What she didn’t tell him was that after the wedding the couple had disappeared, and an examination of the bakery accounts showed her that the business was almost bankrupt.
* * *
Now that Paul and she had recovered their lost love, Gilly began seeking Shirley out again. One day she called at her house and found her sitting on the floor surrounded with dark material. Shirley hastily covered what she was making with a newspaper.
“Oh, it’s only you, love!” she held her heart in relief. “Thought it might be my Derek. He’ll kill me if he could see this.” She held up a beautifully made black jacket and while Gilly “kept cavy” at the door in case Derek returned, she tried it on. It was short, fitted into the waist, without lapels but with cuffs on the sleeves and two flap-less pockets.
“It’s lovely,” Gilly said. “But where did you get the material? It feels expensive.”
“Wait a minute, I haven’t finished yet.” Sliding her skirt down her trim legs, Shirley pulled on a pair of pin-striped trousers in the same fine serge. They were tapered slightly and finished with a neat turn-up.
“It’s very smart. I haven’t seen anything like that round here,” Gilly gasped in admiration.
“I copied the pattern from a picture in a magazine. We’ve been invited to a dinner for local businessmen, you see, and I was determined to have something really special,” Shirley explained. “Trouble is, Derek won’t have anything half as good to wear – this was his best dinner suit!” Amid increasing laughter, she added, “Now, what d’you think I can do about altering his dress shirt?”
Chapter Twelve
Sam was the first of Gilly’s uncles to return after the war had ended. He arrived in June 1945 as one of the last “Victory in Europe” street parties was taking place, in a small road behind Bread Street. Gilly saw his burly figure turning the corner and she cried out with relief. Now she could really believe he was safe. Now she would be able to pass some of her worries onto his broad and experienced shoulders.
His face broke out into the widest smile as he saw her running towards him her arms open wide.
“Uncle Sam! Oh there’s lovely that you’re home at last!” Unaccountably, in that happy moment, tears threatened to choke her, filling her throat with a lump of sheer joy. Now Uncle Sam was home it wouldn’t be long before she was greeting Paul.
“What’s going on?” he laughed as he hugged her. “Is all the town here to welcome me then? Fancy arranging a street party to celebrate my return!”
“We didn’t know when you’d come, but they’ll be pleased that you can join in the party. Let’s pretend it is for you. I thought you’d miss them all. Oh, it’s lovely to have you safe, Uncle Sam. I thought the day would never come.” She took one of the bags he carried and, bent over with the weight of it, carried it up the lane to the back gate. Still chattering as excitedly as a child, she escorted him into the kitchen.
“Now, what d’you want first, Uncle Sam? A bath? A meal? Or are you willing to come and see all the neighbours and join in the party?”
“I think I’ll change out of these clothes then go with you to your celebration,” he smiled, guessing that for all her delight at seeing him she didn’t want to miss the fun.
“I’ll make a cup of tea while you get ready then,” she said and, red-faced with the excitement that was still on the verge of tears, she poured water into the large kettle and set it on the gas cooker.
“Where’s everyone?” Sam asked as he poked his head around the living room door. “All at the party are they?”
“I – I expect so,” she said hesitatingly. “Aunt Bessie might be coming later.”
“Might be coming later?” the way she said the words made him stop and look at her with a frown. “What d’you mean, coming later? Lives here, doesn’t she?”
“Not any more, Uncle Sam. She moved out to go and live with Mr and Mrs Smoky.”
“Why? And why wasn’t I told? Writing letters with this address on them she’s been, and I thought she was still here looking after you and—” He put down the bag he was intending to carry up to his room and sat down on a chair close to the big oven range fireplace which was lit, even on a warm day. He patted the seat beside him and, seeing her reluctance, pulled her to sit beside him. “Gilly, love, what else has happened that I haven’t been told?”
“Let’s wait ’til later shall we, Uncle Sam? Get you home and settled in first, is it?”
“I’m home, and I won’t settle until you’ve told me what’s been happening here. Something has, your face doesn’t find it easy to keep secrets.”
