Keep Smiling Through (33 page)

But despite Violet Cardew’s warmth and generous hospitality, Peggy knew she didn’t belong here. She was missing Beach View and the sound of the seagulls and clattering trolleybus, and wished she could gather up her boys and take them home.

Peggy closed her eyes and tried not to mind that Bob and Charlie seemed so content to be here – that, like Ernie, they had so swiftly taken to the warm, motherly Violet, and regarded this rambling farmhouse as their new home.

They’d been thrilled to see her, of course, but after the initial excitement of showing her around the place, they’d happily gone off to help the land girls in the fields, and she hadn’t seen them again until supper. Over the past two weeks she’d barely had more than a snatched hour or two with them as they went about their daily chores, and got embroiled in making camps in the woods or fishing in the nearby river that fed the large pond at the bottom of the field.

She’d tried to join in, but realised fairly quickly that she wasn’t cut out for such rough and tumble, and that they were quite happy to be left to their own devices – in fact, they seemed to prefer it. Feeling rather sorry for herself, she’d turned to the understanding and ever-patient Violet, who’d gentled her out of her misery and made her see that her boys were just behaving quite naturally and that she shouldn’t take it personally.

The evenings were the best times, for after their bath and tea, they’d sit with her by the blazing fire in the inglenook, wrapped in dressing gowns, drinking hot cocoa and telling her about their day’s adventures. Bob was still the quiet, more thoughtful of the three and, at thirteen, seemed to be taking his responsibility for Ernie and his young brother very seriously indeed. Charlie was his usual exuberant self, chattering away nineteen to the dozen, his little face glowing with health and happiness.

She didn’t resent Violet, in fact she was profoundly grateful that her boys were being so well looked after, but she could already see an indefinable change in them, which would become more apparent the longer they stayed. And yet she had no choice but to leave them here where it was safe. She’d heard about the awful raids along the south coast, and Jim had told her about the damage in Cliffehaven. She couldn’t expose her sons to that, no matter how much she wished them by her side.

Impatient with her dissatisfied thoughts, she clambered out of bed and prepared for the day. The presents were all under the huge tree in the sitting room, and she could smell the turkey roasting. There would be no turkey at Beach View this year, but Jim had assured her there would be plenty of pheasant and duck, courtesy of Ron and Harvey, and that Rosie had donated her extra rations so they could have a proper cake. It sounded as if half of Cliffehaven would be round the table today, for apart from the family and the lodgers, Rosie, Rita and Louise had been invited.

She drew her thick cardigan round her and stared out of the window, not really seeing the view as her thoughts settled on home. She’d had to make some tough decisions recently, and was still torn between the need to be with her boys and the draw of home and the rest of her family. ‘Damned war,’ she muttered crossly. ‘Why did it have to spoil everything?’

She gave a sigh as she put on her sturdy shoes and tied the laces. There was little doubt she would continue to be tormented by her family’s enforced separation, and yet, frustratingly, everyone seemed to be managing very well without her. Her boys were thriving, Martin and Cissy had survived the raid on the airfield, and Beach View was still standing despite the shattered windows. But she had an unsettling feeling that when she’d telephoned, they’d been keeping something from her.

She paused as she reached for the wooden latch on the door. Jim had a glib tongue and could sell sand to the Arabs, but she knew him too well, and suspected he wasn’t telling her the half of it. Anne had been equally evasive, and although her story about the titled lady seemed plausible enough, it somehow didn’t sit right with her.

Lady Sylvia had sounded charming on the telephone, and very posh, but what on earth was she doing at Beach View when she could have stayed in any one of the far grander hotels that remained open? Not all of them had been taken over by the forces, and their accommodation was much more suitable than that draughty bedroom at the front of the house.

She bit her lip, determined not to give in to the awful niggle of doubt, and to enjoy this precious Christmas Day with her sons, for her visit would soon be over, and she had no idea when she might see them again.

RITA AND LOUISE
had exchanged their small gifts of handkerchiefs and cheap scent before they left their billet and set off for Beach View in a happy mood. The snow promised the night before had not materialised and the fog had cleared, so they had an easy run on the Norton.

