The Stanford Lasses

by Glenice Crossland

  Ruth laughed. ‘He would have to be, taking on my lot. But you’re right, he’s a marvellous dad to them all.’

  ‘No more than you all deserve. He’s been a different man since he married you.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Ruth scowled at the white piece of paper. ‘I’m not ill. I don’t need medicine.’

  ‘Vitamins, that’s all.’

  ‘But I never had vitamins with the others, and I wasn’t eating half as well as I am now.’

  ‘No, but then you didn’t come to me with the others.’

  ‘I couldn’t afford to when I was married to Walter.’

  ‘But now you can. So you’ll take the vitamins and you’ll attend the clinic and I’ll deliver you of a fine, healthy child. Let’s see, round about midsummer’s day I should think.’

  Ruth thanked him and set off home, dubiously carrying the vitamin pills. Hubert Hancock watched her leave the main road and felt the familiar stirring in his groin. He watched the way her hips swayed as she hurried towards the edge of the wood. She had filled out since he last saw her, and her calves were more shapely. If it hadn’t been for that Stedman woman being a friend of his wife he could have had her. That exquisite body could have been his. He couldn’t understand how he had ever married a woman with such common friends. Hubert Hancock, member of the golf club and the bowling club, in fact almost every club in the district. Hubert Hancock, county councillor, in line for mayor if he made the appropriate donations and played his cards right. Hubert Hancock married to a woman who fraternised with the residents of Wire Mill Place. He spat on the pavement and turned to make his way home, his thoughts on Ruth Wray, as he still thought of her, and on the common farmer she had married. He was still picturing the pair of them together as he sat down to his dinner of soggy cabbage and dried up shepherd’s pie. He took one mouthful and threw the rest, plate and all, into the fireplace. Sophie found the mess when she came home from her weekly visit to Wire Mill Place. Winnie and she were the best of friends these days. She cleared up the mess and wondered how much longer she could bear to live in the same house as that fat, repulsive pig.

  The Thursday night’s raid over Sheffield was followed by another on the Sunday. This time the east end bore the brunt of the bombing and though there were fewer fires on the whole, at least half a dozen air-raid wardens were killed when a parachute mine fell close to a warden’s hut. More than a dozen steel works were damaged in the Sunday raid, but considering how many armament works were concentrated in the east end, damage to them was surprisingly light.

  The steel works were not as seriously damaged as initially thought and production was soon back to normal. The city trams were a different matter, with tracks and overhead wiring needing to be replaced, and it was weeks before normal service would be resumed. However, any bus which could possibly run was immediately back in service and others were sent from as far afield as Hull, Leeds and even Newcastle, all to make up for the missing tram service. The residents of Cottenly fortunately escaped the attack but in the city itself nearly forty thousand people were left homeless.

  Harry Crossman was in the thick of it all in the aftermath. As he pointed out to Grandad Stanford, organising repairs to the gas supplies was one of the main priorities and as water had got into the gas mains they all had to be pumped clear. In some places sewage and rubble had also to be cleared out of the pipes, and after that the pipes of course needed to be sterilised. Harry said all this was made more complicated by the telephone network’s being out of order. Nevertheless, all repairs to the water supply were completed by the end of December. Harry seemed to thrive on the long hours he was required to work, but found time to call in and congratulate Jimmy the day after the young hero was injured. He found him propped up in bed looking rather pale, but although he was obviously in pain from the burns on his hands he was looking quite pleased with himself.

  Harry perched himself on the bed. ‘Well, what does it feel like being a lifesaver, then?’ he asked, grinning at his brother.

  Jimmy winced with pain. ‘I did, didn’t I? Save their lives, I mean.’ He couldn’t quite believe what he’d done yet. ‘The man brought the baby to see me. She’s lovely, and not a scratch on her either. He was at work on nights – the baby’s dad, I mean. And the woman, she’s going to be all right as well. He says she’s got burns on her legs, and smoke on her chest and frizzled up hair and no eyebrows left, but she’s OK.’

  Harry couldn’t help smiling. ‘She doesn’t sound OK to me, but if you say so.’

