by Annie Clarke
She brought a plate out from the scullery and cups, chipped, but whose weren’t. Would Mrs Adams bring broken biscuits from her corner shop? By, that’d be nice, but if not, it wouldn’t matter for they had work to do, and would be together. Just as their girls had, and were.
She placed the milk jug on the table and some honey, but not much, for they had mostly forgotten the taste of sweet tea and kept it just for emergencies. Annie stopped then, her hand to her mouth. Should she have put some in Fran and Viola’s tea this morning? But then they’d have thought she was worried, which would be a burden for them. Of course she was worried, she was their mam.
She shook her head again, thinking her head would go flying one of these days with all this shaking, for she wasn’t Viola’s mam, for heaven’s sake. But someone had to be now the lass had no one. Well, she supposed they all were, she, Maud Bedley and Audrey Smith, though it did seem best to keep Viola here, in one place, to give Sarah and Stan space. Even when Fran were wed to Davey he’d be back down south straight away, so aye, best she stay here.
She could hear Madge saying that she was down for the ARP evening shift. ‘Which is plain bliddy daft, for we’ve had no bombs over this way yet and I canna see any on their way.’ The door opened, and in they came, bringing the chill with them. Boots were kicked off and glory be, Mrs Adams put a brown paper bag on the table.
‘A few broken ones, and if anyone tells the ration man, I’ll have to whack her over the head with my broom.’
‘Nonsense, for you’ll need it to fly around the night sky with your pointed black hat on,’ Madge laughed, adjusting her eyepatch, which was deep blue today.
Maud Bedley settled herself in a chair, her proggy frame on her lap. ‘She’ll get the air raid sirens going, Madge, then you’ll have cause to blow your whistle right enough.’
Annie made the tea and let it mash while they settled themselves. Audrey Smith, Beth’s mam, muttered, ‘I’ll swing for Bob. No call last night, no letter this morning.’ She sighed. ‘But it’s the war. They never know where they’ll be, and the women at home knowing nowt.’
Maud nodded. ‘Will she keep going to the telephone box?’
‘Broken biscuits on the plate,’ Mrs Adams interrupted. ‘Are you ready with the tea, our Annie?’
Annie poured while Madge passed round the biscuits, saying, ‘Briddlestone’s want us to get the rugs to them by the end of the month, don’t they? We need to get a bit of steam up, for we’ve Fran’s wedding dress to sort out as well, Annie.’
Maud stuffed half a biscuit in her mouth, dusted off her hands and hooked a quarter-inch-wide red cotton length through the hessian and adjusted the frame to a more comfortable position. She preferred the smooth look of a hooky to a proggy rug. She thought the short lengths knotted through the hessian looked ragged, whereas the hooky was a smooth, looped finish. She looked at Annie.
‘I reckon we need material a bit different to our Sarah’s. The lasses wondered if there’s a bit of spare curtain or material on a shelf somewhere at Massingham Hall? Does it seem heartless to mention it, with the lad in hospital? Poor wee thing. Just got him better from the sepsis, and now this. Never thought the little wretch he were would turn out to be a good ’un. Missing the bus, hitting the tree.’
Maud sipped her tea. ‘I phoned Sophia first thing to find out the news on both Ralph and Bert. No improvement for Ralph, but Bert will be home tomorrow and back in the cab soon as wink.’
Audrey nodded. ‘That’ll please our Tilly. She’ll have someone to be rude to again.’
‘Tilly always finds someone to be rude to,’ said Annie, ‘but she’d rather it were Bert, for he’s rude back.’
‘Aye, and I reckon he’s the one who starts it, more often than not.’
But the women were only going through the motions, for their thoughts were with Ralph.
Putting down her proggy prod, Annie said, ‘I can’t bear to think of him with his head through the windscreen, and I fear his body hasn’t the strength to fight after being so poorly.’
Audrey nodded again. ‘I want to be there, tending him, with all of the co-op, and maybe the girls, on shifts, like we were with the septicaemia.’
Looking deep in thought, Madge sorted out a series of short blue lengths and prodded them through her hessian. Finally, she said, ‘Reginald must sort it with Sister Newsome so we can visit, regular like, take turns with the girls and the marrers, and owt else who wants to help. We need to talk to that bruised brain of his and tell it to shift its arse, and let the lad heal quick.’
