When they arrived at 6 Oxford Road, they found that Mrs Reeves, Aunt Rikkie’s housekeeper, had prepared a lavish tea. Jeanne could hardly believe her eyes. There were delicate tinned salmon and cucumber and egg and cress sandwiches, tinned peaches with condensed milk, a Victoria sponge, a trifle made in Rikkie’s special trifle bowl, and, most surprising of all, jelly of an indescribable green colour in dainty glass dishes. Jeanne couldn’t remember ever having jelly. This was the land of plenty, she thought. They were back, and every day would be like this.
Christmas came and went in a happy haze, there was so much to talk about and catch up on.
What Jeanne didn’t realise was that Rikkie and Gramp had saved as much as they could from their meagre rations and that, as Rikkie was PA to the Regional Director of the BBC, Percy Edgar, she had begged, borrowed or stolen what she could from the BBC canteen. The family were soon to find out how things really were.
When the ration books arrived, Jeanne was sent to Sadie’s Sweetshop around the corner to get the sweet rations for five people. She came back with nearly a shoebox full of the most beautiful foreign-looking sweets. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on them. Jeanne remembered how in occupied Cambrai, where no sweets were to be had, she would stop off at the Boulangerie and get fifty centimes worth of yeast and walk slowly home, dipping her fingers in and relishing it. The Baker’s wife had asked if it was for her, and when she said yes, looked at her pityingly. The shoebox of sweets was put away in the wardrobe, to be brought out on special occasions. But Jeanne couldn’t contain herself. She would sneak upstairs and help herself to one or two, and eventually a whole handful, and caused a minor family scandal when Nell found the box empty, but it had just been too great a temptation for Jeanne. She had eaten a whole month’s sweet ration for five people.
Nell, like so many women, had learned to fend for herself during the war, and now found herself relegated to her father’s kitchen, housekeeper to seven people. Her vision of England being the land of milk and honey quickly faded. Her beautiful Parisian beret with a feather in it landed at the back of the wardrobe and, together with the ever-reliable Mrs Reeves, she found herself wrestling a different set of ration books and rules. Gone were the tender days of coffee and brandy with Emil in the afternoons; they had to be forgotten. She donned a pinny and didn’t take it off for the next twenty years.
Tom was back working for Courtaulds Textiles. He had been interviewed by his bosses several times when he came back to England. ‘I had to prove to them I hadn’t gone crackers!’ he said, laughing. He became a sort of troubleshooter: first sent to the Preston factory, then to help with the opening of the new firm in Carrickfergus in Northern Ireland. He was offered his old job back in Calais and, as soon as he was able, he returned there. He stayed three months, but found it impossible to obtain equipment and get the firm re-started; it was one long frustration. He decided he would be safer in England. He applied to return, sold the car and came back. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘France is moribund.’
So Courtaulds Textiles offered him the post of Chief Electrician in Coventry, which he gratefully accepted. He was a bitter man, difficult to live with. The best years of his life had been wasted by two wars, years that could not be recaptured, and the wonderful times he had dreamed of while in internment camp did not materialize. Post-war Britain was a very grim place. Rationing and shortages carried on for a long time.
Marie immediately applied to join the WRENS. When she enlisted, she spent the whole morning strutting around the house, waving her papers in the air, and singing:
To see the world
And what did we see
We saw the sea.’
Tom was sorry to see his beautiful, lively girl leave so soon. He had hoped they would spend time together so that he would get to know her.
Irene’s wonderful French classical education was of no use in England. There had been talk of her becoming a doctor but she opted to be a probationary nurse at Birmingham General Hospital and started there at the age of seventeen.
Jeanne, meanwhile, was making friends. Nell told her that a French lady and her daughter lived down the road at Number 44. Jeanne became a regular visitor, delighted to be able to speak French, and the daughter, Josette, and Jeanne hit it off right away and have remained friends ever since.
Next door to Number 6 lived two boys, Philip and Christopher (known as Kipper). They lent Jeanne their old books and she learnt to read English with Nell’s help, following Noddy and Big Ears’ adventures and the joys of boating and fishing in old Ladybird books. Her name had been put down for St Joseph’s Convent School in Acock’s Green to start school the following September and she had a lot of work to do to catch up with girls of her age.
Philip appeared to have a tick, constantly swinging his right arm from his back to his front, keeping it straight the whole time. This puzzled Jeanne who wondered what on earth he was doing. It was strange behaviour and it wasn’t something French boys did. All became clear when they played cricket together with a crowd of friends in the fields at the back. He’d been practising his bowling action! Jeanne had no idea what was going on, as cricket wasn’t played in France, but once she caught on she was quite happy just to be a fielder.
The boys had another strange ritual. One of them would say, ‘Quick, quick, it’s nearly time for the 4.05 London to Edinburgh,’ and they would all run down to the fence alongside the railway. As the train rushed by they’d say, pointing to the plaque on the side of the monster, ‘It’s a namer, look, it’s a namer! It’s King George the fifth!’ and they would cross the name out in the little book they were holding. Another would say in a derisory way, ‘Oh I’ve got that one, I’ve had it ages.’ Occasionally, an LNER (London & North-Eastern Railway) locomotive would pass by on loan to the LMS (London Midland Scottish Railway). The boys booed and jeered.
Her new friends seemed so much younger than children back in France. Nicole had started hanging around with the boys, Jeanne following a few steps behind. How very different life was here, she thought. Here she played cricket and collected train numbers. She felt as though she was ten again.
One day, Aunt Rikkie said she had a treat for Jeanne, who didn’t know whether to be pleased or sorry. She had no idea what a treat was! Then it was explained to her that Rikkie had four complimentary tickets for Cinderella at Birmingham’s Alexandra Theatre. So Jeanne saw her first pantomime at the age of twelve and three quarters, and enjoyed every minute of it. Things were decidedly looking up.
Towards the start of May, it was obvious that the war was coming to an end. There was excitement in the air, you could almost smell it; and when the announcement was made that the war was over, May the 8th was declared VE Day (Victory in Europe Day) and the whole of the world erupted. ‘Thank God, thank God it’s all over, peace at last, they’ll be home!’ Everyone had a smile on their face, and strangers talked to each other, laughing with relief and delight. At last, the men would come home and pick their lives up where they had left off and everything would be back to normal.
The celebrations were still going on two days later when Jeanne celebrated her thirteenth birthday. A party was held for her at Number 6. Josette, Philip and Kipper brought presents for her. She was so excited. ‘Imagine . . . presents . . .’ she said, ‘. . .for me!’ Rikkie had again twisted someone’s arm at the BBC canteen, and a beautiful birthday cake covered with a red, white and blue icing Union Jack was in the centre of the table, waiting to be shared out. Candles were lit and Jeanne blew them out. Then everyone – Mum, Dad, Gramp, Rikkie, Josette, Philip and Kipper – sang Happy Birthday. It was just wonderful. Jeanne felt very special, like a princess. And she had a feeling that things were going to be all right.