Читать книгу Pack Up Your Troubles - Pam Weaver - Страница 6

By the time they reached Trafalgar Square, the sheer weight of the crowd forced the bus to a standstill. As the passengers turned around, the conductor gave them an exaggerated shrug and rang the bell three times. ‘Sorry folks, but this bus ain’t going no fuver.’

Irene Thompson and Connie Dixon had planned to go on to Buckingham Palace but they had to get off with the rest of the passengers. The bus couldn’t even get anywhere near the pavement but nobody minded. Today, everybody was happy; everyone that is except Connie who couldn’t hide her disappointment.

She had planned to be here with Emmett but he had written a hurried note, which she had stuffed into her shoulder bag as she left the billet. It was terse. ‘Can’t make the celebrations. Mother unwell and she needs me.’ She knew she shouldn’t be annoyed. Emmett was always keen to help others, and he was devoted to his aged mother but it was very galling that he should pick this moment to be noble, just when the celebrations were about to begin. He had said he would telephone her that evening but even if she got back to the barracks in time, she had made up her mind to be ‘out’ when he called. She frowned crossly. Why couldn’t he be like the others? Betty Tanner’s boyfriend brought her flowers all the time and Gloria’s man friend had given her a brand new lipstick. Emmett never did anything like that. It really was too bad.

‘Cheer up, Connie,’ Rene chided as she took her arm. ‘We’re making history. Don’t let Emmett spoil it for you. Be happy.’

As they stepped onto the road, Connie had never seen so many people all in one place. Soldiers, sailors and airmen, from what seemed like every country in the world, had been drawn here to join the people of London to welcome this much longed for day. After five years of war and hardship, peace had come at last. It was rumoured that Churchill and the King had wanted Monday, 7 May to be called VE Day, but the Yanks had insisted that it should be today, Tuesday, 8 May. Connie supposed it was because they were cautious enough to make sure that everything was signed and sealed before enjoying the victory. The German troops had capitulated and signed an unconditional surrender at Eisenhower’s headquarters at 2.41 a.m. Whatever the reason, the grey war-wearied faces had gone and Connie was met with smiles and handshakes from complete strangers. Ever since the news had broken that Adolf Hitler and his mistress had committed suicide, the whole nation finally believed what they had not dared to, that the war in Europe was over at last. The war in the Far East was still raging but the smell of victory was in the air.

The bus had come to a halt because an Aussie soldier, waving the Australian flag, his arm linked with a merchant seaman, was leading a group of revellers down the middle of the street. They were being watched by a couple of eagle-eyed Red Caps but there would be no trouble today. No one was in a fighting mood. The military police were in for a lean time. Even the US MPs – ‘Snowdrops’ as they were known because of their white caps, white Sam Browne belts and white gloves – were redundant. The joyful crowd following in the Aussie soldier’s wake was made up of American GIs, WAAFs, ATS girls and civilians all singing at the tops of their voices.

‘Bless ’em all, the long and the short …’

‘Come on,’ cried Rene as Connie held back, ‘let’s join in.’

An American GI caught Rene’s arm and pulled her into the body of moving people. ‘… this side of the ocean, so cheer up my lads bless ’em all.’

‘Oh Rene,’ cried Connie, ‘it’s really, really over.’

Picking up the lyrics, they lurched with the crowd towards Nelson’s column, the base of which was still covered in hoarding to protect it from bomb blasts even though the last air raid warning had been sounded on 19 March. Someone had stuck a poster on it with ‘Victory over Germany 1945’ on one side and ‘Give thanks by saving.’

Connie nudged Rene in the ribs and jerking her head, shouted over the noise, ‘Give thanks by saving? I should cocoa!’ and they both laughed.

After so much hardship and sacrifice, did the government really think everyone was going to keep on being frugal and sensible with their money? Some might, but not her. She was twenty-one and she’d already spent the best years of her life scrimping and making do, first in the munitions factory and then, after a spell of sick leave, in the WAAFs. Now that the war was over, Connie had no idea what she wanted to do but she was sure of one thing. She was in no mood to save for the future. Hadn’t she just blown all her coupons on her new outfit, a lovely pale lemon sweater and some grey pinstriped slacks? And then there was Emmett. She had hoped he would have asked her to marry him by now, but he hadn’t, presumably because he was anxious about his mother’s health. He’d asked her a few times to go further but Connie had told him she wasn’t that sort of a girl. Still, Rene was right. This was no time to nurse her disappointments. Today was the day to enjoy herself.

In the press of the crowd, Rene was standing on tiptoe to see if anything was happening. ‘We should have got away earlier,’ she grumbled good-naturedly. ‘There’s too many people here.’ Despite the noise all around her, Connie heard a distinct tap-tapping sound just behind her and froze. Someone was tapping his cigarette on a cigarette case. Her blood ran cold and her heartbeat quickened. A surge in the crowd made the woman beside push her and she apologised. ‘Sorry, luv.’

