The Stanford Lasses

by Glenice Crossland

  ‘Perhaps it was your father’s death that changed her. What was he like?’

  ‘I wish I knew. She never talks about him, just shuts up like a clam if I mention ’im. I never understood how she could carry on being so miserable all those years. That was until I met you. Now I understand what it must be like to lose the one you love.’ He kissed Ruth long and deep, stirring her again so that she pressed herself against him until he became aroused once more. ‘I love yer so much, lass, I don’t think I’d ever get over it if I lost you.’

  ‘Oh, Jack, I love you just the same. I never knew it was possible to feel like this.’

  ‘Come ’ere then and show me.’ Jack moved over her and the bed groaned.

  Ruth giggled. ‘I might as well be in for a pound as a penny.’ Then she arched her body, sliding herself further on to her husband.

  Chapter Seven

  Emily and Isaac were enjoying the usual Sunday gossip in the chapel yard. Emily loved this quiet time when Lizzie, George and Alice would saunter with them amongst the flower-bedecked graves and discuss any family happenings which had occurred during the week.

  ‘I thought our Ruth might have put in an appearance,’ Alice said.

  ‘Oh, you know our Ruth.’ Lizzie smiled. ‘She’s so busy I doubt she’ll even realise it’s Sunday.’

  ‘Still, I thought she’d try and make it sometimes,’ Alice said.

  ‘Never mind.’ Emily sorted out the dead flowers on the Stanford family grave. ‘So long as she’s happy that’s the main thing. At least I can rest content in my bed now she has Jack to take care of her.’

  ‘Oh, she’s happy all right.’ Lizzie grinned. ‘She’s blooming like George’s prize dahlias.’ At the mention of his pride and joy George began to describe the various blooms to Isaac, which ones had done well and which not so well. Lizzie, who had heard it all before, rolled her eyes upwards.

  ‘Pop in while you’re passing and I’ll give you a bunch.’ George was always happy to show off his flowers and the silver cup he had just been awarded at the local show. They sauntered out through the gate and towards the green, a handsome group in their Sunday finery.

  ‘What’s up with Joe?’ Alice suddenly asked. Her husband was hurrying towards them, a frown on his usually smiling countenance. Alice quickened her stride. ‘What is it, Joe? Is something up with our Joseph?’

  ‘No, nor with me. It’s just been announced the country’s at war, lass. It’s been on the wireless.’

  The group stopped abruptly in their tracks. Emily began to cry and Lizzie caught her mother in her arms, attempting to console her.

  ‘Nay, lass, it’s no use thee crying. It’s not as if it wasn’t expected. I told thee it would happen sooner or later,’ Isaac pointed out.

  ‘Oh, we all know you told us.’ Emily sniffed impatiently. ‘We’ve heard nothing else from you except Poland and the emergency powers act. But that doesn’t make the news any easier to bear.’

  ‘Come on, Mam, I’ll make some tea.’ Alice attempted to take her mother’s hand.

  ‘No, love, we’d best be getting home. I’ve a bit of sirloin in the oven, and I mustn’t let it burn. There isn’t much of it to start with, and if it shrivels any smaller we shan’t find it.’

  ‘Oh, our mam!’ Alice looked shocked. ‘How can you think of dinner when the country’s at war?’

  ‘Nay, love, no good’ll come of starving ourselves. We shall need all our strength in the coming years,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Years? Oh, our dad, surely it won’t go on for years.’ Lizzie could only think of George and Harry, and the family, and hope it would all be over before any of them were needed, or in Harry’s case were old enough to enlist.

  ‘I hope not, love, I sincerely hope not.’ But the tone of Isaac’s voice didn’t send out much confidence, and filled the group with a sense of foreboding, for they all knew that Isaac’s predictions were not usually far wrong. So it was with heavy hearts that the family separated to wend their various ways home, George’s prize-winning dahlias for once forgotten.

