There is a Season

by There is a Season (retail) (epu

  Later, when Greg wished to become a Roman Catholic after the War and Cathy decided to join him, there had been no opposition from her parents, but now Sally felt that there was a problem.

  ‘You know Dad always held back from churchgoing because of all the trouble about religion in this city, and said a lot of wars were fought about religion, but he was a Christian and I don’t know what to do about a service.’

  ‘What about the church where you were married?’ Greg suggested. ‘I’ll see if I can arrange it.’

  The funeral service was duly arranged. The church was full, and dozens of people stood outside and followed the coffin to the cemetery in spite of the intense cold. Sally spoke quietly to the young minister before they moved to the graveside. ‘Will you make it very short?’ she said. ‘Some of these people haven’t got the clothes for this weather, and it would have worried him to see them freezing here.’

  ‘I know,’ the minister said. He turned away, wiped his eyes and blew his nose to hide his emotion, and did as Sally asked. Even the wealthy men in good Melton cloth overcoats shivered in the icy wind, and the poorer people in their inadequate clothes looked chilled to the bone in spite of the brevity of the service at the graveside.

  ‘I don’t care. I had to be here,’ a poorly dressed man said to Greg. ‘He was gold, pure gold, Lawrie Ward. If he’s not in heaven now, there’s no God.’

  Sally had given a general invitation to anyone who wished to return to the house, and Peggy Burns and Josie Meadows had worked hard to prepare food and drink in large quantities.

  Josh had offered the use of his parlour and Sarah thought it strange how the more prosperous people seemed to gravitate there, the others to the kitchen. Peggy was serving the food in the parlour at first, but then she asked Josie to change places with her.

  ‘All the posh ones seem to be going in the parlour,’ she said, ‘and you’re more used to those sort of people with your job.’

  Sarah was shocked at first at the hilarity in the kitchen as people told anecdotes of Lawrie and quoted some of his jokes, but gradually she began to feel comforted by it. She was sorry that John had not returned to the house as she felt that he too would have enjoyed hearing these tales about his grandfather, and seeing how much he was loved by all who knew him.

  John had turned away after the burial, and walked rapidly away from the graveside, his hands thrust in his pockets and his head bowed against the bitter wind. On and on he strode for hours, over broken slates and bricks, then as he reached the outskirts of the city, over twigs and leaves torn from trees by the gale, oblivious to all of them.

  His heart was full of bitter anger. Why? Why? beat in his head like a refrain. Why Lawrie when so many survived who would be missed by nobody? Far from comforting him, the number of mourners and their grief only made him more bitter as he thought how much Lawrie would be missed by everyone.

  It was very late when he returned home and his father was angry. ‘Mum’s been very worried about you,’ he told his son. ‘You might have shown her more consideration on a day like this.’

  ‘What do you know about it?’ John said sullenly. ‘There were plenty of people here anyway.’

  ‘You weren’t here, that’s the point,’ Greg said. John made no reply, and sprang upstairs two at a time to his bedroom.

  Cathy came out of the kitchen. ‘Was that our John? Where is he?’

  ‘Gone up to bed,’ Greg said briefly. His face was white and a tic in his cheek showed the effort he was making to keep his temper, but Cathy was only concerned about John.

  ‘Has he had anything to eat? He must be starving and frozen.’

  ‘If he needs anything, he knows where the food is,’ Greg said, but Cathy pushed past him and went upstairs.

  ‘John,’ she called, tapping at the bedroom door. He opened it. Mick was sound asleep, but before speaking John looked down into the lobby. His father had gone into the kitchen, and John stepped back to let his mother into the bedroom.

  ‘Where have you been, son?’ she asked.

  ‘Just walking,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘Have you had anything to eat or drink?’

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ he said.

  She looked at his pale, strained face and said gently, ‘All right, love. Get into bed.’

  Cathy went downstairs and through to the back kitchen where she made a mug of cocoa and a cheese sandwich. Greg’s lips tightened as she carried them through the kitchen but he said nothing as she took them up to John.

