by Daisy Styles
Over in the Phoenix domestic quarters, Arthur was trying his utmost to treat the day as if it was just another day; he’d had umpteen offers from friends, especially Kit and Ian, who had begged him to spend Christmas with them, but he just couldn’t face it. How could he be with other people, laughing and joking, celebrating, when all the time he just wanted to weep? He had no right to spoil others’ happiness; the community around him nearly broke their backs working as hard as they did for the war effort, and they deserved every minute of peace and happiness they could snatch – he vowed he’d never get in the way of that. He needed to be home with Stevie, getting through just another day. God! How he needed to leave Pendleton. He was almost counting the days to their departure; it would unquestionably be painful, like ripping open a wound, but the thought of waking up to another view, working with another group of people who knew nothing of his past and starting a new life, just he and Stevie, somehow made the future bearable.
Arthur had got up as soon as Stevie stirred and changed the little chap before spoon-feeding him some warm, watery porridge, which Stevie seemed to relish. After warming up a bottle of formula milk, Arthur cradled his son in one arm whilst he fed him from the bottle; he loved the soft gurgling noises of contentment Stevie made as he hungrily sucked on the rubber teat, and when he stopped feeding to smile at his father Arthur’s heart contracted with love.
But there was no doubt he was struggling today, concentrating hard on feeding his son rather than wallowing in despair, Arthur was startled by a sudden knock at the door. Still holding the baby, he made his way to the front door, which he opened before staring in complete amazement at Rosa, standing on the doorstep with presents in her arms.
‘Merry Christmas!’ she declared in a happy ringing voice. ‘Please, can I come in? I know this is a surprise,’ she added apologetically. ‘But I am alone too! So I come with little gifts for you both.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Rosa,’ Arthur said gratefully. He had grown particularly fond of kind-hearted Rosa and knew he would miss her, and all of the girls, when he moved on, as he knew he must. He gave her a warm smile and handed over Stevie. ‘Hold on to the little lad whilst I put the kettle on.’
Waiting for the kettle to boil, Arthur searched around for something to offer Rosa, but his cupboards were bare, with only a slice of stale bread and a tin of baked beans. Feeling rather embarrassed by his lack of Christmas largesse, he returned to the sitting room with mugs of tea for both of them. He was surprised to find Stevie gnawing on a soft woolly teddy bear.
‘I knit myself,’ Rosa said. ‘I got wool from jumble sale, I wash it well before I knit it,’ she assured Arthur. ‘The head is too big for body,’ she added with a shy smile.
‘I can see Stevie already loves it,’ Arthur said with delight as he watched his son, clutching his new toy, roll over on to his tummy.
‘And this is for you,’ said Rosa shyly, as she handed Arthur a large, rather heavy parcel.
Mortified that he hadn’t got a thing to give to Rosa, Arthur blushed, touched beyond words by the young girl’s thoughtfulness. ‘You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble,’ he mumbled self-consciously.
‘No trouble, it was a pleasure,’ she replied sincerely.
Arthur removed the crêpe paper, which Stevie grabbed and played with whilst his father stood staring wide-eyed at a framed black-and-white drawing of his wife. Speechless, his eyes drank in the contours of Violet’s elegant face, the swoop of her high cheekbones, the fullness of her lips and her hair falling softly around her slender shoulders.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he said on a long incredulous sigh.
Rosa also gave a sigh; hers was one of relief. ‘I copy from a black-and-white photograph of Violet – she was so, so beautiful, we all adore her,’ she said with genuine love in her voice.
‘Strange,’ he mused as he continued to gaze in wonder at the image of his dead wife. ‘The fact that it’s only black and white somehow accentuates her beauty: she looks almost luminous, like she’s not gone, but is just some distance away.’
Rosa’s beautiful, dark-brown eyes opened wide; she certainly hadn’t sought to create that illusion, but she was delighted if that’s what she’d managed to achieve, and she didn’t think she could hope for a better compliment. His words meant more to her than even winning the Salford gallery’s prize money. ‘I’m glad you like my drawing,’ she said softly.
