by Anne Bennett
One thing she was not keen on, was the man on the Cross with the bleeding hands and feet, and even dribbles of blood on His face from the thorns pressed into His head. She knew he was Jesus, she’d learnt that much at school, and that He’d died on the Cross, but she didn’t know whether she’d want to be looking at Him every Sunday.
She’d listened to the priest telling them the story they all knew about, Joseph and Mary stranded in Bethlehem without a place to stay.
‘Nowhere for the Son of Man to lay His head, but a manger in a draughty stable,’ the priest said.
Privately, Linda thought that no big deal. No one had been bothered where she’d lay her head either, till Jenny had said she could move in with her. And she knew she was only one among thousands. Birmingham had had a number of raids since the one that had flattened her home, London was still pounded every night, as were many other industrial cities, and she imagined that many people were homeless. She guessed there were plenty of people laying their heads in most peculiar places just at the moment. They would be glad of a stable they could have all of their very own, and if Jesus was supposed to live on earth like everyone else, it was probably right that He didn’t have a real place to live either. The priest was going on as if He should have been born in a palace, and Linda thought that plain daft. She glanced at Jenny, but couldn’t read the expression on her face and filed her questions away to ask later.
All in all though, the service was quite good, then in the porch Linda met Martin and Francis for the first time. Everyone was wishing one another a ‘Merry Christmas’ but it was too cold to hang about. Wispy vapour trailed from people’s mouths into the crisp and frosty night air as they spoke, and Jenny tucked a blanket around Linda’s legs and Francis offered to push her home.
Linda was glad to see when she got into the house that Jenny’s mom and gran had gone to bed. Martin pushed her into the living room, for the kitchen was like an ice box. She had known that Jenny’s mother wasn’t wild about the idea of her going to live with them and she told herself it didn’t matter. She’d probably just be a bit off with her – sharp perhaps – but Linda could cope with that. What she hadn’t bargained for was the way Norah had looked at her earlier with cold eyes and a curled lip; apart from that, she’d not acknowledged her presence at all. She’d not even said hello.
The grandmother Jenny hadn’t mentioned much and Linda had assumed that this Mrs Gillespie would be all right about it eventually. Linda had never had a grandmother, but lots of her friends had. Grans were usually kind and nice and often cooked scrummy things to eat. They would slip you the odd copper or two for a comic and queued for hours if they heard there was chocolate on sale, and might bring you a bag of sweets when they came to tea. Gran O’Leary was like that and she’d told Linda to call her Gran too, like Jenny did. Somehow, Linda didn’t think she’d ever call Jenny’s other grandmother anything but Mrs Gillespie – that’s if she ever addressed her at all.
‘Are you going to sleep on us, Linda?’ Martin asked, giving her a playful poke.
‘No, I ain’t,’ Linda said spiritedly, but she was drowsy. It had been an eventful and emotional day, and she could easily have dropped off. The fire had nearly gone out when they’d arrived but Francis had poked some life into it and put some small pieces of coal on to heat the room a little.
‘Here, eat this and then it’s bed for you, or you’ll be good for nothing tomorrow,’ Jenny said, handing her a mug of cocoa and a plate of bread and dripping.
Linda took it from her. She knew she’d have to stay in Jenny’s house once she came out of hospital, and live here until she was grown up. She wasn’t absolutely happy about it, but she’d rather that than an orphanage. As for the two horrible old women, she could hardly believe they were related to Jenny – well, if they didn’t like it, they’d have to lump it!
‘Come on lazybones,’ Martin said. ‘I’ve got to carry you upstairs tonight.’
‘Not before she cleans her teeth and goes out to the toilet,’ Jenny put in.
‘Well, hurry up. I need my beauty sleep.’
Linda looked at him from head to foot and remarked drily, ‘You don’t half.’
The boys laughed so loud, Jenny put a cautionary finger to her lips. ‘Ssh, you’ll have them both down,’ she said, indicating the front bedroom with her thumb.
That sobered everyone a little, though Martin still had a smile on his face as he carried Linda up the stairs some minutes later. She was a cheeky monkey all right, he thought, a grand plucky little girl altogether. Jenny followed behind to help her get undressed and tuck her in with a hot-water bottle at her feet and Linda smiled happily and snuggled down.
