We called in to Nora’s Coffee Shop for a coffee and some hot milk for John. On the juke-box was ‘Reet Petite’ by Jackie Wilson, a strange choice for a Christmas number one but it had caught the imagination of the public and reminded me of a Glenn Miller big band sound.
Nora Pratt was excited. Her Christmas present for her fact-loving boyfriend, Tyrone Crabtree, had arrived. She had seen David Bellamy advertising the Encyclopaedia Britannica and had purchased thirty-two magnificent volumes. As we approached the counter, she had just served Felicity Miles-Humphreys, artistic director of the Ragley Amateur Dramatic Society. With an extravagant gesture Felicity pointed towards the large poster advertising the annual village pantomime. Rehearsals were now well advanced for Sleeping Beauty.
‘I do hope to see you there,’ said Felicity.
‘Of course,’ I said.
Dorothy appeared behind the counter in her dangly Christmas-tree earrings and a baggy elf suit. ‘Ah’m one o’ Santa’s ’elpers, Mr Sheffield,’ she said with a grin.
‘And I hear you’ve got a part in Sleeping Beauty,’ said Beth.
Dorothy glowed with pride. ‘An’ so ’as my Malcolm.’
‘He’s a born thespian,’ announced Felicity.
Dorothy was puzzled. She thought only women could be thespians … however, undeterred, she served up two frothy coffees and a cup of hot milk.
Shortly before eleven o’clock we arrived at the retirement home and paused in the entrance to admire a beautiful winter display of poinsettias.
It was clear the staff worked hard for the benefit of all. They were kind and caring in all they did, and appeared always to have time to check on the wellbeing of their elderly residents. I was welcomed by the senior carer, Janet Ollerenshaw, who was in conversation with Vera. Janet, a tall, confident young woman in blue jeans and a Cambridge-blue polo shirt with the Hartford oak tree logo, shook my hand.
‘Thanks for coming, Mr Sheffield.’
‘A pleasure.’
‘Everyone is looking forward to it,’ she said.
‘It’s our Christian duty,’ added Vera.
The choir had assembled and parents and residents were taking their seats. Coffee was being served by Stella Fieldhouse, a popular sixty-one-year-old volunteer helper, who came in every Saturday morning. In recent years Stella’s coffee mornings had become an important and popular social event for the residents.
As a young teenager during the Second World War, Stella had been evacuated to a cottage in the countryside near Brooklands in Surrey. In 1940, aged fourteen, she was on her bike riding home when the bombs fell, killing a hundred people. She had never forgotten the horror of that day – it had a huge impact on her and from then on she determined to value life and help others in need. Later Stella became a wages clerk at the local factory and eventually she married an engineer who went to work on Concorde. Following his sad death, Stella had moved north to live with her sister on the Morton Road, where her zest for life continued unabated.
Stella was the one person who took time to talk to Eileen and she took a cup of coffee to her room. When she walked in Eileen was ironing a set of antimacassars. ‘Hello, Eileen, here’s a hot drink for you.’
Eileen was eighty years old and had shared the story of her life with Stella. She was the only daughter of a grocer in a lovely village called East Tittleham. In 1933 she met David Kimber, a handsome man from West Tittleham on the other side of the River Tittle, which formed the boundary between the two villages. They would meet on the bridge over the river and there they would spend happy hours talking about their hopes and aspirations. They married in 1935 and the following year they moved to Hull, where David worked on the docks and Eileen gave birth to a daughter, Mary. At the outset of the war David joined the Army and left, saying they would have a happy life together in the years to come.
Then it happened.
The Luftwaffe dropped a huge bomb.
It killed fifty people, including Mary. The little girl was due to be evacuated to Lincolnshire but it was too late. She was four years old. In an old suitcase Eileen had kept her daughter’s favourite pinafore dress plus a faded copy of the Yorkshire Post dated Thursday, 5 June 1941. The headline read ‘Heroism in Hull Air Raids’.
The following spring, David Kimber was among a party of soldiers that attacked the port of St-Nazaire in German-occupied France. The intention was to prevent any large German warship, such as the Tirpitz, from having a safe haven on the Atlantic coast. The raid, which took place on 28 March 1942, was successful, but David was killed in action and decorated posthumously.
