Wartime Brides and Wedding Cakes Read online

  Heading into the shop to check the blackout blinds, she felt her eyelids grow heavy. But before she could turn in, she must sit down at the kitchen table and write a list of the orders for the next day. Checking the door was safely locked, she stood still for a moment in the dark shop, silently telling Charlie that she was taking care of the bakery as best she could. Empty now, of course, the shop seemed to echo with the gossip from the customers, their faces as visible to Audrey now, in the darkness, as they were in the day.

  Turning from the shop floor to climb the stairs to finish off the paperwork, she yawned when she entered the kitchen, thinking how, mercifully, it had been at least a week since the last air-raid siren and how, in Bournemouth at least, they had escaped bombing raids at night for some weeks, and—

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  There was no warning. No siren. No shout or rattle from the Air Raid Patrol warden. Nothing. The explosion, followed by the roar of aircraft overhead and heavy gunfire, seemingly came from nowhere, and lifted Audrey from her feet like a giant pair of invisible arms had picked her up and hurled her across the room, slamming her body into the kitchen dresser. Glass jars of marmalade, jam, pickles and bottled fruits fell from the shelves, smashing onto the floor tiles, as heat and bright light scorched her eyes, clouds of dust and smoke filling the air.

  Audrey lay on the floor with her arms protectively over her head, stunned, blinking in the darkness, trying to make sense of what was happening all around her. Sounds of what could only be masonry, or the ceiling collapsing, stirred her into action, as she became aware of the taste of blood on her lips, then the sight of flames leaping up through holes in the floor like dancing devils into the kitchen. Reaching for a bucket of sand, she threw it onto the flames, to little effect, and staggered across the room to the stairwell.

  Lily, home earlier from the party, emerged from the bedroom, clutching Joy, who was crying hysterically.

  ‘Get outside!’ commanded Audrey. ‘Into the shelter!’

  Her mind rushed through where everyone was. John and William were in the bakehouse and hopefully by now in the shelter, but Mary was upstairs in bed.

  ‘Audrey!’ called John from behind her at the bottom of the stairwell, a handkerchief over his mouth. He came up a few stairs and tried to grab her arm, but Audrey was heading up to Mary’s room. ‘The front of the building is on fire,’ he said. ‘We got hit. Go outside to safety, I’ll go up for the girl.’

  ‘No!’ said Audrey, pulling away from his grasp. ‘I have to get her. Put out the ovens – they’ll make the fire worse! Get the AFS! Find the sandbags!’

  Audrey felt her way through the weaving trails of thick black smoke that were rising up the stairs like snakes and burst into Mary’s bedroom. It was pitch-black and impossible to see.

  ‘Mary!’ she cried. ‘Get up! Quickly!’

  Throwing open the blackout blind, so at least the moonlight would fill the room, she flew to Mary’s bed, but Mary wasn’t in it. Feeling under the bed with her hands, in case she was hiding, Audrey found she was there, curled up in the foetal position. Grasping hold of her little arm, she tried to pull her.

  ‘Come out, Mary love!’ she said. ‘We have to get out now!’

  But Mary did not move.

  Her heart pounding, as screams of ‘Audrey, come down now!’ came from outside the building, she tried pulling Mary again, but to no avail. It was as if the girl was frozen solid, utterly paralysed with fear.

  * * *

  Moments earlier, on the other side of Bournemouth, Maggie and George were welcomed into their room in the Ocean View guesthouse by Fanny Chandler, the kindly proprietor, an elderly lady who had laid out a silver tray with a small decanter of port on the table by the window, with two small crystal-cut port glasses and a red rose in a vase.

  ‘Oh, it’s just lovely!’ said Maggie, clasping her hands as her gaze ran over the room. The heavy curtains were pulled shut across a large window, and the floral carpet was thick underfoot. Near the fireplace were two inviting velvet-covered armchairs, and the bed – a double with a mahogany headboard – was freshly made up with starched white sheets, perfectly pressed. Above the fireplace hung an oval mirror and when Maggie caught her reflection she was taken aback. She’d never seen herself look so radiantly happy. Feeling like a movie star in her dark blue ‘going away’ outfit and silver fox fur given her by George, she suddenly felt she had no cares in the world. Finally, she was where she wanted to be, with a man she truly loved. Placing down her handbag, she moved over to the decanter and poured herself and George a nip of sherry, wanting to squeal with joy.

