Read Secrets of the Singer Girls Online
Authors: Kate Thompson
Poppy gazed about the steamy station concourse curiously. The last time she had been at a big station like this was after her arrival at St Pancras. How different a person she felt now compared
to then.
Suddenly, a flash of blond hair and a shriek jolted her out of her reverie. A lump caught in Poppy’s throat for there, tearing down the station platform out of the steam, were two
freckle-faced, sandy-haired boys she recognized only from Sal’s photos.
Sal collapsed to her knees and the boys flung themselves into her outstretched arms like cannonballs, their faces ablaze with love and mischief.
Sal drew Billy and Joey into her and hugged them fiercely as her tears flowed freely.
‘Oh, my darlings, I cannot tell you how much I’ve missed you,’ Sal sobbed, kissing them over and over.
‘Hi, Mum,’ grinned Billy. ‘Guess what? Joey ate all his sandwiches before we’d even pulled out of the station, so we’re starving.’
‘Just as well your auntie Vera’s cooked up a feast,’ she chuckled. ‘Come on, let’s get you back to Bethnal Green.’
*
By the time they made it to Tavern Street, Sal’s happiness was complete, and they all trooped over the doorstep, grateful to be in the warmth of the welcoming little
terrace.
‘Hello, boys,’ boomed Archie from the fireside. ‘Remember me?’
‘Course! Hello, Uncle Archie,’ said Joey.
‘You two still love them penny blocks of lemon ice?’ he asked.
Two little heads nodded furiously.
‘Come on, then, let’s go up the corner shop and I’ll treat you.’ Archie smiled, holding out his hand to them.
Once they had left, Sal looked to Vera curiously.
‘Sorry, Sal. It’s lovely to have the boys back, but I wanted to have a moment alone with you two,’ Vera explained. ‘I’ve just received word that Daisy has given
birth prematurely.’ Vera held a letter aloft in her hand. ‘It’s from the matron of the mother and baby home. It was waiting for me when I got back from the factory.’
Poppy and Sal both gasped as one.
‘Is she all right?’ babbled Sal. ‘What else does it say?’
‘She’s fine, and the baby’s fine,’ Vera reassured them. ‘A little girl, called Hope, five pounds.’
‘That’s an unusual name,’ Sal said.
‘Certainly is,’ agreed Poppy in excitement. ‘But very pretty. Oh, I bet she’s a little smasher. When do you think we can visit, Vera?’
Vera shook her head sadly. ‘I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Poppy. Daisy will stay at the home until Hope puts on weight and the midwife declares her well enough to be
adopted. Then Daisy will return to Bethnal Green.’
‘And then what?’ asked Sal sadly.
‘Well, she can’t return to Trout’s, of course,’ said Vera. ‘But Archie has a friend who owns a factory who will take her on. And life continues.’
As if nothing ever happened?’ Poppy said in dismay. ‘Oh, poor Daisy. It’s all just so dreadfully unfair. If only the American Army would give them permission to wed, then she
need never suffer.’
‘It’s not just the American authorities, though, is it, Poppy?’ Vera pointed out. ‘Even if they did get permission to marry, Robert’s colour is a huge issue. She
and the baby will be treated as pariahs, and then there’s the fact that Robert is to be sent off to fight, with no guarantees for his future. That’s no life for an innocent
child.’
‘I’m sorry, Vera. I didn’t mean to sound impertinent,’ replied Poppy meekly. ‘I think I might skip tea, I suddenly don’t feel very well.’
With that, she turned on her heel and fled up the dark street.
‘What on earth is wrong with Poppy?’ asked Archie, coming the other way with Joey and Billy. ‘I just called out to her, but she was in a right state, as skittery as a paper bag
in the breeze.’
‘It’s Daisy’s predicament,’ Vera said sadly, as she stared up the street after Poppy. ‘It’s upset her more than I think any of us realize.’
*
Back at Burnham Street, Poppy didn’t even take off her coat before she reached for her notepad. Without pausing to think, she picked up her pencil and began to write, her
words tumbling out like tears. Life was so precious, she realized, and with all their worlds hurtling out of control, she needed to reach out to the one person with whom she felt she really
connected.
