Christmas with the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  Lily looked around and saw that the praying woman was now sitting in the pew, watching them with open-mouthed fascination.

  ‘Can we go somewhere private, please?’

  ‘Of course,’ the vicar said, following Lily’s gaze. ‘Follow me.’

  A few minutes later, Lily, George and the vicar were seated in a rather unkempt but slightly warmer room that appeared to be an office of sorts.

  The orange hair came back to the vicar and he realised that the woman and her fiancé had been at a christening he’d conducted. Must have been a year or so ago now.

  Goodness, how could he have forgotten that baptism?

  ‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ Lily said, eyeing the empty whisky glass on the window sill. ‘George and I need you to marry someone on Christmas Day.’

  The vicar clasped both hands in front of him and smiled benignly. He felt the slightest irritation that this odd couple thought they could simply march into his church and demand he marry someone. And on Christmas Day of all days. Following the Christmas Eve midnight Mass and then the morning service, he fully intended to do what everyone else would be doing. Eating, drinking and enjoying well-deserved time off.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible,’ he said. ‘First of all, as a rule I don’t conduct marriage ceremonies on the day that celebrates the birth of our Lord Jesus. And secondly, I’m afraid I have a legal obligation to read out the banns of marriage on three consecutive Sundays before the wedding itself.’

  ‘Ah, well, luckily for us,’ Lily said, smiling across at George, who was sitting ramrod straight in his high-backed armchair, ‘I believe that you have already read the banns for the couple in question.’

  ‘Thomas Watts and Polly Elliot,’ George said.

  The vicar looked at Lily and then at George and could not think of any reason why the two seated opposite him would be in any way associated with the Watts boy and the Elliot girl.

  ‘Well, yes, you’re right. I have indeed read out their banns,’ the vicar said, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. ‘But it was my understanding that the couple, who I believe broke up for a short while, have now decided not to follow the traditional route of marriage and have instead decided to … well … cohabitate …’

  The vicar let out a nervous cough. The gossip had spread like wildfire and most people in the parish had heard by the end of the morning’s service that the town’s dock diver and the woman welder were now living in sin somewhere on John Street.

  ‘Without getting into the whys and wherefores of the choices they have made,’ George said, leaning forward with both hands on the ornately carved head of his walking stick, ‘the couple in question have decided that they would like to be married before Petty Officer Watts returns to his unit in Gibraltar, where he will be carrying on his work removing explosives from the hulls of Allied ships.’

  The vicar heard the steel in the former captain’s voice. Subconsciously he flicked a look over at his empty whisky glass.

  It was something that did not escape Lily’s notice.

  ‘Well, Reverend Winsey, I don’t know about you, but it’s a bit nippy in here. I think we could all do with a little something to warm our cockles?’

  The vicar, suddenly aware he was in unfamiliar territory, welcomed the crutch of a drink, which – he thought a little resentfully – he would already have been enjoying had the pair not turned up.

  He stood up.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He rummaged around in his oak cabinet and pulled out two glasses, holding them up to the light to ensure they were clean before pouring a good measure into each of the tumblers, as well as into his own.

  ‘Cheers,’ Lily said, raising her glass.

  They all took a sip.

  ‘So,’ Lily continued the thread of conversation, ‘to summarise, the necessary banns have been read out, the young couple we’ve discussed want to get married, and it sounds as though, apart from the Lord Jesus’s birthday celebrations, the church is otherwise free to bind the betrothed in holy matrimony.’

  The vicar took a deep breath.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s just not going to be possible.’ He was damned if he was sacrificing his Christmas Day at the insistence of a couple who, it was plain to see, were more heathen than holy.

  ‘At a push,’ he said, pulling out the top drawer of his desk and fishing out a battered hardback appointments book, ‘I can overlook their present living arrangements and put a date in the diary for the New Year.’ He opened the book and put on a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. He licked his thumb and finger and flicked over a page.

  ‘It looks like the following Saturday is free.’

