has grown up with a modicum of sense. Now then, let’s have some hush. It’s time for the Tommy Handley programme. We could all do with being cheered up a little.’
The wireless stayed on for another hour, but Joan switched off. She allowed her thoughts to return to Jack, the warmth of his hand in hers, the dimple that appeared in his left cheek when he smiled his lopsided smile at her, the floppy brown fringe falling over his glasses, which he’d mended with sticky tape. His broad shoulders and loping gait. His wishes for a land of peace, somewhere over the sea, which you would reach if you could only follow the moonlight avenue.
The next day Joan was working at the WVS. Thankfully Father had been pleased by the news of her new job running the playgroup. He’d sniffed a little bit when she described herself as ‘a kind of nursemaid’ but she’d quickly backtracked and rephrased her job as ‘managing the children’s drop-in centre’ and he seemed happy with that. He didn’t need to know the job involved getting down on the floor and playing train sets and tea parties with toddlers. If he had the impression she sat at a desk and wrote reports on children under her care then so be it.
Mags laughed when she told her this. ‘You’re learning how to handle him, at last! It makes for an easier life. I suppose he can’t help being prejudiced. He’s from a different generation, and so old-fashioned in his thinking. We can’t ever change him, you know, and it’s better not to try.’ She was right, of course, but Joan couldn’t help but imagine an ideal world in which her father treated everyone on their merits, regardless of their gender or class.
At the WVS Mrs Atkins handed her a letter, with a wink and a smile. ‘Your young man was here first thing, and left this for you. He’s very polite. I rather like him.’
Joan tucked the letter into her bag to open when she had a tea break and a few moments away from the children. It was a brief note, apologising for having got her into trouble with her father, and asking if she could meet him on her day off. He would wait, the note said, on the bench on the promenade where they’d sat before, from ten o’clock. He hoped she would be able to come out, and he very much looked forward to seeing her again.
Joan’s heart soared as she read the note. He wanted to see her again! And on her day off, which was in two days’ time. That would give them a good number of hours together. She began plotting what her excuse would be to slip away that day. Mags might have some ideas. She would ask her this evening.
Over breakfast on her day off, with the whole family sitting around the table, Mags suddenly sighed loudly. ‘Oh, if only I didn’t have to go to work today. I’ve heard that Flanagan’s has got some Seville oranges in stock!’
On cue, Joan spoke up. ‘Well, it’s my day off. Why don’t I go and see if I can get some?’
Father frowned. ‘That shop is miles away. It’ll take you hours.’
‘I can get a bus there. I’ve nothing else to do today. I’ll help Mother with some housework first, then go over and queue for the oranges. If all works out, we’ll be making marmalade by the time you come home from work. I know how much you like home-made marmalade.’
‘Well, I suppose if you help your mother first, you may go. Do we have enough sugar?’
Mother smiled. ‘Yes, we’ve been very frugal with our rations. I think we can spare enough. It would be marvellous to be able to make some marmalade again.’
Joan grinned at Mags. What a wonderful sister she was! Mags had been over to Flanagan’s the day before, taking a long lunch break from work, following up on the rumour. She’d queued half an hour for the oranges, which were now safely stowed beneath her bed. Joan would sneak them out under her coat, carry them around with her, and then return home triumphantly in the afternoon with tales of queues snaking around the block.
Jack was waiting on
The wireless stayed on for another hour, but Joan switched off. She allowed her thoughts to return to Jack, the warmth of his hand in hers, the dimple that appeared in his left cheek when he smiled his lopsided smile at her, the floppy brown fringe falling over his glasses, which he’d mended with sticky tape. His broad shoulders and loping gait. His wishes for a land of peace, somewhere over the sea, which you would reach if you could only follow the moonlight avenue.
The next day Joan was working at the WVS. Thankfully Father had been pleased by the news of her new job running the playgroup. He’d sniffed a little bit when she described herself as ‘a kind of nursemaid’ but she’d quickly backtracked and rephrased her job as ‘managing the children’s drop-in centre’ and he seemed happy with that. He didn’t need to know the job involved getting down on the floor and playing train sets and tea parties with toddlers. If he had the impression she sat at a desk and wrote reports on children under her care then so be it.
Mags laughed when she told her this. ‘You’re learning how to handle him, at last! It makes for an easier life. I suppose he can’t help being prejudiced. He’s from a different generation, and so old-fashioned in his thinking. We can’t ever change him, you know, and it’s better not to try.’ She was right, of course, but Joan couldn’t help but imagine an ideal world in which her father treated everyone on their merits, regardless of their gender or class.
At the WVS Mrs Atkins handed her a letter, with a wink and a smile. ‘Your young man was here first thing, and left this for you. He’s very polite. I rather like him.’
Joan tucked the letter into her bag to open when she had a tea break and a few moments away from the children. It was a brief note, apologising for having got her into trouble with her father, and asking if she could meet him on her day off. He would wait, the note said, on the bench on the promenade where they’d sat before, from ten o’clock. He hoped she would be able to come out, and he very much looked forward to seeing her again.
Joan’s heart soared as she read the note. He wanted to see her again! And on her day off, which was in two days’ time. That would give them a good number of hours together. She began plotting what her excuse would be to slip away that day. Mags might have some ideas. She would ask her this evening.
Over breakfast on her day off, with the whole family sitting around the table, Mags suddenly sighed loudly. ‘Oh, if only I didn’t have to go to work today. I’ve heard that Flanagan’s has got some Seville oranges in stock!’
On cue, Joan spoke up. ‘Well, it’s my day off. Why don’t I go and see if I can get some?’
Father frowned. ‘That shop is miles away. It’ll take you hours.’
‘I can get a bus there. I’ve nothing else to do today. I’ll help Mother with some housework first, then go over and queue for the oranges. If all works out, we’ll be making marmalade by the time you come home from work. I know how much you like home-made marmalade.’
‘Well, I suppose if you help your mother first, you may go. Do we have enough sugar?’
Mother smiled. ‘Yes, we’ve been very frugal with our rations. I think we can spare enough. It would be marvellous to be able to make some marmalade again.’
Joan grinned at Mags. What a wonderful sister she was! Mags had been over to Flanagan’s the day before, taking a long lunch break from work, following up on the rumour. She’d queued half an hour for the oranges, which were now safely stowed beneath her bed. Joan would sneak them out under her coat, carry them around with her, and then return home triumphantly in the afternoon with tales of queues snaking around the block.
Jack was waiting on
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