A Daughter's Hope

Book 0: Yorkshire Blitz Trilogy

by Donna Douglas

Genres: Sagas; Historical Romance; 20th Century Romance

Synopsis

*FROM SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR DONNA DOUGLAS*

Autumn, 1942. The Blitz has come to an end, but for many families, it's not over yet. As the residents of Jubilee Row begin to rebuild their lives, twins Sybil and Maudie Maguire decide to go off and do their bit by joining the WAAFs. But what starts off as a great adventure soon forces the girls to grow up as they are confronted with the harsh realities of war. Will they stick together, or will their experiences drive them apart?

Back in Hull, their older sister Florence is a typing pool supervisor who has resigned herself to a life without love. But when dashing American Colonel Forrest takes an interest, she wonders if he might be the one to mend her broken heart...

For fans of Dilly Court, Rosie Goodwin and Katie Flynn, this is the third book in the Yorkshire Blitz Trilogy from the bestselling author of The Nightingale Girls.

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 272

Sample

‘Say that again, Beattie Scuttle, and I’ll flatten you!’

Big May Maguire glared at the scrawny little woman sitting beside her. Beattie Scuttle was her oldest friend. They had known each other nearly all their sixty-odd years. They had grown up together, gone to school together, worked side by side in the netting lofts and brought up their families together. They had laughed, bickered, cried on each other’s shoulders and even had a couple of catfights in the middle of the street. Beattie was closer to Big May than her own sisters.

But she was pushing her luck with what she’d just said.

‘I’m only speaking the truth,’ Beattie repeated. ‘Your Iris is married to my Sam now. That makes her a Scuttle.’

Big May’s palms itched to slap the smirk off her face. ‘In name only,’ she muttered. ‘She’s still my daughter.’

‘And mine too now.’ Beattie looked pleased with herself. ‘I’ve always wanted a girl, what with having two boys.’

Be careful what you wish for, Big May thought. She had two daughters, and between them they had both brought her more worry and heartache than her three sons put together.

‘I’m glad Iris and Sam are wed at last, anyway,’ Beattie said. ‘I was beginning to think they’d never get married!’

Now that was something Big May could agree with. Her daughter Iris had kept them all waiting for a long time before she finally agreed to marry Sam Scuttle. Big May sometimes wondered how the poor lad had kept his patience for so long. Any other man would have given up waiting.

But then, Sam was devoted to Iris. He always had been, even when they were bains growing up together. But it had taken Iris many more years before she realised she felt the same.

And even then, she’d dithered about it for a good while before she accepted his proposal. Not that Big May blamed her for that. The poor lass had been through a lot of heartache in her life, losing her first husband and then her little daughter. She had been wretched for so long, it was little wonder she didn’t trust happiness when she found it.

But at least she was happy now. Even the steady rain that had sheeted down all day couldn’t dampen her daughter’s spirits. Big May could hear her from the parlour, laughing and joking with their family and friends. It was lovely to see her so happy at last.

Everyone was enjoying themselves. Beattie, Big May and her daughter-in-law Ruby had worked hard to put on a good spread for Iris and Sam. Now everyone was crowded into their little terraced house at the end of Jubilee Row, enjoying the party. Harry Pearce from the corner shop was already on the piano in the parlour, thumping out some good old tunes, while people sang along and danced around, spilling out into the passageway. The sounds of singing and laughter drifted down to the kitchen where Beattie and Big May sat facing each other across the fireplace. May’s grandchildren played around them, running to and fro, dressed in their Sunday best. The youngest, three-year-old Kitty, kept tripping over the hem of her frilly frock as she ran to keep up with her ten-year-old brother and their cousins.

‘It’s good to have something to celebrate for once,’ Beattie said, sipping on her sherry.

‘I know what you mean,’ Big May agreed. ‘Life’s been hard on us. Especially this past year.’

