Daisy's War Read online

  Daisy’s War

  Book One of a Family at War

  Roberta Grieve

  Digital ISBNs

  EPUB 978-0-2286-1042-7

  Kindle 978-0-2286-1043-4

  Web 978-0-2286-1044-1

  Print ISBNs

  LS Ingram Print 978-0-2286-1046-5

  B&N Print 978-0-2286-1047-2

  Amazon Print 978-0-2286-1045-8

  Copyright 2019 by

  Cover art by Michelle Lee

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  Dedication

  To my friends of the Sheppey History Facebook Group who are the inspiration for this book and were a great help with my research.

  Chapter One

  Daisy Bishop forced a smile as her sister did a mock curtsy in front of the family, showing off her WAAF’s uniform. She wasn’t really jealous. After all, as soon as she reached eighteen, she would be joining too.

  Sylvia looked beautiful as usual, with her smooth blonde pageboy beneath the cap set at a jaunty angle. The severe uniform jacket did nothing to hide her shapely figure, enhancing it rather. Daisy, trying to smooth her own unruly fair curls, hoped she would look as good when she joined up. She pictured herself coming home and showing herself off to Bob Gardner, the boy next door.

  They had known each other all their lives, their friendship deepening into something more serious since she’d left school. Daisy knew that Bob was the only boy for her and she’d been devastated when he announced soon after war was declared that he was joining the army. He’ d been gone nearly three months and she had to face the fact that she would not see him for a long time – he might not even get home again before she finally joined up herself.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when Sylvia picked up her bag. ‘Well, better be off,’ she said, kissing her father’s cheek and hugging her mother. ‘Come and see me off, Daisy?’

  They went out by the back gate as usual, taking the short cut through the alley leading to the High Street.

  Their progress along the narrow street which was thronged with shoppers this close to Christmas, was hindered by the many friends and neighbours who stopped to wish Sylvia good luck. Everybody knew everyone else in the small dockyard town of Sheerness on the north Kent coast.

  When they reached the railway station, the train was just drawing in, hissing steam and belching out clouds of coal scented smoke.

  They went on to the platform, the ticket collector waving Daisy on without a platform ticket. Sylvia put her bag down and threw her arms round her sister. ‘Look after yourself little sister – and look after Mum and Dad too,’ she said. ‘I’ll write to Jimmy later.’ She frowned. ‘I wish Mum hadn’t insisted on him being evacuated. There haven’t been any bombs so far.’

  ‘Don’t worry about our Jimmy. He’s probably driving them crazy with his antics over there in Wales,’ Daisy said. She had to admit she hardly missed her young brother at all. He was always up to mischief, begging Daisy to cover up for him when he got into trouble with their parents. She loved him, but he could be very annoying at times.

  Doors slammed and the guard blew his whistle. Sylvia jumped on the train, leaning out of the window to wave.

  Daisy stood there for a few minutes after the train rounded the bend and was out of sight. It felt strange to be alone after so many years of sharing a room and being part of a close knit family. She hadn’t told anyone about her ambition to follow Sylvia into the WAAFs, knowing her parents would try to dissuade her. She realised it would be hard for Mum and Dad to be alone, but everyone had to do their bit for the war effort. Even Dad, who could no longer work after an accident in the dockyard had left him with a limp and intermittent pain, managed to do odd jobs and when the weather allowed, worked on his allotment, keeping them well supplied with fruit and vegetables and the occasional rabbit.

  She walked out of the station and started to make her way home. Instead of going back along the High Street she walked up Beach Street to the seafront. A cold wind blew off the North Sea and she pulled her coat collar up, then thrust her hands into her pockets.

  Despite the cold, she enjoyed walking along the prom, looking out at the navy ships that thronged the estuary. She looked across to the hazy outline of Southend, remembering a trip on the Medway Queen, a lovely day out with all the family. Bob was over there at a training camp somewhere in Essex. She shivered. When training finished, he would be sent overseas.

