Hello fellow writers!! Even though I have a story going on at the moment, I couldn't resist putting up another! lol! This one will be another McDean piece but it will be set in the 1940s during WW2. There will be some changes but that will be only to accomodate to the period. There will be the other characters in there as well. I'm so looking forward to it. I have set in out like a novel and I will post the next chapter very soon. Hope you like it love HellyGirl xxxxx

My Dear Johnnie: By Lord C.W. Dean -Earl of Chester

Preface:

I stare out of the window over looking the rolling gardens, tiny little flecks of green growing out the cold, hard and frost covered earth. Flowers are a lot like men, no matter how tough and barbaric the winter is, they never can be cut down, they will always come back. Rebirth amongst destruction. Life after death. I approach the desk and sit myself down. I stare at the typewriter, a piece of paper inserted and all ready for me to start but I hold back. Even though I know what to write and I have long thought about it, it has been plaguing in my mind for the past sixty-eight years.

I have been silent for so long because I had to keep quiet in order to survive the controlling values and state of society at the time. But now it is all beginning to change, spring has come for us, slowly melting away the prejudice and hatred away, slowly but surely. People are coming to accept us. Now with the new legislation put in place last year, allowing us to marry I wish that this could have happen all those years ago even though I know that this would have been futile, not just because of the society at the time but the one I wanted to marry was taken away from me. Now it is time, to tell the story, not just mine but also his.

I start typing away slowly on the typewriter, the clacking of the keys is a comforting sound to me, taking me back to the happy times of the countless summers when I wrote many plays and stories as a young lad. It is time to write one last story. In addition it is because I just cannot work computers and the typewriter makes it all the more personal and this story is very personal. It has been constantly on my soul throughout the many decades. I write slowly, my arthritis not exactly helping my flow but I soldier on. This book is about many things, war and peace, death and life but also about love. It is mainly about love, a forbidden love, a beautiful love that could never be known until now. In fact, love and war are so intertwined that it is impossible for one to live without the other. Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up. No matter how long he has gone, he will always be with me and here is our story.

‘To Johnnie, I will always love you Craig x’

Wow
That's all I can say really, I'm lost for words
And that doesn't happen all too often.

Amazing start I love McDean fics set in the 40s (though there arent many of that genre lol)

Chapter One – A very better class:

Ever since the day of my birth, I always knew my place in society. It was rigorously installed into me of what was to be expected, my duty to my country and to my family’s aristocratic heritage. My family are the descendants of the Earls of Chester, which has existed ever since the eleventh century and had wielded immense power especially during the Victorian age. However, ever since the Great War, our power declined as our wealth was based on our estate, Dean Manor and with the loss of work force meant that Dean Manor unfortunately became a liability rather than an asset. Many other noble families were forced to sell their estates which became commonplace. My mother, Lady Frances Dean fought with all her might to keep Dean Manor by selling her jewellery and many valuable antiques to help pay the costs. We always scrapped by with the skin of our teeth, Mother always making us keep face despite our poor disposition. Dean Manor is a grand and exquisitely built stone Elizabethan building, covered in a lush carpet of green ivy, its roots so penetrated into the cracks and crevices of the walls that it must have been there as long as the house itself. There are over hundred rooms, and I still get lost sometimes even though I have lived here all my life. My brother Jake, my sister Stephanie and I would play hide and seek for hours when it was wet and we had to stay indoors. It would take us all day just to play one game, as it was so easy to never be found.

Drawing rooms, music rooms, banquet halls, ballrooms, studies, libraries, bedrooms, bathrooms, vast kitchens, servants quarters and magnificent gardens. Despite living in Dean Manor all my life, it has never felt like home. All the never-ending rooms with its precious antiques, exquisite furniture and ornate artwork, it was always so cold and foreign to me. My real home, my inner sanctum was my bedroom; I would spend hours in there when I was not away at school reading books and writing stories, stories on a life that I always dreamed about, a normal one. I just wanted to run about and go to the Village to play cricket or football with the other boys. I would run to the fence surrounding the edge of the Dean estate and watch them walking to and from the Village school, laughing and chatting gaily. They seemed so happy and content and I longed to join them, not only the fence separating me but also the rigid social class structure. I was trained by private tutors and then was shipped off to the exclusive all boys school, Eton College when I was 13 just like my elder brother and all my male ancestors before me since 1440. I excelled in all my subjects and can speak French, Spanish, German as well as Latin fluently. Even though I was one of Eton’s top students, I was never popular, always alone in the library studying for the next assignment. I could never fit in with my social group and outside as they regarded as a spoilt toff and Mother would not let me associate with them as she regarded as too ‘common.’ However, despite having one of the finest educations in the world, none of that could prepare me for the autumn of 1939 and the following events.

