Red’s face was stern but his eyes twinkled at Marty. ‘Oh yes? I’d have had to put up with bread and water if it wasn’t for this boy here – going off gallivanting to the seaside while the man o’ the house starves.’
Out of politeness, though his heart was not really in it, Marty shared the banter, then asked the neighbour, ‘How’s your Albert these days, Mrs Gledhill? I’m told he’s at the glassworks now.’
‘Don’t you mention that name to me!’ Pretending outrage, she bent towards Marty and bellowed, ‘He’s only gone and joined up! His father’s absolutely livid – says he must be mad to risk chucking up a good job like that – if it’s a scrap he wants there’s plenty round here would give him one without trailing all the way to France! And it’ll all be over before he’s got off the bally boat.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ nodded Marty.
‘Oh, you’re off an’ all, are you? Well, it’s different for you, you have to go where you’re sent, but that daft bugger of mine…’ Calmer now, Mrs Gledhill smoothed her plump, aproned breast and wrinkled her nose to project forbear-ance. ‘Well, I suppose I am proud of him really…he always was quick to jump in when he saw any bullying. His heart’s in the right place even if his brain isn’t.’ She grinned and made to go. ‘Right, I’ll leave you lads to it, nice to see you again, Marty.’
‘Aye, and you, Mrs Gledhill. Give my regards to Albert.’ It was hardly believable that the small boy who had once hero-worshipped him was now off to fight a war. ‘I still think of him as nine, you know.’ He went with her to the door, his main reason being to cast a frantic eye up and down the street, though to little benefit.
Coming back inside, he said dully to his father, ‘They’re not coming, are they?’
Red sighed and shook his bushy head. ‘I’m sorry, son.’
It grieved Marty to say it, but, ‘I can’t wait any longer.’
Red offered a scrap of encouragement. ‘You might pass them on your way.’
His son nodded despondently, then with a last flicker of optimism said, ‘But if she should happen to come in five minutes after I leave would you ask her if it’s humanly possible for her to come to the station and see me off?’
‘That I will.’ Pressing a supportive hand to the other’s shoulder, Red accompanied his son to the street, where they were instantly accosted by another of Aggie’s ‘spies’. With polite excuse to the neighbour, and another futile look up and down the street, Marty shook his father’s hand and hurried away.
When Etta and the others returned at a quarter past six, Red was asleep. Aggie rolled her eyes at the latest abrasion on his forehead, then, whilst Uncle Mal shuffled out to the lavatory, she picked up the kettle. ‘I’ll make the tea, Ett, you share the chips out – you children come wash your hands.’
Etta began to unwrap the bundles of newspaper. ‘What about Red?’
‘Throw a bucket o’ water over him.’
She laughed at her mother-in-law. ‘I meant what about his meal, shall I put it on a plate or…?’
‘Ach, stick some in the oven for him.’ Lifting the teapot and finding it lukewarm, Aggie raised the lid and clicked her tongue in irritation. ‘He’d better not have touched that kettle himself or I’ll flay him!’ She went to dispose of the dregs.
The meal was well underway when Red finally woke. A smiling, sunburned Etta rose and removed his portion from the black-leaded range and placed it on the table.
‘Thank ye, deary.’ Her father-in-law’s delicate countenance smiled back at her and he pushed himself from the chair and went to join the diners. He had taken a mouthful before remembering his family had been out all day, and addressed the congregation. ‘Oh, sure, I don’t need to ask if ye had a good trip – you all look like a bouquet of roses.’
Etta dissuaded her son from peeling the skin from his nose. ‘Yes, we’ve had a lovely time paddling in the sea and building sandcastles, haven’t we?’
‘And rides on a donkey!’ the youngest piped up.
‘Did you indeed?’ His grandfather beamed at him.
‘Couldn’t get him off,’ said Aggie, her wizened face glowing with health. ‘Screamed the blessed place down, had everyone looking.’
‘Sure, I think we’ll have a donkey ourselves one day.’ With his usual stock phrase Red tranquillized the little boy. ‘What else did you see – oh, and what was it like to ride in the motor car?’
