Wartime Friends, page 6
‘What do we do with all the earth?’
‘Pile it on top and around the sides for extra protection and then we plant veggies on top to help camouflage the fact that it’s a shelter and to make good use of the space too.’ Eddie went on: ‘Inside we’ll need bunk beds for the four of us. Dad and I are going to make some and then we’ll put an advert in the paper to say that we’re making wooden bunk beds to fit Anderson shelters.’
‘We’ll need to keep blankets and pillows handy so we can take them with us if there is an air raid,’ Lilian said, now realizing her husband was serious. ‘No good leaving them in there all the time. They’d get damp.’
‘I’ll put a spirit stove in there so we can at least make a cup of tea – and some candles and matches as well,’ Eddie said.
‘And I’ll make sure I always have some tea and fresh milk ready.’ Lilian glanced at her husband. ‘But have you realized, Eddie, we might not hear the town sirens right out here?’
‘But we’ll hear the planes, love. Even the enemy can’t creep in silently. And all of you,’ he glanced around at his family, ‘keep a bundle of warm clothing ready. It’ll get very cold in the shelter, especially in winter.’
Lilian sighed. She would go along with what Eddie was saying. She knew he was only trying to keep his family safe, but she couldn’t stop herself murmuring, ‘I still don’t understand why we need a shelter,’ as she eyed the gas mask with distaste and turned up her nose at the strong rubbery smell. ‘They’re hardly going to bomb us, Eddie.’
‘You never know. If what my dad said is right, we’re going to have a lot of army personnel in the area. He’s heard that Butlin’s has been requisitioned by the Admiralty as a training centre. And we’ll probably get RAF personnel here too, eventually.’ Eddie laughed. ‘There’s plenty of room for square bashing on the sea front. And all the hotels will be ideal as billets.’
‘That’s true,’ Carolyn agreed. ‘It’s unlikely we’ll be getting holidaymakers next year – and maybe not for a while after that.’
The family was silent for a moment, realizing the dreadful loss to the town’s economy that the absence of summer visitors would cause.
‘Your dad’s workshop is a veritable gossip shop. Him and your mother seem to hear all the news first.’
Eddie laughed. ‘You’re right there, Lilian. We get all and sundry popping in for this and that. And my mam comes hurrying out to invite them to take a cup of tea with her if they’re waiting for some small job to be done. She’s the one with her ear to the ground.’
At supper that evening, as the family sat around the table, Tom said gloomily, ‘I don’t think we can go to the Point anymore.’ Like it was for Carolyn, it was one of Tom’s favourite places to go with his friends, or, more often than not, on his own to watch the birds with the pair of field glasses his grandad had given him the previous Christmas. ‘There seems to be a lot of activity there now. Me and a mate from school went out there on our bicycles – like we always have. We got as far as the Hump but there was a barbed-wire fence strung between two moveable posts and two sentries on duty. They were dressed in uniform. They told us to clear off.’
‘I think the army have moved in very quickly,’ Eddie said, ‘and are building anti-tank defences. Dad thinks an emergency battery is being set up there by the coastal defence.’
‘Is that a branch of the army?’ Carolyn asked.
‘I think so. The artillery, I would imagine.’
‘It’s an ideal spot, I have to admit.’
‘There’s definitely something going on,’ Lilian said. ‘I’ve seen all sorts of army-type vehicles heading to the Point this last week and most of them only seem to be going one way. So, you keep away from there, Tom. I don’t want you getting into trouble.’
‘Some of the girls at work were saying that huge rolls of barbed wire are being put all along the beach, blocking all the entrances and leaving only a narrow gap so that the lifeboat can be launched,’ Carolyn put in. ‘And they’ve heard that at least part of the beach – if not all of it – is going to be mined.’
‘In that case, you stay away from the Point and the beach as well, Tom,’ Lilian said swiftly and then she sighed. ‘We won’t recognize Skegness soon.’ She shook herself and became more businesslike again. ‘Right, Carolyn, when we’ve done the washing-up, I’ll need some help with these blackout panels and curtains. And you’d better put sticking tape across all the windows if your dad is so sure we’re going to get bombed.’ Suddenly she smiled. ‘I bet there’s one thing the rest of you haven’t thought about.’
