Ice Cream in Winter

by Ice Cream in Winter (retail) (epub)

  It was always Patricia who bathed, dressed and played with him. Only at the weekend would Nelda spend any time with her son, and then only to walk him out in the pram, with a proud Leonard at her side.

  But as the baby grew, and began to wriggle about on the floor, attempting new activities every day, Nelda began to warm to him and gradually, while Patricia and Leonard watched, waited and hoped, she spent more time with her son.

  * * *

  In January 1944, when Richard was eighteen-months-old, Patricia decided it was time she left.

  * * *

  For the last year of the war, Patricia lived with Mrs Francis in the farmhouse next to that of Mr Caradoc. She knew she had to find something more permanent and also get herself a job. Sally was becoming less and less interested in the work, spending hours sitting playing patience or going to one of the many whist drives organised under the ‘Holidays at Home’, scheme. She was talking of selling the shop and the business. Patricia had no prospect of buying it herself and little hope of a new owner taking on an unqualified assistant. She knew she had to find something soon. She only had somewhere to live until Mr Francis returned home and, once the war ended, there would be plenty of men looking for work and she really ought to get something while she had a choice.

  With the announcement of the end of the war in Europe and the prospect of men and women returning, Patricia was engulfed in arrangements for street parties and celebration dances at the Youth Club to welcome home previous members. The thought of finding a new occupation or permanent accomodation was pushed aside as more interesting and happier problems filled her day. She still took Richard to Mrs Francis and returned him to Nelda every evening and that arrangement seemed set to continue until the little boy started school. But he was a happy child and fitted in with what ever Patricia found to do without complaint.

  Although Mrs Drew called at Cottage Flowers for an occasional word with Sally, she never spoke to Patricia. It was through Sally that Patricia gleaned news of Roland.

  ‘Prisoner he is and there’s no knowing how soon he’ll be coming home, or what state he’ll be in once he does get here, considering some of the pictures in the paper,’ Sally told her sadly.

  ‘I expect Mrs Drew is really worried.’

  ‘Strange that. You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But she never had a moment’s worry about Roland. It was only Vanessa she fussed about. It was as if she knew she wouldn’t have her for ever. She always nursed her more, protected her more. Still, I’m sure she’ll be relieved to see him back safe and sound.’

  ‘Will he go back to teaching, I wonder?’ Patricia mused. ‘I’d have thought a change of occupation would be the norm for many men. They can’t be the same, can they? Not after what they’ve seen. And been made to do.’

  ‘Roland will settle back. Steady boy he is, always has been. It will soon be just as if he’s never been away. You’ll see.’

  Patricia thought sadly that she was very unlikely to ‘see’. Roland had made it more than clear that he wanted nothing to do with her. That kiss which had been so sweet, had been an embarrassing mistake.

  * * *

  Will Caradoc was among the first men to be demobilised, and Elizabeth and Will were married in October, 1945. With the arrival home of Mr Francis soon afterward, Patricia was apologetically reminded that she had to find new accommodation.

  A caravan in Julia’s garden solved the problem temporarily, and Mrs Francis still looked after Richard each day, delivered and collected by Patricia.

  ‘Have you thought any more about college?’ Julia asked one day as they worked in the garden. Patricia was up in the apple tree gathering the last of the apples that were too high for Julia to reach. Julia was below her, pointing out the fruit she couldn’t see from her position.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, is there a possibility of rescuing that equipment of yours one day and starting to make ice cream?’

  Julia dropped the stick with which she had been directing and stared at Patricia in surprise.

  ‘Sorry. It was cheeky of me to suggest it.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m delighted that you can actually come up with something without someone thinking of it first!’ She smiled. ‘Sorry, now I’m being cheeky, but really, Patricia my dear, it is time you began to make things happen instead of flowing with the tide, in and out, allowing it to take you where it will.’

  ‘I think selling ice cream would be a happy trade, seeing rosy-faced children coming and buying something we had made.’