  Today the sea was a murky brown as the waves churned up the mud on the sea bottom. In summer it wasn’t a lot different, but Daisy and Sylvia and their friends didn’t care. They spent most of the summer holidays swimming and lazing on the shingle beach. Would they be swimming here next year?

  A shadow fell over her, blocking out the weak winter sun and she glanced up to see an unfamiliar shape suspended in the air. Her heart missed a beat until she realised what it was. She’d heard on the wireless about the barrage balloons which were designed to force enemy planes to fly higher – not that there had been any so far. She gave a little laugh at her momentary fright and walked on. So many changes in such a short time. Everyone said the war would be over by Christmas, just like they’d said about the last one. It didn’t look like it though with all the precautions and new rules and regulations, like carrying your gas mask all the time.

  She sighed. Tomorrow she would be back at work in the shirt factory, a job she hated. Two years to go before she could apply for the WAAFs and the war might be over by then. In the meantime, she would look around for a more interesting job. She couldn’t just leave. Now Dad could no longer work, they were glad of her contribution to the family finances.

  Her steps slowed as she reached the path down to the town. She wasn’t looking forward to going home and seeing her mother’s sadness at saying goodbye to Sylvia. How could she join up too and make her even more miserable?

  ***

  Christmas in the Bishop household was a subdued affair in spite of the sumptuous meal Dora Bishop had prepared. The table was laid with the best china and Daisy had made a holly wreath to surround the tall candle in the middle.

  Stan Bishop picked up the carving knife as Dora brought in the roast chicken. A plate of ham followed, together with dishes of vegetables and roast potatoes, all grown on Stan’s allotment.

  ‘Looks lovely, my dear,’ he said as he began to carve. ‘I can’t wait to eat it all.’

  Dora looked flushed, whether from the compliment or the heat of the kitchen Daisy couldn’t tell. Her father wasn’t usually one for compliments but perhaps he wanted to cheer her mother up, knowing how she felt with half her family missing from the Christmas table. She had been very quiet this morning and when Daisy went into the kitchen to help she had spotted a tear on her mother’s cheek, quickly wiped away.

  She had put an arm round Dora’s waist and given her an affectionate squeeze. ‘We miss Sylvia and Jimmy too,’ she said.

  Her mother hadn’t answered, just kept on chopping cabbage as if she hadn’t heard.

  Daisy kept quiet after that and set about laying the table.

  They finished the first course but none of them had an appetite for Christmas pudding and they went into the front room to listen to the King’s Speech on the wireless. His Majesty’s sombre words did nothing to lighten the atmosphere although he ended with a message of goodwill to those serving overseas and the hope that they would soon be home with their loved ones.

  ‘That won’t be any time soon,’
Stan said. ‘They’ve been calling it the phoney war, but my bet is things will start to hot up before too long.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Dora protested. ‘I want my Jimmy home and Sylvia.’

  ‘Jimmy’s better off where he is,’ Stan said. ‘I know nothing’s happened so far, but you never know. I bet he’s having the time of his life on that Welsh farm. He always loved animals.’

  Daisy could see that her mother was getting upset at the turn the conversation was taking. ‘I saw a barrage balloon on my way home,’ she said.

  ‘They’re going up all over the place,’ her father replied. ‘Fat lot of good they are.’

  Daisy half agreed with him, but she didn’t want to provoke a discussion. Instead, she went up to her room, saying she wanted to write to Bob.

  She sat at the little table in the bay window chewing the end of her pencil, wondering what to write. She wanted to berate him for joining the army so quickly. Why hadn’t he waited to be called up? They could have had a little more time together. At least Essex wasn’t too far away. Perhaps he’d get leave when his training finished.

  The thought cheered her a little and she wrote several pages, telling him about Sylvia joining the WAAFs and her ambition to join too when she was old enough. She hoped he’d had a nice Christmas dinner and described their own, saying ‘Dad says to make the most of it as rationing will start soon and who knows when we’ll get another meal like this.’

