A Christmas Wish for the Shipyard Girls

by Nancy Revell

  ‘I have,’ Polly said. ‘Much to Ma’s relief, I’ve finally set a day for Artie’s christening.’

  ‘Yeah!’ Dorothy clapped her hands.

  ‘When?’ Hannah asked, taking Artie back off Muriel, who couldn’t ignore the growing queue at the counter.

  Polly reached over and poured herself a cup of tea.

  ‘Christmas Eve!’

  Her words were followed by an instantaneous outpouring of excitement and joy.

  ‘That’s brilliant!’ Angie said.

  ‘Just brilliant,’ Dorothy agreed. ‘And can we bring our beaux?’

  ‘Of course you can,’ Polly said.

  ‘Quentin’s not a “beau”!’ Angie snapped.

  Everyone looked at her.

  ‘Well, he’s not, is he?’ She looked at them all, her face like thunder.

  Nobody said anything.

  Dorothy raised both eyebrows, but not so Angie could see.

  ‘Christmas Eve is such a wonderful day to baptise a baby.’ Hannah quickly changed the subject as she sat down and continued to gently rock Artie in her arms.

  ‘And so apt,’ Olly said.

  ‘What? Because Jesus was born the next day?’ Martha asked, glancing over at Angie, who still looked angry.

  ‘I suppose so. It signifies the start of a new life, doesn’t it?’ Olly looked around the table.

  ‘Is it also because you and Tommy got married on Christmas Day?’ Rosie asked.

  Polly nodded. ‘I just thought it would be lovely to have Artie christened around the time we got married. It might sound stupid—’

  ‘Doesn’t sound stupid,’ Angie butted in. ‘Sounds dead romantic.’

  Polly smiled at Angie. Every time she’d been with her old squad of late, Angie had sniped at Dorothy and it was usually to do with Quentin.

  ‘And the vicar was all right about having it on Christmas Eve?’ Rosie asked. She knew Lily and George had bribed the reverend with a large donation for the repairs to the roof so that he would marry Polly and Tommy on Christmas Day.

  ‘He did grumble a little, but I took Artie with me, which helped enormously.’

  ‘Good ploy,’ Gloria said, who was sitting next to Hannah. ‘Who could refuse this happy chappie anything.’ She tickled his stomach and he grabbed her finger with surprising strength.

  ‘Do you think you’ll all be able to get the day off?’ Polly asked, looking at Rosie.

  ‘I’m sure we can work something out with Helen,’ Rosie replied. ‘Is the service morning or afternoon?’

  ‘Afternoon,’ Polly said. ‘Two o’clock.’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Rosie. ‘We can do a half-day. Finish at midday. That’ll give us enough time to go home and get ready. I’ll sort it with Helen.’

  ‘I’m guessing Helen’s coming?’ Dorothy said sullenly.

  ‘As she’s one of Artie’s godparents, yes, she’ll be coming, Dor.’ Polly glanced across at Gloria. They’d chatted about the lingering ill feeling towards Helen.

  ‘So, what’s everyone got planned for Christmas Day?’ Gloria asked. She looked around the table.

  ‘Just the usual,’ Martha said.

  ‘Same here,’ said Polly, thinking it would also be her first wedding anniversary and a year since she had last seen Tommy.

  ‘Me and Ange were trying to work out how we could avoid having to spend Christmas Day with our lovely families, weren’t we, Ange?’

  ‘Aye, ’cos last year we had the perfect excuse, didn’t we?’

  Everyone looked at Polly, remembering the magical wedding day.

  ‘Aunty Rina and Vera had an idea,’ Hannah piped up, dragging her attention away from Artie, who was doing a good job of hypnotising her.

  ‘Which was?’ Dorothy asked hopefully.

  ‘They wondered whether we should all have our Christmas Day meal together at the café.’

  ‘That’s a brilliant idea!’ Angie said.

  ‘Salvation!’ Dorothy raised her eyes to the heavens.

  ‘They thought we could pool our resources – coupons, money,’ Olly said. ‘Then they would buy and cook the food.’

  ‘What a good idea!’ Rosie said. She laughed. ‘Anything to get out of doing a roast dinner.’

  ‘And Charlotte will be kept busy all day into the bargain,’ Gloria said.