To be perfectly honest, I never really knew my father, Lord John Archibald Dean. He died when I was five and the only way I got to see him after that was by going through the many photograph albums when I went rooting as a child. He was a tall lean man with thick dark hair like Jake’s and mine with a moustache but not fierce looking as most Victorian men in photographs were. “He was a wonderful man,” Mother would always say whenever she talked him, her stock phrase for men she liked. She said that he was keen on travel and went on many trips all over Europe and Asia, his last trip was to India where he caught the cholera that would eventually kill him. Mother was very headstrong woman, confident and always spoke her mind even though she grew up in a time were children were to be seen and not heard and women were considered as subordinate to men. She was the glue that held the family together. Their marriage was definitely one of love and but also escape. My father’s own mother, my grandmother had died when he was young and my grandfather overwhelmed with the task of raising three sons alone had hurriedly remarried. His stepmother was a narrow and vicious woman, something out of a fairy story. She was pious, church going and hypocrite who would beat him and his younger brothers George and Charles and then told lies about them so that her husband would give them the strap again. She immortalised herself in the family once on a visit to her country home when we were little by saying my brother Jake, “Get off that stool you! Or I’ll kick you off!” The funeral was an event of undiluted joy, sheer hysteria breaking out amongst the mourners as the coffin was lowered into the grave and Mother slipped and nearly went after it.

My brother Jake was everything that was expected of an heir to a noble family and everything that I desperately longed to be. Handsome, strong, intelligent and with a razor sharp sense for business it was him that managed to save to Dean Manor and the family from liquidation. He had a love of nature, he knew all the trees and plants that grew in the grounds and went on long walks particularly around dusk. Stephanie was a different kettle of fish altogether. Beautiful and blonde like her mother, she was always in a world of her own. Stephanie would always be in a daydream, mainly of stardom. She always wanted be a dancer or an actress even though she was not exactly abundant in talent. She encouraged me in writing my plays and she would force Jake and I and even some of the housekeeping staff to perform them with her having the main part naturally. Of course, I loved them and if I were an only child, I would probably die of insanity in that house, as they were my only company. After a few years of widowhood, Mother then remarried with the Earl Osborne, Jack who had a son from a previous marriage Darren. I never got on with Darren much and neither did Jake or Stephanie. Self absorbed and obsessed with money, he always strutted around the place as if he was the heir not Jake and he resented that. No matter how high and low you are on the social ladder all families are the same and have the same trials and tribulations no matter what class you are. It was the summer of 1939, I was nineteen and fresh out of Eton. I had come home for the summer before going to Oxford to study Languages and History. It was the summer when it all changed, not just for me but for everybody. War reared its ugly head once again.

Wonderfully written again I love it

Chapter Two - Just a Shop Boy:

When it comes to writing stories particularly autobiographies, you always have to talk about yourself, give the reader a bit about your background before you can start the actual story. To be perfectly honest, there is not much to talk about me really. My name is John Paul Matthias McQueen and the only thing exciting about my birth was that I was born on 21st August 1921, the day that America had formally ended the First World War, declaring peace with Germany. I grew up in a big family; constantly surrounded by women as my mother Myra had four other daughters: Jacqueline, Mercedes, Tina, Carmel and Michaela. She had us all one after the other, Jacqueline and Mercedes by one father Michael Johnson who died in 1915, just one out of the thousands of fatalities in the Somme just after Mercy was born. Tina was a result of one night of passion with the singer of a black jazz band who came to play in the Loft, the Village dance hall one night. Mother still bereft with the loss of Michael just wanted to have a man in her arms again, no matter what colour he was. After she gave birth to Tina, she was adamant to keep her despite Nana’s protestations to have her given away. Of course, there was controversy over it but the Village soon accepted her and especially as another black family was living in the Village already, the Valentines and Calvin being the Village’s police officer, highly respected by everyone. Carmel, Michaela and I born by her second husband Ricky Bowen who was in always in prison mainly for burglary offences and they eventually got divorced.

Despite her disasters with love, Mother always remained a reverent Catholic and had never missed one Mass service in her entire life. Apart from going to church and working as a cleaner, she was always cooking. It was wonderful to come home after a hard day at school or work to find a steaming hot casserole or pie waiting for us to tuck in. As I write this, I feel so hungry; thinking about many happy memories of Mother’s famous rabbit pie and then Spotted Dick for pudding, all of us dozing on the settee in front of the fire listening to the songs on the wireless warms my heart. Our family homestead, Orchard Cottage just off the Village was always bustling with life and laughter. We had a patch of land at the back, which we turned into an allotment, roots, summer vegetables, salad leaves, herbs and fruits so we were never low on fresh vegetables and eggs as we also kept a few chickens in a pen. The house is a lot more quieter now as there is only me, Mum, Michaela and Carmel as Jacqueline, Mercedes and Tina have now gotten married and have gone to live with their husbands. Jacqui married to Tony, the owner of the café Tony’s, Tina married to Dominique, Tony’s brother and Mercedes married to Russell Owen, the English teacher at the local comprehensive school. Despite being married and having their own homes, they always came by regularly to visit us after work and stay for dinner. It was impossible to get a word in edgeways at the dinner table when you like women like my sisters, as they were all marathon talkers and were always constantly gossiping. Whilst Jacqui worked with her husband in the café and Tina as a secretary for an accountant in town, Carmel and Mercedes were proud to call themselves ‘Career Girls’ which really meant shop assistants. They worked in a shoe shop in town and they called themselves the ‘manageresses’ of the shop. These were not official titles; it just meant that they were the long serving staff there. They would come to Orchard Cottage after work, ordering me to put the fire on and heat them basins of warm water for their sore feet as all the shoes were on shelves and they had to go up and down ladders like sailors on the rigging.