‘What’s that, love?’ Eddie asked.
‘If the army are moving in down there, there’s a good chance we might get our road from town tarmacked.’
The other three stared at her and then Eddie murmured, ‘You could very well be right.’
‘It’d make cycling a lot easier for us, Tom,’ Carolyn said, as she rose to clear away the empty plates and take them into the scullery. ‘Maybe not quite so many punctures, eh?’
The whole country was following government regulations and advice. Any available areas were dug up and planted with vegetables and farmers had to follow new regulations. Smallholders made use of every inch of their land. Eddie constructed a small hut and a pen at the far end of the land that belonged to the cottage.
‘What’s that for?’ Lilian demanded.
‘Three goats.’
‘Goats! What on earth do we want with goats?’
‘Extra milk supplies.’
‘And who, might I ask,’ Lilian began, folding her arms across her chest with a belligerent air, ‘is going to milk them?’ But before anyone could speak, she answered her own question. ‘As if I didn’t know.’
‘I’ll do it when I can, Mam,’ Tom offered. ‘I think it’s a great idea.’
‘Oh you do, do you? Well, you’ll just have to be careful what you leave lying about. They eat anything and everything. We had some on the farm years ago and they got out of their pen one day and pulled all me mam’s washing off the line and chewed me dad’s wool vest and long johns. So,’ she added, wagging her finger at her husband, ‘you mind you make that enclosure good and strong.’ Still muttering to herself she went back into the house while Eddie and Tom exchanged a grin.
The first few months of the war came to be known later as the ‘Phoney War’, because not much seemed to be happening.
‘You mark my words,’ Lilian said, more in hope than with conviction, ‘it’ll all be over by Christmas.’
‘That’s what they said last time,’ Eddie reminded her gently, ‘but it didn’t happen, did it?’
Lilian’s only reply was to wriggle her shoulders.
By October, 158,000 men of the British Expeditionary Force and 25,000 vehicles had been landed in France in a build-up to bolster the French defence.
‘What on earth have they done that for?’ Lilian demanded. ‘Hitler hasn’t even invaded France.’
‘Not yet,’ Eddie said ominously.
Nine
Christmas came and the war was not over, though a great many of the evacuee children had gone home because there was nothing happening. There was little change in the Holmes family’s ritual. They all gathered in Frank’s farmhouse for dinner as they always had, which was cooked and served by Lilian with a little help from Eve, who, ever since Frank’s wife’s death, had made the traditional pudding and a cake. As had been the custom for a number of years, they were joined by Eddie’s parents, Norman and Dorothy Holmes, and Phyllis and Peter Carter.
‘We’ll be luckier than most,’ Frank said, as he sat at the head of the table to carve the huge goose. ‘Living on a farm, we won’t suffer the deprivations some townsfolk will. Mind you, be warned, I shall stick rigidly to the regulations. There’ll be no law-breaking on my farm, but you must all’ – he glanced around the large table set out in the dining room for this special occasion – ‘let me know what you need and I’ll do my best.’
‘I’ll have to dig out my mother’s old recipes,’ Dorothy said. Eddie’s mother – known as Granny Holmes – was like a round little barrel with fair curly hair that framed her plump cheeks and ready smile. She belonged to one or two women’s clubs and was already making enquiries as to how she could help with the war effort.
‘I shall certainly join the WVS,’ she said.
‘Is there a branch here?’ Eve asked.
Dorothy’s eyes twinkled. ‘Oh yes. A friend of mine organized enrolments in a cafe on the seafront way back in October. They’ve got over a hundred volunteers now, but they’d still be glad of more.’
‘Count me in,’ Eve said, as she passed around the roast potatoes.
Lilian had strategically placed Peter and Carolyn next to each other, but Peter was strangely quiet. As the meal ended with mince pies and cheese, Peter leaned back. ‘I couldn’t eat another crumb. That was magnificent as always. Thank you, everyone.’
