Time Goes By

by Margaret Thornton

  Albert was usually up with the lark, summer and winter alike. During the summer months, of course, there were the visitors’ breakfasts to prepare for eight-thirty. And in the winter, too, he reckoned nothing to lying in bed when there were jobs to be done. On Sunday mornings, however – but only when there were no visitors in – he liked to take his ease for half an hour or so. Winifred took up the Sunday Express, if the newspaper boy had delivered it in time, and a cup of tea so that he could enjoy a little lie-in. It was something that the brother and sister had never been allowed to do as children, or even later when they had reached adulthood, and Winifred still did not think of ever allowing herself this little luxury.

  Albert came downstairs just as Winifred and Kathy were finishing their breakfasts. He was washed and dressed – neither had they been encouraged to lounge around in dressing gowns – but not yet shaved, as far as Winifred could tell. She jumped up from the table to make some fresh tea and fry an egg, whilst Albert helped himself to cornflakes.

  ‘I had a lovely surprise this morning, Albert,’ she said, after she had placed his cooked breakfast in front of him. ‘Look what Kathy has given me.’ She showed him the chocolates. ‘And a lovely card too, see.’

  ‘Very nice,’ he replied. ‘So what is this in aid of? I haven’t gone and forgotten your birthday, have I?’

  ‘Of course not; don’t be silly,’ said Winifred. ‘You know very well it’s not till next month.’

  ‘No, Daddy; it’s Mother’s Day,’ said Kathy. ‘Look, it says so on the card. We made them at school, and because I haven’t got a mum, Miss Roberts said I should make one for Aunty Win.’

  Albert’s face took on a morose look. He nodded soberly. ‘Oh, well then … Yes, I see. But it’s no more than you deserve, our Winnie.’ Then, suddenly, he smiled at his little daughter and his face looked altogether different. His blue eyes, still as bright as they had been when he was a lad, glowed with a warmth that wasn’t often to be seen there. Really, he was quite a good-looking fellow when he smiled, Winifred thought to herself. It was a pity he didn’t do it more often.

  ‘That was a very nice thought, Kathy love,’ he said. ‘Yes, your Aunty Win has been very good to you, and you must never forget it.’

  ‘I won’t, Daddy,’ replied the little girl.

  ‘Now, when you’ve finished, Kathy, you’d better go and get ready,’ her aunt told her.

  ‘Why? Are you two off somewhere, then?’ asked Albert.

  ‘To church,’ Winifred told him, although he must have known very well where they were going. ‘It’s a special service today, with it being Mothering Sunday.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ he replied, looking morose again.

  ‘I’ll wash up before we go,’ Winifred told him, ‘and I’ll put the meat in the oven – I’ve got a shoulder of lamb for today – so you can see to it for me, if you will, please?’

  ‘Don’t I always?’ he replied a little gruffly. ‘I’ll do the veg an’ all, and knock up a pudding, no trouble. You go off and enjoy yourselves.’

  There was a hint of sarcasm in his words, as Winifred knew very well. Albert didn’t go to church anymore, so she knew it was no use asking him, not even for special occasions now. He had never entered a church since he had lost Barbara. He didn’t understand, he said, how God could have been so cruel to him; in fact, he professed not to believe in him anymore.

  Albert and Winifred had been brought up to go to Sunday school and church, as was the norm in those early days of the century. And the tradition was still continuing now, in the early 1950s, Winifred was pleased to see, though not to such a large extent. Winifred and Albert had both been confirmed at their local parish church, Albert and Barbara had been married there and Katherine christened. She, Winifred, still attended the morning service each Sunday, when there were no visitors in the hotel. During the holiday season, of course, it was more difficult and she was not able to attend regularly, but she felt sure that God would understand.

  Kathy did not often go on a Sunday morning – she attended Sunday school, which was held for an hour in the afternoon – but today was a special occasion and she was accompanying her aunt there for the Mothering Sunday service. Winifred put on her best coat, made of fine tweed in a moss-green colour, with a fitted bodice and a shawl collar. It was mid-calf length, the style owing a lot to the ‘New Look’ brought in by Christian Dior a few years previously. She had bought it two years ago at Sally Mae’s dress shop. With the matching neat little turban hat and her black patent leather court shoes – the heels a little higher than she normally wore – she felt quite pleased with her appearance. She liked to look nice, although she didn’t overdo it; vanity was one of the seven deadly sins, wasn’t it? But the weekly visit to church was one occasion on which she dressed up a little more than usual.

