It was a simple service with Bible readings telling of the birth of Jesus, the visits of the shepherds and the wise men, and familiar carols which everyone sang wholeheartedly. There was an anthem from the choir, ‘Sing Lullaby’, and a seasonal sermon – not too long – from the vicar, speaking of love and friendship made more meaningful with faith in Jesus. Then, at twelve o’clock the church bells rang out, proclaiming the start of Christmas Day.
There was a good deal of hand shaking and hugging and kissing from the folk who knew one another, and several people came to greet others who were not such regular attenders. There was no doubt that they were welcome there, along with hopes that they might come again on less auspicious occasions.
Ian and Sophie’s families stood outside the church, the two youngsters looking unsurely at one another.
‘You’re very welcome to come home with us for a glass of sherry,’ said Sophie’s mother to them all, seconded heartily by Graham.
Janice and Phil said thanks all the same, but they must go and relieve their babysitter; another time, maybe.
‘But you’ll stay for a while, Ian?’ said Janice. ‘I know you would like to.’
He nodded thankfully. ‘But I won’t stay long.’
‘Well, you’ve got your key but we’ll probably still be up when you come back.’
The four adults exchanged handshakes and kisses and Christmas greetings, then Ian, a little shyly, followed Sophie into the house.
‘I wanted to give you this,’ he said, taking a small gift-wrapped parcel from his pocket. ‘Don’t open it till tomorrow. Oh … it’s tomorrow now, isn’t it? Christmas Day, I mean.’
‘But I’ll save it,’ said Sophie, putting her arms round him and giving him a quick kiss – her mother and Graham were in the kitchen, ‘and open it with the others. Thanks ever so much.’
There was a pile of presents under the tree, as there was at Janice and Phil’s. ‘And this is yours,’ she said, handing him a parcel tied with gold ribbon. ‘And this is for little Sarah.’ That one felt soft and cuddly.
‘Thanks for mine, and I know Sarah will love it, whatever it is.’
Ian was almost bursting with happiness as he walked home. The four of them had drunk a glass of sweet sherry, then he and Sophie had exchanged a few fond kisses on the doorstep as they said goodbye. He was on top of his own little world.
SEVEN
‘Well, I hope Russell will behave himself today,’ said Val to Sam as they were preparing to leave for Christmas dinner at his parents’ home.
‘There’s no reason why he shouldn’t,’ said Sam. ‘He’s been as good as gold so far today.’
‘And is it any wonder with all those presents? I know he’s been good but how long will it last, especially with your mother’s eagle eye on him? He’s aware of it, you know.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ said Sam. ‘But she’ll be in a good mood today with it being Christmas – at least, I hope so. My father knows how to get round her with expensive perfume and jewellery and all that. I don’t think he should pander to her so much but I suppose it’s anything for a quiet life!’
‘Well, I’ll be glad when we’re back home again,’ said Val. ‘I can never relax completely when I’m there. It’s OK, don’t worry,’ she went on, aware of his concerned look. ‘I shall do my best to enjoy it. It’ll be a jolly good meal and your dad’s always the life and soul of the party. And Thelma will be there, thank goodness.’
Her sister-in-law, Thelma, married to Sam’s brother, Jonathan, had been a great help to Val when she had first met Sam’s family, assuring her that Beatrice Walker’s bark was worse than her bite and that one had to humour her, to a certain extent. Thelma and Val had become very good friends and Val was always glad of her bolstering presence on these family occasions.
Christmas dinner at the Walkers’ was quite an ordeal for Val, especially since they had had their family. She had insisted, though, and Sam had agreed, that her own parents must not be overlooked on these festive occasions. And so, each year since they were married in 1957, they had spent Christmas Day, or at least part of it, with the Walkers and Boxing Day with her family, the Horrockses, or vice versa. And this year it was the Walkers turn for the important day. Tomorrow, at her old family home, it would be much more relaxed and enjoyable.
‘You look very nice,’ said Sam as Val turned round from the dressing table after putting the finishing touches to her appearance – combing her dark hair and coaxing it into a curl, applying a touch of bright red lipstick and green eye-shadow to her brown eyes. ‘Beautiful, in fact.’ He grabbed hold of her and gave her a quick kiss. ‘You look stunning in your new dress. Worth every penny!’
