War Widow

by June Francis

  ‘Not yet I’m not!’ He laughed shortly. ‘And I mightn’t be. I just came to see what the old place felt like after all these years.’ He glanced about him. ‘Nothing much has changed. The old type is still gathering dust over there against the wall – and Mr Foy’s still here.’ He smiled slightly. ‘He used to terrify the life out of me when I was like the lad over there, learning the trade from the bottom up.’

  ‘He frightened me too.’ She hesitated before asking, ‘But what d’you mean you mightn’t be a boss?’

  ‘What I say.’ His dark brows drew together. ‘I don’t know if I want to step into my brother’s shoes even if it’s what everybody expects of me. They’ll always be comparing us.’

  She frowned. ‘Maybe they will for a while – but it’s more likely they’ll compare your ways with the old man’s.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I’m sure of it. Things have changed, Steve. There’s been a war, remember? The apprentices are different, and they only know Jimmy as a name. As for the rest, it’s a long time since they’ve worked with either of you, and I think they’ll remember what a good worker you were.’

  ‘So you think I should give it a go?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said definitely, before adding, ‘what else could you do anyway?’

  His hand went to his hair, his fingers threading through its tangled mass. ‘I had something in mind. But maybe I should give things here some time.’

  ‘It makes sense.’ Her eyes went to the clock on the far wall. ‘I’d better get moving or Molly will have something to say.’

  ‘Let her!’ He pulled a face. ‘She’s somebody who hasn’t changed – still doesn’t have a high opinion of my talents.’

  ‘Change her mind for her then,’ she murmured, seeing no point in denying what he said. ‘You were always a good reliable worker, that’s what’s important.’

  ‘I had no chance to be anything else.’ He scowled. ‘We needed the money at home. And any ideas I might have had of doing something different were dismissed. Although Mam would have liked me to have been a teacher.’ There was only the slightest hint in his voice that the memory still rankled. He smiled at her. ‘Have you thought of asking my uncle if you can go home earlier to be there when the kids get home? It would mean a slight drop in pay but not that much.’

  ‘I have – but I need the money.’

  ‘I see.’ He dug his hand in his pocket. ‘It must be difficult for you.’

  ‘Of course it is.’ Unconsciously she squared her shoulders. ‘But then life’s difficult for a lot of people.’

  ‘You must hate not being there for them when they get out of school,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘A mother should be at home with her children.’

  ‘If she can,’ she said with a touch of impatience. ‘Now can I start work?’

  A flush crept into his cheeks. ‘Sure. Maybe I’ll see you around.’ He walked over to the apprentice and started talking to him.

  Flora stared after him, then hurried across the floor, not looking at him as she passed.

  Molly looked up as Flora entered the Comp Room. ‘You’re late. Overslept, did you?’

  ‘Like thousands of others.’ Flora hung her coat on the stand in the corner. She was in no mood for conversation.

  ‘The Old Man said Stephen told him he went to your street party.’

  Flora stared at her. There had been a curious note in Molly’s voice. ‘Is that a crime?’ she said quietly.

  The older woman shrugged. ‘He just mentioned it.’

  ‘So you thought it worth mentioning to me.’ Her tone was deceptively mild. ‘Why?’

  Molly promptly veered the conversation down another path. ‘Did you see our Stephen on your way up?’ She eyed Flora carefully. ‘Sam says he hasn’t made up his mind about working here – did he mention anything to you about staying?’

  ‘Why should he?’ asked Flora, picking up the worksheet.

  ‘He must have said something to you?’ Molly could not conceal her curiosity.

  ‘I was late. Now let me get down to work.’ She moved to pick up some cards and began to hum a waltz tune.

  ‘Dancing all night says something,’ said Molly, determined not to be frustrated. ‘Stephen was never one much for girls. Not like Jimmy.’

  Flora sighed, knowing that the older woman would go on and on. ‘We’ve known each other most of our lives and it was a pretty upsetting day for both of us – so we kept each other company. Now are you satisfied?’ Her voice was sharp.

  Molly tossed her head. ‘There’s no need to get huffy. I was only asking!’

