Secrets of the Singer Girls (39 page)

‘We are aware of that,’ Vera replied nervously. ‘But there has been a change in my circumstances. I am married now and in a position to provide a stable home for my
sister’s child, unlike her father, Robert. I mean that with no disrespect to him. Robert is a GI serving here in the US Army. We have written to him and he is happy for us to assume care of
Hope and will testify to that in a letter. Robert’s only family is his father back in Missouri, and he won’t take responsibility for Hope. Robert himself is clearly not in a position to
raise his daughter, as much as I know he would want to. It’s my belief that he loved Hope’s mother very much and intended to marry her, but their relationship was ill fated. I will, of
course, provide you with his details in order for you to be able to verify all this for yourself.’

Matron frowned as she absorbed Vera’s words. ‘There aren’t too many aunts who would assume such a great responsibility for their niece,’ she said. ‘Particularly
given that this adoption will come with a great stigma attached. You too will bear it. You are aware of what it means to raise a half-caste child when you are both white?’

‘We are going into this with our eyes wide open, Matron,’ reassured Archie. ‘We know it won’t be easy, but we are determined to provide a secure and loving home for this
child, and personally, we are unaffected by the colour of her skin. We know society won’t be as tolerant, but we feel she is better off with us, her flesh and blood, than in an
institution.’

‘I am inclined to agree, Mr Gladstone, but I cannot discharge this baby to your care only to have her returned a few months down the line when you’ve realized the enormity and
gravity of your undertaking. Babies cannot simply be passed about at will.’

‘We know that,’ blurted Vera more sharply than she intended. She took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I apologize if I sound rude, but I can assure you we have thought this
through. We are well regarded within our communities. Mr Gladstone is the foreman of a large textile factory, and I will, of course, leave my position as forelady in order to be able to devote my
time to Hope. We know her life will be somewhat of a struggle, but we hope in time she will be regarded as what she is, another innocent casualty of this war.’

An uneasy silence filled the room. It wasn’t long before Archie broke it. ‘The thing is this, Matron,’ he said passionately. ‘We know there were many in Bethnal Green who
frowned on Daisy’s transgression, but as far as we are concerned, any shame died with her. Hope cannot be made to suffer the stigma of her mother’s liaison any longer. She is the
innocent party in all of this, and right-minded, God-fearing folk will treat her with kindness. Any other sort of person’s opinion is not something we care for. We intend to devote all our
energies into giving Hope the best possible start in life. Doesn’t every child deserve that?’

‘They do, Mr Gladstone,’ murmured Matron in agreement. ‘I suppose this is wartime, and it has thrown up some extraordinary situations. Why, only the other day, I heard of a
lady who lives three villages along who has had two illegitimate children to a deserter. Her husband home on leave has not only forgiven her but pledged to take them on as his own.’

‘He must be a saint!’ gasped Archie.

‘But doesn’t that prove that the ability to forgive must be our guiding light?’ urged Vera. ‘I forgave Daisy, and in time I hope the community will. Bethnal Green has
always been and always will be a place of families. Kinship counts. Nothing is more important than your flesh and blood, and Hope is
our
flesh and blood. The disaster at the Tube decimated
whole families. Isn’t it time we started rebuilding them?’

Matron seemed to be thinking carefully as she regarded them both closely. Vera tried to appear calm, but inside she was gripped with emotion, her grief over Daisy’s sudden death mingling
with her fierce determination to do right by her. It had been just four weeks since Daisy’s passing, and thanks to their sympathetic local vicar, used to conducting hasty marriages in
wartime, they had been able to marry just a few days after the funeral. Sal and Poppy were the only people who had attended the small, bittersweet ceremony.

As they sat waiting to discover whether they were to become a proper family, Vera’s heart was in her mouth.

‘I am happy to release her to your care, subject to a meeting with my superiors at the local authority and the baby’s father’s written consent,’ said Matron at last.
‘It will take a few days to draw up the adoption papers, so I suggest you return ten days from now.’

Vera felt her bones sag with relief. ‘May . . . may I see her now, Matron?’ she ventured.

‘I see no reason why not.’

A second later, a nurse was summoned from a connecting office.

