Starting Over

by Jack Sheffield

  ‘What a wonderful memory,’ said Lily. ‘Yes, I must go to Bettys.’

  Vera looked thoughtful. ‘I didn’t approve at first because on the shop sign there’s no apostrophe in Bettys … but life is never perfect.’

  Too true, thought Lily.

  Vera picked up the menu and began to read. ‘Perhaps your policeman will take you,’ she added. She had recently purchased some pince-nez spectacles in the style of her fictional hero, Hercule Poirot, and she peered over them knowingly.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Lily quietly. ‘Shall we order?’

  Vera beckoned to Nora Pratt, as Doris was busy with a feather duster. Three pottery ducks in full flight adorned the wall behind the counter and she dusted them every day. A wedding gift many years ago, they reminded her of her husband, Eric, who had flown the nest with a young and plump professional cheese sculptor who toured the country with her bizarre creations. In consequence, Doris rarely ate cheese and had become an independent and fulfilled lady with her prestigious Tea Rooms and her prominence in the Ragley Amateur Dramatic Society. Meanwhile, she looked upon Nora as the daughter she had never had.

  Nora was wearing a smart white apron and a hat that looked like a sailor’s. She took out her notepad and licked the tip of her small pencil. ‘What would you like, Miss Evans, Miss Bwiggs?’ she asked politely.

  Vera smiled at Lily. ‘Crumpets and tea for two please, Nora – and good luck tonight.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Nora. She glanced up at the clock on the wall above the three flying ducks. ‘Dwess wehea’sal at thwee o’clock.’

  ‘We’ll be cheering you on,’ said Lily.

  ‘Cwumpets an’ tea comin’ up,’ said Nora and hurried off to the kitchen.

  Ruby’s mother, Agnes, had asked the next-door neighbour to look after Andy while she dragged an old iron bedstead down the road.

  ‘’Ere y’are, Tommy. ‘Ow much?’ Agnes never minced her words.

  ‘T’usual, Mrs Bancroft: sixpence or a goldfish.’

  ‘Sixpence please, Tommy. A goldfish don’t buy me a loaf o’ bread.’

  He handed over a coin. ‘’Ow’s your Ruby?’

  ‘She’s in a reight dickie-fit. Ah’ve never seen ’er in such a state.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘’Cause o’ that lazy, good f’nothin’ ’usband. Spends all their money on beer an’ t’bettin’ shop.’

  Tommy shook his head. ‘A shame – she’s a lovely lass is your Ruby. She should’ve tekken up wi’ that George Dainty, but ah ’eard ’e’s gone t’Spain t’seek ’is fortune.’

  ‘Y’reight there. ’E were broken ’earted when she took up wi’ Ronnie.’

  ‘She missed out, Mrs Bancroft,’ said Tommy, shaking his head sadly.

  Agnes sighed. ‘Thanks for t’sixpence, Tommy, an’ ’ere’s a carrot f’Goliath.’

  Tommy’s giant shire horse, the lugubrious Goliath, looked up with sudden interest and crunched the proffered carrot with his tombstone teeth while Agnes hurried over to the General Stores.

  When Vera and Lily walked across the road to the village hall they met Joseph speaking with the funeral director, Septimus Flagstaff.

  ‘Hello, Joseph,’ said Vera.

  ‘Oh, hello, Vera. We’re just discussing the funeral of Mr Grimble. It’s next Saturday.’

  Lofthouse Grimble had been a church bellringer. Sadly, his lungs had been damaged in the Sheffield steelworks and he had only had time for a short retirement before he died. His wife, Pearl, was a member of the church cleaners, the Holy Dusters, and a trusted friend of Vera. Lofthouse and Pearl had lived in a tiny cottage on the Morton road and many mourned his passing.

  ‘Fine lady, is Pearl,’ muttered Septimus. ‘Tekkin’ it all in ’er stride.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure she is,’ said Vera a little curtly.

  Joseph looked at his wristwatch. ‘I have to go now, Vera. I promised to see Mrs Grimble,’ and with that he hurried up the High Street.

  ‘Can I be of assistance, Miss Evans?’ asked Septimus.

  ‘No, thank you, Mr Flagstaff,’ said Vera. ‘We’re here to help with the pantomime.’

  ‘My friends call me Bernie,’ said Septimus with a shy smile.

