by Nancy Revell
‘Aye, well,’ Arthur said, getting straight to the point, ‘that’s why I’m here. See if I can help. Do yer fancy a walk along the river?’ He looked across at Jack’s sandwiches partially unwrapped on his desk. ‘Bring yer bait along and we’ll eat it by the quayside.’
Jack looked at the man called Arthur. He wished he could remember him; he seemed like a man who knew what was what.
‘Sounds good to me,’ Jack said, turning and grabbing his lunch, and then his jacket from the back of the door.
Within five minutes they were walking along the edge of the Wear, heading towards the north dock that was just on the cusp of the mouth of the river.
‘So,’ Jack said, ‘when did we first got to know each other?’
He looked at the old man and felt the same familiarity with him as he was beginning to feel about the place he had lived and worked in all of his life. As if there was a whole batch of memories just lying out of his reach, but if he could just drag them forward a little, they’d be within snatching distance.
Arthur suggested they sit by the quayside. ‘One of my favourite views,’ he said. ‘Actually, this was where me and you used to come to eat our lunch when you were working as a plater.’
Arthur eased his old body down so that he was sitting on the side of the quayside, his long lanky legs dangling over the side. He laughed. ‘Sitting down is easier than getting up, so you might have to give us a hand when it’s time to go.’
Jack looked at Arthur and for a moment an image flashed across his mind of a middle-aged man with a thick mop of brown hair wearing a cumbersome, dark green canvas body suit, and huge lead boots.
‘Aye,’ Arthur said, looking out at the south pier and then up at the large grey barrage balloon that was looming above them like a heavy storm cloud. ‘It feels like it’s been a long life.’
Arthur looked at Jack, who was staring intently at him, much like he used to as a young lad, and he began to talk. He started by telling Jack how he had actually seen him on his first day at the yard, standing in front of the head foreman, asking to be taken on as an apprentice.
As Arthur spoke another image darted across Jack’s consciousness. This time the middle-aged man was standing on the diver’s pontoon being helped out of his huge 12-bolt copper helmet by two smaller men wearing dungarees, rolled-up cigarettes dangling from their mouths.
As Arthur chatted on, Jack listened, unaware of everything around him – the slight wind coming in from the North Sea, the bitter cold, the usual incessant squawks of the seagulls above.
‘Aye, you were a determined little bugger,’ Arthur smiled at the remembrance. ‘I remember asking you if you had taken up residence at the yard, as yer were always there. Working every hour God sent.’
‘What about my mam and dad?’ Jack asked, captivated by Arthur’s story. His story.
Arthur chose his words carefully, but reading in between the lines it would seem that Jack’s parents had been glad to see the back of him; his da a big drinker who spent most of his time in the taverns lining the south dock; his mother trying her best to bring up her brood of children that was added to each year. Jack asked Arthur what had happened to his many brothers and sisters, but he didn’t know.
‘It was like the yard became yer home,’ Arthur said, thoughtfully. ‘Yer never liked to leave it.’
Arthur related how Jack used to come and watch the divers whenever he had a break and that was how they had become friendly. He described his wife Flo, and told him briefly how their daughter had killed herself after her husband had died in the First World War, and that Jack used to come round for his tea and kick an old leather football around with Tommy.
‘Sounds like I spent a lot of time with you all?’ Jack asked. He was curious as Miriam had not mentioned anything about Arthur or his closeness to him and his family.
Arthur nodded. ‘Aye, yer did that.’ Arthur chuckled. ‘I used to joke that yer were like part of the furniture. Flo loved having yer there, though, loved having someone else to fuss over.’
Arthur was quiet for a moment as he held on to the image of Flo bustling about the kitchen, cooking and chatting, or singing along to some new tune she’d heard on the wireless.
‘And Miriam?’ Jack asked tentatively. ‘Did you know Miriam?’ It seemed strange to be asking about his wife, felt almost a little disloyal, but the question was out before he could stop it.
