Christmas at Woolworths

by Elaine Everest

  ‘Why, yes I am,’ she said, getting to her feet, the tight shoes being forgotten for the moment as she took his strong hand and shook it enthusiastically. ‘Is Pat here?’ she asked, looking expectantly at the cart in case she appeared from behind the bales of hay. ‘She was supposed to be meeting us, but we are more than three hours late. We missed our link further up near Bristol and then there was an air raid . . .’ She stopped gabbling as the young man smiled at her. My, he has a charming way about him, she thought. If only I was ten years younger . . .

  ‘Pat did come to meet your train, but she had to get back as my pa needed the car. I was up this way so offered to step in and meet the next train. The few trains we have down this way don’t usually have many passengers, especially now there’s a war on. Did you travel alone? I thought your neighbour was coming down with you?’

  ‘Oh, Bob, yes, he’s here somewhere. He went off to find out if anyone knew how we could get to your farm. We thought perhaps it would be a pleasant walk after being cooped up for so long on the train.’

  Jago roared with laughter. ‘It’s more than a walk to get to the farm, Mrs Caselton, but Rosie here will see us all right. Will you be calling your man so we can get moving? There’s only two hours before I’m needed to milk the cows. Pat can’t be expected to do it all on her own. Shall I put your suitcases on board while you give him a call?’

  Ruby nodded and hurried off to find Bob. She found him chatting to the stationmaster. ‘Our lift is here, Bob, get your skates on.’

  Ruby introduced Bob to Jago as the younger man helped them up onto the long bench that ran the width of the cart. ‘Mind where you put your hands,’ she joked as the two men pushed and pulled until she was on board.

  ‘There’s a fair sight from up here,’ Bob exclaimed as he held on to Ruby’s arm so she didn’t fall when the horse set off. ‘Is that the coastline?’

  Jago nodded. ‘You’re lucky we have a clear day. When the sea mist comes in you won’t see more than a few yards in front of your face,’ he explained.

  ‘That sounds just like the pea-soupers we have back home.’

  ‘Pat tells me that you’re not far from London?’ Jago asked and he gently shook the leather reins to make the horse move faster.

  ‘Close enough to visit and far enough away not to get as many bombs as they do,’ Ruby replied. ‘My, but it’s a beautiful part of the country you live in. Have you been here long?’

  Jago thought for a minute. ‘Around four hundred years. Trevellyn Farm’s been in the family since 1560.’

  ‘And you’ve always lived here yourself?’ Bob asked.

  ‘I was born on the farm, but until the war started I worked in the city of London. Pa’s getting on now so it was only right that I came home to run the farm as productively as possible to aid the war effort.’

  ‘Very commendable,’ Bob said. ‘It must have been a big change for your family.’

  ‘Pa still helps out as much as he can, but he was glad to move into his cottage alongside Ma and for me to take over.’

  ‘Was your wife happy to move down here? Life in Cornwall must be very different to what she’d been used to up in London,’ Ruby asked even though she knew she was being very nosy considering they hadn’t long met.

  ‘I’m not married, Mrs Caselton.’

  Ruby glanced at Bob and frowned. So her Pat was living on a farm with a single man. No wonder she was keen not to hang about in Erith at Easter. She too would have raced back to Cornwall if there were men like Jago Trevellyn waiting for her far away from her husband, with open arms and no wife watching over them.

  The journey to the farm took an hour as the horse trotted along meandering lanes and either cows or crops in fields behind the Cornish hedging. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue and the sun beat down. Within minutes of setting off from the station Ruby had removed her coat and Bob had taken off his tie. ‘I could get used to this,’ he said, holding his face up to the sun.

  ‘Have you had many bombs down this way?’ Ruby asked, not believing that the Luftwaffe would be bothered with bombing fields when they could hit the factories and shipyards in the main part of England.

  ‘We’ve had our fair share,’ Jago said grimly, ‘and we use our shelters just like city folk. They try to stop food deliveries going up on the railway, but we won’t let them win.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ Ruby said, patting his strong back. ‘My son, George – that’s Pat’s brother – told me as how the enemy bombed Exeter recently. It seems they are attacking places that are listed in some travel book.’