  ‘Well, I’ve only answered you.’ She got to her feet and went to fetch some gauze, considering it ridiculous that she could not dance with Stephen without Molly seeing something in it. Probably just because she was a young widow! Stupid woman! She put it out of her mind.

  On Saturday afternoon Flora took the children to the park. They galloped on ahead of her to the swings. She took her time walking the short distance, her mind idling over the last week. Nothing had felt normal with Stephen at work, although most of the time he had been closeted with his uncle, poring over the books. Molly thought that a good enough reason to believe that he would be staying on.

  After the swings, monkey ladder and maypole, they went to feed the ducks. They were standing on the bridge, tearing up a stale crust, when a whispering voice spoke in Flora’s ear: ‘You’re not supposed to feed the ducks, missus. Haven’t you heard that bread’s going on the ration? I’ll have the police on you!’

  She jumped and turned, then relaxed. ‘Stephen! You gave me a fright.’

  He smiled. ‘Is that the effect I have on you? If I could have frightened the enemy that easy, I’d have had no problems.’

  She could not help smiling. ‘It’s the way you crept up on me.’

  ‘That’s my training. Surprise is half the battle.’ He leaned against the railings, looking about him. ‘This takes me back.’

  ‘Yes. And George is doing just what his father used to do.’

  She moved quickly to drag her son down from the railings. He struggled but she cuffed him across the shoulder before presenting him to Stephen. ‘George, this is Mr Martin. Say how do you do.’

  ‘Hi,’ said George, pulling his arm out of his mother’s hold, and staring up at Stephen with something akin to admiration. ‘Are you the one who was a commando? My dad was a commando. Have you got any medals?’

  ‘One.’

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘If you want,’ said Stephen slowly, a nerve beating at his temple. ‘Perhaps next time you’re passing.’ George smiled and whooped as he ran down the bridge. The two girls followed him.

  Stephen turned to Flora. ‘There’s a photo of Tom with our Jimmy in Uncle Sam’s somewhere – George is very like him at that age.’

  ‘Everybody says he’s like him,’ said Flora proudly. ‘I’d like to see that photograph.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said mildly. ‘I’ll look it out.’

  ‘And bring it into work?’ she said eagerly.

  He nodded. ‘George must be a handful at times.’

  Flora shrugged. ‘Sometimes he’s a real worry. But as Tom used to say, he’s a boy.’

  ‘That’s obvious. But it’s no excuse for behaving badly,’ said Stephen.

  A flush coloured Flora’s cheeks, seeing what he said as an implied criticism not only of George but Tom as well. ‘He’s not a bad boy, just a dare devil. He’s got no nerves, just like Tom.’

  He stared at her. ‘We all have nerves, Floss. They just don’t show until we’re really up against it.’

  She frowned. ‘What are you saying?’

  He was silent a moment. ‘Only that kids don’t recognise danger, that’s why they aren’t scared. I’m not saying that George is a bad kid.’

  ‘No?’ she said quietly, almost unemotionally.

  ‘No,’ he said firmly ‘How could I pass judgement? I don’t know him. I only knew Tom.’

  ‘S
o you were hinting that he behaved badly.’ Her voice was cool. ‘I suppose because he broke your nose? But that was an accident.’

  ‘I wasn’t even thinking about that,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘But now you’ve brought it up – it was no accident. I got him out at cricket and he didn’t like it.’

  ‘Maybe not but he wouldn’t have meant really to hurt you.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘Fancy having a grudge against someone all these years! I’m surprised at you, Stephen.’

  ‘Surprised at me! Why are you so sure it was an accident? Just because it was Tom? If our Jimmy was here – or even your Hilda – they’d tell you. He liked his own way, Floss, and if he didn’t get it, then he worked against the ones who got in his way.’

  Flora paled, not at all liking the way the conversation was going. ‘I don’t know how you can speak like this to me!’ Her hands curled into tight fists. ‘I was married to Tom. I knew him better than anybody. He wasn’t the way you say.’

  ‘I’m glad if he wasn’t with you,’ said Stephen. ‘You probably brought out the best in him. Just don’t give him a halo.’

  Flora moistened her dry lips. ‘I didn’t know you hated him so much.’

