by Nancy Revell
‘So, have you both thought of a date?’ Martha asked.
‘Well,’ Polly said with a big smile, ‘Tommy’s getting out of hospital this weekend …’
‘That’s great news!’ Gloria said, surprised.
‘That’s soon,’ Rosie said. ‘I thought they were going to keep him for a while longer?’
‘I know, so did I,’ Polly said. ‘But he said Dr Parker’s discharging him this weekend.’
‘That doesn’t mean you’re getting married this weekend, does it?’ Martha asked.
Dorothy and Angie hooted with laughter.
‘Course she’s not, yer dafty!’ Angie said, nudging Martha, who didn’t budge an inch. ‘Even if they’ve got no money, they’ve still got lots to plan. And yer gorra get booked in – even if it’s at the registry office. Isn’t that right, miss?’ Angie looked at Rosie.
‘That’s right, Angie.’ Rosie tried to keep a straight face. ‘And the only reason I got married so quickly was because Peter got us a special licence, but even that took some organising. And you have to give a reason for wanting to get married so quickly.’
‘Anyway, you’re still going to get married in a church, aren’t you?’ Dorothy’s question was more a plea.
‘Oh, yes,’ Polly said. ‘Definitely. We’re going to go and see the vicar at St Ignatius and ask when he can fit us in.’
At the mention of St Ignatius, Gloria had a flash of Hope’s christening and the drama of Jack turning up in the middle of the ceremony. That day had been the start of Jack getting his memory back. They had been reunited. It was the first time he’d held Hope. She knew she had a lot to be thankful for, but still, the longer they were parted, the more she yearned for him. They might speak on the phone and write to each other, but they still hadn’t actually seen each other, held each other, since the start of the year.
‘So, when do you think you’ll be getting married?’ Martha asked, having listened intently to what everyone was saying. She’d never realised it was all so complicated.
‘We reckon by the time it takes him to read the banns out—’
‘Which the vicar has to do three Sundays before the actual ceremony,’ Dorothy informed Martha.
‘And with the time it’ll take us to organise everything,’ Polly continued, ‘hopefully we’ll be able to set a date in the first two weeks of December. At the very latest a week before Christmas.’
Dorothy clapped her hands in glee.
‘Two Christmas weddings!’
As they all started to tuck into their lunches and discuss other ways Polly could still have a fabulous wedding on a shoestring, Gloria suddenly looked at Polly.
‘Have you told Agnes?’ she asked.
‘About the money?’ Polly said.
Gloria nodded.
Everyone stared at Polly and she shook her head.
‘Oh dear,’ Martha said.
‘Oh dear, indeed,’ said Dorothy.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘Yer what?’
Agnes and Pearl spoke at the same time, Agnes’s Irish brogue slightly louder than Pearl’s broad north-east accent. The looks of disbelief they both had plastered on their faces, though, were equal.
Agnes banged the pot of tea down on the kitchen table.
‘Please tell me that I didn’t hear right?’ Agnes demanded, glowering at her daughter.
Polly didn’t say anything.
Pearl looked at Bel, who was by the sink in the scullery. She jerked her head towards the back door and for once Pearl did as she was told. Grabbing her fags off the sideboard, she hurried out. They all knew to keep out of Agnes’s way when she was ready to pop. She could quiz Bel later.
Agnes turned to look at Arthur, who had just got settled in his armchair, then at Bel, now busy stacking up the plates, and finally at Joe, who was playing snap with Lucille.
‘As none of you have uttered a word, I’m guessing I did, in fact, hear right?’
Agnes scowled at Polly, still in her overalls, standing by the kitchen doorway and looking ready to make a run for it if necessary.
‘Yes, Ma, you heard right,’ Polly said finally, keeping her voice level. ‘I gave the money away, like I said, to charity. The Red Cross, the King George’s Fund for Sailors and that poor girl from down the road.’
Agnes shook her head slowly to show her utter disbelief.
‘I suppose if it went to charity that makes it all fine and dandy!’ Her voice rose dramatically.
