A Place To Call Home

by June Francis

  ‘What’s happened?’ Rene took a couple of paces into the room and Greta closed the door behind them.

  Vera turned her head and her bony face held an expression of anger and spite. ‘It’s only what she deserves! Sweet talking to your father, trying to take him away from me. I was determined I’d get back at her.’

  ‘I was being neighbourly, that’s all, girl,’ said Cissie, looking at Rene and lowering the cloth to reveal a gash on her cheek. ‘He got little love and affection from yer mam. Cruel, she was! The things she’d say to him and in company, too! I wouldn’t have spoken to a dog like that. What your father and I said to each other was harmless. You could have listened without being offended. Although, to be honest, he would just sit in silence sometimes, having said it was nice to have some peace and quiet.’

  ‘You’re a bloody liar!’ said Vera, and she hunched a shoulder and turned her back on them again.

  ‘Has she said how she got the letters?’ gasped Rene, her chest felt tight and her head ached.

  ‘Went into me house when I was out cleaning,’ said Cissie, anger kindling in her eyes. ‘Yer might have forgot, girl, but I used to have a couple of jobs when you and our Sal were young.’ She dabbed at the cut on her cheek. ‘Seldom received a letter in me life but she knew I was waiting to hear from my lads. So she watched for the postman and then got into the house using the key on the string and pinched my letters,’ screeched Cissie in indignation and fury.

  Rene was horrified. ‘How could you, Mother?’

  ‘It wasn’t easy,’ said Vera, and sniffed. ‘I had to make sure no one was spying on me.’ Her eyes held a strange glint. ‘I enjoyed reading them letters. Fred wrote a good letter, poetic. It was easier, though, when I told him she was dead and Sally was in the loony bin but asked him to keep in touch as I was interested in knowing how he was going on. After that he wrote to me directly with all the family news twice a year. I would have liked a son. He thought I was a nice person going in to visit Sally and reading his letters to her, hoping it might help her to come to her senses. I never did, though. Not that I told him that.’

  ‘That’s because she wasn’t there, Mother!’ cried Rene, sick to her soul. ‘It was all a lie! How could you behave in such a way?’

  Vera looked away from her into the fire. ‘Wilf’s going to have to go,’ she muttered. ‘He burnt my stick just because I defended myself with it.’

  Rene turned to Cissie. ‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Hardcastle. All those years when you thought your sons didn’t care. And poor Sally! She never got over her brothers not getting in touch.’

  Cissie’s chin quivered and for a moment she could not speak. Then she rasped, ‘I know you’re not to blame, Rene. But I’ll never speak to your mother again. Our Lord said we should forgive our enemies but I’d find it easier to forgive the Jerries than your mother.’ She turned to Wilf and squeezed his hand. ‘Yer came up trumps, lad! Thanks!’ Then she looked at her granddaughter. ‘Come on, girl! Time to go home. I’m in need of something stronger than tea.’

  Greta gazed at Rene with compassion in her face. ‘Bye, Rene. See you soon.’ She took her grandmother’s arm and led her out of the house.

  There was a silence after they had gone and then Wilf patted Rene’s shoulder. ‘I’ll make you a cuppa, girl.’

  ‘You can get out of my house,’ snapped Vera.

  ‘Ignore her,’ said Rene, her head in her hands. ‘It’s not her that pays the rent.’

  ‘You’ve got a point there, girl,’ said Wilf, spooning tea leaves into the teapot. ‘Maybe we should send her to Coventry until she learns how to behave herself.’ He left the room but was back in a few minutes with a small bottle of rum with which he laced the tea.

  Rene lifted her head. She felt icy cold inside. ‘Maybe we should leave her to fend for herself,’ she said harshly. ‘Think of the peace and quiet we’d have! It’d make a nice change from the nastiness and bitterness we have to put up with. But can you imagine my mother trying to be polite or nice? Might as well expect a leopard to change its spots. Remember saying that about Cissie Hardcastle, Mother?’ Rene could not bring herself to look at her.

  Vera stammered, ‘I’ve I’ve-I’ve … still g-got the l-letters!’

  Wilf handed a steaming cup to Rene. ‘I’ve put two sugars in and something stronger. I think you need it, luv.’