And it was wonderful when Linda woke up on Christmas morning and saw the stocking hanging on the end of her bed. She tipped it upside down and out fell coloured pencils, a proper fountain pen, pretty hair-slides and bangles, and lengths of ribbon in a little wooden box. Underneath was a small bar of chocolate, a silver sixpence and an orange. Linda knew Jenny must have queued for hours for that orange, and a lump came into her throat as she imagined Jenny searching the shops for things to please her.
She hadn’t had a stocking herself for years, though she’d helped fill George’s the last two years and told him the story of Father Christmas coming down the chimney. She thanked God for Jenny; she knew in the whole of her life she’d never be able to repay her for what she’d done.
Watching from the bed next to hers, Jenny was pleased that Linda liked everything she’d taken such pains to choose.
‘Come on, Linda,’ she said. ‘Put them away now and I’ll cook us some breakfast. I’m famished and freezing cold, and I bet you are, too.’ Linda scooped everything back into the stocking while Jenny went to see if one of her brothers was awake and would carry Linda down the stairs.
Jenny surveyed the dining table with pride. It had been lifted out of the bay into the centre of the room, and the two leaves pulled out of the middle to extend it to its full length. Kitchen stools and bedroom chairs had been brought in as well as dining chairs to accommodate everyone as Geraldine, Dan and the children were joining them for the meal.
Martin, as the eldest man, carved the two crispy golden chickens that Jenny had acquired from Stan Walker, her fellow ARP warden who kept chickens in his back garden. They sat sizzling on the roasting plate, and ready on the sideboard. On the thick ironing blanket used to protect the surface were the dishes containing succulent roast potatoes, sprouts, mashed swede, carrots and slices of stuffing, and gravy in a jug. And it was all as delicious as it had looked and smelt. Jenny tried not to think of the one member of the family who would never come back and share in Christmas dinner again, but just be grateful for those who had returned.
Martin and Francis were better company than she remembered. Freed from their mother and grandmother’s dominance they’d blossomed, and what gladdened her heart most was they’d gone out of their way to make Linda welcome and include her in things. They’d delighted the women of the house with their presents; a pair of fully-fashioned silk stockings from Francis and bottle of Californian Poppy perfume from Martin.
‘Now don’t ask any questions about where we got those from,’ Martin warned.
‘Whatever do you mean, Martin?’ Norah asked, holding her son’s gifts as if they were highly explosive. ‘I hope you haven’t obtained these things dishonestly?’
‘Not dishonestly, Mother,’ Martin said with a laugh. ‘By that I mean, we didn’t steal them, but we didn’t get them quite legally.’
‘Martin, you know how I feel about the black market!’ Norah exclaimed. ‘We can’t accept them.’
The old Martin would have mumbled an apology and been embarrassed at his mistake and Francis would have been worse, but the new Martin just shrugged. ‘If you don’t want them, I’m sure Jenny and Geraldine would be glad of extra,’ he said.
And Francis added, ‘Really Mother, it is about time you moved into the world ordinary people live in.’
‘What on earth has that to do with receiving black-market goods?’
‘Everything,’ Francis said. He gave a sigh and went on, ‘Go all pious on us and refuse if you want, but don’t expect Jenny and Geraldine to feel the same. They looked pretty damned pleased to me.’
‘We are,’ Jenny said firmly. ‘And I for one have no intention of refusing. Thank you very much, both of you. I’m afraid the socks and cigarettes I have for you both seem pretty ordinary in comparison.’
‘We’ll be grateful for them though,’ Francis said. ‘They march us for bloody miles, our socks don’t last five minutes and fags are always handy.’
The other presents were received with pleasure, though Jenny barely got a thank you for the soft shawl she gave her mother, or her grandmother’s gloves, but then she didn’t expect it so she wasn’t disappointed.
It was Linda’s reaction to the books Jenny gave her that was so unusual. She held them in her hands and stroked them almost reverently, but made no attempt to open them as she said, ‘Oh, thank you, thank you! I’ve never, ever had a book of my very own. I don’t read much, see.’