She looked at Polly and then to Arthur.
‘Does Tommy know?’
They nodded in unison.
‘And he still wants to get married?’ Agnes’s eyes were wide with disbelief.
‘Yes, Ma, he still wants to marry me,’ Polly said, keeping her words to a minimum so as not to further fan the flames of her mother’s growing fury.
Agnes looked at Arthur for a second opinion.
‘He does, Agnes,’ the old man confirmed.
‘Well, then,’ she said, her attention still on Arthur, ‘they’re both as daft as each other!’
She looked back at Polly.
‘So, you gonna walk down the aisle in your overalls? ’Cos that’s all you’ll be able to afford.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I suppose we could bleach them white.’
There was a clatter from the kitchen. Bel cursed under her breath as a plate slipped from her hand into the porcelain sink.
Agnes turned to glare at Bel.
‘And I’m guessing you knew all about this as well?’
Bel nodded.
Agnes’s focus turned to Joe, who was pushing himself out of his chair with the aid of his stick and putting his hand out to Lucille.
‘You too?’ she asked.
Joe ignored his mother’s question. ‘I’m just gonna get the bairn ready fer bed.’ He made his way out of the kitchen with Lucille.
‘There are worse things, Ma,’ he said.
Polly threw her brother a look of thanks.
‘Unbelievable.’ Agnes spat the word out. ‘Call me selfish, but that was the one bright spot on the horizon. Amongst all this doom and gloom and warmongering. Seeing my daughter getting married ’n having a lovely wedding.’ She blew out air. ‘Being thankful my only daughter had got herself a good man who’d had the sense to save what little money he had for a half-decent wedding.’
Agnes shook her head and took off her pinny. She gave Polly a dark look.
‘I’m sorry to have to say this, Pol.’
Another exhalation of air.
‘But I’m disappointed in yer. I thought I’d brought yer up with more sense.’
Agnes hung her apron on the hook by the side of the range.
‘I’m going to see Beryl,’ she said, stomping out of the kitchen.
Her angry footsteps could be heard clomping down the tiled hallway.
A few seconds later the whole house shuddered as she slammed the front door.
When Joe came back downstairs in his Home Guard uniform, ready for his night shift, he looked through the kitchen door to see Polly nursing a cup of tea. She looked crestfallen.
‘Give Mam an hour,’ he said, sitting at the bottom of the stairs to tie his bootlaces. ‘She’ll have come down off the ceiling by then.’
He pushed himself back up and looked at his little sister.
‘For what it’s worth, I think what yer did was incredibly kind.’ He paused. ‘I know what our Teddy would have said, mind yer.’ He chuckled, more to himself. ‘“Mad as a March hare.”’
Polly felt herself well up at the mention of her brother.
‘But that’s why we both love you so much.’
Polly had to choke back the tears as she got up, walked over to her brother and hugged him.
Joe often talked about his twin in the present tense, as if he were still there with them all.
Perhaps he was.
When Polly came back from seeing Tommy shortly after ten, she found Agnes on her own, sitting in Arthur’s armchair. Tramp and Pup w
ere lying outstretched in front of the range. They barely moved, only raising tired eyes to see who had come into the kitchen and brought a draught of cold air with them.
‘Shut the door,’ Agnes said, seeing Polly hesitate. Normally at this time it would just be Bel up. Joe was out late most evenings with the Home Guard, Pearl was at the Tatham, and Agnes tended to go to bed shortly after Arthur, at around half nine. Tonight, though, after returning from Beryl’s, Agnes had asked Bel if she wouldn’t mind giving her some time alone with her daughter.
‘There’s a spare cuppa going.’ Agnes cast her eyes over to the kitchen table, which had been cleared save for a pot of tea, a small jug of milk, a bowl of sugar and a cup and saucer.
Polly looked and breathed a sigh of relief.
This was her ma’s peace offering.
