by Katie Flynn
‘That’s a poem,’ Mo said approvingly. Glenys had sat down beside her and smiled at the remark.
‘Very true. So far as I can make out, the story really begins with Mo herself. As it was told to me she was cleaning sprouts so that Mrs Huxtable might sell them to folk for their Christmas dinner . . .’
She looked enquiringly at Mo, who nodded vigorously. ‘And I saw Cyril Huxtable opening a parcel . . .’
Glenys sighed. ‘Start at the very beginning,’ she said. ‘One morning a few days before Christmas, when you were doing the sprouts . . .’
The story unfolded far more coherently than one would have expected. Everyone was amused by the tying together of Cyril’s bootlaces, but annoyed that the Huxtables could think Mo would steal anything from anyone, ‘let alone a piece of what I dare say was probably costume jewellery’, Sam had surmised. And having heard how the other man had abused his trust and ill treated his children, Sam said he would have cheered had Cyril broken his neck. Glenys’s side of the story followed, and she made no secret of the fact that she thought Sam a cruel and uncaring father to leave his children in the care of people whose bad reputation should have been known to him. Having heard Glenys’s explanation, one would have thought that Sam would have looked upon her with a kindlier eye, but this did not seem to be the case. He resented her criticism of the time he had allowed to elapse before coming back to Liverpool, and she resented it when he said, frankly, that had she not run away with them he would have been reunited with his children weeks earlier. She pointed out sharply that she was not psychic, could not possibly have known that he would return. ‘I thought you a most unnatural parent,’ she told him coldly. ‘And who could blame me? You did not seem to care what happened to Jimmy and Mo, whereas I, being on the spot, could understand their desperation to get away from Liverpool and the Huxtables.’ Sam began to justify himself, but his father-in-law shook his head chidingly.
‘Miss Glenys has told us the story as it appeared to her,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget what we said.’
His son-in-law had reared up, his face reddening, but at his father-in-law’s words he sat back in his chair and grinned resignedly. ‘And here was me thinking I’d got my temper under control at last,’ he said ruefully. ‘It’s got me into enough trouble in the past, one way or another. If it hadn’t been for my temper Grace and I could have got married from here, helped you run the farm and lived happily ever after, but I couldn’t bear to be told when I did things wrong. I was a young hothead in those days, and I admit now that I behaved very badly.’ He smiled sadly at his children, sitting demurely on the couch beside his mother-in-law. ‘I won’t bore you by telling you about the big row which resulted in my persuading Grace that I could never be a farmer, and that I would only marry her if she would come back to Liverpool with me and agree to my going back to sea. That’s an old, old story, and one I’m deeply ashamed of.’
He was silent for a few minutes, a frown creasing his brow. Then he looked up and let his gaze roam around the assembled company. ‘I’m going to tell things, not as I learned them myself, but as I think they really happened,’ he said.
Jimmy began to say something, but subsided as Mo kicked him sharply in the shins. ‘Shurrup,’ she hissed. ‘You heard what Tai . . . Taid said – let our Dad tell wi’out interruptions.’
‘Thanks, Mo,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll start at the very beginning, which was the day after we docked and I was walking along the quay, on my way back from the post office where I’d just sent off your Christmas parcel. I wasn’t taking much notice of my surroundings, and then someone – or something – hit me hard on the back of the head. I fell forward, and found myself face down in the oily water of the dock and only half conscious. Of course I tried to swim to the surface, but just as I reached it something struck me a stunning blow on the forehead – you can see the scar – and I lost consciousness completely.’
‘Oh, poor Dad,’ Mo whispered. ‘You might have been killed!’
