A Christmas to Remember

by Katie Flynn

  ‘You’ll change your mind if she shows us a disapproving face,’ Albert cautioned. ‘Aren’t we lucky that it’s a brilliant day? I’ve packed a towel and my bathing shorts so we can have a dip in the briny. I take it you’ve done likewise?’

  ‘Oh, go away with you,’ Edie said, laughing. ‘You’d best see if you can catch the postman and collect your own mail, then we can read our letters together.’

  She began to prepare the packed lunch which they would share, for though in the past they had preferred to eat in restaurants or cafés, because they were saving hard they now usually took sandwiches for midday. She was wrapping them in greaseproof paper when Albert returned, a little breathless after pursuing the postman and climbing the narrow stairway which led to the flat. He sat down at the table. ‘Three for you, all from house agents, a bill for me from my cigarette supplier, and one personal one each; yours from Tess and mine from Janine,’ he said. He handed her envelopes to Edie, opened his bill and pulled a face, then opened his daughter’s missive and sighed. ‘No doubt her life is full of excitement, but her letters don’t reflect it,’ he said ruefully. ‘Perhaps it’s because she was always closer to her mother than to me, but sometimes I think we’ve grown so far apart that if we met we should scarcely recognise each other. But it’s all part of being a parent – the letting go, I mean – so I mustn’t grumble, but be glad that she’s enjoying a wonderful life in another land. It’s just a pity that she can’t write it all down in a way that a distant father can understand. Want to read it? I’m sure Janine wouldn’t mind.’

  Edie read the letter quickly, then looked quizzically across at Albert. ‘She’s having fun and enjoying her life,’ she pointed out. ‘Some people have the gift of description and others . . .’

  ‘Haven’t,’ Albert said with a reluctant grin. ‘If I’m not being nosy, what has Tess got to report?’

  The letter was a short one, but Albert smiled as he read. ‘Your Tess knows how to write,’ he said, handing the pages back. ‘Janine isn’t the only one having a whale of a time. But I wouldn’t swap with either of ’em. I’ve not been to Blackpool for years!’

  Edie got to her feet, scooped up the food she had prepared and put it into the rucksack which Albert found the most convenient way of carrying their picnic. Glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, she gave a squeak of dismay. ‘Oh, Albert, look at the time! I haven’t been to Blackpool for ages, either, not since I was four or five, in fact, and I shall be heartbroken if we miss the coach. Do let’s hurry.’

  Despite the fact that it was a lovely day, with the sun streaming down out of a cloudless blue sky, they both took their mackintoshes off the hook by the kitchen door and hurried downstairs to head for the pick-up spot for the Blackpool coach. ‘I’ll write to Tess as soon as we get home this evening,’ Edie said. ‘And you must write to Janine as well. Do you include her husband in your letters?’

  ‘No, since he’s never so much as added a few words to the bottom of hers,’ Albert admitted. ‘And I’d love a photograph – perhaps a wedding group, if they have such things in the United States – but she’s never sent one.’

  ‘It was signed off Love from Janine and all, but you would think they could send a picture,’ Edie said. She glanced at her watch. ‘Better get a move on, or we really will miss the coach. And when you reply to Janine’s letter, just you tell her that a photograph of her wedding group would take pride of place on your mantelpiece. That should fetch ’em . . . young people don’t realise how we old ‘uns appreciate such things.’

  By now they had reached the coach stop, and even as Edie began to say that she would draft the letter for him, the vehicle for which they waited drew up alongside and they climbed aboard. They both liked to occupy the front window seat and took it in turns to do so, and now there was an amicable squabble over whose turn it was. Edie said it was Albert’s turn this trip and he said it was Edie’s, but in the end he settled the matter by pushing Edie ahead of him and then taking the seat next to her.

  They arranged themselves comfortably and began to plan their day. First they would go on the beach, perhaps have a bit of a paddle, look for shells and pretty stones. They would eat their picnic there if it stayed fine, and then they meant to attend the tea dance held daily in the Tower. They would see the menagerie before going right to the very top of the Tower and looking down at not just Blackpool but also distant Southport and perhaps even Liverpool itself.

