As the Sun Breaks Through

Harvey was already on guard duty at the side of Cordelia’s bed, having refused to budge when it became apparent she was not coming downstairs today. He looked up as Ron carried in the large bowl of steaming water and set it carefully on the bedside table, then with a snort, rested his nose back on his paws, his eyebrows twitching as he watched Rita fussing with pillows.

‘Is there anything else I can do?’ Ron asked, feeling rather awkward amongst Cordelia’s clutter of clothes, delicate furniture and china ornaments.

Rita finished plumping the pillows and smiled back at him. ‘Thanks, Grandpa Ron, but Grandma Cordy and I can manage from now on.’

‘Aye, well, I thought I’d see if she needed a hand before opening time,’ he muttered. He looked down at Harvey. ‘Out you come,’ he ordered.

Ron made his escape and stomped down the stairs, wincing at the pain shooting up his back. Determined not to let it hamper him, he strode into the kitchen to fetch his jacket, hat and gas-mask box. He checked there was enough fuel in the kitchener range to keep it going so the water was heated and they could cook, and then went down the concrete steps to the basement.

Closing the back door behind him, he stepped out into the garden where Queenie was sunning herself on the herbs he’d seeded into the turfs he’d laid over the Anderson shelter. Reluctant to shoo her off in case she took it into her head to follow him, he left her to sleep, hoping the delicate little plants wouldn’t suffer too much.

He squinted against the sun to watch the American bombers go over with their escort of Hurricanes and Typhoons, and then settled his fedora to a rakish angle over his brow. It was actually Jim’s hat, but as he was in Burma and it was only gathering dust, Ron had decided to make use of it. The dark blue fedora was much smarter than his greasy old cap, and it certainly lent him an air of sophistication which had been sorely lacking until recently.

Smothering a vast yawn, he stood for a moment to enjoy the day’s warmth, wishing he wasn’t quite so tired. He’d managed to snatch an hour of sleep on his return this morning, and with all the hoo-ha over Cordelia and Doris, and dashing about shopping and collecting prescriptions, he felt drained. He pulled his pipe out of his jacket pocket and went to lean against the flint wall as he filled it with tobacco and got it alight.

As he puffed sweet-scented smoke into the still, warm air, he mulled over the scene with Doris and gave a chuckle. Peggy had certainly shown her mettle this morning and no mistake, and he’d been amazed to discover that beneath that gentle exterior lay a veritable tiger – in fact it had quite shocked the girls, who’d never seen that side of Peggy before. Yet none of them blamed her for losing her temper, for Doris had fully deserved that slap, and if it had been up to them, she’d have been booted out there and then.

Ron bit down on the stem of his pipe. It was not in Peggy’s nature to be unkind, and he suspected she was already bitterly regretting that row. Doris was a trial, and not the most welcome guest, but Peggy’s loyalty to her sister meant she would ask her to stay. He gave a sigh, took one last puff of his pipe and pushed through the gate. He could only hope that Doris kept her mouth shut and her head down, for there was trouble enough in the world without bringing it into the heart of Beach View.

He strolled along the alleyway, noting the potholes that needed filling with ashes from the range, and the trails of bramble and ivy eating into the flint walls of the gardens which, like his, had been turned into vegetable plots. Tarpaulins had been stretched over damaged roofs; bullets had scarred walls; shattered chimney stacks had been taken down, and far too many windows had been boarded over. All in all, it was a gloomy scene, and did nothing to lift his flagging spirits.

Yet, as he crossed the road coming up from the seafront and began to amble down Camden Road, Ron became aware that he was being watched. The queues of gossiping women outside the shops looked at him admiringly – in fact a few were openly flirtatious – and passing them by, he heard their whispering and tittering. His spirits rose, for they’d clearly noticed this new and very smart Ron, and going by some of their comments, it seemed they approved.

He lifted his chin a little higher, squared his shoulders and stuck out his chest, tipping his hat at their greetings and grinning at the more daring who called out cheeky remarks. If Rosie was half as impressed by this new and improved Ron, then he had a fighting chance of persuading her to accept his proposal.

The Town Hall clock struggled to be heard above the racket of the American planes as it struck eleven forty-five and Ron reached the Anchor’s side door. He thought it wise to knock, rather than just go in, for he needed to mind his manners and not upset Rosie from the outset by taking liberties.

