A Different Kind of Love

by Sheelagh Kelly

  For herself, well, yes it did annoy her to see her pregnant sister running around after folk who could just as easily help themselves, but then Gussie did seem to glow with happiness. Who was Beata to tell her she was misguided? No, the best way to help was as Joe had said, by financial assistance, and she would continue to do so whilst she had money left from her windfall.

  But, of course, there were other ways to help and, now that Gussie was married Beata had shouldered most of the responsibility for looking after Aunt Lizzie. Attuned to their own obligation, Lizzie’s offspring were in no way remiss, and indeed one of them was there with her now, but as they had their own families to care for and Beata had no one, it made sense for her to look after the old lady in return for board and lodgings. Though there was more genuine kindness to it than this. After her long spells in hospital as a child, she, more than anyone, knew what it was to feel lonely and isolated, thus resolving to devote her evenings to her old aunt, even though it lessened her chances of meeting anyone else.

  Gussie returned with the crockery. But she was not smiling now. Beata noticed that an odd, worried look had taken over her face. She put the cups on the table, though did not set them out. ‘Can you pour your own, I’m just off to the lavatory.’

  ‘Oh, not the farleymelow? Aren’t we posh today?’ commented Maddie, missing the other’s look of concern.

  But with their eldest sister gone for ages and apprised that something was amiss, she advised, ‘Go see what’s up, Beat.’ Without objection, Beata went out into the yard, gave a tap at the lavatory door and called softly, ‘Are you all right, Gus?’

  There came the noise of the latch being lifted and her sister appeared. The ashen cheeks streaked with tears spoke for themselves: Gussie had lost her baby.

  30

  As if losing one child were not tragedy enough, Gussie was to suffer another miscarriage the following summer. It seemed so grossly unfair to Beata that this good and loving young woman should be denied a child of her own. Her heart empathized with Augusta, knew that special kind of ache, for it was a gift that was likely to be denied her too. Alas, that did not stop the wanting. Lately she had grown very broody, but had no one on whom to lavish her maternal feelings, no one save an old lady.

  Even this relationship was eventually to be severed as Lizzie became ever more senile, and, a danger to herself, she was regrettably packed off to The Institution. Nobody called it the Union Workhouse any more, though that was what it was and the fact that the name had been changed did not make it any easier for Beata to leave her old aunt here. However, there was to be no liberation, for straightaway there was another relative clamouring for her assistance, a birth here and a death there, and for the next two years she was to find herself drifting between one relation and the next, forever at others’ beck and call.

  Determined to celebrate the King’s Silver Jubilee among her family, Beata arrived back in York in early May. Coming out of the station to catch a tram, she found that they had been put into retirement and was forced to consult a timetable in order to discover which bus would take her to Gussie’s. Waiting for an age, listening to all the complaints about how inefficient the new buses were in not stopping or, even worse, not arriving, she began to think that the grumblers were right and instead of waiting any longer she took a cab. It was much more expensive, and with long spells of unemployment her eight pound windfall had been whittled down to mere shillings, but with her swollen leg the walk would be far too painful.

  It was good to be back in the old city which, on this sunny day, seemed glad to see her too, for at the foot of the bar walls there were flowerbeds set out with different colours announcing ‘Welcome to York’.

  There was a more boisterous welcome at the Melody house. At her entry, Gussie’s younger stepchildren came running up the passageway to greet her. ‘It’s Aunty Beaty!’ Surrounded, she laughingly acknowledged each child, then dipped into her pocket to hand out pennies.

  After all the greetings had been performed, she took a wistful moment to finger the keys of her piano that had been sitting here in her long absence. It had not been lonely, Gussie told her, for the children loved to play upon it. Nevertheless, Beata wondered when she would ever be allowed to put down roots so that the piano might have a permanent abode. It was almost as much of a nomad as she. Still, she was home now and resolved to enjoy her time here.

