Starting Over

by Jack Sheffield

  John supped deeply on his pint, sat back in his seat and sighed. ‘Well, there are three types. The first one explodes on landing, the second has a thirty-minute timer and the third explodes five seconds after the slightest disturbance.’

  ‘Oh dear, what was this one?’

  ‘Simply one that misfired – so not too dangerous.’

  ‘If you know what you’re doing,’ added Tom with a wry smile.

  ‘And why is it called a butterfly bomb?’ asked Lily.

  John gripped his pint tankard and stared into his beer. ‘It doesn’t look like a conventional bomb, not like a rocket with fins. It has a cast-iron cylindrical body about the size of a baked bean tin. Then they’re covered with a pair of curved flaps that resemble a butterfly’s wings.’

  ‘But that would attract children – just like David and Malcolm,’ said Lily.

  ‘Yes, they were often brightly coloured for that reason. However, this one was worn with age and simply looked like a rusty can.’

  ‘That’s horrific!’ said Lily.

  ‘That’s war,’ murmured Tom.

  There was silence while the enormity soaked into Lily’s consciousness.

  John lowered his voice. ‘The Germans used them to bomb Cleethorpes and Grimsby. They dropped dozens of them in a container from an aircraft. At a pre-set height they all fell out, then the force of the rushing air opened up the wings. After that they revolved like sycamore keys and floated to the ground while a turning screw activated the bomb. Inside there’s about four and a half pounds of high explosive.’ He took another drink of beer and looked down at the tabletop. ‘The killing radius is about eighty feet.’

  ‘I heard they were almost impossible to diffuse,’ said Tom.

  ‘Yes, it was difficult,’ agreed John. ‘So we made sure the whole town was closed down and there was a news blackout. We didn’t want the Germans to be aware of the dreadful impact of this kind of bombardment.’

  For a while they sat in silence until, after Tom had bought another round of drinks, they relaxed.

  Lily looked at her wristwatch. ‘Millicent Merryweather offered me a lift.’ She stared out of the window at the darkness beyond. ‘I shall have to telephone her. I don’t want to cycle back in the dark.’

  ‘I can take both of you back home,’ said Tom. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

  John looked across at Lily, a hint of disappointment on his face. ‘That’s kind, Tom, but I can walk – and one day I may own a car of my own,’ he added with a forced smile.

  The three left together, each with their own thoughts.

  The following morning Lily stared out of her window at the trees and fields beyond Kirkby Steepleton as the dawn light crested the distant hills. Spiders had spun their webs outside her bedroom window. Beads of moisture hung from the silken threads and glistened in the sunlight, while in the hedgerows harvest mice were weaving their nests. The tiny creatures of the land were busy on this autumn morning.

  For Lily another day of teaching stretched out before her, but the man she worked alongside was now different in her eyes. He was clearly a brave man. However, it was Tom who was beginning to fill her thoughts. Last night when they parted he had asked if she would like to go to the cinema.

  She had smiled and said simply, ‘Perhaps.’

  Chapter Five

  Goodbye Mr Hitler

  It was Friday, 7 November and a reluctant light spread across the land. As Lily stared from the window of William Featherstone’s bus a cloak of mist shrouded the fields beyond the hedgerows. A tractor was in Twenty Acre Field, ploughing neat furrows and making a pattern of chocolate-brown lines over which cawing birds swooped noisily.

  As the bus entered Ragley village liquid rainbows reflected in the oily rainwater on the forecourt of Victor Pratt’s garage. On this iron-grey morning Lily had private thoughts and almost by habit she opened her handbag and took out a familiar creased black-and-white photograph. Finally she gave a sigh of contentment. There were still bright promises on a distant horizon.

  Lily stepped down from the bus on to the pavement and looked up as a parliament of rooks stared down from the high elms behind the village hall. Suddenly, as one, they flew off up the Morton road towards the tower of St Mary’s Church and Lily stared after them. Then she turned up her collar and strode purposefully towards school.

  It was the day before the village bonfire and there was eager anticipation for this annual event. A crowd of children had gathered in front of the window of the General Stores. On the shop door was a large notice:

  The Village Hall Committee

  RAGLEY VILLAGE BONFIRE

  Saturday 8th November 1952

  7.00 p.m. The Old Field

  Bring your own fireworks.

