Women on the Home Front (53 page)

Clifford seemed preoccupied about something. Gwen put Mandy to bed and suggested he take them to the Bull for a drink. It was the only place where they could be sure of being alone. Gwen was grateful to Ga for giving them a home and the business, but the trouble was, she was always there. She never went out with friends, Gwen wasn't even sure she had any, apart from Aggie and even she only turned up once a week. Ga never went to Aggie's house. Ga had become more and more demanding and the atmosphere between Ga and Clifford was getting worse all the time. They had little money from the nurseries because Ga was always talking about investing everything in the future.

‘When I'm dead and gone,' she would say, ‘it'll all be yours.'

Gwen sighed. She was tired of waiting for jam tomorrow. She wanted to live for today. Who knew how long they would have to wait? Ga was hale and hearty and besides she didn't like to think about somebody dying before they could enjoy their lives. How much longer they could put up with it, Gwen didn't know. She and Clifford never had a moment to themselves. Gwen wouldn't have minded so much if Ga had offered to babysit now and again, but the thought never seemed to cross her mind. The only chance they had to go out was when Connie came home and since the bad weather started, they hadn't been out at all. Usually Worthing was well protected by the South Downs. The terrible weather they had in the east of the county and Kent seldom reached Worthing and the surrounding villages, but this year the town had enough snow to cover the top of a wellington boot.

Mandy was asleep and Ga downstairs so rather than
ask
her to babysit and have her refuse, Clifford
told
her they were going out. She looked a bit put out but Gwen and her husband wrapped up warmly and made their way to Goring Street. The Bull Inn had been built around 1770 and was near the old post office. Because of its thick walls, the building had been used as a mortuary and an extension built in the late eighteen hundreds was used as a butcher's shop. In a more sombre mood, Ga had a picture of a funeral procession leaving the Bull in 1907 when two of her acquaintances, Sid Orchard and Fred Wadey were killed by a bolt of lightning on Highdown. They were only nineteen and twenty-two years old.

They opened the door and were greeted by a warm fire and an equally warm welcome from a few of the locals gathered at the bar. After swapping a few snowbound stories, Gwen and Clifford made their way to the fire, sat next to each other and held hands. As bad as things were, Gwen thanked God every day that Clifford had made it through the war. They all had. At least, she hoped they had. Whatever happened to Kenneth?

Clifford pushed her glass of sherry towards her. ‘Drink up,' he smiled, seeing her sad expression. ‘A couple more days of mild weather and maybe I can get to those root vegetables still in the ground. That'll bring in a bit of an income.'

‘We still have a bit of savings,' said Gwen. She kept the books and she was a shrewd woman. ‘I've always put a bit by in case of bad times and this is the first time we've used it.'

‘I should be paid a proper wage,' he said acidly.

Gwen looked away. He was right and she was embarrassed for him. ‘I wish I'd never persuaded you to stay,' she said.

‘It's not your fault, Gwennie,' he said squeezing her hand. ‘If the old lady would only agree to sell the end plot, it would make all the difference.'

‘She doesn't like change,' said Gwen.

‘We have to move with the times,' said Clifford. ‘The nursery is too small to make a decent living. We have to diversify if we're going to make a go of things.'

‘I know.'

‘I want to provide well for you and Mandy,' Clifford went on, ‘not pinch and scrape all our lives.'

‘I know, darling.'

‘If she won't sell it,' Clifford went on, ‘the Frenchie suggested putting up a workshop on the land. If we rented it out, that would bring in a good income. Regular too.'

‘Do you want me to try and talk to her?' said Gwen.

Clifford looked uncertain. ‘I'd like to say yes, but I don't want her sending you to Coventry as well. One person in the family is enough.' He took a sip of his beer and sighed. ‘You and Mandy deserve better than this, Gwennie.'

‘We're fine,' she said reassuringly.

The lapsed into silence and then she said, ‘You're worried about something else, aren't you?'

‘Me? No.'

Gwen looked him in the eye. ‘Clifford, we promised we would never lie to each other or hold anything back. What is it you're worrying about?'

