Wedding Bells on the Home Front

by Annie Clarke

  Reverend Walters looked up at the sky. ‘Indeed, Tilly, whatever next. Might pigs fly?’

  Ralph, Professor Smythe and the Massinghams were chuckling, looking from Tilly to the vicar and then watching those on their way down the hill. Eva came to stand with Ralph, holding his hand, while Viola sorted out the other children. Fran felt that she was looking at a close family.

  Alfie stopped Fran and Davey as they started to join the crowd. ‘Oh no, you don’t. Our Professor Smythe is taking the Massinghams and you’re to come with me and the bridesmaids. One can take the front because Ben’s off with Stan and the marrers, hitching a lift on the bus. It’ll not only be standing room, but lots sitting on the laps of others. Right cosy, I reckon. Others are going back on their bikes, so will build an appetite. Hope you’ve catered for it.’

  They walked down the hill, and Davey held Fran’s hand as he said to Alfie, ‘Course they’ll have done. They know the Massingham appetites like the backs of their hands, you daft beggar.’

  Alfie laughed, and dropped back to chat to the girls, while Davey and Fran walked ahead. She leaned into him, loving every breath he drew, every word he said, and wondered how she could ever have felt uncertain or scared.

  She and Davey slipped their arms round one another. He muttered, ‘I were nervous. Sort of frightened at the change, even though I love you more than life itself. I think I’m scared of the night-time, of doing it right.’

  Fran leaned even harder into him. ‘I was too, but not now.’

  They walked on, and were nearly at the car when she muttered, ‘P’raps you should wear them drawers that foiled Daisy’s little lie that you’d had your way with her – the ones with the saggy elastic that you sewed tight to keep them up. Aye, do that, then nowt can happen, we’ll just slee—’ She couldn’t say anything for he’d spun her round and lifted her into his arms, hugging her till she could scarcely breathe.

  He put her down, and they walked on, laughing together, before he said quietly, ‘Aye, well, our lass, happen you’re right, ’tis always a thought.’

  Ralph listened to the girls singing ‘Night and Day’ once the speeches were over, the tiny cake beneath the cardboard had been cut and the scones with the Women’s Institute jam devoured. Bert had stuffed himself to the brim with pheasant sandwiches. Mrs Oborne was fanning herself, her colour heightened as she spoke to Reginald Massingham. Colin, her son, was deep in conversation with Norm.

  Finally, Ralph looked at Fran, who, in just a month, looked different, more grown-up, more a woman, or had it been happening for a while? He looked at Viola. Ah, Viola, who was rather wonderful. He hoped she was able to move her fingers more, and was in less pain.

  He felt an arm link with his and knew it was Sophia. ‘A happy occasion, dearest Ralph,’ she murmured. ‘These two so as one, and you, though in pain from your leg, are relaxed. You have survived and come home to us.’

  ‘Home?’ he mused. ‘Yes, that’s just how I feel, looking around with your arm in mine, and do you know, dear Sophia, I think I’ll feel that at Auld Hilda when I report for surface duties. I can’t return to the face until my leg is just a bit more use than it is, but even that will be a normality.’

  She shivered. ‘I do so wish you wouldn’t go back down.’

  He said nothing for a moment, then, as the girls finished, and the clapping began and she disengaged, he said, ‘I must, the pits have lost so many to the war and we have to keep the coal coming. At least I know pretty much how to do it now.’

  Ralph saw his father detaching himself from Mrs Oborne and smiling as he headed towards them. Just then, Eva bobbed up at Ralph’s side and fixed Sophia with an unblinking stare.

  ‘Sophia isn’t well, Mr Ralph. See, she’s pale, and a bit pukey.’

  Sophia shook her head. ‘I am just tired, little bossyboots. It’s been a bit of a time.’

  ‘Aye,’ Eva grumbled, ‘maybe she has the squits an’ all. But she wouldn’t tell us, and we wouldn’t want to hear neither. You could ask her, though.’

  His father called out, to Ralph’s relief. ‘I think that’s quite enough from you, young lady. Viola’s looking for you to sing a solo.’

  Eva ran off. Reginald grinned at Ralph, then Sophia, who waved towards the revellers, saying, ‘Off you go, too, Ralph, and revel.’

  ‘But, Sophia, what about …?’

  She just continued to wave him away. ‘Tiredness, darling boy, causes all sorts of mischief, and now we have the wonderful Viola, so all is well, and will become even better.’