‘I’m sorry, Ma,’ Polly said, pouring her tea and pulling a chair out from under the table and positioning it in front of the range so that the dogs were by her feet. ‘I know we’re not exactly flush.’ She looked at Agnes, who was wearing the same clothes she saw her in every day.
‘I know I should have given you the money for housekeeping,’ Polly said, guilt creeping into her voice. ‘You’re right, I should have had more sense … I’m sorry you think I’m a disappointment.’
Agnes leant forward and took hold of Polly’s free hand.
‘Oh, Pol, yer not a disappointment.’ She sighed and looked into her daughter’s pretty blue-green eyes, which never failed to remind her of Harry. She still missed him, even now, after all these years.
‘I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t mean it. Yer the best daughter any mother could ask for.’ She looked at Polly and could feel tears beginning to pool. ‘I mean that, I really do. I think what yer did was the kindest thing I’ve ever heard of anyone ever doing. If not the craziest.’ Agnes squeezed her daughter’s hand and gave her a sad smile.
Polly felt her body sag with relief. She hated falling out with her mother, and more than anything she hated feeling that she had let her down.
‘It’s just,’ Agnes continued, ‘I kept thinking of when yer father ’n I got married.’
Polly looked at her mother in surprise. She rarely talked about her father.
‘We were so poor,’ Agnes said. ‘I wore my mother’s old wedding dress ’n yer dad borrowed a mate’s suit that was too small for him.’ Agnes let out a soft chuckle. ‘He kept pulling the sleeves down as if that’d somehow stretch it ’n make it fit.
‘When you came along after the twins – a girl – I was so chuffed, I remember thinking to myself, this little mite’s gonna have a proper wedding. With a proper dress, and a proper wedding breakfast, even a little party afterwards.’
Agnes let go of Polly’s hand, got up, topped up her tea and sat back down.
‘I didn’t say anything, but when Tommy came back, I kept thinking of the gratuity money you’d got.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I should have known something was up because yer never mentioned it.’
Polly didn’t say anything. It was rare her mother opened up about her own feelings.
‘I felt so happy that Tommy was alive and that you were going to get married – and that you’d have the kind of wedding day I’d always wished for yer … Perhaps even have enough left to get yourselves a little flat somewhere nearby.’
Agnes looked down at the dogs, now gently snoring.
‘I was so angry that was never going to happen, I let my tongue run away with itself.’
Agnes took in a deep breath.
‘But when I went round to Beryl’s ’n I heard myself rant on, I saw the look on her face and realised I was being selfish. And not only selfish – what I said to you was unkind. But most of all, it was untrue.’
Polly put down her tea, got up and put her arms around her mother. She looked tired.
‘And the funny thing is,’ Agnes hugged her daughter back, ‘I know if Harry was alive now, he’d be as proud as punch of yer, he would.’
Agnes allowed a tear to escape unchecked.
‘And I hate to admit this, but yer da would be just as proud of yer for doing what you’re doing – trooping to that yard day in day out, all kinds of weather, building them ships. Doing your bit to win this war.’
Polly felt her chest swell.
Those words meant the world to her.
More than her ma would ever know.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Four days later
Sunday 15 November
‘Don’t forget,’ Charlotte told Marjorie as they got ready to leave the house, ‘use the toilet before we go. And squeeze out every last drop, because believe you me, you do not want to be using the lavvy at the yard.’
Marjorie giggled at her friend’s use of the word ‘lavvy’. Charlotte had always had a slight accent – another reason she’d been picked on at Runcorn – but now she was back home, it was stronger.
‘Gosh, yes, I nearly forgot!’ Marjorie dumped her handbag and gas mask, and headed off to the toilet next to the back door.
‘And remember, nil by mouth,’ Charlotte shouted after her friend. She reckoned they’d probably already drunk too much tea this morning.
When Marjorie returned, Charlotte noticed her wiping her mouth.
‘You’ve had some water!’
‘Oh golly, I forgot,’ Marjorie said, putting her hand on her mouth. ‘Force of habit.’
‘Don’t worry. If you think you might need the loo again, we can pop into the public ones by the park.’