‘Please bring in Hope.’

Vera shot a glance at Archie, who looked as excited and anxious as she. There was a flurry of small talk, but Vera wasn’t really listening. Her eyes were trained on the door to hurry the
moment she would hold her precious granddaughter in her arms. And suddenly there she was, a little bundle cocooned in white blankets, being lowered into Vera’s arms, and all the pain of the
last four weeks, the dread of what the future held, all melted away. Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

‘I’ll give you a few minutes alone,’ murmured the matron, discreetly closing the door behind her. Neither Archie nor Vera even noticed her go; they were too busy looking down
at the little girl they had just pledged to raise as their own.

Staring at Hope’s face, Vera felt she could hardly breathe. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never again experience the feeling of euphoria that flooded her body. Hope was the image
of Daisy, down to her rosebud lips and neat chin. Losing Daisy in such a sudden and violent way had torn Vera apart, but cradling her daughter’s child in her arms allowed her to make sense of
her grief. She didn’t know if everything in life happened for a purpose, but saving Hope from a rootless existence in an orphanage was the only good thing to have emerged from the whole
tragedy.

Nestled in her grandmother’s arms, this baby was a literal symbol of hope, perfection against the wanton destruction of the past month. Hope was Vera’s second chance. No more lies.
No more secrets. She may not have been able to be a mother to Daisy, been too cowardly to tell her the truth until it was too late, but she wouldn’t make that mistake with her granddaughter.
In time, when Hope came of age and was old enough to fully understand, she would reveal the complex truth of her heritage. But for now, what this little mite needed more was stability and bundles
of love.

‘I hope your mummy, wherever she is, has finally escaped the East End,’ Vera whispered. ‘I hope she’s found some fresh stockings, maybe even some silly high-heeled
dancing shoes, knowing her.’

Tears coursed down her face as Archie leaned over and hugged his new family tight.

‘Silly me,’ she cried. ‘We can’t have that, now, can we? I won’t let you down, sweetheart.’

And with that simple vow, Vera realized that, above all else, love was the most precious thing.

Ten days later, Mr and Mrs Gladstone returned to the orphanage, and this time they left with their new baby. To the outside world, Vera was a doting auntie, selflessly taking
on her sister’s illegitimate child to save her, but in Vera’s heart, she knew the truth. She was Hope’s grandmother, and a more perfect love she had never known.

With all the care and devotion of a proud new father, Archie placed Hope in her bassinet and tucked her snowy-white blankets around her, while Vera fumbled nervously with her bonnet strings.

‘There we are, poppet,’ she beamed. ‘Snug as a bug in a rug. Let’s get you home where you belong, shall we? There’s two of my very good friends just dying to meet
you.’

Archie drove them back to Bethnal Green as carefully as if he were transporting the Crown Jewels, and only once Hope was tucked up in her cot did Vera feel she could finally breathe. Their new
house contained a small room off their bedroom that Archie had lovingly decorated as Hope’s nursery.

Vera threw open the window, which had sweeping views over Victoria Park, and smiled to herself as a steady stream of fresh air filled the nursery. At least Hope would be able to look out over a
small lake and treetops, and when this war was over, she was certain that the families, the Sunday picnickers, the fairground roundabout and the pleasure boats would all return. The sounds of war
would one day be replaced by splashes and the creak of oars, of children larking about and carefree laughter. Vera couldn’t wait to take Hope there, like she had Daisy when she was a nipper.
Life would return to normal.

Next Vera set about carefully unpacking the small case that Matron had handed to her before they left. Contained within were the most beautiful baby clothes she had ever seen. Crocheted bonnets,
matinee jackets and shawls, all knitted with love, care and attention. Vera delicately ran her hands over the soft wool and felt a lump forming in her throat as she realized she was handling the
only thing Daisy had ever really been able to give her daughter.

‘I know how much you loved her,’ she whispered, holding a little bonnet to her cheek and closing her eyes. For the briefest moment Vera smelt Evening in Paris, Daisy’s
fragrance. She half wondered whether Daisy had deliberately wanted her perfume to linger on Hope’s clothes so that at least the scent of her would remain.