  ‘The man said so. He said the baby would have died if I hadn’t dropped her out and got her away from the smoke. He said the woman was too shocked to move. He said they’d both have died if it hadn’t been for me.’

  ‘No doubt they would. Anyway, we’re all proud to have a hero in the family.’

  Jimmy grinned. ‘Really? Proud of me?’

  ‘Yes you. Who else?’

  Jimmy settled comfortably against the pillows. ‘And I shan’t have to go back to school, shall I?’

  ‘Not until your hands are better. Well, there wouldn’t be much point, would there? It’ll be after Christmas I should think.’

  ‘Will Dad be home by then? Do you think he’ll be proud of me as well?’

  Harry frowned. ‘Well, I don’t know if he’ll be home in time for Christmas, but he should be at the hospital.’ He noticed Jimmy’s face cloud over. ‘He’ll certainly be proud of you, though. Just like we all are. In fact I shouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t get better much quicker when he hears the news.’ Jimmy’s face lit up. ‘Look, I’ll have to go now. I’ll pop in again.’

  ‘I can come home tomorrow, the nurse said so.’

  ‘Well, that’s OK then. See you tomorrow.’

  Jimmy couldn’t believe how different his mother looked when she too visited him the day after the fire. Not only was her hair looking pretty but she was wearing lipstick.

  Working at the canteen had made a new woman of Lizzie. The women were a grand lot and the work was satisfying, even though she couldn’t help wondering what would happen when the school broke up for the holiday. The children, especially little Mary and Ernest Edward, were too small to be left with Bessie for long. However, Emily was so pleased at Lizzie’s recovery from her bout of depression that she had volunteered to mind them for as long as was needed, but now there was the added difficulty of Jimmy’s injuries. Grandma Crossman didn’t see any problem and said Jimmy could stay with them for a while. Lizzie, however, back to her normal, motherly self, knew she would suffer guilt at the neglect of her son. She grinned widely as she approached the bed and Jimmy’s face coloured deeply as she kissed him. He glanced round, hoping nobody had noticed, but was really quite pleased. He couldn’t remember anyone kissing him before, except Jennifer Smith, the evacuee. She was forever following him around and Brian said she was telling everyone she was going to marry him when she grew up. Jimmy said she had another think coming, he would never marry anybody, he would be too busy supplying music for special occasions.

  Lizzie gave her son a bar of chocolate. It had been hidden on top of the wardrobe in readiness for Christmas, but she considered this to be a far more important occasion. ‘Here you are, son. Don’t eat it all at once or you’ll make yourself sick, and then they’ll never let you come home.’

  ‘Cor! Mam, where did you get this?’

  ‘Ask no questions and get no lies. Just one thing, don’t tell the others. It’s a kind of a reward for being so brave.’ Jimmy beamed. He had never been singled out before. Lizzie looked concerned at the thick dressings on her son’s hands. ‘Do they pain you a lot, love?’

  Jimmy shrugged. ‘I suppose so, but I’m not bothered.’ It was worth it not to have to go to school. ‘Besides, I saved a baby’s life, and the woman’s too, the ambulance man said. He said she was nearly not breathing, I heard him. But the baby didn’t get hurt at all, thanks to Grandad Crossman. It was him who caught her.’

  ‘But it was you who saved them and I
’m so proud of you I could cry. Wait till your father hears about it.’

  Jimmy grinned and tried to unwrap the bar of Bournville. ‘Bloody ’ell,’ he said, ‘I can’t even open my own chocolate. And what do you think? I had to ask the nurse if she’d help me to pee. I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.’

  Lizzie frowned. ‘We’ll have less of the language. Just because you’re a hero it doesn’t give you the right to swear.’ But Jimmy noticed she was trying not to smile. She broke off two squares of chocolate and popped them into his mouth, the smile getting the better of her.

  ‘Well, I’m glad I’m not a nurse if that’s the sort of thing they have to do.’

  ‘What?’

  She grinned. ‘Having to help people to wee.’ She wondered how Jimmy would cope once he got home.