She sometimes wondered how they had made it through the past twelve months. Hull had suffered night upon night of relentless air raids that left most of the city in ruins. So many people had died, including Big May’s daughter-in-law Dolly and her own granddaughter, Iris’s daughter Lucy. Her other daughter-in-law Ruby’s house had been nearly destroyed by an incendiary, wiping out most of her belongings and many precious memories.

But May knew she could not complain. There were too many bains without families, too many people without a roof over their heads, for her to shed any tears over what she had lost.

‘At least you’ve still got your family around you,’ Beattie said. ‘And they’re all here for once.’

‘Aye.’ It was an unexpected blessing that they could all come home for Iris and Sam’s wedding. Her eldest, Jimmy, was on leave from the minesweepers, and John, the youngest, had come home from the Merchant Navy for a few days.

And by some good fortune, her twin granddaughters, Sybil and Maudie, were at home for a few days between finishing their basic training and getting their first WAAF posting. It couldn’t have worked out better if May had planned it herself.

But having them all around her was bittersweet because it made her realise how empty the place was when they were gone.

‘It’s just a shame they’ll all be gone again soon,’ she sighed.

‘At least you’ve still got your Florence.’

May flashed a look at her friend. Beattie was straight-faced, but there was a mischievous gleam in her eye.

As if she had somehow heard her name, at that moment May’s eldest daughter flew into the kitchen with an expression like thunder. She stormed past them and headed straight for the back door, pulling her coat off the hook. The children stopped playing and stared at her, agog.

‘Where are you going?’ Big May asked.

‘Out.’

‘But it’s pouring with rain!’

‘I don’t care. I know where I’m not wanted.’

Big May and Beattie exchanged looks.

‘What’s happened now?’ May sighed.

Just then, Iris stomped in, her wedding dress bunched up in her fists, the delicate lace a contrast to her flushed, angry face. ‘Are you trying to ruin my wedding day?’ she demanded.

Florence glared at her, then turned away to shrug on her coat.

Big May looked from one to the other. ‘Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?’

‘Iris told me I wasn’t welcome,’ Florence said.

‘I said you didn’t have to stay if you didn’t want to.’

‘Fine. Then I won’t.’

Big May looked at her eldest daughter. Florence towered over her, as tall as her brothers. She had the same dark good looks as the rest of the Maguire children, but in Florence they always seemed marred by a sullen or angry expression. May couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her daughter smile.

‘What did you say to your sister?’ she asked.

Florence turned on her, brows drawn low over snapping dark eyes. ‘That’s right. It has to be me, doesn’t it? It couldn’t be our Iris’s fault.’

‘It was your fault,’ Iris protested. ‘Just because you’re jealous.’

‘Jealous? Of you marrying Sam Scuttle?’

‘Now then. That’s my lad you’re talking about!’ Beattie piped up.

Big May turned to Iris. ‘Well? What’s been said?’

‘She said my wedding was a waste of time and money.’ Iris glared at her sister.

‘I only said it was a lot of fuss over nothing,’ Florence shrugged. ‘I don’t know why you couldn’t have just gone to the register office and got it done. After all, it’s not like it’s your first time, is it?’

‘You see?’ Iris said to May. ‘She’s jealous.’

‘Of course I am!’ Florence shot back. ‘Having a husband is the be-all and end-all of everything, isn’t it?’

‘You never managed it,’ Iris said in a low voice.

Big May saw her eldest daughter’s face flush and stepped in quickly. ‘Take no notice of Iris, she’s only joking,’ she said.

‘No, I’m not,’ Iris snapped. ‘I’m speaking the truth. Talk about always the bridesmaid, never the bride!’

‘I didn’t ask to be your bridesmaid!’

‘And I didn’t want you!’ Iris flashed back. ‘I only asked you because Ma said I had to.’

‘Iris!’ Big May put in.

‘As if I’d want you looking miserable in my wedding pictures,’ Iris muttered.