  Ralph nodded. His father waved him away too. ‘Yes, and I am home more often for a while, so I am the overseer of all things domestic.’

  Sophia raised her eyebrows, and then burst into loud laughter. Ralph wandered around, smiling and chatting, but falling silent when Eva sang, ‘A-Tisket, A-Tasket’. The lump in his throat made talking out of the question, and as the post-song chatter escalated, he slipped through the outside door, shutting it quietly behind him.

  Standing on the step, he welcomed the cool breeze, breathing in the coal and sulphur, nodding to himself. Yes, he was truly home. He looked to the right, towards Auld Hilda’s pithead workings – such an ugly old bitch, but again, home.

  He picked his way through the weed-strewn grass and leaned back against the nearby storeroom brick wall, lighting up his cigarette, so glad that Sophia accepted his need to stay in the pits and help to win the war. He was an honest man at last, doing a worthwhile job. But the extent of that job was his secret. Well, except for Smythe and his right-hand man, Yeland, and of course, his father …

  He heard Beth’s voice then, almost shouting: ‘Norris, what are you doing here? I said I divint want any more drink. I’m trying not to—’

  ‘More to the point, what are you doing outside when the others are tripping the light fantastic? Heard anything from that husband of yours? A girl like you divint deserve that sort of thing. And where’s that slide I gave you?’

  ‘Oh, ’tis in Fran’s hair, to keep her neat.’ Beth sounded exhausted. ‘I needed fresh air, and quiet. Not you.’

  Norris’s voice took on an edge. ‘You let her have the slide I gave you? That’s plain rude.’

  Ralph moved as silently as he could to the corner, lifting his stick so it wouldn’t scrape against any of the half bricks lying in the grass. The name was familiar. Hang on, wasn’t that the black marketeer … Was he the one who’d supplied Mrs Bedley? He cringed, for Maud Bedley had been trying to come to terms with Tom’s death in the roof fall that he, Ralph, had caused.

  He made himself pay attention, seeing the girl reaching out, coming down the path to Norris Suffolk. But no, she wasn’t reaching out. Her hand was flat – stop, she was saying. But Ralph was damned sure this bugger wouldn’t let a customer go.

  Ralph pinched out his cigarette, as Smythe had taught him to do when he’d come to ‘the Carlyle’. ‘Smoke alerts them,’ he’d said. He moved slightly, to give himself a better line of sight, risking a look. Norris was slipping Beth a tin hip flask, folding her hand over it, saying, ‘This’ll make you feel better. You’re too lovely a lass to be miserable, and with a grand voice an’ all. I’ve contacts, you know.’

  Beth pushed the flask back at Norris, but her mouth was working. Don’t, Ralph wanted to shout. Please, please don’t. Beth was backing right up to the wall of the club, but Norris was going with her, smiling, his black hair flopping over his eye.

  Beth snatched the flask, gulping down its contents. Norris crowded her, his arms on either side of her, his hands pressed against the wall. ‘Plenty more where that came from, and while you have the wives’ allotment – what is it, one third of his pay? – why not spend it?’

  Beth just shook her head. ‘I have to pay for the divorce, he says, or send him the allotment. I got the letter this morning. I was always going to send it. He should know that.’

  Ralph could hardly bear the anguish in her voice.

  ‘Ah, but you get good money where you work, and besides,
your mam has her rugs.’

  Ralph was shaking his head, whispering, ‘No, no, Beth. Don’t let him into your life.’

  Leaning back against the wall, Ralph looked up at the sky, hoping Beth’s father, Tubby Smith, was on his cloud. He found himself whispering, ‘Help her, Tubby. Don’t let her get involved with Norris, not now, not ever.’

  He waited, listened, but everything had gone quiet. Had Norris left? He risked a look. Norris was kissing her. Ralph closed his eyes. Someone had to intervene. He flexed his leg, grateful for the strength he had worked towards. The door was opening and Norris stepped back, snatching the flask from Beth, who looked confused and full of misery.

  Ralph saw Sid standing outside the door, letting it shut behind him, staring from Norris to Beth, who was wiping her mouth. Was she wiping away Norris, or the booze? Glenn Miller drifted out from the hall.

  Norris was backing along the path towards the road, tipping his cap. ‘Just having a word with the prettiest bridesmaid in Massingham.’