‘I very nearly was,’ Sam said ruefully. ‘But a passer-by must have fished me out, and I’m afraid I can’t tell you much of what happened after that, because someone had stripped me of my clothing and everything I possessed so that when they took me to the hospital no one had any idea that I was a seaman off one of the ships. The Mary Anne had been due to sail on the evening tide, and no doubt she did so, with Captain Able believing I had jumped ship as seamen sometimes do. I was unconscious for ten days, but at the end of that time I came round to find myself in a hospital bed, with absolutely no idea how I got there, or even who I was. Fortunately for me, because I didn’t speak the language, one of the doctors was an American and he and I got quite friendly. He told me about his family back in the States, but of course I couldn’t reciprocate because I could remember nothing of my life before I opened my eyes to find myself in hospital. The doctor, however, was sure that I would recover my memory, and one day, when I was taking a walk around the town, I saw a boy of about your age, Jimmy, pushing a little girl on a swing. The sight of those two children disturbed me, though I could not have said why. They were in a playground with two or three swings, a slide and a sort of roundabout, and whilst I was watching them the little girl jumped off the swing and came hurtling through the air, and I caught her, and the moment I held her in my arms my memory came flooding back. I remembered everything: my darling Grace dying, taking a berth aboard the Mary Anne, and leaving you children in the care of the Huxtables. I stood the little girl down very carefully and she ran back to the swing, and after that I just sat down on the dusty earth and tried to make sense of what had happened. My American doctor friend had told me not to try too hard but simply to open my mind to thoughts of the past, and over the next few days that was what I did. The memories came at their own pace and would not be hurried, but when I remembered that Grace had died I knew I must come back home as soon as possible. My arrangement with the Huxtables had included my sending money home to cover the rent and other expenses, and of course I had not done so for some time.’
Jimmy beamed at his father. ‘So you never knew Mrs Huxtable ill-treated us,’ he said.
Sam shook his head. ‘And I promise you, Jimmy, that had I known, nothing would have prevented me from sorting her out.’
‘I knew it!’ Jimmy said exultantly. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let us down. Well, we both knew, didn’t we, Mo?’
Mo stared at her brother, a pink flush gradually creeping across her face. ‘We didn’t know!’ she said indignantly. ‘We thought he’d forgot all about us.’
Sam groaned. ‘I’ve been a rotten dad to you, both of you,’ he said remorsefully. ‘But I’ll make it up to you somehow. Now let me finish my story.’ He smiled across at his in-laws. ‘I know you’ve heard all this before, but I dare say you won’t mind listening to it again,’ he said. ‘Or if you need to be doing other things you could leave me to tell it for the second time.’ The Griffiths, however, exchanged an affectionate glance and shook their heads.
‘It’s a complicated tale,’ Taid said. ‘Confusing, like. No harm in hearing a repetition, hey, Mother?’
His wife nodded. ‘Fire ahead, Sam,’ she said.
Sam Trewin took a deep breath, thought for a moment, and then began. ‘Once I had regained my memory and knew that my darling Grace was dead and my children were coping alone, I got a berth on the next ship heading for Liverpool.’ He smiled at Jimmy and Mo. ‘When we docked I signed off, for I meant to get work ashore and look after you myself. I went straight to Solomon Court, and you can imagine my horror when I went to number four and the door was opened by a slovenly woman with greasy hair whom I scarcely recognised; she seemed much fatter and more unkempt than I remembered. Perhaps I should have taken warning, but all I cared about was that this woman had looked after you – fed and clothed you – for over a year, when I had abandoned you. So, foolish though it seems now, I was truly grateful, and believed everything she told me. I asked where you were, and it was then that she told me you’d been ki
dnapped. I did not stop to ask myself why anyone should want to steal a couple of penniless kids, but headed straight for the police station, and if I hadn’t walked slap bang into Nutty I’d have reported you missing there and then.
‘But Nutty enlightened me. He said that Mrs Huxtable was a wicked old woman and her son was worse. He told me Cyril had near on broken Mo’s arm once, and had been ranting and raving at Christmas about getting his hands on you both, but then his ship had sailed without him and now no one knew where he was. I didn’t know what to think, still less what to do, except to carry out my original intention and report you missing, only I said it was definitely Cyril Huxtable who had taken you. But then I had a stroke of luck. I met an old pal who had a second-hand clothes stall and he told me that Cyril thought Mo had stolen something of his and that he was after your blood. Good old Harry knows a liar from an honest man and he didn’t believe a word of it. He took you kids to the Salvation Hall and handed you over to a Major Williams, and within a couple of days you had disappeared.’ He glared at Glenys. ‘Don’t you understand? If you’d not paid for the kids’ tickets and taken them off into Wales I would have sorted the whole thing out, but before I could do anything you, Miss Schoolteacher, had whisked them away.’
Jimmy could stay silent no longer. ‘But when we told our story I explained that Cyril caught me cutting holly, and Auntie Glenys saved us both by letting us stay in her house,’ he said indignantly. ‘Me and Mo told you that Cyril knew we’d taken shelter somewhere on Orange Street, and after Frank had spoken to him, and found he was determined to stick around until he found us, we knew we had to get away, not just from Orange Street but from Liverpool itself.’
