‘He was always around,’ she said with a smile. ‘He changed nappies, walked us in a pram, shared the load with Mum. I was often out with him all day from the age of four or five. I thought all fathers were like him, and it was quite a shock when I found out they weren’t.’
‘Then Belle was a lucky lady,’ Doreen said. ‘And you make sure you find a husband like that too.’
‘I’ll try,’ she said with a weak smile. ‘I must write to my parents tonight. Tell them I got bombed out and where I am now. Tomorrow it’s back to work. I’m not looking forward to that, the other women there are so snooty.’
Doreen patted her on the shoulder. ‘Maybe they’ll be different now that you’ve been hurt and lost your home.’
‘Somehow, I doubt that.’ Mariette laughed mirthlessly.
Mariette was right. The other women showed neither interest nor sympathy. They just looked disdainfully at her brown spotted dress, as if she’d crawled out from under a stone.
Mr Perry didn’t even bother to ask where she was living now, or offer any sympathy.
She looked around the cramped, musty chambers with stacks of bulging files and walls lined with legal books. She thought it all looked like something out of a Charles Dickens novel.
She decided she would stay just a few weeks more, to save up some money, and then she would leave the job and London.
23
Sidmouth, Devon, 1942
Mariette watched the rain lashing down on the tea-shop window and wished she’d ridden her bicycle straight home instead of taking shelter in the tea shop. She’d thought it was only an April shower, over in a few minutes, but now it looked as if it had set in for the rest of the day.
She had moved to Sidmouth at the end of January, almost three months ago, as a result of Mr and Mrs Harding inviting her to spend Christmas with them and Joan’s children.
The long journey to Lyme Regis had been something of an ordeal. The train was crowded, cold and slow, stopping at every station. With all the windows blacked out, and the names on the stations removed, it was a gamble whether anyone could get off at the right stop. Mariette had been amused by people only waking up as the stationmaster yelled out the station name, and then having a frantic rush to collect their luggage and parcels and get off.
But there was the spirit of Christmas on the train, and all the passengers made a real effort to be chatty and jolly. Two RAF men returning to their base on the coast had kept her entertained all the way down with funny stories. As laughter had been in rather short supply since Joan’s death, Mariette welcomed being taken out of herself. She happened to mention to these two men that she wanted to move away from London, and they told her that Sybil Merchant, the landlady of the Plume of Feathers in Sidmouth, was looking for help in her busy pub.
Sidmouth was in Devon, but it was just along the coast from Lyme Regis. So, while Mariette was with the Hardings and the children, on an impulse she caught the train to Sidmouth and went to the pub, to check it out. She found Sybil every bit as warm and pleasant as the two RAF men had said. When she was offered the job, she agreed then and there to take it. She had to return to London, to work out her notice with Mr Perry and to say goodbye to Doreen and Henry, but she was back in Sidmouth by the end of January. She fervently hoped that a new year and a new home would herald a change in fortunes for both her and England. On top of her own personal tragedies, world news during November and December had been especially grim.
There had been the sinking of the Ark Royal, the ongoing siege of Leningrad, the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, the sinking of the battleships Repulse and the Prince of Wales by the Japanese, and the invasion of Malaya and the fall of Hong Kong. Then there were all the terrible stories of atrocities towards the Jews in Germany and Poland, men, women and children just gunned down in the streets, or forced into ghettos where they were starving. There were even whispers of purpose-built concentration camps where Jews were being sent and possibly killed. While no one seemed to know if the last was actually true, there was certainly enough evidence of the savage ill-treatment of Jews to make it seem more than possible.
Happily, there had been something of a lull in the bombing of London, perhaps because the Germans were putting all their energies into conquering Russia. It pleased everyone to read in the press that the German generals had seriously underestimated the severity of the Russian winter as they marched on Moscow. It was reported gleefully that German soldiers were lighting fires under their tanks in order to start the engines, their machine guns were seizing up with the cold, and they didn’t even have clothing that was warm enough for the sub-zero temperatures.