  ‘You look nice, Aunty Win,’ Kathy told her, and she felt pleased at the compliment.

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said. ‘We must look our best to go to church, mustn’t we?’ There was no one else to dress up for, she pondered, a little wryly, so she might as well dress up for God; although she was sure he would not care one way or the other. Winifred had kept her slim figure and so the new fitted fashions suited her very well.

  ‘And I like your little hat,’ Kathy told her. It was a new one, from the stall in Abingdon Street Market. ‘The green matches your eyes, Aunty Win.’

  What an observant child, she thought. ‘Yes, I suppose it does,’ she agreed, although she considered her eyes to be more hazel than green.

  Just a little of her mid-brown hair showed below her close-fitting hat. She wore her hair in a short style which was easy to manage, as she had done for years. She had not, as yet, found any grey hairs, which she thought was quite surprising. Just the slightest dusting of face powder and a smear of coral-pink lipstick added the final touch to her Sunday appearance.

  ‘And you look very smart too,’ Winifred told her niece.

  Kathy’s coat was quite a new one, bought just before Christmas from the Co-op Emporium on Coronation Street. Both Winifred and her mother were keen supporters of the local ‘Co-ops’. The ‘divi’ – the dividend awarded to each shopper on every purchase – came in very useful when it was collected each year, just before Christmas. The little girl had gone with her aunt to choose the coat. It was cherry red with a little black velvet collar, and complemented her dark hair and brown eyes. Her aunt had knitted her Fair Isle beret, fawn, with a pattern of red, green and black. A complicated knitting pattern, but Winifred had been determined to master it. Those woollen hats were quite the fashion amongst the younger girls and she liked Kathy to have whatever her school friends had. She had been delighted when she had received it on Christmas morning as an extra little present. Her black fur-backed gloves had been a Christmas present too, and her patent leather ankle-strap shoes that she wore with white knee socks.

  ‘Now, are we ready? You’ve got a clean hanky in your coat pocket? Righty-ho then, let’s go. We don’t want to be late … Bye then, Albert,’ said Winifred. ‘We’re going now.’

  ‘Bye-bye, Daddy,’ echoed Kathy.

  Albert was ensconced in his favourite fireside chair in the family living room at the back of the hotel. He was puffing away at his pipe, engrossed in the sports pages, and he grunted from behind the newspaper. ‘Hmm … See you later, then. Have a nice time …’

  It was only five minutes’ walk to the parish church, which had been built in the early years of Victoria’s reign; greyish-yellow sandstone with a square tower and a clock which now stood at twenty minutes past ten. The organ was playing quietly as they entered and took their places in a pew a few rows from the front. Kathy’s friend, Shirley, was in a pew on the opposite side of the aisle with her mother, but not her father, Kathy noticed. The two friends grinned and waved to one another.

  At ten-thirty precisely the organist struck up with the opening bars of the first hymn, and the choir processed from the little room called the vestry to the back of the churc
h, and then down the central aisle to the choir stalls. They were led by a man carrying a sort of pole – it was called a staff, said Aunty Win, and he was the churchwarden – and the vicar in his white gown and a black stole edged with green. In the choir were men, women, and boys and girls as well. The boys and girls were a few years older than Kathy. She recognised some of them from the junior school, especially Graham, Shirley’s brother, who was ten years old and had joined the choir quite recently. He did not even glance in his sister’s direction as they passed by, but kept his eyes glued to the hymn book. No doubt they had been warned not to wave or grin. Kathy reflected that he probably felt a bit of a fool with that ruffle round his neck.

