chocolates and the film.
‘I love you, Mary O’Connor,’ he mumbled between kisses.
‘And I love you, Jack Holmes,’ she said, thinking there was no need of fancy speeches from a man as lovely as this one.
Thankful for the blackout Jack paused at intervals to kiss Mary as they walked to the music shop at the top of Hawley’s Hill, which Ernest Sessions ran in between giving
music lessons and leading a small local orchestra.
Unlike Rowland he had not lost many musicians to the Local Defence Volunteer force, despite an average age somewhere in the mid-fifties, but the undoubted star of the orchestra was a
nine-year-old pupil of his who was doing so well he had been given a place in the first violins, much to the delight of audiences, who had taken the boy to their hearts. Actually, Gladys was
becoming rather bored by Ernest’s enthusiastic account of how brilliant the boy was, and she sighed with relief when Mary rang the bell on the door of the shop, in front of the living
quarters.
‘Well,’ she said, rising to her feet and looking round for her coat, ‘that sounds like Mary. We’d better be on our way.’
‘Why don’t you invite her in for a cup of tea?’ said Celia in her usual friendly manner.
‘Thanks all the same, but she’s rather shy,’ said Gladys, unable to face yet another account of young what’s-his-name’s talents.
‘Yes, we’d better be off,’ said Rowland. ‘It’s slow going on the narrow lanes with the reduced lighting on the car. Luckily there’s a moon tonight, but even
so we’ll be on our way. How much am I in your debt for the sheet music?’
‘Get away with you,’ said Ernest. ‘What’s a few shillings between friends?’ His words made Gladys feel terribly guilty about being in such a hurry to leave. She
knew that the real cause of her uncharacteristic irritability was nothing to do with Ernest, and everything to do with Jack Holmes.
Nevertheless, she was amiable enough towards him when they got outside, inviting him to tea a week on Sunday, and offering him a lift home, which he politely refused, saying he didn’t live
a cock stride away, and the air would do him good anyway.
‘Nice boy that,’ commented Rowland rather grudgingly, as they drove through the countryside back to Longfield.
‘Yes,’ said Gladys simply, thinking what an understatement that was. She could well understand what had attracted Mary to the tall, dark-haired young man, and spent the rest of the
journey wishing dreamily that she was thirty years younger.
‘I wish I wasn’t going,’ said Mary. ‘What if they don’t like me.’
‘If they don’t like yer they must be daft,’ Madge grunted whilst lifting a hundredweight coil from the machine.
‘What shall I wear?’
‘I don’t know as it matters. If Jack likes yer it doesn’t matter about anybody else.’
‘I’ll go in my brown costume seeing as I’m going to church the next morning.’
Madge looked at the girl sharply. ‘Has he told them you’re a Catholic?’ she asked.
‘I think so. Anyway, Jack doesn’t care what they say. Still, I do hope they like me.’
‘Well, there’s one who certainly will,’ said Madge. ‘He’ll have yer knickers off before yer know what’s hit yer will that brother of his.’
Mary laughed. ‘Oh no he won’t because I don’t wear ’em, didn’t you know?’
Madge laughed affectionately with Mary. It was nice to know she was back to normal after the tragedy. In fact she hadn’t half come out of her shell this past few weeks. Oh well,
that’s what love did for you.
‘How’re yer getting home, tomorrow night I mean?’ she asked.
‘I’m not. I’m staying at Theresa Murphy’s, going to church Sunday morning, then Jack’s walking back with me and staying for tea.’
‘I’m going to church tonight,’ Madge said softly.
‘You?’ said Mary incredulously. ‘Going to church, and on a Friday night? You’re joking.’
‘I’m not,’ the woman said. ‘I
‘I love you, Mary O’Connor,’ he mumbled between kisses.
‘And I love you, Jack Holmes,’ she said, thinking there was no need of fancy speeches from a man as lovely as this one.
Thankful for the blackout Jack paused at intervals to kiss Mary as they walked to the music shop at the top of Hawley’s Hill, which Ernest Sessions ran in between giving
music lessons and leading a small local orchestra.
Unlike Rowland he had not lost many musicians to the Local Defence Volunteer force, despite an average age somewhere in the mid-fifties, but the undoubted star of the orchestra was a
nine-year-old pupil of his who was doing so well he had been given a place in the first violins, much to the delight of audiences, who had taken the boy to their hearts. Actually, Gladys was
becoming rather bored by Ernest’s enthusiastic account of how brilliant the boy was, and she sighed with relief when Mary rang the bell on the door of the shop, in front of the living
quarters.
‘Well,’ she said, rising to her feet and looking round for her coat, ‘that sounds like Mary. We’d better be on our way.’
‘Why don’t you invite her in for a cup of tea?’ said Celia in her usual friendly manner.
‘Thanks all the same, but she’s rather shy,’ said Gladys, unable to face yet another account of young what’s-his-name’s talents.
‘Yes, we’d better be off,’ said Rowland. ‘It’s slow going on the narrow lanes with the reduced lighting on the car. Luckily there’s a moon tonight, but even
so we’ll be on our way. How much am I in your debt for the sheet music?’
‘Get away with you,’ said Ernest. ‘What’s a few shillings between friends?’ His words made Gladys feel terribly guilty about being in such a hurry to leave. She
knew that the real cause of her uncharacteristic irritability was nothing to do with Ernest, and everything to do with Jack Holmes.
Nevertheless, she was amiable enough towards him when they got outside, inviting him to tea a week on Sunday, and offering him a lift home, which he politely refused, saying he didn’t live
a cock stride away, and the air would do him good anyway.
‘Nice boy that,’ commented Rowland rather grudgingly, as they drove through the countryside back to Longfield.
‘Yes,’ said Gladys simply, thinking what an understatement that was. She could well understand what had attracted Mary to the tall, dark-haired young man, and spent the rest of the
journey wishing dreamily that she was thirty years younger.
‘I wish I wasn’t going,’ said Mary. ‘What if they don’t like me.’
‘If they don’t like yer they must be daft,’ Madge grunted whilst lifting a hundredweight coil from the machine.
‘What shall I wear?’
‘I don’t know as it matters. If Jack likes yer it doesn’t matter about anybody else.’
‘I’ll go in my brown costume seeing as I’m going to church the next morning.’
Madge looked at the girl sharply. ‘Has he told them you’re a Catholic?’ she asked.
‘I think so. Anyway, Jack doesn’t care what they say. Still, I do hope they like me.’
‘Well, there’s one who certainly will,’ said Madge. ‘He’ll have yer knickers off before yer know what’s hit yer will that brother of his.’
Mary laughed. ‘Oh no he won’t because I don’t wear ’em, didn’t you know?’
Madge laughed affectionately with Mary. It was nice to know she was back to normal after the tragedy. In fact she hadn’t half come out of her shell this past few weeks. Oh well,
that’s what love did for you.
‘How’re yer getting home, tomorrow night I mean?’ she asked.
‘I’m not. I’m staying at Theresa Murphy’s, going to church Sunday morning, then Jack’s walking back with me and staying for tea.’
‘I’m going to church tonight,’ Madge said softly.
‘You?’ said Mary incredulously. ‘Going to church, and on a Friday night? You’re joking.’
‘I’m not,’ the woman said. ‘I
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