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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
It's the summer of 1914 - the last peaceful summer Britain will see for four long years. Tilly Moon has long looked to her elder half-sister, Maddy, as a role model. Maddy's love of music inspired Tilly to follow in her footsteps, becoming an accomplished pianist. If there is one thing she loves more than playing the piano though, it is her twin brother's best friend Dominic. But, in the first tentative steps of romance, what they all feared has come to pass. The country is at war. Following the Moon family's triumphs and tragedies during the outbreak of the First World War, Margaret Thornton's heartfelt and highly evocative narrative brings those turbulent times to life, perfectly capturing the horror of war and the devastating sorrow it brought, but also the heroism it engendered in ordinary people.
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Seitenzahl: 536
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
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Until We Meet Again
MARGARET THORNTON
Once again, for my husband, John, with my love and thanks for all his support and encouragement. And the hope that we may enjoy many more holidays in our favourite resort of Scarborough.
Contents
Chapter One
Tilly Moon lifted Amy out of her baby carriage, sitting her on one arm as she pointed with her other hand to the billboard. ‘See, Amy – that’s Mummy,’ she said.
Amy, aged two, couldn’t read, of course, but she was already talking well. She was as bright as a button as the saying went, and her Aunt Tilly thought the world of her.
‘Wednesday, August 5th, 1914, at 6.30 p.m. Guest appearance of Madeleine Moon, Yorkshire’s own Songbird,’ read the notice. It was advertising the special event which was to take place at one of the shows given by Uncle Percy’s Pierrots at their open air stand on the beach, in the north bay of the town.
‘Mummee…’ said the little girl, pointing and laughing as though she understood.
‘Yes, your clever mummy,’ said Tilly, kissing the child’s downy soft cheek, ‘and that – see – that’s Daddy.’
Further down the poster, in somewhat smaller letters, were the words ‘Freddie Nicholls, Conjuror Extraordinaire’. Freddie was Amy’s father, and had been married to Madeleine – who was usually known as Maddy – for four years.
‘Daddee…’ echoed the child as Tilly, finding her somewhat heavy, put her down on the ground. ‘Walk…walk’ she cried when Tilly made to lift her up and put her back in the perambulator. ‘Amy walk.’
‘Very well then, just for a little while,’ said her doting aunt.
They were a pleasant sight, the tall sandy-haired girl and the toddler, as they made their way through the gate of Peasholm Park, at the northern end of the town of Scarborough. The little girl wore a coral pink coat with a shoulder cape, made of fine woollen cloth, and her matching feather-trimmed bonnet was tied loosely beneath her chin revealing her dark curly hair, which her mother had coaxed into ringlets. Tilly’s long-sleeved cotton dress with narrow stripes of apple green and white and a large white collar suited her fair colouring and her willowy slimness; her small straw hat trimmed with matching apple green ribbon sat at a jaunty angle atop her light gingerish hair, which she wore in the fashionable short style.
Tilly pushed the pram with one hand, holding her niece’s hand with the other one, as they walked by the side of the park lake.
‘Ducks!’ cried the little girl. ‘Quack, quack!’ A couple of the more adventurous birds came out of the water, waddling onto the path just in front of them.
‘Yes, they’ve some to say hello to us, haven’t they, darling?’ said Tilly. ‘Here we are – let’s give them a treat, shall we?’ She opened her long-handled bag, which she wore slung over one shoulder, and took out a paper bag containing stale crusts of bread. She handed a couple to the little girl, who threw them onto the ground, laughing excitedly as the ducks, joined now by two more, quacked and jostled one another in an attempt to seize the bounty.
‘There’s plenty more,’ said Tilly, scattering the remaining crusts on the path. Amy clung tightly to her hand as the birds squawked and squabbled and then, replete at last, waddled back to the lake and swam away.
‘Gone.’ said Amy. ‘Ducks all gone.’
‘Never mind,’ said Tilly. ‘We’ll come and see them again another day. And now I think we’d better be heading back.’ Aware that the child was getting tired – three of her little steps equalled one of Tilly’s – she lifted her into the perambulator and they retraced their steps back to the gate.
Peasholm Park was a favourite haunt not only of Tilly and her niece but of all manner of folks, both young and old, and had been ever since it was first opened in 1912. As well as the lake there were leafy avenues and colourful flower-beds, even a bandstand in the centre of the lake, to which the bandsmen were rowed over to perform on summer afternoons. The park had proved to be a much needed boost to the northern end of Scarborough, known as the North Bay. More visitors were being attracted to this area now, as well as to the South Bay, on the other side of the headland, which had long been popular.
‘We’ll call and see Grandma on the way back, shall we?’ said Tilly to the little girl, who was now sitting up in her carriage with the hood pulled down, staring around her with interest. She nodded eagerly.
‘Yes, Grandma,’ she replied. ‘And Grandad Will?’
‘Yes, Grandad as well, if he’s there,’ said Tilly. She was panting just a little as she pushed the pram up the steepish slope from Peasholm Park and on to North Marine Road.
At the top end of this road, nearer to the town centre, were the premises of William Moon and Son, Undertakers, consisting of the offices and workshop and, next door, the store which the Moon family also owned; a clothing emporium known as Moon’s Modes for all Seasons. When the store first opened in the late Victorian era it had been called Moon’s Mourning Modes, dealing exclusively in all kinds of funeral wear and requisites. This had been the era when there had been quite a cult made of mourning, following the death of Queen Victoria’s beloved husband, Prince Albert. But times had changed, and the store now sold all manner of clothing for all occasions. In charge of this establishment was Faith Moon, who was William’s wife and the mother of Tilly.
As for the undertaking business, that had been in existence since the middle years of Victoria’s reign, and had been passed down from father to son in an unbroken line. The present owners were William Moon and his son, Patrick.
William had two children: Patrick, aged twenty-eight, and Madeleine, Amy’s mother, who was twenty-four. They were the son and daughter of his first wife, Clara, who had died of pneumonia in the winter of 1900, just after the death of the old queen. His marriage to Faith Barraclough a few years later had given him four more step-children: Samuel, now twenty-eight, the same age as his own son, Patrick; Jessica, aged twenty-four; and the seventeen-year-old twins Thomas and Matilda, who had always been known as Tommy and Tilly.
