A Christmas to Remember

by Katie Flynn

  ‘Don’t be so bloody rude,’ Jonty said as they entered the refreshment room. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to make personal remarks? And anyway, if I’ve changed, so have you. If you want the truth, if I hadn’t recognised the suitcase – and that tatty old mac – I’d have walked right past you.’ He grinned down at her. ‘I’d have said What a pretty girl; pity I don’t know her from Adam, and gone on looking for you.’

  Tess felt a warm blush creep up her cheeks and sent a silent thank you winging from her mind to Gran’s, for she knew very well who was responsible for her improved looks. As soon as the invitation to revisit the farm had arrived, Gran had taken her to Lillian’s Hairdressing Salon, and begged Miss Lillian herself to see what she could do with Tess’s fawn-coloured mop. Tess had expressed her own preference for a short style, and after staring at her new customer from every angle, Miss Lillian had done them proud. Tess’s hair had not been cut for many months and resembled nothing so much as a tangled gorse bush, so Miss Lillian had washed and combed and sprayed and cut, and an hour later, when Tess had peeped into the mirror, she had seen a different person, one with a cap of shining hair the colour of light oak which fitted her head neatly and somehow managed to draw attention to her large brown eyes and small pointy-chinned face.

  Then there had been her clothes. During school holidays Tess always wore her oldest and shabbiest skirts and blouses, but Gran had shaken her head. ‘You’ll not get a job looking like a ragbag,’ she had commented. ‘Furthermore, when you go to visit the Bells I want to be proud of you. I agree you can take old clothes and boots to wear when you’re working on the farm, but when you go to meet old friends, and when you arrive at the farm itself, you must look your best.’ She had bought Tess a navy blue cotton dress, which she said was suitable for a train journey since navy was less likely than paler colours to show the smuts which were an inevitable part of rail travel, and a pair of navy court shoes. So now she felt self-confident and grinned cheekily at her companion. ‘Why? What’s different about me? I’m sure I’m no taller or fatter than I was when we said goodbye last September.’

  Jonty shrugged. ‘I dunno. Maybe it’s the clothes.’ He chuckled. ‘Wait till Ma sees you, gal. She’s already planning how best you can help out; did she tell you when she wrote that our land girl has been demobbed? And Maggie doesn’t want to work on the farm – my sister has got herself a job with the Milk Marketing Board, if you please – so if you intend to swan around looking beautiful you’ve got no chance. It’ll be up at six, in the milking parlour, mucking out the cows, feeding the pigs and doing all sorts. You’ll be all right for clothing, because Ma hung on to Patty’s overalls. She said she wouldn’t be needing them, her being a city girl.’ He jerked his head at an empty table for two against the wall. ‘Go and bag that table whilst I go to the counter, ’cos it’s not waitress service. What do you fancy?’

  ‘The biggest cup of tea they’ve got on offer, a cheese sandwich, if they’ve got one, and a currant bun,’ Tess said at once. ‘I’m perishin’ well starving. I suppose they don’t do chips?’

  Jonty gave a derisive snort. ‘Chips? At three in the afternoon? Course not. But are you sure you want a sandwich and a bun? Ma’s made a grand sausage meat pie and she’ll do mashed spuds to go with it, and a feed of runner beans. Will your appetite be up to it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tess said baldly. ‘But if you can’t afford it . . .’

  Jonty had been about to head for the counter but turned back to give her a friendly punch on the shoulder. ‘Course I can afford it; I’m a rich young farmer, aren’t I? Or I shall be once all this austerity business is behind us. I’m tellin’ you, I’m bloody glad I live on a farm! I reckon folk in towns and cities are hard pressed to feed themselves, unless they’ve got good gardens, that is.’

  Tess murmured something appropriate and watched as he joined the queue at the counter and came back balancing their order on a small tray. She thought he had taken a great leap away from her, but then remembered the difference in their ages, which hadn’t been so noticeable when she lived here since thanks to the shortage of teachers, most of whom had joined the forces, she and Jonty had been in the same class at school. In her last year in the village it had included children from the ages of nine to fourteen. She and Jonty had both managed the work easily, though Jonty had been blatantly uninterested and had very little self-confidence where school work was concerned. Indeed he had sometimes copied Tess’s answers, saying that schoolwork was boring and of little use if one intended to work on the land. He seldom read a book, though she recalled he was hot stuff at mathematics. When she left the farm he had been about to start at the grammar school to work for his School Certificate and this, she imagined, had given him the self-confidence which he was now showing.