‘Has Churchill given his speech yet?’ Rene asked.

Connie listened hard. The person behind her clicked a cigarette case closed. It couldn’t be … could it? No, it was impossible. It would be far too much of a coincidence.

‘It was supposed to be at nine o’clock this morning,’ the woman went on, ‘but we’re still waiting.’ She rolled her eyes towards the lions. ‘They’ve been putting up speakers so that we can hear him but as for when that happens, your guess is as good as mine.’

‘You all right, Connie?’ said Rene. ‘You look a bit peaky.’

‘Three o’clock,’ said a man’s voice behind them. Connie turned sharply to look at him. Sure enough, he was putting his cigarette case into his inside jacket pocket and was reaching for a lighter. He lit the fag between his lips and took a long drag. ‘That’s what the copper on the steps told me,’ he went on. ‘Three o’clock.’

A wave of relief flooded over her. The man was old, forty or maybe fifty with greying hair and a tobacco-stained moustache. It was all right. It wasn’t him. Connie relaxed and looked at her watch. It was quarter past ten. A group of Girl Guides gathered together at the base of Nelson’s column and were turning around to face the crowd. If the authorities were planning to entertain them, the man must be right. Churchill wouldn’t be giving his speech for ages yet.

‘Rene!’ A girl’s voice rang out above the noise. ‘Rene Thompson, it’s me, Barbara.’

Rene searched the sea of faces and eventually spotted her friend waving as she came towards her. ‘Barbara Hopkins. Well, as I live and breathe. Fancy seeing you here!’

Laughing, the two girls hugged each other. Barbara, dressed in her WAAF uniform, was thickset with very dark curly hair. The girl with her was dressed in civvies and hung back shyly.

‘I haven’t set eyes on you since our training,’ Rene cried happily and Barbara hugged her again. ‘Oooh, it’s so good to see you.’

They stepped apart and introduced everybody.

‘This is Eva O’Hara,’ said Barbara. Eva was tall but with an almost elfin-like face, and a lot of laughter lines around her eyes. She wore dark slacks and a pale blue hand-knitted jumper.

‘And this is Connie,’ said Rene. ‘We share the same billet.’ The hand shaking was soon over and somehow or other the girls had reached one of the fountains in the middle of the square. The day was warm and the water inviting and while Rene and Barbara caught up with old times, Connie, unable to resist, began to roll up the legs of her slacks. ‘Come on,’ she laughed. ‘Which one of you is game for a paddle?’

After a feeble protest from the others, Eva rolled up the legs of her slacks as well. As she climbed in, a sailor gave her a hand and then he rolled up his trouser legs and stepped in. The water was cold, but not unbearable, and it came just above their knees. The sailor and his mate, who joined them, were taller than Connie and Eva so there was less chance of them getting their clothes wet. The sailors were nice looking lads. One had brown Brylcreemed hair and a ready smile and the other one had fairer hair and slightly bucked teeth. He plonked his cap on Connie’s head as they stood together. The blond one carried a knobbly walking stick and Connie wondered if he had some sort of injury, but she didn’t like to ask. They all had to hold on to each other because the bottom of the fountain was covered in algae and a bit slippery. If they weren’t careful, they’d all be under the water and soaked. The singing grew louder.

‘There’ll be blue birds over the white cliffs of Dover …’ The two girls swayed with the sailors as they sang and after a few minutes, the sailor’s cap began to push Connie’s rich chestnut-coloured hair out of place. She wore her hair with curls on the top of her head and pulled away from her face. When her comb landed in the water, her hair fell in attractive loose tendrils around her face. The sailor bent to pick the comb up and at the same time spotted a newspaper photographer taking pictures.

‘Here you are, mate’ he called. ‘Two pretty girls and two good looking sailors. What more could you want for the front page?’

The photographer came over and the sailor planted a kiss on Connie’s cheek as the shutter came down. Connie wasn’t offended but she gave him a playful shove before he was tempted to take any more liberties. She didn’t want Emmett or her own mother to see a picture of her kissing someone else on the front page of the paper and despite the improbabilities, she found herself scouring the faces in the crowd.

‘Which paper are you from?’ laughed Eva as the four of them posed again.

‘Daily Sketch,’ said the photographer before moving on.

Connie heaved a sigh of relief. None of her family read the Daily Sketch and with a bit of luck, her great aunt (they called her Ga) had never even heard of it.