The house will be even quieter now I suppose as Carmel will probably soon marry her beau, Aleksander Malota. He had come from Russia and was an amazing pianist, violinist and composer only he had to stop what with the oppressing force of Communism, his music was considered to be ‘bourgeois’ and so went to work in a steel works. He then worked his way up the career ladder to deputy manager when one of his fellow colleagues denounced as a ‘class enemy’ in order to get his job. He said that he was bundled off into the middle of the night, shoved to one of the many freight carts on a train with a hundred other people, all squashed together like cattle and then carted to the notoriously cold and desolate Siberia where he was forced to work to death in a gulag. At one point, he was even put before a firing squad only for his name to be called out and reprieved at the last moment. “Well,” said Mother, “the Russians must have known that your sisters were running short of stuff to talk about!” He then finished his sentence and with falsified documents managed to escape Russia, travelling across Europe, through Germany and France and then across the Channel in a small fishing boat to England where he toured with an orchestra, until he arrived in Hollyoaks where he met my sister and has stayed here ever since. Whether he was born perfect pitch, I do not know, as he would play the violin along to the English tunes on the wireless, telling you the notes as easily as if he was spelling a word. He still did the odd concert now and again, performing with bands at the Loft, our local dance hall whilst working on the Roach Farm in between.

I have now finished studying at Hollyoaks Comprehensive and passed all my exams with flying colours. I am now working as a shop boy at Ashworth & Sons Grocery Emporium for the summer before I go to do my teacher training at the local Polytechnic. It’s good money, Mr Ashworth is a good boss, and there is always plenty for me to do. However, today I just cannot concentrate, tins and vegetables falling everywhere as I pack customer’s bags, my hands are slightly shaking. Mr Ashworth snaps at me to pull myself together but I just cannot, I have never felt so nervous in my entire life. This evening filling my stomach with a mixture of anticipation and dread. After work, I go home and start to get ready for tonight. I stand in front of my small mirror, very carefully shaving myself with a cutthroat razor, as my electric one is broken. As I reach the tricky part, my neck I jump as the door bursts open and Mercedes swans in. “Mercy!” I yelp, exasperated as she always barges in without knocking, “do you mind! I nearly cut made me cut my jugular!” “Sorry!” Mercedes sighs wearily as she grabs the mirror and applies her bright lipstick, “Carmel and Michaela are hogging the bathroom and bedroom mirror again!” “Well, they do live here!” I pointed as I snatch the mirror back off her, “You do have your own home you know! What with the new look?” I ask as I noticed she has had her hair freshly permed and she was wearing a new red with black lace overlay dress. “I’m going to town,” Mercy replies and she adjusts her hair and gives a disinterested look, “Russ is taking me to see a play, Noel Gay’s Me and My Girl, something like that. I rather go to the dance hall but Russ says he wants to absorb some ‘culture.’” “Me and My girl!” I cry in disbelief, “I have always wanted to see that! Besides maybe if you don’t go to the dance hall, you don’t want to dally with Warren Fox again, do you?” I point out seriously. “That was one time and it won’t happen again. Besides he’s engaged to that Miss Summers, the owner of the beauty salon,” Mercedes ignores my jab and notices that I have my best suit over my chair by my bed. “Where are you going then?” she asks quizzically whilst I continue shaving. “Just to the Loft,” I try to sound casual though I stutter, “they have a good swing band on tonight.” “You have been to the Loft a million times and you never dress as smart as that,” Mercedes quipped as I finish shaving. I try to protest but I choke and she pounces on my weakness.

“You’re taking a girl,” she smirked, “you’re taking that Hannah Ashworth aren’t you?” she demanded, eager to get any scrap of gossip. “Yes, she asked me in the shop today, but not just her,” I added quickly, “we’re going as group, her brother Rhys, her cousin Beth, Gilly and her best friend Sarah that’s all.” “Yeah sure,” Mercedes raised her eyebrow, not believing a word I’m saying, “have a good time brother,” she grins as she pats my cheek before racing out of the room giggling. “Mercy!” I yell after her as I clutch my cheek as she put a load of aftershave on it just after I dry shaved which stings like hell. After I sort myself and I leave to go and pick Hannah up I feel a huge knot develop in the pit of my stomach, Mercy’s words just making feel me a hundred times worse. I knock on her front door and wait for an answer, praying that tonight will not be a total disaster.

