Changing Times

by Jack Sheffield

  In the corner of the market square Ruby Smith and her mother, Agnes, were in the queue outside Santa’s grotto along with Racquel, Duggie and Sharon, plus Natasha in her pushchair. Andy had gone off with his friends to look at a stall selling Matchbox toy cars.

  ‘Ronnie told me what ’e wanted f’Christmas,’ said Agnes.

  ‘What were that, Mam?’

  ‘A Brylcreem dispenser f’nine bob. Ah told ’im t’tek a runnin’ jump.’

  ‘Ah’m not s’prised,’ said Ruby. She picked up Sharon. ‘Now it won’t be long afore y’see Santa, and remember t’be p’lite.’

  Inside the grotto, Roland was struggling. There was too much to remember.

  Tobias Fawnswater was unhappy. ‘Santa, last year I asked for a toy train but I think you forgot.’

  ‘Santa can’t remember every request, darling,’ said Mrs Fawnswater.

  Too true, thought Roland.

  Each child had told him their name, but a couple of questions later he couldn’t bring it to mind. It was so frustrating.

  ‘Perhaps Santa will bring you one this year,’ said Mrs Fawnswater, giving Roland a firm nod.

  ‘Yes, I think I’ve got one in my toy cupboard,’ said Santa with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

  An unconvinced Tobias left, shaking his head as he collected his tube of fruit pastilles from sixteen-year-old Lizzie Buttershaw dressed in an elf costume.

  The next customer was Mrs Flathers with her daughter, Margery, who had just passed her sixth birthday. The little girl opened up with an unpredictable question.

  ‘Santa, please can you bring a present for my daddy?’

  Roland looked up hesitantly at Mrs Flathers, who just shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Well, I shall have a look in my sack when I get to your house,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, Santa.’

  ‘So, what does your daddy like?’

  Margery thought hard. Suddenly her face lit up. ‘Cockporn.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Cockporn, Santa. He loves it.’

  Mrs Flathers blushed. ‘I think she means popcorn, Santa.’

  That’s a relief, thought Roland.

  Finally it was Ruby’s turn. The family crowded into the little hut and Ruby lifted Natasha out of her pushchair.

  ‘What a lovely little girl,’ said Santa. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Natasha, Santa.’

  ‘She’s jus’ like a light bulb is our Natasha,’ said Racquel.

  ‘A light bulb?’

  ‘Yes, Santa,’ explained Racquel, ‘’cause when she smiles she lights up our ’ouse.’

  ‘Isn’t that wonderful,’ said Roland. ‘And what’s your name?’

  ‘I’m Racquel.’

  ‘And what would you like for Christmas?’

  Racquel answered with confidence. ‘Please could ah ’ave a roll o’ Sellotape, some coloured pencils an’ a sketch pad. Them’s easy ones, Santa, but there’s a ’ard one.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ asked a surprised Roland.

  Racquel recalled a tearful visit to the cinema to see a Walt Disney classic. ‘Can y’mek Bambi’s mother come alive again?’

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ mumbled Roland. Train sets and dolls were fine, but resurrection was definitely beyond his job description.

  Duggie decided to share a problem. ‘Ah’m Duggie, Santa, an’ it’s a pity you ’ave t’be good f’Christmas ’cause it’s ’ard bein’ good … an’ there’s summat else.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Can y’not give me stuff wi’ no batt’ries.’

  It was at this point Roland sighed and reckoned he was not cut out for this job.

  That evening Ruby and her family sat down to watch Doctor Who and the first episode of a new seven-part serial. William Hartnell as the time-travelling doctor was about to do battle with some scary machines known as ‘the Daleks’. They trundled around on wheels and seemed keen to annihilate the population of the Earth. Duggie was unimpressed. ‘Bet they can’t climb upstairs, Mam,’ he said in disdain. ‘Flash Gordon would’ve made mincemeat out of ’em.’

  On Sunday morning the church bells were ringing and families were hurrying up the Morton road for the Crib Service. The sky was powder blue as Lily walked through the lychgate and up the path to the church entrance.

