by Carol Rivers
‘Pops must have got up very early,’ yawned Bobby.
‘Perhaps it wasn’t Pops after all,’ suggested Daisy, trying to rekindle the feeling of wonder that Aunt Pat had described. The room seemed to take on a special light. All the decorations that she and Bobby had made, were strung around the walls. There was even a Christmas smell in the air, like snow and icicles might smell in the North Pole.
‘There's no Father Christmas. There never was,’ muttered Bobby irritably. He kicked the pouffe as if it was a football. ‘So don’t go harping on about it.’
‘I’m not harping on,’argued Daisy. ‘Why are you so grumpy?’
Bobby attacked the pouffe again. This time with a vengeance. It spun over and collided with the fireside tongs. The clattering noise echoed through the house.
‘Now see what you've done,’ he accused.
‘Didn’t do anything,’ defended Daisy. ‘You lost your temper. It’s Christmas as well.’
Bobby carefully righted the tongs. He gave a half-hearted smile. ‘Truce?’ he mumbled.
‘Truce,’ Daisy agreed, even though she felt it wasn’t her who had started the almost-quarrel.
‘Let’s see what we’ve got.’ Bobby unhooked the stocking and set it on the floor.
Daisy thought about what Aunt Pat had said about the special magic. Perhaps there really was a very kind man who visited children on Christmas Eve? He would have to own a car, because sleighs couldn’t fly. And he’d have to start off from the North Pole very early, in order to make all his deliveries. If some people believed you could dig all the way to Australia, why shouldn’t Father Christmas be true?
‘I’ll always believe in magic,’ Daisy said as they sat cross-legged on the floor.
Bobby took out the first parcel. ‘My name’s on this one. It’s my favourite too. Rowntree’s York Chocolate.’
‘I've got Duncan’s Hazelnut,’ said Daisy excitedly.
‘Look, what’s this? Oh gosh!’ He held out a pair of new football boots. ‘Just what I want. My old ones don’t fit any more. They’ve given me dreadful blisters.’
Daisy’s next present was a writing pad with lines running across each page. A pair of plimsolls followed.
‘Look, we’ve got oranges, apples and toffees.’
Daisy recognised them at once. ’The sweets are from Aunt Pat’s Saturday Assortment.’
‘Let’s divide them up.’
Daisy devoured hers immediately while Bobby stowed his in his pocket. ‘I wonder if Pops will play football with me today?’
‘I don’t care what I do as long as it’s not cooking or cleaning.’ Daisy licked her lips. ‘I hope uncle Ed and Aunt Betty come today. They give us such nice presents.’
Bobby flopped on his back lifting a foot to examine his new boot.
Daisy saw her chance. ’Bobby, I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘What?’ her brother asked vaguely.
‘Do you remember how odd everyone sounded after the play? No one wanted to come home to tea.’
‘Perhaps they weren’t hungry.’ He jumped up and stamped his booted feet. ‘The boots are a bit big. It won’t take long to grow into them.’
‘Bobby, are you listening?’
‘Yes, but don’t make a drama out of everything.’
‘I’m not. Aunt Betty has a problem. She asked Aunt Minnie to solve it, but Aunt Minnie couldn’t. So Aunt Minnie gave it to Mother, who couldn’t solve it either. And didn’t you tell me never to give a problem to a grown-up that they couldn’t solve?’
‘So?’ Bobby dismissed.
‘You see, I was helping Mrs Hayes one day. While she served the teas I went to find Aunt Betty. I was about to knock on her office door when I heard voices coming from inside. The door was open a bit. I saw Aunt Betty and Mr Calder, the accounts manager, standing … well, very close.’
‘They were just talking I expect.’
‘Mr Calder said Aunt Betty must find an excuse to get away. Aunt Betty said she didn’t go out in the evenings without Uncle Ed. And then - well then, they nearly … you know…’
The chocolate she had eaten was beginning to make her feel sick. ‘That day Aunt Minnie called to see Mother,’ she struggled on, ‘it was to tell her that Aunt Betty was going to the cinema to see a film about a man in prison. Aunt Minnie couldn’t go with her, but Aunt Betty asked her to say she had.’