Amazing once more I loved it

Chapter 3 – A Night to Remember:

I stand outside the shop, all dizzy with fear and nerves. I hastily smooth my dress; my yellow crepe day dress with a matching hat. I take out my compact and check my make up and hair, desperately hoping that I look like Jean Harlow. He said that he saw her in a film once and said she was divine. I hope that he thinks I am divine. Oh god, I have butterflies in my stomach again, I feel sick. Alright, just calm yourself down Hannah Ashworth, you can do this, you can do this! I take a deep breath, stride towards the shop, and open the door. Oh my! There he is, looking dashing as always behind that counter in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up with a green apron over his work trousers. Oh goodness, he is looking at me, staring at me with those amazing blue eyes of his, like deep oceans or clear skies; I can never decide they always change hue. Stay calm! Stay calm and focused! “Good morning John Paul,” I say politely as I walk around the shop to show that I am browsing and not stalking him. Oh god I hope he does not think that, that I am stalking him! “Morning Miss Ashworth,” he replies with that wonderful voice of his, his irrepressible smile turning my legs to jelly in a second. “It’s a fine day today isn’t it?” he smiles back brightly though slightly shy. Before I can reply, my father enters the shop from the stockroom. “Oh why does he have to be here!” I curse myself as he approaches me. “Morning Hannah poppet,” he smiles though slightly puzzled at me being here. “Morning Papa,” I smile back and kiss him on the cheek, “what are you doing here? I thought that you would not be in the shop this morning. I thought that you have that delivery today?” I ask him, trying to sound calm although my heart is racing whilst John Paul attends to a customer. “No I sent your brother Rhys to do it,” Father replies happily, “besides a man must never leave his business unattended.” “Oh I’m sure that you have staff good and trustworthy enough to look after the shop alone Papa,” I reply, hoping that John Paul recognises that I am paying him a compliment. Papa nods before asking, “Anyway what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at secretarial school?” he asks me quizzically.

“Oh I have the day off,” I reply quickly as we go over to the counter, “Miss Buxton is sick, a dodgy stomach,” I explain. “Well you tell her to come to us,” Papa nods briskly, “Ashworth & Sons Milk of Magnesia will settle her ailing stomach in a jiffy, won’t it John Paul?” he asks him as John Paul finishes packing the customer’s bags. “Yes Sir,” he nods seriously, trying to be in my father’s good books, “Mother swears by it.” Papa nods, satisfied by his answer before saying, “I better go and do the books. John Paul look after the shop, I will be back down in an hour. I will see you this evening sweetheart,” he smiles at me and kisses me fondly on the cheek.” “Bye Papa,” I smile back, trying so hard not to blush as he leaves the shop, leaving John Paul and me alone together. I approach the counter, trying hard not to wobble or trip. “You err, you err look,” he stammers as I stand opposite him. Oh I hope he says I look beautiful, even nice would suffice. “You want some corned beef?” he blurts out suddenly, “we have it on special offer!” I try hard not to giggle as he waves his hand frantically in the direction of the display, he is always nervous when he is around me and Sarah said it is a sure sign that he likes me. “Actually I’m not here for corned beef,” I smile as he tries to steady his nerves. “Oh, right,” he replies nervously, “what do you have in mind Miss Ashworth?” “John Paul, how many times must I tell you to stop calling me Miss Ashworth? You can call me Hannah, you know,” I smile as I see his hands are slightly shaking. “Sorry Miss Ash, Han, Hannah,” he stumbles, “I only call you that as it is a term of respect; after all you are my boss’s daughter.” “But we are friends too, we went to school together,” I point out, I really hope that he doesn’t see as a girl that he has to be polite to in order to be on his boss’s good side. “Yes, friends, of course,” he smiles happily whilst he fiddles with apron, trying to look neat. “Actually I have come to ask if you would like to come to the Loft with me tonight?” I take the plunge and ask him what I have wanted to ask for months, years in fact. “The Loft, tonight?” he looks taken aback by my invitation and quickly I add, “Not just me. Sarah, Gilly, Beth and Rhys are coming too, a nice little group, it should be jolly good fun.” “Yes, sure why not?” he puts on a big grin, “what fun!” “Great,” I smile demurely back though inside I am dancing and whooping for joy, “come round 7 o’ clock, then we’ll walk there.” “Sure, looking forward to it,” he replies slightly nervous. “See you later,” I smile and leave the shop, feeling like I have died and gone to heaven. I have asked John Paul McQueen out to a dance, my first date!