The heavy oak door creaked open, and Rosie stood there looking magnificent in her white frilly blouse, tight black skirt, dark stockings and high-heeled shoes. There was no sign of the previous night’s exhaustion, for her platinum hair shone in the sunlight and her smile was warm as she regarded him with sparkling blue eyes.

‘My goodness, you do look smart,’ she said, holding fast to Monty’s collar to stop him climbing all over Ron. ‘It’s most impressive, but why the sudden transformation?’

‘I’ve turned over a new leaf,’ he said, positively preening in her admiration. He stepped into the narrow hallway and patted Monty’s head. ‘To be sure, the effort was worth that lovely smile, Rosie.’ He reached for her hand, his heart thudding. ‘Would it also be worthy of a wee kiss?’

He shed the hat and gas-mask box to gather her tenderly into his arms, feeling her softness mould against him as her familiar perfume heightened his senses and their lips met. His heart sang as she put her arms round his neck and returned his kiss, her breasts rising and falling against his chest as her pulse quickened.

All too suddenly she was pulling away from him and looking flustered. ‘Gosh,’ she breathed, tugging at her blouse which had come loose from her skirt. ‘Now you’ve got me all of a dither.’

‘Then let me kiss you again before the feeling wears off,’ he said, reaching for her once more.

She shook her head and stepped away. ‘That’s really not a good idea, Ron. It’s almost opening time and I need to keep my wits about me.’

‘Brenda can manage perfectly well on her own,’ he persisted. ‘Come on, Rosie,’ he pleaded. ‘We’ve been apart for weeks and I want to show you how much I’ve missed you and how sorry I am that I upset you.’

She still looked flustered, but kept her distance as Monty got bored and sloped off into the bar. ‘I’ve missed you too, and of course I know how sorry you are – I feel the same. But Brenda isn’t coming in today, and I just don’t have the time for canoodling’ – she shot him an almost shy smile – ‘regardless of how very pleasant it is.’

Ron was crestfallen. ‘I was hoping we could have time to talk quietly about things,’ he said.

She cupped his freshly shaven chin and brushed her lips against his cheek. ‘And we will, Ron, I promise. But now there’s a pub to run.’ She smiled up at him. ‘D’you fancy helping out?’

It was an olive branch of sorts, and although his disappointment was raw, he accepted it. ‘To be sure, I’ve nothing better to do,’ he said nonchalantly.

Ron was thoughtful as he hung his hat, jacket and gas-mask box on the hall stand. He was confused. Her welcoming kiss had said one thing, her demeanour another – and he wasn’t at all sure where he stood with her. And yet it seemed she’d forgiven him his drunken behaviour that fateful night before she’d left, and still wanted his company – even if it was only to help behind the bar – so there was a glimmer of hope that all was not lost.

He recalled his years of soldiering and decided he needed a new strategy. Every mission called for a carefully laid plan, and if he was to win Rosie, then it was vital he go about it with military precision. He would hold back, gauge the lie of the land for any hidden stumbling blocks – like Major Radwell – and then assess the best way to advance.

Feeling rather more confident, he rolled up his shirt-sleeves and strode purposefully into the bar.

Peggy enjoyed her work at the uniform factory, for it gave her a chance to do something useful, provided interesting new social contact, a very welcome wage, and respite from all the responsibilities at Beach View. Now she was on her lunch break, and as it was such a lovely day, she and her friend Gracie had decided to sit on the wall outside the factory to eat their sandwiches and catch up on their news.

‘It’s a shame that lot are making such a racket,’ said Gracie, looking up at the bombers and fighters. ‘I’m sure the birds must be singing, but I’m blowed if anyone can hear them above that.’

‘I’d rather that than the drone of a V-1,’ said Peggy. ‘I’ll never get over the way it got louder and louder and then went silent as it dropped from the sky and blew Havelock Road to smithereens.’

‘It must have been terrifying,’ agreed Gracie with a shudder. ‘We all heard the explosions and rushed out to see if there was anything we could do. I was so frightened for you when I saw where it had landed, and so thankful when I realised you and the others were all right.’

‘I’m just glad you were working that day, otherwise you and little Chloe would have been at the picnic and got caught up in it too.’

Peggy twisted round to watch the children from the factory crèche scrambling about in the small playground, their laughter and chatter bringing a lightening to her spirits. She waved at Daisy, but her daughter was too busy playing chase with Gracie’s Chloe to take any notice, so she turned back to finish her sandwich.

‘I can tell you’re still shaken up, Peg. Are you sure you should have come back to work so soon?’

