Echoes of Yesterday

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Alas, Lizzy, I—’

  ‘Alas? Alas? Stop talkin’ like some archbishop. Boots, you get worse as you get older. All you ’ave to say is no, you didn’t ask what her religion was. You don’t have to say “alas” as if you’ve got the Bible in front of you. Just remember you’ve probably got a lot of work to do if the girl does come home with you. Well, I’m goin’ to have to tell Ned now, and then he’ll have to tell our children. Yes, and you’ve got to let Tommy and Sammy know.’

  ‘Well, bless you, Lizzy, and thanks for being understanding.’

  ‘Well, I don’t see tellin’ you off is much good,’ said Lizzy. ‘Now I’m goin’ to give Ned the news.’

  Ned, when given it, didn’t blow a fuse. He actually smiled.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ said Lizzy.

  ‘And I don’t suppose Boots thinks it is, either,’ said Ned. ‘On the other hand, nor will he think it a disaster. If I know him at all, he’ll be shaking hands with himself.’

  ‘Doing what?’ said Lizzy.

  ‘He’s a family man,’ said Ned, ‘he’ll be liking the idea of one more. I’ll wager that one of the first things he’ll do will be to teach the girl – what did you say her name was?’

  ‘Eloise.’

  ‘That’s French all right,’ said Ned, ‘and one of the first things Boots’ll do with her will be to teach her how to play garden cricket.’

  ‘Ned Somers, d’you think this is all a joke?’ asked Lizzy.

  ‘Not a bit,’ said Ned, ‘but it’s still a feather in Boots’s cap.’

  ‘I might ’ave known you’d be on his side,’ said Lizzy, ‘two old soldiers together, you are. What about Em’ly’s feelings?’

  ‘She’ll come round,’ said Ned. ‘After all, it happened well before she was even engaged to Boots. She’ll see that. Emily’s got her share of sense.’

  ‘Supposin’ Eloise doesn’t want to leave France, what about that?’ asked Lizzy.

  ‘Mm, that’s a point,’ said Ned.

  ‘You’ll have to tell your children the news as soon as they’re all in,’ said Lizzy.

  ‘That’s another point,’ said Ned. ‘I think we’d better tell ’em together. Annabelle won’t need an explanation, but how’d you explain the sudden existence of a seventeen-year-old French cousin to youngsters like Bobby, Emma and Edward?’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ said Lizzy.

  The subsequent reactions of her sons and daughters were all different when Ned told them in simple fashion that their Uncle Boots was the father of a French girl, that the mother was dead, and that Uncle Boots hoped to bring her home to England. Annabelle said well, saucy old Uncle Boots, what a surprise and what a performance. Lizzy said it shouldn’t be spoken of like that. Annabelle said well, credit where it’s due, Mum, but you can still knock me down with a feather. Bobby asked how Uncle Boots had managed it, wasn’t he in the trenches? Lizzy said he was having a rest behind the lines. Annabelle said you sure you mean rest, Mum? Don’t ask those kind of questions, said Lizzy. Bobby asked was there a wedding? Ned said there hadn’t been time. Well, it beats me, said Bobby. Still, as it was Uncle Boots, he said, I suppose it’s all right. Emma said how was Uncle Boots supposed to have a French daughter when he was married to Aunt Emily? He wasn’t at the time, said Ned. Oh, I don’t suppose she minds, then, said Emma, but I think I’ll have to talk to Uncle Boots about it to resolve my curiosity. You’re showing off, said Bobby. Edward, a mere nine, simply stood about looking puzzled. I’m tickled, said Annabelle, I’m going to phone Rosie. Which she did, and they had a long chat about Boots and the French war widow and the girl called Eloise.

  Consequent on this, Annabelle told her parents she didn’t mind Uncle Boots having a bit of the devil in him, it sort of suited him.

  ‘Now just look here, Annabelle,’ said Lizzy, ‘it’s men with a bit of the devil in them that can make a lot of problems for themselves and their fam’lies.’

  Annabelle, who knew her mum was taking the opportunity to point her finger at Nick’s father, said, ‘Yes, I know, Mum, but nice families just make sure afterwards that a bit of the devil is kept in a pot with the lid on.’

  ‘Well, listen to that,’ said Lizzy. ‘Did you hear what your daughter just came out with, Ned?’

  ‘Yes, I think she means that all Emily has to do now is keep Boots under lock and key,’ said Ned.

  ‘There’s other men besides Boots,’ said Lizzy. ‘Anyway, as far as Boots is concerned, it’s too late.’