This marriage of William and Faith had caused no discord or ill-feeling amongst the off-spring of both former marriages, even though the one of Faith and Edward Barraclough had ended in divorce. Jessica, Tommy and Tilly, in fact, had agreed willingly several years ago to change their name officially to Moon. Only Samuel had proved recalcitrant; he had, in point of fact, not been asked to do so as it had been known that he would not agree. He was the only one of the four who had not become a true member of the Moon family, and the only one who had kept in close contact with his father, Edward.
Samuel, still unmarried, was a lecturer in Geology at the University of Leeds, the city in which he also resided. Jessica was now married to Arthur Newsome, a solicitor in the Scarborough firm of Newsome and Pickering started by Arthur’s grandfather. The twins, Tommy and Tilly, lived with their mother and stepfather in Victoria Avenue in the South Bay; they both still had one year to complete at their private schools near to their home.
Tilly, now on holiday from school, was spending a good deal of her time looking after her little niece. Well, her step-niece, really, she supposed, but she had long thought of Maddy as her real sister, just as real as Jessie. She had always been devoted to Maddy ever since she had first met her back in 1900, fourteen years ago when she had been a little girl of three.
It was part of the family lore how Maddy and Jessie, both aged ten at the time, had met when they were watching a Pierrot show on the sands, the same Uncle Percy’s Pierrots, in fact, in which Maddy still took part from time to time. Jessie and Maddy had become firm friends, and thus, so had the Moon and the Barraclough families. And when William and Faith had married some years later the two girls had become sisters as well as remaining bosom friends, and Tilly had been delighted to claim Maddy as her sister as well.
Tilly stopped the perambulator outside Moon’s Modes, stopping to gaze for a little while into the plate-glass windows on either side of the door. All the women of the Moon family – Jessie, Maddy, Tilly, and Faith herself – purchased most of their clothes from the store, at reduced rates, of course. The windows were stylishly and elegantly dressed, as always. The right-hand window held what was known as leisure wear – a cycling costume, a golfing costume, and even two bathing suits with knee-length drawers and turbans to match – and casual daytime wear; cotton dresses in the new ankle-length style, and jackets with reveres or shawl collars. Gone were the high-necked dresses and blouses made so popular by Queen Alexandra; necklines were lower and the styles were now much less stiff and formal-looking.
The other window showed bridal dresses, one in cream-coloured satin and another in white lace, ankle-length and with V-shaped necklines; and more formal evening wear in bright shades of gold, deep pink and purple, in contrast to the bridal wear. There were accessories displayed on the floor of the window; feather-trimmed hats, turbans of fine wool, and long-handled bags in suede and velvet, for day or evening wear.
Tilly lifted Amy from her carriage once again, then she pressed the latch on the glass-panelled door, hearing the musical jingle of the bell as they entered. The store was welcoming as well as being luxurious, with a deep-piled carpet in maroon and gold, and maroon velvet curtains to the cubicles where the customers could try on the articles of their choice. There had been a change in the last few years, inasmuch as they no longer stocked men’s or children’s clothing as they had done in the beginning. It had been felt that there were other stores in the town which catered very well and exclusively for the menfolk and for children; and the women, it was found, preferred to shop at an establishment that was devoted solely to the needs of the female sex.
Faith was standing behind the mahogany counter which ran the full length of the store, at the rear. She stepped forward with a welcoming smile on seeing her daughter and granddaughter. Strictly speaking, Amy was her step-granddaughter, of course, but Faith made no distinction between Amy and her other grandchild, Gregory, the son of her daughter, Jessie, and Arthur Newsome.
Amy ran towards her with her arms outstretched. ‘Grandma!’ she cried in delight as Faith swept her up and gave her a hug. ‘I’ve been to see the ducks, an’ we gave them some bread, me and Tilly.’ It was rather difficult for the child to get her tongue round the words ‘Aunty Tilly’, but it would suffice. It would be quite a while before Amy understood the complications of their family relationships.
‘Well, that’s lovely, darling,’ said Faith. ‘Hello, Tilly. This is a nice surprise. I didn’t know you were in charge of Amy today. You didn’t say so at breakfast time.’
‘No; Maddy phoned up just after you left,’ said Tilly. ‘She has a couple of fittings to do this morning – for important clients, she said. So I was only too pleased to look after Amy for her. I’m taking her back home soon, when I’ve said hello to Uncle Will.’ Tilly still called her stepfather by the name she had used since she was a tiny girl, even before her mother had married him.
‘He’s not here at the moment, dear,’ said Faith. ‘He’s out on a job with Katy. They’re seeing to an elderly lady who died early this morning.’ Tilly understood that the job referred to was a laying-out assignment. Katy, Patrick’s wife, often went with her father-in-law or with her husband when it was a woman who had died. Rather her than me! Tilly had often thought, but Katy was a practical, no-nonsense sort of young woman who was not easily fazed by anything. She and Patrick had been married for several years – longer than both Jessie and Maddy – but to their disappointment there were still no children.
‘Patrick’s out there, and Joe,’ Faith continued. ‘They’re quite busy, as usual.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘There’s always work to be done in this line of business, all the year round. Not as much now as in the winter, of course, but they’ll never be out of work, that’s for certain.’ She took hold of Amy’s hand. ‘Come along, Amy love. Let’s see if we can find some orange squash and a biscuit before Aunty Tilly takes you home… You can manage for a little while, can’t you, Miss Phipps?’ she called out to her assistant.
Muriel Phipps, who was completing a sale with a customer, nodded gravely. ‘Certainly, Mrs Moon.’
They did not usually address one another so formally, but they adhered to protocol whenever there were customers in the store. Muriel, who was now almost sixty years of age, had worked there for many years, from the time before Faith and William were married. When Faith took over the business she had insisted that she and Muriel should be regarded as joint manageresses. She had, in fact, benefited a good deal from the older woman’s tuition.
