‘Oh, son!’ she exclaimed. ‘Are yer here to stay this time?’
‘Aye, Mother, I’m here to stay.’ He could see the tears in Lizzie’s eyes and tried to joke her out of the emotion they were both experiencing. ‘Until yer either kick me out or I get meself a wife.’
‘That’ll be the day,’ she joked back. ‘Who’d ’ave yer?’
‘Where’s me dad?’
‘Work. He’ll be home at ten, or thereabouts.’
‘How’re the others? Our Enid and Sally?’
‘All right. And our Pat’s working now.’
‘Oh! What’s she doing?’
‘The same thing she’s been doing for the last few years, but now she’s getting paid for it.’
‘Good, it’s what she’s always wanted, a job in the theatre.’
‘Aye, I reckon she’d made herself so useful they couldn’t manage without her.’
‘What about our Norah and Daisy?
‘Oh, our Norah’s doing all right. I reckon she’ll end up in the offices at the works. She’s usually top of the class. As for our Daisy … I worry about her. All she wants to do is write, and since she won that competition it’s made her ever more determined.’
‘Aye, I heard about that. She must ’ave been thrilled. I don’t think yer need to worry about our Daisy, though, she’s such a determined kid I dare say she’ll do anything she sets her heart on.’
‘Aye, but she’s going to need a job in the meantime.’
Ernest had been longing to ask about Betty Hayes and little Ernie but couldn’t think of an excuse. Instead he asked, ‘Is Clarence home yet?’ and saw the confusion on his mother’s face. ‘Clarence Hayes?’
‘Nay, lad,’ she said. ‘Clarence Hayes won’t be coming home again. He died in a concentration camp.’
‘What? When?’ Ernest felt a flutter of hope and then immediately a wave of guilt for his unworthy feeling.
‘Eeh, it must be a couple of years now.’
‘Nobody said.’
‘I expect nobody liked to talk about somebody dying, not when you were at risk too.’
‘But at Christmas when Betty was there … what must she have thought when I didn’t even offer my condolences?’
‘Don’t know. lad. I don’t suppose she’d ’ave wanted reminding, she was pretty cut up at the time.’
Ernest couldn’t wait to see Betty now. He made an excuse that he was eager to visit his sisters and set off to Enid’s on Potters Row. She was thrilled to have her brother home, but shocked by his appearance. It seemed to be his mental state that had been worst affected. Ernest was blinking all the time and his left hand seemed to have developed a tremor.
‘Sit down, love. Let’s get you a drink and something to eat. You look like you could do with fattening up a bit.’
‘No! No, thanks, I’m not hungry. I could murder a cuppa, though.’
Enid took the singing kettle from the hob and mashed the tea. When it was brewed she sat down opposite her brother and poured it into two cups.
‘So how are you really?’ She stirred her tea. ‘And don’t say you’re fine.’
‘No, Enid, I’m not fine. I’m a bloody nervous wreck and that’s the truth. The worst thing about it was watching the planes of me mates going up in flames around me. Not just me mates either, the ones I had to shoot down too. The poor sods in ’em were lads my own age. It wasn’t their fault they were fighting the bloody war, any more than it were mine.
‘One of them was coming straight at me when one of our lads went for him. I saw his face, Enid. I could see the fear in his eyes. He no more wanted to kill me than I did him. I didn’t have to on that occasion, me mate got him in the side, saved me life, but there were other times … we actually cheered when we got one of them. Can you imagine that, Enid, can you?’
‘No, Ernest, I can’t. I only know you did what you had to do and it must have taken a lot of guts, but it’s over now and you must put it behind you. Just like countless thousands of others will have to do.’
‘Aye, I know that, but was any of it worth the carnage? All the men and women who lost their lives? I don’t think so. And it isn’t over, Enid. What about the people of Hiroshima and Nagasaki? The aftermath of what we did there won’t be known for years. You’re right, I shall have to put it behind me, but it’ll still be in my head. I shall never forget … I can’t.’
