Women on the Home Front: Family Saga 4-Book Collection. Annie Groves
be boys and girls who are still at school. Dulcie said this morning at breakfast that the Hammersmith Palais is the very best dancehall in London and that it was packed with men in uniform last night.’
It wasn’t men in uniform who occupied Tilly’s most private thoughts, though, so much as one particular man in uniform – Dulcie’s brother. In bed at night, when she closed her eyes, Tilly thought about how exciting it would be to dance with Dulcie’s brother, picturing herself in her new dress whilst Rick swept her round the floor and told her how beautiful she looked. Of course, she couldn’t say anything to Agnes about those thrillingly secret thoughts. They were far too private for that. And she certainly couldn’t tell her mother. Tilly knew that her mother didn’t entirely approve of Dulcie, and Tilly suspected that would mean that she would not approve of Rick either. She certainly didn’t approve of Tilly wanting to go dancing at the Hammersmith Palais, but Tilly was determined to persist in begging her to let her go until her mother gave way. She was, after all, seventeen now, working, and properly grown up.
Several yards away from the two girls, Mrs Windle, the vicar’s wife, was telling Olive, ‘Sergeant Dawson spoke to me earlier about his offer to teach you and Mrs Morrison to drive. I must say it’s a most generous and welcome offer. I believe he’s already had a word with Mr Morrison and he’s happy to agree. It will make such a difference to our WVS unit to have two drivers and a vehicle. I must confess I was beginning to have a most unchristian reluctance to listen to the bishop’s wife talking about their drivers. I can’t tell you how pleased I am, and how grateful too, to Sergeant Dawson and to you and Mrs Morrison, for giving up your spare time like this. This will make such a difference to our unit, and to those we’ll be able to help.’ Mrs Windle’s face was pink with excitement. The vicar’s wife was small and on the plump side, her grey hair tightly permed, her smile for Olive genuinely warm. Olive liked her, with her calm, practical manner, and her genuine concern for her husband’s parishioners. The Windles, who were in their early fifties, didn’t have any children.
‘I just hope that I don’t let Sergeant Dawson down and prove not to be able to learn,’ Olive responded worriedly.
Mrs Windle patted Olive’s arm and surprised her by telling her warmly, ‘My dear Olive, of all the women I know, you are the least likely to let anyone down. I noticed this morning how happy little Agnes looks.’
‘She and Tilly get on very well together,’ Olive agreed. ‘Tilly’s persuaded Agnes to join the St John Ambulance and go along with her.’
‘And of course they’ll be coming to the church Christmas Dance. We’ve invited some of the Polish refugee families billeted locally to come along. It must be dreadful to be forced to flee one’s home and country.’
‘Terrible,’ Olive agreed, slipping away from Mrs Windle’s side as another parishioner claimed her attention. She went to have a word with Peggy Thomas, the local dressmaker, who lived a couple of streets away with her elderly mother.
She’d just finished making arrangements for Tilly, Agnes and herself to go round to be measured on Monday evening when Sergeant Dawson came up to her.
‘I’ve had a word with the vicar’s wife about the driving lessons.’
‘Yes, she told me. It really is very generous of you.’
‘I’m on nights this week so I thought we might make a start. Perhaps Thursday, if you can make it? Much easier for you both to learn in the daylight.’
‘Thursday?’
‘You’re too busy?’
‘No . . . not at all. It’s just, well, I’m a bit apprehensive about it, I suppose,’ Olive admitted with a small laugh.
‘There’s no need. You’ll be a natural, I reckon.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’d better get back. Iris isn’t feeling too well at the moment.’ He paused and then added, ‘It’s the anniversary today, you see . . . of us losing our lad, and she still takes it hard. We’ll be going down to the cemetery later. She’d spend all day there if I’d let her.’
Olive gave him a sympathetic look. ‘I know how I felt when I lost Jim but losing a child must be so much worse.’ She glanced across at Tilly. ‘So very much worse.’
‘Iris still thinks that something could have been done – to save him, like.’ Archie Dawson shook his head. ‘I don’t. Poor lad, I reckon he was glad to go and be freed from his suffering. I used to lie in bed at night listening to him trying to breathe. Really struggled, he did, wheezing and coughing . . .’
Olive didn’t know what to say. Her throat felt choked with emotion. Had he been a woman she would have reached out and touched his arm but of course he wasn’t, so that was impossible. All she could bring herself to say was a quiet, ‘You must miss him dreadfully.’
‘I miss what he might have been if he’d not been born so poorly. There was many a time when I’d be sitting at his bedside lifting him up to get air in to his lungs as he struggled to breathe, when I wished it was me that was so poorly and not him. He was such a brave little lad. Never a word of complaint, except towards the end one night he said to me, “Do you think I will die soon, Dad, only it hurts so much to live, and I’m that tired.”’
Now the rules of convention had to be ignored as Olive gave in to her natural instincts and reached out to place her hand briefly and compassionately on Sergeant Dawson’s arm.
‘He’s better off where he is now,’ he told her simply, ‘but Iris can’t see that.’ He cleared his throat and then looked across to where Tilly and Agnes were talking with several other young members of the local St John Ambulance brigade.
‘Tilly’s growing up into a fine young woman. One minute they’re still at school and the next they’re all grown up.’
Grown up? The sergeant’s words jarred a little on her. Olive didn’t want to think of Tilly being grown up. Not with a war on and all the temptations and difficulties that could bring for a young woman. She’d seen what could happen for herself with the last war: girls caught up in the patriotism and urgency of the moment, getting involved with and then marrying young men who had gone away to war and then, if they were lucky, had come back, but not as the young men they had been. And that was just those young women who had been lucky. She wasn’t the only woman of her generation to end up widowed with a child to bring up. War gave young women freedoms they would not otherwise have been granted – she had seen that too – but those freedoms could exact a heavy price and she desperately wanted to keep Tilly safe from the pain she herself had known.
‘Young Agnes is lucky to have found a billet with you,’ the sergeant continued.
‘Well, I don’t know about that, Sergeant,’ Olive demurred. ‘I want to do my best for her, of course . . .’
‘Something’s troubling you?’
‘In a way,’ Olive admitted. ‘Agnes isn’t my daughter, of course, but I can’t help feeling some responsibility towards her. She’s become very friendly with a young man – Ted – she’s met through her work at Chancery Lane underground station. He’s a train driver. They’ve been meeting up at a café there. From Agnes’s side it’s all very innocent. So far as she’s concerned he’s simply teaching her the names of all the stations. He sounds respectable and well-meaning enough, but without knowing him or having met him . . .’ Olive paused, knowing from Sergeant Dawson’s expression that she didn’t need to explain her concern in more detail. ‘She’s very young for her age,’ she added, ‘having only ever known life inside the orphanage.’
‘Leave it to me, Mrs Robbins. Chancery Lane comes under our jurisdiction. It won’t be any problem for me to call round there and ask a few discreet questions about this young man. You don’t happen to have his surname, do you?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t, Sergeant, and you really mustn’t go to any trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble. I’ll have a walk round there during the week and see what I can