The kettle was boiling furiously in the back kitchen and she stood up, walked through the passage, and made the tea. Sam followed. She could see from his expression that he wouldn’t be dissuaded from hearing the full story.
“Sorry about your party, Gilly, but I want to know exactly what’s happened here, right?”
“For a start off – Uncle Sam, there’s no easy way to say this. Mam didn’t die in an accident, she was killed – murdered – shot with a German gun by person or persons unknown. That was what they said.”
“What?” His shout of horror startled her.
“They think someone was trying to kill Uncle Gerry,” she went on through her sobs. “He’s gone away now and that’s best for us all. Married to that Maisie Boxmoor and gone away. The pity is he took a lot of the firm’s money with him.” She stared at her uncle’s stricken face, forcing back her own unhappiness in an effort to comfort him in his. “Sorry, Uncle Sam. We didn’t write to tell you all this while you were away. We thought it best not to worry you, you so far away and with plenty on your mind. There was nothing you could have done, only worry, and we didn’t want that. Not with you needing all your wits to stay alive.”
She glanced at him to see if he was listening to her, or boiling inside with his own thoughts. “I don’t think we should write to tell the others either,” she went on when he looked at her waiting for her to continue. “Uncle Vic and Uncle Viv are prisoners in the Far East and have enough on their minds just to survive. There was nothing any of you could do except be upset, and that wouldn’t have helped anyone. We were going to wait ’til you’d been home a day or two then get everyone together and explain. Auntie Bessie’ll be that mad with me for letting it out, but you did say you wanted to know all that’s happened.”
“Go on. You might as well tell me the rest. Why isn’t Auntie Bessie here?”
“Auntie Bessie was sick of being bossed about by Uncle Gerry after Mam died, so she went to live with the Smokys and she hasn’t come back.”
“Who’s been helping with the business?”
“What business?” she asked bitterly. “Before he left Uncle Gerry wrecked it.”
“So who’s been helping you here? Surely some bread is being baked?”
“Dai Smoky and I have been doing what little there is to do, but I have my two cafés to run and – I did tell you about the cafés, didn’t I?”
“You did, and I’m proud of you for getting yourself settled with a good business of your own. But you’ve been attending to them and seeing to things here?”
“The house is a bit of a tip, mind,” she admitted. “A lick and a promise is all it gets these days. Mam would have a fit if she could see it. What with the early morning baking and then doing the buying and baking for the cafés. The bake-house is spotless, mind,” she defended. “I haven’t neglected that! Everything washed and as clean as clean. The floors are swept so there isn’t a speck of flour for someone to slip on.” She stood near him, resting on the corner of the wooden, scrubbed table. Her shoulders dropped as she thought of the mess her uncle would have to face when he saw the books and the poor stocks of ingredients.
“And there’s been the books for the bakery and the cafés,” she added with an attempt at brightness. “I’ve kept them up to date so you’ll know what’s what. I don’t know how I’d have managed to keep the café’s going without Dai Smoky and his dad, too
. Smoky Vic has come in when he’s felt fit enough.”
“Gilly, you should have told me. I know a few people who would have helped you. Living here with only Ivor for company, well, you should have told me, girl.” He sat down and ran his fingers through his hair. Gilly regretted having to greet him on his home-coming with such news, he had aged in the minutes since she began to explain their situation. The flesh on his face fell in loose folds and his eyes were heavy with tiredness.
“Sorry I blurted it out, Uncle Sam. I always seem to do that.”
“I doesn’t matter, Gilly, love. I had to know and news like this doesn’t improve with keeping.”
“I didn’t think about the future,” she explained quietly. “I kept thinking, one more day and the war will be over, one more week and the uncles will be home, one more week and I can hand it all over for someone else to deal with. Best not to think too far ahead when things are being difficult, isn’t it, Uncle Sam? Like now,” she added. “Best you don’t think to sort it all at once. Let’s get the bread baked tomorrow morning and see how we go from there, is it?”