‘I LOVE it!’ Arthur cried, and before he could stop himself he bent to give the beautiful girl a huge hug. ‘I feel awful that I have no gifts for you, no gifts for anybody, if the truth be known,’ he added guiltily.
‘Don’t be daft!’ Rosa exclaimed with a definite Northern accent that was at odds with her Mediterranean looks.
‘Thank you, Rosa,’ Arthur said humbly. ‘Thank you from the bottom of my heart.’
Edna, Flora and the little girls were all squashed inside Edna’s mobile chip shop.
‘Why have you got so many apples, Nana?’ Catherine asked.
‘For toffee apples, sweetheart,’ Edna explained.
‘Mum!’ Flora cried. ‘How are you ever going to find enough sugar in this small town to make toffee?’
‘I’ve been on the scrounge,’ Edna said as she knowingly tapped her finger against the side of her snub nose. ‘I’m a dab hand at wheedling out Pendleton sugar hoarders. I’ve cadged just about enough to make a watery toffee dip. The apples were no problem: people store them in cellars and attics, and I knew where to find them,’ she said with a sly wink.
She turned around to survey her packed van. ‘I’ll serve apple fritters, and when they run out I’ll make deep-fried potato scallops – they always go down a treat, plenty of scraps too, nobody can ever get enough of scraps.’
‘Can me and Marilyn help?’ Catherine begged.
‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ Edna laughed, as she produced two little checked pinafores that she’d made for the girls. ‘You’ll have to wear these if you’re going to help, but you must promise me that you’ll not go near the deep-fat fryer,’ she added sternly, pointing at the fryer, which was presently stone cold with only a slab of lard sitting in its base. ‘When it’s hot, it’s proper dangerous. Nana does the cooking whilst you two little helpers do the wrapping up and the salt and vinegar.’
With the Christmas celebrations starting at three in the afternoon, there was no time to even think about Christmas dinner, not that there were any chickens or turkeys to be had in Pendleton, but Edna had pre-cooked a rich casserole of scrag end of beef with carrots, onions and swede, which she planned on serving up at some time during the day – or night – with mashed potatoes.
‘That’s if we ever get a minute to eat!’ she laughed as she left Flora and the girls to check out how Malc was getting on.
When she got to his house, the Father Christmas outfit had disappeared, but the sack of toys was still sitting in the middle of the sitting-room floor.
‘What the ’ell’s going on?’ Edna muttered to herself. Had Malc done a runner at the eleventh hour?
Hearing the back gate clang shut, Edna dashed out into the yard, where she saw Malc creeping towards the house like a thief in the night.
‘Where’ve you been?’ Edna cried.
‘Shssh!’ Malc hissed as he nipped indoors clutching a cardboard box.
Intrigued, Edna watched Malc drop the box on to the floor, then breathlessly throw himself on to the sofa. Taking out his cigarettes, he lit one for both of them, then, after deeply inhaling, he told Edna what he’d done.
‘When I looked in yon sack you’d left, I saw there were nowt there but lasses’ gifts – dollies and pictures of elves and bloody fairies. I thought to myself: what wil’t little lads think of me if I give ’em a peg dolly?’
‘They wouldn’t mind,’ Edna protested.
‘They bloody would mind!’ Malc disagreed. ‘And, more to’t point, I’d mind.’
Thinking that Malc might have committed an act of burglary, Edna gasped,
‘So what did you do?’
‘I nipped over to’t second-hand shop on Market Street,’ Malc confessed with a guilty smile.
‘You went to old Ma Barker’s on Christmas Day!’ Edna cried.
‘Aye. I went in the back way and knocked on her window – she nearly had a bloody fit!’ Malc chuckled.
‘I bet she gave you a gobful?’
‘No! She’d had a skinful,’ Malc said, and started to laugh. ‘She’d been at the gin. I said to her I wanted some little toys for lads; she tottered off and after about ten minutes she staggered back with that lot,’ Malc said. He flipped the cardboard lid open so Edna could peer inside the box.
‘Toy cars!’ she exclaimed in delight. ‘Eeh, I bet Ma Barker charged you the earth for them.’
Malc shook his head. ‘Nay, lass, she were three sheets gone. She just said, “Here y’are, ’ave em!” ’ Malc said incredulously. ‘So now, thank God, I can look the local lads straight in the eye when I give ’em a gift from Father Christmas.’
