‘There now! Isn’t this a lovely surprise?’ said Patience, as they all entered the house. ‘Your mum and your little brother and sister have come to live here, in Middlebeck.’
‘With the squire and Mrs Tremaine, though,’ said Lily. ‘Not here with you and Audrey. Yes…there was something wrong at home, love. Sid – well, I might as well tell you straight, Maisie love – he’s got a woman living there with him, an’ I’m not going to put up with that, am I? So…here I am!’ The mother and daughter hugged one another. Lily had one eye on Audrey, though, who was standing there looking very forlorn. She turned and put an arm around her as well.
‘I’ve seen yer mum and dad, Audrey,’ she told her. ‘I went to see them this morning, and yer mum’s feeling a lot better. And she’ll see you very soon, she says. When Christmas is over she’ll come and see you, and yer dad as well. So cheer up, lovey. It won’t be long…’
And this was the thought that Audrey clung to throughout that first Christmas of the war.
It was agreed that the rectory family and the family at Tremaine house should celebrate Christmas together. And so, after a short service at St Bartholomew’s church, they all went back to the home of Mr and Mrs Tremaine. When the traditional meal was served at one o’ clock there were ten of them seated around the long table in the dining room; Archie and Rebecca and their son, Bruce; Lily, Joanie and Jimmy, the Rev Luke and Patience Fairchild; and Maisie and Audrey. The three women working together in the spacious kitchen – far larger than even Patience, let alone Lily, had been used to – had prepared the roast turkey (reared on Walter Dixon’s farm), the roast potatoes, home grown turnips and brussel sprouts, and Patience’s homemade sage and onion stuffing. This was followed by Rebecca’s special Christmas pudding and creamy white sauce, laced with a small glassful of brandy.
There was, as yet, no shortage of food. Especially in the country areas folks were not having to go without things that they had been used to. Stockpiling of commodities which soon might be in short supply was frowned upon. Nevertheless, there could scarcely be a housewife who did not have some dried fruit and ground almonds – for the marzipan on the cake – stored away in her kitchen cupboard to use that first Christmas of the war.
At the end of the meal Luke raised his glass of sweet brown sherry, and the rest of the company followed suit – even Maisie and Audrey had been allowed a thimbleful of the liquor – as he proposed a toast to the King and Queen, to the hope of peace, and to absent friends. They were thinking particularly of Audrey’s mother and father, and of the servicemen from the little town who had not managed to get home to their families. Then they all gathered around the wireless set, encased in a large cabinet of mahogany, which stood in the sitting room, to listen to the broadcast by King George the Sixth. In his now familiar halting tones he declared, ‘We cannot tell what the New Year will bring. If it brings peace how happy we shall be…’
The adults exchanged sceptical glances at these words. It seemed very unlikely.
After Christmas the snow returned with a vengeance. Not only north Yorkshire, but the whole of the country was covered by a thick white blanket. It was being said that it was the coldest January for half a century; even the River Thames in London had frozen over. There were stories of frozen pipes, snow-blocked roads and railways brought to a standstill. But how true it all was no one could be sure because the weather news on the wireless, as well as other news of importance, was censored for fear that enemy agents should be listening.
The expected food rationing came into force of January the eighth, but it was only bacon, ham, sugar and butter that were rationed. By that time Bruce Tremaine had returned to his boarding school, and Maisie and Audrey had gone back to a somewhat changed village school.
Anne Mellodey had spent Christmas with her parents in Leeds. To her great joy her fiancé, Bill, had been granted a forty-eight hour pass and they had been able to spend some precious hours together.
She returned to Middlebeck during the first week in January through a silvery white landscape. The hills were a wondrous sight with the early morning sun shining on them, but on either side of the railway track were shoulder-high piles of grubby grey snow. As yet there was no sign of a thaw. Anne was glad of her wellington boots, her warm coat and her woolly hat pulled down over her ears as she trudged up the High Street from the station. She had only a small case with her; even so she felt quite exhausted when she arrived at the greystone house next to the school.
