Following messages of goodwill from the congregation, Tom drove slowly and carefully back to Kirkby Steepleton. It was a strange, eerie journey through countryside emptied of wildlife and still as stone. Eventually the car crunched to a halt a short distance from Lily’s gate and they sat there in silence. The beech tree next door to Laurel Cottage meant that the car could not be seen from Florence’s bedroom window and Lily smiled at Tom’s forethought. Steam covered the windows and it was as if they were in their own private cocoon.
‘Thanks, Tom. I appreciate the lift.’
He turned to face her. ‘Any time.’
‘My first Christmas in Yorkshire,’ she said.
Tom rubbed the steam from the windscreen and stared out. ‘I love living here.’
‘Same here,’ said Lily. ‘It’s my home now. I’ve moved on.’
‘I’m glad you did,’ said Tom softly.
‘This time of year is so special,’ said Lily and she shifted in her seat so she could look up at him. ‘You’ll be with your mother tomorrow.’
‘Yes. Her brother, my uncle Don, and his wife are coming over from Scarborough. It’s always the same – turkey, home-made crackers and paper hats. My mother loves it and slaves away all morning preparing the meal.’
‘I’ll be with my mother and Freddie, just the three of us. At times like this I miss my dad.’
He leaned towards her and stroked her hair. ‘I understand.’
They sat in silence, each with their own thoughts, while outside ragged clouds drifted across the sky. The moon cast a cold pallid light and ghostly shadows danced on the walls of the cottage. It was a hunter’s moon, bright and big, when the moon was closest to Earth.
‘There’s something I want to say,’ said Lily and then there was a pause, followed by an imperceptible shake of the head. ‘Perhaps another time.’
Her face tilted up towards Tom and he wanted to kiss her, but something held him back.
He wasn’t sure.
Does she want to be kissed? he wondered.
If not now it may be never.
He stooped closer and she responded. Her lips brushed against his, light and gossamer-soft. He held her a little tighter, and finally there was an urgency to his kiss. In that moment Tom felt a new understanding between them. As snow began to fall once again, they held each other with the need of lovers.
On Christmas morning a rim of golden fire caressed the eastern hills and light raced across the frozen land with the promise of a clear, cold day ahead. Freddie had risen at the crack of dawn and was soon playing with his clockwork train set with Lily sitting alongside. Last night Tom had given Lily a parcel. As she opened it Florence looked on with undisguised interest. It was the new novel The Borrowers by Mary Norton, a children’s fantasy.
‘What a lovely gift,’ said Lily.
‘A children’s book?’ retorted Florence, clearly unimpressed.
‘Yes, but it can be read by adults as well. It’s just won the Carnegie Medal as the year’s outstanding book by a British author. It’s an excellent choice. How unexpected!’
After Christmas dinner Lily and Florence went into the lounge and switched on the radio.
‘Well, this is it,’ said Florence. ‘I wonder if she’s nervous?’
Queen Elizabeth II was about to make her first Christmas speech to the Commonwealth.
‘Possibly,’ said Lily, ‘but no doubt she will take it in her stride.’
‘Everyone in the land gathered round their radio sets – good luck, Your Majesty,’ said Florence.
Lily looked at the clock. It was seven minutes past three and the reporter had said the speech would be coming live from Sandringham House. You could have heard a pin drop as the Queen began to speak in a calm, clear voice.
‘Each Christmas, at this time, my beloved father broadcast a message to his people in all parts of the world. Today I am doing this to you, who are now my people.’
‘Very regal,’ whispered Florence.
‘What’s regal?’ asked Freddie.
‘Ssshh, I’ll tell you later. Go and play with your train in the kitchen,’ said Lily.
Freddie was happy to oblige.
‘As he used to do,’ continued the Queen, ‘I am speaking to you from my own home, where I am spending Christmas with my family.’
‘Isn’t it wonderful, Lily?’ said Florence. ‘It’s as though she was here in our front room.’
The Queen went on to ask for people to pray for her on Coronation Day next summer and, finally, the broadcast came to an end and the radio was switched off.
‘A job well done, Your Majesty,’ murmured Florence.
