The Apple of her Eye

by Pamela Evans

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

Pam Evans' family saga brings post-war London vividly to life as, amid rationing and food shortages, a young girl finds a passion for growing her own vegetables.

It is February 1945 and April Green and her cousin Heather wonder if the war will ever end. Then the local pub in Chiswick takes a direct hit and April's father is killed in the blast. Life without him is hard to bear and April and her brother do all they can to help, particularly when their mother announces she is pregnant. Volunteering to tend her father's allotment, April discovers a passion for growing vegetables.

Meanwhile, Winnie Benson is coming to terms with her husband's spinal injuries. He may never walk again and, until their son, George, returns from the Merchant Navy, Winnie must run their greengrocer's on her own. Once the war is over and George is home, things start to improve but rationing remains in force and fresh vegetables are hard to find. April's supply of home-grown produce couldn't be more welcome. And, before long, George can't help wishing he was the apple of her eye...

Release date: March 12, 2015

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 352

Sample

Would the war never end, the British people wondered, as this, the sixth winter, dragged on the gloomiest of all with shortages of everything except cold weather. Fuel rationing often meant an empty hearth so the populace shivered in unheated homes in their outdoor clothes; families gathered around the wireless set of an evening in coats, mufflers and gloves.

But there was an underlying sense of optimism, despite the gloom, because everyone knew that peace was imminent albeit that occasional V-bombs still wreaked havoc in London. The beginning of a return to normality was now visible, most notably in blackout restrictions being lifted to half lighting.

There was certainly no lack of good spirits in the Blue Rabbit public house in Chiswick, West London, one evening in February 1945. The smoky public bar, which was almost exclusively a male domain, was packed, a darts game in progress, the whole place reverberating with raucous hilarity. Who cared if the beer was watered down: the war was nearly over, the men had finished their long working day, were off duty from civil defence and had escaped from the missus for an hour or so to be with their mates, so they weren’t complaining. Someone here always had a joke to tell.

Even the sound of the siren didn’t unduly disturb these merrymakers which as it happened proved to be unwise. A terrible silence followed the explosion; most of the pub had been reduced to a smoking ruin.

Later that same evening April Green and her cousin Heather Miller were glowing pleasurably when they emerged with the crowds from a cinema in Hammersmith having just seen the film Meet Me in St Louis.

‘What a lovely film,’ said Heather dreamily.

‘Yeah, I really enjoyed it too,’ sighed April, a redhead with lustrous green eyes and a dusting of freckles. ‘Judy Garland is one of my favourite film stars.’

‘I always like American films. It seems to be so nice there; all those smart houses and gorgeous scenery and everything. We need their glamour to cheer us up,’ said Heather, linking arms with her cousin and shivering against the bitter weather as they headed for the bus stop. ‘There isn’t much to smile about here.’

‘It was only a film, Heather. I don’t suppose it’s so good in real life in the United States,’ April suggested, though she also enjoyed the glimpses of America they saw on the cinema screen. ‘Anyway, things aren’t so bad here now. The war is on its last legs and we don’t have to go down the shelter every night now that the bombs don’t come very often.’

‘There is that I suppose,’ agreed Heather, a tall brunette with a shapely figure and deep brown eyes that were often spoiled by resentment as they mirrored her discontented nature.

‘We are lucky; we’ve come through the war intact. Many people have lost their homes and relatives. There are a lot worse off than we are.’

‘All right, you can spare me the lecture,’ said Heather, taking offence as usual. ‘I’m entitled to have a moan if I feel like it.’

‘Of course you are. I was just saying that the outlook seems better than it has for ages, even though things are still a bit bleak at the moment.’ They joined the queue for the bus to Chiswick. ‘It’s a fact of nature that the weather will warm up soon and, according to the news, the war is almost over so the boys will be coming home and we can all get back to normal.’

‘I can’t wait to see my Arthur again,’ sighed Heather, referring to her childhood sweetheart to whom she was engaged.

‘I’m longing for Ronnie to come back too,’ added April. ‘I haven’t seen him for two years so it will be some reunion.’

‘I shouldn’t get too excited,’ warned Heather.

‘Why not … because the war isn’t quite over yet, you mean?’

‘No, not that.’

‘What are you getting at then?’

‘Well, you hardly knew him when you got engaged,’ pronounced Heather. ‘He wasn’t around for longer than a couple of weeks before he went back to the war. It takes time to get to know someone well enough to get engaged to them. He wasn’t much more than a stranger.’

‘Trust you to try to put a damper on it for me.’