  ‘I don’t now,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You sound like you do.’ She felt sick. ‘It’s easy to attack a dead man, Stephen.’

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.’ He walked away before she could say anything else.

  Flora ran down the bridge in the wake of the children, determined not to let Stephen’s words hurt her. But he had attacked Tom and she considered that utterly unfair. She had thought better of him and felt as if he had let her down.

  ‘Good morning, Floss.’

  ‘Good morning.’ She had almost decided not to speak to him.

  ‘Here’s that photograph I promised you.’ He dropped an envelope on the bench in front of her and walked on into the Guillotine Room. She stared at it.

  ‘What’s this about a photograph?’ Molly peered curiously at the buff envelope.

  Flora made no answer, but snatched up the envelope and opened it. There was more than one photograph. She rifled through them. Jimmy was on them all, but Tom or Hilda were on most. There was even a couple with Stephen and herself. He serious and straight-nosed – until after the cricket incident.

  She went through them a second time more slowly, her heart racing. Tom at eight, ten – he was like George – twelve, fifteen, nineteen, twenty. At twenty-one he had stopped going out with Hilda and his friendship with Jimmy had ended. She knew that she was being a fool to herself staring at the young faces of her husband and her sister laughing at each other, but she could not stop. Hilda’s parting words repeated themselves in her head but Flora firmly refused to give them credence. Tom had been handsome and charming, and jealousy was a terrible emotion.

  She put the photographs back in the envelope, placing it on the corner of the bench. Molly promptly picked it up. She made a leisurely perusal of the contents, giving a running commentary as she did so. ‘What a mousey little thing you look, Flora! Your sister’s dress was far too short there but you can see the boys like it. She had style despite her being a madam! And she doesn’t look that much different to when I saw her in town with a soldier during the war.’

  Flora’s hands stilled. ‘You saw our Hilda with a soldier?’

  ‘Only saw the back of him. She was seeing him off at Lime Street. Winter it was – not long after they dropped the first lot of bombs on us, and our Mabel and the girls were killed.’

  ‘I was pregnant then and feeling pretty rotten,’ murmured Flora. ‘I wanted to go up to Scotland to see Tom but he managed to get a couple of days and come down. He could only stay one night and I wasn’t much fun.’

  Molly put the photographs back in the envelope. ‘I’ve wondered since if that soldier with your Hilda was our Jimmy. He never quite got over your sister, despite our Stephen telling him he was a fool in that quiet way of speaking he has.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘Not that he’s so quiet now. Him and our Sam have had a few set to’s. Stephen seems to think that the men coming back will be dissatisfied with what Sam’s paying here. He says that there’s a lot of reds around – that’s why Atlee defeated Churchill. He reckons that there’s going to be a shortage of manpower – as if we didn’t know – and that it’ll be a workers’ market. They’ll be able to shop around for the highest wages and the unions will see that they get them.’

  ‘And what does the Old Man say to that?’ asked Flora with interest.

  ‘That Stephen doesn’t know what he’s talking about. That no way is he going to allow the unions in his shop to tell him what to do. Stephen wasn’t too pleased I can tell you! But that’s for them to sort out and nothing to do with us. We women don’t get enough money, but do we complain?’

  Flora smiled. Molly, the greatest complainer going, could really be a tonic at times. She decided that she would thank Stephen when he came out again and give him the photographs back.

  But when he came out Flora did not have a chance to say anything. With a face set like granite, he strode swiftly across the room without looking to left or right. Half an hour later she discovered that he had quit. She was disappointed, having believed that Stephen would give the job a fair trial. She wondered what to do with the photographs and decided to take them into the office.

  The Old Man looked downcast and was sitting not doing anything when she entered. Suddenly she felt angry with Stephen. He had erupted into both their lives and disturbed their peace.

  She put down the cup of tea and a couple of biscuits, and said in a rush: ‘Stephen loaned these photographs to me. I wonder if you could take them back?’

  He nodded slowly, and took the envelope she held out. To her surprise he opened it, slid out the pictures and began to look at them, murmuring, ‘He says that his mother wanted him to teach but he was persuaded to work here instead.’

