Cover

The Brave Daughters

Mary Wood

Dedication page

For my late, much-loved eldest brother, Charlie, who showed me that in life you have to strive for what you want to achieve. Love and miss you always, and I know that you would have been so proud of me.

Family Tree

PART ONE

Britain and France,
1939

The Families

CHAPTER ONE

Blackburn

Sibbie and Marjie

As the car that had fetched her from the station travelled the long drive towards Feniscowles Manor, Sibbie felt the usual excitement grip her, on seeing the lovely house with its many windows gleaming and reflecting the sunlight. The ivy covering its walls seemed to shimmer a welcome in the August heat, and its backdrop of the beautiful hills of Bowland provided the perfect setting for this, her second home.

On arriving outside the house, her anticipation rose so much that she was out of the car and running up the steps before her Aunt Mags’s driver had time to alight and assist her. As she reached the door, it opened.

‘Sibbie! How lovely to see you, darling. Come on in. Marjella, Beth and Belinda are in the garden, taking advantage of this lovely day. They’re all excited to be seeing you again.’

‘Hello, Aunt Mags, how are you? I’ve missed you. It seems ages since I left for the summer holidays. Oh, and Aunt Betsy and Mum said I’m to give you their love.’

Sibbie found herself enclosed in her aunt’s arms, having seen in her lovely, big brown eyes the same underlying concern that marred everyone’s lives right now – an overwhelming fear of what might happen in the near future. This was disconcerting to Sibbie, as Aunt Mags, a close family friend – whom Sibbie loved dearly and had called ‘Aunt’ all her life – was a strong and capable businesswoman who headed the board of the largest mill in the area and rarely indicated that anything unnerved her.

Tall and slender, Mags was the epitome of the lady of the manor. She always wore her light-brown hair, now peppered with grey strands, in a bun at the nape of her neck, which added to her elegant appearance.

Holding Sibbie at arm’s length, Aunt Mags kept her voice light. ‘Dear Betsy and Susan, I’ll ring them later to let them know you’ve arrived safely. Now, let me look at you. Being back in Portpatrick for the summer has done you good. You were looking peaky when you left. Those long hours in the classroom had taken their toll.’

‘I had a lovely time, being spoilt by everyone, but I’m ready to get back to studying.’

‘That’s good. Well, everyone’s fine here, if a little worried about all that’s happening in the world. That aside, the girls are looking forward to their new term at school, and Marjella has arrived safely. She’s very excited to be joining you in your language studies this term.’

‘I can’t wait to see her – it’s going to be wonderful having her here. I just wish this cloud wasn’t hanging over us all. Mum and Aunt Betsy are very nervous.’

‘I can understand that, as we older ones have vivid memories that heighten our fears.’ Aunt Mags sighed. ‘It’s unbelievable to think we’re on the brink of war breaking out again. But let’s not spoil your first day back with what a horrid little man in Germany is doing to the world. I’ve made lemonade for you all, and Cook has baked those shortbread biscuits you love.’

‘Mmm, lovely.’ Although she said this, Sibbie groaned inside. She was full to the brim with shortbread and, much as she liked it, she wouldn’t care if she never saw another biscuit in her life. It seemed everyone wanted to serve them to her: at home in Scotland, her mum and Aunt Betsy thought she would have missed their shortbread biscuits more than anything; and here in Blackburn with Aunt Mags, Cook seemed to think she couldn’t live without them! Sibbie smiled to herself at these thoughts, as they brought home to her how she was surrounded by the love of so many people.

And now her lovely cousin Marjie, as she called Marjella, was here from France to join her on the language course she was taking, which meant they were going to spend a lot of time together. Life couldn’t be better, and she prayed that all the fears of war would come to nothing.

As Sibbie followed her Aunt Mags through the wide hall of Feniscowles Manor she turned towards the kitchen. Opening the door, she called out, ‘Hello, Cook. Aunt Betsy sends her love.’

‘Sybil! You’ve arrived then, lass. I’d give you a hug, but I’m covered in flour. How is Betsy?’

‘Ha, that’s as it should be – I like to see that nothing has changed. Oh, Betsy is fine; they all are. I’ll give you their news later.’

A lovely rounded lady, Cook had been part of this house for as long as Sibbie could remember, and she loved the way Cook always used her proper name. She was the only one who did. Not that it mattered, because being called ‘Sibbie’ reminded her of Montel, who had first shortened her name.

An ever-present ache nudged Sibbie at this thought. Montel had been her proper daddy, if not her real one. What she knew from her mum about how Harold Roford, her blood father, had led his life, she didn’t like, and she had never felt any kinship to him. She would have liked to have met Harold, though. Just so that she could have kicked him in the shins.