  ‘D’you know, It had never occurred to me to try. I’d love to think that the business started by my Grandfather could be rekindled, here, where he began.’ She pulled the stepladder out and held out a hand for Patricia to climb down. ‘Come on, we’ll see what we can do. D’you think you could persuade that farmer of yours to let us have some off ration milk and a few eggs, so we can experiment?’

  ‘Consider it done!’ Patricia laughed, ‘but don’t you think it would be an idea to see if the machinery works first? The motors might be rusted up.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and see that Jacky Davies? He’s a mechanic, he’ll know how to get them started or perhaps find a replacement.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem very likely, but we’ll certainly try.’

  * * *

  It was a Sunday morning and quiet. Patricia cycled along Ebenezer Street and as she went past the top of Woodcutter’s Row she glanced down automatically to see if her father was working in the front garden. Not looking where she was going, she narrowly escaped bumping into Roland as he stepped out of his front gate. She wobbled and fell off into his arms. For a moment he didn’t let go.

  ‘Patricia! I didn’t expect you to be so glad to see me!’ he smiled. His face was thinner, but the blue eyes were as clear and beautiful as she remembered.

  ‘I’m sorry, I was hurrying to find – I’m glad you’re back safe.’

  ‘Thank you. How are you? Married yet?’ He took her hand and glanced to see if she wore a ring.

  ‘No time, what with working for your Auntie Sally Drew and helping Caradoc to keep Will’s job going and looking after Richard, he’s Nelda and Dad’s baby. Is your shoulder all right?’ Shyness she had never expected to feel made her burble the words out in a rush.

  ‘It’s fine. Thank you for remembering. You told me your father was married and there was a child who died. Mam wrote, she mentioned there was a new baby. Mam’s letters were the only letters I received so I’ve a very one-sided view of what’s happened since I left.’

  ‘I wanted to write, but your mother explained that you didn’t really have time to bother and—’

  ‘What? I didn’t ask her to say that! In fact I told her how much I valued your letters. She must have misunderstood. I’d have given a great deal to hear from you while I was in that prison.’

  ‘Sally told me about that. I wanted to ignore your wishes then and write to cheer you up, but I didn’t know where you were, or how to write to you. Your mother refused to give me the address, even then.’

  ‘Roland, dear, you mustn’t stand for too long, you need your rest.’ Mrs Drew called from the front door but Roland just waved and, with a hand on Patricia’s shoulder, led her to the end of the street where it was joined by Deepcut Lane.

  ‘Let’s walk and do a bit of catching up, shall we?’

  ‘Will’s home and he and Elizabeth are married. Shall we go and see them?’

  ‘Where are you living? Still at home? Are you still working at Caradoc’s farm?’

  ‘Only in my spare time. And I live in a caravan in Julia’s garden. She offered me a room,’ she added hastily, ‘but I refused. A caravan suits me fine.’

  ‘How is Julia? Are you and she still friends?’ There was an added query behind the words but Patricia failed to notice and simply answered that Julia still nagged her about some wonderful career at which she would excel and make a fortune.

  For the rest of the day they talked. Laughing at her accounts of events in the villag
e and at his light-hearted reports of what were really unpleasant experiences, they were really laughing in delight at renewing their friendship so unexpectedly. Meeting without warning had allowed the natural attraction free rein.

  After a brief visit for Roland to see Elizabeth and Will, and offer his congratulations on their marriage, they walked into the next village and ate a poor lunch of stringy cabbage with a portion of what was described as mock goose, but which was mostly potato and tasted of nothing more than sage and apples with the smallest hint of cheese.

  It was almost nine o’clock when Roland walked her back to the caravan she called home. It was only then she remembered her original mission. ‘Oh,’ she said, a hand to her mouth. ‘I was supposed to be calling on Jacky Davies. He’s a mechanic you see, and Julia and I – well, we can tell you about that another day.’

  ‘Are you and Jacky good friends?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really, I liked him a lot when I was younger, but he was the first one Julia thought of when we needed a mechanic.’