“Young shoulders aren’t intended to carry so much. At your age, young Gilly, you should be having fun. How old are you now? Nearly twenty-two? Damn me how the years have flown. Look, you can stop worrying about any of it from this moment. I’ll go through the books with you tomorrow and I’ll soon have things sorted. Now,” he put down the cup and saucer and stood up, large, reassuring and, having shaken off the shocks he had received, smiling his wide smile. “You’d better take me to that party before all the cakes are gone.”
“Tomorrow you’ll have the blackberry pie you wanted,” she said. “I’ve got a tin of blackberries saved special.”
“Bless you, girl, for remembering.”
The street beyond the back lane was a sight to make Sam stop in his tracks. There were streamers across the street, some from bedroom windows, others fixed by enthusiastic helpers strung from the chimney pots and the eaves of the terraced houses. Every window was a display and on one was the announcement that the lane was a winner in the competition for the best dressed street.
Traffic had been barred for the hours of the party and trestle tables lined the pavements covered with sheets and decorated with artificial flowers and flags made from crepe paper by many hands. The children, countless in number and all unrecognisable to Sam, were dressed in fancy costumes depicting every nursery rhyme character he could think of, from Little Bo Peep to the spider that frightened Miss Muffet. There was even a giant. One of Cyril Richards’ nephews walked past him on stilts wearing a placard stating he was Jack, of beanstalk fame. The colour was startling to his eyes, the noise of the children screaming their excitement and the parents shouting above them trying to be heard an assault on his ears.
In the excitement of the occasion, meeting neighbours and acquaintances after his long absence, Sam was able to put aside, albeit temporarily, his anxiety for the business. Several friends were there sporting wounds and injuries which they joked about, each being grateful to have survived the years of the conflict.
Sam couldn’t fail to be happy in the cheerful company and there was only one depressing note, the bread that made the sandwiches, he was reliably informed, came not from Jenkins’ but Green’s.
Sam and Gilly spotted Ivor looking, to Sam’s eyes, exactly the same as when he had left more than four years before, He was laughing, having led Ianto out of his stable. The animal, wearing a warden’s helmet and a red, white and blue garland, was apparently quite pleased to be joining in the party. Ivor stopped and stared at his brother in surprise, then grinned widely and came to greet him.
“Hello, Sam, come home for the party, have you?”
“I’m home for good, boy,” Sam smiled.
“Best for us, too,” Ivor said. “That Gilly could do with some help for sure.” He took a cake from the table and led the horse away to talk to some children who were being told to behave or go home to bed. Ianto would calm them down. Children liked animals, he knew that. Sam watched him go with an amused smile. Ivor had been untouched by the tragedies of war. “And there’s us feeling sorry for him,” he said to Gilly with a wry smile.
When the tables had been cleared of food they were stacked away and a piano was trundled from a house onto the pavement. Cyril Richards came down as the sing-song was getting into its stride. Sam walked with Cyril, unable to make conversation above the noisy choruses, and stood near Ivor, smiling at the man’s obvious enjoyment as he joined in the well-known songs.
“Enjoying the party, boy?” Cyril called, between cupped hands. Ivor turned, and seeing Cyril stood up in great haste, almost knocking Gilly down as he ran, wailing his fear, back to the house.
“What upset him?” Sam asked.
“Who knows,” Gilly shouted back. “He lives in his imagination more and more these days.”
“The shock of seeing your big ugly uncle back I expect,” Cyril teased, unaware that he was the cause of Ivor’s frightened retreat.
* * *
The following day when Gilly rose to begin the baking, Uncle Sam was already in the bake-house. He had knocked up the over-night dough, his huge forearm making a very different shape on the trilby loaves than Gilly’s slender arm. She was light-hearted as she set about the routine work, relief at Sam’s return making the occasion a pleasure, almost as if Granfer himself were back. When the bread was baked and delivered, Sam settled to study the books that Gilly had meticulously kept. What he found made his spirits sink lower and lower.
