by Maggie Hope
Today, 1st December, 1939, was a red-letter day. Today was going to be Christmas and New Year and all her birthdays rolled into one, for today, when she went home from the day shift, or back shift as her dad would have called it, Harry and Jackson would be home. They were coming for a week, a whole week! Maggie and Frank were beside themselves with joy, had been talking of nothing else since the letter came. Jackson had only been away a few months this time but the dangers of war made them deeply anxious for him. Now they were going to have him home and that anxiety was eased for a short while at least.
‘We can have Christmas early,’ Maggie had said to Molly. ‘By, isn’t it a good job I have the cake and pudding all ready? ’Cause I don’t suppose they’ll get home for proper Christmas, not this year.’
‘No, nobody thinks it’ll be over by Christmas this time,’ said Frank. ‘Only silly buggers thought so last.’
‘Less o’ that swearing, Frank Morley,’ said Maggie automatically. But he had made her wonder how long it was going to go on. She thought of the carnage of the last war and shuddered. Please God, not that again, not four years of it.
Molly was going to have their bedroom while Maggie slept in the front room beside Frank. Harry was to share with Jackson. They were going to be a proper family, almost like it had been at home, Molly thought happily as she stopped the stream of powder going into the bomb and sent it on its way into the next room to be fused.
Music came over the radio: ‘We’re going to hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line’. Molly sang along with it under her breath. It wasn’t so bad working here, even though she was on her own. No one knew much about her past. Thousands of girls worked here, bussed in from all parts of the county, and those in her group were friendly to her. She’d even joined the fledgling concert party. Someone had heard her singing to herself in a sweet soprano she hadn’t even realised was good before, no one had ever commented on it. But then she hadn’t had much occasion to sing for a year or two, she thought, without self-pity.
The buzzer went and the belt slowed to a halt. It was four o’clock already, Molly realised with a tiny surge of elation. Were the boys home now? Sitting at the kitchen table eating parkin made yesterday with Golden Syrup and some of Maggie’s precious hoard of powdered ginger?
By, she hoped they were. It would be grand having a natter tonight, all of them round the fire in the kitchen. Maybe the lads would go out for a drink at the club but they would be coming back for supper and she and Maggie would have it ready for them, they would do it together. There was tomorrow, of course, and Saturday morning too when she had to come to work, but she had the evenings and the whole of Saturday afternoon and Sunday with them.
Dreamily Molly went through to the changing rooms, took off her overall and turban, shook her hair out and washed her face and hands in the basins provided. Her street clothes were in her locker. She changed quickly and rummaged around in her bag for her comb and the slide which held back her thick brown hair from her forehead. She combed it before the mirror on the wall, turned her head this way and that to get a better view of it. It was all right, she supposed. She’d washed it last night with green soft soap and rinsed it with vinegar water to make it shine.
‘Got a date, Molly? You’re not usually so particular.’ Mona, the girl with the locker next to hers, gave her a friendly grin. She was a small blonde girl, no more than five feet, with plump, round breasts and hips. She worked in the fusing room next to Molly, and told comic monologues with the concert party. Me Mother’s Duck Eggs was Molly’s favourite, Mona was a scream telling that one. They rehearsed for the Christmas show in the dinner hour.
‘My brother’s home on leave,’ said Molly. ‘Just back today.’
‘Eeh, I thought it must be your lad and it’s just a brother! I wouldn’t bother just for a brother,’ teased Mona. ‘Got a sweetheart have you, Molly?’
Most of the girls talked all the time about their boyfriends, about the boys they would like to be their boyfriends, or, failing that, about Clarke Gable or Ronald Colman or whichever heart throb was on at the pictures that week.
Molly felt the heat rise in her cheeks but said nothing as she turned for the door.
‘You’re blushing! Hey, girls, Molly has a sweetheart!’ called Mona.
‘No, I haven’t!’ said Molly as she turned for the door.
‘Ooh, is it a secret?’ Mona kept pace with her then relented as she saw Molly’s face. ‘Oh, go on, I was only kidding,’ she said. ‘Take no notice of me, pet.’