“Oh Sarah, can I borrow your lipstick?” I beg as I scrutinise myself in front of the mirror for the millionth time. “Sure,” Sarah hands me the lipstick, she is round at my house, getting ready for tonight, “if you let me have some of your perfume, the one your father got for you when he went to Paris.” “Deal,” I nod, worrying if I look alright. Sarah looks gorgeous as always, like Norma Shearer in her cranberry velvet and taffeta dress. I wish I could look like her no matter how many times she reassures that I am beautiful. “Now which one should I wear?” I hold up two dresses, “the midnight blue velvet gown that goes with my hair or the chocolate velvet dress that brings out my eyes? What do you think?” I start to panic, getting breathless with nerves and excitement. “Calm down Han!” Sarah laughs a merry laugh, “why are you getting so worked up? We went to the Loft last week and you weren’t as near as panicky as this!” I blush scarlet, thinking about earlier and she locks onto my reds cheeks. It’s a sure sign that I am either embarrassed or thinking about him. “You asked him! You finally asked John Paul!” she smiles wickedly, “I never thought you would, you been as shy as a mouse! You get so flustered whenever you see him, the last time you went into the shop, you managed to buy a sack of hayseed, a garden rack and 20 pounds of brown sugar! When did you ask him?” she demands, wanting to know everything. “This morning,” I cannot help smiling and giggling, “and I just want to look perfect, everything has to be perfect tonight.” “Sure,” Sarah nods eyeing the dresses and then deciding, “Definitely the midnight blue one, you look ravishing in that.” Sarah helps me with my makeup and hair; she is such a good friend giving me advice. She is so much more knowledgeable in the world of romance than I am; all I know about romance is from what I have read in books. “Perfect,” she smiles, pleased with her work as I admire myself in the mirror. “Oh Sarah,” I ask hesitantly, “can you try to keep Rhys away from me and John Paul; you know what he’s like. I want tonight to go well without him acting all big brother on me.” “Sure, anything for my best friend, good luck Han,” Sarah smiles and we share a hug as we hear a knock on the door. “Hannah, John Paul’s here,” Josh shouts from the sitting room. I rush to the top of the stairs and shout back, “Josh!” “What!” he yells back. “I can’t just open the door, I have to make him wait a while!” I explain wearily, my baby brother lacking any knowledge in the world of courting. “Why?” he demands puzzled. “It creates a romantic and mysterious suspense!” I snap back, why are my brothers always like this? “Then he can wait out on the doorstep!” Rhys quips sarcastically as he comes out of the living room; another knock is sounded on the door. “Rhys please!” I beg desperately, “come on!”

Rhys sighs wearily and goes to open the front door. “Evening Rhys,” I hear John Paul as he enters, “is Han-” “She’s not ready yet,” Rhys interrupts him, I wish he was not always so rude to him. Sarah joins me on the landing and we walk down the stairs, trying to look as elegant and glamorous as possible. I am bursting with joy as I see that he cannot take his eyes off me. Sarah was right; the midnight blue dress was definitely the right choice. “Hello John Paul,” I smile friendly as we came to the foot of the staircase. “You, you, look, stunning,” he gasps for breath whilst Rhys gives a dark look, not that I care. “Thank you,” I remain calm, shooting Rhys a look to warn not to spoil this for me, “you look very handsome yourself.” “Thanks,” he grins nervously back, straightening his tie. “I guess we better get going,” Beth smiles as she and Gilly come out of the sitting room. We all walk to the dance hall, me and John Paul’s conservation is very awkward and stilted but I am sure we’ll relax once we get into the Loft. The dance hall is packed, the band in full swing, everyone jiving. We all go to the bar and he buys me a Martini whilst he gets a pint of ale. We have a couple more drinks; our conservation is slightly getting more easier. “Oh I love this song, dance with me!” I cry as my favourite song comes on, I take him by the hand and I led onto the dance floor. We start doing the foxtrot, my favourite dance. I am having such a magical time and John Paul is to my surprise an amazing dancer. We are dancing so well that everyone else stops dancing to watch us, cheering us on as we glide across the dance floor. When we finished there were a huge applause and I have never felt so happy in my entire life, it felt like I was dancing with my dream man amongst the stars and I never want to come back down. “I’m pooped, let’s go out for some air,” John Paul says into my ear and gently takes my by the hand and I follow him out onto the balcony. As the cool June night air hits our hot faces, he breaths a contented sigh, I think it is a contented sigh. “Do you want one?” I offer him a cigarette. “Oh no thanks,” he politely declines, “don’t stop on my account though.” I put the cigarette in my mouth and he lights it for me. “Thanks,” I smile as I blow out the smoke, trying to look seductive with my red lipstick and permed blonde hair. “I didn’t know that you were such a good dancer,” I say to break the silence, “I have never seen you dance. How did you get to be so good?” I ask curiously. “Comes from years of having five sisters wanting to learn the latest dances,” he gives a shy smile which I adore, “they are always wanting a male lead to practice on. I know all the dances, foxtrot, waltz, lindy hop, jive, swing and the Charleston.” He finishes talking and there is an awkward silence again, both of us incredibly shy.