  ‘Have these, son,’ she said. ‘Then try to sleep. We’ll all be glad to put this day behind us.’ She kissed him and went downstairs.

  She could see that Greg was burning to comment and said quickly, ‘Let’s go to bed, Greg.’

  Cathy had been longing to go to bed to shed the tears she felt she had been holding back all day, but she had been too worried about John to retire while he was still out.

  Now that she knew that he was safe, she went to bed expecting to lie awake, grieving for her father, but she fell almost immediately into an exhausted sleep.

  Greg lay awake for some time, burning with anger against John. He was furious that worry about John had been added to Cathy’s and Sally’s grief.

  He’s selfish and irresponsible, he thought, and if I say anything to him I’ll be considered a monster, but I’ve had enough. He’ll toe the line and have some thought for others in this house, or he can get out.

  Sally was also lying awake in the bed which she had shared with Lawrie for so long. Greg and Mick had moved the furniture back to the bedroom immediately after the funeral and lit a fire in the bedroom grate.

  Cathy and Greg had suggested that either Cathy or Sarah should sleep with Sally in the double bed, but she said quietly, ‘No thanks, loves. I might as well begin as I mean to go on,’ and they had not persisted. They only asked her to let Sarah sleep in the bed in the small bedroom in case her grandmother needed her company during the night and Sally agreed.

  It was a relief to Sally to be alone and to let her tears flow unchecked as she lay thinking of Lawrie and trying to face the fact that he had gone for ever.

  Her mind turned away from the future, unable to face the bleak years without him. She thought instead of the past, and of the love and grief for him that had been shown by so many people in the days since his death. Then her mind went further back over their life together. The hard times when her father lay in the parlour, a helpless and difficult invalid, and Lawrie was out of work, and how their love for each other had helped them to face the hardships and worries.

  The kindness of other people too. Old Sally who had made the difficult task of selling their possessions easy, and with tact and kindness had helped her to keep face before the neighbours.

  Mrs Malloy, her staunch friend and neighbour in whose house Lawrie had lodged, and who had helped and supported them in good times and bad. Was Lawrie with her now, Sally wondered, and with his family who had gone before him? Cathy and Greg believed he was, she knew.

  Sally thought of the happy time of her courtship and of the day soon after she met Lawrie that they had spent at Eastham. The memory of that day had been like a jewel throughout her life, often taken out and examined, and she thought of it now, lovingly.

  How proud she had felt when she boarded the ferry boat with Lawrie. The sun had shone and the musicians played as they sailed through the river crowded with shipping towards Eastham.

  When they alighted they had walked through the quiet woods and stopped at a cottage for a cream tea. She had felt nervous at first among the confident young people there, but Lawrie told her that she was the prettiest girl in the room and he was proud of her, and her nervousness vanished.

  Sally smiled tenderly as she remembered lying in his arms on the boat home, the tranquillity as twilight fell, and the soft young voices singing, ‘Beautiful Dreamer’.

  She fell asleep with the smile on her face as the grey dawn appeared round the window blind, and was still asleep whe
n Sarah peeped into the bedroom. The girl quietly put coal on the fire which was nearly out, then she went down and stirred the kitchen fire, before creeping out of the house and across to her own home.

  Her mother was serving porridge for the family who sat round the table, and thick slices of bread were frying in a pan on the fire.

  ‘Grandma’s asleep, Mum,’ Sarah said. ‘I just put more coal on the bedroom fire and she didn’t wake up.’

  ‘She’ll be tired out,’ Cathy said. ‘You weren’t up at all during the night?’ And when Sarah shook her head, she said, ‘Sit down and have your breakfast, love. I’ll go over as soon as I’ve got you all off.’

  ‘I stirred the kitchen fire up and put another lump of coal on so the kitchen should be warm,’ Sarah said. Cathy pressed her shoulder as she put a bowl of porridge before her.

  ‘You’re a good girl,’ she said. Her father smiled at Sarah, but John kept his head bent over his plate.

