finish work and take him home.
He had retained his prison pallor and Ada was determined that in this coming summer she would persuade him to get out on the beaches, to swim, relax and build up his strength and health in exercise, fresh air and warm sunshine.
The cellars were inspected by Willie and a man from the council who visited such places to assist in decisions about air raid shelters. They decided it would need strengthening but, when finished, would be large enough to hold six people comfortably. The couple who ran a nearby cafe were invited by Ada to consider it theirs too. Willie suggested that if war became a reality they would need a key but the thought of a key being in someone else’s hands made Cecily doubt the decision to offer them a place. Living alone in the rambling old building was bad enough without the fear of someone else being able to come into the yard without her knowing.
Jack Simmons helped with the work of strengthening the cellar. He no longer sold cheap fruit and vegetables in the rundown shop nearby. The business had failed and now with his wife, Sally, the three children and another on the way, he coped by managing an assortment of jobs, including selling ice cream from a pedal cycle cart in the summer and in winter by taking any job that offered. Twenty-four shillings dole was not enough to pay rent and feed and clothe them all. Cecily and Ada helped when they could, finding him occasional work and recommending him to others looking for a reliable workman.
The cellar was finished and duly examined by the sisters and Phil – who pronounced firmly that he would never use it. ‘Been locked up for too long,’ he said, peering into its dark and cold interior. ‘You won’t get me down there, not if Hitler himself landed on the beach!’
Willie went home one day in March to find the living room empty. He thought Annette must have gone shopping and worried in a slightly irritated way: she was near her time and shouldn’t go far from home. Hestood on the doorstep and looked out, anxious for a sight of her. Then a voice called and he saw Gladys Davies running towards him, skipping in her excitement as she ran across the grassy lane.
‘It’s the baby!’ she shouted. ‘Come quick it did. Your mother-in-law is with her. Lucky she was here, mind. The doctor’s been and everything is fine.’
She knew after the first few words that Willie wasn’t listening. He ran up the stairs, leaving her at the door, still talking.
‘Annette, love? Are you all right? Why didn’t you send for me?’
Annette lifted the tightly wrapped bundle proudly and smiled at him. ‘Willie, everything is perfect, we have a little girl and her name, as you wanted, is Claire.’ She kissed the small, wrinkled face. ‘Claire, meet your dadda.’
On 1 April 1939, Van celebrated her fifteenth birthday in two ways, by going skating in the evening with Edwin, which cost them a shilling including the hire of skates, and by leaving her position as third sales in the department store’s fashion floor. She had been there six months.
Dorothy was disappointed: Van had been a successful sales lady, being forthright in her criticism of the choices of many wealthy customers and persuading them to be guided by her. This had led to a group of clients who would only be served by her.
Dorothy gloried in her niece’s success, referring to her as ‘my protégée’. She had explained at length the problems the poor dear girl had to face at home with criminals and a mother who was ‘very keen on men and not providing a suitable environment for an innocent and clever girl like Myfanwy’, whispered behind an elegant hand. She convinced everyone that she had influenced the child for the better and was afraid of her falling back into the bad example of the sisters.
‘What will you do, lovey?’ Cecily asked when she was told. ‘Will you go to commercial college for shorthand and typing? That would be a useful skill to
He had retained his prison pallor and Ada was determined that in this coming summer she would persuade him to get out on the beaches, to swim, relax and build up his strength and health in exercise, fresh air and warm sunshine.
The cellars were inspected by Willie and a man from the council who visited such places to assist in decisions about air raid shelters. They decided it would need strengthening but, when finished, would be large enough to hold six people comfortably. The couple who ran a nearby cafe were invited by Ada to consider it theirs too. Willie suggested that if war became a reality they would need a key but the thought of a key being in someone else’s hands made Cecily doubt the decision to offer them a place. Living alone in the rambling old building was bad enough without the fear of someone else being able to come into the yard without her knowing.
Jack Simmons helped with the work of strengthening the cellar. He no longer sold cheap fruit and vegetables in the rundown shop nearby. The business had failed and now with his wife, Sally, the three children and another on the way, he coped by managing an assortment of jobs, including selling ice cream from a pedal cycle cart in the summer and in winter by taking any job that offered. Twenty-four shillings dole was not enough to pay rent and feed and clothe them all. Cecily and Ada helped when they could, finding him occasional work and recommending him to others looking for a reliable workman.
The cellar was finished and duly examined by the sisters and Phil – who pronounced firmly that he would never use it. ‘Been locked up for too long,’ he said, peering into its dark and cold interior. ‘You won’t get me down there, not if Hitler himself landed on the beach!’
Willie went home one day in March to find the living room empty. He thought Annette must have gone shopping and worried in a slightly irritated way: she was near her time and shouldn’t go far from home. Hestood on the doorstep and looked out, anxious for a sight of her. Then a voice called and he saw Gladys Davies running towards him, skipping in her excitement as she ran across the grassy lane.
‘It’s the baby!’ she shouted. ‘Come quick it did. Your mother-in-law is with her. Lucky she was here, mind. The doctor’s been and everything is fine.’
She knew after the first few words that Willie wasn’t listening. He ran up the stairs, leaving her at the door, still talking.
‘Annette, love? Are you all right? Why didn’t you send for me?’
Annette lifted the tightly wrapped bundle proudly and smiled at him. ‘Willie, everything is perfect, we have a little girl and her name, as you wanted, is Claire.’ She kissed the small, wrinkled face. ‘Claire, meet your dadda.’
On 1 April 1939, Van celebrated her fifteenth birthday in two ways, by going skating in the evening with Edwin, which cost them a shilling including the hire of skates, and by leaving her position as third sales in the department store’s fashion floor. She had been there six months.
Dorothy was disappointed: Van had been a successful sales lady, being forthright in her criticism of the choices of many wealthy customers and persuading them to be guided by her. This had led to a group of clients who would only be served by her.
Dorothy gloried in her niece’s success, referring to her as ‘my protégée’. She had explained at length the problems the poor dear girl had to face at home with criminals and a mother who was ‘very keen on men and not providing a suitable environment for an innocent and clever girl like Myfanwy’, whispered behind an elegant hand. She convinced everyone that she had influenced the child for the better and was afraid of her falling back into the bad example of the sisters.
‘What will you do, lovey?’ Cecily asked when she was told. ‘Will you go to commercial college for shorthand and typing? That would be a useful skill to
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