The Emmerdale Girls

Book 0: Emmerdale

by Kerry Bell

Genres: World War II; Sagas

Synopsis

'Absolutely loved this ... brought me to tears of joy at the end ... I cannot recommend this book enough' Amazon Reviewer, 5 stars

'Bought it for my mum for Christmas. She thinks it's fantastic' Amazon Reviewer, 5 stars

'Very easy to read, a good storyline with strong characters. Highly recommend it' Amazon Reviewer, 5 stars

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The perfect Christmas gift, full of drama and romance, for fans of ITV's Emmerdale and readers who love heart-wrenching stories set during wartime.

December 1944. The residents of Beckindale can't believe they're going through another wartime Christmas, although the success of the D-Day landings earlier in the year has brought some hope to the village. The women of Emmerdale are navigating their own lives, loves and dreams, and as the war draws to a close, they realise things will never be the same again.

The Emmerdale girls are going to learn things are never dull where love is involved.

Exploring the lives of Emmerdale's much-loved families during World War II, including favourites such as the Sugdens and the Dingles, The Emmerdale Girls is a hopeful and nostalgic novel about community, friendship, and love.

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'I've enjoyed all 5 books! Great reads and so hope there is another' Amazon Reviewer, 5 stars

'Very well written, a Must for people who have followed Emmerdale from its time of being Emmerdale Farm' Amazon Reviewer, 5 stars

'Well worth the read' Amazon Reviewer, 5 stars

Release date: October 29, 2020

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 384

Sample

5th june 1944

Portsmouth

‘I’ve never seen so many boats,’ Annie Pearson said, looking out over Portsmouth Harbour from where she stood on the hill. ‘It’s like an armada.’

‘Do you think it would be possible to walk all the way to the Isle of Wight?’ her friend Patricia said, squinting into the horizon, where more ships bobbed gently on the waves.

‘Hopping from deck to deck like a seagull looking for food?’ Annie said with a smile. ‘Maybe.’

‘Imagine how they’re all feeling now. Squashed inside, waiting for the order.’ Patricia shuddered and Annie couldn’t blame her. It had been an odd few days in Portsmouth, seeing the harbour fill up with ships and landing craft, and the streets full of tanks, guns and troops. And then the soldiers all disappeared, crammed into the boats ready for what was going to happen next.

‘It must be tonight,’ Annie said thoughtfully and Patricia nodded.

‘Has to be.’

The two women exchanged a glance full of trepidation and fear and just the smallest bit of excitement. They’d known something was planned – an invasion of occupied France – for ages and, thanks to tide tables, they’d managed to work out, the day before, that it would be happening. Both women had been disappointed when they realised their shift pattern as Wrens meant they wouldn’t be involved. But a storm last night meant the boats were still here and that meant the invasion was bound to take place that very night – with Annie and Patricia right in the thick of it.

‘Shall we go?’ Patricia said.

Annie nodded, taking one more look at the harbour. It felt like something monumental was happening and she wanted to remember everything about this.

Inside Fort Southwick, where Annie and Patricia were based, it was as busy as usual, but there was something else, something new. A feeling of nervous energy that fizzed around the communications HQ and made Annie’s stomach flutter.

She gave Patricia a small smile and squeezed her friend’s hand.

‘See you on the other side,’ she said.

The Wrens worked a shift pattern that was twenty-four hours off, then forty-eight hours on, though Annie always found it hard to keep track of the time when she was working. Fort Southwick was tunnelled out of the rocks overlooking Portsmouth and there was no natural light inside. Today, though, time was speeding past because she was so busy, she barely had time to breathe. Like all the Wrens based at Southwick, she and Patricia worked in communications, and today they were under more pressure than they had ever been before.

But, oddly enough, through all the running around and the snatched ten-minute breaks, and the occasional nod and smile to Patricia as they passed each other in the corridors, the person Annie kept thinking about was Jacob Sugden.

Jacob would be interested in this, she thought as Patricia – who worked with the meteorologists – passed her a weather report to send to the commanders in the boats. As a farmer, Jacob always paid attention to the climate and could predict when a storm was coming better than any chart. Annie smiled at the thought of him staring at the horizon over Emmerdale Farm and saying, ‘We need to bring the cows down early tomorrow,’ or, ‘Best mend that barn roof before the rain comes.’

