A Family Christmas

by Glenice Crossland

  ‘Aye, I shall ’ave to see about one I suppose.’ Mrs Slater took the tea things to the sink and washed them. ‘I suppose you’ll be ’aving a quiet Christmas Day; I mean you’ll be nearing yer time by then.’

  ‘Oh I shall invite our Jane and Ben. I don’t suppose our Mary’ll grace us with her presence.’

  ‘No improvement then?’

  ‘None. I feel so sorry for Jacob. He really loves this family. I shall invite them all the same. I wish our Nellie could be here; I really miss her.’

  ‘Aye, still the lass is doing well by the sound of it. Yer dad’d ’ave been right proud of her. And yer mam,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘Oh aye, she’d ’ave been proud of you all, especially that little flower in’t pram.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure they would, but I wish our Mary could have one all the same.’

  ‘Aye, still it’ll happen if it’s God’s will.’

  Lucy laughed. ‘You sounded just like my mother when you said that.’

  ‘Well I daresay she’s ’ere somewhere, putting words in me mouth.’

  ‘Yes I expect she is.’ Lucy was surprised how the thought of her mother’s presence comforted her. If only Annie Gabbitas’s spirit would visit Mary and tell her to buck herself up, otherwise poor Jacob’s life wouldn’t be worth living.

  Dot Greenwood had finished work for the day. The poultry orders had been delivered along with the potatoes and eggs. The farmhouse had been fettled from top to bottom and trimmed with greenery from down the lane. Pies both sweet and savoury were cooling on the kitchen table and muslin-coated puddings were simmering merrily over the fire. Tomorrow would be a busy day with Little Arthur’s sister and her family and Boadacea’s parents here for the day. Christ’s birthday was usually celebrated with one big party and only essential farmwork being done. This year however, everyone seemed to be putting on an act to cheer each other. If anyone had voiced their thoughts they would have admitted that only Robbie Grey’s presence would have brought out the Christmas spirit.

  Dot wandered out to the derelict old cottage attached to the main house. Not long ago she had imagined her and Robbie living there. The stone walls would have been pointed, the windows and doors replaced – Robbie could have done that easily enough – and the inside walls plastered. That would have been all the work needed to make the sturdy old dwelling habitable. She wandered from kitchen to front room, then up the crooked staircase and into the main bedroom, bending to avoid the low doorway. There was even a wardrobe standing dusty but proud against the far wall. She cleared a patch on the mirror and stared at her reflection, at her hair which needed trimming and the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Christmas Eve and here she was still in her working clothes. It wouldn’t do. She would doll herself up a bit and go out. There would be a dance at the Victoria Hall, and after that she would go to midnight mass. She couldn’t waste her life away fretting about somebody who was unavailable. It would please her parents if she went out. There was no point in spoiling their Christmas. No, she would put on her powder and her best dress and a smile.

  She walked out and into the other bedroom, her working shoes echoing in the empty house. This was the room rumoured to be haunted. People on the opposite hill often reported seeing a light shining in the window on certain nights of the year. Some of the old timers said it was a shepherd who used to live here, lighting his lamp after a day’s work. Little Arthur said it was the moon’s reflection on the glass but Boadacea said the grime on the window of the old place was too thick to reflect anything. Dot kept an open mind. Sometimes she thought she heard footsteps on the stairs, which were on the other side of her bedroom wall. If there was a ghost, Dot could understand it being unwilling to leave, the view from this room being the finest of the whole farm. Anyway, the spirit of a shepherd would hurt nobody. Someone who cared for his flock and tended the lambs would most likely watch over humans with the same tenderness. She had envisaged the cot there by the window and a rocking horse in the corner.

  Now the cottage would stay empty and sad and without Robbie there would be no baby. If she couldn’t have him to father her children she would remain unmarried, an old maid. But tonight was Christmas Eve, so she would make the best of things, for her parents’ sake, despite the emptiness and sorrow deep within her. She hurried downstairs. She would carry the zinc bath into the front room and soak in water scented by her mother’s herbs. Then she would go and join Mable and the rest of the crowd, and pray that if Robbie happened to be present she would have the strength to act as though she didn’t care.