  ‘Then we’ll have a nice cup of tea and one of those delicious iced buns which they sell in the Winter Gardens,’ Albert said contentedly. ‘Then we’ll have lots to tell Tess and Janine when we write.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a day more,’ Edie said contentedly. The two of them were strolling along the prom as the sun began to sink in the west. ‘We did just as we said we would . . .’

  ‘And then we had fish and chips out of newspaper, and came down on the prom to say a last goodbye to the sea,’ Albert said contentedly. ‘You’re right, Edie; it’s been the best day of the summer so far.’ An idea suddenly occurred to him. ‘Edie, suppose we have our photographs taken? There’s a booth near the Winter Gardens . . . or we could go to the funfair and poke our heads through those round holes so that when the picture is developed it will look as though we’re in cowboy gear, or a mermaid and a merman . . . would that amuse Janine, do you suppose, and encourage her to follow suit?’

  Edie thought this a splendid idea, but time was short so they trotted briskly along the pavement, checked that their coach was at the stop, and continued on to the fairground. They chose to be pictured as what Edie described as ‘cowpersons’, and having paid out their money and left their addresses felt they had done all they could to persuade Janine to send a picture, and returned to the prom, where the other passengers had already started to board the coach. Albert and Edie took their places and began to chat to the bus driver, telling him what a grand day they had had, and asking him how he had spent the long and sunny hours. ‘For I remember you telling us once before that you left the coach in a big car park on the outskirts of town and came in with your mates to enjoy a go on the funfair or a couple of games of bingo,’ Albert said. ‘My friend and I took a look at the funfair but decided we’d spend our money on fish and chips instead.’ He laughed. ‘Not such fun as the big wheel, but more filling.’

  The bus driver agreed rather absently and began to count heads, for though a good few of the passengers knew each other there was always the chance that someone had boarded the wrong coach, or misunderstood their time of departure, so that the driver of each of the great vehicles drawn up alongside the prom had to check his passenger list carefully against the number of seats already filled.

  The time for departure came and went and they were still one passenger short. Their driver walked along the line of coaches still waiting to be filled but could not find his missing charge, and when at last he returned to the coach Albert suddenly remembered something. He stood up and leaned close to the driver. ‘Excuse me, Bob,’ he said urgently. ‘If you remember, when we were setting out this morning you said that a chap called Edwin Briars had sent one of his mates along to say he’d got one of them ’orrible bugs, and was busy throwing up, so couldn’t take his place on the coach. He had paid for his ticket and I believe you told his mate that since it was illness he could get a refund from the coach office.’

  Bob struck his head with the back of his hand. ‘Wharra fool I am. Fancy me forgettin’ that,’ he said. He grinned apologetically at the seated passengers. ‘I’m sorry, folks; it seems I’ve held us up for nothin’. But never mind, I’ll put me wellie down and have us all back in the ‘Pool no more’n five minutes after we’re due.’

  Having done his duty, Albert returned to his seat. Edie rummaged in her pocket and produced a bag of humbugs; they both took one and leaned against each other as the bus roared on through the deepening darkness. They were all but asleep, might have slept, in fact, save that someone at the back of the vehic
le began to sing an old Vera Lynn favourite, ‘We’ll Meet Again’. Other songs followed as the coach pounded along, Bob’s voice joining in the chorus with as much enthusiasm as though he had not already had a very full day and must, like most of his customers, be longing for his bed.

  They were about halfway home and travelling pretty well flat out, Albert guessed, when the driver gave a gasp. ‘Something’s up with the steerin’!’ he said hoarsely. ‘The old girl won’t answer to me hand on the wheel.’ He slammed his foot on the brake but nothing happened and the next moment the headlights went out, the bus swerved crazily and, for Albert at least, the world turned violently upside down and darkness descended.

  Chapter Seven

  ALBERT CAME TO to find he was lying on what seemed to be grass, at the foot of what looked like an enormous mountain. There was something pinning him down; he realised it was a coach seat, probably the very one he had been sitting on when the driver had declared that the steering had gone. Albert tried to wriggle out from under the seat, whispering Edie’s name in a tiny thread of a voice as he did so, and heard a soft moan.