Ernest finally let go of the tears he had kept in check for so long. His sister held his hand and let him cry, knowing he would be all the better for doing so. When he had calmed down a bit he was more like his old self.
‘So what’s this about having another earner in the family?’
Enid laughed. ‘I haven’t seen any of it yet! Not that Pat’s earning all that much, she’d be bringing home more from an office job.’
‘Ah, but would she be happy?’
‘Would she heck!’
‘Well then, let her be happy, Enid. We only have one chance at life, we’ve got to make the most of it.’
‘Oh, it made us realise that when our Daisy went missing. We’ve got to let our kids be happy while they can.’
‘What about poor Clarence? What happened to him?’
‘Dysentery. Betty was devastated.’
‘How is she now?’
‘Fine. You know Betty, gets on with things, makes the most of them. She’s a wonderful mother … and I know you’ve got a thing about her, so what are you going to do about it?’
Ernest felt the colour rising in his cheeks. ‘How do yer make that out?’
‘How? By the way you never took your eyes off her at our Christmas get together.’
‘Yes, but what if she doesn’t fancy me?’
‘If she doesn’t, she’ll tell you. If she does, you’ll never know unless you ask her. Take her to the pictures or a dance. They still have them at the Victoria Club.’
‘Will you ask her for me?’
‘Will I heck! Where’s the great lady-killer disappeared to? The one who went away?’
‘He’s still here, just sadly out of practice.’
‘Yes, well, she’ll be in if you wait another half an hour.’
‘Right, I’ll go and see our Sally while I’m waiting.’
Enid noticed the spring had come back to Ernest’s step as he strode towards the gap in the wall. It could have been the letting go and having a good cry, but it was more likely the anticipation of a date with Betty Hayes.
Little Ernie had been enthralled in an old Play-box Annual that had once belonged to Uncle Jim, but then the gasman came and the book was forgotten.
Ernie thought the gasman was the cleverest person he knew. He would empty all the pennies from the meter on to the table, after which he would slide each penny to the edge and into his hand. This would be done so fast Ernie could hardly see his fingers moving. When he got twenty-four pennies he would stand them up in a pile on the table. When they were all done he would count the piles and take them away in his bag. The best bit was that there were always some pennies left on the table. Grandma called that the rebate and always gave Ernie a few to go and spend at Mr Baraclough’s.
Sometimes he would buy a bag of lemon crystals, licking his finger and dipping it in, sucking off the crystals and leaving his finger bright yellow. Another time he might buy some aniseed balls or a licorice stick. He couldn’t wait for Grandma to give him some pennies … but then something happened to distract him for a while. A man came. He knocked on the door and waited until Grandma opened it. That in itself was unusual, but then this man was a stranger.
‘Ernest lad, bring yerself in! Don’t stand there knocking. How are yer?’
‘I’m not so bad, Mrs Butler.’
‘Aye, well. I dare say yer’ll be better when you’ve been in yer mother’s care for a while.’
‘I expect you’re wondering why I’m here? Well, I’ve come to apologise to Betty. Nobody told me about Clarence last time and I don’t know what she thought of me, not offering my condolences.�
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‘Oh, I don’t think she’d ’ave thought owt about it. Anyway, she’ll be ’ome in a minute so yer can offer ’em then.’ Amy took hold of Ernie’s hand. ‘Come on, Ernie, let’s go and see what Mr Baraclough’s got today, shall we?’
Ernie wasn’t bothered about going, though. He liked the look of this man and wondered if he was his dad. He looked at the photograph on the mantelpiece. No, he wasn’t the same man, but he looked all right. He liked him even better when he took a silver sixpence out of his pocket and gave it to Ernie, saying, ‘Here, Ernie, see what Mr Baraclough’s got for sixpence.’
‘Ooh, thank you, mester.’
‘Ernest … my name’s the same as yours.’
But Ernie was already off across the field in the direction of the shop.
Betty was still in her cook’s overall and wished she’d taken it off when she saw Ernest Denman waiting for her. He never even noticed the overall, all he saw was the way her face brightened at the sight of him.
‘Ernest, what a surprise!’