Peggy’s smile was rueful. ‘I need the money, Gracie – and besides, now we’ve got Doris living with us, I’m glad to escape the house.’ She told her friend about the row that morning. ‘I’m not proud of what I did,’ she finished, ‘but I have to admit, I do feel better at letting it all out.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Gracie, squeezing her hand in sympathy. ‘From the sound of it, Doris has been a complete pain for years and it was time to let her know how you felt.’ She giggled. ‘I can’t imagine you going for her like that. You come across as so warm and cuddly. It must have been quite a shock to Doris.’

Peggy chuckled. ‘It certainly shocked me. But the worm has finally turned, Gracie, and Doris had better watch her step from now on.’

Despite making light of it, Peggy still felt ashamed, and not wishing to dwell upon that unpleasant exchange, she pulled the thermos out of her string bag and poured them both a cup of tea. ‘Changing the subject, have you heard from your Clive?’

Gracie bit her lip and shook her head. ‘It’s been nearly a week since his last letter, and although I know he must be horribly busy with all the raids the RAF is on now, I’m a bit miffed he couldn’t find the time to send me a couple of lines.’

She grimaced. ‘Still, he’s probably exhausted, poor darling. These endless sorties are bound to be telling on all the air crews, and I’m being selfish wanting him to write letters when he needs to sleep.’

‘It’s not at all selfish, Gracie,’ Peggy soothed. ‘We women wait in hope for a letter or card, and when it doesn’t come we fret that they’ve forgotten us because they’re so taken up with their war duties. The mail from India isn’t always reliable, and it can be delayed by weeks. And when I do hear from Jim, it’s usually an indecipherable scrawl on a grubby page torn out of a notebook.’ She gave a sigh. ‘It’s all rather disheartening.’

‘Is it as bad as they say over there?’ asked Gracie, offering her packet of Lucky Strike cigarettes to Peggy.

Peggy raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask where she’d got them as she took one and lit up, plucking a thread of tobacco from her lip. ‘He tells me nothing, really – but that’s not a bad thing. What I hear on the news is enough to get my imagination going, and I don’t really want to know what he’s having to face over there.’

‘At least as long as there’s no telegram we know they’re still alive,’ sighed Gracie. ‘To be honest, I dread the knock on the door.’

‘We all do.’ Peggy smoked the American cigarette which tasted so different from her usual Park Drive, and tried not to think about telegrams.

Sarah Fuller was also on her lunch break at the Cliffe estate. Once she’d finished her meal in the noisy canteen with the other girls of the Women’s Timber Corps, she went into the manor house gardens to read her letters in peace and quiet.

It was a warm day, and she wished she was wearing a cotton frock and sandals instead of the WTC uniform of heavy jodhpurs, thick shirt, sweater and stout boots. However, if the rumours were correct, and the Timber Corps was moving to another site, she’d soon be in a civilian office job and swapping her uniform for something more appropriate for the weather.

Heading for her favourite spot, which was sheltered from the busy pathway by a rose arbour and huge rhododendron bushes, she stripped off her sweater and sat down on the lichen-stained stone bench. Lighting a cigarette, she shuffled the three letters, returning repeatedly to the one bearing the American Forces franking, and the familiar handwriting. She hadn’t expected to hear from Delaney after that heart-breaking letter she’d had to write to call things off between them, and although she was intrigued to know what he’d said, she was also fearful of his undoubted hurt and anger at being rejected so swiftly – and unexpectedly – after his loving proposal.

She had met Lieutenant Colonel Delaney Hammond at Cliffe when the American regiment had been billeted here. Despite the fact he’d told her he was married, and that she was engaged to Philip, who was now in the hands of the Japanese, their friendship had blossomed into something far deeper than either of them had expected – or indeed, wanted.

Sarah had tried hard to resist, hoping that by some miracle Philip was still alive and would come home to her. But the feelings for Delaney proved too strong, and when he’d confessed he’d foolishly lied about having a wife and family, and asked her to marry him, she’d allowed herself to believe they had a future together.

Then a letter had come from her mother containing a copy of the recently arrived note her father Jock had managed to smuggle out of Changi Prison two and a half years ago. At the bottom of the note Philip had begged Sarah to cherish his engagement ring and the promises they’d made to one another, for the love they shared would see him through whatever lay ahead. That note had been written within weeks of the fall of Singapore, and anything could have happened to them since – but it had forced Sarah to realise that she’d betrayed Philip by falling for Delaney, and had no choice but to honour her promise to Philip.