  Emily frowned as she climbed Queen Victoria Street at her husband’s side. If it wasn’t one worry it was another. First it had been Alice, then Ruth, and just when it seemed she could enjoy peace of mind this had to happen. She placed her arm covertly inside her husband’s. At least this time Isaac wouldn’t be leaving her. She couldn’t have borne that. The house was silent enough without her daughters, but to be without Isaac didn’t bear thinking about. Suddenly Emily became aware of people out in the street: wives in pinafores discussing the news, men who would normally have been sitting comfortably reading the Sunday papers, or down at the Rag enjoying a quick pre-dinner pint, but were instead crouched down on the white-edged doorsteps, sharing their views on what changes were to come. Children dressed in Sunday best were chattering excitedly about what to expect, some of them hoping for the school to be blown to smithereens, preferably with Old Jonesy in it, and hopefully before tomorrow morning.

  ‘Has tha heard the news, Isaac?’ Len Barrington called as Isaac unlocked his front door.

  ‘Aye, Len, I’ve heard.’

  ‘Tha were reight all along. Tha said it’d happen before’t year were out.’

  ‘Aye, it’s a rum do. Still, we must all pull together. There’ll be summat we can do to help, I expect.’

  ‘Aah, though we’ve done our share. It’ll be up to’t young ’uns this time.’

  ‘Aye,’ Isaac agreed sadly, ‘it’ll be up to the young ’uns, more’s the pity. Does tha know, Len, I really feel my age this morning.’ Emily thought he looked it too.

  ‘Me an’ all,’ Len replied. ‘It isn’t a nice feeling knowing we’re nowt but a pair of old has-beens.’

  ‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake,’ his wife called. ‘Be thankful they won’t be calling you up, the pair of yer. And come and get yer dinner, afore it goes cold.’

  A game of soldiers was in progress and a small boy threw himself on the pavement and proceeded to shoot Isaac. ‘You’re dead, Mr Stanford. I killed yer,’ he called excitedly. ‘I’m going to be a soldier when I grow up.’

  ‘Nay, lad, I hope it’s all over by then,’ Isaac answered.

  The boy’s mother came out and dragged her son indoors. ‘Look at yer, and in yer Sunday trousers. You’re not fit to be seen.’ She gave her son a sharp slap on the bare leg before closing the door on the pair of them. Isaac prayed fervently to the God he tried so hard to keep faith with. He prayed right there on the doorstep that his family be protected from the war. He prayed for all his family, but it was Harry who was foremost in his heart. For Isaac knew deep down that it would be Harry, the grandson dearest to him, who would be the one to go to war, and it would be no game of soldiers, but the real thing. He went in to carve the Sunday joint but it stuck in his throat and threatened to choke him.

  ‘I reckon I’ve overcooked the meat after all.’ Emily put down her knife and fork. ‘Leave it, Isaac, it’s too tough to be digestible.’

  ‘Aye, lass, it is a bit on the tough side.’

  They both knew the meat was perfectly cooked, but neither of them was hungry. The declaration of war had killed their appetites. Emily washed the dishes in silence.

  Alice had been feeling low, even before the news. After yet another false alarm she wasn’t pregnant after all. It broke her heart to see Lizzie’s large and happy family, and Ruth’s baby tore at her heart-strings every time she smiled at her aunt. Joe reckoned he was quite satisfied with an only son, but Alice knew he was disappointed at her inability to conceive a second child. She thought how ironical it was that her sisters – who could ill afford their offspring – should be blessed with fertility whilst she, so comfortably off, seemed unable to provide a brother or sister for her son. Now, after so many false alarms, she had plucked up courage to see a doctor, a specialist at Jessop’s Hospital. Her heart beat wildly as she waited in the cubicle, a thin cotton gown protecting her modesty. She dreaded revealing her body to a stranger, the first person –
apart from Joe – ever to see her private parts. But it had to be done.

  ‘Mrs Jackson, the doctor will see you now.’ The efficient but unsmiling nurse led her through into the consulting room. ‘Lie on the bed,’ she ordered.

  Alice could have died of shame when the doctor bent her knees and opened her legs wide. She concentrated on the ceiling and jumped as the cold metal instrument entered her body.

  ‘So, you would like another child?’

  ‘More than anything,’ Alice whispered.

  ‘You’ve been trying for many years, I gather.’

  ‘Yes, doctor.’

  ‘And you didn’t have an easy time with your first child.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Hmm! Just as I suspected. A tilted womb.’