Of course, everything was different at Emmerdale Farm now. They were working harder than ever, Jacob and his mother Maggie, alongside their Land Girl, Audrey. Jacob’s letters told of them turning previously barren land into fields for flax, endless rows of potatoes and other vegetables, and regular inspections to make sure they were doing everything they could. Annie was proud of her friends back in Yorkshire putting so much work into keeping the nation fed. She was proud of Jacob, who’d put the death of his brother Edward – Annie’s fiancé – behind him and stepped up to keep the farm running when it was needed most. And almost more importantly than that, she knew Jacob was proud of himself.

‘Pearson, we need you on the VHF,’ the coxswain said.

Annie jumped to attention, startled out of her daydreams about home, and followed the officer to where she was needed. She enjoyed working the VHF – a high-frequency machine that meant she could relay messages to troops – and she tried hard to stay calm and unflappable, knowing how important the information she was passing on could be.

And never more than today. They had no windows in Fort Southwick, but somehow a murmur had flown round the Wrens earlier on in the shift and they’d all known that meant the boats had set off; leaving the safety of Portsmouth Harbour and sailing for Normandy to face goodness knows what. Lots of the women Annie worked with had sweethearts or husbands or brothers on board the vessels and she’d felt a pang of agony for them, seeing their pale, drawn, worried faces. She knew the heartache of losing someone she loved. She knew how she’d felt when Edward had been killed at sea, early in the war, and how she thought for a long time that she would never again feel the same joy or contentment she’d felt when she was with her love.

But now she knew that while a part of her would always love Edward and always feel sad for her loss, life could be good again. She’d even found herself thinking about what she might do after the war, because now there did seem to be an end in sight. She felt a sort of lurch in her stomach when she thought about it, like when she was little and missed a step when she was running down the stairs and thought she might fall. She loved being a Wren, she had friends both here in Portsmouth and back home in Beckindale, and she knew that being part of the war effort as she had been had changed her forever. She thought she probably would return to Beckindale. She loved Yorkshire and farming. But she thought if she did, she would be going back as a different Annie Pearson. Mind you, the war had changed everyone, she thought. She saw the changes in the regular letters she received from her mother Grace, her friend Lily, and, of course, from Jacob. She smiled again, thinking of how she’d describe today to him.

‘All set?’ said the officer.

Annie checked her equipment and nodded. ‘All set.’

And she was off, suddenly thrust into a whirlwind of flipping switches and passing on messages that she didn’t always understand. It wasn’t always easy to hear, or to be heard, and she had to concentrate so hard that the hubbub around her receded into the distance.

At one point, the message she was receiving was drowned out by a persistent and deafening rat-a-tat-tat.

‘Hold on,’ the commander shouted, and she heard him panting as he ran and took shelter. The sound was still there, in the background, but she could hear him better now. And it was only later, much, much later, when she realised that the sound had been there the whole time like an insistent drumming, that she understood it was gunfire.

When the first wave was over, Annie, Patricia and some of the others collapsed into the narrow bunks in one of the hollowed-out rooms at Fort Southwick and slept for an hour or so. Then they were woken and the whole thing started again. Annie thought she had never been so tired, or so hungry, or so nervous. She was running on adrenaline and cups of tea. But being a part of this – Operation Neptune, as she now knew it was called – was really something. She looked at herself in the mirror in their tiny bunk room, smoothed down her hair and straightened her hat, imagining telling her children, or grandchildren, about it one day. ‘It was a team effort,’ she saw herself saying to the imaginary child on her knee. ‘There were troops from all over the world, working together to beat the Nazis.’

With a start, she realised that in her imagination she was sitting at the table in the kitchen at Emmerdale Farm, where she’d sat so often and chatted to Maggie over a cup of tea. Why on earth would she imagine herself living there? Edward was gone and he wasn’t coming back.

‘Pull yourself together, Annie,’ she said sternly to her reflection. ‘There’s work to do.’ And so there was.