  Whilst Will and Robbie were out on the town, Lucy and John were content to sit by the fire, Lucy listening to the wireless and John reading the Star. ‘Do you think Bernard will be asleep yet?’ Lucy couldn’t wait to play Father Christmas to the little ones.

  ‘There’s no rush.’ John rose to his feet. ‘I’ll go see.’ Lucy gazed round the kitchen with pride. It was warm, comfortable and filled with the delicious aromas of spice from the hot mince pies, ham simmering over the fire and oranges waiting to go in the children’s stockings. The wishing mirror looked beautiful decked with holly, and in the front room – which had been cleaned and polished within an inch of its life – a Christmas tree filled the air with the scent of pine.

  The children were delighted with the twinkling glass ornaments and stars. John had bought a cardboard Santa Claus on a sleigh pulled by reindeers, the bright red of Santa’s coat and the brown coats of the reindeers shimmering with silver. It was in the centre of the dresser and Lucy had explained that because Bernard had been a good boy a real Santa would be bringing presents for him and Rosie. ‘When we are all fast asleep he will fly on a sledge pulled by reindeers up onto the roof, then he will climb down the chimney and bring you presents.’ Bernard had looked at the Santa on the dresser and thought about the fireplace in the bedroom and decided that the real Santa must be much thinner than this one, otherwise he would never fit down the chimney.

  ‘He will because he’s magic,’ John had reassured him, considering that for someone of only four years old Bernard was not someone to have the wool pulled over his eyes. However the little boy had hung up the clean pillow cases on the bed knob and Rosie’s cot and hoped that Santa didn’t fall down the chimney and wake Rosie.

  ‘They’re both fast on.’ John went to the cupboard near the fire and brought out the toys, accumulated over the past weeks. A teddy bear for Rosie and a push-along horse – made by Robbie – which would no doubt help Rosie to walk during the next few months. Jane had bought brightly-coloured building bricks and Will a squeaky duck for the bath. For Bernard there was a pedal cycle painted bright red, which the little boy had long considered his favourite colour. A Playbox annual and a box of crayons and colouring book, an orange, an apple and a sugar mouse completed Bernard’s gifts.

  ‘We’re so fortunate,’ Lucy said when they were once more settled by the fire.

  ‘Aye.’ John looked at Lucy, her face flushed in the firelight. ‘I reckon I’m the luckiest man on earth.’ He went into the front room and came back with a bottle of port wine, poured two small glasses and handed one to Lucy. ‘Happy Christmas, my love.’ He clinked his glass against hers, took a sip and placed it on the table and took her in his arms. ‘I love you, Lucy Grey, and I wish you your happiest year ever.’ Then they turned towards the wishing mirror and Lucy said, ‘So long as I’m here with you and our children it will be the happiest of years, cos I love you, John Grey, and love is all that matters.’ The she kissed her husband, there in the warmth of the fire, in a kitchen overflowing with love.

  The music could be heard along the main road as Dot approached the dance hall. The lights from the high windows welcomed her in the darkness. ‘Dot!’ The ticket seller called out as she entered the room, ‘Long time no see.’

  Dot took out her purse and bought a ticket. ‘Is Mable here?’

  ‘Was. Nipped out for a quick drink with all your crowd, but I reckon they’ll be back any minute.’

 
; Dot smiled and went through to the cloakroom. She was glad she’d arrived late or they would have persuaded her to accompany them to the Golden Ball and Dot never felt comfortable in pubs, not even the Ball, which was considered a more respectable establishment than the Sun. She straightened her dress and powdered her nose, then she ventured out into the dance hall. A barn dance was in progress and one or two of the twirling dancers waved and smiled. One thing about Millington was that everybody seemed to know everyone else. Lewis Marshall sauntered over and stood by Dot. ‘All right?’ he asked. ‘Well, yer look all right. In fact yer look beautiful.’ She did.

  ‘Thanks.’ Dot liked Lewis. She wished he could find himself a nice girl and settle down, but everyone knew that the girl he wanted had fallen hook, line and sinker for John Grey. Now Lewis was in the same boat as her. A new dance began. ‘Come on Lewis, let’s do this. I like a foxtrot.’ She pulled Lewis onto the dance floor. They chatted about what was happening tomorrow then Lewis suddenly said, ‘He loves you, Dot.’

