Christmas with the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  Tommy nodded again. Knowing that the couple now standing saying their goodbyes would have given anything to have a grandchild to remind them of their daughter.

  This couple, Tommy knew, would be in mourning for the rest of their lives.

  He walked down the short pathway, turning back to give a brief salute.

  As he walked away from the house, thoughts that had been creeping into his head of late were now starting to gain momentum.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The bus journey from Ruswarp to Whitby took a quarter of an hour.

  Looking out the window, Tommy could see the trees had now been stripped of their leaves. Autumn was morphing into winter, making Tommy aware of time.

  And how quickly it went.

  It took Tommy another ten minutes to walk to their pre-arranged meeting place – a little cafeteria down from the ruins of the famous Whitby Abbey.

  Spotting Polly sitting by the window of the café, he waved and increased his pace.

  Polly, too, had seen her fiancé from afar, looking so dashing in his smart naval uniform. She returned his wave just as the waitress appeared at the table with a pot of tea for two.

  This morning, when he had come to collect her from Tatham Street, it had been the first time she had seen him in full regalia. He had taken her breath away. Made her heart hammer more than it normally did whenever she saw him. But it had also given her a feeling of unease, although she was unsure why.

  Heads turned as Tommy’s entrance was heralded by a particularly loud brass bell above the glass-fronted door. He was oblivious to the stir he caused, his eyes fixed solely on Polly. Taking off his peaked cap, he manoeuvred his way around a handful of tables.

  Reaching her, he bent down and kissed her full on the lips.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ he said, looking at the tea tray. ‘How did you know I was due?’

  Polly laughed as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

  ‘It must be the Irish in me. I have the gift of foresight,’ she joked in a convincing Gaelic accent. ‘Or just an educated guess.’

  Tommy put the greaseproof-paper parcel on the table.

  ‘Sandwiches. From Mrs Reid. I thought we could have them on the train back.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Polly looked at Tommy, thankful that those in the café had finished ogling her fiancé and were carrying on with their own conversations. ‘Hopefully it won’t be so packed on the way back.’

  She put a warm hand on top of his.

  ‘So, how did it go?’

  Tommy thought for a moment.

  ‘It went well. Or rather, as well as could be expected.’ He paused. ‘I think they were glad I visited.’

  Polly poured their tea, and asked more questions about Mr and Mrs Reid. Tommy told of their kind welcome, of their sadness, and also their stoicism on hearing of their daughter’s last moments. Polly listened and forced back her own tears. Inwardly she railed against the injustices of this war that was killing so many innocents, bringing such unbearable grief to those who didn’t deserve it. Again, she felt blessed that she had been spared. That the man she loved had lived and had come back to her.

  As Tommy talked, he became aware of a strange feeling of release. Watching Polly refill their china cups, he felt as though the tight bond tying him to the woman whose name he now knew had loosened. He had finally been cast adrift.

  Like Mrs Reid had said, Catherine was now with those she should be with.

  Not wanting to leave the cosiness of the café and each other’s company, they ordered another pot of tea and two scones, and Polly told Tommy about the hours she had spent without him in the little seaside town.

  She had looked at the statue of Captain Cook, who had learnt his trade here working on the colliers, shipping coal from the port. She had walked through the famous whalebone arch that commemorated the town’s whaling industry and strolled around the harbour. Last of all she had walked up the one hundred and ninety-nine steps and visited St Mary’s Church, where she had said a prayer of thanks for the return of the man she loved.

  When they left the café, it was dark. It took them a quarter of an hour to stroll back across the bridge, along New Quay Road, before arriving at the train station.

  ‘No more trains this evening, I’m afraid,’ the stationmaster announced on seeing them. The weariness with which he spoke suggested he had had to repeat the news several times already.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Summat at Middlesbrough depot. Not sure what. Possible air raid. Or could just be technical.’ He huffed. ‘Course I’m always last t’know. Am only stationmaster, after all.’

