In order to miss the chaos on Lyndhurst Road, Stella and Lillian had come out of the hospital through the back entrance. By the time they reached Cranworth Road, the police and ARP were going house to house telling all residents that they would have to leave. It was bad enough to have debris, broken glass and fire damage everywhere, but now they were being told there was an added hazard: unexploded bombs and live ammunition in the wreckage. The authorities deemed it too dangerous to ignore, so word got round that everybody had to find alternative accommodation for the night.
Lillian’s mother was back from Lancing and opened the front door. ‘Thank God you’re all right,’ she said. ‘I was beginning to wonder where you were.’ She looked pale but was clearly relieved to see her daughter. ‘Where’s Flora?’
Lillian told her what had happened and did a quick introduction. Dorcas was alarmed, but the sound of raised voices outside jolted them back to the here and now.
‘Better hurry up and get yourself a change of clothes,’ Dorcas said quickly. ‘We’ve only been given fifteen minutes to get ready.’
‘Where will you go?’ Stella asked.
‘They’ve opened the Foresters’ Hall in Newland Road,’ said Dorcas.
‘They can’t possibly fit everybody in that poky little place,’ Stella blurted out before she’d had time to think. ‘And you certainly won’t get much sleep.’ The two women were relieved when she added, ‘You’re welcome to come to mine if you like.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Lillian. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Salisbury Road.’ She saw Lillian and her mother exchange glances. ‘I know it’s a bit of a hike,’ she went on, ‘but at least I can offer your mum a proper bed.’
‘Well, there is one thing,’ Dorcas said cautiously. ‘If that bomb went off, we’d be well out of the way.’
Lillian looked anxious. ‘But what will happen to Flora? The hospital is very close.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Stella. ‘Let’s try and look on the bright side. Those bomb boys are amazing. They’ll soon get it sorted. Nothing is going to happen.’
As they walked back into the street, the officials were still banging on doors to get people moving. Stella hurried to Pip’s house to collect her bicycle, but just as she got there, Pip came out pushing an old pram, her two children, still in their nightclothes, tucked up inside. As soon as she saw Lillian and Dorcas, Pip’s first words were, ‘How’s Flora?’
Lillian told her the bare bones of the story as they were being jostled along the street by the ARP, and Pip heaved a sigh of relief. Strangely enough, although Stella’s bike had been righted, the fruit and vegetables in the basket hadn’t been touched. She walked along beside them, pushing it. The children seemed slightly bewildered by all that was going on, so Stella tried to make a game of it, and a few fresh strawberries magically appearing in the pram helped the situation as the untidy procession continued until it reached the end of Chesswood Road. It was here that Stella extended her invitation to Pip and her family, and it was gladly accepted.
While everybody else squeezed themselves into the Foresters’ Hall, Stella’s new-found friends continued to the end of Newland Road and headed back towards town.
‘You all right, love?’ Dorcas suddenly said.
Lillian was dabbing her eyes with the end of her sleeve. ‘Oh, Mum, I can’t stop thinking about Flora.’
‘She’ll be fine,’ said her mother. ‘You worry too much.’
‘But what if she wakes up in the night?’
‘She’s got that nice nurse with her,’ Stella reminded her, adding as an afterthought, ‘and she’s got her rabbit.’
Lillian nodded glumly.
‘I don’t understand,’ Pip whispered to Stella as they walked along. ‘Why is she so worried? I thought you said it turned out that Flora wasn’t too badly injured.’
‘She’s probably worried about the sister on the ward,’ Stella said confidentially. ‘She was a bit of a dragon.’
Lillian spun round. ‘A bit of a dragon!’ she exclaimed. ‘The woman was an absolute nightmare.’ Dorcas gave her daughter a nudge. Georgie and Hazel were wide-eyed and listening.
‘Well, never mind,’ said Dorcas, mainly for the benefit of the little ones. ‘With a bit of luck, Flora will be home tomorrow.’
They walked on, each lost in her own thoughts, until Lillian said to her mother, ‘I never asked you – how was Aunt Lou?’
‘Her bunions are playing up.’
Slightly ahead of them, Stella suppressed a smile. First bombs and now bunions. If nothing else, life’s problems were very varied.
It was beginning to get dark. They could still hear aircraft droning overhead, but they were miles up and most likely heading for London. There were no street lights, of course, so at the beginning of the war, all town-centre kerbstones had been painted with white stripes. Three years on, they were worn and scuffed, and the white bands painted round the base of trees that lined the streets hadn’t fared much better, so to avoid slipping off the pavement, they were walking in the middle of the road. They were quite safe. There were no cars about.
They turned into Salisbury Road.
‘Here we are,’ Stella said at last.
The house was fairly substantial compared to Lillian and Pip’s two-up, two-down terraced houses, and there was a garage on the side. ‘You live here on your own?’ Pip asked.
‘At the moment, yes,’ said Stella. ‘But I’m not alone. I live on the ground floor. The billeting officer has just allocated me a couple of girls from the Land Army. They have the rooms upstairs.’