  ‘The Baedeker Raids?’ Jago said. ‘There have been more over your way. Haven’t you heard about them?’

  Bob reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded newspaper. ‘I was saving this for a convenient time. The stationmaster gave it to me.’

  Ruby scanned the headline and gasped. ‘Canterbury?’ It was hard to read any more, what with trying to hold tight to Bob’s arm in case she fell and with the sun in her eyes. ‘Isn’t that where our Maisie and Betty are? God, Bob, why did you not tell me earlier? Stop this contraption. We need to get back home in case the girls need us.’ She looked round, frantically trying to work out how to get herself off the moving cart.

  ‘Stay where you are, Mrs Caselton, or you may harm yourself. We’re almost at the farm and you can telephone home and find out what’s happened,’ Jago advised as the horse turned left into a farmyard with hardly any need of guidance from his owner.

  ‘You have a telephone?’ Ruby asked incredulously.

  ‘Not everything is four hundred years old,’ Jago said with a smile, ‘we do have some modern contraptions.’

  ‘But we’ve not got one,’ Ruby said. ‘How can we find out what’s happened?’

  Bob squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t worry, Ruby. Once we’ve seen your Pat and got ourselves settled we can give Mike a ring at the police station. He’s sure to know what’s happening back at home.’

  Bob had no sooner spoken than shrieks of excitement were heard as Pat’s children raced to where Ruby had climbed down from the cart and was straightening her clothing. ‘Look at you lot, haven’t you grown? Why, I hardly recognize you all. One, two, three, four . . . who is missing?’ she asked, looking over the shoulders of the youngsters.

  ‘Johnny and Ted aren’t here,’ the shortest of the girls explained as she looked shyly towards Bob and pointed. ‘Who is he, Nan?’

  ‘Don’t point at people, Iris, it’s rude,’ Pat said, hurrying across the farmyard and hugging her mum. ‘I thought you’d got lost, I’ve been that worried. Hello, Bob, it’s good to see you again,’ she added, giving Bob a peck on the cheek.

  ‘But who is he?’ Iris whined, draping herself around her mother’s legs.

  ‘This is Bob. He is Sergeant Jackson’s daddy. You remember him, don’t you?’

  Iris nodded, suddenly very thoughtful. ‘He will come and lock us up if we are naughty,’ she said quietly to Bob. ‘Will you lock us up too?’

  Bob tried to keep a straight face as he bent down until he was face to face with the young girl. ‘When I was a policeman many, many years ago my wife used to say the same to our little boy.’

  Iris thought about what she’d been told, while Ruby and Pat burst out laughing.

  ‘I promise I don’t say things like that often,’ Pat apologized to Bob.

  ‘If it works, who am I to argue?’ he said as he ruffled Iris’s hair. ‘Now, are you going to introduce me to these other young ladies?’

  Iris took his hand and pointed at the next in age. ‘That’s Lily, and Rose and she’s Violet. I’m Iris and I’m the youngest.’

  ‘A beautiful bunch of flowers.’ Bob smiled at Pat. ‘Whose idea was that?’

  ‘My husband, John’s. His mother and her sister were all named after flowers and we both thought it was a lovely idea. Of course, I went and had two boys first so that put paid to our idea for a while,’ she chuckled. ‘Speaking of which, where are the pair of them?’ />
  ‘I sent them off to deliver a message for me,’ Jago said as he unhitched the horse from the cart. ‘They should be back by now.’

  ‘If you’ve sent them over to Isaac’s place, you know they’ll be an age. If the tide’s up, they’ll be messing about on the river.’

  Ruby frowned. ‘That’s a bit on the dangerous side for two young boys, isn’t it?’

  ‘Wait until you see them, Mum. They’re like grown men now. Johnny’s fourteen and nigh on as tall as his dad, and Ted’s not far behind. There’s a year between them,’ she explained to Bob.

  ‘Time for them to be thinking about a proper job then,’ Ruby said. ‘If they was back home, your John would have them working on the farm by now.’

  ‘You’ll find the boys aren’t allowed to be idle here either,’ Jago Trevellyn said as he started to walk the horse towards a barn on the far side of the yard. ‘Pat perhaps you’ll show your mum her room and I’ll take Mr Jackson to his as soon as I’ve settled Jupiter. I’ll not be long,’ he said to Bob.