‘Only one biscuit, mind,’ said Tilly, as they went into the small room behind the store, where the assistants could rest for a few moments and make a cup of tea, ‘or else her mummy will say it’s spoiling her dinner.’ Faith opened the tin containing Amy’s favourite ‘choccy biccies’ and poured her a cup of orange squash.
‘All right,’ she laughed. ‘Just one. And what about you, Tilly? Would you like some orange, or a cup of tea?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Tilly. ‘I’ll get back home when I’ve returned this young lady to her mummy. I’ve left my bicycle at Maddy’s so it won’t take me long to ride back. I have some piano practice to do this afternoon… Which reminds me,’ she went on. ‘We saw a poster advertising the Pierrot show, and Maddy’s name in big letters. It was on a billboard near to the Floral Hall. We’ll all be going, won’t we? It’s a week today.’
‘I should say so,’ replied Faith. ‘We’ll be there in full force to see Maddy, and Freddie too, of course.’
‘What about Amy?’ asked Tilly. ‘Do you think we could take her along to hear her mummy sing?’
‘I don’t really think so,’ replied Faith. ‘She’s still only a baby, isn’t she? I know Maddy will want her to be tucked up in bed at her usual time. She will be able to find somebody to look after her for an hour or two; she never wakes up once she’s gone to sleep. Perhaps another time, when she’s a bit older. I must say though, she was as good as gold when we took her to see her daddy doing his magic tricks.’
‘Yes, she really enjoyed it, didn’t she?’ agreed Tilly. ‘Do you know, I remember going to see the Pierrots when I was not much older than Amy. I remember how I liked the little white dogs.’
‘Yes…I took you and Tommy,’ said her mother. ‘You were three years old. That was the first time we met Maddy. I remember Tommy got a bit bored halfway through; he wanted an ice-cream… It seems a long time ago, but it’s only fourteen years.’
‘That’s because such a lot has happened in between,’ said Tilly.
Faith nodded. ‘That’s true. Fourteen years is not all that long, compared to a lifetime. That is… if one is spared to live a full life-span.’
‘Don’t be morbid, Mother,’ said Tilly. ‘We’re all hale and hearty, aren’t we?’
‘Yes, of course we are, dear… But I was just thinking, talking about Amy going to see the Pierrots. We don’t know that there’s going to be a next time, do we? Next year…well, we might be at war.’
‘Surely not,’ said Tilly. ‘You mean all that business in the Balkans, don’t you? I don’t see how it can affect us; it’s all so far away.’
‘Well, let’s hope so,’ said Faith. Her depressing thoughts were soon banished, though, on hearing Amy’s piping little voice.
‘All gone, Grandma,’ she said, handing her empty cup back. ‘Wipe my hands, please; they’re a bit sticky.’
‘We’d better be off now, young lady,’ said Tilly, wiping the child’s hands and her chocolatey mouth. ‘We’ll just go and say hello to Patrick, Mum.’
‘Very well, dear. I’ll see you at teatime… Bye-bye, Amy. Give Grandma a big kiss…’
They went out of the back door of the premises, which led into the spacious yard. As well as the workshop, there were garages housing the two motor vehicles: a glass-sided hearse and a Daimler saloon car. Until a few years ago there had been stabling there for the two black horses which had pulled the hearse. Tilly remembered Jet and Ebony from the time when she was a tiny girl, then they had been replaced by two different mares, Velvet and Star. Three years ago, however, William had decided it was time for the firm to make a daring leap into the twentieth century, something he had been unable to contemplate whilst his father, Isaac, was living. He had, in fact, waited until his father had been dead for a few years before making the drastic change to a motor-driven hearse and a saloon car large enough to hold six members of a bereaved family. Velvet and Star had been put out to grass and were enjoying a well-earned retirement at a farm not far away, in East Ayton. Tilly sometimes went to visit them on her bicycle rides into the countryside.
Patrick and Joe Black, the assistant who had worked for them for many years, were busy in the workshop, with the door open. Joe was polishing, giving a high gloss to a finished coffin, whilst Patrick was planing one that was still in the earlier stages. He came out when he saw his stepsister and niece.
‘I won’t hinder you,’ said Tilly, ‘but I couldn’t go without saying hello.’
‘Well, hello then,’ grinned Patrick. ‘And hello to you as well, Amy.’
‘Hello, Uncy Pat,’ said the child, which was the best she could manage. ‘We’ve been to see the ducks, Tilly and me, an’ we gave them some bread.’
‘Well, well, well! And what did the ducks say?’ Patrick smiled at his charming little niece.
‘Quack, quack, quack!’ said Amy, jumping up and down with excitement.
Patrick laughed. ‘Do you know, I thought that’s what they might say. Didn’t they say “Thank you, Amy, for sharing your breakfast with me?”’
Amy shook her head solemnly. ‘No… Ducks don’t talk, Uncy Pat.’
‘Stop teasing her,’ laughed Tilly. ‘She’ll give as good as she gets though before long, believe me.’
Patrick had always been a tease. Tilly remembered being in awe of him when she had first known him; Maddy’s elder brother who had seemed so very big and grown-up to the three-year-old child. She had grown fond of him, though, over the years, and had come to think of him as an extra older brother. In fact he had always been much more friendly towards her than her real brother, Samuel.
Patrick was a cheerful, easy-going young man, the very antithesis of what one might imagine an undertaker to be, although he could appear solemn and reverent when the occasion required it. He took his work seriously; there was nothing skittish about him, and clients could rely on him to treat them with the respect and sympathy they expected. But his friends and relations saw a different side to him.
Looking at him now, Tilly thought how much he was starting to resemble his father. The same dark hair – although Uncle Will’s was greying noticeably now – and deep brown eyes with the same humorous, but perceptive, glint, which missed very little.
‘Aye, she’s a little bobby-dazzler, aren’t you, Amy?’ said her uncle, who was as enchanted with her as the rest of the family.
Amy smiled happily, although she had no idea what he meant. She knew, though, that she was well loved. Tilly guessed that Maddy felt the child was in danger of being spoilt, so she, Tilly, always tried to temper her love for Amy with suitable firmness when necessary.