‘I was only saying …’

‘I know what you were only saying and I’m telling you that it was long enough for me to know that he’s the one for me.’ Speed was of the essence in such uncertain times and it certainly had been for April and Ronnie, who’d met at a dance when he was on leave from the army. Mutually lovestruck, they’d gone ahead and got engaged before he went back. ‘Anyway, we’ve been writing to each other and we are both committed. So if you are trying to spoil it for me you aren’t succeeding.’

‘I’m not trying to spoil anything,’ denied Heather huffily. ‘Why would I when I have a boyfriend of my own?’

Why indeed would her cousin so often try to take the shine off things for her, wondered April. Both twenty-one, they had grown up in close proximity because their mothers were sisters and lived in the same neighbourhood. Now that they were adults and could choose for themselves, they saw each other regularly but Heather often felt the need to give her cousin a verbal slapping. While April found it annoying, she was well able to defend herself and was fond of Heather as a relative so continued with the friendship.

The conversation was brought to a halt by the arrival of the bus and they moved with the queue to get on.

‘Isn’t it nice now that the buses have the lights on again?’ observed April when they were settled in their seats and had paid their fare to the conductress. ‘The lighting still isn’t full strength yet but near enough to make a difference.’

‘It is a bit more cheerful, I must say,’ agreed Heather.

Looking out of the window at other lit buses, they seemed almost ethereal to April as they sailed through the night, the passengers now visible. After more than five years of total darkness any sort of light had a touch of magic about it.

They alighted from the bus a few stops earlier than they intended because the conductress informed them that the driver was forced to take a diversion due to an ‘incident’, which meant a bomb, and the main road through the town was closed. Sudden changes of plan were so frequent in wartime they took it in their stride and set off for home on foot, the air raw and pungent with the smell of smoke.

‘I wonder where the bomb actually landed,’ remarked Heather.

‘On the main road somewhere I should think, as the bus couldn’t get through,’ said April. ‘Not on our side of town so we’ll still have a home and family to go to. Oh dear, that sounds so callous.’

‘Just human nature. Anyway, I thought the bombing was supposed to be finished,’ Heather complained. ‘I hope this doesn’t mean it’s all going to start up again.’

‘It’ll just be a stray doodlebug, I expect. The government wouldn’t have relaxed the blackout restrictions if they thought there were going to be any more manned bombers coming over.’

‘That’s true.’

They both lived in Chiswick in the serried ranks of Victorian terraced houses a few minutes’ walk from the High Road. When they reached Heather’s road, they parted company and April continued alone. Turning into the street where she lived, she gasped and broke into a run at the sight of a gathering outside her house, which meant trouble. It flashed through her mind that the buildings all seemed to be intact so it couldn’t be anything to do with the bomb. What the hell had happened?

‘We’ve been waiting for you, April dear,’ said Mrs Willis, the Greens’ next-door neighbour.

‘Why?’

‘It’s your dad, love,’ the woman explained, looking worried. ‘The Blue Rabbit has been bombed and he was in there apparently. Your mum’s gone to find out what’s happening.’

‘Oh my God, I’ll go down there.’ April felt sick and breathless. ‘But where’s Charlie?’

‘Your brother is in our house with my boys so you don’t need to worry about him. He can stay as long as it takes,’

‘Thanks, Mrs Willis. Tell him I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ she said and turned and tore towards the town. There had been some frightening moments during the course of the war but this had to be the scariest. Her dad, her lovely, warm-hearted father, could be hurt – or worse.

It was a bleak sight at the far end of the High Road, a familiar landmark and one of the town’s most popular pubs now just smoking bricks and rubble with only the saloon bar still standing. The bomb had obviously fallen earlier in the evening but there were still quite a few onlookers about, standing around behind the cordon. There was an ambulance on hand and April could hear men shouting to each other so she guessed that the rescue people were still trying to find survivors.

Frantic with worry, she hurried around in the dim light looking for her mother but there was no sign. An observer told her that some injured survivors had been taken to hospital so she thought maybe that was what had happened to Dad and Mum had gone with him. Determined to stay positive because the alternative was too awful to even consider, she decided that must be what had happened. She would go home now and wait for news with her younger brother Charlie.

When something catastrophic has happened to you, well-meaning folk think you need company and most people probably did. But Beryl Green’s life had just fallen apart completely and all she wanted was to go home alone to her children April and Charlie. However, she was finding it difficult to extract herself from her sister Peg, who had gone with Beryl to the bombsite and now insisted that she go to Peg’s house first to recover from the shock of the terrible news.