‘Aye, Miriam,’ Arthur said. He paused for a moment. Jack waited. ‘Miriam,’ Arthur repeated. ‘Well, I’m sure you know this already, but yer met Miriam through Thompson’s. She’d come with her da, ya know, old Mr Havelock.’ There was another pause. ‘Well,’ Arthur continued, ‘you and Miriam courted, and got married. Just like yer do at that age.’
Jack looked at Arthur and felt he was holding something back.
‘I dinnit want ta overload yer with information,’ Arthur said, a little uncomfortably.
Jack felt a stab of panic, as though the old man was thinking about giving him something precious but wasn’t sure whether he should or not.
‘I want to be overloaded,’ Jack said. ‘Go on.’ It was more a plea than a request.
‘Well,’ Arthur said, starting to haul himself back up on to his feet. Jack jumped up and gave the old man a hand. ‘There was someone else before Miriam came along,’ Arthur puffed as he straightened his tall frame.
‘Who?’ Jack sensed his heart beating faster. The pair of them were now walking back to Crown’s as it was only a few minutes before the end of the lunch break.
‘A young woman called Gloria, although … of course … she’s not so young now,’ Arthur said. He looked at Jack, who had stopped in his tracks.
‘Gloria?’ Jack sounded shocked. ‘One of the women working at Thompson’s – one of the women welders?’
‘Aye, that’s the one,’ Arthur said, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘She’s been working at Thompson’s for well over a year now. Was one of the first women to be drafted into the yards.’
Just then the klaxon bellowed out. Jack panicked. They were out of time.
‘Bloody hell,’ Jack said, ‘I can’t believe how fast that hour’s just gone.’
Arthur sensed Jack was troubled. That he wanted – needed – to hear more.
‘I tell you what,’ Arthur said. ‘I know you’ll probably be working tomorrow, but if you can get an hour off in the morning, we could have a cup of tea and some breakfast together.’
Jack couldn’t agree fast enough. ‘Definitely,’ he said.
‘Grand,’ Arthur said, ‘I know you won’t remember, but me and you would often pop into a little café just up from the south dock on High Street East. It’s called Vera’s. It’s a canny place – even if the old woman that owns it isn’t exactly the most hospitable. See you there around nine?’
‘See you then,’ Jack said, feeling happy for the first time in a long while. ‘But the bacon baps are on me!’ he shouted as he hurried back to the yard.
Arthur felt a jolt. That was what they used to always get – bacon baps and two mugs of hot steaming tea.
He knew it!
Jack’s memory was there. It just needed coaxing out.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
‘I don’t bloody believe it!’ Vinnie announced as he took his key out of the front door and stepped over the threshold to the flat that was Sarah’s, but which he now treated like his own.
‘I don’t bloody believe it!’ Vinnie repeated, with more volume. Not that Sarah could have failed to hear his lament in the first place. The neighbours two doors down would have easily caught every word if they were in.
Sarah stood by the counter in her little kitchen, rustling up something to eat for their tea. She wasn’t the best, or most enthusiastic cook in the world. Too much like hard work. Her attitude was: she did her day at the factory, why should she then have to slave away when she got home? Not that she would ever dare express her beliefs to Vinnie – or anyone else, for that matter. Women were meant to be superhum
an these days – working like a man all day, and doing all the cooking, laundry and cleaning, as well as looking after any children they might have.
And talking about kids, she would bet her weekly wage that Vinnie’s obviously foul mood had something to do with the baby or Gloria – or both.
She took a deep breath and left the refuge of her kitchen to face Vinnie.
‘What’s up, pet? Who’s got yer goat?’ she asked, with a concerned frown, as she went to give him a kiss.
Their lips had barely touched before Vinnie was off ranting again.
‘That bloody cow has gone and organised my daughter’s christening and hasn’t had the decency to soddin’ well tell me. How dare she! I mean, for God’s sake, that’s not right, is it? I’m the bloody father after all!’ Vinnie spotted Sarah’s cigarettes on the coffee table and snatched them up, pulling one out and jabbing it into his mouth.
‘That is not the behaviour of a normal woman, is it? Makes me look a right moron! Like she’s just stomping all over me, like I’m nothing. Nobody. Doing whatever the hell she wants! Like I have no control whatsoever of my wife and child! People’ll be saying I’m a right wimp.’