Big May glanced at Beattie. She was looking down, trying not to laugh. Big May pressed her lips together to hide her own smile, but not quick enough for Florence.

‘I might have known you’d take her side,’ she snapped.

‘I’m not taking anyone’s side.’

‘No? I can see you think she’s funny.’

‘We’re only having a laugh. You should try it, it might crack that sour old face of yours!’ Iris put in.

‘That’s enough, Iris.’ May turned to rebuke her daughter, but Florence had already slammed out of the house, banging the back door behind her. ‘You’d best go and apologise,’ May said.

‘I’ll do no such thing!’ Iris replied. ‘Let her sulk if she wants to. She’ll come back in when she’s calmed down, I daresay.’

And how long will that be? Big May peered out of the kitchen window through the rain that streamed down the steamy glass. Florence’s prickly pride meant she would rather catch her death than climb down off her high horse. ‘She’ll get soaked out there.’

‘I don’t care. I’m going back to my wedding.’

Iris gathered up her dress and flounced off, leaving Big May and Beattie alone in the kitchen.

Beattie chuckled. ‘Never a dull moment with your girls, is there?’

‘No,’ Big May said. ‘No, there in’t.’

She looked towards the back door, wondering whether to go out and talk to Florence, then decided against it. Iris was right – it was better to let her calm down.

Florence was her own worst enemy, she thought. She managed to rub everyone up the wrong way.

Big May Maguire loved all her children, but she could never get close to Florence. She wasn’t like the others. She had always been so clever and complicated, even as a child. And sharp, too – she had a tongue like a knife blade.

Perhaps she would have been different if she’d had a home and family of her own, like Iris and the lads. May might have felt closer to her then; she would have been able to offer her help and advice. But Florence had gone her own way. She had a good job with the Corporation, she made her own money and depended on no one. She didn’t need anyone, least of all her mother.

Big May sometimes felt her eldest daughter looked down on the rest of the family, in their humble terrace, scraping together their living on the trawlers and down at the fish docks.

‘As I was saying,’ Beattie chuckled. ‘At least you’ve still got your Florence.’

‘Aye,’ Big May said grimly. ‘So I have.’

God help me, she thought.

Florence could hear the sounds of laughter and singing drifting from the house as she stood shivering in the rain. No one bothered to come after her or make sure she was all right. They’d already forgotten all about her.

She had been too hasty in storming out, she decided. There was nowhere to shelter in the back yard, and her coat was no match for the steadily falling rain. Her best shoes were already soaked through, and her carefully styled hair clung in miserable tendrils around her face. And it had taken her ages with a curling iron, too. Florence hated wasted effort.

She didn’t even want to be at the wretched wedding. She had only taken the day off work because her mother had insisted she should be there.

‘You’ve got to do it for your sister,’ Big May had said. As if Iris cared whether Florence was there or not. She had already made that very clear. Besides, she was too busy showing off to everyone in Jubilee Row, grinning like the Cheshire cat, just because she’d snagged herself another husband.

You never managed it.

Her sister’s cruel taunt came back to her.

It wasn’t what Iris had said that had upset Florence. It was the way her mother had just stood there and let her say it. Oh, she’d made a half-hearted attempt to step in, but Florence had caught the smirk on her face, even though she’d tried to hide it. She thought Iris was so funny, with her cruel wisecracks and taunts.

But the minute Florence bit back – well, that was another story, wasn’t it? God forbid she should ever say anything to upset her precious sister.

Talk about the odd one out, Florence thought. Her mother couldn’t have made her feelings more plain if she’d tried. Iris was the favoured one, all right. She was like their mother in every way. They went shopping together, cooked meals together, looked after the children between them; they even worked together down at the netting loft.

And then there was Florence, forty-two years old, no husband, no children and still living at home with her parents.

No wonder her mother couldn’t be doing with her.

The back door opened behind her.

‘If you’ve come to tell me to make it up to Iris, you can forget it,’ Florence said, not turning round. ‘I’ll apologise to her when she does the same to me …’

‘Florence?’

