by Melvyn Bragg
‘You mean I’ve blown it up.’
‘These things pass,’ he said doggedly.
‘Maybe they don’t.’ Ellen was striking in the dark.
‘We disagree. As on much else.’ He could not conceal the bitterness. Her coldness had offended him and wounded him.
Ellen suppressed her instinct to fight back. Then, quickly, ‘Leonard says they want a lot less for the house now. For moving in -twenty-five pounds, he says it could go for twenty, and the Council would consider contributing to basic improvements.’
‘The same Council that wouldn’t lend the Market Hall trestle tables to us for the kids’ teas at the Carnival? The same Council that won’t let ex-servicemen keep poultry on the allotments? That Council?’
‘They’ll have Councils in Australia.’
Sam smiled. The first with Ellen for a long time. After a second or two, it drew out a corresponding smile in Ellen.
‘I’m sure they will,’ he said.
‘So?’
The sudden softness of tone, the smile, the pleading look in her eyes almost disarmed him.
‘Can’t you see that I have to get out of this place? I don’t dislike it. I even like it. And the people here. But I’m set on it now, Ellen. And you’ll follow, you’ll see, when I’m set up.’
‘Will I?’
Sam’s face turned away as if it had been slapped.
‘At some time. Maybe you can’t go now. But, at some time.’
Ellen pressed her lips tightly together. Her words were measured and all the more final for being spoken slowly. ‘I can’t promise, Sam. Not and tell the truth.’ She was not going to cry. Besides, it would be unfair. ‘If I can’t leave now, why should I be able to leave in six months? Or a year?’ Sam was about to reply but he stopped when he saw she wanted to struggle through. ‘You say you have to go, Sam. I don’t fully understand why but I do understand you mean it. But I mean it as well.’ She pressed her lips together even harder, taking a pause, concentrating with all her might. She swallowed and went on. ‘It’s so far away. I’ll never be able to get back. And I like it here. I know where I am. Don’t you see? It isn’t much to say when you’re offering to take us all to the other side of the world. I don’t like saying it. Sometimes I think I should just pull myself together and I’ve tried, Sam. You might not believe it but I’ve tried time and again, in my head, I’ve thought about it ‘til I’m dizzy with it.’
‘So maybe you, and Joe, might not come at all?’
Sam looked so hurt that Ellen in her turn looked away.
‘I have to tell you the truth,’ she said.
Sam was winded. He had to wait a while. ‘So if I go I won’t see you again unless I come back? It could come to that?’
Ellen could not reply. Sam drew a deep breath.
‘I don’t think it will come to that,’ he said, ‘once I’ve settled.’
‘But I’m settled here.’
‘You make your way faster as a single man. Alex has all the gen.’
Ellen simply shook her head.
For a few minutes they sat in silence, bound together in unhappiness.
‘It’s late,’ Sam announced, abruptly. ‘Joe should be back by now. I’ll go and bring him in.’
The street lights were on, glowing weakly, each with its small private pool of light.
Water Street was, unusually, empty. Sam went towards the Waste. He felt shaky. He could not fully absorb what Ellen had said to him, even though the possibility had been haunting him. He stopped under a light and took out his cigarettes. His hands were not steady. He could scarcely credit it. Shaking over a talk. He lit up and looked up and down the cold street.
There was no real need to fuss about Joe now. He had found his feet. He was a little warrior now, smaller than the gang Speed had taken him into but, for all that, one of them. Sam was proud of him.
He walked along to the Waste and spotted Joe and two others -one of them had to be Speed – alongside the wash-houses. One of them saw him and all three dodged smartly behind the building. Sam decided to play it along.
‘Joe,’ he called out. ‘Joe – time’s up.’
He could just hear a rustling, a faint sound of giggle.
‘Joe!’ He put more urgency into his voice. ‘Time’s up, Joe!’
Clumpingly, so that they could not fail to hear him, he went down the cobbled path towards the wash-houses. When he came to the corner he stopped and for a third time called out.
