by Joanna Toye
‘He’s away fighting, is he?’
‘Burma. He tries to keep in touch.’
‘It’s not easy, is it,’ Lily sympathised. ‘And you? How are you coping? With these bombs?’
Mrs Wilson shuddered.
‘It’s horrible. I’m living on my nerves. I’m so glad the kids is out of the way of them. I was that scared to send them off but I’d be terrified for them if they was with me. And what you people have done for them here …’ She bit her lip. ‘There was one young girl with the WVS Joe wrote me about. Him and Barb was split up to start with, but this young girl – Lily’s her name – she wasn’t having it; she knew I wanted them together. Joe’s convinced she had a hand in getting them moved. I’d love to thank her.’
Lily smiled. She touched Mrs Wilson’s arm.
‘No need,’ she said. ‘As long as they’re happy. But look, are you sure you won’t stay?’
‘No, really.’ Mrs Wilson’s voice wavered; her sacrifice was obviously costing her. ‘It’s best I don’t. Don’t want to upset the apple cart, do I?’ She indicated the offerings in the string bag. ‘But will you make sure they get these few things as a surprise on Christmas Day?’
‘Of course.’
Mavis Wilson’s eyes filled with tears and she grabbed Lily’s hands. For a moment Lily thought she was going to kiss them.
If she hadn’t believed it before, she believed it now. All the Civil Defence forces – the ARP like Jim, the auxiliary firemen like Les, the now disbanded Home Guard, the WI with their jam and canning operations, the Red Cross and the WVS – they were all vital; they did a huge amount of good. The people of Britain, the ones left at home, the frightened, the bombed-out, the injured, the old, the young, the sick, rich and poor, north and south, in cities, towns and in the countryside, those volunteers had done their bit and made a difference: the nation could never have got through the war without them. It was right before her in Mrs Wilson’s pathetic gratitude.
Chapter 23
After that, it was a straight, speeding toboggan run towards Christmas – busy, busy days at work, and in the evenings secretly wrapping the few presents they could procure or afford, writing and delivering cards, clucking over cards received and arranging holly behind the picture frames and along the mantelpiece. Dora was busy checking her hoarded supplies. Sid would be home for a couple of days, all being well, but the daunting prospect of going without Christmas cake so it could be saved for the wedding was allayed by the arrival of a generous food parcel from Sam in Canada.
‘Tinned chicken, butter – and marmalade!’ Lily drooled as she and her mum unpacked the contents. ‘Shortbread! Oh, Mum! And – ooh …’ She examined a mysterious tin. ‘Maple syrup?’
Dora didn’t reply. She’d uncovered a nine-inch – nine-inch! – iced Christmas cake which the accompanying letter from Sam promised was ‘chock-full of Californian raisins’.
‘That does it!’ said Dora. ‘There’s your wedding cake, Lily! And there’s no need to look like that, of course I’ll take the robin and the holly leaves off and pipe your names on it instead! Honestly!’
‘It’s not that,’ said Lily. ‘I don’t care if it’s got the entire Californian raisin crop inside and a ton of royal icing on top. I don’t want some factory-made cake for my wedding, thank you! I want yours, Mum, with all your love baked into it.’
‘Oh, stop it!’ said her mother, not a great one for displays of emotion. ‘You’ll set me off!’
Then it was Christmas Eve, and after a hectic day dealing with desperate last-minute customers came the traditional staff party, rum punch and mince pies in the tinsel-bedecked canteen. Mr Marlow always addressed the staff, generally a summing-up of the past year and the prospects ahead. Last year he’d gone further, announcing promotions for Mr Simmonds, Miss Frobisher, and Jim – not to mention the big move of dropping the apostrophe from the store’s name.
He referred back to it again.
‘My intention,’ he said, ‘was to make it at once less of a family concern – my family’s – but at the same time more of a family concern. I wanted and want all of you to feel like one big family.’ He paused and pursed his lips before going on in his dry manner, ‘I didn’t intend it to be taken quite so literally, but this year has of course seen the marriage of two senior staff members – Miss Frobisher has become Mrs Simmonds!’