Mrs Adams adjusted her frame and straightened her back before setting to work again, hooking through a long length of softer red. ‘Aye,’ she muttered, ‘’tis important he knows he’s not alone and that his effort was appreciated, and that there’s a place for him in our lives. Then I reckon he’ll fight.’
Annie got down a pencil and notepad from the mantelpiece. ‘Right, good idea, I’ll draw up a rota, and when we’re in Newcastle on our shift, we can take the rugs that we’ve finished to Briddlestone’s. I reckon they should pay more for rush orders, so we can talk to that Mr Whatever-his-name-is.’
There was a tap on the door. It opened and in came Sandra Young’s mam, Meryl, from the top end of Leadenhall Terrace, wiping her feet, looking at the spare chair, then at the kettle Annie had put back to simmer on the slow plate. ‘Shall I sort out another cup all round? I’ve brought a twist of new tea leaves.’
The others looked at one another and Madge said, ‘If it’s the first time of use, you can wear the bliddy kettle, Meryl. On you go.’
Meryl laughed, placing her frame by the chair and putting the kettle on the hot plate.
‘By lass, bit of a dry throat, eh,’ said Madge.
The others laughed. Meryl muttered, ‘Yes, I’ve a powerful thirst, Madge. I’ve been ironing for Reverend Walters and his sister all morning, and me basket’s still full of Dr Dunster’s wash, so will have to leave when you go up to the Hall, but enough of that – what’s to do about this wedding frock? Time’s a-wasting. At least we’re doing the same food as at Sarah’s tea, aren’t we?’
The women nodded, though Maud said, ‘Not so sure about the pheasant, but I’ve a mind for one of us to ask, since it wouldn’t be fair if me lass were given that treat and Fran not. But then the Massinghams have enough on their minds, and what if the lad—’
‘He won’t die,’ snapped Madge. ‘We’ll not have it, the girls won’t either, and I reckon the lads’ll haul him back out of the fiery furnace by his ears, so that’s that.’
The others nodded, and waited. Maud continued. ‘So, anyone going to step forward to ask about the pheasant?’
There was another wait as they looked at one another. Madge grinned. ‘If worst comes to worst, I’ll find me best eyepatch, the one with bells on. Reckon that’d charm the birds from the trees, and pheasant from the Massinghams.’
They were all laughing, because Madge hadn’t gone quite that far with her taste in patches, but it wouldn’t surprise them if she did. Maud nodded. ‘Done. That’s a problem sorted. If they can’t, and the pheasant aren’t willing to be sacrificed, we’ll think of something else.’
As Meryl made the tea, Maud went on: ‘But as well as the wedding frock and tea, we need to sort the rota, for there’ll be no merriment in Massingham if the lad dies.’
Madge protested, ‘I were joking about going to talk about the bird.’
‘Too late,’ the others said, as though with one voice. ‘You might bring it up this afternoon. We should leave about ten past two.’
‘And if the wind changes, our Madge,’ added Maud, ‘that face you’re pulling will get set in stone.’
Again, there was laughter, but now it was Audrey Smith’s turn. ‘So, you’ll do the rota and put the word around, eh, Annie, so we can tick that off. Now, the dress: Cyn Ellington said that Mr Swinton would let us use one of the Factory sewing machines, and with Viola still in that workshop it makes it easier. But there’s a new bl
oke, Gaines or something like that. A bit of a tartar, or so I heard the girls saying.’
‘Where’s that cuppa, Meryl?’ Mrs Adams called as Meryl came over with fresh tea.
Beatrice Adams sipped thoughtfully, looking over her cup at them all. ‘When we’re helping out Sophia with the evacuees, we’ll talk with her, though this afternoon might be too soon to bring it up. Let’s see how she is. It’ll maybe take her mind off Ralph, and ours off our poor lasses. We can have a ferret about in the attic. I doubt she’ll think it’s pushy, for a wedding canna be changed and we’ve only a month.’
The women worked on and talk became desultory, moving on from hoping the girls were feeling more or less all right, but knowing they weren’t, to hoping they were safe at the Factory and their itches not worsening, although they knew they would be. They changed tack and spoke of Stan and Sarah’s happiness, and Ben’s relief at his sister arriving back safe from Scotland, if not quite in one piece, and then, again, of his care for them yesterday.