  ‘No, I’m afraid that’s not an option.’ Lily tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. ‘Like my future husband just mentioned, Petty Officer Tommy Watts will be yanking mines off the bottoms of boats by then – in an effort to save all our bacon.’

  She paused to make her point.

  ‘So, I’m afraid it’s got to be this Friday. Christmas Day.’

  ‘Officer Watts leaves Boxing Day,’ George added.

  The vicar took another sip of his whisky.

  Lily looked at the vicar. She knew men like Reverend Winsey. They were going to be sitting here all evening arguing their case, but if he were being asked the same favour by a monied, outwardly respectable middle-to-upper-class couple whose young girl had got herself in the family way, he’d be falling over his oversized frock to accommodate them.

  The thought angered her.

  ‘When I came into the church,’ she said, her tone clipped, ‘I couldn’t help but notice that you had a poster outside asking for donations to repair the church roof.’

  The vicar looked at Lily and nodded.

  ‘My future husband,’ Lily looked at George, ‘informs me it is of Early English design, and since it is, from what I can see, quite frankly huge, you’re going to need a lot of people delving into very deep pockets before you get anywhere near the amount you need.’ She paused. ‘By which time you might be giving open-air sermons to the kindly but poor folk of the east end.’

  The vicar looked at Lily. He had said more or less the same thing earlier today to the bishop, although obviously the wording he had used was much more sugar-coated and, loath though he was to admit it, cloying.

  The vicar took another sip of whisky. The woman opposite him might look like she’d just stepped off the stage, but underneath the garish make-up and costume was a hard-nosed, no-nonsense businesswoman.

  For the first time he wondered exactly what kind of business she was in.

  ‘So why don’t we treat this like a mutually beneficial transaction?’ she suggested. ‘You marry Polly and Tommy on Christmas Day and when the couple are being showered in confetti, you will find a sizeable wad in your donation box.’

  Lily’s voice was affable. Her words spoken with a smile, but no one was under the illusion that there was to be any further bartering.

  The vicar looked at Lily and then at George.

  He swigged the rest of his whisky and picked up his pen.

  Finding the page for the twenty-fifth of December, he wrote: 1 p.m. Wedding. Thomas Watts and Polly Elliot.

  He swivelled the book around to show Lily and George the inscription.

  Lily smiled and George downed his drink.

  ‘It’s a pleasure doing business with you,’ Lily said as they stood up.

  George didn’t say anything, but instead gave the vicar a firm handshake.

  ‘Now,’ Lily said, her tone all sweetness and light. ‘We’d better get off and tell the happy couple the good news.’

  Chapter Sixty

  Driving slowly along Suffolk Street, there was no ignoring the bomb site that had once been terraced houses.

  Crossing under the bridge that heralded the start of Tatham Street, George and Lily could just make out the outlines of mounds of debris and bricks from the air raid in October.

  Neither said anything; t
hey were determined this was to be a happy occasion.

  George managed to pull up and park outside number 34 without too much hullabaloo.

  He had been here before on Bel and Joe’s wedding day, when he had acted as chauffeur, and on a few occasions since then when Maisie had needed dropping off or picking up. Each time the car had been mobbed by youngsters all in awe of his red MG.

  This evening, thankfully, the street was quiet. A peace gifted by the darkness and cold of a winter’s evening and the fact it was a Sunday.

  George opened the passenger door for Lily and helped her out.

  Standing on the doorstep, Lily looked around. Whenever she was here, which was infrequent, the place never failed to remind her of home. Her real home in the capital’s East End. It gave her mixed feelings.

  George rapped the front door with the head of his walking stick.

  A few moments later Joe answered.

  Glancing down, George noticed Joe was leaning heavily on his own walking stick and could tell he was still suffering.

  ‘Well, hello there!’ Joe didn’t try to hide his surprise. ‘Come in! Come in!’ He opened the door wide and stood back to allow them in.

