A Family Christmas

by Katie Flynn

  Nain looked up quickly, her butter knife extended, and said one word: ‘Sam?’

  Glenys nodded shyly. ‘Yes. He’s . . .’

  ‘He’s my father,’ Mo said conversationally. ‘He likes you ever so much. One day when he’d been to the shops in Ruthin asking if anyone had seen you, only nobody had, he cried. He pretended the wind had made his eyes water but Jimmy and me knew he’d cried. And after that he said there was no point in searching for you, Auntie Glenys, because he said your letters were postmarked Newcastle upon Tyne, and that’s so many miles away, you wouldn’t believe.’

  ‘Oh, darling Mo, don’t tell me any more,’ Glenys said, tears trickling down her own cheeks. ‘But I’m back now, and though I shall have to return to my camp at the end of the week I’ll try to get back to Weathercock whenever I have a spot of leave.’ She turned to the older woman. ‘Can you put up with me for just a few nights, Nain? I’ll be really good and help in any way you name. And I’ll start by helping you to butter those scones . . .’

  But on these words the back door burst open and Jimmy and Taid, and a tall dark-haired girl in Land Army overalls, came into the room.

  Glenys went straight across to the old man and gave him a hug, then flushed at her own daring. Taid had always been shy with her; now that she thought about it they had never even shaken hands, but now he returned her embrace with delight. ‘So you have come back to us. I’m glad,’ he said simply. ‘But you’ve missed our Sam.’

  The glance Nain shot at him was full of warning. ‘It’s all right, Gethin; she’s seen him,’ she said, and turned to the girl who had just entered the room. ‘Sally my dear, this is Glenys Trent, who had your job until she went and joined the ATS. Glenys, this is Sally Probert, our much-valued Land Girl. And here’s Jimmy. You’re lucky to catch him, because he’s got a berth aboard one of the ships bringing goods across the Atlantic, and has to return to it at the end of the week.’

  The two girls shook hands, but Jimmy was so overcome to find Glenys present that he could do little but grab her hand and tell her in a breaking voice how much he had missed her.

  Glenys smiled at him. ‘Oh, Jimmy, it’s so good to see you! If I’d met you anywhere but here, though, I don’t believe I would have recognised you. You’re taller than I am now and a good deal heftier! In fact I’m surprised you haven’t been called up.’

  Jimmy looked gratified. ‘I can’t join the Royal Navy until I’m a bit older, but for the time being I’m very happy in the merchant fleet,’ he admitted. ‘At least I’m doing something for the war effort. But oh, Auntie Glenys, it’s so good to see you!’

  It was hard, parting from the family and the farm, but Glenys had no intention of getting into trouble through overstaying her leave. Mo and Jimmy insisted on accompanying her to the station, but it was not until Glenys had climbed aboard the train and got herself a corner seat that Jimmy voiced what was probably on his sister’s mind as well as his own. ‘Glenys, you do know our dad has been desperate unhappy ever since you ran away?’ he said, his voice a growl one moment, a squeak the next. ‘Have you and he made friends again?’

  There was a short pause whilst Glenys felt her face gradually getting hot. She glanced round apprehensively; the train was full of service people saying goodbye to their own friends and families, so with Jimmy’s eyes and Mo’s fixed upon her she gave an embarrassed little nod. ‘Yes, you could say that,’ she admitted. ‘But your dad was about to go aboard his ship and I couldn’t keep Jane waiting, so . . .’

  Mo gave a squeak of excitement. ‘Next time you come home perhaps Dad will be back from wherever it is he’s gone,’ she said excitedly. ‘Did he give you a cuddle? Jimmy says people who cuddle aren’t friends, they’re in looove; is that true?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Glenys said bluntly, just as the guard blew his whistle and the train began to move.

  ‘Jimmy, Jimmy, gimme a lift!’ Mo shrieked. ‘I want to give Glenys a goodbye kiss.’

  But she was too late. The train steamed out of the station whilst Jimmy was still struggling to lift his sister up – he was not the only one who had put on weight – so Glenys simply waved and waved and shouted that she would be sure to come back to the farm whenever she could. Then she collapsed into her seat and settled down to watch the passing scene as the train steamed on towards Liverpool.