There were cheeky ‘whoohoos’ and ‘whayhays’ from the younger salesmen who formed the backbone of the cricket and football teams, and knew Mr Simmonds well.
‘Oh Lord,’ Jim muttered to Lily. ‘I hope next year he doesn’t pick on us!’
‘If he’s not too busy announcing his own wedding to Mrs Tunnicliffe! Nothing would surprise me with those two!’ Lily whispered back.
There was more merriment when they got home. When Lily pushed open the back door, she could hear Sid in the next room regaling Dora with one of his tall tales and her mum’s tuts and half-laughs of disbelief. Lily hurried in, pulling off her gloves and there he was, blond, broad-shouldered, handsome, in the best chair as usual with a glass of rum at his elbow. He’d even persuaded Dora into a small sweet sherry, having brought a bottle with him for the festivities. He abandoned his story, stood up, and opened his arms wide. Lily pressed herself into them. Her favourite brother, home for Christmas for the first time since the start of the war!
Jim and Lily had had enough to drink at the staff party, but all four of them, even Dora, sat up late roasting chestnuts in the dying fire. As the wireless played Christmas carols, they laughed and chatted and occasionally lapsed into silence as each one thought their private thoughts of others who couldn’t be with them – Reg and Gwenda in North Africa, Sam in Canada, Sid’s friend Jerome on his air base, and Jim’s widowed dad who Lily and Jim would go and see on their next day off.
Finally, after satisfying herself that everything was ready in the kitchen for the next day, Dora announced it was time for bed. Lily kissed her mother and brother good night, then Sid and Dora tactfully melted away.
Jim had managed to cut a few sprigs of mistletoe off an old apple tree that dipped over the fence of one of the big houses on Cavendish Road and hung it from the light fitting, but they didn’t need it. Being alone like this was dangerous, they both knew; it was so difficult not to get carried away. But that was one gift which Lily knew Jim would never demand of her and they both knew that by waiting, when they were finally able to be together, it would be even more precious.
‘Roll on the wedding,’ he whispered as they finally pulled apart. ‘But first, it’s gone midnight. Happy Christmas, wife-to-be!’
Dora was the first up next morning, as usual, and by the time Lily came downstairs Sid was up too and getting the fire going. They’d tried to keep off too much war talk the previous evening, but as Lily laid the table, she couldn’t help wondering out loud if Sid’s Christmas leave was another sign that the end was in sight. Sid, though, unusually discreet, wouldn’t be drawn on military matters.
‘The only important date I’ve got in mind is March 21st,’ he declared. ‘I’m waiting for my orders for that!’
He’d already heard most of their plans. Les would be Jim’s best man, but Lily wasn’t having a bridesmaid. Of her best friends, Gladys would have her hands full with the twins and Beryl would have hers full making sure Lily looked her best – and, it had to be said, a good advertisement for Beryl’s Brides. She never missed a trick – Lily wouldn’t put it past her to hand out her business cards to unwitting passers-by as the wedding group posed afterwards for photographs.
Sid fanned the fire with a folded newspaper, then held a sheet over the fireplace to draw the flames. He nodded Lily over.
‘One thing you didn’t mention … Got your dress yet?’
‘Shh!’ Lily scolded him. ‘I couldn’t say in front of Jim!’ He was only in the kitchen now, making a pot of tea while Dora put the Christmas pudding on to steam. She moved closer and whispered. ‘Don’t panic. Beryl’s on the lookout!’
Jim couldn’t smile widely enough, but Lily was almost daunted by what was on her plate. Last year Sam had got them a few things from the Canadian NAAFI, but it had been nothing like this. Even Sid, used to more lavish meals in London, was impressed.
‘Digging my own grave with my knife and fork,’ he remarked gleefully. ‘Any more of that chicken to go with these roasties, Mum?’
When he and Lily were tackling the washing-up afterwards, food was still on his mind.
