I sincerely hope you will not grow up to see another war but that you will remember this heroic act. There is no kinder work than helping those less fortunate than ourselves.
I trust your injuries are now healed and that you may enjoy a happy, healthy and pleasant life and that you may live in peace.
Kindly accept our many thanks.
Yours most respectfully,
Councillor RS Knowles
Jimmy read the letter at least three times before giving it to his mother. Lizzie read the words through a wall of tears, whilst Jimmy, silent for once, just stood there.
‘Oh, Jimmy,’ Lizzie sobbed, ‘I’m so proud of you, love. I want to run out in the street and show it to everyone.’
‘Oh, it weren’t owt,’ Jimmy mumbled. ‘It were me grandad who caught the baby.’ But Lizzie noticed his face had reddened and his eyes were sparkling with excitement. ‘Can I go and show me grandad?’ he said, grabbing his coat from the hook behind the door.
‘Don’t you think you ought to show it to your father first?’
Jimmy’s excitement seemed to diminish as he mumbled, ‘You won’t let us, though. You won’t take us to see me dad and I want to show somebody now.’
Lizzie smiled. ‘I think the time has come to take you,’ she said. ‘Only one at a time, mind. But something as important as your letter must entitle you to a visit. Only if you’re quiet, though,’ she added.
Jimmy’s face was a picture. ‘I won’t say anything, not even one word,’ he promised. ‘I’ll just show him my letter.’
So the visit was arranged for the following Saturday, with special permission from the hospital matron.
George was gazing into space when Lizzie and Jimmy entered the ward, one of a number of long, low buildings set in the grounds of the mental hospital. Lizzie was glad of Jimmy’s company. She always felt uneasy coming up the long, gloomy drive on her own. George wasn’t sure at first which of his children it was. Then, as they approached his chair, he recognised the impish grin, even though Jimmy was trying to curb his excitement and appear serious, as he thought the occasion warranted.
‘Jimmy! Lizzie, you didn’t tell me I was having an extra visitor.’ For a fleeting moment Lizzie thought George was about to smile, but the tension was visible again almost immediately.
‘Hello, Dad,’ Jimmy said, and then all his good intentions were thrown aside as his normal spontaneousness rose to the fore. ‘I’ve come to show you my letter. Mam said I could if I were quiet. When are yer coming home, Dad? You won’t have to go back in the rotten army, will yer? We don’t like it without a dad. My mam’s been all miserable and our Bessie’s had to do all the work and Grandad shouted at our mam and—’
‘Jimmy!’ Lizzie interrupted. ‘You’ve forgotten your promise. And what about your letter? I’ll bet your father can’t wait to read it.’
George didn’t look impatient to see anything, Jimmy thought, in fact he didn’t look like his dad at all. Nevertheless, he handed over the precious envelope to George.
With trembling hands and Lizzie’s help, George Crossman opened the folded sheet of paper. As he read, his shoulders seemed to lift and his back straighten and then Jimmy was horrified to see a tear roll down his cheek. Then, as though a veil had been lifted, George Crossman smiled and then began to laugh, which reminded Lizzie of the happy days before the war. Jimmy looked uncertainly at Lizzie and then they began to laugh too, and Lizzie took her son in her arms, hugging him close. Then George held out his arm to his son. ‘Oh, Jimmy,’ he managed through the laughter, ‘this is the proudest day of my entire life.’ He placed his good arm round his son, then reached out for his hand. ‘You’ve proved yourself a man,’ he said. ‘So let me shake the hand of a man.’ Then for the first time George realised how fortunate he was that his right arm had escaped injury; then he wondered if perhaps he might regain the use of his left arm, in time. Jimmy’s lip trembled as he gulped down the lump in his throat. George read the letter again. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘are you going to tell me exactly what happened, and what are those injuries mentioned in the letter? You never told me our Jimmy had hurt himself, Lizzie.’
‘Oh, it wasn’t owt, Dad, just burns on me hands, that’s all. That was because the woman wouldn’t move, so I had to put out the flames on her nightgown. And I couldn’t go to the lav on my own. Oh, it was so embarrassing.’
Lizzie and George tried hard to appear serious. ‘I’m sure it must have been,’ George sympathised. ‘And what about the baby?’
‘Oh, she’s lovely. I had to drop her through the window and Grandad caught her and she wasn’t hurt at all. Do yer think he’ll have got a letter as well?’