  Jimmy blushed. ‘It’s all right you laughing, but what about when I need to go to the lav properly? Who’s going to wipe my bottom?’

  Lizzie looked at her son’s crestfallen face and it was just too much for her. She burst into laughter. Jimmy’s face slipped and suddenly they were both laughing so much the tears were rolling down Jimmy’s face. ‘Oh, love!’ Lizzie managed. ‘I don’t know. Just one thing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just, I hope you don’t have prunes for dinner or somebody’ll be in for a rough task.’ She moved closer to her son and took him in her arms, hugging him tight. And Jimmy Crossman, for the first time in his life, felt loved, important and special.

  Chapter Ten

  The toys were piled up in the clothes closet at Alice’s. Joe said to be careful not to spoil Brian and Jennifer. He also said she must remember they were someone else’s children and not theirs. He worried at times about how Alice would cope when the war was over and the pair returned to London, but Alice seemed to ignore the fact that it would ever happen, especially as the children’s mother didn’t seem interested enough to even bother writing.

  Joe had made a doll’s house for Jennifer and a garage for Brian. A set of furniture for each of the four rooms had been added to the wooden house, which had been covered in red brick effect paper. A pair of petrol pumps and a set of toy cars had completed the garage. There were also fur gloves, a doll, and a white leather hymn and prayer book for the little girl, and a fort, jigsaw and set of soldiers for Brian. Joseph was still saving for a motor bike – much to Alice’s consternation – and was hoping for money. Nevertheless, Alice had bought books, clothes and various other surprises for her son, aiming to make this one of the best Christmases ever. Joe was somewhat relieved that for the moment at least Alice’s inability to produce another child was apparently forgotten. He was, however, concerned that Mrs Smith had not yet sent as much as a Christmas card for her children.

  It was Christmas Eve when George arrived at the Wharncliffe. He seemed only half the man who had gone away and Lizzie had all on not to break down at the sight of his thin, haunted face and emaciated body. Instead she fixed a smile on her face and went towards the dear man, intending to throw her arms round him. She saw George stiffen and cringe as she came closer, and then he began to tremble. His whole body shook as though he was having a fit. Lizzie backed away in horror and called for a nurse.

  ‘Shell shock,’ the uniformed young woman whispered. ‘Most of the new arrivals are suffering in the same way, worse in a way than the amputees. Still, time is on their side.’

  Lizzie perched on the bed by the side of George’s chair, not knowing what to say. ‘The kids wanted to come,’ she attempted, ‘but I didn’t know if you could put up with their chatter just yet. Besides, I sort of wanted you to myself, after all this time.’ She touched his trembling hand gently. ‘Oh, George, I’ve missed you so much,’ she whispered.

  He turned his head away and Lizzie saw a tear land on the arm of the chair, then another, as George began to sob. His whole body shook, but at least the tremor had ceased. The pretty little nurse came back from the desk in the middle of the room, smiling at Lizzie. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘That’s what he needed, a good cry.’ Lizzie tried to smile back but her throat was completely blocked and tears forced themselves out of her eyes and nose, and then she at last placed her arms round her husband and they cried together, until Lizzie’s hair was limp and wet and for the first time since his arrival back in England George spoke.

  ‘You’re wet, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  It was Isaac who accompanied Harry to the station. Lizzie, who was already there, had managed time off from the canteen to see her son on to the train. Her heart felt like clay but she knew she mustn’t cry.

  ‘Here, love,’ she said, in a voice sounding strange and false, ‘I’ve made you a cake. Ginger, your favourite.’

  ‘Oh, Mam.’ Harry took the brown paper parcel and with his other hand pulled Lizzie towards him, nestling her head into his overcoat. He found it difficult to swallow for the lump in his throat. ‘Take care of Dad, won’t you, and the kids.’

  ‘I will. Your dad’s much better already.’

  ‘Yes.’ They both knew there was very little improvement in George’s condition. The train was already filling and doors were being slammed. ‘I must get aboard,’ Harry said. He heaved his bag up into the carriage and slid down the window so that he could lean out.