‘You’re not going anywhere until you’re a bit less shaky,’ stated Peg, a good-hearted woman of ample proportions with grey wispy hair and pink cheeks. ‘Here, drink this hot sweet tea. It’s supposed to be good for shock.’

‘You shouldn’t be using your tea and sugar ration on me,’ said Beryl.

‘Oh give over, these are special circumstances,’ said Peg, who was bossy but well meaning.

They certainly are, thought Beryl, who was feeling battered from the blow. Could it really have happened? Had she just identified her dead husband in the light of a first-aid worker’s torch after Jim had been brought out of the bombed building? Her glands tightened and she rushed over to the kitchen sink, heaving.

As soon as she’d recovered she said, ‘If you don’t mind, I really need to go home now, Peg. April will be back from the cinema soon and Charlie will be worried. I have to tell them about their dad.’

‘I’ll walk round with you,’ offered Peg.

‘There’s no need. I’ll be all right on my own.’

‘You’re shaking like a leaf … you need someone with you.’

‘I’m fine, honestly. Thanks for offering and I expect I’ll want company a bit later on but right now I want to be on my own with the kids,’ she said.

‘Fair enough. I need to tell Heather what’s happened to her Uncle Jim anyway. As you say, the girls will be back from the cinema soon. You know where I am if you need me. Otherwise I’ll come round in the morning.’

‘Thanks Peg,’ said Beryl and headed for the front door, a small, sad figure in a brown coat and woolly hat.

Slight of build, the shock had weakened Beryl to such an extent she didn’t feel physically capable of putting one foot in front of the other but somehow she forced herself on. She had known Jim since she was sixteen and they’d never spent a night apart since the day they got married. A strong, sensible man with an amiable disposition, he’d always been her strength and she felt as though she was nothing without him. How was she going to manage for one day as his widow, let alone the rest of her life? In the seconds it had taken for the bomb to explode, her future had gone from being a bright and cheery prospect to something dark and daunting. But now she had to break her children’s hearts by telling them they had lost their father.

As soon as April saw her mother’s face she knew it was the worst news and for the moment she stood rooted to the spot, unable to move.

‘What’s happened, Mum?’ asked Charlie, who was thirteen. ‘Is Dad at the hospital?’

April watched her mother struggle to say the words, her dry lips trembling. ‘Sorry both of you,’ she began shakily, ‘but your dad … well, he didn’t make it.’

‘He’s dead, you mean?’ muttered Charlie with a youthful lack of diplomacy.

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Beryl thickly.

Instinctively April and Charlie went to their mother and the three of them held each other close. From the age of fourteen April had considered herself to be an adult in that she had been earning her own living and paying her way in life. But this was the moment she knew that she had really grown up.

In the early hours of the next morning, in another part of the same town, greengrocer’s wife Winnie Benson was contemplating the future with trepidation as she got into bed. Her husband Percy had been injured in the Blue Rabbit bombing and was in hospital. His injuries weren’t life-threatening but they were serious in that he was almost certain to be disabled for a while at least and maybe permanently, due to a back wound close to his spine. They had removed the metal implanted by the bomb blast but said that the spine might have been damaged by it and there was nothing more they could do. He was told that the pain should ease off when the operation lesion healed but his mobility could well be impaired.

‘You’ll have to send for the boy,’ Percy had said, referring to their twenty-three-year-old son George who was away at sea in the merchant navy. ‘He’ll have to come home and help you run the business.’

‘He’s on the other side of the world somewhere, Percy,’ she’d reminded him gently. ‘We can’t get him home just because you’re hurt, love, as much as we’d like to. I know what’s happened to you is awful but I think they only give compassionate leave if someone dies.’

‘Compassionate leave is no good,’ Percy had said, missing the point completely. ‘He needs to come home for good. It’s his duty to be here looking after you and the business as I’m not in a fit state.’

‘It’s his duty to stay where he is, Percy, and you know that,’ she’d pointed out. ‘It is still wartime, remember.’

‘I’m not likely to forget that, am I?’

‘Of course not,’ she’d agreed, looking at his sorry state, his face suffused with cuts from the debris and strained from the effects of pain in his lumbar region. ‘But I think we both know that he won’t be able to come home for good until after the war.’

‘You’re right, of course,’ he admitted finally.

George Benson had gone away to sea in peacetime when he was fifteen. A few years later when war broke out, by which time he had been eligible for military service, he’d been unable to answer the call because the merchant navy had needed him; more than ever with so many men being lost in the heavy bombing of vital merchant ships.

‘I’ll manage, love,’ she’d assured her husband. ‘You just concentrate on getting better and I’ll look after things at home.’

‘What about the shop?’