  ‘Buses?’ Polly asked.

  ‘Last bus left an hour ago. No more now till mornin’.’ And with that the old man ambled over to the main entrance and closed the gates, having seen more travellers heading up the street.

  ‘Well, that’s a turn-up for the books,’ Tommy said, looking at Polly.

  ‘I think we’re well and truly stranded,’ she replied, looking around and trying to find a solution to their transport problem.

  Tommy pulled her close.

  ‘Well, you know what they say?’

  Polly shook her head, enjoying the closeness of their bodies.

  ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.’

  ‘And our silver lining is?’

  ‘We make our trip into a proper break. Get ourselves a bed and breakfast?’

  Polly looked up at Tommy and laughed.

  ‘I don’t think we have much of a choice.’

  Twenty minutes later they knocked on the door of a B & B on West Cliff that looked out over the North Sea. They had pooled the money they had on them. It was enough for a room, but not for two separate ones.

  After they had explained that their train had been cancelled, the owner, an old woman with no teeth and wearing the traditional black dress and shawl of a widow, agreed they could share a room, but not before she had inspected Tommy’s uniform from top to bottom, enquired about his rank and then scrutinised Polly’s diamond and ruby engagement ring.

  ‘Are you all right about all of this?’ Tommy asked Polly when they went to freshen up. Their room on the first floor was spotlessly clean.

  ‘Of course,’ Polly said, trying to hide her nerves.

  ‘What happens if I start screaming and shouting like a banshee in my sleep?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Well then, I’ll just wake you up,’ Polly said matter-of-factly.

  ‘All right. But I apologise in advance,’ he said, although he doubted very much he would be able to sleep. Not only for fear of scaring Polly, but because he had dreamed of the day when he would share a bed with her for such a long time that sleep would seem a sacrilege.

  ‘Well,’ Tommy said, looking at the sandwiches he had put on top of the drawers. ‘Thanks to Mrs Reid we aren’t going to starve. And I reckon we have enough change for half a pint of beer and a gin and tonic.’ He emptied his pockets of coins.

  ‘Perfect,’ Polly said, hoping the money they had left might stretch to an extra shot of gin. This was, after all, to be their first night together.

  It didn’t take them long to find a small tavern by the riverside where they were able to get a table in the corner and enjoy their shared sandwiches and drinks.

  They both admitted they weren’t terribly hungry and agreed that it felt rather lovely knowing they had the whole night together, not having to part at the end when all they wanted to do was be in each other’s arms.

  Tonight, they would be.

  As stipulated by the old woman, they were back by ten o’clock.

  When they entered their room, they saw she had left out an old nightdress for Polly and a pair of what might well have been her husband’s pyjamas for Tommy.

  ‘Now, I’m more than happy to sleep on the floor, if you’d feel more comfortable?’ Tommy eyed Polly, keeping his fingers firmly crossed she would reject the suggestion.

  ‘It’s probably no harder than my bunk
in Gibraltar,’ he added.

  ‘Well, thank goodness you won’t ever have to sleep there again.’

  Tommy looked as though he was about to say something, but didn’t.

  ‘So, no, I most certainly do not want you sleeping on the floor,’ Polly said.

  After they’d changed and climbed into bed, Tommy wrapped his arms around Polly and pulled her close.

  ‘I think I’ve died ’n gone to heaven.’ He looked at Polly and kissed her on the lips. ‘I think I’ll stay like this all night, just looking at you.’

  Polly smiled, relaxing into the warmth of his body. ‘Just think, we’ll soon be able to be together like this every night for ever and ever.’

  Tommy kissed Polly. He wanted to talk to her. Share what he was thinking and feeling. He knew that it was important that he was honest with her. Arthur’s advice was right – be open and honest from the start. But this evening had been so perfect, so lovely, he couldn’t – wouldn’t – do or say anything to jeopardise it.