Charity Foster greeted her warmly with a hug and a kiss on her cheek. ‘Goodness gracious, child!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re as cold as a block of ice. Come on in and take those wet things off.’ It had started to snow again, huge white flakes like goose feathers drifting down from a leaden sky. ‘I must say you’re looking well, though, Anne. You’ve had a lovely Christmas, I expect? And how is that nice young man of yours…?’
Anne told her headmistress all the news from home as they sat by the blazing fire drinking tea laced with a drop of whisky, ‘to keep out the cold!’ Charity explained. Bill had returned, late on Boxing Day, to his station in East Anglia where he had almost finished his training as a pilot. Thinking about him and wondering when she would see him again made her feel sad, but returning to the job which she enjoyed so much would help, to a certain extent, to take her thoughts away from her anxieties. And once they had exchanged chit-chat about the festive season there was a great deal to discuss about the forthcoming term at Middlebeck School. It had been agreed before the holiday that Anne should be the one to continue teaching there; and so Dorothy Cousins, the other teacher from Armley, had now returned home to Leeds.
‘I have been giving some thought to the rearrangement of the classes,’ Charity told Anne, ‘More than half of our visitors have now gone back, as you know, dear, to Leeds or to Hull. They might live to regret it, or their parents might…’ She shook her head a little sorrowfully. ‘But I suppose one can’t blame them; they want their children home again. But things won’t stay like this for ever, with regard to the war, I mean.’
‘Yes, that’s what Bill says,’ agreed Anne. ‘He doesn’t tell me very much. They’re not supposed to give away secrets; besides, he knows it would only worry me. But this state of limbo that we’re in can’t continue.’
‘Quite so… Anyway, Anne, instead of the six rather large classes we have had, we will be down to five rather smaller ones; three here on the school premises and two across at the church. We will be able to dispense with the one at the Village Institute; it was rather too far away in any case.
‘But I’m afraid you will be having a mixed-age group, my dear; your own Standard Three and some of the Standard Four children as well. We are quite used to this in the village schools, but I know in the city schools that it is quite different. But you will adjust, Anne; you are a most competent teacher.’
‘Thank you,’ smiled Anne. ‘I’ll do my best. I shouldn’t say this…but some of the troublemakers have gone back. Esme Clough – I knew her of old, back in Armley – and Paula Jeffreys from Hull. They caused no end of problems when they got together with Gertie and Norma. They’re still here, of course – they live here – but they seem rather more subdued since that accident with little Timothy Clegg. They thought he was dead, you know, when he fell in the builder’s yard; Maisie told me.’
‘Yes, and speaking of Maisie…’ Charity told Anne the news about Maisie’s mother coming to live at Tremaine House to assist with the land army girls. ‘They arrived a couple of days ago,’ she said. ‘But goodness knows how much farming they will be able to do in this sort of weather…’
‘D’you think it’s because of all this snow that my mum and dad haven’t been to see me?’ asked Audrey, towards the end of January.
‘I’m sure it is, dear,’ said Patience, for the umpteenth time. ‘That’s what she said in her letter, didn’t she? You know that your mum was rather poorly last year when she had that operation…’ Audrey had now been told about that, but not of th
e severity of it, ‘…and she needs to take care not to overdo things. This cold weather is not good for her. But it’s beginning to thaw now. They’ll be here before long, don’t you worry…’
But after the snow there came the fog; dense fogs which were known in cities such as London, Manchester and Leeds as pea-soupers. You could hardly see your hand in front of your face as the greyish yellow blanket descended, obliterating buildings, traffic, street signs and the edges of the kerbs. You took your life in your hands in attempting to cross the road…
It was during the first week in February that the telegram arrived at the rectory. It was mid-morning and both the children were at school. Patience took the yellow envelope from the boy at the door with a feeling of dread. Whoever could be sending them a telegram? She feared it could only be bad news and her thoughts flew immediately to Audrey’s mother in Leeds. Her continued absence was upsetting the little girl and Patience had wondered if she had taken a turn for the worse.