‘I don’t know, son. I only know you did a very brave thing. Many a man would have panicked.’
‘I didn’t have time. To think about panicking, I mean.’
At that moment Matron came striding towards them, the dark navy uniform covered by an even darker cape. Jimmy didn’t like the look of her and wondered if he had been making too much noise. Cowering at George’s side he looked up at her frowning face and thought he had never seen anyone with a nose quite as big or as red. Or a bosom as big either, come to that. ‘Time’s up!’ she snapped. ‘Half an hour only.’
Lizzie kissed George tenderly and Jimmy didn’t know whether to do the same. He had always thought it was sissy to kiss, but he thought his dad might like it so he went up to George and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, blushing furiously as he did so. ‘Can I come again, Dad?’
‘I hope so, that’s if Matron will allow it.’ George looked questioningly at the lurking woman. Matron hadn’t failed to notice the change in her patient: a remarkable change, in her opinion. In fact for the first time George Crossman was smiling and his hands were relaxed upon the arms of his chair.
‘I’ll tell Sister I’ve given my permission,’ she snapped. ‘Only one child per visit to start with.’
Lizzie thanked her as they set off towards the door of the ward. They had reached the exit when Jimmy remembered. ‘Here,’ he cried, setting off back to George. ‘I’ve forgotten my letter.’ He folded it carefully and placed it safely in the pocket of his Sunday jacket. Then he marched proudly outside to where Lizzie stood, silently thanking God that at last George resembled his old self.
On 6 January Sheffield was given a huge boost in morale when the King and Queen turned up to view the devastation and talk to some of the air-raid victims. ‘We shall get him down,’ one woman told the King, referring to Hitler.
‘Yes,’ said the King, ‘I believe we shall.’
Tom Baraclough was home on leave. Burlington Cottage was waiting for him, welcoming, warm and scented with lavender, amongst a host of other herbs, and the unmistakable smell of Mansion Polish. The furniture shone like ripe chestnuts, and a vase of dried grasses brightened the room. Olive had saved hard and had found some crêpe de Chine in her favourite green and Grandma Stanford had run her up a dress in no time at all. Her glossy dark hair was tied back with a ribbon of the same shade. The dress showed off her legs to perfection and Emily had had doubts as to whether she should have made it quite so short. The legs in question were coloured an attractive tan and Bessie had drawn a line up the back of each. Now all Olive had to do was apply her make-up, a cream she had concocted herself, and dab perfume behind her ears. She thought the time had come to give samples to the girls at work, but was nervous as to what their verdict would be. Anyway, it would be well tested by Tom’s reaction. Grandma Burlington used to say that men’s noses didn’t work half as well as a woman’s, but tonight she would see.
Olive locked the door of the cottage and went towards the cinema. She was to meet Tom at seven. Her heart palpitated as she thought about her decision as to what would happen later.
The perfume must be satisfactory, Olive thought. Tom’s nose had nuzzled her neck all through the film, and being in a double seat she hadn’t failed to notice how aroused he had become. It hadn’t occurred to Olive that she was so desirab
le that Tom would have become aroused even if she’d smelled of fried onions. Not knowing what the film was about, and not being the slightest bit interested, Olive whispered halfway through the performance that she thought they should go. Tom was surprised but eagerly agreed, and, feeling guilty, Olive fumbled along the row, hoping nobody recognised her and guessed what she was up to.
‘I thought we might go to the cottage.’ Olive blushed and was glad of the darkness covering her embarrassment. ‘We could have a drink. There’s a bottle of elderberry wine that Grandma Burlington made.’
Tom grinned in the darkness. ‘Should we?’ he asked. ‘It must be mighty potent after all these years.’
‘Why not?’ Olive clutched his hand more tightly. ‘After all, we might not get the chance again for a long time.’ Knowing she had said the wrong thing she tried to cover up. ‘I mean, you might not get another leave for a few months.’
‘No.’ Tom hadn’t wanted to tell Olive, not tonight anyway, but she was intelligent enough to know. ‘I won’t be home as often when I go back; in fact, I don’t rightly know where I shall be this time next week.’
