EPISODE THREE

 

Between the Wars

 

During the second decade of the century Europe witnessed upheaval when the Bolshevics executed the Romanov family; Emmeline Pankhurst and her followers provoked unrest by staging protests and hunger strikes until the People Act brought in votes for women over the age of thirty and in America prohibition incited bootlegging, gambling and prostitution. In 1933 Adolf Hitler became Chancellor of Germany and new laws were introduced proclaiming Jews as second-class citizens. Ethnic Cleansing had begun.

At home, the town's population increased to nearly 38,000 with parish boundaries expanding to include outlying villages. In 1933 the Town Hall was rebuilt and the Plaza and Odeon cinemas opened to bring the number of picture houses to four.

My status changed too and I became a privately owned dwelling. However, it took time for the estate agents to find the right occupants. The 1920s brought a brighter more open décor into favour with the consequence that most viewers were put off by the heavy woodwork inside the property. This was because Daisy had never up-graded to the more fashionable art deco style of the early twenties. She had insisted on redecorating my rooms with the exact same colour and pattern of wallpaper every time. The cornices, dado rails and skirting boards were always dark brown.

'That's the way I like it,' she would tell Madge whenever she suggested a change. The only thing she agreed to was the installation of a telephone.

Walter and Hetty Parker came to view me one late autumn day. On entering the hall, Walter shook his head. 'This place is too dark, Hetty.'

His wife wasn't so sure. 'Walter sweetie, I have a good feeling about this house. It's welcoming. Let's at least have a look round.' Taking his hand she persuaded her husband to follow her from room to room. Her excitement grew. 'Just look, Walter, there's a dear little cubbyhole hidden in the wall. I wonder what secrets it holds.' She gripped his hand tighter. 'We can transform this house, darling, I know we can.'

Her husband was still doubtful. 'It will cost a lot to bring it up to scratch.'

'Nonsense, it only needs a coat or two of paint. You're so clever, darling, you'll have this place looking just the way we want it in next to no time.'

'It needs an inside bathroom, and electricity.'

'We can have both installed before we move in. Oh, Walter, I can just see us living here. The garden's lovely with all those fruit trees and flowerbeds.'

Their twin daughters, Patsy and Paula were as enthusiastic as their mother and so the Parker family moved in after an extension bathroom had been added. It only encroached on the back garden by a foot or two, leaving Daisy's carefully tended flowerbeds intact.

 

 

'It's just that she's high-spirited. I'm sure she didn't mean any harm and if there's any damage to your gate we'll pay for it,' said Hetty, switching on her sweetest smile.

The woman from Number Five sniffed and said, 'There's no need for that but I wish you'd keep your children under control, Mrs Parker.'

To satisfy their neighbour, Hetty gave her errant daughter a gentle cuff round the ear and ordered her up to her room but once indoors with the front door closed, the culprit burst into giggles and it wasn't long before Hetty started laughing too.

'What's going on?' demanded Walter, lowering his newspaper and peering at them over the top of his spectacles.

'Nothing to worry about, darling…' said his wife, 'just a little misunderstanding.'

Walter frowned. 'Come on, out with it, what has Patsy done now?'

His daughter tried to suppress her giggles as she mumbled, 'Mrs Daly caught me swinging on her gate. Honestly Daddy, I don't know why she made such a fuss about it.'

'You've no right to annoy people, young lady, tomorrow you must go and apologise to Mrs Daly.'

'All right, Daddy,' agreed his daughter looking suitably contrite but she had to bite her lip to keep a straight face.

He retired behind his newspaper again knowing that in a house full of women he could never win. From time to time, he tried to impose discipline but Hetty wouldn't back him up. She saw every situation through rose-tinted glasses and although he adored her he sometimes wished she would take life a little more seriously. He was twenty years older than her and had to admit that he had been flattered when the attractive nineteen-year-old had agreed to be his wife. Hetty was the ideal partner for a successful company director. She enjoyed entertaining and was an expert at putting her guests at ease. He would be the first to admit that she had brought custom to his export business. But she liked expensive clothes and couldn't pass a shop without buying that must-have hat or pair of shoes. She indulged the girls too and had persuaded him to put their daughters into the best private school in the area.

He heaved a sigh. Who could have predicted Black Tuesday, that October day barely a year ago when Wall Street had crashed, bringing down his business and all his hopes for the future? The American Market had been his best customer and without it there was no way he could carry on. Their life changed overnight but to give Hetty her due, she had coped marvellously, not uttering one word of complaint when they had been forced to down-size in a hurry. Thanks to a timely inheritance from one of Hetty's distant relations they had still had enough money in the bank to buy Number Seven, a very modest residence compared to their home in Putney, but Walter had been obliged to sell his luxury Ford with the family relying on Hetty's small Austin Seven.

 

The Parkers filled the house with noise. They were either laughing or squabbling. Raised voices could be heard by neighbours along the road but nobody minded too much because they were as generous of spirit as they were quarrelsome. Hetty it turned out was always willing to help a neighbour out by lending a cup of sugar or providing a bucket of coal.

Like the Websters before them, it was work that brought the Parkers to the town. Following the collapse of his company Walter managed to find a post in Brighton.  It was a far cry from being his own boss but Walter counted himself lucky to have found a post which would enable him to provide for his family.

While her husband was at work and the children at school, Hetty would busy herself around the house, singing along with the wireless at the top of her voice. Once or twice the next-door-neighbour complained about the volume. Hetty obligingly turned the volume down, only to increase it again after a few minutes.

Hetty adored her daughters but she was far from the motherly type and indulged them outrageously. She just couldn't bring herself to be the strict parent that Walter wanted her to be. He was always accusing her of being unable to say the word 'no' and she had to admit that when they wanted something they only had to look up at her with pleading eyes and she invariably gave in.

On one occasion, Walter was furious when he came home and found that his daughters had adopted a black and white kitten.

'Where did this come from?' he demanded when he nearly trod on it.

'Oh daddy isn't she sweet?' cried the twins in unison.

'Hetty, haven't I said no animals, especially cats?'

Hetty joined the girls. 'I know, but we love it.'

'Where did it come from?

'Mrs Baldwin's cat had a litter and said we could have this one. It's the littlest,' said Patsy.

'And the prettiest,' piped up Paula.

Walter looked from one to the other of them. 'Hetty,' he said, 'you know cat's fur makes me sneeze, why did you let them bring it home?'

'Sorry, darling. If it proves to be a problem I'll get the girls to take it back.'

Hetty suppressed a smile knowing this was unlikely since Patsy and Paula had set their hearts on keeping the kitten.

'Well,' agreed Walter, still unwilling to concede. 'Keep it out of my way and don't forget, girls…' He thumped the table with his fist, '…it's your responsibility to look after it.'