  Sid was shaking his head at Norris. ‘Aye, and I believe in Father Christmas. What’s that you’re holding in your hand? Why, a flask – one you’ve just given to her to pour down her bliddy throat, eh?’

  He was striding after Norris, who was increasing his speed, but Sid lunged, grabbed Norris by the lapels, swung him round and hauled him out through the gateway and onto the pavement, calling back at Beth, his voice gentle, ‘You get yourself inside, bonny lass. No need to mention any of this to anyone, eh? Don’t want to spoil the party for this lump of—’

  ‘Big mistake, sonny,’ Norris ground out, his mouth hardly moving. ‘This is different to the Bedleys’ backyard, for you’ve not got Stan leading the charge.’

  Ralph saw Sid hang on to one lapel and snatch the flask from Norris’s other hand, sniffing, then dropping it onto the ground, grinding it beneath his steel-capped boot until it was flattened. ‘Aye, it is a mistake for you, you bastard.’ He gripped both Norris’s lapels again and all the beggar did, Ralph saw, was to sag like a deadweight.

  Sid shook him and still Norris just sagged, a stupid grin on his face. ‘Ah, that’s a girl’s response, because it’s hard to hold you up and slap you at the same time.’ Sid’s voice was low, but so furious that it carried on the breeze. ‘Don’t even think you can try and get that lass in the palm of your hand, like you did Sarah’s mam. Making money from them with your rising interest on the bill. What then? How would you expect her to pay it off? You lay a bliddy hand on her ever again, you even look at her, and I’ll rip your throat out, and no, I divint need Stan for that. You were told back then, in Mrs Smith’s yard, to sling your hook, and now I’m telling you again.’

  Sid was so close to Norris that their foreheads touched. ‘So, don’t you bring your filthy bootleg brandy and whatever else anywhere near her.’

  ‘She was keen enough to take a silver slide from me, for which a man expects a little something.’

  Sid shook him. ‘For a start, the silver bliddy trinket is painted tin, and if you want it back, I’ll post it in your gob, got it?’

  He let him go, Norris staggered back, then forwards, and fell onto one knee. For a moment nothing happened, and then Norris lifted an arm. To do what? Ralph wondered. Was he asking for a hand up? He’d more likely get a punch on the nose. But no, Norris was gesturing to someone or something out of sight. From behind the hedge that divided the club from the road, Ralph heard car doors slam. Two men appeared, heavily muscled. Norris scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off.

  Stepping back, Sid looked from the men to Norris, then glanced over his shoulder before assessing the three men again. Ralph saw that Beth hadn’t moved. Sid’s voice was calm and gentle as he kept his eyes on the men. ‘You get inside like I said, our Beth, right now. Don’t say a word to t’others, and if you’ve never done anything anyone’s told you before, do it now. Leave me to deal with this.’

  Sid’s fists were clenched, he was settling his weight, with no sign of fear. Of course not; he was a pitman. ‘You go in, bonny lass,’ he repeated. Beth wiped her hand across her mouth again, and at last almost slid into the hall.

  Ralph looked again at the tableau. Three to one, eh? Hardly fair odds. He flexed his leg. It would hold him up, because as Smythe had said, it came down to balance, and that was what some of the exercises in rehab had been all about. He also had the walking stick with the heavy lion’s head. A gift from Smythe for those tricky moments, as the old boy had said, meaningfully.

  ‘You’re a bliddy coward, Norris,’ growled Sid, ‘bringing your monkeys with you. But it’ll do you no good.’

  Ralph waited, for any minute now the men would make their move. He looked at their faces, their eyes, the balance of their bodies, as Smythe had taught. For a moment no one moved, and then Norris and his men shifted their weight … Sid caught Norris with his boot as he came at him from the side, and punched the bigger of the other two while the third brandished a blackjack, swinging it wildly.

  Ralph reached Sid, standing full square at his side, his walking stick across his body, muttering, ‘Can’t even have a pee in peace.’ He swung his stick, lion’s head first, catching Norris’s neck. Always guaranteed to put someone out of action for a few valuable moments. He threw the stick behind him and turned to face the other two. ‘Better odds, eh, Sid?’

  Sid was dodging the blackjack, looking for an opening. ‘Bliddy hell,’ he gasped, ‘and like a puff of smoke you’re here, our lad.’ He hadn’t taken his eyes off the others for a moment.