Olive unlocked the cottage door and drew down the blind at the tiny window, before putting a match to the gas mantle. She broddled the fire until it blazed, reflecting on the polished brasses in the hearth. She didn’t refer to what he had just said. Instead she told him to take off his coat. Tom undid the brass buttons and took off his greatcoat. Olive came to take it but he let it fall on to the couch and pulled her towards him, gathering her close and covering her lips with his own. ‘Oh, Olive,’ he muttered between the kisses, ‘you shouldn’t have brought me here. You’re too much of a temptation.’ She felt him hard against her and a tingling ache began deep within her. He felt her nipples erect through his shirt and he began to undo the tiny pearl buttons down the front of her dress. Impatient, she began to help him and let the dress slide on to the pegged mat.
‘Oh, God.’ Tom’s fingers caressed her breasts through the satin bra and moved down to the French knickers, seeking and finding the moist softness beneath the silky triangle of dark hair. Probing, opening, until she could wait no longer and drew him down on to the brightly patterned rug. She struggled with his webbing belt, and Tom, too impatient to wait, undid the buttons on his trousers, freeing his pulsing erection.
Olive reached out, touching, feeling the warm hardness for the first time. ‘I want you, Tom,’ she whispered. Suddenly Tom drew away.
‘We shouldn’t be doing this, Olive. I love you.’
‘Don’t you want me?’
‘Course I bloody want you, what do you think this is, Scotch mist?’ Olive giggled, but Tom wasn’t amused. ‘Isn’t this proof how much I want you? But I don’t want you regretting it afterwards. You might meet someone else.’
Olive kissed him, pulled him towards her until he could no longer resist her. ‘I want you, Tom, nobody else, and I never will. I won’t regret tonight; I’ve waited too long already. I want you now.’
There was no going back. They were each lost in the other’s body. Olive gasped when he entered her and then the pain turned to pleasure, a more wonderful, powerful pleasure than she could ever have imagined. Afterwards they cried and laughed and fell asleep, still entangled together.
It was almost light when they left the cottage and went home, Olive to sneak in, remembering to stride over the fourth step on the stairs, the creaking one. Love was making her devious, but she didn’t care.
Jenny and Brian were ready, dressed in their best clothes for the visit to the pantomime. Brian had asked for the fourth time how long they were going to be before leaving, and Jennifer had had her ribbon tied at least three times because her fine, silky hair kept slipping out. Alice was at last putting on her hat when the knock came on the door.
‘See who that is,’ Alice said.
Jenny ran to the door. ‘I bet it’s Mary. She said she’d call for me.’
‘Well, who is it?’ Alice called, but there was no reply. She went to the door, curious to see who could be visiting and standing on the step.
Jennifer’s face was pale, and she clung to Alice’s skirt. ‘It’s my mam.’
The woman stood with arms folded across her faded coat. Her hair was hidden by a turban and her thin face daubed with rouge and bright red lipstick. She held a cigarette between her fingers and a crocodile skin handbag over her arm.
‘I’ve come for my kids,’ she said. ‘I’m grateful for yer having ’em, but now I want ’em back.’
Alice gasped. ‘Won’t you come in, Mrs Smith? I’ll make some tea.’
‘Aye, I could do with a cuppa. I’ve come a long way.’ She stared round the room, saw the piano they’d made so much of. Then she looked at her children. ‘Well, you’ve grown, I’ll say that for you.’
Alice wondered how a mother could act so rationally after being parted for so long from her children. Why didn’t she hug them, kiss them? Then she realised with a shock that she would have acted exactly the same in the old days. She began to shake, feeling her heart thudding and the blood pounding in her head. She was filled with panic as she realised the woman had come to take her children away.
Jenny and Brian were sitting as far away from the table as possible, silently watching their mother sip the tea that Auntie Alice had poured into the pretty, rose-patterned cups. Jenny thought of the thick, chipped, brown-stained mugs she would be drinking out of tomorrow if they were taken back to London.
‘… so yer see, I thought if Sheffield is being bombed they might as well be back wiv me. After all, there’s no place like yer own home, is there?’ Doris Smith’s eyes were everywhere. ‘Must say it’s a nice place you’ve got, though. ’Fraid my house isn’t as posh as yours.’
Alice’s hand trembled as she picked up her cup and the tea spilled into the saucer. She wished Joe was here to make the conversation she found herself incapable of. ‘We’re quite safe here,’ she managed. ‘No problem at all here in Cottenly.’
‘We haven’t seen any bombs at all,’ Brian said, ‘not even one.’
‘That’s good,’ his mother said. ‘But yer see I miss yer both. Now yer dad’s gone overseas I want yer at home with me.’