  Jonty put the tray carefully down on the table. ‘Now let’s catch up on what’s been happening to us both,’ he said. ‘I like your hair, by the way; it’s really smart.’

  ‘I like yours too,’ Tess said politely, only realising she was speaking the truth after she had done so. When she had been at the farm Mrs Bell had occasionally attacked her son’s hair with the kitchen scissors, reducing an untidy thatch to something resembling a mouse-nibbled hay crop, but he was obviously getting proper haircuts now he was at the grammar school. ‘I say, this bun’s not half bad. How long have we got before the bus leaves? I take it there’s still a bus stop on the opposite side of the Yarmouth Road, just outside the station? Only I don’t fancy having to lug my suitcase all the way up to Surrey Street!’

  Tess and Jonty caught the bus with plenty of time to spare and presently got off about half a mile from the farm, because the bus took the main road through the village. Despite the fact that it was now late afternoon, the sun was still very hot and both she and, she suspected, Jonty were downright relieved when they reached the short drive. Tess paused to look at the house which had been her home for so long. At first glance she could see no changes; there it stood, a tall, red-brick house with the attic windows catching the brilliant rays of the sun. Then she saw that the ivy on the right-hand side of the house, which had begun to creep halfway up the rosy bricks, had been hacked down, and the trees which crowded close on the other side had been pruned so that they no longer cast a comforting area of shade over Mrs Bell’s herb garden.

  Tess turned to look doubtfully up into Jonty’s face. ‘It hasn’t changed much, except that the ivy’s gone and the trees ought to look bigger but they look smaller,’ she said. ‘And – and Jonty, something’s just occurred to me. I don’t mean to be horrid, but looking at the house I can’t help remembering how hot my room was in summer . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Jonty grinned. ‘Ma didn’t like having to put you and Patty up in the attic: too hot in summer and too cold in winter. You’ll be all right this time – she’ll tell you what’s been happening when we get indoors. Come on, don’t stand there like a donkey. Ma will have the tea on the go and be waiting for us.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Tess said. They crossed the farmyard and let themselves into the kitchen, a huge room which was, as far as Tess could make out with one rapid glance, unaltered. Mrs Bell came over and gave Tess a peck on the cheek, telling her that she was very welcome. She was a large woman, her thick golden hair streaked with white and held back from her round and rosy face with a number of hair grips.

  ‘How are you, my woman?’ she said, but Tess had seen the hastily stifled look of dismay on her hostess’s face when she took in the navy dress and shoes, and hastened to reassure her.

  ‘These are just my best clothes for travelling in and for going to church on Sundays,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ve got my old stuff in the suitcase, and Jonty says I can wear Patty’s overalls while I’m doing mucky jobs.’

  ‘What nonsense, Tess; as if I’d expect you to work when you’ve come on a visit,’ Mrs Bell said, but Tess saw a blush creep up her hostess’s cheeks and when Jonty gave a rude crow of disbelief his mother shot him a darkling look which boded
ill for her son when she got him alone.

  However, he was bidden to take their guest upstairs to her room so that she might change. ‘Because we don’t want you to go a-messin’ up of your nice new clothes,’ Mrs Bell said tactfully. ‘I expect Jonty’s told you that Maggie’s got a job in Norwich. She come home weekends from time to time but mostly she stays with her Aunty Daff up on Unthank Road, ’cos she can walk to her office from there. So you won’t need to go up to the attic, my dear; I’ve given you Maggie’s room.’

  ‘Oh, but what about weekends . . .?’ Tess was beginning, but Jonty ushered her away before she could say any more. As they climbed the stairs, he explained.

  ‘Maggie’s got a boyfriend,’ he hissed, grinning. ‘Can you imagine, my sister has actually managed to find herself a boyfriend! She came home one weekend but she was just miserable. She wouldn’t help on the farm or in the house, kept talking about this Philip Broster, telling us how wonderful he was. She says they mean to marry as soon as they’ve saved enough to take on the rent of a flat or a cottage. So you needn’t worry that you’re taking her room. Dad told her she’d have to sleep in the attic whilst you were with us, so I doubt you’ll see her before you go home.’

