the cot, it was daft really, but it’s nice to know it’ll do you a turn.’
‘Dora, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,’ Hilda consoled.
‘It’s all right, I accepted it years ago. I have Lucy;
she’s a wonderful daughter, and praise the Lord for giving me such a beautiful gift.’
Hilda didn’t know how to respond to that. She wasn’t happy that Lucy was filling her daughter’s head with the same rubbish, but they were a nice family and she didn’t want to upset them, so said only, ‘Lucy is certainly beautiful.’
‘So is Ellen. In fact, I was wondering if you’d mind if I invited her to church next week?’
‘No, I’m afraid I’ve no time for religion.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, but surely you shouldn’t force your lack of belief onto your daughter? At least think about it,’ Dora urged. ‘Ellen might enjoy church and I know Lucy would love her to go.’
Hilda’s back was starting to ache. ‘All right, I’ll think about it,’ she said, pleased when that seemed to satisfy Dora and she left. She had housework to do, dinner to make…but didn’t have the energy and sat down again. Maybe Dora was right, maybe she should let Ellen go to church, decide for herself, but she didn’t want her to be frightened by the sort of things she herself had been forced to listen to. Gertie’s father had talked about God’s wrath, of plagues and pestilence, and she didn’t want Ellen frightened. Yet Lucy seemed fine, happy and well balanced, so perhaps the things she was being taught were different.
Hilda fidgeted, her back still aching. If only Doug was here to talk to, someone other than
herself to make the decision. It had only been three months since she’d last seen him, but it felt like three years. Would he get leave again before she had the baby? God, she hoped so.