  As she passed through the Norman doorway, bright light illuminated the stained glass in the East window and lit up the Victorian altar rail. The church filled quickly and children wearing tea-towel headdresses and curtain cloaks were rehearsing their lines for the performance of their Nativity play. It was part of the fabric of a Ragley Christmas. Anne and a group of mothers were dressing shepherds, kings and angels, and Lily went over to help.

  Elsie Crapper launched into ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ on the organ and the children performed their timeless story. After completing his role as Fifth Shepherd, Duggie Smith returned to his pew and sat down between Ruby and Agnes. Joseph asked the congregation to take a few quiet moments to pray for a loved one.

  Duggie, head bowed and hands together, suddenly started speaking in a loud voice.

  ‘What y’doin’?’ whispered Ruby.

  ‘Ah’m prayin’.’

  ‘Who to?’

  ‘T’God.’

  ‘Well shurrup, God’s not deaf.’

  ‘Ah know,’ said Duggie, ‘but m’gran is, an’ ah’m prayin’ she buys me a Meccano Elektrikit – wi’ batt’ries o’ course.’

  It was mid-morning on Christmas Eve and in Laurel Cottage Lily had taken down her birthday cards from the mantelpiece and replaced them with family Christmas cards. She wiped the dust from the framed wedding photograph of her parents, Florence and Arthur Briggs.

  This morning Lily was wearing an old cardigan that her mother had knitted for her. While there were bitter memories of the burden Florence had placed on the shoulders of the young Lily, she felt it was appropriate to wear it in her memory. The pattern of pretty flowers on the sleeves was faded with age now. As she put the birthday cards on a shelf behind the drop-down lid of her bureau, she recalled Freddie as a small boy and how he had always loved to blow out the birthday candles and make a wish. She smiled at the memory.

  Those days had gone, but the images were still sharp in her mind.

  Meanwhile, on Ragley High Street it was the busiest morning of the year and Vera was in Piercy’s butcher’s shop collecting her turkey.

  ‘Thank you, Thomas,’ she said.

  Vera always called the corpulent village butcher ‘Thomas’. After all, that was the name he was given when he was christened. She was not in favour of abbreviations. They seemed too flippant and careless. In fact, she did wonder why ‘abbreviation’ was such a long word.

  Vera had spent some time that morning wrapping Joseph’s present. Last week she had gone into York and purchased a large and very loud alarm clock. She thought it would improve his timekeeping. When she placed it under the Christmas tree in the corner of the lounge in the vicarage she saw a clumsily wrapped cardboard box, her present from Joseph, and she wondered what it might be.

  Joseph had spent the princely sum of £5 on a Queen Anne yellow rose coffee set. He thought it would appeal to Vera’s love of delicate crockery and provide more opportunities to drink coffee rather than tea. Wrapping gifts was not his forte, but he had been brought up to believe it is the thought that counts.

  In the Coffee Shop the Beatles’ Christmas number one, ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’, was playing on the bright red-and-chrome jukebox. The teenagers of the village drank their frothy coffee and hummed along.

  Nora had taken over Doris Clutterbuck’s Tea Rooms in 1957 and transformed them into Nora’s Coffee Shop. Her father, Aloysius Pratt, had provided the funds and it had proved a great success. Over the last six years it had become the most popular meeting place in the village, especially among the younger generation. Apart from drinking coffee, they enjoyed listening to the non-stop music.

  Nora had
worked hard on her Christmas decorations this year. They included a ‘kissing ring’ hung above the counter in anticipation and no little expectation. She had wrapped the circular frame of an old lampshade with blue, green and silver tinsel and attached a few shiny baubles. A sprig of mistletoe had been added for good measure. She looked across the counter at the young lovers and wished it would be her turn one day.

  Meanwhile, outside the Hardware Emporium Nora’s brother, Timothy Pratt, was rearranging his window display of cut-out Christmas snowmen with infinite care until they were in perfect alignment. Timothy was a pernickety soul. His father had told him, ‘Success is in the detail,’ and he had never forgotten.

  Back in Laurel Cottage, Freddie was looking for a Christmas card to give to the McConnell family. He had been invited to their home for tea. Tom and Lily had arranged to collect him at eleven o’clock to join them for Midnight Mass at St Mary’s Church.