For many years Eileen’s home felt like a prison, close and oppressive. She had lost everything that was dear to her and longed for the open fields and fresh air of her youth. In consequence, Ragley village seemed to be a good place to retire.
I came here to forget and be forgotten.
‘I was hoping you would come to the common room, Eileen,’ said Stella, ‘because I know you love singing.’ She was encouraged by Eileen’s look of interest. ‘The children from the school are here,’ she continued, ‘and there’s a little girl called Rosie. She was the one on television two years ago and she’s going to sing “Silent Night”. It would be lovely if you could hear her.’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘I used to sing,’ said Eileen quietly.
‘I know,’ said Stella. She put her hand on her arm. ‘Come on, Eileen, maybe it’s time to leave grief behind and move on with your life.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Eileen. She had been attracted by the thought of the little girl singing. She stood up and rested on her walking frame. ‘Stella,’ she said almost to herself, ‘in my mind’s eye my Mary is always a girl … forever young.’
The children in the choir were at their best and, as Sally accompanied them on her guitar, the residents loved every moment. Eileen sat in the back row and there were tears in her eyes when Rosie sang ‘Silent Night’. Her solo was captivating and the applause went on for many minutes.
The children had been encouraged to speak with the residents at the end and Rosie approached Eileen.
‘Hello, I’m Rosie Appleby. I’m pleased to meet you.’
Eileen looked intently at the polite little girl. ‘I used to have a daughter like you and she liked to sing.’
‘My mummy says singing is like a cosy fire,’ said Rosie. ‘She told me to think of rainbows and not thunderstorms.’
Eileen smiled softly. ‘Your mummy is quite right and your singing was wonderful. I was in a choir once just like you and I used to sing “Silent Night” in German.’
‘I can sing it in German as well,’ said Rosie. ‘Well, just the first verse.’ Then, quite naturally, she began to sing: ‘Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, Alles schläft; einsam wacht.’
On impulse, Eileen joined in: ‘Nur das traute hochheilige Paar. Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar …’
Stella was watching and beckoned to Vera. Rosie’s eyes were wide as the two voices blended beautifully. ‘Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh,’ they sang, ‘Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!’
‘That was splendid,’ said Stella.
‘Do you know,’ said Eileen, ‘I do believe I had forgotten what happiness feels like.’
Vera smiled. ‘I have an idea,’ she said.
It was Christmas Eve and Beth and I had driven to Easington Market before going to the Crib Service.
Once again Gabriel Book from the local Rotary Club was dressed up as Father Christmas in his little wooden hut. Kylie Ogden was standing next to him while Mrs Ogden looked on proudly.
‘So, what would you like for Christmas?’ asked Gabriel.
‘Ah’d like some Mickey Mouse slippers please, Santa.’
Her mother looked surprised. This was unexpected. ‘Let’s put them on your Christmas list,’ she said cautiously.
Kylie looked indignant. ‘No, Mummy, I want them on my feet.’
The realization of the logic of very young children was shared in a moment by both Gabriel and M
rs Ogden.
Soon it was John’s turn.
‘Have you been a good boy, John?’ asked Gabriel.
He had been well briefed by Beth regarding this question and nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, Santa.’
‘That’s good,’ said Gabriel, ‘and what would you like for Christmas?’
‘Presents please, Santa,’ said John. Our son was a happy and contented little boy but, as we were about to discover, also very logical.
‘And what sort of presents?’
John replied in an instant. ‘Christmas presents please, Santa.’
Ask a silly question, thought Gabriel while Beth and I shared a secret smile.
At the retirement home Eileen put on her best dress, then wrapped up warm and prepared to leave for the Crib Service. She looked around and recognized that her surroundings were tranquil and peaceful. It was a time for reflection. Her silent world had been replaced by new friendships and music.
A special minibus had been provided and Eileen, with her ‘fellow inmates’ as she called them, set off. Wood smoke hovered in a purple sky as they approached the church.
