The Stanford Lasses

by Glenice Crossland

  ‘Alice! Come on, lass, let’s get you up and undressed. You can’t sleep in that lovely dress, it’ll be spoiled.’

  Alice turned towards her mother. ‘They’ve gone. She came and took them away. She was awful, not fit to be a mother.’

  ‘But she is their mother. Nothing can change that. You knew they would go home one day.’

  ‘But not yet. What about the bombs? And she doesn’t look after them. Brian said she would leave them on their own, I heard him. I can’t bear it, Mam.’

  Emily took her daughter in her arms. Alice rarely called her Mam these days. ‘Alice, there’s nothing you can do. Anyway, if she’s the sort of woman you think she is, she’ll probably send them back again. Maybe it was just spite and jealousy that made her take them home. Come on, love, you must get on with your life, for our Joseph’s sake. He’s not much more than a child himself. He needs you.’

  ‘Who, our Joseph?’ Alice smiled, but it was a cold, cynical smile. ‘He doesn’t need me, or anyone.’

  ‘Of course he does. Oh, I’ll admit he’s an independent lad, which is a good thing what with the war and everything, but he still needs your love and affection. So does Joe. I dare say they’ve been feeling a bit left out since Jenny and Brian came on the scene.’ Alice let out a long, keening cry at the mention of the children, which was what Emily had intended. ‘That’s right, let it all out. No use bottling it up. It’s not as if they’re dead – they’ve gone home a damn sight healthier than when they came. So have a good cry and then we’ll get you in your dressing gown and see about some supper.’

  Alice tried to swallow the soup Emily had warmed but it wouldn’t go down. She put down her spoon. ‘I can’t,’ she said. Emily held another spoonful to her daughter’s lips. Alice took a sip but her throat seemed to be constricted, and she shook her head. Emily sighed.

  ‘Oh, Alice, please don’t go to pieces. You saw what our Lizzie was like.’

  Alice didn’t answer. She felt as though a vice was tightening across her chest as she fought for breath. Her pulse was pounding in her ears. She prayed to the God she worshipped so faithfully but He didn’t answer and she saw the floor rising up to meet her as she fainted at her mother’s feet.

  It was Joseph who lifted his mother into bed and tucked the eiderdown snugly round her. It was Joseph who telephoned for Dr Swinbourne. It was Joseph whose eyes filled with tears at the state of the mum he loved so much. He did all that needed to be done because his father seemed to be in shock, but Alice was oblivious of it all, of everything except the picture of Grandfather Stanford laid to rest in his coffin, and the voice of her grandmother quoting the scriptures to the little girl Alice had once again become, deep in her subconscious mind.

  Jennifer Smith couldn’t eat either. She couldn’t remember the food being so bad before she went away, but that was because she had been spoiled by Auntie Alice’s cooking. ‘I don’t like these chips,’ she said. ‘They’re all greasy.’

  ‘Well you’ll just ’ave to go wivout then,’ her mother said.

  ‘Eat them up, Jenny.’ Her brother forced the soggy mess into his mouth and wondered how they would bear it back in this place. The table was covered in newspapers instead of a cloth and the house smelled of all kinds of horrible things. Brian realised that it had only been his dad who had done any cleaning in the house and now he had gone the place was disgusting. Uncle Frank seemed to have taken his dad’s place and Brian resented the man, hating his mother more with every passing day. He had written a letter to Auntie Alice but had no money to buy a stamp, so it remained under the mattress he and Jenny slept on every night whilst his mother and Uncle Frank went to the public house on the corner. It was a yellow-stained, filthy mattress and he knew his mother would never find the letter as she never cleaned underneath or changed the bed. Jenny talked of running away and going back to Cottenly but Brian knew that even if it was possible to get there, she would only fetch them back. Brian wondered why, when it was obvious that she didn’t want them here. Neither did Uncle Frank, who sent them out to play so that he could lie down on the rug with her and take off her clothes. He didn’t think of her as their mother any more. Auntie Alice was their real mum and Uncle Joe was their dad until their real dad came home.

  ‘I wonder what Mary is having for dinner,’ Jenny said.