Annie carried on with her work on the VHF machine. She couldn’t quite believe that the men’s voices she was hearing were coming all the way from the beaches in France. Couldn’t imagine what they were seeing or doing as they went from village to village, checking for German troops. It sounded terrifying from where she was sitting, safe in the depths of Fort Southwick, so she could only guess how scared those men were; running towards the gunfire of the enemy when surely all their instincts would be telling them to run the other way.

Annie had no idea from the messages whether the operation was proving successful. Everyone around her just looked harried and concerned. No one was smiling.

As she sat at her desk, hunched over her VHF machine, Patricia hurried over from the meteorological office and handed her a weather report to relay to the commanders in France. While Annie scanned the information, her friend bent down so she could speak into Annie’s ear. ‘I half expected someone to say it was all over,’ she said. ‘That they’d neutralised all the Germans and the boys were coming home.’

Annie looked round at Patricia and gave her a quick smile. ‘I think we’ve a while to go yet.’

‘Wishful thinking.’

And then there was another message coming in, and Annie had to turn her attention back to the troops in France.

Eventually, Patricia and Annie’s work was over. Two whole days – forty-eight hours – after they’d started, they handed over to the Wrens who were just beginning their shifts, picked up their belongings and emerged, blinking in the morning sunlight, out on to Portsdown Hill.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Patricia, looking out over the harbour. ‘I knew they’d gone, but it’s strange to see it, even so.’

Where once the harbour had been that solid mass of ships, now it was empty. Every one of the boats and landing craft had gone across the Channel to France. Annie shivered despite the warmth of the early-summer sun.

‘Wonder how many will come back,’ she said, thinking of the sounds she’d heard over the past few hours. The gunshots and the shouts and the cries of alarm.

Patricia looped her arm through Annie’s and squeezed. Annie returned the squeeze gratefully.

‘Look,’ Patricia said. ‘There’s one ship left.’

Annie turned to her left, looking to where Patricia pointed, down towards the end of the harbour. And there, as majestic as ever in the sunlight, was HMS Victory, Lord Nelson’s ship. She was looking a bit more battered than usual, because she’d been damaged by a bomb earlier in the war, but Annie thought she’d never seemed so beautiful.

‘Victory,’ she said, almost to herself, though Patricia was standing right there. ‘I hope it’s a sign.’

late june 1944

Beckindale

Betty Prendagast checked her watch for the tenth time, and sighed. It was clear her fiancé Seth wasn’t coming to meet her in The Woolpack like they’d arranged. He was supposed to have been here an hour ago and there was still no sign of him. Meanwhile, Betty had been sitting here like a lemon, all alone. Again.

Mind you, she should be used to it by now. Seth had been so busy at work for the last few months that he often forgot their arrangements. Betty wasn’t sure why he was working so hard. He was only a gamekeeper, for heaven’s sake. It was hardly life or death. But whatever it was, it was keeping him busy for all hours.

She looked down at the dregs of her gin and orange, swirled it round in the glass and drained it. It wasn’t all bad, she thought. The pub was buzzing this evening, with Jacob Sugden entertaining the drinkers with stories about Annie Pearson’s involvement with the Normandy landings.

Betty slid out from behind the table where she’d been sitting and went to the bar to order another drink.

Larry Dingle, who ran the pub with his cousin Jed, grinned at her.

‘Same again?’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ said Betty. She gave him one of her best smiles and was pleased when she saw a flush rise up on his cheeks.

The Woolpack wasn’t a big pub, just one room with a bar in the middle. So it always felt busy, even when there were only a few drinkers inside. This evening, though, it was standing-room only and there was a celebratory feel as everyone toasted Annie’s efforts earlier in the month. And even though it was getting late, there were some older children around – Stan Dobbs, and his sister Ruby were there, hanging off Jacob’s every word.

‘So the whole harbour was empty except for HMS Victory?’ Ruby was saying, her eyes wide with awe. ‘All the boats had gone to Normandy?’

‘That’s what Annie says,’ Jacob Sugden said proudly.

Betty paid Larry and took her gin back to the table where she’d been sitting. She could see how proud Jacob was of Annie. His chest was swelling and he was standing up so straight, it was like he’d been commanding the troops himself. It was quite sweet, really, she thought. And he was right to be proud. Betty couldn’t believe Annie had been right in the thick of it, when the soldiers landed on the beaches. Mind you, she’d always been a bold one, Annie. She’d not given up when Edward Sugden died, nor when there had been all that nasty business with Oliver Skilbeck. Betty wondered if she’d be as bold as Annie, if she had to be. She had a horrible feeling she wouldn’t.