  ‘Is that serious?’

  ‘No, no, nothing that can’t be rectified, though it will entail surgery.’

  ‘And after the surgery, will I be able to conceive?’ Alice began to relax and feel optimistic.

  ‘Technically, yes, though there is no guarantee that you will become pregnant. However, without surgery it’s highly unlikely that you will ever bear another child.’

  ‘When can you operate?’

  ‘The sooner the better. At your age I don’t think you should delay. Of course, the decision is yours.’

  ‘I’ve already decided. I want the operation.’

  ‘Good! I shall arrange surgery as soon as possible. You may get dressed. You will be notified.’ The doctor had already disappeared by the time Alice had climbed down from the bed and followed the nurse back to the cubicle.

  ‘As soon as you’re dressed, you may go.’

  Alice thanked her, relieved that the examination was at an end.

  The letter came a few weeks later, whilst Joe was at work. She waited until they were settled down for the evening, she to read an article on William Blake, Joe to write a speech for the Oddfellows.

  ‘I’m going in hospital, Joe. I’m to be operated on, next Monday.’

  ‘Operated on?’ Joe looked startled. ‘What for? What’s wrong, lass?’

  ‘Nothing to be alarmed about. I’ve a tilted womb. I’m to have it straightened, that’s all.’

  ‘Are you in pain, Alice? Why haven’t you mentioned it?’

  ‘No, except for a bit of backache I haven’t any pain. It’s just stopping me from catching on.’ She blushed. ‘With a bairn, I mean.’

  ‘But that doesn’t matter, Alice. We have our Joseph. I thought yer were content. I won’t have yer going through surgery when you aren’t badly.’

  ‘No, Joe, I’m not content. When I look at our little Margaret, my arms ache to carry her home. Wouldn’t tha like a daughter, Joe?’

  ‘Aye, obviously I would, but don’t build up hopes, lass. I love yer and I would hate you to get all excited and then have them dashed. If it wasn’t successful you would be so disappointed.’

  ‘I’m disappointed already. Anyway, it’s all arranged. I’ll need thee to sign the consent form, being my next of kin.’

  Joe came to sit beside her. ‘Oh, Alice, I shall worry about yer. I don’t know that you should go through with it, but I do admire yer for thinking about it.’

  ‘I’m not thinking about it, Joe. I’ve already thought, and now I’m just waiting.’

  ‘Alice Jackson, I’m married to a lovely, brave woman, and I love yer.’

  Alice’s eyes sparkled. ‘And I love thee, Joe Jackson.’

  He drew her towards him and kissed her warmly. Just then the door opened and Joseph rushed in, his hands and face smeared with grease.

  ‘What the hell have you been up to now?’ Joe moved swiftly away from his wife.

  ‘Mending a motor bike. It needed a new grommet, but it’s OK now. We’ve been a ride up to our Billy’s.’

  ‘I’ve told thee about riding that pillion. I won’t have it,’ Alice warned, terrified that something might happen to her only son.

  ‘It’s OK, Mam, he doesn’t speed. Oh, Dad, I can’t wait to get one of my own.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait, lad. You’ll need to save up before you can afford one.’ Joe knew the lad would probably get one as soon as he was old enough, but it didn’t do to let him know that. He had to learn that money had to be worked for.

  ‘I don’t know why you don’t buy a car, Dad. Uncle Jack is on about buying a lorry.’

  ‘A car’s not much use in wartime. Petrol’ll be spoken for in a few months. I shouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t rationed.’

  ‘I’m going to be an ambulance driver. Our Harry says there’ll be a demand for them when the air raids begin.’

  ‘There’ll be no air raids in Cottenly.’ Alice sounded confident.

  ‘Our Harry says there could be with the works, and especially with the reservoir.’

  ‘Our Harry doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’

  Joe looked at his father but decided to keep silent. After all, what did women know about war? They should concentrate on washing and ironing, and washing-up and babies and things. If he had but known, that was exactly what his mother was concentrating on, but before a baby could come about she had an operation to go through, and, though she would never admit it, Alice Jackson was scared stiff.