  The Jubilee burst into life with regimental bands that came trumpeting and drumming through the flag-bedecked city to the Minster, a sight and sound that brought a tear to Beata’s eye, for it so reminded her of Father marching proudly at the head of his regiment. What would he and Mother think to the lives their children had made for themselves? But it was not a maudlin thought, and Beata was as resolved as anyone to make this a time to remember. The weekend saw a host of street parties, all visited by an overwhelming feeling of affection towards the King and Queen. Even those for whom unemployment had become a way of life seemed keen to take part and, however wretched their situation, however modest the fair, everyone entered into the spirit of the occasion. Not even a heavy and unexpected snowfall could stop them for it just as quickly melted and the Jubilee parties were to continue throughout the month of May, though some of them were perforce to be held indoors.

  But that did not apply to the Kilmaster family, upon whom the sun was to shine as if specially arranged, and even if not quite perfect with the lack of one or two of its members it was nevertheless a happy situation, with Joe, on leave from the army, being able to join his four sisters in the street entertainment.

  Cheering their brother on as he raced the other men up the decorated terraced street, flourishing Union Jacks, the sisters groaned as he was beaten into fourth place, then commiserated with him as he came to sit amongst them on the variety of dining chairs that accompanied the trestle tables.

  ‘They can’t train you very well in that army,’ teased Maddie, inserting a last spoonful of jelly into her mouth. ‘Even Mr Poulsen beat you and he’s got a double hernia.’

  Joe explained his deficiency to the children who listened. ‘I let him win. I’m saving myself for a better prize.’

  Beata studied him fondly. Auburn hair aside, he was nothing like Father in build, nor nearly so imposing. She couldn’t imagine this friendly fellow ordering anyone about. Obviously neither could his superiors, for he was still cast as private.

  ‘How long have ye been in the army now, Joe?’ asked Mick.

  ‘This is my third year.’ Joe put a cigarette in his mouth, then handed the packet to those on either side of him.

  Mick refused and lit his pipe instead. ‘You’re sticking it well.’

  ‘Ah, it’s not so bad,’ smiled Joe. Almost another four to go. He must have been mad to think he could emulate his father’s glorious career. There would be no extension of his stint with the colours. But he was not about to look a fool in admitting this.

  Dressed in a flowery frock with puffed sleeves, her hair turned to honey by the sun, a smiling Mims trotted back with the group of children who had been to collect their Jubilee mugs full of sweets. ‘Make room for a little bum.’

  Another game was in progress. At the children’s noisy behest Joe went off to participate, giving up his seat to Mims.

  Having had little chance to converse with her youngest sister, Maddie asked, ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘Somebody gave me a lift on their lorry,’ Mims whipped a red-white-and-blue cap from a ten-year-old’s head and put it on her own, then gave it back with a laugh when he objected.

  ‘And how are you going to get back?’

  Her sister’s expression showed this was not a priority. ‘Any way I can. I’ve nowt to rush for.’

  ‘Oh, don’t tell me you got the sack again? What for this time?’

  ‘Spending too much time chatting to the customers. Lend us one of your ciggies, Mad.’

  Maddie clicked her tongue but proffered the packet, taking one for herself. She studied the vivacious face wi
th its red lips. ‘There’s something different about you.’

  Mims blew an emission of smoke. ‘I shaved me eyebrows off.’

  ‘What the hell for?’ Whilst Beata shook with silent laughter, Maddie studied the harsh black crescents that replaced them.

  ‘To be like Marlene Dietrich.’

  ‘More like Groucho Marx. They’re about two miles higher than they should be.’ The artificial eyebrows lent Mims a look of permanent surprise. ‘No wonder you can’t keep a job if you do daft things like that. So what are you doing about getting another?’

  Hurt to have her appearance mocked, though not showing it, Mims shrugged, crossed one leg over the other and wiggled her suede high heel. ‘I’ve tried, but they’re gone as soon as they’re pinned on the notice board. I’m going to scout round all the pubs when I get back, just on the off chance.’

  ‘Surely you can do better than that?’

