The Girl on the Beach (6 page)

Hilda took George from Harry as soon as they arrived and hugged him. ‘My, you are growing into a big boy. We shall soon have you running around and getting into mischief.’

‘He can already pull himself onto his feet and shuffle round the furniture,’ Julie said. ‘Harry is going to make a gate for the stairs.’

Dorothy did not like this attention given to her cousin and began grabbing at her grandmother’s skirt demanding her share. Harry picked her up and made a fuss of her and they all sat down to enjoy their tea: Donald and Hilda, Millie and Ian, Harry and Julie and the two children.

‘Looking at this you would never believe there was a war on,’ Julie said, surveying the table. ‘However did you manage it?’

‘You can always get things if you know where to go,’ Hilda said. ‘And we must make the most of it before everything is rationed.’

Everyone had been issued with ration books when they
collected their identity cards the previous September, but so far they had not been used. They had been told they would have to register at a grocer’s for all their rationed goods and Julie had dutifully registered with a small shop in the Old Kent Road, where she did most of her food shopping.

They were halfway through tea when they heard someone come in the back door. Before Hilda could go and investigate, the dining room door opened and Roland put his head round it. ‘Is this a party and can anyone join in?’

‘Roly!’ Hilda flew across the room to hug him and drag him into the room. ‘You’re just in time for tea. Are you on leave?’

‘Forty-eight hours. Hallo, everyone.’ He kissed his sister and Julie and stood looking at his nephew and niece. ‘My, they’ve grown.’ He delved in his kitbag and produced a little aeroplane carved in wood, which he presented to George. ‘There, little fellow, happy birthday.’ Then he went to his kitbag again. ‘Can’t leave the other little monster out, even if it’s not her birthday.’ This time he produced a rag doll for Dorothy.

‘Sit down and have some tea,’ Hilda said. ‘Tell us what you’ve been doing.’

He pulled up another chair while his mother fetched out more crockery and cutlery. ‘Flying about the countryside, patrolling the Channel looking for enemy shipping, whizzing over to France – nothing very exciting.’

‘That won’t last,’ his father said.

‘No, I don’t suppose it will, but all this waiting about is making everyone jittery.’

‘We’re not hanging about,’ Harry said. ‘The factory is working round the clock.’

‘Yes, well, there’s some catching up to do.’ He paused. ‘What are your plans? Going to stay at home and wait to be called or are you going to enlist?’

‘He’s in a reserved occupation,’ Julie put in. ‘Radios are needed urgently.’

‘So they are, but I reckon women can make them as easily as men. That right, Pa?’

‘Yes,’ his father agreed. ‘Chalfont’s has already taken on a lot of women as the men leave for the forces. Harry knows that.’

‘Well, one of you in uniform is more than enough,’ Hilda said. ‘So let’s drop the subject.’

They dutifully obeyed but the conversation left Harry musing. Was it cowardly of him to want to stay at home and look after his wife and child? After all, he was doing a useful job, and how did he know he would be able to do any good in the forces? He’d probably get called up anyway and then he wouldn’t have a choice. Wait or go? He looked at his wife, laughing and wiping chocolate icing from George’s face, and his heart almost burst with pride and joy, mixed with a feeling of helplessness that he did not know how to keep them safe.

It was after tea was over and he and Roly wandered out into the garden that the subject was brought up again. ‘Do you think I should enlist?’ he asked his brother, as he flicked the wheel of his lighter and held it out for Roly to light his cigarette and then lit his own.

‘It’s up to you, old man, but if you wait until you’re conscripted you probably won’t get your choice of service.’

‘Does that matter?’

‘Of course it matters. Just think about it. The poor bloody infantry get the worst of it and if it’s anything
like the last lot it will be hell. As for the navy, they are at the mercy of the U-boats. Being blown up at sea, perhaps floating about on a bit of wreckage for days and dying of exposure, is not a nice way to go.’

‘How cheerful you are! You can get blown up in an aeroplane.’

‘Yes, but at least it’s quick. And if you survive you do get to come back to base every night, and if you’re lucky and near enough, you can get home more often. There’s something about flying, being up among the clouds, swooping about like a bird, that gets to you. You can’t beat it.’

‘Mum will climb the wall if we’re both in uniform, you heard what she said. As for Julie, I dread to think what she’d say …’

‘Your decision, old man.’

‘Yes.’

Ian strolled out to join them. ‘The women are washing up and your father is listening to the news, keeping an eye on the babies at the same time.’ He accepted the cigarette Roly offered him. ‘Do you think those things will do any good?’ He nodded towards the Anderson shelter a little further down the garden.

‘They are supposed to withstand everything but a direct hit,’ Harry said, offering his lighter. ‘Haven’t you got one?’

‘What, in a flat with no garden? Where would we put it?’