That evening Lily and Florence sat by the fire after Freddie was tucked up in bed. Two tall white candles stood on either end of the mantelpiece with sprigs of variegated holly at their base. Bright-red berries twinkled in the candlelight.
‘Another Christmas, Mother,’ said Lily quietly.
‘Will we be happy here?’ asked Florence. Her hands were gripped around her cup of tea.
‘I think so,’ said Lily guardedly. ‘We know where we stand.’
‘You mean we know what can be said and what must never be said.’
‘How could I forget?’
‘As long as we understand each other,’ said Florence. Her glance was keen in the firelight. ‘Remember our secret, Lily. Never forget it.’ There was a hint of menace in her voice.
Lily stared into the flames … and thought of Tom.
Chapter Eight
Doris Clutterbuck’s Alpine Corset
It was New Year’s Eve and in the apartment above the Tea Rooms Doris Clutterbuck looked critically at her new figure-enhancing garment. On the leaflet inside the parcel it read, ‘Alston’s Rubber Reducing Body Garment’. As the star of the village pantomime, Doris was determined to look shapely and she knew her purchase would be perfect. At £2.2s it had definitely been expensive, but she knew that quality came at a price and so she read the instructions carefully. It said that the girdle had a nine-inch zip for ‘the fuller figure’, and Doris stared at her reflection and smiled. She had sent her waist and hip measurements and enclosed an extra threepence for swift postage, so it had arrived just in time.
The annual pantomime was only a few hours away and excitement was building for Ragley’s Amateur Dramatic Society – but especially for Doris. With the help of her new body garment she knew that, even at the age of fifty-five, her Cinderella would be her tour de force.
However, once she had struggled into it she could barely breathe. Then came the moment of truth. Over the top she added her magnificent Alpine leather corset. While last year it had proved a snug fit for her Snow White, it had clearly shrunk over time. She couldn’t fasten up the toggles and threw it back in the wardrobe in despair.
For fourteen-year-old Nora Pratt, it was also an important day. This was her first step towards stardom. Nora had been a member of the Ragley Amateur Dramatic Society for two years and her promotion from ensemble non-speaking parts in previous performances was well deserved. She never missed a rehearsal, and as she cleaned the tables and folded the napkins in the Tea Rooms she rehearsed her two lines. She had been given the part of Fairy Nuff, assistant to the Fairy Godmother, and she had to run on and say:
‘Fairy Godmother! Fairy Godmother!
Here comes Cinderella.’
Unfortunately, when Nora ran on in rehearsal to utter her two lines, she always recited:
‘Faiwy Godmothe’! Faiwy Godmothe’!
He’e comes Cindewella.’
However, Nora knew not only her own lines but everyone else’s as well. She had lived and breathed this performance of Cinderella and could recite every scene. In consequence, her moment of stardom was about to arrive in an unexpected way.
In the Kershaw household on the council estate all was not well. Fred, the local coalman and the Ragley Rovers centre forward, had injured his left knee in the recent game against Thirkby United.
‘Ah can’t stand u
p, Mam!’ he cried out as he limped into the front room and lay down on the sofa.
‘Shurrup, y’big soft jessie,’ yelled his father from the kitchen.
Alfie Kershaw, the Ragley coal merchant, was not a man blessed with compassion. For Alfie there was little to choose between empathy and apathy. However, as neither word was within his limited vocabulary, he was happy uttering short sentences with clear meanings.
‘Ah won’t be able t’be in t’panto,’ groaned Fred.
‘Jus’ as well, y’big nancy,’ shouted Alfie, who disapproved of his son’s theatrical tendencies.
His mother, Edie, pulled up one leg of his trousers. ‘Bloomin’ ’eck, Fred,’ she said with feeling, ‘it’s swelled up like a football!’
‘An’ it’s ’urtin’ like summat else, Mam.’
‘Don’t worry, luv, it can’t be ’elped. Ah’ll rub on some goose grease an’ then ah’ll go round to Doris an’ tell ’er they’ll ’ave t’get someone else t’play Buttons.’
‘Bloody Buttons,’ mumbled Alfie.
‘Shut y’cake’ole y’useless lump,’ yelled Edie.
