After a twenty-minute climb she finally reached the huge pile of black rocks, which seemed so precariously balanced they looked as if they could topple over on a windy day. But they had been here for aeons and aeons, she knew that.
It was windy up here and she quickly slid into the niche between the two rocks. She sat down on the stone she had once had a gardener place there as a seat for her. That had been in 1932. Eleven years ago now, she thought…how time flies…like those birds on the wing soaring into the sky. They were in a ‘V’ formation. ‘V’ for victory, she murmured to herself, and no sooner had that thought entered her mind than she spotted the bombers coming in, flying low across the blameless blue sky in the same ‘V’ formation. ‘V’ for victory, she thought yet again, smiling, filled with relief and joy. They’d made it home… were coming back to their airfields, Dishforth or Leeming, or perhaps Topcliffe, where Tony had been stationed for special training at the beginning of the war. Obviously they had been on a bombing raid over Germany…they were home safe. As they droned overhead, she stood up and found herself saluting them…the sons of mothers just like her. Her heart swelled with pride.
Emma sat for a while, staring out at the vast panorama that spread itself in front of her: the valley below, and beyond the continuation of the endless moors, empty, desolate, solitary and without life. Except for the larks and linnets with their joyous songs…the tender little birds of her childhood days.
It seemed to Emma that time had just sped by since Christmas. So much had happened in the last ten months. The war was progressing quite well…it had become a world war in 1941 after Germany had invaded Russia and the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. The Americans had been fighting alongside them for some time now…in Europe, North Africa and the Far East. There had been defeats, but triumphs, too, for the Allies, and everyone was optimistic.
Emma believed they would win the war, just as Winston Churchill had always predicted, especially now that they had the valiant and courageous Americans on their side. She thought of the young pilots she had met through Robin, and here in Yorkshire, and she had been impressed with all of them. Her sons were still safe and unharmed, as were all of the sons of the three clans, and for that she was thankful. They were all thankful.
The spring had passed quickly this year, with Robin coming and going, bringing his comrades-in-arms to ‘bunk down’ with them, as he called it, and with David Amory always tagging along. There had been much laughter and gaiety, the sound of the gramophone playing constantly, the clink of glasses, the peals of laughter, the songs around the piano. She had loved those months: their youth and high spirits had drowned out the wail of the sirens, the harsh gunfire from the anti-aircraft guns in Hyde Park, the deafening sound of exploding bombs.
She had taken them all under her wing, loving them, spoiling them, and most especially David.
It had come as no surprise to her when he had approached her this past May and asked her permission to marry Daisy when she became eighteen. ‘But that’s next week!’ she had exclaimed, and he had answered, ‘Yes, I know, Mrs. Harte, but there’s a war on.’ She had been unable to refuse them, they were so much in love. And she approved of young David with his boundless charm and sweet nature. Besides that, Emma knew that she had set her own precedent by allowing Elizabeth to marry Tony at eighteen. There was no way she could say no to her most beloved child, the love child of Paul McGill. And their wedding had turned out to be the happy event of the summer of 1943.
She herself had been somewhat bogged down with work since the beginning of the year, as she invariably was. But she refused to give up her war efforts, even though Winston was always on her back, telling her she was exhausting herself. Emma felt honour-bound to pitch in and do her bit, that was her nature. And she often went with Elizabeth to London Bridge tube station to bring food, kind words and comfort to the Londoners who were sheltering there. Daisy was a willing volunteer as well. Emma also gave money to various needy causes, and raised money for them, and ran a canteen for the troops.
Suddenly she began to laugh, remembering how Jack Field had protested when she had decided to use the basement of Harte’s for the canteen, asking her if she had a permit to do such a thing. Jack’s objections, albeit uttered in mild tones, had surprised her. She had glared at him most ferociously and snapped, ‘Permits? Who needs permits? There’s a war on. And anyway, in case you’ve forgotten, this is my store. I own it, and if I want to have a canteen in the basement, I’ll have one!’