  He fell silent and Flora wondered if she should slip away. Somehow she stayed. He seemed such a sad, lonely figure.

  ‘So many memories, Flora,’ he muttered, ‘He was starting to shape up quite well. I told him that he could be as good as Jimmy if he worked hard. He didn’t like that. He wanted me to consider raising the men’s wages. I told him that they weren’t worth the sort of money he was talking about – but he said I’d have to do it once the other men were demobbed. I didn’t agree with him and he called me short-sighted.’ His mouth tightened. ‘The wars changed a lot of people, Flora, and I don’t think it’s a good thing. He would never have talked to me like that in the old days.’

  ‘Jimmy did, though! He used to argue with you but in such a way that you took it,’ blurted out Flora. ‘If you really wanted Stephen here, you should have accepted that he’d have his own opinions. He’s been mixing with men of his own age. Working men, who’ll have talked about the kind of life they wanted or expected after the war.’

  He stared at her and for a moment she thought he was going to tell her to get out of his office.

  Unexpectedly a slow smile softened his features. ‘You wouldn’t have spoken to me like that before the war either, Flora.’ He paused. ‘I can’t understand the lad but you obviously do. Talked to you about his plans, has he?’

  ‘Not really.’ Flora’s cheeks suddenly burned. ‘But I’ve gathered from conversations we’ve had that he believes you think him second best to Jimmy. I think that hurt him, and perhaps because of it he’ll try harder to get over his own point of view.’

  ‘I see.’ He tapped his forefinger against a lean cheek. ‘Maybe I should ask him to reconsider – to have a bit more patience with an old man?’

  Flora kept silent and picked up her tray. He seemed to be talking more to himself than her now. She went out of the office, wondering if Stephen would come back.

  It was Molly who told Flora that Stephen had turned down the Old Man’s offer of another stab at the job. ‘He said that he’d already put wheels in motion and had applied to do teacher training at a colle
ge in Wrexham. There’s an emergency training scheme – one year instead of two. Apparently the country is crying out for teachers because school leaving age is going up to fifteen next year.’

  ‘The Old Man must be upset,’ Flora murmured, feeling annoyed with Stephen. ‘What’s going to happen?’

  Molly shrugged. ‘We’ll carry on like we have for the last six or so years. Bill Turner’s out of the army, anyway, so I don’t doubt he’ll be around in a day or so asking for his job back. Maybe things’ll buck up.’

  Flora thought maybe they wouldn’t. But she was determined not to worry. She felt comfortable in her job but there were always others. At the moment she was more concerned about what to do with the children in the school holidays although Mrs Murphy had promised to keep an eye on them, and her father would have them a couple of days a week now that they were getting older and more sensible. And there was the Sunday School outing for them to look forward to.

  Mothers and grandmothers bustled around the charabanc waiting outside the Mission Hall, giving last minute instructions, and in Flora’s case several little bags of sweets that the apprentice had passed on to her. He had been given them from one of the sweet factories for which they did printing.

  ‘We’re off, we’re off, we’re off in a motor car,’ sang George, kneeling up and dangling his hands out of the window. ‘Sixty coppers are after us, and they don’t know where we are!’

  Rosie, her face bright with laughter, said, ‘I wish you could come with us, Mam.’ She hugged Flora for the third time, before her mother hustled her up the steps of the charabanc.

  ‘I’ll have a nice time getting the house sorted out,’ she said, stepping back as more children jostled to get on, and Sunday School teachers tried to count heads and tick off names on lists.

  There was a concerted chorus of farewells and wishes for a nice day and then a great sigh of relief passed through the women as the vehicle drove off and they broke up to go their separate ways.

  It felt odd to enter the empty house which was in a mess due to the rush in which they had left it earlier. She cleaned it from top to bottom, thinking that there was nobody to untidy it again till about eight that evening. She washed and changed then took a cup of tea and, on impulse, her copy of Mrs Beeton’s All About Cookery into the backyard. She settled on the back step in pale sunshine and opened the book to August’s Bills of Fare. Hungry after the housework, she wanted something different, while doubting the ingredients for many of the recipes would be to hand. Still, she would enjoy reading them.