  ‘Congratulations,’ Fanny said. ‘It’s lovely to have something to celebrate. If Hitler had his way, we’d never celebrate again, would we? This war is hard on young people, I know that. You must enjoy every moment together as if it were your last, my dears. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.’

  As she closed the door of the room behind her, informing them of the location of the air-raid shelter in the basement and wishing them both goodnight, George walked towards his new bride, his arms outstretched.

  ‘Here we are, Mrs Meadows,’ he said, beaming at her. ‘Alone at last.’

  Maggie put down her glass, smiled at George and took his hand, leading him over to the bed, where they sat down next to each other – and kissed. For all her flirtatious ways and movie-star looks, Maggie wasn’t experienced with men and she blushed, amazed at how her body felt almost electrified by George’s kisses. For a blissful few moments the pair were oblivious to everything else around them, until the awful wail of the air-raid siren shattered their intimacy.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ said George, standing quickly and holding Maggie’s hand, to lead her to safety. ‘We’ll have to carry on where we left off a bit later. Let’s hope this is a false alarm and over quickly.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Crawling under the narrow bed until her whole body was next to Mary’s, panic coursed through Audrey’s veins. Trying to steady her thoughts and control her fear, she wrapped herself around the little girl’s trembling body and spoke to her as calmly and softly as she could.

  ‘Mary?’ she said, gently. ‘We must get out from under the bed now. Do you know why?’

  But Mary shook her head and kept her eyes firmly closed.

  ‘Because we need to go and get your rabbit from his hutch in the yard,’ she said. ‘If you’re feeling frightened, imagine how that bunny feels. Why don’t you hold onto my hands, nice and tight, and I’ll lead us downstairs and out the back door, where we can collect your rabbit and take him into the street to safety? You can cuddle him there and tell him that he’s going to be all right. How does that sound?’

  After a moment, Mary nodded and opened one eye, a huge tear dripping down her cheek. Audrey’s heart broke for the girl, whose short life had been blighted by fear and trauma and tragedy.

  ‘Hold onto my hand and don’t let go,’ said Audrey. ‘I’m not going anywhere without you.’

  Together they slid out from under the bed and the room was now thick with smoke. It was literally impossible to see or breathe, so holding her breath, Audrey felt her way through the darkness, all the while clutching on to Mary.

  ‘I think your rabbit is going to need a fresh carrot after all this,’ she said, desperately trying not to slip on the stairs.

  Finally reaching the back door, she burst through it and into the yard, gulping in the fresh air. Rushing over to the rabbit cage, quick as a flash she unlocked the door and put the terrified creature into Mary’s waiting arms, then steered her by the shoulders to the street, where the AFS had arrived and were pumping water onto the fire at the front of the building, while others were throwing buckets of water or sand onto the flames.

  ‘Oh, gracious me!’ said Audrey, hand over her mouth in shock, as she staggered towards John, William and Lily, who was holding Joy. They were all trying to offer soothing words of comfort, but each was stunned and horror-struck by what was happening. As they s
tood on the road, fire officers battled to get the blaze under control, looking on in desolate helplessness as more of the ceiling collapsed, sending wood and bricks and plaster crashing to a heap on the shop, and spilling out through the broken window, into the street.

  ‘My bakery will be destroyed…’ Audrey stuttered. She could barely form a sentence. ‘I just can’t believe it’s happened…’

  Sitting with Mary and the rabbit in her lap, on the pavement kerb, the group watched in stunned silence as the fire officers bravely battled to control the flames. Running her eyes over the damage, Audrey’s heart broke as she looked at the smashed front windows, the blackened walls, the usually pristine black and white tiled floor covered in rubble…

  ‘Mrs Barton?’ asked a fire officer, with black soot on his face. ‘Are you injured? This must be such a shock to you, my dear. I’m so sorry for you.’

  Audrey shook her head, in a trance.

