Red Sky in the Morning

by Margaret Dickinson

  Margaret Dickinson

  Red Sky in

  the Morning

  PAN BOOKS

  For Zoë and Scott,

  my daughter and son-in-law

  Contents

  1946

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  1939

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  1963

  Fifty

  Fifty-One

  Fifty-Two

  Fifty-Three

  1946

  One

  The girl was standing in the middle of the cobbled marketplace. She had been there for hours whilst the busy market bustled around her. All day the raucous shouts of the stallholders had rung out, each vying with the others to attract the attention of the shoppers, but they had not gained hers. It was two weeks before Christmas and the stalls were laden with holly wreaths and mistletoe, bringing colour to a drab, wet day.

  Now it was growing dark and the traders were packing up and going home. Home to a warm fire and a hot drink, no doubt liberally laced with whisky to drive out the chill and to thaw frozen hands and feet. The rain had been falling steadily since early morning and the girl, just standing there so quiet and still, staring ahead of her and looking neither to right nor left, was soaked to her skin. Her long black hair was plastered against her head. The bottom button of the shapeless coat she wore was missing and the garment flapped open, revealing the swelling mound of her belly. Yet she didn’t seem to care about her condition, or even about the discomfort she must be feeling. She seemed unaware of everything and everyone around her. Her thin face was white and pinched with cold, and devoid of expression. Her blue eyes, so dark they were almost violet, were lifeless.

  ‘A’ ya goin’ to stand there all night, lass?’ The last market trader to load his wares into the back of an old van shouted across the wet cobblestones, shining now in the pale glow from the street lamp. She did not even glance in his direction. It was as if she hadn’t heard him. The man wiped the back of his hand across his face and shrugged. ‘Please ya’sen,’ he muttered and turned away. He looked longingly towards the public house, the Shepherd’s Crook. Even out here in the cold and the wet, the buzz of conversation could be heard through the open door. A haze of pipe and cigarette smoke drifted out into the night air. The market trader hesitated for a moment, seemingly torn between the inviting hospitality the place offered and the thought of home, where his wife would be waiting with a hot meal and warm slippers. The pull of home won and he bent to swing the starting handle of his battered van. The engine spluttered into life and he moved to the driver’s side of the vehicle, slinging the starting handle into the well in front of the passenger seat. He glanced across at the girl, then shrugged again and climbed into the van.

  When the noise of the motor had died away the marketplace was deserted, except for the girl. The only other living creature was a pony, harnessed to an old-fashioned trap and tethered outside the Shepherd’s Crook. It looked as wet and miserable as the girl felt. Just once she licked her lips, tasting the rain.

  The laughter and the noise from the pub spilled into the street as three men came out, lurching along the pavement, bumping into one another, laughing and joking and filled with the merriment of the festive season. They didn’t even notice her. More men left the pub in twos and threes, yet the pony still stood there, occasionally pawing the ground, his metal-clad hoof scraping the cobbles. He shook his head and water droplets showered from his rain-soaked mane.

  ‘Time to go home, Eddie. You can’t stay here all night.’ There was a disturbance in the doorway of the pub and, for the first time, the girl’s glance focused on the two men there. One was very unsteady, reeling from side to side and being steered towards the waiting pony and trap by the other. ‘Come on. Your pony’ll tek you home. Good job he knows the way better’n you when you’re in this state, in’t it?’

  For a moment the drunken man leant against the trap, then he grasped the side and, with the aid of the other man, heaved himself into the back. The pony lifted his head, perking up at once now his warm stable was almost in sight.

  ‘On you go, then.’ The publican raised his hand, about to untether the pony and slap its rump to send it on its way, when the man in the back mumbled, ‘Wait. Wait a mo’.’

  Through the blur of drink and the steadily falling rain, he had caught a glimpse of the girl standing in the middle of the square. He raised a shaking finger and pointed. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Eh?’ The landlord glanced over his shoulder. ‘Oh, her. Bin there hours. Some tramp beggin’, I ’spect. Well, she needn’t think she’s goin’ to get a bed at my place.’

  Eddie was scrambling out of the trap again.

  ‘Now, now,’ the other man remonstrated. ‘On you go home, Eddie. You’re goin’ to be in enough trouble with your missis as it is. Don’t be bothering yourself with the likes of that little trollop.’

  Eddie shook off the man’s restraining hand. ‘You can’t leave a poor lass standing there in this weather,’ he mumbled and began to shamble towards the girl. The landlord shrugged. ‘Have it your way, then. I’ve better things to do with me time. Goodnight to you, Eddie Appleyard.’

  The landlord went inside and slammed the heavy door of the public house. The sound of the bolts being shot home echoed in the silence.

  Still the girl had not moved as Eddie reached her and stood before her, swaying slightly. He peered at her through the gloom. ‘Nowhere to go, lass?’ His voice was gentle and caring and the girl, who had thought she was empty of all emotion, felt tears prickle behind her eyelids. It was the first kind word she had heard in weeks, months even. Slowly, she shook her head.