  Joseph didn’t miss his mother too much. In fact he couldn’t wait to escape each teatime from the works and his new job. He would pedal away on his bicycle up to the farm, where he was to stay until his mother came out of hospital. He had been alarmed at first to think she was ill, but after his dad had explained that it was just a routine thing he had made up his mind to enjoy himself. Joseph hated the works. All he had done up to now was to act as errand boy, fetching and carrying: tools from the store, letters to the offices. What he had set his heart on was a job in the motor room, but his dad said that would come later, after he had proved himself. It had come as quite a shock to realise that his dad – who was in charge of personnel – would not be seen to hand out any special treatment to his son. So the farm was a respite from the job that Joseph privately considered dead boring, and not only did Jack gain an extra pair of willing hands but he was quite happy to give his newly acquired nephew a few lessons on driving the tractor. Not that the lessons were really necessary – the lad proved to be a natural when it came to anything mechanical. Ruth wondered what Alice would have said had she seen her son driving across the potato field, every bit as competent as old Sam, who had never quite taken to modern contraptions and preferred the security of a horse and cart.

  Lizzie was happy to fuss around Joe, popping a bit of dinner on a plate and seeing that it was nicely warming in the oven on his return from work. Then he would hurriedly wash and change and catch the bus into town, so that he would be the first through the door of the hospital and into the ward for the half-hour’s visiting allowed twice during the week and a whole hour at the weekend.

  It was while he was waiting for the bus that he caught a glimpse of Hubert Hancock. He couldn’t help but be flummoxed by the man’s attitude. For the past couple of months the man had glared a look as sharp as a dagger at Joe whenever they had come into contact, and even now the man’s face had turned almost purple as he had crossed the street without so much as a nod to his colleague. Not that Joe was particularly bothered. He had never really cared for the man, who always seemed too smarmy for Joe’s taste, but there had never been any friction between them and Joe was puzzled as to what had caused the ill feeling.

  The truth was that the very sight of Joe reminded Hubert Hancock of the way Ruth Wray had escaped his advances. He had never believed that Sophie’s arrival in Wire Mill Place hadn’t been a well-planned scheme cooked up between Winnie Stedman and the widow. Now her brother-in-law reminded him once again of the trouble they had landed him in on that fateful afternoon. He cringed now as he recalled his return from the office to face the wrath of his wife. Sophie had slapped a plate of egg on toast on the table without speaking a word. Hubert, who normally had a far mor
e substantial dish than this merely as an appetiser, had eyed the snack with disgust and hoped for a nice slice of rump steak or halibut to follow. However, Hubert had been served all he was going to get, and on this occasion he knew better than to complain. He had grudgingly devoured the undercooked egg and overcooked toast, little realising that this was a sample of what would be his normal fare from now on. Worse, however, was to follow, when Sophie had moved her clothing and herself to a separate bedroom and turned the key in the lock behind her. Though her husband had enjoyed the titillation of extra-marital affairs on numerous occasions he had used discretion until now, and while Sophie had harboured her suspicions she had never been sure. Now, however, she had been deeply humiliated in front of her old friend, and as her husband’s selfish and pathetic attempts at lovemaking had never given his wife the slightest satisfaction it was without any qualms that she decided to withdraw her wifely duties once and for all.

  The problem for Hubert was that he was finding it difficult to tempt any of his past fancy women into accompanying him on his dirty weekends, and though he pondered on why this was so it never occurred to him that women might possibly be repulsed by his fat flab and his self-centred attitude. So, as Hubert lay each night in his lonely bed, suffering from either hunger or indigestion, he dreamed of the soft, slender body of Ruth Wray, and vowed that some day he would make her pay for his embarrassment and rejection. No matter how long it took, he would seek his revenge.

  Alice was sitting up in bed as pretty as a picture in her pink lacy bedjacket. She was impatient now to be home, and had been stunned when the mass of padding had been removed from inside her, padding she hadn’t known was there. She was also exasperated to learn that she must stay in bed for two whole weeks. Joe kissed her and enquired how she was feeling.

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing here, propped up in bed like an invalid.’

  ‘You may feel fine, but I wonder if we’ve done the right thing, lass. After the time you had with our Joseph I don’t know that we should be considering having another.’