'Attention, ma chérie, ne t'énerve pas.'

Hetty knew that it irritated Walter when she spoke French, a throwback to her childhood days in Brittany. She softened the reprimand by putting her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.

And so the kitten, named Mimi took up residence in Number Seven.

 

But it wasn't long before Hetty grew bored with her role of housewife. In Putney they had employed a girl straight from school to look after the chores. Ivy had fitted in well with the family. The girls loved her and Hetty knew that she could safely leave them in her care while she went off to play tennis or bowls. A leading figure in a local group assisting 'fallen women', Hetty had proved to be an inspiration with her cheerful attitude and positive thinking. She held evening soirées and organised cultural outings. But here in this small seaside town she knew no one of her own social standing and although she didn't consider herself a snob, she didn't enjoy gossiping with the neighbours.

Patsy and Paula attended the local school, which satisfied the former, who favoured her mother's easy-going personality, but left the other twin feeling like a misfit. Although alike in looks, their personalities often clashed, with the more serious twin coming off worse.

Although the town had grown over the years with a couple of picture houses and a rugby club it was still a backwater in Hetty's eyes. However, during the summer months, the beach provided a diversion.

'It's a beautiful day, let's go down to the beach, darling,' she said to Walter one Sunday in August.

He looked up from the crossword he was ruminating over and said, 'You go sweetness, I'll sit in the garden and enjoy the sunshine out there.'

Hetty and the twins gathered up their towels and costumes and headed for the beach. Patsy and Paula were in their element, running in and out of the water and making sand castles. Hetty wore a swimsuit she had purchased in Knightsbridge during their time in Putney, a fashionable blue and white striped one with a flattering neckline. She knew it suited her curvaceous figure.

The three of them splashed about in the water until Patsy spotted an ice cream vendor cycling along the promenade.

'Mummy, can we have an ice cream?' she cried, already tearing half way up the beach, her sister at her heels.

'Wait a minute,' called Hetty, 'I don't think I've brought my purse with me.'

'Oh Mummy!' moaned the twins.

A tall fair-haired man stopped in his tracks. 'Did I hear you say you wanted an ice cream?' he said addressing the girls.

'Yes please.'

'I'm afraid they're out of luck today,' said Hetty catching up with them.

The stranger pulled a face, making the twins laugh. 'We can't have that, can we?' he said.

Delving into the pocket of his slacks, he brought out some coins. 'Here you are, ladies, my treat.'

His reference to 'ladies' sent the twins into a fit of giggles but Hetty was horrified. 'I can't let you do that,' she cried, 'sorry, girls you will just have to go without ice cream today.'

'Oh Mummy…!' Patsy stamped her bare foot and Paula's brows met in a frown.

'You can't disappoint them,' said the man, 'please let me help.' Holding out his hand to shake, he said, 'My name's Freddie Egan and I can assure you that it would give me great pleasure to buy us all an ice cream.'

After a slight hesitation, Hetty took his hand. 'I'm Hetty Parker and these are my daughters, Patsy and Paula.'

'Now we're no longer strangers, you are going to let me buy those ice creams, aren't you?'

The twins started hopping up and down in their eagerness making it difficult for Hetty to refuse. 'Very well,' she agreed, 'but you must let me pay you back some time.'

'Look!' Freddie Egan pointed along the beach. 'Do you see that beach hut, the one painted yellow? That's mine so why don't you all go along there and make yourselves comfortable and I'll be back with our ice creams in next to no time?'

Without waiting for her agreement, Freddie turned on his heel and made his way to the ice cream seller. Feeling slightly bewildered, Hetty gathered up their towels and buckets and spades and the three of them trudged along the beach to the yellow beach hut where two deckchairs were ready on the patio.

After a few minutes, Freddie returned with four large ice cream cornets. 'What do you say, girls?' said Hetty as her daughters each took one.

'Thank you, Mr…'

'Please call me Freddie.'

'Uncle Freddie,' corrected Hetty.

After they'd finished their ice creams Patsy and Paula amused themselves once again by building sand castles, leaving the grown-ups to themselves.

'Are you here on holiday or do you live here?' asked Freddie.

'We moved to the town quite recently because of my husband's job.' She thought she had better let Freddie know she had a husband. 'What about you?'

'I live and work in London,' he replied, 'but I come down nearly every weekend.'

'We used to live in London, Putney to be precise,' said Hetty with a sigh.

Freddie picked up on it. 'Do you miss it? I mean the energy, the crowds; it must seem awfully quiet down here.'

Not wanting to appear discontented with her lot, Hetty replied carefully. 'Sometimes, but the children love it.'

'What about your husband?'

'He likes a quiet life.' She laughed. 'At this moment he's sitting in the garden doing his crossword.'

'More fool him,' grinned Freddie. 'If I were him I'd much rather be sunning myself beside a beautiful lady on the beach.' When Hetty wrinkled her brow, he added quickly. 'Oh dear, that was out of order. I'm sorry.'

He seemed genuinely contrite and to ease his embarrassment, Hetty went on to explain about Walter's business venture going down as a result of the Wall Street Crash.

'How terrible for you,' sympathised Freddie. 'Your husband must feel sad after all the hard work he put in. Gone in a flash! I don't think I could bear that.'

'Walter's very philosophical,' said Hetty, wishing that her husband would show his anger instead of accepting his fate so dispassionately.

As the air began to cool, Hetty ordered the children to collect up their things ready to go home.

'Do we have to, Mummy?' pouted Patsy, 'only it's been such fun today.'

Hetty smiled. She felt the same. It was wonderful to talk to a man who came from the big metropolis she loved so much. Walter seemed to have lost all interest in London. He even complained about the crowds in Brighton.

'Are you on the telephone?' asked Freddie. 'Only I may be down here during the coming week. Perhaps I could invite you - and your husband of course - to a cup of tea at the café in Marine Gardens.'

Hetty thought quickly. Should she accept his invitation? She knew he was only extending the invitation to include Walter out of politeness. But there was the question of paying him back for the ice creams, so surely there was no harm in giving him her telephone number? Impulsively, she reeled it off.

 

By the time she got home, Hetty had decided it had been a mistake to give Freddie her telephone number. Of course, there was no way she could keep the encounter secret because the twins would be bound to spill the beans about the ice creams. She was right about that because Paula related the incident to her father the minute they got in. He seemed unperturbed, merely grunting, 'So you met someone on the beach, Hetty?'

'Yes, a gentleman bought us all an ice cream. Wasn't that kind of him?'

Paula started to go into detail. 'Uncle Freddie's ever so nice.'

'Uncle Freddie?'