Their legs were getting cold so the four of them climbed out of the water and Connie gave the sailor his cap back. She and Eva only had handkerchiefs to dry their legs but they didn’t care. They held on to each other because in the surging crowd it was difficult to keep a balance on one leg while drying the other. Someone shouted a name, and waving, the two sailors merged back into the crowd.

‘You in the WAAFs as well?’ Connie asked Eva. It seemed very likely considering that her friend Barbara was in uniform.

Eva nodded. ‘And you?’

Connie nodded too.

‘Did you and Rene come on your own?’

‘Actually my boyfriend was meant to be here but he couldn’t come.’

‘Nothing wrong, I hope?’

Connie shook her head. ‘He’s got a sick mother.’

‘I hope it’s not too serious,’ Eva remarked.

Connie shook her head. It was funny that Mrs Gosling always seemed to be ill whenever she and Emmett had something planned but as soon as the thought went through her head, she scolded herself for being so churlish. Nobody could help being ill, could they?

‘No doubt my lot will all be back home and listening to the radio,’ Eva said. ‘My parents are at home and my brother is in the Royal Engineers. He’s still being kept quite busy, and will be for a long time, I’m afraid. He’s in the bomb squad.’

Connie frowned sympathetically. ‘That must be tough on you.’

‘I try not to think about it,’ Eva smiled. ‘What about you? Do you have brothers and sisters?’

‘A brother two years older than me,’ said Connie with a sigh, ‘and a little sister called Mandy. She’s just coming up for six.’

‘What about your brother? Is he in the army?’

Connie shook her head and willed her voice not to crack as she said matter-of-factly, ‘We lost touch.’

Eva stopped what she was doing and looked up. ‘I’m sorry.’

Connie looked away, embarrassed. It wasn’t bloody fair. Families should be together, especially at times like this. Her emotions were all over the place. After her scare of a few minutes ago, now she was fighting the urge to cry. She looked around. ‘Have you seen my other shoe?’

Eva shoved it towards her with the end of her foot.

‘Thanks,’ Connie smiled, glad that Eva hadn’t asked any more questions. She looked at her watch. It was still only 11.30 a.m. If they stayed here, they were in for a long wait and it wasn’t as if Churchill would be coming in person. He was only going to speak over the loudspeakers. Connie blew out her cheeks. She was bored. She wanted something more memorable to happen. Something she could tell her children and grandchildren about when she was old and grey.

‘Let’s go to Buckingham Palace,’ she said suddenly.

Barbara looked around helplessly. ‘Where will we get a bus?’

‘We can walk from here,’ said Eva. ‘It’s not that far.’

They pushed their way back through the crowd and when they finally reached the fringes, all four of them struck out for Buckingham Palace. Rene and Barbara linked arms and walked on ahead so Connie walked with Eva. With a lack of anything else to say, they shared their war experiences.

‘So, where do you come from?’ asked Eva dodging a drunk man staggering along the pavement in the opposite direction.

‘Worthing. It’s on the south coast, near Brighton.’

‘Really?’ Eva laughed. ‘How weird. My folks live near there.’

They could hear the sound of a mouth organ playing, ‘When the lights go on again, all over the world …’ and all at once, an American airman grabbed Eva around the waist and waltzed her into the middle of the road. His companion held out a bottle and leaned into Connie’s face. ‘Hey babe, want some beer?’

Laughing, she pushed him away and another serviceman, this time a jolly Jack Tar, danced Connie into the street next to Eva and the two of them spent a hilarious few minutes with their newfound dance partners. As suddenly as they’d grabbed them, the two men hurried off to join their companions, blowing kisses as they went.

‘Where’s Rene?’ said Eva as they came back together, laughing.

Connie shrugged. ‘No idea,’ she said. ‘I can’t see Barbara either.’

They stayed where they were for a few minutes but as there was no sign of either of their friends, Connie and Eva struck out on their own. All the way to the palace, they were craning their necks and calling out occasionally but it was hopeless. The crowd was every bit as big as it had been in Trafalgar Square but thankfully, because the area in The Mall was much bigger, they didn’t feel quite so much like sardines. After a while Connie said, ‘This is stupid. We haven’t a hope of finding them.’

‘I think you’re right,’ said Eva, linking her arm through Connie’s. ‘It’s time to give up and enjoy ourselves.’

‘I second that,’ Connie laughed. She suddenly liked this girl. ‘It’s a pity we never got stationed together. I’ve been in Hendon for a while, after I was re-mustered from Blackpool. Were you ever there?’

‘I was stationed along the south coast mostly,’ said Eva shaking her head. ‘Poling, Ford and Rye. That’s where I met Barbara.’

‘I was hoping to be posted to those places,’ said Connie wistfully.

Eva looked sympathetic. ‘Why? Did you have it bad where you were?’