She looked over her shoulder to see her friend Joyce Shelby standing behind her, sheltering under an umbrella.

‘I thought you were Ma,’ she mumbled, turning away.

‘She’s still in the kitchen, putting the world to rights with Beattie Scuttle.’ Joyce picked her way across the yard to stand next to her, putting the umbrella over her head. ‘I saw you having words with your Iris and came looking for you.’

‘It’s nice to know someone cares. No one else has even noticed I’ve gone.’ As if to prove her point, a roar of laughter went up from inside the house.

‘Don’t be like that,’ Joyce said mildly. She was the same age as Florence, a slender, quietly spoken woman, with brown hair and kind blue eyes. They had been friends since they were at elementary school together. They had both grown up on Jubilee Row, and played together on the cobbled streets where her own nieces and nephews now played.

‘It’s true. They’re all too busy congratulating my sister on finding herself a husband.’

She hated the bitterness in her voice. Perhaps Iris was right, she thought. Perhaps she was jealous?

But deep down she knew she wasn’t. She was pleased for Iris. God knows, her poor sister had been through an awful time, and she deserved some happiness.

‘Do you wish it was you?’ Joyce asked.

‘Marrying Sam Scuttle? No, thank you!’ Florence laughed. ‘Don’t get me wrong, he’s nice enough. But he’s hardly my type!’

‘I don’t mean Sam! I mean, do you wish it was you getting married?’

Florence thought about the question. No, if she was jealous of Iris it wasn’t because of her new husband. It was because her sister belonged in a way that Florence never could.

All those weeks leading up to the wedding, Florence had watched enviously as her mother and sisters-in-law had rallied around Iris, planning and organising her big day, preparing food, even offering her their clothing coupons so she could get herself something special to wear.

Florence had tried to join in with the preparations. But when she had offered to help, they had rebuffed her.

‘Oh no, we can manage. It in’t your sort of thing, is it?’ her mother had said. So Florence had been made an unwanted bridesmaid, as much to keep her quiet as anything else, while the rest of the Maguire women closed ranks around the bride, like a secret club that only wives and mothers could join.

‘I think my mother wishes it were me,’ she said. ‘She’s never forgiven me for not finding a husband.’

‘That was hardly your fault, was it? You might have been married to Donald by now, if he’d come home …’

Florence stared at her friend, startled to hear the name after so long. Donald Davis had been her sweetheart once, but twenty-five years on, she could barely remember what he looked like.

Donald had worked with her older brother Jimmy on the trawlers, but when the Great War began, they had all signed up and gone marching off to France. Florence remembered them all going off together, their faces bright and full of hope, laughing about how they would come home once they’d seen off the Germans. Donald had taken Florence in his arms and kissed her in full view of everyone, much to her embarrassment, and made her promise to wait for him.

It had been her first and her last kiss.

Many of the local lads had eventually come home when the war ended, and Florence had watched as her friends got married one by one. Iris married her sweetheart, and her brothers all wed their girls too. But Florence was one of the unlucky ones, and she was painfully aware of the pity in everyone’s eyes.

‘You’ll find someone else, I’m sure,’ her mother had tried to console her.

But the reality was there simply hadn’t been enough young men to go round, and Florence had already made up her mind that she wasn’t going to be one of those girls, desperately pining and seeking a man. Like so many other young women, she was going to make her own way in the world and fend for herself. She stayed on at school and gained her qualifications, then found a good job in the Accounts department at the Corporation, supervising the typing pool.

But no matter how well she did and how much she had achieved, she always felt as if it wasn’t enough for her family. She could see her own failure reflected in the disappointment in her mother’s eyes.

‘Anyway, finding a husband isn’t the be-all and end-all,’ Joyce said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I mean, look at me!’