  ‘I really like being a barmaid.’ Mims tipped back her head in languorous fashion, blowing smoke at the sky. ‘You get to meet some lovely people.’

  ‘Blokes, you mean.’ Maddie’s owlish face looked faintly disapproving.

  Beata gave her distinctive throaty chuckle. ‘Eh, you looked just like Aunt Wyn then.’ She herself could see how the hugely attractive Mims was so popular amongst the men.

  This provoked offence. ‘I’m not a snob, but I can’t see as there’s much reward in pulling pints.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Mims gave a cheeky grin and winked at Beata. ‘I’ve never paid for a drink yet.’

  Maddie tutted and nipped a strand of tobacco from the tip of her tongue. ‘I meant spiritually rewarding. I might be able to get you a training position at The Retreat.’

  Mims’ expression showed she had never really thought about nursing as a career. ‘I’d have to live in York.’ Her tone was dubious.

  ‘Unless you want to commute over the Pennines every day,’ came Maddie’s sarcastic retort. ‘Excuse me for thinking you might appreciate the offer.’

  ‘I wasn’t being ungrateful.’ Jobs being as rare as hen’s teeth, Mims knew that she could not afford to refuse it. ‘But where am I going to live?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort that out. If worst comes to worst Gus’ll put you up, won’t you?’

  A child on her lap, watching the game in progress, Gussie smiled and nodded obligingly. Hands behind his back, Joe was trying to take bites from a teacake smothered in jam that was dangled from a string. Several failed attempts occurred, his face gradually being smeared with red preserve, until to a triumphant cheer from his relatives he managed to snatch a winning mouthful, and came away laughing to collect his prize, a packet of Capstan.

  Mims brightened, slowly coming round to the idea and in the end showing great enthusiasm. ‘Nurse Kilmaster – I like it!’

  Through a pall of smoke, Maddie gave her a warning nod. ‘So do I, and I want to hang on to it so don’t you dare let me down.’

  * * *

  Possessed of the same compassion for humanity as her siblings, Mims tried desperately to fill the role, continually reminding herself that at the end of this six-week slog in the classroom being treated like a dim pupil she would at least be equipped to do some good for mankind. She fought to overlook the unflattering thick black stockings and flat lace-up shoes, telling herself that the striped frock and starched apron would one day represent a badge of respect. What she could not disregard, however, was the demand that she must kow-tow, must stand to attention when Sister entered and hold the door open for her when she left the room. She had hoped that this situation would improve once she was on the wards. Now finally arrived there, she found it was even worse.

  ‘Nurse!’

  Mims grimaced as a caustic voice smote her between the shoulder blades just as she was about to pass through a doorway with a bedpan. Feigning subservience, she turned to face the starchy figure. ‘Yes, Sister?’

  ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘About two months, Sister.’

  ‘And you have still not learned the rules.’ Face haughty, the sister waited expectantly.

  Knowing what was required, Mims gritted her teeth and stepped aside, holding the bedpan with one hand and the door open with the other whilst her superior passed through.

  ‘One more warning, and you are out!’

  Just at that same instant Maddie’s rubber-soled shoes came squeaking along the corridor and in passing Sister she was embarrassed to receive a glare.

  ‘What was all that about?’ she hissed to Mims when the danger was past.

  The culprit wore a scowl of defiance. ‘She’s just told me if I don’t kiss her gluteus maximus she’ll kick me out. Well, I’ll save her the bloody bother! Get me an envelope and paper.’

  Maddie gasped. ‘You haven’t even learned how to do hospital corners and you’re throwing it in?’

  ‘I’m not putting up with that!’

  Maddie looked most offended that her sister had shown her up in such an anarchistic fashion, after she had gone to the trouble of getting her this job. ‘Aye, you’d rather be saying, “How many pints, gentlemen?”.’

  ‘It’s better than “Three bags full, Sister!”’ retorted Mims, and stalked off to write out her notice.