Within ten minutes, after she had calmed down, she had been chagrined, filled with the utmost remorse at the way she had spoken to Jack, one of her most loyal and devoted employees. And she had run down to his office behind the food halls and apologized most profusely; he had been relieved that she was not going to give him the sack, that she was so forgiving. ‘There’s nothing to forgive, Jack,’ she had told him softly. ‘Well, let’s put it this way, you have to forgive me for speaking to you so harshly, and so very rudely. I value everything you do for me. I’m so sorry.’
He had nodded and smiled and explained, ‘I was just worrying about things like fire regulations, Mrs. Harte, and the number of people we are allowed to have there, and whether the canteen would affect store security in any way.’
Emma now understood that he had only been doing his duty, and she had castigated him for it. She had listened to him most carefully as he had outlined the inherent problems, and of course he was right; she had been wrong, carried away in her enthusiasm and desire to help the fighting forces. Instead of using Harte’s basement she had bought a warehouse just off Fulham Road, and this had been turned into a canteen for the troops. It had become a great success, and she and Jack had remained good friends and colleagues. He even elected to work at the canteen once a week, as she herself did. They both enjoyed it.
A sudden smile illuminated Emma’s face, and in an instant she was transported back to a memorable evening at the canteen, not so long ago that she didn’t remember the details. The weeks and months fell away…she stepped back into her memories of the recent past…
‘Mummy, look, over there, at Glynnis dancing with Bryan,’ Elizabeth said, tugging at her arm, ‘isn’t she a wonder, the way she’s jitter-bugging. Gosh, they’re like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. They ought to be in the pictures together.’
Emma followed the direction of Elizabeth’s gaze and she had to agree. Her daughter was correct, Glynnis really was a fantastic dancer, whirling around on her high-heel wedge shoes, her dress flaring as Bryan spun her around and out, then pulled her back to him and twirled her again. It was obvious they were enjoying themselves, intent on their dancing.
‘The two of them do look very professional. My goodness, I’ve never seen anyone dance together the way they do, except on the silver screen,’ Emma murmured. ‘They’re a perfect team, just as you said.’
Emma and Elizabeth were standing near the bar in her canteen on the Fulham Road, watching the young Englishwomen and servicemen of various nationalities jitterbugging. Earlier, the two of them had made stacks of sandwiches and served them to the boys, along with cups of tea and coffee, lemonade, Tizer pop and beer. And quite a few glasses of Paul McGill’s vintage wine. Jack Field had managed to get Emma a liquor licence for the canteen, and now they could serve alcoholic beverages. ‘And what better way to dispose of some of that wine?’ she had asked her brothers Winston and Frank, who had agreed with her wholeheartedly.
Frank and Winston were with them at the canteen tonight, along with Robin, who had been given a two-day pass unexpectedly, as had Elizabeth’s husband, Tony Barkstone. Emma liked coming to work at the canteen, to talk to the boys from the different services, to give them a bit of mothering, comfort and encouragement. And it warmed her heart to see how much they enjoyed being there having a little fun.
Tony, who had been playing darts, now came over and joined them, putting his arm around Elizabeth’s waist, drawing his wife closer. Suddenly the jitterbug music came to an end,
and Emma noticed Frank was at the gramophone, putting on another record. Within seconds the strains of Glenn Miller playing Moonlight Serenade was filling the canteen with the captivating swing; music popularized by Glenn Miller’s big band.
Bryan began to lead Glynnis around the floor at a slower pace, obviously reluctant to release her, but he had to do so when Frank tapped him on his shoulder, cutting in. It was Frank’s turn to sway to the music with her.
Emma smiled to herself when she spotted Robin making a beeline for them, and she knew her son was about to cut in, just as Frank had done a moment before.
‘I must say, Glynnis is very popular,’ Emma said to Elizabeth and Tony. ‘I bet she’ll dance with almost every serviceman tonight, she’s such a good sport.’
Tony agreed, and added, ‘Anyway, she happens to be the best dancer who comes to work at the club. She’s as light as a feather on her feet.’
‘Have you heard her sing, Mummy?’
‘No, I haven’t, Elizabeth.’
‘She’s got a golden voice, very lovely.’
‘The Welsh are wonderful singers,’ Tony informed them. ‘They have very special vocal chords.’