At half past two crowds of parents and grandparents were also making their way towards St Mary’s with an assorted collection of tiny angels, shepherds, kings and Roman soldiers. This was one of the most popular of all the Christmas services and we followed the crushed ribbon of scumbled footprints into the haven of the church. The work of the ladies in Vera’s flower-arranging team was there for all to see. Tall white candles surrounded by green variegated holly with bright red berries had been arranged on the wide ledges of the stone pillars. As I admired the flower arrangements, refracted light from the stained-glass windows touched the ancient walls with an amber hue and lit up the choir stalls where the children waited patiently.
Joseph was standing next to the model crib filled with its hand-painted clay figures. The service was about to begin and gradually silence descended on the congregation. Elsie Crapper, the organist, after taking her much-needed Valium, launched into her version of ‘Little Donkey’.
John, dressed as a shepherd, sat on my knee and waited for his moment in the limelight. The choir sang ‘Away In A Manger’ and Beth dabbed away a tear as John joined in while acting out the timeless story.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, Rosie Appleby went to stand next to a chair by the pulpit where Eileen Kimber was sitting. Vera stepped forward and helped Eileen to stand up, supported by her walking frame. The old lady looked down at the smiling face of the little girl as Elsie played the opening bars of ‘Silent Night’.
So began a duet that would never be forgotten. They sang the first verse in German and the next two verses in English. It was a special moment and many members of the congregation shed a tear when Eileen sat down and squeezed Rosie’s hand. Little did we know it, but it was the beginning of a strong friendship.
It was then that Eileen reflected that she had lived her life in a dark and silent retreat, a melancholy shadow in a place of despair. There had been no relief until the arrival of the unexpected – a Christmas gift that began with the face of a child and ended in a song of hope.
‘Thank you, Mrs Kimber,’ said Rosie. ‘Did you enjoy that?’
Eileen knew her life had changed. ‘Yes, Rosie,’ she whispered, ‘we shared a carol for Christmas.’
The following evening, after we had put John to bed, Beth and I settled down with a glass of wine in front of a roaring log fire to watch the Christmas Day episode of EastEnders along with over thirty million other viewers. The drama lived up to expectations when Den Watts, played by Leslie Grantham, told his wife, Angie, played by the volatile Anita Dobson, that he wanted a divorce. While peace on earth and goodwill to all men were not in evidence in Albert Square, it was lively entertainment.
At the end, Beth got up to check on John after his exhausting day of presents and games. It was time for bed and I knew my restless soul had found peace in her presence. A firmament of stars danced over the spectral grey earth, while clouds drifted towards an endless horizon.
I lay there within our solitude of secrets and reflected on our life together. Since meeting Beth the tapestry of my life had been woven with golden thread. Our love had begun like a summer storm nine years ago, tempestuous and with the power of lightning. In a world of vanishing certainties, it had been a love forged in fire and shaped in creation. Now, with the passing years, it rested in silence within the heartbeat of our lives.
Beth stirred next to me. ‘By the way, who was that lovely lady who sang with Rosie?’
‘Her name is Eileen Kimber.’
‘She looked tearful after the carol,’ murmured Beth.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘she used to be lonely … but not any more.’
Chapter Eight
Sleeping Beauty
The new school sign was delivered this morning and Mrs Smith supervised. The headteacher checked school security and collected mail. 20 children are cast members in the village pantomime, Sleeping Beauty, to take place in the village hall this evening.
Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Wednesday, 31 December 1986
Nora Pratt switched off her sewing machine and sighed. It will have to do, she thought.
She held up her Alpine corset and examined the strips of leather she had inserted down each side. Nora had purchased the perfect foundation garment from Ambrose Wilson, Britain’s No. 1 Corsetry Catalogue, and she slipped it on, stood in front of the mirror and considered her expanding waistline. Then she added the leather corset and, after fastening the toggles, she breathed in and out slowly. Finally she smiled. It worked. No one would notice it wasn’t quite the identical corset she had worn in all the previous productions of the Ragley Amateur Dramatic Society. Nora’s big day had arrived and as Princess Aurora, the star part in Sleeping Beauty, she was determined to look her best.
