The crowd cheered. ‘I think it’s time someone else had a go and let me take a rest.’ Her happy face looked sad as she gazed into the crowd. ‘There’s someone here this evening who will very soon be saying goodbye to his family to fly off and fight for his country. We’ve had the pleasure of his company for the last few months, but as much as we want him to stay here in Kent, he is needed for his skills as a pilot. I know many of you have said goodbye to loved ones since this bloody war started, so please indulge this old woman for a few minutes if you will. This man can turn out a reasonable tune so I’ll not apologize for calling my son, Alan Gilbert, to the stage. Come on up, Alan.’
Alan joined his mum on the stage, giving her a kiss as she stepped aside for him to take over the microphone. ‘I’ve not done this for a while so bear with me,’ he said to riotous shouts from the audience. ‘As Mum said, I’ll be off shortly, but the memory of seeing you all here this evening will remain with me all the time I’m away. There are a few people I’m especially sad to be leaving behind. Mum, our Georgina, and of course the in-laws,’ he added with an embarrassed laugh. ‘But my songs are dedicated to my wife, Sarah.’ He nodded to the bandleader and the music started. ‘I want a girl, just like the girl that married dear old Dad . . .’ Alan sang before leading the audience into a rousing rendition of ‘I’ll Be Your Sweetheart’.
‘Thank you,’ he said as the last strains of the music died away. ‘It’s probably still a little early in the evening to be singing this next song, but it’s very special to me and the wife so please indulge us a little.’
Applause started as Alan sang his final song of the evening. ‘Goodnight sweetheart, till we meet tomorrow . . .’
Gwyneth joined Sarah and Freda, who stood close to the stage. ‘Your husband sings very well,’ she said with admiration.
‘He takes after Maureen,’ Freda added proudly. Alan was like a big brother to her and although she was sad to see him head overseas she was so proud of him she thought she would burst. If only she could find a boyfriend like Alan, she would never moan again about being on fire duty or peeling sprouts for dinner – two of her most hated jobs.
‘The song is special to you?’ Gwyneth asked.
‘We’ve danced to it at many special moments in our life,’ Sarah said with a slight wobble to her chin. ‘Do you and your husband have special songs?’ she asked.
Gwyneth gave her a blank look before recovering herself. ‘Oh, you know what Welshmen are like. They never stop singing,’ she replied before wandering over to stand with Ruby.
Freda nudged Sarah’s arm. ‘That was a little peculiar.’
Sarah, who was trying to listen to Alan as the song came to an end, just nodded and whispered quickly, ‘She never mentions her husband. I assume she has one, but then she doesn’t wear a wedding ring although she has a daughter.’ She left Freda to head towards Alan as he jumped down from the stage and joined his mum.
‘Take care of yourself, Mum, and look after my girls for me.’
‘It goes without saying, my love. Don’t worry about us, we can look after ourselves. You just concentrate on finishing this war off once and for all and get yourself home in one piece. Do you know how long you’ll be gone?’
‘They say it’ll be six months this time. I hope it’s not any longer.’
‘So you’ll be home for Christmas?’ Maureen asked hopefully.
‘What’s this about Christmas?’ Sarah asked as she joined them.
‘David tipped me the wink that they expect this tour of duty to be over by Christmas. I could be home to see you and Georgie open your presents.’
Sarah’s eyes sparkled. ‘That would be wonderful, but I don’t need presents. I just want you home in one piece so we can start our happy ever after.’
Maureen kissed her son’s cheek and slipped away. There were times when a mother should leave her son alone.
Alan nodded to where David was waving to him. ‘It’s looks as though I’ve got to go, Sixpenny.’
Sarah’s hand went to her throat where the silver sixpence he’d given her hung on a chain. She slid her arms around his neck, oblivious to the crowded hall, and kissed him gently. ‘Goodbye, my darling,’ she said, fighting back the tears she promised would not fall.
‘Come and wave me off,’ he said, grabbing her hand and hurrying her through the dancers before anyone stopped them to talk.
