A mysterious stranger recalls the scars of war. . .
BY ELAINE EVEREST
March 1942
Penny James looked across to the man sitting in the window seat of the Lyon’s teashop. He’d been nursing the same cup of tea for the past hour while staring out of the rain-splattered window. She couldn’t see what it was that interested him in the darkening March afternoon. What she did know was that he wasn’t in uniform, when most every other man was in 1942.
“Would you like a fresh cup of tea? That one must be stone cold by now,” she asked as she walked over to him.
“It looks pretty glum out there today.”
“In my mind’s eye it’s a sunny day, I’m sitting on the beach and there’s no war,” he said, continuing to look away from her.
Penny sighed. “That’s how I like to imagine the beach – free of barbed wire and warnings of mines. Margate was such a happy place back then.”
“I take it you are a local?” he said, passing his cup and saucer to her as she placed a silver tray on the table.
“I grew up here and moved away to London to work,” she said with a faraway look.
“What brought you back?”
“My husband. I came home to care for my mother when she was poorly and fell in love. . .” she said, looking embarrassed. Why was she standing here telling her life story to a stranger?
“I’m sorry, I must get on.” She lifted the tray. “Shall I bring you more tea and perhaps a toasted teacake?”
“That sounds pleasant, thank you,” he replied, turning to watch the Nippy head back to the serving counter.
Lifting a piece of charcoal, he turned back to a clean page in his sketchbook.
“He sounds rather lonely,” Penny said to fellow Nippy, Jane, as she waited for her order to be fulfilled.
“It’s the weather; rain does that to you,” Jane replied.
“Nothing to do with the war, then?”
Penny chuckled, thinking how used they’d become to the raids and the limited travel from Margate. Thankfully, working for Joe Lyons, she could eat at work which helped her mother cope with their ration allowance at home.
Wearing a Nippy uniform saved wear and tear on her own clothes.
She’d come to love wearing the black dress with a smart white apron and cap, although she cursed whenever she had to stitch a white pearl button back on the front of her dress with the official red thread.
She’d learned to become careful not to snag the black stockings to
