The Coffee Pot Book Club presents Sisters at War by Clare Flynn

Book Title: Sisters at War

Author: Clare Flynn

Publication Date: 1st May 2021

Publisher: Cranbrook Press

Page Length: 314 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

Sisters at War

By Clare Flynn

1940 Liverpool. The pressures of war threaten to tear apart two sisters traumatised by their father’s murder of their mother.

With her new husband, Will, a merchant seaman, deployed on dangerous Atlantic convoy missions, Hannah needs her younger sister Judith more than ever. But when Mussolini declares war on Britain, Judith's Italian sweetheart, Paolo is imprisoned as an enemy alien, and Judith's loyalties are divided.

Each sister wants only to be with the man she loves but, as the war progresses, tensions between them boil over, and they face an impossible decision.

A heart-wrenching page-turner about the everyday bravery of ordinary people during wartime. From heavily blitzed Liverpool to the terrors of the North Atlantic and the scorched plains of Australia, Sisters at War will bring tears to your eyes and joy to your heart.

EXTRACT 

May drifted into June with still no news of Will.

 In the queue at the butcher’s one morning, the general consensus had been that, with this retreat from Dunkirk and the inevitability of France falling, it was only a matter of time before Britain, too, was forced to acknowledge the likelihood of a German victory.

 ‘That Hitler’s got us well and truly on the run,’ said a large woman wearing curlers under her headscarf.

 ‘If you ask me, love, we’ll all be learning German soon,’ said Mr Collins, the butcher, as he stamped the woman’s ration book.

 ‘And you’ll be serving us those blooming German sausages.’

 ‘Hope you know how to make sauerkraut,’ he replied.

 ‘Don’t even know how to say it, let alone what it is, but I won’t be eating any of that foreign muck. Not blooming likely! I’d rather starve.’

 ‘We’re practically starving already,’ moaned another woman in the queue. ‘Trying to stretch the tiny bit of meat we get is like feeding the five thousand. I wish it was all over. Bring on the German sausages. My Harry used to be in port in Hamburg all the time before the war. He sometimes brought me back a tin. Not bad at all when you get used to them.’

 ‘You get used to anything in the end,’ observed the butcher, shaking his head.

 Hannah hated the defeatism that was so widespread but told herself that if it meant an end to Will crossing the Atlantic, she’d sleep better at night.

 That evening, Hannah was alone in the front parlour. Nance had gone to a dance and Judith was at the Italian Club with Paolo. Hannah sat in an armchair, waiting for the nightly news from the BBC and knitting a woollen hat for Will to match the socks and gloves she’d already made.

 Keen to hear what Mr Churchill had said in the Commons that day about the evacuation of Dunkirk, Hannah put down her knitting and got up to fiddle with the wireless dials to tune in the Home Service.

 As she listened to the radio announcer reading the transcript of Churchill’s speech in the House, it was clear that while the man and woman in the street may be ready to give up the ghost, the Prime Minister certainly wasn’t.

 ‘I have, myself, full confidence that if all do their duty, if nothing is neglected, and if the best arrangements are made, as they are being made, we shall prove ourselves once more able to defend our island home, to ride out the storm of war, and to outlive the menace of tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone. At any rate, that is what we are going to try to do.’

 Hannah squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She couldn’t bear it. That terrifying word ‘alone’ made her shudder. What chance did this little island have against the might of the Third Reich if forced to stand alone? She wanted to shut out his words. It was too upsetting. She started to get up from her chair to cut off the drone of the BBC newsreader’s voice. But something about the words made her pause, before her hand touched the dial.

 ‘We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender, and if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.’

 The simplicity of the words and the rhythmic repetition of the phrases was mesmerising. The paralysing fear that had overwhelmed Hannah faded away. Even with the bland voice of the announcer, it was impossible not to be infected by Churchill’s courage and determination.

 She put down her knitting. His reference to the British Fleet had brought tears to her eyes. Her mind drifted back to the day war was declared – the day after she and Will were married – when he told her that he intended to remain in the merchant navy and their plans to travel to Australia would have to be postponed. He’d said to her then that if he failed to do his duty, he would not be the kind of man she could respect or love. Nothing could ever stop her loving him. But that meant loving everything about him, including the fact that he had chosen to undertake one of the most dangerous jobs in the country. Painful as it was to know that any day might be his last, she had to admit that if Will had failed to step forward he would not have been able to live with himself. Whatever tough choices he made, she must always find the strength to support him in them.

 When the broadcast ended, Hannah went into the scullery and made a pot of tea. Sitting at the kitchen table, she prayed for the strength to get through this war and whatever challenges it brought to them all. Religion was not something she had much time for – not after the years of her father’s fire-and-brimstone zealotry – but sometimes prayer was a natural instinct. The God she prayed to was not a Biblical construct, but some form of higher being, a force for good, a bringer of comfort, someone to confide in. It didn’t matter whether her prayers were listened to: the act of unburdening herself was a relief in itself.

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Clare Flynn is the author of thirteen historical novels and a collection of short stories. A former International Marketing Director and strategic management consultant, she is now a full-time writer. 

Having lived and worked in London, Paris, Brussels, Milan and Sydney, home is now on the coast, in Sussex, England, where she can watch the sea from her windows. An avid traveler, her books are often set in exotic locations.

Clare is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts, a member of The Society of Authors, ALLi, and the Romantic Novelists Association. When not writing, she loves to read, quilt, paint and play the piano. 

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