  ‘Oh. That’s all right then,’ Tess said faintly. ‘But I don’t know why you’re surprised that Maggie’s got a boyfriend. She’s really pretty.’

  Jonty shrugged. ‘Do you think so?’ he said, with brotherly incredulity. ‘Anyway, the room’s yours whilst you’re here, so you needn’t worry that Maggie will try to oust you. How long will it take you to change?’

  ‘Ten minutes,’ Tess said rather rashly, with thoughts of sausage meat pie in the forefront of her mind, and when Jonty had thundered down the stairs she was forced to hurry, tearing off her beautiful dress and shoes, having a quick splash at the washstand and then donning her old grey skirt and blue blouse, both of which were a trifle small, which just went to prove, she thought as she left the room, that Jonty was not the only one to have gained some weight after all.

  Downstairs in the kitchen Tess greeted Mr Bell, scrubbing his hands at the sink. He was a tall, spare man, with a long, rather lugubrious face, though appearances were deceptive, for he had a keen sense of humour and enjoyed a joke. He was not demonstrative, so Tess was surprised when he patted her on the head before taking his place at the table. At his wife’s command he removed his greasy tweed cap and threw it at the hook on the back door. Tess smiled. ‘You ought to go on the fair, Mr Bell,’ she said. ‘If there was a cap throwing contest you’d win hands down. Wish I could throw anything as accurately as that!’

  Jonty laughed. ‘That’s a thought, Dad,’ he said approvingly. ‘You have come out of your shell, Tess Williams!’

  ‘Never you mind our Jonty,’ Mrs Bell interrupted. ‘Just you sit down so’s I can start dishin’ up. And don’t encourage Mr Bell to go hurlin’ his cap at the door; if I’ve told him once I’ve told him a hundred times that my kitchen int a fairground.’

  Tess settled in her place and began to eat. The food was lovely but it was eaten more or less in silence, apart from such requests as ‘pass the salt’ or ‘can I have another piece of bread please?’ and Tess remembered that it had always been the way, in order to finish eating and return to farm work as quickly as possible. She smiled to herself, thinking how different life was with Gran. They chatted away at mealtimes, telling each other any interesting news they had gleaned during the day, interrupting, laughing and generally enjoying the talk as much as the food. But now she had to wait until the meal was finished and Mr Bell had returned to the farmyard before the farmer’s wife spoke up. She was clattering dishes into the sink whilst Tess dried them and Jonty put them away.

  ‘You’ll not know that Mr Bell is using the pastures beyond the cut to fatten beef cattle,’ her hostess began. ‘He go into Norwich every two or three weeks and buy poor stock which he can see will make up, given the right grub. Of course we’re still mainly arable – sugar beet and wheat as well as the orchards – but beef cattle are worth a tidy sum, and there’s talk of getting more pigs . . .’

  ‘Oh, you do go on, Ma,’ Jonty cut in, no doubt seeing that Tess was struggling to find an appropriate comment. ‘She’ll find out for herself how things have changed as time goes on.’

  Mrs Bell looked reproachful. ‘She don’t know we’ve bought Larkin’s, so things have changed a lot,’ she pointed out. She turned to Tess. ‘I didn’t tell you we’d bought Willow Farm, did I? Old man Larkin retired and neither of his sons wanted to work the land. The farmhouse is terribly rackety and run down, but one of these days when we’ve time to spare we’ll do it up and either sell it or pass it to young Jonty here when he’s got hisself a wife and needs a place of his own.’

  Tess stared at her old friend. He had changed, to be sure, but he was still a boy and the thought of him marrying and taking on the Larkins’ ramshackle old farmhouse was hard to swallow. Jonty saw her staring and gave her a reassuring grin.

  ‘Ma reckons a farmer wants a wife . . .’ he began, but this was too much for Tess’s gravity and she burst into song.