  ‘L-Listen to me! I said I’ve still g-got the letters!’ cried Vera.

  Rene gulped the rum laced tea and looked at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Upstairs under the mattress. They’re in a big brown envelope with a bit of tape round it,’ babbled Vera. ‘I hide it somewhere else whenever you do the bed.’

  Rene’s heart began to beat rapidly. She did not ask why her mother had kept the letters. It only mattered that she had because maybe, even at this late date, being able to read Fred’s letters might ease some of Cissie’s pain.

  Rene left the room with her cup still in her hand and went upstairs. She entered her mother’s bedroom and had several sips of the hot beverage before placing it on the chest of drawers. She went over to the bed and lifting the covers, slipped her hands beneath the mattress and searched about for the envelope. It did not take long to find. She drew it out and opened the flap and emptied the letters on to the bed. Sifting through them, she noticed that most bore a Caernarfon postmark. Then she came across an envelope that felt different, was made of better quality paper. She held it close to her face and saw that it was postmarked 12th May 1939, Keswick. It was addressed to Mrs H. Peters at the house in the next street.

  Rene’s heart appeared to do a somersault and she fetched the cup and drained it to the dregs, feeling it doing her good as it went down. Then, putting aside the letter addressed to Sally, she put the rest back inside the large brown envelope and went downstairs.

  She loomed over her mother and Vera shrunk away from her. ‘How is it you had this?’ Rene thrust Sally’s letter under her mother’s nose.

  Vera blinked down at the envelope. Then she smiled. ‘It was put through the letterbox. I didn’t have to steal it. Plop! Just dropped through. I managed to pick it up and when I saw who it was addressed to, I thought, serve the little bitch right for calling me names.’

  Suddenly, Rene’s anger was tempered by a deep sadness. ‘I never thought you could be so vindictive, Mother.’

  Vera made to speak but Rene held up a hand as if to ward her off and left the room.

  11

  Despite not wanting to lose Alex to his real family, Greta could not wait to see his face when she handed his mother’s letter to him as it contained information that could only please him. She decided to leave her grandmother reading the letters from Fred and hurried out of the house with the envelope in her coat pocket. She stood at the bottom of the street, hoping to see Alex and her father come into view but there was no sign of them. So she walked to the sweet shop opposite the church and bought a stick of liquorice. Sucking it, she meandered along the pavement breathing in the clean smell of washing from the Wong Hing laundry before retracing her steps. She gazed up the street on the opposite side of the road but there was still no sign of Alex and Harry. So she continued her stroll, wondering if they could possibly have gone to check up on whether the Coxes were OK.

  Suddenly she heard her name being called and whirled round to see Harry and Alex crossing the cobbled road towards her. ‘What are you doing here?’ asked her father. ‘Is Rene OK? Your gran? Why didn’t you tell me about … ’

  She interrupted him. ‘Poor Rene! She’s really upset about what her mother did! I presume Uncle Jeff told you about the letters.’

  Grim-faced, Harry nodded. ‘Terrible. But what about … ?’

  She did not let him finish. ‘Good news, Dad! Mrs Miller kept Uncle Fred’s letters and among them was this!’ She produced the envelope postmarked Keswick and waved it in front of Alex’s face. ‘It’s from your mother! It went to our old address and the new tenant put it through the Millers’ letterbox by mistake and th
e old hag kept it. Your mother’s address is on it and so is her married name!’

  Never would Greta forget the expression on Alex’s face as he snatched the letter from her fingers. ‘She tried to find you. Even going to Keswick for a holiday with her husband and visiting the orphanage,’ Greta said rapidly, ‘then they went to the farm but, of course, the farmer didn’t know where you’d gone. She finishes by asking why hadn’t Mam written last Christmas and was she well.’

  Emotion seized Alex by the throat and he could not speak. He blinked back tears of joy. Then he leapt into the air and ran in the direction of the house.

  ‘Wait!’ she called. ‘I haven’t finished … ’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘He’ll read it himself, luv,’ said Harry. ‘I’m glad the lad’s had some good news at last. We’re not on duty tonight, either, and that’s good news, too. But what’s this about you getting caught in a blast?’

