The seaside girls under.., p.1
The Seaside Girls under Fire, page 1
THE SEASIDE GIRLS UNDER FIRE
TRACY BAINES
To family and friends – how would we ever get through life without them.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
More From Tracy Baines
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Tracy Baines
Sixpence Stories
About Boldwood Books
PROLOGUE
Frances had met Ruby halfway down the aisle, clasped hold of her hand and led her up onto the stage. It was the turning point she’d been hoping for. Every seat in the hall at the YMCA had been taken by lads in khaki uniforms, and those who had not been so lucky packed themselves into every available space around the rest of the room, craning their necks to see Ruby Randolph, star of the West End, and one half of the famous Randolph siblings, appear before them. It was a bittersweet concert, the last performance of the remaining Variety Girls for the foreseeable future. Ginny had already left to entertain the troops with ENSA, the Entertainments National Service Association, and in a few days Jessie would finally be on her way to perform in a London theatre.
Ruby leaned into the microphone. ‘Hello, boys,’ she said, her voice husky, and the place erupted with cheers and whistles. The three of them had gone into a medley of ‘Pack Up Your Troubles’ and ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’, calling on the rest of the cast to join them for a final rendition of ‘Goodnight, Sweetheart’. The lads were on their feet with appreciation, the applause thunderous, and it took many curtain calls before the three of them could step down to join their audience, give them a little of their time, in a small exchange for all the boys were doing for them. It was only when the show ended that Frances truly appreciated that what they did was important. To see the smiling faces, witness the excitement, to listen to the boys say how much they enjoyed the show, how much it made them forget the boredom, their troubles. Could Ruby see how important it was too?
Frances was a married woman now, respectable, after years of having to keep her daughter, Imogen, a secret. She could let go of her own troubles, finding no sense in dragging them around with her; she hoped that Ruby could do the same.
‘She’s doing well, isn’t she?’ Jessie said to Frances as they came close, signing autographs and the small black and white publicity photographs they’d had printed. Ruby was surrounded by young men, and she looked across to them, gave them a smile. She appeared confident but Frances saw the hint of uncertainty in her eyes.
‘I’m so proud of her. Johnny would be too,’ Frances replied, understanding the immense courage it must have taken for her sister-in-law to go onstage again.
The Randolph siblings had risen to fame, darlings of the West End stage, before travelling to America, their career in the ascendant. They had been due to appear on Broadway when their mother, Alice, died, sending Ruby into a downward spiral of self-destruction. Her later discovery that she’d not only kept her brother and Frances apart, but that Frances had given birth to Johnny’s child while they’d been in the States had all but destroyed her. It had culminated in a suicide attempt followed by a complete breakdown, and months in hospital receiving treatment for her nervous exhaustion. Her recovery had been slow, but she was recovering, thank God. A few weeks ago, Frances had been unable to get Ruby to leave the house, now here she was, taking her first tentative steps in the spotlight. Frances prayed that it would go some way to helping Ruby create a new life for herself, without Johnny.
Since her brother had been called up for army service, Ruby had lacked any kind of direction, seemingly not knowing how to function without him. They’d worked together since they were small children, their mother ruthlessly driving them to the top, pushing them forward, connecting them with the right people, their days taken up with endless rehearsals, then shows, important parties that involved much glad-handing, leaving little time for any kind of a private life. Johnny seemed to have taken it in his stride, but Ruby had borne the brunt of their mother’s relentless ambition. It had been a terrible price to pay for fame.
‘Do you think she enjoyed it?’ Jessie mused. ‘I mean, she’s always been with Johnny, hasn’t she?’
Frances shrugged. ‘It must be incredibly strange for her. Uncomfortable even. But it’s something she’ll have to get used to. We have no idea how long this war will go on – or what we’ll be called upon to do. But we all have to pull together and do something, no matter how small and insignificant it might seem. We’ll all need to rebuild our futures, not just Ruby.’
1
CLEETHORPES, SATURDAY 24 AUGUST 1940
Grace Delaney snipped the red cotton thread with her small needlework scissors and scrutinised her handiwork. ‘It’s a good job you found the button, Jessie. It would have spoiled a lovely jacket.’ She got up from her chair in the bay window and handed it over to her daughter. ‘All packed for tomorrow?’
‘I think so.’ Jessie had taken everything out twice over. Yet still she was uncertain that she had all she needed. Tomorrow she would travel to London, leaving her mother and younger brother, Eddie, behind. It was thrilling to finally be taking such a huge step towards fulfilling her dream, but now the time of her departure was drawing close the doubts began to surface.
‘Only think,’ her mother teased. She slid around the high-back chair and began drawing together the heavy blackout curtains.