  She ended by saying she loved and missed him and pleaded with him to write back soon.

  When she went downstairs to join her parents, Dad was snoozing in the chair and her mother was knitting. The wireless was on low, playing a piece of music she didn’t recognise. She picked up a magazine and curled up on the sofa, trying to lose herself in a romantic story.

  ***

  The shirt factory was still closed the next day and Daisy was bored. Her father had gone to his allotment and she wished she’d volunteered to go with him.

  When her mother came downstairs with her hat and coat on Daisy looked surprised. ‘Where are you off to? The shops are shut, aren’t they?’

  ‘I’ve joined the WVS, didn’t I tell you?’ Dora said. ‘We’re having a first aid meeting. We can’t all have a day off. You can come if you like.’

  Daisy pulled a face. Not her idea of fun. But what else was there to do? She fetched her coat and followed her mother down the garden path.

  To her surprise she enjoyed it. She had thought it would be all old ladies like her mum, but there were a few younger women there. And it turned out to be fun bandaging and putting splints on each other.

  Back at the shirt factory the next day, Daisy bent over her sewing machine fighting boredom. There had been a letter from Sylvia that morning enclosing a photo of her with a group of young women. They all looked so glamorous in their smart uniforms and Daisy envied them. Her sister said how much she was enjoying herself in Norfolk and ended by saying she hoped to get leave soon.

  The supervisor interrupted her thoughts. ‘Daisy Bishop – concentrate. I don’t want wavy hems.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Daisy muttered. Oh heck, told off again. She should be doing something useful like her mum. She would have to find another job – and soon, before she died of boredom.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Have I got to wear this horrible thing?’ Daisy dangled the shapeless off-white cap between finger and thumb as if it was a dangerous snake. It looked like the turban her mum wore when doing the housework. She shook her curly locks which it had taken ages to tame that morning. ‘It’ll squash me hair.’

  She had given notice at the factory and joined the NAAFI which was situated just inside the garrison behind the guard room. If she was too young to join the WAAFs, at least she’d be doing her bit for the war effort.

  She had hoped for a dainty little frilled cap like those girls in Lyons Corner House wore, with a white frilly apron to match, but the beige overall and shapeless cap were a disappointment.

  ‘You’re not here to look glamorous, my girl,’ the supervisor said. ‘Your job is to wash up, peel carrots and chop cabbage.’

  Daisy scowled and pulled on the hideous overall, jamming the cap on her head. Was this why she’d left the shirt factory?

  ‘Tuck your hair in, cover it right up,’ the supervisor instructed. ‘The customers don’t want hair in their dinner.’

  What have I let myself in for, Daisy asked herself. She would’ve looked more glamorous if she’d joined the Land Army. Well, she had no choice now. Besides, she’d only signed on as a NAAFI assistant for the duration of the war or at least until she was old enough to join the WAAFs like her sister. Better get on with it then.

  ‘I’m Muriel Green but you call me Mrs,’ the supervisor said hurrying her through to the kitchen. At the far end, a row of ovens and hobs was presided over by a man in Army uniform covered with a chef’s apron and hat. A young man, also in uniform, looked up from rolling pastry and winked. Daisy looked away quickly and followed Mrs Green to the line of deep metal sinks under the window. Piles of dirty crockery adorned the draining boards either side of each sink. ‘Make a start on that lot,’ she said, smirking.

  ‘Doesn’t anyone else work here then?’ Daisy risked a cheeky grin.

  Mrs Green smiled and took pity on her. ‘Don’t worry, Lily will be here soon. She’ll show you the ropes.’ A burst of laughter came from the canteen and Daisy glanced through the hatch hoping for a glimpse of Bob. She could hardly believe it when he’d finished his training a few days ago and turned up on her doorstep, telling her he’d been posted to Sheerness Garrison here just up the road. What were the chances? That was her main reason for joining the NAAFI . She might even see Bob when she was at work, she thought hopefully.