  ‘It was nothing, Dad,’ said Greta hurriedly. ‘I survived and if nothing else it proves Gran’s maxim. If it’s got your number on it then you don’t stand a chance. I think someone up there’s looking out for me.’ She began to walk towards the house. ‘Apparently, Uncle Jeff’s gone to pick up his kit from the Seamen’s Home.’ Greta hesitated. ‘How d’you feel about him, Dad?’

  Harry glanced down at his daughter, barely able to make out her features in the twilight. ‘Believing that Sally was in an asylum, I feel, girl, that he could have come to visit her, even though Mrs Miller told Fred it was pointless.’

  She nodded, soberly, ‘He never bothered to write to Mam or Gran in the early days, did he?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘I bet he’d say that he’s just not one for writing letters. That’s a lot of people’s excuse for not keeping in touch.’

  Greta smiled. ‘Uncle Fred’s got a wife and three kids. She’s a farmer’s daughter. They have a smallholding with chickens, a cow and a pig, they even grow vegetables. It’s in one of the letters. Gran read it out to me.’

  ‘Sounds ideal,’ said Harry in a thoughtful voice as they reached the house.

  They found Alex resting on his elbows at the table with the open letter in front of him. He glanced up and smiled. ‘Mum’s husband’s sold the shop! No wonder I couldn’t find him. Her married name is Mawdsley and they’re sharing a house with one of his daughters in Bootle. The other interesting thing is,’ he paused for effect, ‘I’ve been barking up the wrong tree, thinking it was Mum’s brother, who took my sisters. Apparently, it was Dad’s! And Mum’s brother has emigrated to Canada … went in the spring of 1939 with his family.’

  ‘I suppose you don’t remember where your dad’s brother lives?’ said Greta.

  Alex’s brow furrowed. ‘I’ve got a feeling … ’ He paused. ‘It doesn’t matter anyhow. Mum’ll know. I can ask her.’ His face lit up.

  ‘All these goings and comings,’ said Cissie, ladling out the stew. ‘I’ve made up me mind to visit our Fred.’

  Her words took the others by surprise. ‘I thought Jeff said that he lives in Llanberis, Mrs Hardcastle,’ said Harry. ‘It’s a slate mining town at the foot of Snowdon, smack bang in the middle of the mountains. I thought you hated the country.’

  ‘I’m allowed to change me mind, aren’t I?’ said Cissie. ‘His letters are real poetic.’ Her voice was filled with pride. ‘You can tell he loves the countryside. He was never out of Liverpool until he was called up so he must get it from my granddaddy. He came from County Wexford and worked on the land.’

  ‘So when are you planning on visiting your mother, Alex?’ asked Greta.

  ‘This weekend. I’m not so sure I want to go on my own,’ said Alex with a wry smile. ‘The idea of seeing her after all this time, meeting her husband and stepchildren, is something I find daunting. Beside’s she’ll probably be interested to meet Sally’s daughter.’

  Greta was pleased with his words. ‘Shall I come with you then?’ He nodded.

  ‘That’s settled then,’ said Cissie. ‘So come and get your tea.’

  During the meal, Cissie interspersed mouthfuls of food with extracts from Fred’s letters. ‘I’ve two other granddaughters and a grandson … younger than you, Greta. It looks like our Fred and his Megan were late getting started.’

  ‘I think Greta should go to Wales with you,’ said Harry, glancing across the table at his daughter.

  Immediately she protested, ‘But you need someone to cook for you, Dad, if Gran’s not here.’

  ‘It would be less worry for me if you were out of Liverpool,’ said Harry firmly. ‘I’ll muddle through.’

  ‘Let’s see what Fred and his wife have to say before you two start arguing,’ said Cissie. ‘What if Megan doesn’t want her mother-in-law staying with her? She might think I’d poke me nose in everything.’

  ‘OK! We’ll leave it for now,’ said Harry, glancing at his daughter. ‘But this subject is not going to go away.’

  Alex whispered to Greta, ‘You and Mrs Hardcastle will be better off in the country. You’ll be safe there.’

  Grumpily, she thought that she could do without him agreeing with her father. Who was to say, with her and Cissie out of the way, that Alex wouldn’t take the opportunity to leave this house to live with his mother, whilst her father would go looking for female company in the shape of Mrs Cox. She muttered, ‘There’s no guarantee! The Jerries have jettisoned bombs on Wales to lighten their load on their return flights before today. Anyhow, you don’t like the country … left that farm as soon as you could.’

