Brighter Days Ahead Read online

  The words trembled through Molly as she recalled them. Her stomach churned. Her fear of Hitler’s wrath descending on London paled into insignificance, as the implications of what had been said about her earning money for the gang suddenly took on a terrifying meaning.

  Not one for putting much faith in prayers, Molly crossed the road begging God fervently to help her, as the sensation of Gus thrusting himself at her revisited her. Please, God, don’t let what happened to Phyllis’s mate happen to me . . . Please!

  2

  Flo

  An Unknown Future

  ‘Eeh, Mr Godfern, have you heard the news?’ Flo shook her raincoat out the door as she spoke to the owner of the chemist’s shop – her boss and benefactor for the last seven years.

  ‘Whatever it is, close that door, Flo. The rain’s coming inside.’

  The door shut after a moment of scraping on the flagstone floor. Wet weather always made it stick. ‘They’re putting out warnings to Londoners to take any siren seriously and to seek shelter. They say Biggin Hill’s been attacked, and that London’s going to be next. By, I feel sorry for the poor folk, if that happens.’

  ‘Aye, so do I. But to listen to them Londoners caught up in that bombing a few days ago, they know Churchill bombed Berlin to avenge them, so they’re not putting the blame on him. I heard some of them being interviewed on the wireless. They talk of standing against all Hitler can throw at them. You have to admire them. They say as we’re tough up here in Leeds, but we have nowt on them lot. Taking it on the chin, they are, and all helping each other. Makes you proud, but I fear what’ll happen.’ His head shook as if in despair. But then he smiled. ‘Mind, it’s not all doom and gloom, thou knaws, lass. There’s a letter come for you, and it’s a brown one at that.’

  For a moment Flo caught her breath. Excitement, mixed with worry, churned her insides. ‘Is it from them?’

  ‘How many brown letters are you expecting then? I reckon as you’ll have to open it to make sure, but I’d like to bet you a florin it is.’

  Laughing with him, Flo took the letter being held out to her. There, printed in bold letters above the address of the chemist’s shop, she read: ‘PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL, Miss Florence Kilgallon’. Once again her nerves jolted and longing flooded through her. Please let me have passed me exams.

  Finding that she had, and in particular her maths exam, with a mark of 100 per cent, she let out a loud ‘Whoopee’ and did a little dance. The clanging of the doorbell sobered her, as did the voice of the hypochondriac Mrs Hardacre: ‘There’s a war on, thou knows, and some of us have nowt to sing about. Me legs have given me gyp all neet. Eeh, I wish I had your legs, Flo, but me dancing days are over. What’s made you so happy, lass?’

  ‘Oh, sommat and nowt. Now, what can I get you, Mrs Hardacre? Sommat to soothe your aches and pains?’

  ‘If only you could, but . . .’

  As Mrs Hardacre droned on, Flo let her mind go back to the letter. Now she had a chance of gaining entry to the teacher-training college to fulfil her dream. She had Mr Godfern to thank for it all. It had been a good day when she’d gained the position here. She’d seen the advert in his shop window: Wanted, an assistant of reasonable intelligence and of good manner. Well, she had both of those qualities, but the first hadn’t been proven, as of then.

  Born at the back end of 1918 and now almost twenty-two years old, Flo had experienced the death of both her mammy and her pappy within six months of her birth. Her dad had been run over by a truck and killed instantly when she was six weeks old, and they said that her mammy had been brought so low that she was taken by a fever against which she had no resistance. They had been Irish immigrants and had lived in an area known as The Bank, near Richmond Road in Leeds. The Mount of St Mary’s Convent Orphanage stood there too and had become Flo’s home until she’d turned thirteen and had been put out to board with Mrs Leary.

  A kindly Irish lady, Mrs Leary had taken many a young lass in after they’d reached the age of having to leave the convent. Flo had heard good things about how well she’d treated them and they’d all proved to be true, though she’d been shocked on the second day when Mrs Leary had said, ‘You’re all settled in here now, Flo, so I’m for thinking that we’ll be after taking a walk around the town and getting you a job today.’

