There'll Be Blue Skies (37 page)

The Billeting Office was busy, with a long line of people waiting outside. Sally nudged her way through with apologetic smiles, and finally saw Peggy and Jim sitting in one of the long rows of wooden chairs in the main office.

‘I came as quick as I could,’ she said, as Jim gave up his seat for her and perched on a nearby windowsill.

‘You needn’t have rushed, dear,’ said Peggy. ‘We’ve at least another half-hour before it’s our turn.’ She delved into her string bag and brought out a bottle of elderflower cordial and a packet of sandwiches. ‘I thought you might need something to keep you going.’

‘Thanks, I’m starving.’ Sally bit into the sandwich and munched happily on the Spam and tomato sauce. ‘Is Ernie all right?’

‘He’s with Dad,’ said Jim. ‘They’ve all gone down to the fishing station to try and get something from today’s catch.’ He glared out of the window and folded his arms. ‘I expect they’re all round Frank’s right this minute, drinking tea and having a fine old time listening to his stupid stories.’

‘Now, Jim,’ said Peggy softly. ‘There’s no need for that. The boys have a right to know their uncle, and Ron needs to see his son now and again.’

He continued to stare belligerently out of the window and said nothing.

‘Did Mum go too? Only she never showed up for work.’

Peggy frowned. ‘She left around two. She was planning to eat in the factory canteen. Are you sure you didn’t miss her?’

‘That’s hardly likely, Peggy. Florrie’s not someone
anyone
could miss.’

‘Mmmm. Well, if she’s not careful, she won’t have a job to go to at this rate.’

Sally chewed on the sandwich for a while. ‘I don’t think she’s that bothered,’ she said finally. ‘She seems to have it in her head that Mr Solomon’s going to divorce his wife and marry her.’

‘I would have thought Florrie was far too sharp to fall for that line,’ sniffed Peggy. ‘She’s a fool to believe such nonsense, because it will never happen. His wife comes from one of the richest Jewish families in this county, and she’s the one holding the purse-strings, believe you me.’

‘How do you know so much about Mr Solomon?’

‘He’s married to Goldman’s sister, and Goldman is chairman of the local Trader’s Association that Jim and I belong to. Goldman’s wife is a fountain of gossip. Mrs Solomon knows what he gets up to, and when she thinks he’s playing away, she tugs on those purse-strings and he comes running back as fast as his fat legs can carry him.’

‘Mr and Mrs Reilly, Miss Turner?’ The middle-aged woman was thin and dressed entirely in grey, which did little to enliven her pale, lined face and the dull eyes which regarded them imperiously. ‘I’m Miss Fforbes-Smythe,’ she said in her upper-class voice. ‘Follow me, please.’

Miss Fforbes-Smythe was clearly a bitter old spinster with nothing better to do than boss people about, and Sally didn’t dare catch Peggy’s eye as they went into a small office that smelled faintly of unwashed clothing, disinfectant and, incongruously, lavender water.

They sat down before a large desk as the woman settled herself behind it, perched the half-moon glasses that hung from a chain round her neck on to her sharp little nose, and opened a folder. ‘I understand you want to have your children evacuated as soon as possible,’ she said.

‘That’s right,’ said Jim. ‘It’s not safe for them here any more.’

‘Quite.’ She gave him a wintry smile. ‘Unfortunately there are a great
many
parents in this county who suddenly feel the same way. It’s a shame no-one thought to take the government’s advice much earlier. It makes our work
so
much harder when people don’t do as they’re told.’

Jim opened his mouth to give a sharp reply, and Peggy quickly butted in. ‘I’m sure it does,’ she said, ‘but you’re doing such a sterling job here, I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion.’

‘We will have to, Mrs Reilly,’ she replied, without a glimmer of emotion. ‘Now, we are currently sending our children to Wales. I see you have two boys aged nine and almost thirteen.’ She glanced up from the folder and peered at Sally over the spectacles. ‘And you,
Miss
Turner, have a son of seven.’

‘He’s my brother,’ Sally said flatly.

The greying eyebrows lifted fractionally as the dull eyes regarded her. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’ Sally’s voice was low and filled with anger.