Emma stared at her son-in-law in surprise. Tony constantly amazed her; he was always full of tidbits of information. But there was some truth to what he had just said. ‘Yes, the Welsh choirs are renowned,’ Emma murmured, looking past him at Frank, who was strolling over to join them.
A moment later Winston came and stood with their group. Placing an arm around Emma’s shoulders, Winston whispered, ‘That’s the one thing I miss, Emm. Dancing. I used to love it so before I lost my leg.’
Slipping her arm through his, she whispered, ‘Yes, I know. But let’s just remember that if you hadn’t had it off when you did you wouldn’t be alive.’
‘That’s true.’ Winston was staring at Glynnis and Robin on the dance floor together, and he suddenly said, ‘She’s turned out to be the best secretary you’ve ever had, hasn’t she?’
‘Indeed she has,’ Emma answered and then laughed, as she watched an American flyer cut in on Robin, who had no option but to relinquish Glynnis. Her son loped over and exclaimed, ‘Why are you standing, Mother, let’s all sit down, shall we?’ He pulled out a chair for Emma and they all seated themselves at a table near the edge of the dance floor.
Jack Field was standing at the gramophone now, and he changed the record this time. The strains of Glenn Miller’s band playing Fools Rush In floated into the air, and Emma leaned back in the chair, her mind on Paul McGill. She had not ceased to miss him, and now she felt a pang in her heart, understanding at this moment that there would never be another man in her life. Paul had been her great love, and would remain so always.
When the music stopped, Glynnis glided across the floor, and Emma said, ‘Do sit down, Glynnis dear, and catch your breath.’
‘Thanks, Mrs. Harte. I am a bit puffed. But it was lovely, I’m crazy about dancing.’
‘Would you like a glass of lemonade, Glynnis?’ Bryan O’Neill asked, hovering around her solicitously.
‘Oh yes, I would, thanks, Bryan.’ Turning to Emma, Glynnis went on, ‘I was hoping my nice GI friend Richard Hughes would be here, but I haven’t seen him. Have you, Mrs. Harte?’
‘I haven’t, I’m afraid, but it’s quite early, and the canteen is full tonight, so it’s hard to spot everyone.’
Winston said, ‘How’s everybody in the Rhondda, Glynnis? Family all right, are they?’
‘Oh yes. Mum worries a lot about my brothers, off in the war. But then we all worry these days don’t we? There’s a great deal to worry about, as a matter of fact.’
Winston nodded, lit a cigarette, sat back relaxed, sipping his glass of red wine.
Robin bent towards Glynnis and asked her if she’d like another turn around the dance floor, but she declined. And she also said no to Bryan’s invitation when he returned with her lemonade. ‘I’m just a bit tired right now,’ she murmured, smiling at them in turn, dimpling, her eyes full of sparkle, her cheeks flushed from the exertion.
Watching the men ogling Glynnis, smiling at her, trying to win her favour, Emma saw her objectively, viewing her in quite a different light than she did at the office. There had never been any question about Glynnis’s good looks, but studying her intently tonight, watching her brothers, her son and Bryan O’Neill surrounding her like bees around a honeypot, Emma had become acutely aware of her sexuality. Glynnis was…luscious…as well as sultry and glamorous. She had long, very beautiful legs, an ample bosom, a small waist, and the most luxuriant dark hair.
She’s definitely a knockout, Emma thought. No wonder they all want to get her in their arms on the dance floor. But that’s the only place they will get her…she’s such a nice girl, not a flirt, not coy, not coquettish, not leading them on. Glynnis is a good girl. I hope her nice American GI comes tonight. She’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t show up.
No sooner had Emma thought this than Richard Hughes appeared out of the blue, striding over to the table. He nodded to everyone, stretched out his hand to Emma. ‘Good evening, Mrs. Harte.’
‘Hello, Private Hughes. It’s nice to see you.’
Glynnis looked up at him, her large blue eyes shining, full of laughter. ‘There you are, Richard. I’ve been wondering where you were?’
Richard gave her a long intense look, obviously smitten with her, and stretched out his hand. Glynnis took it and he pulled her to her feet.