  ‘Will Caradoc is a genius with machinery, remember,’ Roland smiled. ‘I can draw them but it takes Will to make them work!’ He squeezed her hand affectionately and left her, promising to see her again soon.

  How soon is ‘soon’? she wondered.

  He arrrived at Cottage Flowers the following morning with an arm laden with sketches. While Sally dosed over her half-finished game of patience, they looked through them.

  ‘Enough for an exhibition?’ Roland asked.

  ‘More than enough. Roland, why don’t you put them into a book?’

  ‘There’ll be plenty of men doing that.’

  ‘But they won’t write your story. Write about your war. With these illustrations. I doubt if there’ll be another like it.’

  ‘I don’t think I could,’ he said, but there was a light in his eyes that told Patricia he wanted to try.

  ‘Borrow Julia’s old typewriter, I’m sure she’ll agree. You can work in the caravan if you like. Keep it private until you’re ready to show someone.’

  He ignored the half open eyes of his aunt and hugged Patricia. The kiss he gave her was no mistake. From the look in his eyes he was not going to regret it either. As if in a dream, Patricia moved closer, wanting, expecting to be kissed again.

  ‘Take the rest of the day off, you might as well.’ Sally grunted. ‘Never get no work out of you now, I won’t.’

  The kiss was in his eyes, in his tempting lips, but he smiled, thanked his aunt and led her out as if she were a pupil he was going to help.

  He still thinks of me as a child, she thought miserably. The war has made him believe he’s an old man.

  She sees me as an uncle, Roland thought with embarrassment. How can I expect her to feel otherwise, I’ve aged by more than the years since we were children.

  They walked through the village, forcing conversation neither had the heart for until they at last found a subject in which they both found interest. Roland’s book. As they began discussing possibilities they became animated, seeing the illustrations and beginning to create words, paragraphs and chapters. For them both it was a relief, to escape those moments in Auntie Sally Drew’s shop when they had been on the verge of declaring a love neither felt able to admit to.

  ‘Don’t tell anyone about it yet,’ Roland said. ‘To be honest, I haven’t really decided whether to do it. I’d rather think about it and not discuss it with anyone apart from you.’

  ‘Not even Julia?’ she asked.

  ‘Julia knows,’ a voice announced. ‘And I think you two ought to come into the cottage and we’ll celebrate with a cup of coffee and a delicious ice cream.’

  ‘What could be better?’ Roland put an arm around each of them and walked into Rose Cottage.

  ‘Coffees and ice creams and perhaps a few cakes,’ Patricia appeared to be talking to herself when she was again at Rose Cottage a few days later.

  Julia guessed what she was thinking and added, ‘A place for young people to meet and very similar to how my grandfather began.’

  The following day Patricia approached Will and asked if he could take a look at some old machinery and tell them if it was possible to make it work. That evening, while Julia sat in the sweet October air and swung gently on the swing hanging from the apple tree, Roland and Will brought the freezer and the mixing machines out and declared them mortally unfit. A week later, they were working on the first recipe for Julia’s Ices. The only new equipment they bought were bowls and dishes, spoons and scales and an expensive thermometer, which Julia declared was essential, for the sake of hygiene.

  The mixture was produced in Julia’s kitchen by following a recipe in a book yellowed and rust-marked with age.

  ‘This was one of my grandfather’s first successful lines.’ Julia told them. ‘I remember my mother telling me it was what began his fortune. Within five years of arriving here penniless, he had two cafés selling his ices and was already negotiating for a larger premises where coffees and cakes as well as ices would be sold. These machines began the fortune that my father and uncles expanded, and which enabled my brother and myself to become doctors, and my mother to live in comfort at the end of her hard life.’

