Elizabeth Elgin - Turn Left at the Daffodils

Turn Left at the Daffodils

Elizabeth Elgin

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

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About the Publisher

Elizabeth Elgin is the bestselling author of All the Sweet Promises, I’ll Bring You Buttercups, Daisychain Summer, Where Bluebells Chime, Windflower Wedding, One Summer at Deer’s Leap, The Willow Pool, A Scent of Lavender and The Linden Walk. She served in the WRNS during the Second World War and met her husband on board a submarine depot ship. She lived in the Vale of York until her death in 2005.

To everyone involved in her publications and her many loyal and special readers, we thank you and hope you cherish this, her final book. Remember her with the love that she put into writing her novels. And, Mum, we hope the ending is as you planned it.

We love and miss you more than words can ever say.

George, Jane, David, Gillian, James, Simon, Matthew, Martin, Tom, Katie, Grace and ‘baby Bump’, Dominique, Becky, Ellen, Emma (Your ‘clan’).

O DEUS DA NOITE, BOA BLESS, SONHOS DOCES.

To Betty’s second great-granddaughter Grace Mair Elizabeth Hall and her third great-grandchild “Baby” Cheetham, expected in January 2007. Also, to a very dear friend, Mrs Edna Parkinson.

May 1941

She brought the doorknocker down twice, then prayed with all her heart that Auntie Mim was in because if she wasn’t, Nan Morrissey was in deep trouble. And stranded in Leeds.

This morning, she had walked out of Cyprian Court in high old dudgeon; this morning, her suitcases had not seemed so heavy. Now, hungry and tired, she wondered if she had done the right thing – not for walking out on the Queer One and her Georgie – but because maybe she should have thought things out, first. Like how she would get from Liverpool to Leeds when there were few trains into or out of Liverpool, no trams running, and few buses able to get into the city centre. Because of the bombing, that was.

She closed her eyes and whispered, ‘Auntie Mim – please?’ then heard the blessed sound of door bolts being drawn back and the grating of a key in the lock.

‘Well, if it isn’t our Nan!’ Miriam Simpson snorted. ‘Left home, have you?’

‘Sort of.’ Tears of pure relief filled Nan’s eyes. Then she took a shuddering breath and said, ‘Chucked out, more like. Can I come in, please?’

‘And what have you done to make your dad throw you out?’ Arms folded firmly, Auntie Mim barred the doorway. ‘Got yourself into trouble, then?’

‘Me dad didn’t throw me out. He’s dead. Funeral two days ago.’ Her bottom lip trembled with genuine sorrow. ‘It was Her threw me out, and not because I’ve got myself into trouble, because I haven’t!’

‘Come on in then, Nan. I’m sorry about your dad.’ She really was. Will Morrissey had been decent to her sister. ‘Leave the cases in the lobby and sit yourself down. Heart attack, was it?’

‘No. Air Raid. He was on duty at the hospital and it got a direct hit. Them bluddy Jairmans! They’ve made a right mess of Liverpool – I had to get out. And I won’t be a bother, honest, if you’ll let me stay till I get myself sorted.’

‘Oh, all right. But I can’t feed you Nan, rationing being what it is, and I don’t allow swearing.’

‘Sorry. And it’s all right. I took my ration book when I left.’

Indeed, she had taken everything she thought to be legitimately hers. Food coupons, her identity card and the large brown envelope marked Marriage Lines, Birth Certificates, etc. in her mother’s handwriting. And her clothes. Mind, she wished she had left the brown envelope at the back of the drawer, now she knew what was inside it.

‘Had words with your stepmother, then?’ Miriam filled the kettle and set it to boil.

‘Suppose so. Dad ought never to have married her. I couldn’t stand her, and that brat. And she couldn’t stand me, either. She was weeping and moaning over Dad, like she was the only one who mattered. Not a thought for me losing my father. And then she said she’d have to be the wage-earner now, and that she’d be working full-time and I would have to look after Georgie. That’s how it all started.’

‘Because you said you wouldn’t?’

‘Not exactly. But I said I was sick of her kid. D’you know, he wouldn’t go to bed on his own and I had to go with him. At half-past six at night, would you believe? And he was three, and still in nappies, and he always has a snotty nose, an’ all,’ she added, when her aunt remained silent.

‘I told her! “I’m sick and fed up of that kid,” I said. “I’ve got my certificate from night school for touch-typing and I want to go to work.” And she said nobody would employ the likes of me what couldn’t speak proper, and if I wanted to stay in her house, I’d do as I was told if I knew what was good for me.’

‘So you upped and offed? And now I’m landed with you. Are you sure you’re not in trouble?’

‘Sure, Auntie Mim. Cross my heart and hope to die. And I won’t be stoppin’ for long. I’m joining up, see. The Army.’

‘Now what do you want to do a thing like that, for? And anyway, you aren’t old enough.’

‘I’m nearly eighteen and they take you at seventeen and a half. And why shouldn’t I join up? What could be worse than stoppin’ at Cyprian Court, now me dad’s gone?’

‘You’d have to take orders and salute people…’

‘So do all the women in the Forces. What’s so special about me?’

‘But what would you do, in the Army? You’ve had no education to speak of and you’ve never worked.’

‘I’ve got my typing certificate, and I haven’t worked because it suited Her to keep me at home for a dogsbody. Can’t you see, Auntie Mim, that I’d be the same as everybody else, once I’d joined up. Same uniform, the same pay. I’d be – well - normal. ’

‘Oh, dear.’ Miriam Simpson felt sorry for her sister’s child, even though she had seen little of her these last few years. It couldn’t have been a lot of fun, losing a mother when you were a child, then getting a stepmother, a couple of years later – and one who took a bit of getting on with, if what she had heard was true. ‘I suppose you’re hungry? Get this tea down you, then I’ll do you a slice or two of toast and jam. All right?’

‘Smashing.’ Nan sipped the tea gratefully. ‘And I can pay me way, till the Army sends for me. I’ve got money in the Post Office.’

‘We’ll have to think about that. I’ve got a gentleman lodger, see. He’s something to do with aeroplane engines and he’s gone to Derby on a course for a month. He gives me a pound a week, but you can have his bed for ten shillings if you’ll help in the house and do a bit of queuing for me. I can’t say fairer than that.’

‘It’s a deal – and thanks. I won’t be any trouble, Auntie Mim.’