Above the Bright Blue Sky

by Margaret Thornton

  When the train arrived, only fifteen minutes late, from its starting point much further south, it was crowded – with servicemen from all three of the armed forces and civilians on weekend trips – but not so crowded that they were obliged to stand. Lily feared at first that this might be so, but a good-natured RAF recruit – who looked no more than sixteen – stood to let her have his seat, and then nudged his pal, who did the same for Edith. The two lads helped her to fold up the pushchair, leaving it in the corridor with the piles of kit-bags and suitcases, and the rest of the people in the compartment budged up to make room for the two women and children. Jimmy sat on Lily’s knee and Joanie knelt by the window, eagerly watching the passing scenery.

  They left behind the smoky chimneys of the myriad woollen mills and of the factories producing chemicals, furniture and industrial machinery. Streams of water pouring from the surrounding hillsides down rocky gills and cloughs had long been used to bring power to the factories and textile mills. On the outskirts of the city the wheels and slag heaps of collieries were to be seen; but farmlands, too, crept close to the city boundaries, and soon they were out in the open country. This was the rich farming land of the Vale of York, in a wide valley of rolling fields. But the hills were not far away. To the west were the dales, and over there, somewhere, was Grassington, Davey’s birthplace. And to the east lay the North York Moors. The tower of Ripon cathedral came into view on the horizon, and when they had passed that market town they began to travel through the wild countryside of the dales.

  They passed waterfalls cascading down the narrow gills between limestone rocks. The lower slopes of the valleys were patterned with a criss-cross of drystone walls, between which hardy sheep were grazing. The villages and hamlets they passed were composed largely of little greystone cottages, with here and there a larger mansion set in its own grounds. In the distance, now and again, they caught a glimpse of the ruins of a castle or of an ancient monastery; then as they travelled further north the landscape became more stark and bare, the hillsides revealing scars where once there had been lead mines.

  Jimmy had fallen asleep, lulled by the motion of the train, and Joanie had been persuaded to sit down instead of kneeling on the seat. She was busy now filling in a picture in a colouring book with wax crayons. Lily was amazed at their good behaviour and hoped it would continue for the whole of their visit.

  ‘Are you feeling all right, Edith?’ she asked. She had grown quite accustomed to using the older woman’s Christian name now. Her companion had gone very quiet, after remarking about the diversity of the passing scenery and, as usual, she looked pale and washed out.

  ‘Yes…yes, thank you,’ replied Edith. ‘Just a little tired. But it’s the result of the operation. They’ve told me I can expect that.’

  It was the first time she had referred to her operation. All Lily knew was that she had spent a while in hospital, but she had not divulged any details. Now it seemed as though she might want to talk about it. Lily waited, not wishing to pressurise her. Edith was a very self-contained woman as a rule. Lily had discovered she was a very nice person, too; not a bit stuck-up, although it was clear that she and her husband, Alf – whom Lily had met only once – had far more in the way of wordly goods than did Lily and her family.

  Alf Dennison was a bank manager at a branch near the city centre and travelled there and back each day in his small Morris car. This, so Edith had told her, had been a recent acquisition, purchased only a couple of months before war had broken out. It had made it much easier for him to visit his wife whilst she had been in the Leeds hospital. Now, however, conscious of the war effort and the rationing of petrol – which had started almost as soon as the commencement of the war – he was sharing the driving with his deputy manager, the two of them taking it in turns to use their vehicles. And if their petrol ration ran out they would have to use the bus or tram, like thousands of others.

  After a few moments Edith started to speak, in a hushed voice. ‘I had an operation, you see, only a couple of weeks after our Audrey went up to Middlebeck. That’s why we decided to send her, really. We thought it might be better if she was well away from it all. The trouble is we have no relations that she could have stayed with. Alf and I are only children, both of us, and our parents are long gone.’

  ‘Yes…I see,’ said Lily. ‘Was it a serious operation? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but…’

  ‘But I would like to,’ interrupted Edith. She looked around anxiously at the other occupants of the carriage, but no one seemed to be taking any notice. The two RAF lads had gone, their places having been taken by two young soldiers who, Lily guessed, might be heading for Catterick camp in the far north of Yorkshire. They were talking and laughing together and the rest of the passengers were either reading or dozing.