  Cyril – now Ernie – climbed into his bunk and lay there unmoving for a moment, waiting for the warmth of the Navy blankets to overcome the terrible cold. As it did so, he reflected sourly that he had made the worst decision of his life when he had taken on another man’s identity.

  Oh, it had seemed a good idea at the time – it was a good idea – it was just that ever since becoming Ernie Beaver he had had the most appalling luck. For instance, no sooner had he returned to sea after the meeting with his mother than HMS Pinewood had been sent up to the north of Scotland and then, laden with ammunition, food and God knew what beside, to the Russian port of Murmansk.

  And by God, it was cold! If he had had time to pity anyone but himself he would have pitied the pathetic creatures, many of them women, who unloaded the Pinewood, who despite the snow, gales and general appalling weather were clad in rags, and so thin and gaunt that many members of the Pinewood‘s crew saved a part of their own rations to throw down to the skeletal workers on the quayside below.

  Not that the dockers got a chance to snatch up the bounty descending from above; the armed guards saw to that. Cyril had seen the guards hitting the women with their rifle butts and then ignoring them, leaving them unconscious on the frozen ground for their companions to take away to God alone knew what horrible igloo or whatever their homes were called.

  But much of this passed Cyril by. He had hoped for a posting to some delectable spot in the Mediterranean, but they were to be on the Russian run until the war ended, he supposed viciously; just his luck! Only the other day he had received a letter from his mother telling him that his Auntie Letty had a friend who cleaned a couple of the big houses near Princes Park, and had been willing to nose out what she could about the Rathbones to oblige Letty’s sister. The old lady, it seemed, had died in one of the air raids during what was now being spoken of as the Liverpool Blitz, had been found on the landing by her niece without a mark on her, apparently: the doc said it were a heart attack, brung on by fright, he reckoned. Naturally Mrs Huxtable had not disclosed the nature of her interest in the affair, but Letty’s friend hadn’t mentioned any suspicion of foul play, so it looked as though Freddie Cummins hadn’t reported Cyril’s presence at the scene.

  By the time he got to this part of the letter Cyril’s anxiety was mounting: what if the house were cleared and sold before he could get back to Liverpool? But Mrs Huxtable’s next words allayed his fears. The old lady’s niece is staying on in the house – old Mrs Rathbone left it to her in her will, they say, and no one can’t force her out, not even if she’s daft as a brush, which by all accounts she is. Come home soon, son.

  But Cyril couldn’t go home, or not yet, at least. Lying in his bunk as the feeling gradually returned to his fingers and toes, he started to plan how he would get his hands on the dressing table, and make himself master of that bulging jewellery box . . .

  Chapter 20

  August 1946

  IT WAS A glorious August day and Glenys, looking around her, felt that she was on top of the world. The war was over and Sam had been demobbed at last; he had served continuously in the Mediterranean since their one brief wartime meeting, so Glenys had not seen him for five years.

  She and Jane, however, had been fortunate enough to stay together for a good deal of the conflict, but then the postings had come thick and fast. Glenys had spent time in Northern Ireland, gaining in experience and accuracy as she grew accustomed to uprooting herself, piling into a lorry or on to a train, and taking over some site where searchlights and ack-acks were needed, for she was now a lance bombardier and wore her white lanyard with pride. She had spent her leaves at Weathercock Farm when possibl
e and worried about the volume of hard work demanded of the old people, but despite her fears Nain, Taid and even Mo seemed to take everything in their stride.

  But now Sam and Glenys were to be married at long last. Glenys herself had been demobbed only a week earlier, and had hurried back to Weathercock Farm and into Sam’s waiting arms.

  Nain and Taid had taken it for granted that after the wedding the happy couple would live with them, but Sam, though he thanked them sincerely, said that he had put down a deposit on a farm cottage less than a mile from the Griffiths property. Nain said sadly that she would miss them, but Taid thought it was for the best.