Joyce was a cautionary tale, all right, Florence thought. Unlike her own family, Joyce’s parents had wanted her to stay on at school. But instead Joyce had shocked everyone by eloping with a local tinker called Reg Shelby. Their marriage had quickly turned sour, and poor Joyce had suffered years of unhappiness and abuse before she had found the courage to divorce him.

Now she was perfectly happy living on her own, running the ironmonger’s shop on Anlaby Road, assisted by Beattie Scuttle’s eldest son Charlie.

‘Have you heard from Reg lately?’ Florence asked.

‘No, thank God.’ Joyce suppressed a shudder. ‘Last time I heard from him, he was making some other poor woman’s life a misery over in Grimsby. But I don’t care what he does as long as he stays well away from me!’ She smiled at Florence. ‘If you’d been through the same unhappiness I’ve had, you’d know there are a lot worse things than being on your own.’

Just at that moment, the back door flew open and Florence heard her mother’s voice coming through the darkness, rising over the sound of the falling rain.

‘You’ve made your point. Now are you coming back in or what?’

Joyce raised her eyebrows. ‘Looks like you’ve been summoned.’

‘You go. I’ll be there in a minute.’

‘Here, you’d best take this.’ Joyce handed her the umbrella. Then, as she turned to go, she added, ‘Remember what I said, Florence. It’s far better to be on your own than married to the wrong person.’

Florence glanced past her towards the house. She could hardly see anything through the dense blackout and the driving rain, but she could feel Big May’s beady eyes on her all the same.

‘Try telling that to my mother,’ she murmured.

‘Where’s your sister? Surely she should be home by now?’

Maudie Maguire watched her mother peering anxiously out of the kitchen window into the rainy back yard. She had been doing the same thing on and off for the past hour.

‘You know what Syb’s like,’ Maudie said. ‘She’s probably lost track of time again.’

‘As long as she doesn’t make you miss your train.’ Her mother turned back to the bread she was spreading with dripping. She had been trying to keep busy all day, and Maudie knew it was so she didn’t have to think about them leaving. ‘Where is she, anyway?’

‘She went into town to meet some of the girls from Hammonds. Peggy and Cath are on leave from the ATS, so they wanted to catch up before we go.’

‘Didn’t you want to meet them too?’

Maudie shook her head. ‘They’re more Syb’s friends than mine. Besides, I’d rather stay here.’

Maudie was secretly annoyed at her sister for going out. Anyone could see Ruby was struggling, and it would have meant so much to her if she could have spent one last day with both her girls.

Poor Mum, Maudie thought. Her family was her whole life, and now they had all left her. Their eldest sister Ada was married with a home of her own, and their father was away at sea for months on the minesweepers.

At least she and Sybil had managed to get a few days at home on leave between finishing their training in London and starting their first official posting. But she wasn’t sure now if it had been a wise thing to do, since it meant going through the wrench of saying goodbye to the family all over again.

‘It’s lucky we’ve been posted local,’ she said, desperate to cheer her mother up.

‘Aye,’ Ruby agreed. ‘I s’pose they could have sent you anywhere, couldn’t they?’

‘We could have ended up on the south coast, or down in the West Country.’ It had been nothing more than sheer good luck that they had ended up at RAF Holme, a bomber station about twenty miles outside Hull.

‘It still feels a long way away, though,’ her mother sighed. ‘The house is so quiet without you two.’

‘Without Sybil, you mean!’

Ruby smiled sadly. ‘I suppose so.’ She looked at Maudie. ‘You will look after your sister, won’t you?’

‘Don’t I always?’

‘I know,’ Ruby smiled fondly. ‘You’re a good lass. And it was so kind of you to give up your chance to—’

‘Don’t,’ Maudie cut her off before she could finish her sentence. ‘You know I wouldn’t have gone anywhere without Syb.’

‘Talk of the devil …’ Ruby turned as the back door flew open and Sybil breezed in, her coat flapping.

‘What time do you call this?’ Maudie glanced at the clock. ‘You promised you’d be back by half past.’