‘Come along now, Amy,’ she said. ‘Say bye-bye to Uncle Patrick, then we’ll get you into your carriage and off we’ll go back home. It’s nearly dinner-time.’
Amy had not questioned yet why her grandfather and uncle and Joe Black were making all those wooden boxes. Patrick, and Maddy too, who had grown up in the environment, had told Tilly that they had come to expect it as the norm and had never worried about it. But it had taken Tilly a while to get used to the occupation of her stepfather and stepbrother.
Amy’s eyes were closing and her head starting to nod as Tilly wheeled the pram along St Thomas Street and on to Newborough, the main thoroughfare of the town. She laid her down, knowing that in a few moments she would be asleep.
As she walked along she reflected on what her mother had said; that very soon they might be at war. At her school the girls were encouraged to read the newspapers and to take a lively interest in what was going on in the world around them, and so Tilly, a serious-minded girl, had acquainted herself with the events that were being talked about.
The trouble had started in the Balkans where a civil war was being waged in Albania. This was nothing new, as there was continual unrest in the area. But on the 28th of June the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the Hapsburg Empire, had been assassinated in Sarajevo, along with his wife, and this had been the starting point of the conflict. Very soon afterwards Germany and Austria had declared war on Serbia, and it was feared that other countries – Russia, France and even Great Britain – would soon become involved on the side of the Serbians.
Tilly could not understand how this could be so. King George the Fifth was a cousin both to Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany and Nicholas, the Tsar of Russia. Surely such close family members would not take up arms against one another? The idea was preposterous. Tilly kept telling herself, as did countless other folk, that it was all a very long way away…
Chapter Two
Maddy Nicholls lived at the bottom end of Eastborough, just before the road curved to meet Sandside, near to the harbour. She and her husband, Freddie, and little Amy lived in the family living quarters above the shop and dressmaking business, now known as Nicholls and Stringer.
In the latter years of Queen Victoria’s reign the premises had been owned by Louisa Montague, who had been well known in the town as a bespoke dressmaker, catering for all levels of society, both the rich and those who were not so well-off. William Moon’s first wife, Clara, had worked there as a valued assistant, and it was there that William had first met her. Louisa, who had never married, had been a friend of the Moon family for many years; she had regarded Clara, who had been orphaned as a young girl, as the daughter she had never had.
Years later, Maddy, on leaving school at thirteen, had gone to work for Louisa. She had proved herself to be a competent dressmaker until the time when she was fifteen years of age and her father had allowed her to go touring with Percy Morgan’s concert party, the Melody Makers.
When Louisa died in 1910 she left the dressmaking business, the shop and the living premises to Maddy. The young woman at that time was still touring with the concert party, but earlier that year she had married Freddie Nicholls, the conjuror. Louisa had made a shrewd guess that the couple would soon be thinking about starting a family and they would need somewhere to live and bring up their children. The writing was on the wall for Louisa; she knew that she had not long to live.
All the members of the Moon family were shocked and saddened when Louisa died in the autumn of that year; they had not known until very recently that she was so poorly. Maddy was surprised, but humbly grateful, at the generous bequest from their old family friend. When she realised she was expecting her first child she left the Melody Makers and started to make a home for her new family, and at the same time she set about developing the business she had inherited. Tilly stopped to look in the shop window, which had been tastefully arranged, as always, by Maddy and her partner in the business, Emily Stringer. Emily had worked for Louisa Montague for several years, and her loyalty and her aptitude for dressmaking had not gone unrewarded. Louisa had left her quite a considerable sum of money, and Emily had kept the business and the shop going, with only a little part-time help, until Maddy had come to live there and to join her in the work the following year. Maddy had insisted that they should call the business Nicholls and Stringer, and that they should be equal partners.
The shop dealt mainly in children’s and baby clothes nowadays. The dressmaking business had become more of a sideline, for customers who liked to choose their own material and pattern and have their clothing made to their own requirements.
Today the window displayed beach wear for children: striped tunics in red and white or blue and white with matching hats, and sailor tops and shorts. There were also baby dresses, serviceable cotton ones and others of frilled organdie, lace and muslin; hand-knitted bootees and matinee jackets – Emily Stringer was a very skilled knitter – as well as a few ladies’ blouses and some items of underwear. Maddy was careful not to encroach on the merchandise sold at Moon’s Modes, although the clientele at each of the shops were somewhat different and they were quite a distance from each other.
Tilly pushed open the shop door and wheeled the pram inside. Amy, as though realising she was home, stirred, rubbed her eyes and sat up.
‘Hello, darling,’ cooed Emily, stepping out from behind the counter. ‘Have you just woken up? I’ll bet you’ve had a lovely time with Aunty Tilly, haven’t you?’
The child nodded, looking a little bewildered. ‘Mummy…’ she said. ‘Where’s Mummy?’
‘She’s just gone upstairs, darling, to get your dinner ready. She said you’d be back soon. I shall be shutting up the shop in a few minutes,’ said Emily. ‘I have to pop across to the market and do my weekend shopping. Can you let yourself out the back way, Tilly, when you’re ready?’
‘Yes, I’ll do that,’ said Tilly. ‘Are you going to the show next Wednesday, Emily, to see Maddy?’
‘Of course,’ beamed Emily. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away! Maddy has managed to get somebody to look after Amy; a friend from the chapel, I think. Yes, I’m really looking forward to it.’ Emily clasped her hands together in delight.
Tilly thought, again, that there was still something very naive and childlike about Emily, despite her advancing years. No one was quite sure of her age, but they guessed she was on the wrong side of fifty, although she didn’t look it. Her suppressed personality had only started to blossom when her elderly parents had died and she had been free to go out to work for the first time in her life. Her employment at Louisa Montague’s shop had been the making of her, and she admitted to everyone now that she had never been happier. She did not appear to regret her unmarried status. It was doubtful that she had ever had a male friend, although she had had her hopes and dreams.
When her parents were alive, and for a while afterwards, she had found an outlet for her dreams in her visits to the Pierrot shows on the North Bay, indulging herself in a fantasy that bore little resemblance to life in the real world. She had even imagined herself to be in love with one of the young male dancers, but fortunately she had come to her senses before making an utter fool of herself, so Maddy had confided to Tilly years after the event. It seemed hard to imagine it, looking at her now.