  The men and the boys all wore white gowns – called surplices – but it was just the boys who had the ruffled collars. The ladies and the girls wore blue sort of cloak things, and the grown-up ladies had squarish hats on their heads. Kathy liked singing and she hoped that she might be able to join the choir when she was old enough. ‘Awake, my soul, and with the sun, Thy daily stage of duty run …’ sang the choir and the congregation. Kathy tried to join in as well as she could. She could read quite well now and she soon picked up the tune, although she didn’t understand all the words. ‘Shake off dull sloth and joyful rise, To pay thy morning sacrifice.’ What was dull sloth, she wondered? She must remember to ask Aunty Win afterwards.

  It was quite a short service, really, although there seemed to be a lot of standing up and sitting down again. Prayers, with the choir singing the amens; a reading from the Bible about Jesus and the little children; another hymn; then some more prayers … Kathy’s thoughts began to wander a little. She was fascinated by the windows of coloured glass; stained glass, Aunty Win had told her. The morning sunlight was shining through the one nearest to her, making little pools of red, blue, green and yellow on the stone floor. The picture on the window was of Jesus standing up in a boat, talking to some of his disciples: Peter, James and John, she guessed – they were the fishermen. And behind him the Sea of Galilee was as blue as blue could be …

  Aunty Win nudged her as they all stood up for the next hymn. It was ‘Loving Shepherd of Thy Sheep’, and Kathy was able to sing it all as they had learnt that one at school. Then the vicar gave a little talk about families and the love that was to be found there. But he didn’t just talk about mothers; he mentioned fathers, sisters and brothers, and aunts and uncles as well. Kathy was glad about that, especially the bit about aunties.

  Then the children were invited to go to the front of the church where ladies were handing out bunches of daffodils from big baskets. The children took them and gave them to all the ladies in the congregation, not just the mothers but the aunties and grandmas as well, and some ladies who might not even have been married. They all received a bunch of bright-yellow daffodils. ‘Here, Lord, we offer thee all that is fairest, Flowers in their freshness from garden and field …’ they all sang, and the organist carried on playing until all the flowers had been presented.

  ‘What a lovely idea,’ said Aunty Win, and Kathy thought she could see a tear in the corner of her eye, although she looked very happy.

  Shirley dashed across at the end of the service. ‘Hello, Kathy … Have you asked your aunty if you can come for tea tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, she has asked me,’ said Aunty Win, ‘and of course she can go … It’s very kind of you,’ she said to Mrs Morris, Shirley’s mother. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ said Mrs Morris. ‘We love having Kathy, and my husband will bring her home afterwards.’

  They said goodbye and Kathy and her aunt walked home, leaving Mrs Morris and Shirley to wait for Graham.

  ‘It’s going to be a busy week, Kathy,’ Aunty Win told her. ‘You’re out for tea tomorrow; it’s Brownies on Tuesday; and on Wednesday the drama group is meeting to cast the new play.’

  ‘Are you going to have a big part, Aunty Win?’ asked Kathy. She had gone to see the last one with her daddy. Aunty Win had taken the part of the mother and had had a lot of words to remember. Kathy hadn’t understood it all, but she knew that her aunt had done it very well.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ smiled her aunt. ‘I’ll just have to wait and see. There are a lot more ladies as well as me.’

  ‘But they’re not as good,’ said Kathy, loyally.

  Aunty Win laughed. ‘And then on Thursday it’s your open evening at school, isn’t it, dear? Your dad and I will be going to see Miss Roberts and find out how you’re getting on.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve been doing all sorts of special things to make a nice display on the walls,’ said Kathy.

  ‘Yes, I shall look forward to seeing that. All in all, a very busy week ahead,’ said Aunty Win.

  Chapter Four

  Kathy loved going to tea at Shirley’s home. It was a small house, nowhere near as big as the hotel where she lived. It was only a few minutes’ walk from Holmleigh in a street of what Shirley told her were called semi-detached houses; that meant that their house was joined on to the one next door.

  There was a small garden at the front with a tiny rectangle of grass and flowers growing round it. The garden at the back was not much bigger, but Kathy thought it must be lovely to have a garden at all. At Holmleigh there was just a paved area at the front and a form where the visitors could sit. And at the back it was just a yard with a coal shed, a wash house and an outside lavatory. But they did have three toilets inside the house as well, which were necessary for the visitors.