“How are you finding it?” I blurt out suddenly, “working in the shop I mean?” I blush, feeling like a right fool. “It’s good,” he nods quickly; “your father is a great boss. It’s a great job, good money. I like it, I like working with people, helping and talking to the customers you know.” I take a deep breath and edge a little closer to him, “are there any customers that you like in particular?” I ask casually, though inside I am just dying to know. “Yes,” he answers after a long pause, “there is one customer that I really like.” “Really?” I cannot help replying eagerly. “Yes,” he turns to look at me with those beautiful blue eyes of his, “a beautiful, blonde and amazing young woman who buys 20lbs of sugar and garden racks every time she comes in!” I giggle and he laughs too, and when we have finishing laughing he takes my hand and strokes it softly. “I care about you Hannah Ashworth,” he says in a serious tone, “I have cared about you for a long time and I would love it if you would be my girl.” “Oh John Paul!” I gasp as I drop my cigarette, “I want to your girl more than anything else in the world!” Suddenly a force overcomes me and makes me grab him by the suit lapels and pull him in for a kiss. Our lips lock and he leans me backwards and holds the back of head like they do in the movies. It is an experience I will never forget, he is so soft and tender that I just do not want to stop. We do though as Sarah bursts onto the balcony and our moment is interrupted. “Quick Rhys is coming!” she hisses as we sort ourselves out. “Hello Hannah,” Rhys says as he, Gilly and Beth come out onto the balcony, “I think it’s best that we go home,” he eyes me, I know he knows that I have been kissing John Paul. “Of course,” I smile politely back and we all walk home together, John Paul and I are silent, my lips still tingling from that beautiful kiss earlier. We come to his place, Orchard Cottage and we say our goodbyes. “I guess I will see you soon then,” I say nervously as I walk him to his front door, “I had a wonderful night.” “Me too,” he replies softly and then he reaches out and picks one of soft pink roses that is growing in an arch around the door and tucks it behind my left ear. “A beautiful flower for my beautiful girl,” he whispers before gently kissing me on the hand like a gentleman and also because my brother and everyone else is watching. “Goodnight John Paul,” I blush and smile before I walk down the front path. As we walk towards home, I look back and he is watching until we go around the corner. Once we took Sarah and Beth home, I go straight to my bedroom. After I take off my make up and put on my nightdress ready for bed I take the rose and put it my flower press so that the flower can last as long as the memory of tonight and its kiss will last, forever.

Woah!! this is BRILLIANT!!!
u HAVE to do more plz

Chapter 4 – Wartime Cinderella:

We walk into the church, Mother and Jack lead us in with Jake with his wife Nancy, Darren behind them and then I last, all dressed in our Sunday best. As we dip our fingers into the bowl of holy water and make the sign of the cross, a shiver runs down my spine as we enter the cold stone edifice and take our usual places at the front, the hard wooden pews not actually comforting on the back. We come every Sunday to the Village church for Mass, the only time that we would ever mix with the locals. The service soon starts and the priest, deacon and altar servers walk down the aisle to the altar whilst the congregation is singing a hymn. At first, I try to sing along but this time I just cannot concentrate, as today I am thoroughly unnerved. At breakfast this morning, I read in the newspaper that Germany and Russia had made a Non Aggression Pact. Mother had been relieved, thinking that there might not be a war on after all. “It’s a farce!” Jake snapped suddenly as he slammed his fist onto the table, “why would the Germans make a treaty with the Russians who are their complete ideological opponents! They are just making sure that they do not have a two-fronted war!” That was not the only thing that we were tense about, Jake has qualified for RAF and was now training to be a fighter pilot and Mother and Jack expected me to do the same. However, when I failed the exam there was hostility from both sides. To be perfectly honest, I never wanted to be a pilot. I am sick of people, especially Mother thinking that I should be just like Jake, the golden son who can never do a thing wrong. They completely ignore the fact that I am my own person and have my own ambitions. Personally, I would rather not be involved in the war at all, but what with the imminent events looming right in front of our faces, it was obvious that I would have no say in the matter.

As the priest prepared the Holy Communion, my eyes scan the church taking in all the icons and stained glass windows with various Biblical scenes. I do sometimes wonder that if God created the world in 6 days then he should have taken a bit longer, then maybe it would be a much better place and there would be no war. I f I were God; I would certainly do things a lot differently. As my eyes move away from the window, they catch on something, something so beautiful it knocks the breath out of my lungs. It is a girl, a young woman on a pew level to me on the other side of the aisle. She looked like a vision; it was as if a heavenly angel had come down to earth, into this church of all places. Her dark eyes watch the priest with interest, her soft feminine hands resting gently on the hymnbook that was sitting on her lap. Her dark brown chocolate like hair framing her beautifully and delicate structured face is so mesmerising I cannot help but stare. She opens the hymnbook to the page for the next song and I watch her soft sensual mouth move as she sings the words so sweetly like a nightingale. The priest then calls us to take Holy Communion and the first row goes up to the front. As we kneel down, I notice that she is kneeling beside me. As I look out of the corner of my eye, I see her sipping the wine, the red lips almost kissing the silver chalice. I try to stop myself shaking with desire as the priest places the wafer gently on her pink tongue, so arousing and intoxicating despite it being the holiest of ceremonies. She notices that I am watching her and gives me a small yet seductive smile. Both our eyes meet, both smouldering and dark with desire. Unfortunately, the priest interrupts our moment of connection and reluctantly we go back to our pews and the service continues as always. We force ourselves not to look at each other again, not only the amazing feeling we felt between us but also the fact that there were many eyes upon us too.