Connie shrugged. ‘Not really.’ It wasn’t that. ‘It was closer to home, that’s all.’

‘We didn’t have too many bombs,’ said Eva, ‘but we were on the front line for the invasion. They were bombed in Poling just before I got there.’

‘I suppose,’ Connie said with a broad grin, ‘as soon as ol’ Hitler heard you were coming, he pushed off elsewhere.’

Eva chuckled.

‘What do you do in the WAAFs?’ Connie continued.

‘Telephone operator,’ said Eva. ‘Mum seems to think it’ll hold me in good stead when I get demobbed. She says I could join the GPO as a telephonist but I’d much rather join the police or something.’

‘Oh no,’ cried Connie. ‘I can’t wait to get out of uniform. I hate it. All those damned buttons to polish, no thank you!’

Eva chuckled.

‘I mean it,’ Connie said defensively. ‘When I went for training in Blackpool, our billet was so damp that every single one of my buttons was green by the morning and that was even after I’d used the button stick and a duster. I had to polish the darned things up again with my uniform cuffs before parade.’

By now, Eva was laughing heartily.

‘You may well laugh,’ Connie continued, ‘but I was forever getting into trouble. There was a constant film over them.’

‘I trained in Blackpool as well,’ said Eva wiping her eyes. ‘1942. I had the choice of factory work or the WAAFs.’

‘I was there in September 1943,’ Connie said. ‘Blowing half a gale on the seafront, it was.’

‘And if your hat blew off while you were marching, you weren’t allowed to stop and pick it up,’ laughed Eva.

‘Yes, and how daft was that?’ Connie remarked.

‘Did you have old Wingate?’

‘You, that gel over there,’ Connie said mimicking Sgt Wingate, the WAAF officer who presided over new recruits, perfectly. ‘Head up, chhh … est out.’ And they both roared.

‘So, what will you do when you get demobbed?’

‘I want to be a nurse,’ said Connie.

‘And they don’t have a uniform?’ Eva teased.

‘Yesss,’ Connie conceded, ‘but it’s much sexier,’ and they both laughed again.

Even after the long walk down The Mall, the crowd outside Buckingham Palace was every bit as good-natured as the crowd had been in Trafalgar Square. People milled about, meeting old friends and new faces with equal enthusiasm. The area around the Victoria Memorial was so overwhelmed with people, you could hardly see the mermaids, mermen or the hippogriff. People sat on the plinths beneath the great angels of Justice and Truth either side of Victoria herself. The statue depicting Motherhood was just as beautiful but it was facing the wrong way. Nobody was interested in what was happening down The Mall. Today all eyes were on the palace.

‘At least he’s home,’ said Eva, rolling her eyes upwards.

Connie turned her head and glanced at the royal standard on the roof, fluttering in the breeze. ‘Oh good-o,’ she grinned as she put on a posh voice. ‘Shall we knock on the door and ask for tea?’ and Eva laughed.

According to one woman in the crowd, the King and Queen had already come out onto the balcony four times so Connie and Eva didn’t hold out much hope that they would be lucky enough to see them. An impromptu conga snaked its way through the crowds and Connie and Eva joined in until they were breathless with laughter.

‘What do you reckon?’ said Eva eventually. ‘Do you want to wait a while?’

‘May as well,’ said Connie with a shrug, ‘now that we’ve walked all this way.’

‘What if we don’t see them?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Connie. ‘At least we were here.’ In her heart of hearts she was hoping they’d be lucky. Two disappointments in one day was too much to bear.

All at once, the cry went up, ‘We want the King, we want the King.’

As it gathered momentum, Connie and Eva joined in. The volume of noise reverberated all around and it felt as if the whole world was stilled by the cry of the crowd. ‘We want the King.’

Dodging one of the few cars still travelling in the area, they crossed the road and joined the people nearer the railings. Connie stared at the imposing building beyond the iron gates and especially at the red- and gold-covered balcony.

‘They say Buckingham Palace has 775 rooms,’ said Eva.

Connie wrinkled her nose. ‘Just think of all that dusting. You’d hardly be bloomin’ finished before you had to start all over again!’

‘Look!’ Eva nudged her arm and Connie’s heart nearly stopped with excitement when a small door within the great centre door opened and a tiny figure in naval uniform came out onto the balcony. The King! King George VI, King of the United Kingdom and the Dominions of the British Empire, and here she was, looking right at him! He raised his arm and with a circular motion of his hand began to wave to the crowd. The Queen in a pale green hat and matching coat and dress had followed him out onto the balcony and when she began to wave as well, the crowd opened its throat and roared. A sea of waving hands and cheering people in front of them, Connie and Eva were carried along with the thrill of it all. In a moment of sudden frustration, Connie stamped her foot. Damn it, Emmett! You should have been here with me, she thought.