He sighed. ‘Not much gets past you, Gwennie,' he smiled. He took another swig of his drink as if to give himself some Dutch courage. ‘We've been helping a lot of people since the snow came …'

‘Yes.'

‘And now it seems that some things are going missing.'

Gwen frowned. ‘Gone missing?'

‘Aunt Aggie told me that Mrs Wright has lost a pearl brooch, Granny Morrison says her late husband's watch is missing and Reverend McKay in St Mary's says someone has tampered with the collection box at the back of the church.'

Gwen took in her breath. ‘But who would do such a thing?'

‘It's not always the same people who go out at the same time. That leaves us with three distinct possibilities,' said Clifford. ‘The Frenchie, Isaac Light and me. The only certainty is that it wasn't me.'

‘I can't believe either of them would steal.'

‘Nor can I,' said Clifford, ‘but it leaves a nasty taste in the mouth.'

‘And you are worried that if this gets out it could ruin our reputation?' said Gwen.

‘I think it may already have damaged the Frenchie,' said Clifford. ‘Two of his biggest customers have gone elsewhere.'

‘That could be down to the weather,' said Gwen.

‘Could be, I suppose,' said Clifford but he looked far from convinced.

‘What are you going to do?' said Gwen.

Clifford drained his glass. ‘I don't know,' he said with a shrug. ‘Thank God the thaw is on its way.'

As he made his way back to the bar for another drink, Gwen chewed her cheek thoughtfully. What sort of person took advantage of people in dire straits? These were hard times and they couldn't afford to lose the goodwill they had built up over the years. She'd better tell Clifford to steer clear of the Frenchie and Isaac until this had all blown over.

As soon as Connie came off duty, Eva drew her attention to the notice board in the nurses' home. ‘Have you seen this?'

Home Sister had stuck a memo on the board.
Staff will please note that because of the present situation, the hospital laundry is operating a three day week. This means delays in getting clean uniforms and sheets are inevitable. Nurses may be required to wash their own dresses if necessary. Collection of pink boxes are as follows …
There followed a list of numbers. Connie's box wasn't due for collection until next week.

‘At this rate, I'll never get my letter,' she groaned.

‘What letter?' asked Eva and Connie explained.

‘You might be in luck,' said Eva. ‘What with all the power cuts, they might not have got around to washing the nurses' uniforms yet.'

‘I suppose,' said Connie cautiously.

‘I'm on an early tomorrow,' said Eva brightly. ‘I could go over there in person and ask for you if you like.'

‘Better still,' smiled Connie. ‘We could both go together. I'm on an early too.'

As soon as they'd finished their duty they'd met up at 2.15 p.m. and wrapping up warmly, set out for the laundry.

‘When the laundry comes in,' said the supervisor after Connie told her why they'd come, ‘the girls go through every box.' She led them into a heat-filled room. There were several large presses and a long bare wood table. In the middle of the table was a large pile of sheets. Two girls were folding the sheets while a third woman eased them through the press. Every time she brought the heavy pad down to press the sheet free of creases, a hiss of steam filled the air.

‘You'd be surprised what we find in the pockets,' the supervisor said, not stopping for any introductions. The women looked up as Connie and Eva walked through the steam room but nobody smiled. ‘Bus tickets, hankies, pocket books, pens,' the supervisor was on a roll now. ‘We found a bottom set of teeth once,' she cackled and turned around.

‘What did you do with them?' Connie asked anxiously.

‘Everything gets sent back,' said the supervisor with emphasis. ‘It gets put into a brown paper bag and left in the laundry box.'

‘That's why Betty had that half a sandwich in her laundry box,' Eva said behind her hand and into Connie's ear.

Connie smiled. They'd all had a laugh when Betty showed them. It was rock solid and going mouldy. Betty binned it.

‘The trouble is,' said the supervisor going deeper and deeper into the building, ‘everything has got out of kilter. We've got far too many boxes and not enough room.'

They had arrived beside a brown door. The supervisor flung it open and Connie took in her breath.

‘Lummy Charlie,' gasped Eva.

The room was packed floor to ceiling with pink boxes. ‘We not only do the laundry from this hospital but Swandean and Courtlands as well,' said the supervisor. She took a tally book from a shelf. ‘What was your number?'