The cherry red dress, made from a soft woollen fabric in the new length, just above the knee, complemented Val’s dark colouring. It was a present from Sam from Schofield’s store in Leeds. And today he had given her a surprise present: a silver and garnet necklace which fitted perfectly with the V-shaped neckline of her dress.
‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ she replied, returning his kiss. She had bought him a Jaeger jumper of moss green cashmere as a surprise, and fortunately he was delighted with it. He was wearing it today as it would be quite an informal occasion.
‘Come on, now; no time to be canoodling,’ said Val. ‘Lucy’s all ready, aren’t you, darling? Nice and dry and clean and tidy, just the way Grandma likes her!’ She picked up seven-month-old Lucy, who had been sitting contentedly on their bed, propped up against a pillow.
‘What a pretty little girl!’ said Sam. ‘Do you know, she looks more like you every day.’ The child was dark-haired like her mother, with the same warm brown eyes. ‘Come on, then, my two lovely ladies. Let’s go and find Russell.’
Russell had been playing happily by himself with his new Dinky cars. He had a playpen, which Val did not like overmuch as she thought it seemed as though they were treating the children like zoo animals, but it was sometimes necessary to separate the two of them. Russell was such a little terror, into everything.
‘Come on, young feller,’ said Sam, lifting him high in the air. ‘Time to go and see your gran and granddad.’
Russell wriggled, shouting, ‘No! Want car, big car.’ He had seemed quite contented but, on seeing his parents, decided he would exert his authority again; it sometimes worked with Mummy, but Daddy was there as well.
‘No!’ said Sam. ‘We’re going out now. You can have a ride later.’
‘No! Want a ride now!’
Russell’s main present had been a pedal car, bright red, with shining mudguards, a horn and headlights, looking very much like his daddy’s Ford Consul. He had ‘driven’ up and down the front path with Sam assisting him as he could not quite manage the pedals as yet.
‘Now, be a good boy, please, Russell,’ said Val. ‘See, you can take your police car. And what about a few Smarties? Not too many, though; they’ll spoil your dinner.’
She knew it was bribery but she didn’t want a scene before they’d even set off. Russell nodded and seemed quite happy to conform, for the moment. They gathered together the small mountain of belongings they needed to take with them: bottles and baby food for Lucy; nappies and baby wipes and cream for Lucy, as Russell, to Val’s relief, had dispensed with nappies at an early age; Lucy’s carry cot and blanket and gifts for all the family.
Finally they were ready and the drove away to the home of Joshua and Beatrice Walker. It was only a mile or so distant, but too far to walk with all the paraphernalia. Sam parked the car in the spacious driveway, noting that his brother, Jonathan’s Ford Zephyr was already there. Sam carried Lucy in her carrycot and Russell held Val’s hand as she rang the bell at the imposing oak door. The sound of the chimes echoed through the house, and in a moment the door was opened by Mrs Porter, dressed as usual in black.
‘Hello there, Valerie,’ she greeted her cheerily, ‘and little Russell too, though he’s not so little now, are you, young man?’ The child looked quizzically at her. ‘And he
re’s Mr Samuel and Lucy … A happy Christmas to you all.’
Val had told Mrs Porter soon after their first meeting that she must call her Val, or Valerie, which was what the lady seemed to prefer. She knew she could never get used to being called Mrs Sam, or Miss Horrocks, as she was at that time. Mrs Porter seemed to understand, although she kept strictly to protocol with the rest of the family.
Mrs Porter was a sort of housekeeper and cook to the Walker family – the only servant they had apart from a cleaning woman and a part-time gardener – but she did not live at the house. She was a widow, now in her late sixties, and lived not far away with her brother, who was also widowed. She had worked for the Walker family for many years, her hours flexible to suit the requirements of Mrs Walker.
The days were long gone when mill owners such as Joshua would employ a host of servants: a live-in housekeeper, maybe a butler for the more affluent families, a cook and scullery maid, and at least one upstairs maid.