The Americans declaring war against Japan also gave everyone some hope that the war could be won. Winston Churchill made an impassioned speech in December, saying that Britain, the USA and the Soviet Union would teach ‘the gangs and cliques of wicked men’ a lesson that would not be forgotten in a thousand years. Everyone hoped he was right.
But, for Mariette, all the horrors and sadness of the previous year, and the uncertainty about the future, seemed easier to bear when she got to Sidmouth.
Lyme Regis was quainter than Sidmouth – it was really just a small village with only a few little shops – but Sidmouth was a proper town with a school, a library, lots of shops, pubs, restaurants, cafés and much more. Its residents weren’t hollow-eyed and gaunt from air raids, they smiled at strangers, they stopped for a chat, and they weren’t fearful.
The gracious Regency houses on the esplanade had been built as private holiday homes for rich and influential people. In 1819, Edward, Duke of Kent, came to stay with his wife and baby daughter, Victoria, who was later to become Queen. The house they stayed in had changed its name to the Royal Glen Hotel, and it was now in use as an RAF convalescent home. In fact, practically all the grand houses on the seafront had been requisitioned by the RAF since the outbreak of war, but that hadn’t spoiled their charm or beauty.
Mariette loved the winding streets of small houses behind the seafront, and she enjoyed the peace and quiet after the noise and tumult of London. She admired the carefully maintained parks and people’s neat front gardens which, although devoid of flowers in January and February, promised an abundance for April and May. With seagulls whirling overhead, the sound of waves slapping on the beach and the exhilarating tang of seaweed in the air, she found her old optimism returning.
There were also long walks along the spectacular cliffs to enjoy. Sadly, there was no harbour, but there were all manner of small boats moored at the mouth of the River Sid, and she promised herself that she would befriend anyone who had one for the chance to sail and fish again.
She fell in love with the Plume of Feathers on sight because it had bow windows which, back in New Zealand, she’d always imagined an old English pub having. On a cold night the bar was very welcoming, with a big fire blazing in a huge old fireplace and the thick curtains tightly closed. Most nights, someone would bang out ‘The White Cliffs of Dover’ or other nostalgic songs on the piano, and everyone would sing along.
Sybil Merchant looked and sounded more like a farmer’s wife than a landlady. She was short, plump and rosy-cheeked with an exuberant sunny nature. Ted, her husband, was tall and thin with a dour personality. Sybil joked that they were Jack Sprat and his wife. On first meeting with them, Mariette thought, as most people did, that they were totally ill matched.
But Mariette was soon to realize, as everyone eventually did, that the couple complemented each other. He was the still waters to his wife’s babbling brook; he was the steady organizer, while her warm personality kept their customers happy.
Ted had been gassed in the last war, and he had problems with his breathing sometimes, which was why he came across as dour. But however different they were in character, they clearly loved each other dearly.
The instinct that had made her impulsively accept the job had proved to be a sound one. From the first evening she arrived, cold, tired and hungry, to be greeted with warm
smiles and concern for her, she knew she’d made the right move. Her bedroom, although tiny, was comfortable and attractive. She knew, that first night, she could be happy here.
Her role was to help out with whatever was needed, whether that was cleaning, serving behind the bar, lighting fires, or cooking breakfast for any paying guests. Time off was flexible, if she wanted to visit the Hardings, take a walk along the cliffs, go to the cinema or a dance, she only had to say. Likewise if, after a busy Saturday lunchtime, the bar needed a good clean before opening again in the evening, Mariette would do it and leave Sybil to have a rest.
As February slipped into March, her birthday and the anniversary of Noah, Lisette and Rose’s deaths passed. She saw bulbs coming up in the gardens and lambs being born in the fields around the town. That seemed a sign to her that the horrors of the previous year were really over. A new era was dawning, which would be happier.
She found too that she was actually happier here than she’d been with Noah and Lisette. She had loved them, of course – and Rose too – but she’d often felt that she was acting a part that they would approve of. Living with Doreen and Henry had been much the same – always needing to be polite, helpful, sunny-natured, never opposing anything they said.