Hetty hastened to reassure him. 'I told the girls to call him Uncle Freddie when he introduced himself. He wanted them to call him Freddie and I thought that was inappropriate.'

'Oh, I see.'

Making light of it did the trick although Hetty couldn't help thinking that had the situation been reversed with Walter meeting a young lady on the beach, she would have bombarded him with questions. His complacency irked her.

That night in bed she couldn't get the incident out of her mind. She saw again the tall handsome figure with broad shoulders and slender hips. His eyes were deep blue, matching the polo shirt he was wearing. She remembered how they crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His voice too was attractive, soothing yet commanding. Turning away from Walter, she tried to push the image from her mind.

 

Hetty listened for the ring of the telephone for the entire week. She chided herself that she was being foolish, that it would be better if Freddie didn't contact her. Then she changed tack and persuaded herself that it was only right she should repay him for the ice creams.

By the following weekend she had decided she must forget about him. But she couldn't let go of the possibility that perhaps she had given him the wrong number or that he had written it down incorrectly. After all, her decision to give him the number had been made rather hurriedly.

It was a fortnight before the call came.

'I do apologise for not getting in touch earlier, Hetty, but I had to travel up North on business.' When she didn't reply immediately, he went on, 'Hetty, are you there?'

It took Hetty a moment to gather her wits together. 'Hello Freddie. Yes I'm here but the line's rather bad.' In fact, the line was perfectly clear but she needed an excuse for her hesitancy.

'I wondered if you would care to have tea with me this afternoon. We could meet by the pier, perhaps take a stroll along the prom and then stop for tea in the Marine Gardens café.'

'And I can repay you for the ice creams,' said Hetty with a light laugh.

And so a meeting was set up with Hetty making sure she had her purse with her this time. Whatever happened, she was going to insist that she repaid him.

The sun was shining and there was a gentle breeze as she made her way to the pier. She felt happy though slightly guilty and found herself looking around in case one of her neighbours should be on the seafront and see her meeting a strange man.

She spotted Freddie from a distance. His tall figure was unmistakable. He was wearing light-coloured slacks and a blue and maroon striped blazer. His fair hair was brushed back from his forehead in a quiff. She was pleased she'd taken care with her own appearance, brushing her short black hair until it shone and applying her favourite shade of lipstick. She considered using the false eyelashes she had recently begun to experiment with but decided that would be a step too far. The low-waist flowered voile dress she had chosen to wear suited her figure to perfection. She was carrying her white floppy straw hat instead of wearing it, fearing that the breeze might blow it away.

He saw her, waved and strode forward with his arms outstretched. Taking her hands, he looked into her eyes and smiled that charming smile she had been unable to resist on the occasion of the ice creams.

'I'm so glad you decided to come,' he said, 'only I was afraid you might have forgotten all about me, or worse still, decided you didn't want to see me again.'

'Oh, but I did want to see you again.' The words burst from her lips before she could stop them.

He offered his arm and they started to stroll along the promenade when, almost immediately, they were accosted by a street artist.

'Lovely lady, let me draw your picture,' he said, pleadingly.

Hetty threw up her hands in horror. 'Oh no!'

'Yes please,' said Freddie and, before she could stop him, he had drawn a couple of notes out of his pocket.

'I'll do two for that amount, one of each of you,' said the artist, setting to work immediately.

It took him less than ten minutes to produce a good likeness of both Hetty and Freddie. They were delighted with the result. As they continued on their way, Freddie again glanced at Hetty's charcoal portrait and said softly, 'No wonder, he insisted on sketching you, Hetty, you're beautiful.'

Hetty felt the colour rise to her cheeks. In the course of her role as managing director's wife, she had received her share of compliments. She had always accepted them graciously while Walter had looked on beaming with pride. This was different. She wasn't being buttered up for the sake of her husband's business; Freddie's words rang true.

'How are your daughters?' asked Freddie.

'They are fine.'

'Have they settled down well here?'

'Patsy made herself at home at once but Paula took longer. She's all right now that she's made lots of friends.'

'And your husband…hmm does he mind you meeting me?'

'I…I haven't had time to tell him,' stuttered Hetty.

Freddie turned to look her in the eye. 'Does he need to know?'

And in that moment, a clandestine pact was sealed. They met on a Wednesday and one windy autumn day they were caught on the promenade in a heavy shower.

'There's nowhere to shelter,' cried Hetty, holding her bag above her head to shield her from the downpour.

'Oh but there is,' said Freddie.

Pulling her by the hand he led her onto the beach, stopping outside the yellow beach hut to withdraw a key from his pocket. They stepped inside and shook themselves like a pair of puppy dogs.

'I'd forgotten about your beach hut,' said Hetty. She looked around. 'It's really quite comfortable, isn't it?'

'Yes, I installed the couch last summer. Please sit down and make yourself at home, Hetty. I'll find you a towel for your hair.'

'I'm soaked to the skin,' cried Hetty, 'I'll spoil your new couch.'

'Hmm, if you're not too modest, I would suggest that you take your damp dress off and hang it up to dry.' He pointed to a line running from front to back of the hut.

'Oh!' For a moment Hetty was alarmed then she realised that it was a sensible suggestion. 'Well…all right.'

Turning away from him, she slid out of her dress, revealing her cream silk petticoat. Freddie reached for the dress without looking at her, quickly hanging it over the line. Then he turned to face her and for perhaps ten seconds, his blue eyes met her hazel ones and, as their gaze locked, she knew they would be lovers before the afternoon was over.

He broke the moment, by handing her a towel. 'Here, dry your hair.'

She took the towel and started rubbing her hair vigorously and when she caught a glance of herself in a mirror on the back wall, she let out a hoot of laughter. 'Just look at me, fit for nothing with my hair sticking up all over the place.'

'I love you like that,' said Freddie.

He took her hand and they sank down onto the couch. It seemed the most natural thing in the world when he leant over and pressed his lips to hers. She wound her arm around his shoulders and let her fingers tease the hair curling into the nape of his neck. An inner voice told her to stop before it was too late but another, more persuasive voice, told her that it was already too late.

As his caresses became more urgent, she felt her slip ride up over her thighs revealing her stockings secured by a minute suspender belt. Freddie released the suspenders and rolled down the silk stockings. She lay back on the couch delighting in his touch and, reaching out her hand to stroke his cheek she detected the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow. His aftershave was deliciously sweet and lingering, not stringent like Walter's.

He seemed instinctively to know how to please her, his exploring tongue finding orifices that Walter had never explored. Hetty couldn't hold back. This was the missing piece to the jigsaw of her life. Until now she had been incomplete. Walter provided security and affection but he could never give her the physical excitement for which she yearned. Freddie could fill the gap. Could she be selfish enough to embrace both?