Quickly she ripped open the envelope and read the stark messsage inside. Her cry brought Luke rushing from the study. ‘Patience, my dear; whatever is it?’
‘Just read this…’ She thrust the paper at him. ‘I thought it must be Edith, but it’s…’
Luke read the printed words on the form. ALF KILLED IN ROAD ACCIDENT. LETTER FOLLOWING. PLEASE TELL AUDREY. EDITH. ‘Oh no! How dreadful! How unbelievably dreadful,’ he uttered. He turned to the telegraph boy who was standing there awaiting instructions. ‘No, there’s no reply; not yet. Thank you.’
‘Sorry if it’s bad news, sir,’ said the lad. ‘They usually are.’
Luke nodded. ‘Yes, as you say. But it’s not your fault, is it?’
He closed the front door and put his arms around his wife. ‘Yes, it’s terrible news. Poor little Audrey. Would you like me to break it to her?’
Tears were streaming down Patience’s face. ‘I’m not sure yet what to do, how to tell her. Poor Audrey…and poor Edith. She relied on her husband so much.’
‘Let’s wait a little while,’ said Luke. ‘It says there’s a letter following. It will arrive tomorrow, more than likely, then we can decide how best to break it to her.’
‘That poor child,’ breathed Patience. ‘Maybe I will feel a little more composed by tomorrow…’
It was hard to put on a cheerful face when the girls returned at lunchtime, full of their news about the morning at school. They had both got full marks in the weekly spelling test, and that afternoon would be one of their favourite lessons, drawing and painting. Miss Mellodey wanted them to design a poster about some aspect of the war; the army, navy or airforce; the Women’s Land Army; or perhaps about being careful with food, which was now on ration. It was a topical subject because you could hardly walk a few yards along the High Street without seeing a poster for something of other, on walls, billboards and the side of buildings. The latest one, depicting women gossiping on a bus, proclaimed that ‘Careless Talk Costs Lives’.
The expected letter from Edith Dennison arrived the next morning. Patience kept it hidden from Audrey’s eyes and she and Luke read it together when the girls had gone to school. It was surprising how Edith had managed to write so neatly and concisely. They knew she must be heartbroken and shattered beyond belief at the death of her husband, but it seemed as though she was managing to keep some control of herself.
He had been knocked down by a tram in the centre of the city, whilst crossing the road in dense fog. No one would ever understand fully what had happened. The tram could not have been travelling fast, and Alf was normally so careful, but he had received severe blows to his head and had been dead on arrival at the hospital. Edith explained that her neighbours were being very good to her and the local vicar was seeing to the funeral arrangements. She enclosed his telephone number as a point of contact. It was her final paragraph which devastated Patience and Luke, although they came to realise that it was inevitable.
‘I would like Audrey to come back home to Leeds,’ Edith wrote, ‘not just for the funeral but to come back and live here. I have no more close relations, only a cousin or two elsewhere, and Audrey means so much to me, as she did to Alf. The funeral is on Tuesday. I can’t come to fetch her, poor little lamb. I am not at all well as I expect you will understand. But if she is put in charge of the guard on the train I will meet her in Leeds, or someone else will. Thank you both for all you have done for her…’
‘I’ll take her back myself,’ said Luke at once. ‘I dare say Edith knows I will, but she wouldn’t like to suggest it.’
‘That poor woman,’ sighed Patience. ‘You can tell by the tone of her letter that she is far from well. And this tragedy coming on top of everything else; it’s almost too much to bear. You will stay for the funeral, will you, Luke? And make sure that Edith has someone to keep an eye on her. I don’t think she has any close friends there, and now, of course, Lily is living up here. I’m not surprised she wants Audrey back… But we are going to miss her, aren’t we, Luke?’
‘Most certainly,’ Luke agreed. ‘And so is Maisie. But what we have to think about now is breaking the news to her…’
When they had eaten their lunch it was Patience, feeling calmer than she had on the previous day, who took Audrey into the sitting room. ‘I have something very serious I want to say to Audrey,’ she explained to Maisie. ‘Her father has had a bad accident… So could you help Luke to wash up, dear, just for today?’