  ‘I imagine they do, Mr Flagstaff,’ replied Vera. She had no intention of partaking in instant informality with the Ragley funeral director.

  In the village hall the dress rehearsal was going well and Lily was looking at the cast list on the revised programme. It had been written on a large blackboard that had been propped on an easel in the entrance. It read:

  Cinderella – Doris Clutterbuck

  Prince Charming – Ivy Speight

  The Wicked Stepmother – Betty Cuthbertson

  Buttons & Fairy Nuff – Nora Pratt

  Fairy Godmother – Violet Fawnswater

  Wicked Stepsister – Valerie Flint

  Lord Chamberlain – Ernie Morgetroyd

  Baron Hardup – Peter Miles-Humphreys

  It was clear from the outset that Violet Fawnswater as the Fairy Godmother was trying to steal the show. However, Doris was used to dealing with theatrical upstarts and soon put her in her place. The plot slowed considerably when Peter Miles-Humphreys, the stuttering shop boy, had to deliver his few lines as Baron Hardup. Valerie Flint, the tall, stick-thin teacher, was as fierce on stage as the Wicked Stepsister as she was in the classroom, while Betty Cuthbertson as the strangely cheerful Wicked Stepmother was simply there for the free tea and cakes. Nora, meanwhile, had been thrilled to discover that not only was she playing her original part of Fairy Nuff, but was now also in the important role of Buttons.

  ‘Let’s take five,’ said Doris in true theatrical tradition. As the cast sloped off to enjoy a cup of tea, she tapped Nora on the arm. ‘Come with me please, Nora,’ she said quietly. They walked into the back room behind the stage where old furniture was stored. Doris picked up a small battered suitcase. ‘This is for you.’

  Nora was puzzled.

  ‘Open it,’ said Doris.

  Nora knelt down and opened the metal catches. She lifted the lid slowly and stared in awe. It was the Alpine leather corset that Doris had worn for many years.

  ‘It’s your turn to wear it, Nora. Your time has come.’

  ‘That’s weally kind,’ said Nora. She held it up. ‘It’s the best Chwistmas pwesent I’ve ever had. Can I dwess up in it tonight?’

  ‘Yes, it’s yours now, Nora. You’ve earned it,’ and she gave Nora a hug.

  When Nora repacked the suitcase and walked back into the hall, Doris stared after her with tears in her eyes. It was a symbolic moment, for Doris knew her days as a leading lady were over.

  At 7 School View Ruby heard a knock on the door. She stopped feeding Andy and went to see who it was. She was met by a familiar face: it was Barry the Brush.

  Barry was born and bred in Cardiff and had lost a leg in the Second World War. Somehow he had finished up in North Yorkshire. A popular, gregarious figure, he would travel around the local villages and come door to door every fortnight with his lilting Welsh accent and a suitcase of assorted brushes.

  Ruby could ill afford any extra demands on her meagre housekeeping, but always took pity on the polite young man with one leg. While he was drinking a mug of sweet tea in the kitchen, she stared at a garish hairbrush that she couldn’t afford and a practical toilet brush that she could barely afford. Common sense prevailed – at least Ruby’s version – and she bought the toilet brush for a few meagre coppers and sent him on his way. She was a good-hearted lady.

  Ronnie Smith came into the kitchen and sat down. A familiar cigarette was hanging from his bottom lip and he gave Ruby a bleary-eyed smile. ‘Ah jus’ need a few bob t’tide me over ’til tomorrow, Ruby luv.’

  Ruby picked up her purse nervously and looked inside. ‘Ah’ve not much, Ronnie, jus’ what Mrs ’Igginbottom gave me f’cleanin’.’

  ‘That’ll do, luv,’ said Ronnie, holding out his hand.

  Ruby gave him a shilling. �
��That’s not enough,’ said Ronnie. ‘Ah need ’alf a crown.’

  ‘Thing is, Ronnie, we need soap powder so ah can wash our Andy’s nappies.’

  Ronnie gave her a furtive glance. ‘Y’know what crossed m’mind this mornin’?’

  Ruby was suddenly curious. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Ah were thinkin’ ah’ll tek you t’London one day.’

  Ruby’s eyes lit up. ‘That’s where t’Queen Elizabeth lives in ’er palace, Ronnie, an’ all t’posh people buy nice things in Hoxford Street. Ah saw ’em in a magazine when ah were ’avin’ m’ ’air done.’