‘You’re most welcome, lad, and I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it. There’s no knowing what it might be like next year. Now,’ Frank rose from the table, ‘if no one minds, I’m going to have my forty winks in front of the range.’
Peter leaned towards Carolyn. ‘Come for a walk after you’ve helped with the clearing up. I’m going to check on the animals. I want your grandad and Mr Harold to have a day off.’
Carolyn smiled at him. ‘That’s nice of you. I’ll—’
Whatever she had been going to say was interrupted by Lilian. ‘You two go. There’re plenty of us to manage the washing-up.’
‘And I’ll see to the animals,’ Adam volunteered, grinning at Peter. ‘I’ve nowt else to do, seeing as how I haven’t got a pretty young lady to take out walking.’
Adam was tall and gangly with bright red hair and a face covered in freckles. His brown eyes were warm and friendly and mischievous and his perpetual grin seemed to stretch from ear to ear. He had worked on his grandfather’s farm since leaving school and had been promised that one day it would be his. Lilian was no longer resentful that the farm would not be left equally between Frank’s grandsons; her Tom would go to university. But the country was now at war and no one knew what the future held. No one could make any plans and be sure that they would be fulfilled.
Carolyn and Peter, wrapped up well against the winter’s east wind blowing in from the North Sea, set out to walk a circuit of Frank’s fields.
‘We’ll give the Point a miss today. It’ll be perishing there.’
‘I doubt we’d be allowed anywhere near it now. I miss seeing the sea, but I can’t bear to see all the defences ruining the landscape, even though I know they’re necessary. I can still hear the sea, but it’s not the same as being able to watch the waves rolling in. There’s something so soothing about the permanence of the ocean. Whatever’s happening, it just carries on as it always has and as it always will.’
Peter chuckled. ‘Except when it gets a bit rough and we have huge rollers crashing onto the shore and threatening to flood our land.’
‘It’s still magnificent even then.’
They walked in silence for a while before Peter, as if he couldn’t hold it in any longer, burst out, ‘Caro, you remember we talked about me volunteering?’
She turned startled eyes towards him. ‘I thought maybe you’d changed your mind. Grandad told me you and he were getting your heads together about applying for an exemption.’
‘Well, yes, we have applied, but I’m not sure it’s what I really want. I don’t feel comfortable about it.’
‘You’re an agricultural worker. What you do here is far more important than being shot at.’
Peter flinched. ‘Rationally, yes, you’re right. But I can’t help how I feel. I – I suppose I must take after my father in that respect. He didn’t have to go.’
‘Whatever will your mother say?’
Peter shuddered. ‘Don’t. I don’t even want to think about that.’
‘You’re all she’s got, Peter,’ Carolyn reminded him gently.
‘I know,’ he said gloomily. ‘I don’t want to upset her, but . . .’
‘Has anyone said anything to you to make you feel like this?’
‘Not – much. I’ve stopped going to the pub in town though. All the lads I meet there are talking about joining up. No one’s actually said anything directly to me, but there’s a sort of atmosphere. I feel I’m the odd one out.’
‘Whatever you decide, Peter, please promise me one thing?’
‘I will if I can.’
‘That you won’t go because someone shames you into it. Hands you a white feather or something daft like that. If it’s your own choice to go, then that’s different.’
Peter squeezed her elbow. ‘You’re such a good mate, Caro, and you’re absolutely right. If I do volunteer, it must be for the right reasons, not just because I’m caught up in a wave of patriotic fervour like people were last time. I think we’d better go back to the farm; our mothers will no doubt have us engaged by now. We’ve been out together for over an hour.’
Though Carolyn smiled at his attempt at humour as they turned back towards the farmhouse, their conversation had left her feeling very unsettled. Peter’s mother was not Carolyn’s favourite person in the world, but in that moment she felt a twinge of pity for her.
Although there was fierce fighting between the Russians and the Finns, not much happened during the first three months of the new year of 1940 on the home front, apart from the rationing which affected everyone. Bacon, butter and sugar were the very first items to be rationed in January.