Alfie knew when to keep quiet. He weighed sixteen stones and was built like a Russian weightlifter, but in the Kershaw household Edie ruled the roost.
The afternoon was bright, clear and cold as Lily caught the bus into Ragley village. She had volunteered to assist Vera with the preparations for the pantomime. As the bus trundled along, she stared out at the frozen fields streaked with the grey shadows of the bare trees. The hedgerows were rimed with frost and sparkled with a diamond light as the low shafts of sunlight lit up the land.
As Lily stepped on to the frosty pavement outside the General Stores she saw the coal merchant, Alfie Kershaw, delivering to Prudence Golightly. Alfie had bright eyes shining from a face blackened with coal dust and gave a wide, white-toothed smile. He heaved a hundredweight bag of coal on to his shoulders and, with a bent back, staggered round to the coal shed at the rear of the shop.
Miss Golightly came out to pay him and placed a mug of strong sugary tea on the trestle table in front of the shop window. It was a regular arrangement that worked like clockwork and Alfie was always grateful for the kindness of the diminutive shopkeeper, especially as now his son was incapacitated and all today’s deliveries had landed, literally, on his broad shoulders.
Neither Prudence nor Lily heard him mumble, ‘Bloody Buttons!’
Lily walked up the High Street towards school. There was a box of dressing-up clothes to deliver to the village hall. As she crossed the village green in front of The Royal Oak the clamour of the rooks caught her attention and she stared up into the high elms.
‘Penny for ’em, Miss Teacher.’ Stan Coe gave her a brown-toothed smile as he climbed out of his Land Rover. It was splattered with mud and dirty snow. The boxy body had been made from army surplus rustproof aluminium and painted Avro-green, and the four-wheel drive was perfect for the rough terrain around his farmhouse. Stan imagined himself as an army general when he drove his powerful vehicle.
The sign ‘Spitting Prohibited’ on the wall outside The Royal Oak was always ignored by Stan, and he cleared his throat and spat out an obnoxious gobbet of phlegm.
‘Better out than in,’ he muttered and Lily winced in disgust.
This really was a revolting man and his attentions were becoming unsettling. She unlocked the school door, collected the box of clothes and walked back down the High Street.
On the other side of the village green she heard the familiar hoarse cry of ‘Rag-a-bone! Rag-a-bone!’, accompanied by the ringing of a bell. Tommy Kettle was a regular visitor to Ragley and he had parked his horse and cart outside the village Post Office. Tommy wore a cloth cap, checked shirt, leather waistcoat, old thick corduroy trousers and boots with steel toecaps.
So began a regular village ritual. Mothers and small children would hurry out with bundles of old clothes and blankets. Tommy would check them with an experienced eye and offer a shiny sixpence or a goldfish. The mothers wanted the money and the children wanted the exotic golden fish. Meanwhile, Maurice Tupham, the champion rhubarb grower, would always appear with a shovel and a bucket to collect the horse manure.
Tommy gave Lily a cheerful smile and a wave as she walked into the village hall.
Outside The Royal Oak, Ruby Smith had arrived at the same time as Deirdre Coe. Deirdre had decided to join her brother for a lunchtime drink, whereas Ruby was about to begin her cleaning in the pub while Agnes looked after young Andy.
Deirdre looked at the departing figure of Lily. ‘She’s a reight prima donna is that Miss Fancy Pants,’ she said. ‘You mark my words.’
‘Well, ah think she’s a lovely lady,’ retorted Ruby defiantly.
Deirdre turned on Ruby with venom. ‘Why don’t you sling yer ’ook an’ get back t’yer council estate?’
‘There’s no need t’talk like that, Deirdre. Ah’m jus’ doin’ a bit o’ cleanin’ f’Mrs ’Igginbottom.’
Every penny counted for the young Ruby. Her income was a long way short of the £5 per week the newspapers said the average woman earned.
‘An’ another thing,’ continued Deirdre, ‘ah wouldn’t give time o’ day t’that ’usband o’ yours.’
‘Ah love my Ronnie in spite of ’is faults,’ retaliated Ruby.
‘Well ah’m not be’olden to any man,’ declared Deirdre, ‘’cause hindependence is a wonderful thing.’