  ‘Nothing wrong, I hope?’ he asked, keeping his voice low. These days anything unexpected tended to herald unwanted news.

  ‘No, not at all, old chap,’ George reassured, giving Joe a pat on the back.

  Joe gave a relieved smile. ‘Thank God.’ He looked at George and then at Lily and dropped his voice. ‘Ma’s only just stopped behaving like a bear with a sore head. You’ve come at the right time. A Sunday-dinner truce has just been consumed.’

  Joe gave them a cheeky smile.

  ‘Go on in,’ he gestured.

  When Lily and George walked into the kitchen, they were greeted with a genuine welcome by the whole Elliot clan. The two dogs also appeared from under the table, where they had been waiting in anticipation for any titbits. Lily surreptitiously pushed them away with the side of her foot.

  Bel jumped up and offered to take Lily’s fur coat, as much out of politeness as to feel such a luxurious garment with her own hands.

  ‘No, thank you, Bel, we’re not staying long.’ Lily smiled at Maisie’s half-sister. It still amazed her that the pair were related.

  Looking down, she saw Lucille half hidden behind her mammy, staring up in wonder.

  Lily bent down and cupped the little girl’s pale face with her heavily jewelled hand.

  ‘You all right, sweet pea?’

  Lucille nodded energetically and offered up a dazzling smile.

  ‘Is Rosie all right?’ Polly asked, her face full of concern.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Lily said, looking at Polly and then at Tommy, who was sitting next to her. It was the first time she had clapped eyes on him. She could see instantly why Polly – and probably a number of other women too – had fallen for him. He had rugged good looks, but without the ego. She smiled at him. He smiled back but his eyes were wary. She would bet money he was a bit of a loner.

  ‘We’ve come bearing good news,’ Lily said, looking at them all. ‘It being nearly Christmas and all.’

  She looked at Agnes, who was pointing at the big ceramic pot in the middle of the table. Lily shook her head. There was barely enough room to swing a cat, never mind squash her and George around the table to drink tea.

  ‘No, thank you, Agnes. I was hoping we might drag you all to the pub for what we hope is a celebratory drink.’

  George looked over to Arthur, who was sitting in the far corner next to Agnes.

  ‘George and I,’ Lily began, her attention now focused solely on Polly and Tommy, ‘would like to give the soon-to-be Mr and Mrs Watts a joint wedding and Christmas present.’

  Lily looked at George and then back at Polly and Tommy.

  ‘That gift being our wedding. At the Grand. On Christmas Day. Which, of course, includes the overnight stay in the honeymoon suite.’

  Everyone in the room simply stared.

  ‘And before you try and object,’ George broke the silence, ‘I’d like to add that this is one gift that can’t be rejected or returned.’

  He smiled at Polly, who was now looking at Tommy, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open.

  ‘Oh …’ Lily looked at Agnes ‘ … and we’ve just paid a visit to your parish vicar. The Reverend Winsey has also kindly agreed to marry your daughter and future son-in-law.’

  It was the first time Agnes had smiled in twenty-four hours.

  Polly stood up.

  ‘Lily … George,’ she stuttered. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever known such kindness. But really,’ she looked down at Tommy, ‘we can’t accept. No way. It’s just too much.’

  Tommy stood up.

  ‘I’m bowled over,’ he said. ‘Really I am. But Polly’s right. We just can’t accept. You can’t just give us your wedding.’

  Lily let out a laugh.

  ‘But we can. And we have. Like George’s just said, it’s a done deal. Whether you like it or not, I’m afraid you’re going to have to accept. Even if you don’t want to.’ Lily heaved in air. ‘Because we’ve cancelled our slot at the registry office,’ she lied. ‘So, I’m afraid there’s no going back now.’

  Polly looked at Tommy and then at her ma and then back at Lily and George.

  ‘Honestly,’ Polly said, tears starting to prick her eyes, ‘I really don’t know what to say. I really don’t.’ She swallowed hard and suddenly felt like bursting into tears. Happy tears. She half laughed and half cried at the same time, manoeuvring her way around the table and taking two strides towards Lily and George.