A caring soul with a round cheerful face, blue eyes and a thick mop of greying blond hair, she’d put her hand over his gently. ‘I’ll look after that too so stop worrying. I’ve been helping you with it for long enough. I ought to be able to manage.’

‘I’ve always run things and bought the stock.’

‘So I’ll do it until you’re better,’ she’d assured him.

‘It’s hard work, lifting and carrying,’ he’d said worriedly. ‘You’re not built for that part of the job. You’ll never be able to lift and carry the sacks of potatoes.’

This was true. Percy was a strong man. He carried the potato sacks on his back almost effortlessly. No matter how bright and willing she was, she didn’t have the physical strength to get the heavy stock from the store in their cellar up to the shop.

‘Then there’s the wholesale market,’ he had fretted. ‘You won’t want to get up at five o’clock in the morning to do that.’

‘I won’t want to but I’ll do it,’ she’d said. ‘You’ve done it for years. Now it’s my turn.’

‘You can’t drive the van,’ he reminded her.

She’d looked at him and squeezed his hand. ‘Look, I can’t promise to run the shop as well as you do, and yes there will be problems, but I promise you that when you come home Benson’s Greengrocer’s will still be going strong in Chiswick High Road. Now please try and relax and let nature and the medical staff here get you better.’

It was a daunting prospect, she admitted to herself now. Percy had always run the business while she looked after the home and just worked in the shop under his management. Now all the responsibility would be on her shoulders. It wasn’t the hard work that worried her but the loss of Percy’s strength. He had always been the tough one; he’d looked after her. Now their roles were reversed and she wasn’t sure if she was up to it but knew she must do her best. She needed two things: some muscle for heavy lifting and at first someone to take her to Brentford Market to buy stock and teach her how to drive the van so that eventually she could do it herself.

What she wanted more than anything at this time was to have her beloved son by her side. George, her only child, who had inherited his father’s strength but, thankfully, not his difficult nature. Percy was a dear and she loved him with all her heart but he wasn’t always an easy man to live with and had never had a good relationship with his son. Maybe that was why she and George had always been close. Usually at a distance, it was true, but she always felt spiritually bound to him.

She reminded herself how lucky she was that her husband had survived the bombing. Others hadn’t been so fortunate. She didn’t know the numbers but there had been fatalities. Ironically, the Blue Rabbit wasn’t even Percy’s local. He’d gone there last night, apparently, because his usual watering hole had run out of beer, so she wasn’t likely to know any of the other punters. Even so she felt for them and counted her blessings. Percy had been spared because he’d been in the saloon bar of the pub, some of which was still standing.

So now, in her late forties, she suddenly found herself with new responsibilities and was determined to honour her promise to Percy and keep the business going while he was out of action; permanently if necessary. ‘Oh George, I wish you were here,’ she murmured as she settled down to try and sleep.

Even as the first tears were still falling for the loss of Jim Green, the economics of the death of their main breadwinner had already occurred to his family. April had heard it said that good often comes from bad and she saw evidence of this the next morning when her brother came downstairs and made an announcement.

‘I’ll be fourteen soon and I’ll be leaving school at Easter, Mum, so I’ll be out working and bringing money home. You’ve no need to worry because I’ll be the man of the house from now on.’

As kid brothers went Charlie was one of the best. Exuberant and full of fun, he could be annoying at times but generally speaking he and April got along, give or take the odd sibling spat. One role she had never seen him in before was that of an adult. But now it was as though he had skipped the rest of his adolescence and grown up overnight. His pale brown eyes, so like their father’s, shone with intent, his youthful face set in a grim expression.

‘That’s very kind of you, son, and I appreciate it,’ said his mother, her voice breaking. ‘But you‘re a bit young to be taking on that sort of responsibility. So don’t you worry about me. I’ll get a widow’s pension and your dad has been putting a bit by since the day we got married in case anything happened to him. Always very aware of his responsibility as a husband was your dad. As a skilled metal worker in an engineering factory he earned well, especially these past few years with all the long wartime hours.’

‘I’ll try to give you a bit more each week if you need it, Mum,’ offered April.

Beryl looked from one to the other, a sudden flush suffusing her face. ‘I don’t want to talk about this now, with your dad’s death still so new; it isn’t right,’ she said, her voice ragged with emotion. Then she burst into tears and rushed from the room.

Charlie made as if to go after her.

‘I think we’d better leave her for the moment,’ suggested April. ‘She needs to be on her own for a while.’

‘Oh April,’ said Charlie, struggling not to let himself down and shed tears, the worst disgrace ever for a boy of his age and class. ‘Poor Mum. I didn’t mean to upset her.’