‘I thought they only worked on farms,’ said Lillian.
‘They’ve been seconded to help at a nursery in East Worthing,’ said Stella. ‘They’re crop-picking.’
Stella opened the front door, and they left the pram in the substantial hallway before she invited them in.
‘This is lovely,’ Pip remarked. ‘How long have you lived here?’
‘Since 1937,’ said Stella. ‘I came the day we got married. Please, make yourselves at home.’
They put the children in the spare bedroom upstairs, and under protest, Dorcas was given Stella’s bed, which was in what would have once been the dining room. As soon as everyone else was settled, the three women turned the sitting room into their sleeping quarters.
‘I see you’ve got a piano,’ said Lillian. ‘Lucky thing.’
‘It’s my mother’s old one,’ said Stella. ‘She’s a music teacher.’
Lillian ran her fingers along the keys but didn’t press them enough to make a sound. ‘I’ve always fancied playing the piano.’
‘Who is the man in the picture?’ Pip asked. They were pushing back chairs to make room on the floor and forming mattresses out of cushions and blankets. Pip was pointing to a picture in a silver frame. In it, a good-looking man in army uniform smiled into the room.
‘That’s my Johnny,’ Stella said wistfully. She gazed at it lovingly, and her heart gave a guilty lurch. What with everything else going on around her, she hadn’t given him a thought for ages. How could she forget him so easily? ‘My husband.’
‘Is he overseas?’ Lillian probed.
‘He’s been in Tobruk.’
‘Blimey,’ Pip murmured. The news bulletins had been full of Rommel and the taking of Tobruk. The Libyan port had suffered an overwhelming onslaught, with heavy tanks crashing through the perimeter fences. It was a bitter blow, and thousands of Allied soldiers had been taken prisoner. ‘He’s not . . . Is he?’
Stella nodded. ‘He’s still alive. As a matter of fact,’ she sighed, ‘I just heard today that he’s been captured.’
‘Oh, Stella, I’m so sorry.’
‘Where exactly is Tobruk?’ asked Lillian.
‘The Middle East,’ Stella said, ‘but my husband is apparently a prisoner of the Italian Government.’ She paused. ‘My mother-in-law seems to think that being a prisoner of the Italians is better than being with the Germans.’
‘Looks like we’re both in the same boat,’ said Lillian drily.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Stella.
‘I mean you’re not the only one,’ said Lillian with a sigh. ‘My old man is a German POW.’
‘Oh, Lillian,’ said Stella sympathetically. ‘I wish I hadn’t said that now. I’m sorry. I just didn’t think. Is he in Germany? Are they treating him well?’
Lillian shrugged. ‘I suppose so. He doesn’t write much.’
‘How long has he been a prisoner?’
‘Ever since Dunkirk.’
‘Dunkirk!’ Stella blurted out.
Lillian laughed sardonically. ‘You know, everyone talks about the miracle of Dunkirk, but they forget about the thirty or forty thousand men, including my husband, who were captured.’ She tossed her head. ‘Still, one good thing – unless he can escape and get back home, I guess Gordon’s war is over.’
They fell silent until Pip, who up until now had kept quiet, said, ‘She’s right about us being in the same boat. My husband was captured earlier this year after the fall of Singapore. He’s a POW of the Japs.’
‘You never said,’ Lillian said accusingly. ‘How could you keep it to yourself all this time?’
Pip shrugged. ‘I was trying to keep it from Georgie and Hazel,’ she said. ‘I don’t want anyone saying anything in front of them.’
‘You could have trusted me,’ said Lillian.
Pip looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry.’
Throwing a couple of redundant cushions onto the upright chair at the table, Stella tried to lighten the mood. ‘Anyone fancy a cup of tea before we bed down?’
The suggestion was greeted warmly, so Stella went into the kitchen. While she was gone, first Pip then Lillian had a wash in the tiny bathroom. Afterwards, having got ready for bed, they settled down.
Stella handed each of them a welcome cup of tea. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of lacing it with something,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long day.’
No one objected.
‘Will you go to the hospital first thing in the morning, Lillian?’ Pip asked.
‘That old dragon of a sister said visiting hours didn’t start until three,’ said Lillian. ‘I’m working tomorrow anyway, so I’m sure Mum will go.’
‘Would you mind if I went to see her as well?’ asked Stella.
‘Of course not,’ cried Lillian. ‘The more the merrier.’
The tea was wonderful, and the nip of brandy warmed their throats on the way down. Stella sat on the edge of the cushion-less sofa because the exposed springs dug into her legs, Pip sat cross-legged on the cushions that were lined up on the floor, and Lillian leaned back on some blankets with a sigh.
Pip reached out and squeezed her arm. ‘She’ll be fine.’
Lillian nodded. ‘I know. I just wish that awful woman wasn’t there.’
‘She’ll be off duty and tucked up in her own bed by now,’ said Pip.