‘Isn’t it a bit early for that?’ It was late August, the evenings still light and full of warmth, and people were intent on making the most of the daylight hours, dreading the coming winter when the darkness would press down on them all again. Jessie shook the thought away; this wasn’t the time to think of dark things.
Her mother’s room was on the ground floor of the terraced house in Barkhouse Lane, the best room as it was called. Jessie had lodged there with Frances when she’d arrived in Cleethorpes, a seaside resort on the Lincolnshire coast, the year before. Her mother and Eddie had remained in Norfolk, at the mercy of Grace’s cousin Norman Cole and his insipid wife, Iris. For weeks Jessie had been unaware of her mother’s rapid decline in health, of Aunt Iris’s selfish neglect, until Eddie, in desperation, had turned to Jessie’s fiancé, Harry, for help. Jessie had been compelled to bring them to join her, not knowing how they would manage but not caring either. Their landlady, Geraldine, had been wonderful, giving over the room to her mother, enabling her to recover from the walking pneumonia that had taken hold of her. Barkhouse Lane had been their sanctuary in a time of turmoil, Geraldine the steadying hand. With the support and guidance of the older woman, Jessie had been able to nurse her mother until her health improved and keep her job at the Empire Theatre to support them all. Once sufficiently recovered, her mother had found work as a seamstress and Eddie had been taken on as apprentice mechanic at the local bus station. None of them wanted to go back to the misery of their life in Norfolk – and Jessie was determined to make sure they never had to.
‘Lil asked if we’d pop in to see her at the Fisherman’s Arms,’ her mother told her, coming to the centre of the room and checking her appearance in the mirror over the mantelpiece. ‘You won’t want to do it tomorrow. It’s as well to do the blackout in preparation. You know how Lil loves to talk.’
‘But it’s Saturday. The pub will be busy. Lil won’t have time.’
‘She’ll make time. She insisted.’ Her mother took the jacket from her daughter and held it open for Jessie to slip in her arms. Jessie knew better than to argue.
‘I thought Eddie would be back by now.’
‘He had the opportunity to caddy and earn some extra cash.’
Jessie grinned. ‘Hardly likely to pass up on that, is he.’
‘No,’ her mother said, proudly. ‘He’s been a good lad. He saves most of what he earns over what he pays for his keep.’
Jessie knew Eddie wouldn’t cause their mother a moment of worry while she was away and that alone was a comfort, allowing her to concentrate on her singing career, a career that was going to make a huge difference to them all.
The Delaneys had been in dire straits when Jessie’s father, Davey, died more than two years ago. He’d been ill for long periods that left him unable to work, and Jessie couldn’t make enough money teaching music to her father’s few remaining pupils to make a difference. When he d ied her mother had had no alternative but to throw herself on the goodwill of her cousin. The wretchedness of their life there was all the reason Jessie needed to drive her forward. One day she would earn enough to buy her mother her own home and, in doing so, keep the promise she’d made to her father to take care of the family.
It was a quarter after six o’clock when they left. Jessie linked arms with her mother as they walked up the incline of Barkhouse Lane, making their way to the Fisherman’s Arms on Sea View Street via a series of alleyways and cut-throughs.
The pub was on the corner and Grace stood back while Jessie grabbed hold of the brass handle and opened the door. As she stepped inside, she heard her brother shout, ‘She’s here,’ and a chap at the piano began to play ‘Wish Me Luck as You Wave Me Goodbye’. Beside him, Frances and Ruby sang along, smiling broadly at her. Jessie stood, bewildered, until her mother pressed her gently on her back and moved her further into the pub, closing the door behind them. The place was crowded with friends, among them regular customers, happy to join in the celebration. Eddie was by the empty fireplace, grinning from ear to ear, Geraldine sitting on the banquette next to Frances’s daughter, four-year-old Imogen, who was fussing over Lil’s dog, Fudge. Bright coloured bunting was strung across the front of the bar, and an old white tablecloth had been painted with the words GOOD LUCK JESSIE and draped across the back wall. As the song ended, a great cheer went up and Frances stepped forward, taking hold of Jessie’s hands.
‘You didn’t think we’d let you go without some sort of send-off, did you?’
Jessie couldn’t find her voice, astonished that they’d gone to so much trouble on her behalf.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’
‘Get the lass a drink.’ Lil, the landlady, came from behind the counter. Her blonde hair was piled on her head, her best diamanté earrings glittering in the light, and she pressed Jessie against her well-endowed bosom as she hugged her. ‘I can’t run to champagne, ducky, much as I’d love to, but we’ve plenty of lemonade.’ She released Jessie and pinched her cheek. ‘Bubbles is bubbles in my book, and that foreign muck isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’
‘Jessie?’ Her mother nudged her, and Jessie at last found her tongue.