Bobby rolled his eyes. ‘Didn’t I warn you about spying on people? That one day you would hear something bad about yourself? Now you have heard something bad about someone else. And that’s even worse.’
Daisy was mortified. ‘I didn’t listen deliberately.’
‘It’s none of your business what Aunt Betty does,’ Bobby said coldly, hobbling to the door in his boots. ‘You must stop spying. If you don’t, your ears will fall off and then your nose.’
After her brother had left the room, Daisy felt miserable and sick. How had she managed to eat so many sweets all at once? Would Bobby’s remark about her ears and nose come true? She vowed there and then, never to listen to other people’s conversations again. Even if she had to block up her ears.
Her tummy rumbled.
She didn’t feel like Christmas dinner at all.
Chapter 12
Daisy glanced down at her dinner plate. Under normal circumstances, she would have helped herself to at least four roast potatoes. Now she could barely manage one. At three o’clock in the afternoon, she was feeling very poorly.
‘Perhaps our little sister is love-sick?’ teased Matt as he helped himself to a generous portion of cabbage.
Daisy felt too weak to argue. She lifted her fork and toyed with the slices of roast chicken that Pops had served.
‘It must be all the excitement,’ decided Mother as she spooned out the greasy baked trimmings.
‘What a sumptuous meal!’ Pops exclaimed. ‘We’re so fortunate to be spoiled by Grandma and Aunt Pat. If it weren’t for their supplies, our dinner wouldn’t be half so impressive.’
‘All down to Mr White from the Wattcombe parish council,’ replied Aunt Pat. ‘He insisted we bring some of his allotment vegetables.’
‘Then many thanks go to Mr White,’ Pops agreed. ‘Top man.’
Daisy wished Mr White hadn’t been quite so generous. She was struggling to eat more than a mouthful.
‘Christmases were very different in nineteen sixteen,’ said Grandma on a reflective sigh. ‘Our boys were fighting in the trenches. They had nothing to eat but bully beef. There was not much variety to speak of in England either, though we did better in the country than the towns and cities.’
Matt and Bobby were served generous seconds but Daisy couldn’t raise even a smile, let alone more food to her lips.
‘Daisy are you unwell?’ Mother asked.
‘Not like you at all, treasure,’ said Pops.
‘Save a space for Christmas pudding,’ advised Grandma cheerfully. ‘I baked it with ale from the Cat and Fiddle. Flo, if you’ve custard, I think the pudding will go down a treat.’
At the mention of this concoction, Daisy could bear it no longer. She jumped to her feet and rushed from the room. When she reached the lavatory, the volcano inside her erupted.
Slowly, Mother’s face came into view. ‘Oh dear, it’s a day in bed for you, I’m afraid.’
Daisy couldn’t have climbed out of bed if she’d tried. Well, she had tried. In the early hours. But she’d felt so ill, she’d fallen back down and immediately gone to sleep.
‘I feel a bit sick,’ she groaned. ‘I’ll never eat another sweet again.’
Mother smiled. ’I’m afraid you’ve a temperature.’
Daisy groaned. ‘My throat’s sore too.’
‘I’ll fetch some water and then you must rest. Not what you want to hear at Christmas, I know.’
But Daisy hadn’t the least desire to move from under the covers. She hoped the fever would go away if she lay still for long enough.
She dreamed of school and wearing Bo
bby’s new boots. So heavy and clumsy was the footwear, that she could not escape from Peter Brady who rode on Grandpa’s cart, cruelly whipping the backs of the four black horses. This dream was followed by the lonely figure of Uncle Ed standing in Pops’s laboratory. The litmus paper in his hand was white. Mr Calder appeared in a puff of smoke and set fire to the Bunsen Burners while Uncle Ed wasn’t looking.
Daisy woke up. She had been calling out Uncle Ed’s name. She was trying to warn him about Mr Calder. Through the window the bright light of day had faded to a dusky evening hue. She reached for the glass of water that Mother had left on the bedside table and gulped down its entire contents.
As she sank back again, she could hear voices. Bobby was outside in the garden with Pops. They must be playing football. But Bobby’s new boots were at school, she fretted. That’s where she had left them in her escape from Peter Brady and the horses.
‘Bobby,’ she croaked in delirium. Staring up at the ceiling, she lay, on fire just like the Bunsen Burners. How would she put out the blaze? The litmus paper was white.