‘I can only go by the information I have, Miss Turner.’ The woman returned to the folder and shuffled through the papers. ‘Oh, yes. Ernest. It seems there has been some error in the paperwork that came down from London.’

Sally waited for an apology, but there was none forthcoming.

The woman took off the glasses and began to polish the lenses with a pristine handkerchief steeped in lavender water. ‘I understand you wish to travel with your brother, Miss Turner? It’s highly irregular. You can’t expect the government to fork out on train fares willy-nilly for just
anyone
, you know.’

‘They paid my fare down here – what’s changed?’

‘There is a war on. Every penny has to be spent wisely – and you are now seventeen, and not eligible for such arrangements. I assume you have paid work?’

‘I’m at Goldman’s, and if you won’t pay the fare, then I will. Ernie ain’t – isn’t going away on his own.’

‘Her brother has had polio, and can’t get about easily,’ said Jim, his voice tight with anger. ‘Sally has to travel with him, and I know for a fact there’s a government grant to cover her fare. She’s kindly offered to look after our boys as well, so we’d be grateful if you could arrange for all four of them to be accommodated in close proximity.’

‘I doubt I can arrange that,’ she said, placing the glasses precisely on her nose, and tucking the handkerchief into her sleeve. ‘We have lists of willing householders who will take the children in, but it’s highly unlikely anyone will want a seventeen-year-old girl and a spastic boy.’

‘He’s not a spastic,’ snapped Sally.

‘None of us like that term,’ said Peggy coldly, ‘and if you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head, then I shall make a complaint to your supervisor, Florence Wren – who happens to be a close friend.’

There was a deathly silence, broken only by the loud ticking of the clock on the wall.

Sally stared at that clock, determined not to let her angry tears spill. It was happening all over again, and this beastly old trout was about as sympathetic and helpful as a fox in a hen-house.

‘I apologise if I have caused any ill-feeling,’ Miss Fforbes-Smythe said stiffly. ‘But it’s almost impossible to place crippled children – even if they are accompanied by an older sibling.’

‘I can work and pay my way,’ said Sally. ‘Ernie’s no trouble.’

‘I can vouch for that,’ said Jim. ‘The wee girl here works hard, and that wee boy is no bother at all.’

The woman eyed him over her glasses for a long moment, and then wrote something in her folder. ‘All I can promise is that they will travel together and go to the same village. What I
cannot
do is guarantee they will be billeted close to one another, or that there will be accommodation suitable for Ernest. It will depend very much on the individuals who have kindly offered their homes for the duration, and it is out of our hands.’

‘And what do I do if no-one will have us?’

‘Then you must consider what is best for Ernest.’ She looked at Sally coolly. ‘I believe he was offered a place at the orphanage which you turned down when you arrived here in Cliffehaven?’

‘My brother is
not
an orphan, and I’m
not
leaving him in a home.’

‘I think you’re being rather hasty, Miss Turner. Ernest will be well provided for in a children’s home where they will understand his needs – which will leave you free to pursue your work without hindrance.’

‘He’s never been a hindrance, and hell will freeze over before I dump him in one of them places,’ she snarled. ‘If no-one will take us, then I’ll sort something out myself.’

‘That, of course, is your prerogative, but I warn you, the Office for Children’s Welfare take a very dim view of such things. After all, you are not yet twenty-one, and therefore still classed as a minor in the eyes of the law. There would have to be an inquiry into what is best for Ernest, regardless of your obvious concern for him.’

Sally fell silent. The last thing she needed was the welfare people poking their noses into her business. She’d had a few run-ins with them before back in Bow, but luckily Florrie had managed to persuade them that she hadn’t left an under-aged child in sole charge of her frail son. But it had been touch and go several times, and she just hoped there were no records from the London welfare office in that file.

Peggy clutched her handbag and sat forward. ‘If it comes to any inquiry,’ she said, ‘then I will apply for legal guardianship of both of them.’

‘That’s entirely up to you,’ Miss Fforbes-Smythe said with a distinct lack of interest.

Peggy’s jaw became firm, her gaze hardening. ‘You said they were going to Wales. Where in Wales?’