Vinnie was winding himself up a treat and Sarah knew if she let him freewheel, he would be out of control in no time at all. God, it was at times like this she wondered if being with a fella was really worth it. Tonight all she wanted was to warm up the mince and onion pie she’d bought on the way home, eat it, and then get down the pub for a bit of a laugh and a few bevvies.
‘Vinnie, calm down,’ Sarah said, lighting his cigarette – at the same time taking the packet off him and shaking one out for herself.
‘Tell me … how do you know about this christening? Who told you?’ Sarah sneaked the much-needed cigarette into her mouth, lit it quickly, and blew out smoke.
‘One of the women from work knows that nosey parker, what’s-her-name … Muriel, I think she’s called – she works in the canteen over at Thompson’s. It’s a right little gossip shop over there. They know the far end of a fart––’
‘And when it is?’ Sarah interrupted.
‘Tomorrow! That’s the point! Tomorrow!’ Vinnie said, stomping into the kitchen and flinging open the cupboard doors hoping to find a bottle of beer.
‘Bloody hell, Sarah, hasn’t a bloke even got a beer to come home to after a hard day’s graft?’
Sarah bit her lip, something she seemed to have to do a lot lately. She hated herself for thinking this way, but sometimes she believed she’d been happier when she had just been Vinnie’s bit on the side. Taking another long drag on her cigarette she said calmly, ‘Why don’t we just go down the pub and have a chat about all this over a beer or two?’
Vinnie’s ill temper dissipated a little.
‘Sounds like a good plan. You got any dosh on you?’ He patted down his jacket as if he expected to feel a wad of notes bulging through his inside pocket.
Sarah grabbed her handbag, along with her gas mask, and flicked her cigarette in the ashtray.
‘Yeah, Vinnie, I’ve got enough for a couple,’ she said, trying to keep the weariness out of her voice. Another reason, she thought, why I’d be better off on my own – I’d have some more bleedin’ money!
As Sarah got her old winter coat that was hanging on a hook in the hallway, she saw the letter that had arrived for Vinnie in the post which she had put on the little shelf where she kept her keys. It looked official.
‘This arrived for you today,’ she said, picking up the white envelope and wafting it in front of Vinnie’s face like a fan. He immediately snatched it off her and tore it open.
They stood in silence as Vinnie unfolded the thick paper on which the letter had been typed. Sarah feigned a lack of interest and stood smoking her cigarette down to the butt.
Vinnie looked up and she glanced away and started checking her nails, which were chipped and in a right state.
‘You couldn’t make it up!’ He glared at Sarah, his anger now back in full swing.
‘So now I’m being divorced? Bloody hell, I was the one who was supposed to be divorcing her! She was the one who bloody chucked me out!’ Vinnie puffed out his chest. ‘Divorce papers in the same week as my daughter gets christened! Well, how’s that for bloody good timing, eh?’
Sarah noticed that his hands were trembling, and gingerly took the letter. Quickly she scanned the contents. Gloria was indeed starting divorce proceedings. From what she could see from this letter it was just a formality, saying that this was her intention and that Vinnie would be hearing from her lawyers soon – but it was the start.
Sarah thought she would have felt happy, or at least a little excited about the fact Vinnie would soon be a free man, and would therefore be able to make an honest woman out of her – but she didn’t. All this baby talk had worn her out, and was ruining what she thought was a good relationship.
‘Come on,’ she cajoled, opening the front door and tossing her cigarette outside, ‘let’s get down to the pub and chat about it there.’
Vinnie huffed and when he followed her out she shut the door behind them. ‘Makes you wonder where she’s getting all this money from – to pay for all of these fancy lawyers and christenings?’
As they hurried down the road, Sarah wrapped her woollen coat tightly around herself as the wind whipped up.
Perhaps, she thought, that’s because she’s keeping what she’s earning for herself. And no one else is getting their greedy hands on it.
When they reached the pub and Vinnie opened the door and she followed him in, she watched him strut to the bar and order their drinks. At the bar, Vinnie turned to her impatiently.