‘Annie’s so brave,’ said Ruby now, in wonder.

Jacob nodded. ‘She really is.’

‘Carry on then, Jacob,’ said Mick Dingle, who was sitting by the bar. ‘What else does she say?’

‘So she says that she and her friend Patricia thought the sight of HMS Victory would be a lucky sign,’ Jacob said.

‘You read that already,’ said Stan, Ruby’s younger brother, impatiently. His adopted mother, Meg Warcup, put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, making Betty smile. Stan was always a little ball of energy. ‘Read the next bit.’

‘“That first week is a blur,”’ Jacob read. ‘“We were so busy, and whenever we had a break, we would just flop into bed and sleep like the dead. But then things started to settle down and we could see that our troops were gaining an advantage. And it all began to seem worthwhile.”’

Jacob looked up from the notepaper. ‘And then she just asks after everyone here, and sends her love.’

Betty watched Jacob with interest. He’d always been on the miserable side, had Jacob Sugden. Surly, some might say. His brother Edward had been the nice one. Edward was the charmer with the sense of humour, the good looks and the pretty girl – Annie – on his arm. But Jacob was softening. Look at how he’d taken the Land Girl, Audrey Atkins, under his wing. And he’d really worked hard on the farm, and looked after his mother Maggie when she was ill. Betty had been impressed by that. She tilted her head to one side, looking at the young man appraisingly. He was even becoming more handsome nowadays. And he was clearly smitten with Annie Pearson, whether he knew it or not. Betty wondered if Annie felt the same. Probably. She shifted on her chair slightly, feeling a tiny prickle of irritation.

She looked round as her boss, Nancy Tate, sat down next to her. ‘What’s up with you?’

Betty forced a smile. ‘Nothing. Just thinking about Annie.’

‘I hope I get a chance to get to know her better when the war is over,’ said Nancy. ‘She sounds like a real character.’

‘She certainly is.’

‘Mind you, we’re not short of them round here. Speaking of which, where’s your Seth?’

Betty tried to smile again, but this time it was harder. ‘Don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘He said he’d be here, but he must have got held up at work.’ She checked her watch again. ‘Don’t think he’ll make it now.’

Seth worked up at the estate, training to be a gamekeeper. He loved his job. In fact, he loved it so much that Betty often thought he loved it more than he loved her.

Nancy looked at Betty, her sharp eyes taking in every inch of Betty’s face and making her feel uncomfortable. ‘Are you all right?’

Betty shrugged. ‘Not seen much of Seth lately, that’s all.’

‘These are difficult times for everyone,’ Nancy said. ‘I’ve heard they’re very busy up at Miffield Hall.’

Betty thought Nancy was just being kind. She may have been Beckindale’s vet, but she didn’t have much to do with Mr Verney and his team up at the hall, so she wouldn’t know how busy they were, not really. Nancy spent most of her time at the farms that surrounded the village.

‘I know,’ she said half-heartedly. ‘He’s working hard.’

She was being unfair, she thought. Seth was busy. And it wasn’t that long ago that Betty herself had been the one who was out all hours, dancing with ENSA and entertaining the troops. She smiled to herself, remembering her time on the stage and how much she’d loved it. She’d almost joined them permanently, but then Seth had proposed and she’d decided to stay in Beckindale instead.

‘Goodnight!’ called Meg Warcup, gathering up Stan and a complaining Ruby. ‘Bedtime for us.’

Betty gave her a quick wave and looked up optimistically as the door opened again as soon as Meg had left. Was this Seth? But no, it was just Audrey – the Sugdens’ Land Girl – and her sweetheart Ned Barlow. Betty let out a small snort of irritation. Those two were so in love, it made Betty want to vomit.

‘Did we miss Annie’s letter?’ Audrey asked. ‘You should have waited, Jacob.’

Jacob looked at Audrey fondly. ‘You can read it yourself. Where have you been, anyway? You left Emmerdale Farm before I did.’