‘Triple seven,' said Connie faintly. It would take hours to go through all this lot.

‘It's in here somewhere,' the supervisor said cheerfully. ‘I'll leave you to it.'

It took them twenty minutes before Eva found Connie's box because the number was facing the wall but a second later, all her letters were in her hands. Connie tore open the envelope while Eva rearranged the boxes back into place. ‘Why don't you wait until we get back to the nurses' home?' she cautioned.

‘Because I can't wait a second longer,' said Connie turning the upside down paper the right way up. As she read, she could feel the colour draining from her face.

‘Connie? Whatever is it? You've gone as white as a sheet.'

The supervisor walked back into the room. ‘Ah,' she smiled. ‘You've obviously found it. Not bad news, I hope?'

‘Not exactly,' said Connie, knowing that the woman was concerned that there had been a death in the family. ‘Someone I thought I would never see again has been terribly injured.'

They walked back to the nurses' home in silence. Connie was desperately trying to absorb what the letter had said.

‘Come to my room,' said Eva. ‘I've got some cherry brandy. It's not much but you look as if you could do with something.'

Connie sat on the bed and took out the letter again while Eva found a glass and washed her tooth mug. ‘If there's anything I can do …' Eva began.

Connie swirled the dark liquid a couple of times and then downed it in one. It was heavy and sweet, not exactly pleasant to her palate and it burned on the way down. She shuddered involuntarily.

‘I know,' said Eva. ‘It tastes pretty ghastly but it does the trick.'

‘Dear Miss Dixon,'
Connie read aloud, ‘
I am writing to you about your brother Kenneth Dixon. I am sorry the writing is so lousy, but it's the best I can do. I know the hospital has been in contact with your mother but she has never replied. We made contact through a local charity which helps ex-servicemen and they gave us your address.'

‘What on earth does that mean?' Eva interrupted.

Connie shrugged. ‘I can't believe that Mum has never replied to their letters. She wants nothing more in the world than to find my brother.'

‘I remember you said you'd lost touch,' said Eva sitting on the bed beside her.

‘It's a long story,' said Connie, ‘suffice to say that he walked out of our lives in 1938 and we've never heard from him since.'

Eva pulled a face. ‘Do you think this letter is on the level?'

Connie shrugged again.

‘Go on with the letter,' said Eva jerking her head.

‘We are both at the Queen Victoria Hospital in East Grinstead,'
Connie continued. ‘
We are looked after in an ex-army Nissen hut at the back of the main building. It's not as bad as it sounds. Matron is a thoroughly good egg and turns a blind eye to our grogging parties and Mr McIndoe, or the Maestro as we call him, gives the chaps their lives back again. We enjoy the Sussex countryside and those who are well enough can play tennis and squash. Your brother hasn't quite made it to the courts yet. He still has a bit of work to be done on his hand. He is making really good progress but I know he longs for some contact with you or any member of your family. The Skipper on our ward seems to think it would speed up his recovery if you could find it in your heart to forgive him. We have no idea what it's all about but the guilt he carries weighs him down. If, for any reason, you find it too hard, I should like to offer myself as a mediator. Could you please contact me at the above address? Kenneth has no idea that I have written to you. Yours Sincerely, William Garfield.'

‘East Grinstead,' Eva mused. ‘That's where they nursed badly burned airmen during the war.'

‘The Guinea Pig Club,' said Connie. She had seen the story in the
Tit-Bits
magazine, how a young New Zealand surgeon had pioneered skin graft operations on young men who had escaped from burning bombers and Spitfires. ‘I wonder if that means Kenneth was in the RAF during the war?'

‘You'll go, of course,' said Eva.

Connie stared down at the words again. ‘I want to but I'm forbidden even to speak his name.'

‘Good Lord!' cried Eva. ‘What on earth did he do?'

‘It didn't seem so dreadful at the time,' said Connie, ‘but Ga insists no one is to mention his name.'

‘The more I hear about your great aunt,' said Eva, ‘the worse she sounds. She must be a real tartar.'