She could be totally herself with Sybil and Ted, and the ordinary people who drank in the bar, and that was liberating. Along with the regular customers, there were many RAF men and WAAFs. She would flirt a little with the men, and chat with the girls. She didn’t feel that she was slightly inferior to them, as she sometimes felt with Rose’s friends, nor was she accused of being ‘posh’, as she often was with people in the East End.
Ted got Mariette a second-hand bicycle so she could get about easily. On a sunny afternoon, when there was nothing to do at the pub, she would cycle out into the surrounding countryside and along the coast to explore. Ian and Sandra had become substitutes for her own brothers, Mr and Mrs Harding for her parents, and she visited them every week. She often felt ashamed that she’d hardly ever played board games with her brothers, or helped them with their homework. In fact, looking back, she realized she’d taken very little interest in them. Yet now she was thrilled to get a letter from them, and when Alexis recently sent her a snapshot of him and Noel together in Cairo, she had wanted to show it to the whole world.
Back when she was about sixteen, Mog had got really angry with her because she showed no interest in her family and avoided being with them.
‘I almost hope that something bad happens to you one day so that you’ll wake up and see how lucky you are to be surrounded by people who love and care for you, my girl,’ she raged at Mariette. ‘When you’re old, few people will remember how clever, beautiful or talented you were. All they’ll remember is how you made them feel about themselves. Right now, you make everyone you come into contact with feel uncomfortable, dull and inferior. Just think on that, Miss Smarty Pants! Is that how you want to be remembered?’
Mariette knew, of course, that Mog would never really have wished a tragedy on her to make her appreciate all she had. But she was right in saying that suffering certainly did aid the process. If Mog could see her now, helping Sandra make clothes for her dolls, or taking Sybil her breakfast in bed, unasked, or even glimpse her on her knees scrubbing the bar floor while happily singing along to the wireless, Mog would be incandescent with delight.
Yet the funny thing was, however much Mariette longed to go home to see Mog and her parents, she actually wondered if she could bear to say goodbye to Ian and Sandra. She certainly wasn’t ever going to forget them, or their mother, or indeed any of the people whom she’d grown fond of while here in England.
She had been intending to ride up to Lyme Regis later today to see the children, but the heavy rain had cancelled that plan. But she had a newspaper, so once she’d read that, she would brave the rain and ride back to the pub.
The little bell tinkled on the door, but Mariette was too engrossed in reading about a ridiculous new government order – that there could be no more wasteful embroidery or lace on ladies’ underwear – to look up.
‘Mari!’
Her head jerked up at hearing her name. Standing there in front of her was Edwin Atkins, the airman she’d been with on the night of the Café de Paris bombing. He was with another airman, and both had soaking wet uniforms.
She jumped to her feet in astonishment. ‘Good heavens!’ she exclaimed. ‘I can’t believe it! Edwin!’
She had often thought about him in the weeks that followed the deaths of Noah, Lisette, Rose and Peter. She had been cut adrift from life as she’d known it, and Jean-Philippe’s nastiness had added to the feeling of isolation. She had Joan, of course, but she was so different in every way to the family she’d lost. Maybe if she’d written that letter, as she had planned to do, telling him where she was and what she was doing … But she hadn’t, and that was partly because she was afraid he might bring back memories of Rose, Noah and Lisette, and partly because of her friendship with Johnny.
In the light of the way she’d eventually turned Johnny down, it seemed quite absurd that she should have considered his feelings. But back then, recovering from the biggest shock of her life, and with everything seemingly topsy-turvy, Johnny was a constant presence. He was there, as he had been right through the Blitz, as a steady source of comfort, a light in a dark place.
Then, after Joan had been killed and Johnny had left, while she was living in Hampstead, she just felt too low in herself to think of ringing or writing to anyone other than her family.
But now Edwin was standing in front of her in a little Devon tea shop, and it felt like the most fantastic and outlandish stroke of good fortune.