‘Aye, and he’s to give Fran away, or so Stan’s decided because he needs to be Davey’s best man.’ But all the time they were worrying about the girls, and Ralph, and Bert.
As it passed two o’clock, Maud Bedley put down her hook. ‘There, another one finished. They said they wanted ten wall hangings and ten rugs for the floor. What do you reckon on this one? Wall or floor?’
The women crowded round.
‘As you’ve a swathe of red, and some pink,’ said Madge, ‘I’d say wall hanging or it’ll show the dirt. But ’tis time those who can were pedalling up to the Hall, or we’ll be late. Two thirty we said.’
The others agreed, returning to the table just as they heard boots clomping across the backyard and Stan shouting, ‘Mam, Mam.’ He was panting as though he was running.
‘What now?’ muttered Annie. ‘Not more trouble. An accident in the pit?’
Madge shook her head, in the middle of packing up her frame. ‘The hooter’s not gone, so no. Besides, there daren’t be more bad news. I won’t have it.’
They stared as Stan burst in. ‘Albright got a call from Mrs Massingham in the pit office. She thought you said midday. She’s worried you’ve had bad news. We ran once fore shift were ended. Are the girls all right?’
‘Oh Lord, but we agreed two thirty,’ said Audrey. The others were nodding as they finished packing up their frames. Audrey continued, ‘Oh poor lass, if she’s forgotten the time it means she’s in a right flummox and who can blame her.’
The women were dragging on their macs. ‘Stan,’ Annie said, ‘go and telephone the Hall. Say we are sorry, and will be there by two thirty. Don’t let Sophia think she got it wrong. I’ll leave a note to remind Ben and he can keep Fran and Viola in line. You keep an eye on Sarah and Beth.’
Madge was at the door. ‘Aye, we’ll say we got caught up in the wedding. One way to bring in the pheasant, eh? Meet you on Main Street, Annie. Out of the way, Stan. We should have thought … The bairns, the worry, and Sophia so pale and tired.’ She was off. They heard her call, ‘Howay, Sid and Norm. No panic. On your way. Our lad’s forgot all about you.’
The two pitmen laughed. Sid said, ‘As long as all is well.’ They heard them run up the back lane, calling to one another, then guffawing.
Beatrice Adams was putting on her mac too, and her boots. ‘Remember, I canna come. My new girl, Emily, is still learning, just a bairn really. I’ll be with you in spirit.’
‘No more can I,’ said Meryl.
Within twenty minutes, Madge, Annie, Maud and Audrey were cycling into the wind, finally turning up the long drive to Massingham Hall, where snowdrops nestled at the foot of the drystone walls. They were supposed to be a sign of hope, Annie thought. Aye, well, that was sorely needed today, one way or another. Well, when wasn’t it, because there always seemed to be something.
They pedalled hard, their wheels digging into the gravel at the front of the house and pinging off their ankles, and then they whirled under the arch and into the yard. The Rolls wasn’t there. They dismounted, not looking at the gap where the roadster would usually be.
‘At least we’re not towing the cart with the frames,’ panted Audrey. ‘That makes it a bit easier.’
‘We?’ blurted out Madge. ‘Did the woman say we? I reckon it should be me, for the cart seems to find its way to my bike as if by magic, pet.’
They were laughing as Madge, rubbing her leg, which was mottled from the cold, continued: ‘Remind me, when I’m rich and famous from making eyepatches for the gentry, to have a concrete forecourt in front of me mansion, eh? Or at least a million pairs of silk stocking to keep me gorgeous pins safe and, above all, warm.’
They hurried across and down the steps towards the basement kitchen. It was dead on two thirty. They knocked on the kitchen door, which was opened by Sophia.
‘Oh, thank God, and I’m such a fool. I didn’t even look at the calendar, I just had it in my head—’ Sophia shuddered with harsh sobs. ‘So I phoned the pit. What will they think of me?’
With the help of the others, Annie guided her to the huge pine table where milk and home-baked biscuits lay ready for the children. Mrs Phillips came in from the scullery, wiping her hands, looking relieved as she hung the towel on the brass rail of the range. A stew was simmering on the hot plate, the lid rattling.