She set Delaney’s letter to one side, not ready to read it yet, and opened the pale blue airmail letter from her mother instead. Tucked between the folded sheets of thin paper, she found several small black and white photographs, and with a soft gasp of pleasure, she examined the snapshots of little James, the brother who’d been born during the final, terrifying days of Singapore’s fall into Japanese hands, and who she and her sister Jane had yet to meet.

She smiled at the chubby, laughing little boy as he sat on a sandy Australian beach lined with palm trees, or played with a puppy on the lawn at the back of her grandparents’ house. He was clearly thriving – as was her mother, Sylvia, who looked cool and elegant in a pale summer frock and broad-brimmed hat, standing on the veranda between her parents.

Sarah had never been to Australia, but from the photographs her mother had previously sent, the countryside around Cairns looked very similar to Malaya, with its rainforests, pristine beaches, cane fields and large white single-storey wooden houses that were built on stilts to deter the termites and avoid the flooding during the rainy season.

She studied this latest batch with longing. It had been almost three years since she’d seen her mother, and many years before that when her grandparents had travelled from their vast sugar cane and banana plantation outside Cairns to visit them in Malaya. Her grandfather looked much the same as she remembered: a tall, wiry man with a strong-featured, weathered face and a shock of sun-bleached, almost white, hair. Her grandmother was rounder and smaller, but her fine bone structure meant she still retained some of the youthful beauty she’d passed on to her daughter.

Sliding the photographs back into the envelope, she began to read her mother’s letter, smiling at her vivid descriptions of the social clubs she’d joined and the wide variety of rather eccentric people she’d met there. It seemed there were a lot of expats living in Cairns, and there was a hectic social whirl of tennis parties, cocktails, barbecues and dances, so it must have felt quite like home to Sylvia, who’d lived in the tropics all her married life.

Sylvia was positively brimming over with enthusiasm at her future plans, her pen flowing so swiftly over the pages that at times her writing was difficult to decipher. However, as she read on, Sarah’s smile faded, and a sense of foreboding made her frown.

Now the news is more cheerful, with the Allied invasion into France and the liberation of Rome, one can at last dare to look forward. It will be so wonderful to see you both when this beastly war is over, and you and Jane must come immediately peace is declared, so we can be ready to welcome Jock and Philip home.

I have informed the authorities of my address here, as I’m sure that when they’re released, Australia will be the best place for them to come as it’s much nearer than England, the weather is more predictable, and there’s no shortage of good fruit, meat and vegetables, which will help them recover from what must be a ghastly ordeal.

Mummy and Daddy have drawn up plans to build another Queenslander homestead on the property, and it would be perfect for you and Philip to have the space to settle down to married life and raise lots of lovely babies. I’ve already spoken to our local vicar, who’s very willing to do the service, although he’s warned me there will be positively acres of paperwork to fill in as neither of you are Australian citizens – but don’t worry about that, it will be easily sorted once I get your grandfather on the case.

The timing of the wedding would, of course, depend entirely on the season they are released, but I thought we could have the reception in the garden, which looks particularly lovely in the spring. The flowers here are quite spectacular, and will be perfect for your bouquet and the table decorations. Jock will, of course, give you away and be the proud father, and I’m sure Jane will jump at the chance to be your bridesmaid.

I doubt very much if you’ll find anything suitable to wear for your special day in England, what with the rationing and everything – so dreary – so I’ve started ordering pattern books from Sydney and catalogues from Myers, which is a large department store that stocks just about everything, and is almost as good as Harrods in London where I bought my wedding dress all those years ago. I would have passed it on to you, but sadly it was one of the many precious things I had to leave behind when we fled Singapore.

Mummy says I’m rather getting ahead of myself, and should stop and think about how things might actually turn out. I know she means well, but I daren’t let myself contemplate anything so horrifying, for it will simply crush me. So I’m making plans and looking forward to having you all home and safe so we can be a real family again.

Sarah took a quavering breath and closed her eyes. Her mother’s determination to believe that everything would turn out all right was admirable, but Grandma’s cautionary advice was far more sensible in the light of the fact that the Japanese refused to publish any data concerning their prisoners – alive or dead – and barred the Red Cross observers from entering their camps.