‘I was celebrating this young lady’s twenty-first birthday at the Café de Paris, when it was bombed,’ Edwin explained to his companion, a short fresh-faced man he introduced as Tim Warberry. ‘How wonderful to see you, Mari! And in such an out-of-the-way spot! What on earth are you doing here?’
Mariette said that she was working in a pub in the town. Edwin still looked astounded, but both men sat down at her table and Tim ordered tea and cake for them all.
‘I tried to ring you after the funeral,’ Edwin said, once the waitress had taken the order. ‘But Rose’s brother said you’d left. He was very short with me. Did you upset him in some way?’
‘No, but he upset me badly by telling me to leave immediately. He did let me stay for the funeral, in the end, and I left that same evening,’ Mariette said, then went on to tell him a little more about how Jean-Philippe had only contacted people he thought were important, not the family’s closest friends. ‘I wanted to phone you. But, quite honestly, that unspeakable man crushed me so much that I would only have blubbed to you, and you didn’t need that.’
He put his hand over hers on the table. ‘You should have rung, blubbing or not, you need friends when people are nasty to you. I would’ve tried to help.’
‘I didn’t feel I knew you well enough to impose,’ she said. ‘But never mind all that, I’m fine now.’
‘So how did you end up here?’
She explained briefly about living with Joan, and how her friend was later killed in an air raid. ‘Her children had been evacuated to Lyme Regis, and I’d been here to meet them and Mr and Mrs Harding, who they were billeted with. Before Joan died, she asked if I would be the one to break the news of her death to them.’
‘My God, Mari! What an awful task!’ Edwin exclaimed.
‘Painful, certainly. But it was better for the children to hear exactly what happened from the person who was with their mum and loved her, rather than to just get a message passed on via someone who had no interest in their welfare. Anyway, I’ve formed quite a bond with the children and the Hardings, so they invited me down for Christmas. A couple of airmen on the train told me about the job in the pub. So I hot-footed it out of London, and here I am.’
‘That is quite a story,’ Edwin said, his expression full of concern. ‘But how marvellous tha
t I’ve found you again! I’ve thought of you so often, wondered how you were, where you were. I certainly didn’t expect to find you in a seaside tea shop!’
He turned to Tim, his companion, briefly apologizing for neglecting him, and explained how he had met Mariette for the first time that night at the Café de Paris, and that her relatives had all been killed, along with Peter, whom Tim had known. ‘It was a sheer fluke that Mariette went off to the powder room and I moved away from the dance floor – if not for that, we would’ve been killed too.’
A shiver of pleasure ran down Mariette’s spine; she could hear Edwin’s delight in finding her again in his voice. She’d forgotten how handsome he was, with his kind brown eyes and beautiful deep voice. But it was more than just how he looked: he was a link with Rose, Noah and Lisette, a reminder of all the jolly times she’d had with them, how comfortable and easy life had been then. She might feel she was happier here in Sidmouth now, but she would never forget Uncle Noah’s kindness and generosity, or how much his family had changed her for the better.
‘Are you stationed down here now?’ she asked.
‘No, we’re stationed in Bristol, flying Lancasters and getting our revenge on Hitler.’
‘I read that Bath and Exeter, Norwich and York were bombed in retaliation for all the damage you did to German cities,’ she said. ‘Just make sure you give them twice as much as they’ve given us. But what are you doing here in Sidmouth?’
‘As you probably know, there are a lot of RAF men down here doing various jobs. We just have to be present at a meeting of bigwigs tomorrow. We’re here till Monday, so I hope you’ll have some spare time for me?’
Mariette had been asked out lots of times since she arrived in Sidmouth, but she’d always declined. Part of the reason was because of what had happened with Johnny. She felt guilty about stringing him along, and never wanted to be in that position again. The other reason was that she was aware men saw barmaids as ‘easy’, and she didn’t want that reputation in Sidmouth. So, for now, she was happier to go to a dance or the pictures with some of the new friends she’d made in the bar. That way, she could have some fun without the pressure that came with being someone’s girlfriend.