There'll Be Blue Skies (4 page)

‘Why’s that fox biting ’is tail?’

‘Shut up, Ernie.’ Sally shot Peggy an apologetic glance, her smile hesitant as she introduced herself. ‘If you’re sure you can put up with all ’is questions, Mrs Reilly, then, yes, we’d like to come with you.’

‘That’s settled then.’ Peggy was not one to hang about. She picked up the case and took Ernie’s little hand. ‘Come on, Ernie, let’s get home and see if Granddad Ron has got back with those ferrets.’

Chapter Two

Anne Reilly was almost twenty-three and felt blessed that her first post since qualifying was at the local primary school where she’d once sat enthralled by the things she could learn. Her smile was soft with contentment as she collected the exercise books and stacked them on her desk. She loved teaching, and the children had been well behaved today, even her little brother, Charlie.

The bell began to ring; classes were over until Monday. ‘Don’t run,’ she called out to the stampeding children, ‘and stop pushing, Charles Reilly. You’ll get home soon enough.’

Her youngest brother shot her his cheeky grin and eased through the door before tearing down the hallway with an enthusiastic yell of freedom. At eight years old, Charlie had far too much energy – but he was bright and absorbed his lessons like a sponge. Anne had high hopes for Charlie.

She cleaned the blackboard, put away the chalk, rulers and pencils in the desk and set about tidying the classroom. The arrival of so many evacuees had swelled the numbers at Cliffehaven Primary, and there was very little room to manoeuvre around the desks and benches. But that wasn’t the most pressing problem, for space could always be found somewhere – it was more the fact that the majority of those evacuee children could barely read and write, let alone knew the names and dates of the English Kings and Queens or recited their tables. It seemed the East End children were needed to earn money, not waste time at school – and it was extremely difficult to run a classroom efficiently when half the children had to have special coaching to get them up to scratch.

Anne sighed as she stowed the reading books away in the cupboard. The headmaster was aware of how hard things were getting, but with a shortage of books and more evacuees scheduled to arrive over the next few weeks, the situation could only get worse. There had been talk of dividing up the lessons – the local children in the morning, evacuees in the afternoon – but that would mean only half an education for all of them, unless they worked through the holidays as well.

She stuffed the exercise books into her briefcase, pulled on her warm woollen coat and scarf and shut the classroom door behind her. Everyone had to do their bit, and if it meant shorter holidays and longer hours, then that was what she would do.

Her thoughts were disrupted by Dorothy who was emerging from her own classroom across the corridor. She and Dorothy had known each other all their lives and had attended the same teacher-training college. ‘You look as if you’ve had a bit of a day,’ Anne said with a smile.

‘You should try teaching that lot,’ Dorothy replied, sweeping back her wavy ginger hair. ‘Half of them can’t sit still for more than a couple of minutes, and it’s the devil’s own job to keep order. I can’t say I’m sorry it’s the weekend.’

Anne took her arm and gave it a sympathetic hug. Dorothy had several disruptive children in her class, and she fully understood how hard it was to keep them quiet and focused on their lessons. ‘What are your plans for the next two days? Are you seeing Greg?’

Dorothy drew the bulging briefcase to her chest and gave a rueful smile as they headed for the front door. ‘Marking this lot will take up most of the evening, but, yes, I’m meeting Greg for a drink later. Want to join us?’

Anne shook her head, making her dark curls dance. She didn’t fancy playing gooseberry with Dorothy and her Canadian soldier. ‘I’ve got other plans,’ she replied, knowing there was a twinkle in her eyes.

Dorothy raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s like that, is it?’

Anne could feel the blush rise up her neck and into her face. ‘We’ve only known each other a few weeks,’ she protested. ‘Give us a chance.’

‘Martin Black is a bit of a catch, though, you have to admit,’ said Dorothy. ‘He’s handsome, single
and
an RAF pilot – what more could you want?’

‘I’ll have to wait and see,’ murmured Anne, as Dorothy collected her bicycle from the shed and they walked to the gate. ‘Martin got his orders last night. He’ll be moving to a permanent base within the next two weeks. He can’t tell me where it is, of course, but it could be miles away, and we might not get the chance of seeing each other quite so much.’