Mrs Phillips turned and said in a voice barely above a whisper, ‘Eleven children is too much for any soul, especially when Mr Ralph is in hospital with no one knowing nowt about owt, and Mr Masssingham sitting by the bed when he could be here, or at least cut himself in half or something useful like that. They need a nanny, another pair of hands.’ The cook looked upset. ‘Mrs Massingham’s as pale as a ghost, she is,’ she continued. ‘Worn out if I know owt about owt, but more’n more I reckon I know nowt about nowt.’
Annie held Sophia as her sobs continued, watching-Maud Bedley go to Mrs Phillips, hold her close and say, ‘You go on home, Lily, lass. We’ll be staying for however long we’re needed.’
‘Aye,’ said Mrs Phillips, ‘I will if you can manage, pet. Me old bugger canna be trusted to clean out the tin bath right and proper after the shift, and besides, he needs his back scrubbed. The vegetables are chopped to go with the rabbit stew for the bairns’ tea, and I’ve tidied two of the bedrooms and done some ironing …’ She petered to a stop. ‘Aye, well, best I get off, eh, pet?’
‘So, no news?’ Audrey said, helping her into her mac. The older woman shook her head. ‘Nowt. Nary a word’s come through on the phone, but it’s early days.’ She was whispering now. ‘I have to say, had it happened a while ago I’d not have been so sad, but he were becoming a right gentleman that Mr Ralph were – well, is.’ She drew breath, upset, then headed for the door, and they heard her shout back as she mounted the steps to the yard, ‘Aye, he were a gentleman at last. Yer could talk to him, and he understood yer sadnesses.’
Oh, of course, Annie thought. Lily’s brother, Bill, had been killed fighting in North Africa last year.
Sophia, quiet now, pulled away from Annie. ‘Oh, poor Mrs Phillips.’ She ran to the back door and up the steps, calling, ‘Thank you for staying. And making biscuits. I’ve made a fool of myself … so selfish … But he was my charge, then my son, and I knew he could be the man he’s become. I always knew … And now, who knows …’
The women heard all this, but it was Madge who went after her, bringing her back while Audrey pulled out a stool at the head of the huge kitchen table, tapping it. ‘Sit yourself down, eh. I reckon a nice cuppa won’t do any harm while we wait for the tribe. Out playing at the back, I reckon, the lasses as well?’
Maud was boiling the kettle and spooning used tea leaves into the teapot, saying, ‘Now, how will the bairns know to come back from the field for biscuits?’
Sophia was pacing backwards and forwards. ‘They’re not here. Farmer Thompkins brought them back from school on the trailer and when you didn’t come he took them to the farm for Mrs Thompkins to take them on a nature
trail.’ Sophia laughed, wiping her face. ‘They must think nature trails are all country folk do. The school did one just the … Oh, dear, I just seem so up and down these days, and I know Ralph’s in good hands, and Bert is improving, but when you didn’t come I thought the girls might have taken a turn for the worse …’
Annie shook her. ‘You, my girl, are tired.’
Audrey patted the stool. ‘Come and sit. Let’s have a cuppa before the invasion of the monsters, because we are setting up a rota for visiting and talking to Ralph, so that daft brain of his knows he’s not alone and gets down to sorting itself out, eh?’
‘Aye,’ added Annie, ‘and until then, we’ll remember Farmer Thompkins, and if there’s any nonsense out of the bairns, we’ll get him up here to skelp their behinds, just like his da did ours. Do you remember when he found us in the orchard?’ The co-op laughed. ‘And Thompkins did the same to our girls, and the lads. Tea, then let’s plan to lighten your load.’ Annie checked the clock.
Sophia smiled at them all. ‘Yes, a plan. You’re very good with those.’ Her voice broke again and she banged the table. ‘Damn and blast, I might be his stepmother, but I love him as though he were mine.’
Annie jerked her head at Maud: in other words, hurry with the tea. Maud did so, and they were supping it when they heard the tractor, and then the shouts of thanks before the sound of feet on the steps.
Annie stood. ‘You be strong, our Sophia. They don’t need you falling about the place, they need gumption. Have you told them about Ralph?’ Sophia shook her head.
The children almost fell into the kitchen, grinning at the co-op. Eva hurled herself at Sophia, who had moved towards the children, saying, ‘Did you hooligans have a good day? How did the nature trail go?’
She was hugging Eva, and the others clustered round, wanting their pats, strokes and hugs, then scrambling onto the high bench at the table, squabbling for a space. When none was left, they hoisted themselves on the remaining stools.
