The Winter Baby

by Sheila Newberry

Jessie caught her breath, knowing that he must be remembering his own small son who had been lost long ago in the pogrom in Russia.

  The rest of the family arrived and the baby was passed carefully to each in turn. Marion looked pensive as she held him. He was so much bigger and healthier-looking than her little Wilf had been. Why am I denying Danny his needs as a husband when I know he would love another child? she wondered.

  When it was Danny’s turn to be introduced, he smiled at Kathleen and said huskily to Sam, ‘What’s your secret?’

  Daisy said quickly, ‘What do you think of the baby, Wilf?’ The little boy reached up and whispered something in her ear. ‘’Scuse us, may we use the bathroom? A little accident; Wilf is so excited . . .’ Poor Wilf had developed this problem when he started school. Kathleen had counselled the girls not to mention it, because he couldn’t help it.

  After the chocolate cake was cut and only crumbs remained, the family gathered round the sofa and sang Christmas carols. They chose them in turn. ‘Silent Night’ was the favourite, but outdoors it was wet, noisy and windy.

  The guests went home at eight o’clock, saying there were preparations for Christmas Day to be done before retiring for the night. After they left, Sam took the baby to the cradle beside their bed, and then returned to carry Kathleen upstairs.

  The girls were in the bathroom and larking about, cleaning their teeth with the new Odol toothpaste. ‘Tastes much nicer than salt,’ Kitty said. ‘Shall we try some of Dad’s Eno’s fruit salts?

  ‘No,’ Heather replied. ‘Aren’t they for constipation?’ They both had a fit of the giggles.

  Kitty asked suddenly, ‘Do you know how babies are born?’

  Heather didn’t hesitate. ‘They grow from a little seed in a mother’s tummy, and when they are ready they pop out.’

  ‘Who plants the seed?’ Kitty wondered.

  ‘You are an ignoramus, Kit! That’s what dads are for. So Grandma said.’

  Next door, Sam had tucked Kathleen up in bed. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t got you a Christmas present,’ she said.

  He bent over and kissed her. ‘But you have – a most precious gift, our little son.’

  ‘Sam, I’ve had an idea. We have clay, we have a large empty barn, as well as a smaller one, and I think we could become a pottery! It makes sense. People may not want bricks, but they always need household and garden pots. Our clay is superior and streaked with colour, and would make lovely jugs and kitchenware. I can help a bit; I could do some sketches to work from. We’d need a potter’s wheel and a small kiln, but we already have plenty of wood for the firing, and as we can do that in the barn, the fumes won’t affect Heather. We should buy a book or two to study, but if you can make bricks, you can throw pots!’ She’d made that bit up on the spur of the moment.

  ‘Will it cost a lot to set up, though?’

  ‘No, because we have the clay to hand. Oh, I’m so glad you agree!’

  ‘We’ll call it Artisan Pots,’ he decided. ‘Shall I tell the girls?’

  ‘You can tell the world if you like!’ she said happily. It was going to be a good Christmas after all.

  *

  Marion was in bed when Danny came into their bedroom after seeing to Wilf’s stocking. He glanced over at her before undressing. She was pretending to be asleep. Though she needn’t worry; he wasn’t intending to try again. Sam’s lucky, he thought; they may have their ups and downs, but they have come through and the new baby is proof they are still a loving couple. He sighed and got into bed beside Marion, putting a tentative arm around her waist.

  ‘Marion, are you awake? It’s just on midnight. Happy Christmas.’ He didn’t expect an answer, so was startled when she turned towards him and kissed him. Her face was wet with tears and she was trembling. ‘What’s the matter? What has upset you?’

  ‘You know what the matter is,’ she said huskily. ‘I saw the way you looked at Kathleen with her new baby.’

  ‘Marion, please don’t think—’

  ‘I can’t help it,’ she wept. ‘If only you felt like that about me!’

  ‘But I do – I’ve loved you ever since we were sixteen years old. Can’t you remember how it felt, kissing outside your front door with your mother spying on us!’

  ‘That was young love – we had mixed feelings, wanted to do things we were told we shouldn’t.’

  ‘You made the first move then,’ he reminded her.

  ‘You didn’t object!’ she flashed back.