Two more figures had joined the King and Queen. Princess Elizabeth in her ATS uniform and Princess Margaret Rose, not yet fifteen and too young to join up, was in a pretty aqua-coloured dress. From where Connie and Eva stood, they were no more than tiny dolls behind the long red- and gold-covered balcony but it was enough. Connie and Eva cheered themselves hoarse.

When eventually the royal family went back inside, the two girls looked at each other with satisfied smiles.

‘I’m starving,’ said Eva. ‘Fancy something to eat?’

‘I’ve got a couple of fish paste sandwiches in my bag,’ said Connie taking it from her shoulder. ‘They’ll be a bit squashed but you’re welcome to share them with me.’

‘Thanks for the offer,’ laughed Eva, ‘but if you don’t mind, I think I can do a bit better than that.’

‘But where are we going to get anything around here?’ Connie cried.

Eva tapped her nose and pulled Connie towards Green Park. When they reached the road, they turned into a side street. Connie hadn’t a clue where she was, but she didn’t feel the least bit nervous. Presently they came across a small crowd laughing and dancing outside a café.

‘Is this where we’re going?’

Eva nodded.

‘How on earth did you know this was here?’

‘My husband’s family has been here for quite a while,’ she said matter-of-factly.

Connie was taken by surprise. Eva had never mentioned a husband. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring either. She was about to mention it when she was swept up with hugs and kisses and handshakes as the family welcomed Eva’s new friend. Someone called out, ‘Queenie, Queenie luv, look who’s ’ere.’

Queenie, a small woman, middle-aged, with a lined face, hair the colour of salt and pepper and wearing a wrap-around floral apron, came out of the kitchen. The two women looked at each other, unsmiling, then Queenie opened her arms and Eva went to her. Such was the difference in their height, Queenie had to stand on tip-toe and Eva had to lean over, but there was a moment of real tenderness and, Connie supposed, if Queenie was Eva’s mother-in-law, a sense of shared grief. For a moment, Connie felt like an intruder so she looked away. Eva and Queenie went into the kitchen and shut the door.

Another woman sitting at one of the tables touched her arm. Connie looked down and smiled thinly.

‘Why don’t yer sit down, ducks,’ said the woman indicating a vacant chair opposite. ‘They’ll be back in a jiffy.’

Connie nodded her thanks and sat down.

‘Been to the celebrations?’ asked the woman fingering a pearl necklace she had around her neck.

‘To the palace.’

The woman lifted what looked like a glass of milk stout. ‘Here’s to His Majesty, Gowd bless ’im. Did you see him?’

As they talked, Connie discovered that Eva’s mother-in-law, Queenie O’Hara, had lived in London all her life. She and her late husband, an Irishman, had taken over the small café in 1941 after their dockland home had been bombed out of existence.

‘Queenie used to clean ’ouses for the nobs round ’ere,’ said the woman, ‘but when she saw this place was up for sale, it were an hoppertunity too good to miss. He died in ’44 just before her son got married.’ She pointed to a photograph over the counter of an Irish guardsman in his Home Service dress of scarlet tunic and bearskin. ‘That’s her Dermid. The light of her life.’

So this was Eva’s husband. He was certainly a striking man.

‘How long have they been married?’ Connie asked.

The woman shrugged. ‘No more than a couple of weeks.’

Connie frowned. Only a couple of weeks and already Eva had taken off her wedding ring?

‘This damned war,’ muttered the woman. ‘The day he died the light went out of Queenie’s face.’

Connie was appalled. Dead? She looked at the picture of the handsome young man in uniform again. How could it happen? Now she realised that she’d been so concerned to avoid talking about her own troubles that she hadn’t even asked Eva about herself. Losing touch with Kenneth was bad enough but to lose a husband so soon after marriage seemed grossly unfair. And yet coming down The Mall, Eva didn’t seem to be that upset. She was more like the life and soul of the party. Was she callous or was it bravado? But when she emerged from the kitchen and came over to join them at the table, Connie could see that Eva’s eyes were red and she’d obviously been crying. ‘Queenie’s going to rustle something up for us,’ she said matter-of-factly to Connie and then turning to the woman with the pearl beads and the stout, she said, ‘And how are you, Mrs Arkwright?’

Connie’s table companion leaned over and squeezed Eva’s hand. ‘Mustn’t grumble, ducks. Mustn’t grumble.’

Someone in the café had a piano accordion. He squeezed the box and one by one, the songs, especially the one penned during the war to end all wars, the same one which had meant so much to the country for the past five years, filled the air.

