Bishop's Peace

By Roberta Grieve

World War Two is coming to an end and Dora Bishop’s hopes are high for a return to normal life with her family around her. But even when peace is declared, everything is far from normal and the family have to adapt to a new way of life.

They have lived in the shadow of war for nearly six years. Their home on the Isle of Sheppey in Kent has been very much in the frontline with its Royal Navy, Army and Air Force bases making it a target for the enemy.

Dora’s children have all been involved in war work. Oldest daughter Sylvia has been engaged in secret work in the WAAFs. Recently married, she leaves the WAAFs and settles down as a mother to two stepsons.

Daisy, still working in the NAAFI in Sheerness Garrison, hopes to marry soldier Chris who is recovering from war wounds. How will she cope is he is sent back on active service? Or worse still, permanently disabled.

When the war ends, Dora looks forward to only son Jimmy coming home but he opts to stay in the Merchant Navy.

The euphoria of VE (Victory in Europe) Day soon evaporates and life gets harder with increased shortages and more stringent rationing. Will the Bishops ever be able to enjoy normal life again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Nov 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228620273

Roberta Grieve

After 22 years of handling other people’s books while working as a library assistant, Roberta Grieve decided it was time to fulfil a long-held ambition and starting writing her own. On taking early retirement she began writing short stories and magazine articles with some success. She then turned to novels and her first, ‘Abigail’s Secret’, was published in 2008. Since then she has had seven more historical romances published as well as eight short novels published as large print paperbacks.Roberta lives in a small village near Chichester, Sussex, and when not writing enjoys walking her son’s dog.

Book preview

Bishops’ Peace

A Family at War Book Three

Roberta Grieve

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 9780228620273

Kindle 9780228620280

PDF 9780228620297

Print ISBNs

Amazon Print 9780228620303

LSI Print 9780228620310

B&N Print 9780228620327

Copyright 2021 by Roberta Grieve

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

Chapter One

As the train pulled in to Colchester station, Daisy Bishop leapt up from her seat, her heart thumping. She was here at last. This was the first time she had been able to visit Chris since his return from Italy. He had first been in the military hospital at Portsmouth and she had been unable to get time off from her job in the Sheerness NAAFI to make the journey. Besides, when she’d phoned, she’d been told that, due to his condition, only family were allowed to visit.

She had been distraught and when he’d been transferred to the special hospital here, she feared the worst. She knew from the letter his friend Bob had sent that he had been very badly wounded and there had been fears that he might lose his leg. The nurse who had written to tell her of his transfer to Colchester had set her mind at rest on that score, but his other injuries were not healing well, and there were doubts if he would walk again.

When Daisy had contacted the hospital, they had been reluctant to tell her anything as she was not a relative. There was nothing for it but to make the arduous journey to Essex to find out for herself.

She stepped down on to the platform and followed the group of people who had also got off the train. She handed in her ticket and looked around, not sure where to go. Her father had made inquiries before she set off and told her she would have to catch a bus to the hospital, but she had no idea which one. She spotted a bus stop across the road and, as she hurried towards it, it started to rain, and a trickle of water crept down her neck. A few people stood at the stop, and she approached an older couple, asking hesitantly, Is this the one for the military hospital?

That’s right. There’s one due in a minute, the woman said. Visiting, are you, dear?

Daisy nodded, biting her lip. Much as she longed to see Chris, she was dreading it. He had told her not to come, saying it was too far to travel as well as too expensive. Until recently only family had been allowed to see him, but she had phoned the hospital and they had agreed to allow her a short visit.

As she waited for the bus, butterflies flitted in her stomach, and she almost wished she hadn’t made the long journey. But she had to see for herself. Not just to find out how bad Chris’s injuries really were but to reassure herself that he still loved her. They had been apart for so long. Had his feelings changed? Did he still love her? His last letter had just been a brief note with none of the usual endearments. But he’s still in pain, probably finds it hard to write, she consoled herself, although his hand seemed to be healing now. When he’d first been wounded, a kind nurse had written at Chris’s dictation.

The bus pulled up, jerking her out of her sombre thoughts. As she climbed aboard, the kindly woman said, Don’t worry, dear. We’ll tell you when to get off. We’re going to the hospital too, visiting our son, aren’t we, Bill.

The man with her nodded.

Daisy smiled and thanked them, then turned to look out of the window, her stomach still churning, wondering how Chris would greet her. Would he be pleased to see her? It had been so long

The bus drew up outside a huge red brick building. We’re here, dear, her fellow passenger said. Come along, we’ll show you the way, won’t we, Bill.

Easy to get lost in these big places, all long corridors, Bill said.

The woman led her to the reception desk where they had to give their names and say who they were visiting. Daisy waited impatiently while the couple signed in, gasping as she heard their names. Mr and Mrs Jameson, here to visit Corporal Jameson.