  ‘We’ll have Mo to stay for a couple of weeks whilst you settle in, but if you’re thinking of going shopping in Liverpool I think you should take her with you. Since VE Day last year I’ve noticed that she’s mentioned her old fear of the Huxtables more than once, and if Solomon Court’s been bombed, which is more than likely, it might convince her that they’re out of her life for good,’ Taid suggested.

  Glenys mentioned the idea to Sam a couple of days later as the two of them stood in the cottage, surveying the whitewashed walls and brick floor with an owner’s pride, and he agreed at once. ‘We’ll go on Saturday. It’s our first home and we’ll enjoy furnishing it and setting out our things.’

  Accordingly, they accompanied Mo on a tour of the courts and markets in the area around Scotland Road. She shed a tear when she failed to recognise her old school in the bomb site to which it had been reduced, and was upset to find the corner shop where she used to spend her pennies gone, but she cheered up at the sight of the pile of bricks and rubble which had once been her home. ‘You were right, Auntie Glenys. No one could live there any more, so the Huxtables really have gone,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t really scared; it was a long time ago and with any luck Cyril might have been killed in the war anyway, but I can stop worrying about them at all now.’

  Unfortunately, the shopping expedition itself was not quite so successful, and they returned with only a couple of Utility chairs and a small bedside cabinet. ‘The trouble is, everyone’s in the same boat,’ Glenys said wearily, dropping into a creaking wicker chair in the farmhouse kitchen and accepting the cup of tea Nain offered. ‘But we met old Mrs Ransome from Solomon Court – she recognised Mo, which is amazing after all these years – and she told us there’s going to be a grand furniture sale just outside Liverpool next weekend. Apparently someone has hired a tumbledown farmhouse with a good deal of land and the usual outbuildings, and he’s opening it up as a sort of second-hand emporium. People can take any furniture or clothing or whatnot they want to get rid of and put it up for sale, and everyone who comes in either to buy or to sell will be charged a shilling at the gate. It’s a good idea, don’t you think?’

  The family agreed, Mo saying rather bitterly that it would make a change from cleaning the cottage and adding that Mrs Ransome had said the farm would be open both on Saturday and Sunday, unless it rained.

  News of the sale had aroused interest in other quarters, too. Cyril Huxtable, demobbed and back in Liverpool, had been considerably heartened when he had walked straight into a fellow selling the Echo, someone with whom he had been on drinking terms, and the other man had stared for a moment and then looked away. Cyril had known himself unrecognised. The next day, he saw a man in the uniform of a naval rating, a man he had once known well, and the man’s eyes had slid over him without a trace of recognition, increasing Cyril’s sense that he almost was, in truth, Ernie Beaver.

  So it was with a light heart that he set out for Mrs Rathbone’s house. He would not try to enter the place in broad daylight, of course, but a little reconnaissance never did any harm, and might stand him in good stead when the time came to make his move. When he reached the house he padded softly round the side and knocked firmly on the back door. It was locked, and when he examined the nearest window he realised that the whole place was positively sealed shut. No one was going to get in without using force.

  But just as he was about to leave the property he noticed a note pinned to the front door, and as he conned it a smile spread across his unlovely countenance. The note said that the house was to be offered for sale, but that the furniture would be taken to a nearby farm where a market would be taking place the following weekend, and anyone interested might put in an offer for anything which took their fancy.

  Cyril had heard of these sales, and reflected that his luck had clearly changed at last, and for the better. He and his mother could visit the sale, find the dressing table, buy it . . . and then unlock that drawer by fair means or foul and make off with the jewellery, and no one any the wiser. After all, them jewels is naturally mine, since I’m the only feller what knows where they are, he told himself. So all in all, Cyril me laddo, you’re on to a winner, and soon Ma and meself will be in clover!

  When Saturday dawned the weather seemed set fair, and Sam, Glenys and Mo arrived at the farm in good time. They were able to buy two respectable single beds and a rather ancient brass double, but realised that it would be necessary to come back the following day with a hired van to carry their purchases home. Sam had got chatting to one of the policemen on duty at the market, who had mentioned that his brother-in-law had a small removals business in Ruthin, and they had agreed to get a van from him. Mo wondered aloud why two scuffers had come to the sale, and Sam explained that thieves as well as genuine customers frequented such places.