Sam nodded, though reluctantly. ‘But it was not sensible just to take off with only a vague idea of where you were going. You were lucky that it was me who caught up with you and not Cyril Huxtable, because I imagine he’s disappeared because he too is looking for you.’ He turned to Glenys. ‘I dare say you did it for the best, but it was more of a hindrance than a help. Sheer interference I’d call it.’
Glenys sniffed. ‘If we’re going to get personal I can’t help thinking you a very neglectful parent,’ she snapped. ‘Oh, I know you were nearly drowned and lost your memory, but what about that first year? There was nothing wrong with you then. You could have come home any time and made sure that your children were in good hands. So if we’re casting blame, Mr Trewin, I think you should take your share.’
Sam felt his cheeks grow hot. The fact that there was some truth in what she said did not make it easier to accept, so he went into the attack. ‘Good God, woman, why did you take no notice when you finally rang Frank and he told you the children’s father had turned up? I know he did, because Major Williams introduced us before I left Liverpool and we’ve spoken regularly ever since. And if you’d taken the trouble to ring him a bit more often yourself I could have met you days ago and brought my children to safety much earlier. In case you’ve forgotten, we still don’t know where Cyril is.’
Glenys stared. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said. ‘Frank said nothing about their father!’
‘He told me he did,’ Sam said doggedly. He felt strongly that it should have been he who had brought his children to Weathercock Farm, not a jumped up schoolteacher who thought she knew it all.
But Jimmy was grinning. ‘I know what happened, and when you remember what a bad line it was, it’s easy to understand,’ he said. He turned to Glenys. ‘You thought Frank said we should go farther, right down to the coast, but I bet that wasn’t what he said at all. He must have said he’d seen our father.’
Sam made a rude disbelieving noise, but his mother-in-law tutted and gave him a reproving look. ‘Of course, that’s the obvious answer,’ she said. ‘I think you should apologise to this young lady, Sam, because if it hadn’t been for her that Huxtable person might well have got hold of your children, though what he intended to do if he caught them heaven only knows. Now come along, do the decent thing. There’s no shame in admitting you’re wrong and apologising for it.’
Sam began to say that the whole episode would have been cleared up weeks ago had the young teacher not interfered, but at this point Mr Griffiths leaned forward. ‘I’ve not said much, young Sam, because I know you’ve been under a fair amount of strain,’ he said. ‘But remember, it was your temper and your refusal to apologise which led to us losing our only child.’
Sam took a deep breath and released it in a low whistle, and the hot colour which had invaded his face gradually faded. He turned to Glenys. ‘I’m sorry, I jumped the gun,’ he said gruffly. ‘You did your best by my children; did what I should have done, had I been in my right mind. The reason I didn’t return sooner isn’t easy to explain, particularly to anyone who didn’t know Grace.’ He turned to Mo. ‘Sweetheart, you’re the living image of your mother, so much so that when she died I found it hard to look at you. I’m sorry, my darling; I never meant to tell you that, but it was the true reason why I sent every penny of my wages home, and never came myself.’
Mo raised a hand to her wet eyes and rubbed them dry, then gave an enormous sniff, and clambered on to her father’s knee. ‘Nutty’s mam said that I were too like Mam for comfort,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘Does that mean you’ll go away again, our dad? Because it ain’t my fault, the way I look.’
Mrs Griffiths stood up. ‘Of course your daddy won’t go away again,’ she said briskly, and Sam saw that her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. ‘Why, there’s enough work on Weathercock Farm to keep all of us occupied, and if this war they’re talking about really happens, then the country will need every mouthful of food we can grow, because they won’t be bringing in supplies from abroad.’
‘When the war comes, which it most certainly will, those of us in the merchant fleet will be called up by the Royal Navy,’ Sam observed. ‘And that means, my poor little button, that I shall have to go to sea again. But I shall make sure Liverpool is my home port, and in my absence you will be well looked after by Nain and Taid.’ He looked encouragingly from Mo’s smiling face to Jimmy’s serious one. ‘What do you think of that, you two?’
‘Can Auntie Glenys stay with us?’ Mo asked at once. ‘She’s my bestest friend, so she is.’