‘A nice one, I hope?’ He grinned briefly and then his expression turned serious. ‘I came to say how sorry I was to hear about Clarence.’
‘Thank you, but I don’t suppose he’ll be the only one you knew who won’t be coming home.’ Betty’s face had clouded over.
‘No, but that’s not much consolation. Anyway, I wondered if you’d do me a favour?’
‘I will if I can.’
‘Will you come out with me one night? I sort of feel a bit lost, after being away for so long.’
Betty’s smile then looked like a ray of sunshine to Ernest. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
‘I’d love to. It’s ages since I’ve had a date … not since Clarence went back, in fact. Where would you like to go?’
‘You choose. Pictures? Dancing?’
Betty privately wondered if a dance might be a bit of an ordeal for Ernie, who was obviously in a nervous state.
‘Pictures,’ she decided.
‘Right.’ Ernest was glad. He would have Betty to himself in the pictures. ‘When … Saturday?’
‘Sure.’ Betty smiled at him again and Ernest thought he was in heaven. ‘I’ll meet you outside,’ she told him.
‘You will not! If I’m taking you, I’ll pick you up here. Seven o’clock, okay?’
Betty nodded and waited for him to leave. The way he was gazing at her, she knew he wanted to kiss her. She wanted it too.
‘Mam! Look what Mester Ernest bought me.’ Ernie ran in, holding aloft a bag of pear drops.
‘Did you say thank you?’ Betty just managed to tear her eyes away from Ernest’s.
‘ ’Course I did.’
‘Yes, he did.’ Ernest ruffled the little boy’s hair. ‘I’ll see you another day, Ernie. ’Bye, Betty.’
‘See you Saturday … don’t be late!’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’ The smile Ernest flashed her then was the one the girls used to go wild about in the old days. It had the same effect on Betty.
When Mary came in for her morning chat she seemed fine, but halfway down her cup of tea she burst into tears.
‘Whatever’s the matter, Mary?’
‘It’s happened again.’
‘What’s happened again?’
‘I really thought I was expecting this time, and now I’ve got my period again.’
‘Oh, no, I’m sorry.’
Mary Porter had longed for another child since the day her daughter Celia had died. Ten years later she was still hoping.
‘Oh, Mary, you’ll have to stop torturing yourself like this,’ Sally told her.
‘It’s all right for you, you’ve got Kenneth!’ she sobbed.
‘I know, but you’ve got Stanley. Maybe you’ll have to be content with one child. Many a woman would give anything to have a healthy son.’
‘I know, that’s what Tom says.’
‘Your Stanley’s a son to be proud of. He’s doing very well for himself.’ Stanley had been employed by an electrician and was being given day release to attend college.
‘I know, I realise how fortunate I am most of the time, it’s just when my periods are late that I start hoping again.’
‘Yes, I do understand. I just wish you’d stop upsetting yourself, that’s all.’
‘I’m better now. Best be off.’
‘Mary,’ Sally called as her friend reached the door, ‘let’s go to the pictures tonight. It’s Frank Sinatra and Judy Garland.’
‘Yes, okay, I’ll see you later.’
Sally was troubled for her, though, as she went over to Ida Appleby’s. Ida soon cheered her up. She seemed to get younger with each passing year, and it was all due to Doug Fletcher. She had sought him out at the cafe as she’d said she would, told him he looked like death warmed up, and invited him over to Sunday dinner. He had been visiting her twice a week ever since. He also took her to Sheffield on Saturdays for tea and sometimes the theatre. Today she looked as though she had lost a shilling and found a ten-bob note.
‘Well!’ Sally said. ‘Come on, I can tell something’s pleased you, what is it?’
‘We’re going to Scarborough, to the Grand Hotel, for a week!’
‘Really? In a double room?’
Ida blushed. ‘I don’t know yet. Doug says it’s entirely up to me, but I think I’m too old for all that ’anky-panky.’
Sally grinned. ‘You’re never too old for a cuddle, Ida.’
‘No, but he might not want to stop at a cuddle.’
‘You might not either.’
