Wedding Bells on the Home Front

by Annie Clarke

  ‘You’ll be welcome back at the face with us, man,’ Sid said quietly. ‘But best brush the confetti out of your hair first.’

  Ralph laughed, because he really was home if he was to be welcomed, not just suffered. They walked towards the laughter, the singing, the dancing, and here was Eva weaving through the groups, calling, ‘Mr Ralph? Oh, Mr Ralph, there you are. I’m going to sing with the girls again, so stay in here now, you hear me?’

  She reached him, panting, her eyes alight, her plaits swinging, and grabbed his hand. He winced. She peered at his grazed knuckles, and then up at his face. ‘What you been doing, Mr Ralph? You’ve a cut eye, and your hand is sore.’

  ‘Tripped over my walking stick,’ he said.

  Nearby, Sid winked and gestured to the table where the lads were sitting, their chairs turned to face the girls, who were getting ready on the stage. ‘Sit with us?’ Sid mouthed to Ralph. To Eva, he called, ‘We’ll all be listening, lass, so you’d best hightail it.’

  Ralph watched her weave her way back, her pigtails swinging, then replied, ‘I’d like that, Sid.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Ralph walked to the table with Sid, then hesitated. Would he be welcomed by the others?

  ‘Sit yourself down,’ said Sid. ‘Divint hang about like a bad smell, lad. No way you’re using that leg to get us to pull your bliddy chair out. Nowt wrong with it, seems to me.’

  Stan looked surprised and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Mithering away like two auld women on the step,’ Norm said, ‘instead of breathing in the cigarette smoke in here.’

  Ralph murmured, waving his cigar, ‘I had to take a break. Makes me cough when it’s smoky.’

  Norm and Stan burst out laughing. ‘Cigar, eh?’

  Ralph nodded at them. ‘Father left them by the bed. Anyone else?’

  They waved away the idea. ‘Had enough of that puffing over a sleeping beauty,’ Stan said. ‘One I reckon would have opened his eyes sharpish if there’d been a pretty princess hacking her way through the thorns to give him a kiss.’

  Ralph looked around, seeing the Massingham people, and on the co-op table his family – Sophia, Reginald, even Professor Smythe – talking nineteen to the dozen with the mams. Over on the stage Viola was warming up the saxophone as Eva jumped up and down. The evacuees sat on a table close to the co-op. Probably so that one or other of the women could clip their ears if they got out of control. Ralph grinned.

  He dug his hands in his pockets, his walking stick hanging from his arm, just like his grandfather’s portrait in the study. He looked around, knowing that all the Massingham people had such families and now and in the future, they were his responsibility, just as his father had always said. As he concentrated on Stan and the marrers, he realised that not only had he come to understand his father’s decency and honour; but also, he acknowledged the Massingham family’s tradition of compassion and commitment, mirrored by all these here.

  He had to swallow hard against his tears, which had come readily in the first day or two after his ‘second coming’, as Sister Newsome called his recovery. When he wept, Sister Newsome had said, ‘Young man, you have survived a good deed. Let’s face it, it’s not every day a youngster avoids a bus by driving into a tree. So, the obnoxious little brat has cast his skin. Focus now on what is to come. One step at a time, feel the ground beneath your feet, the sun on your face.’ Dr Wilson had then sent him on to ‘the Carlyle’, an establishment in which Professor Smythe had an interest, the doctor said. Well, yes, thought Ralph now.

  Norm was calling him now. ‘Get your arse sat down, lad, you’re making the place untidy, and what were you two up to out there, really?’

  Sid winked at him as he sat. Ralph said, ‘Oh, we chatted, and maybe had a bit of a twirl. Glenn Miller deserved some fancy footwork, indeed he did.’ Sid roared with laughter, but Stan quietened him, because the girls were starting to sing. For a moment they listened to ‘Over the Rainbow’, but then Sid took a couple of tankards of beer from the tray Mrs Bedley was carrying from table to table and whispered, ‘Ta, Mrs Bedley.’

  She moved on as Sid put one of them down in front of Ralph. ‘Wrap yourself around this. As a pitman you’ve a right to a glass of Stevie’s best, not the stuff he keeps for the common herd. Besides, it was you who paid for all the booze, like you did for Stan and Sarah’s wedding tea, so ’tis your right.’