‘I have had a letter from your mother,’ she began, sitting on the settee with Audrey and putting an arm around her.
‘Have you?’ Audrey’s eyes lit up. ‘Is she coming to see me?’
‘No…but you will be seeing her very soon,’ explained Patience carefully. ‘She wants you to go home because your daddy…well, he has had an accident, dear, and she needs you to be with her.’
Audrey’s expression changed. Her eyes were grave as she looked at Patience. ‘D’you mean…a bad accident?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so, Audrey. A very bad one. He was knocked down by a tram in the fog and…‘
‘And…he’s been killed, hasn’t he? He’s…dead?’
The fact that Patience did not reply, but only held her more closely, was answer enough for Audrey.
‘Oh…oh no! Not Daddy…’ Sobs shook her body as she clung wildly to Patience. ‘not my daddy…’
Patience let her cry, knowing it was necessary for her to do so. There was no sense in telling a little girl that she must try to be brave. How could she be brave when faced with dreadful tidings like that? Eventually her sobs diminished a little. ‘And…and did you say I’ve got to go back and live with my mum? I won’t be living here any more?’ She lifted a tear-stained and perplexed face up to Patience.
‘Well, that’s the idea at the moment,’ replied Patience. ‘You mum will want you with her, or else she’d be all on her own, wouldn’t she?’
‘Yes…I suppose so,’ said Audrey. ‘But…I like it here. I miss my mum and…and my dad, but I like living her. Will I never be able to come back? Won’t I ever see you again, and Luke?’
‘You mustn’t worry about all that at the moment,’ said Patience. ‘Of course we will see one another again. We are all friends now, aren’t we? Luke will take you back to Leeds on Monday on the train, and stay with you for a day or two before he comes back.’ She did not mention the funeral. There would be time enough later for Luke to explain to her about that sad event.
‘Now…you don’t need to go back to school this afternoon. I’ll pop across and see Miss Mellodey and she’ll understand. Perhaps you could help me to make some cakes for tea? How about that…?’
Audrey, understandably, was withdrawn and largely uncommunicative over the next few days. Luke phoned the vicar in Armley to tell him of the train times and he would pass the message on to Edith. Audrey was tearful again when it was time for her to pack her bags for the return home.
‘What shall I take?’ she asked. ‘Everything? Or shall I leave some of my stuff here?’
Both little girls shed tears on the Monday morning when it was time to say goodbye. It had been decided that there were to be no tearful farewells at the station. Archie was to drive Luke and Audrey down to catch an early train, and Maisie was to attend school as usual.
‘Goodbyes are always sad,’ Patience told them. ‘But your mum will be looking forward so much to seeing you again, Audrey. Just think about that; you’ll be such a comfort to her…’
But that was little consolation to Maisie as she watched the shooting-brake drive away. ‘D’you think I’ll ever see Audrey again?’ she asked.
‘Of course you will,’ said Patience. ‘Your home is in Armley, isn’t it, as well as Audrey’s?’ She realised at once that that had been an unwise thing to say.
‘No, Aunty Patience,’ said Maisie solemnly. ‘I live here now, don’t I? This is my home, ’specially now my mum’s living up here. I don’t s’pose we’ll ever go back there.’
‘Well…perhaps not,’ said Patience. ‘None of us know, dear, what the future holds. But you’ll see your friend again. I feel sure you will.’
‘So there’s only you and me left now, isn’t there?’ said Doris to Maisie in the playground, the following day. ‘Ivy’s gone and now Audrey an’ all. I know you and Audrey were best friends, like…but d’you think you and me can be special friends now?’
‘Yeah…I s’pose so,’ replied Maisie. She was missing Audrey very much. She had felt so sorry for her, her dad being killed like that. She remembered now she had felt a bit peeved when Audrey had first come to live at the rectory, until Aunty Patience had explained that it wouldn’t make any difference. And it hadn’t. They had all been so happy together. It was odd that she was living with Luke and Patience whilst her mother was somewhere else; but it was more convenient that way, they had explained to her.
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