It was Wednesday morning, 31 December, and a Ragley pantomime that would never be forgotten was only a few hours away.
In Bilbo Cottage, Beth’s parents, John and Diane Henderson, had arrived on Boxing Day for a one-week holiday over the remainder of the festive season and into the New Year. As usual they had risen early to help look after their grandson and young John was enjoying all the attention.
The previous day had been cold, clear and sunny and my father-in-law had spent time in our garden pruning and tidying. He had worked in the border by our south-facing fence and cut back the old blackberry canes that were now bleached of colour and life. It was the time to cut out the old and encourage new growth, and the symbolism was not lost on me as I considered the dying embers of 1986 and the coming dawn of 1987.
Diane had brought Laura’s Christmas card with her from Hampshire and when I walked into the kitchen she was deep in thought as she read it once again. Beth’s younger sister had left suddenly to pursue her career in Australia and had taken the Sydney fashion scene by storm.
Diane scanned the letter that had arrived with Laura’s card. ‘Apparently the latest boyfriend is a rich Sydney banker,’ she said, shaking her head in disapproval and with emphasis on the word ‘latest’. She glanced at me to judge my reaction. There was history between Laura and myself.
John was washing his hands at the kitchen sink and, as always, he kept his thoughts to himself. His daughters had always been very different in their outlook on life and Laura had been the one to give him the most sleepless nights.
By mid-morning Diane and Beth had settled down to watch the feature film Oklahoma! on ITV, starring Gordon MacRae, Shirley Jones and Rod Steiger, while young John played with his Christmas toys on the floor.
I looked at the clock. ‘Time to go,’ I said. There were a few jobs in school and I had volunteered to assist in some last-minute painting of the scenery for the village pantomime.
John looked relieved to have an opportunity to get out of the house. ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said, striding out to the hallway to collect his coat and scarf. ‘Let’s use my Land Rover.’
The sun was breaking through the mist with a sharp bright light as we drove towards Ragley. The frozen fields were shrouded with snow and the bare trees cast sharp grey shadows across the road. When we drove into Ragley High Street the hedgerows were capped with a fresh snowfall and the dark ivy was rimed in sparkling frost.
‘John, I’ve got a few things to do in school, so why don’t you call in to the Coffee Shop and I’ll see you there.’
I knew John was partial to Nora’s hospitality and lively conversation with the locals. ‘Excellent idea,’ he said with a broad grin.
I pulled up on the High Street behind Big Dave and Little Malcolm’s refuse wagon and John got out of the car, crunched across the frozen forecourt and hurried into the warmth of the Coffee Shop.
I drove on, then turned right at the village green towards the school gate, where Ruby and Vera were in conversation with a workman wearing blue overalls and a York City bobble hat. He was fixing a large metal plate to one of the stone pillars by the gate. It was a new sign that read:
RAGLEY & MORTON CHURCH OF
ENGLAND PRIMARY SCHOOL
North Yorkshire County Council
Headteacher: Mr J Sheffield
I parked under the avenue of horse chestnut trees, climbed out and joined in the excited conversation.
‘G’mornin’, Mr Sheffield,’ said Ruby. ‘This is Vernon from Thirkby an’ ’e’s mekkin’ a good job.’ Vernon nodded in shy acknowledgement at this very direct assessment of the quality of his work and continued to fix the final screw. Ruby was animated and pointed in the air. ‘Ah told ’im pacifically t’put it ’igh up where ev’ryone could see it.’ I smiled and presumed Ruby was referring to the sign and not her engagement ring, which sparkled in the sunshine.
‘Thank you, Ruby,’ I said. ‘It’s perfect.’
Vera touched my arm. ‘I simply had to see the new school sign, Mr Sheffield,’ she said with a smile. ‘A special day.’ Vera was already in a good mood because her favourite actors in the Yes, Prime Minister series, Paul Eddington, who played Jim Hacker, along with Nigel Hawthorne as the cunning Cabinet Secretary Sir Humphrey Appleby, were both to receive CBEs in the New Year Honours List.
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