  Sid lifted his tankard to his lips, and Stan’s gaze settled on his knuckles, then on Ralph’s, but he just nodded. ‘Over the Rainbow’ came to an end and now Beth sashayed to the front and Eva joined her. Ralph found himself tensing, but Beth looked far from drunk.

  ‘The girls thought a few cups of tea would help the lass,’ Stan whispered. ‘And food. She hadn’t eaten all day, or probably the day before and the one before that, so they forced it down her. She’d had a glass or two on an empty stomach, ’tis all.’

  Eva and Beth sang ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’. Ralph’s gaze was fixed on the child as her marvellous, clear voice soared in harmony with Beth’s contralto, then the duo fell silent as Viola’s saxophone took over. It was Viola he watched now, that poor hand, and ear, her beautiful face. He touched his own ear, the scar down his forehead. Beth and Eva sang again, shredding the souls of those sitting or standing. When they reached the final two lines, Fran, in her bridal gown, and Sarah in her pink bridesmaid’s dress joined in from the floor, and Viola’s saxophone was a whisper as the song drew to a close.

  There was silence, and Viola stroked Eva’s hair, while Beth hugged the child to her. Still the silence continued, and no one moved. The girls bowed as one. Ralph stood up and started clapping. ‘Bravo.’

  It seemed, then, that everyone was on their feet, and Davey wove his way through the tables onto the stage. He led Eva to the centre. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, a star of the future: Eva Harrison, a right handful of a bonny lass. Your mam and da will be so proud as they look down.’

  Eva bowed as the girls joined the clapping, and Ralph knew that his love for this incorrigible child was set in stone. Stan turned, grinning. ‘Howay, lad, she’s a special lass. Best you take good care of her, eh.’

  As the clapping died, they heard Eva turn to Davey and say, ‘D’you really reckon me mam and da can hear me up on their cloud, Mr Davey?’

  Ralph made his way towards the stage, arriving at the same time as Sophia. ‘Of course they can, little Eva,’ he called.

  She came to the front of the stage and jumped. He caught her.

  ‘I knew you’d catch me. I know you always will.’

  Ralph put her down and led her to the co-op’s table, with Sophia taking his arm. ‘Anyone here would,’ he said, quietly. ‘You’re quite safe in Massingham. Trust me.’

  Behind him, Ben put on a record: the ‘Sweetheart Waltz’.

  Davey pulled Fran closer still once they reached the floor. He led her into a waltz, and neither of them wanted the day to end as long as they were here, dancing, laughing, and together. For tomorrow he would leave.

  As they circled the floor, they neared the co-op’s table where the Massinghams and the professor still sat, and Davey whispered, ‘I need to make good the mistake I made at Sarah’s wedding tea, lass. Just a word with the professor, eh?’ He spun her round, and Beth’s slide fell from Fran’s hair onto the floor. While she picked it up, Davey slipped between the tables reaching the professor, who was in full lecture mode, telling Mrs Oborne about the ancient Greeks.

  Tilly Oborne nodded towards Davey. ‘Eh, bonny lad, the professor looks at me and sees an old bag, and tries to make me feel better by battering me with facts on a load of Greeks who’re even older.’ She winked.

  The professor spun round. ‘My dear boy,’ he said, rising. ‘Such a pleasure to be here again, at the celebration of another son of the coal, one who is toying with things other.’

  Mrs Oborne shouted across, ‘By, he means he’s right glad to be here with us sparkling souls.’

  It was the professor�
�s turn to wink at Davey as Fran caught up. ‘That’s it, in a nutshell. I think, dear Mrs Oborne, you simply must come to Oxford with me. I need you to teach my young show-offs how to grasp the nub of things.’

  Mr Massingham roared with laughter, slapping the table. ‘Best not, Auberon, old man. She’d sort them out a little too much, I reckon, and ears would be skelped within the first hour.’

  Professor Smythe shook Davey’s hand, and kissed Fran’s. ‘I can only think that would be good for the little smart alecs.’

  Davey leaned in closer. ‘I have come to say how glad I am to hear from Sophia that your son is safe. Last time we met, at Stan’s wedding, I didn’t even know he was missing and dropped a bliddy big clanger. Stan tells me he’s a POW, bloodied, but unbowed.’

  Again, Mrs Oborne involved herself. ‘By, that one of your clues, Davey Bedley? Bloodied but unbowed, indeed.’

  Fran grinned as Mr Oborne muttered, ‘You’re not having any more elderberry wine, lass. That tongue of yours is taking flight.’