  Flo had expected to be carrying on at school until she was fourteen, but had known that if you had a job to go to, once you were in your last year, then the school released you. Mrs Leary couldn’t see any benefit in those of working class getting an education and, no matter how much Flo protested, Mrs Leary was having none of it. ‘You’ve to work and get yourself set up, and then you’ll be ready to take all that life has a mind to throw at you.’ She’d gone on to say, ‘Isn’t it that the Good Lord rewards those who take care of themselves? And that is the aim of this house – to get you standing on your own two feet – so it is.’

  As it had turned out, Mrs Leary had been right. Another year at school couldn’t have given Flo what she’d gained by working for Mr Godfern.

  Mrs Hardacre’s nudge and her comment, ‘Eeh, it’s okay for some, daydreaming away,’ brought Flo out of her thoughts.

  ‘Oh, sorry, love – you were saying about your legs?’

  ‘Too late. Mr Godfern’s seen to me. By, lass, you’ll have to look lively. Folk want attention, thou knows.’

  Smiling and apologizing did the trick. Even though Mrs Hardacre still admonished her, Flo could hear a lightness and fondness in the woman’s tone that belied what she said.

  ‘And there’s no use in flashing those lovely Irish eyes at me, either! Go on with you. You’re your dad all over. You even look like him.’

  This had been said to her many times. Flo wished she had a photograph of her mum and dad to compare herself to them, but all she had to go on was what the Irish folk in the community told her. ‘Your mammy was a good woman, small and gentle and kind; and your pappy was for being a good man, too. A fine-looking man. You have his looks, with your chestnut-brown hair and Irish-blue eyes. You’re as tall as him. Is it nearly six foot that you are? And your nose, me bonny lass, is just the same as his. He’ll never be gone whilst you draw your breath, so he won’t.’ Flo longed to have known her mammy and pappy.

  Reflecting on what folk said about her likeness to her pappy, her hand went to the bridge of her nose. With her finger she traced the slight bump. Some said she had a Jewish nose, but knowing nothing of her ancestry, she didn’t know if this reference had any substance to it or not. Not that her nose bothered her; apart from wishing it was straight, she didn’t think it that bad, and actually thought it quite cute. This made her lift her head, as if defying anyone to say otherwise. The net holding her hair brushed her neck and allowed a few of her curls to escape. She always contained the back of her hair in a net for work, but allowed those at the front to frame her face.

  ‘Go on then, lass, how did you do? Mr Godfern’s impatient tone brought Flo’s attention back to her wonderful exam results.

  Sharing the good news with Mr Godfern, she finished by saying, ‘Eeh, it were your help with all those complicated equations that did it. And – and, well, I’ll never be able to thank you. You paying me fees to attend night-school and, these last weeks, giving me a day off to study for me exams is what got me this far. I’ll pay you back every penny it cost you, I promise.’

  ‘Naw, I’ll have none of that. Your determination to succeed was all the payment I needed. But, Flo, I – I’m sorry, but your ambition to become a teacher ain’t going to be easy. And . . . well, you always knew that my Elizabeth was in university, training to become a pharmacist.’

  ‘I know. She’ll be qualified soon and will be here to help you, and then you won’t be in need of me any more. You’ve prepared me for when that happens. And it’s all worked out well, as with me qualifications I can look at going to college, as we’ve allus planned. Me tutor, Mr Dinkworth, will help me find one that trains teachers.’

  ‘Look, as I
see it, that will be costly, and you won’t be able to work and earn money while you study, as you’ll have to attend college full time. I reckon as you’ll be better served thinking about finding a well-paid job for a couple of years. That’ll set you up, so that you can support yourself. Besides, becoming a teacher ain’t everything. I reckon as you should try a few things first.’

  This shocked Flo, for there’d been an understanding that Mr Godfern would continue to support her through college. Her heart sank as she asked, ‘Is there sommat as you want to tell me, Mr Godfern?’

  She saw his body shift in a way that told of his discomfort. Turning from her, he adjusted a few bottles on the shelf behind him. His voice held regret when he spoke. ‘Things change, lass. You see, Elizabeth left university at the start of summer and has been taking a break, but she’s home now and needs to begin working here, with a view to it being hers one day. I – I could keep you on for a bit, though. Until she learns the ropes, that is.’