Daisy looked at the couple more closely, taking in the tall thin man with his blue eyes and mop of greying curls. How had she not noticed the resemblance before? He must be Chris’s father.

And you are? The receptionist, an officer in the Nursing Corps, asked.

Daisy Bishop. I’m visiting Corporal Jameson too. She turned to the couple. You must be Chris’s parents, she said tentatively.

The woman’s face broke into a smile. That’s right. And you’re Daisy. How lovely to meet you. We’ve heard such a lot about you, haven’t we Bill?

The receptionist interrupted with a slight cough. Excuse me, only two visitors per patient. One of you will have to wait outside the ward.

Daisy’s face fell but Mr Jameson said, You go on in. We’ll go and get a cup of tea.

Oh, thank you. That is kind.

The officer said, Don’t stay too long. He’s still very poorly. She pointed down the corridor. Next door on the right.

After thanking Chris’s parents, Daisy started off down the corridor, her steps slowing as she reached the door. That nurse had said he was still very poorly. What did that mean? His last letter had been difficult to read, his handwriting still shaky from the injury to his hand. But he had told her he was coming along nicely.

She hesitated before pushing open the swing door, taking a deep breath as she stepped into the ward. Six beds on each side but which one was Chris’s? Would she know him after all this time? Nearly three years since she had waved him off from Sheerness Garrison, three years of worry and longing. She smiled as she spotted the head of dark curls – unmistakeable. She rushed forward. Chris, oh, Chris.

He had been gazing out of the window, but he turned at the sound of her voice, a smile lighting up his face, a face grown paler and thinner than she remembered but still her Chris with his ready smile and sparkling blue eyes.

Daisy, my Daisy. Is it really you?

She clasped his hand. You told me not to come but I had to...

It’s so good to see you but...

He gestured to the covering over his legs. Only then did she take in the cage covering his lower body, the blankets heaped over it. I still can’t walk. They say I might never...

But you’re getting better, aren’t you?

Slowly, I suppose. But, Daisy love, I’m no use to you like this. He pulled his hand away and turned to face the wall, his shoulders hunched.

Daisy looked on helplessly, her eyes welling. What was wrong with him? Chris, talk to me.

He didn’t reply and she didn’t know what to say. She stood up. Your mum and dad are here. I’ll fetch them, she said.

Outside the ward she blew her nose and wiped her eyes. Can’t let the Jamesons see me upset, she thought. They were sitting on a bench at the end of the corridor, holding hands. You can go in now, she told them.

Thanks, dear. Mrs Jameson took her husband’s arm and, as they walked away, she turned back and said, Wait for us, will you. We can go back on the same train.

Daisy nodded and sat down on the bench. Now she let the tears come. In the six months since Chris had been wounded in the fighting outside Rome her emotions had veered constantly between hope and despair. When he had at last been shipped home and sent here, she had thought her worries were over. Convalescence, he had told her in one of his brief letters, written in a shaky hand and not really telling her anything.

She opened her handbag and pulled out a bundle of letters, not many since his injury. The first from Italy had been written by a nurse as he was unable to write himself and just said he had been wounded and was in hospital. It was weeks until another letter came, weeks of torment and lack of sleep. This one, written by Chris himself this time, said he was in Portsmouth. She had begun to hope that he was on the mend and would soon be sent home.

Then the nurse had written saying he’d had a relapse and was now in Colchester. She had to see him.

If it hadn’t been for his friend, Bob Gardner, she wouldn’t have known the whole story. In fact, the first she knew Chris had been wounded was when her next-door neighbour, Bob’s mother, told her. Bob had asked Elsie Gardner to let Daisy know. He had been serving alongside Chris, fighting the Italians at Anzio. Chris had been taking a message to the forward position when he was caught in an explosion. His motor bike had fallen on top of him, crushing his legs. Bob couldn’t tell her anything more as his unit had been moved on.

Daisy read Chris’s last letter and dashed the tears from her cheeks. He was home – at least back in England and being looked after. He would be all right, he had to be. The door to the ward opened and Daisy stood up. The Jamesons came towards her, Bill Jameson supporting his wife, who was wiping her eyes.

My poor boy, she said, clasping Daisy’s hand. It’s hard seeing him like that.

Now then Ethel, it’s hard for us all. Don’t go upsetting Daisy here. Bill Jameson forced a smile. I had a word with the doctor while you were in there, he said. He’s getting better. It’ll take a while but they’re sure he’ll be all right in the long run.

I thought he was okay, that’s why they sent him home, Daisy said.

He was on the mend, but it was the infection, you see. They did the best for his leg but... His voice trailed off, and then he straightened his shoulders. Come along, let’s get that bus.