They took turns in telling him all about the wonderful time they had had, chattering away until told to attend to their chips, which were growing cold.
Drifting and snoring his way through the rest of his meal, Red finally nodded off completely and woke with a start, his face in his dinner. Whilst he picked bits of batter from his cheeks, the plate was snatched by his long-suffering wife. ‘Go light your pipe and I’ll fetch you a cup of tea – and don’t think I’m blind to the fact that you’ve had one already! Who did ye drag off the street to make it for ye?’
Back in his armchair, about to share his tobacco pouch with Uncle Mal, a flash of panic crossed his face and he eyed the clock. ‘Oh, bloody hell to buggery!’
‘What is it now?’ sighed an exasperated Aggie, having learned from painful experience that this facial expression meant he had just remembered some vital snippet of information that had been temporarily erased by his narcolepsy.
‘Marty!’
Etta’s ears were instantly pricked as her father-in-law rose from his chair and reached out to her, contrition in his watery eyes.
‘I’m so sorry, deary, I was meant to tell yese – he was here all afternoon, waiting!’
Etta cried out, which was echoed by a gasp of disgust from Aggie.
Red’s face had become distraught as he looked from one to the other. ‘He couldn’t hang on any longer or he’d miss his train!’
‘For the love of Christ!’ Aggie berated him. ‘How long ago was this?’
His expression remained tortured. ‘Too long for, you to catch him, I think – and him so keen to see Etta before he goes off to France that he’d got special lea—’
‘He’s going then?’ The thing Etta had most dreaded, the reason she had arranged today’s light-hearted trip in order to take her mind off it, was come to pass more swiftly than she had envisaged. She clutched at her breast where anger joined the fear. ‘When?’
‘Er, I’m not sure.’ Concentrating hard to stay awake, Red pressed a hand to his brow, struggling to remember. ‘I think it could be any day, he asked if ye got home in time would you follow him to the station.’ His face appealed to her for pardon. ‘Ach, I’m really sorry I forgot to give ye the message – ’twas awful bad luck ye didn’t pass him on your way home.’
‘We came by the fish shop!’ His wife was testy.
But his daughter-in-law was even harsher. Devastated that Marty had gone off to war and could be killed without ever knowing that she wanted him back, she hurled at Red, ‘You useless, idiotic man, you’ve jeopardised my marriage – he’ll think I don’t care!’
Whilst Red did nothing to defend himself, just stood there hanging his head whilst she harangued him and everyone else looked on in shock, Aggie stepped in with a pointed finger. ‘Don’t you dare –’
But ignoring any rebuke and abandoning her children, Etta flew from the house, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges, and set off at a run along Hope Street.
Uncle Mal was disgusted. ‘She’s a nasty gob on her and no mistake.’ And, rising, he extended bony tendrils of comfort to the devastated man’s shoulder. ‘Pay no heed, Red, ’tis herself who destroyed that marriage…’
Oblivious to aught else, Etta pelted across the junction with George Street, hurtled down the slope of Lead Mill Lane and under Fishergate Postern in the direction of the station. A tram was humming alongside her, but without a coin she was forced to let it pass, racing onwards over Castle Mills and Skeldergate bridges, dodging traffic to continue along Nunnery Lane, slowing only to relieve her tortured lungs, then on again, hair coming loose
from its pins, wornout shoes slopping on and off and threatening to trip her, muscles screaming as she pounded laboriously up and over the railway bridge and down the other side, finally staggering into the station some fifteen minutes after leaving the house, only to find that Marty’s train was long gone.
Close to tears, excluded from the platform by the ticket barrier she clung to its iron bars, chest heaving as she fought to regain her breath, straining for a glimpse of those who congregated beyond, in the hope that she might yet see him, wondering what must have been going through his head after coming all this way for naught. Then, realising the futility of standing there torturing herself, she turned and made her stricken way home.