  ‘While I look for more work, you mean?’ Though he hadn’t admitted it, Flo thought that more had changed than simply Elizabeth being ready to come to work immediately. What Mr Godfern was saying didn’t sound like the plan to see her through college and then for her to pay him back whatever it had cost him, once she had a post as a teacher.

  ‘Aye. I’m sorry, lass. But things haven’t worked out financially for me. The recession hit me hard.’

  ‘Don’t ever be sorry, Mr Godfern. What you’ve done for me I’ll allus be grateful for. I’ll be reet. I can get set on at the munitions factory.’

  ‘Naw, that wouldn’t do at all. It’s well paid, I’ll give you that, but it’d stifle you. That’s happening here, as it is. You’re a clever lass and you need something that will stimulate you. Leave it with me. I’ll ask around and see what I can come up with.’

  Though Flo had faith in Mr Godfern and knew he would do his best for her, as she cycled home that evening she couldn’t lift the heavy feeling inside her. The dream she’d held for the last five years of studying now lay in tatters. But then she’d been a fool to think the likes of her could ever make it to being a teacher. Weren’t they all middle-class and well spoken, with dads who worked in offices or had a profession? How was it that she’d ever aspired to such a thing, or to think it would be open to an orphaned girl living in the poorest part of Leeds?

  Well, she had to face reality and get used to letting go of her dream. Because she was certain Mr Godfern had only been trying to make her realize that she’d gone as far as she was going to go. Maybe he could afford to sponsor her, but had known that hers was a lost cause, and that she would never have been accepted in a teacher-training college?

  Without her bidding them, tears brimmed in Flo’s eyes. Brushing them away caused her to wobble. A hooter blasting as loud as a blooming siren increased her wobble and caused her to lose control. Crashing to the ground, she found her leg twisted under her bike. Her gas mask hit her in the face and pain shot up her thigh.

  ‘You idiot! You shouldn’t be on the road – you’re not safe. You were riding like a novice. You should keep to the path . . . Flo! Oh God, I didn’t realize it was you. Are you all right?’

  As she looked up into the shocked face of Mr Dinkworth, Flo’s attempts to smile turned into a sob. Embarrassed and feeling like a child, she could do nothing to stop the flood of tears that prevented her from answering.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I did try to avoid you. Look, wrap this round you.’ He removed his jacket and placed it around her. The lining, warmed by his body, comforted her as it touched her skin, as did the smell of the Old Spice aftershave that clung to it. A familiar smell that had been with her throughout her years in the shop, and had always hung around the schoolroom where she’d attended Mr Dinkworth’s upper-maths group. He was the only one who bought Old Spice, as most men around here barely took a shaving brush to their chin, let alone pampered themselves with aftershave.

  ‘I’ll nip to that phone box over the road and ring for an ambulance. You’ll be fine, don’t worry – and don’t move.’

  ‘Naw! Naw, I’ll be reet, ta. Anyroad, I’m only suffering from shock, and that’ll soon pass.’

  Mr Dinkworth produced a huge, startlingly white hanky and handed it to Flo. ‘Here, wipe those tears away. Then, if you’re sure you’re not badly hurt, we can see about getting you back on your feet. Though I don’t see your bike taking you anywhere. You’re going to have to have a new wheel fitted, by the looks of things.’

  Drying her tears gave her clearer vision. She could see that one or two people had gathered around her and were helping to pick up her bike. Pieces of advice started to come at her. Most thought she should go to hospital, though some were saying she should be more careful, and that the roads were getting too dangerous for cyclists. They all seemed to be talking at once, and in high, squeaky voices. Confused, Flo looked around her.

  Mr Dinkworth took charge. She heard him ask everyone to stand back and give her some air, then arranged with a man who’d come out of a nearby house to take in her bike and look after it, until they could come for it; finally, he asked another man to help him to get Flo into his car. ‘I’ll see that she’s taken care of. I know her well. I’m her night-school tutor.’