‘Please excuse us,’ he said to the group at large, nodding to them politely, and then he led her away to the dance floor.
‘He seems like a nice chap,’ Frank observed, lighting a cigarette. ‘She deserves only the best, she’s a special girl.’
‘Yes, she is,’ Emma agreed, her gaze following them. The dance floor was now crowded. There was a happy feeling in the air tonight, a low excited buzz below the sound of the music…laughter, voices in conversation. She filled with gratification all of a sudden, pleased that she had started this servicemen’s canteen. It did such a lot to boost the morale of the troops…troops of all nationalities. British, Canadian, Australian, American, French, Polish…young men of spirit, courage and daring, all fighting to free the world of tyranny.
Feeling the cold wind biting into her bones, Emma pushed the memories away, stood up, casting a lingering glance at the high-flung fells, and then began to make her way down the path returning to Pennistone Royal.
‘Have you seen Glynnis?’ Emma stood in the doorway to the kitchen, looking across at Hilda who was scraping parsnips at the sink.
Her housekeeper swung around, startled, and exclaimed, ‘Oh Mrs. Harte, you did make me jump! I didn’t know you were standing there. And yes, I saw her about half an hour ago. She had a sandwich, here at the kitchen table. And a cup of tea.’
‘Was she all right, Hilda?’
‘I think so,’ Hilda began and stopped, bit her lip, looking suddenly hesitant. ‘Well, madam, as I say that, I realize I don’t rightly know. Glum, she was, and–well, it’s a funny word to use, but I thought she seemed to be a bit downhearted…perhaps even troubled.’
‘I see.’
‘Why do you ask, Mrs. Harte? Isn’t she in that there little office at the end of the Stone Hall?’
‘No, Hilda, she’s not, and there’s a half-typed letter in her machine. I came to the kitchen thinking she might be here, still having lunch. Although it’s not like her to leave a letter in the typewriter.’ Emma paused, threw Hilda a baffled look.
‘I asked her about her boyfriend, the nice GI she told me about the last time she was up here, and she gave me such a funny look. Right queer it was, madam.’ Hilda shook her head, and announced, ‘There’s nowt so queer as folk, Mrs. H.’
Smiling knowingly, Emma exclaimed, ‘I know all of those Yorkshire sayings, Hilda, don’t think I don’t…There’s nowt so queer as folk, except for thee and me, and thee’s a bit odd. You should have finished it, you know.’
Hilda just laughed, think
ing you never knew what Mrs. Harte was going to say. Putting the parsnip down, she wiped her hands on the tea cloth and said, ‘Speaking of lunch, madam, I notice you haven’t had anything to eat since that bit of toast for breakfast…you’ll not get fat on that, you know.’
‘You can make me a cup of tea, Hilda, that would be nice, but just at the moment I’m not hungry. Now, getting back to your mention of the boyfriend, do you think that perhaps there’s trouble between him and Glynnis?’
‘Ooh, I just don’t know about that. But she did act a bit queer…as I told you.’
‘Perhaps she’s not feeling well. She looked a little peaked earlier. I’ll just pop up to her room. In the meantime, you can put the kettle on, Hilda.’
‘Oh right away, madam.’
Glynnis was occupying a guest room on the floor above the upstairs parlour, and as Emma climbed the stairs she couldn’t help wondering about Glynnis’s boyfriend, the nice American she had met at the canteen in Fulham Road. Like herself and Jack Field, Glynnis worked there with some of her girlfriends, wanting to do something for the war, like everyone else. He had appeared to be pleasant. Had they broken up? she asked herself as she came to the door of the Blue Room.
Before she even knocked, Emma heard the muffled sobs, and she hesitated, wondering what to do. And then she rapped on the door, deciding that perhaps Glynnis needed help of some kind.
A moment later, Glynnis was staring at her from the entrance. She was as white as bleached bone, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.
‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Emma asked in a gentle voice.
When Glynnis did not respond, Emma went on, ‘May I come in? I can’t bear to see you like this, so very upset. Perhaps I can be of help in some way…’
Still Glynnis did not speak. She merely opened the door a little wider and stepped back so that Emma could enter the Blue Room.