Her shining brown hair worn in a neat roll around her head, her candid grey eyes and unlined face told of an innocence that was a part of her likeable personality. Tilly, who was herself a rather reserved and self-effacing person, liked her very much.
‘So I’ll see you next Wednesday, Emily,’ she said. ‘Cheerio for now… Amy, say bye-bye to Aunty Emily.’
The child waved and called, ‘Bye-bye, Aunty Em,’ as Tilly lifted her out of the pram. She deposited the large, somewhat cumbersome carriage in the spare room at the rear of the shop, then carried Amy up the steep staircase to the rooms above. It was an old property, built more than two hundred years ago, and the stairs creaked as Tilly climbed them.
‘Mummee!’ cried Amy, running towards her mother when Tilly put her down on the floor.
Maddy turned round from the stove where she was cooking, her face flushed and her golden hair curling in tendrils around her forehead. ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she said, picking the little girl up and giving her a kiss. ‘Have you been a good girl for Aunty Tilly?’
‘Of course she has,’ answered Tilly. ‘You don’t need to ask, do you? See, Amy – here’s your daddy as well,’ she added as Freddie came in from the adjoining living room. ‘Hello, Freddie. You’ve come home for your dinner today, have you?’
‘Yes; here I am, as you see,’ grinned Freddie. ‘I have my dinner at midday when I can manage to get away from the bank. It saves Maddy having to cook again in the evening… Good to see you, Tilly. And you, too, scallywag,’ he said, ruffling his daughter’s dark curly hair; she had already pulled off her bonnet. ‘Don’t I get a kiss as well?’
‘Yes, Daddy,’ said the child, puckering up her lips and planting a kiss on her father’s cheek. ‘I’ve been to see the ducks, Daddy…’
Amy was wide-awake after her nap and she plunged animatedly once again into the tale of the ducks and the bread. Watching the three of them, a perfect example to Tilly of a happy little family, she reflected that Amy resembled her father – and possibly her uncle Patrick – more than her mother. Her dark hair and her grey eyes – in Amy’s case a shining silver grey, fringed with dark lashes – were a legacy from her father. She was of a sturdier build, too, than her mother, with rosy cheeks which dimpled when she laughed. Maddy was quite small of stature, although she had put on a little more weight since Amy’s birth, and Tilly was now taller than her by several inches. She had always been captivated by her stepsister’s loveliness, though, ever since she had first met her, as had many thousands since then who had seen her on the stage and heard her wondrous singing. Her golden blonde hair was untidy now, drawn back from her face in a make-shift chignon. Her deep brown eyes contrasted strikingly with the colour of her hair, and her elfin features belied her strength both of character and of physique; there were not many jobs that Maddy would not tackle.
‘Will you stay and have some dinner with us, Tilly?’ asked Maddy. ‘It’s only beef stew, with carrots and potatoes, but there’s enough to go round.’
‘I’m very tempted,’ replied Tilly. ‘It smells delicious, but I’d better not, thanks all the same. I know what I’m like; I’d stay too long, and I really ought to get back home. I have some piano practice to do before my lesson at four o’clock. I’ve not quite got the hang of the Debussy yet, and it’s my exam next month.’
‘Clever stuff, eh?’ remarked Maddy, smiling. ‘I never got beyond the ‘Bluebells of Scotland’.
Tilly knew that that was not quite true. Maddy was an able enough pianist, but learning to play the piano had led her to take an interest in singing, and that had very soon surpassed her piano playing. But it had been Maddy’s interest in music, generally, that had fostered Tilly’s desire to play the piano herself; Maddy had always been the focus of her admiration. And to her surprise, Tilly had discovered that she had a talent for it. So much so that she was hoping to go on to a music college when she had finished her final year at school.
‘I can’t sing, though,’ she said now. ‘By the way, we saw a poster for your show, didn’t we, Amy? Star-billing for you, Maddy! What do you think of that?’
‘I hope I come up to scratch, that’s what I think,’ laughed Maddy. ‘It’s quite a while since I did a concert, but I’ve tried to keep up with the practising. You have to, or you lose what you’ve got. You will know that, of course, Tilly.’
‘Did I get a mention?’ asked Freddie. ‘I wouldn’t get star-billing, that’s for sure,’ he joked.
‘Yes, your name was there as well,’ said Tilly. ‘Further down, with Barney and Benjy, and Nancy’s performing dogs, and Jeremy Jarvis, the ventriloquist. The acts don’t change very much, do they, from one year to the next?’
‘Not a great deal,’ agreed Freddie. ‘I’m only there part-time, of course. I was only joking about the star-billing. I’m very lucky that Percy has kept me on at all. I just do the Saturday shows, and one or two evenings during the week. Mornings and afternoons are out, because I’m working.’
Maddy had left the Melody Makers soon after she had realised she was expecting a child, and Freddie, not wanting to be parted from his family, had left the concert party soon afterwards in time for Amy’s birth. He had found employment in a bank on Westborough, at the other end of the main street which ran through the centre of the town; he had done a similar clerical job before going on the professional stage. Tilly knew he was being modest about his talent as a magician. Percy Morgan had been sorry to lose him and had persuaded him to appear as often as he could when the Pierrots were based in Scarborough for their summer season.
‘Well, I’m looking forward to seeing your performance next Wednesday,’ said Tilly. ‘Have you any new tricks?’
‘Oh yes, one or two,’ replied Freddie. ‘A couple of card tricks, and they need audience participation. You can come and help if you like, Tilly.’
‘Oh no, not me,’ said Tilly, with a mock shudder. ‘You know I’m not much good on a stage. I feel as though everybody’s looking at me.’
‘Well, they are, of course,’ laughed Maddy, ‘and they would be thinking how brave you were to volunteer.’
‘Well, I won’t be volunteering, that’s for sure! Anyway, you can’t have a member of the family, Freddie. People might think we were in on the act… It’s funny, though; I don’t mind playing the piano for an audience.’ Tilly did so now and again, at church and chapel concerts. ‘I suppose I think they’re all listening to the music and not really taking much notice of me.’