Edna wrapped her arms around her grinning husband. ‘I love yer,’ she murmured as she kissed his lips. ‘Yer great big soft apeth!’
33. Christmas Carols
Around three o’clock people started to gather in the market square, drawn by the tantalizing mixture of smells drifting out of Edna’s mobile chip shop and the hot, nutty aroma of chestnuts roasting over an open brazier, a task Maggie had delegated to her mother, whilst she played the trumpet in the band.
‘This lot are more apple than toffee if the truth be known,’ Edna explained to her helpers, as she carefully arranged rows of toffee apples on a metal tray. ‘I had to spin out the sugar to make the mixture stretch,’ she told Marilyn and Catherine, who were munching their toffee apples without any complaint.
‘They’re really good, Nana,’ was all they could say in between juicy mouthfuls.
One by one, the band girls appeared: Gladys, freshly changed out of her nurse’s uniform, had walked down the slippery icy hill into town with Rosa, whose face was prettily flushed by the sharp easterly wind. Ian and Kit had used their precious bit of petrol to drive into town with Kit’s drum as well as Billy, all bundled up in a warm coat, a stripy scarf and bobble hat.
‘Where’s Santa?’ the indefatigable little boy cried, hopping out of the car and immediately looking about for his sleigh.
Ian smothered a fond smile as his wife bent down in order to speak to an overexcited Billy.
‘Sweetheart,’ she murmured, ‘Father Christmas will be coming soon, you just have to be patient for a little bit longer.’
‘Will he bring Rudolph?’ Billy asked.
‘Probably not,’ Kit replied as she smoothed Billy’s dark hair. Seeing her son’s big blue eyes register disappointment, she quickly added, ‘He had such a busy time last night, galloping all around the world delivering presents, that he’s now fast asleep in his stable in Greenland.’
‘With my carrot!’ Billy added proudly.
Kit nodded as she remembered how Billy had left a carrot for Rudolph on the kitchen table, along with Father Christmas’s ration-based mince pie. ‘Definitely with your carrot,’ she giggled as she kissed her little boy, who as far as she was concerned, grew more wonderful with every passing day.
When she thought how he’d so narrowly escaped death in the nursery garden not so long ago, her heart constricted with fear. She’d heard about her son’s near-death encounter from both the matron and Mr Featherstone, and thanked God daily for the matron’s quick thinking and immediate action. But for her, all the children would have been blown to kingdom come. It was bad enough that Violet had died in the blast, but the death of innocent babies and children on top of hers would have simply been unbearable. Pushing sad thoughts from her head, Kit focused on joyfully celebrating Christmas Day with her family and friends.
‘Help me with the drum, please,’ she asked Ian as they lifted it out of the boot and Billy immediately started bashing it. ‘I’d better go and find the girls,’ Kit said breathlessly.
‘Off you go,’ Ian said, holding out his hand to Billy. ‘Come on, little fella, let’s get you a toffee apple from Aunty Edna’s big blue van.’
Kit heard Gladys and Rosa before she even saw them: the combination of Rosa’s jingling piano accordion and Gladys’s syncopated saxophone was unmistakable. Kit hurried towards the centre of the square, where her friends had cleared a space for the band.
‘Hello!’ she said as she plonked down her drum and gave Rosa and Gladys a big Christmas hug.
‘Merry Christmas!’ her friends cried as they hugged her back.
‘All we need now are the other two,’ said Gladys, looking distractedly round the square for Maggie and Nora. ‘You don’t think they’ll have forgotten?’ she murmured anxiously.
In answer to her question, Nora and Maggie, walking along arm in arm and laughing their heads off, swung round the corner. ‘MERRY CHRISTMAS!’ they cried as they rushed to join their friends.
‘Eh! Look what I’ve got,’ Maggie shrieked as she flapped an airmail letter before them.
‘A letter from our Les!’ Gladys said as she recognized her brother’s handwriting.
‘For some reason or another it went to mi mam’s,’ Maggie added. ‘I’ve only just picked it up.’
‘How is he?’ Gladys asked excitedly.
