There is a Season

by There is a Season (retail) (epu

  ‘You know Peggy,’ Lawrie said easily. ‘She knows everyone’s business, but there’s no harm in her.’

  ‘I know, but it was just a shock to hear her say it, so matter of fact.’

  ‘Did you send those snaps John gave us to Mary?’ Lawrie asked.

  ‘Cathy sent hers. She said we can keep ours,’ Sally said.

  Cathy had been unsure about sending the snaps to Mary but had soon realized that her parents would wonder why she made no mention of them if they were not sent.

  An answer to her letter to Mary enclosing the snapshots came almost by return of post from America. Mary’s letter was tear-stained and almost incoherent from anger and distress.

  Why didn’t you tell me? How could you let them get like this? Mam looks so old, and Dad – he’s like a frail old man. Why haven’t you looked after them? Wrapped up in your precious husband and your flaming family, I suppose. I’ll never forgive you for letting this happen.

  * * *

  Cathy was furious. She flung the letter to the back of the dresser and began to work off her rage by fiercely scrubbing floors and paintwork, and polishing linoleum, until she felt exhausted.

  She had calmed down, washed and changed and just made tea, when the four o’clock post came.

  ‘Another letter from America,’ the postman said. ‘You’re doing well.’ She’s had second thoughts, Cathy thought grimly, but this letter was from Sam.

  I know that Mary has written to you, Cathy, and she was so upset that I think she might have said something to hurt you. If so, I’m very sorry. It has been a comfort to Mary and me all these years to know that you and Greg and your family are living so near to your parents, and I know from what they write how much you all do for them and how much happiness you have brought them.

  I hope you can understand, Cathy, why the snapshots were such a shock to us. You see your mam and dad every day so the change in them has come to you gradually, but we haven’t seen them since 1926 and nine years is a long time.

  I think Mary’s mental picture of them went even further back than that. I think she pictured her mam and dad as they were when she was a girl at home, so you understand what a shock she got at the difference in them now.

  I think, too, Mary feels guilty because we haven’t been able to help them and that’s why she must blame someone, so again, Cathy, if she has said anything hurtful please overlook it. You know it’s just shock because she loves her mam and dad so much, and when she calms down she’ll be truly sorry.

  The only way I can console her is to bring her over to see them, and I’m working out how to do it. I’ve got some good men here and as soon as I can fix things up we’ll travel home. Probably late summer, certainly no later than the fall of this year.

  Our love to you and Greg and the children, and thanks for everything, Cath.

  Yours affectionately,

  Sam

  Cathy, retrieved Mary’s letter from where she had flung it, and folded it up inside Sam’s. I’ll show them to Greg, she decided, but I won’t let Mam or anyone else see them.

  Cathy waited until the evening meal was over and the family dispersed before she showed Greg the letters.

  ‘Read that one from Mary first, then the one from Sam,’ she said. Greg read Mary’s letter then looked at Cathy with raised eyebrows.

  ‘Quite a tirade,’ he said. ‘But you’re not going to let it upset you, are you, Cath? You know what she’s like. The snaps must have been a shock to her. Remember they were a shock to you.’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t write to her spouting about it being her fault, did it? Her letter did upset me, but anyway, read Sam’s letter, Greg.’

  She watched his face as he read Sam’s long letter, then he looked up. ‘Sam certainly understands Mary,’ he said. ‘She’s upset and feels guilty so she has to blame somebody else.’

  ‘Yes, but he still idolizes her and makes excuses for her,’ Cathy said bitterly. ‘She’s a selfish, thoughtless bitch! She must know I’m upset too yet she writes to me like that. I’ll never forgive her.’ But even as she spoke Cathy knew that although she was bitterly angry now with her sister, if she saw Mary all the old feelings of love and admiration for her would come surging back.

  ‘Sam’s a good fellow,’ Greg said. ‘One in a thousand. He’s a busy man yet he’s taken the trouble to write a long letter like that in case your feelings are hurt.’

  ‘Too good for our Mary,’ Cathy said.