Sarah could only hope her mother came back down to earth and listened to that advice, for if she didn’t, and all her hopes turned to dust, the fall-out would be catastrophic, and Sarah dreaded to think what that would do to her.

She scanned the rest of the letter, which continued in much the same vein, and then tucked it back with the photographs before staring gloomily into space, feeling trapped and utterly helpless. It was as if Sylvia still thought of her and Jane as children – not young women in their twenties with minds of their own – for she’d mapped out their future in the finest of detail without a thought for what they might actually want to do once the war was over.

Sarah smoked her cigarette and glanced down at her sister’s letter lying on the bench. Jane was twenty years old and a thoroughly modern young woman who was immersed in an important job for the MOD, and living an independent life far from Beach View. What her plans were for the future, Sarah had no idea, but she doubted they gelled with Sylvia’s.

She noted the postal date, surprised it had arrived within twenty-four hours, for the mail was never usually that reliable. Opening the letter, she found a single, closely typewritten page, signed with Jane’s usual flourish. The forthright tone of the letter made her smile, for it showed just how far Jane had come since leaving Singapore.

Dear Sarah,

I’m guessing you’ve received the latest missive from Mummy, and I have to say I found it positively alarming. It’s clear she has no intention of coming to England after the war and simply assumes we’ll drop everything and go over there, no matter how inconvenient it might be. Of course it would be lovely to see her and the grandparents again, and to get to know little James, but I have no ambition to spend the rest of my life in the middle of nowhere – and I suspect you feel the same.

As for the wedding plans, they are quite awful, and my heart goes out to you, knowing how trapped they must have made you feel. Apart from the fact you’ve admitted you’re in love with someone else and only marrying Philip through some misguided sense of loyalty, none of us know if he and Pops are even still alive. It would be miraculous if they were, and of course one must continue to hope – but we’re both wise enough to realise it’s most unlikely. I very much fear that Mother has been affected by living in the tropics for too long, and that her latest letter was written whilst she was having some sort of brain-fever. I do hope Grandma can talk some sense into her before it goes any further, otherwise goodness only knows what she’ll come up with next.

By the time you read this, I shall have written back telling her that my life here is busy and fulfilling, and although I will of course go to Australia for a holiday after the war, I will not be settling there. I’ve met a chap, you see, and we’re rather keen on one another. But more of that in my next letter, for now I have work to do and must dash.

Stay firm, Sarah, and don’t let Mummy bully you – and please, please, think long and hard about Delaney. It would be too awful to think of you spending the rest of your life in regret, and in this time of terrible uncertainty, we must grab every chance of happiness that comes our way.

Please give my love to Peggy, Ron and all the others at Beach View. I do miss you all.

TTFN, Jane. Xx

Sarah put the letter away and crushed the butt of her cigarette beneath her boot. Dearest Jane, how very much she’d evolved from that childlike girl who’d left Singapore almost three years ago, reliant on Sarah and lacking self-confidence. Her letter spoke volumes about her character, her energy and enthusiasm, and it gladdened Sarah’s heart to know she was well, happy and perhaps in love for the first time. It was also good to know that her sister’s opinion of their mother’s plans mirrored her own and that she felt just as strongly about it all. However, her advice on Delaney could not be heeded, for it was too late.

She felt the prick of tears and impatiently blinked them away as she reached for Delaney’s letter and held it to her heart. She had made her choice, now she must live with it regardless of whether Philip survived or not. And even if he had, he might not want to marry her. They both must have been changed by this war – Philip especially after being taken prisoner by the Japs – and she was certainly not the naïve girl he’d proposed to back in Singapore.

Sarah thought back to that protected, privileged life they’d led. They’d both been too young, unprepared for what the outside world was about to throw at them, and in consequence they’d been made to mature very quickly. And now Philip was in the hands of the Japanese and she had broken her vow to love him always by giving her heart to Delaney.

Her gaze fell on Delaney’s letter and she ached at the knowledge that she’d lost him. But she had meant what she’d said to Peggy that awful night she’d let her read her mother’s devastating letter. If Philip was still alive when this war was over, and wanted to marry her, then she would learn to love him again and be the very best wife she could be.

And yet she knew that despite the sacrifice and good intentions to atone for breaking her promise to Philip, a piece of her heart would always be Delaney’s – a very secret part which she would keep locked away except for those quiet, still moments she knew would come when the need to remember was too powerful to resist.

Sarah’s fingers trembled as she opened his letter. It was only a few lines long, but it broke her heart.

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