  The professor smiled around at everyone. ‘I do so love being up here, it reassures me that the world hasn’t gone completely mad. What’s more, I think we should all have a Mrs Oborne living near us, because I could do with absorbing some of her verve.’

  Bert was passing and held up his half-pint of beer. ‘Then take her, Professor, for the love of God, take her. Give us some peace.’

  The professor caught Davey under the elbow. ‘I’m wending my way to see young Ralph. Nasty mishap; a grand attempt to save lives, eh?’

  Without quite knowing how, Fran and Davey found themselves being propelled towards the lads’ table, but Davey extricated himself firmly, gripping Fran’s hand and saying, ‘You go on, Professor. I’m dancing with me wife while I have the chance.’

  Ralph stood up when he saw Smythe on his way. Was he the only one who could see the sharpness of those eyes belied the befuddled persona? They met halfway.

  ‘Well, young Ralph …’ The professor shook his hand and then waved expansively around the room. ‘We do keep meeting at these weddings. Any more on the horizon? A chance to chat with all and sundry.’

  Together they surveyed the guests, but both were really checking up, as Ralph always was now: who was listening, who was in a group? Who was a stranger? Who was asking too many questions?

  Smythe brought his drink to his lips. ‘Be interesting to hear if young Swinton knows you’re back on the scene. No need – after Carlyle – to ask if you are still up to staying deep in it all.’

  Ralph dug his hands in his pockets, the material rasping on his grazes. ‘No need at all.’

  The professor smiled, then laughed, just as Ralph did as he played this game of subterfuge in order to protect his people and his country’s present and future. It was, as he recognised at last, his duty.

  ‘Right you are,’ said Smythe. ‘Go boldly, but carefully. You’ll have a black eye in the morning after your shindig. Interesting, what window-peeping reveals. Norris Suffolk is a bad lot.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Another time, laddie, protect the face. So sad, to trip over your stick. Leeches – should you fear for your princely looks.’

  Ralph winced. ‘No leeches. My princely looks will have to wait until nature takes its course.’

  Smythe nodded. ‘Be ready with an answer if Swinton gets in touch. Be fascinating to see if he mentions the boxing bout. Remember, report anything, big or small, and enjoy being back in the land of the living.’ He raised his voice. ‘So pleased you have made such an excellent recovery.’

  The professor stepped closer to Ralph. ‘I mean it. Enjoy life. Not sure if Yeland and I promote that enough. Feel the ground beneath your feet, the breeze on your face. Keep your friends close, but not too close, never lose control, never drink too much or say too much, but feel, and live. Oh dear, I’m waxing lyrical. One doesn’t realise until one stands up that there is quite a kick in Stevie’s elderberry plonk. He should start a separate business after the war.’

  He walked away and Ralph strolled back to the table, thinking that Sister Newsome and Smythe must have come from the same mould. He stopped. Dr Wilson had sent him to the Carlyle Rehabilitation Unit, in which Smythe had an interest. Sister Newsome was married to Dr Wilson … Well, well, wheels within wheels. Ah, so he really wasn’t alone, because he himself, he suspected, was part of another cell, one on the right side this time.

  Ralph didn’t sit down. Instead, his leg barely troubling him, he headed towards Viola, sitting with Norm. She looked up, surprised, as he stopped by her side. He said, nervousness making his voice high-pitched, ‘May I have this dance, though I have two left feet?’

  Daniel, who had been loitering, took over Ralph’s chair, saying, ‘Well, if you’re on the move, I’ll keep it warm for you, having given mine to Sarah.’ Before he sat, though, he called to Davey and Fran, who were approaching from the dance floor, ‘I say, your mother has been telling me how you tried to climb the Christmas tree and brought the whole lot down.’

  Davey shook his fist. Fran laughed. ‘Oh aye, I remember that.’

  ‘Me too,’ called Beth. ‘He were stuck under it, and his mam came down after midnight to see what the noise was all about.’

  Sarah joined in. ‘Aye, there were pine needles everywhere, and in him an’ all.’

  Daniel sat back. ‘Grist to the mill. Colin and Martin will be agog.’

  Fran shrieked with laughter, leaning against Davey, who said, ‘One more word, young man, and I’ll set our Fran on you. Just to show I mean it, I’ll throw you in the beck tomorrow.’

  As Ralph began to lead Viola away towards the floor, Davey called after him, ‘You coming too, Ralph? You’re on aft shift like this lot, so there’s time, eh?’