‘Maybe you’re right … but it’s me body I’m worried about. All me flabby bits, and me breasts … they’re not as firm as they were.’
‘I’ll tell you what, I’ll go and borrow you one of Kitty’s brassieres,’ Sally chuckled, and Ida giggled too. ‘Seriously, though,’ Sally said, ‘you’ve a better figure than some women half your age. Besides, Doug’ll have some floppy bits as well. Ida, go and share a room with him. You can see what you feel like when the time comes, but at least you’ll have the companionship. It’ll be lovely having somebody’s company, and if you feel like sharing his bed, go ahead. Nobody’ll be any the wiser. And what does it matter if they are?’ Sally paused then added, ‘He’s a nice man, Ida. He cares for you. I like Doug.’
‘I know. I care for him as well.’
‘Well then, go and enjoy yourselves. You’re only young once.’
‘All right, I will. And if I come back pregnant, I’ll blame you.’
Daisy typed up all the poems she considered to be her best ones and placed them in a folder to show to her English teacher. He had selected one of her essays to be entered for the school prize and had asked to see some more of her work. Her heart was thumping as she placed them on his desk. ‘Thank you, Daisy,’ was all he said.
She waited nervously for a few days until he came to find her, one afternoon break. ‘Will you come to my classroom, Daisy? I’d like to speak to you.’
He asked her to sit down then told her, ‘I’ve read your poems and made some enquiries about where the best place is to send them.’
‘Really? So you think they’re good enough?’
‘They’re certainly good enough. Whether they’ll be accepted is another matter. You’ve got to understand that publishers receive thousands of manuscripts a year. However, I have a friend who has a friend who is a literary agent. I think you should let him look at your work.
‘Even if it is accepted – which is by no means certain – you won’t make much money, poets rarely do, but it would be a breakthrough and a way of making your name recognisable to publishers. Then it will be time to submit your real work.’
‘My real work?’
‘Well, I’m surmising you write something other than poetry?’
‘Yes!’ Daisy had never told anyone outside the family this before. ‘I’m writing a novel.’
‘Good, good. And what are you thinking of doing when you leave school?’ The teacher frowned at her t
hen. ‘You’re not thinking of depending on your writing to provide you with a living, are you?’
Daisy blushed. ‘I don’t know. I shall have to do something, I suppose, but I just want to write.’
‘Even if your work is accepted, it takes a few years before the money starts to arrive. Keep writing by all means, but you need a job in the meantime to provide you with an income.’ He sat back in his chair to show that this interview was at an end. ‘Oh, and would you like me to deal with these for you?’ He indicated the poems.
‘Yes, please. If it isn’t any trouble?’
‘It will be my pleasure.’
Daisy couldn’t believe some of her work was being sent to a literary agent. The teacher was right, though, she would have to start thinking about getting a job and wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
One day the four friends were at Una Bacon’s, playing her records. As usual the conversation turned to boys, and eventually sex.
‘I’m never having any babies,’ Una said. ‘I want a career.’
‘Don’t you ever want to make love, then?’ Jean asked.
‘Yes, when I’m married.’
‘Well, how will you not have babies then?’ Carol wondered.
‘I shall use contraceptives,’ Una announced.
‘What are they when they’re at home?’ Daisy had never heard of them.
‘They’re rubber things that fit over a man’s willy.’
‘You’re having us on!’ Daisy felt embarrassed.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of them? I’ve known about them for years,’ Una boasted.
‘How?’
‘I found one in my mum and dad’s room, under the bed-side table. Hang on, I’ll show you.’ Una disappeared upstairs. When she came back she was holding a small rubber thing that looked like a balloon. ‘Look, this is one. It catches all the seeds in it so that they don’t end up inside you.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t trust one of those.’ Jean knew how easy it was for her mum to become pregnant. ‘I wish Mum had one, though, it might help a bit.’
‘She can’t. You’re Catholics and it isn’t allowed.’
‘I wouldn’t trust one either,’ Daisy said. ‘I bet it would burst, it doesn’t look very strong to me.’
Where the Heart Is Page 27