  ‘Yes, I think the horse has bolted, don’t you, Dad?’ said Annabelle. ‘But the problem’s a kind of happy family surprise. Well, I think so.’

  ‘I don’t know that your Aunt Em’ly does, poor woman,’ said Lizzy. ‘I’m goin’ round to see her now, she’s probably ill with shock.’

  Emily wasn’t, however. She was already reconciled. Still, she and Lizzy had a lengthy gossip by themselves, and shared a pot of needful tea as well. Lizzy mentioned about Annabelle saying Boots had a bit of the devil in him, and that Annabelle had actually said it suited him.

  ‘I expect it suited that French widow,’ said Emily. ‘But him at his age, he was only twenty.’

  ‘Oh, the devil was hanging about in ’im when he was only sixteen,’ said Lizzy.

  ‘Oh, me sad past,’ said Emily.

  ‘What d’you mean, your sad past?’ asked Lizzy.

  ‘Well, if I’d been more like that French widow, instead of all skinny and aggravatin’, Boots might ’ave tried a bit of his devil on me,’ said Emily.

  ‘What, before he joined the Army and you were only sixteen?’ said Lizzy.

  ‘Well, I had me dreams, didn’t I?’ said Emily.

  ‘Em’ly, you shocker,’ said Lizzy.

  Boots also phoned Tommy, and Tommy’s initial response was just like Lizzy’s.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, it’s a fact, Tommy.’

  ‘I’m fallin’ about,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Well, mind your head,’ said Boots.

  ‘You old bugger,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Can’t be helped,’ said Boots.

  ‘Has Em’ly chucked you out?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘What’s she said?’

  ‘That she didn’t know I was going to turn her into a stepmother. I didn’t know myself until Polly delivered the news.’

  ‘Was that all that Em’ly said?’ asked Tommy.

  ‘More or less,’ said Boots.

  ‘Well, good old Em’ly and lucky old you,’ said Tommy. ‘And I’ll probably feel better meself by next week when me head stops ’urting and me ears stop ringing. Vi’s goin’ to faint, of course, and what your Aunt Victoria’s goin’ to say when she gets to know might make the vicar faint as well. She’s against skeletons risin’ up out of fam’ly cupboards. Still, this one is out now. What ’appens next?’

  ‘Rosie and I are going over on Tuesday in the hope that Eloise will come and live with us, if not immediately, then in a month or so, perhaps.’

  ‘Good on yer, mate,’ said Tommy. ‘You tell her there’s a lot of open arms over here.’

  ‘Thanks, Tommy. Now I’ll ring Sammy.’

  ‘Yes, you’d better,’ said Tommy, ‘it’s his turn to be hit by a coal bucket. Still, knowin’ Sammy, I daresay he won’t be unconscious for long. And I’d better tell Vi and let ’er have her faintin’ fit.’

  Vi, however, apart from losing her breath for a minute or so, came nowhere near having a fainting fit when Tommy informed her what had happened after Boots had done a young French war widow wrong in 1916.

  ‘I bet it was the other way about,’ she said.

  ‘Beg yer pardon?’ said Tommy.

  ‘Well, a French widow, I ask you,’ said Vi. ‘Mind, now that she’s dead, I wouldn’t want to miscall her.’

  ‘Vi, you sure you don’t feel faint?’ said Tommy. ‘I mean, d’you want to sit down for a bit?’

  ‘What for?’ asked Vi.

  ‘Well, it’s an all-ro
und fam’ly shock, ain’t it?’ said Tommy.

  ‘It’s not goin’ to make me faint,’ said Vi. ‘Bless me, our Boots, what a dark horse, and he couldn’t ’ave been more than twenty at the time. Still, the war and all, we can’t blame him. What’s goin’ to happen about the girl?’

  ‘Boots and Rosie are goin’ to France on Tuesday. Boots hopes to bring the girl ’ome.’

  ‘Crikey,’ said soft-eyed Vi, ‘it’ll be like bringing home a special Easter present for the fam’ly.’

  ‘Easter’s gone,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Well, Harvest Festival present, then,’ said Vi. ‘Did Boots mention if the news upset Em’ly a bit?’

  ‘He did say she’s not breakin’ up the furniture.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ said Vi, ‘I don’t like ructions in the fam’ly.’

  ‘Well, I’m not goin’ to ’ave any with you, Vi,’ said Tommy, ‘I’m goin’ to ’ave a glass of beer and you can ’ave a nice drop of port. Might as well call it a celebration weekend and not a wet one.’