  Hot Soup & Tea (courtesy of Doris Clutterbuck)

  In the window, large boxes of fireworks were on display under a sign that read ‘Light up the sky with Standard Fireworks’, along with a vast collection of loose fireworks on the shelf below.

  ‘Cor, look at ’em, Malc,’ said Dave Robinson. ‘Catherine wheels, rockets, Roman candles, snow fountains, jumping jacks … an’ bangers!’

  ‘An’ sparklers,’ contributed Malcolm.

  ‘F’little uns,’ said Dave disdainfully, ‘an’ girls,’ he added for good measure.

  Malcolm nodded. He understood that, as in life, there was a pecking order to fireworks.

  ‘Y’reight there, Dave.’

  During morning break Lily was on the playground watching Norman Fazackerly and Reggie Bamforth exchanging cigarette cards that featured film stars and footballers. There was some serious bargaining going on and Reggie was insisting that a single Nat Lofthouse was worth three of Joan Collins. Meanwhile Lily was thinking how she might capture this interest in a mathematics lesson.

  It was then that a familiar police car pulled up alongside the avenue of horse chestnut trees just outside school and the tall Tom Feather emerged, stretching tired limbs. He was in his uniform and he pressed his large hands on the wall of Yorkshire stone and gave a cautious smile towards Lily.

  She walked across the playground, wondering what to make of this man. There had been many silences between them, as if he weighed words carefully before he spoke them. He also had kind blue eyes and a gentle smile.

  ‘Just checking,’ he said quietly, as if he didn’t want the children to hear. ‘Still fine for tonight?’

  ‘Yes, looking forward to it.’

  He stretched his long arms and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Sorry, late shift last night.’

  ‘So what time?’

  ‘I could pick you up at six thirty. That gives us time to drive to York, park in Micklegate and walk to the cinema.’

  ‘Fine, see you then,’ said Lily and looked around anxiously. ‘And I’m on duty, so must go.’

  He waved as he climbed back into his car.

  ‘Sit up straight, arms folded and silence, please,’ said Lily.

  It was lunchtime in the school hall and the children were staring at their plates. Mrs Gubbins had prepared her famous pease pudding. The split peas had been soaked overnight and she had served it up with a thick slice of boiled beef. A feast for most of the boys and girls.

  ‘Now let’s say grace. For what we are about to receive …’

  In the staff-room Vera and John were drinking tea when Lily joined them after completing her dinner duty. Vera was reading a newspaper. ‘Dear me,’ she said, ‘have you heard that average house prices in London have shot up to one thousand eight hundred pounds?’

  ‘That’s worrying,’ said John, head bowed over some paperwork. ‘Out of my range.’

  Lily shook her head. ‘Well, I’ll never afford a house of my own on a teacher’s salary,’ she said.

  Vera weighed her words carefully. ‘Perhaps one day you may have a partner to share the cost.’ It was meant to be a helpful addition to the conversation.

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Lily a little too sharply, and John looked up in surprise.r />
  There were a few quiet moments while Vera riffled through the pages and John continued to read a lengthy document from County Hall about reducing winter temperatures in schools by conserving coal and coke.

  Lily thought she ought to make amends. ‘By the way, Vera, I’ve offered to help Mrs Gubbins in the kitchen tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s good news,’ said Vera. ‘Thank you. It’s always a busy evening.’

  ‘She says Mrs Clutterbuck is providing soup.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Vera, ‘she always does. No doubt she will have her Saturday assistant with her.’

  ‘Nora Pratt?’ said Lily. ‘I’ve spoken to her – a lovely girl.’

  ‘It’s such a pity she can’t pronounce the letter “R”,’ said Vera.

  John looked up. ‘Yes, she was always like that – nothing we could do about it.’

  Vera closed her newspaper and looked at Lily. ‘When I was in the Tea Rooms, Mrs Clutterbuck mentioned you were going to the cinema with Sergeant Feather.’

  It was a mini-bombshell.

