by Sandy Taylor
Chapter Twelve
We had come to Glengaryth in the spring and now it was December and everyone was looking forward to Christmas. The pond had frozen over and those brave enough skated and slithered across the ice. Gerraint and the other boys urged me and Lottie to join in the fun. I would have liked to, but I couldn’t chance Olive following my lead and getting hurt if the ice cracked. I knew that Lottie was itching to join them as well, but she understood my concerns. Instead, we watched from the edge of the pond. Lottie had become a good friend to me and the boys had become friends to us both. We borrowed old bikes and cycled through the many winding lanes that circled the village. We swam in icy-cold rivers and walked for miles across the fields and into the woods that I’d seen from the bottom of the vicarage garden. We drank delicious milkshakes at the back of Mrs Evans’s bakery and every Saturday we went to the village hall and listened to records on Uncle Dylan’s record player.
Back home, Angela was my only close friend but here I was, for the first time in my life, part of a group of young people, and I loved it. I loved this life that I was leading. I knew that the day would come when I would have to leave this lovely place but for now it was home and I was going to make the most of it.
I missed my family but there were days when I looked out over the snow-covered hills and thought that I could happily live here forever. I loved everything about this new life. I loved the vicarage and the little chapel that Olive and I continued to sneak into when the devil wasn’t looking. I loved the changing of the seasons, which I hadn’t really noticed in Bermondsey. There were days back home when the smog and the mist off the river obliterated the sun and the sky seemed always to be grey. There were no flowers to herald in the spring, no leaves changing from green to brown, falling from trees and crunching under our feet. And as for summer, that was just muggy. There was one tiny window in the flat and there were days when you felt as if you couldn’t breathe. It seemed as if there was no room between the tall tenements for the air to get through. Sweat rolled down the backs of the dockers as they worked bare-chested on the river, heaving the heavy sacks onto the boats. They kept bits of old rag in their pockets to stop the sweat running into their eyes; some of them tied the rags around their heads, which made them look like pirates. People became irritated with each other. Kids got walloped more and husbands were nagged more. And everyone swore more than usual. There was a lot of swearing in Bermondsey in the summer.
Maybe it was all too good to last – isn’t that what people say? Was it a premonition? Or was it just that I couldn’t believe how lucky we had been to have come to this place, miles away from all we knew, and to be with two people who loved and cared for us as though we were their own.
My fears came true one evening when we raced into the kitchen with the exciting news that there was to be a Christmas fair at school.
Auntie Beth and Uncle Dylan were sitting at the table.
‘And we must make cakes. Can we make cakes, Auntie Missus?’ said Olive.
But she didn’t answer and I could sense there was something wrong.
‘Sit down, girls,’ said Uncle Dylan.
Olive was still chattering away. ‘There is a prize for the best cakes. Will you help me make them, Auntie Missus?’
‘Shush, Olive,’ I said.
‘I’m telling Auntie about the fair and the cakes.’
‘I know you are, love, but you need to be quiet for a bit.’
‘We have some news to tell you,’ said Uncle Dylan.
‘Are you having a baby? Oh, I hope you’re having a baby! I love babies. I could help look after it,’ said Olive, jumping up and down.
Auntie Beth looked sad. ‘We aren’t having a baby, Olive.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ said Olive.
Auntie Beth gave a sad little smile. ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’
‘I thought perhaps God had changed his mind and sent you one.’
‘Olive, you have to stop talking,’ I said. ‘And sit down.’
Uncle Dylan looked down at the table; he didn’t speak right away. Auntie Beth reached across and took hold of his hand. He took a deep breath and looked at us. ‘We have been told today that we have got to leave the vicarage.’
‘Why?’ I said, frowning.
‘Because we are needed in the city, where we can do more good, where people are more in need of our ministry.’
‘But you’re needed here. Who’s going to look after the church? And who’s going to work the record player and the projector?’
‘There is a war on, Nell, and everyone has to make sacrifices. People in Cardiff have lost their homes and their loved ones and they need God’s word to comfort them.’
‘So we’ve all got to move to bloody Cardiff?’ said Olive.
‘Not all of us, darling,’ said Auntie Beth. ‘Just me and Uncle Mister.’
‘What about us? Why can’t we go with you?’ cried Olive.
‘Because it’s too dangerous. You have been sent here to the countryside for your safety. We could never take you with us, even if we were allowed to.’
‘So what’s going to happen to us then?’ I asked.
‘I’m sure you will be found another home with people who will love you as much as we do.’
At this Olive’s eyes were filling with tears. ‘But I don’t want another home, I want to stay here with you and Uncle Mister.’
‘I know you do, and if it was safe to take you with us, we would.’
‘Of course we would,’ said Uncle Dylan.
‘Well, we won’t go. Will we, Nell? We won’t bloody well go!’
‘It looks as if we’re going to have to, Olive.’
Olive was glaring at us. ‘What about Toby and the chickens? Who’s going to look after them?’
‘Toby doesn’t belong to us, Olive. He will continue to live in the field and be looked after by his owner and I’m afraid we will have to give the chickens away.’
Olive jumped up from the chair, which fell backwards and clattered to the floor.