‘Keep your hair on, I’m here now.’ Sybil threw her hat down on the kitchen table and helped herself to a sandwich.

Ruby slapped her hand away. ‘Don’t touch them. They’re for the journey.’

‘What difference does it make whether I eat them now or later?’

‘Because you’ll be hungry again by the time we get on the train and you’ll end up wanting to share mine,’ Maudie said.

Sybil grinned at her. ‘We’re twins. We’re supposed to share everything,’ she said through a mouthful of sandwich.

‘Don’t I know it?’ Maudie sighed. She and Sybil had been inseparable since they’d come into the world twenty-two years earlier. Sybil, typically, had shouldered her way out first, never being one to miss anything.

‘Listen.’ Ruby lifted her hand. ‘Is that Pop I can hear?’

Maudie cocked her head. From out in the street came the faint clip-clop of hooves on the cobbles. She hurried up the passageway and opened the front door.

There was her grandfather, known to all as Pop Maguire, sitting on top of his wooden rully, his cap pulled down low over his eyes, the collar of his battered coat turned up against the rain. Bertha, his faithful old horse, stood still, her heavy head nodding.

‘All right, lass?’ Pop caught sight of her and pushed the peak of his cap back to get a better look. ‘My, you’re a fine sight.’

Maudie glanced down at herself. She had forgotten she was in her WAAF uniform. She had taken a lot of trouble with it as it was their first posting. Her blue skirt and tunic were neatly pressed, the brass buttons gleaming thanks to a lavish amount of Duraglit and elbow grease.

Pop twisted round in his seat. ‘May?’ he called out, his voice ringing down the street. ‘Have you seen our Maudie?’

Almost immediately, the front door opened and her grandmother’s bulky form appeared, arms folded across the chest of her flowered pinny. Maudie knew full well she had been lurking behind the lace parlour curtains, watching out for them. Very little happened on Jubilee Row without Big May Maguire knowing about it.

‘Will I do, Grandma?’ Maudie turned to face her, suddenly shy. She could feel herself blushing as her grandmother’s appraising gaze moved up and down. Big May was a tough woman to please.

‘I reckon you will, lass.’ Her grandmother’s voice sounded gruff with emotion. Maudie could have sworn she saw a tear in her eye. But that wasn’t possible because everyone knew Big May never cried.

‘What about me? Will I do?’

Sybil appeared behind her, still fumbling with the buttons of her tunic. Her tie was crooked and her cap sat askew on her head. But typical Sybil, she somehow managed to carry all her faults with aplomb.

Maudie looked at her sister and saw herself mirrored in her slim figure, dark hair and brown eyes. People often asked her what it was like to see her face on someone else, but Maudie had never known any different. She and Sybil had always been two halves of a whole.

‘Look at them,’ Ruby said fondly. ‘My babies.’

‘They in’t babies any more,’ Big May said. ‘They’re young women, off to do their duty for their country.’

She pressed the heel of her hand into her eye, and this time Maudie was certain she was dashing away a tear.

By the time Pop had hoisted their kitbags into the back of the cart and covered them with canvas to keep the rain off, most of the street had turned out to see them off. Seeing all their friends and neighbours standing on their doorsteps made Maudie feel emotional all over again.

For the first time, it began to dawn on her that they were going away for good. Even when they were in London, Jubilee Row had been her whole life for the past twenty-two years. Her whole family lived on the narrow little terrace, bordered by the fish docks of Hull’s Hessle Road. It suddenly hit her like a blow that she would no longer be able to nip in for a gossip with her grandmother or her aunties every day, or hear the laughter of her niece and nephews ringing out as they played on the street.

Their mother hugged them both fiercely.

‘You will let me know when you’ve arrived safely, won’t you?’ she said.

‘We’re only going down the road!’ Sybil scoffed, wriggling from her mother’s embrace to scramble up onto the bench seat besid. . .