‘Joe!’ Sharper now. ‘Bed-time, Joe!’
No sound. He turned the corner. No sight of them.
He smiled to himself.
He took three heavy steps forward, stopped, turned and lightly went around the end of the wash-houses to catch them on the other side. No one.
This time he padded, just as quietly as he could, along the short length of the building and got to the other end. No. Around that. No. And no sound.
His smile broadened.
His eyes were used to the dark now. He leaned against the wall and slowly scanned the rump of Waste before him. He saw no unusual shadows, no movement. They could not have broken out into the big stretch of Waste behind without his hearing something: not three small boys.
They were good, he thought, pleased at their guile.
A brick jutting from the building pressed into the small of his back. That was where they were. He picked up a few tiny pebbles and lobbed them lightly onto the roof. The pebbles scattered like hail and he heard a little gulp of breath and ssshhh.
He cleared his throat, noisily. With a big sigh he began to clamber up the wall, taking every opportunity to make a sound. When he heaved himself over the edge, the boys exploded into giggles and activity and raced for the far end. Sam dropped to the ground and was round just in time to catch Joe.
‘Got you!’
He swept him up. Joe struggled and kicked a little, but that was natural, Sam thought, and he set him down.
Speed had stood his ground. The other boy was haring back up into Water Street.
As they walked back, Speed said, ‘So you’re off to this Australia tomorrow then, Mr Richardson?’
‘That’s right.’
‘They’ve told us about it at school. Father O’Brien’s going out there on a mission after Christmas. So they’ve told us all about it.’
‘And what do you make of it, Speed?’
‘Dead good. I wish I could go.’
‘Maybe you will, one day.’
‘Why isn’t Joe going?’
‘I don’t want to.’ Joe’s voice was rough, countering the amiability of the other two.
‘He’s clueless,’ said Speed.
‘I want to stay here with Mammy.’
Sam looked down and saw the determined set of his son’s face.
‘So there you are, Speed. A man who knows his own mind.’
‘You could take me,’ said Speed.
‘Your mother wouldn’t let me. Now.’ They were beside Speed’s house. ‘Away you go,’ he said to Joe, and when the boy had gone he squatted down to be nearer the same height as Speed. ‘I’ve no change on me,’ he said, ‘but come round in the morning, after ‘I’ve been up street, and I’ll have something for you. But listen. Will you remember what I say?’
They were between two of the street lights and the boy’s sharp thin face, squint-eyed, suspicious, was a little patch of white in the gloom. He nodded.
‘Your mother, Speed, listen, is one of the best. You look after her. You’ll be lucky if you find anybody as good as her. Okay?’ Speed nodded. Sam was not sure that he had fully understood but at least it had been said. ‘And. Your Daddy was a hero. He got shot at and he had to kill some people and he saw some terrible things. A lot of soldiers get badly after that. Your Daddy isn’t the only one. He’ll get better, in time. But remember, Speed, he was a hero, your Daddy, and I know, because I was there. Okay? Remember that as well.’
Once more Speed nodded, this time more gravely.
Sam stood up.
‘About nine o’clock then.’
Sam went to the end of Water Street and lit up. He leaned against the wall of the pub and looked up and down the street. His last night. A subdued muttering came from the pub behind him and the windows of the Vaults and the Blue Bell glowed yellow and enticing. When someone went in or came out, there was a gust of sociability.
Sam remembered the cycling club which had met in the big yard behind the Blue Bell, the yard used by the farmers to wash down and groom the horses for the sales. The football team had used the King’s Arms’ field up the street and they had been allowed the back bar as a changing room. The library was down Station Road next to the fire station and Mr Carrick had suggested the books to read. Hoops in the gutter, striking sparks with the iron caulkers on clogs, running errands, playing, playing and talking, the street the best free room outside the house.