  Lily’s cheeks flushed slightly and John stopped reading but didn’t look up. ‘I didn’t realize it was open knowledge,’ said Lily. ‘It was only yesterday I said I would go.’

  ‘And where were you at the time?’

  ‘Outside the Pharmacy.’

  Vera nodded. ‘That explains it. Was the door open? If so, Mr Grinchley would have heard, so it will have been all round the village in no time.’

  ‘I see,’ said Lily quietly.

  ‘Anyway, do have a lovely time,’ said Vera, ‘and I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She picked up her dinner-money tin, tidied her desk and collected her coat from the passageway that linked the staff-room to the office.

  John was very quiet, so Lily left him to it and walked into the hall to prepare for the afternoon music lesson.

  Over the years John Pruett had scraped together a large collection of musical instruments and the Friday afternoon music lesson was always a treat for the children of both classes. They all assembled in the hall and the instruments were distributed among the older children while the younger ones were encouraged to clap their hands. For John it was a way of ending the school week in a positive way and, literally, on a high note.

  However, a pattern had developed regarding the allocation of instruments, with the boys always playing the drums and cymbals while the less popular triangles were left for the girls. Lily was determined to change this but had to overcome stiff resistance.

  ‘But girls don’t play drums, Miss,’ protested Dave Robinson.

  ‘They do now, David,’ said Lily firmly and Winnie Pickles proceeded to show everyone why.

  There was no pianist, but fortunately Lily had a sweet voice and she sang the first verse of ‘The Skye Boat Song’. Within minutes the children knew the words. ‘Over the sea to Skye’ they sang with gusto.

  Billy Icklethwaite put up his hand. ‘Ah saw t’sea when we went t’Bridlington, Miss.’ He was full of excitement at the memory. ‘It went on for ever – right far out –’til it got to t’sky.’

  It was at moments like this that Lily felt she had the best job in the world. Teach well, she had been told during her training, and you will touch lives for ever.

  The bell rang for the end of the school day and the one-week half-term holiday was about to start. The children walked out to the cobbled drive, excited at the thought of dark nights, fireworks and the annual village bonfire. John was standing in the entrance hall saying goodbye to the children.

  ‘Have a good holiday, boys,’ he said as Dave and Malcolm walked out of the door.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Dave. ‘We’re goin’ to t’pictures tomorrow morning.’ The Saturday morning children’s cinema was a huge attraction, with an admission charge of sixpence.

  ‘And what are you going to see?’

  ‘Loads, sir. There’s Roy Rogers an’ ’Opalong Cassidy an’ Zorro an’ cowboys fightin’ Indians.’

  ‘An’ Tom Mix an’ Flash Gordon,’ added Malcolm.

  ‘An’ there’s a comic album coming out at Christmas wi’ ’em all in,’ continued Dave.

  ‘Well, enjoy it, boys,’ said John and the cousins ran down the drive, galloping like Roy Rogers’ famous horse Trigger.

  Lily was a few minutes late and hurried out into the darkness where Tom was waiting. ‘Sorry, it’s been a bit hectic. I had to help get Freddie’s tea. Mother was busy finishing some curtains for Mrs Merryweather.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Tom. ‘We’re in good time.’

  Lily glanced at him as he opened the passenger door for her. He had brushed up well in a collar and tie, thick V-neck pullover and belted gabardine raincoat. There were knife-edge creases in his grey flannel trousers and the toecaps of his shoes shone like black glass. Against the fashion of the day, Tom disregarded Brylcreem and his wavy hair blew gently in the breeze. Lily approved of the natural look.

  ‘I’m not sure I like being picked up in a police car,’ she said with a mischievous smile. ‘What will the neighbours think?’

  ‘Probably that their local bobby is a lucky man.’ He looked content as they set off for their ten-mile journey to York. ‘You look lovely, by the way.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And you’re right about the car.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to criticize.’

  ‘Actually, I’m thinking of buying a car. I’ve been saving since the end of the war, a little bit each week. I should get there soon.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, Tom. What sort of car?’

  ‘An Austin A30,’ he said proudly. ‘It was launched last year at the Earls Court Motor Show. I’ve seen all the pictures. They called it the New Austin Seven.’