  Though all this was done with the efficiency he always displayed in the classroom, Flo saw that Mr Dinkworth’s immaculate self had deserted him. His dark, Brylcreemed hair, usually sleeked back, was dishevelled, giving him a more approachable look than the groomed teacher she’d known him to be.

  Glancing over at Flo, he told her, ‘I’m taking you to my home. My housekeeper used to be a nurse. She’ll make sure you’re all in one piece and will put my mind at rest as to whether or not you need a doctor.’

  ‘But Mrs Leary . . .’

  ‘Your landlady? I know, she’ll be expecting you. Don’t worry – I’ve thought of that. There was a boy amongst the crowd. I gave him a penny to take a message to Mrs Leary to say you had been in an accident, but weren’t badly hurt, and that your tutor was taking care of you and would deliver you back there later.’

  What boy? I didn’t see a boy! A feeling of trepidation filled her. ‘Please, just give me a lift home, Mr Dinkworth. I only live around the corner from here. I told you, I’ll be reet. I—’

  ‘You have nothing to fear, Florence. My intentions are honourable. I couldn’t possibly let you out of my sight until I am sure you haven’t suffered any ill-effects that may require medical care.’

  Feeling silly for having even thought this man would mean her any harm, Flo relaxed a little. As she did, the full force of the pain in her ankle shot up her leg, causing her to gasp.

  ‘I think I’ll take you to the hospital after all. That wasn’t a sound I’d expect to hear from someone who wasn’t badly hurt.’

  Limping out of the hospital an hour later, with her ankle bound up and leaning heavily on crutches, Flo was grateful for the steadying hand of Mr Dinkworth as he held her arm.

  ‘How is it now? Do you think you could manage to get to the cafe across the road? They don’t close until eight, and I think a nice cup of hot, sweet tea is called for.’

  ‘Aye, I’ll have a good try. And a pot of tea is just what I’m needing. I may only have a sprain, but by, they gave me some gyp, pulling and pushing me ankle.’

  As they made their way across to the tearoom, Flo thought what a different side of Mr Dinkworth she was seeing. He’d always been distant and yet a gifted teacher, and a non-judgemental one, who saw the best in her and strived to encourage her. She’d been stupid to think he had any motive other than concern and kindness, in wanting to take her to his home. He was just one of life’s nice people. The thought came to her that it was funny he wasn’t married. Though she guessed he was in his forties, he was still a very handsome man. Tall and maybe too thin, he had a nice face with high cheekbones; and a real professor-look about him, with his striped suit and little round glasses, which – far from detracting from his good looks – suited him and
enlarged his lovely brown eyes.

  ‘Now tell me: what had you wobbling like that? I thought you and your bike were going to land under my car. I know you are an experienced rider, so what happened?’

  She’d taken a sip of the lovely steaming tea and now licked her tingling lips. ‘I – I were upset. And I went to wipe away the tears that were blurring me vision and that led to me losing control.’

  When he asked what had upset her, Flo told him, between blowing the steam of the tea away from her, how she’d suddenly found herself without a job and having lost the prospect of taking her education any further.

  ‘Well, maybe another job is the right thing for you, as I did wonder about your ambitions and whether you would make it into college. I mean – well, I’m sorry, Florence, and it shouldn’t be like this, but . . . everything is decided on the class of person you are. For instance, even though you have twice the brains and ability of Penelope Harris, her father is a bank manager and has influence. He sent her to me to improve her prospects. If both you and she applied to the teacher-training college and they only had one place, then she—’

  ‘But that ain’t fair.’

  ‘Life isn’t fair, Florence. It lifts you up and then kicks you in the face. One day – maybe after this war even – things will change. People from all walks of life will have the same opportunities and won’t be penalized because of their standing in life, their colour, their religious beliefs or their sexual persuasion.’

  Already shocked at what he’d said about her not having the same chances in life, despite getting an education, this last comment saw Flo’s cheeks reddening. She kept her eyes on her tea as she brought the cup to her mouth again. Eeh, fancy him saying a word like ‘sexual’ – and in here, an’ all!