The thundering downpour drowned out Hetty's moans of ecstasy and it wasn't until they lay inert and satiated that she realised how cold the room was. Freddie noticed her give a shiver and got up to fetch a blanket from a cupboard.

'I know what will warm you up,' he said, going to another cupboard and taking out a bottle of Johnnie Walker and two glasses.

'I shouldn't, not at this time in the afternoon,' protested Hetty.

'Why not?' laughed Freddie.

'Walter might notice alcohol on my breath.'

'It will have worn off by the time he gets home.'

As she sipped her whisky Hetty's mind was racing. She had to get home in time to wash away the tell-tale signs of their lovemaking; the girls and Walter must never find out. Seized with contrition, she said sharply, 'Freddie, this mustn't happen again.'

Freddie raised an eyebrow and smiled. 'So you didn't enjoy it?'

'Yes…no.' She looked at her watch. 'Just look at the time, I must go.'

'But it's still pouring with rain.'

She threw off the blanket and hurriedly put her damp dress back on before going to peer out of the beach hut window. 'The rain's easing off a bit. I'll be fine.'

'Don't go, Hetty, not yet.'

His pleading smile disarmed her. 'Five more minutes...'

The five minutes somehow extended to ten, after which she rushed home, arriving just before the twins got in from school.

 

From then on their Wednesday trysts took place in a hotel room and sometimes Freddie would pick her up in his Alvis Silver Eagle and drive her into the country.

Hetty's moods alternated between delirious happiness and abject shame and in a bid to clarify her emotions, she began keeping a diary, locking it away in Daisy's little cubbyhole. With Walter at work all day she had plenty of time to agonise over her dilemma. On one occasion, Paula caught her scribbling but she managed to brush her aside with, 'I'm only jotting down a few notes.'

'Why, mummy?' asked Paula, always the inquisitive one.

'So I don't forget things.'

'What things?'

Patsy overheard the conversation and giggled, 'Perhaps mummy's writing a novel.'

On another occasion, her daughters crept up on her in the back garden. She had plucked a shoot of blossom from the apple tree and was holding it to her cheek while swaying and softly singing the lyrics of a romantic ballad.

'Mummy's gone all starry-eyed,' giggled Patsy, prompting Hetty to abandon her moment of bliss and slot back into her role of wife and mother.

 

The mid thirties saw the rise of Hitler and Mussolini with unrest growing throughout Europe. Cocooned in a bubble of happiness, Hetty paid no attention to the gloomy tidings being broadcast on the wireless. Like most British people she felt unconnected from countries on the other side of the Channel. Hadn't those Europeans always fought amongst themselves? Their squabbles had nothing to do with the Brits.

Meeting Freddie had turned her world upside down; her everyday life with Walter contrasted sharply with her secret life with Freddie. In her role of wife and mother she performed her tasks of housework, shopping and cooking with cheerful resignation, but when she met up with Freddie she threw off that dutiful persona and emerged once again as the carefree young girl she used to be. She no longer suffered pangs of conscience because, in different ways, she loved both men. What harm could there be in her adultery if Walter was unaware of it? She was, after all, still his caring wife, occasionally even sharing his bed. As for her daughters she was sure they had no idea that she still met up with 'Uncle Freddie'.

These afternoon liaisons continued through the years. They exchanged confidences with Hetty explaining that in the early days, she had been flattered by Walter's attention. 'I was only nineteen and marrying him made me feel grown-up and important,' she said, 'then when the twins were born, Walter was delighted. You see, they were a surprise; he believed he was too old for fatherhood.'

'I've only seen your daughters once and that was a while ago.'

'They're fourteen now, too old for sandcastles and ice creams.'

'But they brought us together, didn't they? Sadly, my beach hut rarely gets used these days?'

'How did you come to have a beach hut down here?' asked Hetty, wrinkling her nose.

'My aunt lived in Sussex; she was a keen swimmer. I used to stay with her during my school holidays and when she died I hadn't the heart to sell it.'

 Freddie went on to confide that when he was in his early twenties he had come close to getting married but the girl's family had persuaded her not to go through with it.

'Why ever not?' asked Hetty.

'Her father's a snob. He didn't approve of his daughter marrying a journalist and she wouldn't stand up to him.'

'More fool her but lucky for me,' said Hetty, giving Freddie a kiss on the cheek.

Freddie told her about his work as a reporter but never aired his views on the political situation. She had no idea as to whether he favoured Neville Chamberlain's Conservative Government or was of a Socialist turn of mind. In any case, Hetty wasn't interested in politics. She was always eager to hear about Freddie's encounters with famous people, especially movie stars and theatre celebrities.

From time to time, he would travel up North but she never learned what he was doing there. When it fleetingly occurred to her that he might have another woman, she resolutely thrust it from her mind. She loved him, she trusted him.

It was a newspaper report that opened her eyes. Walter came home from work, outraged by the news of the Cable Street riots.

'Just look at this, Hetty,' he said, spreading the paper out on the dining room table. 'I would never have believed things could come to this in our country.'

Hetty was shocked by the images plastered all over the front page.

'That Mosley fellow must be stopped. He's the cause of all this.'

Hetty had never seen Walter so angry. Even the twins were drawn to question him. 'What's happened, daddy?'

'You don't need to know, girls. Go and do your homework.'

For once, Patsy and Paula obeyed their father.

After supper when Walter had perused the story from start to finish, Hetty read it too. Her thoughts flew to Freddie. Would he have been reporting on the event?

Hetty had always found politics boring and although she valued her right to vote - after all, those suffragettes had fought hard for that right - she resented it when Walter shushed her if she started to chatter while he was listening to political reports on the wireless. But, all of a sudden, it was important for her to know what Freddie's political views were. The stories being broadcast together with the placards denouncing Hitler and the situation of the Jews in Germany had been seeping into her sub-consciousness without her being aware of it. She shared her husband's outrage and she needed to know how her lover felt.

The next time, after booking in under their assumed name, they hurried to the lift. Hetty had long ago lost her embarrassment about the signing in procedure and giggled as they rushed, hand-in-hand, along the plush carpeted corridor to their room. Once inside, Freddie took her in his arms and kicked the door shut with the heel of his shoe. Smothering her with kisses, he shunted her across the room until she fell back onto the bed.

Coming up for air, she laughed and said, 'Darling, you seem to be in a terrible hurry this afternoon.'

'I'm always in a hurry to make love to you my angel.'

With his usual tenderness, he undressed her, encouraging her to do the same for him. His lovemaking was even more passionate than usual, his ardour almost sweeping away her determination to question him but, afterwards, as they started to get dressed, her niggling doubts returned. She needed to question him. If he loved her, he wouldn't hold back.