‘I know you’ve reserved the Drill Hall for the reception, but really, Lil … Instead, how about I pay for it – well, lunch, it’ll be – at the White Lion? As my wedding present to you both.’
‘Oh Sid!’ Lily didn’t know what to say. The White Lion was Hinton’s smartest hotel. ‘That’s … that’s too much!’
‘You’re only going to get married once … aren’t you?’ Sid teased. ‘And,’ he added in a lower voice, ‘this’ll be the only family wedding Mum gets. Reg has done the deed and I’m not going to oblige her, am I?’
Lily hesitated.
‘The thing is, Sid … you don’t think she’ll be offended?’
‘Eh?’
‘That she’s not doing the catering for her own daughter’s wedding.’
Sid added the lid of a serving dish to the teetering pile of crocks.
‘It’s not that she wouldn’t put on a fantastic spread, but she’d be mithering about it for weeks beforehand – and then knock herself out on the day instead of being able to sit back and enjoy it. And she’s made the cake, after all, that’s the main thing.’
‘True,’ said Lily. ‘So, all right, then, I accept! It’s a wonderful offer and thank you. Very much!’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. ‘But I bet you she’ll find something else to worry about. You know what she’s like. She’s still fretting about Kenny next door since we had that awful evening with him when Bill was home.’
Sid shook his head.
‘Worry’s not going to help that one get better,’ he remarked sagely. ‘He’s got to do that for himself.’
The pubs were shut on Christmas Day, but open again the next and it was clear that Kenny’s idea of helping himself was still to go out and get drunk. Dora’s bedroom was at the front of the house and she heard him in the street, trying and failing to get his key in the lock, cursing loudly and finally hammering on the door in frustration. She heard the sash window go up as Walter Crosbie looked out and remonstrated with him to think about the neighbours or he’d wake the whole street, which provoked Kenny into a stream of abuse. Then the window went down again and there was a pause during which Kenny was noisily ill in the gutter before the front door opened and he was ushered inside.
Dora turned over in bed with a sigh. Reg and Sid had come home a bit merry in the past, and she was sure they’d been far more than merry since they’d joined up, especially as the Forces seemed to run on alcohol – and very necessary it was too in all likelihood. But she’d never had to see her boys in a really bad way, and if they’d ever been seriously over the eight she hoped it had been in good company, not on their own, and in pursuit of high spirits rather than drowning their sorrows. Poor Kenny. He’d dug himself deep into a pit of misery – no wonder he couldn’t get out of it.
Next morning, Sid commented on it too. He’d been sleeping on the sofa in the front room, so he’d heard the kerfuffle as well.
‘Bet he’s got a head on him today,’ he observed. ‘I started off feeling sorry for the bloke, but the way he’s carrying on, he’ll end up on the streets. Old Man Crosbie won’t stand for this much longer.’
Dora, making sandwiches for his return journey to London, could only agree.
‘The doctor’s had to give Jean a nerve tonic,’ she said. ‘She’s like a bit of chewed string.’
Jim and Lily were going back to work as well, and Sid gave Lily a big hug before he left.
‘Bye for now, Fancy Pants,’ he said – he’d always had a range of nicknames for her. ‘I’m glad you’ve stayed home.’ Sid had known about her hopes of joining up, and she’d told him about her thwarted ambitions. ‘It makes me feel less bad, knowing you’re around for Mum if she ever needed it. And I never did like the idea of you being an officer’s comforter!’
‘Sid!’ Lily knew that was what some people rudely called the ATS girls – ‘officer’s groundsheet’ was an even worse insult. ‘As if I would! I know when I’m well off with Jim!’ They were in the hall, her mum in the kitchen, but still she lowered her voice; there’d been no chance to ask Sid before. ‘And what about your romance? Are you still seeing your American?’
Jerome was with the US Air Force, stationed out in Cambridgeshire. Even though airfields were an obvious target, he was ground crew, fortunately, which was a lot safer than him being a pilot.
‘You betcha, baby!’ Sid put on an exaggerated American accent.
