Above the Bright Blue Sky

by Margaret Thornton

  Every Saturday, usually in the afternoon, the four friends would meet in Middlebeck and have a little wander around the market or their favourite store, Woolworth’s. It was getting dark now, though, by teatime, as winter was fast approaching. The market stalls packed up early and the shops closed because they were not allowed to let any lights shine out into the darkness. For fear of enemy aircraft, everyone said, although there was still no sign of them anywhere in the country. So the girls had started to meet in the morning instead of the afternoon. They were all allowed a small amount of pocket money, often referred to as ‘Saturday pennies’. To Maisie’s surprise – and to Audrey’s too – her friend, Audrey, had been allowed some spending money from the normally stingy Miss Thomson. It was one of the high spots of the week, to all of them, as they deliberated whether to buy liquorice shoelaces, or aniseed balls, or pear drops; or maybe some new hair slides or a sixpenny book or toy from Woolie’s.

  The twice weekly market – it was held on Wednesdays as well as Saturdays – was a real delight. The farmers and market gardeners from the surrounding area gathered there to sell their produce. There were fruits and vegetables of different varieties, and gaily coloured flowers, many of them specially grown in hothouses. The pungent aroma of ripe apples, cabbages, onions, large Jaffa oranges – those were from overseas, of course – and musky mop-headed chrysanthemums scented the air.

  But it was the sweet stalls that appealed to the girls, and week after week they watched the lady at the homemade toffee stall breaking the slabs of treacle and butterscotch toffee into small pieces with a little silver hammer; or cutting the delicious fudges into bite-sized chunks. But the trouble was that you didn’t get very many pieces in two ounces or for a precious threepenny bit. They found that their money went further at the other woman’s stall. She had tiny scented floral gums in jewel-bright colours – there were dozens of those to the ounce; dolly mixtures, jelly babies, sherbert lemons, humbugs, Yorkshire mixtures – too many varieties to count them all – and penny chews of all kinds of flavours. The bright pink spearmint was Maisie’s favourite and this was what she opted for that day; a spearmint chew and a sherbet fountain with a stick of liquorice to dip into it.

  ‘Come on, what are you going to choose?’ she said to Audrey when she had given her own pennies to the stall lady. Her friend was dawdling around and she seemed very quiet that morning, as though she had something on her mind.

  ‘Er…I’ll have the same as you I think,’ said Audrey. She often fell in with Maisie’s ideas.

  ‘Well, hurry up then. The others are waiting for us.’

  ‘I’ll have one of them, and one of them,’ said Audrey, pointing at the sweets and handing over her money; but she appeared to be taking very little interest in her purchases.

  Ivy and Doris had gone over to the toy stall where there were all kinds of items for only a few pence, as well as much more expensive toys, like model trains and dolls and teddy bears. There were tiny celluloid dolls, complete with a bath – although those were really for very little girls; packets of marbles, whips and tops, skipping ropes, puzzles with silver balls that you had to get into the holes, yo-yos, colouring and magic painting books… After staring, mesmerised, for several moments Ivy chose a kaleidescope that you could peer into and watch the changing patterns, and Doris a skipping rope with shiny red handles. And Maisie found she had just enough money left to buy a little notebook with a picture of a dog – she thought it looked like Bruce’s dog, Prince – on the cover and a tiny pencil tucked into the spine. She loved the thrill of writing on the first page of a new notebook.

  ‘Are you going to buy something else, Audrey?’ she asked. ‘You’ve got some money left, haven’t you?’ To Maisie, money was there to be spent, when you were fortunate enough to have some.

  ‘No; I think I’ll save it till next week,’ said Audrey, carefully putting her purse back into her shoulder bag.

  Whatever is the matter with her today? thought Maisie. Something was up, that was for sure. Perhaps she would tell her, Maisie, when they had parted from the other two; because Audrey was still her special friend.

  Doris’s mother had a stall there, too, selling farm produce; homemade cheese and butter, jams, marmalades, pickles and chutneys, and new-laid eggs. The crumbly pale yellow cheese had a distinctive tangy odour and Maisie always sniffed appreciatively when they drew near to the stall. They usually went there last and had a chat with Mrs Nixon, between customers, because the stall was a very busy one. And then Doris sometimes stayed there to help her mother, as she said she was going to do that morning.