‘I don’t, you daft ha’porth!’ Molly smiled and ran for the gates, taking out her pass to hold aloft as she joined the inevitable crush to get through. The train was already standing at the station. She pushed her way through the crowds of girls and men queueing to get on the buses which would take them home. Luckily the railway line went to Shildon and Bishop Auckland. It was faster and easier to get a bus from there to Eden Hope. Or sometimes she walked from Shildon.
Tonight she would have to go all the way to Bishop, it was too cold and wet to get off at Shildon and take the footpath home. The train was crowded too, as it always was. And they had to stand in the station as a troop train went through. All the girls cheered as the soldiers went past though truth to tell there was little to see of them through the blacked-out windows. Molly wondered if Harry and Jackson were on the troop train. She felt thrilled to think they might be. Well, Harry was her brother, wasn’t he? She kept telling herself it was because of him. But the picture in her mind was of Jackson: that lopsided grin on his face, the dark wave of hair falling over his forehead when he took off his cap, the way his left eyebrow lifted sometimes. She smiled secretly and stared out at the dark countryside, relieved only by the blue lantern of the station master as he waved it and their train chuntered slowly out of the station, following the troop train. And the tiny wink of the green light up the line.
The bus from Bishop was full too. It halted at every stop until Molly could alight at Eden Hope and run along the row and up the back yard. And at last she could open the back door, closing it quickly behind her in case the air raid warden saw the light. And then she was overcome by sudden shyness so that she stood rooted there, just inside the door, smiling foolishly as the two tall figures in khaki got to their feet and came towards her. Harry got there first and, taking hold of her under the arms, whirled her off her feet so that her gas mask fell to the floor unheeded then put her down, dizzy and laughing, before planting a kiss on her cheek.
‘Mind, our Molly, you’ve gone and grown up while I had my back turned,’ he cried. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, pet.’
Then it was Jackson’s turn and he held her tight, her head against his chest so that she could feel the imprint of a brass button against her cheek. He turned his broad back to the others and she was hidden from their gaze as he kissed her, swiftly, but not at all as her brother had kissed her.
‘Molly!’ he whispered. ‘Molly, my love.’ At least that was what she thought he said but it was so low a whisper it might only have been wishful thinking on her part.
‘Put her down, Jackson,’ said his mother. ‘Let the lass get in. She must be fair clamming for her tea and half frozen an’ all.’
The table was set with Maggie’s second best table-cloth which had unlikely-looking roses embroidered round the edges. The best one was reserved for Christmas Day. There was smoked haddock, poached in milk in the oven, and mashed potatoes and cabbage. For afters there were fairy cakes with the wings stuck on with real butter icing.
‘It looks grand, Mrs Morley,’ said Molly. ‘An’ you’re right, I am starving.’ She was too, she realised. It was a long time since pie and chips in the canteen.
‘I’ll just mash the tea, pet. We were waiting for you.’ Happiness lit Maggie’s face, spilled over and softened her voice and movements. She kept looking at Jackson then smiling at Frank as he lay against his pillows and smiled back, his carriage drawn up to one side of the big square table.
‘W
hat happened to your other stripe?’ he asked suddenly, his brow knitting. Jackson looked up quickly, a forkful of haddock halfway to his mouth, but before he could say anything Harry butted in.
‘He got lost on his way back to camp, didn’t he? No sense of direction your Jackson, man. I’m sure if I wasn’t going with him he’d never find a German to fight.’
‘You lost a stripe for being late back?’ Frank asked, incredulous. ‘You hadn’t been drinking, had you, lad?’
‘No, no, I never had a drink,’ said Jackson, ‘it was nothing really.’ He concentrated on eating his meal. Molly stole a glance at him but his expression betrayed no emotion. He chewed on. She had a vivid picture in her mind of him with a military policeman to either side of him as they pushed him into the van.
‘He’ll soon get it back, man,’ Harry was saying. ‘Good sergeants like Jackson are hard to find. An’ this lot coming into the regiment now – by, they’re keen but green as grass! They need someone like Jackson and me to knock them into shape, look after them, wipe their …’ Hurriedly he changed what he had been going to say. ‘Tuck them up in bed at night an’ all.’