‘It’s a fairly small farming community called Llanbister.’

‘And when would they have to leave?’

‘In about a week’s time.’

‘A week?’ Peggy shot to her feet, her body trembling with fear and anger. ‘But that’s too long. Anything could happen in a week – look what they did to the school last night. Much more of that and Cliffehaven will be flattened.’

Jim grabbed her hand and gently sat her down again.

‘There are no trains until then,’ said Miss Fforbes-Smythe, unmoved by Peggy’s outburst. ‘The raids over the past few days have destroyed miles of track, and once they’re repaired, the service personnel will have exclusive use of the trains for the first three days.’

‘But surely, children are more important?’

‘Not in this instance,’ she replied. ‘There are several thousand service personnel stranded on the south coast who need to get back to their bases. It’s imperative to the war effort that we do all we can to help them achieve that.’ She took off her glasses again and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Which is why it would have been wiser to follow the government directive on evacuation in the first instance.’ She paused to let her admonition sink in. ‘So, do you still want me to book places on the first available train?’

Sally and Peggy looked at one another. ‘We have no other choice,’ said Peggy.

Miss Fforbes-Smythe gathered several leaflets and handed them across the desk before turning once more to her folder. ‘That is the list of requirements for each child. Please make sure they have everything on that list and limit their luggage to a case each.’

They took the lists and scanned them quickly, and Sally saw they were the same as the one she’d got in London.

The woman behind the desk had got into her stride now she had forms to fill in, and she looked quite animated. ‘I will need each child’s name, date of birth, home address and, in your case, Miss Turner, your London address as well as your billet here. I will also need to see your identity cards.’

They duly handed them over, gave her the details, and waited in silence as her pen scratched across the official-looking form.

‘They will have to have medical checks, of course. We can’t risk the spread of diseases.’ She glanced at Sally over her glasses. ‘I take it you are registered with a local doctor?’

‘It’s Dr Brown in the High Street,’ said Peggy. ‘He’s our family doctor.’

‘I will need you to sign these consent forms.’ She handed them to Jim before turning to Sally. ‘I see we already have your mother’s signature on the form for when you left London. I see no reason why that would not still hold as you are travelling with Ernest.’

‘And Sally’s train fare?’ said Jim.

‘I will make sure she is fully covered for that.’ Miss Fforbes-Smythe checked her notes. ‘I see you are connected to the telephone service, which will make it easy to notify you of the train’s departure. Please make sure your children are ready to leave at very short notice. We cannot always guarantee the time-table, but the train will leave promptly at the allotted time, so don’t be late. It won’t wait for you.’

The summer’s sun was low in the sky as they finally left that awful office. Peggy pulled on her gloves, adjusted her hat and tucked her handbag under her arm. ‘I don’t know about you two, but I could do with a large whisky and soda.’

‘You’ll be lucky to get a beer,’ muttered Jim. ‘Come on, girls, let’s go to The Anchor and see if Rosie’s got a decent drop under the counter.’

The pub had stood in the narrow street for eight hundred years. It leant precariously over the pavement, the great black beams running like arteries between the whitewashed walls. Inside it was warm and noisy, the cigarette smoke hanging in a pall several inches from the ceiling.

Peggy and Sally found a seat by the enormous inglenook fireplace where a bunch of dusty dried flowers had replaced the burning logs. This was Sally’s first time in The Anchor, and she looked about it with interest as Jim went to the bar.

Heavy dark beams crossed the sway-backed ceiling that was brown with hundreds of years of nicotine-staining. The tiny, diamond-paned windows had been covered in tape and were further protected by the outside shutters. The flooring was made from bricks that weren’t very evenly laid, and over the bar were row upon row of pewter tankards. There was an out-of-tune upright piano being played in one corner, where a group of soldiers were singing enthusiastically, and a group of girls in the smart uniforms of the WAAFs were gossiping and flirting with the soldiers in another. She could understand now why Pearl and Edie liked coming here. The atmosphere was warm and friendly and, as yet, no-one had had too much to drink. It was a world away from the East End pubs where no decent woman would dream of going.