  ‘Of course I didn’t. And I wouldn’t object now if you . . .’ He held her close, kissing her closed eyes. ‘Marion, I know you’re afraid of having another baby, and I understand that because you had such a bad time of it with Wilf . . . but can’t we be a loving couple?’

  She gave a little groan. ‘Oh Danny, I know I shouldn’t be so jealous. I must have inherited that from Mother . . .’

  ‘Shush,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s make a new start and forget the past.’

  They were both aware it would not be as easy as that.

  *

  Sam was having second thoughts about Kathleen’s suggestion of a pottery. It couldn’t be set up until spring, he mused. If it turned cold, folk would still want wood to keep the home fires burning. Kathleen wouldn’t be able to play an active part until the baby was bigger, of course. Would Herbie want to be involved? They would probably have to employ experienced staff . . . He knew he’d have to keep all this to himself, or he would upset her again. He’d have to give in about the money side too, otherwise none of this would be possible.

  He turned and gently stroked her hair as she slumbered. It would be some time, he realised, before they could resume their love life. Danny and Marion, he thought, should enjoy that side of marriage while they only had one child; it was a sobering thought that he and Kathleen were responsible now for three children.

  *

  Jessie and Doc were talking about family affairs as they lay side by side in bed. She said suddenly, ‘Abraham, do you think Marion and Danny are happy? I wonder sometimes if she is still jealous of Kathleen . . .’

  He murmured, ‘It is not our business, Jessie. Marion is a natural with horses; I think her job at the stables compensates her for having only one child. Danny, I believe, is a good husband and father, so you have nothing to worry about there.’

  ‘It’s just that I am aware Danny has these feelings for Kathleen.’

  ‘He doesn’t give in to them, does he? I think he’ll grow out of this fascination if he doesn’t have any encouragement. Didn’t you sometimes wish—’

  ‘No! Never!’ she said vehemently. She turned to him. ‘Wilf was my rock, like you.’

  ‘Thank you, dear Jessie, that means so much to me.’

  *

  Daisy was still awake in the room they now called the nursery, which she shared with Wilf. She sighed. This little chap, she thought fondly, is to me the son I will never have. He is a nervous child; I hope I will always be there for him.

  She’d enjoyed her visit to the Brickyard House, but it made her realise how much she’d missed Kathleen’s companionship since she moved away. She is like a younger sister to me, she thought. Dear Mrs Mason took us both to her heart. Kathleen and I had fun exploring the countryside on our bicycles. It’s not the same with Mrs Danny . . . she’s nice enough, but the only thing we have in common is young Wilf.

  Wilf stirred and called out, ‘Has Father Christmas come yet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she answered. ‘He won’t come until we are sound asleep.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  In the spring of 1913, newspaper headlines warned the public of war clouds on the horizon. Kathleen asked Sam anxiously whether he believed this to be true, and he told her, ‘It might well be . . .’ adding, ‘We have to carry on as normal and hope for the best, but also concentrate on our new venture, eh?’

  Bobby, the puppy, was a cross between a spaniel and a collie. He had the floppy ears of the former and the long legs of the latt
er. His coat was black and curly, and he was already aware that he must keep an eye on the baby while the girls were at school each day. Little Sam was growing fast and it was obvious he would be tall like his father. The girls suggested calling him Jimmy, as his second name was James. ‘He can change it back to Sam when you pop off, Dad!’ Kitty said artlessly. When they came home from school in the afternoon, Bobby was waiting with his red ball, eager to play fetch. Ollie watched from next door, head on paws, grumbling to himself, ready to put the pup in his place if he crossed the invisible dividing line between house and barn.

  Sam now had another employee, a lad called Dennis who was twelve years old; an orphan from the workhouse who’d just left school and was lodging with Herbie and his wife. Herbie was showing him the ropes and they were busy digging out clay from the new pit. This would be stored in the big barn for a while to dry out some of the moisture until it was ready to be moulded. However, there were other stages to go through first.

  ‘You need an experienced potter to advise you,’ Doc pronounced when he came over to the brickyard to see how things were progressing. He produced a parcel from Jessie. She had sewn four roomy smocks in dark blue canvas for the potters as her contribution to the enterprise.