  The blackjack missed Sid, leaving the thug off balance. Norris came at Ralph. Ralph couldn’t kick out with his leg, but he could punch, and did. Beside him, Sid did the same. The blackjack was dropped. Norris staggered to his feet, drawing out a knuckleduster from his back pocket.

  Ralph dodged back, his leg failed him and a steel punch clipped his cheek, just catching his eye. Another punch went for his ribs. He blocked it and punched quick and fast, as he’d learned at school in the boxing ring. He picked up his stick, whipping Norris’s feet from under him. Sid dispatched the other two. All three were making the road untidy, but then they groaned and stirred. Ralph flexed his hands – no damage, they just ached.. He blessed his fitness instructor, Smythe’s advice and boxing.

  Sid touched the men with his boot. ‘Up you get, you load of rubbish, and get on home.’

  The men groaned, scrambling to their feet. Sid was barely panting, though Ralph was trying to get his breath. Glenn Miller was still playing.

  ‘Don’t leave this bit o’ nonsense here,’ said Sid. ‘Take him, throw him in the bliddy beck for all I care. Do it now.’

  The men hauled Norris to his feet. ‘Take that flask as well,’ said Ralph. One of them picked it up.

  ‘Never, ever go near Beth Jones again, Norris, or you won’t be getting up, you won’t even be found. Do you understand?’ said Sid.

  Norris just groaned. Ralph nodded. ‘We’ll take that as a yes.’

  Ralph and Sid grinned at one another as Norris was helped to the car and tipped into the back seat, swearing bloody murder. Without looking back, the heavies opened the door to the front seats, almost fell in, started the motor and drove away.

  Sid and Ralph watched whilst a few hundred yards behind them Auld Hilda’s winding gear still sang, its song mingling with ‘In the Mood’. Sid offered a Woodbine to Ralph, who thought for a moment, then brought out two of the cigars his father had left on his hospital bedside table. ‘You like cigars, don’t you, Sid? Don’t know who told me, but you had one at Christmas with your grandpa. Well, let’s have one now.’

  Sid lit them, properly, the flame not touching the cigar. Ralph muttered, ‘That’s right, your grandpa taught you.’

  ‘Something went into your noddle in hospital.’ Sid laughed. He exhaled into the night air. ‘We were talking about what made us feel safe. Howay lad, we’ll have the ARP warden shouting the odds any minute now with this big beggar of burning ash.’ They stood quietly for a moment. Sid nudge
d him. ‘Strange thing is, you know, Ralph, the netty’s right at the back of the hall.’

  ‘Ah well, it was something to say. I just fancied some fresh air, but it sounded a bit feeble.’

  The two men stayed where they were, quietly smoking. Ralph’s leg and hands hurt, but nothing else. ‘And Beth?’ he asked, finally.

  ‘Bob’s got a pregnant fancy woman in Grimsby,’ Sid muttered. ‘He wants a divorce and the tongues are wagging. I reckon our Beth’s thinking that she’s brought shame to her mam’s house.’

  Ralph had heard what Beth had said to Norris, and repeated it. Sid merely said, ‘Help pay for the divorce? Or give up the allotment on his pay? Shame that Bob’s not here, for I’d have pulled his head off and stuffed him in the car with the other three.’

  ‘She needs her friends, and someone who cares more than Bob ever did. I heard your voice tonight. Be the one who’s there, eh?’

  Sid tapped his cigar. ‘Oh aye, it’ll be me, bonny lad. No one will hurt her any more than she is hurting now, I’ll make sure of that. But I reckon you can be my flank man, eh? Nifty bit of fighting – where’d you learn?’

  Ralph examined his own cigar as Sid jerked his head towards the door. As they headed for the hall, he said, ‘You’d be surprised what fitness exercises bring out in a man.’

  Sid laughed. ‘Screens tomorrow, then?’

  Ralph nodded. ‘Aft shift for now. When my leg’s a bit stronger I’ll be back on the face, that’s if my place on your team’s free?’

  Sid pulled the door open. ‘Ready for some scones, eh?’

  ‘A beer more like, though a sip of that brandy that’s soaking into the road would’ve been good.’

  Sid laughed. ‘Aye, bonny lad, you can always give the tarmac a good lick, eh?’

  They entered. Bonny lad, eh? Ralph thought. None of them, not Stan, Norm or Sid, had ever called him that before.