Outside the warm May day had turned a little chilly as night had set in. Sarah shivered in her thin dance frock. Across the road she could just see a truck painted in camouflage colours. Behind the wheel a man in RAF uniform was smoking a cigarette and talking to David, who’d left the hall ahead of them with Maisie by his side. ‘No limousine for you then?’ she said, trying to keep the atmosphere light.
‘It’s all the same in the blackout,’ he grinned back. ‘I’m going to miss you, Sarah,’ he whispered as he pulled her close to him.
She detected a break in his voice and steeled herself not to cry. ‘It’s Sixpenny to you, young man,’ she said sternly. ‘Sarah’s a married woman with a child and responsibilities. Sixpenny is the shy young thing who fell in love with her Woolworths boy, remember?’
‘How could I ever forget?’ he groaned as his lips found hers and the two young people, who by rights should have lived out their lives in their hometown if it wasn’t for Hitler intervening, made their goodbyes.
‘If I was you, I’d be a wreck right now,’ Maisie said as they watched the lorry turn a corner at the end of the road and disappear.
‘I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. I didn’t want to upset Alan. But if you don’t mind, I need a shoulder to cry on now he’s gone,’ Sarah said as she started to sob uncontrollably.
‘You cry all yer want to. No one can see you out here. Just remember he’ll be home by Christmas. It won’t be that long.’
‘It’s going to feel like years,’ Sarah hiccuped, trying to control herself.
‘Chin up, Christmas will be here before we know it so let’s put our best foot forward and prepare to welcome Alan home, and also to give a big welcome to my little one, shall we?’
‘I can’t wait,’ Sarah said, looking over her shoulder to the empty road as Maisie led her back towards the hall.
14
‘Let’s have that chat, shall we?’ Ruby said to Gwyneth after waving off the rest of the household to their various jobs. ‘I enjoy having a house full of people, but just sometimes it is nice to sit down and take a rest and have a chat with a friend.’
Gwyneth smiled at her landlady. She’d never known anyone quite as busy as Ruby Caselton. Already she had made sure everyone staying at number thirteen had a filling breakfast inside them before they went about their day and before she set off for Cornwall with Bob after they’d had their Sunday dinner. ‘You deserve a rest, Ruby,’ she said, putting a cup of tea in front of her.
‘Let’s not beat about the bush with small talk,’ Ruby said kindly. ‘What’s bothering you, love? I get the impression not all is happy in your life.’
Gwyneth sighed. The time had come to tell a lady she respected that she’d not told all the truth about her life. Or, to be more accurate, she’d kept something to herself that she should have shared with the people who had been so kind to her and Myfi. ‘I’ve not been completely honest with you, Ruby,’ she said sadly.
Ruby just nodded and sipped her tea. Sometimes it was best not to comment and just let the person talk.
‘There’s a reason I’m in Erith with Myfi rather than back home in Wales and it’s also the reason why Myfi doesn’t talk. We are on the run from my husband.’
‘You won’t be the first woman who’s had to leave a bad marriage, Gwyneth, even if it does mean your daughter doesn’t get to grow up living under the same roof as your husband.’ She’d wanted to ask about the young girl and why she didn’t speak, but knew that she’d have to bide her time until the child’s mum was prepared to confide in her. Young Myfi had blossomed living at number thirteen. She was li
ke a big sister to Georgie, who adored her in return. Already Myfi was settled in the small local school. Ruby wasn’t sure what the pretty Welsh woman had said to the teacher by way of explaining Myfi’s silence, but the little girl seemed happy and went skipping off each morning eager to see her new friends, who appeared not to be concerned that the little girl could not speak.
Gwyneth stopped to take a gulp of her tea. Her hands shook as she put the cup back in its saucer. ‘Myfi’s not my child, Ruby,’ she said apologetically.
‘There’s no shame in being a stepmother,’ Ruby consoled her. ‘It can be just as rewarding as having given birth oneself.’
Gwyneth shook her head. ‘I’m not her stepmother either. She’s my niece.’ She felt relief for finally having blurted out the truth. She hadn’t expected to have carried her secret for so long, living in fear that if Myfi started to speak again she would have to move on and give herself another identity in case they were found.