  Maisie had been entrusted with the task of buying a few items from this stall. Patience had a weekly order at a little local grocery store, in preference to the larger Maypole shop; but she liked to patronize the Nixons’ market stall as well, especially as Mr and Mrs Nixon were parishioners of St Bartholomew’s church, Walter also being the leading baritone singer in the choir.

  ‘Aunty Patience wants half a dozen eggs, please,’ said Maisie, ‘and half a pound of best butter and six ounces of cheese.’

  ‘Of course, mi’dear,’ said Mrs Nixon, smiling at her. ‘Six big brown eggs, new laid this morning. Be careful you don’t break ’em, mind.’ She put them into a cardboard container and popped them into the wicker shopping basket that Maisie was carrying. ‘And here’s your butter…’ That was already packaged in greaseproof paper. ‘An’ I’ll cut you a nice piece of cheese.’

  Maisie watched with interest as the wire cutter sliced into the huge round slab of cheese and Mrs Nixon cut off a triangular portion. She placed it on the scales. ‘There we are now. A good guess, or as near as makes no difference. Six and three quarter ounces to be exact, but I’ll just charge you for six, like Mrs Fairchild said.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ said Maisie. ‘I love your eggs. We have ’em for breakfast on Sunday morning with bacon and fried bread.’

  ‘Mmm…yum yum!’ exclaimed Doris. ‘You’re making me feel hungry already. What’s in our butties for lunch, Mam?’

  ‘Cheese and pickle, and home-cured ham,’ replied her mother laughing. ‘It’s a wonder you’re not as big as an elephant the amount you manage to put away! Honestly, girls, she eats us out of house and home.’ Doris, indeed, did look very well fed and she had put on quite a few pounds since Maisie had first met her. She resembled her father who was large and fair-haired with a florid face, and not her mother at all. Mrs Nixon was thin and wiry and dark-haired, but she had muscular arms with all the work she did on the farm.

  ‘You’d best make the most of it, all of you,’ Mrs Nixon went on, ‘because we don’t know how soon they will start putting stuff on ration. We’ve heard rumours and it’s sure to come, sooner rather than later. And then t’ Government’ll step in I suppose and tell us what we have to do with our eggs and butter and meat an’ all that. Aye; I reckon we’ll all be issued with ration books afore long… But there’s no point in you young lasses worrying yer heads about it all. Let us grown-ups do the worrying, eh? You try to enjoy yerselves while you can.’

  She beamed at them, and Maisie decided that she liked Mrs Nixon very much, far more than she liked Doris’s dad. She had only met him a few times, but he always seemed to be shouting, not always because he was cross, but because he had a loud voice and liked to make himself heard, as he did when he was singing in the church choir; you could hear his voice above all the other men. Maisie thought he was impatient and short-tempered too, and she wondered how he treated his wife; because he reminded her, just a little bit, of Sid. She hoped that he did not behave towards Mrs Nixon anything like as badly as Sid did with her mum. She thought that Doris’s mum, Ada, sometimes looked tired, the same as she remembered Lily, her own mother, had used to look. But it was probably because she worked so hard on the farm and had to get up very early in the mornings.

  Mrs Nixon had said that they had to let the grown-ups do the worrying, but children often worried about things as well. She, Maisie, was still an
xious about her mother and was still waiting for her to come on a visit to Middlebeck, as she had promised she would. And something was certainly troubling Audrey that day…

  ‘Off you pop now, you three,’ said Mrs Nixon. ‘Doris is going to stay and help me, and you’d best be getting home for your dinners, hadn’t you? Cheerio then; see you again soon…’

  Ivy lived in the opposite direction from Maisie and Audrey, so they said goodbye to her and set off for their homes in Church Square. Audrey was still quiet, shuffling along instead of walking briskly, and staring distractedly down at her feet.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Maisie. ‘I know there’s summat the matter, ’cause I’m your friend, aren’t I? And best friends always know when there’s something wrong, don’t they?’

  ‘Oh…it’s nothing much,’ replied Audrey.

  ‘Are you upset about your mum not coming to see you? I am, a bit, about mine,’ said Maisie. ‘She keeps on saying she’ll come, and then she doesn’t.’

  ‘No, it’s not really that,’ said Audrey. ‘I was upset when me dad said she was poorly, but he says she’s feeling a lot better now, and she’ll come up here before Christmas if she can manage it.’