  * * *

  Amused at the tale of Mims’ downfall, though sad to see her go back across the Pennines, there to acquire another job as barmaid, Beata was to remain at Gussie’s house for the time being: like an ocean anemone clinging to a rock, washed back and forth by the current, grabbing whatever crumb happened to float past. Happily, amongst all the dross came a rewarding morsel. On her latest visit to town she bumped into Jack’s wife and, informed that Major Herron was in need of a temporary cook whilst Mrs Temple was ill, said that she would waste no time in applying.

  Her happiness at being instantly hired was rather marred by the discovery that Mrs Temple’s illness was serious and it could take some weeks for her to recover. But notwithstanding this the major seemed delighted to have her back, everyone else glad to see her too, though in the seven years she had been away there had been many changes and the arrival of some residents she had not met before.

  ‘Beata, allow me to introduce you to our visitor from Germany.’ Major Herron indicated the young woman who had inadvertently entered during Beata’s interview and was about to leave until the major called her back. ‘Fräulein Froitzhein is staying with us until the climate in her homeland is safer.’

  Beata thought this highly unusual after all the uncomplimentary things the major had said about the Germans, but nevertheless shook hands with the young woman, who was some three or four years her junior.

  Only later did she think to question the strange acquaintance when chatting to Jack during a lull in their work.

  Privy to the upstairs conversations, the butler explained, ‘She might be German but she’s also a Jew. That new bloke who’s in charge doesn’t like them, apparently. I think it’s getting a bit windy for the likes of her so a lot of them are getting out. I believe Mrs Fordham had much to do with bringing her over. She’s a nice young lady, not averse to coming down here and helping out.’ He chuckled to his old friend. ‘Eh, her name’s a bit of a mouthful, though, isn’t—’ He broke off as he suddenly noticed that the subject of their gossip had quietly come upon them and hovered there in the doorway listening. ‘I beg your pardon, Fräulein, I was just explaining—’

  ‘It was me being inquisitive, I’m afraid, miss.’ Beata jumped in to spare Jack’s embarrassment. ‘I do apologize.’

  ‘That is quite all right.’ The response was dignified, being delivered in immaculate English with only a trace of a foreign accent. ‘I understand your curiosity.’

  ‘But it’s not our place, Fräulein.’ The butler backed away apologetically as the telephone rang.

  The pretty, dark-haired girl directed her reply to Beata. ‘Nevertheless, you should be permitted to know why you are expected to serve me and what is going on in my country.’ She m
ade as if to get herself some tea but Beata insisted on making it and the young woman sat down to wait. Meanwhile, Jack had put the call through to the major and now returned to listen to the fräulein’s explanation. ‘I am forced to come here because I cannot continue my studies in Germany. I was to be a teacher but the Nazis are making it very difficult for people such as myself.’

  Casting a sympathetic eye, Beata stirred the pot of tea.

  ‘But much, much worse,’ Fräulein Froitzhein’s brown eyes turned moist, ‘I cannot marry the man I love because, as an Aryan, he would have to forfeit all his property. So,’ she finished her explanation with a doleful look at the servants who had been discussing her, ‘there is the answer to your speculation and now you know the way things are in Germany at the moment with a madman in charge.’

  Beata sympathized, and came forward with her tray, proffering too a note of optimism. ‘You might see him again when a new government comes in power.’

  Fräulein Froitzhein gave a pitying smile, then took the tray, thanked the cook and took it to her room, leaving Beata rather disturbed.

  Gauging her mood, Jack felt as sorry for Beata as he did for the fräulein. She had had bad luck with men, himself included, and he now sought to make amends.

  ‘Eh, did I tell you our Lucy’s coming down next week, Beat?’ Seeing her face instantly brighten, he added, ‘I’m going to ask the major if I can borrow the car and take us all out. Let me know when you’re free so I can arrange it.’

  Dismissing the young woman’s problems from her mind, Beata said this would be tremendous fun, then laughed, ‘Listen to us talking about time off and I’ve only just got here! I’d better get on before I get the sack.’

  ‘No chance of that, Beat,’ grinned Jack as he went off to perform his own duties. ‘You’re too well thought of.’