  ‘Exactly,’ Rosie said. ‘You read my thoughts.’

  The rest of the lunch hour was spent writing a list of everyone who would be going. Rosie said she would ask Lily and George, who she was sure would come as she couldn’t imagine Lily and Charlie being parted on such an important day. When Bel joined the women, she said she’d ask Maisie, but thought that her sister and Vivian were going to the Grand this year, and she doubted her ma would come if the pub got a licence as Bill would need her. Joe, she said, would want to ask the Major, and would that be all right? To which they said they’d be disappointed if he didn’t come. Everyone loved the Major. Polly, especially, thought the world of him as he had given Tommy his flat for the week leading up to their wedding. Martha reckoned her mam and dad would be keen, and that her mam would want to contribute by baking some mince pies. Angie rubbed her hands in glee. They all agreed to invite Georgina and her father.

  ‘Eee,’ Dorothy said, nudging Angie, pleased that she’d cheered up a little. ‘It’s beginning to feel like Christmas, isn’t it?’

  Chapter Forty-Two

  ‘I hear Polly asked you to tell Dr Parker about the christening,’ Gloria said tentatively.

  Gloria and Helen were making their way to the GPO with Hope, who was in her pushchair. The weather was now so bitterly cold that Gloria’s calls to Jack were being made from the relative warmth of the telephone booths in the main post office in Norfolk Street.

  ‘She did,’ Helen said.

  ‘How do you feel about him being Artie’s godfather?’

  Helen thought for a moment.

  ‘Tough question,’ Helen said. ‘I suppose I should have realised Polly would ask him. I mean, he not only saved Artie’s life when she nearly miscarried, but he also delivered him.’

  Gloria looked at Helen. The girl was still in love. She knew that feeling. Loving someone you couldn’t have.

  ‘It’s going to be a bit awkward, isn’t it?’ Gloria said. ‘Especially if he brings that doctor friend of his.’

  Helen laughed. ‘That doctor friend is his girlfriend, Gloria. Probably his fiancée by now. She’ll likely turn up with a great big diamond on her ring finger.’

  ‘You don’t want to invite anyone?’ Gloria didn’t mention any names; she didn’t have to.

  Helen burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Gloria, I do love you. I’m guessing you’re talking about Matthew?’

  ‘I might be,’ she smiled.

  Helen didn’t answer and Gloria didn’t push. Instead, she asked, ‘Do you want to come to Vera’s for your Christmas dinner?’

  ‘God, I think my mother would have me hanged, drawn and quartered if I dared to miss the dinner at Grandfather’s.’

  ‘I thought your mother usually had a big do on Christmas Day?’ Gloria asked.

  ‘She does, but since Dad’s gone – or rather, since she got rid of Dad – she’s not been too keen to entertain what she calls a load of boring old has-beens at home.’ She waited for a man walking ahead of them to open the door. ‘Thank you,’ she muttered as she bumped the pushchair over the threshold.

  ‘In reality,’ Helen continued as they looked for a free booth, ‘it’s because she can’t bear to see a lot of happy, or outwardly happy, couples around her dinner table and would prefer to get it done at Grandfather’s before hurrying off to the Grand to whoop it up with Amelia. She’s just keeping her fingers crossed that Amelia’s husband doesn’t suddenly get leave. As is Amelia, of course.’

  Gloria shook her head. Her own situation couldn’t be more different. She’d give anything for Jack to be home for Christmas. Anything.

  When Jack hung up, he felt a deep dark depression settling in. He knew he shou
ldn’t feel so down. The war was going well. The fact that they were conscripting men to work in the mines rather than sending them off to the front line spoke volumes. The Clyde and all the other shipyards in the country were churning out ships unhindered, thanks to the fact there had been so few air raids for the best part of the year. But none of that stopped his terrible feeling of homesickness. He’d fought it for so long, but after Gloria had told him about Artie’s christening, it had overwhelmed him. He’d have loved to have seen Tommy’s little boy – Arthur’s great-grandson. Gloria had said he was the spit of them both. And the thought of having Christmas dinner at Vera’s, with everyone there … it sounded such a perfect way of celebrating the day.

