Part Two: Onwards Together

Monday

It had taken me some time to get to sleep last night, as my brain seemed to be turning over faster than the Jag at full throttle; and then after a rather fitful night’s sleep, when I had eventually dropped off at last, I ached so much this morning when I woke up that I wished that I’d taken Beryl up on her offer to share the big bed. However, by the time that I’d roused myself from the feeling of weariness and stretched a few times and managed to clear the drowsiness from my thoughts, I decided that I had made the right decision and I felt much better for knowing it.

As I had done the day before, my next task was to dress and then empty my protesting bladder, so gathering the water jug on the way, I quietly closed the chalet door behind me and stepped out into the morning air. Looking up into the sky, I noted that it was shaping up to be another glorious day of summer sunshine. My body’s urgency having been relieved once again, I stopped off at the standpipe to fill the large vessel before heading back for a quick sluice and a nice refreshing cup of Rosy Lee.

Nearing the chalet I could see that the door was now affixed in the open position and as I stepped though the doorway my jaw dropped in awe as I beheld the sight of Beryl Armitage standing at the sink with her back to me. Well, of course that wasn’t what nearly stopped me in my tracks, but rather it was the fact that she was wearing a semi-transparent, knee-length nightdress which clearly showed off the fact that she was only wearing a pair of thin briefs under it, which meant that if she turned round I would be able to see her unencumbered breasts. Now of course I had seen breasts on numerous occasions in the past, both real and pictorial, but this would be the first time that I had seen those belonging to the woman that I had last night declared my affection for.

It was like the scene in a theatrical comedy when the butler enters the room and makes that affected throat-clearing noise to announce his arrival; the only difference being that I made my own such utterance quite involuntarily. Beryl turned suddenly, and without a thought of covering her pendulous bosom, which swayed from side to side apparently of its own volition, although of course gravity played its part as well. Upon seeing me Beryl grinned at me coyly, but I could tell from her eyes that I was the cause of her pleasure.

“Good morning, Ron; it’s another beautiful day I see!” I couldn’t help smiling myself.

“—And it’s made even better by seeing you, Beryl, Love! Er, I didn’t mean—that is—” I said, embarrassed, upon realising that what I’d just spoken could be misinterpreted. But Beryl took a few steps towards me and kissed me softly on the lips.

“I know what you meant, Ron, and believe me, you aren’t seeing anything that I didn’t want you to see!” I sighed and nodded: “I suppose not.”

“And if you meant what you said last night, it’s all yours from now on, so you’ll have to get used to seeing me wearing clothes like this and even less sometimes!”

I swallowed hard: I thought that after five years of operating under enemy fire and then running my own business after the war that I was hardened and could handle any situation, but this lovely lady standing almost naked in front of me had seemingly robbed me of that resolve and I was now incapable of doing something as simple as getting my thoughts to translate into spoken utterances. I also couldn’t remember even a single instance when Maggie had had exactly this kind of effect on me!

Meanwhile, as this was all going on around me, Beryl had refilled the kettle and had lit the gas under it, and she was now flitting around preparing everything needed for us to break our fast. Rational thought now having returned to my consciousness, I moved up behind this vision of loveliness and put my arms around her waist and pulled her back against me. She laughed, softly, but she carried on humming the tune in her head and executing her chosen task. For a few moments my brain was sending me conflicting messages, but then reason prevailed once more and I released my grip on Beryl and took a step back. She laughed joyously again.

“I liked that a lot, Ron, but any longer and you would have had to wait for your breakfast! But, changing the subject, have you given any thought to what we might do today? I really don’t mind as long as we do it together. I was thinking that either we could go to the beach again, or maybe for a drive in that nice car of yours to see some of the countryside?” I nodded.

“I hadn’t really given it much thought, to tell you the truth, but now that you mention it, I quite like the idea of seeing some of the sights while we are down here. I’ll nip out to the car and get my atlas and we can see if there is anything that appeals; how does that sound?” Beryl smiled: “Perfect, Love, just perfect!”

With Beryl sitting closely by my side, in itself a very pleasant experience, I opened the page to the map of Devon and Cornwall, and specifically our location.