  Edith tentatively touched her left breast, then moved her hand away quickly. ‘It was…here,’ she whispered. ‘A lump. I had part of my…er…breast removed. But the doctors say that they think I’m going to be all right. They think they’ve…they’ve got it all away.’ Her voice was scarcely audible. ‘I’ve been having treatment,’ she went on, ‘once a week at the hospital. Alf takes me there; he gets time off work. Radiation treatment, I think they call it. But it makes me rather tired…’ She smiled weakly. ‘I wanted you to know, Lily. Then you’ll understand why I’m such a weary companion at times.’

  ‘I don’t think you are weary at all,’ replied Lily. ‘I think you are very brave, making this journey. And thank you for telling me about it.’

  Edith nodded. ‘It helps sometimes to talk to somebody. Alf is very good, very patient with me, but it’s a woman’s problem, isn’t it? I think women understand these things far better than men do.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure they do,’ said Lily. ‘What about your husband though, Edith? Didn’t he want to come with you today, to see Audrey? He’s not working, is he? Not on a Saturday?’

  ‘No…but he thought it was best if just I went. And then when I said I would get in touch with you, he thought that was a splendid idea. He’s an old softie in some ways, is Alf, and if he was to see Audrey I think he might want to bring her back with us. And if Audrey saw both of us, together, it might upset her. Some of the children have gone back already, you know.’

  ‘Yes, so I’ve heard,’ said Lily. ‘Not very many though. And they’ll have gone back to school. There was no question of it closing because there were more stayed behind than left.’

  ‘There’ll be some changes though,’ Edith told her. ‘I’ve heard that the headmaster, Mr Ormerod, has joined the RAF.’

  ‘Well, fancy that! I didn’t know.’

  ‘And you remember Audrey and Maisie’s teacher, that Miss Patterdale? I think she used to make quite a fuss of our Audrey, but Audrey wasn’t all that keen on her.’

  ‘No, Maisie didn’t like her much either,’ said Lily. ‘Anyway, what about her?’

  ‘I’ve heard that she’s gone and joined the ATS.’

  ‘Well I never!’

  ‘I can just imagine her in the army, the way she treated those children. At any rate, they’ve got an elderly man there now, in charge of the school, sixty-five if he’s a day from the look of him. I don’t know about a replacement for Mr Ormerod, but I believe a lot of married women are going back to teaching now.’

  Lily smiled. ‘You’re a mine of information, Edith. Our two’ll be pleased to hear the news from home, won’t they?’

  ‘You haven’t thought about taking your Maisie back home, have you?’ asked Edith. ‘I’ve wondered, I must admit, with everything being so quiet. I mean, they’re calling it the ‘bore war’, aren’t they? Nothing much is happening, no bombs dropping, not anywhere. Not that we want them to, but…’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t think so,’ replied Lily hurriedly. ‘It’s not that I don’t want my little lass back, but things are not too good at home between me and my husband. He’s Maisie’s step-father, y’see, not her real dad and…well…she wasn’t ve
ry happy. I wanted her to have a change, and more of a chance in life…’

  ‘Oh yes…I understand,’ said Edith, looking at her sympathetically. ‘Only I’ve heard some folks say that it’ll all be over by Christmas. But my Alf doesn’t think so.’

  ‘They said that about the last war, didn’t they?’ remarked Lily. ‘And look what happened there. More than four years of it.’

  ‘Oh, deary me!’ Edith shook her head. ‘Let’s hope and pray that the same things doesn’t happen again. Four years! It doesn’t bear thinking of.’

  Jimmy began to stir on his mother’s lap and the next minute his blue eyes were open wide. ‘Mummy, I want to wee,’ he said.

  ‘So do I,’ said Joanie, not wanting to be left out now that her little brother was awake. ‘Come on, Mummy. I’m dying to go.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was easy for Patience, also, to recognise the visitors. Who else could it be but Mrs Dennison and Mrs Bragg, plus the two children and a pushchair, the only people to alight at Middlebeck station? She welcomed them warmly, assisting with the pushchair and helping the little girl – that must be Joanie, she decided – to take a big jump from the step to the platform.