  Her mum had been furious when she’d given in her notice at the factory. ‘Why give up a well-paid job to be a glorified waitress?’ she’d asked.

  ‘I’ll be doing my bit for the war,’ she’d said, and Mum had seemed to accept that. If only she knew, Daisy thought, as she filled the sink with hot water and poured in a good measure of Teepol. This new stuff made washing up much easier. ‘Thank goodness I don’t have to use washing soda like Mum,’ she murmured.

  Still, she hadn’t bargained on spending all her time washing dishes. Not only did it seem she was what her dad would call a skivvy, the lowest of the low, but even if Bob came into the canteen, her chances of seeing him had sunk to zero. She couldn’t even hope for a glimpse of him through the window. Her view was of a brick wall and, if she craned her neck, a glimpse of sky.

  As she scrubbed at the greasy plates with their dried-on residue of egg yolk and bean juice she let her mind wander to her last meeting with Bob. She was still cross that he hadn’t waited for the call-up, but she couldn’t help feeling proud when he’d come home on leave in his smart new uniform. They’d walked along the seafront hand in hand gazing out at the Royal Navy ships in the estuary.

  And now, here he was, stationed in Sheerness garrison just up the road from her home. Her heart gave a little skip at the thought that she was bound to see him soon. But then she sighed. It wouldn’t be for long. The regiment would soon be embarking for France and who knew what would happen?

  She added more hot water and plunged another pile of plates into the sink. One thing about this sort of job, she thought, it left her mind free to daydream. She started to hum ‘I’ve got my Love to Keep me Warm’, lost in thoughts of her last date with Bob. She imagined herself in his arms as they waltzed round the Wheatsheaf Hall, he in his smart uniform, she in her best blue dress. And tonight, they were going out again.

  She started to sing, holding the dish mop up to her face as if it were a microphone, then did a few dance steps. As she whirled round, she spotted the assistant chef grinning and came to a stop, her face reddening.

  ‘Need a partner?’ he asked with a cheeky grin. ‘I’m Harold. I’m no Fred Astaire but I’m partial to a dance.’

  ‘No thanks. I’ve already got a partner,’
she said.

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘Tompkins, get on with your work, you lazy so-and-so,’ Sergeant Shiner shouted across the room.

  Harold jumped to attention and went back to stirring the big vat of soup.

  Hiding a smile, Daisy turned back to her pile of dishes just as the door opened and a girl came in pushing a trolley loaded with more dirty crockery.

  ‘Hello, I’m Lily,’ she said. ‘I’m supposed to show you the ropes.’ She nodded towards the stack of newly washed crockery. ‘Looks like you didn’t need to be told.’

  ‘Mrs Green told me to get on with it.’

  Lily picked up a tea cloth and began drying the plates, stacking them neatly on a shelf. As they worked, she spoke quietly, ‘That’s Cook Sergeant Shiner over there, but you call him Chef when he’s in here. Outside it’s Sergeant. He’s got big ideas, thinks he’s working in some posh hotel up in London. And Harold, Private Tompkins, the other one, you want to watch him. Fancies himself, he does.’

  ‘I noticed - we’ve already met,’ Daisy said.

  Lily went on to explain what the work entailed and who she’d be working with. ‘Mrs Green’s all right. Strict, but if you get on with your work...’ She paused. ‘What made you join the NAAFI?’ she asked.

  Daisy didn’t feel she could confide the real reason. ‘Got fed up with the shirt factory,’ she said. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I was stuck home looking after the little ones. My mum was ill after the last baby but she’s OK now. So I grabbed the chance of a proper job, told them everyone has to do their bit.’

  ‘That’s what I told my dad,’ Daisy said. ‘I didn’t think I’d be stuck in the kitchen though. I hate washing up.’

  ‘Peeling spuds is worse,’ Lily said.

  ‘I thought I’d be serving, dishing up the meals and that.’