“As you can see, we are well located here. Depending on what we want to see, within thirty-five or forty miles of us there are several large towns and cities or to the north, Dartmoor.” Beryl scanned the map intently for another few minutes, her eyes searching the names.

“Personally, I’ve just come from a town, so I’d like a change of pace. It is very peaceful here and I’d like something similar, please.”

“Well, I think the moors should be very scenic this time of year, so why don’t we just head off in that general direction and see where it takes us. I’m sure that there must be several nice villages with either tea rooms or pubs where we can get refreshments.” Beryl smiled.

“I like that idea! Let’s eat then get washed and dressed then do what you said.”

I rather regretted it when Beryl put on her housecoat over her nightgown for the walk to the shower block, but then some standards of behaviour must be observed, I suppose. Bathing was a fairly quick process, and so once I had shaved and we were both dressed we packed a few items that we thought that we might need and then we were ready for the off.

A slow drive to the campsite’s entrance and then we were on the open road, the windows wound down to allow what breeze there was to cool the interior of the car. My first mission was to top up the fuel tank, so we drove until we came across a petrol station where I asked the pump attendant for ten gallons, for which I paid with two one pound notes and one ten shilling note and received three shillings and fourpence in change.

Beryl seemed right at home seated to my left on the Jag’s comfortable leather seat; a position which I hoped that she would be occupying on a permanent basis from now on. I don’t recall every detail about our journey, geographically speaking, as it was yet another chance for us to become further acquainted with details about our personal lives.

Beryl told me that she had been born in Wokingham, a market town in Berkshire, where she lived until her marriage to Albert in 1938, having first met him the previous year. Her early life was a happy one, she said, and she had been a pupil at the all-girl secondary school in the town, after which she attended a secretarial college. After meeting and then marrying her husband, the couple moved to Slough, where Albert was employed until he joined the Royal Navy when Beryl was twenty-one. They had planned to have children, but time and circumstances were against them unfortunately; something that Beryl said that she had always regretted. During the hostilities she worked in a factory as part of the war effort, but after the war she returned to secretarial work and obtained employment with a local solicitor, which is her current work. I thought it both extremely fortuitous and propitious that Fate, or whatever you choose to call it, had put Beryl and I in the same place and at the same time, and doubly so as her current home in Slough is located relatively closely to mine in the neighbouring county of Surrey.

I have already alluded to some of my own path through life, which I nevertheless recounted for Beryl. I was born in Stepney, London, and named Ronald George Thompson. I was one of two surviving children born to my parents, my younger sister being the aforementioned Katherine May Thompson, now Marshall, and there was another girl who died shortly after her birth. Although the teachers at my school were generally of the opinion that I was the recipient of a reasonable level of intelligence, I nevertheless left school at fourteen, as did most of my contemporaries, as in our community few if any children attended grammar school, since even if they possessed the necessary academic ability to gain entry to such an establishment, their families lacked the means to equip them to do so. I fell into a similar category, but I never resented this; to my way of thinking that’s just the way it was. No, it was my lot to follow my male forebears into some kind of manual labour which required only a strong back and innate common-sense, not some fancy school certificate. Thus it was until 1940 when my immediate presence was requested by the Government of His Majesty, King George VI.

If truth be told, I went willingly: it wasn’t just my sense of patriotism, but rather perhaps that together with it being my chance to escape from the life that I’d led for the preceding ten years, where you worked to live, and that life was barely more than subsistence level. I still work to live to a certain extent, but now my working life comes with certain advantages that make it a much better, and dare I say, enjoyable proposition.

The one thing that Beryl and I had yet to talk about, was the practical direction that we wished our life together to take, but I sensed that that was a situation that must shortly be addressed.

Our drive across Dartmoor brought us first to the small town of Buckfastleigh, which among other things is the location of the nearby Buckfast Abbey. I have no great affection for religiosity of any kind, but I thought Beryl might be interested and there would hopefully be the opportunity to stretch our legs and find refreshments. As it happened, she shared my sentiments concerning the Abbey, as well as my hope regarding finding somewhere to get a nice cup of tea.