Dorothy’s smile was knowing. ‘Oh,’ she said, with all the wisdom of a twenty-three year old who’d had a string of admirers, ‘I’m sure you’ll find a way.’ She settled her briefcase in the bicycle basket and pedalled off, wobbling slightly as she turned her head and waved goodbye.

Anne pulled on her gloves and tightened her scarf as the bitterly cold wind buffeted her. The gulls were wheeling overhead, filling the air with their angry cries. The fishermen must just have returned on the high tide with their daily catch.

It was a fairly short walk home, past the local shops and pubs before turning north and up the hill away from the seafront. But, as she hurried out of the school gates, her mind wasn’t really on gulls, fishermen or classrooms. Her thoughts were full of Martin, and the worrying possibility that their fledgling romance would simply peter out once he was posted. She had no illusions, for she’d seen it happen to some of her friends – but life was uncertain for everyone, and she was determined to remain optimistic.

Sally trailed behind them across the concourse. Mrs Reilly was a small, wiry woman whose every step spoke of a boundless energy, but Sally was a little disconcerted by the way she had taken charge of Ernie, and of how willingly he’d taken his walking stick and gone along with her. She seemed nice enough, and she’d clearly put that awful woman in charge in her place. And yet Mrs Reilly was a smartly dressed stranger who talked posh, was clearly used to being obeyed, and wore dead animals round her neck. Sally decided to reserve judgement until she got to know her better.

As they emerged from the station, which was at the top of a long, steep hill, she was immediately struck by how cold it was, the air smelling cleanly of salt – instead of soot from a thousand chimneys, like back home. She looked up at the large white wheeling birds that shrieked and squabbled over the rooftops, and then gazed down the hill, past the large shops, banks and hotels with their stacks of sandbags and taped windows to where she caught a glimpse of blue glittering between the big houses. ‘Is this the seaside?’ she breathed.

‘Indeed it is,’ said Peggy with a beaming smile. ‘Welcome to Cliffehaven. I know you must be finding it hard to take it all in, but I hope you’ll be happy here.’

‘I ain’t never seen the sea before,’ she said, awestruck.

‘Cor,’ shouted Ernie, who was far more interested in Peggy’s car. ‘Are we goin’ in that?’ His eyes were wide and shining as he fingered the Ford’s running board, the huge headlamps and the shining chrome.

‘As long as it starts,’ said Peggy, as she opened the door and helped him clamber on to the back seat. ‘Otherwise it’s the trolleybus.’

‘Careful, Ernie. That’s real leather, that is, and Mrs Reilly don’t want you scratching it with yer calliper.’ Sally’s stern look was wasted, for Ernie was too busy leaning over the front seat to examine the dials and switches on the dashboard.

‘I shouldn’t worry too much,’ laughed Peggy. ‘This old car has withstood four children and more besides. Let him have his fun.’

Sally gave Ernie another furious look as she put the suitcase on the seat beside him and closed the door before warily joining Mrs Reilly on the front seat. The car smelled lovely, and it reminded her of the market stall in Petticoat Lane where Alf Green sold the gloves and handbags he made with the leftovers from his cobbler’s shop. She could feel the cool leather against her bare legs, and the way the seat cushioned her, but she sat ramrod stiff, terrified she might damage it. Mrs Reilly must be very rich to own such a car.

‘Off we go then. Hold on tight. This old girl gets a bit temperamental, but she’ll be fine once we get going.’

Sally pressed back into the seat and held on as the engine spluttered into life and they jerked their way down the hill. But as the car slowly rattled and backfired its way past Woolworths and the Odeon cinema, she forgot to be nervous, for the patch of blue at the bottom of the road had captured her full attention.

They reached the crossroads at the bottom of the hill and Peggy drew to a halt. ‘There you are,’ she said, with obvious pride. ‘That’s the English Channel.’

‘So it’s not the sea then?’

‘Well, it is, but only the bit that divides us from France and the rest of Europe.’

‘Cor,’ breathed Ernie. ‘It’s big, ain’t it?’