‘He’s fine – missing us,’ Maggie assured her. ‘I’ll let you read it later – well some of it,’ she added with a cheeky wink.
‘Isn’t this beautiful?’ Nora gasped as she surveyed the square, now busy with children jostling excitedly in queues at Edna’s van and the hot-chestnut stall.
‘Look! Over there!’ Rosa cried in astonishment, pointing at the big banner that had been strung between two gas lamp-posts.
Tears came to her eyes as she read the words painted in large capital letters across the banner (which Edna had persuaded Ted, the landlord of the Black Bull, to put up on the basis that he had the longest ladder in town!).
PENDLETON CAROL SERVICE. ALL PROCEEDS
TO REFUGEES, VICTIMS OF WAR
PLEASE GIVE GENEROUSLY
Rosa gulped emotionally: this small town tucked into the folds of a valley high up on the moors was as close to her heart as her own beautiful city of Padua. ‘These people,’ she thought incredulously. ‘They have nothing, but what little they have they share without questions.’
Seeing Rosa filling up as she stared at the flapping banner, Gladys slipped a comforting arm around her shoulder. ‘Come on, my darling, sing your heart out for Gabriel, eh?’
‘Sì, sì, certo, mia cara,’ Rosa responded in Italian, as she flicked away her tears. ‘Where there’s life there is hope, as Nora would say,’ Rosa quoted with a brave smile.
‘Okay, Swing Girls,’ Kit called out to her friends. ‘Let’s tune up.’
‘It’ll be hard in this bloody weather,’ Nora laughed. ‘Mi trombone feels like a block of ice.’
‘As long as you can squeeze a note out of it, we’ll be fine,’ Maggie laughed as she hit a high C and frightened the living daylights out of a stray dog snuffling round her feet.
As the band adjusted their instruments, Billy gratefully accepted a toffee apple from Catherine, who leant over the end of Edna’s hatch to hand the wide-eyed little boy the first toffee apple of his life.
‘That little lad’s my godson,’ Edna proudly told her granddaughters. ‘Hello, my sweetheart!’ she called to Billy, who waved back with the free hand that wasn’t clutching the precious toffee apple.
‘Where’s Arthur?’ Edna called out to Ian. ‘Have you seen him?’
Ian shook his head. ‘We stopped by on our way here and offered him a lift, but he said he couldn’t face it. He might turn up – you never know.’ But as his eyes met Edna’s, he knew they were both thinking the same thing: how different the day would have been if Violet was alive.
The band launched into the first number – with a loud crash, bang, wallop from Kit on the drums, followed by the brass s
ection blasting and the accordion joining in. Within minutes, the entire crowd packed in the town square were rocking and swaying back and forth as they sang at the top of their voices:
We wish you a merry Christmas,
We wish you a merry Christmas,
We wish you a merry Christmas,
and then even louder they sang the last verse:
And a happy new year!
As pennies and small coins, even penny farthings, tinkled into the donations tins, the old favourite carols rolled out: ‘Away in a Manger’, which all the children knew and loved; ‘Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem’, ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’, and then, just as it was going dark and snow started to fall once more, Father Christmas with his sack slung over his shoulder appeared as if by magic under the enormous town council Christmas tree.
‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’ he bellowed.
Standing by the hatch of her mobile van, Edna had the perfect view of her husband dressed up as Santa. ‘Oh, bloody ’ell,’ she sniggered to Flora. ‘He’s seriously getting into the role!’
‘He’s doing marvellously,’ Flora declared as she loudly applauded Malc’s heroic efforts.
Ted, dressed in green as one of Santa’s helpers, organized an orderly queue of over-excited children, who otherwise might have stampeded Malc, who was perched nervously on a stool by the Christmas tree, looking rather like a man waiting for the guillotine to drop.
‘Come along now,’ Ted yelled. ‘No pushing and shoving – let’s make a nice long line for Santa.’
As each child eagerly stepped forward, Malc reached into his sack and drew out one present after another. The delight on the children’s little faces touched Malc’s tender heart, and when he saw the boys marvelling at their small metal cars he resisted the urge to say, ‘Old Ma Barker’s got more back in her shop; you could get another free if you nip round now!’