  Jack imagined walking down High Street East with Gloria, his daughter holding his hand, or perhaps giving her a piggyback ride, hearing her giggle. Then getting home, giving Hope her Christmas present and watching her unwrap it … reading her a bedtime story, before going to Gloria, putting his arms around her, kissing her – lying in bed together without a care in the world, because nothing else mattered other than them all being together as a family.

  This was going to be the second Christmas in a row that he hadn’t been able to spend with his little girl and the woman he loved.

  Damn Miriam! Damn, damn, damn her!

  ‘I. Am. Not. Quentin’s. Girlfriend!’ Angie shouted, punctuating each word. Her face was bright red. ‘Why can’t yer get it through that thick head of yers!’ She glared at Dor, turned on her heel and stomped out of the flat.

  Dorothy had made the fatal mistake of teasing Angie one too many times while they’d been clearing up after a fish and chip supper with their neighbour.

  Dorothy and Mrs Kwiatkowski stood motionless, listening to Angie thud her way up the two flights of stairs to the flat. They both jumped, hearing the door slam shut.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Mrs Kwiatkowski said.

  ‘Oh dear, indeed,’ Dor said, looking at the old woman.

  ‘Wish me luck,’ she said, before walking out the front door and up the stairs to face the music.

  ‘Angie …’ Dorothy tried her hardest to make her voice sound placatory. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’ She walked down the short hallway and into the kitchen, but Angie wasn’t there. She stood and listened. She could hear what sounded like crying.

  It couldn’t be Angie, could it?

  She didn’t think she’d ever seen or heard Angie crying in the three years they’d been best buddies.

  She crept to the door of her bedroom.

  ‘Angie …’ She gently pushed the door open.

  She stood shocked at the sight of her friend laying prostrate on her bed, her head buried in her pillow, sobbing her eyes out.

  ‘Ah, Ange.’ Dorothy hurried over and sat on the edge of the bed. She put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t cry.’

  Angie shrugged off Dorothy’s hand and continued to muffle her sorrow into the folds of her pillow.

  Dorothy waited. Partly because she didn’t know what else to do. And partly because she sensed her friend just needed to cry her tears out.

  Finally, Angie stopped and turned over.

  ‘Yer just dinnit understand, do yer?’

  ‘I don’t,’ Dorothy admitted. ‘Although I do think this has something to do with me being a bit of a blabbermouth and going on about you and Quentin.’

  ‘That’s exactly it! Me and Quentin.’ Angie sat up and dried her eyes on the cuff of her overalls. ‘There is no me and Quentin. There can never be any me and Quentin.’

  Dorothy looked at her friend and saw that the sorrow had been buried and the anger was back.

  ‘But that’s what I don’t understand,’ Dorothy said. ‘Why can’t there be any you and Quentin?’

  ‘God, Dor, sometimes yer can be as thick as two short planks,’ Angie spluttered.

  Dorothy continued to look puzzled.

  ‘Because, Dor,’ Angie said, riled, ‘people like Quentin don’t court people like me. It’s that simple. It’s the way of the world. We’re worlds apart. He’s rich. I’m poor. He’s posh. I’m not. He’s practically aristocracy.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘God, I can hardly even say the word … And I’m working class.’

  ‘So?’ Dor said.

  ‘So!’ Angie said, exasperated. ‘People like Quentin don’t marry or even court girls like me.’ Another bitter laugh. ‘They might want to have their way with them, but then they’ll cast them aside ’n marry who Mummy ’n Daddy want them to marry. That’s the way it is. Yer knar that!’

  Dorothy was quiet. A part of her agreed with her friend – the other didn’t.

  ‘OK,’ Dorothy said, getting ready to argue the point rationally. ‘I agree with you that this is the case for many people. Perhaps even most.’ She straightened her back and looked her friend in the eye. ‘But I honestly don’t think this is the case for Quentin. He’s different. I’ve seen the way he is with you – and the way you are with him … We’re not living in the Dark Ages any more, Angie. Times are changing. People are changing. This war’s changed us all in some way or another.’ She laughed and picked at her overall. ‘Look at us two sat here wearing these manky, dirty work clothes.’

  Angie smiled. Dorothy took that as encouragement.

  ‘I think you should both give it a go.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Or perhaps even talk to Quentin about how he feels.’