  The first attempts were disasters. The taste was unpleasant as they had guessed the amount of vanilla essence to add, being unable to find pure vanilla in the war-emptied shops, and sugar was still in short supply. Lumps of ice formed and ruined the second and third batches and the next time the mixture was hard so it had to be licked and not sucked from the dishes they used instead of cones, which were still hard to find. They read books from the libraries, tried various theories but they were still failing to produce anything that people would want to buy. Valuable ingredients were thrown away and both Julia and Patricia began to despair.

  Beside the problems of finding the right ingredients and method, the machines were constantly breaking down. Will became a regular visitor to Rose Cottage and Roland too began to learn how to cope with many breakdowns. They knew they would have to buy better machines but the priority was the recipe and method.

  At Roland’s suggestion, they went to see a family who had made ices pre-war. These people smiled insincere smiles, and wished them luck when they really meant the opposite, and were completely unhelpful. One of them actually laughed at their attempts but refused to explain to them where they were going wrong. The making of ice cream had been forbidden during the war, so, they admitted, they didn’t want too many making it and cashing in on the business now restrictions were lifting.

  Slowly and laboriously, they learned that air was the most important part of the mixing procedure. Without air being thoroughly added as the mixture was beaten and cooled, the result would be a solid lump. With air, it was as smooth as the cream which it sometimes contained and after which it was named.

  Eventually they succeeded in revising several recipes into one of their own that worked every time.

  Once rationing would allow the opening of a new business, they would have been ready to start, if only the machines weren’t constantly breaking down!

  ‘Damn it all,’ Mr Caradoc groaned, when she went to the small-holding to beg Will to help once again. ‘I see more of you now than when you worked for me! All right, I suppose you want Will to fix your machines again, though what you want with ice cream in the middle of winter, I can’t imagine. He’s in the shed, go and find him, you know the way.’

  Surreptitiously they began to sell their product to recoup some of their losses. Customers sneaked in through the garden gate and sidled guiltily up to Julia’s kitchen door.

  Twice she was caught and fined, and there were many narrow ecapes. But their skills grew.

  ‘All we want is premises and some newer machines, unless we take Will permanently onto the staff,’ Julia chuckled.

  During the following weeks, Julia searched for a premises that would be suitable for the ice cream parlour she and Patricia dreamed of. She had the money and intended to spend it givi
ng Patricia the start she needed. The loss of her son made helping her granddaughter more important. Elizabeth and Marion had never become friends of hers, so it was on Patricia she heaped her determination. She had to bring her out of her lethargy and into a successful future. There had to be some outcome from their meeting again and becoming close friends.

  There were plenty of empty shops, but none that would serve her purpose. Too small, too old, too inconveniently situated, every one she looked at led to swift disappointment. She told Patricia nothing of her endeavours; better to wait until she had something to show her. Her search tired her but she had to get Patricia settled before she succumbed to marriage, even with someone as eminently suitable as Roland.

  * * *

  Living at the cottage with Joanne, and seeing her baby almost every day, had the effect of settling Marion’s restless and lively spirit. She rarely went out at night looking for fun: only when there were others with her would she even go to the pictures. Seeing Joanne and baby Barry she realised that she wanted a home and a family too. But where would she find someone to fall in love with? There was always Norman Knowles of course. His letters were becoming more loving and tender. Since she had first been given his address by one of the airmen she had been dating for a while, she had written almost every week. Personal details were building up and she knew that once he was out of the restrictions of wartime control, he would be suggesting a visit. The idea warmed her. He did sound nice. A wedding and setting up a home would be fun. She took out her writing pad and began another letter, strengthening the hint of affection a little more. Mrs Norman Knowles. It didn’t sound too bad.

  * * *

  News that Matthew was on his way home was gathered from the people with whom he had once lodged. Marion and Joanne swiftly cleared out their belongings and with Patricia’s help, tidied the place so it appeared that no one had used it. Joanne went back to her parents and Marion was pleased to be allowed back home. Nelda had initially refused but Leonard persuaded her to give Marion a month to find a suitable place. He still worried about her and had visited her regularly until the day she left the cottage where she had been ‘squatting’.