  Viola was looking up at him. ‘Are you well enough, just back as you are with a dicky leg?’

  Sid’s snort could be heard yards away. ‘Oh aye, Ralph’s leg’s right enough. I reckon ’tis a whopper he’s told the hospital.’

  Ralph grinned. ‘The beck sounds good. I’ll rent Alfie’s bike again, even though his charges are exorbitant and his saddle worse. It’ll tie in with the exercises I’ve been doing.’

  Smiling, Viola grabbed his arm, leading the way to the dance floor, and Ralph allowed himself to feel happy.

  Ben was just putting on another record. Maisie, Beatrice Adams’ daughter, yelled, ‘Howay, lad, make it a waltz. Canna be zipping around doing another foxtrot. My feet are throbbing and it isn’t good for my old mam, and Mr Swinton neither.’ Everyone laughed.

  ‘Mind your manners, young lady,’ said Mrs Adams.

  Ben just shook his head. ‘Right away, Maisie. Got a waltz, have you, William?’

  William nodded. ‘I reckon so.’

  As the music started, the needle jumped every few seconds, but what did it matter? Ralph held out his arms and Viola stepped into them. She laid her damaged hand on his shoulder, and he slipped his arm around her. He could smell lavender in her auburn hair. He could see her burned scalp, her damaged ear, and thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and the bravest.

  The music seemed to have staggered beyond the scratches and now the big band sound flowed, which was more than could be said for his heart, which was flipping about doing a dance all its own at the nearness of her. She was looking at him, her eyes alight with – what? Laughter? Fun? Could it be enjoyment?

  Swallowing, he listened to the music, hardly believing she was here, in his arms, but he couldn’t gather his wits. How the hell did a waltz go? Think, man. Forward with the left, side step, back with the right. Or was it forward with the right? He did a sort of hop, and off he went, forward with the right, and stepped on Viola’s foot. ‘So sorry.’

  He tried again, feeling the sweat running down his back at the touch of her injured hand. She’d think him a fool. He searched her face, but she was just waiting, her eyes still alight.

  Again, he stepped forward, with the left this time, and not a stride, just a step, groping for somethin
g to take his mind off it, focusing on – and there it was, the fitness bike at the Carlyle, the pedals, the saddle, the wheels going round and round, his leg growing stronger, his mind keener.

  He approached a turn without stumbling, and asked how she liked working at the Hall, with all the children to care for? His hand tightened on hers as he manoeuvred round. He trod on her foot.

  ‘I like it very well, thank you Master Ralph.’ She gave a sort of bob.

  Ralph closed his eyes and felt the heat rising up his neck. ‘Oh no, I didn’t mean boss to … No, not that either. Oh, God …’ He trod on her toe again. ‘Oh God.’

  She was laughing up at him, and he wanted to kiss her mouth. ‘I were teasing,’ she said. ‘Stop worrying, listen to the music, Ralph. Move to it, lad … Listen, feel,’ she breathed, drawing closer, and slowly his shoulders dropped, his hands opened. It was only then that he realised he’d been squeezing her hand.

  ‘Oh Lord, so sorry.’

  ‘Hush,’ she said. ‘’Tis only a dance.’

  But it wasn’t, not for Ralph, for this red-haired girl was special and made his heart twist and leap. Was this what love was? He didn’t know. Should he even question what it was? Perhaps not. They danced on until the song ended. He stood still, but didn’t release Viola, he couldn’t, but neither did she try to leave. She just said, ‘Our Ben might launch into a samba.’

  ‘Then I’m lost,’ Ralph muttered, keeping his eyes on the stage as William brandished another record. Please, another waltz, Ralph willed. It was, and off they went again, and this time for Ralph and Viola there were no damaged feet, and he managed to talk of the joys of spring, the Australian troops who were forcing back the Japanese in New Guinea, and the Indians in Burma who were falling back against the Germans.

  Then she raised an eyebrow, and he fell silent and ‘felt’ the music.

  He danced on, her hand linked with his, her other resting on his shoulder, feeling the warmth she gave him, the music, and finally the happiness as she looked up, into his eyes. As she did, something passed between them, and they nodded at the same time, and she touched his cut eyebrow and the scar down his forehead with the two fingers of her damaged hand, and he thought his heart would melt and knew he’d give his life for her. Of course it was love, but did she feel the same? Why would she?