  A few days later the nation was saddened by the death of King George V on January the twentieth but it meant little to Lawrie’s family, still overwhelmed by grief at his death. For John it was another cause of bitterness as tributes to the dead King poured in from all parts of the world, and arrangements were made for the elaborate funeral.

  ‘He wasn’t half the man Grandad was,’ John said bitterly to Cathy. ‘This fuss disgusts me.’

  ‘No, and he won’t be mourned by his family and friends the way we’ve grieved for Grandad,’ Cathy said. ‘But he was a good man and did his best in the job he was born to. The fuss is something he’s had to put up with all his life, and maybe his family might like a quieter funeral but they can’t have it.’

  John shrugged. ‘It just annoys me,’ he said. ‘What recognition did Grandad get for all he did?’

  ‘Try not to be so bitter, John,’ Cathy said gently. ‘Grandad was never bitter.’

  ‘Perhaps he should have been,’ John muttered. ‘I’m going out.’ Cathy was glad to see him go. She was always afraid that he would air his views to his father, and provoke more trouble between them.

  She knew that Greg was becoming more and more annoyed by John’s attitude, but had pleaded with him to make allowances for their son’s grief.

  ‘He’s not the only one who’s grieving. We all miss Dad, and particularly you and your Mam, so I don’t see why he should be allowed this behaviour,’ Greg said.

  ‘Yes, but we’re older. Young people take things harder and there was a special bond between Dad and John,’ Cathy said.

  ‘There was indeed,’ Greg said grimly, but she changed the subject determinedly.

  Sarah was the one who paid most attention to the death of the King. Mabel Burroughs was an ardent Royalist and she came to the shop with red eyes on the day after King George V died.

  ‘I’ve cried all night,’ she told Sarah. ‘I thought it was lovely the way the man on the wireless said: “The King’s life is drawing peacefully to its close,” but so sad. I loved my King.’

  Sarah tried to sympathize with Mabel. The people in the shop had been very kind to Sarah after her grandfather’s death, and she wanted to show that she appreciated it.

  Mabel and Anne, and Mr and Mrs Dyson and the bakehouse staff, had put together and sent a wreath, and Dennis, the boy from the bank, had organized a collection among the customers for flowers for the funeral.

  Sarah might have felt better if Michael had been the one to organize the collection, but he seemed embarrassed by her grief and only mumbled condolences when she served him in the shop.

  He had muttered a few days later, ‘I don’t suppose you want to come to the pictures?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she exclaimed. He said nothing about meeting her for any other reason. Sarah knew that he must have gone to the pictures anyway because he joined in a discussion about the Pathé News shown at the cinema.

  The funeral of King George had been the main item on the news, and everyone in the shop was talking of the incident when the cross fell from the State Crown as the gun carriage carrying the coffin went over tramlines. A quick thinking guardsman in the Guard of Honour swiftly picked up the cross and put it in his pocket, and people in the shop praised him for his action.

  ‘What a thing to happen though,’ one woman said. ‘Right in front of the Prince of Wales, too.’

  ‘He’s not the Prince of Wales now,’ someone else said. ‘He’s Edward VIII.’

  ‘They’ll need to look after him,’ one woman sighed. ‘It’d be terrible if he died before he was crowned. Remember Gypsy Rose Lee said he would come to the throne but never be crowned.’

  ‘God forbid,’ Mabel said. ‘He’ll make a good king. Remember when he was in the mining villages and saw the poverty. He said something must be done, and he’ll get it done, I’m sure.’

  Sarah let the talk wash back and forth over her, taking no part in it, only conscious that Michael at the back of the queue was discussing the news shown at the cinema. Anne was serving fruit cake and Sarah went to her. ‘Will you let me do that and you serve the pies?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want to speak to him.’

  Anne agreed and Cathy weighed the cake and wrapped it, determined not to look at Michael. I’ll just see if he bothers to come over to speak to me, she told herself, but he only murmured, ‘Hello, Sarah,’ as he pushed his way out of the crowded shop.

  ‘I don’t know why you bother with him,’ Anne said. ‘You could do better for yourself, Sarah.’