‘You’re right,’ said Lillian, cheering up.
‘Actually, she made me quite cross as well,’ said Stella. ‘There was no need to behave like that.’
They fell silent for a second or two. Stella sipped her tea and looked at her new friends. They were both attractive women but very different. Pip wore her chestnut-brown hair long, but swept up at the sides and curled under. It looked a little wild right now, but after the day they’d just had, that was only to be expected. She had a peachy complexion. Despite being a mother twice over, she was slim, and Stella admired her long, delicate fingers, though her nails were short and chipped. Lillian looked much younger: probably only about twenty or twenty-one. Her blonde hair was curly, and at first Stella thought she’d had a perm, but now that she was really close up, it looked natural. No, she must be younger than that. She still had a few childhood freckles over the bridge of her nose.
When they’d finished their tea, and while Stella took the cups into the kitchen to rinse them under the tap, the girls bedded down. Pip had her face to the wall, and Lillian had pulled her blanket over her head. When she was ready, Stella turned out the lights and the room became pitch-black. Not even a chink of light showed: the blackout curtains saw to that. She lay down on the sofa and tried to get comfortable. Even though she’d put a couple of coats over the springs, they still dug in. She couldn’t sleep anyway. All she could think about was poor Johnny. She hoped her mother-in-law was right and that the Italians treated their prisoners of war well.
It didn’t take long for the tears to fall. Although silent, they soaked the pillow under her head and trickled off the end of her nose. She heard one of the others trying to blow her nose quietly. Then someone cleared her throat.
‘We’re all awake,’ Lillian said into the darkness. ‘Does anyone want to talk?’ Her voice was thick, as if she had a heavy cold.
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ said Pip. It would be good to talk about Peter, and it would stop her thinking about little Flora and her burns. Lillian wasn’t to know, but the sight of her daughter in that state had brought back some uncomfortable memories.
‘Shall I put the light on?’ Stella asked.
‘No!’ cried Lillian. ‘Please don’t.’
There was a silence; then Pip said, ‘She’s right. It might be easier to talk in the dark.’
‘So?’ said Stella. ‘So who wants to go first?’
‘We’ve been told so little,’ Pip complained. ‘I had a telegram telling me Peter was a prisoner of the Japanese Government, but I have no idea where he is.’
‘Gordon sent me a postcard saying he was being well treated,’ said Lillian, ‘but that’s about it.’
‘And I’ve heard nothing,’ said Stella. ‘Not from Johnny, anyway.’
‘Gordon didn’t actually write on the card,’ said Lillian. ‘There were tick boxes next to the sentences. He ticked two, one saying he was a POW and another saying he was being well treated. You just have to hope it’s true.’
Pip gave her nose a hearty blow. ‘I wish Pete could write to me.’
‘I don’t know how you bear it,’ said Stella. ‘To be honest, I’m scared.’
Pip sighed. ‘So am I. They say the Japs are ruthless.’
The other girls didn’t say anything, but they were all remembering the stories that had filtered back to Blighty after the fall of Hong Kong. The newspaper headlines screamed, ‘Horror at Japanese Atrocities,’ and Mr Anthony Eden, the British foreign secretary, told an appalled House of Commons that not only were the Japanese refusing to let the British bury their dead but that fifty British officers and men in the overrun HQ had been found bound head and foot and bayonetted to death. The Japanese Army not only had a reputation for being callous and despicable but had also refused to sign the Geneva Convention with regard to their treatment of prisoners of war.
‘I guess we all feel the same,’ Pip went on, ‘but it’s best not to dwell on it. We have to keep going. They have to have something to come home to.’
‘What do you think, Lillian?’ Stella said eventually. ‘Your husband has been a prisoner the longest.’
Lillian was aware that the other two were crying. She wasn’t. Glad of the darkness, she swallowed hard. ‘She’s right,’ she said. ‘You have to keep going.’
‘You’re so brave,’ said Pip.
‘No,’ Lillian protested. ‘Not really.’
‘Yes, you are,’ said Stella. ‘I’m not sure that I could be as calm as you.’
‘Like you said, my husband has been gone a long time,’ said Lillian. ‘I thought I would die when I got the news, but you cope. It gets easier as time goes on.’
Stella blew her nose again. ‘Oh, Lillian, you’re amazing.’
‘Please,’ Lillian protested, ‘don’t put me on a pedestal.’
‘Why not?’ asked Pip. ‘You’re an absolute inspiration.’
Lillian could feel the tears coming to her own eyes now. Her friends were grieving, wounded because the men they loved weren’t coming home until the war was over. Thank God it was so dark in the room. She was glad they couldn’t see her face. It was burning with embarrassment and shame. How could she tell them the truth? How could she explain that she really didn’t care if Gordon never came back? Oh, she didn’t wish him harm, and she hoped with all her heart that nothing bad would ever happen to him. She honestly hoped he would survive the war. She just didn’t want him back home, especially now that she’d met someone as wonderful as Woody.