  ‘What?’ She stopped dancing and stared up at Lewis.

  ‘Robbie. He’ll not rest until he’s free to marry you.’

  Dot smiled sadly. ‘Maybe, but when will that be?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lewis grinned. ‘But like my owd dad always says, “Weer theer’s life, theer’s hope, lad. Weer theer’s life, theer’s hope.”’

  Dot giggled at his impression of his father. ‘Oh, Lewis, you’re lovely, do you know that?’

  ‘Oh aye, I’m lovely, me. Trouble is the lass I wanted didn’t think so. So I reckon you’re the most fortunate of the two of us.’

  Dot squeezed his hand. ‘Well, seeing as it’s Christmas let’s enjoy ourselves. Come on, I’ll buy you a lemonade.’ As they circled the room and approached the refreshment room Dot saw the door of the cloakroom open and a crowd enter the room. Amongst them Robbie Grey stood out, taller and straighter than the rest. His eyes lit up as he noticed Dot and for a second love was there for all to see. Then they tore their gaze away from each other and Lewis led Dot away for refreshment. She fixed a smile on her face and decided to ignore Robbie; she couldn’t trust herself to look at him, let alone try and make conversation. The best thing to do would be to partner Lewis for the evening. They would be a comfort to each other, two lovesick souls together.

  Will was in high spirits and intended enjoying himself this Christmas. When he had gone to collect his wage packet this afternoon, Mr Brown had told Will to sit himself down and ’ave a drink to celebrate. Will had sat himself on a hundredweight sack of potatoes, surrounded by nets of onions and orange boxes and sipped at his drink.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Mr Brown.’ He had never got used to using his boss’s Christian name; it didn’t seem right somehow.

  ‘And to thee, lad. Though it’s not the festival I’m celebrating at the moment.’ He sipped his drink and rubbed his chin with his thumb. ‘I’ve been thinking, lad. Does tha know, since I took thee on I’ve been raking money in. That stall at Cragstone’s making almost as much in one day as I used to mek in a week. And it’s all down to thee.’

  Will felt his face growing hot with pleasure. Praise from Mr Brown was praise indeed. ‘Well it’s good stuff I’m selling; they’re always remarking on that.’

  ‘Aye, but it’s thee who’s selling it. They’ve taken to thee, Will. Tha’s got a way about thee. A born trader, I reckon.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s because I like me job. I like delivering to’t canteen and going to’t wholesale market, but most of all I like doing the stalls.’

  ‘Well, choose how, I’m giving thee a rise. Tha sees I don’t want thee leaving and I’ve been told somebody else’s after thee to go and work for ’im.’

  ‘Oh I shan’t leave. I love me job.’

  ‘Aye, I’ve noticed, so I’ve given thee a rise, starting from now.’

  ‘Well, thanks very much.’

  ‘And not only that, I’m going to learn thee to drive. And when yer’ve mastered it I’m going to get thee a van.’

  Will was speechless. He gulped as the tears rose to his eyes.

  ‘Oh don’t get yerself all excited – it’ll be nowt posh, just summat second ’and if I can find owt. Then I can concentrate on the other jobs instead of ’aving to fetch and carry thee about. I thought we might ’ave a stall over in Warrentickle in time, let thee run the stalls full time. Would tha like that?’

  ‘Course I would. I don’t know what to say, except thanks.’

  ‘Aye well, don’t get carried away. Tha ’asn’t learned to drive yet.’

  ‘No but I shall.’

  ‘Well, get thi’sen off then. I’ve put thee a bonus in for Christmas. Don’t spend it all at once.’

  ‘Thanks again.’ Will took the pay packet and set off out of the rickety old shed.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ the greengrocer called after him.

  ‘And the same to you.’ Will’s face was wreathed in smiles. He must be the most fortunate lad in Millington. He might even get drunk to celebrate. Well, perhaps not. He’d go to the dance and maybe find himself a girl. Now that would be summat to celebrate, summat indeed. Will didn’t get drunk, but he did have a couple of glasses at the Golden Ball and was feeling slightly merry when he returned to the dance hall with the others. He was standing watching the dancers and enjoying the music when he saw her. It was unusual not to know everybody in Millington, but he hadn’t seen her before. Standing near the stage she looked shy and uncomfortable all on her own. Her hair was the most beautiful shade of brown, chestnut actually, and it fell in waves around her shoulders. From where he was standing her eyes looked to be the same warm shade, sparkling in the lights from the stage. Will was no dancer and had never felt inclined to take to the floor but he walked across the room and asked her if she’d care to dance.