  But Mabel sighed romantically. ‘He’s such a lovely-looking lad though, Sarah. “If I had nothing to eat I’d want something to look at,” my old mother always used to say.’

  ‘That’s all very well, Mabel, but I think character counts for more than looks in a husband,’ Anne said. Sarah said nothing, and the talk turned to the subject of the weather.

  February was even colder than January and tugs had to break the ice on the Leeds and Liverpool canal to allow the barges through. Even the sea froze at Southport.

  Sarah often spent the evening with her grandmother. Josh had slipped into the habit of sitting on in Sally’s kitchen after his evening meal, until he left for his nightly visit to Maybury’s public house at nine o’clock, but Sarah stayed on after Josh left and talked to her grandmother.

  Mabel had told her that she should talk about her grandfather to her mother and grandmother.

  ‘It upset me when Willie died that no one would ever talk to me about him. One woman actually said she didn’t want to remind me – as though he was ever out of my mind. People used to cross the street to avoid me, so they wouldn’t have to talk about him.’

  ‘I suppose they feel embarrassed,’ Anne said. ‘They don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Don’t you make that mistake, Sarah,’ Mabel said. ‘It’ll be a comfort to your gran especially, to talk about him.’

  ‘I agree with that,’ Anne said. ‘You know I’m the youngest in our family, but before I was born my elder brother died. Our Maureen was three and Patrick was six when he died. He was only ill for twenty-four hours but our Maureen was sent to my Gran’s when he took ill. She screamed and carried on because she didn’t want to go, and when she came back Patrick had disappeared. All his clothes and his toys as well. Nobody ever mentioned him to her and she was afraid to ask because she thought he’d gone because she’d been naughty about going to Gran’s. She fretted about it for years before she found out the truth.’

  Sarah found it easy to talk about her grandfather because it seemed that Lawrie was still with them as she sat with her grandmother. Greg had packed cracks round the window frame and put felt round the doors but even so the bitter cold seemed to penetrate the kitchen, in spite of a good fire. Sally and Sarah both wore crochet squares like shawls around their shoulders.

  ‘Grandad would have been worried about poor people in this, wouldn’t he?’ Sarah said.

  ‘He would, love. People who couldn’t afford extra coal or warm clothes. It would’ve upset him not to be able to do enough to help them.’ S
ally sighed. ‘He’s spared that anyhow, love.’

  Usually when they talked it was on happier themes, and Sally told Sarah of the days of her youth, and about when she and Lawrie were young parents. Mrs Malloy often came into the conversation and Sarah said one night, ‘Mam was talking about her the other day. She said she knew the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins.’

  ‘Yes, he was a priest at Saint Francis Xavier’s round about 1880,’ Sally said. ‘That’s how Mrs Mal knew him.’

  ‘Mum said Mrs Malloy didn’t think he was a good preacher, or at least she couldn’t understand him very well, but his poetry’s lovely, Gran.’

  ‘Grandad liked it, I know,’ Sally said, smiling at her.

  ‘Yes, he said it was more difficult to understand than Wordsworth or Tennyson, but it was worth making the effort for.’

  ‘Does Michael like poetry?’ Sally asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sarah said stiffly, and Sally suggested a cup of tea.

  Cathy also spoke about Michael, to ask if he had invited Sarah out.

  ‘No, Mum. He knows I can’t go to the pictures while we’re in mourning,’ Sarah said, blushing, and Cathy said no more.

  She grieved for her young daughter though, knowing that she was suffering disillusionment in her first love to add to her grief about her grandfather.

  Sarah saw no connection with this conversation when, a few days later, her grandmother told her she wished her to have her grandfather’s books of poetry as she would appreciate them, but the gift soothed her sore heart and gave her many hours of pleasure.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cathy was careful not to criticize Michael to Sarah, partly because she feared to hurt her and partly for another reason. The family had been amazed by the number of letters of sympathy they had received, many of them from people with whom they had lost touch but who had heard of Lawrie’s death.