A hundred and one, a thousand and one, small particular memories, a bag of toffees split open over there outside Noel Carrick’s and some of the bigger boys grabbing them. A crush of memories. Most of all of Ellen. The girl across the street, the walk she had! Looking round everywhere, everyone saying hello to Ellen, everyone always did, and her knowing the names, and the relations, and the lives, but no bad word. Here she came just before she agreed to become engaged, the blue dress, the white buttons, the laughing all of them did, and here when she knew she was pregnant but did not like that word – ‘expecting’ – that was Ellen.
The memories shifted and tumbled in a kaleidoscope but, as he turned for home, the final prospect was of a bleak, raw street, never changing, a hard winter setting in, more privation promised, a place to be trapped in, as he had thought at first sight, when he had seen it full that first morning of his return.
He let drop the cigarette and heeled it into the pavement.
It was time to go.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Ellen got out of bed just after dawn. Sam was still fast asleep. He had slept more soundly than she could remember. She thought to lie against him but shied away. She had been awake most of the night, as if waiting for him to make a move. But he had slept deeply, stirring only slightly, nothing of the old nightmares.
She had to do something to beat down the sadness. It was more like a sickness, threatening to choke her as she counted what were now no more than a few hours.
Upstairs, Joe dangled out of his bed but shifted not a degree out of his sleep when Ellen put him back in the centre of the narrow mattress and tucked him in.
She went into the corner where Sam’s kitbag stood, packed. The suitcase was downstairs. She slid open the bottom drawer in the chest, reached down and found what she was looking for. It was the photo taken by Mr Kneale of the three of them on the steps of the house on Market Hill, where Sam had kissed her in public and thrown Joe high in the air that first morning back. Ellen had had it framed.
It would not do, though, to put it in the kitbag unprotected. Also in the drawer were the lengths of silk he had brought her. What could she use them for? Too fine for curtain material or cushion covers. Too flimsy and gaudy for a table. Certainly not for a dress – too exotic. She took one out, unfolded it. The spray of rich colour brought her a moment of wistful happiness. She opened another, then a third – they were so beautiful. These colours, they were so soft and loving on the skin, these silks. What had prompted Sam to buy them for her? Did he think she was like this – these colours, these silks? As she knelt on the floor, the silks pressed to her face, she realised that maybe this was what Sam wanted their life to be. They were a present, yes, but they were also a hope – that life need not be sullen, dull, raw, hard, but could be exotic and light, full of sun and a little magic.
For a while, Ellen rocked gently in her son’s room, the silks held to her face. Thoughts of Sam drowned her sadness but then those thoughts themselves made her more sad.
She chose the brightest of the silks and wrapped the framed photograph inside it and pushed it down into the middle of the kitbag. Then she went downstairs, built up the fire and waited.
Suddenly everything accelerated. Speed came round well before nine. They went down to Grace’s house for the last time and Leonard offered Sam a tot of rum and took one himself and Grace let it pass. It would not happen again. Mr Kneale appeared and before Sam could speak he excused him for not responding about the book. He understood that Sam had been busy but was certain that there would be plenty of time to read it on the boat and a letter would be much appreciated. Meanwhile he was bothered by the discovery that the Wigton Welcome Home Fund for ‘Wigton Men and Women who enlisted in the town and served during hostilities’ would be disbursed some weeks after Sam’s departure. Rumour had it, he said, that it could come to five pounds a head and so he would see what he could do and send it on. And comments of the ordinary soldier would be much appreciated.
Sadie came in curlers and the pink pom-pom-less slippers, arms folded against the cold morning, threatening a little weep until she saw Ellen’s fierce expression and checked herself. She told Sam again that the box he had given her was the most beautiful thing she had ever had and nobody would get their hands on it while she was alive. ‘There’s only berried holly this year,’ she offered, finally, and then turned away when she caught Sam’s eyes.
They went back to pick up the luggage and two or three people on the street said cheerio, good luck, drop us a postcard, send us some of that weather.