  He kissed Polly again and she responded. They kissed and caressed, showing the love they felt for one another.

  ‘I love you, Tommy. And I want to be with you in all ways.’ Polly’s voice was breathy with desire. ‘But I want to wait until we’re married.’ She looked at Tommy and saw the fire of passion in his eyes. ‘We’ve waited this long. Just another few weeks and then we can make love every night forever more if we wish.’

  Tommy kissed Polly again, forcing himself to hold back his ardour.

  ‘I understand,’ he said, squeezing her gently.

  What he would have given to simply click his fingers and for those weeks to have passed. For their wedding to have been celebrated and for this to be the night of their honeymoon.

  He held her in his arms, fighting sleep, but failing.

  After a while he heard Polly’s breathing change and knew she too was losing the battle to make the night longer.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The following day

  Friday 27 November

  Polly rested her head on Tommy’s shoulder as they sat squashed together on the train back to Sunderland. The old woman had given them a hearty breakfast of toast and kippers before seeing them off with a toothless smile, telling them to come back and stay when they were married. Polly had told her that they would. Tommy had shaken her hand and given her a kiss on the cheek, causing the old woman to blush.

  It might just have been tiredness making her perception a little off-kilter, or the fact that her emotions were riding high, but Polly felt there had been a change in Tommy. A good change. But a change all the same. He seemed more at peace with himself after his visit to Mr and Mrs Reid. And last night, as they had both drifted in and out of sleep, there had been no thrashing around or crying out with nightmares.

  The squeal of the steam engine as it pulled into Seaham station caused them both to sit up.

  ‘You all right?’ Tommy asked quietly.

  Polly nodded.

  ‘More than all right.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Looking forward to making you my wife.’

  Polly kissed him on the cheek and whispered, ‘Me too.’

  When they reached the front door of 34 Tatham Street, Tommy cupped Polly’s face in his hands and kissed her gently.

  ‘I’ll come around for yer this evening. After you’ve got back from work,’ he said.

  ‘Will you rest today?’ Polly had seen how tired he got after walking just short distances. She knew that behind the show of bravado, there was still a man who was far from back to his normal self.

  ‘Don’t you be worrying about me. Just take care in that yard. I don’t want anything to scupper our wedding plans.’

  Polly gently took the lapels of his jacket in her hands and pulled him towards her.

  ‘Don’t worry. There’ll be no scuppering.’ She kissed him.

  The front door swung open just as Tommy started to kiss Polly back.

  ‘Thank goodness yer both back!’ Agnes looked at them. ‘Go ’n get yerself a cuppa,’ she told Polly.

  ‘See you later.’ Polly gave Tommy a quick kiss and disappeared indoors.

  Agnes eyed her future son-in-law.

  ‘Joe went to the station last night. Found out yer train had been cancelled.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘I’m presuming yer both managed to find beds for the night. I stress the word beds. As in more than one.’

  Tommy had to force back a smile. He loved Agnes to pieces. She was the archetypal lioness, forever protective of her cubs.

  ‘We did,’ Tommy said. His voice was deadly serious. ‘You can rest assured. You have no worries there.’

  Agnes continued to scrutinise him.

  ‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘It’s a good job the wedding’s only a few weeks away.’

  ‘Twenty-two days and counting,’ Tommy said with a twinkle in his eye as he turned to go.

  ‘Well, you just keep counting, young man,’ Agnes shouted after him.

  Polly stood in the hallway, listening to the interaction between her ma and fiancé before turning and going into the kitchen.

  ‘Ah, yer back.’ Arthur eased himself out of his chair, but gave up and sat back down. Polly leant over and gave him a big hug. He seemed so much older and more fragile of late.

  Agnes bustled back into the kitchen. She gave her daughter a look like the summons and carried on into the scullery.

  ‘How did it go with Mr and Mrs Reid?’ Arthur asked.

