Valley in Bloom

by Valley in Bloom (retail) (epub)

  ‘Been getting your Christmas shopping I see,’ George said. ‘I think the shops will be empty before closing time!’

  ‘This is for my Pete, good boy that he is,’ Hilda patted a large bag from the local motor-cycle shop. ‘This is a new cardigan, and this is a dress and some matching shoes.’ She touched each bag in turn. Apart from the parcel for her son, everything seemed to be for herself.

  ‘Blimey, she ain’t ’alf makin’ up fer lost time!’ Nelly said in her loud whisper. ‘I ’ope she’s remembered to buy some food. An’ what’s she got fer that ’usband of ’ers, supposin’ ’e deserves a present which ’e don’t!’

  ‘Move away,’ George said, laughing at her remarks. ‘I don’t want you to start a riot. Go and have a cup of tea and a sandwich then finish your shopping. I’ll be ages waiting here.’

  Rather unwillingly she went. She walked through the town searching for a place to sit and eat a sandwich but all the cafes were full to over-flowing. So she bought an Eynon’s pie and a custard slice and ate them walking along the High Street. She tried to go into the ladies’ toilets to wash the sticky remnants off her face but there were long queues there, too, so she lifted the hem of her coat and managed with that.

  As darkness sidled over the town, and lights on the street stalls and the shop windows became more apparent, Nelly thought the Christmas spirit came with it. Buses sailed past and through steamy windows showed passengers sitting and standing, their odd shaped parcels crowded in with them. Nelly’s smile widened with every minute.

  Near the corner of a shop where the pavement widened there were stalls selling trees and doing a brisk trade. Next to them a man with rolls of Christmas wrapping paper. It was as she was buying some that Nelly saw Amy.

  ‘Nelly, love, why do we put ourselves through this every year? I swear I’ll start in July and have it all finished by September next year!’ Amy laughed.

  ‘It wouldn’t be the same, dearie. Great this is, part of Christmas. I couldn’t imagine sittin’ down to Christmas dinner without a few bruises!’

  They tried again to find somewhere to sit down and this time they were lucky. Pushing her purchases under a table, Amy waved to the harassed waitress and ordered tea and cakes.

  ‘Expensive, this’ll be,’ Nelly said anxiously.

  ‘But worth it for a sit down!’

  They stayed for as long as they dared, with the waitress pointedly clearing their table and glancing to the doorway where people still waited to come in. Then, with a groan, they gathered the parcels between them and staggered out into the dark cold evening where a drizzle was beginning to fall.

  The pavements were wet and dirty, the shops were almost ready to close, yet still the crowds hadn’t thinned out.

  ‘What on earth have you bought?’ a voice asked and they turned to see Victor and his son David close behind them.

  ‘More than I can carry!’ Amy said, her smile fading as she looked at the boy’s sulky face.

  ‘We’re almost as bad, but we can help you.’ Victor stepped into the doorway of a shop that had closed its doors to customers and began to re-organise what he and David were carrying.

  They had two trees, small ones but nevertheless long and awkward to manage. He gave these to David, tucking one under each of the boy’s arms. He added one of Amy’s carrier bags which he put into his hand. The bag was awkwardly filled, the contents widening the bag so David’s fingers could barely reach around the string handles.

  As they set off for the bus stop, David dropped first one handle then the other. The bag dropped on to the wet pavement and the contents spilled out. He picked it up again but not before abandoning the large package on the top, so allowing an easier grip. The crowds made it impossible to walk even in twos and as they pushed their way through the street to the bus stop, Nelly almost fell as her feet hit the abandoned package.

  Amy tightened her lips as she retrieved it but said nothing. She stared at David until he lowered his gaze, resentment plainly seen in both pairs of eyes.

  Two buses came in, filled and moved off before they managed to get on. They sat together in the side seats where they could watch over their parcels, pushed thankfully under the stairs of the bus. ‘Come back for a cup of tea, Nelly love, and I’ll walk you home with your shopping?’ Amy said as the bus started moving.

  ‘Thanks, Amy, but I’ll go back ’ome. My George ain’t well, only a bit tired, but I’ll go straight ’ome and get ’im something to eat. I bought a bit of Kiwi ’addock. Nice that’ll be with a poached egg on the top an’ a bit of veg.’