  Both women shook her outstretched hand.

  ‘How do you do?’ said Mrs Dennison, very politely and with just a touch of reserve, very much like Audrey, in fact. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Fairchild.’

  ‘Hello there,’ said Mrs Bragg, with the same warmth and friendliness that Patience had grown accustomed to in the woman’s daughter. ‘I’ve heard such a lot about you from my Maisie. It’s grand to meet you at last.’

  The two women were, by and large, as she had expected them to be; Mrs Dennison, though, a little older, maybe, that she had anticipated; and as for Mrs Bragg…well, Patience admitted to herself that this lady looked quite a bit smarter. She was a pretty woman with dark hair, like Maisie’s, on top of which was perched a jaunty little red hat with a feather in the side. Her smile was Maisie’s too, but her face was a trifle strained, with more lines around her eyes and mouth than a young woman of her age ought to have. From Maisie’s chatter Patience had learned that Lily Bragg was not yet thirty. However, she appeared cheerful, much more so than she usually might be, Patience guessed; happy, no doubt to be enjoying a rare day away from her problems at home. And dressed up for the occasion, too, in the red hat and coat which made her look bright and eye-catching.

  Mrs Dennison, at her side, appeared much more matronly and sombre, although it was obvious that her clothes were expensive, if unbecoming. Patience knew she had been ill, though not aware exactly of what had been the problem; but the woman had an unhealthy pallor which she did not like the look of at all.

  As for the two children, Joanie and Jimmy, they were fair-haired, solid looking infants who resembled neither their mother nor their big sister. Patience supposed they must take after their father, the infamous Sid. There was no sign, as yet, however, of the bad behaviour that Maisie had complained about, but maybe time would tell. Jimmy was put into his pushchair where he sat silently and uncomplainingly, whilst Joanie trotted along at the side, one hand on the pram handle and the other holding on to her mother’s

  ‘Where’re we going?’ she asked, as they made their way out of the station.

  ‘To see Maisie,’ said her mother. ‘I told you… You remember Maisie, don’t you?’

  The little girl shook her head, looking puzzled. ‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘Don’t think so… How far is it, where we’re going?’

  It was Patience who answered. ‘Not very far, dear,’ she answered. ‘About ten minutes walk. It’s about half a mile from the station to the church,’ she told the two women. ‘Can you manage that, Joanie? Just a little walk, then you’ll be able to see your big sister again. Maisie’s been looking forward to seeing you both, I can tell you.’ She beamed at the child, but Joanie just regarded her stolidly, uncomprehendingly, it seemed. But three months was a long time to a child, Patience supposed, and the little girl might well have forgotten her sister.

  ‘I’m tired,’ said Joanie, pouting a little.

  ‘No, you’re not; you can’t be,’ said her mother. ‘You had a good rest on the train. Now for goodness’ sake, don’t you start whining…’ She fumbled in her bag. ‘’Ere y’are. There’s a jelly baby, an’ one for you an’ all, Jimmy. Now behave yerselves, the pair of yer; think on!’

  That seemed to do the trick, that first jelly baby, followed by two more. Patience hoped the sweets would not spoil their dinner, but she decided it was none of her business. She could well understand that a harrassed mother might have to give way to bribery now and again.

  ‘We don’t have a car,’ she explained. ‘My husband’s parish is fairly compact, apart from a few outlying farms, and he manages his visits on a bicycle. And in these days of petrol rationing there is not much advantage in owning a car anyway. I wondered about bringing Maisie and Audrey along with me to meet you, but then I decided it might be better for me to have a word with you first. Now, Mrs Dennison, there is something we must talk about…’

  ‘Yes,’ replied that lady. ‘Whatever has been going on? I’ve been really worried, Mrs Fairchild. My Audrey…she’s not been a nuisance, has she, to that lady, that Miss Thomson? She is usually such a good girl.’