Bella’s cup overflowed because she was given Blackie to look after until Joe and Ellen’s return. Too soon – Ellen wanted to slow it all down, slow it down – too soon the three of them were on the bus, upstairs, looking over the bare hedges and into the wintry fields, frost on the windows. Ellen looked frightened when Sam asked for the tickets. One and a half returns, one single.
Alex was waiting for them at Carlisle Station. They were early. The platform was filling up. Joe surrendered to the steam and the whistles, the green flag, the men on the line with big hammers hitting the wheels, the sound ringing up to the high grimy glass roof of the big handsome station, a goods train with over forty wagons – Joe counted – going through on the middle track and the clouds of steam hissing, swirling way up in the air in all shades of white and grey, instant clouds, the huge engines taking his breath away.
But even that excitement cooled when his Mammy and Daddy moved away from the rest, found a place apart and stood, unhappy, waiting. Joe looked up at them and the flurry of pleasure he had experienced from the steam and the engines blew away and their coldness settled on him.
His Mammy asked his Daddy if he had everything. The flask of tea. The sandwiches. He said yes. He said he would try to drop a line from Southampton. She said that would be nice. Joe stood close to them and for the first time felt the knowledge that his Daddy was really going away, going a long way away and for a long time. He felt cold and whimpered and snuggled against his mother, but she was not like she usually was and when he pushed against her, she resisted and took little notice.
From a respectful distance Alex watched them closely, his cigarette daintily held, the floppy hair thrown back out of his eyes now and then, the pose still rather foppish despite the ungainly greatcoat. He watched them closely without fear of being observed in return. Ellen and Sam were like sleepwalkers.
When the train was announced, Ellen felt the dark panic close in on her and she was giddy but held herself together. Sam looked around, thoughtfully, as if he had all the time in the world. Ellen willed it to be delayed outside the station, to break down, not to stop, but in it came, from Glasgow. The brute engine slowing its pistons as it curved into the station and very slowly, hissing white steam, came to a stop.
Sam and Ellen looked at each other, desperate.
‘Well,’ she said, brushing the lapel of his coat with her wool-gloved hand, you take care now.’
‘And you.’ The lump in his throat choked any other words.
‘I’ll miss you,’ Ellen said, looking down and forcing herself to be s
teady and not let go.
‘Me too.’ It was too difficult to say more.
Almost without noticing, they moved towards the train. Alex walked some yards ahead of them, down the platform to the third class carriages. The train was only half full. Porters shouted ‘Mind your backs!’ and ‘This way, clear the way!’ The words turned into a blur of sound for Ellen.
Alex had found an empty carriage, almost at the back of the train, next to the guard’s van where they were loading up parcels.
‘Cheerio then, Ellen,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll look after him.’
Then he was in the train.
Sam stood looking at Ellen. How could he say all that was on his mind in such a place at such a time? How could he tell her that it was she alone who had seen him through everything, not just the war: she was the finest part of his life but there was this other, this hardening of his mind. Surely he had to tell her.
Ellen knew she had been weak. She was powerless to overcome it. But he was going. She screwed up her eyes as if that would help her understand it. In a minute or two he would be drawn away from her again. She looked at him and at last their glances met. How could this be happening?
A whistle blew. Doors began to slam. Sam looked down and picked up Joe, held him at arm’s length.
‘Now you look after Mammy, won’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Give Daddy a kiss.’ said Ellen.
Puzzled and a little frightened, Joe kissed Sam’s cheek. He put the boy down and he and Ellen were in each other’s arms. Locked, holding hard. Just holding.
‘Sorry, lad.’ The guard was genuinely apologetic. ‘Sorry, missis.’
Obediently, they parted.
He got into the train.
Ellen’s lips could get no tighter and the tears came to her eyes but she would not let them fall. Joe stood small beside her, bewildered, close to uncomprehending tears.
The green flag. The whistle.
A film of terror went across Ellen’s face as, very very slowly, the long train began to pull out.
Sam stood at the window, his mind frozen. He tried to smile but failed.