  He looked around the lounge. ‘Tom, is there a spare Christmas card anywhere?’ he called. ‘It’s for Rose’s mum and dad.’

  Tom was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the Christmas TVTimes. One of his favourite films, Tom Brown’s Schooldays, was on on Boxing Day afternoon and he circled it with a pencil.

  ‘Not sure,’ he murmured. ‘I think I saw Lily putting some cards in her bureau. Maybe have a look there.’

  Freddie wasn’t sure. The bureau was usually out of bounds … but needs must. He opened the drop-down lid and saw a pile of cards, but they were birthday cards. He closed it and tried the left-hand drawer. It was locked. Then he tried the right-hand drawer. To his surprise, it opened.

  There were no Christmas cards in there, just stacks of letters wrapped in rubber bands, plus a few trinkets. He was about to close the drawer when something caught his eye. It was the edge of a photograph sticking out of an envelope. Curious, he eased it out a little further. It was a group of six men, farm workers by the look of them, leaning against a fence outside an old barn. Behind them, a harvest field stretched out into the distance.

  Then he looked more closely. One of the men appeared to be him … or at least someone who looked very much like him. He wondered if he had a distant cousin.

  ‘Any luck?’ asked Tom from the kitchen.

  Freddie, puzzled, shut the drawer quickly. ‘No,’ he said. ‘None here.’

  ‘Just remembered,’ said Tom. ‘There are a few spare ones upstairs on our dressing table. Use one of those.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Freddie.

  At seven o’clock Tom drove Freddie to the McConnells’ house. ‘Enjoy your evening,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Freddie. ‘See you later.’ He was excited. Spending an evening with the girl of his dreams was his idea of the perfect Christmas Eve.

  Brian and Mary McConnell were generous hosts. They had grown to have a high opinion of this polite young man, who clearly cared for their daughter. With this in mind, they left them alone for a while to settle on the sofa in the lounge in front of a crackling log fire and enjoy watching television.

  ‘We’ll be back in an hour,’ said Brian. He glanced at the screen. ‘This programme isn’t for us,’ he added with a grin. He walked out to the kitchen and left them to the ITV pop programme Beat City featuring Gerry and the Pacemakers and Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. It was a lively show but Freddie didn’t see much of it. He was in heaven … kissing Rose.

  At ten o’clock Brian and Mary came into the lounge to watch The Good Old Days. The distinguished chairman, Leonard Sachs, introduced a variety of acts including Frankie Vaughan. Freddie was on his best behaviour and Rose ignored her mother’s perceptive glances.

  The doorbell rang and Tom and Lily arrived. After a welcome glass of mulled wine, they left in two cars and parked outside St Mary’s Church, where Archibald Pike and his bell-ringers were calling on the villagers to join together for the special service that heralded Christmas Day.

  Snowflakes pattered against the giant door of St Mary’s Church as a stream of people walked in. Regardless of the late hour, this was a popular service and soon all the pews were filled. The ledges on the stone pillars had been decorated with holly, bright with red berries, and, on the altar, candles flickered.

  Elsie Crapper was playing ‘Away in a Manger’ and then, at half past eleven, the bells stopped ringing and quiet descended on the congregation. The choir sang ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ and gradually the church was filled with music. It was a special time for Lily. She had grown to love a Yorkshire Christmas and this was one she would never forget.

  It was also a poignant time for Roland and Ethel Heckingbottom.

  Earlier in the day Roland had knocked on the door of his neighbour, Gabriel Book. He had carefully parcelled up his Santa suit in brown paper and tied it neatly with string.

  ‘Hello, Roland, what a nice surprise,’ said Gabriel. ‘Come in and have a festive drink.’

  ‘That’s kind, Gabriel,’ said Roland, ‘but I’ve got a lot on.’

  Gabriel looked inquisitively at the parcel.

  Roland handed it over. ‘I’d like you to to have this,’ he said. ‘It’s my Santa suit. I’m afraid I didn’t do a good job in the Rotary grotto. I thought you might like to give it a go.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Gabriel. ‘Look, just come in for a short while and tell me about it.’

  Roland sighed. ‘Very well.’