‘Pack up your troubles …’

Yes, that’s what the whole world wanted but for the first time that day, Connie felt uncomfortable. The war might be over but people like Eva had to live with the consequences for the rest of their lives. Her mind was full of unanswered questions. How did Eva’s husband die? Was it really only a couple of weeks after they’d been married?

‘What’s the use of worrying?

It never was worthwhile …’

Of course, she couldn’t ask. She hardly knew the girl and it seemed far too intrusive.

‘Pack up your troubles in an old kit bag and

Smile, smile, smile …’ they sang.

Connie could hardly bear it.

All at once, Queenie bustled in from the kitchen and put two plates of meat and veg pie, mash and gravy in front of them. Despite the fact that Connie had to search for a piece of meat in her pie, it was hot, delicious and very welcome.

‘I’m sorry about your husband,’ said Connie as Queenie went off to get them both a cup of tea. Her remark felt lame but she felt she had to say something.

‘You weren’t to know,’ said Eva.

Connie smiled awkwardly and Eva looked away. ‘Not much to say really,’ Eva said, addressing the brick wall. ‘We met in Hyde Park, got married by special licence and he was killed six weeks later.’

Connie stopped eating. ‘But I thought …’ She glanced sideways at Mrs Arkwright who was stubbing out a cigarette. Two weeks or six, it was still terrible. ‘God, Eva, that’s awful.’

Eva ran her fingers through her shoulder-length blonde hair and shrugged her shoulders. ‘It happens.’

She’d only known the girl for a few hours but Connie wasn’t fooled. She might be trying to sound tough but Connie could see that Eva’s eyes had misted over. Connie had obviously reopened an old wound and now she didn’t know what to say. Rescue came once more in the form of Eva’s mother-in-law who reappeared with the tea. Planting a kiss on the top of Eva’s head she said to Connie, ‘Isn’t she lovely? My Dermid picked a real gem. Like a daughter to me she is.’

Connie nodded vigorously and embarrassed, Eva shooed her away with, ‘Get away with you, Queenie.’

‘Now that it’s all over, my gal,’ said Queenie earnestly, ‘you mind you keep in touch.’

‘Of course I will,’ said Eva, looking up and squeezing her hand.

As they finished their meal the man with the accordion struck up ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’ and they all sang along. Or at least, Connie mouthed the words. Her throat was too tight with emotion to sing but the jolly songs had the others dancing and clapping and the more poignant ones brought a sentimental tear to the eye.

‘I presume you’ve got a SOP,’ said Eva. ‘If you need a place to sleep, I’m sure Queenie will put us up, won’t you Queenie?’

‘’Course I can,’ smiled Queenie.

Mrs Arkwright frowned. ‘What’s a SOP?’

‘Sleeping Out Pass,’ laughed Eva.

Connie’s jaw dropped and she gasped in horror. ‘Oh Lord, no! Since we started double summer time, these long light evenings make such a difference. Whatever’s the time?’

‘Eight forty-five.’

‘Oh hell,’ cried Connie grabbing her handbag from the floor. ‘I never gave it a thought. I haven’t even got a late pass and I’ve got to be in by ten.’

‘Where are you billeted?’ asked Eva.

‘Hendon. Can you tell me how to get to the nearest tube station? I shall be all right once I get there.’

‘Doug is going near there,’ said Queenie balancing the empty plates up her arm. ‘He’ll be here in a minute. He can take you in the pig van if you like.’

Connie raised an eyebrow. ‘Pig van?’

‘He collects pig food from all the restaurants around here,’ said Queenie. ‘If you don’t mind the smell, I’m sure he’d give you a lift.’

Connie looked at Eva and they laughed. It was hardly ideal but at least she had the chance to be back to the camp on time.

Connie stood to go. ‘Thanks Eva,’ she said giving her an affectionate hug. ‘I’ve had a wonderful day.’

‘Me too,’ said Eva. ‘We must keep in touch.’

‘I’d like that,’ said Connie.

Her new friend purloined two pieces of paper and gave one to Connie. ‘I’ve no idea where I’ll be when I get demobbed,’ she said, ‘so I’ll give you my mother’s address. She’ll always know where I am.’

‘That’ll be good,’ said Connie writing her own name and address down. ‘I guess it won’t be too hard to meet up. You started to tell me that we lived near each other.’

‘I come from Durrington,’ said Eva handing her details over to Connie. ‘It’s near Worthing.’

‘I know where that is,’ Connie smiled.

Queenie leaned over the counter and interrupted them. ‘Doug’s here, darlin’.’

‘Thanks Queenie,’ said Eva.

‘I’ll tell him you’ll be out in a minute, shall I?’

‘Thanks Queenie,’ said Eva once more. Her mother-in-law went out through the kitchen door.

‘My folks live in Goring,’ Connie smiled. ‘That’s a small village the other side of Worthing.’ She handed Eva her slip of paper and glanced down at the name and address Eva had written down.