  ‘Take care,’ Lizzie called. ‘Come home safe.’ Isaac shook his grandson’s hand, clinging hold as the train set off with a chug. The whistle cut off his goodbye. Not that words were necessary: the love and respect the two men held for each other would carry them through the days ahead until Harry was back home again with his family. They waved until the train rounded the curve and only the spiral of smoke could be seen. Then Lizzie and her father made their way to the station exit amongst other families heavy-hearted at the departure of sons, fathers and husbands leaving Sheffield to fight for their country.

  ‘Please, God,’ Lizzie prayed, ‘keep my boy safe.’ Isaac knew that not even prayer would give protection against the ravages of war. He had been there himself, and would willingly have taken the place of his grandson this time if it had been possible. All the same there was no prouder man in Sheffield, indeed the whole of Britain, than Isaac Stanford.

  ‘It was the bestest Christmas I ever had,’ Jennifer told Alice as she arranged furniture in the doll’s house.

  ‘I’m glad.’ Alice smiled. She sharpened a pencil in readiness to begin on the accounts book for the collections in connection with the war effort.

  ‘We never had a Christmas tree in London,’ Brian remarked.

  ‘And no holly eiver,’ Jennifer added.

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose there were any holly trees in the East End,’ Alice said. ‘I expect that was why.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. Our mam never bovered wiv Christmas.’

  ‘But our dad always bought us a present.’ Brian tried to be fair.

  ‘But Father Christmas never came to our house, not ever.’

  Alice decided to change the subject. ‘Would you like to go to the pantomime?’

  ‘What’s a pantomime?’

  ‘It’s a kind of play, based on a fairy story. This year it’s Cinderella.’

  ‘Is it at the chapel?’ Brian asked. Most of Auntie Alice’s activities were in the chapel.

  ‘Yes,’ Alice answered, ‘but it’s nothing to do with Sunday school. It’s only taking place in the chapel hall. All the money will go towards the war effort fund.’ She smiled as she totted up the column of figures. The amount was increasing steadily week by week.

  ‘Will Uncle Joe be going to the pantomime?’ Jennifer enquired.

  ‘I expect so. Why?’

  ‘Because our mam never wanted our dad to go anywhere wiv us.’

  ‘That was because our mam never took us anywhere anyway.’

  Poor little mites. Alice couldn’t bear the thought of them going back to parents who didn’t seem to care about them at all. She wondered if the lack of love could be classed as cruelty. Perhaps if she reported the Smiths she would be
allowed to keep the children, adopt them eventually. But even as the thought entered her head she knew the idea was ridiculous. All she could do was make them happy and enjoy them whilst she had the chance. ‘Right, then, let’s have the toys put away, then it’s time for bed. I’ll put the milk on for the cocoa.’

  ‘Can we have biscuits as well?’

  ‘And a story?’

  ‘Depends on how long it takes to tidy up.’ Alice was rapidly learning the subtle art of bribery. By the time cocoa was made the toys were cleared away and the kids upstairs undressing. This was the time Alice enjoyed best of all. The bedtime story, the kisses and cuddles and the two ginger heads against the whiteness of the pillows. Sometimes she worried about whether it was Joseph who had not cared about cuddling, or she who had been restrained in her showing him affection. Somehow he had seemed more independent than these two little ones. She consoled herself by telling herself that the reason was that Joseph had been sure of her love, whereas the evacuees didn’t seem to have had any. She supervised the saying of prayers, adding a silent one of her own that God would let them stay. Alice had long since ceased to pray for another child of her own. The evacuees were the next best thing.

  Jimmy Crossman received a letter, an official-looking one with a picture of the town hall on the envelope, and on the letter itself. It was beautifully written in green ink. Jimmy had never had a letter before, except for school reports, and they weren’t actually his but were addressed to his father or mother. This was addressed to Master James Crossman. He flattened it out on the table, and read:

  Dear Master James Crossman, I reported your brave deed at our meeting the other night. I am writing on behalf of the Committee to thank you for your successful effort in rescuing a woman and baby from a blazing house. I know it must have given you enormous pleasure to perform this heroic deed.

  It is also heartening to know that your parents encourage you to be a kind and courageous citizen.