‘Anyway, m’cleanin’ won’t wait, Deirdre,’ said Ruby and she walked in.
Deirdre, who always wanted the last word, shouted after her, ‘An’ ah’ll tell y’summat f’nothin’, Ruby Smith – ah got a posh new cooker at Christmas for our turkey.’ It was well known in the village that Deirdre had taken delivery of a British National Electrics cooker, regarded as a wonder of the modern world. ‘It ’as a drop-down door an’ it’s clean ’cause it’s all helectric.’
Mavis Higginbottom behind the bar had heard the fracas. ‘Tek no notice of ’er, Ruby. She’s all bosom an’ bark is that woman. Wants lockin’ up.’
Ruby went to collect her bucket and mop. Mavis called after her, ‘Anyway, Pete’s been in so there’ll be a bit o’ lovely stew when you’ve done, an’ y’can tek some back f’your Andy.’
Peter the Poacher had just delivered a squirrel and a couple of partridges. As always, he took his payment in kind and was enjoying his second pint of Tetley’s bitter.
Lily had arranged to meet Vera in the Ragley village Tea Rooms prior to helping in the village hall. The dress rehearsal was at three o’clock and many of the schoolchildren were in the chorus line. Vera knew this was a big day for Doris Clutterbuck and had volunteered to act as prompter for the pantomime. It was well known that several of the cast regularly forgot their lines, much to the annoyance of Doris.
Behind the counter was a large poster that read:
Ragley Amateur Dramatic Society
proudly present
CINDERELLA
starring Doris Clutterbuck
in the Village Hall on Thursday, 31st December 1952
commencing 7.00 p.m.
Admission: Adults 6d Children 3d
When Lily walked in the American crooner Al Martino was singing ‘Here In My Heart’ – still topping the new charts as the UK’s first Christmas number one.
Doris smiled when she saw the attractive, well-dressed teacher and felt she added much-needed class to her establishment. Lily unbuttoned her winter coat to reveal a pleated grey skirt, smart blouse with a tiny collar and a red woollen cardigan knitted by her mother.
‘Good morning, Miss Briggs, please take a seat and my assistant will take your order.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Clutterbuck,’ said Lily. ‘I’m meeting Miss Evans here in a few minutes, so we’ll order then.’
‘Yes, that’s fine, and I do appreciate you helping out with the children. It can be rather hectic at times.’
She leaned over the counter and nodded towards Nora Pratt, who was polishing a set of dain
ty sugar spoons by the table in the corner. ‘It’s Nora’s big day. She has a speaking and singing part. I’m so pleased for her – and she’s word-perfect of course.’
Lily sat down and looked at the locals, mainly ladies drinking tea and eating cake. Many wore neat little hats and one had a fox fur draped around her shoulders. All seemed to enjoy sharing their news. It made Lily think of the female friends she had had when she was a Land Girl. Now, with the exception of Vera, there was no one she could call a true friend. There was her mother, of course, but that had become a strained relationship in recent years.
She sat back and stared out of the window, then her heart gave a leap as a familiar police car drove past down the High Street towards the York road. Tom Feather was a fine man and she knew she wanted him. She also knew she could never confide in him completely, but, even so, her emotions stirred at the thought of his strong presence. Her thoughts wandered. Now her dreams were like seeds on the wind, blown to faraway places. All that was left were shadows of a distant past, a secret garden where for a brief time youth had flowered.
Suddenly the bell above the door rang and Vera came in, smart and businesslike as always, and, in the words of Doris, ‘my most elegant customer’.
‘Good morning, Lily,’ she said, sitting down. ‘Have you ordered?’
‘No, I was waiting for you,’ said Lily. ‘Is it just tea? It’s just that I’ve seen some tasty crumpets on the far table,’ she added with a smile.
‘My word, that takes me back,’ said Vera.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, you see Doris is trying to model this place on the famous Bettys Tea Rooms in York. You must try it. It really is a wonderful place. I went with my father back in 1932 as a young girl and you could order a four-course lunch for two shillings. I recall there was a lady dressed just like Doris, in a white apron, and she would bring a three-tier cake stand full of pastries and crumpets. It was such a treat, especially when I finished up with a curd tart.’
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