“There’s damn all left,” he said to Dai Smoky when he went around to see him in his small terraced house that evening. “What happened?”
“In a word, Gerry Daniels happened,” Dai said angrily. “And there was me without a proper say, watching the man steal everything the old man had worked for, and seeing that poor little Gilly struggling to keep it together until you and Vic and Viv got back.” Dai looked at Sam speculatively, then he said quietly, “Best you go and talk to Derek Green. That business seems to have grown like a bean planted in muck. Friendly with Derek he was, that Gerry.” He waited until he caught Sam’s eye and said pointedly, “Very friendly. Just go and have a chat, neighbourly like, and see what you can learn.
Gilly visited Shirley Green whenever her busy schedule allowed, so when Sam suggested going to see the Greens on the following evening, Gilly agreed at once.
“I haven’t heard from Paul for three weeks,” she told him. “Perhaps his mam’s had a letter. I keep hoping to be told that he’s coming home, but I think he’s still in Germany, driving now he is, involved in transporting officials to and from the battle grounds, dealing with the administrations of peace.”
Shirley was in the garden with three-year-old Stella, pushing the little girl on the swing that she had bought for her, and looking as young and as beautiful as ever in a smart slim-fitting sleeveless dress and gold-painted sandals. She looked up as Sam opened the gate and smiled a welcome.
“Sam! There’s good to see you safe. When did you land back then? Did you enjoy the street party? What a welcome home, the whole street celebrating specially for you. You wait to see what I’m arranging for my Paul, mind!” She asked a stream of questions, then turned to Gilly. “And Gilly, love, I’m glad you’ve come, I’ve got a new recipe for you to try on your customers. Carrot cake and very good it is, too, mind. There’s some just made and you and Sam can try it.” She chatted on, first to Sam then Gilly as she picked up Stella and went inside to put on the kettle for tea.
Sam followed, asking all the usual questions about mutual friends and beginning to reminisce. When little Stella ran back outside, Sam followed her. When the tea was brought out Gilly and Shirley found him sitting in the sunlit garden, playing with the child with obvious enjoyment.
“Why are you minding her?” he asked and the story of Cyril’s return and abandonment of his wife was told.
“Always was a bit stubborn, that Cyril Richards,” Sam said, “but I didn’
t think he’d walk away from a dear little thing like this.” He took the child’s hand and led her back to the swing. He didn’t look at Shirley as he added, “Still, I suppose it helps you, earning a bit of money by minding her, like.”
“I don’t need the money, Sam,” Shirley laughed. “Since the war started Derek has done very well. It’s as if the rationing has helped us, I don’t understand how, mind, I haven’t got a head for business.”
“It didn’t help us. Things have run down badly at Jenkins’ bakery.”
“Well, poor Gilly has been wonderful but even she couldn’t run a business single-handed, now could she? No one could have done more than she has to keep things going for you and your brothers to come back to and don’t you think different, Sam Jenkins!” She put her hands on her small waist and frowned at Sam, believing he was criticising his niece.
“You don’t need to tell me how marvellously Gilly has coped, Shirley. If it hadn’t been for Gilly there wouldn’t have been anything left. She’s been amazing to keep things going,” he smiled at Shirley. “And you can get off your high horse and stop thinking I am anything but grateful to her.”
“Oh, that’s all right then, so long as you don’t think she didn’t do her best.”
Gilly laughed at the way the two of the people most dear to her were glaring at each other in her defence. “Is there any news from Paul?” she asked. “I haven’t had a letter this three weeks.”
“Me neither,” Shirley sighed. “I hope it means that he’s on his way home.”
“Let’s hope Japan will soon surrender, then we can all get back to our interrupted lives.” Sam said. “It’s frightening to know that Vic and Viv are in the hands of the Japanese. I only hope they’re together. Miserable they’d be if they’ve been separated all this time. Not a word we’ve heard these months, and months.”
“I’m lucky,” Shirley smiled. “Paul is out of danger now and all we have to do is wait.”
Family Pride Page 23