  ‘Kiwi Haddock?’ Victor queried.

  ‘Supposed to be smoked, but my George says it’s only coloured with a bit of boot-polish!’ Nelly laughed.

  Struggling off the bus near the end of her lane, Nelly began to sing as she walked towards the cottage. Half-way up the lane the street lights behind her making it very black, she was startled to see a figure standing near the hedge looking over into the fields where Farmer Leighton’s retired horses spent their days.

  ‘’Ello, what you standin’ there for?’ she demanded. Then she recognized the tall, slim figure with alarm. It was George.

  ‘Hello, Nelly, love, I’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘Out in this cold? Whatever for?’

  ‘I couldn’t quite manage the hill. It seems steeper all of a sudden.’

  She dropped her shopping bag carelessly and went to put an arm around his waist. Trying not to show her fear that he was ill she said with a laugh, ‘That’s easy remedied. ’Ere, push yer way through our ’edge. That way you won’t need to climb no’ ill.’

  ‘No, it’s a pity to spoil it. I’ll take your arm and if we go slowly—’

  ‘Rubbish, the ’edge’ll be recovered before the competition if that’s what’s worryin’ yer.’ She took his arm and, walking backwards, helped him up the bank and pushed a way through the hedge into their garden. ‘Now, stay there an’ I’ll run and open the back door for yer. There, dearie, we’ll soon ’ave you ’ome and warm as toast.’

  She didn’t try to put him to bed but made up a comfortable place for him to rest on the couch. Hot water bottles and a thick over-coat across the blankets made sure he would be warm, a hot drink helped the process. She sat with him as he slept through the night. He stirred occasionally, coughing and holding his chest against the pain he denied feeling.

  The next morning she went down to see Evie and asked her to phone for the doctor.

  ‘On a Sunday, Mother? Whatever is wrong with him can’t be worth disturbing the doctor on a Sunday.’

  ‘My George is ill an’ I wouldn’t be askin’ you no favour if it wasn’t urgent.’ Nelly said. ‘Now will you phone ’im or do I ’ave to go an’ ask Amy an’ tell ’er you wouldn’t ’elp me?’

  Reluctantly, Evie spoke to the doctor.

  * * *

  Victor had bought two trees: one for his house and one for Dawn. While he was walking down Hywel Rise to deliver it he saw Billie delivering milk. On his van was a tree.

  ‘Late this morning, aren’t you?’ Victor called.

  ‘Milk round is finished long ago, I’ve just taken a tree to one of Mary’s customers, and now I’m taking this one to Nelly and George.’

  When Billie went to the cottage and found George was sick, he stayed to help Nelly fix the tree in the corner of the room and then offered to tell Amy.

  ‘Blimey, that Phil’ll be mad not to be the first with the news!’ Nelly said. She laughed as she repeated her remark to George when he woke a little while later, but her heart was heavy.

  George stayed on the couch for three days, then he stood up and managed to eat some soup Nelly had made. Once it was known that he was on the mend, there were plenty of visitors to amuse him, although Nelly threw them out if there was a sign of him tiring.

  She didn’t work her usual hours for Mrs French and Mrs Williams, but while Amy or Phil or Netta stayed with George she managed to fit in a few visits to keep their houses clean. Sp
ending her nights in the armchair watching over George she was exhausted and once, when she was sitting for a welcome cup of tea in Mrs French’s kitchen, she fell asleep.

  George walked down to the main road with her at the end of the week and insisted he would soon be well enough to return to work. Walking back up he agreed, without too much protest, when Nelly insisted they pushed their way through the hedge again, rather than climb the steep lane.

  * * *

  Nelly decided to go and see Clara. Gypsies knew more about healing than just charming warts. Leaving George sleeping, but covering him against the evening chill with blankets and coats, she left the dogs behind and went up Gypsy Lane to where her friend was camped for the winter.

  In a cupboard in the neat caravan was a white sack. Inside it were bags of dried flowers and leaves, Clara’s medicine cabinet. The stems of the contents were sticking out of the tied end of the bags, and each bag was neatly labelled.