  Lily opened her arms and gave Polly a hug.

  ‘Thank you,’ Polly said. ‘Thank you so much. This is so incredible. I can’t quite believe it.’ Her voice was choked with emotion.

  Lily squeezed her tightly and Polly breathed in Chanel N° 5.

  Tommy went over to George and shook his hand, gripping it with both his own, wanting to show just how thankful he was.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you … I’m taken aback. Totally.’

  George knew Tommy’s joy was not because of his own wishes to have a fancy wedding or to get married in a house of God, but because he knew how much it would mean to Polly. This was the wedding she deserved.

  ‘Come on, then!’ George said. ‘A drink to celebrate the impending nuptials!’

  No one needed telling twice. Within a few minutes, they’d all piled out of number 34, walked across the road and bustled into the Tatham.

  Agnes nipped next door to get Beryl and her two daughters, Iris and Audrey.

  Seeing Lily and George walk into the pub, followed by the whole of the Elliot clan, Bill and Pearl gave each other a curious look. Bill quickly put the tray of dirty pint glasses he was holding down on the bar and shook hands with George, who had arrived first, asking if he could purchase a bottle of ‘the good stuff’.

  ‘Eee, we dinnit normally see the likes of you in these parts,’ Pearl said. She was genuinely surprised. The only time she’d seen Lily and George here had been for Bel’s wedding reception.

  Pearl started polishing glasses and checking them before putting them on a clean tray.

  ‘Am I right in thinking Maisie keeps a bottle of cognac behind the bar?’ Lily asked.

  Pearl nodded, reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle of Rémy that was still three-quarters full.

  ‘For the women?’ Pearl asked.

  Lily nodded.

  ‘My girl all right?’ Pearl said.

  ‘Right as rain,’ Lily said. ‘She’s got a day off tomorrow. I believe she’s coming into town to do her Christmas shopping.’

  Lily knew that Pearl and Maisie shared an unusual bond.

  ‘Tell her to pop in here for a quick chinwag when she’s done,’ Pearl said.

  ‘Sit yourselves down,’ Bill said. ‘I’ll bring the drinks over.’

  Once everyone was seated and had a drink in their hand, including Bill and Pearl, George
pushed himself to his feet and raised his glass.

  ‘It’s not me and Lily that need the thanks this evening, but these two young ones. They are both a credit to their generation.’

  He looked at Agnes and then at Arthur.

  ‘If they were my “bairns”, as we say in these parts, I’d be proud as punch.’

  He looked at Tommy and Polly.

  ‘Proud as punch,’ he repeated.

  George looked at Lily.

  ‘My future wife and I think what you are doing, Polly, is amazing.’

  He chuckled.

  ‘Actually, that’s a lie. I think it’s amazing. Lily thinks you’re as mad as a hatter.’

  Everyone laughed.

  George looked at Agnes before returning his attention to Polly.

  ‘And I know your decision to work at Thompson’s was not greeted with the utmost of joy. Understandably, of course.’

  Another look to Agnes, who was sitting next to Lily – polar opposites.

  ‘I would have felt the same had you been my daughter. But you’re doing an invaluable job, Polly. And a bloody hard one. If it weren’t for women like you, building and repairing ships we desperately need to win this damn war, then I dread to think what would happen.’

  George was quiet for a moment, wanting – needing – to choose his next words carefully.

  ‘And you, Tommy.’

  He paused.

  He looked at Arthur, who was looking at his grandson with unadulterated pride.

  ‘You are a very brave man and we are all in your debt.’

  George raised his glass.

  ‘So, a toast.’

  ‘A toast,’ everyone repeated.

  ‘To Tommy and Polly.’

  ‘To Tommy and Polly.’

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Monday 21 December

  ‘Oh. My. God.’ Dorothy stood and stared at Polly.