Oh, Freddie, where can I even start? I’ve been the most dreadful fool. I started this relationship with you under false pretences. I love you too. Truly, deeply
and with all my heart. I believe you can love a person you’ve never met before. I spend every second of every day thinking about you, imagining the happy life we could dream of together,
but I am not the person you think I am.
I will meet you, dear Freddie, when you return to England, but only so I can tell you the whole story and at last be truthful to someone. I have no doubts you will walk
away when you hear who, or rather what, I am. I owe it to you and to myself to at last tell the truth.
Yours, with foreboding,
Poppy xx
Poppy folded the sheet of paper and stuffed it into an envelope ready to post. It was time. He had to know the truth.
FEBRUARY
1943
The war raged on across the globe and by the time the freezing winter rolled around to a milder February, world events were taking a dramatic turn. Vera had listened, gripped,
along with the rest of the nation as the German 6th Army surrendered at Stalingrad, the first defeat the Nazis acknowledged; British fleets and air forces advanced on the enemy in the
Mediterranean; and Germany suffered heavy bombing. Vera had felt a sense of cautious optimism prevail in the factory and had smiled as she watched Sal lead a rousing rendition of ‘When the
Poppies Bloom Again’.
Seeing the blossoming of Sal from a scarred wife who lived in terror of her husband’s return to a confident and happy mother was a joy to behold. Fortunately, for Sal at least, her
suffering was over.
The matron of the home had written to Vera to tell her that Hope was doing well for a baby born so small, and that she was trying her hardest to secure a suitable couple to adopt. Vera prayed
this would happen soon. Then at least Daisy could return to the East End and they could begin to put this nightmare behind them.
Vera found herself discussing it with Sal and Poppy over their dinner break one Saturday.
‘I had a letter from Daisy yesterday,’ Sal admitted.
‘And?’ said Vera warily.
Sal pulled the letter from her pocket and smiled reassuringly at Vera before she began to read.
Every day rolls out with the same routine here. We feed our babies before settling them back down in the nursery and go about our chores. Matron has it in for me.
She’s got me milking the cows. Me? I ask you. A girl from the East End who wouldn’t know one end of a cow from another! If only you could see me, Sal, you wouldn’t recognize
me. Victory rolls and dances are a thing of the past. I’ve changed. I’m not the girl I once was, and that’s down to Hope.
Oh, Sal, where do I even start? I might be biased, but she’s the most beautiful, bonny baby ever. The midwife who visits every few days told me she is doing
splendidly for a baby born so small and that’s because of me and my care of her in the days after she was born. That’s some comfort to me, because our contact with the babies is now
limited to feed and nappy changes only. It’s to prevent unnecessary bonding apparently. It’s a little late for that, I fear.
The rest of the time, they’re placed in a row of cots in the baby nursery, in a little line like soldiers. It’s the most pitiful sight, Sal. Only the other
day, a girl who I had grown quite fond of had to leave after her baby was handed over to a couple from Norfolk. You should have seen her. Broken, she was. Signing away all rights to her baby,
well, it destroyed her. The night before the adoption, she sobbed non-stop into her pillow. It was heart-wrenching. I couldn’t stand to hear her cries any longer, so I sneaked down into
the nursery and just spent the whole night gazing down at Hope as she slept, relishing every second. Matron would have had my guts for garters if she’d found me, but I had to do it. She
has Robert’s eyes, you know, big and brown, and my chin. When I hold her in my arms to feed, it’s like I’m holding a little piece of me. Does that make sense?
I don’t know that I shall survive giving her up. The only saving grace is that I think it will take longer to find suitable adoptive parents for her because
she’s a chocolate baby. Hope’s the ‘wrong skin colour’ apparently. Well, that suits me fine, and I’m just trying to live day to day. Although already I know time
is running out.
Robert has written me many letters and is being very sweet, still insisting that he’s going to marry me, but the reality is, there is nothing he can do for me and
Hope right now. He’s been posted to the south coast. I cling to the dream that I will see him again and that a solution will present itself to my predicament, but I suppose I need to
start facing my problems head on, as Vera is so fond of saying. On the subject of which, please tell her I don’t blame her for this, none of it. I know she was acting with my best
interests at heart when she admitted me here. That night in the hotel, I know in my heart it was madness, and yet from it came Hope. The most incredible thing I’ve ever achieved in my
life.