‘Just like you’re giving us away!’ she screamed, and ran up the stairs.
‘She’s just afraid and sad,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t mean to be rude.’
‘We know that,’ said Auntie Beth. ‘I feel like throwing a chair over too.’
‘It’s not easy working for God, is it?’ I said.
‘He certainly tests us,’ replied Uncle Dylan.
I stood up. ‘I better check on Olive.’
I went into our lovely little bedroom. Olive was lying on her tummy, sobbing. I sat on the bed and rubbed her back.
‘I don’t want to go anywhere else, Nell, I like it here.’ She gulped.
‘I know you do, but we don’t have any choice and neither do Auntie and Uncle. It’s not their fault, Olive, and you need to say sorry for knocking over that chair.’
‘The chair knocked itself over, Nell, it had nothing to do with me.’
‘Is that right?’ I said, smiling.
‘Maybe it did have something to do with me.’
‘Perhaps it was a bit of both.’
Olive wiped her eyes and sat up. ‘Yes, I think it was a bit of both – but I think it was more the chair’s fault. I mean, it’s their job not to fall over, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Will we be able to stay in the vicarage, Nell? We could keep the chickens and eat eggs every morning and you’re big enough to look after us.’
‘I don’t think it works that way, Olive. There are rules when it comes to children. You have to be looked after by a grown-up.’
‘Well, you’re as tall as Mrs Evans,’ said Olive, warming to the idea.
‘I don’t think it goes by height, Olive.’
‘We will be able to stay in the village though, won’t we?’
‘I should think so – I hope so, yes. I’m sure we can, they just need to find someone to take us in.’
‘Shall we go round the village and ask?’
‘Th
at would be rude.’
Olive pulled a face. ‘I don’t see how that can be rude.’
‘I don’t want you worrying about it, Olive. I’m sure it will all work out.’
‘It bloody better,’ she said.
‘Olive! What have I said about swearing?’
‘These is desperate times, Nell, and they call for desperate measures.’
‘Where on earth did you hear that?’
‘From Aggie.’
‘And where did she hear it?’
‘Gawd knows.’
I was as sad as could be, but I burst out laughing. My little sister always managed to make me laugh.
Chapter Thirteen
Uncle Dylan wrote to the Bishop and asked if they could postpone the move to Cardiff until after Christmas. We all waited anxiously for the reply and were overjoyed when the letter came to say that we could stay in Glengaryth until after the New Year and have our Christmas celebrations here in the vicarage.
Auntie Beth called me and Olive into the kitchen one day and handed us some money.
‘I thought you might like to buy some Christmas presents for your friends and family,’ she said, smiling.
‘I’m not sure that Mum would want us to take money from you, Auntie Beth,’ I said.
‘Oh, she wouldn’t mind, Nell,’ said Olive, reaching out her hand and taking it. ‘Thanks ever so, Auntie Missus, we’ll get something for you and Uncle Mister as well.’
‘Olive!’
‘What?’
‘You can’t just take money from people.’
‘Auntie Missus isn’t “people”, Nell. Auntie Missus is… Auntie Missus.’
‘Please take it, Nell,’ said Auntie Beth.
‘I think Olive already has,’ I said, grinning. ‘Thank you ever so much.’
‘You have given us such joy, girls, that it’s a pleasure.’
Apart from the butcher’s, the baker’s and the post office, there was a general store in the village and this is where we went to buy our gifts.
‘Can I get something for Aggie, Nell?’
‘Of course you can, and I want to get something for Lottie. We can get something for Auntie and Uncle between us.’
‘What about Mum and Dad and Freddie and Tony?’
‘I’m not sure we will have enough for that, but we could get them a lovely Christmas card.’
‘Okay.’
The shop was owned by Mrs Llewellyn, who was a widow. Mrs Llewellyn knew about everything that went on in the village. Mrs Evans from the bakery said that she knew when someone had died before the person who had died knew. She could also tell you the weather forecast and how the war was going and whether we were winning or not.
‘Do you think she’s a witch?’ asked Olive.
‘Of course she’s not a witch,’ I said.
‘How come she knows all about the weather then?’
‘Do you know what, Olive?’
‘What?’
‘I don’t think she does.’
Olive nodded and put on her wise face. ‘Still, if it keeps her happy.’
‘Exactly,’ I said, grinning.
We were standing in the shop, looking at all the things on the shelves. There were lots of Christmassy things, like glass baubles and felt robins and paper lanterns, but nothing really special.
‘I can tell you what the vicar’s wife would like,’ said Mrs Llewellyn.
Well, there’s a surprise, I thought.
‘She likes a good romantic novel. The slushier the better. Lots of trembling lips and sideways glances from under heavy lashes. You know the kind of thing: “his eyes fell to the floor and his breath came in short pants.”’
I didn’t dare look at Olive.
‘What do you mean, his breath came in short pants?’ she said. ‘How can someone’s breath come in short pants?’
‘You’re too young to understand, Olive,’ said Mrs Llewellyn, searching under the counter. ‘Now, I’ve just finished this book, it’s like new because I took it off the shelf and I made sure that I didn’t drop my dinner on it. You can have it for half price, will that suit?’