There was trouble waiting. As much as Aggie might grumble and grouse over Red’s affliction she was fiercely protective of all her menfolk and descended on Etta the moment she entered. ‘Right, milady!’ Her eyes were glaciers, her finger a lance. ‘Don’t you ever speak to my husband again in that manner! All these years Red’s looked after you and your –’
‘I know!’ Etta’s face projected genuine contrition. ‘It was unforgiv—’
‘If anyone’s to blame for your marriage breaking down ’tis not himself!’ snapped Aggie, turning away abruptly to stalk up and down and gather the children’s discarded clothing, they themselves having been put to bed. ‘You’re so full of your own importance! Did you never once stop to imagine what utter agony it must be to fall asleep at the blink of an eye, no matter what vital task you’re in the middle of, whether it be carrying the best china or carrying your baby; to be mocked as a figure of amusement when you’re trying to get from one side of the road to the other without being flattened; not even to be trusted to strike a match in case you burn your house down and your family with it; to have folk spit on you in the gutter and call you a drunkard and a waster – to miss out on half a bloody lifetime?’
Bruised and dejected, Etta turned tear-filled eyes to Red, her apology profuse. ‘I’m so terribly sorry, my behaviour was appalling. I do appreciate how you must suffer…’
Not entirely appeased, Red spread his arms in an attitude of despair and managed to emit between a series of five-second naps, ‘The Lord knows…I feel dreadful enough…about forgetting, without being told…what an eejit I am, but I can’t help it, ye se—’
‘The fault is entirely mine.’ Etta raised a firm hand to prevent him saying more. ‘Please don’t feel in any way responsible, I was just taking out my frustration on you. I was angry at myself, I should have been here – I only arranged the trip to take our minds off this dreadful business in Europe. It’s not an excuse, there can be no excuse for the way I spoke to you and I’m truly sorry.’ She clasped her brow and heaved a sigh. ‘One blessed day at the seaside, the first time I’ve been anywhere of note for over a decade, and what happens? Marty trails all that way to see his wife before going off to fight for his country and she’s out enjoying herself!’
‘Ah well, you weren’t to know he was coming.’ Red shrugged forgiveness and reached for his pipe. ‘Nobody’s to blame, ’tis just the war pulling us this way and that.’
Etta nodded woefully. ‘You’re very understanding. I only pray that Marty understands why I wasn’t here. I can’t bear the thought of him going off to war thinking I don’t care about him.’
‘You could drop him a line.’ Seeing how badly this had affected her daughter-in-law, Aggie was not so censorious now.
‘I intend to.’ Taking herself in order, Etta wasted no more time and went to seek out an envelope and paper upon which she was to scribble a hasty explanation, an apology, and a wish for her husband’s speedy return. Then she dashed out to post it in the hope that when he marched off to war it was in the knowledge that she loved him.
Following the initial commotion, apart from dramatic headlines in the press and an increase in traffic from the barracks – indeed from all corners of the city as flag-waving children waved their fathers off to war – life at home soon reverted to normal. Similarly at the provision dealer’s, where, after those few days of panic, it was business as usual. Well, not quite as usual, noted Etta, for once new deliveries arrived her enterprising boss put up the price of bacon by tuppence a pound, and flour by ten pence a stone. But she herself was to continue in mundane fashion, weighing out her bags of sugar and tea whilst anxiously awaiting a reply to her letter. After a burst of patriotism the rush to enlist had slowed down too. Still, with hundreds of reservists called from their jobs there was more scope for those seeking gainful employment, and Etta was quick to spot this, applying for the post of clerical officer at an engineering works. It would mean working more hours, she told Aggie, but at least it would give her the whole weekend off in which to help around the house.
Maddeningly, there was the need to compete with other young women from more privileged backgrounds who volunteered their services through a loyal desire to help – and also from those who had fallen redundant due to the war – but with several such vacancies on offer Etta was eventually to find herself successful, and within a few weeks had exchanged her grocer’s overall for a neat black skirt and cardigan. It might only be temporary whilst Mr Smith went off to do his duty, and she held the suspicion that she was paid much less than the usual holder of the position, but in the meantime it would boost her own income, allowing her to save towards a rental property of her own in which to welcome Marty home. To date there had been no reply to her letter, but then he would be so very busy preparing for battle, perhaps already in France and her letter yet to catch up with him, and with this thought she proceeded to comfort herself – if comfort one could term it.