  ‘Elderflowers,’ Clara said. ‘Then when he’s feeling better, some tansy for a tonic. I’ll call and see him tomorrow and make sure there’s nothing further he needs.’ She gave Nelly a reminder on preparing and giving the herbs and Nelly went back down the dark lane feeling more hopeful than before. The doctor had called twice but she wouldn’t call him again unless George failed to improve. ‘He will,’ she promised herself. ‘He will.’

  When she went down to buy the paper that evening, she sat in the shop while Amy served and read out pieces of news to her. The best bit she left until last.

  ‘There’s funny people them Russians must be,’ she remarked. ‘It says ’ere they’ve grafted a second head on a dog and both were lappin’ at the same time. Now ’oo’d want to do that? I ask yer!’

  ‘Don’t, Nelly. It doesn’t bear thinking about,’ Amy shuddered. ‘Can’t you find something interesting?’

  ‘What about this then. That Griff ’as got six months prison. Blimey, when you think what’s ’apened to ’ilda in a few weeks, Gawd knows what she’ll be doing after six ruddy months!’

  ‘I don’t feel sorry for him. Serve him right, it should have been five years! Breaking into people’s houses and stealing. And the way he cheated on Hilda, daft as she is, she doesn’t deserve that.’

  ‘Now ’ere’s another funny thing, Amy. There’s an ’orse runnin’ on the ninth at Wincanton called Frolicsome Lover. Not quite as I picture Griff,’ she chuckled, ‘but how about it? Fancy a bob each way do yer?’

  Chapter Nine

  Margaret sang a solo in the annual Carol Concert given, this year, in aid of the new Village Hall. She also played piano for some of the pieces sung by the choir. Amy sat in the audience in the school building and marvelled at her daughter’s talents. Margaret seemed to have it all. Musically gifted and very beautiful, yet with a calm and gentle personality that gained her friends wherever she went. Her hair was thick and a rich red, flowing over her shoulders in waves and her eyes were deep dark brown. Both of her children were copies of their fathers. Amy sighed, wonderful reminders of past loves.

  Margaret’s father was the result of a brief and beautiful affair with Richard French, the musical husband of Mrs Monica French, who had realised the likeness of Margaret to her now deceased husband only after Prue Beynon had maliciously given her a pointer.

  Amy and Margaret had been invited back to Evie and Timothy’s after the concert. Seeing Nelly a few rows behind her, Amy whispered, ‘Are you coming to your Evie’s then?’

  ‘I ain’t bin invited,’ Nelly said. ‘Besides, I don’t like leavin’ my George fer long.’

  ‘Come on, just for half an hour, that’s how long I’ll be staying. I can’t stand too much of your Evie, no more than you can! We’ll come up the lane with you then, to say hello to George.’

  Nelly agreed and when the applause had died down she took Amy’s arm while they waited for Margaret to appear.

  Evie had hurried home before the final item to get the food out and fill the kettle for those who preferred not to drink alcohol. When she opened the door some twenty minutes later and saw her mother outside, smiling widely, she felt a strong urge to close it again.

  ‘I ain’t stoppin’ long, Evie, just called in with Amy and Margaret to wish you ’appy Christmas.’

  ‘There’ll be plenty of opportunity for us to exchange greetings, Mother,’ Evie said with a stiff smile.

  ‘Don’t she talk posh, you’d never know this one was mine, would yer?’

  Stepping into the hallway Nelly hung her outsized coat on the end of the banister and Evie snatched it off and hurriedly hid it in the under-stairs cupboard.

  ‘Come into the kitchen, Mother, and I’ll find you a nice cup of tea.’

  ‘Tea! It’s nearly Christmas and all you’re offerin’ yer friends is tea?’ Nelly’s loud voice carried to where Timothy was handing out drinks in what Nelly called the front room and Evie called the lounge.

  ‘Here, mother-in-law, what about a gin and orange?’

  ‘Timothy!’ Evie’s warning was ignored by her husband.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ Nelly shouted back. ‘Come on, Amy, we’ll see Timmy and leave Evie to ’er tea.’ She pushed her way through the people standing quietly sipping at their drinks and went to find Timothy.

  ‘Why did you have to bring her, Amy?’ Evie hissed.