As they walked through the withdrawing room towards the French windows that led to the garden, Sibbie took in the graceful furniture and the calming colours of pale blue and cream that adorned this room. The familiarity of it reinforced the fact that she was very much a part of this house, as Aunt Mags was like a second mother to her, so ‘home’ was wherever she was.

Marjie coming into view drew Sibbie’s attention away from her lovely surroundings. ‘Marjie! Oh, Marjie!’

Marjie jumped up and ran towards her. When they collided, they hugged and twirled around together, as if they would never part again.

Mags laughed out loud at them. ‘You two – you would think you were sisters, not cousins. I’ll leave you to it, and go and organize Cook to bring tea and biscuits.’

Although Sibbie and Marjie had been brought up in different countries – Marjie in France, and Sibbie in Scotland – they had bonded the moment they met, when Mags first took Sibbie to France at the age of eight to meet her Aunt Flors, Marjie’s mum and the sister of Harold Roford.

Sibbie had loved France and being part of the Domaine de Florella, the vineyard that her Aunt Flors and Uncle Cyrus owned, along with Aunt Ella and her husband, Arnie.

When they came to a standstill, Sibbie linked arms with Marjie. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. And what do you think of England, and more especially Blackburn?’

‘I know, I can’t believe this time has come at last. It’s so good to see you, Sibbie. I haven’t seen much of England, or Blackburn – only through the windows of trains and cars – but I know I am going to love it here.’

‘You will – I do. This village, the beauty that surrounds it all, the town of Blackburn and Aunt Mags’s mill, and Uncle Jerome’s veterinary practice: it’s all so lovely. And you’ll love the language school. Professor Hillson is adorable – eccentric, but a marvellous teacher. So, how was your journey?’

‘Long, and very boring, but at times rather frightening, as the stations were crowded with soldiers, especially in France. It made me appreciate the reality of what my parents and brothers are talking about all the time.’

‘I saw a lot of soldiers today, too; even women are being recruited here. I’m just too young to be called, although I really feel like offering my services.’

‘But what would you do? And what about your studies?’

‘I don’t know, but the fact that I speak French and am studying German might be of use in some field or other. Anyway, there may not be a war. We are just speculating.’

Beth and Belinda had run across the lawn and were now demanding attention. For half-sisters, they had a lot of similarities, although Beth, at fifteen years old, was looking more like a young woman than a girl. Her shining black hair and beautiful, huge dark-brown eyes reminded Sibbie so much of Beth’s late father, the beloved Montel.

As Sibbie pulled the girls in close, she told them, ‘Look how beautiful and grown-up you are.’ Belinda giggled, but Beth smiled up at her, bringing Montel to mind once more. Although Sibbie had only been four when Montel died, she’d never forget him.

‘I’ve grown an inch taller than I was before you left at Easter, Sibbie, and I’ve turned thirteen now, you know.’

‘You have, Belinda. Oh, it’s good to see you both, and I hadn’t forgotten it was your birthday last week – I have brought you something from Scotland. It’s from Aunt Betsy’s and my mum’s shop. Well, actually you have two presents, as I brought something for everyone.’

‘Ooh, I’m glad it’s not from Uncle Angus’s fishing business – I’m not keen on fish.’

They all burst out laughing. Belinda took after her father, Uncle Jerome; she was witty like him and always made everyone laugh, and she could come out with the funniest lines.

‘Beth, Belinda, come and help with the trays, please.’

As the girls ran to obey their mother, Sibbie felt Marjie grip her hand. ‘Sibbie, if it does come to war and you volunteer, then I will too. My dual nationality will allow me to, and besides, I will be useful as well. I speak English, French and Polish – and now I am going to be learning German too.’

‘You speak Polish? I didn’t know that.’

‘Yes, Aunt Ella has taught us over the years, as she wished to speak her native language from time to time. Even Uncle Arnie speaks Polish with her when they are at home. It seems that once you have mastered two languages, it gets easier to learn more.’

‘Maybe we can do something together. Oh, what fun that would be! We can win the war and then continue our studies. I’m not that keen on being a teacher yet, anyway.’

‘Nor me. Paulo is the one who wants to take up that profession, and Aunt Ella is seriously considering sending him over here to study. She is afraid for him because of her Jewish ancestry, which makes him half-Jewish.’