  ‘How will I get tomorrow’s bread delivery out?’ she whispered. ‘Was the bakehouse directly hit?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Just the front of the house. Luckily a fire-watcher spotted the fire and reported it, so we were quickly on the scene. May I suggest you get to the rest centre, where they’ll treat you for shock and any minor injuries, and they’ll make you comfortable for the night?’

  ‘You may suggest that,’ said Audrey, standing up and dusting off her apron, gripping Mary by the hand. ‘But I’ll do no such thing. I have to get the bread out.’

  ‘But the building’s not safe, Mrs Barton,’ he said. ‘You can’t go back inside.’

  ‘Watch me,’ she said. ‘Mary, I’ll take you to stay with Pat, but then I must help John with the bread.’

  ‘I’m here, love,’ said John calmly, dabbing his forehead with his hanky. ‘There’ll be no bread tonight. I dampened down the ovens completely – I didn’t want to make it worse if the fire took hold. The loaves will all be ruined. We’re going to have to let folk down in the morning, but they’ll understand, Audrey. I’ll get word to Crowne’s, to expect some more customers than usual, and I’ll ask Albert to tell our delivery customers what’s happened. The best thing you can do, my girl, is get washed up, sort out Mary’s cuts and bruises and get some sleep.’

  ‘But what would Charlie say?’ asked Audrey, her eyes filling with tears. ‘He’s never not got the bread out on time for the customers. How will Mrs Cook, and Flo and Elizabeth and all my ladies manage? This will be the first time in years that the bakery has been closed.’

  Audrey looked on helplessly at the half-destroyed bakery – their business literally up in flames. She felt all the fight drain out of her as she silently wept.

  ‘Charlie and all your customers will thank their lucky stars you are alive,’ John said, putting his arm over her shoulder. ‘You’ll come back from this, Audrey. Don’t you worry, my girl. Let’s get you to Pat’s, she’ll sort you out.’

  * * *

  Maggie, her spirits high, giggled as they headed towards the door of the bedroom as the air-raid siren wailed, noting the way her heels sank into the carpet, a touch of sherry and George’s lingering kisses on her lips. They continued to kiss one another as they went out into the hallway, when an almighty thunderous clap hit their ears and a blinding flash of light ripped through the darkness.

  ‘George!’ Maggie cried, as she grabbed hold of his hand and the couple were thrown to the floor, like rag dolls, and plunged into absolute darkness. With their fingers entwined, they lay there for a moment, before George leapt into action, scooping Maggie up from the floor and carrying her in his arms down the stairs, through the hotel’s front door and out into the street.

  ‘Oh my goodness, George!’ she coughed, blinking in shock as he set her down and the roof of the hotel half collapsed behind them.

  They looked at one another in disbelief before being ushered into a nearby public shelter by an AFS warden, who explained that high-explosive bombs and incendiary bombs had been released across Bournemouth from a German plane, falling on both the hotel roof and the roof of the house next door.

  ‘What a way to begin married life,’ said Maggie, half-smiling, trying to lighten their shock as they huddled together in the dimly lit public shelter with dozens of local residents.

  The couple held hands and gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes, both of them remembering the landlady’s words: ‘You must enjoy every moment together as if it were your last, my dears. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.’

  * * *

  ‘I just heard about the bakery,’ said Elsie, rushing into Pat’s house, where Pat, Audrey, Lily and Joy, Mary and John were huddled at the kitchen table, Mary wrapped in a blanket. ‘How could this happen? I’d wring Hitler’s neck if I could get my hands on him! Apparently there was no warning. They just came out of the night, from nowhere. Someone said that they were dropping bombs they hadn’t used, like litter, on the way back from another raid on a different part of the country. Are you injured? Is Mary okay?’

  Audrey smiled a small grateful smile and shook her head. She felt totally and utterly disorientated. A few hours earlier, she had been celebrating Maggie’s wedding and now this. She gently patted Mary’s hair. The little girl was asleep against Audrey’s chest, her forehead still smeared with dust. It was now 3 a.m. and though Mary and Joy slept, none of the adults thought they’d be able to get even a wink of sleep.