‘Never thought of that.’

‘The basement has been designated our shelter. At least it’s warm down there right next to the boiler. The landlord has installed bunks and a lavatory and some heavy steel doors to withstand shock waves.’

‘You’re not sending Millie and Dorothy to the country, then?’

‘She won’t go.’

‘It’s the same with Julie.’

They fell silent, contemplating a future they could only imagine. They looked towards the house as Julie came to the door and called them in. ‘It will soon be blackout time.’

‘Let’s make the most of Christmas, shall we?’ Harry said as they trooped indoors, shut the door behind them and drew the blackout curtains.

Making the most of Christmas meant ignoring the news, stocking up on tinned foods, flour and sugar, candles and oil for lamps to be used in the shelter and in the event of the electricity being cut off. The trouble was that everyone seemed to be doing the same thing and already the price of foodstuffs was rising and some things were becoming hard to find, especially those that had to be brought into the country by sea. Bananas had disappeared and oranges were like gold dust. Julie had to pay a shilling for a single orange to put in George’s stocking and it turned out to be sour. He pulled a face and spat it out.

‘You shouldn’t have bought it,’ Harry said. ‘George isn’t old enough to know the difference, is he?’

‘No, but I so wanted him to have one,’ she said, sprinkling it thickly with sugar and offering it to him again. ‘The only time we had an orange at the Coram was on Christmas Day.’

Her life in the orphanage had left an indelible mark on Julie. She was scarred because of it; her claustrophobia, her obsession with cleanliness and routine and her fear of doing wrong in the eyes of those in authority were ingrained in her. But she could be extraordinarily stubborn when she chose, and when she dug her heels in, nothing and nobody could budge her. Coram had not taught her that; it was
something inbred in her, a throwback to one or other of her parents – probably her father, because her mother had given up on her. That rankled; she did not know what she could have done as a tiny baby to be abandoned in that way. She had tried to talk to Harry about how she felt, not only about her background but how much his loving her meant to her, but the inmates had never been encouraged to speak of their emotions in the home, and she found it difficult to express herself. But she swore to herself that whatever it took she would make sure George did not go short, either of affection or food.

The shortage of oranges was the least of their problems as 1940 was ushered in with bitterly cold weather. In the countryside, snow blocked the roads and piled into drifts, rivers froze over and potatoes could not be dug out of the ground. The railways were almost at a standstill, which meant any produce that could be gathered could not be transported to the cities. In London the roads were cleared one day, only to be covered again the next; water pipes froze and milk went solid on doorsteps and even the Thames froze. The greengrocer’s shop in the Old Kent Road had very little on its shelves and the coalman ran out of coal. Julie was at her wits’ end, trying to keep the house warm and her little family fed.

She was in the queue at the greengrocer’s one day, gazing at the empty shelves, wondering how she was going to manage to cook a dinner without vegetables, when someone behind her said, ‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’

She turned to see who had spoken. She was a young
woman, about the same age as Julie, warmly wrapped up in a tweed coat and a headscarf from which a few blond curls peeped. She had a pleasant smile. ‘Yes, it is,’ Julie agreed. ‘It’s bad enough with the war and all, but this weather is making it a hundred times worse.’

‘Did you hear the news this morning? Rationing is starting on Monday.’ She laughed. ‘I don’t know what good that will do, there’s nothing to buy.’

‘I heard the beginning of it but the baby woke up and started to cry, so I missed most of it.’

‘It’s butter, sugar, bacon and ham. Why those in particular, I don’t know. I’ve given my book to my landlady and she’s going to register me.’ She paused. ‘Fancy a cup of coffee or tea?’

‘Not coffee, that imitation stuff tastes awful, but a cup of tea will go down a treat.’

They went to a café just down the road. Julie picked George out of his pram and left it outside while they went in and settled themselves at a table near the window where they could see the pram.

‘He’s a darling,’ the woman said. ‘What’s his name?’

‘George.’

‘It suits him. I’m Rosemary Summers, by the way.’ She pulled off her glove and held out her right hand. ‘Rosie to my friends.’

Julie took the hand. ‘Julie Walker.’

‘Walker? My boss at Chalfont Engineering is Mr Walker. Any relation?’

‘He’s my father-in-law.’

‘Really? Then you must be Harry’s wife.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘He’s a lovely man. You’re so lucky.’ She turned to the
waitress who stood over them, pencil poised. ‘Two teas, please.’

‘Yes, I know it. How long have you been working at Chalfont’s?’

‘Only three weeks. I came down from Scotland. I was going to join up, but I failed the medical on account of childhood asthma. They said I’d do more good working in a factory on essential war work, and sent me to Chalfont’s.’

‘Do you like it?’