'Freddie…'

'Yes, my love,'

'Were you involved in reporting those dreadful riots in the East End the other day?'

He stopped buttoning up his shirt and asked, 'Why bring that up?'

'I'm worried about you, that's all.'

He continued with his shirt buttoning. 'There's no need to worry.'

She tried to sound casual. 'What's your opinion of the BUF?'

He frowned and catching hold of her elbow, twisted her round to face him. 'What are you talking about?'

'The British Union of Fascists...'

'They're a political party.'

'I know they are, so what d'you think of them?'

He drew her close. 'Let's not talk politics.'

She persisted. 'What about that awful Mosley man?'

Freddie's grip on her elbow tightened. 'What makes you think he's awful?'

Despite feeling slightly intimidated, Hetty pressed on. 'He's pro-German, pro-Nazi, he's…'

'The Germans are putting their country in order. Hitler is proving to be a great leader.'

'You're hurting me,' said Hetty, looking pointedly at his hand on her arm.

Freddie smiled and moved away. 'Sorry, darling, let's forget about this nonsense and enjoy the rest of our afternoon together.'

Hetty knew she should let it go but somehow she couldn't. 'I've heard the Nazis persecute Jews and imprison innocent people. They're calling it ethnic cleansing.'

Freddie picked up his trousers and pulled them on. 'Darling, don't worry your pretty little head about such things. It can't affect us in this country.'

'I hope it can't,' she said.

He drew her to him and gently stroked her cheek, smothering her anxiety. They separated with a lingering kiss. Happiness overwhelmed her. If her lover didn't want to discuss politics then she wouldn't bring the subject up again. After all, she had no reason to believe that he was one of Mosley's followers. He couldn't be.

But that evening when Walter pointed out more references to the BUF in his paper, she couldn't help feeling uneasy and almost against her will, she started recording in her diary the seemingly insignificant remarks that Freddie made.

 

1936 proved to be an eventful year. Besides the Cable Street Riots and the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War, the scandal of the King's association with Wallis Simpson hit the headlines leading to his abdication in December of that year. Never had there been so much dramatic news in such a short space of time!

Hetty started taking an interest in world news and grabbed Walter's newspaper the minute he had finished with it. He noticed. 'Why the sudden interest in politics, darling?' he asked.

She tried to make light of it. 'I think I ought to make myself more aware of what's going on in the world.'

'Hmm, we may soon find ourselves more aware than we want to be,' he observed.

'What d'you mean?'

'War in Europe is looming.'

'Don't say that.'

Hetty was old enough to remember the other world war. She had lost an uncle on the Somme and she recalled her aunt's tear-stained letter informing her mother of her loss. What about the twins? They were coming up for seventeen. She couldn't bear to think of them spending their adolescence in a deprived country with rationing and other shortages. There could be bombing too.

Walter put an arm around her shoulders, 'Don't worry, darling, it might not come to war, after all Chamberlain is known to be a peacemaker.'

 

Hetty started to buy the newspapers every day. When Walter had gone to work and the twins had departed for their secretarial course at a college in Brighton, she would spread the broadsheets out on the dining room table and read about current affairs both at home and abroad.

She continued to meet up with Freddie but was careful to keep off the subject of politics. Their time together was brief - most of it taken up with lovemaking - which meant their conversations mostly centred on the personal. However, he surprised her one day when he revealed that he would not be able to see her for a couple of weeks because he was going away.

'Are you taking a holiday, darling?' she asked him, not for the first time wishing she had the courage to leave Walter and offer herself full time to Freddie.

'You could say that.'

'Where are you going?' She felt suspicious. Had he got another woman?

'Berlin.'

Surely he wouldn't choose Berlin for a romantic dalliance? Trying to keep her voice level, she said, 'What a strange choice darling! Isn't there a lot of unrest in Germany at the moment? 'I've heard those Nazis are rounding up people and sending them off to internment camps.'

He stopped in the middle of tying his tie. 'Where did you hear that?'

'I read it in the newspaper.'

He continued adjusting his tie but his expression hardened. 'You shouldn't believe everything the press write.'

Hetty was puzzled. Why would he say that, after all he was a member of the press. His attitude put her back up and propelled by an obstinate streak in her nature she persisted in questioning him. 'Have you got friends in Berlin?'

'Why?'

'I'm interested.'

'Just acquaintances…'

Turning away, he fastened his cufflinks and when he turned back he had once again become the charismatic lover she adored.

'Come here, my beautiful, gorgeous Hetty, let's go down to the bar and have a cocktail. I'll order Blinkers, your favourite.'

'Isn't it a bit early for cocktails?' said Hetty looking at her watch. 'It's not half past five yet.'

He threw back his head and laughed. 'It's never too early for a cocktail, darling.' But to Hetty his humour seemed contrived.

 

She got home just before Patsy and Paula. They burst into the house and it immediately resounded with their chatter and laughter. Two cocktails had brought out the sentimental in Hetty. She listened to her daughters, reflecting on how lucky she was and admitting to herself that they, rather than Walter, had been the reason why she had not considered leaving the marital home. But they were almost grown-up and it wouldn't be long before they left the nest either to get married or to pursue a career. Would that be the right time to break away from Walter? When she recalled that Freddie had never once suggested she should leave her husband, she swiftly brushed the thought aside. Freddie was too much of a gentleman to expect that of her. No, when the time was right, it would be up to her to broach the subject of divorce and marriage.

Walter arrived home shortly after the girls. When she asked him how his day had been, he replied, 'Nothing special, just the usual.' He noticed that she seemed to be in a happy mood and asked, 'Have you been doing anything special today, my dear?'

She blinked at him and said quickly, 'No, like you, nothing special.'

He switched on the wireless to listen to the news while Hetty set about preparing supper. He sat sucking at his pipe, surreptitiously watching her as she moved back and forth from room to room. He loved her passionately. For him there could be no other woman. He had met her at a friend's party and had been unable to take his gaze off this lovely, young, light-hearted girl who drew everyone she met to her. Her hazel eyes had sparkled as she had self-consciously flicked ash from the long cigarette holder she was holding. Clearly, she wasn't used to smoking and since their marriage she had not continued with the habit. At the party, she had flitted from group to group and he had been convinced that one of the younger men would have taken the opportunity to escort her home. In fact, no one did and the enviable task fell to him. He could hardly believe that after only a few months courtship she would agree to be his wife.

However, in the last few years he had noticed a change in her and at first had put it down to maturity but when her moods began to fluctuate, he guessed that the inevitable had happened: she had found herself a lover. He decided not to confront her. Wasn't it better to hold on to part of the woman you loved rather than risk losing her altogether? He hoped she would tire of her new love and come back to him but years had passed and this hadn't happened. At times, fury boiled inside him like a raging furnace and on one occasion he had bitten so hard into the stem of his favourite cherrywood pipe that it had snapped and he'd had to buy a new one. As retirement approached, he wondered how things would pan out when he no longer went off to work everyday. How would Hetty manage to keep her secret trysts then?