‘Whatever helps you to perform best,’ said Maddy. ‘I always try to look at a spot beyond the audience and not at anyone in particular. I know when I first started singing I was very much aware of my family and friends in the audience. Like children at a school concert, you know; I had to restrain myself from waving to them.’
‘Dear me, how unprofessional!’ teased Freddie.
‘I was only a kid when I started singing, you know,’ retorted Maddy. ‘Ten years old, I was – no, sorry, eleven – when I won the Pierrots’ talent contest. But it was a few years before my father would let me join them properly. And then I joined the Melody Makers.’
‘And then you met me,’ said Freddie, ‘didn’t you, darling?’
‘Yes, so I did, Freddie.’ Maddy smiled lovingly at him. ‘But we’d met before, you remember? When I won that talent contest you came second, didn’t you? You were fourteen and I was eleven; I was very much in awe of older boys at that time.’
‘What a talented couple you are!’ remarked Tilly. She often thought that there was nothing that her clever stepsister could not put her hand to. ‘Dressmaking as well! How did the fittings go, by the way?’
‘Oh, very well,’ replied Maddy. ‘Mrs Lovejoy and Mrs Merryweather; how’s that for a couple of happy names? And I must say they’re always cheerful and easy to please. Just the sort of clients I like. They’re two of the elderly ladies from the chapel and they always come together. They want two winter skirts each, so there’s no rush to finish them, fortunately. One for best and another for everyday wear, they instructed me; nothing too complicated. They’re rather old-fashioned sort of ladies.’
‘Not the sort of customers that shop at Moon’s Modes then?’ asked Tilly.
‘No, not at all. I’m careful, though, not to deal in the type of clothing that they sell there. Not that there’s much likelihood of that. I must say, I think they have become rather exclusive lately at Aunt Faith’s shop, and quite expensive, too.’
‘Yes, I agree,’ smiled Tilly. ‘We’re lucky, though, aren’t we, because we get our clothes at trade price? Or rather, Mother does, I should say. She still buys my clothes for me whilst I’m at school, but she’s very good at letting me choose just what I want. Apart from the school uniform, of course; I’ve got no choice about that. Only one more year, though, and I’ll be rid of the dratted thing! The red blazer doesn’t exactly go with my ginger hair!’
‘Have you decided yet which college you’ll be going to?’ asked Maddy.
‘I shall be applying to one in Manchester. But it all depends on my exam results; the school exams and my next piano exam. And here I am standing talking instead of getting home to do my practice…’
Tilly said goodbye to them. She retrieved her bicycle from the yard at the back of the shop and set off to cycle to the top end of Westborough, then across the Valley Bridge which linked the north and south bays of the town, to her home in the South Bay.
Chapter Three
The Moon family home was in Victoria Avenue, a favourable part of the town leading off the esplanade. It was near to the Valley Gardens, an area of woodland paths and steps which led down to the lower promenade. Recent innovations were the Rose Garden, and the Italian Garden with a pond, fountains and classical statues and a bright array of flowerbeds.
Tilly lived with her mother, stepfather and her twin brother, Tommy. The house was really too large for them now. When they had moved there, some nine years ago when William and Faith were first married, William’s father, Isaac, had lived with them. So had Jessica, Tilly’s elder sister, who had married a few years ago; and Maddy had stayed there for the summer of each year whenever the Pierrot troupe was performing in Scarborough. A less frequent visitor had been Samuel, Tilly’s elder brother.
Mrs Baker, their resident cook cum housekeeper, had formerly occupied the attic rooms, but since the family had been depleted Faith had suggested that she should take over one of the spare bedrooms, a large one that had at one time been the twins’ bedroom, until they grew too old to share. This had been converted into a comfortable bed-sitting room for the woman who was regarded as one of the family. She was a widow from the chapel that William had always attended; she was now approaching sixty and had been with them ever since they moved there.
Both William and Faith realised that their home was now over-large for their requirements, but they had been happy there throughout their married life and saw no reason to move.
Tommy was the only family member at home when Tilly arrived back. She had hoped she might have the house to herself. She had some intensive piano practice to do that afternoon and she did not like an audience; that was to say, not until she had reached the high standard she expected of herself. However, Tommy had his school friend, Dominic, with him and she guessed they would be going out together as soon as they had finished lunch.
They were seated at the kitchen table tucking into plates of chicken – left over from the previous evening – with salad and bread and butter.
‘Hi there, Tilly,’ said Tommy. ‘Are you going to join us? There’s plenty of grub left. Pull up a chair and get stuck in.’
‘Yes, thanks; I will,’ she replied. ‘I was going to make myself a sandwich, but you’ve saved me the trouble.’
‘Not me,’ mumbled Tommy, with his mouth over-full. ‘Mrs Baker got it ready for us, didn’t she, Dom? She could see us looking helpless and she came to our rescue. And there’s some left-over trifle in the pantry. She told us to help ourselves… We could do with a cup of tea, though. She didn’t make that. Perhaps you could oblige, would you, Tilly?’
‘Typical!’ laughed Tilly. ‘I might have known you wouldn’t have got your own lunch, you lazy so-and-so!’
‘Well, she offered,’ retorted Tommy, ‘and I wasn’t going to refuse, especially as I had a guest.’
‘Yes, so I see… Hello, Dominic,’ said Tilly.
To her annoyance she felt herself blushing a little. Dominic Fraser always had that effect on her; he was so good looking. With his fair wavy hair and pink cheeks he could almost be called cherubic; except for his blue eyes with their wickedly perceptive glance, and his wide mouth which always appeared to be smiling at secret thoughts of his own.
‘Hello there, Tilly. Yes, do come and join us,’ he said.
‘Yes, after I’ve made your tea,’ she replied.
She filled the kettle and put it on the gas stove to boil, then put three spoonfuls of tea into the earthenware pot and laid out the blue and white striped cups and saucers that they used in the kitchen. Tommy was well able to fend for himself, but if one of the womenfolk would run around after him he was only too willing to let them. She felt that her mother spoilt him, probably because her other son, Samuel, had distanced himself from his family. She knew that her mother was hurt by her elder son’s attitude, not that she was ever very critical of him.