‘He doesn’t talk like that, does he?’
‘Nah, not really.’ Sid considered. ‘He’s quite soft-spoken. Thoughtful. Serious.’
‘Nothing like you then!’
‘Well, no, but opposites attract, don’t they,’ Sid shot back. ‘Look at you and Jim! Talking of which – I must go – but see you in March!’
First they had the winter to get through but even the weather seemed to be on their side. January started cold but dry – perfect weather for the January sales, so it was back to the old routine for Lily and Jim and it was the same for Dora. Monday was washday, Tuesday baking day, Wednesday ironing, Thursday heavy housework, Friday extra shopping for the weekend … all with the daily round of tidying, dusting, shopping, cooking, washing-up, putting away … Then there were the alterations and mending she did for Beryl’s shop, and then her Knitting Circle at the WI, and her voluntary work with the Red Cross and the WVS. And there was Buddy – he still needed his morning walk, especially with the titbits that soft-hearted Sid had been feeding him.
‘Yes, all right, Buddy, I know.’ Buddy was whining at the door. ‘It’s walkies time.’
Dora clipped the lead on Buddy’s collar. He might be a year older and he was certainly a little rounder, but he’d lost none of his puppyish bounce. At the park, she let him off the leash and he bounded off like a spring lamb, skittering across the path, exploring every thrilling new smell. Dora headed for her usual spot in the little rustic shelter. Buddy always came to find her in the end – he knew whose shopping bag brought the bones back from the butcher. He wasn’t that daft.
It was still quite early. Dora could usually be sure of the place to herself but as she approached the shelter she could see a pair of outstretched legs – trousered, male legs. Still, she mustn’t be selfish – it was understandable, the only place out of the wind. When she got closer, though, she was surprised to see that the legs belonged to someone she knew. It was Kenny, his head resting back against the rough boards, eyes closed, mouth half-open. Sleeping, drunk … or ill?
‘Kenny? Kenny!’
He blinked and sat up.
‘Eh?’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
As gracious as ever, then.
Dora sat down. ‘It’s early for you to be out, that’s all.’
‘Free country, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, Kenny,’ said Dora, wearily. ‘Why do you have to take on so at everything? I mean, I know why, you’ve had a rough time. But you’re not the only one.’
‘Yeah, yeah, tell it to the birds.’
‘I’m telling it to you,’ said Dora, exasperation finally getting the better of her. ‘Because it’s about time someone did. We’re all sorry about your arm, it’s a dreadful thing to happen to a young man, and we’ve tried to be patient, but it’s not a bottomless pit. Sympathy runs out in
the end, especially when every effort to help is rebuffed.’
Kenny stared at her.
‘Help? How’s that then? Your Lily and her feller taking me to the pub? Meeting their mates? Pointing up that I’ll never have a sweetheart or a family or even a decent night out with the lads again—’
‘That’s not true,’ insisted Dora, ‘any of it! It’s your attitude that’s stopping you having any of those things, that’s all.’
‘What would you know? You don’t know how I feel!’
‘So tell me.’ There was a silence. ‘Go on. Tell me.’
And maybe he would have done, but at that moment, Buddy came back, rushing into the little shelter with a stick he’d found. It was his favourite game and Dora knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
‘He wants to play,’ she said. ‘Come with us. You’ve got one good arm after all, and if you can lift a pint glass, you can throw a stick.’
Kenny stared at her again, then gave a short laugh.
‘Go on then. Beats sitting here all morning.’
They got to their feet. Buddy had dropped the stick and Kenny picked it up. With the dog racing around them in anticipation, they moved onto the path.
‘Is this what you do, then, come to the park?’ asked Dora. ‘I haven’t seen you here before.’
They stopped. Buddy circled them crazily.
‘Auntie Jean never could stand the sight of me hanging about the house. She’s never said as much but I knew. So I used to lie in bed till opening time, but now, well, since Christmas, Uncle Wally says even that can’t go on. So till the pubs open it’s hang about here or some caff.’