  ‘So she is,’ replied Patience. ‘She’s a credit to you, Mrs Dennison. And so is Maisie, Mrs Bragg. They are grand girls, both of them, and my husband and I feel privileged to be looking after them. No…it would not be fair to say that she has been a nuisance to Miss Thomson, but there was – what shall I say? – a little misunderstanding. It was all to do with the maid really, a young woman called Daisy.’

  ‘Yes, Audrey mentioned Daisy in her letters,’ said Mrs Dennison. ‘She said she was nice and that she was looking after her.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Patience. She went on to explain, as prosaically as she could, about the incident with the door and about Audrey’s reluctant involvement in it. She did not say how fiercely Miss Thomson had reacted, how she had shaken and shouted at Audrey, even striking her across the face. It was sufficient of a shock to Mrs Dennison to hear of Audrey’s part in the escapade.

  ‘Oh dear, that’s dreadful!’ she exclaimed. ‘It doesn’t sound like my Audrey at all, behaving like that. How naughty and irresponsible… But I suppose it was that maid, was it, that led her on? It sounds as though the child is much better away from a flighty sort of girl like that. A bit of a trollop, is she, this Daisy?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ said Patience. She felt annoyed that such a word should be used about Daisy, but she did not let her indignation show. After all, Mrs Dennison was not to know. ‘Daisy is a good-hearted girl, and – usually – quite a sensible one. But she is a young woman who is in love and, because of that, I think we can forgive her. Her young man has already joined the army, and now Daisy has applied to join the ATS. She is just waiting for her call-up papers. Miss Thomson dismissed her at first, but then she regretted it and asked her to stay on. And Daisy has agreed to do so – as I said, she’s a very good-natured girl – but only till she joins the ATS.’

  ‘So this…Miss Thomson, she will have to find another maid?’ said Mrs Dennison.

  ‘It seems so,’ replied Patience. ‘But that’s easier said than done, I should imagine, with young women going into the forces and munitions work. And the Women’s Land Army, of course; that has been started up again.’

  ‘I should think it serves her right if she’s left without a maid,’ commented Lily Bragg. ‘Anyroad, it’s an ill wind, as they say, isn’t it? It means that our two girls have ended up together. I’m sure they’re glad about that, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes…I do thank you, of course, Mrs Fairchild, for taking Audrey as well as Maisie,’ said Mrs Dennison. ‘I’m sorry…I should have said thank you straight away, but I was so concerned to hear about what had happened. Oh, I just can’t wait to see her…’

  Patience smiled. ‘Well, you don’t ne
ed to wait any longer. Here we are.’ She pushed open the iron gate and led the way up the path.

  But before she had a chance to get out her key, the door opened and there were Maisie and Audrey, with Luke in the hallway just behind them.

  ‘Mum…’ cried both little girls, simultaneously, and then both mothers and daughters ran to greet one another with a big hug and kiss.

  ‘You look nice, Mum,’ said Maisie, looking at her mother appraisingly as they stood in the hallway. ‘Have you got a new coat and hat?’

  ‘Yes, sort of new,’ said Lily. ‘I have to try and look me best, y’know… Eeh, Maisie love, it’s grand to see you again. I’ve missed yer such a lot. And so have the little ’uns.’

  Maisie was delighted at the warmth of her mother’s greeting; there were tears of joy in Lily’s eyes, something her daughter had very rarely seen. But the ‘little ’uns’ seemed singularly unmoved. Maisie doubted very much that they had missed her, or that they were pleased to see her again. Lily nudged the little sister and brother.

  ‘Here’s our Maisie, see. Aren’t you going to say hello to her?’

  Joanie was staring fixedly at her big sister. She pointed her finger. ‘That’s Nellie,’ she said. ‘I don’t know no Maisie.’

  Lily laughed. ‘Oh yes, of course! That’s what she’s always called you. I was forgetting.’ She stooped down to Joanie. ‘She’s got a new name now. She’s called Maisie.’

  ‘Yes, I’m Maisie now,’ said the big sister, quite indignantly. ‘Hello Joanie, hello Jimmy. You’ve grown, haven’t yer?’ And they looked, to Maisie’s eyes, unusually clean and tidy too. It seemed as though there had been some changes in her absence, unless it was just a special effort on her mother’s part for today’s visit.