Ruby frowned. She was confused. ‘I think you’d better start explaining, don’t you?’
Gwyneth nodded her head. ‘You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to unburden myself.’
‘You must have your reasons,’ Ruby said as she waited for Gwyneth to say more.
‘I made a mistake and it has followed me around for the past two years. I just wish I could wind back the clock and start all over again,’ she said sadly. ‘It’s just been me and Myfi facing the world on our own.’
Ruby remained quiet, waiting for Gwyneth to continue. For a rare moment you could hear a pin drop in the living room of number thirteen.
‘Myfanwy,’ she said, giving the child her full name, ‘is the daughter of my sister. When she died during an air raid it was only right that I took her under my wing.’
‘Was there no husband?’
Gwyneth shook her head. ‘No, he left her when Myfi was a baby. To be honest, it was a relief as he wasn’t a good man. My sister had her head turned by his flash ways. Things changed when he had to marry her and he didn’t take kindly to the responsibilities of a wife and baby. He left her before Myfi was three months old.’
‘My, my,’ Ruby said. ‘I can never understand why some men don’t take to marriage and rearing kiddies. I still thank God my Eddie loved us all. But go on. I don’t want to stop you talking. Your sister died, you say?’
‘Yes, she’d been a nurse and had followed her husband to London, hoping to convince him to return to Wales and face up to his responsibilities. Of course, he wanted nothing to do with her and rather than face the shame of returning to our village in the Welsh Valleys without her husband, she took a job at the Royal London Hospital as a ward sister. She dared not tell them she had a child, so it was kept quiet and a neighbour cared for Myfi while she worked.’
‘That’s a responsible job. Did you not follow the same profession?’ Ruby asked, forgetting that she wanted Gwyneth to tell her story uninterrupted.
‘I didn’t have the calling or the passion like she did. I’d always wanted to be a wife and mother and was more than happy to work in an assortment of shops until that magical day appeared.’
‘It didn’t?’
Gwyneth gave a harsh laugh. ‘Oh, I married early on when I was twenty-five, but the children never came. He blamed me for that but we soldiered on. I lived in hope and he . . . well, he lived mostly at the pub when he wasn’t working long shifts down the mine. We lived almost separate lives, although to the outside world we were a happy couple who had never been blessed with children.’
‘You’re still young. How old are you? Thirty, thirty-five? You’ve never said where your husband is now. I take it he is serving his country somewhere? When he’s home again who knows, that baby may just come along. Why, our Pat was a late baby. She arrived when our George was almost eleven,’ Ruby said with a smile. She loved a happy ending.
‘I’m thirty-six,’ Gwyneth replied, ‘but I’ve given up all hope now. Some women just aren’t blessed with children. There are worse things that happen at sea, as they say,’ she said with a wry grin. ‘Myfi is as much a daughter as I’ll ever have and I truly love her as if she were my own.’
‘But your husband . . .’ Ruby nudged her, wanting to know why he wasn’t considered in her plans for the future. She couldn’t even think about Mike Jackson and how it was obvious he doted on the woman. He’d be brokenhearted knowing there was a husband about, as it had been assumed Gwyneth was a widow. Hadn’t Maureen said as much?
Gwyneth took a deep breath and looked Ruby in the eye. ‘My husband is not serving his country, Ruby, he is languishing in prison. He is not someone to be proud of and, as evil as it makes me appear, I wish he were dead.’
Ruby considered she was able to cope with most things but to be faced with such a statement was a shock. ‘I think we need another cuppa, don’t you? Do you want to tell me any more? Feel free to tell me to mind my own business if you think I’m poking my nose into your affairs.’
Gwyneth picked up their teacups and, following Ruby to the kitchen, she filled the large kettle and placed it on the stove while Ruby drained the now cold teapot and stepped outside the back door to empty the dregs onto Bob’s prized compost heap.
‘I’d like to tell you everything,’ Gwyneth said as Ruby returned to the kitchen. ‘It feels good to get things off my chest. You’ve been good to the two of us and it doesn’t feel right to live a lie and deceive you as well.’