Audrey looked round at Ned and giggled. ‘We got distracted,’ she said. ‘Ned wanted to show me something.’

Betty raised an eyebrow. She and Seth were fond of getting ‘distracted’ behind a convenient hedgerow – at least they had been once upon a time – but she’d never been one to declare it to the whole Woolpack.

Audrey was glowing with happiness and sort of jiggling from one foot to the other. ‘Can I tell them?’ she said to Ned.

Ned beamed, his broad smile lighting up the room. He was a very good-looking chap, Betty thought. He had wide shoulders and a narrow waist and strong arms. And he was the sweetest, most devoted man she’d ever met. She snorted again. He’d never leave Audrey sitting waiting in the pub.

‘Earlier today,’ Ned began, putting an arm around Audrey’s shoulders, ‘I asked Audrey if she’d do me the honour of becoming my wife, and I’m pleased to say that she accepted.’

The pub erupted in cheers of congratulations. Betty joined in, even though she felt a bit flat. It wasn’t so very long ago that everyone had been toasting her engagement, and here she was, still not married, sitting in the pub all alone. She pasted on her smile again, not wanting to seem petulant.

‘Betty, isn’t it wonderful?’ Audrey stood in front of Betty, her eyes shining with happiness. She held up her right hand to show Betty the ring that was on her finger. The Land Girl was missing her left hand – she’d been born that way – though she never liked people to make a big thing about it.

Betty, who was a performer at heart, got to her feet, threw her head back and gave Audrey her best film-star smile. ‘It’s the most gorgeous news,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a look at that ring.’

Audrey flashed her hand at Betty. ‘It was Ned’s grandmother’s. Isn’t it perfect?’

Betty oohed and aahed over the pretty jewellery, pushing away the resentment she felt because she didn’t have an engagement ring at all. Not many people did, she knew that. And Seth had said that as soon as the war was over, he’d get her all the sparkly trinkets she wanted. Betty tried to believe him.

‘We’re going to get married at Christmas,’ Audrey was saying. ‘That way, I’ve got time to save my clothing coupons for a dress. I’m hoping it might snow.’

‘I can do your hair and make-up for you, if you like?’ Betty said and Audrey looked delighted.

‘Would you? That would be so kind. You always look so beautiful, Betty.’

Betty brushed off the praise modestly, but she was touched by Audrey’s compliment.

‘And I’ll teach you a dance for the party,’ she said.

Audrey looked pleased. ‘I’d love that,’ she said. Then she frowned. ‘Ned might not be so keen though.’

‘I’m sure you can persuade him,’ Betty said. She gave Audrey a kiss on the cheek. ‘Congratulations,’ she said. ‘Will you excuse me, I just need to pop to the lav.’

She nodded to Nancy, whose turn it was to admire Audrey’s engagement ring, and headed towards the toilet. But instead of going in the door, she changed direction and went outside. She needed some time away from all the celebrations and frivolity.

It was a gorgeous summer’s evening. The sun was still warm and the breeze was soft on Betty’s bare arms. Everything should have been perfect, but it wasn’t. She sat down on the steps by the pub and rested her chin on her knees.

Once upon a time, she’d have been in the centre of all the fun in The Woolpack. She’d be the one pushing back the tables to clear a space for dancing, getting Mikey Webb from Hotten to play some jaunty tunes on the pub piano and pulling people up to join in. But now she just felt tired and sad. She wished Seth was here, though deep down she knew if he was, he’d just spend the whole evening laughing with the other men at the bar.

Through the pub’s open windows, she could hear Audrey telling Lily Dingle from the garage about her plans for a Christmas wedding.

‘Won’t that be wonderful?’ Lily was saying. ‘I hope it snows.’

Like a child, Betty put her hands over her ears so she didn’t have to hear about Audrey’s ideas for her big day. She and Seth had been engaged for more than a year now, but they’d not so much as talked about when they might tie the knot. All around them, people were marrying in a hurry, desperate to pledge their love to one another before they were forced apart by the war. But with Betty and Seth both in Beckindale for the foreseeable future, there seemed to be no rush.