‘How on earth am I supposed to feed a family of four on these meagre amounts?’ Lilian complained.
‘Good job Dad got the goats, then,’ Tom said grinning, unable to resist teasing his mother. ‘At least we won’t go short of milk. I presume you can make butter and cheese from goat’s milk.’
‘You can,’ Lilian said, still looking down at the offending ration books. ‘But it doesn’t taste the same.’
By March, meat had been added to the list.
‘Have you heard?’ Tom said to Carolyn, ‘Cousin Adam is quite the entrepreneur.’
She gaped at him. ‘How?’
‘He’s got himself an air gun and goes out shooting rabbits on Grandad’s farm. And then he takes them to a butcher in town. Doing a roaring trade, so he said.’
Carolyn laughed. ‘Good for him. Grandad’s always been plagued by rabbits. He’ll be pleased to see their numbers reduced.’
‘And to be feeding folk into the bargain.’
In April, however, things began to ‘hot up’, as Frank put it, when Hitler invaded Denmark and Norway. Then in May, two momentous events occurred on the same day: Winston Churchill became prime minister and Hitler invaded France, Belgium, Luxembourg and the Netherlands.
‘Poor feller,’ Frank said, jabbing at Churchill’s photograph in the newspaper. ‘Talk about being thrown in at the deep end.’
‘He’s a bit old to be prime minister, isn’t he?’ Carolyn, visiting the farm after work, remarked.
‘Don’t you believe it. He’s got the vim and vigour of a man half his age and he’s been proved right. He’s been warning us all for years that this was going to happen. No, he’s the man for the job and no mistake.’
As she cycled home the following evening, Carolyn mulled over her grandfather’s words. Tonight, she hardly noticed the small shops along Drummond Road closing up at the end of the day; the houses and guest houses with their windows criss-crossed with sticky tape to prevent flying glass in the event of a bombing raid, and blackout curtains ready to be drawn when the lights needed to go on. She glanced briefly at the rear of the grandest hotel in the town, the Seacroft Hotel, which faced out over the beach and the sea. Now there were none of its visitors’ classy cars parked there. The whole town was ominously quiet, missing the influx of the first summer visitors. She wondered if there would be any at all this year. How the town would miss its holidaymakers. She pedalled on, not even daring to glance at the golf course on her left. She’d heard that concrete blocks had been built on its fairways as a precaution against a tank invasion. It was a sight she didn’t want to see. As the houses petered out and she was cycling along the uneven lane, her thoughts turned back to her grandfather. She smiled to herself. Frank was only four or five years older than the new prime minister. Of course he was going to defend his capability.
Frank’s words were prophetic; only a few weeks later, at the end of May and into the first days of June, came the catastrophe of Dunkirk, which, with his fine oratory, Churchill used to fire the will of the British people to fight on and never surrender.
The news of the evacuation from the shores of France had made Peter feel even more unsettled. Towards the end of July, the first bombs fell on the Seacroft golf course only a mile or so away from where they lived. Soon afterwards, Peter joined the local branch of the newly formed Home Guard, which had very recently changed its name from the Local Defence Volunteers. But it was still not enough to assuage his conscience.
By harvest time, he still hadn’t made up his mind.
‘Oh Carolyn,’ he said to her as they worked side by side stooking the corn in Frank’s fields on her half-day off from work. She had stopped going to Mrs Fox for typing lessons on Thursday afternoons. The kindly lady had said, ‘There’s not much more I can teach you. All you need now is practice, practice, practice to get your speeds up. And get Tom to keep giving you dictation for your shorthand.’
‘I still don’t know what to do,’ Peter went on. ‘I do so want to join up but it’s leaving Mam and also leaving your grandad in the lurch.’ He grinned sheepishly. ‘Good farmhands are hard to find at the moment. I don’t want to sound as if I’m blowing my own trumpet, but I’ve worked for Mr Frank a long time, ever since I was a young lad still at school, and I know his ways.’