  ‘Well, they sounded like a lovely couple.’ Polly bent down to stroke Tramp. ‘I think it was a good thing to do. Tommy seemed a lot more at ease after he’d seen them.’

  Arthur looked at Polly. He dropped his voice.

  ‘No nightmares?’

  Polly shook her head, looking back nervously to make sure her ma wasn’t earwigging. Agnes was peeling potatoes rather zealously.

  ‘No,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Good,’ he said, putting his hand out to stroke Pup, who had bounded back into the room with Agnes and was now demanding attention from the old man.

  ‘We have the Major to thank for that,’ he said, ruffling the dog’s head. ‘And the love of a good woman.’ He thought it might well have been Polly’s presence next to his grandson last night that had buffeted away the terrors, as much as his chat with the nurse’s mother and father.

  ‘It’s good that yer went with him,’ Arthur added. ‘Now we just need to make yer the second Mrs Watts.’

  Polly looked down at the engagement ring that Arthur had bought Flo when they were just seventeen years old. She knew theirs had been a true love. A strong love.

  ‘Actually, I’ve got something to ask you, Arthur?’ Polly looked at the old man.

  ‘Oh aye, and what might that be?’

  ‘Would you give me away?’

  Arthur’s pale blue eyes lit up.

  ‘I’d be honoured to, pet … Honoured, I would.’ This time he forced himself out of his chair and took hold of Polly’s hands.

  ‘You’ve made an old man very happy. Very happy indeed.’

  Agnes continued to peel her potatoes in the scullery.

  She couldn’t think of anyone better to take the place of her Harry.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Kate was looking out the front window of the Maison Nouvelle.

  She could have gone and stood outside to wait for Alfie, but it was too cold and windy. She didn’t know which she hated more. Both brought back awful memories that she would never get rid of, no matter how hard she worked. No matter how much she filled her mind with fabrics, fashion and haute couture. They would always be there. Lurking in the background.

  Just as long as they stayed in the background.

  Kate’s ability to keep them buried – or at least partially so – had been so much harder since Sister Bernadette’s impromptu visit back in January. The nun’s hate-filled words had been vile, but it had been her presence that had instilled the terrible fear in her. Simply by walking into
the boutique, Sister Bernadette had dragged the horrors of Kate’s past into her present. A past she thought she had escaped.

  Seeing Alfie cross the main road, straightening his hair with both hands, Kate took a deep breath. She had to do this. She had to be brave. She couldn’t live her life in a bubble – bobbing between the safety of the boutique and the bordello. It was like Lily kept telling her – she was young, she had to spread her wings. Or at the very least be able to make the journey from the centre of town to Thompson’s.

  Kate opened the door just as Alfie reached the shop. He was wearing his Sunday best. He had been wearing it under his overalls all morning at work as there wasn’t time to go home and get changed before going to fetch Kate.

  ‘I’m all ready,’ she said, forcing a smile she didn’t feel.

  She turned and locked the front door to the boutique.

  ‘Right, let’s do this,’ she said.

  Alfie offered her his arm.

  She looked at it, hesitating, before slipping a gloved hand through its crook.

  As Polly hurried to work, she felt light. Almost weightless and so extraordinarily happy. So totally in love. It didn’t matter that the cold was biting and that the day was grey.

  When she reached Thompson’s she was surprised to see an old man in the timekeeper’s office.

  ‘One one one,’ Polly shouted out. ‘Is Alfie all right?’ she asked, taking her time card.

  ‘Aye, pet, he’s on some sort of an errand. I’m just covering for the lad.’

  Polly smiled and hurried across the yard. It was a quarter of an hour before the start of the afternoon shift.

  The clamour of the canteen hit her as soon as she stepped through the door. She hurried over to where she knew the women would be.

  ‘Polly!’ Dorothy jumped up out of her chair with such excitement it clattered backwards.

  ‘She’s back!’ Angie declared.