Beside her, her new friend gasped. ‘Connie Dixon? You’re not one of the Dixons from Belvedere Nurseries, are you?’

‘Yes,’ said Connie. She stared disbelievingly at the address Eva had just given her. Mrs Vi Maxwell, Durrington Hill. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. She’d spent the day with a girl her family heartily disapproved of. ‘When we met,’ she accused, ‘you said your name was O’Hara.’

‘Of course,’ said Eva, tossing her head defiantly. ‘That’s my married name. I was born a Maxwell, and I’m proud of it.’

‘I had no idea,’ said Connie quietly.

‘I can’t quite believe it either,’ said Eva. ‘And we’ve had such a lovely day.’

Connie nodded. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Tell you one thing,’ said Eva. ‘I don’t think my mother would be too happy if you turned up on the doorstep.’

Connie’s heart began to bump but she wasn’t sure if she was angry or deeply offended. How could this girl be a Maxwell? She had been so nice. ‘After what your family did to mine …’ she began.

‘After what my family did?’ Eva retorted. ‘I think you’ll find the boot is on the other foot.’

‘Now hang on a minute,’ said Connie, her hand on her hip. ‘I don’t want to get into a fight but get your facts straight first.’

They glared at each other, their jaws jutting.

‘What’s up with you two?’ said Queenie, reappearing in the café. ‘You both look as if you lost half a crown and found a tanner.’

‘She’s been buttering up to me all day and it turns out that she’s a bloody Dixon,’ spat Eva. She turned away and Connie thought she heard her mutter, ‘Cow.’

Connie was livid. ‘It’s hardly surprising,’ she said to Eva’s receding back, ‘that the Dixons and the Maxwells have nothing to do with each other, especially when one of them is so bloomin’ rude.’

Queenie O’Hara looked helplessly from one girl to the other. She seemed confused. ‘I don’t understand. A minute ago you two were best friends. How come things have changed so quickly?’

Connie recovered herself. ‘Buttering up to you all day? What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You know perfectly well what it means,’ Eva countered huffily. ‘My folks would have leathered me with a strap, if I’d have had anything to do with the Dixons.’

‘Would they really?’ said Connie putting her nose in the air. ‘Well, mine would do no such thing. I’m lucky enough to come from a loving family.’

‘If I had known you were a Dixon, I never would have invited you here,’ cried Eva.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Connie. ‘If I had known you were a Maxwell, I would never have come!’

‘Girls, girls,’ cried Queenie, ‘don’t let this spoil a lovely day. For Gowd’s sake, you’re like a couple of bickering schoolkids. Doug has to get going and you have to say your goodbyes.’

‘Goodbye,’ Eva snapped, carefully avoiding Connie’s eye.

Connie put her nose in the air. ‘Goodbye.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Queenie, shaking her head. ‘Here we are with the first day of peace and you two are at war. Whatever it is, can’t you bury the hatchet?’

‘After what her family did to mine? No, I can’t,’ said Eva. ‘Don’t keep Doug and the pig van waiting, Connie.’ And with that she swept out of the room.

Furious, Connie followed Queenie through the kitchen and out of the back door. Her stomach was in knots. She had really liked Eva and she’d had more fun today than she’d had in a month of Sundays but Eva was a Maxwell. Her emphasis on the word pig hadn’t gone unnoticed either. For a time back there, she had seemed really nice. She could have fooled anyone with that dear friend act she’d put on. Ah well, at least Eva had shown her true colours before it was too late and besides, Connie knew only too well that if she stayed friends with a Maxwell, there would be hell to pay. Hadn’t she been brought up with her great aunt’s stories about the Maxwells? Cheats, liars and vagabonds, the lot of them, according to Ga.

When Queenie hugged her before she climbed into the passenger side of the lorry, Connie hugged her back. It wasn’t Queenie’s fault and her full stomach reminded her that she had been more than generous. Doug turned and gave her a toothless smile as she sat down. He turned out to be a fifty-something in a greasy looking flat cap and leather jerkin.

‘Straight over to Hendon now, Doug,’ said Queenie, closing the passenger door. ‘The girl has to be back by ten.’

‘Right you are, missus,’ said Doug, starting the engine.

As the lorry moved off, Connie caught a glimpse of Eva’s pale face at an upstairs window before she let the curtain drop. At the same moment, Connie screwed up the piece of paper with Eva’s name and address on it and deliberately dropped it out of the van. Queenie’s eyes met hers and Connie felt her cheeks flame. Thankfully, that second, Doug put his foot on the throttle and the van lurched forward.