 

The two weeks without Freddie seemed endless. Hetty spent time weeding the flowerbeds, bottling plums from the tree in the garden and taking long walks along the beach. She still read the newspapers every day and what she read disturbed her. Why on earth would Freddie choose to visit Berlin? If he needed a break from work, why not go to the South of France or the Italian Riviera? By the end of the second week she was feeling very unsettled. Could a woman be luring him over there?

He contacted her, as promised and they arranged to meet the following afternoon. Once again, she met him at the entrance to the pier and once again, her heart leapt the minute she caught sight of his familiar figure. She practically threw herself into his arms all fears of being seen by one of the nosy neighbours dismissed. They went onto the pier and made their way along the wooden boards towards the tea rooms facing out to sea. As they walked she linked her arm through his, leaning her head on his shoulder, aware of his chin resting on the top of her head. He patted her hand. 'So you've missed me, my darling?'

'How could I not miss you? Have you missed me?'

'Of course…why wouldn't I?'

'I was afraid…'

'Afraid of what, my dearest…?'

'It's nothing.'

'Tell me what you were afraid of.'

'I was afraid you wouldn't come back.' The words rushed out of their own volition.

He stopped in his tracks and took her in his arms, ignoring the inquisitive glances of passers-by. 'I would never leave you, Hetty.'

'Promise...'

'I promise.'

Reassured, Hetty allowed him to lead her to the end of the pier. There was a stiff breeze causing white horses to dance on the sea. She leant her elbows on the barrier content to feel Freddie's protective arm around her shoulders. By mutual consent they hurriedly retraced their steps.

'I've booked a different hotel this time,' he whispered as they crossed the road. 'It's not far from here.'

He collected the key from Reception and they went to wait impatiently for the lift to come. Once inside the room, Freddie slipped her coat off her shoulders and started to undo the buttons of her blouse.

'Why do you wear such awkward clothes?' he teased.

'Let me.' She undid the fiddly buttons and unzipped her skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor.

He pulled her to him and stripped off her underwear, kicking her shoes across the room. They made love on top of the candlewick bedspread, lying in one another's arms afterwards, exhausted yet content.

'Happy, darling…?' he asked.

'Deliriously...'

'I love you, Hetty.'

She turned her head to look at him. He had never uttered those words before. 'I love you too, shall we…?' The phrase in her head never reached her lips because there was a knock on the door.

Freddie frowned. 'Who can that be?'

'Room service, sir...'

'Oh yes, I forgot.' Freddie got up from the bed and snatched a towel to fasten around his waist. 'I ordered tea for four-thirty.'

Hetty's opportunity to suggest that she break free from Walter was gone. She had lost courage but she told herself she could always bring the subject up next time they met. They sipped tea and dunked biscuits sitting on the edge of the bed, half dressed, neither of them wanting the afternoon to end.

'Will I see you next week?' asked Hetty.

'I'm sorry, sweetheart next week's difficult; I have to go up North.'

'What for…?'

'Oswald Mosley's holding another rally. I need to cover it.'

'Don't get caught up in any rioting,' she said.

'Don't worry about me, my darling, Mosley and I know one another well.'

'Mosley? He's a friend of yours?'

'We're acquaintances,' corrected Freddie.

'He's an awful man, darling promise me you won't get involved with him.'

'No chance of that,' said Freddie a little too hastily.

 

Later, at home, she reflected on their conversation. Acquaintances! Freddie liked that word. He used it a lot. Hetty frowned thoughtfully; the word 'acquaintances' could cover a multitude of sins. What was he up to? The need to rationalise her thoughts drove her to seek refuge once again in her diary. She unlocked the door to the little cubbyhole and took out her purple-covered notebook, spending the next hour scribbling in it. She wrote swiftly in an untidy scrawl with frequent crossings-out and corrections. She never re-read what she had written, afraid to face her doubting self.

The twins tumbling in through the front door prompted her to quickly return the notebook to the cubbyhole, locking the door and slipping the key into her pocket.

Turning away from the little cupboard, she saw Patsy wagging a finger at her. 'Have you been writing down more of your little secrets, mummy?'

Paula joined her sister, adding her taunt to their mother's confusion.

Hetty tried to make light of it. 'Away with you, girls, I haven't got any secrets.'

'We all have secrets,' retorted Paula.

'Who says?' countered Patsy.

Paula pointed at her twin. 'You have, for one.'

'No I haven't. Don't tell lies.' Patsy swung her bag hitting Paula on the head, whereupon the latter retaliated until the giggling pair disappeared upstairs to their bedrooms.

Hetty smiled, grateful that the attention had been switched from her but she wondered what secret Patsy was keeping from her.

 

Freddie didn't telephone Hetty until three weeks later by which time she had put aside her suspicions about his political activities, replacing them with the conviction that he had another woman. She needed to find out and became obsessed with ways in which she could do this, playing out imaginary conversations with him, scenes in which she was nothing less than a dominating goddess, he the contrite lover begging for forgiveness. She promised herself to be cool when he contacted her but her resolve melted away at the sound of his voice.

'Darling I'm so sorry I haven't been in touch. I got delayed in Manchester. It was impossible to get to a phone and…Hetty I've missed you so much.'

'Me too,' she murmured. 'When can we meet?'

'I'm coming down to Brighton tomorrow, are you free?'

'Yes,' she replied. The arranged afternoon cup of tea with a friendly neighbour could be postponed.

'Can you meet me by the Royal Pavilion at two?'

'Yes,' she said, 'I'll be there.'

They had never met in Brighton before and for a fleeting moment Hetty had a mental image of bumping into one of her daughters in North Street where their secretarial college was situated. She shook the idea away. Impossible, her girls would be busy drumming away at their typewriters all the afternoon. Nonetheless, she was relieved when they checked into a hotel.

Freddie was as attentive as ever, sweeping away Hetty's lingering doubts about his faithfulness. He often brought her small gifts and on this occasion she was bowled over when he produced a necklace set with diamonds.

'It's too beautiful,' she whispered, lacing it between her fingers. 'I can't wear anything as extravagant as this.'

He fastened it around her neck. 'You look wonderful in it, Hetty, diamonds suit you.'

She gazed at herself in the mirror, smiling as the sun caught one of the diamonds so that reflected in the looking-glass it winked at her. She shook her head and unfastened the necklace, placing it on the side table. 'No darling I can't accept it. When would I be able to wear it?'