Marjorie pulled a face.
Charlotte laughed.
‘God, Marge, if you think that one’s bad, you really need to see the one at the yard!’
Charlotte put her hand on the front-door Chubb and turned back to face her friend.
‘Now remember, full sprint from the moment we get out the door. Mrs Jenkins can sense you’re going to leave the house before you know you’re going out yourself.’
‘Righty-ho,’ Marjorie said, checking her pocket for her inhaler.
A few minutes later they’d made it out the gate at the bottom of the private road and had stopped to cross Tunstall Road.
‘You all right?’ Charlotte looked at her friend, who was out of breath but not struggling.
‘Yes, yes, all good,’ Marjorie said. ‘Oh, I do miss you, Charlie,’ she went on as they hurried across the road and made their way up Tunstall Vale.
‘I miss you too, Marge,’ Charlotte said. ‘But I actually think it’s going to be so much better now we’re both back home. We can see each other lots.’
Marjorie had jumped for joy when she’d got Charlotte’s letter telling her she had succeeded in escaping ‘the castle’ and was now a new girl at the Sunderland Church High School – the sister school to the one Marjorie was now attending in Newcastle.
‘And,’ Marjorie said, pulling her hat further down past her ears, ‘our schools will be in tournaments against each other.’
‘Yeah,’ Charlotte said. ‘Miss Launder, our PE teacher, says she wants me to play centre forward.’
‘And I’ll ask my PE teacher if I can come and support our team.’
Both girls knew there was no way Marjorie would ever be chosen to play hockey for the school, or any kind of sports for that matter, but she would be able to wangle herself a seat on the school bus as their mascot.
As they reached the corner of West Lawn, Charlotte stopped.
‘Follow me.’ She turned right and Marjorie followed suit.
‘Where are we going?’ Marjorie asked.
‘Look,’ Charlotte said. ‘See that house there?’ She pointed to the second house in.
‘Yes, I see it,’ Marjorie said, staring at the grand, three-storey, turn-of-the-century terraced house.
‘Well, that’s where Lily and George live.’
‘Oh, it looks nice,’ Marjorie said. ‘A bit like my house in Jesmond.’
Charlotte had never been to her friend’s house in Newcastle, but she was going to find out soon. Ma
rjorie’s parents had invited her to stay overnight during the holidays.
‘Why don’t we pop in and see them both? Introduce you quickly,’ Charlotte said.
Marjorie thought for a moment. She was intrigued but also a little nervous. George sounded nice – just like her great-uncle Bertie – but from what Charlotte had told her, Lily was very eccentric.
‘Come on,’ Charlotte said, dragging her friend towards the house.
They were just a few yards away when they stopped in their tracks as the door opened and a man who wasn’t George stepped out. The large black front door closed behind him and he stood and lit a cigarette.
‘I think we should leave it,’ Marjorie said. ‘It’s not polite to turn up unannounced.’
Charlotte stared at the man. He looked a little dishevelled.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ she conceded. ‘Guess I’m just curious to see inside. Especially as Rosie works there.’
‘Doing the books?’ Marjorie said.
Charlotte nodded.
‘What business does Lily have?’ Marjorie asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Charlotte said, suddenly realising that no one had really explained. ‘I’ve only been here the once. And then I didn’t even make it past the gate.’
Charlotte watched as the man hurried down the stone steps and down the long pathway.
‘When was that?’ Marjorie asked.
‘The morning George took us to Harrogate.’
Marjorie was still overawed by what Rosie had done that day. Going to the school in her overalls! She couldn’t believe it when Charlotte had told her. She kept asking her to go over and over each part of the day in the minutest of details so that she could imagine that she too had been there.
‘Anyway,’ Marjorie said, looking at her watch, ‘we’ve not got time. Rosie’s expecting us at noon, so we’re best not to be late – and you said you were going to show me the school en route.’
Charlotte agreed and after a brisk walk back onto Tunstall Vale, across the Ryhope Road and down Mowbray Road they were standing facing Sunderland Church High School.