Molly kept her own head bent but the awkward moment soon passed and Maggie was telling the boys about the number of young miners who had joined up the minute the war had broken out, even some of the girls.
‘I had a letter from Lancashire an’ all,’ she said. ‘After all these years! That woman I went to work for when I was but a lass of fourteen wanted to know could I recommend anybody?’ Maggie shrugged and pulled down the corners of her mouth. ‘As if I would if I could, the stuck-up bitch! Won’t hurt her to get her own hands dirty. Any road, the lasses are all off to the factories, nobody has to skivvy nowadays.’ She nodded in satisfaction. It might have been a while ago but she remembered it well. ‘That woman thought she was better than honest Durham folk, she did.’
‘Now then, lass, Christian charity,’ Frank admonished.
‘What about the Pendles?’ asked Harry, remembering the time he had gone to see them on his last leave. ‘Did they not help you at all, Molly?’
‘Ann wasn’t too bad,’ she said. ‘But …’ Her voice trailed off as she remembered Joan’s bitter dislike, the way she’d seemed to delight in Molly’s troubles. It still hurt after all this time.
‘Aye, I know,’ Harry said quickly. He couldn’t understand how he had once thought Joan attractive, even gone out with her. Spiteful, that was what she was.
‘Never mind, everything’s all right now,’ said Frank, thinking it high time the subject was changed before anyone mentioned prison. He couldn’t bear to see the haunted look in Molly’s eyes if the talk ever went anywhere near that.
‘Molly’s fine with us, isn’t she, Mother? The past’s best forgotten. When are you expecting to go to France then, Jackson? Chase the Hun back to his own country?’
‘We can’t tell you that,’ he said solemnly. ‘Walls have ears, you know.’
‘Fifth columnists all over the place,’ said Harry. He lifted the table-cloth and bent to look underneath.
‘Aw, go on, you daft ha’porth!’ Molly exclaimed.
‘No, we mean it,’ Jackson protested.
‘Aye, well. I’ll make a fresh brew to have with the fairy cakes.’ Maggie put her knuckles on the table and heaved herself to her feet. ‘You get them, Molly.’
‘Nice and strong, mind,’ said Frank. ‘I daresay we’ll be drinking it like dishwater soon when it has to come all the way from India. Blooming rationing! We saw enough of that in the last war.’
Later Maggie took her husband away to ready him for the night. Molly brought out the enamel washing-up dish and tray and washed the dishes while the two men dried. Later still they sat around the fire, listening to Tommy Handley on the wireless. When the programme was ended, Jackson got to his feet.
‘I think I’ll take a walk,’ he said. ‘I feel like some fresh air. Anyone coming?’
‘Going to the club?’ asked Harry.
Jackson looked at Molly. She couldn’t go to the club. ‘No, I don’t think so. Just along the lane, around the village, like.’
‘Well, I think I’ll have a quick one at the club,’ said Harry. He glanced from his little sister to his best mate. It was plain to see what was happening there. Well, he couldn’t wish a better lad for her. And not so little now, he reminded himself. Molly was growing up.
‘I won’t be long, just a quick half, see if any of our old mates are in.’
Outside the wind was rising but it had stopped raining. Molly didn’t feel the cold. She walked between the men, each holding one of her arms, huddling in together, laughing and joking. At the club Harry left them and Molly and Jackson went on up the lane, away from the houses and the colliery, dodging the dark street lamps, the only lights their flashlights, the dimmed beams bobbing along in front of them. At the top of the bank Jackson stopped. They were in the lea of the old engine house which had once housed the standing engine which hauled the corves of coal up the hill and down the other side to the railway.
‘We’ll stand a minute,’ he said. ‘Come here, Molly, we’ll keep each other warm.’ He opened his greatcoat and pulled it round her so that they were both enveloped by it. She could feel the beat of his heart as he held her and for a minute felt panicky. She wasn’t ready for this, no, she wasn’t.
But he was sensitive to her feelings and said quickly, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not trying anything on. I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want me to, petal.’
‘Oh, Jackson, I do love you.’