  Edie! It must be her, trying to respond to him saying her name. He turned and felt around, found nothing except the grass upon which he lay. Nothing. Painfully, he stretched his hand out further and – oh joy! – felt a shoulder, then an arm, an elbow, then a wrist. But as his fingers felt lower he nearly recoiled in horror. The wrist was gashed open, he could not tell how deeply, the hand beneath it was sticky with blood and the blood was still welling out.

  Immediately all his first aid training during the war rushed to the forefront of his mind. Panic receded. First, stop the bleeding. He pulled a clean white handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and managed to wriggle on to his side so that he had both hands free, then bound the handkerchief tightly round Edie’s wrist and began to shout. His voice, which had refused to obey him earlier, came out loud and clear, and as his shouts began to echo round the bus – for it was the coach itself which loomed over him, not a mountain – he saw lights flashing, glimpsed the starry sky through a gap in the mangled metal, and demanded that someone come at once before Edie bled to death.

  Things happened quickly after that. Many vehicles lit up the scene, including several ambulances, and the drivers and passengers of other buses, and those from their own vehicle who had managed to escape with minor cuts and bruises, were milling around trying to help. Firemen came also, with their heavy-lifting equipment, so that it was not too long before Albert and Edie were both freed, though Edie had not regained consciousness. She and Albert were dispatched to hospital in the same ambulance and all the way into the city Albert held Edie’s hand and talked comfortingly to her. ‘You’ll be all right; there was a doctor waiting to give you a shot of something when we managed to get you out from under that seat,’ he told her. ‘They don’t know quite how bad your injuries are yet, but I mean to stay with you and see you get the best of all possible attention. Thank God for the National Health Service! Hey, Edie, now the government will pay all your bills so you can concentrate on getting well again without having to worry about money. I dare say you’ll be back in Deering’s by next Monday, raring to go, but if you aren’t you’ll get sickness benefit. Oh, we’ll see you right, never you fret.’

  He was crouching beside the stretcher bed in the ambulance, trying to sound both cheerful and positive, but in fact he felt downright terrified, Edie was so white, so drained. The ambulance men had dressed the dreadful wrist and now it was tightly swathed in white bandages, but they had also told him that his missus, as they called her, might have other injuries: a broken shoulder, three broken ribs, an elbow which had been jerked out of joint and a broken tibia, all on her left side.

  ‘Is your missus right-handed?’ one of the ambulance men had asked.

  Albert cleared his throat. ‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Thank God for small mercies.’

  ‘Well, even so you’ll find yourself doing all sorts of housework for a few weeks yet,’ the ambulance man said. He had looked keenly at Albert and then, seeming to like what he saw, added: ‘Or maybe it’s more likely to be months than weeks. But I can see you’re the sort of feller who’s learned to cope with trouble. In the forces, were you, during the war? They teach you how to stay calm in the face of adversity.’

  Albert, however, had had to shake his head. ‘No, but I was an ARP warden and a member of St John’s Ambulance. I had to deal with all sorts, which has stood me in good stead tonight.’

  Edie Williams heard voices, though none that she recognised; they were echoing, strange, coming at her from several different angles. She tried to listen, but the words which she could catch made no sense. So she tried instead to open her eyes to see what was happening. Her eyelids, heavy as lead, refused to lift. Then a voice that she did know came to her ears. It was Albert’s voice, her good friend Albert, and he was telling her that she would be all right. Edie found this immensely comforting, though she saw no reason for him to say it. If she was in danger she could not imagine what form such danger could take. She opened her mouth to ask Albert what he was talking about, but no sound came out. For a moment more she tried to listen, and then she made another attempt to open her eyes, but as she did so a violent pain shot from her shoulder right down to her fingertips. She gave a gasp and a moan, and the voice she did not recognise spoke comfortingly. ‘There you are, Mrs Williams. Just a little injection to help keep the pain at bay until you’re stronger.’ Edie was suddenly sure that she recognised that voice. Not to whom it belonged; she recognised it as the sort of voice a doctor uses to a patient. She tried to nod her head to show that she understood, but she was sinking into what felt like a bed of feathers, which, if she allowed them to, would float her into the darkness from which it seemed she had barely emerged. She made another effort to lift her lids, to demand to be told where she was and what had happened to her. She knew of course that she was Mrs Edie Williams . . . but other than that she was still fighting to regain her full senses when she felt her hand taken once more, and a voice both dear and familiar spoke close against her ear.