Except …

Betty sighed. Except she’d given up her chance of dancing with the ENSA to stay in the village and wed Seth. She’d turned down the offer of going on stage every night, whirling and twirling, and bringing joy to troops all over the country, so she could settle down in Beckindale with the man she loved. She’d chosen making appointments for poorly kittens and injured calves and pregnant pigs over stage make-up, costumes and dance shoes. And that was fine. She was fine with it. She really was. Or she had been, when she had thought she and Seth would walk down the aisle and live happily ever after. But now it seemed they might never actually do it. Neither of them seemed to be in a hurry to make things official. Neither of them was keen to talk about why. They barely saw each other. It was all just one big mess.

Dramatically, Betty, buried her face in her hands. What on earth was she going to do?

A gentle hand on her shoulder made her look up. It was Wally Eagleton. He’d been a few years ahead of her at school, but she didn’t know him well.

‘How do, Betty?’ His face was furrowed with concern. ‘Are you ill?’

With what felt like an enormous effort, Betty gave Wally her best, most dazzling smile.

‘Wally, how lovely to see you,’ she said brightly. She held out her hand and he grasped her fingers and helped her get up. ‘I’m not ill at all, just worn out with all the fun.’ She nodded her head towards the pub, where the sounds of the celebrations still rang out. ‘Jacob’s been reading Annie’s latest letter, all about her part in the Normandy landings, and Ned Barlow’s asked Audrey to marry him.’

‘Sounds like it’s all happening,’ said Wally, drily.

Betty looked at him, remembering how at school he’d always been one for a sharp, funny aside. Often at the teacher’s expense.

‘I’ve not seen you for ages,’ she said.

‘Been away,’ Wally said. His eyes flashed with mischief. ‘Been spending some time in North Africa.’

‘And how was North Africa?’

‘It was quite nice,’ said Wally. ‘Not sure I’d visit again though. Full of bloody Germans.’

Betty giggled. Her laughter felt strange in her mouth, as though she’d forgotten how to do it.

‘And,’ Wally went on, ‘one of them shot me. Which was unpleasant.’

‘I can imagine,’ Betty said. ‘Are you healed?’

Wally shrugged. ‘Good as I’ll ever be. Not well enough to go back, though.’ A shadow crossed his face. ‘So I’m home to Beckindale.’

‘I’m glad,’ said Betty truthfully.

‘Me too,’ Wally said. He grinned. ‘Coming in for a drink?’

Betty thought about the jollity in the pub and, though she was enjoying talking to Wally, she shook her head. ‘Bedtime for me,’ she said. ‘Got an early start tomorrow.’ She paused. ‘At the vet’s. I’m the receptionist there.’

She had no idea why she was telling Wally where she worked, but he gave her that mischievous smile again. ‘Righto,’ he said. ‘Nice to see you, Betty.’

‘Nice to see you too, Wally,’ she said.

As she walked down the steps by the pub, she felt his eyes on her back. And she liked it.

Seth’s heart was pounding. He could feel it thumping against his ribs as he lay face down in the long grass, hidden from view by a clump of gorse bushes.

It was late in the evening, but it was still light, though the shadows were growing longer. Seth was taking advantage of the fading sunshine, hoping he couldn’t be seen where he lay.

The sound of quiet footsteps made him freeze, breathing slowly out and in, biding his time. The other man wasn’t walking fast, rather pacing in a deliberate rhythm, looking from left to right, scanning his surroundings. He was looking for Seth.

Seth flattened himself down even more, waiting for the right moment, and then, as the man’s boots came into view, Seth leapt to his feet and, in one fast move, he’d taken the man’s legs from under him and pinned him to the ground.

There was a pause. All Seth could hear was his own breathing and then the man spoke.

‘Geroff, you bugger.’

Seth chuckled and stood up, dusting off his trousers. The other man – Sid – did the same. He rubbed his neck.

‘I thought I had you this time.’

‘Never,’ said Seth in triumph.

Sid aimed a playful punch at him and Seth darted out of the way.

‘Well done, lads.’ Paul Oldroyd, an older man with a stiff-backed stance, appeared from the undergrowth where Seth had been hiding. Seth always thought Paul looked like a bank manager, even when he was dressed in camouflage. ‘Let’s head back to base for a debrief.’

The two younger men followed Paul as he p. . .