  ‘Impressive,’ said Lily, although it meant little to her.

  ‘Yes, and over sixty pounds cheaper than the Morris Minor, so it’s a bargain.’

  ‘Sounds ideal!’

  Tom was becoming effusive. ‘Yes, and there’s plenty of room. It’s a four-door family car.’

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  Tom parked near Micklegate Bar and they walked under the most westerly gate of York’s city walls. The Odeon cinema was in Blossom Street and they joined the queue.

  ‘What’s the film?’ asked Lily.

  ‘Angels One Five,’ said Tom.

  ‘What’s it about?’

  Tom looked surprised. ‘Sorry, I thought you knew. It’s really popular and got great write-ups in the Herald. It’s set during the Battle of Britain.’

  Lily bit her bottom lip. ‘Oh, I see,’ she said quietly. ‘A war film.’

  The Odeon cinema was stylish, with an art deco interior, and Tom bought seats in the dress circle. It had opened in a blaze of publicity in 1937 when all 1,484 seats were sold out in ninety minutes. Lily was unaware that the fifteen-year-old Vera had attended on that opening night with her father and collected for the Poor Children Fresh Air Fund. On that long-ago evening it had cost sixpence for a cheap seat in the stalls. Two shillings for one of the best seats in the dress circle was considered an extravagance by her father.

  Lily settled down to watch one of the most popular British films of 1952 as a dense pall of cigarette smoke drifted up to the ceiling. Tom explained that Angels One Five referred to an altitude of radar contact of fifteen thousand feet. The plot centred on a young fighter pilot immediately before and after the Battle of Britain in 1940. John Gregson’s character, ‘Septic’ Baird, was mortally wounded and in a dramatic finale crashed to his death. Jack Hawkins played a fiercely patriotic group captain, ‘Tiger’ Small, while the other two stars were Michael Denison and Dulcie Gray. Lily had read a recent issue of Picturegoer, the national film weekly, and recognized these two. She whispered to Tom, ‘They’re married in real life. You can tell by just looking at them,’ and Tom wondered why. The film also featured a beautiful young actress, Veronica Hurst. ‘Her hair is like yours,’ said Tom when the lights went up.

  A fish and chip sho
p was across the road from the cinema and Tom took Lily’s hand. ‘Let’s finish the evening in style,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘You know how to treat a lady.’

  ‘Last of the big spenders, that’s me,’ joked Tom as they hurried inside. ‘Four pennyworth of fish and chips twice, please.’ He leaned over the counter and flashed a smile at the young assistant. ‘With a few scraps, please.’

  Lily smiled at the request.

  The girl, red-faced from the heat of the boiling fat, shovelled an extra scoop of the batter bits from the pan and added them to the feast. Then she folded the two portions expertly in newspaper and handed them over the counter. ‘Let’s eat them in the car,’ said Tom.

  He put the parcel inside his coat to keep it warm and, on this cold night, he appreciated the heat on his chest. The car windows steamed up as they enjoyed their supper, while Lily recalled days long ago in the Land Army when a fish supper with all the girls was a special treat.

  Back in Kirkby Steepleton, Tom walked Lily to her front gate and immediately spotted the twitching curtain.

  ‘I think your mother is on lookout duty.’

  Lily frowned. ‘At my age that’s embarrassing.’

  ‘Anyway, thanks for coming,’ said Tom. ‘I hope you enjoyed it … and sorry if I picked the wrong film.’

  ‘It was lovely,’ said Lily without conviction. In truth she had hated the film and the glorification of war.

  ‘Perhaps we can do it again sometime?’ suggested Tom hopefully.

  There was a silence as Lily pondered this new situation. He was a lovely man, but …

  ‘And you can select the film,’ added Tom.

  Lily wanted desperately to say yes. ‘It’s complicated,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Oh well, the offer is there,’ said Tom, not sure of where the conversation may be heading. ‘Goodnight, Lily.’

  There was an awkward moment as they stood facing each other. Finally Lily said, ‘Goodnight, Tom.’

  She hurried up the path and Tom watched her open the door. For a moment her slim figure was silhouetted in the bright light of the hallway, then the door was closed. The curtains twitched again as he turned and drove away.