‘You mean you can’t read?’ Geraldine said, and her voice was scornful.
Linda was no fool; she’d heard Geraldine’s tone and she said sharply, ‘No, I dain’t say that. I can read. I ain’t bloody stupid. Just that I’ve never had the bleeding time.’
There was shocked silence. In the pre-war days, no swearwords or blasphemous language were allowed in the house. Today, Francis had sworn twice, but Norah had excused him; he was, after all, in the Army now and mixing with all types – and added to that, he was a man. For a child to use such language, and on the Good Lord’s birthday too, it was – well, it was indecent.
Linda didn’t know what she’d done, but she was aware of the charged atmosphere, and being Linda she asked, ‘What’s up?’
Before Jenny could offer any sort of explanation Eileen cut in, ‘What’s up?
‘If you were my daughter, miss,’ Norah said icily, ‘I’d wash your mouth out with soap and water this very minute.’
Then Eileen rounded on her. ‘Yes, don’t you bring your gutter language here, my girl.’
‘Come on Mother, Grandmother, lighten up,’ Martin said, feeling sorry for Linda and the way the two old ladies had leapt on her. ‘The kid didn’t say anything that bad.’
Linda stared at him. Now she understood. She supposed she should apologize, but her mother never got into a fit if she swore a bit.
Francis saw Linda was upset and he didn’t think it was fair on her first visit to the house. He remembered how astounded he’d been in church when he’d heard her sing for the first time. She didn’t know all the carols, but with those she did know, her voice rose above everyone else’s, crystal clear and pure. Many heads had turned to look at the young girl in the wheelchair singing her heart out.
He thought only to deflect the anger of his mother and grandmother as he said, ‘How about giving us a bit of a sing-song Linda, with it being Christmas and all.’
Linda’s face was pink with embarrassment and anger. She didn’t want to sing, certainly not for the two po-faced harpies who sat in judgment on her. They looked at her as if she’d crawled from under a stone and all because she’d said a few swearwords.
But then she caught sight of Jenny’s face, and though she said not a word, Linda knew she wanted her to sing for her family. If Jenny wanted it, how could she refuse? Linda shrugged off her bad humour and said, ‘What do you want me to sing?’
Norah and her mother were annoyed that Linda should have the limelight, and Norah especially was cross that this hussy’s presence in the house had caused her sons to answer her back. They’d never done that before. She didn’t blame her boys, however, but the disruptive influence her daughter had introduced into the house. And she’d never encouraged her own children to show off like this.
‘Sing “Silent Night”, Linda,’ Jenny suggested. Linda cleared her throat and began. A silence developed in the room as her voice rose; even Rosemarie and Jamie stopped their play to listen and stare, and Dan forgot he’d been filling his pipe for an after-dinner smoke; it slipped from his fingers, scattering tobacco over his good clothes. He seemed not to notice, but sat almost mesmerized by Linda’s voice.
When the carol eventually drew to a close, there was a hush before Martin and Francis began to clap and the others joined in. Somehow it seemed the appropriate response. ‘Give us another,’ Francis said, when the clapping eased eventually.
‘I only know three carols right through,’ Linda said, ‘but I know lots of other sorts of stuff. I used to sing with me mom. Join in if you like. I don’t like doing it all on my own.’
‘Not with the carols,’ Martin put in. ‘We’d never hear your voice, but we’ll join in with the other songs if we know them.’
And of course, they did. Everyone knew ‘Hey Little Hen’, ‘Run Rabbit Run’, and ‘Follow the Yellow Brick Road’, followed by some of the famous wartime songs. Only Norah and Eileen sat prim and unyielding with a pained expression on their faces, and obviously had no intention of taking part.
The winter’s day was drawing in. It was time to pull the blackout curtains, put up the shutters in the other rooms and turn on the lights. The boys went around the house doing that, while Jenny made a cup of tea for them all and laid the trays for her mother and grandmother with chicken sandwiches and a couple of sausage rolls she’d found the recipe for in the Evening Mail, with little meat and lots of mashed vegetables instead, and a mince pie each.