It should have turned red.
Chapter 13
There was the smell of bread baking when Daisy woke. ‘Welcome back,’ said Pops, from his chair beside her bed. ‘Awake at last!’
Daisy smiled the best smile she could. There was a little twitch to her lips that had never been there before.
‘Here, drink this.’ Pops held the glass to her lips. ‘Better?’
She lay back, refreshed.
‘You know, we’ve been worried about you.’
‘Have you? What day is it?’
‘Wednesday.’
‘How many days is that after Christmas?’
‘Three. And you’ve slept them all away.’
Daisy guiltily recalled eating the sweets from Aunt Pat’s stocking. ’I ate too much toffee.’
Pops chuckled. ’No, you’ve had the flu.’
‘Did you play football in the garden with Bobby?’
‘Not yet. We’d rather you get better first to cheer us on.’
‘But I heard - ‘ Daisy stopped. Was it all in a dream?
‘Are you hungry?’ Pops asked.
‘A bit, I s’pose.’
‘Mother is making bread and chicken soup with Grandma.’
Daisy didn’t know if she could eat anything, but it was nice having Pops beside her. ‘Did Aunt Betty and Uncle Ed call round?’
Pops gave a little cough and shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘They always visit at Christmas.’
‘Rest a little more, then come down for tea.’ He tucked her hands inside the cover, refilled her glass and went softly out of the room.
Daisy listened to his footsteps on the stairs.
Daisy’s jumbled thoughts spun in and out of her mind. Why hadn’t Aunt Betty and Uncle Ed called? They always visited at Christmas. It was tradition. Just like on New Year’s Eve, when everyone gathered at Aunt Minnie and Uncle Leo’s in Soho for a party. More worryingly, Pops hadn’t given her a proper answer when she’d asked after them.
Daisy’s eyelids were so heavy she couldn’t keep them open. This time she dreamed of Sammy Berger’s father hiding in his house from a gang of men. Someone had nailed two strong lengths of wood across the front door. But if no one could get in, how would Mr Berger and Sammy get out?
It was Friday and the day before New Year’s Eve. By this time, Daisy had passed on her infection to Bobby. Mother told her that Matt had gone along to Amelia’s house in the hope of seeing her.
Grandma and Aunt Pat spoiled her, propping up her cushions in Pops’s big fireside chair and brushing out her hair. Mother ferried rations of water and a small jar of chest rub up to Bobby who was confined to bed. All prospect of attending Aunt Minnie’s party the very next evening had vanished with the uncooperative flu germs.
‘Never mind,’ consoled Aunt Pat who mysteriously found a new tin of Saturday Assortment in her luggage. ‘We can enjoy ourselves and play games.’ She opened the tin and placed it in front of Daisy. ‘There are plenty of toffees left.’
Daisy felt her stomach protest. She shook her head vigorously. ‘No, thank you, Aunt Pat.’
‘Still feel a bit dicky?’
‘Quite dicky, Aunt Pat.’
‘Sensible not to then.’ The lid went back on and Grandma nodded.
‘Sweets on a poorly stomach can be fatal,’ she agreed, settling back in her chair.
‘Not that sort of fatal, Mother,’ corrected Aunt Pat mildly as, from her pocket, she drew the fortune cards in their mother-of-pearl case.
‘I only want good news,’ instructed Grandma, eyeing Aunt Pat warningly.
Daisy smiled at the thought of the fortune cards. Aunt Pat always found something interesting to say, though her predictions weren’t always correct. The air was fragrant with an occasional puff of woodsmoke that drifted off the crimson logs in the grate. Aunt Pat’s soft voice was soothing as she announced a return to good health for Daisy. ‘And even better,’ continued Aunt Pat excitedly, ‘I see a new friend, yet strangely, an old one.’ Her smile drifted as she looked up into Daisy’s wide expectant eyes. ‘A friendship to last a lifetime.’
Daisy felt excited. ‘What’s their name?’ she asked curiously.
Aunt Pat shrugged. ‘The cards are telling me you know it already.’
‘Is it Sally? Because I’ve known her ages. She’s not new.’
Suddenly there was movement on the stairs.
‘Put the cards away, Pat,’ Grandma commanded. ‘Not everyone appreciates your gift.’