  He touched her arm lightly. ‘Then you’d best come home with me.’ Without waiting for any sign of agreement or otherwise from her, Eddie turned and reeled back towards the trap. But before he reached it, he stumbled and fell to the cobbles. The girl watched for a moment and then, when he made no attempt to rise, she moved at last. Her limbs were stiff with cold and for the first few steps she hobbled like an old woman. She bent and grasped his arm. He grunted and, leaning heavily on her, struggled to his feet. They staggered towards the trap. The man scrambled into the back and then turned, holding out his hand towards her. ‘Come on, lass. You can’t stay out here all night.’

  She hesitated and then put her hand into his. When she was sitting beside him on the floor he said, ‘Giddup, Duke.’ The pony moved and, as the trap swayed, the girl clung on to the side, but the man merely shifted himself into a more comfortable position. Curling his body to fit into the
confined space, he lay down. With a satisfied grunt, he rested his head on her lap and, almost at once, began to snore.

  The pony bent its head against the driving rain as it plodded up the steep hill, leaving the lights of the town behind them. Beneath the slight shelter the sides of the trap afforded and with the warmth of the man close to her seeping into her chilled being, the girl’s eyelids closed. Her head drooped forward and soon, draped across the man, she too slept.

  Two

  ‘Who the hell’s this?’

  A woman’s strident voice startled the girl awake. The pony and trap had come to a halt in the middle of a farmyard. Farm buildings and a house loomed through the darkness. The woman, a raincoat over her head, was standing at the back of the trap, poking the sleeping man with her forefinger.

  ‘Eddie – wake up. Who’s this, I’d like to know? Some trollop you’ve picked up at the market?’ She prodded him viciously. ‘You’ve a nerve and no mistake. Come on.’ She began to pull at him. ‘Stir ya’sen. I want an explanation. And it’d better be good.’

  The man grunted and lifted his head. His face now on a level with the woman’s, he murmured, ‘Bertha, my dearly beloved wife.’ He grinned foolishly, but even in his drunken state the girl could detect the sarcasm in his tone.

  ‘I’ll “beloved wife” you,’ the woman shrilled as she dragged him from the trap. He fell to the ground on his hands and knees, but she made no effort to help him up. Instead she pushed him with her toe. ‘Get up, ya daft beggar. And as for you,’ she added, glaring up at the girl still sitting on the floor of the trap, ‘you can be on ya way—’

  ‘No – no.’ Hanging on to the back of the trap, the man dragged himself upright. He swayed slightly, but his voice was less slurred now. ‘No, she’s stayin’. She’s nowhere to go.’

  ‘What’s that to do with you? Who is she?’

  The man shrugged. ‘Dunno. She was standing in the marketplace getting soaking wet, so I brought her home.’

  ‘Oh, a real knight in shining armour, aren’t ya? Get on inside.’ The woman pushed him again. Then she jabbed her finger towards the girl. ‘And you. You’d better come inside an’ all. Only for a minute, mind. I want to get to the bottom of this.’

  The woman, small and very overweight, nevertheless marched towards the back door of the farmhouse with surprising agility.

  ‘Come on, lass,’ Eddie said. ‘We’d better do as she says.’ He held out his hand to her and, stiffly, she climbed out of the trap. As they began to walk towards the house, the girl spoke for the first time. Her voice was low and husky.

  ‘What about the pony?’

  ‘Eh?’ Eddie blinked. ‘Oh aye.’ He lurched back towards the animal, still waiting patiently, and patted its neck. ‘Poor old Duke. You always get the rough end of the stick, don’t you?’ His voice was low as he muttered, ‘Reckon we both do.’

  The man began to grapple with the harness and the girl moved to help him. As soon as the pony felt himself released from the shafts, he trotted towards the building on the right-hand side of the yard. The man gave a wry laugh. ‘He knows his way home all right.’

  They left the trap in the middle of the yard and went towards the house.

  ‘If she – if she won’t let you stay in the house, lass, the hayloft above Duke’s stable is dry and in the morning—’ He wiped his hand across his face and then shook his head as if trying to clear it. ‘I’m not thinking too straight, but I’ll sort summat out for you in the morning.’ They stepped into a scullery and through that into a warm kitchen, where the smell of freshly baked mince pies still lingered. ‘I’ll see if I can get her to—’

  ‘So? What’s all this about?’ Bertha was standing with her fat arms folded across her bosom. Her mousy coloured hair was straight and roughly cut into an untidy bob. Parted on one side, the long section of hair was held back from her face by a grip. Her florid cheeks were lined with tiny red veins and her mouth was small, the thin lips lost in the fatness of her face. Only in her mid-thirties, yet already she had a double chin. As she stood awaiting her husband’s explanation, her pale hazel eyes sparked with anger.

  Behind the woman, in the doorway leading further into the house, stood a young boy in striped flannelette pyjamas. He was no more than ten years old and his large brown eyes were darting from one to the other between his parents, but they seemed oblivious to his presence.

  The girl shivered and glanced towards the glowing fire, longing to kneel before it and hold out her hands to its heat.

  ‘Well? I’m waiting.’ The woman’s glance raked the girl, taking in her bedraggled state. Then her mouth turned down in disgust. ‘I might ’ave known. She’s in the family way. Is it yours, Eddie Appleyard?’

