The Cornish Girls. Betty Walker

we could talk again about Lily and Alice going down to Cornwall,’ she said persuasively. ‘You know your sister Margaret would take the girls if you asked.’

      ‘Of course she would. And she’d put them to work too, on that blooming farm of hers. Anything for unpaid labour! My pretty little granddaughters herding cows in Cornwall? I won’t allow it.’ Sheila shook her head. ‘I left the countryside behind when I moved up here, and trust me, it’s no life for anyone. Fresh air isn’t everything, you know.’

      ‘Lily’s a strong girl and so is Alice. And so am I, if push comes to shove.’ Violet shrugged. ‘If we have to go out herding a few cows in return for bed and board, so what?’

      ‘No, I’m not listening.’ Sheila clapped her hands over her ears.

      ‘Mum!’

      ‘Well, you know I couldn’t bear for them to be so far away from their family.’ Her mum dropped both hands into her lap again. She looked away, her lower lip trembling. ‘They’re still grieving, poor chickens. They need their gran.’

      Thinking hard, Violet tried an argument she suspected might have a stronger effect on her stubborn mother. ‘But the bombing’s been so bad lately, surely it’s time to—’

      ‘We’re safe enough in the Anderson shelter.’

      Violet bit back her instinctive retort. Those Anderson shelters weren’t worth tuppence in the event of a direct hit. Besides, some of the bigger shelters had been hit in recent weeks, and dozens killed. And what about when they were taken unawares and had no time to reach safety?

      Young Alice was a clever girl with only a few weeks left at school; with brains like hers, she had so much potential. And although Lily was seventeen now, she was still as sweet as she was innocent, spending her time helping out at the local hospital while she waited for an official war posting at eighteen. She often said she’d be happy to do her share in a northern factory, if that’s what the Home Office chose for her, but would much prefer to work as a nurse.

      Violet dreaded those lovely girls suffering the same fate as their mother had, blown apart and buried under rubble. The only thing for it was to take them both into the country, far from the bombs, and hope the war ended before Lily was old enough to be posted to a job away from her family. But their doting grandmother would take some persuading to part with her darlings.

      ‘Well, let’s not argue about it tonight. I brought some leftover liver and bacon back from the café. I’ll freshen up the pot and put it on to reheat.’ Violet got up and bent to kiss her mother’s cheek. ‘Please don’t fret about those boys. They’re bound to be shipped out to the country soon. If their parents can ever catch the little beggars, that is.’

      She pinned a bright smile on her face for her mother’s sake as she carried the teapot out to the tiny back kitchen, but inside she was furious.

      Furious for Ernst, who was not a German spy, whatever ignorant fools like Patrick Dullaghan might say.

      And furious for her mum, who had been doing her best to keep the old café going since Dad’s death, and deserved better than whispers of ‘Traitor!’ behind her back.

      Mum and Dad had warned Betsy what people might say when she first announced that she was marrying Ernst Fisher, with his English father and German mother. The Great War had not long been over when they tied the knot, and people had tutted. But everyone had wanted to rebuild their lives, not dwell on the past. Or so Mum was always saying. So Betsy had married Ernst, both of them fresh out of school, and any bad feeling about his German heritage had been pushed out of sight. Until war broke out with Germany again.

      Betsy had begged Ernst not to join up, terrified of losing him. But he had been adamant. ‘I speak the language; I could be useful,’ he told them all at a family meal, having packed in his job as factory foreman to join up. ‘Besides, you think I want to see the look in people’s eyes when I walk past? My surname may be English, but my Christian name is Ernst, and they all know it, even if you lot call me Ernest in public.’

      ‘Only to help you fit in,’ Betsy had said, clinging to him tearfully.

      ‘I’ll fit in better by fighting alongside these men,’ Ernst had insisted, putting her aside and smiling bravely at Lily and Alice. ‘I’ll miss you all. But I’ll write as often as I can. This will be for the best, you’ll see.’

      Ernst had left a few days later, and never come back.

      He had been reported missing in action a week before Betsy was killed, and so there had been no chance to tell him of his wife’s death.

      Lily, and her sister, Alice, a precocious just-turned sixteen, had both been bullied horribly over their father’s German connections. But the teasing had stopped after their mother died, presumably out of a sense of compassion.

      And that should have been an end to it.

      But it seemed Patrick Dullaghan and his blasted Dagenham Daggers were now turning their spite towards Violet instead. How long would it be before the little brutes returned to taunting the so-called spy’s daughters?

      ‘I have to get those girls out of here,’ Violet muttered, filling the teakettle and putting it on the gas ring to boil. ‘But how?’

       CHAPTER TWO

       The Upside-Down Club, Central London, May 1941

      ‘He’s out there again tonight!’

      Eva twitched back the curtain and gasped, her heart thumping.

      Sure enough, the dark-haired RAF pilot with the Hollywood good looks was seated at one of the front tables, surrounded by his usual gang of uniformed friends, all chatting noisily over the band’s playing. She had tumbled head-over-heels in love with him two weeks ago, when he first turned up and sat smiling directly at her throughout their number. To her delight, he had returned with his companions a few nights later, and this was now his fourth time at the club.

      ‘Perhaps tonight’s the night,’ Karen said, and nudged her with a grin. ‘Look, now he’s going over to Walter. I wonder what he wants.’

      Eva stared, her hand clutching the edge of the curtain. The good-looking young pilot had indeed wandered over to the manager of the Upside-Down Club, and was now talking in Walter’s ear. It was all very mysterious.

      Suddenly, Walter looked over to the backstage area, his eyes sharp and watchful.

      ‘Oops!’

      Hurriedly, Eva let the curtain fall back into place. They weren’t supposed to peek out at the audience between acts; it was a serious offence and could lead to the docking of pay. Not that Walter was that strict. His bark was worse than his bite, as Karen regularly remarked. Sometimes he reminded her of her kindly Uncle Teddy, who had been charged with her care since her father left London.

      Poor Uncle Teddy, she thought with sudden remorse. She had grown bored of working in a typing pool at his stuffy offices and had given him the slip one day, escaping to find work as a dancer. That had been about six weeks ago. She had left a note, telling him not to worry, she could take care of herself, and would be back in a few months. But no doubt Uncle Teddy would have fretted anyway. But really, he ought to have let her get a more exciting job. Didn’t he know there was a war on and girls like her were determined to take advantage of the new freedom this brought?

      Shirley, the backstage manager, was calling the girls together, clapping her hands. ‘Five minutes to curtain up!’ she kept saying as she checked everyone’s hair and costumes.

      A moment later, Walter appeared backstage, a folded piece of paper in his hand. ‘Eva,’ he said in his gravelly voice, roughened by years of cigar-smoking. ‘There’s a note for you. From some Yank out the front. Though I shouldn’t really give it to you.’ He shook his head at her. ‘You know I don’t like you girls getting too friendly with the clientele.’