The cards were instantly scooped up and slipped into their mother-of-pearl case as Mother appeared. Daisy looked at Aunt Pat, sharing a secret smile.
Chapter 14
The letter arrived on the first Saturday of 1939, shortly after Grandma and Aunt Pat had returned to Wattcombe. Daisy sat with her two brothers as Pops read from the official looking document the postman had just delivered.
‘ “This is to confirm the delivery of your air raid shelter. It will measure six feet six inches by four feet six inches. Your shelter must be sunk into the ground and can be extended for larger families if requested. Priority has been given to householders in London’s twenty-eight metropolitan boroughs and other potential target cities around the country.” ‘
‘Our shelter?’ questioned Mother. ‘But why should we want one? They must have written to the wrong address.’
Pops read it over again. ‘No error, not at all. The address is correct.’
‘The docks have been given priority,’ gushed Matt. ‘We are the enemy’s first target.’
‘Surely not,’ cried Mother in alarm. ‘This can’t be true.’
Daisy watched her brother shrug gently. ‘I’m sorry, Mother, but I did warn you.’
‘Don’t let’s panic,’ advised Pops. ‘This may be just a precautionary measure.’
‘What’s it made of, this shelter?’ asked Bobby, now recovered from his flu.
‘Says here they are steel,’ replied Pops with a frown.
‘Can we sleep in it?’ Daisy enquired. ‘Is it like a tent?’
‘Daisy, you are not sleeping in anything but your own bed,’ scolded Mother. ‘Now Nicky, you must do something about this contraption. Get them to cancel it. Or give it to someone else.’
‘Mother,’ said Matt seriously, ‘don’t you read the newspapers? Our Territorial Army’s anti-aircraft and coastal units have been mobilised for war. There are appeals everywhere for emergency workers, plans for evacuation from the city and even patients from hospitals. Food rationing will come at any moment. We are on the brink.’
Daisy sat up. ‘Does rationing mean we won’t get anything to eat?’
‘Of course it doesn’t,’ said Mother impatiently. ‘If rationing were to happen - and only if - I’m sure the government would provide for us all equally.’ She looked at Pops and waved her fingers. ‘Enough of that letter, Nicky. Put it away and let’s try to enjoy the rest of our weeke
nd.’
Daisy watched her father fold the letter into his pocket. Breakfast was subdued and she wondered why Pops did not even pick up his newspaper.
‘Can I go to football?’ Bobby asked.
‘I really think you shouldn’t,’ said Mother doubtfully. ‘It’s cold and you’re only just well.’
‘I’m bored,’ Bobby insisted. ‘I want to try out my new boots.’
‘A boy needs his exercise, Flo,’ Pops agreed.
After Bobby had gone out, Aunt Betty arrived. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t call at Christmas,’ she apologised. ‘Are you better now, Daisy?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Daisy was relieved to see her aunt at last. ‘Where’s Uncle Ed?’
Aunt Betty frowned.
‘Is he coming to see us?‘
‘Daisy!’ interrupted Mother sharply. ‘Enough now!’
‘Your uncle is at work,’ replied Aunt Betty very quietly with a downcast expression.
‘I’ll be off to join him,’ said Pops formally. ‘A happy New Year, Betty.’
‘Thank you, Nicky. You too.’
‘Matt, are you coming?’ Pops called.
Daisy watched her older brother thunder down the staircase, peck their aunt on her cheek and follow Pops from the house.
‘Make yourself comfortable, Betty. I’ll make a fresh pot of tea,’ said Mother.
Daisy was eager to open the presents that Aunt Betty had brought but there was something quite odd about this visit. Why was everyone talking so politely, as if they were strangers? Why had Pops left for work so abruptly?
‘I hope you like your present,’ said Aunt Betty, sitting on the chair by the fire.
‘A skipping rope!’ exclaimed Daisy as she tore off the wrapping.
‘And something else.’
Daisy unwrapped the second parcel. ‘A dainty brush and comb set with bluebirds and blossoms painted on the handles. Oh, thank you, Aunt Betty.’
‘I’m sorry it’s late.’
There was something definitely amiss, Daisy decided, as Aunt Betty stared into the fire. Mother said very little when she brought in the tea.