‘Lemonade will be perfect. Thank you so much, Lil.’ She made a sweeping movement with her hand. ‘For everything.’ Her voice cracked with emotion and Lil squeezed her again, then returned to take charge behind the bar, queen of all she surveyed.
The chap at the piano carried on playing quietly in the background as Frances led her to the table where Eddie and Geraldine had saved Jessie and her mother a seat. She was still taking it all in, looking about her, finding friends who raised a hand and smiled in greeting. The stage doorman of the Empire, George, his wife, Olive, and their daughter, Dolly, lifted their glasses to her, smiled and nodded. She’d stayed with them when she’d first arrived in Cleethorpes all of a dither and found the theatre closed. They were good, kind people and she counted her blessings that she could call them friends. Jack Holland, owner of the Empire and a friend of her late father’s, was standing at the bar with his snooty wife, Audrey – who was no doubt there under sufferance. Once she’d gathered her wits, she would thank them all, but as it was, she was truly overwhelmed. Frances pressed her gently down onto a stool, then went to the bar to get the drinks.
‘I thought you might have guessed,’ Eddie said. ‘When I didn’t come home for tea.’
‘I did wonder,’ Jessie replied. ‘It’s not like you to miss out on food.’
He grinned. ‘Lil got me some chips when I’d finished hanging up the bunting. Looks good, doesn’t it?’ He nodded in the direction of the Good Luck tablecloth.
‘It looks wonderful. Thanks, Ed.’ He puffed out his chest. He would be sixteen in October. If Uncle Norman had had his way, Eddie would be back at school, studying, destined to take over the running of the family solicitors’ practice. The Coles were childless and there were no other male heirs, Norman’s brothers being lost in the Great War. As it was, Eddie spent his days tinkering with engines, doing the thing he loved. He’d considered it a lucky escape, but Jessie still felt a stab of guilt at spoiling his prospects. Frances handed Grace a port and lemon and placed the glass of lemonade on the table for Jessie.
‘Lil says not to knock it back too quickly or the bubbles will go to your head.’
Jessie laughed and raised her glass to Lil behind the bar, who winked her acknowledgement. The dog slipped down onto the floor and trotted to join his mistress, and everyone shuffled up along the banquette as Ruby came to join them.
‘Are you looking forward to London, Jessie? Frances said you had somewhere to stay.’
Jessie nodded. ‘My mother has left nothing to chance. My room is booked with Mrs Croft in Albany Street.’
‘Lovely.’ Ruby smiled. ‘You’re not far from Regent’s Park. A nice area. Safe.’
‘As safe as anything is in war,’ Eddie quipped. His mother frowned. ‘Well, it’s true, Mum.’
Jessie glared at him. It had taken an age to persuade their mother to allow her to go to London alone, Jessie insisting that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself; hadn’t she come to Cleethorpes on her own and made a success of it?
‘That’s hardly the same,’ her mother had replied.
‘I’m almost twenty.’
‘Not until next April. And it’s got nothing to do with your age, well, perhaps a little. But you’ll be exposed to…’ Her mother had chosen her words carefully. ‘You’re a young girl on your own. You’ll be vulnerable. There’ll be no one there to protect you.’
‘Protect me. What from?’
Her mother had taken a breath. ‘Things. Men.’
Jessie had smiled. ‘Bernie has already said he’ll keep an eye on me.’
Mention of her agent, Bernie Blackwood, had pacified her mother a little. He’d been her late father’s agent and Grace trusted him implicitly. Little by little mother and daughter had compromised, Jessie allowing her mother to put things in place that would give her peace of mind. In an ideal world Jessie would have loved to take her mother with her, but she was loath to uproot them all again. Her mother loved it here, as did Eddie. They were settled, they had friends – and it was Jessie’s dream to star in the West End, not theirs.
She had been beyond excited when she accepted Vernon Leroy’s offer to appear in his new production, A Touch of Silver, at the Adelphi on the Strand. The theatre impresario was putting on a variety show, similar to the one George Black, managing director of the Moss Empires theatres, had running at the Holborn Empire. Applesauce had opened last Thursday, Max Miller topping the bill. A Touch of Silver was a show in a similar vein, mostly variety but with a few ensemble pieces thrown in for good measure. Jessie found it hard to believe that she would be starring alongside such famous people in the West End. Pat Kirkwood was due to open in Top of the World at the Palladium after her success with Black Velvet. At nineteen, Miss Kirkwood was already being hailed as the new star of the war – a title Jessie coveted for herself. Her rise had been meteoric. Would Jessie’s star rise as rapidly? She was determined to do everything she could to make it happen, and here, among her friends, their excitement reflecting her own, she felt that anything was possible.
She sipped a little of her lemonade and, once she had calmed herself, got up and went to thank those who had turned up to wish her well.