  ‘She says they need to be washed regularly, not with other clothing. Dust will be a problem so she suggests you buy some face masks. By the way,’ he added, ‘I know someone who once owned a pottery – like me, she sought asylum with those who were already established in the East End.’

  ‘What is your friend’s name – did she come from the same place as you?’ Kathleen asked.

  ‘Her name is Olga,’ Doc replied. ‘She did. She has been unable to contact her family ever since. Would you like to meet her? She is, I think, in her early sixties; she is an artist still, but sighs over her first love – throwing pots. She was quite famous then, I’m told.’

  ‘Could she tell us what equipment is essential?’ Sam asked. ‘I have already inspected a second-hand pottery wheel with a treadle and a small kiln. Webster’s Dictionary mentions pugged clay and a pug mill, which consists of sharp revolving knives set in motion by turning a handle. Then the clay is pressed between two rollers into sheets of a precise thickness.’

  ‘Dad,’ Heather interrupted, ‘you sound like a dictionary yourself! Grandma has her old mangle out in the scullery; could you use that?’

  ‘I will write to Olga today,’ Doc promised. ‘And I will ask Jessie about the mangle. It’s another heavy object to lift about, but it still works. Jessie asked me if she could have a new one as my wedding present to her!’

  ‘I expect she was excited to receive what she asked for!’ Kitty grinned.

  ‘What is pugged clay?’ Dennis asked. He was showing plenty of interest in his new job, though he didn’t get much chance to ask questions when the girls were around.

  ‘Clay kneaded like dough and then sliced and mixed in the pug mill,’ Sam answered. We have a bright lad here, he thought. He’s big and strong for his age, too.

  *

  There was great excitement the following weekend when Doc, who’d driven with Danny to London after the early morning chores, leaving Marion in charge of the stables, alighted from the car and helped a stout lady out from the back seat.

  The girls were waiting on the doorstep, with Bobby restrained on his lead, as he tended to jump up at visitors and give them licks of welcome. Inside the house, Kathleen took a batch of scones from the oven, put them to cool, and wondered whether to make tea or coffee.

  Olga, who had been invited to stay for the weekend, waved to the girls and made her way along the path to the front door. Doc followed behind after seeing to her luggage. She had snowy white hair plaited round her head, and a round face creased in smiles. She was dressed in an ankle-skimming black skirt with a bright pink blouse, which was obviously hand-dyed as the colour was blotchy, and a matching headscarf. The shawl round her shoulders gave her an old-fashioned air. ‘Good morning, children,’ she greeted them.

  ‘Don’t you speak Russian any more?’ Kitty was disappointed.

  ‘Yes, but it is polite to speak in the language of your hosts. I shall tell you that good morning in Russian is dobroe utro, and children is rebyonok. May I come in and meet your mother and father, please?’

  The children moved aside immediately. ‘Follow me, Olga,’ Heather said, eager to show she was the elder of the two. Doc beckoned to Danny, who’d reappeared after parking the car round the corner of the house.

  Kathleen, baby on hip, greeted the visitor. ‘Come into the kitchen for a nice cup of tea – or coffee, if you prefer it. We also have scones and some of my mother-in-law’s butter . . .’

  ‘Thank you. I would like coffee, please. No milk or sugar. I have tea without, too, but I like a squeeze of lemon,’ Olga said.

  ‘Who wants to hold Jimmy while I make the coffee?’ Kathleen asked.

  ‘It’s my turn!’ Heather said, nudging Kitty aside. She lifted Jimmy up against her shoulder, because she didn’t have hips yet to balance him on. She had a question to ask their guest. ‘You have tea in a glass, don’t you? We studied Russia in geography this term.’

  ‘Tea in a glass? In Russia, yes, but here I have a mug! This scone is good, Kathleen, and the butter is delicious.’

  Doc came into the kitchen having taken Olga’s bags upstairs to the spare bedroom.

  Kitty whispered to her sister, ‘Do you think she’ll like the jam jar full of dandelions I picked for her? I put them on the windowsill.’

  ‘Not if she knows they make you wet the bed!’ Heather whispered back.

  ‘Something smells good.’ Doc sniffed appreciatively.

  ‘Take a seat, Doc; coffee for you too?’ Kathleen asked. ‘Where’s Danny?’