‘Well, pay the nice young gentleman behind the bar, Sar. He’s not got all day.’
Sarah had to force a smile on her face as she delved into her bag to get her purse.
Chapter Sixty
When Polly got back home after the girls’ get-together at the Admiral she was surprised to find Arthur up and sitting at the table chatting to Agnes.
‘You two look very conspiratorial?’ Polly said, dumping her gas mask and bag down on the floor, then going into the scullery to find her mum had made her a sandwich.
‘Ah, thanks, Ma. I’m starving.’ Polly grabbed the plate, came back into the kitchen, and plonked herself down at the table.
‘Nothing new there, then?’ Agnes smiled as she watched her daughter hungrily tuck into the sausage and tomato sandwich she had made with the leftover bangers and mash from tea.
‘Are you sure you’re all right with having everyone back here tomorrow?’ Polly asked, wiping her mouth and pulling over the teapot so she could pour herself a cup.
‘Of course I am,’ Agnes said, ‘I don’t have to do anything. I don’t even have to bake – thanks to Dorothy and Angie.’
‘I’m guessing they’re bringing the cake over first thing?’ Polly asked as she took a big slurp of tepid tea.
Agnes nodded. ‘It’ll be nice to just enjoy the ceremony, and then for everyone to come back here. All very civilised.’
‘Let’s hope so. As long as Vinnie doesn’t show his ugly mug, everything’ll be fine,’ Polly said, thinking about the women’s chat in the Admiral and how the conversation had turned to Vinnie. Gloria was doing a convincing job of being a strong, self-sufficient woman – as well as hiding the heartache she must be feeling about Jack – but she had admitted that she was worried Vinnie would get wind of the christening. It was why she had organised it at such short notice.
‘Come to think of it, Hope getting baptised at St Ignatius will actually be like a rerun of the day of her birth – with her first stop being the church, and her second here.’ Polly took another bite of her sandwich.
‘God willing, this time without the added trauma of an air raid,’ Agnes added, thinking of how fraught she had felt that day in August while they had waited for the air raid to be over, knowing that the Luftwaffe had bombed the north side of the river where Polly was working.
Her t
houghts were broken by Arthur’s croaky voice asking, ‘Do you think Gloria would mind if I brought a friend along to the christening? I don’t know if yer have to have formal invites to these occasions?’
Agnes was just about to ask Arthur who it was that he was going to bring to the church, when Polly piped up, ‘Of course she wouldn’t mind,’ then suddenly jumped up.
‘Oh goodness, how could I forget? I got a letter from Tommy today. He’s started to send them to the yard to see if they get here any quicker.’ Polly leant down to get her haversack and scrabbled around, before pulling out the letter. She pushed her plate of sandwiches away – all her thoughts and attention now on the words of her betrothed.
Arthur looked at his grandson’s fiancée and felt happy. When he had left Jack today he’d felt a great sense of relief. He had completed a task that he had been quite anxious about doing, but having done it, felt it had given him a lift. And even more so, as it had gone so well. Better than he’d expected.
What better way to end the day than by hearing about his beloved grandson.
On the other side of town the bell for last orders had just gone and Vinnie was at the bar with Sarah, trying to catch the attention of the barmaid.
Sarah had enjoyed the evening chatting away to their friends, but now she and Vinnie were on their own again and the conversation had steered back to the same old, same old: Gloria. Baby Hope. The christening. And now the divorce.
Vinnie had started to go on and on about how he should be the one divorcing her … how he didn’t even get a say about the bab’s name … how he hadn’t even been told about the soddin’ christening …
‘Bloody hell, she’s my flesh and blood!’ Vinnie was working himself up into another rant.
‘Flesh and blood!’ Change the sodding record! Sarah wanted to scream her thoughts but knew better. For God’s sake, this baby was doing her nut in. Why couldn’t Vinnie just let Gloria get on with it? Sarah knew what she would do if she was Vinnie – and that would be to keep her trap shut.
Was Vinnie thick, or what? Gloria would be round soon enough when she needed some dosh for the baby, or wanted shot of it for a few hours.