Sam laughed, but once more he felt resentment rising up in his chest. If that woman hadn’t interfered it would be he who was his daughter’s ‘bestest friend’. But he could scarcely say so, and certainly not in front of his in-laws. Instead he glanced towards the schoolteacher and saw her shaking her head.
‘Darling Mo, I’d love to stay here with you and help on the farm; it would be fun as well as my duty. But I’m afraid I’m just the right age to be called up and posted to somewhere like the Outer Hebrides!’
Sam breathed an inward sigh of relief. He knew he was being mean and selfish, but he found himself hoping that Glenys would indeed join up and be posted far away. However, he realised it would not do to let such feelings show. ‘Why not join the Wrens, then we could both go to sea,’ he said jokingly.
And he was disproportionately upset when Mo said at once: ‘Oh, that would never do, Daddy. If she can’t stay here with us we wants her where we can visit her, doesn’t we, Jimmy?’
Sam looked at his son, who had been quieter than usual, and read in his eyes more than he wanted to see. Mo was only a baby and accepted things at their face value, but Jimmy was older and looked deeper than his sister. He had read Sam’s mind, and Sam realised that Jimmy would soon begin to see that the older man was jealous of his children’s affection for the schoolteacher. Hastily, he tried to put things right. ‘Well, Miss Trent, you’re very welcome to stay with my parents-in-law, I’m sure,’ he said quickly. ‘But you told us yourself that when you left Liverpool with my children you were not being entirely altruistic. You were looking for your own family, and I imagine you will want to continue to pursue your search. Naturally, any help we can give . . .’
He was watching Miss Trent’s face as he spok
e, and saw the colour in her cheeks gradually fade until her face was perfectly white and her big blue eyes, when she turned them on him, seemed to burn. ‘It’s quite all right, Mr Trewin,’ she said quietly. ‘I won’t intrude on your family now you have all managed to find one another. I shall continue my own search and need no help from anyone, and now I’d better go back to Mrs Buttermilk’s house and explain that the children are staying here. I shan’t set out on the next stage of my journey until tomorrow, but I think it best that we say our goodbyes now.’ She had been sitting in a comfortable armchair, but got up and went over to give Mo and Jimmy a kiss. ‘Cheerio, kids,’ she said, and Sam realised that she had recognised his antagonism and was doing her best not to let the children see her hurt.
Feeling ashamed, he suggested that she might stay for the evening meal before returning to the town. ‘I’ll see you safely home afterwards,’ he said, ‘and then I’ll bring the kids into town tomorrow to see you on your way.’
Mr Griffiths began to speak, to say that Glenys must not refuse their hospitality, but his wife hushed him. ‘I’m going to prepare a meal for us all and Miss Glenys will no doubt be happy to give me a hand,’ she said firmly. ‘It will be bacon from the pig we killed last autumn, and our own good eggs. Children, Sam and your taid will show you round the farm whilst Miss Glenys and I prepare the meal.’ She smiled kindly at Jimmy and Mo. ‘Give us thirty minutes and the food will be on the table.’
Chapter 12
MRS GRIFFITHS SHUT the door firmly and turned to her guest. ‘You mustn’t mind my son-in-law; he obviously adores those children and is deeply ashamed that it was a total stranger – yourself – who helped them when they were in need. He hasn’t been here long, but he’s been a tower of strength in that time. Even though he was worried sick that harm might come to Jimmy and Maureen he did everything he could to make our life easier. What’s more, he promised he would stay here and work to bring Weathercock Farm back to the condition it was in when he took our Grace away. He’s no farmer, but he put his mind to learning our ways and how he could be most useful, and if he left tomorrow we would miss him sorely. Years ago he was impetuous and hot-tempered, but he’s learning to control himself. Unfortunately, he may find it harder to overcome his tendency to jealousy. He has been both rude and ungrateful to you but believe me, give him a few hours to think over his behaviour and he’ll be apologising and begging for forgiveness.’ She went to the pantry and came back with some rashers of bacon. ‘I’ll deal with this whilst you lay the table; you’ll find cutlery in the dresser drawer and crockery on the dresser itself.’ She walked over to the window and peered out into the farmyard. ‘It’ll be a full moon tonight,’ she remarked conversationally. ‘At this time of year that usually means a hard frost. Now tell me, Miss Trent, just how do you intend to trace your family? Trent isn’t a Welsh name, so there must be another reason that makes you think you might find them in Wales.’