  ‘What was the matter with her? Do you know?’

  ‘No…they don’t always tell us everything, do they, grown-ups?’

  ‘Not always, no…’ But if Maisie thought there was a problem she was like a dog with a bone. ‘Well, what is it then, if it’s not your mum that you’re worried about?’

  ‘You’re dead nosey, you, aren’t you?’ said Audrey, grinning a little. ‘I’m not supposed to say, ’cause it’s not my secret, y’ see; it’s Daisy’s… Oh, I don’t suppose it matters. I might as well tell you, so long as you promise not to say anything to Mrs Fairchild.’

  ‘’Course I won’t,’ said Maisie. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die… Come on, what is it?’ Her eyes were as big as saucers as she began to imagine a really romantic explanation. ‘What’s Daisy goin’ to do then? Is she goin’ to elope and get married to that Andy from the farm?’

  ‘No…not exactly,’ said Audrey. ‘I think they will get married though, sometime, ’cause she calls him her ‘intended’. No; she wants to stay out a lot longer with him tonight, so she wants me to unbolt the door…’ She explained about the front door and the lock and the extra key, and about Miss Thomson’s insistence on the bolts being on, whilst Maisie listened, goggle-eyed.

  ‘Gosh, that’s dead exciting!’ she said. ‘It’s like summat that you read about in books. Y’know; those girls at boarding school that are always having adventures. But this is more serious, like, isn’t it, ’cause it’s grown-ups, not kids? An’ have you said you’ll do it?’

  ‘Yes; she’s been real kind to me has Daisy. I didn’t like to say no. She’ll be in awful trouble, though, if Miss Thomson finds out, and so will I.’

  ‘You’ll not get found out,’ said Maisie convincingly. She was quite enthralled by the secrecy and daring of it all. She knew, of course, that she was not the one having to take the risks. Audrey was quick to remind her of that.

  ‘It’s all right for you, isn’t it? It’s me that has to do it… And I’m dead scared, Maisie, honest I am.’

  ‘You’ll be OK,’ said Maisie. ‘Just act ordinary, like, or Miss Thomson might guess there’s summat going on.’

  ‘I don’t usually see her in the evening, but I’ll have to sit with her tonight, I suppose, while Daisy’s out,’ said Audrey thoughtfully. ‘I’ll read me book and keep quiet. She never talks to me very much anyway, so she p’raps won’t notice anything.’

  They had arrived at the village green and Audrey paused at Miss Thomson’s gate. ‘Keep your fingers crossed for me, Maisie,’ she said, looking pleadingly at her friend.

  ‘Yeah, ’course I will,’ said Maisie. ‘See you tomorrer. You can tell me all about it at Sunday School. Tara then. See yer…’

  Audrey, lying wide-awake in her little bed, heard the back door opening, and her heart missed a beat as she heard Daisy’s voice. ‘Hello there…I’m back,’ she was calling. She was shouting extra loudly which, no doubt, would not please Miss Thomson, but it was to let Audrey, at the top of the house, know that she was in – and soon to be out again – through the back door. She imagined Daisy now, popping her head round the dining room door and telling Miss Thomson that she would go straight up to her room; that was what she usually did when she came in. Audrey, in fact, did hear clumping footsteps on the stairs, and then they ceased suddenly. She visualised Daisy creeping down again silently, then through the kitchen and out of the back door, closing it stealthily. That part of the plan must have gone all right because there were no more sounds for several moments.

  Then there was the noise of the bolts being put into place on the front door, and Miss Thomson’s footsteps, much quieter than Daisy’s, climbing the stairs. Then came the sound of the cistern flushing, and after that all was quiet.

  Audrey had imagined that it would be hard to keep awake. She glanced at her little bedside alarm clock that she had brought with her from Armley. It was a quarter past ten. She was usually fast asleep by this time, but tonight she was feeling too agitated even to think about sleeping. There was a fluttery feeling of butterflies dancing in her tummy and she was sure her heart was beating extra fast and extra loud. Maybe when she had done the deed she would settle down again.