  ‘’Xactly, Ruby, y’spot on there. Y’deserve a treat.’ He paused. The moment was right. ‘So, can ah ’ave that ’alf crown then, my luv, jus’ ’til Friday?’

  As Ruby handed over the precious coin, Ronnie never mentioned which Friday that might be.

  Lily had spent the remainder of the afternoon with Vera at the vicarage until it was time to return to the village hall for the pantomime.

  This was one of the highlights of the Ragley calendar and there was a queue outside on the pavement when they arrived. Elsie Crapper was on the door collecting the shiny sixpences and the threepenny bits, while Florence had arrived with Freddie in Mrs Merryweather’s car.

  Doris Clutterbuck was on her usual form and there was a cheer when she made her first dramatic entrance. However, the greatest accolade of the evening undoubtedly went to Nora Pratt.

  ‘This is your opportunity,’ said Doris. ‘Grasp it with both hands and meet your destiny.’ Doris always got a little carried away when she was dressed up like a dog’s dinner.

  So it was on that cold December night the slim, petite Nora stood on stage in her frilly dress and the treasured Alpine corset. Although it was a little loose on the teenage shop assistant, the strategic addition of baling twine had tightened up the garment and added greatly to Nora’s otherwise modest ensemble. She took a deep breath and began to sing the Judy Garland classic from the 1939 film The Wizard of Oz.

  ‘Somewhere over the Wainbow,’ sang Nora in a sweet voice. Doris, at the side of the stage, sighed. Not quite what I was hoping for, but perhaps the audience won’t notice, she thought.

  There were a few titters from the footballers in the back row, pint pots in hand, but the rest of the villagers thought Nora had done a good job doubling up as the Fairy’s assistant plus the demanding role of the cheerful Buttons. So when she sang, ‘And the dweams that you da’e to dweam weally do come twue,’ you could have heard a pin drop and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Here was one of their own trying her best, and as one they rose from their seats and applauded.

  At the end Doris received a large bouquet and then, as the lights came on, the audience drifted out to their New Year festivities. Following a conversation with Tom, Lily approached Florence. ‘Mother, Tom has asked me to join him for a New Year drink in The Royal Oak and then he’s offered to drive me home.’

  ‘And what did you tell him?’ Florence answered sharply.

  ‘That I would discuss it with you. I told him we usually put Freddie to bed and see in the New Year together over a glass of sherry.’

  Florence stared at her daughter and felt the pain of a mother. ‘To be honest, I’m rather tired, so you go if you wish. I’ll see to Freddie.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Florence gave Lily a hug and held her hands. She spoke quietly. ‘You have a fine mind, Lily, rather like your father … but you also have a warm heart. So do take care how you use it.’

  ‘What exactly are you saying, Mother?’

  ‘Merely that I don’t want to see you hurt.’

  Florence avoided saying more, but the unspoken words hung in the air between them like a sip from a poisoned chalice.

  There was a long silence.

  Finally Lily squeezed her mother’s hand. ‘I understand.’

  As Lily walked away into the darkness, Florence recognized the eager anticipation in her daughter’s confident demeanour and sighed. It brought back painful memories.

  Later, in The Royal Oak, Tommy Piercy played the piano and the locals sang along. Eventually Lily glanced at her wristwatch. ‘It’s almost half past ten, Tom. I ought to be getting home. Thanks for the drink.’

  Tom sighed. He had enjoyed the last hour with this beautiful woman and he didn’t want to say goodnight just yet. He took a deep breath. ‘My mother is in Scarborough seeing in the New Year with her brother and his wife. You could come back with me if you like – just a nightcap and see in the New Year.’

  ‘No, I need to get back,’ said Lily guardedly.

  ‘There’s a spare room in the cottage,’ he added hastily – perhaps too hastily.

  For a moment Lily stood deep in thought and her eyes were soft with sorrow. A night with her handsome policeman was an inviting proposition.

  ‘What is it, Lily?’ Tom was concerned.

  She sighed. ‘Just thinking about this and that. Nothing to worry about, Tom, but thank you for asking.’

  When they finally got back to Laurel Cottage they kissed briefly before Lily hurried into the house. The church clock was chiming midnight as Tom arrived back at his empty house in silence, dreaming of what might have been.