  There was a small bathroom upstairs at Shirley’s, and three bedrooms. One of them was very tiny and that was where Shirley’s brother, Graham, slept. Shirley said he grumbled because she had a bigger bedroom, but that was because she had to share with her little sister, Brenda, who was three years old. And Mr and Mrs Morris slept in the other one.

  Kathy had slept in lots of different bedrooms at her home, depending on whether or not there were visitors staying there. During the winter she had quite a nice-sized bedroom on the first landing, but she liked it best in the summer when she sometimes slept in one of the attic bedrooms. The ceiling sloped right down to the floor at the front and you had to kneel down to look out of the window. It was a lovely view, though, right across everybody else’s rooftops. She could see Blackpool Tower, and the tiniest glimpse of the sea, sparkling blue if the sun was shining or a dingy grey if it wasn’t.

  They had a bathroom now at Holmleigh, but it had only been built last year, onto the kitchen at the back of the house. It was just for the use of the family, but there were washbasins in all the visitors’ bedrooms. Aunty Win had told her that those had only been put in a few years ago. Until then the visitors had used big bowls and jugs that her aunt had filled with hot water every morning. There was still a bowl and jug in the attic room that Kathy used in the summer, very pretty ones with pink roses all over. And there was a chamber pot to match as well that went under the bed. Aunty Win called it a ‘gazunder’. It was just there for emergencies because there was no toilet up in the attic.

  Kathy remembered that until last year, when the bathroom was put in, she used to have her weekly bath – on a Friday night – in a huge zinc bath in front of the fire. The rest of the time the bath had hung on a hook in the wash house. Kathy supposed that her dad and her aunt had used it too, perhaps, on different nights. She still had her bath on a Friday night. The new bath was gleaming white and shiny, but the bathroom was sometimes cold, and she missed the comfort of the fire and the big fluffy bath towel warming on the fireguard.

  Shirley’s mum made the two girls a drink of orange juice when they arrived home from school on that Monday afternoon, then they played with Shirley’s doll’s house, which stood in a corner of the living room. They liked rearranging the furniture and putting the tiny dolls on chairs so that they could have a meal. Kathy had a doll’s house too. It had been her big Christmas present a few months ago. But this one of Shirley’s was a bit different, a more old-fashioned sort of house; Shirley’s mum said it was an
Edwardian house, whatever that was. It was actually a bit bigger than Kathy’s, but not nearly as posh; in fact it was a little bit shabby but Kathy wouldn’t dream of saying so. She guessed it might have belonged to Shirley’s mum before it was given to Shirley.

  ‘I’ve called the girl Janet and the boy John, like those children in the reading books,’ said Shirley.

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Kathy. She didn’t tell Shirley that she had christened her doll’s house children Tim, after her friend, and Tina, because it sounded good with Tim. Shirley would only laugh and tease her about Timothy Fielding and say he was her boyfriend.

  ‘They’ve had their tea now. Let’s put them to bed,’ said Shirley, rather bossily. ‘Look, they’ve got a bedroom each, ’cause there’s a lot of bedrooms upstairs. Mummy says they used to have a lot of children in Edwardian times, and that’s when this house was made.’

  Shirley liked to show off sometimes about all the things she knew. She was, actually, one of the cleverest girls in the class and usually came top in the spelling tests, and mental arithmetic – that was when you had to work out sums in your head. Shirley was in the top reading group too, and she, Kathy, was in the second one. Shirley was a bit of a ‘clever clogs’ – that was what Tim called her – but she was still Kathy’s best friend for all that. Kathy knew she was not quite as clever as Shirley, but it didn’t worry her. She knew that she always tried her best, and Aunty Win said that that was the most important thing.

  ‘Look, there’s a baby in the cradle too,’ said Shirley. ‘Wrapped in swaddling clothes, like Jesus was. But I’m pretending it’s a girl baby. I’ve called her Jemima, ’cause it goes with Janet and John.’

  ‘Can I play?’ shouted Brenda from across the room. She had been playing on the floor, building towers of wooden blocks, but that, suddenly, was getting boring. What the older girls were doing looked much more interesting. She knocked over the pile of bricks and trotted across the room. ‘Can I put the baby to bed, Shirley?’ she asked.