Surely she hadn’t said that? Overcome, she hid her face in the rough serge of his tunic. Mam had always said never to tell a man you liked him, not until he’d said it first. Had he said it in the house or had she imagined it? Any road, here she was standing in the dark with a man, even if it was Jackson and she’d known him all her life. But not like this. Not standing breast to breast, her head on his shoulder, his arms around her, making her feel warm and safe. Eeh, what would he think of her? She tried to move back, away from him, but his hold was unyielding, he wouldn’t let her.
‘Say it again,’ he whispered, his lips against the nape of her neck, just below the brown beret she had pulled over her hair.
‘I don’t think I can.’
‘Oh, Molly!’ He laughed softly, caught her tighter in his arms and lifted her off the ground until her face was on a level with his. He kissed her lightly on her cheeks, her chin, her lips last of all, and small tremors of delight ran through her body. A new and strange excitement began somewhere deep inside her and rose up, threatening to engulf her. It was so dark she couldn’t even see his eyes but she knew he was smiling. He moved his hand. His thumb brushed against her breast and her nipple sprang erect in response. She closed her eyes and leaned further into him, completely bewitched. But the next kiss never came. Instead she found herself back on her feet, he took a step back away from her, she knew he was no longer smiling.
‘Come on,’ he said, his voice suddenly rough. ‘I’ll get you back home. It’s going to rain. And anyway, you have to go to work in the morning.’
The shock was like a slap in the face. She’d been too forward. Oh, aye, she could almost hear her mother’s voice: ‘A man won’t respect a lass as is too free with her favours, you mark my words!’ She had been talking about a girl from the other side of the village at the time. Molly had only been twelve and had puzzled about what was meant by ‘being free with favours’. Now she knew. Her face burned. She had offered herself and Jackson had backed away. Not altogether, though. As she stood deep in misery a bus went past and in its dim lights he saw her downcast face. She saw his expression change from a frown to a grin. He stepped forward and pulled her beret on straight, her collar up around her neck.
‘Howay, our Molly,’ he cried, grasping her hand and pulling her after him in a run down the lane. ‘We’ll dodge the drops, eh?’ As he had cried so often when they were children and she’d trailed after Harry and him, ‘making a proper pest
of herself’, as Harry would tell her.
They arrived at Eden Hope, breathless and laughing, running past the pit yard to the rows of houses thrown up by the mine-owners at the smallest cost possible to house the workers for their new mine.
Harry was already back from the club as they went in. There was a faint smell of Federation Ale in the air. He looked from one to the other knowingly.
‘Where’ve you two been then?’ he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. ‘There’s tea in the pot if you want a cup. Your mam’s gone to bed, Jackson.’
‘No, thanks, I’d best get up. I’ve to be out by six in the morning,’ said Molly. She could hardly look at her brother. Suppose they’d done more, her and Jackson? ‘Gone all the way’ as folk said. Would Harry have known and despised her for it?
Long after she’d gone to bed she could hear the soft murmur of the men’s voices downstairs. Molly tossed and turned on the deep feather mattress which had been a wedding present to Maggie and Frank. Eventually she dropped off and dreamed confused dreams of Jackson and her going into Bishop Auckland to buy a ring. They stood before the counter in the jeweller’s and she was ecstatically happy, so brimful of joy she couldn’t contain herself. And then she looked down through the glass top and there, among others, was the bangle. The one which had put her in prison.
‘You brought that bangle in,’ the jeweller said accusingly. ‘I’m going for the bobbies.’
‘No, I didn’t!’ Molly shouted. ‘I didn’t, Jackson!’
But he was stepping away from her, looking at her with accusing eyes, hard as nails. ‘The man should know,’ he said. ‘Oh, Molly, how could you do it?’
She woke in a sweat, still murmuring denials. Her head ached, her heart pounded with fear. There was a terrible noise. Molly turned on her back and took a deep breath. She reached over to the bedside table and pushed down the button on the cheap tin alarm clock she had bought in Woolworth’s. The horrible noise stopped and after a moment or two the pain in her head lessened. It was morning, time to go to work.