Then, about six weeks after the outbreak of war, one morning the postman finally brought relief.
‘He’s in Aldershot! Oh, thank God he’s still safe – I could go down and see him!’ Etta buried her head in the letter whilst the others waited eagerly for news, occasionally throwing them snippets, whilst keeping the more personal items to herself. Disappointingly, these were brief, but Marty explained that the battalion had been kept so busy training and travelling from camp to camp that he had simply not had the time to reply in depth, but at least he acknowledged receipt of her letter and excused her for not being there when he had come to York, and really all that mattered was that he knew she loved him.
But then a bombshell: upon re-reading it Etta noted the date. ‘Why, this was written weeks ago!’ She looked up at the listeners, her expression one of outrage. ‘How come it’s only just reached me?’
Whilst others looked blank, Uncle Mal thought he knew. ‘The army wallahs like to play their cards close to their chest. They wouldn’t want to risk the Germans getting to hear anything about where or when we plan to land in France before it happens.’
Etta’s heart suffered a jolt. ‘Are you saying that Marty must already be there?’
‘Not necessarily, I wouldn’t want to worry yese.’ Uncle Mal’s rheumy eyes glanced at Aggie, who was similarly affected by his disclosure.
‘Stands to reason, though, if we’ve only just got Marty’s letter…’ Red, too, looked concerned between napping and waking.
Etta tried to appear more cheerful as she addressed the children, whose eagerness to hear from their father had now turned to apprehension. ‘But we can’t be sure, and at least he was safe and well when he wrote this, so we mustn’t be too worried.’
Naturally, though, she herself was to remain worried, and before going off to work each day she hovered in wait for the postman. But not until the following Saturday, when they were all having breakfast, did he actually bring confirmation that Marty was indeed in France, Aggie bustling in with the missive and delivering it to Etta’s eager hands.
‘Oh…’ Etta’s excitement paled into disappointment as she saw that it was only a postcard bearing pre-printed messages, all of which had been deleted except the one that said Marty was safe and well.
Aggie read her face, saying kindly as she re-seated herself at the table, ‘Well, I suppose he�
��s busy, what with one thing and another. He just wanted to let you know as quickly as possible that he was all right.’
Etta nodded wanly. ‘And that’s the main thing. Poor dear, I must write to him later and cheer him up.’
‘Fair play to ye.’ Red downed his cup of tea, saying to Tom and Jimmy-Joe, ‘Away now, boys, we’ve a day’s work to do,’ and off they went to pick fruit, leaving the rest to finish at their leisure. Whilst Etta fingered the card worriedly, her thoughts far away, Aggie refilled their teacups.
‘Please may I have that, Mother?’
Etta looked blankly at her elder daughter. ‘What? Oh…I suppose you may.’ She handed over the postcard, which immediately set the others at loggerheads. With a sigh she scolded them and dragged the loudest complainant, William, onto her lap and pacified him with a slice of toast. Once the fuss had died down, she and Aggie discussed their plans for the day, though there was little peace to be had for long.
‘William, please do be still!’ Crossly, Etta interrupted her conversation to shove him from her lap, rubbing at her shin.
‘I’m sorry, Mother, my shoes are biting me.’
She conceded with a sigh that they did need replacing. She and Aggie then conspired to involve themselves in some juggling, Celia’s shoes being passed to Edward, the latter’s to his younger sister, who gave hers to William. But it was still painfully evident that their mother would have to buy at least one pair and she sighed again – more of her precious funds gone astray. ‘Well, Celia, it seems you are to be the lucky recipient.’
Alexandra was unimpressed. ‘But she had the postcard! I need new ones too.’
‘You’d like new ones, but those still have plenty of room in them,’ reproved her mother.
‘It’s not fair! Celia always gets –’
‘No!’ Turning to her eldest daughter, Etta said briskly, ‘Come along then, we shall go to town before it gets too busy.’
The Keepsake Page 39