  Pat’s kitchen was warm and welcoming, a pot of tea was on the table and she’d put a few biscuits out on a plate – even the milk had been poured into a jug (‘You’ll never catch me putting a milk bottle on the table,’ she’d said. ‘Even in a crisis.’) A little black vase decorated with a painting of a mallard duck was filled with lavender from the garden – and the scent was a welcome relief from the acrid stench that seemed to have permeated Audrey’s clothes.

  ‘It was a close thing,’ said Audrey quietly. ‘Mary froze, poor dear, but we got her out in the end.’

  ‘No wonder she’s so frightened,’ said Pat, pouring everyone more tea. ‘That poor child has lost everyone she loves. Thanks be to goodness she’s got you, Audrey. You’d make a fine mother and Charlie a fine father, wherever in the world my beloved son might be right now. I’m looking forward to you two making me a grandmother.’

  Audrey smiled gratefully at her mother-in-law, who rarely gave out compliments. She considered explaining that, after six years of trying unsuccessfully, she didn’t think that she and Charlie would ever be able to have a child of their own – and that’s why last year she’d offered to adopt Lily’s baby girl Joy before Lily had decided she couldn’t part with the child – but now wasn’t the right time. She knew how much Pat wanted Charlie to have his own child.

  ‘What on earth would Charlie say if he knew about this?’ said Pat. ‘His heart would break, wouldn’t it? All those years of building up a business.’

  The mention of Charlie brought tears to Audrey’s eyes. She’d become so used to working in a partnership with him – they were like a well-oiled machine running the bakery – the idea of telling him that the business was collapsing without him filled her with dread. She was convinced he would feel that she hadn’t looked after it properly.

  ‘Charlie will understand,’ said William. ‘He will have seen whole cities being devastated by war – he’ll know that in the face of a bomb, you have no chance.’

  ‘I’ll have to think about what I should do,’ Audrey said. ‘I need to get some sleep and think about how we can fix this as quickly as possible. I have cakes to make, orders to fulfil. The customers need their bread, what with the meat ration at almost nothing, and food becoming scarcer. You know, I had a letter from the Ministry of Food about the introduction of the National Loaf? In a few months’ time all the bakers might be having to bake the National Loaf with wheatmeal flour, to ensure the health of the nation, and there’ll be no choice about it. That’s why I have to find a way through this.’

  ‘I can’t imagine not having my white tin,’ said Pat despondently.
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  ‘That’s the last of our worries just now,’ said John, yawning loudly and causing Mary to stir in Audrey’s lap.

  ‘Get that little mite into bed,’ said Pat. ‘I’ll find somewhere for you to sleep. You’ve all had an awful shock. Tomorrow we’ll think about the bread.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Unable to sleep, with adrenalin still coursing through her body, Audrey rose before sunrise, pushed her feet into her dust-covered shoes and crept out of Pat’s house.

  ‘Back later,’ she told Mary, who stirred in her sleep. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  Before she left the house, she caught sight of her face in the mirror by the front door and gasped. Smudges of dust and soot covered her face, a gash on her forehead that Pat had cleaned up was sealed with dried blood and her eyes were pink from sleep deprivation. She hardly recognised herself, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it – there were more important matters to attend to.

  Walking swiftly back to the bakery in the cool morning, she stared in disbelief at the state of the shop and the first floor of the house. Fisherman’s Road was quiet, as, after the disturbed night and various evacuations, the business owners were catching up on a few hours’ sleep before the working day started. The AFS had cordoned off the bakery, but Audrey walked past it and stepped inside, her feet crunching on broken glass.

  ‘Heavens above!’ she said, as she stared up at the decimated shop. The front windows, bearing the word ‘Bakery’ in elegant gold lettering, were blown out, the door had been blown off and strips of wood from the doorway were hanging like stalactites from above. The first-floor window had smashed and a fraction of the roof collapsed. The ceiling of the shop had caved in, leaving the beams and the lath and plaster exposed, where the lime plaster had crumbled. The shop was covered in thick grey dust, the shelves fallen, the walls blackened, the clock and counter broken. Her chocolate-box bakery shop had been turned upside down and inside out, as if the devil himself had visited.