‘It gets a bit boring doing the same thing on the same machine day after day.’ She laughed again. ‘And night after night. I’m on nights this week which is why I was exploring. You can’t sleep all day.’

‘Exploring Bermondsey, that’s a laugh.’

‘Well, I thought I’d need to know my way about, where the shops and shelters are, things like that.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘I’ve rented a room on the Waterloo Road. It was the first place I came to when I got off the train. It’s handy for the factory. Where do you live?’

‘Just round the corner. We’ve got a nice little house with a garden.’ She laughed. ‘And an Anderson shelter. I hate it.’

‘Perhaps you’ll never have to use it.’

‘I hope not.’

They finished their tea and would have gone on talking all afternoon, if George had not reminded them of his presence and begun to grizzle. ‘I must take him home to give him his feed and put him down for his afternoon nap,’ Julie said, standing up.

They left the café and walked together along the busy road to Julie’s turn. ‘That’s our house,’ she said, pointing. ‘Come and see me, when you’ve got time off.’

‘I will, thank you. I haven’t made any friends here yet, and working such odd hours, it’s difficult to get to know people.’

‘Well, you know
me
now. Any time you’re passing.’

Rosie took her at her word and arrived two afternoons later bearing gifts: a tin of golden syrup, a bag of potatoes and two onions. ‘I thought these might help,’ she said.

‘Goodness, yes. Wherever did you find them?’ She busied herself putting a kettle on the gas stove.

‘There’s a chap I’ve met at work who seems to be able to get almost anything for a price …’

‘How much?’

‘Oh, it’s a gift from me to you, for taking pity on me.’

‘Taking pity. I don’t pity you, why should I?’

‘I meant being friendly when I was feeling lonely. I’d never been out of Scotland before, except for childhood holidays with my parents, and it was all rather
nerve-racking
.’

‘Yes, I felt like that when I left the Coram and went to work. It was such an enormous change.’

‘The Coram?’

‘An orphanage. I was left on the doorstep when I was a tiny baby.’

‘Poor you! Don’t you know who your parents were?’

‘Not a clue. The authorities were my parents. When I was old enough I went to work for Sir Bertram Chalfont as a domestic.’

‘Sir Bertram who owns the factory?’

‘Yes.’ The kettle boiled and she made tea and they settled down at the kitchen table to drink tea and talk while George slept in his pram.

‘Is that how you met your husband?’

‘No, I met him before that.’ Julie went on to recount how she had first met Harry and how she had met him again later. ‘We’ve been married two years in March.’

‘How romantic!’ Rosie said. ‘And now you have a home of your own and a darling baby.’

‘What about you? Have you left a boyfriend back in Scotland?’

‘No. Perhaps I’ll meet someone like your Harry down here.’

By the time Rosie left they were firm friends and promised to meet as often as they could. Julie never knew quite when she would turn up because of the shift system at the factory and she almost always brought supplies with her: a tin of condensed milk, a bag of sugar, a bar of chocolate. Sweets weren’t rationed, but the shortage of ingredients meant many of the factories had been turned over to producing more important things. At first she refused to take money for them but on Julie’s insistence she allowed her to pay for the items. They were more expensive than anything bought through normal channels, but if it meant she could feed Harry and George better than by sticking to the letter of the law, she was prepared to pay. She did not tell Harry about this because she had a feeling he would disapprove. It was the first time she had ever kept anything from him, and she salved her conscience by telling herself it was in a good cause.

Harry was battling with his own conscience, as more and more men left the factory bench to join up and their places were taken by women. How could he sit at home when others, including his brother and brother-in-law, were in uniform? His only uniform was an armband and
a tin hat with ARP painted on it in white, which he put on to report to the warden’s post every evening when he was not at the factory, and to patrol the streets around his home, looking out for telltale chinks of light from ill-fitting blackout curtains and shouting at anyone having the temerity to light a cigarette in the street after dark. He had to know the names of everyone on his patch and where they lived so that the dead and injured could be identified in bombed buildings. The siren had wailed several times making everyone rush to the shelters, but nothing much had happened, except road traffic accidents and people walking into lamp posts in the dark.

When he was at the factory he had to take his turn on the fire-watching on the roof. They were supposed to report if a raid was getting close and give warning, so that the workers could stay at their posts until the enemy aeroplanes were overhead, then they would troop to the shelters in orderly fashion. The fire-watcher’s other task was to put out incendiaries with stirrup pumps. So far neither had occurred.

He decided to defer a decision until after their wedding anniversary, which they celebrated quietly at home. Julie managed to put on a celebration dinner, even though meat had been put on the ration that same week; he did not ask her how she did it. The dreadful winter had gone and daffodils were blooming in the garden beside the happy gnome. Looking at it through the kitchen window, he smiled, remembering their honeymoon and how perfect it had been. And now everything was being spoilt by the war and an uncertain future. He turned and sat down, taking her hand and pulling her onto his knee as she walked past him to the sink. They had just finished their evening meal
and there was a pile of washing-up on the draining board.