  ‘The farmer wants a wife, the farmer wants a wife, ee-aye-endio, the farmer wants a wife.’ At this reminder of their old school game, Jonty began to laugh, and Mrs Bell looked from one to the other, a frown creasing her brow.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked. ‘A farmer do want a wife. That’s not like other jobs. That take two to run a successful farm.’

  ‘Yes, I know, Ma, it was just that the words I used are the same in one of the games we played at school,’ Jonty said soothingly. He glanced at the draining board and saw that nothing remained to be done, and jerked his head at Tess. ‘Come on, Tess. I’ve got to shut the hens up before it gets dark – in case of foxes, remember? Going to come with me?’

  ‘Of course,’ Tess said quickly and was suddenly aware that she did not want to be left in the farmhouse with Mrs Bell. She realised she had never known the older woman very well, because what with school and the multitude of tasks on the farm she’d spent very little time actually talking to her, so she followed Jonty quickly.

  Outside in the cool air of evening Jonty led her straight across to the stable where the two big carthorses Solomon and Sheba and the two ponies Rufus and Biddy lived. ‘Actually, Dad and I saw to the stock earlier, knowing you were coming,’ he said. ‘But Tibbs has had kittens in Sheba’s manger, and I thought you’d like to see them. We’ll keep one or two, because they’ll be good mousers like their mother, but the rest will go to neighbours. Want to take a look?’

  Albert had a rush of customers after his latest delivery of cigarettes and tobacco, so he did not call on Mr Clarke to stand in for him until four days after Tess had left. He might not have done so then, but he had received a card from his young friend which had cheered him considerably. She said that she had reached Bell Farm safely and was enjoying both the work and meeting old friends, but had only been into the village once, because there’s so much to do here. Mr Bell has bought the farm next door, Willow Farm. The land is rather neglected, but not nearly as bad as the house. The family moved out six months ago and no one’s touched it since, but doubling the acreage has meant double the work. The Bells’ land girl has left as well which means Jonty and I are busy from dawn to dusk. Coming home will be a positive rest cure! Hope you are enjoying your coach trips. Wish you were here. With best wishes, Tess.

  Reading between the lines, Albert suspected that Tess was missing Heyworth Street. She had been happy on the farm in wartime, had made many friends at the village school, but from what she said it seemed her hosts did not regard her as a guest but as an unpaid farm hand. He thought Tess was far too bright not to realise it, and although the last thing he wanted was that she should not enjoy her holiday, he couldn’t help hoping, at the same time, that it meant that at the end of her three-week stay she would be happy to come back to Liverpool, her gran and the pals she had made here, including himself. So he tucked the card away in his wallet,
closed the shop early and went along to the offices of the coach company he favoured. A coach was going to Rhyl the very next day – in fact a coach went to Rhyl every day – so he bought a ticket and returned to the flat above the tobacconist’s shop feeling happier than he had done since Tess had left.

  Next morning he awoke to find sunshine streaming through a gap in his bedroom curtains. He jumped out of bed, a pleasant feeling of anticipation causing him to choose his favourite short-sleeved shirt and his best lightweight trousers. He washed hastily, then went through to the kitchen for a substantial breakfast of porridge and toast. When he and his dear Louisa had gone on coach trips she had packed a great many sandwiches, a fruit cake and a flask of tea, but Albert did not intend to eat a solitary picnic on Rhyl beach; no indeed! He meant to go to the best restaurant in town and have a light luncheon of ham salad, followed by a fish and chip supper before the coach set off for Liverpool once more. He pictured himself with his trouser legs rolled up, paddling in the sea, and wished he could have bathed – he was a strong swimmer – but did not think he could do so on a coach trip, where there would be no facilities for drying wet and salty bathing trunks. Paddling would have to do, therefore; he just hoped no one he knew from Heyworth Street would see him indulging in what was generally regarded as a childish pastime.

  Albert reached the coach station and found that he was amongst the first of the would-be passengers to arrive, which had been his intention. He looked at the half-dozen women standing uncertainly beside the steps which led into the scarlet-upholstered interior, and suggested that they might as well get aboard and choose their seats before other passengers arrived. The women agreed that this was a good idea so long as the coach driver did not take exception to such forward behaviour, and presently Albert had taken his favourite place, the window seat right at the front of the bus on the passenger side, and was making himself comfortable.