Sibbie felt both elation and fear: to have Paulo here would be a dream come true. She’d fallen for him the moment she’d met him as a little girl, but he looked upon her as a cousin, even though they weren’t related at all. But then Flors, Ella and Mags had brought up their families to be one unit, and she was part of that unit, being the daughter of Flors’s brother.

The news reports on the treatment of the Jews in Germany made her shudder, and she couldn’t bear to think of such things happening to her beloved Paulo. ‘Oh dear, Marjie, I felt so happy to be coming to see you, and at the prospect of us studying together, but now I feel really downhearted. Suddenly it seems everyone, and everything we love, is in danger.’

‘Yes, it does feel like that, but it is also a wonderful time for us. Let’s not talk of war; instead let’s have a magical time for the next two weeks until we start our lessons. We can picnic at weekends, if this weather holds – I can drive now and—’

‘Me too! We can go into the Bowland Hills and into Clitheroe. I can show you Pendle Hill, where it is said they burned witches long ago.’

‘Ooh, will we see ghosts?’

‘They say you can at Halloween, and that’s only a couple of months away.’

‘Where have I been sent? I thought I would be safe here, but now it seems I am to be near ghouls.’

Sibbie made a face, growled and put her hands up, in a mock attempt to scratch Marjie. ‘Now you know the truth: we are all witches.’

They fell about laughing at this, their cares forgotten.

Marjie’s laughter was a lovely light sound, which lit up her face and made her even more beautiful.

The family resemblance between the two girls was evident in their looks, height and colouring. Both had dark-brown hair and very dark eyes. Sibbie’s face was more rounded than Marjella’s clear-cut features, making her pretty rather than beautiful, whereas Marjella’s beauty and French chic made everyone look twice.

A warm feeling overcame Sibbie. It was so good to be together, despite the ominous reasons that had prompted Aunt Flors and Uncle Cyrus to let Marjie come and study in England. But Sibbie did wonder how their lives were going to pan out over the next couple of years or so, and silently prayed that war wouldn’t happen.

CHAPTER TWO

Laurens, Hérault, France

Ella and Flors

Flors smiled bravely as she stood on her doorstep and waved and waved until her husband Cyrus’s car, carrying their sons, Freddy and Randolph, was out of sight. The agony that she and Cyrus had been through, since the conscription papers had arrived, had almost defeated her. Now the pain set in, as the reality of what Freddy and Randie would face if war broke out took root.

Ella stood by her side. ‘Come on, Flors, let’s do as the British do and put the kettle on.’

‘Oh, Ella, to think of them having gone is unbearable.’

Ella clutched Flors’s hand even tighter and whispered, ‘Hug?’

Painful memories of the past and fears for the uncertain future vied for prominence in Flors’s heart as they hugged tightly. She knew that dear Ella would be feeling these same emotions, too.

As they emerged from the hug, they linked arms and went into the kitchen. A snore made them both jump, and nervous giggles consumed them. Rowena could sleep through anything when she was in her favourite rocking chair by the side of the stove. Even on a hot day like today, she professed that she felt the cold in her old bones. Rowena had known Flors since her childhood in Stepney, and now lived with her.

Flors felt glad of the light-hearted moment. She’d been on the brink of crying, but hadn’t wanted to; she’d save her tears for her own bed at night, when she was snuggled into the arms of her beloved Cyrus. Sighing, she told Ella, ‘It’s as if my nest is emptying all at once.’

‘I know. My darling Arnie is even saying that he will volunteer, if Britain ever comes under threat. And Paulo talks of going too, if necessary. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘Oh no. Oh, Ella, everything we know and have built up, since the terrible things we went through in the last war, is under threat.’

‘They say we should be safe here in the South of France, and it’s the north-east that will bear the brunt, if an invasion does happen. But Hitler is threatening Poland at the moment, and I’m so worried about my sister, Calek.’

‘I don’t know what to say, Ella. We can only pray that the Germans don’t succeed in their quest to invade Poland, or that a miracle happens and they heed Chamberlain’s ultimatum.’

‘They have to. Oh, Flors, it’s Calek’s and Abram’s only chance; I fear they are in grave danger. Look at how Germany is treating its Jewish community, if the rumours of their cruel treatment are to be believed . . . Oh God, I can’t think about it. My dear nephew Zabrim is only fourteen.’

‘And there’s no answer to your last letter yet? Surely they will take up your offer to come here?’

‘I am praying for that, but I haven’t heard from them. At least if they sent Zabrim to me, that would ease my mind a little. I’m thinking of going to Poland to find out how they are. I checked and all the trains are still running. Maybe if I do, I can persuade them to come back with me.’