  Bob nodded and picked up Ruby’s case. ‘Show me where I can leave this, will you, Pat?’

  ‘Follow me, Bob. I’ve put Mum in the farmhouse and you have a room in the barn.’

  ‘No offence, Bob, but you’re a bit on the old side to be roughing it in a barn, even if you do go out on nighttime manoeuvres with the Home Guard.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mum. The barn’s been converted into a cottage and is used for farm workers. Since I’ve been here with the kids and Jago’s back and running the farm, there’s no need for help as I’m doing the work of a land girl and the boys are more than doing their bit around the place. I’m afraid you’ll be sharing with the boys, Bob, but feel free to clip ’em round the ears if they play you up.’

  ‘I’m sure there’ll be no need for that,’ he laughed. ‘I’ll help out while we’re here. I’ve always had a hankering for being a farmer.’

  ‘Help’s always welcome, Bob. You can have your meals with us. Don’t think you’re not welcome. Cooking for an extra two people is nothing to me.’

  ‘Does this Jago sleep in the farmhouse as well?’ Ruby asked, watching her daughter closely.

  ‘Of course not,’ Pat answered indignantly. ‘I’d not be able to look my John in the face if he knew I was down here sleeping under the same roof as another man. Whatever are you thinking of, Mother?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Pat, I’m not sure,’ Ruby replied thoughtfully. ‘Now, let’s get a move on. I could kill for a decent cup of tea. The one we had when we changed trains was like dishwater.’

  ‘The girls have been baking, so you’ll be tasting their scones with a dollop of the clotted cream made here on the farm.’

  ‘And the jam we made, Mum. Don’t forget that,’ Violet and Lily chanted together as they each held one of their nan’s hands and led her towards the farmhouse.

  ‘It should be somewhere up here,’ Freda said as she walked briskly through the main shopping street of Bexleyheath. ‘We can’t hang about as I need to be back home to get ready for the pictures. I really don’t want to miss the beginning of the B film. It’s another Clive Danvers spy story and I’ve not seen it before.’

  ‘You’re always dashing about somewhere or other. You make me feel quite tired,’ Maisie teased, knowing how much her young friend was looking forward to meeting the dashing American sergeant.

  ‘I rather envy you your leisurely lifestyle, Maisie,’ Freda grinned as she came to a halt outside the frosted window of one of the smaller establishments. ‘This seems to be the right number.’

  Maisie snorted. ‘Bloody cheek. You’d be walking round almost starkers if I wasn’t sweating over me Singer sewing machine fer most of the day. Are you sure this is where Douglas works?’ she said, pressing her nose against the window.

  ‘Let’s find out,’ Sarah said, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

  ‘This gives me the creeps,’ Maisie whispered to Freda as she stayed close to the door of the shop. ‘If I’d known Douglas was an undertaker, I’d not have come with yer.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Sarah hissed as she rang a small brass bell that stood on top of a large mahogany desk. ‘No one’s going to hurt you here.’

  ‘I had no idea Douglas was an undertaker. The card on Betty’s sideboard just had his telephone number and business address. Not that it makes any difference to why we are here,’ Freda said to Maisie, who seemed to be stuck to a spot close to the door. ‘I swear if something creaked or went boo, you’d be out of this shop in a flash,’ she grinned at her chum.

  A door at the back of the small room started to open and Maisie froze. Freda tried not to giggle.

  ‘Well, what a surprise. It is good to see the three of you,’ Douglas said as he stepped into the shop. ‘I hope you are not here on business and everyone is well.’

  Sarah looked at her two friends, who seemed to have lost the power to answer Douglas as he stood there dressed extremely smartly in a black three-piece suit complete with tails. If he didn’t have such a welcoming smile spread across his face, she’d have thought he was about to don a top hat and walk sombrely in front of a funeral cortege. ‘No . . . no, we are all well, thank you, Douglas. But we wanted to speak to you about Betty. That’s if you don’t think we are interfering?’

  Douglas thought for a moment. ‘Does Betty know you’ve come to see me?’

  ‘It was our idea, Douglas,’ Freda chirped up. ‘Please can you spare us ten minutes? Maisie is leaving Erith tomorrow and we wanted to put things right before she goes away.’