‘You didn’t; it’s just the way she’s feeling at the moment and anything could have triggered it off. She’ll be all right in a while,’ she said, putting her arms around him and not meeting any resistance. ‘We’ll look after her, you and me. We’ll get by together, the three of us.’

They stayed with arms entwined for a long time. April could feel her brother trembling and knew that he was sobbing but she made no comment. He was entitled to his pride even under these terrible circumstances.

Wanting to be strong for her family at this sad time, though the shock of the death had left her feeling physically sick and muddle-headed, Beryl managed to focus her mind on the organisation of the funeral and then the post-bereavement paperwork, finding it a calming distraction from the horrible reality of life without Jim.

‘The allotment will have to go,’ she announced to her children one evening in March over their meal. ‘I’ll go to the council and see about it tomorrow.’

‘We can’t get rid of Dad’s allotment.’ April was shocked. ‘That was his pride and joy.’

‘It was indeed,’ agreed her mother, her countenance ashen against her black mourning clothes, the brightness of her greying red hair seeming to add to her pallor, ‘but he isn’t here to look after it now, is he?’

‘But what will we do without all the vegetables he grew for us?’ asked April. ‘He kept us supplied for a lot of the year.’

‘We’ll have to take our chances at the greengrocer’s like everyone else who doesn’t have an allotment,’ replied Beryl. ‘We can’t afford to pay for something we don’t use.’

‘We can’t afford not to keep it, Mum,’ April pointed out. ‘It’s cheaper to grow your own so that would more than take care of the allotment rent.’

‘But who is going to actually grow the vegetables?’ Beryl wanted to know. ‘An allotment needs a lot of attention.’

‘I suppose I could do it.’ April spoke without much enthusiasm.

‘You wouldn’t want to take that on, though, would you dear? Not a young girl like you,’ said Beryl. ‘It’s more the sort of thing for older men though I know that some women have been looking after allotments during the war.’

‘I’m not too keen, I must admit, but I’d do it rather than give it up. I used to help Dad sometimes so I know a little bit about it. And he kept a chart in the shed listing everything that needs doing all through the year. There are books on the subject too, and all the tools are there.’

‘Helping out for an hour or so at a weekend is different to being responsible for the whole thing. You’re at work all day.’

‘So was Dad and he did long hours of hard physical work whereas I’m sitting on an office chair all day so the exercise will do me good,’ April reminded her mother. ‘It isn’t as though the allotment is a full-time job; it’s only a hobby. Anyway I’m sure Charlie will help out … when he isn’t playing football, and you might enjoy giving a hand sometimes, Mum.’

‘Of course I will.’ She paused for a moment. ‘But as soon as I feel up to it I think I might look for a job.’

April’s eyes widened. ‘But you already have one.’

‘Only home work and that is coming to an end now that the war is nearly over.’ Because she hadn’t wanted Charlie to be a latchkey kid, Beryl had worked at home assembling parts for a factory throughout the war, more to feel as though she was doing her bit than out of necessity as Jim was well able to support her. ‘I’ll earn more if I go out to work and there’s no reason why not now that Charlie doesn’t need me to be here when he gets home from school. I don’t have any skills but I might be able to find some sort of work, in a shop maybe.’

‘Are we that hard up then, Mum?’ asked April.

‘No, I’ve told you, your dad left me well provided for. With Charlie paying his way soon we should be able to manage very nicely but I feel as though I should make an effort. It’s what women seem to do these days.’

‘Only because of the war but if that’s what you want to do, Mum, then you go ahead,’ approved April. ‘The company will do you good now that you don’t have Dad.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Beryl, who was actually terrified at the prospect of going out to work. When she’d got married it wasn’t done for a wife to work but all that had changed with the war. So she felt obliged to put herself out and bring in some money. Besides, it might be nice to have an outside interest now that the children were grown up and she had lost her dear Jim. At forty-eight she was probably a bit ancient for the workplace but much older women than her were out working these days. As soon as she’d recovered from the death and felt stronger, she would look into it.

‘How about I give the allotment a try, Mum,’ April was saying. ‘If I hate it or am hopeless at it then we’ll give it up. But I think I should at least give it a go.’

‘All right, dear, if that’s what you want, we’ll keep it for the time being,’ she said, wishing she didn’t feel so ill and exhausted. She needed to be fit to cope with her loss.

Dressed in wellington boots and a navy-blue raincoat with a hood, April stood in the rain, the cold wind blasting her face, and surveyed her father’s allotment which was among many others on land next to the railway lines, everywhere deserted on this cold and. . .