‘No, Ella, no! It’s too dangerous. Please think again, Ella, please. What does Arnie say about it?’

‘I haven’t discussed it with him.’

‘You haven’t discussed what, darling?’

‘Oh, Arnie, I didn’t see you. I – I . . . well, nothing – nothing really. I’ll tell you later.’

‘There’s no time like now. If you can share whatever it is with Flors, then you can share it with your husband, can’t you? Come on, old thing, what is it?’

As Ella poured out her thoughts, Arnie surprised Flors with his response. ‘I think that unless you do this, you will have an agonizing few years ahead of you, Ella – and I don’t want that. But I also think that you should wait to see if Hitler decides to take heed of Britain and France’s ultimatum – which I don’t think he will. If he doesn’t and invades Poland, it will be too dangerous for you to even think of going.’

Flors couldn’t believe the enormity of what Ella had proposed, and even less so that Arnie was partially agreeing that she should go to Poland. After all, she had the feeling that Hitler would find a way of doing as he had in Czechoslovakia and fully invade Poland. And what if that happened when Ella was there?

‘I know what you’re thinking, Flors, but I understand Ella better than she does herself. Now that she has her family back in her life, it will kill her to think of the unspeakable things that might happen to them under a German regime. That applies to all of Poland, but for the Jewish community there – well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. I have to support her in this or I will be letting her down.’

They were all silent for a moment, unable to comprehend how quickly their ideal world had changed, and what the future might bring.

Their vineyard, Domaine de Florella, was one of the finest in the Languedoc region – not that this was Flors’s major concern. That she reserved for the safety of her dear friends Ella and Arnie and their children, but most of all for her own family – her dear husband, Cyrus, had been a prisoner in the last war. Surely he wouldn’t have to fight again? And Freddy and Randie were facing God-knows-what. Then there was her problem child, Monty. At seventeen, he was becoming more troublesome, showing traits of his despicable late uncle, Harold.

Oh, why am I thinking like this? Monty is just going through a phase, I’m sure.

Flors’s thoughts turned to her beloved and beautiful daughter, Marjella. Her heart cried out with the pain of missing her, but knowing that she, at least, was safe, staying with Mags in the countryside of Blackburn, helped her to accept the separation. Surely nothing could befall Marjella? If war did come, England would be safe from the fallout, wouldn’t it? It would join with France and beat Hitler back to the borders here, she imagined.

The door to Flors’s chateau was flung open as the kettle boiled.

‘Mama, am I too late? Have Freddy and Randie left?’ Ella and Arnie’s six-year-old daughter Lonia stood in the doorway, a distraught look on her face. She was spoilt by everyone, and everyone loved her, but none of the attention they lavished on her had any effect, for she remained a sweet child, caring and always concerned for everyone.

‘Yes, Lonia, they left a few moments ago.’

‘Oh, Mama, why didn’t they wait to see me? Papa has just brought me from school.’

‘They couldn’t chance missing their train, darling. Once they are in the army, they are under its discipline. An order is an order, and they cannot risk breaking one for the sake of little you.’

‘Oh, Mama, I’m going to miss them. But I’m not going to be sad, because Freddy said that I must be very grown-up and think of others – especially you, Aunt Flors: you’re much sadder than me, and that must hurt a lot.’

‘It does, darling. As does missing Marjella. But we must carry on. Look, I have some nice grape juice cooling on the cold slab in the pantry. I’ll pour you some and we can all sit out under the shade and look after each other.’

The high-pitched whistle of the kettle boiling seemed to seal this as a good idea. True to form, Rowena woke – the one thing that never failed to stir her was the thought of a cup of tea. She sat up and her lips smacked together in her podgy face. ‘Is that there the kettle, honey-child?’

‘Ha, it is, Rowena. Are you coming outside for some fresh air?’

‘There’s nothing good in the fresh air for my old bones. It’s no fun being ninety-one, Missie Flors.’

‘Don’t be silly, you’re just getting lazy – Ella and I will help you outside. The sunshine is good for your bones, and what’s all this “Missie” business? I’m your honey-child, nothing can change that. I hate the term “Missie”; it makes me feel that you think you’re a servant.’

‘No, honey-child, it an old Jamaican way of speaking. I’ve been dreaming I was back on the white sand, gazing out at the sea, and the woman I worked for was going to take a branch to beat me with, for being lazy.’

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

Enjoyed this preview? ❤️ Do not stop here!

Read the complete book free online → 🔗

Continue reading now on BooksBarbecue and discover every page!

Love reading? Bookmark BooksBarbecue.com for more amazing books!

Happy Reading!