  ‘Something better than this.’ Brian sighed, and wished Jimmy was here to cheer him up.

  ‘By, but I’ve never seen weather like it,’ Jack remarked as he dug his way out of the door and across the yard. The snow hadn’t stopped for a month and according to the wireless thirty inches had fallen. The farm would have been completely cut off from civilisation had it not been for the tractor’s managing to make a way through to the town.

  ‘You should see the snowdrifts,’ Billy said. ‘There’s one on the edge of the wood, I’ll swear it’s twenty feet deep.’

  ‘And the Don’s frozen over in places,’ Sam grumbled.

  ‘Well, at least we’re warm and snug,’ Ruth consoled him. ‘I dread to think what the poor things in the city are going through, some of them without a roof over their heads.’

  ‘Or a thing to call their own,’ Martha added, as she kneaded a batch of dough on the kitchen table. ‘And here are we, still eating like royalty. All I can say is that we’re very fortunate.’

  ‘Can we go out, mam?’ Frankie was itching to try out the sledge Jack had made the twins, but the conditions had been too treacherous even for tobogganing.

  ‘Come on.’ Billy pulled on his wellingtons. ‘I’ll take yer to the moor edge where the slope is. We’ll be safe enough if we stick to the lane. Besides, it’s stopped snowing at last.’

  ‘You’ll not even find the lane,’ Ruth said.

  ‘We will. It’s sheltered by the trees just there, and not too deep. They’ll be safe enough with me.’

  ‘And they’ll be back in five minutes.’ Martha grinned. ‘As soon as they get hot aches.’

  Ruth watched the excited youngsters pass the snowman old Sam had made and which had grown another five inches during the night. She frowned as she thought of Alice, wondering if there was any improvement. Dr Swinbourne had reluctantly had her admitted to the mental hospital. The place was a stark, red brick prison, not at all the setting for one of the Stanford lasses, but it had the means to treat the kind of illness Alice Jackson was suffering and some forward-thinking doctors. The modern approach seemed to be to talk out the problems with the patient, rather than filling them full of drugs so that they resembled zombies. Dr Swinbourne guessed it was Alice’s infertility that was at the root of it all, brought to a head no doubt by the removal of the evacuees. Oh, but this war had a lot to answer for, and he doubted it was anywhere near over yet.

  Joe was an extremely worried man. He visited the hospital whenever he was allowed and could see no improvement in his wife. His spirits dropped even further as he ambled along the never-ending corridor. There was nothing cheerful about the place. Even the pictures on the walls depressed him, in one of which a lady in long, flowing garments stood on a rock looking out on to a stormy sea. Joe thought she looked about to throw herself into the lashing waves, not the type of subject designed to uplift one’s spirits. And some of the poor patients he passed were enough to chill the blood.

  Alice was sitting in the communal room staring at the wall. A girl was stroking her hair, admiring the dark tresses. Others were walking unceasingly round the room, one tall, thin woman counting her steps, one – two – three – four – turn, there and back, there and back. Joe wondered how long she had been doing that and why someone didn’t sit her down.

  ‘Alice!’ Her gaze never wavered. Joe sat beside her and the girl’s concentration shifted from Alice’s hair to Joe’s. She began stroking her fingers across his head and he shook her away, not unkindly but firmly.

  ‘Alice, how are you, love?’

  Alice suddenly realised she had a visitor. ‘Hello, Daddy,’ she said. ‘Have you come to take me home?’


  ‘Not yet.’ Joe shivered. Oh, God, Alice didn’t even recognise him. ‘But soon.’

  ‘I want to go home. I want to play with our Lizzie.’

  ‘Alice, it’s Joe. Our Joseph sends his love.’

  ‘Where’s my skipping rope? Take me home. I don’t like it here. Grandmother won’t take down the picture, and it scares me.’

  ‘What picture? Alice, what picture?’

  ‘The one of Grandfather. He’s dead. I don’t like pictures of dead people.’

  Joe felt sick. ‘I’m going now, Alice. I’ll be back soon. I love you, lass.’ He wrapped his arms round his wife, holding her close. Then he hurried away before she saw his tears. He could hear her calling after him.

