her still aching feet. In the glow of her bedside lamp Olive could see the brown-paper parcels, open now, their string removed and carefully rolled into balls for future use, stacked on her dressing-table stool, including the amber fabric that Tilly and Agnes had surprised her with earlier in the evening. A tender smile curved her mouth, her eyes misting with emotion and maternal pride.
Of course she had remonstrated with Tilly, saying that she and Agnes had no business wasting their money on silk velvet for her when she had no need of a party dress. A party dress. The last time she had had one of those she had been Tilly’s age. It had been pale blue silk and she had been wearing it the night she had met her husband, at a dance she had gone to with some friends. Jim had loved her in that dress, begging her to have a photograph taken of herself wearing it for him. She had loved dancing. She had loved Jim too, but she didn’t want Tilly’s youth to be like hers, over almost before it had begun, her life filled with the responsibilities of being a wife and a mother. She already knew what war did to young hearts and how it urged their owners to seize the moment in case it was snatched away from them. For a moment Olive’s heart was filled with remembered pain. She had been widowed for so long that she rarely thought of how it had felt to be a wife any more, or how it felt to be loved by a man and to love that man back in return, and then to lose him.
This war would not be like that, she tried to reassure herself. Everyone said so. She hoped that they were right.
The papers were saying that the war would be over before Christmas, Hitler put in his place and the British Expeditionary Force brought back from France and Belgium. Mothers who had parted with their children, allowing them to be evacuated, fearing the worst and that London was going to be bombed, were now bringing them back, and Nancy next door was complaining that the streets were full of children causing mischief who should have been at school, except that the schools had been closed down when the children were evacuated, adding that she was glad that Article Row was free of children, and that Barbara Simpson hadn’t decided to move back to London with their four. Olive didn’t agree with her. She thought it was rather a shame that they could no longer hear the voices of the four young Simpson children.
Another week and they’d be at the end of October; two months and it would be Christmas. She’d have to start getting a few things in ready, and find out what her lodgers planned to do. Dulcie, she assumed – and hoped – would want to spend Christmas with her own family, but Agnes would be with them, and Sally possibly. She could get some wool and knit both Tilly and Agnes gloves and scarves for Christmas to go with their new coats. Perhaps she’d knit a set for Sally, as well, a nice bright red that would match the lining of her nurse’s cloak.
Christmas. She’d have plenty of shopping to do with her house so full, and perhaps the sooner the better. Nancy had been talking gloomily about the probability of food shortages and even rationing if the war continued. She needed to get started with making her Christmas pudding, Olive decided. Olive still used the recipe that had been her own mother’s, given to her by the cook of the family with whom Olive’s mother had been in service.
Somehow the thought of following her familiar routine helped to push away the fear that knowing they were at war brought.
War was such a small word with such a big meaning and overwhelming consequences. Olive reached out and switched off the lamp. It was church in the morning, and she’d be able to tell the vicar’s wife about Sergeant Dawson offering to give her and Mrs Morrison driving lessons.
Chapter Ten
‘It’s St John Ambulance this afternoon,’ Tilly reminded Agnes as they stood together outside the church after morning service. ‘I hope I don’t have to be injured again. Johnny Walton bandaged my arm so tightly last time it went numb.’
‘Learning first aid isn’t as bad as when we have to move all those sandbags that are supposed to be collapsed buildings, to get the injured out,’ Agnes reminded her. ‘Ted is on fire-watching duties for the street he lives in when he’s not working nights. He says when there’s a full moon he can see the barrage balloons as clear as anything, and right over to the river. Do you think that Hitler will really bomb us, Tilly?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tilly admitted. People talked a lot about the war, but so far nothing really bad had happened, and it was hard to imagine what war was like, even though she knew that Britain’s soldiers had been sent to France.
People were already complaining about the inconvenience of the blackout, and having bossy Air Raid Precautions wardens coming round threatening to fine you if you showed even the smallest chink of light. Plain daft, Nancy next door had said to Tilly’s mother when she had been grumbling about it, when there wasn’t a German in sight.
Where there had initially been a sense of purpose and determination because of the war, there was now almost a sense of anticlimax.
‘Mum said that she was going to have a word with the dressmaker and arrange for us to go to her so that she can take our measurements for our new things.’ Tilly gave a small sigh. ‘I do wish that Mum would let me go to the Hammersmith Palais. I’m not a child any more, after all.’
‘We’ll be going to the church’s Christmas Dance,’ Agnes reminded her. To Agnes, going to any kind of dance was thrillingly exciting. She couldn’t wait to tell Ted how kind Tilly’s mother had been to her, and about her new clothes.
‘Oh, the church dance!’ Tilly pulled a face. ‘That will just 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.’