  ‘Talking to Sam, I think. Sam said he’ll be in shortly for his elevenses.’

  ‘I hope he washes his hands first,’ Kathleen sighed.

  ‘You’ve got flour in your hair, Mummy,’ Kitty observed.

  ‘Oh dear, my fringe is getting too long and I brushed it out of my eyes while I was mixing the scones,’ Kathleen said with a smile. She sat down at the table between Olga and Doc. ‘You’ll have to excuse me when Sam arrives; Jimmy needs a feed before his morning nap. I must drink my tea first!’

  Sam and Danny were removing their boots before coming into the kitchen. ‘Have you got the papers ready to show Olga?’ Danny asked.

  ‘They’re in the kitchen drawer,’ Sam replied. ‘You go on in and I’ll wash my hands before joining you all.’

  ‘I won’t be too long,’ Kathleen said to Olga. ‘Let me just introduce you to my husband, Sam, who will be the chief potter and needs all the advice you can give him! Take my chair, Sam. Girls, you’d better come upstairs with Jimmy and me. You haven’t made your beds yet, have you?’

  Kitty pulled a face. ‘We want to know all about the pottery, too!’

  ‘You shall not miss much; we discuss the business first, eh, Sam?’ Olga assured them.

  Doc rose too. ‘I must get back to Home Farm. Danny will pass on the information to us later. We will see you tomorrow, I hope; Jessie has invited everyone to dinner. Goodbye for now, Olga.’

  Later in the day, after Olga had explained the process to Sam, she came to a decision. ‘You say you need someone with experience to guide and advise you. If you agree, I could be that person. I have told you all I know, but one weekend is not enough to learn; you have to find your way and it will not be easy. But now it is getting late and I can tell Kathleen is tired and needs to retire for the night.’

  Kathleen suppressed a yawn. ‘I must get some sleep before Jimmy wakes for a midnight feed; he doesn’t go through the night without that yet. Thank you, Olga, we have a lot to think about, but we can talk again in the morning before we go over to Home Farm.’

  Danny rose from his chair too. ‘I must go home. Marion will be anxious if I don’t turn up soon . . . Goodnight, all, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Kathleen went out
with him into the hallway and paused before going upstairs.

  ‘Oh Danny, it all seems so promising, but I’m not sure I can be much help at the moment.’

  He saw that her eyes were brimming with tears and resisted the urge to hug her. ‘What Olga said made sense. It sounds as though she might be willing to stay and train Sam and the others.’

  ‘We might not be able to afford that, though.’

  ‘There is always a way,’ he said slowly. ‘Off you go, and don’t worry about it tonight.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said, and before he could open the front door, she put her hands on his shoulders and reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘Thank you, Danny, for being here tonight. We will see you tomorrow. Give my love to Marion.’

  He closed the door behind him and wondered why she’d kissed him. He faced a walk home because Doc had taken the car earlier, but he needed time to gather his thoughts.

  *

  By the time the family and their visitor arrived for lunch with Jessie and Doc, the plans for the pottery were set to go ahead. Olga’s generous offer had been accepted; she would gladly give her services in return for her board and lodging in the Brickyard House.

  ‘I don’t need money at the moment; I will be happy to be in the country instead of the East End. I have never married or had children of my own, but I shall enjoy the company of your lively young daughters, I know.’

  Now they sat down to roast chicken and all the trimmings, served by Daisy, and Bobby hid under the table ready to receive any scraps that might come his way.

  Doc was beaming. He passed the redcurrant sauce and filled the wine glasses. ‘You would like Danny and me to collect your belongings?’ he asked Olga. ‘Can you manage with what you have here until next weekend?’

  Olga was smiling too. ‘Yes, of course. What lovely tender meat; you carve so well, Doc. I like the pudding very much. It is from Yorkshire, yes?’

  ‘The recipe, originally, I believe. I’m glad you like it,’ Jessie said. ‘Help yourself to more roast potatoes and cabbage.’

  Heather and Kitty were drinking lemonade with slices of lemon floating in it. ‘Wonder what’s for pud?’ Kitty whispered, while surreptitiously dropping a morsel of fatty bacon to the dog under cover of the tablecloth. Olga, observing this, winked at her.