  ‘I’m sure she regretted sending that letter as soon as it was posted,’ Greg said soothingly. ‘She just got a shock and wrote on impulse. She didn’t really mean those things.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Cathy said shortly. Greg, too, she thought, making excuses for her. Mary was very well able to look after her own interests yet she aroused a protective instinct in every man she met. She stood up and began to sort through her mending basket and Greg glanced at her face and decided to say no more.

  Later she said that she would burn the letters.

  ‘I’ll tell Mam that I burned a letter from Mary by mistake or she’ll wonder why I don’t show it to her,’ she said. ‘I won’t say anything about them coming in case Sam can’t fix it.’

  ‘Just say it was a short note acknowledging the snaps,’ Greg suggested. ‘Sam and Mary are bound to write to them soon to tell them of their plans.’

  Ten days later a letter arrived from Mary to her parents, telling them that she and Sam would be visiting Liverpool in August.

  “We will be staying at the Adelphi for two weeks,” she wrote, “and we’ll spend every waking minute with you. I can’t wait to see you both, and Cathy and her family of course.”

  Sally immediately decided that the house must be redecorated. ‘But they won’t be staying here, Gran,’ John protested. ‘Do you need to have the bedrooms done as well?’

  ‘I’ll feel better if they are,’ Sally said firmly. ‘I know you and your dad are willing to do them, John, but I’ll get Ben Burns in. He can work at them all day and he’ll be glad of the few shillings.’

  Josh said he was satisfied with his rooms as they were so Sally arranged for Ben to paper the front bedroom and smallest bedroom, and the kitchen/living room, and paint the lobby and the back kitchen. While this was taking place Lawrie slept in John’s bed on the insistence of both Sally and Cathy, in case the paint got on his chest.

  John slept in Sally’s third bedroom which Ben had finished in one day, and painted the outside woodwork of the house and the railings. After his initial protest no one had commented on the extent of Sally’s preparations because Cathy had told them firmly that she understood how her mother felt, and because it was obvious that Sally was taking pleasure in preparing for her visitors.

  The family had all enjoyed having Lawrie staying with them, and Sally and Josh coming for meals while the upheaval took place, and Sarah in particular had appreciated her grandfather’s company. Lawrie never discussed politics with her but they talked of books which they both enjoyed, and of poetry which they loved.

  Sarah had never been a Girl Guide but she bought a Guides’ Handbook for a penny, and discovered at the end of an article on the hikers badge a few lines of poetry quoted. She read them aloud to Lawrie.

  ‘“I watched the sorrow of the evening sky

  And smelt the sea and earth and the warm clover,

  And heard the waves and the seagull’s mocking cry. I saw the pines against the white north sky

  Very beautiful and still and bending over

  Their sharp black heads against a quiet sky

  And there was peace in them.”’

  They were silent for a moment then Sarah said softly, ‘Isn’t that lovely, Grandad? I felt as though I was there. Sitting on a grassy headland, with the scent of the clover, and looking at the sea and the white sky and the pine trees.’ Her eyes were shining as she looked up at him. Lawrie gently smoothed back her hair.

  ‘Yes, it’s beautiful, love,’ he said. ‘Remember the line from Keats’ poem: “A th
ing of beauty is a joy for ever?” If words have painted a picture for you to remember it’s the same as remembering a lovely thing you’ve seen, like Keats did. You can always call it up in your mind.’

  ‘I don’t know who wrote that,’ Sarah said. ‘It didn’t say.’

  ‘I think it was Rupert Brooke,’ said Lawrie. ‘The man who wrote the war poem “If I should die think only this of me”. He did die, poor lad, and was buried in foreign soil, but not in France. He died on the way to the Dardenelles and was buried on an island called Skyros. He was only twenty-eight, I think. I read an article about him not long ago.’

  ‘And the place where he wrote that about the pine trees, I suppose that’s still there while he’s dead and can’t see it,’ she said thoughtfully.

  ‘That’s the way it is,’ her grandfather said. ‘The places are there for each generation to enjoy, unless someone spoils them.’

  ‘But it seems hard,’ she said. ‘I mean, Grandad, it’s like when Mr Burns died. It was the Jubilee and everyone was enjoying themselves, the streets all decorated and street parties and everything. We even had one in Egremont Street, but they kept it up the other end.’