  ‘Don’t talk daft, woman.’ Her accusation brought a brief spark of retaliation. ‘I ain’t even seen her afore tonight.’

  ‘Huh! Expect me to believe that.’ She stepped towards the girl. ‘Well, you can be on your way, whoever you are.’

  The man said nothing, but he made a motion with his head as if to remind the girl of his earlier offer for her to sleep in the hayloft.

  ‘I saw that. Ee, there’s more going on here than you’re letting on. I can tell.’

  Eddie ran his hand agitatedly through his thick brown hair. He was a tall, thin man in his mid-thirties, yet slightly stooping, as if the years of farm work were already bending his back. His face was weather-beaten and there were lines around his brown eyes.

  ‘There’s nothing going on, as you put it,’ he said wearily. ‘She’s just a poor lass who’s got nowhere to go. Surely, you can show a bit of—’

  ‘And why’s she got nowhere to go?’ Bertha flung her arm out, pointing at the girl’s stomach. ‘Because ’er family – if she’s got any – has slung the little slut out, that’s why.’

  Eddie sighed. ‘You don’t know that.’ They were talking about the girl as if she was not there. ‘You don’t know anything about her. No more than I do.’

  ‘Aye, but I can guess.’

  ‘It’s the truth I’m telling you,’ he said quietly, yet there was a note in his tone that implied he knew she wouldn’t believe him.

  Bertha turned towards the girl. ‘What’s your name then?’

  The violet eyes regarded the woman steadily. ‘Anna,’ the girl said softly.

  ‘Anna what?’

  The girl hesitated and looked away, avoiding Bertha’s probing, hostile eyes. She ran her tongue nervously round her lips. ‘Anna Woods.’

  But Bertha had noticed the hesitation. She sniffed in disbelief. ‘Oh aye. Well then, Anna Woods – or whatever your name is – you’d better take yourself off, ’cos we don’t want the likes of you hanging around here. Go on.’ She flapped her hand. ‘Be off with you. And don’t come round here again.’

  ‘She can sleep in the stable,’ Eddie put in. ‘You can’t turn the lass out, specially when it’s nearly Christmas.’ Sadly, he added, ‘No room at the inn, eh, Bertha? Now look, love, why don’t you find her a blanket and—?’

  ‘I aren’t finding the little trollop owt.’ Bertha whipped round on him. ‘And as for you, Eddie Appleyard, you ain’t heard the last of this.’ At that moment she noticed the boy still standing in the doorway. Instantly Bertha’s whole demeanour changed. She stepped towards him and put her arm around his shoulders. ‘What are you doing down here, Tony? Go back to bed, there’s a good boy.’

  Anna saw the boy glance briefly at his father as he murmured, ‘Yes, Mam,’ and then he scuttled out of sight. She heard his light footsteps on the stairs and then the sound of his bare feet pattering across the floor above.

  ‘There.’ The woman rounded on her husband again. ‘See how you upset him? He can’t sleep till he knows you’re safely home. He’s the same every week. Though why he should bother himself after the way you carry on beats me.’

  Sickened by the woman’s ranting, Anna turned and stepped out of the warm kitchen and through the scullery. As she opened the back door, she shivered again a
s the coldness of the wet night hit her once more. She bent her head against the rain and hurried towards the barn door through which the pony had disappeared. Halfway across the yard, she jumped as a dog, chained outside its kennel, barked and tried to run towards her. She couldn’t see it clearly in the darkness, but she made soothing sounds in her throat. The dog ceased its barking, whined and then returned to its shelter. Even he doesn’t like the wet, she thought wryly.

  Inside the barn, it was cold but dry. As her eyes became accustomed to the dark, Anna felt her way around, her icy fingers touching the brick walls. She heard the sound of the pony and her fingers touched a coarse blanket thrown over the boarding at the side of his stall.

  ‘Sorry, Duke,’ she murmured and stroked his rump, ‘but my need is greater than yours tonight.’

  Hugging the blanket, which smelled strongly of horse, she felt her way up a ladder and into the hayloft. She removed her wet coat and wrapped herself in the blanket, then lay down on the hay, burrowing beneath it to find what warmth she could.

  Exhausted, she was asleep in seconds.

  Anna was awakened by the sound of someone climbing the ladder to the loft. She stretched and raised herself on one elbow. It was not the man whose head appeared, but the young boy’s. They stared at each other for several moments in the pale light of a cold dawn, before Anna lay down again and closed her eyes. She hoped he would go away once his curiosity had been satisfied. She had not yet made up her mind what to do next. She wished she could stay here for ever. She was warm and snug for the first time in weeks.

  In fact, she thought, this would be a nice place to die.

  She was about to drift off into sleep again when she heard the boy climb the rest of the ladder and creep, on hands and knees, across the hay towards her. There was a long silence before he whispered, ‘I’ve brought you something to eat.’ Another pause and then he added, ‘And some milk.’

  She opened her eyes again and looked up at him. He was holding a roughly wrapped parcel and had a small milk can hooked over his wrist. ‘It’s only bread and cheese.’ He was apologetic. ‘It’s all I could take without me mam finding out.’