They were silent during the bus ride to Colchester station, each immersed in their sombre thoughts. At the station they discovered they had an hour to wait for the London train and Mrs Jameson suggested they went into the buffet for a cup of tea.

Good idea. Give us a chance to get to know Christopher’s young lady, Bill said.

When the cups were set in front of them, Mrs Jameson took a sip, put her cup down and said, Sorry I got so upset. They say he’s getting better but he’s so quiet, won’t tell us anything. I know he’s been through a lot but...

A sob caught in Daisy’s throat. He hardly spoke to me, except to say I shouldn’t have come.

Mrs Jameson patted her hand. He didn’t mean it, dear. I’m sure seeing you must have cheered him up a bit.

I hope so.

I wish we could have got in touch with you when we first heard, Mr Jameson said. We had no address. He’d told us about you in his letters and was longing to get home and bring you to see us. He told us about your work in the NAAFI.

That’s how you met, wasn’t it, Daisy? Mrs Jameson said with a smile.

Daisy nodded, remembering the lanky soldier who she’d first known as Lofty. She’d already had a boyfriend, next door neighbour Bob Gardner. Everyone expected them to get together when they were older. She had tried hard to fight the attraction between herself and Chris and she still felt bad about hurting the lad who had been her childhood sweetheart. It was ironic that the two of them had been posted to the same place and ended up becoming good friends.

Daisy drank her tea, finding it hard to make conversation. Mrs Jameson tried to put on a brave face but every now and then a tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. Her husband patted her hand and smiled at Daisy. They became engrossed in their sombre thoughts, and it was a relief when the train was announced.

A group of soldiers from the nearby garrison surged onto the platform and leapt onto the train which was already crowded. They were lucky to find seats and Daisy was separated from Chris’s parents. It was quite a relief, although she was pleased to have met them. They seemed a nice couple but what else had she expected, given how they had brought up their only son. Still, making conversation all the way to London would have been difficult.

At Liverpool Street they met up again and made their way to the Underground and the Circle Line. We’ll have to leave you here, dear, said Mrs Jameson. We’ll get a bus to Waterloo.

It’s been good to meet you, Daisy lass. Now we’ve got your address we’ll keep in touch. Mr Jameson shook Daisy’s hand and his wife enfolded her in a hug.

The gesture brought a lump to Daisy’s throat, and she nodded, unable to speak. She watched them walk away then turned and went down the steps to the underground.

The Sheerness train was in when she reached Victoria and, as usual these days, was crammed with army and navy personnel. One of the soldiers gave up his seat for her and she smiled her thanks. He took it as encouragement and started to flirt with her, but she turned her face to the window, gazing out at the darkening winter afternoon.

A soldier started playing a mouth organ and his mates joined in singing raucously. Daisy couldn’t help smiling and wondered if these lads were bound for the garrison at Sheerness. If so, she might see them in the NAAFI when she went back to work the next day. She thought of the early days of the war when she had been so resentful of her sister Sylvia who had just joined the more glamorous WAAFs. But she no longer felt that way. She had come to enjoy her work and, of course, that was how she’d met Chris.

She would have to write to Sylvia when she got home, tell her about the visit to the hospital. She wondered how married life was treating her sister and hoped she was happy after going through the trauma of Hugh’s divorce. It must be hard for her, both of them still doing whatever important work it was they were engaged in, often being on different shifts and, Sylvia had told her, not able to spend much time together.

At least they were man and wife now, Daisy thought. She wondered if she would ever achieve her own dream of marrying Chris. Did he even still feel the same way? She re-lived their last time together, the promises they had made. But, although today he had seemed pleased to see her at first, he had turned his face away and refused to speak to her. Was it just that he was still in so much pain?

* * *

Chris watched Daisy walk away, hoping she would turn and wave at the door. He longed to call her back, but he knew he mustn’t. If only he’d been able to find the words to explain how he felt. When she’d walked into the ward, his heart had leapt. Daisy, he whispered, wishing he could get up and throw his arms around her, tell her how much he’d missed and longed for her through all the long months since that dreadful time in Italy.

But as he shifted in the bed, hot pain coursed through him, and he bit his lip. That and the sight of the cage over his legs was enough to tell him that he mustn’t. How could he ask this lovely girl to tie herself for life to a cripple? She deserved better.

He knew he’d hurt her, could tell from the hunched shoulders, the faltering footsteps.

His heart leapt as the ward door opened. She’d come back! His head dropped back on the pillow as his parents hurried into the ward. Now he’d have to smile and answer their questions and pretend that his heart wasn’t broken.

* * *

Sylvia looked round the living room of the flat she now shared with her new husband wondering what she could do to make the drab little room more homelike. She had managed a few hours’ sleep after her long night shift, but she was still tired.