‘I think that will suit fine,’ I said.
‘What’s it about?’ asked Olive.
‘Well,’ said Mrs Llewellyn, leaning on the counter. ‘It’s about a handsome lord who falls in love with a poor servant girl and his father won’t give his permission to let them marry, so the lord gives up all his wealth and marries her, and they live in a humble cottage out on the moor. Then it turns out she’s not poor at all, she was swapped at birth and she’s really high-born.’
‘What, she’s tall?’ said Olive.
‘No, she’s of the aristocracy.’
‘So does the lord’s father give him his money back?’ said Olive, hanging onto every word that was coming out of Mrs Llewellyn’s mouth.
‘He does, Olive, and they live happily ever after.’
‘I wouldn’t mind reading that meself,’ said Olive.
‘You’re too young,’ said Mrs Llewellyn again. ‘It gets a bit racy towards the end.’
‘Don’t even ask,’ I said to Olive.
‘Anyway, like I said, it’s good as new and there’s enough trembling of lips to keep the vicar’s wife going for a while.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. I started looking around for something to give Lottie.
‘What are you looking for, Nell?’
‘Something for Lottie, Mrs Llewellyn.’
‘I know just the thing,’ said Mrs Llewellyn, going out through the back of the shop.
‘She’s a witch,’ whispered Olive, ‘she’s a bloody witch!’
Mrs Llewellyn came back, holding something in her hand. She held it out for me to see. ‘I think your young friend would like this.’
It was a snow globe and inside the glass was a sweet little deer coming out of a wood. I shook it and watched the snow fall over his ears and over the trees. Lottie was going to love it. ‘It’s perfect,’ I said.
Mrs Llewellyn looked pleased. ‘I have a nose for that sort of thing,’ she said. ‘Now, how about you, Olive?’
‘I want to get something for Aggie – have you got something up your nose for her?’
I groaned.
‘Now, your little friend Aggie could do with a lovely pink ribbon to keep that hair of hers out of her eyes. It would be nice to see her eyes now and again, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes, it would, Mrs Llewellyn. I think a ribbon would be just the thing. But could you make it yellow? Aggie likes yellow.’
‘Yellow it is then,’ she agreed.
‘What about Uncle Mister?’ said Olive.
‘The vicar is partial to a bit of treacle toffee,’ said Mrs Llewellyn, ‘but you will have to go to the sweetshop for that.’
Olive was looking at Mrs Llewellyn in complete wonderment. ‘You’re bloody marvellous,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Olive,’ replied Mrs Llewellyn.
Olive swore a lot – she just did – but what amazed me was that no one commented on it, no one seemed to mind. Maybe when you were as beautiful as Olive you could get away with it. Maybe when you were beautiful, people treated you differently. I had no chance.
Our presents were carefully wrapped up in proper Christmas paper and we left the shop delighted with our purchases.
‘Happy Christmas, girls,’ said Mrs Llewellyn as we left the shop.
‘Happy Christmas, Mrs Llewellyn,’ we called back.
We got the treacle toffee in the sweetshop. Aggie actually weighed it out and put it in a paper bag. Then she slipped us two pieces for ourselves. ‘The missus won’t mind,’ she whispered. ‘She does it all the time for her special customers.’
‘I wish I could work in a sweetshop, Nell,’ sighed Olive, as we walked down the road.
‘If you worked in a sweetshop, Olive, there’d be no sweets left to sell.’
Olive thought about it and then said, ‘I think you're right, Nell.’
Our last port of call was the post
office, where we chose a beautiful card for Mum, Tony and Freddie. It had a house on the front that looked just like the vicarage. There was snow on the roof and a snowman in the garden with a scarf around his neck and a carrot for his nose. We wrote the card in the shop and posted it. Olive kissed the envelope before it went in the box.
‘Happy Christmas, Mum,’ I whispered.
* * *
On Christmas Eve, me and Olive walked down the lane with Auntie Beth and collected armfuls of holly. It was bitterly cold, with a sharp wind blowing across the fields. Our hands were freezing and our noses were red, but we didn’t mind. Olive skipped ahead of us, her beautiful eyes bright with excitement.
‘Why didn’t Uncle Dylan come with us?’ I asked, rubbing my hands together.
‘Ah, he’s on a secret mission, Nell.’
‘What’s the secret,’ I said, grinning.
‘Well, it wouldn’t be a secret if I told you that, would it?’
We piled the prickly holly with its shiny red berries into a big basket and started walking back to the vicarage.
That evening we all went to Midnight Mass. Lottie came as well, even though she was an agnostic and she hadn’t made her mind up yet. The little church was ablaze with candles; it was so beautiful I thought my heart would burst with happiness.
Uncle Dylan told the story of that first Christmas in a land far, far away. We prayed for our soldiers and for all the young men who were plunged into a war they didn’t want. We prayed for their mothers and wives and sisters, who waited and hoped.
We sang ‘Silent Night’, ‘Away in a Manger’ and ‘The First Noel’. I closed my fingers around the locket and prayed for my mum, Tony and Freddie, and I asked God to put his arms around my daddy and to carry him safely home to us.