  ‘Give me five minutes to get out of my work clothes and we can talk for as long as you want. There’s a small cafe a few doors down. Go and order and I’ll see you in there. Tell the owner, Janie, that the bill is on me. I’ll have the bubble and squeak and an egg on top if she has any. Order whatever you want, it’s my treat.’

  The girls thanked Douglas, walked the short distance to the cafe and introduced themselves to Janie, who ran the establishment. ‘I could eat a horse,’ Maisie declared.

  ‘If you order the meat pie, chances are you will be,’ Sarah pointed out, trying not to laugh. There had been many stories of horsemeat being sold as beef and even though her nan had told her she’d eaten the meat often in the past, Sarah just couldn’t face the thought of it. ‘I think I’ll have the same as Douglas if you have the eggs?’ Sarah said, handing back the dog-eared menu.

  ‘Just soup and toast for me, please,’ Freda said. ‘I’m not that hungry.’

  Maisie grinned at Sarah. ‘I think our Freda is just a little bit nervous.’

  ‘I am a bit worried. I’m not sure I should be going to the pictures with you and the Americans. I reckon it will get out and then someone like Vera from up the road will find out and start spreading gossip about me.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Maisie said. ‘Why not explain to Maureen and then she can sort out Vera? I think I deserve pease pudding and faggots for coming up with that idea,’ she said, lighting up a cigarette and beaming at her mates.

  Douglas joined them just as the food was being brought to the table. He exchanged some pleasantries with the cafe owner before sitting down and taking a mouthful of tea from the mug that had been placed next to his plate. ‘It’s really good to see the three of you. I’ve not been down to Erith for a little while. Is everyone fit and healthy?’

  Maisie coughed and almost choked on her food. ‘Blimey, Douglas, that’s choice coming from you. Are you touting fer business?’

  ‘I fell for that one hook, line and sinker,’ he grinned at Maisie. ‘I keep forgetting I’m a funeral director these days. I still think of myself as an accountant.’

  ‘That’s rather an unusual change of occupation,’ Sarah said. ‘May I ask why you were an accountant first if you always wanted to be an undertaker?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he replied as he broke the yolk on his fried egg and dipped in a chunk of fried potato and cabbage. ‘You could say I wanted a change and, believe me, o
wning a funeral business is far more exciting that balancing columns of figures every day. I inherited the business from an uncle. He’s the Butterfield part of the business name. I have no idea who the Oborne part belonged to. No doubt long dead and of no interest to anybody.’

  ‘Oborne and Butterfield has a nice ring to it. You didn’t fancy changing the business to Billington’s?’ Freda asked. She’d got to know Douglas while staying with Betty and she liked the man. He was open and friendly. He was what Maisie would have described as ‘what you see is what you get’, but she couldn’t understand what had happened for Betty to fall out with him.

  ‘There’s a certain amount of goodwill comes with a business like mine so I decided to keep the name as it was. I’m used to people coming into the office and calling me Mr Butterfield or Mr Oborne. I’m still balancing columns of figures, but these days it’s for my own business.’

  ‘Do you . . . yer know . . .’

  ‘Do I lay out bodies and tend to the deceased, do you mean, Maisie?’

  Maisie nodded, not sure what to say. The thought of what Douglas did for a living was making her skin creep.

  ‘No, I’m purely the man who does the paperwork. You only see me in the official funeral director attire today as we are a man short due to him receiving his call-up papers and his replacement being off sick. The front office is as much as I’ll do in the business. Do you want to know a secret?’ he said, putting down his knife and fork and leaning closer to the three girls.

  The girls nodded although Maisie was beginning to feel a little nauseous.

  ‘The first time I visited the back room I passed out when I saw what was being done. I haven’t got the stomach for the business.’

  ‘Phew, thank goodness for that. I thought you was gonna tell us something awful,’ Maisie said, fanning her face with her handkerchief, which made them all burst out laughing.

  ‘I intend to hand the management over to someone else once this war is over and those who know the job return to their rightful occupations.’

  ‘A bit like Woolies,’ Maisie said, lighting another cigarette and blowing the smoke away from the table. ‘Once the men come home us women will be back on the shop floor and the men will be running the whole shop.’