  It was an hour later that he left. Gabriel had been a good listener. He was sad for his friend. Roland clearly had a problem but he didn’t fully understand what could be done about it.

  That evening Roland sat down with his wife and held her hand.

  ‘Ethel, I’ve passed on the Father Christmas outfit to Gabriel. He said he would have a word with the Rotary Committee.’

  ‘Couldn’t you do that?’

  ‘I could … but I don’t want to.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I couldn’t explain the real reason without feeling embarrassed.’

  ‘I see,’ said Ethel.

  ‘I keep forgetting things and it’s getting worse.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Let’s have a cup of tea and the last of the mince pies.’

  By their fireside they shared the final hours of Christmas Eve.

  ‘Have one of your Christmas cigars,’ said Ethel. ‘That will cheer you up.’ She had bought a drum of twenty-five Castella cigars for £1.17 from the General Stores.

  Later that evening Ethel watched anxiously as her husband puffed on his cigar. Something had happened to him and she didn’t know what it was. As Roland stared vacantly at the flickering flames, she wondered what the future held for them. It would be twenty years later, long after Roland had passed away, that Ethel heard of a man called Alzheimer and, in her fading years, she began to understand what had happened to her dear husband.

  Back in Laurel Cottage, Tom was locking the doors before going upstairs to bed. The dying embers in the fireplace were glowing red and the candles on the mantelpiece were burning low.

  A tired Freddie had gone to bed and Tom had prepared two steaming mugs of cocoa. Lily was sitting at her bureau. After Tom went upstairs she was going to put his present under the tree. She had purchased an Ingersoll wristwatch for £3.10 and knew Tom would like it. It was wrapped in red tissue paper and hidden away at the back of one of the drawers.

  She took out her keys from her handbag, but to her surprise she noticed the right-hand drawer was already unlocked and wondered when that could have happened. She looked down anxiously at her collection of letters. The most recent one wasn’t where she had left it. It was the one with the old photograph.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ said Tom, patting the space on the sofa next to him. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  Lily was frowning.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Have you been in my bureau by any chance?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘No, but Freddie was looking for a Christmas card earlier tod
ay.’

  Lily’s face went white.

  Chapter Nine

  The Butterfly Effect

  It was New Year’s Eve and, after a heavy snowfall, the land was silent and still. It was the time of the long nights and a bitter wind blew snowflakes against the bedroom window of Laurel Cottage. All seemed calm once again in Lily’s life. Christmas week had passed without incident after the concern that Freddie may have come across something that was for her eyes only. The drawer of her bureau was now firmly locked.

  While the creatures of the countryside sought refuge, Tom Feather was enjoying a cup of tea in bed and a gentle start to the day. He had a collection of novels in a small cupboard next to the bed. Tom had been a fan of science fiction since he was a boy and was reading Ray Bradbury’s 1952 short story ‘A Sound of Thunder’. This was his private escapism from a demanding job and he was enjoying Bradbury’s concept of time travel. In particular, he was intrigued by the idea that a single butterfly could eventually have a far-reaching effect on future events.

  A simple act could change the course of history.

  In Laurel Cottage a ‘butterfly effect’ was about to occur. It had begun quite simply, with an unlocked drawer and a photograph. As he relaxed with his book, Tom was unaware that before the dawn of the new year the lives of Lily and Freddie were going to change.

  Lily was in the kitchen stirring a pan of porridge. A warming breakfast for Tom and Freddie was ideal on a freezing morning such as this. She thought back over the past week. Her brother, George, had been granted two days’ leave from his duties in Ireland and had arrived on the morning of Christmas Day. It had been a happy family reunion and they had caught up on all his news. They had enjoyed a Christmas dinner together and then settled down in front of the television to watch Cliff Richard and the Shadows perform on Christmas Swingtime, followed by a friendly but fiercely competitive game of Monopoly.

  Then it was time for cold turkey sandwiches and pickled onions while they listened to a Christmas message from Dr Coggan, the Archbishop of York. Later, they relaxed with a slice of Christmas cake, topped with a sliver of Wensleydale cheese, and a mug of sweet tea while they watched the Dickens’ classic Mr Pickwick, with Arthur Lowe playing the starring role.