  ‘Yeah, right, Dor,’ said Angie. ‘Next time I see him just drop it into the conversation – “Oh, by the way, Quentin, would yer consider gannin out with someone like me?”’

  Dorothy conceded the point. ‘All right … But I just don’t think you should let the fact he’s from a rich, well-to-do-family stop you from being with him, if you both want to be with each other.’

  ‘Dor, it’s simple. I won’t let myself fall in love with Quentin ’cos I know it can’t go anywhere.’

  It was on the tip of Dorothy’s tongue to say, It’s too late, you have fallen in love with him, but she didn’t. For once she managed to hold back.

  ‘Anyway,’ Angie said, getting up and walking into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. ‘This is all yer fault.’ She reached into the cupboard for the biscuit tin.

  Dorothy followed her and sat down at the kitchen table.

  ‘How do you work that one out?’ she asked, taking the tin off her friend and prising open the top.

  ‘Because if you hadn’t forced me to ask Quentin to Polly ’n Tommy’s wedding – because yer wanted to cop off with Toby – I wouldn’t be where I am now.’

  After they’d had their tea and demolished most of the contents of the biscuit tin, Angie went to bed. Crying, she surmised, sapped all your energy.

  When Dorothy heard Angie’s gentle snoring, she crept down the hallway, put the door on the latch and padded downstairs to see Mrs Kwiatkowski.

  She needed to talk to the old woman.

  If there was one thing in life worth fighting for – it was love.

  Angie might have given up on it, but she hadn’t.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Wednesday 15 December

  Pearl and Bill looked out of the carriage window. The snow that had fallen gently but consistently overnight had turned the green fields and rolling countryside a pure white.

  ‘It’s pretty, isn’t it?’ Bill said as they sat shoulder to shoulder. They had the carriage to themselves. The weather had kept people at home today.

  ‘Aye, as long as it dinnit stop us gerrin’ to the asylum,’ Pearl said, her eyes squinting against the brightness of the snow, made all the more brilliant by a clear sky and bright sun.

  ‘It won’t lay long,’ Bill said, looking up at the sunny sky. It really was a perfect winter’s day.

  He glanced at Pearl.

  ‘Looked like Ronald was on one last night?’

  ‘Aye, he was that,’ Pearl agreed.

  ‘Looked like he’d got himself a new best mate,’ Bill said.

  ‘What? That
baldy bloke with the big gut?’ Pearl said.

  ‘That’s the one,’ Bill said. ‘Think they went back to Ronald’s to down some of his black-market whisky.’

  ‘They didn’t hang around much after last orders,’ Pearl mused.

  ‘Yer didn’t fancy joining them, then?’ Bill asked, trying to sound as casual as possible and not as though he was desperately trying to work out if Pearl had feelings for that weasel of a man. ‘I heard the baldy man with the big gut asking yer to join them for a “good sup” ’n game of poker.’

  ‘Couldn’t be bothered,’ Pearl said. ‘Plus, I needed my wits about me fer today.’

  What she didn’t tell Bill was that she wouldn’t have gone back to Ronald’s regardless. The fat bloke had given her the willies, but more than anything, she’d promised herself after her last blowout with Ronald that it’d be her last. It had been seven months now and she’d stuck to her word.

  They sat in silence for a little while, both in their own worlds, thinking their own thoughts.

  When the train started to slow down as it approached Ryhope station, Bill looked at Pearl.

  ‘You seem nervous,’ he said, ‘well, more nervous than yer have done for a while.’ It was true. After the first visit, Pearl had become much more relaxed about her trips to see Henrietta.

  Pearl stopped herself biting back with some defensive comment.

  ‘Aye, yer right, I do feel a bit jittery.’

  ‘Because?’

  She looked at Bill.

  ‘I’m gonna ask her outright,’ she said, grabbing her handbag and pulling out her cigarettes. ‘I’ve decided. It’s time.’

  Bill’s heart sank. He knew as soon as Pearl had what she wanted from Henrietta, that would be it. Their day trips to Ryhope would come to an end. Of course, he’d known the day would come, but he’d forced himself not to think about it. Had decided to just enjoy each outing they had together and not worry about the future. Now it looked as if the future had come. This might well be the last day out he had with Pearl, pretending to be her husband. He looked down at her left hand with his ex-wife’s gold band on it and felt deflated.