  ‘Don’t leave me here, Daddy. I want to play. I don’t like it here. I want our Lizzie and Ruth.’

  Joe stood in the corridor to compose himself, then went in search of a doctor. He needed to know what was happening, what was being done, and when the horror would end.

  An horrific raid on London was said to have killed fourteen thousand people, but by the time Ruth’s baby was born at least a bit of good news had come with the sinking of the Bismarck in the Atlantic.

  Isaac and Emily came to see their new granddaughter, who proved to be just as beautiful as little Margaret. Emily offered to take Margaret and keep her until Ruth was on her feet again. It would be a great help; Mrs Dolan had enough to do without an active toddler to keep under control. Besides, Emily would enjoy the chance to spoil the little girl. She picked up the new baby and as usual was reminded of the births of her own three. If only Alice had conceived again, perhaps her eldest daughter wouldn’t be in the state she was in now. Still, Joe said the psychologist had made a breakthrough and Alice had shown a slight improvement. Emily hoped so, then maybe the guilt would go away, the awful feeling that she and Isaac were the ones to blame for Alice’s suffering.

  ‘What are we going to do, Brian?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jenny. I’m still thinking.’

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘I know. Me too.’ There was nothing edible in the house, the windows had been blown out and the door was hanging on one hinge.

  ‘And I’m cold,’ Jenny added.

  ‘I know. I told yer, I’m thinking what Jimmy would have done.’

  ‘Jimmy would have gone to Auntie Alice’s, or Auntie Ruth’s.’

  ‘Well, we haven’t got an auntie, and now we haven’t got a mum eiver.’

  ‘Or a dad. I want my dad.’ Jenny started crying again.

  ‘Our dad’s dead, Jenny. I told yer. The telegram came last week. Uncle Frank told us it came from the War Office.’

  ‘I didn’t believe him.’ Jenny sobbed.

  ‘Neiver did I, but he showed it to me. It’s true, Jenny. He was killed in action. He was brave, our dad.’

  ‘Well, why didn’t our mam cry then?’

  ‘Because she was a hard-hearted bitch.’

  ‘Mrs Bradwell called her a dirty bugger as well. And she didn’t love him,’ Jenny said. ‘She didn’t love anybody. I’m glad she’s dead, but not our dad. He loved us.’ Jenny wiped tears and a stream of snot on her sleeve. ‘How do we know she’s dead? She might come back.’

  ‘Mrs Bradwell told us. You were there, you should ’ave listened. Our mam and Uncle Frank were in the pub. You’ve seen the pub, Jenny. Nobody could have survived in there, it was a direct hit. We’re lucky we live at this end of the street or we’d have been dead as well.’

  ‘Why didn’t Mrs Bradwell tell us what to do?’

  ‘She will. She said she’d come back for us but she’ll have had others to see to. People wiv legs blown off and arms, and babies wiv no mams.’

  ‘Will we be orphans, Brian?’

  ‘We are orphans.’

  ‘Will we have to go to an orphanage?’ Jenny asked fearfully.

  ‘No. Well, I don’t know. We’ll ask Mrs Bradwell for a stamp. I’ll write anuvver letter to Auntie Alice. She’ll know what to do. But don’t tell Mrs Bradwell she’s not our real auntie. Tell her she’s our dad’s sister, if she asks.’ Brian found a fountain pen in one of Uncle Frank’s jacket pockets and a sheet of paper, then he wrote in his best handwriting with their address at the top.

  Dear Auntie Alice and Uncle Joe and Josef, we want to know if we can come back. Our dad as been killed in action and our mam as been killed in the pub in the air rade. There were hundreds and hundreds of bombers but Jenny and me were under the table and none of them killed us if we can come back will you send us some money becorse we avent got any for a ticket we ave looked in uncle franks pockets and there is no money. There is a nice fountin pen though. I dont expect they will need any mony to bury them wiv as they are already buryd under the pub. Please let us know before they put us in an orfanige we are orfans now you see.

  Love from Brian and Jenny

  PS I ave writen before but it is still under the bed becorse we avent got a stamp.