‘But they’re so happy here,’ Alice burst out.
‘Aye, yes, but that’s the trouble, yer see. They’re too happy. I could tell from the letters. I said to my friend, I said that woman is taking over my kids, I said. They’ll not want to come home at all if they stay any longer. Her wiv the posh pianner lessons and fancy house. I’m their muvver, I said to my friend. So if you’ll just pack up their fings we’ll be on our way. Don’t fink I’m not grateful cos I am, but I fought my kids have been away long enough.’
Doris Smith stood up and Alice thought her stomach was about to turn a somersault. ‘Please wait, at least until my husband comes home.’
‘I want to see Uncle Joe.’ Jenny began to cry and ran to cling on to Alice’s dress.
‘Sorry, we’ve waited long enough. Uncle Frank’ll be leaving us. It was good of him to bring me all this way in his car.’
‘We haven’t got an Uncle Frank,’ Brian muttered.
Doris Smith pursed her lips in annoyance. ‘Yes you have,’ she said. ‘And you should be grateful for the lift. Especially wiv petrol so scarce.’
‘I don’t want a lift. I want to stay here.’ Jenny was sobbing uncontrollably by this time. ‘I want Uncle Joe and Joseph.’
Doris Smith grabbed hold of Brian’s hand and glared at Alice. ‘Are yer going to get their belongings or not?’ she asked. Alice tore away from Jennifer’s hold and made for the stairs. Jenny began to scream.
‘I don’t want to go home if my dad isn’t there. Who’ll look after us when you go out? Auntie Alice never leaves us on our own.’
Alice could hear the exchange as she found the battered case and opened the closet where Jennifer’s little dresses hung on satin-covered hangers. She opened drawers and almost collapsed as she took out the lovingly ironed pants and v
ests and socks. Then she did the same with Brian’s things. She found a holdall and filled it with toys, books, models and soft toys accumulated over the weeks. Oh, God! Why wasn’t Joe here? Then she realised Joe could do nothing. The woman was simply reclaiming her children. She brought the bags downstairs and collected the warm, new coats from behind the door. She forced Jennifer’s reluctant arms into the sleeves and buttoned the coat, her eyes unseeing and swimming with tears. Don’t cry, you mustn’t cry, she told herself. Don’t upset them any more than they are now. Then they were being pushed out of the room and into the cold, dark night.
‘What about the pantomime? Mary’ll be coming soon.’ Jennifer’s eyes were appealing to Alice to be rescued. Brian carried the case, dragging it along behind him. He never once looked back. He knew if he did, his little heart would break in two.
The car doors slammed behind them and they were gone.
As Emily hurried down St George’s Road she wondered what was happening to her world. There was Harry giving up his perfectly useful job and going off to fight in God knows where, George coming home with all the fight knocked out of him and Jimmy still scarred from his burns. Now, on top of it all, Joe had sent a message with Joseph to say that Alice was ill. She hoped it might be that Alice was pregnant at last. They had all prayed that the operation would help but the prayers didn’t seem to have done any good. Oh, well, Alice should be thankful for a strong, healthy son like Joseph. Many a woman would be grateful for even one child.
Alice was on the bed staring at the ceiling. Joseph had explained what had happened. ‘She just turned up and took them,’ he had said. Emily had expected something like this. She had warned Alice not to become too involved, but Alice hadn’t seemed to realise the little ones were only here temporarily. It was all due to Alice’s upbringing, and Emily’s heart was heavy as she acknowledged the part she had played in the past. Oh, everyone thought Alice had done well out of being the old lady’s companion, what with all the money in the bank. Now she had a fine house and a loving, attentive husband. Only Emily seemed to understand that nothing could compensate for a lost childhood, a childhood Alice was trying to make up for now through other children. She had had Joseph for a while, but Joseph was an independent lad, just like his father, not the type to be mollycoddled. Besides, Alice had been newly wed when Joseph came along; she had had Joe on whom to lavish the affection she had been unable to give or receive whilst living with Grandmother Stanford. Now that the evacuees had gone Alice was bereft. If Emily had been the type of woman to curse and swear now was the time she would have let fly, at herself for agreeing to Isaac’s suggestion and letting Alice go to the miserable old woman who had scarred her so deeply. Emily sat on the bed beside her eldest daughter, who was still beautiful despite the dark smudges beneath her eyes, and the taut tenseness of her mouth.
The Stanford Lasses Page 27