‘Julie, my love, I have something to tell you,’ he began. ‘And I want you to listen.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I went to the recruiting office this afternoon.’

‘You’ve been called up! Oh, no, Harry. Didn’t you tell them you were in a reserved occupation?’

‘I haven’t been called up and my being at the factory is not making a jot of difference to the war. There are plenty of women who can make radios, your friend Rosie will tell you that. I enlisted.’

She jumped up from his knee and faced him. ‘I don’t believe you. You are making a joke to frighten me.’

‘It’s not a joke, sweetheart. I couldn’t stand by and let others do the fighting for me, could I?’

‘Didn’t you think about me at all? And Georgie? It’s not fair of you, Harry.’

‘Nothing’s fair in war, my love.’ He tugged at her hand and brought her down onto his knee again and pulled her head against his chest. ‘And I was thinking about you and George. My whole life is devoted to looking after you, and if I can best do that by getting into uniform and helping to win this war, then I must do it.’

‘I don’t want you to go. Can’t you change your mind?’

‘No, I can’t. It’s done now. I’m going into the RAF like Roly. It has one advantage over the army and the navy: you get to come back to base every night. I’ll be able to come home on leave quite often. Please, Julie, don’t cry.’ He mopped her tears with his handkerchief. ‘It’s not the end of the world.’

‘It feels like it. What happens if we get invaded? You won’t be here.’

‘Hitler will never invade England,’ he said, far more confidently than he felt. ‘He’s got to cross the Channel and do you think we’ll let him do that? He’ll be bombed to smithereens before he gets halfway across. And I’ll be one of those doing it. Now cheer up and let’s get the washing-up done.’

‘When do you go?’ Her voice was still watery, as she stood up to put the kettle on for hot water to wash the dishes.

‘When they send for me. In a week or two. I’ll be sent somewhere for training, probably up north somewhere. After that I’ll be posted somewhere south, closer to home.’ He picked up the tea cloth to do the drying. ‘We’ve all got to make sacrifices in this war, Julie. You heard Churchill’s speech on the wireless about having nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat. The sooner we get stuck into it, the sooner it will be over and we can go back to normal.’ Churchill had become prime minister after the resignation of Chamberlain. Those who had branded him a loose cannon were now wholeheartedly for him.

‘I suppose so.’

He was relieved the confession was over and she appeared to have accepted it, but it had left him drained. And tomorrow he would have the arguments all over again when he told his mother of his decision. But on the other hand, he felt suddenly uplifted. Whether he could make a difference to the eventual outcome he had no idea, but if everyone pulled together they must surely win.

They made the most of the time left together and two weeks later he was summoned for a medical examination; the following week his papers arrived requiring him to report to the Recruiting Centre from where he was sent to Harrogate.

Left alone, Julie survived on Harry’s letters and Rosie’s friendship. Although they were of an age and of similar build and colouring, the girls could not have been more different in their backgrounds; Julie’s family had been the other inmates at the orphanage and the adults who ran it, all very impersonal and regimented. Only Grace Paterson had shown any affection for her and that had only really been evident after she was sacked by Lady Chalfont.

Rosie, on the other hand, had been loved and cosseted by her parents and had everything a child might need: a good education, clothes, toys, books, music and tennis lessons. Coming to London had been a nerve-racking experience in one way, but a huge adventure in another. ‘I’m glad I met you,’ she told Julie, one day when they were walking in the park with George in his pushchair. The area in which he could play was sadly depleted because of a huge ack-ack gun, pointing skywards. They had heard it firing on one or two occasions when the siren went and it made them feel safer to know it was there. ‘I might have been very lonely otherwise.’

‘Haven’t you made friends with anyone at the factory?’

‘One or two, but it’s difficult when you’re on shift work.’

‘I understand. Harry was always coming home at all sorts of strange times. I never knew quite when to expect him for his dinner.’

‘Have you heard from him?’

‘Yes, almost every day. He’s somewhere up in the north of Scotland now but he can’t tell me exactly where. When his training is done he’ll get some leave, then I’ll hear all about it and where he’s going to be stationed.’

He had been gone six weeks and in that time Hitler had overrun the whole of Europe and thrown the British
Expeditionary Force out of France. The evacuation of three hundred thousand troops from the beaches of Dunkirk had been a truly heroic episode, but it could not disguise the fact that German troops were poised on the other side of the Channel, ready to strike. Julie couldn’t believe she was the only one terrified of the prospect, yet everyone else seemed to be going about their business, pretending everything was normal. She felt she had to do the same and hide her fear.