  ‘French one, I’d say,’ smiled Vi.

  ‘French what?’ said Tommy, pouring the port.

  ‘French weekend,’ said Vi. ‘Well, French widow and French daughter, and a 1916 French haystack, probably.’

  ‘Well, you’re a cool one, Vi, blowed if you ain’t,’ said Tommy. ‘But good on yer, I’ll treat yer.’

  ‘What to, another drop of port?’ asked Vi.

  ‘No, a French weekend,’ said Tommy.

  ‘What, at my age?’ said Vi, thirty-four.

  ‘Yes, and mine as well,’ said Tommy.

  It was Sammy’s turn next to receive a phone call.

  ‘Are you listening, Sammy?’ asked Boots, after an unusual silence from the other end of the line.

  ‘I’m listening,’ said Sammy, ‘but I’m goin’ to have a fit if I’m hearin’ right. Boots, you sure you said what I think you just said?’

  ‘Yes, I said it, Sammy, all of it.’

  ‘Well, I’ll grant there was a lot of it,’ said Sammy. ‘Mother O’Reilly, Chinese Lady never brought any of us up to enjoy the patterin’ of tiny feet out of wedlock. It’s against her principles, and what God ordered.’

  Susie, having overheard, intervened.

  ‘What’s that, Sammy?’ she said. ‘What’s that about out of wedlock? Who’s out of wedlock, who’s that you’re talkin’ to?’

  ‘Hold on, Boots, me married wife is musclin’ in. Susie, I’m havin’ a private phone conversation with Boots, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Well, I do mind,’ said Susie, ‘you can’t have private phone conversations that leave me out, especially not with Boots.’

  ‘Well, Susie, the conversation is also embarrassin’, Boots havin’ just said things that’ve made me hard of hearing.’

  ‘Hard of hearing? Embarrassing? Sammy, give me the phone.’

  ‘Now, Susie—’

  ‘You go and sit down, Sammy, your hair’s standin’ on end. There, I’ll talk to Boots. Boots?’

  ‘Susie?’

  ‘What’ve you been sayin’ to my better half?’

  ‘Well, it’s like this, Susie,’ said Boots, and put her in the picture. It took quite a few minutes, and Susie, after listening without interrupting, let him know her reactions were in his favour.

  ‘Well, I think that’s wild,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you thrilled that you’ve got another daughter? Don’t take any notice of Sammy talkin’ about out of wedlock, he’s old-fashioned. These things couldn’t help happenin’ over there in France. The girl, my goodness, just wait till she knows her English soldier dad is alive and wants to bring her home. Boots, you did sow a wild oat, didn’t you? My dad told me once that lots of the Tommies did, but he didn’t tell me you were one of them. What did Emily say?’

  ‘She said I was a shocker for being one of them.’

  ‘I bet the girl’s mother didn’t say so, I bet she liked havin’ you as her soldier lover, and Emily won’t hold it against you, not when it was all those years ago, will she?’

  ‘No, we’re still friends, Susie.’

  ‘You’ll have to excuse Sammy actin’ as if he was fallin’ apart. It’s his old-fashioned prudery.’

  ‘You Susie,’ said Sammy, standing by, ‘I’m listenin’ to you, and me prudery’s climbing up the wall.’

  ‘Boots?’ said Susie.

  ‘I’m still here, Susie.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me and Sammy, we’re on your side, and it’s right you goin’ to France to bring the girl home. Sammy says blow the expense.’

  Sammy rolled his eyes.

  ‘I’m hoping she’ll come,’ said Boots.

  ‘Oh, yes, and thanks for telling us,’ said Susie. ‘And lots of good luck when you go to France. It’s sensible that you’re takin’ Rosie with you. The girl – what did you say her name was?’

  ‘Eloise.’

  ‘Yes, well, she’ll like meetin’ a sister. I’m sure she’ll want to join the fam’ly. Bless us all, isn’t it excitin’? ’Bye for now, Boots.’ Putting the phone back, Susie turned to Sammy. ‘What were you embarrassed about, Sammy Adams?’

  ‘Me embarrassment, Susie, was on your behalf, your mum havin’ brought you up delicately and not lettin’ you read the News of the World or show your knickers.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Yes, when Boots was givin’ me the horrendous news, I said to myself, Sammy Adams, I said, you’ve got to break this gently to Susie on account of sparin’ her blushes. I don’t want her jumpin’ out of her knickers and dyin’ of embarrassment, I said to myself. That would be something else to worry about, I said.’