Sally gazed in awe and disbelief, unable to voice her agreement. It was enormous, stretching from the towering white cliffs at one end of the promenade to the rolling hills at the other – and as far as the eye could see to the horizon where it seemed to melt into the sky. The blue was laced with white frothy waves that splashed against the shingle and the enormous concrete blocks that had been placed haphazardly across the bay. Gulls swooped and swirled overhead, flags fluttered, and the people walking on the promenade had to hold on to their hats and bend into the October wind.

She thought how envious her friends back home would be, but as she eyed the thick coils of barbed wire, the warnings that the beach had been mined, and the concrete gun emplacements that lined the promenade, she realised that, even if she did get up the nerve, she would never be able to actually get down on the beach, or dip her toes in the water.

Peggy seemed to have read her thoughts. ‘It doesn’t look its best at the moment,’ she said, engaging the gears with a clash. ‘Even the pier has been closed off for the duration. The army came the other day and dismantled half of it to prevent enemy landings.’

She turned the steering wheel and they headed east along the road towards the high white cliffs that were topped with grass, and the occasional gun emplacement. ‘If you want to go on the beach, then the only place is down there where the fishing fleet comes in – but it’s a busy place with the boats in and out, and not very safe.’

Sally stared up at the cliffs and back to the sea. She took in the black boats with their sails and ropes, and the men who clambered over them in their thick jumpers and sturdy rubber boots. She could even see the nets hanging out to dry in the wind, and the lobster pots stacked on the shingle. The nearest she’d ever come to seeing fish was in Billingsgate Market.

‘I feel sick,’ muttered Ernie.

Peggy slammed on the brake and Sally rushed to get him out of the car. ‘Oh, Ernie,’ she sighed, as he vomited copiously down a nearby drain. ‘I told you not to eat so much,’ she scolded softly.

Ernie’s little face was green-tinged as she cleaned him up with Mrs Reilly’s spotless handkerchief, and gave him a hug.

‘Too much excitement and chocolate cake, by the look of it,’ Peggy said, as she helped him back to the car, told him to lie down, and gently tucked a blanket round him. ‘We’ll be home soon,’ she soothed.

‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Reilly.’ Sally’s face felt hot and she couldn’t look the woman in the eye. ‘He’s ruined yer ’ankie, an’ all. I’ll get you another one as soon as I’m earning.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Peggy, taking the offending article and stuffing it in her handbag. ‘All children are sick at one time or another and the handkerchief can go in the wash with everything else.’ She clashed the gears and the car stuttered along the seafront. ‘If I had a penny for every time Bob and Charlie had been sick, then I’d be a rich woman.’ She smiled at Sally and patted her knee. ‘Don’t worry, dear,’ she murmured. ‘We’re nearly home, and he’ll be as right as rain after a cup of tea and a bit of a lie-down.’

Sally didn’t know what to make of Mrs Reilly. She seemed really nice, and had been very kind about Ernie making a show of himself – but what did a woman as rich as her want from them? She’d met do-gooders before, and they always wanted something in return for their favours; like the lady in the bakery back home, who wanted her ironing done in exchange for the few stale rolls she handed over begrudgingly at the end of the week.

Her doubts and suspicions multiplied as they turned from the seafront and began to climb the steep hill lined with row upon row of grand terraced houses. There were no factories or gasworks overshadowing them; no cracked pavements or littered streets with kids playing football, and women leaning in their doorways having a gossip. The windows were clean, the paintwork shining in the autumn sunlight, steps scrubbed, railings clear of rust. The gardens were neat and even the smoke from the chimneys was blown away by the wind coming off the sea.

She spotted two pubs down a side street, and a row of shops – but no sign of Goldman’s Clothing factory where she was supposed to start work in two days’ time.

‘That’s the local shops,’ said Peggy, slowing the car. ‘The big building at the far end is the hospital, and the one opposite it is the primary school where my daughter Anne teaches. Bob started at the secondary school this term, but Charlie goes there, and so will Ernie.’

‘But Billy said there weren’t no school in the country,’ wailed Ernie from the back seat. He was obviously feeling better.