Tilly guessed that Dominic had the same easy-going nature as her twin brother. The two boys had been friends ever since they had started at the same school together at eleven years of age. All the Barraclough children – who had now, apart from Samuel, adopted the name of Moon – had attended private schools on coming to live in Scarborough, just as they had done when they lived in York. Their father, Edward, had been, as he still was, an influential banker in the city who had believed in paying for the very best – or what he considered to be the best – education for his children. Unlike William Moon, who had sent Patrick and Maddy to the local council school, the one that both he and his first wife, Clara, had attended many years before. They had both left at thirteen years of age, Patrick to enter the family undertaking business and Maddy to learn dressmaking skills until she left to go on the stage a few years later.
Tilly considered that Patrick and Maddy were both as well informed and intelligent as were their step-siblings, despite their lack of college or sixth-form education. She, Tilly, did wish to go to college, however, to continue her musical studies. Her sister, Jessica, had gone on to a commercial college after leaving school, and had worked as a shorthand typist until her marriage. And she knew that Tommy hoped to go to university. She had heard him and Dominic talking about applying for the same ones. Not Leeds, though, which was the obvious choice for Yorkshire boys, but somewhere further afield, possibly London or Cardiff; she did not think either of them could aspire to Oxford or Cambridge.
She put the teapot, milk, sugar and cups and saucers on a tray and carried it across to them. ‘There you are,’ she said, ‘or do you want me to pour it out for you as well?’
‘Yes…please, Tilly,’ said Tommy languidly. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘It’s all the same if I do,’ she retorted, ‘but at least you did say please.’
Tommy could charm the birds off the trees, thought Tilly, with his roguish bright blue eyes and his winning smile. When they were much younger, Tommy had always been the more outgoing and seemingly brighter of the twins; Tilly had followed along meekly in his shadow. She felt that people had tended to regard her as a paler and less interesting version of her twin brother. Tilly’s eyes were greyish-blue, not the startling blue of her brother’s, and her hair was a lighter shade of ginger than Tommy’s. His bright orange mop of hair had often earned him the name of Carrots or Ginger Nut, which he had taken in good part. Tilly had been much less self-assured, too, less assertive and, therefore, the one not to be noticed as much as her exuberant brother.
But she had grown out of her reticence and lack of confidence to a certain extent. She had been helped by her sister, Jessica, who had always tried to take Tommy down a peg or two when he got too cocky; and by her stepsister, Maddy, who had always had a good deal of time for the younger girl and had fostered her interest in music. Knowing that she was a more than competent pianist had given Tilly more self-assurance, and she now felt she was able to give as good as she got in her dealings with Tommy and his mates. Dominic, though; he was inclined to get her all of a fluster, but she was not sure why.
She helped herself to chicken and salad and sat down at the table with the two boys. She poured out their tea and a cup for herself before asking, ‘Are you two off somewhere this afternoon?’
‘Now don’t say you want to get rid of us so soon!’ said Dominic, turning his penetrating blue gaze upon her. ‘I don’t know about your brother here, but I’m delighted to have such a charming young lady as a lunch companion.’
‘I see quite enough of her, thank you!’ quipped Tommy.
‘We’re starved of the company of the fair sex, Tommy and me,’ Dominic continued, ‘in the cloistered halls of King Billy’s. The only female company we have is with Mam-selle Dupont, the old hag who teaches us French. Isn’t that so, Tommy?’
‘Quite true,’ replied Tommy. ‘Just Mam-selle – she must be fifty if she’s a day – and the cook, of course, and the ladies who serve us our lunch. They’re careful, though, not to employ anyone under fifty lest we should be led astray.’
‘Yes, it’s the same at our place,’ agreed Tilly. ‘Only women teachers, though, in our case, except for the Reverend Pilkington who gives us Religious Instruction, and he must be well turned sixty.’
Tilly attended Queen Adelaide’s Academy for Girls, which had been built, along with King William’s Academy for Boys, during the short reign of William the Fourth in the 1830s. As Dominic had said, the pupils led sheltered lives, kept away from members of the opposite sex whilst they were in school. The only difference between these establishments and boarding schools was that the scholars went home each evening. The standard of education was high, with a good deal of emphasis put on scholarly achievement. More than half went into the sixth form each year, several of those going on to college or university.
The two boys, and Tilly, had one more year to do; Dominic would be eighteen in September and the twins’ birthday was in October. They met with the opposite sex at church or chapel, or, as in the case of Dominic and Tilly, with their friends’ siblings. But although Dominic loved to tease and to pretend to be worldly wise, Tilly did not think he had ever formed a friendship with a girl, and neither, she was certain, had Tommy. As for Tilly, she had been too busy with her school work and, in addition, her music lessons.
‘Well, now’s your chance,’ said Tilly, addressing her remark, rather daringly, to Dominic. ‘You’ve got a month’s holiday, haven’t you? Plenty of time for you to find a nice girl to keep you company.’ She blushed then, fearing she might have been too bold; she didn’t want him to think she was hinting that she would like to befriend him. ‘I mean to say…’ she went on, a little confusedly, ‘there are a lot of nice girls at church, aren’t there? And I believe they are having a social evening there the week after next. Well, actually, I know they are, because I’ve been asked to play a piano solo.’ She stopped as she could feel her cheeks turning pink.
‘We’ll be there with bells on, won’t we, Tommy?’ said Dominic. ‘Do you know, I’ve never heard you play properly. No…what I mean is, I’ve only heard you from the next room. I recognised a Chopin…polonaise, I think it was. It sounded very clever to me. We have a gramophone record of Chopin pieces. I should imagine they are rather difficult.’
‘Oh, she’s not half bad, my sister,’ said Tommy, grinning at her. ‘Yes, I daresay we’ll be there, if we’re not too busy, that is. You asked if we were going out this afternoon, Tilly. Well, as a matter of fact, we are. There’s an extra meeting of our ATC.’