  Meanwhile, in her tiny room above the Hardware Emporium, Nora stared at her Alpine corset hanging behind the door. It was her badge of office and a mark of her new status in the theatrical world.

  In the front parlour of the Tea Rooms, Doris was sipping tea as the fire burned low. She had unzipped her new body garment and was comfortable in her favourite armchair in the flickering light. She thought back on the day and recognized this important moment in her life, when her Alpine corset had been passed on to the next in line. In a few years she would retire and the mantle of responsibility would go to Nora Pratt, her protégée, and the Alpine leather corset would have a new lease of life.

  The show must go on, thought Doris as the church bells chimed out twelve times.

  A new year had dawned and 1953 stretched out before her.

  Chapter Nine

  A Tale of Two Televisions

  It was Monday, 5 January and the land was still and sepulchral – a white world, silent and cloaked in snow. The cold was bitter, almost savage, and all sound was muted while the creatures of the countryside sought refuge. Lily waited at the bus stop as each unique snowflake feathered lazily to the ground to join its neighbours, covering the main street of Kirkby Steepleton in a white shroud. She glanced up. Above her head the high-pitched keening of the single telephone wire was a strange, eerie sound, like the cry of a baby, and Lily pulled her woollen hat over her ears. An unknown destiny stretched out before her and she wondered where it would lead.

  Soon she was huddled in a seat with a few familiar passengers in the steamy warmth of William Featherstone’s bus, staring out of the window at a spectral vision of sky, trees and snow. The dawn light revealed a strange world. During the night the wind had scoured the drifts of snow to form an alien landscape of curves and ridges. Only the spiky heads of cow parsley pierced the smooth crust. As she sat there she thought of Tom. He was a regular visitor now at Laurel Cottage, much to the displeasure of her mother.

  Eventually the bus arrived in Ragley High Street, a silver ribbon of ice between the desolation of the frozen hedgerows. Inside their homes, the villagers were stoking log fires, while a pall of wood smoke had settled on the pantile roofs, so that when Lily stepped on to the pavement a malodorous mist hung heavy and with every breath icy fingers froze her bones.

  As she walked up the school drive she saw John Pruett. The snow on top of his car had settled like flour on a newly baked loaf and he was sweeping it off with a gloved hand. Together they walked into the school office, where Vera was admiring her new calendar. She had cut out a page from her Woman’s Own magazine. It was a beautiful coloured portrait of the Queen above a calendar for 1953, which she had mounted on a piece of card and hung on the wall behind her desk. ‘Perfect for the office, I think,’
she said with a satisfied smile.

  ‘I agree,’ said John with moderate enthusiasm. ‘Very useful.’

  ‘It’s a lovely picture,’ said Lily, eager to show support for Ragley’s most ardent royalist.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ asked Vera. ‘I’ve prepared a pot as I have some exciting news.’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said John and Lily in unison. This was clearly something of import.

  ‘It arrived on Saturday right out of the blue,’ announced Vera, while John and Lily hung up their coats, scarves and hats. Vera proceeded to draw out the suspense as she poured two cups of tea. Then she added milk from the jug, along with John’s regulation two spoonfuls of precious sugar.

  ‘Well, what is it?’ asked John, warming his hands on the cup.

  ‘Joseph has rented a television set from a shop in York. It’s a trial offer.’

  Lily was astonished. ‘You have a television?’

  Vera smiled. ‘Yes. I can’t say I was too pleased at first, but it turns out that it has its merits and the news is similar to the cinema.’

  John sipped his tea thoughtfully. ‘So, along with Mrs Fawnswater, we now have two televisions in the village.’

  ‘What’s it like, Vera?’ asked Lily. ‘I’ve seen one in a shop window in York but never close up.’

  ‘You must come to the vicarage this evening and see for yourself – both of you.’

  John and Lily went off to their classrooms to share the news with the children. ‘Two televisions,’ said John. ‘Who would have thought it?’

  It was just before morning break when Vera saw Mrs Violet Fawnswater driving carefully in her Austin A40 over the frozen snow and into the car park. Vera walked out to meet her in the entrance hall.

  ‘Hello, Miss Evans,’ she said. ‘I’m here to collect Phoebe for the dentist.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Briggs has her ready for collection in the classroom.’

  ‘She was so excited about the circus.’

  Vera’s response was neutral. ‘I’m sure she was.’