Freddie took her in his arms. 'If you can think of a suitable excuse to give your husband, I could take you away for a romantic weekend in a five-star hotel, then you could wear it.'

She fondled the back of his head where his fair hair curled into the nape of his neck. 'Do you really mean that?'

'Of course I do.'

He kissed her fiercely, sliding his hands beneath her blouse to caress her breasts. That unmistakable frisson of pleasure erased misgivings from her mind. She would think up an excuse to give Walter so that she and Freddie could spend a whole wonderful weekend together.

Their lovemaking that afternoon was more passionate than she could ever remember. Reluctantly they left the bed and got dressed. Then the phone rang. Freddie answered it. 'Yes, please put him through…' He put his hand over the receiver and turned to Hetty, whispering, 'I'm sorry but I must take this call, darling.'

She smiled her understanding and while he waited for the caller to be put through, she picked up the necklace and held it up to the light. It really was a beautiful piece of jewellery and she wondered how he could afford it on a journalist's salary. She put it down on the dressing table.

While he was talking to the unseen caller, Hetty finished getting dressed. Sitting on the edge of the bed she started to put on her shoes but something in Freddie's tone caught her attention. Clearly, he was annoyed and even though he was muttering quietly into the receiver she heard the name Mosley.

He raised his voice. 'They can't do that the BUF is a legitimate party.'

He listened while the caller responded then said angrily, 'There were rumours about its dissolution before but nothing ever came of it.' He paused to listen then said, 'If war breaks out, it will bring more followers to the BUF.'

Hetty's shoe slipped from her hand. The BUF! She remembered Freddie's evasive reply when she had questioned him about it and she remembered Walter's disdain of it.

When the call ended Freddie continued getting dressed and noticing the necklace laying on the dressing table, he asked, 'I hope you're pleased with my present, darling.'

Hetty stood up and looked directly into his eyes. 'Are you a member of the BUF, Freddie?' she asked.

He stared back at her. 'What if I am?'

'Are you?' He smiled winningly and reached out to her but she backed away. 'Are you, Freddie?'

He took a step towards her, placing the flat of his hands on the wardrobe door, trapping her. Leaning forward to kiss her, he whispered, 'Why are you worrying your pretty little head about something you know nothing about?'

She twisted away feeling his warm breath on her cheek and where once his closeness would have thrilled her, this time it felt menacing. She pushed him back. 'Why don't you give me a straight answer, Freddie?'

His eyes narrowed as he said, 'Spoiling for an argument, are you?'

'I just want a yes or no.' Hetty felt a cold chill run down her spine even though the late afternoon sun warmed the room. He seemed like a stranger, a man she didn't want to know.

As Freddie turned away to pick up his tie, she saw his shoulders stiffen and knew she had riled him. Tie in hand, he turned to face her. 'Yes I am a member. People must understand it's the only way to maintain the country's moral and social well-being.'

She gave a gasp. 'What on earth do you mean?'

'Foreigners infiltrating the country - immigrants from God knows where bringing in their medieval culture. The Government must put a stop to it. You've seen what happened in Germany…'

'Ethnic cleansing, you mean?' snapped Hetty.

'Call it what you like, it's necessary.'

'No it isn't.'

Hetty's trepidation changed to anger. What about the Jewish family who lived along the road? She often stopped to chat to Mrs Cohen and, when they were younger, her own daughters used to play with the Cohen children. And what about that nice Polish man with the unpronounceable name? He sometimes came to give her a hand with the heavy work in the garden. She picked up her coat and bag and went to the door.

When he realised she was about to leave, Freddie's attitude changed. 'Don't let's fight, darling. What difference does it make, we are both still the same people.'

'No.' Hetty shook her head. 'You're not the same, not to me anyway.'

He touched her arm but she brushed his hand away.

'Darling, don't leave like this, please.'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

He glanced at the dressing table, said, 'You've forgotten your present.'

'I don't want it. Keep your nasty Fascist necklace.'

'Don't be like that, Hetty.' Freddie's brows met in a pleading frown. 'Let's make up. What about the lovely weekend we're planning to spend together?'

Hetty jutted her chin. 'I'm not going away with you, Freddie. And I don't want your present.' She pushed past him and snatching up the necklace, flung it at him, narrowly missing his ear.

'Hey!' he shouted, as it landed on the floor behind him.

'What's more, I don't want to see you ever again.'

'How are you going to get home?'

'I'll take a taxi.'

Hetty left the room and, with her head held high, she walked along the corridor to the lift. She half expected him to follow her but he didn't. Going down in the mirrored lift she stared at her own reflection seeing for the first time a naive middle-aged woman who had been strung along by a misguided extremist.

 

Over the next few days it became clear to Walter that something had upset Hetty. She no longer hummed a happy tune while going about her chores; she didn't even bother switching on the wireless. She listened listlessly to Patsy when she confided in her parents that she had a boyfriend. She lost interest in her appearance and sometimes didn't even bother to apply powder and lipstick.

He wanted to ask her what was wrong but instinctively knew she wouldn't tell him. Besides, if she knew he had noticed her change of mood it might make matters worse. Then one day, she asked him again about the BUF Party.

'What do they do exactly?'

'Huh, they're a group of louts,' replied Walter, 'the Party won't come to anything. That Mosley fellow will probably end up in jail.'

'What about his followers?'

'They'll get out quick or get what's coming to them I expect.'

'Oh.'

'Why the interest, Hetty?'

'No reason.'

She seemed to have lost interest in the conversation so Walter went back to his crossword. But her questions had made him suspicious and he had a feeling that something drastic had changed in Hetty's life. A glimmer of hope rose: maybe, just maybe, she would come back to him.

 

But in the September of 1939 the outbreak of war changed many people's lives. For the very first time the twins were separated. They each joined up but to different services: Patsy joined the WRENS to follow her boyfriend into the Navy while Paula joined the ATS. Walter was too old for call-up and besides, after a lifetime of heavy smoking, his health was beginning to fail.

Hetty often thought about Freddie and wondered whether he had forsaken the BUF Party and joined up. Would he be in favour of fighting the regime he had blatantly admired? She wanted to know his fate yet something told her that it would be better to remain in ignorance.

The town seemed to change overnight. Street shelters appeared, barbed wire was strung along the promenade preventing people from going onto the beach. Propaganda notices urging citizens to Dig for Victory or Grow your own vegetables were on display. There were also admonishing placards saying Loose talk can cost lives.

Bombing raids began in earnest in 1940 and Walter erected a corrugated iron shelter in the back garden. He also took on the role of air raid warden leaving Hetty in the house on her own in the evenings. Unused to spending time alone at night she found this unsettling.