Daisy had been just nineteen when she had been killed. Her journey through life had only just begun, but Vera held back the flood of tears she knew she could very well shed right now. She had to
focus her energies elsewhere. Daisy’s legacy was Hope, and in asking Vera to find her, she had bestowed upon her the greatest responsibility.

‘I won’t let you down,’ she murmured, as she carefully started to hang up the clothes in the wardrobe. As she did so, a small white package slipped out from between the folds
of a matinee jacket. It was addressed to Hope Shadwell and Vera could feel that it contained a small item, a keepsake perhaps. On instinct, Vera went to rip it open, but she stopped herself just in
time. This was not her letter to open.

Contained within it were words that only Hope should read from the mother she would never know. How she would feel upon learning the truth of her heritage goodness only knew, but fortunately,
those bombshells were decades away. Vera decided to keep the letter safe and give it to Hope when she came of age.

Just then, Archie walked in with two cups of tea, and Vera quietly slipped the package into her pocket.

‘Made us a brew, love,’ he grinned. ‘How’s little ‘un settling in?’

‘Ssh, she’s asleep,’ Vera whispered, smiling as he placed down their cups.

They stood in silence, their shoulders gently resting against each other as they watched Hope sleeping, marvelling at the rise and fall of her tiny chest and admiring the soft brown tendrils of
hair that curled round her plump little apple cheeks.

‘I know the future won’t be easy, but thank you, Lord, for bringing us all home safely,’ murmured Archie. ‘We have to put our suffering behind us now and concentrate on
giving this little angel the best life she can possibly have. For Daisy’s sake.’

Vera looked from her sleeping granddaughter to her new husband and smiled softly at him before planting the gentlest of kisses on his lips.

Amen to that.’

MAY
1945

‘Right!’ whooped Sal. ‘Let’s be having you, girls. Let’s make this the best street party the East End’s ever seen. It’s not every day
you get to celebrate the end of the war, after all.’ Archie stepped forward and, with a mock bow, introduced them to the rest of the partygoers. ‘I give you the Singer Girls!’

Soon the whole of the street was filled with their glorious voices. As Poppy, Vera and the rest of the girls linked arms and sang ‘We’ll Meet Again’, Sal felt her heart might
burst with relief and joy. There was only one person missing, her best friend Daisy, but she lived on in little Hope. She was growing up so fast. Nearly two and a half years old, she charged after
Billy and Joey, chubby little legs pumping ten to the dozen as she raced after her playmates, shrieking with excitement. Soon all three of them had ducked down under the trestle tables, which
groaned with sandwiches and jelly.

Every woman in the area had done the neighbourhood proud, emptying their larders to produce a feast that would mean their ration books had taken a battering, but who cared? Today was a day of
celebration. After a tremendous storm the night before, it was now a perfect, hot spring day and the sun shone brightly.

Church bells pealed all over the East End in triumph. All the women wore red, white and blue ribbons in their hair, and Sal couldn’t remember a time of such gaiety. Bunting fluttered from
the gas lamps, Union Jacks were plastered from every window ledge, and she knew the singing would go on long into the night.

Most of the men in the street were already sailing two sheets to the wind, all except Archie, who Sal knew would remain sober as a judge to keep a watchful eye on Hope. Looking at him now, a big
besotted grin spread over his face as Hope ran giggling from under the tables straight into his outstretched arms, Sal couldn’t help but feel breathless at the love of that unconventional
family. Archie’s hair may have turned silver, but pure gold shone in his heart for taking that little girl on as his own. You could hang your hat off Archie Gladstone.

After the sing-song, Vera, Sal and Poppy paused for refreshments.

‘Do you think Daisy would have approved?’ Vera asked, as Sal poured her a ginger beer.

‘Why, it’s a party,’ she grinned back at her. ‘Of course she’d have approved!’

But then, to let the older woman know she felt her ache of pain, she raised her glass in a toast and slid her other arm around Vera’s shoulder.

‘To Daisy, the girl with big ambitions.’

‘To Daisy,’ they chorused back.

They fell into a respectful silence, each of them lost in their own memories of the girl with the voice of an angel, whose time on earth was too brief.