‘Yes, with the situation in the Balkans hotting up, Mr Gledhill is keeping on with the practices all through the summer holiday,’ added Dominic. ‘There’s no telling where it all may lead.’
Tommy and Dominic had joined the Auxiliary Training Corps for cadets at their school when they had turned fifteen. It was led by an ex-army man, Humphrey Gledhill, who had served as a subaltern during the Boer War and now, at the age of fifty-plus, had retired from the army to teach Geography and Physical Training, as well as being in charge of the ATC.
‘You surely don’t think there’s going to be a war, do you?’ asked Tilly. ‘I was talking to Mother about it earlier, but I said to her it’s all so far away. Surely it can’t affect us?’
‘That’s what a lot of people are saying, but it doesn’t do to be complacent,’ said Dominic, self-importantly. ‘Germany is already allied to Austria. And Russia and France are allies, on the other side, of course. You mark my words, Britain will soon be dragged in to support France, and then it will be out and out war.’
‘I hope you are wrong,’ said Tilly. It sounded to her as though Dominic wanted it to happen, but probably he was just showing off. ‘Our King and Kaiser Wilhelm are cousins. They wouldn’t let it happen, would they? I mean, fighting on opposing sides…’
‘We’ll just have to wait and see,’ said Tommy, a little more consolingly. ‘Don’t worry about it any more at the moment, Tilly.’
‘But it wouldn’t affect you, would it?’ she persisted. In her view the ATC was only playing at being soldiers. ‘You couldn’t join the army; you’re still at school.’
‘We are both nearly eighteen,’ said Dominic proudly. ‘And that’s why the Hump has called these extra practices, so we can be ready if needs be.’
‘Well, let’s pray it doesn’t come to that,’ said Tilly. And that was just what she would do. She would say an extra prayer that night, and in church on Sunday.
Madeleine Nicholls was praying that the fine weather would hold until next week when she was due to sing with the Pierrots on the North Bay. They had enjoyed a good season in this summer of 1914, although all the members of the troupe realised that they were fortunate to have kept going and still be attracting goodly crowds to watch them. These were mainly their loyal supporters who visited Scarborough year after year; and the local people, of course, many of whom were keen followers of Uncle Percy’s Pierrots and had been so, in many cases, since they were children.
There was a great deal of competition in the town now from other sources. Will Catlin, whose name had long been associated with Scarborough, so much so that it was a byword in the town, was still going strong on the South Bay. His Pierrot troupe, which was amongst the very first to have appeared in the town, had given a Command Performance to King Edward the Seventh during the early years of his reign, and had therefore changed their name from Catlin’s Favourite Pierrots to Catlin’s Royal Pierrots. His troupe had become famous not only in Scarborough and along the east coast but at theatres in the south of England where his other companies performed.
In 1908 Catlin had bought some land near to the Grand Hotel and had built the first Arcadia Theatre. At first it was a simple wooden structure which had since been developed into a permanent theatre; and on the same site he had opened the Arcadia Restaurant and the Futurist Cinema. Now, it was said, he was engaged in an ambitious scheme which he had begun the previous year; a holiday camp – the first one in the country – with sleeping and living facilities for a thousand people, with a dining hall and a concert hall for nine hundred. He had endeared himself to the local population of Scarborough by employing only Scarborough men to do the work. A local architect had prepared the plans and a local contractor was directing the building work.
This had been a shrewd move to get back into the Corporation’s good books. A few years previously he had fallen foul of them by his refusal to pay the amounts of money they were demanding for the rent of pitches on the beach. The Council had, indeed, tried to curb his success by building a rival theatre in opposition to his Arcadia. This was the Floral Hall on the North Bay, which had opened in 1911. It was an elegant building constructed of metal and glass, a design that was proving very popular in many seaside resorts. Hanging baskets containing flowering plants were suspended from the ceilings, and indoor rockeries and palm trees added to the opulence of the surroundings. The company that was performing there – and had been for the last few summers – was known as the Fol-de-Rols. Their dress was a vivid contrast to that of the more simple Pierrots; the ladies wore crinolines and the men frock coats and top hats.
There was room enough, however, in Scarborough, and holidaymakers enough to ensure good audiences for all these varying attractions. But Maddy feared, as did many other folk, that world events might soon overtake them all. Good weather was not all that she was praying for in those glorious sunny days as July was drawing to a close. She was praying that common sense would prevail amongst the leaders of the nations and that there would not be a war.
But her prayers, and those of countless others, it seemed, proved to be in vain. On August 1st Germany declared war on Russia. What amazed and shocked many folk was that, in effect, it was Kaiser Wilhelm declaring war on his cousin, Nicholas, the Tsar of Russia. Where was their sense of family loyalty? There was another cousin, too; King George the Fifth of Great Britain. How soon, people asked one another, might he and all his subjects become involved?
Events then moved so quickly that any efforts at international diplomacy were useless. The German declaration of war on France was followed by the German invasion of Belgium; and on August 4th Britain declared war on Germany in support of Belgium. What they had all feared, but not really believed could happen, had come to pass. Their country was at war.
Chapter Four
‘The show must go on, I suppose,’ said Maddy to her husband as they sat at the breakfast table on the morning of Wednesday, August 5th.
‘You bet it will!’ replied Freddie. ‘You don’t think a little thing like our country being at war is going to stop us, do you?’
‘No…of course not,’ smiled Maddy. ‘I expect it will be business as usual. A morning and an afternoon show, then the special one tonight.’ She and Freddie, however, would be appearing only in the evening show, the one in which she would appear as Madeleine Moon, the guest singer.
‘I’m glad the tide’s in our favour, anyway,’ she remarked. ‘I much prefer to perform on the sands, rather than the promenade. There’s more room and it seems – well – so much more like a Pierrot show. I can’t help wondering, though, if our days are numbered.’
‘They may well be, but let’s look on the bright side,’ said her husband. ‘Of course, the troupe’s main source of income now is the touring company. I must admit the Pierrot show has become more of a sideline, but it will be a sad day for the resort when Uncle Percy’s Pierrots stop appearing in Scarborough.’