We come out of the church, everyone including my family thanking the priest for the wonderful service as usual when I spot her again, talking to another woman of her age with blonde hair. They must be friends as they link arms, laughing away happily. I notice that as they walk away, that she had dropped her glove. Something inside me, I do not know what made me push my way through the crowd, desperately trying to reach her. When I break free, I scoop up the glove from the gravel path and break into a run to catch up with them, running faster than I ever done at school. “Madame!” I call out as I catch up with, “Madame!” I call again. Both girls turn their heads to see which one of them I was calling for. The blonde friend looks bemused as I grind to a stop in front of them, whilst the girl gave a playful smile. “You forget your glove,” I said breathlessly from the running, holding it out to her, a brown glove made of the softest leather. “Thank you,” she replies politely, taking the glove off me, a shock shooting through me as our hands touch, “they’re my favourites, I wouldn’t know what I would do if I lost one.” “May I escort you home,” I blurt out, blushing even redder what with the running. “Sorry, I don’t just let random men walk me home,” she smiles, her dark eyes all mischievous as she slips her gloves onto her slender hands and she and her friend start to walk away. “Maybe I could meet you in the Loft sometimes, this Friday perhaps,” I run after her, so determined to see her again. “You don’t give up, do you,” she laughs, a beautiful laugh like glass bells that lights up my eyes and she senses that. “Come on Sarah, let’s go,” her friend tugged at her arm and they continue to walk away. “Was that a yes then?” I call after her, not caring if my family or anyone else is watching. “No,” she calls back. “Was that a no then,” I call back and for some reason I just could not help smiling. “No!” she calls back laughing. “I’ll see 8.00 then, Sarah,” I reply, grinning with delight as the girls disappear around the corner. For one moment, I had forgotten all my troubles, and even with the war looming ahead like a thundercloud, Sarah had burst through the cloud like a ray of sunlight and captured my heart.

Excellent!!!

Chapter 5 – Summer of Love:

“So are you going to the Loft with him then?” I ask curiously as me and Sarah finished our walk around the park after Mass as we always did. Sarah ponders for a moment with a thoughtful look on her face as she looks at her gloved hands. “Maybe,” was all she said. “You have got to admit it was so romantic,” I reply as we left the park, entering the Village, “so beautiful and perfect. Giving you back your glove like that, it is so archetypical like Cinderella with her glass slipper. Resonates in your imagination doesn’t it?” “Hannah Mary Ashworth, you read far too many romance books!” Sarah laughs at my over amorous imagination, “I suppose he’s quite handsome, better than Zachary Ramsay.” She gives a coy smile before saying, “if I meet him, you can come with me. You could bring John Paul along too,” she nudges me as we past the café and she notices that I have gone quiet and my cheeks have suffused with colour. “So have you gone out with him again yet?” she asks curiously, as we stop outside Ashworth & Sons Grocery Emporium. “No not yet,” I reply warily as the village slowly begins to creep back into life as everyone returns from church. “I knew it!” Sarah grins wide with triumph, “I knew you wouldn’t have the guts to ask him out again!” “We have just both been busy,” I protest firmly, “He’s busy in the shop all the time and I’m at secretarial school. Besides he said I’m his girl so that must mean something,” I point out trying to keep my temper. “You can’t be his girl unless he has met your parents,” Sarah retorts, “you know your parents will not give you their blessing to court him unless he comes round for dinner. Not that you will have the courage to ask anyway.” “I do!” I snap back, becoming utterly determined to prove her wrong. “Alright, a shilling says you don’t” Sarah replies firmly and we shake on it.

As we confirm our bet, I see John Paul come out of the shop. He smiles as he sees me but does not wave, only because he is carrying a crate full of apples. I give Sarah a bold and confident smile before striding up to him. “Afternoon John Paul,” I smile as I approach him just as he had put the apples on the outside display alongside the other fruit and veg. “Hello Hannah,” he replies chirpily as he dusts his hands down on his apron, “what can I do for you?” “I was wondering you would like to -” I begin but stop short as Papa comes out onto the front step. “Ah John Paul, there you are,” he says briskly as he approaches us, we take a step apart from each other, “I want you to do a delivery for me.” “Of course Mr. Ashworth sir,” John Paul replies respectfully as he takes off his apron and Papa hands him three crates of produce. “Just as well you are still in your church clothes,” Papa nods impressed at John Paul’s neatness, “you’re to go to Dean Manor and it is the first time that they have used Ashworth & Sons and if Lady Dean sees you, you must look top notch. If we obtain them as full time customers it will do wonders for the business and our reputation.” “Yes of course Mr Ashworth, I’ll be over there in a jiffy,” John Paul adds politely before strapping on the crates to the back of his Triumph motorcycle. Papa nods and gives me a smile before going back into the shop. I turn round to see Sarah grinning smugly. As I go to get my purse to give her a shilling, John Paul comes up alongside me, sitting on the motorcycle and pushing it along with his feet. “Do you want to come along with me?” he asks me, nodding his head to show that there was enough room for a second person. “Sure!” I grin as I get on behind and put on the spare helmet carefully over my hair. Sarah’s mouth gapes like a goldfish as I hop on, as I am the last girl in Hollyoaks to be riding on a motorcycle with a boy. “Quick, before my father sees us,” I whisper into his ear and wrap my arms tightly around his waist. John Paul nods as he twists the throttle wide open and we roar away in a cloud of dust. It feels so amazing holding onto John Paul’s warm and toned chest as we speed through the maze of twisting and narrow country lanes. We could not talk as the wind rushing past our ears made it impossible for us to hear what the other was saying. “Oh my goodness!” I gasp in disbelief as we slow down, riding over the sweeping gravel drive leading up to Dean Manor. It looks so beautiful; I have always saw it from a distance walking to and from school but never as close as this.