  ‘Sammy love, Boots has found a new daughter, which means we’ve got another niece, so don’t let’s have any old-fashioned stuff about it bein’ unmentionable or blush-makin’ to me or the fam’ly. Boots is head of the fam’ly, and we’ve all got to stand by him. So would you like to say something more appropriate than me jumpin’ out of my knickers?’

  ‘Yes, I’d like to, Susie.’

  ‘Well, then?’

  ‘Well, it’s me fixed opinion, Susie, that there’s always room for one more Adams.’

  ‘That’s my Sammy,’ smiled Susie, and gave him a teasing little touch where she knew he would feel it most.

  ‘Oh, me gawd, you Susie.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, Sammy love.’

  Finally, when Boots spoke to Tim of Eloise, and Tim realized there was a sister in the offing, he asked if she’d been mislaid or something until now. Boots said, no, she’d just been out of sight. Tim said, well, he didn’t suppose it would interfere with his Saturday afternoon cricket, although according to what some of his friends had told him, it wasn’t an advantage to have more than one sister, and he’d already got Rosie.

  ‘Would you mind one more, if she didn’t mind herself, Tim?’ asked Boots.

  ‘Well, Dad, I’ve heard about wartime babies,’ said Tim, nearly thirteen, ‘and if our family’s got one, I daresay I could soldier on.’

  ‘Good man,’ said Boots.

  ‘Bit of a palaver, though, Dad.’

  ‘They happen all the time in most families,’ said Boots.

  ‘What do?’ asked Tim.

  ‘Palavers,’ said Boots.

  Chapter Nine

  Chinese Lady invited everyone to Sunday tea. She had no intention of sitting in a corner with her knitting. Although she had accepted the disgrace herself, the whole family had to be faced, and anyone who wanted to say something had better say it and get it over with. Then she’d know where everyone stood in regard to the wartime goings-on of her eldest son. Mind you, she said to her husband when they were on their way to church on Sunday morning, I’m not having anyone saying too many hard things about Boots. After all, he only went to France to do his duty to his King and country. He’s given me a lot of double-Dutch talk in his time, even when he was still at school, but he was never the sort to let the family down. It was mixing with fast Frenchwomen that did it, and all that parley-
vooing.

  ‘Parley-vooing, Maisie?’ said Mr Finch, keeping his face straight. Living as he did with her and Boots’s family had perfected the necessary art of a straight face.

  ‘You know what I mean, Edwin.’

  ‘I think you’re worrying too much, Maisie,’ said Mr Finch, lifting his hat to passing neighbours. He cut a distinguished figure. Chinese Lady was her usual upright self, never having lost the habit of presenting a firm and proud front to friends and neighbours, and to the One Above for that matter. ‘I don’t think anyone in the family is going to say hard things about him.’

  ‘Still, I want to know how everyone stands,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘I don’t want anyone always givin’ the girl sly looks if Boots brings her back to live with us. Those that do won’t be allowed past our front door in the future.’

  ‘Maisie, can you really think of anyone in the family who’ll turn their noses up at the girl?’ said Mr Finch.

  ‘Well, you never know,’ said Chinese Lady.

  If she had anyone in mind, thought Mr Finch, it would be Vi’s mother, known as Aunt Victoria to everyone. He actually thought his resilient cockney wife was bringing the whole tribe together in a challenging way, as if she meant to establish an acceptance of Eloise from the beginning by making it known that that was her wish, which everyone had better bow down to, or else.

  In the event, after expecting every grown-up to participate in an argy-bargy about an illegitimate Adams offspring, Chinese Lady could hardly believe what happened. Certainly, the young children were all spared by being despatched to the front room to amuse themselves harmlessly or to sit on each other in rowdy fashion, but the men and the older children, well! They just sidled off to play cricket on the lawn, Boots among them, as if an argy-bargy was the last thing they had on their minds, and even as if a family get-together wasn’t necessary. Boots, Sammy, Tommy, Tim, Rosie, Ned, Annabelle, Bobby, Emma and Edward, they all simply took themselves on to the lawn, set up the stumps and played cricket.

  Not only that, but Ned and Lizzy’s four all fussed around Boots as if he were some sort of hero. On top of which, Uncle Tom, Vi’s dad, slipped cagily away from Aunt Victoria’s elbow to join the game. Finally, Edwin himself disappeared, and the next Chinese Lady saw of him was as one of the fielders at the far end of the lawn.