  As the hired van trundled along the country lanes the next day, Mo was describing the contents of their old home to Glenys. ‘Our mam had a little rosewood desk which she used when she wrote her letters and paid bills,’ she said. ‘And there was the most beautiful carpet, pale blue, scattered with pink roses. And a Welsh dresser in the kitchen, and easy chairs in the parlour, the sort with arms and high backs, and of course two of the bedrooms were furnished especially for Jimmy and me; pink for me and blue for Jimmy. Oh, and I forgot, there was a cupboard in the kitchen called a maid saver, and chairs which Mam painted white; they stood round the big kitchen table, and the china on the Welsh dresser was real pretty . . .’ But at this point Sam intervened, laughingly accusing Mo of seeing their old furniture through rose-coloured spectacles, and in a very few minutes they had arrived at the farm.

  Sam and Glenys had decided that today they would ignore the bedroom furniture and concentrate on the parlour and the kitchen. A great many of the things on sale for the former needed reupholstering, but the stuff for the kitchen could definitely be moved to the farm cottage along with the beds they had bought the previous day.

  ‘Starting from scratch is an enormous task, when you think about it,’ Sam said as they chose easy chairs. ‘Grace would have been heartbroken to know that the furniture she once chose so carefully no longer existed.’ He squeezed Glenys’s hand. ‘You two would have loved one another; you’re very alike in many ways,’ he said, unconsciously echoing Nain. He turned to his daughter, who was jumping up and down and clearly trying to get his attention. ‘What do you want, darling?’ he asked, laughing. ‘There’s bound to be a privy somewhere around, if that’s your problem. Just knock at one of the cottages and ask if you can use theirs.’

  His daughter shook her head indignantly. ‘No, Dad, it’s not that. I’ve just seen a beautiful dressing table for my room. It’s only two quid and it has two little lamps with pink shades and a big mirror. Oh, do come and see. Auntie Glenys will tell you it’s a bargain if you ask her!’

  ‘Presently,’ Glenys said as Mo bounced up to her. ‘I thought we’d take a look at some of the clothes stalls. The dress you’re wearing is very pretty, but far too small. And though I’m happy with my ATS slacks and Aertex shirt I wouldn’t say no to a cotton frock.’

  But Mo, for once, was more concerned with her bedroom furniture. ‘I’d love a dressing table all of my own. Can’t we look at it first?’

  Glenys and Sam agreed, but when they accompanied her to the seller of the bedroom furniture the object of her desire had been so
ld. ‘You must mean the one from the Rathbone house. I just sold it to a big feller with dark hair; he paid one of the lads a bob to help him carry it. You’d best hurry, ’cos I reckon if you offer him a quid more’n he paid me, he’ll jump at it. He looks the sort what’d do anything for money.’

  Glenys sighed at Mo’s entreaties but knew what she was like. If the girl had set her heart on the dressing table, she would not rest until she had searched the entire sales area for its new owner. She cast a glance at Sam, who raised his eyebrows. ‘She’s always known her own mind,’ he said ruefully. ‘You know what kids are. I’ll start loading the van whilst you and Mo go for a look.’

  Glenys nodded. She and Sam had come to an arrangement to hire the driver as well as the van, and he had agreed to transport their belongings to the cottage over the course of the next two days.

  Mo and Glenys toured almost the whole sales area without success, but when Sam appeared to say that they were nearly ready to set off with the first load, Mo jutted her lip. ‘I’ve not quite finished lookin’ for that dressing table,’ she said. ‘Can I have another ten minutes?’ Sam agreed, and Glenys said it would give her time to have a quick look at the clothes, so Mo went off to search the only part left which was the stables, with their lovely deep mangers and half-doors, similar to those at Weathercock Farm. She went straight there, going carefully from stall to stall, staring up at the names over each manger: Millie, Flossy, Black Prince. Each name board held a variety of rosettes, red, blue, yellow, green and orange, though they were now so dirty that the colours were barely discernible.