Beach View dining room was now alive with the chatter of many voices, the delicious aroma of the roast dinner and plum pudding they’d just finished lingering throughout the house. Wrapping paper and bits of string and ribbon littered the floor, and Cissy’s camp bed had been exiled to the cupboard under the stairs.

There had been fewer presents this year, for no one had much money and the shops offered a very poor selection. Rita had managed to find pretty brooches on a market stall for Cissy, Anne and Mrs Finch, and socks for Ron and Jim. She and Louise were delighted with their colourful woolly scarves, gloves and berets.

Rita was happy to sit back and sip wine as she listened to them talking and laughing. Peggy and Jack had both managed to telephone that morning, but their absence was keenly felt, reinforced by the programme on the wireless earlier that day which had arranged for parents and children separated by war to talk to one another.

Listening to those tearful voices, it was as hard for Rita and Louise as it was for Peggy’s family – but she refused to let thoughts of her father, Papa, Roberto and May cloud her happiness, for it was wonderful to be in a real home again, and warming to see how loving and big-hearted the Reilly family was. She gazed about the room, content to soak up the atmosphere.

The big bay windows in the dining room had been boarded up after the last raid, but with the curtains pulled, the room was cosy with the flickering fire in the hearth and the many candles. Holly and ivy had been draped artistically over the mantelpiece and round the big mirror above it. There was a decorated, sweet-smelling pine tree in the corner that had been carried down from the hills by Ron and Jim, and someone had taken the trouble to hang a vast number of paper chains across the ceiling. These acted as a reminder of Bob, Charlie and Ernie, who’d made them the previous year and, according to Jim, they would remain there now until they came home to make new ones.

Rita glanced at Louise, saw that she was talking earnestly to Fran – the nurse with the Irish accent and fiery hair – and returned to her quiet observance.

There were fourteen sitting round the tables that had been put end to end and covered in crisp white linen cloths, and although the china, cutlery and glasses were mismatched, and the chairs had come from just about every room in the house, it didn’t matter a jot. It was the people who counted, and the opportunity to share this special day in a happy atmosphere.

As Rita looked round the table and listened to the laughter, she was made shockingly aware of how dreary her life had become since Tino and Roberto had been taken away. Her horizon had become constricted and she’d fallen into the habit of mirroring Louise’s moods – of not seeing beyond the high walls of their relationship, and burying herself in work and duty.

She glanced at Louise, wondering if she too was aware of the different atmosphere, of the lightness and warmth that could still be maintained despite the dark consequences and fears of the war. But Louise was dabbing at her eyes as she talked to a very patient Fran about Tino and Roberto, and the tragedy of being bombed out. It seemed she would never emerge from that all-encompassing grief.

Rita turned her attention to the others again, unwilling to be drawn into Louise’s unhappiness today. Cissy looked very pretty in a soft pink woollen dress, her damaged arm in a very fetching pink and white scarf which she’d made into a sling. Martin still had some nasty bumps and bruises on his face and around one eye which had turned a jaundiced yellow and angry blue, and his arm was also swathed in a sling – albeit the white one provided by the hospital. The bandage round his head remained, and Rita thought he looked rather like a dashing pirate with his twirled moustache and winning smile.

The three nurses were off duty for once and so they’d dressed in their best clothes for the occasion, and Jim and Ron looked very smart in the suits, shirts and ties that Anne had insisted they wore today. Sylvia was elegant in a moss green skirt and creamy silk blouse, and hadn’t seemed to notice the suspicious glances Rosie shot her every time she laughed and chatted to Ron.

Rita thought it odd that Rosie should feel threatened by Sylvia, for not only was dear old Ron clearly head over heels in love with her, but she looked quite magnificent in the beautifully tailored navy dress that showed off her curvaceous figure admirably.

Anne looked radiant in a sprigged smock and matching cardigan, and she sat next to Martin and held his hand like a new bride. Dear little Mrs Finch was festive in her best grey dress, string of pearls and the paper hat she’d made from an old newspaper.