Beatrice, in fact, was quite capable of running a household on her own. She had been the eldest of several children in an ordinary working-class family and had done her share of housework, cooking and looking after her younger siblings. But she had a position in society now as a mill owner’s wife, and a housekeeper was necessary to maintain the image she had of herself.
Mrs Porter usually came in the afternoon to prepare and cook the evening meal for Beatrice and Joshua; they dined early, around six o’clock, when he returned from the mill. Occasionally, if they were entertaining guests, she would stay later, free to go when she had stacked the dishwasher, to be emptied the next day.
Most afternoons, Beatrice was occupied with what she thought of as her good works. She was chairman of the local Townswomen’s Guild, an influential member of the church council and served on the committees of several charitable organizations. Before she departed in a chauffeur-driven taxi from a local firm – Beatrice had never learnt to drive – she would discuss with Mrs Porter such matters as menus for the week and the orders to be given to the various tradesmen who called: the butcher, fishmonger, baker and greengrocer. There was also a weekly order for household commodities from the local Co-op.
The exception to the rule was Sunday when Mrs Porter came in the morning to prepare and cook the midday meal. Always a roast – pork, lamb or Joshua’s favourite, roast beef with Yorkshire pudding – ready for when the Walkers returned from the morning service at church. They never missed this weekly ritual. Beatrice regarded it not just as a social but a Christian duty, and as an example to set to others.
Today was not only Sunday but Christmas Day, and Mrs Porter had been there for several hours in charge of the huge turkey – although Joshua had put it in the oven at a very early hour – the roast potatoes, the vegetables and stuffing and the Christmas pudding which she had made a few weeks ago. One of several, in fact, because Beatrice liked to donate a large one for the church lunch, given for the needy of the parish, and one for Mrs Porter to take home to be enjoyed by herself and her brother.
Joshua and Beatrice were very generous employers. Mrs Porter was well paid for her services and Beatrice had learnt not to act the grand lady or patronize the woman, who was well aware of Beatrice’s humble beginnings. Alice Porter was very satisfied with the status quo. Her wages paid for little extras for herself and her brother, Cyril, and she and Beatrice got along quite well together, so long as Alice, with her tongue in her cheek, remembered her place.
She ushered Sam and his family into the comfortable lounge where Beatrice was sitting, in pride of place, in the largest armchair near the fireplace. A coal fire blazed in the hearth, adding to the warmth and cheerfulness of the scene. Val, despite her misgivings, felt that it was a very pleasant and welcoming scene.
Beatrice, as always, reminded her of the queen mother, sitting there regally, dressed in her favourite shade of lilac – an exquisite two-piece suit of the finest wool – with a necklace of amethysts around her plumpish neck. Val made a guess that this was a Christmas present from Joshua.
She smiled graciously as Val bent to kiss her cheek. ‘How lovely to see you, Valerie, dear, and … little Russell.’ She patted the little boy’s ginger hair and pecked at his cheek. ‘Hello, Russell,’ she said without a great deal of enthusiasm. ‘Has Father Christmas been to your house?’
He nodded unsurely, seeming tongue-tied. Val did not pressure him to ‘give Grandma a kiss’ or to answer her question, not sure what was going through his little mind. She wanted it to be a happy and peaceful day.
And, by and large, it turned out to be so. They all greeted one another warmly, petty grievances and disagreements set aside on this day of goodwill to all mankind. There were nine of them altogether, although only eight sat down to dine around the Edwardian table in the dining room as baby Lucy had already been fed and laid in her carrycot near to Val. Russell sat in a high chair, one that had been used years ago by Jonathan and Samuel. Rosemary, the four-year-old daughter of Jonathan and Thelma, was able to sit at the table with a couple of cushions on the chair.
The table was a picture of elegance, such as one might see in the pages of Ideal Home. The cutlery was heavy silver, a long-ago wedding present for Joshua and Beatrice; the cloth a heavy cream linen with a crocheted border – a family heirloom – with napkins to match in silver napkin rings. There were wine glasses of lead crystal but the tablemats added a more homely Dickensian touch with scenes of coaches and horses, coaching inns, red-coated horsemen and jolly Pickwickian characters. Beatrice had created the centrepiece – a silver bowl containing a red poinsettia surrounded by holly and ivy, and small chrysanthemums of yellow and white. This unfortunately had to be moved when Mrs Porter brought in the vegetables in their Rockingham china dishes.