  ‘It’s all right, Edie. Our coach ran off the road and you got the worst of it. If only I’d insisted on having the window seat! Sometimes it don’t do to be a gentleman, because it was you who found yourself crushed by the weight of the coach. The doctor’s given you an injection and he says you’ll sleep for hours, and when you wake up I’ll explain more, but now all you have to do is go to sleep, because sleep’s the best medicine, they say.’ Edie’s hand had lain motionless in Albert’s, but at his words she put every ounce of her strength into giving his fingers a tiny squeeze, and then, almost thankfully, she sank into the feathery darkness.

  ‘Hey up, someone’s coming up the lane. Oh, it’s the telegraph boy . . . he’s coming here!’

  Jonty and Tess had just left the milking parlour, each carrying a brimming galvanised bucket. A couple of days ago they had taken themselves off to Mundesley and Tess, with many squeals, had allowed Jonty to teach her to do the front crawl, and then to swim on her back, two skills which had eluded her until then. It had been a happy day, and just now they had been discussing what they should do the following day, for that too was to be a holiday. Jonty wanted to visit the Nicholas Everett Park, for he had a friend who sailed on Oulton Broad and had offered to lend Jonty his yacht for the day. The yacht, the Merry Dancer, was moored at the park and Jonty, who usually crewed for his friend, was looking forward to showing Tess all the delights of the Broad. In fact they had been discussing whether to take a picnic or to go to Waller’s Fish Restaurant when they emerged from the milking parlour to see the telegraph boy turning into their yard.

  Tess’s hand flew to her heart, then she gave herself a shake. ‘It’s daft, I know, but ever since the war even the sight of a telegraph boy in the street gives me the shivers. Only I expect it’ll be for one of the hands, or for your father and mother, not for me.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right,’ Jonty said, but
Tess thought he looked uneasy. ‘Still, work must go on! Let’s get this milk to the cooler, and then we’ll go in and see.’

  The back door opened, and Mrs Bell exchanged a few words with the telegraph boy before beckoning to Tess. ‘That’s for you, Tess,’ she called. ‘Best stand the milk down and come and read it. The feller say it’s reply paid.’

  Tess began to lower her bucket to the ground, but Jonty seized it and jerked his head at the kitchen door. ‘Don’t worry about the milk; I’ll deal with that,’ he said. ‘Just you read your telegram, and if it’s from your gran wanting you to go home early . . .’

  But Tess was already taking the envelope from the boy. She opened it and swiftly scanned the contents, and felt the blood drain from her face. She turned wide eyes up to Mrs Bell. ‘There’s been an accident. Gran was on a coach trip with Mr Payne and he’s telegraphed to say the coach went off the road and Gran’s in hospital.’ She had barely finished speaking before Jonty was at her side, gently taking the telegram from her.

  He read it aloud. ‘Gran in hospital after injuries in coach accident stop come home stop Albert Payne.’

  Tess turned to her hostess. ‘Oh, Mrs Bell, I’ll have to go at once. Can Jonty drive me to Thorpe station? Oh, but I’ve got to reply to this . . .’ She clasped her head as though to still her whirling thoughts. ‘What should I say? I can’t tell Albert what time I’ll arrive in Lime Street because I don’t know . . .’

  Jonty ushered her gently into the kitchen, sat her down in a chair and then addressed the telegraph boy, who was standing waiting, pencil and telegram form at the ready. ‘I reckon you can’t do better than to say Coming asap stop Tess.’ Jonty glanced at his mother. ‘Can you do without me for a few days, Ma? I’d like to go back with Tess because she may need someone to give a hand. I’m not suggesting that I’d be gone long, but surely a few days wouldn’t hurt?’