  ‘Mrs Burns wouldn’t have expected them to cancel it, love.’

  ‘No, but – I went with Edie Meadows to see the decorations in Pitt Street. You know, the tenements were lovely. They had gold and red paper made into flowers and all wound round the posts on the landings, and crowds were there to see them. We were looking in the windows of the little Chinese shops and there were back scratchers there, like little curved hands on bamboo poles. We were laughing and then I thought about Mr Burns.

  ‘I liked him, Grandad. He always bought sweets for me when he bought them for Meg, and one time when I showed her how to use a stencil set he gave me a threepenny bit and said I was patient like my grandma. He was dead and yet I was laughing.’

  ‘And why not?’ Lawrie said. ‘It’s a trite saying, Sarah, but a true one just the same – life must go on. Mr and Mrs Burns, and Grandma and I – we’ve all had a good innings, love. Jimmie didn’t die out of his time, like Rupert Brooke. My father’s generation didn’t reckon to live much over fifty, if they were lucky. So you see, love, we’ve done well. Turned sixty and still going strong.’

  He smiled at Sarah and she tried to smile back but she felt as though cold water trickled down her spine. Grandad was trying to warn her, to prepare her, she felt sure.

  ‘Lucy Ashcroft’s great-grandma is seventy-eight,’ she said.

  ‘There you are. No one goes till their time comes,’ Lawrie said. ‘But if you’ve had a good lifespan like Jimmie, people shouldn’t get too upset. Just remember that he had a good life, some good times and some bad, but he enjoyed himself and wouldn’t want anyone to get upset over him.’

  ‘We couldn’t help it, Grandad,’ Sarah said, her eyes filling with tears, not for Jimmie Burns but at the thought of what her grandfather was trying to tell her.

  ‘Well, yes, love,’ he said, ‘but remember it is something that must come to everyone. It’s what they call the “natural order” of things. After all, if no one ever died, what about the people who are being born? The earth would be so overcrowded we’d all be slipping off the edge.’

  Sarah smiled as he intended, and conscious that he was trying to strike a more light-hearted note, asked if he had seen the Jubilee decorations in Pitt Street.

  ‘No, not Pitt Street, but I saw a lot in the other streets, and the pavements all scrubbed and whitened,’ he said. ‘It was a chance of some jollification for people.’

  ‘The decorations were made out of Crawford’s labels, Edie told me,’ said Sarah. ‘All the bits round the edge when the labels are stamped out, and yet they looked the gear. She got five shillings from Mr Crawford for the Jubilee. They all did.’

  ‘That’d be a nice little lift for her.’

  ‘Her mam let her keep it but she said she had to buy a hat. Edie got a hat for two and eleven and treated me out the rest.’ Sarah stood up. ‘I’ve promised to help Grandma turn out a cupboard, Grandad. I’d better—’

  ‘I’ll look for that article for you, love,’ Lawrie said. ‘That’s if Grandma hasn’t thrown it out. Nothing’s safe now while the cleaning’s on.’

  ‘I’ll save your magazines,’ she promised, smiling at him like a conspirator.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When the decorating was finished in Sally’s house, the curtains had been washed and re-hung by Cathy and the cupboards turned out, she attacked her own house.

  Lawrie had returned home to sleep so Cathy and Greg, helped by the younger members of the family, painted and papered the rooms, and the outside of their house. The tennis season had started and Cathy received several “Please be at’s” each week.

  Although her afternoons were precious while there was so much to be done in the house, she welcomed the extra money to buy new curtains and china, and fresh coconut matting for the kitchen floor.

  She also enjoyed the change of scene and the company of the other women, and Cissie’s exploits were a constant source of amusement.

  ‘She doesn’t care a button for anyone,’ Cathy told Greg, laughing heartily at the memory. ‘We were putting the strawberries ready when this crowd of boys came into the marquee. Public schoolboys home on holiday, but they were a disgrace. Jostling us and snatching strawberries and giving these stupid neighing laughs.’

  ‘Probably thought it was a big joke,’ Greg said.