  PS again I am going to sell the fountin pen and buy some food and a stamp.

  ‘There,’ Brian said. ‘We’ll post it tomorrow when I sell the pen down the market. Somebody’ll buy it – it’s a Swan. Then I’ll buy us some chips or something for our dinner.’

  Jennifer began to cry. ‘I’m hungry now, and I’m cold.’

  ‘I know, but we’ll be warmer if we go to bed. Come on, I’ll get all the bedding and coats and we’ll soon get warm.’

  Jennifer cried all the harder.

  ‘Come on, if you stop crying I’ll tell you the password for Jimmy’s gang.’ At the mention of Jimmy, Jennifer’s crying miraculously ceased.

  ‘Right,’ Brian said. ‘Scab and matter custard, scab and matter pie. Dead dog’s giblets, cat’s green eye. Hospital phlem so green and thick. Swallow it down with a cup of cold sick.’

  ‘Oh! That’s horrible,’ Jennifer cried.

  ‘I know, but we say it every day when we’re in the gang. Jimmy made me learn it, but don’t tell anybody I told yer when we go back.’ He suddenly looked a bit wary. ‘Especially not Auntie Lizzie.’

  ‘I won’t, nor Auntie Alice.’

  Brian giggled. ‘Especially not Auntie Alice,’ he said.

  Oh, dear God, what do I do? Joe’s mind was in a turmoil as he watched his son read the letter. Would Alice benefit from having the children back, or would her recovery be hampered by the worry of it all? Joseph was smiling for the first time in months as he read the words. He hadn’t appreciated how much he missed Brian and Jenny until now. He hadn’t had a breathing space to even think about them because of all the worry about his mother. But now, at last, Alice was almost herself again. Well, at least her body wasn’t occupied by the mind of a tragic little girl.

  The psychologist had worked miracles, brought all the fear and loneliness of the wasted years as Grandmother Stanford’s companion to the surface. Alice had talked it all out, in many long and painful ordeals, and gradually a calm, relaxed and affectionate woman had emerged. Yet not once had she mentioned Brian or Jennifer; it was as though they had never existed. The psychologist had suggested leaving that episode in the past, unless Alice herself mentioned it.

  Now Joe was troubled. The little ones had meant a lot to him, as well as to Alice. He couldn’t turn his back on them now, not when they had no relatives, or so they said. He must find out; if there was the slightest chance of anyone turning up later and demanding the kids back, then he mustn’t become involved.

  ‘I need to go to London, Joseph,’ he said. Joseph grinned.

  ‘Are yer fetching them back, Dad?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘No. But at least I need to make some enquiries, about any relatives they might have. They seem to have just been abandoned by the authorities and everyone.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t see how I can bring them back with yer mother still in hospital.’

  ‘But don’t you see, Dad, if they were back for good, I think it would be the makings of Mam. In fact I’m
sure of it.’

  ‘Well, it might. After all, she was fine whilst they were here, and she might be again. I’ll see what the doctors think. We can’t risk undoing all the work they’ve done with her. I don’t think we could face a nightmare like that again. But I still need to go to London. I can’t leave them on their own without money. God knows what the authorities are thinking about.’

  ‘Well, they’ve more than they can cope with, I dare say. We don’t know we’re born up here, Dad. When will you go?’

  ‘As soon as I can arrange with Mr Hancock.’

  ‘Him? How you can take orders from him I don’t know. He’s dead ignorant, he doesn’t even say good morning, or kiss me arse.’

  Joe stifled a grin. ‘No need for that, but you’re right, he turns his back on me an’ all, lately. Don’t know why.’

  ‘The girls hate him, he’s always touching ’em.’

  Joe didn’t know about that. He’d keep an eye on him from now on. If there was any indecent behaviour the directors must be made aware of it.

  The doctors discussed Joe’s suggestion and reported back, agreeing that the children’s return could be just the boost Alice needed to complete her recovery. Just one point was emphasised: it would be disastrous for them to be taken away a second time. Joe already knew that, and would make certain of the situation before revealing anything to Alice. He decided to talk to Emily and Isaac before going to London. After all, he would need their help and co-operation until Alice came home.