Christopher had struggled into a shirt and tweed jacket to make up for the pyjama trousers and slippers, the heavy plaster cast on his leg and the cumbersome wheelchair, which had been drawn up at the top of the table where he could sit with a tray across the handles to eat his dinner.

Harvey had been groomed and bathed, and now sat on the floor beneath the tray, waiting patiently for tidbits. Everyone had been warned not to give him vegetables or anything too rich, unless they wanted him to disgrace himself and send them all scurrying for fresh air.

Rita knew she didn’t look half as smart as the others, but the jewelled comb in her hair and the pearl earrings suited her very well, and she was glad her best cardigan, blouse and skirt had been packed in her emergency bag, and not blown sky-high with everything else.

But she did mourn the loss of her one pair of decent shoes, and the make-up Cissy had given her. The rather worn low-heeled pumps she’d found among the donated clothing at the Town Hall had definitely seen better days, and were half a size too small, which meant her toes were being pinched. She’d kicked them off under the table, and just hoped she could get them back on again when it was time to leave.

Ron had brought the wireless into the dining room so they could listen to the King’s speech at three o’clock, and as the time approached, he twiddled with the knobs and they all fell silent. His speech wasn’t very long, but it was clear that he was still struggling with his terrible stutter. But they all agreed it was a vast improvement on the speech he’d given at the outbreak of war.

They were discussing the speech, and the five thousand jerkins that had been parachuted by the RAF into occupied Corfu for the children who were facing enemy action in a bitter winter, when Sylvia came bustling into the room. She was armed with clean glasses and several bottles which she placed in front of Jim.

‘These should be cold enough now,’ she said. ‘I put them in the shed overnight.’

There was an audible gasp as everyone eyed the expensive bottles, and Sylvia smiled at a goggle-eyed Jim. ‘Would you open them, please? I never did get the hang of popping champagne corks.’

‘To be sure, Lady Sylvia, you’ve a great sense of occasion, so you have,’ said Ron.

She smiled at him and winked at her son. ‘We Anstruther-Nortons know how to celebrate, don’t we, Christopher?’

He winked back, his soft blond hair falling over his forehead. ‘I should say so, Mother, and if Pa was here, he’d agree wholeheartedly. But just a snifter for me, please, I shouldn’t really be having any alcohol.’

Jim carefully poured the straw-coloured foaming champagne, and Ron passed the glasses round the table. They all looked at Sylvia expectantly.

She stood and raised her glass, the diamonds flashing on her finger and in her ears. ‘The King,’ she said.

They all stood and toasted the King.

But Sylvia wasn’t finished. ‘I now propose we drink to those who cannot be with us today.’ She looked round the table. ‘A toast to Peggy, my husband James, and our two sons Bertie and Matthew – and to Antonino, Roberto and Jack Smith. May they return to the bosom of their families very soon.’

They drank the toast in thoughtful silence, and Rita felt the onrush of emotion as she thought of her father being so far away. There were so many families praying for their men to come home safely, but how much worse it must be for those whose loved ones would never return. She sniffed back the tears and counted herself lucky. Jack Smith and the Minelli men were safe. They would come home eventually.

‘Right,’ said Martin, breaking the solemn mood. ‘Now it’s my turn. Here’s to all the courageous boys fighting this war – and the women who so bravely wait for them.’

The mood lightened immediately and there was a rousing cheer.

Within moments of putting down his glass, Ron had called for a toast to all the rescue dogs. Then Jim proposed a toast to Lord Cliffe, who had unwittingly provided the birds for the table that day, and Fran offered a toast to ‘Matron and all who sail in her’.

They collapsed into laughter and quickly opened the last three bottles. When they were empty, Rosie produced a large bottle of gin out of her capacious handbag, and it all got a bit messy.

Someone put a record on the gramophone, the rug was rolled back into a corner, and the noise level rocketed. Rosie dragged a protesting Ron from the table for a dance, June grabbed an unsteady, but very willing Jim, and Martin held Anne with his uninjured arm and, with the mound of their unborn baby between them, managed a passable stab at a two-step.

‘I think it’s time we were leaving,’ muttered Louise.

‘But the party’s just getting started,’ replied Rita, who was flushed from too much champagne and desperate to join in the dancing.