After a cup of tea, the family was dispersing: Geraldine, Dan and the children to their own home to spend some time together; Martin and Francis off to visit friends; and Jenny had arranged to take Linda to Maureen’s for the evening. Norah and Eileen were not happy about everyone leaving, but Jenny didn’t really care.
Two streets away, a party atmosphere prevailed at Gran O’Leary’s. Her two daughters, Celia and Betsy, had arrived with their husbands and children. Irish music played on the wind-up gramophone, and food and drink were arrayed in the kitchen for all to help themselves, which they did. Linda thought she’d never had such a good time. It wasn’t the food alone either, it was the friendliness of everyone there, and their acceptance of Linda as part of the family.
Hours later, the gramophone had ground to a halt. A large hole had been made in the food and drink in the kitchen, and Celia and Betsy had eventually sat down, breathless from dancing the reels and jigs all evening.
‘I think I’ll make us all a drop of tea,’ Maureen said, looking around her family. ‘Beer and whisky is all well and good, but you can’t beat a drop of tea.’ Jenny knew it was her grandmother’s way of winding up the night, and though it was late, she knew Linda hated returning to the house where Norah and Eileen cast their evil eyes over everything, poisoning it for others.
Just before midnight, as the cups were being drained, there was a furious knocking on the door. When Jenny went to open it she saw her brothers, Francis and Martin, outside, both quite merry, but for all that she was glad to see them. She knew they weren’t in the habit of coming to wish their gran a Merry Christmas, and she saw tears glisten in the old lady’s eyes as she held her grandsons close. To Jenny, it was another indication that they’d broken away from their mother’s influence, and she couldn’t be sorry about that.
‘We thought we’d better come and see the old besom,’ Martin said, with a lopsided grin.
‘About time you did,’ Gerry said sharply, and the two boys shifted uncomfortably. Maureen rounded on her son.
‘Well, they’re here now, aren’t they? Don’t be moaning at them. Christ alive, isn’t it Christmas Day, one day of peace in the crazy world?’
Gerry held out his hand to his two nephews and said, ‘The old woman’s right for once. Merry Christmas to the both of you.’
‘I’ll “old woman” you in a minute, my lad,’ Maureen cried, as the men shook hands. But her heart wasn’t in the rebuke, and
Jenny, watching her, realized how much her brothers just appearing like that had meant to her.
She knew her grandmother would be embarrassed if she thought anyone had seen how moved she was, so in order to give her time to compose herself she said, ‘Well, I’m glad to see you at any rate. You can help me push Linda up the hill.’
Pointing to Linda, Gerry said, ‘Jenny will definitely be needing a hand. That wee girl has done nothing but eat since she came in. She’ll be a couple of stone heavier going home, I’d say.’
‘I will not,’ Linda retorted, but there was a smile on her face. She liked Gerry, for all he was a tease. She didn’t want the night to end, but she was tired and she leaned back in the wheelchair and said, ‘I’ve had a bloody marvellous day.’
Jenny was glad her mother wasn’t there, but her gran didn’t swoon, or shout, or even look shocked. Instead she said, ‘I’m pleased you have, girl, and so would your mammy be, because she’d never want you to be sad now, would she?’
Linda considered her answer carefully and then she said, ‘No, no she wouldn’t. She laughs a lot, me mom. At least, I mean … I mean she used to.’
‘Then I’d say she still does,’ Maureen said decisively. ‘If I know anything, she’s up in Heaven this minute, laughing fit to bust because her fine daughter’s had a bloody good day. What d’you say, Linda?’
Linda, her eyes shining, said, ‘Yeah, I think you’re right.’
‘Then don’t you ever feel bad or guilty about enjoying yourself, d’you hear?’ Maureen said.
Linda promised she wouldn’t, and Jenny pondered on the wisdom of her gran, who often had the ability to say the right things at the right time, as she walked home arm-in-arm with Francis, while Martin pushed Linda’s chair.
TEN
After Christmas the men returned to their unit and Linda was delivered back to hospital and was preparing for the second round of operations, due at the beginning of January. Jenny had returned to work the day after Boxing Day and had found it more tiring than she had expected and now it was 30 December the start of another week and she wasn’t looking forward to it one bit.