They both worried about Patsy and Paula. So far the latter had remained in England but Patsy had been sent overseas and they only heard from her occasionally. The town was in a direct line to London and that coupled with its proximity to Ford Aerodrome made it vulnerable to attack and there were often dog fights between the RAF and the Luftwaffe.

'I saw a barrage balloon being shot at today,' said Hetty as the couple ate their supper before Walter went off to do his warden shift. 'It looked frighteningly close.'

'I know.'

Hetty tried not to talk about their daughters because bringing up that subject seemed tantamount to tempting fate. She only mentioned them when a letter dropped through the letter box and she knew that up until the moment the letter had been posted they had been safe. This was a strange philosophy but it comforted her.

She was now in her late thirties, too old to sign up. She helped out locally with food kitchens, jam making and knitting afternoons but she wanted to be more directly involved in the war effort.

Then in May 1940 news came through that the Germans had driven the allies back to the sea. A call went out for seaworthy boats, large or small, to aid in the evacuation of 300,000 men stranded on the beaches of Dunkirk. There was a call also for ambulance drivers to convey the wounded from their arrival point at Dover to hospital.

Walter and Hetty listened to the announcement with growing alarm until, all at once, Hetty's eyes lit up.

'I could drive an ambulance,' she gasped.

Walter frowned. 'Don't be ridiculous.'

'It's not ridiculous; I've been driving since I was eighteen.'

'Driving an ambulance is different to driving a small car,' Walter pointed out.

Hetty jutted her chin. 'I'm going to volunteer,' she said, 'and let them decide whether I am capable or not.'

 

After that things happened rapidly. A few days later, Hetty departed for Dover, where she was given basic training and then conscripted to convey wounded soldiers to hospitals in London. What she saw shocked her: young soldiers with terrible wounds, in pain and traumatised. There was very little time to rest; a catnap on a camp bed in a tent. Whenever the tension eased, between the docking of one lot of boats and the next, she thought about Freddie. Had he had a change of heart and joined up to fight for his country? Was he amongst those stranded on a beach in Northern France? She found herself scanning the faces of the exhausted young men crowded onto the trains after their terrifying journey across the English Channel, and studying the wounded in case he was amongst them. Perhaps Freddie would turn out to be a hero. He had been a hero in her eyes; that is until she learnt the awful truth about his political beliefs. In darker moments, she told herself bitterly that he was probably languishing in prison with other members of Mosley's followers.

 

Back at home, Walter spent sleepless nights worrying about her. He told himself that the opportunity for her to help in the war effort could be a good thing. It would focus her, help her to get over her thwarted love affair and maybe soften her feelings towards him. Once the emergency was over, she would come home to him a more hopeful, positive person.

But this didn't happen because ambulance drivers were in short supply and Hetty volunteered to stay on. She was sent for more training and instead of returning home on her first leave, she chose to spend it with a nurse she had befriended at the training camp.

Walter was devastated. This brush-off was even harder to take than the years he had spent knowing that she had lain in the arms of someone else. He withdrew into himself, pining over a life wasted in the pursuit of an impossible dream. If all those years ago she had refused his proposal of marriage, he would have taken it on the chin but to lose her like this was too much to bear. He tried telephoning her but their conversations were awkward.

'Are you coming home to collect some of your things, Hetty?' he ventured.

'What things?'

'You've left a lot of clothes in the wardrobe and there are other things belonging to you, books etc.'

'Oh those! Throw them out, or on second thoughts, give my clothes to the Salvation Army. I'm sure they could use them.'

'What about that fur stole you love so much.'

'That old thing! It's probably full of moth holes by now.'

'It would be nice to see you, Hetty. Couldn't you come home for a weekend?'

There was a pause before she answered. 'I'll see but I can't promise anything. I never know what my schedule's going to be. I might be sent abroad.'

Walter was shocked. 'Abroad? You mean you might be sent to the Front?'

'I could be.'

Walter's voice betrayed his concern. 'I hope not. Couldn't you refuse after all you joined up for home duties.'

Hetty's tone hardened as she replied. 'Why should I? If they ask me to go overseas I shall go.'

The call finished abruptly and although he wasn't a habitual drinker, Walter poured himself a stiff whisky before leaving for his shift as air raid warden.

 

On putting down the phone, Hetty experienced a stab of remorse. Why had she been so curt with Walter? She almost rang back to say she would come home for a visit after all but she knew that facing her devoted husband would heighten her own sense of betrayal. Since her split with Freddie, Walter's presence had jabbed at her conscience like a knife to her heart, reminding her of what she might have had and what she had lost. In the end, she justified her refusal to visit by rationalising that if she saw Walter again she would have to admit that she had actually volunteered for overseas duties, thus upsetting him further.

Her work as an ambulance driver had given her a purpose. She would never be able to shake off Freddie's memory but now her days were occupied it was easier to behave normally. The call for her departure came sooner than she had expected. The destination: France.

 

Meanwhile, Walter continued with his usual routine: going to work, coming home, reading the newspaper and doing the crossword before performing his air raid warden duties. When he got home he went straight to bed. Of course, he had to cook his own dinner but he was a man of simple tastes and due to the rationing, cooking didn't take much effort. Occasionally, one of his daughters would spend a few days leave with him but, for most of the time, he was on his own.

The war years rolled by and peace came. By then, Patsy had married her young man and Paula was going out with an officer in the Royal Engineers. Walter was relieved that both his daughters and their young men had come through the fighting unscathed.

Hetty never returned to Number Seven. In the summer of 1944 Walter received news that she had been killed on active service. Sadly he never learnt the full details of her death. He grieved for her in his own quiet way. Not unnaturally, his daughters were upset, but many years of separation from their mother lessened their loss, especially now that they had both started out on a new life with husbands and children.

 

Walter stayed on in Number Seven for a few more years by which time he was due for retirement. His health was poor, a lifetime of heavy smoking having left him with emphysema. He knew his days were numbered and next time Paula visited him he told her he had decided to sell the house and move into a rented flat in the centre of town.

'Why rent, Daddy, you could easily buy a nice flat closer to me or Patsy.'

But Walter was adamant. 'Paula, darling, I haven't got much time left so what's the point of moving away from here?'

'I still don't understand,' argued his daughter, 'why rent when you could buy?'

Walter smiled. 'If I sell now, the proceeds can go to you and Patsy straightaway; in that way you won't have to wait until I kick the bucket.'

Paula was upset. 'Please don't talk like that, Daddy, you've got years of life ahead of you. If you move closer to me or Patsy, you could enjoy your retirement and see more of your grandchildren.'

Walter was touched by Paula's concern but he kept to his plan and the next day he contacted a local estate agent and set the wheels in motion.

 

*****

 

Next up: ‘THE COLD WAR’