Doug wasn’t very talkative and Connie was too upset to make much conversation. What a perfectly rotten end to a lovely day. It had started out disappointingly because Emmett couldn’t be with her, but from the moment they had paddled in the fountain, she had had a wonderful time. When Eva had said her family came from Worthing, Connie had no idea of the bombshell that was to come. Her mind drifted back over the years. Now that she came to think about it, her great aunt had never been that specific about the rift between the two families. In fact, Connie hardly knew anything about the Maxwell family, but whenever Ga spoke of them, the contempt in which she held them was written all over her face. She never had a good word to say and when Ga voiced an opinion, no one dared argue. Connie had grown up believing that the Maxwells were dishonest, conniving, deceitful wretches who were to be avoided altogether. Eva was the first Maxwell Connie had ever spoken to and look how nasty she had been when she’d found out who Connie was. She’d certainly shown her true colours, hadn’t she? Ah well, good riddance to bad rubbish.

The cab smelled musty and a bit like a compost heap on a sunny day. After a while it made her feel queasy so Connie was more than relieved to see the gates of her camp looming out of the darkness. She thanked Doug profusely and walked the few hundred yards to the sentry post. She fancied that the guard wrinkled his nose as she walked by and her only thought was to have a good strip-down wash or if she was lucky, a small bath before lights out.

‘Connie! There you are,’ Rene sounded really pleased to see her as she walked in their Nissen hut. ‘Where did you and Eva get to? We looked everywhere for you both but you’d completely disappeared. I’m so sorry. Did you have a terrible time? I mean, you don’t know London at all, do you? Oh, I feel perfectly dreadful about it. How on earth did you get home?’

‘If you’ll let me get a word in edgeways,’ Connie laughed as she threw her bag over her iron bedstead, ‘I’ll tell you.’

As Rene sat on the bed beside her, Connie told her some of what had happened. Listening to her friend’s abject apologies, Connie felt a twinge of guilt. She’d been having such a good time, she hadn’t given Rene and Barbara a moment’s thought since they’d lost sight of each other on The Mall. ‘Please don’t worry,’ she smiled as Rene apologised yet again. ‘It wasn’t your fault. I had a great time anyway.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying so,’ said Rene, pulling a face, ‘you don’t smell too good.’

‘Neither would you if you’d sat in that awful van,’ Connie laughed. ‘Let me go to the bathroom.’

Sitting in the regulation five inches of water, Connie sponged away the smell of the pig food, but somehow she didn’t feel clean. She’d already gone over some of the things Eva had said to her, and now she was remembering the unkind things she had said in return. She shouldn’t have been so sharp with her. After all, Eva was a war widow and being with her mother-in-law again had obviously brought back some painful memories. Hadn’t she suffered enough?

She climbed out of the bath and towelled herself dry. What could she do about it? The Dixons and the Maxwells had been at loggerheads for donkey’s years. She pulled the plug and watched the dirty water swirl around the plughole before disappearing. Wrapping herself in her dressing gown, Connie sighed. There were some stinks that needed a lot more than soap and water to wash them away. Ah well, it was done and dusted as far as she and Eva were concerned. She’d never see her again anyway.

The dream came in the early hours. It was one of those strange moments when you are asleep and you know it’s only a dream and yet you are powerless to wake yourself up. She struggled to make sense of it but as the moving forms in front of her grew darker, the overwhelming fear reached panic proportions. The tap-tapping of the cigarette on that case grew louder. Wake up, Connie. Wake up. Oh God, he was coming for her. Her eyes locked onto his and she couldn’t get the door shut. The door … the door … Now he was inside the room … coming closer and closer. She could smell his breath, feel his hand pinning her shoulders down. Connie, wake up. She was screaming but no sound came from her lips. His rasping voice filled her ears. You’ll like it … He opened his mouth and beyond his yellow teeth she saw his fat, pulsating tongue. She felt that if he came any closer, he would devour her whole. The weight of his body suffocated her. She thrashed her arms to push him away and the rushing sound in her ears grew louder.

‘Connie, it’s all right. It’s just a dream.’ The moment Rene’s voice penetrated the terrifying sounds, they vanished as quickly as someone turning the radio off. Her eyes sprang open and she saw a torch on the pillow beside her. Rene was leaning over her, her hands as light as a feather on her shoulders but she had obviously been shaking her to wake her up. Connie sat up suddenly and blinking in the half light, saw a dozen anxious faces gathered around her bed. At the same time, she became aware that her nightdress was drenched in perspiration and her hair stuck to her forehead.

‘You had a bad dream,’ said Rene. ‘You were shouting out.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Sorry I woke you all up.’

The girls began to move away and get back into their own beds.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ said a disembodied voice in the darkness.

Connie lay back on the pillow and shook her head. ‘No, thanks. It was only a dream.’