  Alex shook his head. ‘That had nothing to do with the country. I enjoyed roaming the fells. Streams gushing down the mountain side and air so fresh and sweet smelling that, when it blew, you felt clean through and through. It was different on the farm. Wherever there’s animals there’s always a stink.’

  ‘You’ve never said anything nice about being up north before,’ said Greta.

  ‘That’s because I wanted to forget about it but that doesn’t mean to say I don’t have good memories of the place. And whatever you say about the Jerries jettisoning their load, it will still be safer in Wales.’

  She sighed. ‘They’ll speak Welsh.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t they?’ said Alex peaceably. ‘But they must speak some English, otherwise they couldn’t make themselves understood in the shops in town. Your uncle Fred will speak English anyway.’

  Mention of Fred reminded her of her other uncle. ‘I wonder where Uncle Jeff is! If he’s stayed at the Seamen’s Home he’s really in the firing line down by the docks.’

  ‘Is he staying there?’ asked Harry, glancing across at Cissie. ‘I would have thought he’d expect to stay here?’

  ‘He didn’t say,’ replied Cissie, and was suddenly tight-lipped. ‘Our Jeff was always a law unto himself, too much like his father. But best make sure there’s a key on the string so he can let himself in if he does come back and we’ve gone to bed. He is me own flesh and blood after all!’

  So that was what Harry did. He had his own ideas about where Jeff might be spending the night but kept it to himself. He was glad to have him out of the way. Nothing was said when Jeff turned up the next day and it was accepted by Greta that he had spent the night at the Seamen’s Home.

  Come Saturday afternoon Jeff arrived at the house, bearing more flowers for Cissie. Rene was washing the Millers’ step. ‘You’re busy,’ he commented.

  ‘I have to catch up on jobs when I can with Mother the way she is,’ she said, squeezing out the floor cloth. ‘Besides it keeps me from brooding. I couldn’t sleep last night … had too much on my mind. I feel terrible about what she did but all I can do is to say how sorry I am.’

  ‘You’re not to blame, luv.’ He rocked on his heels, looking debonair in his navy blue seaman’s coat, with his peaked cap set back on his mop of tawny hair.

  ‘Even so, I feel bad about the years Cissie and Sally believed you and Fred wanted to have nothing to do with them. I wish there was some way I could make amends.’ She wiped the tiles and sh
ifted down the step to do the next patch.

  Instantly Jeff smiled and said, ‘How about you giving me the pleasure of your company tonight? Come to the flicks!’

  He took Rene by surprise. ‘I don’t see how I can leave Mother. What if there’s another raid?’

  ‘I tell you, they’re probably satisfied with the devastation they caused the night I arrived. They made a helluva mess of the South Docks and the Dingle Oil Depot.’

  She laughed mirthlessly. ‘You know nothing about it. We have these lulls and then over they come again. Just before Christmas there was a real bad raid, worse than the one you’re talking about. St George’s Hall was set alight, the Royal Infirmary damaged, a block of houses right next to the hospital completely destroyed, and Goodlass’s paintworks went up like a rocket. The North Docks really got it, too.’ She gave attention to her task, scrubbing energetically at the tiles.

  Silence.

  Then Jeff said, ‘I reckon you’re too good to her. Don’t be so nice and she might appreciate you better.’

  ‘That’ll be the day,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘You’re probably right, girl. Anyway, couldn’t the lodger keep his eye on her?’

  ‘They’re not speaking right now. Anyway what about your wife? You are married if I remember.’

  There was a pause before he said, ‘Dead, girl! She was killed last time the Jerries blitzed Southampton,’ His eyes wore a sad expression and his mouth drooped at the corners.

  She could have kicked herself. ‘I am sorry.’

  He shrugged. ‘These things happen. The sea’s my mistress now. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy a woman’s company. So how about asking your lodger to keep his eye on the old biddy? I think we both could do with cheering up.’

  Rene had no particular desire to go out with Jeff, although if Harry had asked she’d have accepted his invitation like a shot. However, after the way her mother had behaved, she felt she owed him something and, in order to keep things friendly said, ‘OK. You’re on!’