Upon our arrival a place was found to leave the car and then we joined hands for our excursion on foot around the town. Beryl and I both found it to be pleasant enough, although unexceptionally so, but at least it allowed us to partake of one of the famous Devon cream teas, which thoroughly lived up to its reputation and was substantial enough to get us to our next port of call. It was perhaps not the ideal location to do so, but it did give me a chance to raise the subject of our possible future life:

“How attached are you to living in Slough, Beryl?” This was a question that I reasoned that she had already given some thought to, because she never asked me why I was asking her.

“Well, apart from my job, which I do enjoy, and the few friends that I’ve made over the years, I don’t think that I have any great attachment to it.”

“Then does that mean that you would be open to moving to where I am? I should add that I would also be prepared to move to Slough if you so wished, or perhaps we could both move to somewhere within convenient travelling distance of both locations.” She smiled.

“Do I take it that I’m right in thinking that we would be living together, wherever that would be?” I was actually a little confused by this: “Why would a husband and wife not live together?” Beryl grinned.

“They wouldn’t, Ron, but up until now no-one has actually mentioned marriage, have they?” I smiled and took her hand in mine.

“You are right of course, Beryl, Dear! Perhaps because everything has happened so quickly during the last few days, I’ve let my imagination get ahead of me: I’ve been assuming that we want the same thing without actually asking you!” Beryl smiled and squeezed my hand: “So why don’t you ask me now, Ron?” I nodded: “Do you want the full ‘down on one knee’ proposal, then?” She laughed, softly: “No, Love, I don’t think that will be necessary!” I was somewhat relieved to hear that.

“Very well!” I took her other hand in mine: “Beryl Armitage, I have no ring to give you at this time, but even so I would like to ask you to marry me so that we can spend the rest of our lives together!” Beryl smiled and a single tear fell from the corner of each of her eyes. “Yes, Ron, I’ll marry you!”

Unbeknownst to us, the proprietress of the café we were in had observed my impromptu performance and she clapped her hands together and then came over to our table to congratulate us.

“Very many congratulations to you both, my dears! That’s the first time that that’s ever happened in here. May I wish you both many years of happiness together. It isn’t very much I know, but please accept your teas as a gift from me to you!” I looked over at Beryl and nodded.

“On behalf of my husband-to-be and I, we thank you very much for your kind gift and your good wishes. You have a lovely little place here, and if we ever get the chance to return again we shall certainly do so!”

We said our farewells and Beryl clasped my hand tightly as we made our way out of the café and back towards the car.

“First chance we get, I shall get you that ring, Beryl!” She smiled: “As you wish, Love, but I have your heart and that will do nicely for the time being!”

Something that we’d picked up on our tour of Buckfastleigh was a tourist guide for Devon, and looking through it the name ‘Okehampton’ appeared frequently, to the extent that we decided to take a look for ourselves. With the intention of following a route suggested by the map in my atlas, Beryl and I settled down for the journey, which I estimated would take about another hour at a steady average speed. We travelled in an approximately northerly direction until we reached the edge of the moor near Whiddon Down, where our route took us about eight miles westward, while still skirting the moor.

The town of Okehampton was in some ways similar to Buckfastleigh in our estimation; that is, it was another nice little country town in an equally nice location. What it did have to offer, however, was a good selection of pubs to choose from; almost too many, in fact, as it was difficult to choose one over several attractive options. In the end we did select one, whereupon we were rewarded with an enjoyable meal that highlighted the best of traditional English cooking. One of the main reasons apart from the food for choosing that particular hostelry, was the outside seating area where we could sit and enjoy a post-meal drink while we basked in the late afternoon sunshine.

By the time that we got back to our accommodation that day, the sun was already setting but darkness had still not descended completely. Having eaten heartily during the day, we settled down with another cup of tea, and for the rest of the evening Beryl and I were snuggled up together as we listened to the radio. Presaged by a bout of yawning, my new fiancée made it clear that her bedtime was approaching. After driving across Dartmoor and back, with several stops along the way, I was also ready for my rest. We tidied up in readiness for the morning, when we had had agreed to give the beach another go. I was waiting for Beryl to wish me the usual goodnight, but instead she took my hand: “We are engaged now, Ron, so I think that the bedroom should now be ours and not just mine.” I nodded my head in acceptance and allowed myself to be led towards the beckoning boudoir.