The meal was the traditional Christmas fare: slices of white meat from the plump breast of the turkey and a little of the brown meat from the huge legs of the bird. There was sage and onion stuffing; Beatrice had suggested chestnut stuffing as this was thought to be the correct accompaniment to turkey, but she’d been overruled by Joshua, who preferred to stick to what he knew and liked. Crisp roast potatoes, a selection of vegetables including the traditional sprouts – not loved by all but a ‘must’ at Christmas – followed by the Christmas pudding with brandy sauce. A mellow white wine was served with the meal, with orange juice for the children.
Val tried to enjoy the delicious food as much as she could, with an eye all the time on Russell. His meal was in his own plastic bowl so Beatrice’s precious china was in no danger. She hoped he would not perform any of his naughty tricks such as turning the bowl upside down when he thought he had eaten enough or banging the spoon so that the gravy flew in all directions. He had been scolded time and again but these were things he did when he wanted attention, especially if Val was occupied with Lucy.
Fortunately he behaved impeccably. Val could see Beatrice watching him from the other end of the table but he seemed unaware of anything but the tasty meal he was clearly enjoying. He managed very well with his spoon and pusher, preferring to do it by himself rather than being helped. He was an independent child for much of the time, until he decided that he wanted to be noticed. He created a laugh all round when he finished his dinner, giving a contented little sigh and shouting, ‘All gone!’ as he sometimes did at home. Val, at that moment, felt a surge of love for him.
They pulled crackers and wore the paper hats – all except Beatrice, who did not want to spoil her hairdo – read out the silly jokes, then sat back full of bonhomie after a very satisfying meal.
Thelma spoke to Mrs Porter as she cleared away the dishes. ‘That was a wonderful meal, Mrs Porter; thank you very much.’ She glanced across at Beatrice, lest she should be thought to be speaking out of turn. ‘Val and I will sort out the kitchen and make the tea and coffee, won’t we, Val? Then perhaps Mrs Porter could go home?’
Val voiced her agreement as Thelma looked across at her mother-in-law. ‘Is that all right with you … Mother?’ she asked.
Val knew that Thelma, like herself, had difficulty in calling Beatrice ‘Mother’ or ‘Mum’. Val avoided the issue by not using any name at all except ‘Grandma’, which was acceptable now they had the children.
‘Yes … thank you, Thelma and Valerie,’ said Beatrice, looking a little put out that she had not been the first one to say thank you to the woman who had done all the work, but she did so now.
‘Thank you very much, Mrs Porter. That was an excellent meal. You go off home now and enjoy the rest of the day with your brother.’
The lady was pleased to be dismissed and thanked the two young women for offering to step in and attend to the rest of the chores.
Thelma laughed. ‘It’s nice to escape for a little while, isn’t it, Val?’
‘Yes, it sure is! A bit of peace and quiet.’
‘Well, I’m really grateful,’ said Mrs Porter. ‘Just stack the pots in the dishwasher; they won’t be used again for a while. But be careful with milady’s best china! Sorry, I’m forgetting my place, aren’t I?’
They all laughed. Thelma and Val had come to regard Alice Porter as almost one of the family. Nothing was ever said but the two of them knew that the woman was well aware of their mother-in-law’s pretensions, just as they were.
When she had first met Thelma, Val had imagined that she might be aloof and self-restrained. She had reminded Val of a snow princess in a fairy tale: she was tall and slender with finely drawn features and pale blonde hair in an immaculate pageboy style. But as she became more acquainted with her, she realized that her looks belied her personality. Thelma was warm and friendly with a sense of humour, which Val guessed was necessary with her rather straight-laced husband. Thelma had taken Val under her wing, knowing that she had a family background that Beatrice considered far inferior to that of the Walkers; moreover, she was one of their employees. Thelma, on the other hand, had met with full approval because her father was a solicitor. But Val had proved herself to be worthy of a place in the Walker family. Even Jonathan now recognized that she was an admirable wife for his brother.
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