You’re a mother, Sal; that’s why I’m telling all this to you and not Vera, because I know you’ll understand. I beg of you this – when I
return to the East End, please don’t treat me with pity, for I really don’t think I shall be able to bear it.
Until then. Your friend,
Daisy x
When Sal finished reading, you could have heard a pin drop at the table.
‘I don’t wish to betray Daisy’s confidence,’ Sal said, ‘but I read you that, Vera, because I thought you needed to hear it in order to understand how to treat her
when she returns.’
Vera nodded. ‘And I thank you for it, Sal. Sounds like she’s grown up more in the past few months than the whole of her eighteen years.’
She drained her mug of tea and rose from the table shakily.
‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have urgent work to attend to. Only five minutes left of dinner break, girls. Mind you’re not late back.’
After Vera exited the canteen, Sal shook her head and sighed.
‘Dear old Vera. She’s never been very comfortable with talking about her feelings, has she? She’s a real East Ender in that respect.’
Poppy nodded. ‘This must be terribly hard for her too, though. She must be aware that Pat and the others are constantly talking about it behind her back.’
‘Stuff ‘em all,’ announced Sal defiantly. ‘The best way to deal with gossips is to ignore ‘em. A fool’s tongue will run before his feet. Now then, I hope you
don’t think I’m probing, Poppy, but I have to know. Have you come to any decision on whether to meet Freddie when he returns next month?’
Poppy looked up at her hesitantly.
‘Well, yes, actually. I wrote back to him and . . .’
‘Go on,’ urged Sal.
‘I told him I
would
meet him when he returns.’
‘But that’s wonderful news, Poppy,’ grinned Sal, with a blazing smile.
‘What if he doesn’t like what he sees?’ Poppy replied.
‘How on earth could he not?’ she protested. ‘Look at you, you’re everything a fella could want in a girl. You’re going to make a smashing wife to some lucky
chap.’
‘If you say so, Sal,’ replied Poppy, unsure. A shrill bell sounded through the canteen. ‘Uh-oh, dinner break’s over,’ said Poppy, relieved to be ending the
conversation.
‘Very well, we’ll leave it. For now,’ Sal replied. ‘But just remember, Poppy, secrets can be your jailor.’
*
Later that night, Vera heard the rap on the door and smiled nervously to herself as she quickly checked her appearance in the mirror.
‘Stop acting like a silly little girl,’ she scolded her reflection. ‘It’s only Archie.’
It was a Saturday night, and at long last, Vera had relented and agreed to allow Archie to escort her to the picture house.
On impulse, Vera had even dressed herself up a little bit. And now here he was, on the dot of eight thirty.
Vera opened the door and smiled.
‘Good evening,’ he said, his eyes twinkling with excitement as he held aloft two ticket stubs. ‘Two tickets to see
Casablanca
at the Troxy It’s got that Ingrid
Bergman in it. I think she looks a bit like you, Vera, though not quite as classy.’
‘Get in, you daft beggar,’ she chuckled, ushering him in. ‘Let me just get my bag. I’ll be one minute.’
Once the front door shut behind him and Archie’s eyes adjusted to the light in the passage, his mouth fell open.
‘Oh, Vera,’ he breathed. ‘You look absolutely beautiful. The green in that dress really brings out the colour in your eyes. It’s a smashing rig-out.’
Vera blushed and fiddled with the clasp on her handbag. ‘Behave, Archie. It’s an old dress I made out of a pair of curtains twice remodelled, my hat’s seen five summers, and
these shoes have had more patch-ups than a Spitfire. It’s nothing special.’
Archie smiled like a small child whose wish had finally been granted by Aladdin, and held out his arm to Vera. ‘Well, I happen to think
you’re
rather special. Let’s
step out, shall we?’
Vera had the most glorious evening and Archie was the perfect gentleman, even stopping on the way back to buy her a cup of tea and a sticky bun before walking her home. At the
darkened doorstep, Vera hesitated.
‘I’d invite you in, Archie, but I think this house has seen enough scandal. I don’t want the neighbours to talk.’
‘That’s all right.’ He smiled tenderly. ‘I understand. Your happiness is so important to me, you see . . .’ He hesitated and his craggy little face shone with
sincerity. ‘It’s like this . . . Oh come on, Archie, you fool. What I’m trying to say, Vera, in a cack-handed way, is that I’d like to spend the rest of my days making you
happy.’