“Come on,” John Paul smiles gently as he lends me his hand to help me off the motorcycle. “Thanks,” I smile back as he takes the crates off the bike and he carries them towards the house, me walking along side him. I see the front door and I rush ahead to get to it. Just as I am about to pull the rope to sound the front bell he stops me, “Hannah, what are you doing?” he looks puzzled. “Getting the door for you,” I reply back happily. “Hannah, deliveries are always in the back!” John Paul bursts into laughter and I flush scarlet at my foolishness though I cannot help laughing too. After asking a stable lad, we found the outside door leading to the manor’s kitchens. I rap smartly at the door as John Paul is unable to do so and the door is opened a few moments later by a middle age woman, proportioned like a cottage loaf with grey hair tied in a hard little knot behind with two wire hairpins stuck aggressively through it. “What can I do for you?” she asks suspiciously. “I’m with Ashworth & Sons,” John Paul stammers slightly, “bringing you your delivery.” The woman, possibly the head cook takes this in and nods, “fine, help me bring it then.” She waves us in and we walk into a huge kitchen with many undercooks charging about, various aromas arousing the senses. As John Paul placed the last crate on the fifteen-foot long kitchen table, someone entered and everyone stopped and curtsied. “Hello Martha,” a woman, dressed impeccably comes over to us, “what’s going on here?” she eyes us warily. “Delivery has just come through Lady Dean,” Martha curtsies before replying, “from Ashworth & Sons Grocery Emporium in Hollyoaks Village.” Lady Dean steps towards the boxes and looks at the produce lying like gleaming gems in a bed of fresh hay. “Looks fresh,” she remarks as she picks up an apple. “Picked just this morning Lady Dean,” I add in hastily, “all our produce is organic. Mr Ashworth, my father believes that fruit and vegetables have a far superior taste if the nature around them has not been tampered by chemicals.” Lady Dean looks impressed before unwrapping something, “what is this?” she questions as she sees it is a piece of meat. “It is beef Lady Dean,” John Paul speaks up, “of the finest quality as well of course.” “Well beef is my favourite,” Lady Dean smiles demurely as she gives the meat to Martha, “I shall have it for dinner tonight and if it is good then I will use your employer’s business again,” as she says this she gives John Paul two crowns, “please pass my complements to your master.” “I shall,” John Paul cannot help beaming, “a man is always glad to know that his work is appreciated.” John Paul gives a slight bow and me a curtsey and we politely leave the kitchens.

We burst into giggles as we walk back to John Paul’s motorcycle. “That must be the biggest tip I have ever got!” John Paul says as he looks at the two shiny coins resting in the palm of his hand. “So what are you going to do with the money?” I ask as we approach the bike. “I think I have an idea,” John Paul gives a secretive smile before helping me back onto the bike and we set off again. After driving for a few hundred yards, we have to stop as a farmer is coming down the road with his sheep. As we wait, I look around, taking in Dean Manor and its grounds and fields for one last time when my eyes catch on something. I see three people riding horses in Dean land nearby. One man is riding a black Arab stallion at a leisurely pace. The other two are racing each other, a young woman with flowing blonde hair on a beautiful white horse but the other man really intrigues me. He is riding on a chestnut brown Arab horse and even though he is galloping, I realise that he is the man that picked up Sarah’s glove today but before I can comment on the matter, we set off again. “Thanks for coming with me today,” John Paul says as he pours me some more ginger beer, “you’re a great delivery companion.” “Why thank you John Paul,” I smile as I take a sip, “this was a jolly good idea you came up with.” We had driven to another village nearby and using one of the crowns, John Paul had brought a feast of a picnic for us and we were now sharing it under the shade of an oak tree in the hot July heat in a deserted field. “What about my father?” I suddenly realise, “he will know that you have been gone too long.” “It’s alright,” John Paul reassures me, “After the delivery I have the afternoon off. I thought we better do this before we are lumbered with a chaperone!” We burst into giggles and I rest my head gently on John Paul’s shoulder as we lean against the tree trunk.

“So what did you want to ask me?” John Paul turns his head to look at me, “when we were at the shop and you didn’t get a chance.” My heart skips a beat as John Paul remembers something unfinished that happened three hours ago that most people would have not even recollected. “Actually I was going to ask you,” I stutter slightly, “if you would come for dinner, with my parents,” I see John Paul looking stunned and I realise that I am moving too fast for him. “It’s just I like you so much and I want to show them that we are serious and get their blessing. But if you are not ready yet then I perfectly understand,” I bluster, feeling like a right idiot. “No, I would love to come to dinner,” John Paul smiles tenderly, “you’re my girl Hannah and if getting your father’s blessing is what will allow us to be together then that’s what I will do.” My heart melts, John Paul is so wonderful, he’s perfect. I am the luckiest girl in the world to have him as my beau. He leans forward and we share a long and tender kiss, under the dappled light of the canopy of lush green oak leaves, flourishing like our love. When we finish we lay on the picnic blanket in each other’s arms, both of us not wanting our summer of love to end.