  Blushing, she looked towards the twirling couples. ‘I’d love to but I don’t know how to do this.’

  Will grinned. ‘No, neither do I. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you, that’s all. I’m Will Gabbitas, by the way.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Will. I’m Elizabeth but everyone calls me Betty, Betty Hague.’

  ‘Well I shall call you Betty Brown Eyes.’ He blushed as he added, ‘I love yer dress.’ It was a pretty dress, the same blue as a summer sky, but it wasn’t the dress Will was admiring. It was Betty’s face, her slight build and her shapely legs, but especially her eyes. In fact Will Gabbitas – for the first time in his life – was in love, and even the promise of a brand new van couldn’t have lured him away from Betty Brown Eyes. They moved on to the dance floor even though they had no idea what the dance was supposed to be. It didn’t matter; it was an excuse to be close to each other. It was indeed going to be a happy Christmas for Will. The happiest ever.

  Robbie didn’t dance. If he couldn’t dance with Dot he wouldn’t dance at all, and Dot had dragged poor Lewis onto the floor for everything from the conga to the tango. He watched them twirl by in a quickstep and oh, how he envied Lewis Marshall holding Dot in his arms.

  When the last waltz had been played and the national anthem came to an end most of the gang made their way home. A few set off to church, some to St Catherine’s, others, including Dot Greenwood, to the parish church. Robbie hadn’t intended going to midnight mass. He didn’t have the same respect for Herbert Goodman as he once had. Perhaps he should forgive and forget the way he had manipulated him into marrying his daughter. After all, he and Louisa had been good to him and his brothers until Prudence had ruined his life – and that of her parents too he supposed. Yes, he would go to mass. It might make him feel better, though he doubted he would ever feel better again.

  James and Jane were amongst the congregation and he went to join them. The strains of ‘In The Bleak Midwinter’ rose to the rafters of the lovely old church, bringing back memories to Robbie of his mother and father and his childhood. He felt the tears threatening. Tears that should have been shed at the time of his parents’ death and had been withheld because of the shock
and the loss of their home. Somehow there had never been time to mourn. He felt James’s hand grip hold of his and knew his brother was feeling as emotional as he was. He blinked back the tears – he was a man, not a weepy child. He saw Dot across the aisle, standing with Mable. He sighed. Oh he was a man all right, a man who had been duped into a marriage that was nothing but a sham.

  The choir began to sing, ‘While Shepherds Watched’ and the beauty of their voices seemed to lift him out of his melancholy so that he sang out with the other worshippers. Herbert Goodman met his eye and Robbie smiled and nodded. He thought he saw relief in the vicar’s eyes and Robbie felt better. Life was too short to bear grudges; besides, he had to start afresh in the new year. He had a divorce to organise, though he had no idea how to go about it or how long it would take. No matter: if it took years to achieve his aim he would in the end be free to marry the girl he loved.

  For the first time since her marriage, Nellie was feeling homesick. Even Christmas at the manor had meant she had time to celebrate at least a few hours with her family. She had sent off presents for them all. Warm winter clothes for the children, perfume for her sisters and Emma, and kid gloves for the men. Nellie appreciated how lucky she was to be able to afford such luxuries. Had it not been for her husband she would never have been in this situation. She fixed a smile on her face and accepted that Tom was her family now and he was everything she had ever wanted. Christmas would be lovely in her new home. Even so she would miss Top Row. She would miss her sisters and she would miss Mrs Cooper. Tom’s mother was cooking dinner on Christmas Day. Nellie had offered to help, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Half a dozen friends and relatives had been invited and Margaret Johnson was in her element. Tom would have liked an excuse to avoid such a formal party and had a feeling Nellie felt the same. On arriving home after drinks with friends on Christmas Eve he broached the subject to his wife, waiting until they were tucked up warm and snug in bed.