  She had been trying to read, with a torch beneath the bedclothes. It was not likely that Miss Thomson would check to see if she was asleep. She had never done so before, but there might always be a first time. But even the exploits of Elinor Brent-Dyer’s Chalet-girls failed to hold her interest tonight. The adventure that she and Daisy were embarking upon was filling her mind to the exclusion of everything else. She switched off her torch and just lay still in the darkness, letting the seconds and the minutes creep by. Time went very slowly, she realised, when your mind was not occupied with the busyness of all the things that filled your life in the daytime. When she switched on her torch to look at her clock again it was still only twenty minutes to eleven. She decided to wait, if she could contain herself, until eleven o’ clock. By that time she was sure Miss Thomson would have gone to sleep.

  When eleven o’ clock at last arrived she stole out of bed. The cold made her shiver, so she put on her red woolly dressing gown, fastening the girdle tightly around her, then she slid her feet into her furry bedroom slippers. Making scarcely a sound, apart from the soft pad of her footsteps which no one else could possibly hear, she crept down the stairs. It was pitch dark so she was forced to use her torch, but she shielded it with her hand lest it should shine into Miss Thomson’s door, which was always left a little ajar. She felt that her heart almost stopped beating as she heard a stair creak; it must always have done so, but she had never noticed it before. She stood motionless for a second or two before venturing further.

  But as she reached the first floor landing she knew she was safe because she could hear a noisy snoring sound coming from Miss Thomson’s bedroom. She almost laughed out loud, partly with relief and partly in amusement. There was something very funny about people snoring. How Maisie and she would giggle together if her friend were with her. Miss Thomson was making so much noise it was a wonder she didn’t wake herself up. Thinking of Maisie made her wish desperately that her friend was with her at that moment. Maisie would be brave and cheerful and think it was a great adventure. But Audrey plucked up all the courage she was capable of and crept down the flight of stairs that led to the hallway.

  She felt she could use the torch quite safely down there. There was no way that its beam would reach up the stairs. Kneeling down by the front door and holding her torch in her left hand she shone the light on the bolt. Then, with her other hand she began to pull it slowly back. It was stiffer than she had imagined, and to her horror the last inch or so shot back with a loud clatter. She held her breath, listening intently, but there was no sound from upstairs. Thank goodness! She breathed a sigh of relief.
There was only the top bolt to do now, then she could escape upstairs again to bed. The rest would be up to Daisy.

  She shone her torch on to the top bolt and reached up towards it. She stood on her tiptoes and stretched her arm as far as it would go…but she could not reach it. Oh no! Whatever was she going to do? She hadn’t even considered the possibility that she was not tall enough. She had grown quite a lot lately, but it was no use; there was no way she could reach the bolt. She stood there in a quandary. Unless…

  In the dim light from the torch she saw the two chairs standing one on either side of the monk’s bench, where Miss Thomson kept her spare bedding. They were heavy old-fashioned chairs with carved backs and plush seats, but she had never seen anybody sitting on them. If she could stand on one of them, then she could easily reach the bolt.

  Still holding her torch in one hand she started to drag a chair across the hallway. It didn’t make a noise on the carpet, thank goodness, but she needed both her hands to get it into place. She put the torch on the floor so that it shone upwards, then she pulled the chair up behind the door. She picked up the torch again – she would need it to see the bolt – then took a big step up on to the chair. She was not sure what happened next. She was being very very careful and as quiet as a mouse, but the chair began to wobble. Her dressing gown girdle had somehow got tangled round the back of the chair and as she stepped up she caught her foot in a fold of her gown. The torch dropped from her hands and fell on to the carpet. Then the chair toppled over and Audrey crashed to the floor with the heavy chair on top of her. She was not hurt; only shocked and dismayed and very very scared.

  As she might well be, because before she could get to her feet the hallway was flooded with electric light and a white nightgowned figure appeared at the top of the stairs.

  ‘What on earth is going on down there? I was frightened out of my wits. I thought we had burglars… Whatever are you doing, Audrey? Why is that chair out of its place? Get up child! Get up at once and answer me.’ Miss Thomson certainly did not look scared out of her wits. Indeed, she looked a frightening figure herself – enough to scare any burglar – as she advanced down the stairs, her face set in grim lines and her black eyes, curiously magnified by her spectacles, fixed menacingly on Audrey. Her hair was encased, incongruously, in a bright pink hairnet, which might have softened the forbidding image she presented, but to the terrified little girl it did not do so.