  ‘Because it’s Christmas and she’s your mother,’ Amy hissed back.

  Margaret found Oliver sitting in a corner of the kitchen surreptitiously reading a comic Nelly had bought him.

  ‘Did you enjoy the concert, Oliver?’ Margaret asked. Oliver shook his head. ‘You didn’t?’ Margaret was disappointed, she could usually rely on Oliver to assure her that she did well.

  ‘Mother wouldn’t let me go. I was bottom of the class again except for Arthur Toogood and she said I have to earn my rewards. I wish I was clever at something, Margaret.’

  ‘Mam says being clever isn’t anything to boast about, it’s something inside you when you’re born. I could play a tune on the piano as soon as I saw one. There’ll be something you’re good at, you just haven’t found it yet. Freddy isn’t clever at sums and school work, but he’s clever with gardens.’

  ‘Mother wouldn’t like me to be clever at gardens.’

  ‘I think it’s lovely to grow flowers.’

  ‘I just wish I could surprise them and do something really clever.’

  ‘Come tomorrow after school and I’ll teach you a piece on the piano. You can do the left hand and I’ll do the right.’ When Amy and Margaret walked home with Nelly an hour later, they found George looking much better. He was, as always, pleased to see Margaret. He asked about the concert and sang ‘Silent Night’ with her while Nelly and Amy sat and listened.

  ‘You couldn’t have done that a few days ago, George. That medicine of Clara’s did the trick all right!’

  ‘And that’s the best Christmas present you could ask for,’ Amy smiled as she stood to leave.

  * * *

  The days leading up to Christmas were busy ones for Evie and Timothy. Every organisation to which they belonged had a party arranged or a meal at a local restaurant or a dance. Oliver was left with Amy, Netta Cartwright, even Dawn and Tad and, when there was absolutely no one else, with Nelly and George.

  ‘I wake up in the morning and wonder which house I’m in,’ he joked to George one evening as they were preparing to go to bed. The evening had been spent decorating the Christmas tree given by Billie. Oliver was sticky with flour and water paste, which was highly coloured from making papier-mâché decorations which they had dipped in sparkling glitter-dust. George was laughing as the small boy climbed the stairs hoping no one would remind him to wash.

  ‘What about hands, Ollie?’ he reminded.

  Oliver, shamefacedly admitted, ‘I hoped you wouldn’t notice, Grandad.’

  ‘If your mother could see you now, splashed with red and yellow, blue and green, she’d be convinced you had a terrible disease, young man. Wash and perhaps Nelly will let y
ou stay up a while longer and have a cup of cocoa with us as it’s almost Christmas. Would you like a game of ludo?’

  Oliver washed with great enthusiasm but little skill.

  ‘I wants to give ’im a real good Christmas, George,’ Nelly said when Oliver was finally asleep. ‘But I don’t know what.’

  ‘Take him to see the gypsies on Christmas morning, persuade Amy and Margaret to invite us for tea and make sure he goes to Ethel’s in the evening.’

  ‘That ain’t very excitin’ fer a boy, George.’

  ‘No, but it will give Evie no time for nagging!’ he chuckled.

  ‘Evie won’t let him visit Clara and the others.’

  ‘Don’t ask her. That’s part of the fun!’

  * * *

  Christmas Day was rarely planned, yet the same routine was followed year after year. Whether they were formally invited or not, a crowd of neighbours made their way to Ethel’s small house on Sheepy Lane in the evening, some taking food, others carrying a bottle, many taking nothing at all but just calling for a few minutes and staying for hours. Each knew that their welcome was assured.

  * * *

  In the early dawn Oliver opened his eyes and looked towards the bottom of his bed. There were raised shapes visible and he knew that after he had slept, it was his parents who had placed presents there, keeping up the pretence of Santa Claus to please them all. He switched on his bedside light and began to unwrap their gifts to him. A pair of socks were flung aside and a new shirt that he hardly examined followed them to the floor. Then, at last, something really interesting: a kit for making a model aeroplane. He tried reading the instructions, examining the contents of the box with care. His washed-out blue eyes were serious as he wondered who he would ask to help him. Not his father, he thought sadly.