Hugh was on a twelve-hour shift and, as soon as he finished work, she would be starting her own shift. Ships that pass in the night, she thought. From the amount of time they had spent together since their wedding three weeks ago it wasn’t like being married at all.

She sighed. Nothing to be done about it. Everyone was optimistic that this year would see the end of the war, but she knew from her own secret work that there was a long way to go yet. The V2 rockets were still pounding London to smithereens and despite the best efforts of the RAF and the anti-aircraft guns along the coast, nothing seemed to stop them.

Dusk was falling on this grey winter day and Sylvia closed the curtains, shutting out the coming night. This was the hardest time of day for her. She managed to fill the morning hours with combing the shops for whatever food was available, then cleaning and tidying the small flat. She’d cooked a stew and eaten her share, then left the rest on the hob to keep hot for Hugh’s evening meal.

She picked up a magazine and discarded it, then bent and turned the gas fire low, leaving it on to conserve the warmth for when Hugh came home. As she straightened, she looked at the framed photo on the mantelpiece. Two little boys stared out at her. The oldest, dark-haired Peter, was the image of his father. Bobby, she supposed, took after his mother. It really was about time she met them, but Hugh was reluctant to drag them away from their boarding school in Scotland. Did they even know their father had re-married? Sylvia had been reluctant to discuss it. She sighed and changed the position of the ornaments on the mantelpiece, putting the boys’ photo in the centre. The vases were ugly things left by the previous tenant. She should get rid of them, she thought, trying to put the problem of Hugh’s sons out of her mind.

She went into the bedroom, making sure the curtains were drawn and Hugh’s pyjamas laid out on the bed. The blackout rules had been eased just lately but she still kept to the old habit of not showing a light. She picked up her silk night dress, a wedding present from Daisy, and held it to her cheek. If only she could have a nice long bath, use some of the scented bath salts the girls had bought for her. It would be bliss to slip into the nightdress and wait for Hugh to join her. She let her imagination play with the idea or a few minutes, then, with a sigh, threw the garment down and opened the wardrobe.

She looked at the clock. Time to put on her uniform and think about the coming night’s work. If she left now, she would reach Medmenham House in plenty of time. She might even get a chance to have a quick chat with her friends from Hut Six. She hardly dared hope she would be able to speak to Hugh as he came off shift. A quick greeting, a squeeze of the hand – no longed for kisses. And it would be the same tomorrow and the next day.

She hurried downstairs, leaving the landing light on for Hugh, and fetched her bicycle from the cupboard under the stairs. By a miracle Hugh had managed to get hold of a rather battered second-hand bike for her so that she didn’t have to rely on the infrequent buses. For a time, she had used her friend Jane’s bicycle, but it was good to have one of her own.

It was drizzling a little but not too windy and Sylvia, panting a little from the uphill ride, arrived at Medmenham ten minutes before the start of her shift. She parked the bike and made her way to Hut Six, but it was empty. Disappointed, she ran across to the main house, glancing at her watch.

Hugh would still be at his desk. She hesitated outside his office door not wanting to disturb him at work. Oh, what the heck, she thought, opening the door and going in.

He looked up from the papers he was studying, a welcoming smile on his face. Sylvia, darling. Come on in.

Still hard at it?

Never stops, does it? Still, we have a few minutes. He stood up and came round the desk, reaching for her and drawing her into his arms. The kiss was long and passionate, and Sylvia longed for it to go on, but Hugh gently let her go. He sighed. God, I hate this. Never enough time together. He ran his hands through his hair. Nothing to be done about it though.

Sylvia put a hand up and stroked his cheek. Sometimes I don’t feel married at all. Hearing someone enter the office her hand dropped to her side, and she stepped away from him. Better get to work I suppose. Sleep well, darling.

I’ll see you in the morning.

Once seated at her desk, Sylvia forced herself to concentrate. The problems of her private life were firmly put aside as she ploughed her way through the hundreds of aerial photographs that covered her desk.

Ever since the Normandy landings six months ago her colleagues had been telling themselves the war would soon be over. But now, with three weeks to go till Christmas 1944 there seemed no end to it. Despite the progress being made, there had been many setbacks. Sylvia’s work in the photo interpretation unit was more vital than ever. She loved her work in spite of the long exhausting hours and the longing to spend more time with her husband, and she was proud of her contribution to the war effort.

* * *

I can’t believe it’s nearly Christmas. Dora Bishop sighed and began to put her shopping away. Not that there was much of it these days. More items had gone on ration and even the unrationed goods were hard to find. I’ve bought a few little extras, but you have to be first in the queue to get lucky.

Stan stood up and put his arm around his wife’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze. You do a grand job, love. We must make the best of things. He kissed her cheek. Sit down. I’ll make you a cuppa. He reached up to the mantelpiece and took down a letter. Here. This should cheer you up. From our Jimmy.