‘You must do what you feel is best for you and the child. I’d think no worse of you, but you know what they say: a problem shared is a problem halved.’
‘It isn’t fair to give you half my problems. Idris Jones is a nasty, bitter man and the last thing I need when he comes out of prison is for him to find out where I’m living and turn up here causing trouble for my friends.’
Ruby glanced to where a large iron frying pan hung above the stove and thought that it had come in useful once before and would do so again if trouble came knocking at her door. Then she frowned. ‘Jones? Your surname is Evans. Is there something else you’ve not told me?’
‘There’s a lot still to tell,’ Gwyneth said, looking shamefaced. ‘I’m not Gwyneth Evans.’
Ruby poured boiling water into the large brown earthenware teapot before swishing it round and tipping it into the stone sink. Adding two teaspoons of leaves plus one for the pot, she poured water on top before placing on the lid and covering it with a tea cosy that had been a gift from Freda. It was made from odd lengths of wool and Ruby loved the colourful cosy. It cheered up the gloomiest of mornings when the house was cold and she yearned for that first cup of tea of the day. The remains of the hot water were poured into a bowl, where Gwyneth rinsed their cups and saucers.
Going to the pantry, Ruby brought back a slightly battered tin and opened the lid. ‘Good, there’s a couple of slices of cake left. Now, I suggest we settle ourselves down and you start from the very beginning.’
‘But I have to collect Myfi from Sunday school in three-quarters of an hour,’ Gwyneth protested.
‘Then I suggest you talk quickly,’ Ruby prompted with a small smile. She wanted to know what was happening in this girl’s life so she could do her best to help.
Gwyneth placed a milk jug on the table and sat down to tell Ruby about her life before she arrived in Alexandra Road. ‘I was flattered when Idris set his cap at me. He was a handsome lad and was popular amongst my friends. My sister hadn’t long married and I dreamt of walking down the aisle dressed in white just as she had. I’ve always been the twin who didn’t do as well as her sibling. Yes, I was a twin,’ she added, seeing Ruby’s face light up. ‘At school, and then when we started our working lives, I was the one who wasn’t quite as bright. I walked in my sister’s shadow. When Idris proposed I was the happiest girl in Wales and made sure my wedding was bigger and better than my sister’s had been, but then she announced she was expecting and her news overshadowed my own day.’
‘That wasn’t a nice thing to do,’ Ruby said, sympathizing with t
he girl.
‘My parents were as much to blame as they couldn’t contain their excitement when they were told. Anyway, my sister soon moved to London and we got on with our lives. Did I tell you that Idris was a miner?’
‘Yes, that must have been a hard living,’ Ruby said. She’d read about life in the mining areas of Wales and watched Pathé News films. She knew there were even coal mines in Kent and in northern England. She’d not have liked to live like that, but it was honourable work and she admired anyone who did a proper day’s labour.
‘Yes, he was a hard worker, but as news of war became more of a reality and talk in the pub turned to men earning more in the forces than down the mines, he became unsettled and spoke of joining up. By then we’d been married a good while and he was beginning to insinuate that it was my fault he didn’t have a son.’
‘That must have hurt,’ Ruby sympathized passing a cup of tea across the table along with a slice of sponge cake.
‘It did but I’d grown a thick skin by then. Anyhow, he decided he was going to join the army and I did nothing to discourage him, even though mining was a reserved occupation. I was looking forward to being free of Idris for a little while when he went off to war with his friends. Then things went from bad to worse. When what he thought would be his call-up papers arrived he was informed that his request had been refused. To add insult to injury he was not only going to remain a miner, but was being moved to a mine in Kent, as there was a shortage of skilled coal miners there with so many having gone off to fight.’
Ruby bristled. ‘There’s nothing insulting about working in Kent.’
Gwyneth smiled at her landlady. ‘I agree with you. I’ve come to love this county almost as much as my homeland. But Idris is fiercely patriotic. Get a few pints of beer inside him and there’s no stopping his rage, as I found out to my cost.’
Christmas at Woolworths Page 20