  ‘Cissie didn’t. She picked up a knife and said to one of them, “Have you been circumzised, lad?” And he said all haughty, “No, indeed.” And she said, “Put them strawberries down or you soon will be.” Mrs Nuttall had dashed off to get the man who owned the place and he came back with her but the boys had all run away by then.’

  ‘Because of Cissie’s knife?’ Greg asked, laughing.

  ‘Probably. I think she might have done it, too. The man was saying boys would be boys, and Mrs Nuttall was all smiles because he gave her ten bob for the extra work, but Cissie was fuming. She was saying, “Boys! They’ll never be bloody men if they come near me again.” She’s a case.’

  One of the women had found a full-time job, so Cathy “spoke” for Freda for the vacancy. Cathy was a favourite with Mrs Nuttall. Now she asked if any jobs that came for her while Mary was home could be passed to Freda, and Mrs Nuttall agreed.

  Cathy felt that she had made all possible preparations for her sister’s visit, and looked forward eagerly to it, and to showing Mary and Sam her children.

  John and Sarah were both settled and happy in their jobs, and Mick was very successful at school. His yearly report showed him to be top of his form and first in almost every subject. He won numerous prizes but remained unconcerned, and seemed to spend little time on study.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ Cathy said to Greg. ‘When you think how hard John worked. He did well but nothing like this.’

  Greg discovered the reason when he was asked to see the headmaster. ‘I didn’t know what to expect,’ he told Cathy. ‘He looked so severe, but he said Mick has a most unusual gift, a photographic memory. He said he’d only ever known one other person with it, a student at Stonyhurst when he was there.’

  ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘The headmaster said the boy he knew could look at a page of Greek, then close the book and write out the page without a single fault. Mick’s the same.’

  ‘No wonder everything’s been so easy for him!’ Cathy exclaimed. Greg smiled. ‘The headmaster told me the name of the other boy, and I’d heard it but forget it now. He said he was very eminent in the Church and a famous preacher. I said I couldn’t really see Mick doing anything like that, but he said we must give serious consideration to Michael’s future. The gift must not be wasted.’

  ‘I can’t get over it,’ said Cathy. ‘And Mick’s never said anything about it.’

  ‘I said that, but the headmaster said he just takes it for granted. Until they spoke about it, he th
ought it was the same for everyone.’

  Kate was looking forward to seeing her aunt because several people had told her that she was growing like her Aunt Mary.

  ‘Mrs Briggs said I’m going to be like Auntie Mary, and she was beautiful,’ she announced to her mother.

  ‘Mrs Briggs only came to the street after Auntie Mary was married,’ Cathy said. ‘She hardly knew her. You’re not like her. She had blue eyes and red hair. Still has, I suppose.’

  ‘Mrs Burns said to Grandma I was the model of Mary except for my colouring,’ Kate insisted.

  ‘I suppose you’d been throwing a tantrum,’ her mother said. ‘You’re like her in that way.

  ‘Kate’s growing a vain little madam,’ she said to Greg later. ‘Bragging about being like Mary, and someone told her Mary was beautiful. Do you think she’s like Mary?’

  ‘She is in features, I think, but of course Kate’s eyes are brown. Strange that when her hair came out after the scarlet fever it grew in fair again, because she was as dark as you at first, wasn’t she? I think she’s a beautiful child, though.’

  ‘So do I but we would, wouldn’t we?’ Cathy said. ‘I just hope Kate doesn’t bring us as much heartbreak as Mary brought Mam and Dad – or bring as much trouble on herself as our Mary did.’

  ‘Yes. Mary was her own worst enemy in many ways,’ Greg agreed. ‘Beauty isn’t always an advantage for a girl.’

  Cathy glanced at him and he said hastily, ‘She was lucky that she met up with Sam again. He’ll keep her on the right path and look after her.’

  “Quite an authority on Mary, aren’t you?” Cathy was tempted to say, but managed to keep back the words. Instead she said firmly, ‘We know what can happen so we’ll guard Kate against it.’

  They had all been so busy with preparations for the visit that the weeks which they had expected to drag by seemed to pass in a flash. The neighbours who had known Mary were all waiting eagerly to see her; some of them, Cathy felt, half hoping to see her looking very different from the beautiful, well-dressed girl they remembered.